Chapter Text
Patrick had been on edge for the entire week.
He'd tried to get over, really he had, but every time he caught sight of the calendar, of the big H marked in red ink, he'd be all in a tizzy again. That one single letter had become a ghost in of itself, haunting him far more effectively than his ghouls ever had.
Patrick washed the dough off his hands with a heavy sigh, patently ignoring how red raw they were. They itched like nobody's business too. He scratched his knuckles idly.
In his frantic state, he’d cleaned the manor top to bottom once, the cars twice, and baked more than two dozen biscuits. However, there were only so many times you could take a broom to a house and bake before you ran out of dirty rooms and Tupperware.
He usually never minded chores - he honestly found them a soothing ritual - but at that point, he was beginning to feel like some hapless sixties housewife.
As he picked up a tea towel to dry himself off, Theodore wandered, looking smart as ever in his tie and tweed blazer. He was smiling softly and humming to himself, the image of calm delight. He'd been wearing that grin ever since they agreed on the date.
There was a sharp twist in Patrick's chest at the sight, but all the same, he couldn’t help but think his Teddy looked so lovely when he was happy.
"You're up early," Theodore said. “It’s not often I wake up to find the bed empty.”
"Ghost problems," Patrick lied.
It was a pretty convenient scapegoat; Kitty was the only one who could call him on his bluff, but she was still fast asleep, and the spirit box switched off. Perhaps it was a bit weird to describe his haunting situation as convenient, but it was, very occasionally.
"I suspected as much." Theodore slid an arm around Patrick's waist, strong and sturdy, grey eyes bright. "I'm feeling rather bereft at missing my good morning kiss, though…"
This was more familiar ground, and Patrick soon found his footing. "Well now, we can't have you feeling bereft , can we?"
"No, we can't." Theodore leaned down.
"No, wait," Patrick cut him off. "Let's not start today with a crick in our necks, yeah?"
He hooked his foot under a small plastic set, dragged it over, and hopped on. It made him tall as Theodore, and he grinned triumphantly.
"There, that's better."
Theodore laughed in that quiet way of his, chest rumbling against Patrick’s. His cool palms settled on his Patrick’s waist.
"Very resourceful," Theodore teased.
"Laugh all you want, but you'll be thanking me later." Patrick slung his arms around his husband’s neck, playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck.
Theodore's eyes briefly fluttered, threatening to shut. A rose hue steadily bloomed on the apples of his cheeks. "Or, I could always thank you now.”
Heart fluttering like a mad thing, Patrick leaned in closer. They’d been married for years, yet a thrill still went through him when they got close like this, breathing in the same air, eyes half closed as they waited for the other to close the gap.
“I suppose you could,” Patrick said quietly. He held out.
Theodore gave in, catching Patrick's lips with his. Ease settled deep in Patrick's bones, as sparks crawled up his spine. Kissing Theodore felt like slipping into a nice hot bath after a long hard day: warm, safe, and well-earned.
And though Patrick quite liked having to reach for a kiss - he’d always had a thing for tall blokes - there was something nice about being Theodore’s height. He could fully focus on the act rather than splitting his attention between his husband and staying on his toes. He didn't have to worry about doing Theodore's back in too, which was always a plus.
When they pulled apart, Theodore did so with a hum, eyes half-lidded. He just looked so lovely that Patrick had to steal another kiss. And another, and another…
Eventually, they had to stop, though they stayed wrapped around each other for a moment more.
"I can't stay for much longer, I'm afraid. I have a lecture at nine," Theodore told him. He sighed deeply, looking tired already. "Wish me luck."
"I think it’s your poor students that need more luck than you,” Patrick scoffed. He caught a glimpse at the obscene pile of plastic containers. “Maybe you could bring some of the biscuits in for them, that might cheer them up a bit.”
Theodore turned around, brows jumping up "Good Lord, you have been busy!" He licked his lips. “What do we have today?”
"Gingersnaps."
Theodore stepped away and picked up one of the boxes, eyeing it with hunger. Him and his bloody sweet tooth. Patrick shook his head fondly.
“An excellent choice,” Theodore said. “I don't suppose I could take some for myself too?”
“You can take as many as you like. God knows there's plenty.”
Too many, one might say. In fact, everyone would probably say that. The pile seemed to grow every time they looked back.
Theodore opened a box-
“Ah-ah-ah,” Patrick interrupted, “you’ve not had breakfast yet. Can’t skip to dessert.”
“No, you’re right.” With the utmost reluctance, Theodore closed the container. "Would you mind putting some toast on for me while I finish getting ready?”
"Course I don't. Marmalade?”
"Yes. Thank you, dear."
Theodore pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek before stepping towards the door. He still had the box in hand, and Patrick could hear the plastic creak as he tried to sneak it open.
Honestly, what was he like?
"You know, it's funny that you should pick that recipe," Theodore mused.
"Why?" Patrick asked.
"Gingersnaps are William's favourite."
The door shut loudly, and Patrick was left alone, staring blankly at the breadbox.
---
Patrick knew it was all ridiculous.
He dusted off the windowsill in the empty guest room for the second time that day.
Really, it was. They'd talked about this, he trusted Theodore, and at the end of the day, he was the one wearing a matching ring, not William Havers.
But it was one thing agreeing to invite over the man your husband had once been hopelessly in love with, and another thing actually having that man in the same house for two weeks…
"Everything alright, Pat?"
Patrick nearly jumped a mile, something he hadn’t done in a while. He'd long gotten used to the ghosts sneaking up on him, but every now and then they'd get him.
"Christ, Humphrey," he wheezed. "Give me a heart attack, why don't you?"
Patrick winced at the words, but a quick look assured him Julian wasn’t around. Good. He got awful testy when people mentioned heart attacks, understandably so. Patrick patted his chest, willing his heart to slow down.
