Who: Patrick and George What: Lunch Where: A lunch place (leave me alone) When: Thursday, December 9th Warnings: Fluffy flufferson?
Patrick had probably chewed off the tops of every single one of his fingernails in the past few days. He looked everywhere when he left his apartment and he spent the ride to George's work looking like the most suspicious person in the world. He was watching for warcrows, but so far he hadn't seen hide nor feather of the Morrigna since he challenged them. And he was glad. He rather wanted to see George today. He was hungry (worry didn't really lead to eating) and he liked meeting George for lunch now. Or he had the one other time he had done it.
Now that he could think about it, there were other things he wanted to talk to his brother about. He didn't want to think about people suffering or dying or angry Celtic goddesses on his trail. He wanted to talk about John. John, whom he had been thinking about almost constantly amidst the worry for his friend, and who had kept him from abandoning his promise to moderate himself the other day not by demanding that Patrick stop and think, or even being in the room. Patrick just hadn't wanted to give John any reason to be upset with him while at the same time, he knew John would be there for him and he wanted that more than alcohol. For the first time in years, Patrick wanted something more than he wanted to drink. And Patrick wanted to tell George.
So he arrived at George's work, dressed in jeans and an oversized sweater under his incredibly dorky puffer jacket. He was grinning ear to ear waiting for his brother.
"Patrick!" George said gleefully, launching himself at his brother in a hug. He was relieved to see that Patrick seemed all right, considering that he'd practically dared the Morrigna to come find him. George couldn't scold him for it, since it was exactly the kind of thing George himself would do, but he could certainly worry.
"Okay, I'm starving, but when we get back, you can come meet all the people I work with. I've told them stories."
"Oh, gosh..." Patrick laughed. He leaned up to kiss George's cheek, and then he nodded. "Food first. My stomach thinks my throat's been cut." Patrick made a face then, remembering that the Morrigna would oblige him of that. And that George had been through. "Urgh, sorry. Should have just said 'feed me' or something."
"You in the mood for anything in particular?" George asked, slinging an arm around Patrick's shoulder and heading towards his car. "And the scary Celtic trio hasn't showed up, have they? Because seriously. They are not allowed to cut off your head. I'm very fond of your head."
Patrick gave George a fond smile and he shook the head George was fond of. "No, they haven't shown up. I keep glancing behind me expecting them to push me into a car again, but so far, nothing. Instead I just look very paranoid." Patrick climbed into George's car and he tried to decide what he wanted to eat. "I don't know what I want, Georgie, everything sounds good. You know what isn't smart is not eating for a long time," he said, massaging his tummy. "Ooh, pizza!" Pizza places had beer though, usually. He figured he could probably handle just one.
"Pizza, we can do," George said with a smile. "There's a really good place a couple of blocks from here." Once they were in traffic, George glanced over at Patrick and raised an eyebrow. "So...how are you and John?"
Patrick blushed immediately. He was sure he never used to blush this much. "Damn you," he said, glancing over at George and then covering just his cheeks with his fingers. "Stupid pale skin. It's good though," he said with a silly little smile. "He...George, he- Mmmm." Patrick actually didn't know how to be more coherent than that. He tried smaller. "He holds me when I sleep with him," Patrick said, not even thinking that that could be taken both ways and that George was driving and probably didn't need a shock.
George's eyes widened. He had not been anticipating having to give John the Baptist some version of the shotgun talk, but the possibility loomed ever larger.
"Uh, do you mean sleeping with as in 'sleeping next to each other' or sleeping with as in..." George gesticulated a bit, blushing just a little himself.
"George!" Patrick practically shrieked, far louder than he meant to. Then he covered his mouth for a second before he managed to say, "I meant actually sleeping! And it's nice."
George had to snort at his brother's reaction. "All right, settle down. Just making sure I didn't have to defend your virtue yet." He looked over at Patrick. "Does it help with the nightmares? I know Sebastian said he had a lot of trouble sleeping alone."
Patrick did settle down then, leaned back into his seat and pulling the long sleeves of his sweatshirt up over his hands, out from beneath his jacket. "Well it helps with the aftermath. The nightmares still happen, but when I wake up he's there." Saying that made him smile again.
"A lot better than waking up alone and freaked out," George said with a smile. "Have you two, uh, kissed again?"
Patrick bit his lip and he nodded as he made his hands disappear into his cuffs. "A little. I was distracted for a while, obviously, but before I came to meet you he kissed me a bunch of times. I know he was worried. It was like he didn't want to let me go, and he told me to call if anything even felt off, and that...it makes me feel really safe. And I almost didn't leave because I love you and everything, but it was...really nice and if I wasn't starving to fricking death I probably just would have stayed and kissed him some more. And I can't think about anything else. George, is this normal?!"
