FicWad

Hi, you've reached Jenny-why can't I go first? - Patrick, Jesus, calm down, I was about to- no! I want to go first- will you stop, this is just like the old message- I love you- olive juice my ass- but...- you've reached Jenny and Patrick, leave a message- or phone sex noises!

BEEEEEEEP

"Man, that makes me smile every time I hear it," I picked up the phone as Patrick's voice filled my warm house that early February afternoon.

"What's up, my homie G?" I asked and heard him smirk.

"A really crappy ceiling fan and a pair of Joe's boxers pinned to the wall," I smirked and he laughed. "That's what I see,"

"That's cool, I guess," I mumbled and heard him switch the phone to another ear.

"So what's happening on the other side of the country?" Patrick asked and I sighed.

"It's boring, cold and I'm sick," I muttered and sneezed before coughing. "See?' Patrick laughed a little and sighed, and I smiled.

"Oh darn, and I was going to invite you out," I smirked.

"Like I can afford that," I mumbled and Patrick coughed nervously.

"Well, I was going to tell you that you have had a ticket waiting at the airport for like three weeks now," I widened my eyes.

"/What/? Patrick! Why are you telling me this now?" Patrick began to laugh and I huffed.

"Jenny, we've been busy...but...I, I mean, we miss you and you should come out," I sighed and coughed a little more.

"I might get you sick," Patrick mumbled something that I didn't catch but then smirked.

"I don't care, Jenny, just come out, /please/?" I closed my eyes and cleared my throat.

"Alright," I sighed and heard a slight whoop.

"I win!" Patrick shrieked and I smiled, biting my lip.

Patrick was growing on me, and the hard thing was, I didn't know if I would grow on him.

----------

It was when I reached the front door of the apartment that I realized things were a little odd. There were no cars and it was dead quiet, only the distant strumming of a single acoustic guitar.

My hand brushed against the doorbell and I clutched my oversized bag closer to my side, my foot lightly kicking my small suitcase. The door soon opened to reveal a tired Patrick.

"Holy crap! I thought Pete was finally coming home on time," Patrick paused for a moment before reaching down and grabbing my suitcase, his foot kicking the door a little more open.

I stepped in and he sighed, closing the door and the room darkening, the only light coming from the desk lamp on the coffee table.

"Patrick, where's Pete?" I asked and Patrick sighed again, shaking his head.

"He's growing more and more troubled every day...I mean, he insists it's not about you and the 'break up' but...he's just growing more distant," As Patrick spoke he guided me to the black loveseat that was in front of the coffee table.

I placed my bag down and sat on the edge as he looked down at two notebooks, one with scribbles of Pete's messy handwriting, the other a music composition notebook, with the works of new songs. My eyes caught a glimpse of the first page and they instantly glazed over.

Joke me something awful...

My breath hitched and Patrick's gaze followed my own.

"It made me wonder just what the hell he's going through..." he whispered. As the almost awkward silence started, I sighed through my nose and leaned my head on Patrick's shoulder, my hands moving to hug his waist.

"Is he doing ok?" I asked and he shrugged.

"He's never ok, Jenny," he replied, and it was silent for the next five minutes. My eyes got heavy but they shot open as Patrick leaned forward, gripping his guitar and bringing it up to his lap.

"Do want me to sing it?" he asked and I swallowed before nodding quickly.

"Please," I begged silently and Patrick closed his eyes, hands naturally finding the cords to play. A light, almost silent guitar line started and I watched, his eyes closed already.

"Joke me something awful, just like kisses on the necks of best friends," My lips parted, amazed at how I much I missed the sound of Patrick's voice. "And we're the kids who feel like dead ends,"

"And I want to be known for my hits, not just my misses,"

In the little pause that Patrick took, a bursting melody of a distant cell phone rang out, faltering his fingers as they strummed. He sighed, irritated and pushed himself off the couch, the phone ringing almost louder.

His footsteps faded further into the apartment and not a moment later I decided to follow. As I entered the first bedroom where Patrick was, he was just opening his phone, taking the risk of speakerphone.

"...Patrick?" My eyebrows twitched at the nervous, scared and tearful filled voice of Pete. Patrick arched one of his own and cleared his throat.

"Pete? Dude, what's wrong?" he asked and then started jumping to conclusions. "Did you get mugged? Hurt? Drunk? Is everything ok?" Pete sniffed once and I stepped closer to where Patrick was standing.

"No, everything is horrible," Pete breathed and Patrick looked at me, confused.

"Pete, where are you?" he asked, shakily. There was a pause before a shaky sigh.

"There's a deserted parking lot behind this Best Buy...I don't know," he said quickly and Patrick gulped.

"Pete, I'm coming," Patrick waited for a bit and we heard Pete blubber, his voice hitching as he attempted to say something. I heard him crying, and it was horrible.

"I...I love you man..." he whispered and Patrick widened his eyes.

"Pete! What's going on!?" My breath hitched and I bit my lip to keep it from quivering.

"Pete!" I yelled and heard him breathe out.

"Jenny, oh god Jenny," his voice faltered and a few moments passed before we heard the dial tone. Patrick looked up at me and I gulped.

"Patrick..." I whispered and he shook his head before rushing past me, his hand gripping my wrist and dragging me quickly through the house, out the door and into a car where he sped off, his eyes concentrating on the road.

I stayed quiet, and stared at my toes peeking out of my flip-flops and soon gulped, failing in holding back tears. The car slowed down and I caught glimpse of a red light. The moment my lips parted in a quiet gasp, my eyes glazed over in thick tears, some even falling and dampening my jeans.

My hand slightly twitched as Patrick's hand covered it, his fingers slipping into the tiny spaces between my fingers, intertwining our hands. I titled my head to look at him and he flashed a sympathetic smile before stepping on the gas, ripping through the green light.

