She didn’t let him speak when she should have…

Shelagh woke suddenly, startled by the low moans coming from the other side of the bed. Patrick twisted in the sheets, lost in a nightmare. Sitting up, she gently shook his shoulder and whispered. “Patrick…Patrick, wake up, dearest. It’s all right, I’m here. Patrick.”

He gasped awake, his face grey and sweaty. Immediately, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Holding his head in his hands, he croaked, “Sorry–sorry, love. Go back to sleep.”

The bed creaked softly as she rose to kneel behind him, her arms wrapped around his shoulders. “No, dearest. Don’t go away tonight. Stay with me, let me help.”

After a moment, Shelagh felt her husband obey the pull of her hands, and settled him back on the bed. His arm came about her, pulling her close to his side. Shelagh sighed. Though not a frequent happening, this was not the first time his dreams had such an effect. She tried to remember. It must be four, no, five times since this bed had become theirs together. Each time he left the room unwilling to talk, returning only after she had fallen back to sleep. Her forehead wrinkled in concern. What were these dreams about, she wondered? Why was he so disturbed by them?

Lying against him, Shelagh could feel the tension still in his body and an uneasiness came over her. There was something Patrick wasn’t telling her, something that left a feeling of gloom over them. She sighed raggedly. The last few months had been so very difficult since her infertility diagnosis, but in the last weeks the family had found a happy place again. Tim was walking well without his calipers and rarely used his cane, and her work at Nonnatus House helped redirect her own anxieties. This gloom must be pushed away.

“I miss you when you leave,” she whispered.

He pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her hair. “I miss you when I go.”

“Then don’t,” she reasoned. “Don’t leave when you have those dreadful dreams. Stay with me, Patrick.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s better if I leave, it lets me clear my head. There’s nothing to worry about, sweetheart. They’re just dreams,” he hedged.

Shelagh shifted and looked in his eyes, concerned. He rubbed his thumb over the crease in her forehead. “I love those little lines,” he told her, changing the subject.

Shelagh could feel a bit of the tension ease from his arms. That’s how she would do it, she thought. If not talking about it made him feel better, she would follow his lead. She pressed her hand to his heart and could feel its pounding abate. “Let me put it out of your mind,” she whispered and covered his lips with her own.