fic: sleepless in chicago (1/6)
Feb. 24th, 2008 05:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
violacea::takes a deep breath:: Okay, here it is, kids, the beginning of my ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
romanticbandom story. Which is now very late, and still in process, but I plan to be done with all six parts by the middle of March! This is the plan, and my determined face, and all that.
If you like reading WIPs, feedback is love, naturally!
Title: Sleepless in Chicago (1/6)
Pairing: Pete/Patrick (Pete/Ryan, Patrick/Brendon)
Rating: PG-13, mostly for language
Word Count: This chapter clocks in around 4,800 words. Yeah, this whole thing's going to be epic.
Notes: Again, forromanticbandom, in which I obviously chose Sleepless in Seattle. Lots of love to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dragonsinger for the beta, and to rue_quercus for listening to me ramble about this at odd intervals!
Summary: AU. Patrick is a widower and young father. Pete is an advertising exec with a boring relationship. When Patrick's daughter makes a call to a radio shrink, lives intersect and shenanigans ensue.
“Dad! I can’t find my shoes!”
Patrick resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he handed Bob a beer. “Which ones?” he called back into the hallway.
“The pink ones! With the glitter!”
“Didn’t you wear those to school yesterday? They’re in the hall closet.”
“Daaaaaaaad!” Jessie’s voice rose an octave in the middle of the word. “Those were the PURPLE ones!”
Patrick shrugged and sat down opposite Bob. “I don’t know, I can’t keep them all straight,” he said, more quietly.
“Like father, like daughter,” Bob snickered.
“What, shoes? Kiss my ass, mine don’t have glitter.” Patrick grinned, and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. They had two hours before they had to be at work. (Some kind of popular indie kid concert, Patrick had heard of the band but hadn’t been terribly impressed with their three-chord sound when he listened to the songs on their MySpace. Still, a paycheck was a paycheck, he could run a sound board without liking the music). When he and Bob worked the same event, they had a standing pre-show tradition that consisted mostly of beer and work gossip. “So, we’re working at the Metro tonight, huh? I wonder who they have tending bar. I heard they finally fired Kyle for skimming.”
“Ouch. Sucks to be him.” Bob pointed his bottle in Patrick’s direction. “You haven’t answered my question, though.”
“What question?” When Bob raised an eyebrow, Patrick scowled. “No, I am absolutely not doing fucking speed dating. Forget it.”
“Dad!” Jessie’s voice was sharp from the living room doorway. “Language!”
“Sorry. Did you find your shoes?”
“Yeah, I found them, but where are my jeans?”
Patrick rubbed the back of his neck. “I think I forgot to fold them. They’re probably still in the dryer.”
“Daaaaaad!” The changing octave was back. “Trina’s mom will be here to pick me up ANY MINUTE!”
“She’ll be here in an hour, Jess. I’ll fold them right now.”
Jessie flounced off to her bedroom. Patrick stood up and shrugged at Bob again. “Mom duties call. Be right back.”
A year and a half later, Patrick could almost ignore the pang that came with even breathing the words “mom” or “Becca”. When he closed his eyes, he only saw a brief flash of blonde hair and pink fingernails, only heard a whisper of an alto voice. When he did hear it, he could only hear the gentle rasp of her voice at the end, destroyed by chemotherapy that they both knew would never work in the first place. But, if he let himself linger on the thought, he could still almost smell their bedroom, the metallic tang of the drugs that flowed into her catheter from a metal stand next to the bed. She’d refused the hospital at the end, wanted to be comfortable. He could see Jessie standing in the doorway, refusing to come inside, clutching the Elmo doll she’d proclaimed herself too old for two years earlier. He could feel Becca’s hand in his, squeezing lightly with all of the strength she had, and hear her soft voice. “God, Patrick, promise me you’ll be happy. I want you to do whatever it takes to be happy. Promise me.”
Blinking furiously, Patrick slammed the dryer door shut and shoved the last handful of laundry into the basket. He banished Becca’s voice from his head when he walked back to the living room. “No speed dating,” he repeated when he sat down. “I’m not interested.”
