A special thank you to the Nonnatuns on Tumblr.  For some reason, the idea of Patrick in reading glasses is quite appealing!

It starts out with little things:  a hastily closed drawer, a hidden medical bag. Taken independently, Shelagh would think nothing of it all.  The children and the house take up any time left over from her return to work, and she barely has time to see more than the next task before her.  But after he snaps at her for going through his pockets on laundry day, Shelagh begins to wonder.

“Patrick, are you smoking again,” she confronts him one evening.  She knows it’s not likely.  She hasn’t  picked up on the lingering smell of smoke in his clothes, and his kisses don’t taste of tobacco, but she knows he’s hiding something from her.

He pulls a face.  “Smoking? Of course not.  Why on earth would you ask?”

She immediately regrets her words.  “I’m sorry, dear, it’s just…oh, never mind.  Forget I said anything.”

Another week goes by, and Shelagh makes an effort to pay closer attention.  She’s convinced he’s hiding something from her, and what’s worse, he feels guilty about whatever it is.  She can see it in his face.  When he comes home late from surgery yet again, she decides it’s time to confront him.

Usually, their arguments are quick, irritations more than anything else, but tonight she surprizes him with her suspicious tone.  

“There’s no need to keep secrets, Patrick.  If you need to seek out amusement elsewhere, I’m sure I would sympathize.”  

Understanding lights his face, and he laughs self-consciously.  

“I’m sure I don’t see how you could think this is the slightest bit funny, Patrick.”  Her voice is sharp with betrayal.  “I know I’m–”

He grasps her by the shoulders and turns her towards him, contrition written on his face.  “Shelagh, sweetheart.  It’s not funny at all.  I simply didn’t want you to know–” his voice cuts off and he raises one finger between them.  “Wait here.”

He returns, and it takes Shelagh a few moments to notice the small black case in his hands.

The crease between her eyebrows deepens in confusion.  She glances up, asking for some explanation.

Patrick exhales and begins.  “They’re reading glasses.  I’ve been having trouble reading the fine print in my medical journals lately, and I had to see the eye doctor.  I didn’t want you to see me wearing them, so I’ve been staying at the surgery late to catch up on my paperwork.”

Shelagh reaches out and examines the case in her hand.  “Reading glasses?  Why on earth would you hide reading glasses from me?  I’ve been wearing glasses since I was a girl.”

“I didn’t think you’d make fun,” he explains, “but you’re nearsighted.  You were born that way.  Reading glasses are another thing entirely.  Reading glasses are for…older people.”

She blinks rapidly, trying to understand.   

“I’m fifty-four, Shelagh.  You’re not even near forty!  I’ll be A pensioner before Teddy takes his A-levels.”  He runs the back of his hand along her smooth cheek.  “I didn’t want you to think of me as an old man.”  

Shelagh takes the glasses from their case and slips them onto the bridge of his thin nose.  She bites her lip as a gleam rises in her eyes.  “I think you look very distinguished, dear.”

Patrick rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Distinguished?” he sneers.  “That’s a kind way to say decrepit.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Patrick.  Distinguished is very…”

“Very?” he asks.  

Her hands slide up his shoulders and into his hair and she tugs his head a bit closer.  Their breath mingles as she brushes her nose lightly against his.  A giggle rises up between them and up close, he can see her dimples deepen with mischief.  

“Distinguished is very what?” he whispers.  

She leans up on her tiptoes and whispers back.   “I’ll explain later, dearest.  But first, I’d like you to read to me in bed tonight.”