"Terribly sorry about that,” Humphrey chimed from- wherever he was.
Patrick glanced around the room but the man - well, head - was nowhere to be seen. “It’s fine, mate, you don’t need to apologise. Where are y’us anyway?”
"Under the bed."
"Again?"
He crouched down and lifted up the bed skirt. Sure enough, there Humphrey was, smiling in that placid way of his. He could be a crafty thing when he wanted - he’d mucked up some devious schemes last April Fools - but most of the time, he seemed fairly content with his lot in death, even when it landed him in the middle of wardrobes, or up on the roof for hours at an end.
"Julian wasn’t particularly happy with me pointing out he had a grey hair,” Humphrey replied, cheek smushed against the floor.
Of all the things to throw a fuss about. Patrick couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Don’t know why he cares; not like he can get any more.”
Maybe that was a little mean, but Julian wasn’t around to hear it. Besides, it earned a small laugh from Humphrey, and god only knew he deserved a laugh after that.
Patrick made a mental note to cut down on Julian's ‘private’ laptop time. He had to resist the urge to shudder just thinking about it. Why Julian enjoyed that sort of thing was beyond him- well, it wasn’t really, Patrick was well aware he was in the minority when it came to his disinterest in sex. Regardless, it was the only way to really discipline the ghost, and tended to work quite well. If Patrick didn’t leave the laptop lying around, that was.
"You didn't answer my question, by the way,” Humphrey said, “Are you alright, mate? You seem a bit down."
How obvious was Patrick being if the bloody bodiless man who couldn’t even see him had noticed he was strung up?
“I’m not a bit down. Why would you say I’m down? I’m right as rain, I am,” Patrick insisted.
"You sure? You're wearing your boring socks."
Patrick looked down at the plain white pair he'd pulled on. He rocked on his feet. Honestly, he wore the colourful socks for Humphrey rather than himself - it seemed only fair that if the man was going to end up on the floor so often, he had something interesting to look at - but he did prefer wearing them to bog standards whites that filled up Theodore’s drawer.
“Maybe I was just in the mood for boring ones.”
Humphrey stared up at him, unimpressed. “Yeah, and that mood is down. Why-”
Patrick stood up, dropping the bed skirt and only feeling slightly bad for it. “I'll just go grab someone to get you out of there.”
"Wait, you didn't answer my-"
"Be back in a jiffy!”
Patrick sped out of the room, ignoring Humphrey's spluttered curses, pulse fluttering at his wrist. Honestly, what was wrong with him? He couldn’t even have a conversation about socks without getting antsy. Was it too late to take back that offer?
He stopped himself on the landing, cold and dark. He breathed in deeply, then out, in, then out, again and again until he felt slightly more in control.
Even if it wasn’t too late, it was too cruel. Theodore needed this, and hell, probably Havers too. They deserved a chance to see each other again, to find some closure, and Patrick wasn’t going to let his hang-ups get in the way of that. He reached for his wedding ring, twisting the gold band around his finger.
He had to trust Theodore. He wasn’t like Carol, and from what little Patrick knew about Havers, he wasn’t like Morris.
Besides, it wasn’t only two weeks. He could handle it.
With that pep-talk done, he went in search of a ghost, choosing Thomas as his victim. He came willingly though, after some of his usual dramatics, rattling on about some new poem or another. Patrick tried to listen but his head just wasn’t in it. After Havers was all done and dusted, he’d have a proper sit down with Thomas and listen to it.
It was, strangely enough, comforting to think of a post-Havers obligation. For the past week, Patrick’s whole world had revolved around one single date, to the point where he’d forgotten that life would carry on after the man had come and gone. But it would, and it would all go back to normal.
Hopefully.
"Ta, Thomas," Humphrey said when he was finally free. "It was a bit dusty down there." He wrinkled his nose.
Thomas held Humphrey in his arms like a baby, sighing loudly. "That man truly is a scoundrel. To abandon one's kin, banish them to the dark all alone- it's beyond cruel."
It was a shame he’d gone into poetry rather than theatre. He’d have been a show-stopper in any maudlin role they could throw at him.
Humphrey raised a thin brow. “I don’t think kin means what you think it means, mate, and you leave me under the table all the time."
"Yeah, you kind of do," Patrick agreed.
With an embarrassed flush, Thomas cleared his throat. “When my muse captures me, I must obey her, and therefore I can’t be held accountable for anything i do or do not do.”
“I don’t think you’re muse was saying much when you ditched me yesterday to watch Pride and Prejudice with kitty,” Humphrey deadpanned.
Patrick laughed, resisting the urge to elbow Thomas playfully, wishing his ghosts were just a bit more corporeal. He often had the urge to elbow one, or ruffle their hair, or hug them, and was a shame he couldn’t. He’d always been the touchy-feely sort.
Thomas mumbled some sort of defensive, but it was anyone’s guess what that defensive it was. He loudly cleared his throat. "Where to, Humphrey?”
"Nowhere just yet. I'd just like to stay here and talk to Patrick for a second-"
"The weather's lovely outside, why don't you try the garden?" Patrick suggested, before making a hasty escape.
He didn’t move fast enough to miss the other two talking, unfortunately.
"...They seem a tad upset,” Thomas noted. “They have all week.”
"It's that Havers bloke, isn't it?"
" Ah , I see. Old love meets new, with jealousy and heartbreak abound."
"Yeah, something like that.”
"I'm rather glad I don't have to deal with that. Heartbreak seems like an awful fuss."
"Alright, mate, no need to rub it in."
The voices quietened down to a rumble, and he nervously tugged on his belt, adjusting it needlessly. It’d be fine, everything would be fine . Maybe if he said it enough, it'd come true.