Prompt 8: "Stop pretending you're okay, because I know you're not."
Summary: Grief hits us when it wants and how it wants. Set during Season 4.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
"Oh, Mum, I forgot, there was a letter for you today." Timothy garbled; face full of potatoes.
"Timothy, don't talk with your mouth full." Patrick lightly scolded with the exasperated tone of someone who's had to say the same thing so many times they don't even know what it means anymore.
Timothy swallowed dramatically.
"Sorry." He said cheekily. "I put it on the piano."
"Thank you Timothy." said Shelagh. "Would you hold Angela for a moment?"
Patrick smirked when Shelagh didn't really give Tim an option as she stood and sat the baby in his lap, thoroughly interrupting his attempt to put a spitefully large bite of potatoes in his mouth.
"Mum!" Timothy protested. "I'm eating!"
"No, you're hoarding." She chided. "Replace half the potatoes on your plate with spinach and I'll take Angela back in a moment."
Tim looked to his father for help as Shelagh left to grab her letter, but Patrick proved an unreliable ally.
"Don't look at me," Patrick laughed, "I'm not poking the bear over a couple of potatoes."
"I can hear you, Patrick." Shelagh warned as she opened the letter. "And I'll thank you not to-"
Shelagh went silent, staring at the paper before her.
"Darling, is everything alright?" asked Patrick.
Shelagh quickly folded up the letter and shoved it in her skirt pocket, forcing her smile back on before Timothy could see.
"Of course," she replied, "it's nothing."
Patrick didn't believe her, but she shot him a look that clearly said 'not in front of the children', so he didn't push.
Later that night, while Patrick was putting the children to bed, Shelagh stared into the soapy dish bubbles. She didn't understand why she cared so much. She hadn't spoken to her father in years, so why should she care about a letter from an old neighbor telling her he'd passed away. It wouldn't make any difference in her life. She had no plans to contact him ever again, so it didn't matter that now she didn't have the option. If anything, she should feel relieved that she no longer had to worry about him coming back into her life. It wasn't as though he'd be leaving her any keepsakes or property - the man was practically bankrupt the last time she'd heard and anything he had left, he would've spent on drink. 'Or women.' Shelagh thought bitterly.
She didn't want to be thinking about these things. In fact, she'd spent a great deal of her adult life actively not thinking about her family and her past and she liked it that way. She'd been lucky enough that by the time she married, enough years had passed to fade away any marks that might've made Patrick ask questions.
She berated herself for that. It wasn't fair that just recently she'd yelled at him for not telling her an extremely sensitive part of his own past and she didn't want to be unfair. It was just that she never thought she'd have to deal with this ever again. There was nothing in her medical history, there was no one in her life from that time, there was nothing to ever bring it up...until now.
'Damn him' she cursed to herself.
Patrick came downstairs to find his wife washing the same plate she'd been scrubbing away at when he went upstairs 20 minutes earlier.
"Shelagh." he spoke softly.
No response.
"Shelagh." He tried a little louder. When she still didn't respond, he gently touched her shoulder and she jumped.
"Sorry." He immediately apologized.
"It's okay," she muttered, "I just wasn't expecting you down so fast."
"Love, you've been washing that plate for twenty minutes." He gently informed her.
"What?" she asked in disbelief as she glaced at the clock. "Oh. I supposed I'm more tired than I thought."
He took the plate from her and dried it off before softly turning her cheek to meet his eyes.
"Are you sure you're alright?" He asked, knowing what the answer would be.
"I'm fine, Patrick, really." She insisted. "I just need to sleep."
"You know you can talk to me about whatever was in that letter." He reminded her.
He immediately regretted his comment as he watched the walls go up behind her eyes.
"I told you, it's nothing." She placated with a forced smile. "It's late, let's go to bed."
She walked from the room before he could protest and he sighed. It was going to be a long week.
She'd gotten the letter on Thursday and by the following Monday, everyone they knew was concerned. Her response to the letter had been to make herself as busy as possible and there was scarcely a second of the day she wasn't running around.
At their weekly lunch, Sister Julienne had tried to at least interest her in less strenuous activities if she wasn't willing to talk about whatever was going on, but Shelagh simply insisted she was fine and whisked Angela off on her way to Violet's haberdashery on her way back to the Surgery to pick up yet more fabric for the Easter show costumes for the Cubs and Brownies - despite the fact that Chummy and Fred had insisted they didn't need them and that Chummy was perfectly capable of helping. 'And when was she sewing anyway?' they wondered. 'She couldn't have the time.'
