"No," Patrick replied after a moment. "Next thing is a meeting on Monday morning. My new assistant, Gwen, she has the full schedule."
"Do you have her phone number?" I asked. "We can give her a call for you, or you can try later."
"In... in my phone, I think," he said. "My bag."
His eyelids fluttered, and he closed his eyes. His breathing deepened, and he was soon snoring lightly. Tabby looked at me, concerned, and I nodded reassuringly. "It's normal after surgery and sedation. You look exhausted. Did you stay up with Mark all night?"
Tabby nodded and yawned. "I couldn't sleep with Patrick just lying there. I closed my eyes, and each time I did questions just kept whirling through my head."
"You need your rest," I said, giving her a hug. "Now go, lie down and close your eyes. If you want, you can up here, but it'd be best in the entertainment room. Close the doors, it'll be dark and quiet for you. Go, and I'll make sure to get you up for lunch. He should be coming out of it by then."
Tabby sighed and nodded. "Thank you, Sophie. I... I...."
"I know. Go get some sleep."
* * *
Patrick came out of his nap just before I was going to run downstairs and wake up Tabby, so I decided to let her sleep. Mark would be up soon anyway, he had most likely set an alarm to be sure. I came over and checked his pulse again, and looked in his eyes. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I got clocked in the back by a baseball bat," Patrick said, a lot more clearly than he had that morning. "Is it going to hurt that way for a while?"
"Yep," I said. "You took a bullet through some of the biggest muscles of your body, which diffused the energy. Muscles aren't meant to do that, by the way, but they do it admirably well. They'll be stiff for quite a while though. Actually, you're lucky. It didn't hit any bones, and barely clipped your lung. I was able to patch you up pretty cleanly."
Patrick nodded, accepting the situation. "Then unless I'm like seriously screwed up, don't give me any pain meds. I'll deal with it in my own way," he said. "In the mean time, think you can talk with me for a bit?"
"Sure," I replied. "Just to know though, it's been a while since I practiced my bedside manner."
The little joke earned a smile, and Patrick chuckled before grimacing. "No laughter though," he gasped. "That hurts too much."
"Yeah, that might not be the best idea," I agreed with him. "So what’s on your mind?”
“So you're the Sophie Warbird, the girl who caused the Snowman to go straight?"
"Trust me, he's always been straight," I replied before grimacing. "Sorry, we said no humor, right. Anyway, yeah, that's me. Although I'm officially Joanna Bylur now, Tabby still calls me Sophie around the house."
He looked around, thinking. "And he.... the Snowman. Damn. I mean, I'm sure he can tell, and I told Tabby, I ran with some lower level Confederation guys when I was young, and I heard stories about the Snowman, but.... wow. What's he like?"
"He's a good man," I replied. "He loves me, he loves Tabby, he loves our daughter. I guess you'll find out soon enough, I'm a little over four months pregnant."
"Congrats. You must be quite the woman yourself. I mean, from what I know of him, he's like a total savant. Smart, athletic, skilled... and now you tell me he's a business genius who also is a loving husband and, well, what is Tabby to you guys?"
"I think I'd rather let her explain that part to you," I replied. "The big thing is though, if you're going to be given the level of trust we've placed in you, you're going to have to earn it."
"What do you mean?" Patrick asked. "I'm not going to go blabbing that my girlfriend's housestaff or whatever you guys are were the couple that brought down the Confederation and Owen Lynch. I care about Tabby too much for that."
"Oh really?" I replied, raising an eyebrow. "I think that's something you might want to talk about with her about too, but not right this minute. In the mean time, think you're up for walking downstairs? Lean on me, but you'll do better if we can get you into a semi-reclined position."
"Are you sure I won't start leaking on your living room rug?"
"I'm quite sure, Mr. McCaffery," I replied primly. "I might have been a while since my last set of stitches, but I stay in practice. The only way you’ll bust a stitch is if you do something against my orders. I don't have an M-D, but I’m your doctor for this."
Patrick smiled and put his hands on the sides of the cot. "Sure you're up for it? I weigh about two ten."