Work Text:
“I manage. I manage by keeping it behind me.”
"How can you treat others when you so clearly cannot treat yourself?"
Patrick sank down on the edge of the bed, tears still rising in his throat and spilling over. Memories were flooding into his mind from a usually well-hidden and securely locked place, the din of combat, men screaming as bullets hit their targets, the wide open empty eyes of a civilian girl whose chest had been ripped open by shrapnel.
He closed his eyes, his breath rasping in his throat and his heartbeat pounding in his ears, desperately trying to stop the images in his head. But when they grew paler and finally died away, they were replaced by the Shelagh’s pain, in her silence after the revelation by the woman from the Adoption Society, barely disguised in her voice during the rest of the interview, and finally on her face when she had come back to the living room after seeing off the adoption people. Patrick pressed his hand over his mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that were still shaking his body. He had known, deep down, that his past would somehow turn up during the adoption process, but had hoped against all odds that it wouldn’t. He couldn’t bear the thought that it would hinder their chances of adopting a child, when he knew that Shelagh wanted nothing more. He had tried not to burden her with this pain that he still carried around with him every day like a weight in his stomach. But he had hurt her anyway, by being distant during the past few weeks, trying to ignore the crippling fear of being exposed, and finally today, when that fear had proved to be true.
Her words still echoed through his mind, “How can you treat others when you so clearly cannot treat yourself?”, voicing a thought that he’d had many times before. Most of the time he could convince himself that he was better, that he was recovered, but on some days – the bad ones – every small victory of a patient he was able to help was overshadowed by all the lives he couldn’t save.
He wished he had taken the chance to open up to her before, prepare her for what would inevitably arise during the interview, but he had still clung to the hope that a miracle would happen and he wouldn’t see that bitter disappointment and pain in her eyes.
Miracles didn’t happen. He had hurt her. He had let her down. The thoughts were roaring in his mind, tears blinding him, constricting his throat. His tie felt like it was choking him and he tried to loosen it, but his hands failed, shaking violently.
He hadn’t heard Shelagh open the door or walk in, but suddenly she was at his side, loosening the knot of his tie and unbuttoning the collar of his shirt for him. He felt her sit down next to him and put a hand on his back, giving him space to breathe.
“It’s alright”, she said softly, “slow down.”
Her presence didn’t stop the guilt or the pain, but it soothed them to a bearable level. She was here, despite his failure to trust her, despite how he had hurt her. For the moment, that knowledge was enough to calm him down, to stop the tears, to steady his hands and to even out his breathing.
“I’m so sorry”, he finally managed to say, “I’m…”
His voice crumbled, but he didn’t know how to go on anyway. Her hand slowly ran up and down his back.
“I meant what I said, Patrick. We can’t just forget about this.”
Her voice was firm, but gentle, without a hint of the trembling anger that had coloured it earlier. Slowly, he shook his head, not daring to look at her face.
“I can’t not forget.”
“But you clearly can’t forget, either.”
She took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. The familiarity of the gesture made him feel confident enough to lift his head to look at her. Her clear blue eyes had been waiting to meet his, disappointment and sadness and betrayal still there, but muted by love and concern for him.
“This can’t stay between us. I won’t make you talk about it, because I can’t. But please, you have to promise me that you will try.”
He looked at her face, then down on their intertwined hands, resting on his thigh. Shelagh was right. However painful and daunting the prospect of digging into his memories was, forgetting hadn’t worked very well for him. And if she could forgive him for his lack of trust and truth toward her, he could at least try. He took a deep breath, feeling for the first time in days like he was really breathing freely.
“I promise.”
Her lips curled into a smile.
“Thank you.”
She leant in to kiss his cheek before squeezing his hand, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes.
“Now, is there anything else I should know about? A wife in the attic, perhaps?”
He snorted at her joke, despite everything, and wiped the last of his tears off his cheeks.
“No. Though it has been quite some time since I’ve been up there.”