Patrick, Timothy, and Angela were particularly suffering. Angela was getting fussier as her mother's energy grew more and more chaotic, Timothy felt miserable between worrying about his mother and being annoyed at her insistence on having him help her with various tasks, and Patrick was losing his mind trying to balance the three of them, his patients, and Shelagh's inability to sleep - which quickly became his inability to sleep… She'd spent the entirety of the previous night either stitching or waking him to go over patient notes until he kicked her out of the room in desperation. To be honest, he wasn't sure how she was still standing.
She was already at the clinic on Tuesday morning before everyone else arrived and was halfway through setting up when the nurses arrived.
"Goodness, when on earth did you get here, Mrs. Turner?" Nurse Crane asked shocked.
"Oh, about an hour ago." Shelagh replied as she hurried across the room with a screen. "Couldn't sleep, and I thought it was better to be productive."
Nurse Crane, Nurse Franklin, and Nurse Mount looked at each other, but there was nothing they could say and they knew it. She either had to ride out whatever was bothering her or decide to face it. They could try to at least give her a break though.
"Well, we're here now, so why don't you let us take over and take a rest until we open?" Suggested Pasty.
"Oh, no, that's not necessary." Shelagh replied. "The more hands, the better."
Patsy went to try again, but Trixie shook her head. She was more familiar with Shelagh's Scottish stubbornness than the other two and she knew there was no point.
To Shelagh's credit, the clinic was set up in record time which left them all with 15 minutes to rest. The Nurses were grateful, but Shelagh got antsy after five minutes of drinking her tea and immediately got up and began rearranging screens.
"This has to stop." Phyllis shook her head in the direction of the main hall. "The poor lass is going to collapse from exhaustion."
"I've never seen her like this," Patsy sighed, "whatever it is, it must be bad."
"The last time she was this on edge was before she and Dr. Turner got together." Trixie mused. "They've always calmed each other down since then."
"Maybe they're fighting?" Patsy suggested.
"It's none of our business if they are." Reminded Nurse Crane. "But if they are, I hope they do something about it soon, she can't go on much longer like this."
Loud banging at the clinic door drew their attention.
"I swear, they get more persistent every week." Trixie muttered as she walked over. "We're not open yet!" She yelled over the noise.
"Nurse Franklin, it's Dr. Turner!" Patrick yelled from the other side of the door. "I can't open the door!"
Trixie quickly opened the door, confused as to why he didn't just come in. That confusion was swiftly alleviated, however, when he stumbled into the clinic, hands full of supplies and a crying Angela, and brow sweating.
"Thank you." He half-heartedly threw in her direction. "Shelagh?" He called out.
"Screens." Trixie pointed. "I'll take the little one."
Angela reached out her tiny arms to her Auntie Trixie who was certainly calmer than her daddy this morning.
"What are we going to do with Mummy and Daddy, hmm Miss Angela?" Trixie gently bounced the girl and brought her into the kitchen simply shaking her head when the other two questioned her.
Meanwhile, Patrick nearly ran to the screens.
"Shelagh." He called again. "Shelagh, I know you're back here."
Shelagh came out, somewhat irritated.
"I'm not exactly hiding, Patrick." She snapped. "We need to open soon, what is it?"
"The others will get clinic started, we need to talk." He said firmly.
"Patrick, we don't have time." She insisted, not liking where this was going.
"Then we'll make time, Shelagh." He stood his ground. "This has to stop."
"What has to stop?" She asked innocently.
"You know exactly what I mean." He tried to keep his voice comforting despite his frustration, but he could tell he was failing. "Stop pretending you're okay, because I know you're not."
"Patrick, I'm fine." She tried.
"No, you're not!" He finally snapped. His raised voice made them painfully aware of where they were, so he gently grabbed her arm and guided her outside through the back door.
"Patrick, what are you doing?" Shelagh protested.
"You have to deal with this." He pleaded. "Whatever it is. And I want to be the person to help you, but please, Shelagh, if you can't talk to me, talk to Sister Julienne, talk to Trixie, talk to anyone."
He could see tears welling up, and it broke his heart, but at least he was getting through to her.
"Everyone is worried about you, even Angela, and she doesn't know what's going on - all she knows is that her mummy is acting strange."
She broke at his mention of Angela and he gathered her in his arms as she cried.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." She cried into his coat.
"It's alright love." He whispered. "It'll be alright."
"I wanted to tell you, I just didn't know how." She explained. "I didn't want you to think any less of me."
"There's nothing you could tell me that would make me love you any less, Shelagh." He promised. "Didn't we just do this the other way around?"
"Yes." She admitted.
"And didn't you say the same thing to me?" He asked.
"Yes." She sniffed. "I know I've been unfair. I'm sorry."
