Just Once - A Peterick Fic

Chapter 22

        This was our last show before Christmas and I intended to make the most of it because who doesn't love Christmas (among those who celebrate it, that is)? I'd even bought a red Santa hat to replace my usual fedora for the occasion. 

        I was sitting in my dressing room, fiddling with my guitar when I heard a knock on the door. "It's unlocked," I called to whomever stood on the other side.

        The knob twisted and the door opened, Joe's head appearing in the small opening. "Hey Patrick, you wanna help me wrap some garland around the mic stands?" he asked, holding up a fairly large wad of the stuff. So large, in fact, that it swallowed his entire hand, took it completely from my view. Green, red, and gold, the papery plastic shone in the light.

        "Yeah, sure. You've got tape, right?" I said, standing up and putting the guitar back in its stand.

        "Right here," he told me as he showed me his other hand, two things of clear gift wrap tape between his fingers.

        "Alright, let's go then."

        We thankfully were smart enough to do this before they let people into the venue so we didn't have to deal with screaming fans as we taped up the garland, but the large space was bustling with sound and light technicians still setting up for the show. At the center of the stage, Joe dropped the pile and handed me one roll of tape.

        "I'll get Andy's drum kit and the support for the risers if you want to take the mic stands," he offered as we began to sift through the heap of tinsel to separate individual strands of it.

        "Works for me," I told him, pulling out a gold strand and inspecting it. This one, I decided, would go on Pete's stand.

        The hum of people milling about, setting things up, quickly became monotonous and acted as simply white noise as I wound the piece around the stand, applying tape on each end. Pete and I had talked since I pushed him off of me, but not nearly as much as we would have regularly. I don't think I had too much right to complain, though, since he could've disappeared entirely into that notebook again, speaking to absolutely no one.

        Once I'd gotten that one done, I headed back to the pile and untangled a green one for Joe's mic stand and started winding that one around the pole. The mindless activity allowed my thoughts to wander once more to Pete, this time how I was going to confront him about all this. How am I supposed to tell him that he is in the middle of a hypomanic episode and he needs to see a doctor about it? It's not something I have any experience in doing and don't have the slightest clue on how to even go about it. I didn't want to say the wrong thing and risk having him retreat back into that notebook again or, worse, fall into an episode of the opposite effect. This man is going to give me gray hairs with all the stress he's causing me.

        Lastly, I wound a red piece around my stand, finishing up just as Joe was.

        "You done, Patrick?" he asked from where he was standing, right next to Andy's drum kit.

        "Yup, just put the last piece of tape on," I told him, standing up and brushing my hands off as if it had been taxing work.

        "Let's head down where the crowd will be and see how it looks," he suggested, leaping off the risers and walking towards me. We jumped off the front of the stage (well, Joe jumped. What I did was closer to a slide) and climbed over the barricades, into the pit.

        "Not too shabby," I said, looking up at the stage from the back of the pit, hands on my hips.

        "Yeah, I think we did a damn fine job," Joe agreed, turning to me and lifting his hand for a high five. I reached up to hit his hand with mine, but just as they were about to touch, he lifted his hand higher, just out of my reach. Joe isn't overly tall, but he's almost a full half a foot taller than me, definitely enough to hold things over my head.

        "C'mon Patrick. Don't leave me hanging," he teased, keeping his hand held high above my head.

        "You're an asshole," I told him, punching him in the arm and turning to walk away, fighting back a smile as I walked.

        "I know," I heard him say, his own smile evident in his voice.

        On my way back to my dressing room, I ran into Pete who hooked his arm with mine and walked with me as if we were two 10 year old girls. I didn't entirely mind, though. He led me back to my dressing room and we fell onto the couch, his arms winding around me immediately.

        "So am I ever going to get to see these lyrics you've been obsessively writing lately?" I asked him after a moment, not even moving my head to look up at him because, quite frankly, I was pretty comfy as is.

        "Not yet. Maybe once they're a little more..." he paused, as if he wasn't sure what word he wanted to use there. "Coherent."

        "What do you mean?" I asked even though I already had an idea. When I'd looked in his notebook, they were all written on top of each other, but I couldn't exactly tell him I'd looked in there. That would open a whole new can of worms.

        "They're just not really put together at the moment. They're really just lines here and there," he told me as if it were an embarrassing admission.

        I nodded against him, saying, "Oh, ok. Well I'm glad you're talking again. I missed hearing your voice." At that last bit, I turned and smiled up at him, planting a kiss on his cheek before resting my head back against him.

        I smiled, shaking his head a little. "I'm glad too; I missed our conversations," he told me, sounding entirely sincere.

        That was the thing with Pete; when he wasn't being sincere, it was obvious to anyone who knew him at all. The way the sounds wrapped around each other as he spoke, sliding off of his tongue in a graceful leap, was entirely and wholeheartedly sincere. I would say being able to easily tell came in handy often, but he's typically pretty straightforward so it doesn't.

        "You ready for the show tonight?" I asked him, burying my face in him and muffling my voice in the process.

        "Last one before we're home for Christmas? Yeah, this should be a fun show," he said, pulling me tighter against his body as he spoke. "Are you?"

        "Yup. Joe and I even wrapped the mic stands and Andy's drum kit in tinsel," I told him, smiling despite him not being able to see my face. "And I've got a Santa hat I plan on wearing."

        I could tell Pete was shaking his head although I couldn't see him. It was the tone of voice that gave it away; Pete didn't simply use that tone and not shake his head. "You and you're hats..." he said, chucking slightly by the end.

        "You know you love 'em," I told him, lifting my head just so I could shoot him a big 'ol cheesy smile before quickly burying it again.

        "Oh I do, but you're a dork," he laughed, kissing the top of my head.

        10 minutes until showtime! an announcement came across the speakers in the room, letting us know we would go on in a short time.

A/N: So you lovely readers noticed the Trohley hint I dropped last chapter (I've dropped quite a few subtle little ones in previous chapters if you wanna go back and look for those) and I just wanna ask: should I develop it or drop it?