I counted the minutes it took for us to pass a darkened parking lot, the only light, a flickering lamp post, eerily illuminating a single car. My breathing stopped and Patrick pulled a u-turn, skidding the brakes to a complete stop a few feet away from the car.

I wrenched the car door open and ran quickly to the driver's side, whipping the door open and stopping, my heart sinking, stopping, mind racing, tears re-surfacing. Pete lie there, unconscious, leaned against the steering wheel, arms lazily hanging either on the dashboard or next to the seat. Patrick appeared next to me and gasped, hand shakily reaching to gingerly touch Pete's shoulder.

"Pete?" he called out and we got no response.

I turned to Patrick and he took a shaky breath before closing his eyes and fumbling for his cell phone. I turned back to Pete and hesitated before reaching in and moving him so that he was leaning back against the seat. My hand found his and I held it, kneeling down and resting my head on his thigh.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Patrick soon came back and his fingers curled around my waist, hoisting me up into a hug, one that squished me against him, his arms wrapped tightly around my shoulders, one hand in my hair and the other rubbing my back.

"I don't want him to die," I whispered and Patrick hummed, swaying me slightly from side to side.

My ears perked up and I watched, my breathing shallow as Pete's body was dragged out of the car, placed on a stretcher and packed into an ambulance. Patrick let go of me and kissed my forehead.

"Go," he whispered and I parted my lips as a paramedic gripped my arm and escorted me onto the bench.

I looked out the small window and took a deep breath before watching as they checked Pete's status, hands and arms flying everywhere. I silently brought my knees up to my chest and controlled my breathing, watching as everything slowed down, Pete's silent face staring dead at me and I only wished that his eyes would open.

It was record time as we sped through the emergency room doors, my feet dragging as I ran with the stretcher until they stopped me and I caught glimpse of a female doctor widening her eyes and quickly reaching for equipment. Arms circled around me, trying so desperately to drag me away, to shield my eyes as the doctor rubbed the two pads together.

"Clear!" she yelled over the commotion and my heart skipped a beat as Pete's body flopped up like a fish out of water.

"Jenny," I heard Patrick and gripped his jacket in my hands, balling my fists, tears streaming down my face.

"Clear!"

New hands gently placed on my shoulder made my vision glance up to see a gentle looking African-American male nurse who nodding, pushing us away from the commotion, my voice not finding way through my throat as the last thing I saw was Pete's convulsing body and doctors zigzagging their way into the room.

I buried my head into Patrick's chest and cried out, us two landing in a private little couch, a small waiting room in the ICU. The male nurse towered over us before taking a seat on the coffee table and cupping my hand.

"Little lady," he bellowed and showed the most innocent sympathetic smile before rubbing his huge thumb across the back of my hand. Patrick's arms tightened around me and the nurse shook his head.

"If you believe in your friend, he'll find his way back home," he said and I nodded, Patrick's tears soon colliding with my own as they slid down our faces.

"Thank you," I breathed, just above a whisper. The nurse nodded and stood up, my hand dropping, losing the warmth.

He started to walk towards the room and peered in, a smile appearing on his face before walking down the corridor and out of my line of vision. It was then that most doctors, except the female, started to spill out of Pete's room.

Patrick's breath hitched again and I held my breath as I heard the quiet clicking of heals, the female doctor coming towards us, sleeves of a non-uniform rolled up, a loose curl hanging from her clipped up hair. She found us and sighed, worn out.

"I was off duty when he came in, but I hate seeing the young to go off like this," Patrick bit his lip and my eyes begged for answers. "He's ok, and he's going to be, but for now, he needs to rest...once we move him up to a real room you guys can go see him," I nodded once and the doctor smiled.

"He opened his eyes and called out for you guys, I presume. A Jenny and Patrick?" Patrick nodded feverously and she smiled. "He's lucky to have you guys,"

----------

Patrick held my hand tightly as we watched Pete sleep; his breathing evened out perfectly as he dreamt of something we hoped was good. I reached my hand out and gingerly let my fingertips graze the skin right before his wrist, before lifting his hand and holding it in a light grasp.

They figured Pete would be alright, but suggested instead of therapy, we talked to him ourselves, and for the best, get him off the medications he took.

Example: Ativan.

I sighed, exhausted and sat down on Patrick's lap as he sat down first. Absent mindedly, I let my thumb brush over the trickle of hairs on his wrist, listening as Patrick's breathing soon evened out. My mind drifted to the phone call I had with Joe and Andy just the past hour.

They were freaked, but stayed back at the apartment, for the sole reason that they didn't want to cramp his mind full of worry, and a little surprise, that Patrick had planned. The two boys were now asleep and I focused my attention on the little hospital band on Pete's wrist, a light smile appearing on my lips.

"I didn't expect to see you here,"

My heart leapt as I heard a familiar voice, a scratchy voice to say the least, but I whipped my head to see Pete with his eyes half open, a lazy smile on his lips. I smiled, and he raised his hand to cup my cheek and rub his thumb over the escaping happy tears.

"I'm sorry about all of this," he whispered and I let my hand cup his own, shaking my head.

"You're always forgiven, Pete. I love you way too much..." Pete closed his eyes and when he opened them, dropped his hand to hold my own instead and looked over at Patrick.

"How is he?" he asked and I shrugged.

"Pretty devastated, but..." Pete smiled.

"Did you guys make whoopee yet?" I widened my eyes and stared at Pete in awe.

"You /pervert/!" I hissed and Pete let out a soft chuckle.

"Alright, alright, but if I get to survive my melt-down, you have to do something in return," I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms.

"What?" I asked and Pete smiled.

"Make me a godfather!"

Was it wrong to smack a patient, that just woke up from a near-death experience?