He held her in silence until she pulled back to look at him.
"My father died." She said simply.
His heart dropped.
"Shelagh, that's nothing to be ashamed of at all, why on earth didn't you tell me? I'm so sorry, love."
"Because it's not that simple, Patrick." She stopped him.
"Why don't you head home and rest for the day and I'll tell the others you're not feeling well?" He suggested.
He fully expected her to refuse, so he was genuinely surprised when she nodded.
"I think maybe I should I listen to you all this time." She spoke softly. "I'll tell you everything when you get home. I promise."
"I love you." He kissed her on the forehead.
"I love you, too." She whispered before she walked inside to grab Angela and her purse.
Patrick came home to Tim reading in the sitting room while Shelagh lay fast asleep on the couch with Angela curled up on top of her, just as lost in dreams.
"They barely made it through dinner." Tim commented quietly.
"I'm just glad she's resting." Patrick smiled.
"Me too." Tim agreed. "Is mum okay, dad?"
Patrick paused, unsure if he should say, but Tim was growing up and they couldn't hide everything from him anymore.
"She will be." He assured. "Her dad passed away."
"Oh." Tim said quietly.
"We just have to give her some time." said Patrick.
"Like when Mummy died?" asked Tim.
"Exactly." Agreed Patrick. "Why don't you head up to bed. I'll take over down here."
Tim nodded sleepily and made his way to his room, glad that his dad was there to look after them.
Patrick knelt down by the couch and gently nudged Shelagh.
"Sweetheart, wake up." He whispered.
Shelagh blinked awake against the lamp light.
"Oh," she murmured groggily, "I didn't mean to fall asleep."
"You needed it." Patrick said as he brushed her hair out of her eyes. "Both of you, apparently."
Shelagh glanced down and smiled at the sight of Angela fast asleep, her tiny hand grabbing onto Shelagh's cardigan.
"I'll take her up." Patrick offered, but Shelagh shook her head.
"I'll do it. I haven't exactly been there as much as I would've liked." she said.
"Alright."
Patrick watched Shelagh carry Angela to bed and couldn't help but notice her holding her a little tighter than usual. Of course, she felt guilty over the past few days.
He sighed and made his own way to bed. He hoped Shelagh would talk to him. She'd promised earlier that day, but he knew better than anyone how hard it was to talk about past demons and how easy it was to forget how hard it could be.
Shelagh came into their room a few minutes later and didn't even bother to change. She simply went straight for their bed and curled into his side. He was wearing his burgundy pajamas and she loved the feel of the soft cotton on her face.
"I haven't spoken to my dad in years." She said so softly he almost didn't hear her.
"You never mentioned him when we were planning the wedding." he pondered.
"He wouldn't have come." She said simply. "He hasn't been invested in anything that made me happy in quite some time." She paused. "I wasn't ashamed to tell you that he died...I just didn't want to see your face when I told you I didn't want to go to the funeral...if there even is a funeral."
"Family can be complicated, I would never judge you for that." He assured her.
"He wasn't always...less than pleasant." She started. "I believe he loved me very much before my mum passed. She died when I was Timothy's age."
"He didn't handle it well." Patrick tried not to let his own regret seep in.
"No." She admitted with a small sniffle. She hated that he could hear the minute she started to cry, but she'd always been like that. "He started drinking, and I don't think he ever stopped."
"I'm sorry." said Patrick.
"It was bearable at first. He seemed to have forgotten I existed. I preferred that to when he remembered I was there…." She trailed off.
"Did he-" Patrick really didn't want to ask. "Did he hurt you?"
"He beat me." She cried. "A lot. I"m sorry, I didn't want you to know." Shelagh sobbed into Patrick's pajama top.
Patrick held her as tight as he could and let her cry for everything she'd been holding in. She cried for her past, for her father, for her guilt.
"I love you, Shelagh Turner." He whispered over and over again, hoping she could truly hear it. "I love you with all my heart."
"But you shouldn't," she sobbed, "I'm so broken."
He pulled her up and forced her to look at him.
"I will never think that, do you understand?" He asked, his own tears falling now. "I will never see you as broken. All I see before me is the brave little girl who fought her way out of a terrible situation and became an incredible nurse, wife, and mother."
"Really?" she asked in genuine disbelief.
"Always." he promised. "And if you don't want to go to his funeral, then you don't have to, and if you do, I will go with you, it's not even a question. We're a team."
"I love you, Patrick." she tried to imbue all the impossible ways she loved this man into her words, but it would never be enough, so instead she kissed him and let him comfort her through the night.
8 down, 42 to go! Hope you enjoy!