“Oh, come on. I’ll even go with you.”
Patrick tried to imagine Bob – long blond hair, lip ring, faded Iron Maiden t-shirt, broad-shouldered build that made him seem to loom over the perpetual parade of skinny emo kids he worked for – enduring a parade of suburban singles with neat outfits purchased at the local mall. “I’d almost agree for the entertainment alone,” Patrick said, “but no. Seriously. Can we drop it?”
Bob fell silent as Jessie walked back out into the living room. She stood behind Patrick’s chair and tapped him on the shoulder. “Dad, do you remember where I left Trina’s Christmas gift? We wrapped it last night, but it’s not in my room and it’s not in the dining room.”
“I put them away in the closet. The candy for Trina’s mom is there, too, grab that while you’re at it.”
She walked away, and Patrick twisted around briefly to watch her. Her hair was tied back into a messy ponytail – right now, its color tended more towards Patrick’s copper than Becca’s pure blonde, but he knew from experience that would change when the summer came. When the sun was involved, Jessie became a miniature image of her mother, all blonde and blue eyes and heart-shaped face. There was a photo on his bedroom wall, the only photo he’d hung since they moved in – Becca and Jessie were dressed in matching sundresses, and they both were laughing uproariously. He remembered when it was taken; the two of them had gone (“girls day out”) to have photos taken for Becca’s mother’s birthday, and Becca had decided to buy the dresses at the last minute. “It’s so cheesy,” she’d told Patrick that night, still giggling, “but it’s the kind of thing my mom lives for. She’ll probably bust out into tears when she sees them.”
Veronica had, in fact, cried when she saw the pictures. Becca’s hair had already started to fall out by her mother’s birthday.
Patrick turned back to the laundry, and to Bob. Bob leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and put his empty beer bottle on the table in front of him. “Okay, no speed dating, but we have to start getting you out in public, Patrick. Working concerts doesn’t count, especially since you won’t even look at any of the women who hang around at shows.” He gazed at Patrick, who busied himself with the pile of jeans in front of him. “Seriously, dude. I don’t want to be offensive or anything, but it’s been a year and a half. It’s time to stop hiding here at home.”
“I’m not hiding. I have a kid. That takes a lot of time.”
“I know.” Bob sighed and sat back. “Is it Jessie?” he asked softly, after checking over his shoulder to make sure she didn’t appear again. “Do you think she’ll be mad if you start dating again?”
“I don’t know.” Which was a lie. He’d already deflected Jessie twice – “You should get a girlfriend, Dad,” she’d said the first time, in a matter-of-fact voice. The second time, it was “Hey, my friend Marie’s mom is single, you should go on a date with her!” Each time, Patrick had managed to change the subject. “I just don’t want to start dating right now,” he told Bob. “End of story. And why are you so pushy about it, anyway? It’s not like you have a girlfriend right now.”
Bob scowled. Patrick knew it was a low blow – Bob’s ex-girlfriend had left two months before, and it was still a sore subject – but he hoped it would get him off the hook. He finished folding Jessie’s laundry and stood up. “Be right back. What time do we have to be there tonight, anyway?”
“Five-thirty.”
“Good.” Trina and her mother – Dawn, Patrick had to remember that, the woman was doing him enough favors that he should at least remember her name – would be there to pick Jessie up at four-thirty. That would give them plenty of time to get to work. Patrick didn’t often pick up concert jobs during the week; he didn’t like staying out so late when he had to get Jessie to school in the morning. Besides, it was a bitch to find a babysitter that could stay so late during the week, especially since his mother moved out of town and he lost contact with Becca’s parents. But, this show paid obnoxiously well, and Dawn had been kind enough to agree to keep Jessie overnight and make sure she got to school in the morning. Right now, with property taxes on the new house coming due and Christmas gifts to buy, any money was likely to be right.
He delivered the jeans into Jessie’s bedroom, which held a mount of clothing on her bed. “What are you doing?”
She emerged from her closet. “Trying to decide what to wear to school tomorrow.”
“Are you going to put everything away before you leave?”
“If I have time.”