George cackled, and for a moment felt like they really were a completely normal family, and his brother was telling him about his first crush.
"Yeah, it's normal. I know when I stopped dancing around it and just admitted that I loved Sebastian, there was a period where we didn't leave my apartment for a while."
Patrick raised his eyebrows and he grinned, but he turned to face forward as they made their way to the pizza place. "And you never have to tell me what you did there. But it's good to know it's normal. I thought maybe I was some kind of...creepy weirdo," Patrick said, watching the buildings go by.
"Nah, you've just got it bad," George laughed. The pizza place was just up ahead. Something about what Patrick had said made George pause for a minute, then blush a little. Crap. Well, he might as well get it out of the way before they were in public.
"Uh, so, Sebastian mentioned that he kind of told you...maybe more than you needed to know about us when you helped him out the other day?"
Patrick flushed instantly and he looked down at the cuffs of his sleeves drawn over his balled up fists. "Uhm...yep." Patrick sniffed, wondering how best to say what he wanted to say. "You know, George...I uhm...look, I know you're not-" Patrick slumped his shoulders and he turned to look at his brother, his cheeks burning like they were on fire. "I would do anything for either of you. It's fine. Are...are you fine?!"
George was blushing just as hard. He was pretty sure the temperature in the car had risen a few degrees through sheer embarassment alone.
"Yeah, I'm fine," George said. He cleared his throat. "It...I don't know how much Sebastian explained to you, but everything we do is something we both like. And I'm really, really obsessive in making sure Sebastian's okay and he's, uh, happy with everything."
Patrick stared at George, his eyes wide and earnest. And then, ever so slowly, he raised his hands to his ears and he shook his head.
George stared back for a moment, and then he burst out laughing. He was laughing so hard, actually, that he almost rear-ended the car he was trying to park behind. Then he just leaned against the steering wheel and kept cracking up.
There was something beautifully refreshing about someone having no interest at all in George and Sebastian's sex life.
Patrick watched George laugh, amused and pleased that George seemed to feel a bit better than he had a moment ago. When George had calmed down a little, Patrick rested a hand against George's back. "You two do whatever makes you happy, as long as you feed me right now."
"That, I can do," George said, still giggling. They got out of the car and headed into the pizza shop, the air inside wonderfully warm and smelling of melted cheese.
"Would it be gluttony for us both to eat an entire pizza?" George asked as they sat down in a booth. "Because I feel like I could."
"I feel like I could eat two, so I'd say one is actually being quite sensible," Patrick said with a grin. Patrick bounced in the booth a little and then he said, "will it bother you if I order a beer? It'll just be one. John and I have this agreement that seems to be working. I think...I really think it's all going to be okay."
"Go ahead," George said, smiling a little. He skimmed through the menu for a minute before saying, "Alcohol and I had a conversation about you, actually."
Damn, was he just determined to keep this lunch from being fun?
Patrick glanced from the menu back up at his brother, his expression suddenly worried. "Oh yeah?" he asked, now just a little nervous about what Alcohol had said. "Uhm...I'm sure that was pleasant. Whatever she may have said-" Patrick shrugged. "When I heard what had happened to Clio I almost left the house to find a bar and drink, but I didn't. I had my hand on the doorknob but I stopped. I-" Patrick bit his lip and he hoped George didn't take what he was saying the wrong way. "I didn't want to disappoint John or to upset him and I knew he was there so I stayed with him instead. I was stronger than Alcohol."
Or so he thought.
George smiled. "You are stronger than Alcohol. And if John's what helps you keep control, than good. It's doesn't have to be big, lofty goals that keep us doing the right thing."
George looked down. "Anyway, yeah. I think Alcohol actually likes you, in her own weird, possesive way. I told her that you were trying to moderate things, I guess, and that if she kept trying to make you go totally out of control, Michael was going to snatch you up and keep you locked away again. I don't know if she took any of it to heart, but I think knowing that she's not going to lose you completely if she just behaves might help."
He had already decided not to tell Patrick about the deal Alcohol had offered, the deal that George had taken for all of five seconds before thinking better of it. It would just upset his brother. It upset George, looking back on it.
"Hopefully," Patrick said, well aware that if Alcohol wanted to up the ante, she would. But just maybe George was right and the moderation would be fine with her. It seemed to be going okay so far. "If Michael locks me away again I might scream until I die though," Patrick said over-dramatically. "Oh, I want barbecue chicken!"
