"…okay," Patsy said slowly into her phone, "I…yeah…I understand…no, you're fine… sure. Yeah, talk to you later… Bye-Bye."
Patsy hung up and groaned as she fell back onto their bed.
Delia paused in applying her makeup.
"Was that Barbara cancelling last minute?" the brunette queried idly.
"Yes, how did you know?" Patsy sighed bitterly, rolling back up to cradle her head in her hands.
"Sixth sense…or her tendency to be dissuaded by her husband to even talk to us," Delia muttered, partially to herself. She angrily stabbed the mascara wand back into the container to replenish the amount on the wand.
"Do you even still want to go at this point?" Patsy asked cautiously, "It might be hard getting a sitter at such short notice."
Delia paused to give Patsy an exasperated look.
"Patience Busby-Mount, it is our fifth wedding anniversary! I am not going to miss this, we have been saving to go clubbing for such a long while and I haven't been good and sloshed in six months!"
Patsy stood and wrapped her arms around Delia, holding her tightly.
"Has it really been that long? What was the occasion?" Patsy asked in disbelief.
"Phyllis's birthday party," Delia said thoughtfully.
"Mm. I don't remember that very well," Patsy intoned gently, swaying from side to side.
"I don't either…I only remember what we did afterwards," the brunette said cheekily.
The pair shared a throaty chuckle before Patsy exclaimed, "Oh, I can try Phyllis!"
Delia frowned.
"Pats, why don't you just try my-"
" . . Your. Mother," Patsy growled, "We won't get home until late and we will be completely smashed."
Delia rolled her eyes before returning to applying her make-up. Patsy searched through her contacts before finding the older woman's number and dialing it.
Phyllis Crane had grown to become something like a mother to Patsy. She was there to support her, and always had good advice at the ready. Patsy talked to the older woman at least three times a week and they often would have her come over for local gossip.
The phone rang twice before it was picked up.
"Hello?" came Phyllis's voice.
"Hi, Phyllis, its Patsy!"
"Oh, hello Patsy! How are things?"
"Just fine," Patsy said, glancing at Delia, "We actually had a favor to ask you…I know its short notice, but can you come over and watch Ellie for us? Our other sitter quit on us and we have been planning this night for such a long time."
There was an odd silence on the phone.
"Oh…gosh, lass, I'm so sorry," Phyllis said softly, "You see, I would, but I kind of…have a date…tonight…"
"…oh."
"I'm so sorry kid."
"No, that's okay, we can get someone else…have fun!"
"Thank you, you too!"
Patsy hung up and met Delia's bewildered gaze.
"The woman has a date," Patsy surrendered angrily.
"…oh," Delia echoed.
Wordlessly, Patsy went through her contacts, asked God to give her strength, and dialed Mrs. Busby's cell.
"Ellie?" Patsy asked softly before entering her daughter's room. The nine year-old sat on her floor, doodling in a notebook.
"Yes, Mum?"
"Aunt Barbara can't come babysit you today, sweetie."
"Mum, I don't need someone to watch me," Ellie complained, looking up from the TARDIS she was drawing.
"Of course you don't," Patsy said sardonically, sitting on Ellie's bed.
"…so I'm going to be home, by myself?"
"No…" Patsy said slowly, "your Grandma Busby is coming by to-"
"GRANDMA BUSBY!" Ellie squealed, jumping up and scattering her coloring supplies, "GRANDMA BUSBY IS COMING?!"
"Yes," Patsy said with a wince, "but you need to clean your room." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Ellie was speeding around her room, throwing things in various drawers. Patsy left her room, feeling extremely confused. When she re-entered her room, she observed the dress Delia had changed into for a good long moment. Delia noticed her staring and raised her eyebrows.
"Something on your mind, Pats?" she asked a little too innocently.
"Yes, a considerable amount," Patsy sniffed indignantly, leaning against the doorway, "For example, I will never understand how our daughter and your mother became so close. Your mother is almost intolerable." Delia rolled her eyes.
"Give her some credit, I survived her," the brunette said, smoothing the wrinkles in her dress.
