I'm the Secret You'll Swear to Keep

/Twelve/

"Where are you going?" Patrick frowns. "You already trained."

Patrick is complaining. But he couldn't complain about what Pete is wearing. Those black jumpsuits with the white stripe. It shows off his abs, and overall makes him look hotter.

"Babe, I've got to go to a raid." Pete grabs a few knifes and guns, sliding them in his shoes, on his hips, and over his back.

A raid?

That's where Andy lost Joe.

No, no, no, no, no. No.

"No!" Patrick whines, hopping off the bed and running to block the door.

"Patrick--"

"Andy lost--"

"Patrick, I'm going to be okay. It's rare that agents die. The most that'll happen would be if I got shot or stabbed."

"No, please don't go."

"Look," Pete frowns, adjusting his weapons. "Laura isn't going on this raid, she's going to stay back and control from here. If you're scared, go to her." Pete looks to the clock, and heads to the door.

Patrick extends himself, refusing to let Pete leave. Pete sighs, easily dropping to throw Patrick over his shoulder. Patrick starts to bitch. He hates that Pete can do this.

Pets drops him on the bed, climbing over the smaller to kiss him. Their lips connect, and Patrick already doesn't want to let go. His legs hook over Pete's back, and his hands pull Pete's shoulders down toward him.

"I'll be back, okay?" Pete whispers, pressing his lips briefly to Patrick's again.

Patrick whines, but decides he can't hold Pete back much longer.  One more kiss seals his departure, and Patrick watches him leave.

The room is emptier now. Less guns, less knifes, less sexy, less Pete. Patrick obviously gets bored. Laura isn't really his friend, more of an advisor. Ryan, Brendon, and even Coach Will are on the mission. There's absolutely no one he can hang out with.

He wishes he had Mel. Or does he? Pete said Mel is out for his life, which doesn't make sense to him. Mel loves him with her whole heart.

Right?

~~~

Pete staggers in, sore and exhausted. Patrick's head perks up, droopy eyes showing he's stayed awake.

"Petey," He mumbles tiredly.

They left relatively late, and came back four hours later. It's now one in the morning, and past Patrick's usual bedtime.

"Sweetheart, why didn't you go to bed?" Pete walks toward him to kiss his forehead.

"I couldn't sleep. I wanted to know if you were okay." Patrick's hands grab at Pete's wrists.

"Well, I'm okay." Pete smiles.

Patrick nods slowly, scooting backward to cozy up while Pete changes. It takes a while, and Patrick peeks into the bathroom to see what Pete's doing.

"Pete! What happened!?" Patrick gasps.

Pete freezes, the alcohol pad in his left hand coming to a stop on a large cut. "Someone caught my arm with a knife."

"Pete," Patrick frowns.

"I'm okay. Cuts and flesh wounds happens all the time."

"You're cleaning it wrong." Patrick pouts.

"You wanna do it?"

Patrick grumbles, moving to cradle Pete's arm. The cut isn't too deep, but runs down the length of his bicep. Pete watches as Patrick cleans the cut, gently applies cream to it, and wraps the whole bicep up in some bandage.