Patrick Stump Imagines

Secrets (Part 7)

A/N: The last part of the Secrets series here on the imagine book! I've already posted parts 1-3 on its own book and I'll be updating the other chapters there soon. Thanks!

(The series will continue on in the other book. I just think that if I ever complete the whole series here it'll take too much space. Sorreh!)

(I'm also having trouble with how to express their actions in this series, so please just bear with my crappy writing.)

•••

"Where's Mommy?" the five-year-old questioned. Patrick's guitar let out a lousy noise as he shot up his eyes.

He sighed. "She's not here, baby. But I'm here, and that's kind of... the same thing."

"So you're my Mommy?" the kid wondered. Patrick shook his head and put his guitar down.

"I'm not, but at least I'll try to be."

The kid heaved a sigh. "I miss her. Look, other person, I'm only," she put her fingers up and attempted to raise five of them, "this, and I don't think I'll ever get to live here in your house properly. You're too grown-up!"

He examined her with a smile. "What do you mean?"

Tiffany shook her head. "I won't tell you."

Patrick smirked at how the kid was acting. She was exactly like how he remembered you. "Okay then. What do you want for lunch?" he asked in an attempt to switch subjects.

"Maybe cookies and milk?"

Patrick nodded his head and offered to carry her. Now, he wasn't feeling anything for the person who got him all of his bruises and scars. He felt like a father, someone responsible. And he felt happy to be taking care of her.

He let the girl down as she giggled. "You're like Mommy. You carry me a lot."

He bent down to the girl's level and looked directly at her blue eyes that were the same shade as his. "Well, what else does your Mommy do to make you happy?"

Tiffany thought for a moment. "She always buys me toys and hangs out with me. Sometimes she plays the stringy, uh, thing that you were... stringing for me."

"You mean the guitar?"

She nodded vigorously. "Yeah."

A smile spread across his face as he took the little girl's hand and stood up while walking to the kitchen and preparing what she wanted.

"Hey, are you my Daddy?" she asked from her seat. He turned with a smile.

"Yes. Yes I am."

"Then how come I never see you and Mommy together? Isn't that a Mommy-Daddy kind of thing?"

His smile faded. "Because Mommy doesn't want to see Daddy. She just—she doesn't like me."

"What do you mean she doesn't like you?" she asked as she tilted her head to one side. "She keeps telling me stories about my Daddy. She says that he plays in a band."

He sighed, but remembered something that made him retract on it. "That's not me, sweetie."

"Wait, so you're not Pete Wentz?"

"I'm not."

She nodded in agreement before raising her head. "Then you're not my Dad then."

Patrick ran his fingers through his hair. "I am, but I'm not—I mean, I'm not, but I am. It's complicated, but I assure you that I'll treat you as my own because you are, okay, Princess?"

"Okay. But are you going to marry Mommy soon?"

"I hope so. But I don't want to. I need to."

He chuckled at his own words before realizing how complicated his situation was. He dug himself a deep hole and fell in it, not getting up. And he figured that the only person who could bring him up was her.