Chapter Text
David was lying on his front, one arm trapped beneath his stomach, the other curled under his pillow, when he began to stir. The left side of his face was turned into the pillow, away from the peacefully passed-out Patrick behind him in their bed. He could feel the heat Patrick was throwing off next to him, could hear his soft snores clipping each intake of breath. He languidly inched his arm out from under himself and pushed up from the mattress until he was able to turn onto his side, looking across at his sleep-softened husband.
He only just smothered the urge to reach out to him, kiss him good morning. It wouldn’t be fair, much as he wanted to. Patrick looked exhausted, even asleep, and as the events of the previous night came back to him—
And each and every night this past week
—David knew the reason why.
Their dreaded return to New York was finally upon them, and with this, last minute witness preparation with ADA Williams ahead of the actual court trial. This had been the root of much of David’s anxiety, no matter how well he’d been coached. Patrick, too, was less than confident.
It had been close to one in the morning before David had managed to chase sleep with some success, after literal hours of his selfishly incessant tossing and turning. Patrick, for his part, had made a valiant effort to feign sleep, but was fooling no one. When David’s guilt over keeping him up finally became too much, and he’d resigned himself to having to get up to go to their guest bedroom across the landing, a heavy arm worked itself solidly across his middle.
It was Patrick’s silent way of saying please, stay. Against his better judgement, David did.
David knew his husband was driven by an almost pathological need to try to fix everything, and it would be easy to be insulted by this: to believe that Patrick thought David, too, was in need of fixing, or that he was incapable of functioning independently of him. If Patrick hadn’t spent the better part of their shared seven years together showing David that he was loved unconditionally, and if he hadn’t spent every day for the past six months trying to make things right again, David might have sooner leaned into the insult.
But Patrick did — love unconditionally, make things right in big and small ways. Even when David lashed out, even on the days when they were at each other’s throats, he’d never once doubted Patrick’s love for him.
And David didn’t know what he’d done in a past life to deserve him, but he’d fucking take it.
So, last night, when Patrick wanted him to stay close, wanted to keep an eye on him, for his own peace of mind, then damn it, David was going to give him that.
Trying in earnest to push all thoughts of the upcoming trial to the furthest recesses of his mind, David had focused instead on keeping utterly, perfectly still. This, in and of itself, was physically demanding because it just didn’t come naturally to him. His whole body was practically thrumming, each muscle tensed and itching to move next to Patrick’s. His arms, tight by his sides, were near aching with the pressure of doing nothing.
And of course Patrick had noticed. Without really acknowledging David’s unease, at least not verbally, Patrick’s arm around his middle loosened and his hand slid up under the hem of David’s T-shirt. It came to rest over his rapidly thumping heart and just stayed there, unmoving. Calm.
Through all of this, David had wondered if Patrick could smell the fear on him as easily as he’d detected the tension radiating off him, but of course he could. Yesterday’s cologne did little to mask the heady odour of this latest anxiety-induced cold sweat. Patrick could probably feel David’s hot, slick skin under his sure, steadying palm anyway; growing as moist as David’s T-shirt, which had begun to cling uncomfortably at the back of his neck and underarms.
So, just like that, David had found he was squirming over his own impossible grossness as much as he was the flight they were due to catch in T-minus twelve hours. The flight that had started this whole sleepless frenzy in the first place. He couldn’t toss and turn, but he couldn’t lie still; and he couldn’t break their silence, but his mind was whirring; and he couldn’t sleep in this bed, but Patrick didn’t want him to leave.
And to his utter fucking dismay, the more he fretted, the more he sweated (ew), the more he squirmed (ugh).
Until the heel of Patrick’s hand, that was still covering his heart protectively, pressed into him and followed through with a press of fingertips too. It was the gentlest of commands, but enough to make David still. He tried concentrating on the long, splayed fingers and warm, dry palm of Patrick’s hand, resting firm and constant against his not-so-dry chest, when Patrick pulled back completely.
“Sorry, David,” he excused quickly. His lips clumsily kissed the hair at David’s temple before the whole bed frame creaked as he clambered out of bed. “Don’t worry. Just, give me one sec.”
David tracked Patrick crossing the room to their dresser. Though confused, he was kind of grateful for the reprieve. It gave him the chance to stretch out his arms and legs, dispelling some of his restless energy before Patrick came back to him, holding out a freshly laundered sleep shirt.
“Would this help? You seemed a little…”
Struck by Patrick’s thoughtfulness, David could only nod at first. His throat felt thick as he swallowed. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Patrick tried to fix things after all.
