New Turnadette fanfic! I have been working on this for a bit now here and there, but here's something. I have a multi-chapter fic I hope to be releasing soon, but in the mean time, enjoy this!
Read it on A03 or fanfic.net!
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“I am glad you were able to make it to Teddy’s performance.” Shelagh quietly hushed her thoughts into the darkened room. She laid on her side, gazing at her youngest son’s sleeping profile. Unlike Timothy’s completely Turner looks, she could see clear evidence of Mannion genes plastered across his small face. The only real evidence of Patrick’s fatherhood was around Teddy’s eyes, floppy mop of hair, his incredibly stubborn attitude, which even Shelagh conceded could have been from either or both sides of his parentage, and his mischievous, playful spirit that was so clearly his father’s private personality.
In the days following her departure from the convent, Shelagh had been surprised to discover his true personality and quickly fell in love with it. She also figured out that Timothy had inherited his mother’s dry and cheeky humor which often explained many things about his relationship with his father. By the time their younger son’s characteristics became known, Shelagh, and Patrick more secretly, rejoiced in their son’s mirrored personality. But other than that, Teddy was completely hers and something she valued and held dearly close to her heart.
Similar to his older brother, Teddy longed and fought for the attention and approval of his father. Timothy understood with age that his father’s commitment to his patients and oath trumped many things, but when it came down to it, Dr. Turner would always choose being a husband and father over everything else. Teddy remained too young to grasp this and felt the same jealousy and anger at the demands of his father’s vocation that Timothy had felt at a young age. They all knew he would understand in time, but until then, Teddy knew his father’s love but understood that it came with a price for both of them.
Patrick had promised Teddy that he would do everything he could to be there for his middle term choir performance. Both parents knew he could not promise his attendance but could guarantee that Patrick would fight hell or high water for his son to his face in the crowd.
Although he was no longer actively religious, Patrick recited every prayer of thanks and gratitude he could remember as he ran from a forceps and stitches delivery into the institute just before program began.
“Mm yes,” Shelagh could hear the smile on his face as he whispered, “Did you see his smile while he was in the line when I walked in? It reminded me so of Tim at his nativity play the Christmas after Marianne died.”
Settling Teddy down following his school performance turned out to be easier with an extra pair of hands. Even then, it had taken nearly thirty minutes, three extra bedtime stories, and both his parents on either side cuddling him in his small bed as he drifted into a deep slumber. His parents had not dared, nor wanted, to move as their youngest slept between them.
Her gaze fixed on father and son simultaneously as Patrick stroked his son’s hand that he had grasped during his pleas for one more story. “Oh yes. He is such a little dear—at times—and he loves you so dearly.”
“And I him.” His voice thick, “I can hardly believe that he’s nearly six!” He finally looked up from his son to his wife and continued to speak, “I can remember times in my life so clearly when I felt so incredibly lonely and without hope.”
“After the war?” She softly asked.
“Yes, that was one.” He released his son’s hand to push himself into a propped position to wrap his arms around his wife and son. “Another was when Marianne miscarried when Tim was six months. I had no way of helping her through that. I tried, but she pushed me away.” He gently chuckled, “She was always like that.” His face fell at the next statement, “The next was when she got sick.” Shelagh looked up at him and stroked his forearm. “I wanted to help her so badly, but I knew there was no way she could be healed. The cancer was just too aggressive and had already begun metastasizing. I lost her so slowly,” he exhaled, “and in pieces. I could see her fade away each day until she was gone.”
She could feel him tense underneath her. “What is it, Patrick?”
He looked down at her with an expression of fear and bits of shame. “Can I tell you something I’ve never said out loud or even really thought?”
“Oh darling, of course you can.” She shifted a bit so she could rest her head on his chest and look up at him as he spoke.
I know this is normally @miss-ute’s forte, but I rewatched the s2 Christmas special on a different streaming service today, and there were extended turandette scenes???? And different wedding music???
Also, sir, please…
“He’s counting the days till you move in…and so am I.”
I’ve been doing a rewatch of some seasons of CtM and reading into some moments.
There’s something so poignant about this scene knowing that Patrick has been in Tom’s exact shoes but still trying to remain as a supportive friend and rational doctor. He has a unique understanding about being in a vocation that requires him to sit at multiple deathbeds, and then one day it being his wife’s.
Major kudos to the writers and producers for including this thirty second scene between these two characters. They just as easily could have cut to Tom in the hospital or had Phyllis drive him and Patrick be in the ambulance. Having Patrick, a widower himself, wait for Tom on his doorstep, inform him, calm him, and drive him is just so important.
I’m not sure about everyone else but I’ve found some of the recent choices in series 12 to be missing that subtext and undertones. The Trixie bridesmaid situation, the Turner pregnancygate, and Lucille’s sudden departure still baffle me.
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