"…and besides, Pats, you have nothing to worry about. Our daughter gave a boy a black eye last year."
"I guess that's true," Patsy chortled.
"How do I look?" Delia asked, turning away from the mirror. Patsy allowed her eyes to ravage over her wife's visage, making Delia blush furiously.
"Absolutely perfect."
"…and bedtime is at eight," Delia said, slipping her overcoat on as Patsy stood by the door, looking out the window for the cab.
"But Mam," Ellie whined, "bedtime is at nine on weekends!"
"Don't argue with your mam," Delia said sharply.
Mrs. Busby stood next to Ellie, still wearing her coat and holding her purse. She gazed between Delia and Ellie, an amused expression on her face.
"Why don't you go pick a movie for us to pop in, cariad?" Mrs. Busby asked, patting her granddaughter on the shoulder. Ellie bounded away into the living room, leaving Mrs. Busby, Delia, and Patsy facing each other.
"I'm not kidding about the bedtime, mam," Delia said, eyeing her mother reproachfully.
"Of course, sweetie."
"And no snacks after seven, only water."
"Yes, cariad."
Ellie came running back, holding a movie triumphantly up in the air.
"Finding Nemo!" she announced excitedly.
"Deels, that's the cab," Patsy whispered quietly.
"Oh…uh…we should be home around…oh dear," Delia stammered, glancing at Patsy.
"Early morning," Patsy said softly, to no one in particular, "you'll be asleep."
"…thank you, mam, for coming on such short notice," Delia said quietly, holding her mother's gaze.
"Yes, thank you Mrs. Busby," Patsy added in.
"It is no trouble," the older woman said indifferently.
"Bye-Bye Mum, Mam," Ellie said, hugging her parents.
"Good-bye, sweetie," Delia said, kissing Ellie's forehead.
"See you tomorrow," Patsy murmured, hugging the young girl tightly. Patsy then placed a hand on Delia's waist, preparing to leave.
"Bye Mam," Delia said.
"Have fun, cariad," Mrs. Busby said, with a hint of a smile.
"Good bye, Mrs. Busby," Patsy said.
"Take care of my daughter, cariad," Mrs. Busby said sternly.
"Yes ma'am."
Six Hours Later…
"Jesus, Pats," Delia panicked, "Where the hell are we?!"
"Deels, you're fine, you're doing great, we are in a cab going home."
The brunette fell silent for a second before stirring once more.
"Oh, God, is it okay for me to go in the house?! I don't think Ellie should see me like this!" Patsy rolled her eyes before pulling Delia close and holding her hands in her own. The short Welshwoman was trembling slightly as she leaned into the ginger.
"Pats, how am I going to walk?!" Delia fretted loudly. Patsy snorted.
"I'll help you walk, Deels, don't worry about a thing sweetheart. You just need to keep it down, alright?"
"Patsy, I don't like this," Delia whimpered in a suddenly small voice.
"That's because we are still moving, darling, wait until we get home…I'll put on some music, or maybe some Archer, and we can just lie on the bed and calm down, okay?"
"Okay," Delia said, almost as if she didn't believe the other. The cab pulled up to their house, and Patsy was sure to tell Delia to stay seated until she went over to her side of the vehicle.
"She aw'right, miss?" the cabbie asked dubiously as Patsy helped her wife out of the cab.
"Uh, yes, she's fine, just a bit sloshed," Patsy fibbed, gathering up their purses.
Tipping the driver, Patsy looped her arm in Delia's and coached her up the steps.
Unlocking the door, Patsy tried desperately to guide Delia through the house into their bedroom, as quietly as possible. The lights were off, so as they went, Patsy made sure to flick them on. Delia swayed to and fro, leaning heavily on Patsy.
"…here you go, Deels, you can lay down now." The brunette collapsed on the bed, looking around the room confusedly.
"Do you want anything, sweetie?" Patsy murmured, brushing some hair out of Delia's face. Delia shook her head slowly, appearing to not know how to respond.
"I need…my teeth," she managed, sitting back up. Sighing, Patsy let Delia up and watched as her wife hobbled into their bathroom and began poking around for the needed utensils.