“Oh. Uh, yeah. Yes.”
Patrick’s hand was there again, solid on the bare of his back as he sat forward to swap the damp tee out for the clean one. He folded it in his lap, unnecessarily so since it was only fit for the hamper. The frisson of excitement he felt from Patrick’s simple touch was everything, and probably — okay, definitely — the reason he was stalling. He ran his hand over the black lettering emblazoned across its front (which he couldn’t quite make out in the dark, but could picture all the same):
DON’T, a message he was never gladder Patrick chose to ignore.
“Want me to…?” Patrick took the sweaty shirt away for him. They both knew David’s aim was never going to hit the hamper.
David pushed himself through the new pyjama top, savouring the soft, clean, coolness of the material as it covered him; and when he settled back down, the back of his head was pleasantly cool too. Patrick had flipped his pillow for him to the cold, unused side without his noticing, and my God he’d felt so intensely relieved, he almost cried.
Patrick returned his hand to his chest, his thumb caressing David just barely. He shifted then, twisting his neck left to right and rolling his shoulders. David copied, wriggling against him until he was suitably comfortable too. They matched each other in an indulgent sigh, Patrick’s other hand coming up to scratch David’s scalp affectionately.
Eventually, as they laid there long enough, everything began to slow right down for David.
His breathing, his thoughts, his energy.
Then, the next thing he knew, Patrick’s hands had moved to cup his face. Wide, callused thumbs were brushing errant tears from the corners of David’s eyes, off his lower lashes and across his cheekbones as he gradually got his bearings. He regained enough presence of mind to figure some time had passed. His own hands were grappling for fistfuls of the duvet between them, and he’d been grinding so hard on his back teeth that a dull pain had already set in his jaw.
“Patrick?”
It had taken him a moment to find his voice and when he did, he’d been surprised to hear how rough it sounded. It was a small and strangled thing in its delivery, barely cutting through the darkness in his desperate bid to be comforted.
“Yeah, David. I’m here.”
Patrick’s voice by contrast was patient and unwavering, quiet but strong. Like he’d been awake for a while, watching and waiting for this moment to make his presence known.
“Where…?”
“I’m right here, baby. Lie back down.”
Even as Patrick said it, it had still taken David an embarrassing length of time to realise they were both sitting bolt upright in the bed. Patrick had needed to physically guide him back down with a strong, capable hand on his shoulder, but his fists relaxed at least when he made contact with the mattress.
“There you go. Close your eyes.”
He did and he didn’t. His eyes had just about adjusted to their surroundings. Everything was less pitch black, more a series of shadowy greys. It was certainly a far cry from his 1am spiral. His frantic gaze caught the display of Patrick’s ancient clock radio, with the bright red digits burned into the backs of his eyelids. He could see 03:57 dancing in front of him when he scrunched his eyes closed and when he squinted them open.
“I, I thought he, um.”
“I… I know, but it’s just me. You’ve got me.”
They didn’t need to examine the nightmare at length; that’s what their therapy was for. Sometimes David talked it out — babbled nonsensically, more like — and Patrick listened, doing his level best to soothe David through it with gentle shushes and even gentler caresses. But mostly, just gathering himself quietly in Patrick’s open arms was all David had the capacity for. Either way, Patrick never pressed him; he’d always, always let David lead them in the aftermath.
Last night had been one of those quiet times. Wordlessly, David laid his head on Patrick’s chest, and Patrick drew him in tight.
The last thing he remembered before falling asleep that final time was the stuttered rise and fall of Patrick’s sternum and the fierce thumping of his heart, racing as fast as David’s own. It seemed he wasn’t the only one struggling to keep it together. Patrick, though outwardly calm (because he thought he had to be), was terrified for them.
Typically, when Patrick panicked, David panicked twofold; and yet, strangely, he found this somehow comforting.
Because Patrick got it. Patrick got him.
No amount of empty reassurances were going to undo the unholy hell that Sebastien Raine had unleashed on them. But they were connected by their pain and by their fear. They were, for almost half a year now, in this together. And together, for better or worse, they had nothing left to lose.
Ugh, he could spend the rest of the morning dissecting last night’s nightmares, epiphanies and everything in between.
David clenched his eyes shut and pushed the heels of his hands against his closed lids in a desperate attempt to distract himself. The pressure helped to ground him firmly in the present.
“A lot going on in your head over there, huh?” Patrick said without preamble, his voice low and gravelly.
