shut up, I love Peggy Lee
It's the middle of the night, and I am still awake. I'll tell you why, too. It's because my brain apparently decided that I had to write down this ridiculously fluffy, tiny short piece of Pete/Patrick that's pretty much gen (although not so much in my head. In my head, immediately after this ends they go have slow, comfortable midmorning sex and then spend another hour sprawled out on the bed naked inserting Hemmy's name into the lyrics of as many R. Kelly songs as they can think of).
Title: If You Come To Me Sickly, You Know I'm Gonna Make You Well
Author: Ginger
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not real, etc.
When Pete gets to the house, he's ready to collapse. The DJ had been obnoxiously flirty, the questions routine, and the traffic hell. The A/C in his SUV is stuck on arctic, so he's lost all feeling in the exposed skin of his arms, neck, and face, and his head hurts. God, does his head hurt, on the left side behind the temple, like someone hammered nails into it.
He really wants to be alone.
Patrick is staying with him, though, and Pete feels bad for thinking it, because it's Patrick, but he really wishes he could kick the kid out and shut all the blinds and lie on the couch in blissful silence, just for one day. But he can't, and he wouldn't, so.
So he gets out of his freezing car and steps into his overly-bright foyer and rubs his very sore temple.
Patrick is no where to be seen, but Pete thinks he hears a faint melody coming from the kitchen.
He slides off his shoes and walks down the hallway to pop his head through the swinging door.
Patrick is making toast, apparently. In tie-dye boxers, with a red corduroy pageboy cap settled too far back over his bedhead. And Patrick is singing. "You had plenty money 1922."
He points his jam-covered knife at Hemingway, who's on crumb-patrol directly beneath Patrick's feet.
"You let other puppies make a fool of you."
Pete laughs, and Patrick looks up, grinning and unembarrassed.
"Why don't you do right? Like some other dogs do?" Here Patrick throws in a little grapevine-slide combo, which brings him close enough to stuff a piece of sticky toast into Pete's open mouth. His voice is shaking with laughter.
"Oh Hemingway, get me some money, too." Hemmy tilts his head when he hears his name, watching Patrick dance back over to the toaster.
Pete pours himself some OJ and thinks about digging out the Tylenol. Instead he says "Hey, do something else now."
Patrick swallows his bite and sings "He can wash out 44 pairs of socks and have em hanging out on the line."
By the time he's changing the chorus to "Hemmy's a woman. W-O-M-A-N," Patrick has lost his hat, Pete is singing along, and they've got a little tandem shuffle worked out that has Hemmy skittering around the ceramic tile in circles between them, just starting to woof under his breath in excitement.
Pete decides he doesn't really need the Tylenol. He's got Patrick Stump in his kitchen singing Peggy Lee to his dog.
It might just be enough to keep him feeling good for the rest of his life.
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*Came about because I got to thinking about how, even though Joe and Pete are mostly the ones who talk about Hemmy, you just know Patrick sings to that dog when no one else is around.