"You need a toothbrush, honey," Patsy reminded quietly.
"I know…where the fuck… I…" Taking sympathy, Patsy picked up the toothbrush, (sitting right in front of Delia, where it had always been located), and pressed it into her hand.
"…oh"
Patsy observed Delia slowly add toothpaste before cleaning her mouth. After spitting, the brunette went back and began going through her clothes in her wardrobe.
"Delia, what are you doing?"
"I need to change clothes," Delia said, wrinkling her nose.
"Let me, sweetie, go lay down," Patsy gently intoned against Delia's ear. The shorter woman wordlessly obeyed, sprawling out on the marriage mattress and growing very still. Patsy plucked a fresh pair of shorts and a tank top from the cabinet and laid them on the bed. Wordlessly, Patsy began removing Delia's clothes and then redressed her, the whole while Delia gazed around the room with wide, red-rimmed eyes.
"Better?" Patsy murmured, laying down next to her and cradling her. Delia nodded, turning into the other.
"Patsy, why did I do this?" Delia questioned, sounding panicked.
"Because you wanted to try it, Deels," Patsy gently reminded her.
"Do I have to do it again?"
"Not if you don't want to," Patsy assured her.
Silence fell between them. And then:
"Pats, are you mad at me?" Delia asked in a small voice.
"No, Delia, I'm not mad at you," Patsy hummed, pulling her closer, "Just try and relax, sweetie. You're doing so well. I'm going to turn on the TV, okay?"
Delia didn't respond, but rather watched with glazed eyes as Patsy popped in Archer, a secret favorite of theirs. As the familiar tune of the opening credits came from the TV, Delia blinked rapidly and stared at the box in wonder. Assured that Delia had something positive to trip out to, Patsy gathered up her stinking laundry and went to wash it.
What she didn't foresee, however, was meeting her mother-in-law in the hallway.
The older woman appeared to be getting a glass of water, but when Patsy appeared, reeking of God-knows-what with guilt written all over her face, Mrs. Busby leaned back and crossed her arms.
"Mrs. Busby," Patsy stammered, not knowing what else to say.
"That's marijuana I smell, isn't it?" she asked quietly, cutting to the chase.
Patsy didn't respond, but rather looked at her pointedly. What was the woman going to do?
"Is she okay?" Mrs. Busby pressed. Patsy looked at her, bewildered. It was at times like these where she did not know if the other woman was actually angry.
"She's…she was just… she's never…done it…before," Patsy stammered, trying to make it look better.
"But is she okay, Patience?"
"…yes, I believe so." The older woman gazed at the other, her expression unreadable.
"Just…just take care of her, would you?" Mrs. Busby said finally.
"Of course, Mrs. Busby," Patsy stuttered. The older woman brushed past her, and disappeared into the guest room. Patsy glanced at the clock. It was two-thirty in the morning.
Patsy threw Delia's clothes in the washing machine before rummaging through the kitchen in search of snacks. When she reappeared in their bedroom, she was armed with bottled water, chips, doughnut holes, and the cool whip that came in a tub. It was last minute, yes, but it would have to do. Delia was in the same place Patsy left her, gaping at the television in both awe and confusion.
"Here, drink this," Patsy said, cracking a bottle open and handing it to her wife. With numb hands, Delia accepted it and began downing it, not exactly realizing how thirsty she was. She then moved on to the food, Patsy holding the container as she helped herself.
After a while, Delia looked away from the TV.
"How do you feel?" Patsy murmured.
"Warm. I can feel my arteries pumping throughout my body. I can't really focus on anything…and the TV is getting too bright." At this, Patsy flicked the TV off and they were plunged in darkness, save for a stray sensi in the corner of their room, acting as a nightlight. The only noise was from the stereo, where Florence and the Machine were singing "Dog Days are Over". Patsy brushed her fingers along Delia's waist idly, acting as her sentinel. Her vigil drew to an end when a slight snore came from Delia, a little past four in the morning. Smiling contentedly, Patsy placed the remaining food on the nightstand and curled up next to her wife, into her waking dreams.