Patrick raised his eyebrows. “Okay, but don’t blame me when you come home and have nothing to wear to school on Thursday. I’m not doing laundry again until Sunday.”
She rolled her eyes, and Patrick expected another octave change, but she simply brandished a hanger that had a green t-shirt hanging from it. “I’m wearing this on Thursday.”
“Why can’t you wear that tomorrow?”
“Because I wore another green shirt today.” There was an unspoken “duh” tacked onto the end of that statement, he could hear it. If this was what he had to deal with at ten, how was he going to survive the teenage years?
“I am only twenty-six,” he announced to Bob when he returned to the living room, “I am too young to have to worry about fathering a teenager. Right?”
“You know, she’s only six years younger than you guys were when you had her,” Bob pointed out. Patrick simply flipped him off. It would be easy to make sure Jessie didn’t repeat her parents’ mistakes. She just wouldn’t date until she was forty.
Apparently, even thinking the word “date” was a jinx. “You know, you’re right, I need to get back on the wagon, too,” Bob said. “Dating, I mean. We should go out some night, to a bar or something. You’re right, speed dating is lame. There are other ways …”
“Bob! Was I not speaking English? I. Am not interested. In dating right now.”
“Why not? And don’t give me bullshit, either, I know you. I knew both of you.”
Patrick sat down and rested his forehead in his hands. “I loved Becca,” he said helplessly. “You know I did.”
“I know. And I also know you two hadn’t touched each other in … years? Seriously, I can’t remember the last time I saw you two kiss each other. I’m not trying to be disrespectful, man, but … I’m pretty sure you’ve been a monk for longer than you’ve been a widower.”
“Why is my sex life so interesting to you?”
“Fuck off, I’m worried about you.”
Patrick looked up. Bob’s eyes were, indeed, full of concern, which made Patrick sigh. “Jesus, Bob. The thing is …” He closed his mouth. Becca was the only person he’d ever told. Which was kind of fucked up, if he thought about it too long. He opened his mouth again, and the words spilled out in an unstoppable roll. “The thing is … I’m not sure I want to date women. No, scratch that, I’m pretty damned sure I don’t want to date women.”
Bob stared at him for a long minute – one of the longest of Patrick’s life, it seemed. “So, wait, you’re …”
“Yeah. Pretty sure.”
“Huh.” Bob was quiet for a minute more. “I never guessed.”
Patrick leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling. “Becca and I were so young, man. I didn’t know anything about myself back then, and suddenly … we were a family. By the time I started to sort things out in my own head, there was so much at stake.” He closed his eyes. They’d gotten married right after Jessie was born – against the advice of any of their parents, but they were both adamant, they wanted their daughter to have a real family and they were going to take responsibility – but their romantic relationship had never really come back. It had taken three years, though, for Patrick to acknowledge to himself that he was more turned on by the drummer in his friend Bill’s second band than he was by his wife. It had taken two more years for him to stop hating himself for it.
“So …” Bob said slowly. “That’s okay, we work in music, we can find you a boyfriend just as easily as a girlfriend.”
Patrick wasn’t sure whether to be irritated or insanely grateful for the acceptance. He eventually landed on the latter. “I was serious, I’m not interested in dating right now, period. There’s so much going on …”
“That’s cool. It’s just … okay. You know, whatever.”
“Thanks.” Patrick felt the corner of his mouth quirk upwards.
“Um, Dad?”
Patrick jerked around hard enough to wrench his back. “Ouch. Fuck. Sorry …” She was standing halfway between the doorway and his chair, suitcase clutched in her hand. His heart jumped. “Jess? How long were you standing there?”
She didn’t answer. She just walked over to him, sat down on the arm of his chair and kissed his cheek. “I love you, Dad.”
Patrick felt a lump appear in his throat. He slung his arm around her waist. “I love you too, munchkin.” Suddenly, they heard a horn from the front of the house. “That’s Dawn and Trina,” he said. “You have their gifts, right?”
“Yep!” She jumped up from the chair. “Bye, Dad. Bye, Bob.”
“See ya, short stuff,” Bob said, poking her in the arm as she walked past.