"Oooh, that sounds good," George said. "I'm eyeing the meat lover's. And it's not just me, right? Michael's love of sugary things is cute? I don't know how to reconcile Michael with the word cute."
Patrick snorted. "Heeeee, meat lover's. Ahem. Yes, it's cute. I think he had an entire cupboard full of Twinkies. George!" Patrick said, tossing the menu aside because he had decided what he wanted. "George, all I am going to do is talk about John unless you stop me..."
"Hey, you guys ready to order?" the waitress asked, popping up next to the booth.
"Yeah, I'll have a Coke and the meat lover's pizza," George said, kicking Patrick under the table when he snickered.
The waitress took their order and headed away, leaving George to say, "Go for it. I won't stop your John babbling."
With his order for beer and his pizza placed, Patrick sat across from George, his arms across his stomach to keep it from rumbling. The cheese smell was driving him mental.
"He's just...I don't know, I didn't expect this, but he makes me feel so safe. And cared for. It's really nice to feel that way."
"Especially right now," George said, leaning back against the booth. "It's good to have someone to depend on, with so much going on."
"It really is," Patrick said, smiling widely. "I don't think I could have stood up to the Morrigna if he wasn't there. And the thing with Clio...I would have been out the door and drinking. I'm remembering more things too, though...some of that isn't so nice."
George bit his lip. He'd been worried about this. He and Patrick had both been different people back then, convinced that killing people in the name of God was an entirely okay thing to do. Those memories weren't happy memories at all.
"What kinds of things are you remembering?"
"Lots of things here and there," Patrick took a deep breath and he let it out slowly. Maybe it wasn't lunchtime conversation, but he needed to talk about it some time. It wasn't anything that George didn't know about, but it was something he hadn't discussed with anyone except John in centuries.
"A lot of it has been from...when I was a captive. I remember I didn't used to panic every time I thought about it. I mean, after it ended, of course. I used it as a sign of God's strength and my own strength because I escaped. I used it as a reason I had to return, because I wasn't the only one who suffered there, nor was I the one who suffered longest. But George, so help me when I think about it now, I can't breathe. It doesn't make any sense, I'm not even there any more. It was 1,500 years ago." He hoped no one was listening too closely. "I don't remember when I became so afraid." Maybe if knew when that started, he could pinpoint the exact moment when he changed. When he had become this icon of culture instead of religion.
"Did I..." Patrick groaned. "Georgie, did I used to talk about it? My...uhm...captivity, I mean." By the time he was gallivanting around the United Kingdom with George, he had been dead awhile. He knew he had used his captivity as an example of the cruelty of the Druids, but he wondered if he had gone on and on about it when it wasn't relevant any more. "Was I afraid to face it then?" Then he tried to lighten the mood, and probably failed by saying, "I'll tell you what, it's not pleasant to think about I haven't eaten for days."
Then Patrick groaned and he leaned forward, resting his head on the table.
George reached forward and petted Patrick's hair gently, the same way he did when the cat needed soothing.
"You haven't remember most of it for a long time," George said. "Back then, you probably had a lot of experience coping with the bad memories, of distracing yourself and trying to turn them into something more positive. They're hitting you now when all of those coping strategies are gone, and it hurts a lot more."
He looked down. "And you talked about it sometimes. It wasn't a constant thing, but sometimes we'd talk about the stuff that really shaped us, hurt us, that kind of thing."
Patrick lifted his head slowly, because he rather liked being petted, but he was having an important conversation here. He smiled softly at his brother, knowing he could always tell George anything. And it had been that way for a thousand years.
"George," he admitted quietly, "I think it might be because...I just feel like being here is another kind of captivity. I'm a slave to belief and alcohol and I can't break free no matter how hard I try. And no amount of praying is going to help this time."
"I'd rather you be a slave to belief and alive than forgotten and gone," George said, before he could think better of it. And it was true. He'd much rather that Patrick be alive, even if things were tough, then gone completely. He didn't know what he'd do if any of his friends or brothers faded out of lack of belief.
Patrick picked George's hand off of the table and he kissed it before he said anything else. It was as much for his own reassurance as it was for George's. George wanted him to remain a slave to belief, but Patrick knew that. There were differences between that and his slavery in Ireland. Vast difference. And one was that he had his brother to talk to instead of being surrounded by sheep and only talking to them.
"And I promised I'm not going anywhere," Patrick said firmly. "It just feels that way sometimes so I panic when I think about my actual captivity and I try not to think about it. And I think if I could pinpoint the exact time when I went from accepting that to fearing it, I could...I don't know, pinpoint where I lost the plot."