With an involuntary yelp, David jumped at the unexpected greeting, eliciting a small, muffled chuckle from Patrick into his pillow. Patrick seemed to immediately second-guess himself though when he opened his eyes and turned his head to clock David’s surprise.
“Sorry, I just, I could practically hear you thinking.”
“Okay, respectfully,” David said, forcing as much exasperation into his words as possible when he recovered. He flapped a hand in Patrick’s general direction for good measure, hoping this would be enough to assuage his guilt. “A simple ‘good morning’ would suffice next time.”
Patrick stretched an arm across the mattress and David saw the invitation for what it was, rolling closer accordingly. They shared a quick, cursory kiss; Patrick’s lips landing just right of David’s, their noses bumping a little awkwardly. His arm wrapped around the back of David’s shoulders, who draped his own arm across the expanse of Patrick’s broad chest and nuzzled into his collarbone.
“Noted,” Patrick whispered, reaching around to card his fingers leisurely through David’s hair, mussing it up quite deliberately.
“And just how long have you been secretly awake for anyway?”
“About as long as you’ve been staring at me in quiet adoration, give or take.”
David might have been absentmindedly tickling up and down Patrick’s forearm despite his earlier resolve, but that was beside the point. And he was only human.
“Well, that’s simply not true.”
“Oh, okay. Must have imagined it then,” Patrick accepted easily, then, after a clearing of his throat, quietly added, “I really didn’t mean to startle you, by the way. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Startled is a bit much. It was more like… mild surprise? You make me sound like some kind of wild animal.”
Patrick made a strange, unflattering noise from the back of his throat, halfway between a scoff and a snort. David craned his neck back to look him squarely in the face.
Where their parents had been tiptoeing around them both since before Christmas (even David’s mom in her own anguished way), David had been latching on to any kind of familiar behaviour like a lifeline. Like Stevie, Patrick knew almost instinctively how to feel him out — when to poke, when to withdraw — and after a particularly vulnerable night of sincerity, David appreciated this easier back-and-forth.
With narrowed eyes, he dared Patrick to lay it on him.
“Actually, startled was me being generous. I mean, you may or may not have… squawked.”
“Um, excuse you, I did not—do not squawk!” David denied, levelling Patrick’s bright, fond look with a scowl.
“Tell that to your mother.”
Disgruntled pelican flashed through his mind with a prick of heat; a descriptor Alexis gleefully overheard and overshared, ensuring he was destined to never live it down. While she certainly wasn’t one to tiptoe either, and David supposed he should be equally as thankful, she could also jump off a bridge for that for all he cared.
“Yeah, maybe we don’t make reference to my mother when we’re in bed, thanks,” he grumbled, rather lamely, instead.
“Fair enough,” Patrick allowed, backing down with an easy smile. “But speaking of bed, we really should be getting up now anyway.”
“Your alarm didn’t go off though,” he all but whined.
And Patrick wasn’t really making much of an effort to shift David off him either, so he took this as the weakest of warnings. He tested the boundaries further by sliding his hand down Patrick’s torso — slowly — only to catch onto the edge of the duvet at the last second and pull it up around them. When Patrick failed, yet again, to kick them out of bed, David continued to tuck them in.
He could swear he could feel Patrick’s responding smile against the crown of his head so they weren’t going anywhere yet, thank fuck.
Now, if he could just delay the rest of the day, week, month, or turn the dial back on this whole shitty year from ever happening at all, that would be great!
“Yes, well, that’s my mistake,” Patrick said in a manner that had David smirking in anticipation. “See, I’d set it for eight when I thought we just needed to get showered and dressed this morning. I didn’t factor in having to cook us breakfast first. We still need to pick Stevie up on top of that, so you can consider this your five-minute snooze button, okay?”
“Mmm. You’re like a sexy lil alarm clock, for sure.”
“Uh, thanks?”
“Hang on, why can’t we get breakfast from the café to go, for the road? I thought that was always the plan?”
The Plan, hastily devised after a somewhat naive agreement to only focus on the tasks at hand, one day at a time, to minimise any overwhelm as the trial approached. Today was all about getting to the airport on time, returning to New York, reconnecting with Alexis, and staying at Stevie’s apartment in the city. Face-to-face trial prep with ADA Williams was tonight’s spiral and tomorrow’s problem.
Borrowed from one of David’s coping exercises, so it wasn’t a totally insane idea. He just wasn’t very good at it, was all.