“Be good, Jess, I’ll see you after school tomorrow,” Patrick called to her back as she walked out the front door. When she was gone, he looked at Bob. “Well, shit.”
“What?”
“You know she heard all that.”
“So?”
“So? What the hell, I just admitted that I’m gay. You think she’s not going to be freaked out by that?”
“She didn’t seem freaked out. Kids are surprised by a lot less than we were back when.” Bob stood up. “So what, you like guys. So do a lot of people. Let’s go to work.”
And that, it seemed, was that. Patrick would have been more annoyed that his biggest secret didn’t cause as much external drama as it did internal drama if he wasn’t so damned relieved to have it out.
***
Powerpoint gave Pete a headache. That was his entire reason for having Minesweeper open on his computer, or at least that would be the story if his boss walked in. Also, it was technically after hours on a Friday, so no one could complain anyway. It meant absolutely nothing that his presentation to AT&T was Monday and he wasn’t nearly ready. Nothing at all. “Who the hell has a gigantic marketing meeting right before Christmas, anyway?” AT&T was obviously owned by Satan.
“What was that?”
Pete looked up and quickly minimized his game. He blew out a breath when he saw Ryan leaning in the doorway. “Jesus. Scare me, why don’t you?”
“Are you talking to yourself again?”
“Best conversation I ever get.”
Ryan’s face didn’t change as he sat in the chair opposite Pete. Sometimes, Pete found himself contemplating that face, cataloging the small list of events and words that would cause some kind of emotional expression to show itself. It was a game sometimes – make Ryan laugh, make Ryan cry, make Ryan punch you in the face – anything, as long as it caused an expression that wasn’t deadpan. Maybe, Pete thought, if he told Ryan he was a lousy fuck … Pete passed a hand over his face. “God, I need to get the hell out of here.”
“Good thing it’s Friday night, then. Also, past time to leave.”
“I can’t leave yet,” Pete groaned. He leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling. “I haven’t finished my AT&T presentation yet.”
“You do remember that we’re due in Kenosha at eight, right?” When Pete looked back over, Ryan’s mouth had quirked downward, just a tiny bit. That was annoyance, Pete knew from experience. “Nick’s holiday party? You did remember, right?”
“Fuck.” That answered that question, and Ryan huffed a breath through his nose. Definitely annoyance. “Sorry,” Pete said. “Why don’t you go on? We have both of our cars here. I’ll finish this and follow as soon as I can. I swear, I’ll be there by nine. Nine-thirty, at the latest.”
Ryan stared for a moment, and then shrugged. “Why not? I certainly don’t want to stick around here any longer than I have to. I spent three hours this afternoon on a conference call revolving around bingo jokes. Seriously, if I have to design an ad around bingo balls, I’m hanging myself from the scaffolding outside my office window.” He stood up and walked around Pete’s desk. When Pete tilted his head to look at him, Ryan planted a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Don’t work too late. Nick’s probably busting out the good vodka just for you.”
“Yeah, because Nick loves me.”
“And no one else does, I know.” Ryan cuffed Pete lightly on the back of his neck as he walked away. “Send me a text when you’re leaving.”
“I’ll text you all the way up there, I promise.”
“Please don’t. I don’t feel like identifying your body in a wreck of twisted metal.”
And that, Pete thought when his office was empty, constituted an affectionate goodbye in their world.
True to his word, Pete walked out of the office just after eight, after announcing “AT&T can go fuck themselves!” to the fish in the tank behind his desk. He’d wing his way through the presentation on Monday. Or, possibly, he’d get to the office at five in the morning and rush his way through the rest of it fueled on a lack of sleep and six or seven shots of espresso. Either way, it’d get done.
He was in his car and three blocks away from the freeway entrance before he realized he’d left his iPod in the office. “Well, fuck.” He never had bothered to get the satellite radio reinstalled in his BMW after it’d started broadcasting gibberish in the fall, which meant … “God damn, am I going to have to listen to regular radio?” Pete rubbed his forehead and sighed. He possibly hadn’t listened to normal radio stations since college. Even then, it’d been DePaul’s underground radio station – he remembered their programming director fondly, having spent many a night doing wonderful things in the DJ booth during said director’s midnight to four shift. Well, at least until they were caught by the radio station’s staff advisor. Pete was fairly sure the old dude had been turned on by the sight of Pete on his knees, but nevertheless, they’d both been forcibly evicted from the premises. Good times.