"I wish there was a way I could help with that," George mused, absentmindedly shredding one of the paper napkins on the table. "The last time I saw you in England, though, you were old-school Patrick."
George tilted his head, an idea forming. "Hey. You know who you should talk to? The Patrick in Ireland."
Patrick blinked and then he opened his mouth once before closing it again.
"Wow. I am so stupid... I actually have his email address. He sends me updates on things. Always news articles, never really personal stuff." Patrick laughed and then he glanced at the napkin George was shredding up. "And you're making a mess, he said, and then he sent a tiny stream of confetti George's way, just because.
"Confetti!" George said, delighted. He was a big fan of his brother's confetti ability, he couldn't lie.
"And you talk to him? That's cool. The English me sends me stuff sometimes, though it's usually to yell at me about national security. He guards the Queen, he's kind of uptight." George brushed some confetti out of his hair. "And I got an e-mail from the Russian me, but I think he was drunk. He was talking about bears."
Patrick's eyes widened and he shook his head. "Wow. English you sounds like he would hate me. And Russian you sounds...crazy. I glad I have you you." Patrick smiled easily at his brother, despite everything they had talked about.
And then their food and drinks arrived and despite the fact that Patrick had been going on and on about how hungry he was, he went for the beer first and he drained half of it before he realised he could only have one so he should stop before it was gone.
"English me sent me an itemized list of things I was supposed to do last time the Queen visited America," George said. "He's interestingly neurotic. And Russian me apparently punched a bear in the face once, if I was translating drunk Russian correctly. I think he might be legitimately insane."
George tilted his head, watching as Patrick drank. "We oughta get you around some source of worship that isn't party-related, so you can compare drinking to that. It might help you figure some things out."
Patrick put the beer aside, blushing a little and hiding it behind taking a huge bite of his pizza. The cheese burned his mouth a little, but he didn't care. Food was awesome.
When he had swallowed, he nodded. "Yes. Good idea. But I am not punching any bears. Or...making lists." Lists were boring.
George brightened a little. "Patty! We should go!" At his brother's look, he elaborated, "To Ireland! And we can visit England and meet the stuffy British me and go talk to Irish you!"
At the mention of going back to Ireland, Patrick nearly choked on his pizza and he looked up at his brother with wide, fearful eyes. Then, because his throat was threatening to close, he spit the bite out into the napkin and hissed, low to the table, "I can't go back there, George!"
"Huh?" George hadn't been expecting this. "How come? You shouldn't have a problem with being allowed to go there, it's one of your patronages."
"No, I mean-" Patrick sighed and he forced himself to calm down. "I...I'm afraid that- George, I- I don't want to..."
There had been a time when he hadn't hesitated returning to Ireland to bring salvation to the people who had hurt him most. Now he was terrified of returning to the place of his captivity. "George, I don't want to go back to that place. It's a bad place!"
George raised an eyebrow. He really had not seen this coming, though it made sense. Patrick seemed pretty traumatized by his memories, and George knew all too well how trauma hurt.
"Okay, you don't have to go," George said, laying a hand on Patrick's. "It was just an idea. But Patty, you know that it's nothing like it was, right? It's actually a really nice place. Very pretty."
Patrick watched George for a moment and then he took another bit of pizza because food calmed him down. After he swallowed, he pursed his lips and he sighed. "Sorry. I- I panicked. I uhm...I know it's not a bad place. I just have this feeling like if I go there, I'll be stuck there alone without the people I love for another six years-"
Patrick had to stop or he was going to cry. So he grabbed his beer and drained the rest of it in one gulp.
"Hey," George said, reaching out and taking Patrick's hand, "I would never let you go anywhere for six years without me, and the same goes for Dewi and Andrew and Sebastian and everyone else. I spent way too long having no idea where you were. I'd never want that again."
"I don't want it either," Patrick whispered, but then he nodded. "You're right, George. I should do this. But if I do it, you are sleeping with me! In...in the bed, not-" Patrick let go of George's hand so he could flail a bit and then his eyes fell on his pizza again. "Pizza," he said, picking it up and taking another huge bite.
George started cackling and reached for his own slice of pizza. "Nice to see the foot in mouth disease is...well, I guess not genetic, but runs in the family." He took a bit, moaning a little. Mmmm, pizza. "And I'll be like your shadow, I promise."
Patrick sighed even as he continued to eat, his appetite renewed. He swallowed and shot George a smile. "Then I have nothing to fear," he said quietly. George would keep him safe, and even if he did panic, George would be with him. It would be okay. "Thank you," he said, his voice full of affection.