Dinner consisted of some finely cooked spaghetti and shouting. Patrick had woken from his medicine induced state more angry than he had entered it, and he was sure to make it known. Pete had tried to be patient with him, tried to be understanding, but Patrick had a habit of getting under Pete's skin.
"I want to go home!"
"This is your home. Everything you've known is gone."
Patrick's face suddenly dropped. "Everything?" he whispered.
"Yes. Everything," Pete replied calmly, waiting for Patrick to call him a liar.
What he hadn't expected Patrick to do was burst into tears and flee the table, leaving three fourths of his dinner behind. He hadn't expected to find Patrick curled up into a ball at the end of the hallway. He hadn't expected to carry Patrick up the stairs in a very déjà vu-like manner.
When Pete tried to get the answer to his question—"What's wrong, Lunchbox?"—Patrick only cried more and buried his head deeper into his pillow.
"I'm going to run you a bath. Stay right here."
Pete hurried into the bathroom and turned on the tap. He let the water warm up before putting the stopper in. While the tub filled, Pete gathered a towel, shampoo, and soap for Patrick.
"Lunchbox?" he called softly as he stuck his head into Patrick's room. "Bath's ready."
It took some more coaxing, but eventually Patrick was submerged shoulder deep in the water surrounded by large bubbles. His face was red and splotchy, eyes downcast and focusing on nothing in particular.
"I'll be back in a few minutes, okay? You can stay in as long as you want, just call me if you need anything. I'll be right in the other room," Pete said.
Patrick nodded still not looking up.
Pete, who had been perched on the closed toilet, stood up and wandered into Patrick's room. He pulled out his cell phone with the intention of dialing Doctor Beckett. It seemed like the doctor had the same idea because he had left a message in Pete's voice mail box asking him to call the office.
"Doctor Beckett speaking."
"It's Pete. You asked me to call?"
"Ah, Pete. There was an important thing I forgot to mention. Well, I didn't forget, but I didn't want to say anything in front of Patrick in case you wanted to tell him."
"Tell him what?"
"His ability to get pregnant," Doctor Beckett said.
Pete sighed. "I completely forgot about that. It's been a busy night."
"He didn't adjust well?"
"No. Panicked in the car, and I had to sedate him."
"Pity. He seemed so put together."
"He is. I think the entirety of the situation and what happened before he jumped caught up to him. I expect he'll be fine in a couple of days. Now what was it you wanted to tell me?"
"Right. Since Patrick was brought in he had been receiving increasing doses of female hormones—every week or so I'd up the dose by a half a milligram. This was to help his body prepare for pregnancy."
"Explains the crying."
"Excuse me?"
"He broke out into tears over something I said during dinner," Pete explained.
"I see. Bring him by next week. I just want to make sure everything's in order before you start anything. You should have explained everything to him by then. Unless you'd like me to."
"I'll see how he is tomorrow," Pete muttered, leaning forward to peak inside the bathroom. Upon seeing Patrick's unchanged position, he sighed. "I'll have Josh ring you up later to pick a date form sometime next week. Something that works with what I've got going on. I'm gonna make sure Patrick's okay."
"Sure thing," Doctor Beckett said.
"Thanks, Bill."
The two exchanged goodbyes, and Pete returned his phone into his pocket. He walked back into the bathroom and began rolling up the sleeves of his white button down. "Hey," he cooed as he knelt down. "What's wrong?"
Patrick's head snapped up. "What's wrong? What's wrong? I'll tell you what's wrong, Pete. Everything's wrong!"
"Now, Patrick—"
"Don't "Now, Patrick" me. You and your scum race destroyed my home. You wiped out an entire race! My entire race."
Pete had to remind himself it was the hormones talking because that snide comment would've gotten any other human smacked. But this was Patrick, someone Pete needed. His parents were already breathing down his neck—their entire race was to be exact. Pete was backed into a corner. He couldn't afford to have setbacks. After all, there was already a trust issue.
Pete leaned forward and grabbed the shampoo bottle from the ledge. He carefully did a pre-rinse before pouring some shampoo into his hands and lathering it into Patrick's hair. Neither of them spoke as Pete washed the soap out. "Wash up. I'll be in with some pyjamas," Pete instructed.
He took his time pulling out a pair of solid blue pyjama pants and an Arkkarredian band shirt that had never fit Pete correctly. Pete took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. He couldn't wait to go to bed.
"You done, Lunchbox?" Pete called; not that he was going to get an answer.
Patrick looked up with teary blue eyes as Pete walked in for the third time. "It's alright," Pete promised. "Let's get you dressed and into bed. In the morning we can talk some more. How does that sound?"
The only indication Patrick gave was a shudder-y breath that Pete was sure Patrick didn't intend on making. So he quickly helped the smaller man to his feet as he unplugged the drain. The water level slowly decreased and Pete towel dried Patrick's shaking body. Once Patrick had stepped out of the tub, Pete helped Patrick tug on the pants and shirt.
"Who's Blink-182?" Patrick asked once he stepped out of the dark bathroom.
Pete, who had been haphazardly fixing the bed while waiting for Patrick to brush his teeth, looked up questioningly. His eyes landed on the band logo and name printed on the t-shirt Patrick was wearing.
"Oh. Um, they're a band I used to listen to."
"Are they any good?"
"Yeah," Pete said with a smile. "They're all right. I think I have some of their music somewhere if you'd like to give them a listen."
"I'd like that."
They stood in silence for a moment before Pete gestured towards the bed. "See you in the morning, Lunchbox."