Pete fiddled with the radio dial as his car began to point in the direction of the Wisconsin border. Country music, classical music, rap – he almost stopped, but no, his brain was too fried to appreciate the driving beats right now – and a screeching car horn behind him, causing him to jerk up and look in his rearview mirror. “Oh, sorry, dude,” he said to the car behind him, when he glanced down and realized he was going forty-five on the freeway. “Watch the road, Pete,” he told himself. “But, hey, if I die in a car crash, AT&T can really go fuck themselves!”
There were too many people on the road – everyone must have some serious Friday night plans, more Christmas parties, he supposed – so Pete decided to concentrate on the road, rather than the radio. He made a face when the commercials ended and a talk radio show came blaring over the speakers. “Good evening, Chicago,” a somewhat sexy-sounding female voice said. “My name is Doctor Victoria Asher, and I’m here to listen to you.”
“I bet you are,” Pete muttered. But, hey, she sounded better than Carrie Underwood, so she could stay, he supposed.
Actually, the radio show turned out to be pretty entertaining, in ways the good Doctor Victoria probably didn’t intend. (Or maybe she did. Maybe she was just a fake shrink who wanted people to humiliate themselves on the air. It wasn’t the worst idea for entertainment, Pete figured.) He laughed for a full five minutes straight at the poor sap who called in to ask about his potentially cheating girlfriend. “She and my best friend,” the guy said morosely, “they’re working all these late hours together, and sometimes she comes home wearing his coat. But he’s just being nice, right? He doesn’t want her to be cold, I figure!” Pete shook his head. “God, you totally deserve it, I swear,” he told the empty car.
Pete had just crossed the Wisconsin border when Doctor Victoria came back from another commercial break. “On the phone now, we have a little girl named Jessie, who wants to talk about her father. Go ahead, Jessie, you’re on the air.”
“Oh, right,” Pete said, rolling his eyes, “let’s tug some heartstrings now, shall we? Kids always mean ratings.”
The voice on the radio was young – not precociously young, but not quite teenage, either. “Hi, Doctor Victoria. I … um, well, it’s about my dad. It’s just me and him. My … um, my mom, she died a couple of years ago.”
“Oh, Jessie, I’m very sorry to hear that.” Doctor Victoria sounded the very picture (the sound?) of sympathy. Pete clucked his tongue and scowled.
“It’s okay … I guess. We’re doing all right. But, the thing is, I think my dad’s lonely. He hasn’t been on any dates since Mom died. I think he needs someone.”
“Have you talked to him about it, Jessie? Told him you’re worried about him?”
“Yeah, I tried. He just blows me off. But …” There was a pause, and Pete suddenly found himself leaning closer to the radio. He made himself sit back in his seat, disgusted. “It’s sorta complicated,” Jessie finished.
“How so?” Doctor Victoria asked.
“Well … um.” The girl paused again, and Pete could hear the shaky, indrawn breath before she continued. “I sorta found out that my dad is gay.”
“What??” Pete’s voice was louder than he intended it to be, and the echoes in the empty car made his eardrums vibrate. That was emphatically not what he’d been expecting.
Possibly, it wasn’t what Doctor Victoria was expecting, either, because there was a noticeable silence before she picked up the conversation. “Jessie, does that bother you?”
“No, not really. I mean, who cares, who you love doesn’t matter, right?”
“God bless the future generations,” Pete said.
“I just want him to be happy,” Jessie continued, “you know? He doesn’t act like he’s happy a lot of the times. He tries, and he’s not sad all the time, but I can tell when he’s just acting. I don’t want him to act happy. I want him to be happy.”
Pete felt something tickling at the back of his throat, and he coughed to get rid of it. It wasn’t tears. Absolutely not. Because there was no way some radio show was going to make him cry. The little girl was probably an actress, anyway; they were doing this whole spot because gay people were in fashion, that was it. He was absolutely not going to cry over some fake little girl and her fake gay father. And even if he did, he was never telling Ryan about it. Ever.
