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Logan was working in his on-campus office when his phone rang. He looked down in confusion and just a touch of worry at his phone. Remy was calling him, which was unusual as typically Remy’s phone communications were restricted to oddly captioned photos, emoticons, and videos of himself drinking coffee. Logan frowned and answered the phone. “Hello.”
“Come get your goddamned husband,” Remy said instead of a greeting.
The tone of his voice told Logan there was nothing seriously wrong. So, he was free to frown and ask “why?”
“Because he is currently terrorizing everyone in the office. Dr. Chanling is currently sobbing in a closet because of him.”
“Patton?” Logan asked.
“No, your other husband,” Remy scoffed. “Yes, Patton. They all probably think he’s possessed. None of them were there for the bronchitis massacre of ’95.”
“He’s sick,” Logan concluded.
“Yes, he’s sick. Come get his dumb ass out of my supposed to be sanitary doctor’s office.”
“You could get to the point every once in a while,” Logan chided, already grabbing his keys and coat.
“Yeah, yeah, just get down here before the receptionists call an exorcist.”
Logan sighed. Patton was a wonderful man: kind, gentle, and empathetic. He listened and took into account other’s perspectives and feelings on every issue and always did his best to make people feel at east.
Patton while sick was an absolute monster.
It’s like someone took all of the mean and nasty parts of him and instead of releasing them gradually across the course of his life, they concentrated them all into the rare days where he was ill.
“I’ll be there in 10 minutes,” Logan told Remy before hanging up and walking to his car.
He, of course, had already met the receptionist sitting at the front desk, but despite the man’s familiarity with Logan, today he looked up like Logan was the messiah come again. Though Logan usually waited in the front for the receptionist to call Patton, today the man was already opening the door for him by the time he got there. Remy met him on the other side of the door.
“He’s laying down in his office,” Remy told him.
“How did you manage to convince him to do that?”
“I told him if he laid down for 10 minutes in the dark then I wouldn’t call you,” Remy said with a smile. “Didn’t mention I’d already called you.”
Logan’s lips twitched. “He’s going to kill you.”
“He’d have to take his focus off of suppressing his coughs for a couple of seconds to do that,” Remy said with an eye-roll. He opened Patton’s office door. “Pat-Pat. Guess who’s got a visitor?”
“Remy you suck,” Patton groused sitting up. He turned to Logan. “I’m fine Lo,” he appealed softly. “Really, I’m not sick. Remy’s just being silly.” Logan and Remy shared a glance and Logan crossed his arms over his chest. “Great,” Patton hissed getting to his feet. “Now the two of you can agree on something.”
Logan walked over to him and placed a hand on his forehead. He batted him away, but not before Logan felt that he most certainly had a temperature. “Coming to work in a doctor’s office while ill is irresponsible Patton.”
“I am not sick!” he said stamping his foot like a child.
“Clearly,” Logan said dryly. Patton shot him a dirty look. “Now come, let me take you home.”
Patton crossed his arms and pouted at him.
“Would you like to be carried out of this office?”
“Fine,” Patton snapped. He snatched his coat off his chair and stormed past him and Remy.
“Have fun with that,” Remy offered.
Logan looked over at him. “Yeah.”
After Virgil drove home from school and unlocked the front door of his house, he immediately heard arguing. Cautiously, he poked his head into the living room.
“Patton Sanders sit down on the couch before I sit you down myself!” His fathers where in a stand off in front of the couch, glaring at each other. Patton was in his pajamas instead of his normal clothes, but still managed to look intimidating with the way he was glaring at Logan.
“You’re not my dad!”
“And thank the lord for that! Now sit!” He pushed him back onto the couch and Patton landed on his butt before glaring up at him.
“What’s going on?” Virgil asked.
“Patton is ill,” Logan informed him.
“I am not.”
Logan rounded on him. “You are too!”
“I-“ he sneezed, “am not. I don’t get sick.”
Logan opened his mouth to retort, but Virgil cut him off. “Vengeance,” he said softly, a smile slowly spreading across his face.
They both turned to him in confusion. “What?” Patton asked.
In answer, Virgil took the couple of steps to the couch and plopped down on top of Patton’s legs. “He’ll stay on the couch,” Virgil told Logan.
Logan was clearly trying not to burst out laughing, but he still had a smile on his face. “In that case. I’ll go make our patient some hot tea and start warming up some chicken and noodle soup.”
“I’m not your patient and I’m not sick,” Patton pouted.
Logan did not dignify that with a response and just walked into the kitchen.
“Virgil, let me up,” Patton commanded, his voice stern.
“With the way you attempt to wrap me up with bubble wrap when I’m sick? Nah. Not likely. This is a golden opportunity for me.”
Patton opened his mouth, closed it, and flopped back onto the couch in a huff. “You’re going to get bored,” he mumbled petulantly.
“Hey Logan, can I have the remote?!” he called. The remote zipped into his hand the next second. “Thanks!”
“Traitors,” Patton hissed.
“Ah yes. How dare we?” Virgil flipped on the television. “What do you want to watch?”
“I don’t want to watch anything. I want to work.”
“Now you’re just sounding like Logan.”
He grumbled something unintelligible.
“How about cartoons?” Virgil settled on. “Something fun and cute.”
“Tea incoming!” Logan warned a moment before a mug of tea zipped into the living room and settled on the coffee table in front of them.
Virgil picked it up. “Here dad,” he said. “Drink your tea.”
“I don’t,” he coughed, “want tea.”
Virgil narrowed his eyes at the stubborn look on his face. Then he tilted his head. “Please?” he asked, sticking out his bottom lip. “For me? Your son? Who loves you? And is ‘adorable’?”
Patton hesitated and then sat up to take the tea. “Foul play,” he grumbled while taking a sip.
“Remember when I got strep throat last winter? I plan to make you suffer for every bit of affection you gave me. It’s best to yield now.” Patton rolled his eyes, but he did continue to drink his tea.
Logan walked back into the room with a bowl soup a few minutes later. “I’m impressed,” he said seeing the half drunken cup of tea. “Perhaps having you here will make the process easier.”
“Logan you can get f-mphmmm” he smothered the last word into his teacup.
“Hmm?” Logan asked with a raised eyebrow. “What was that, dearest?”
Patton responded by sticking out his tongue.
“I see,” Logan said and leaned forward to softly kiss him on the forehead. “Your fever seems to be going down a bit after the Tylenol. That’s good. Now eat your soup.”
“No.”
“Patton.”
“Please, dad?” Virgil tried.
“…Hand me the soup.”