What Twisted Webs We Weave

Sympathy in the Form of You Crawling Into Bed With Me

(Patrick's POV)

My favorite part of every work day was when I was sitting in my office alone. No patient asking me a thousand questions. None sitting in the waiting. Just an empty office with my laptop and folders. Bliss.

Don't get me wrong, I love my job. But it can be a tad consuming at times. I loved helping people who couldn't usually afford the kind of help I give. I loved prescribing medicines that I knew would help. I loved being able to look at people and tell them they were getting better. That this was their last session of chemo. That they were in remission.

It was the negative aspects that made me crave the end of the day. Seeing new patients come in sick. Watching them weaken before my eyes. Prescribing medicine after medicine for a trial and error that always seemed to end in error. Getting news that they'd died. No matter how long I was in this business, I'd never get used to something like that.

It only got worse since I almost lost Pete. None of my regulars died. But the fear of them dying was bothering me more. Making me anxious. I should probably mention that part to my therapist before it started to effect the way I functioned at work.

I tidied up my desk. Stuffing the unfinished reports into my briefcase to take home. I pressed down on the home button on my phone. Frowning when I didn't see a text or call from Pete. I told him to be here at 5:30. A quick glance at my wrist revealed that it was five minutes past that.

Brendon was packing up for the day when I stepped into the front room. He spared me a smile when I walk past him. I returned it to the best of my ability. It must look as forced as it felt because Brendon's lips turned down.

But he didn't push it. For that I was entirely grateful. I'm not quite ready to get back into the normal swing of things with Brendon. There's an elephant tap dancing in the room between us. We had an unspoken agreement to not talk about what happened in my kitchen. The kissing. The sex. The fighting. It was all too much. Being alone in the office with him while the sun was setting seemed like too much. What if Pete walked in and got the wrong idea? We were getting back on track. I couldn't risk that. I needed to leave.

Where the hell was Pete?

I looked at my phone again. This time expecting the lack of notifications from my boyfriend. Fine. I'll call him. His number was at the top of my recent calls list as it always was. I tapped the name and brought it to my ear. Listening to the ringing. Becoming increasingly more annoyed as it got closer to his voicemail box.

"Pete." I hissed into the phone "I told you to be here at 5:30. Did you forget? Hurry up."

"I could just drive you home."

My body jerked in surprise at the sudden closeness of his voice. He stood just a foot behind me, case in tow, waiting for me to respond. I slipped my phone in my pocket. Stepping away to increase the distance between us and shook my head.

"He's probably just stuck in traffic. I should wait."

"Don't be ridiculous." He stepped forward so I stepped back again. "I can drive you."

"Nah."

"Why not?" His eyebrows furrowed as he stared into my face. Trying to read the nervousness I was trying my damnedest to hide. "Is this about us having sex?" Instead of answering, I rolled my eyes. As if it weren't the truth. As if him even suggesting that was stupid. Brendon saw right through me. "Patrick, I'm your best friend. I can drive you home."

"I'm fine."

He sighed. "So we slipped up and had sex. We were vulnerable." His voice lowered like we weren't the only two here. "And it's not like it's our first time doing it."