“Yeah, it was, but then someone went and opened that pack of back bacon in the fridge and only used up, like, two slices. Do you know anything about that, David?”
Patrick’s fingers stalled their careful journey through David’s hair, snagging playfully as he awaited his answer. David really ought to have known he was going to take stock of all of the perishables in their kitchen and pantry. There’d never been a trip taken when he hadn’t done so, like it was part of some Perfect Patrick Checklist.
“Mmhmm. Right. I, I thought Cedar would’ve wanted some. But, um, turns out she’s not allowed, so…”
“Wow, you know I must say, David, for a dog you didn’t exactly welcome into our home with open arms, you certainly like sneaking her treats.”
“She’s a service dog, serving her purpose. I’m not beneath rewarding a job well done.”
While David had begrudgingly accepted Cedar (a Golden Retriever/Cocker Spaniel mix) as part of the furniture for now, he knew Patrick suspected she’d come to mean a great deal more than that to him. The fact that she featured quite predominantly on David’s camera roll only seemed to feed into this misconception. She was aesthetically pleasing — as animals go — with her rich, deep red coat, soft, feathered ears and small frame. But that was all.
“Uh-huh,” Patrick said, sounding terribly pleased as he smoothed David’s hair down again. “Well, Cedar aside, I’d rather cook the rest of the bacon before we leave than risk throwing it out when we get back. I was thinking of whipping up some pancakes to go with.”
David hummed compliantly, very on board with this deviation from the initial plan if it now included Patrick’s blueberry pancakes over George’s questionable offerings. Or his banana pancakes, or chocolate chip, or whatever else in the kitchen currently playing fast and loose with its best-before date.
“It’s not like Twyla’s breakfast wraps travel well anyway,” Patrick reminded. “If you can make us espresso now, we can stop by the café after breakfast for coffees before Stevie’s. I might order one of those macchiatos with you.”
Wait. What?
“Coffee? What, your regular old English Breakfast won’t cut it this morning?”
“I’ve been known to drink coffee, David,” Patrick muttered, which would have been a perfectly reasonable point if he wasn’t being a tad defensive about it.
“No, you said you needed two hits of espresso today,” David countered, scooting back so he could prop himself up on his elbow to get a better read on him.
He didn’t mean to essentially duck away from the hand on his head in the process, and hoped Patrick didn’t take it the wrong way either.
“So?”
“So? So, obviously the string of sleepless nights has started to take its toll then!”
“I don’t think that’s quite what I said,” Patrick said, aiming for lighthearted, but falling a little flat. “But hey, if that’s what you heard…”
David stared him down a beat longer, trying to catch the flicker of a grimace, a pinch between his brows. Maybe a faint headache was building behind his eyes, or tiredness had settled into his very bones, making him hitch his shoulders a little higher than usual. Anything, really, to suggest that, despite appearances, Patrick was finally getting worn out by him.
It’s not that David wanted to be proved right, but it didn’t hurt to check in. Or so he’d been told.
“That’s what I heard,” he confirmed, gentling his voice to no more than a breathy whisper.
Patrick let go of David’s shoulders to plant his hands on either side of himself, pushing up until he was leaning further back against the metal headboard. He was quiet, even as he took David’s hand in his, flattened the palm out and began idly tracing the lines across David’s skin.
“I, I know this has been… a lot, on you,” David murmured. “I’ve been… a lot. You can admit it.”
He watched Patrick press his lips together, his face darkening for a fleeting moment before he ducked his chin, giving David no real indication whether he agreed with this assessment or not. Still, Patrick traced his thumb along the length of David’s palm, up, down and across.
Patrick wasn’t an overly emotional person. He was calm and collected, sure and steady, or certainly tried to be.
“I hate it when you say things like that,” he whispered back, the emotion catching in his throat now. His thumb halted in its track, the nail bedding in ever so slightly. “Like, maybe it would be better if I just, left you be. To deal.”
David opened his mouth, to what? Contradict? Double down? He closed it again, waiting him out.
“Like I’m the same as the rest of them.”
“I don’t—”
“I know you don’t really think that of me. It’s just, sometimes this low opinion of yourself… feels like a low opinion of, us.”
He frowned down at David’s open palm, like he’d taken umbrage with his own words. He dipped his head then, and raised David’s captured hand to meet him halfway as he kissed its centre almost decisively.
David could only look on, mute.
“You’re not a lot, David. You know you’re not. But… if you need me to remind you a thousand times over, then… okay. I can do that.”
*