“Jessie,” Doctor Victoria continued while Pete carefully sniffed, “is your father home with you tonight?”
“Yes …” The girl spoke quietly, as if afraid of being discovered.
“Would you be willing to put him on the phone? I’d like to talk to him.”
Pete’s sniffles stopped immediately. “Oh, hell no, lady. I can’t even believe you’re doing this!”
“I don’t know … he’s going to be mad if he finds out I’m talking to you!”
“Smart girl,” Pete told her.
“He won’t be mad. You’re just looking out for him. I think he needs to know how much you want him to be happy.”
“I don’t know …” But, suddenly, there was a muffled voice coming from somewhere behind the little girl. Pete made out a form of “who are you talking to?” a few moments before he heard a male voice on the phone. “Who is this?”
“Sir,” Doctor Victoria asked, “are you Jessie’s father?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“What is your name, sir?”
“Patrick. Who is this?” he repeated again, with an emphasis on the words that made Pete blow a breath out slowly and mutter, “Oh, lady, you’re in trouble now.”
“My name is Doctor Victoria Asher, and you’re on the air on Night Talk, Chicago’s only nighttime talk radio show.”
“I’m … what? The radio? What the hell is this?”
“Dude, hang up the phone right now,” Pete advised the empty car. “No good is going to come of this.”
“Your daughter called into my show, Patrick. She’s worried about you. I wonder if you might talk to me for a few minutes.”
“What? She … what?” Pete heard the tell-tale sound of a hand muffling the telephone receiver, followed by quiet, unintelligible murmurs in both a deep adult male and a high child’s voice. After a short conversation, the man – Patrick – came back to the phone. “What did she say to you?” he asked.
“Jessie thinks you’re lonely, Patrick, and she’s worried about you. She thinks you need someone else in your life.”
“Jessie and I have had this discussion before,” Patrick said, “and it’s not one I’m interested in repeating on the radio.”
“I don’t think she thinks you’re taking her seriously, Patrick,” Doctor Victoria pushed on, “or else, why would she call me? Obviously, she’s asking for help. I’d like to give it to her, if you’d let me.”
Pete groaned and flipped his middle finger at the radio, but if he was being honest, he was actually pretty happy when the guy started talking again. Pete was a sucker for voices, and this Patrick had one of the best he’d ever heard, deep and casual and commanding all at the same time. “I love Jessie more than anything else in the world,” Patrick said, and it was obvious he was addressing more than just the telephone, “but she’s ten years old, and there’s a lot she doesn’t understand about being a parent.”
“Being a single parent is one of the hardest things in the world, I know,” the woman on the radio sympathized, “but you don’t necessarily have to do it alone. Is there anything specific holding you back from reentering the dating scene?”
“I just don’t have time,” Patrick said, and Pete could hear a tightening in his voice.
“Jessie seems to think the problem might be something else.”
“Like what?”
There was a pause, and Pete held his breath. “Perhaps,” Doctor Victoria began, “your dating interests might lay in a different …direction. Like, with men.”
Pete nearly choked. “You did it. You went there. Holy shit.”
There was a long pause, and Pete thought – hoped, maybe – that Patrick had hung up on her. Doctor Victoria filled the silence. “If Jessie’s correct, Patrick, then this is definitely something you should talk …”
“Okay, listen,” Patrick cut her off. “Here’s the thing. I am who I am. I’m not going to sit here and deny anything or argue with you, because … because I don’t want anyone to think it’s something to be ashamed of, alright? There are a lot of things that make my life complicated. But, in the end, it all boils down to something really simple – my daughter. Jessie is my life, period, end of story. I’m doing what I think is best for her, and that’s all I can do. Everything else comes second … or, somewhere beyond second, there is no second, there’s only Jessie and everything else way far away out there. Are there things I … might like to do?” There was a pause, and then he continued. “Yeah, maybe, but the first thing I think of every morning is Jessie, and the last thing, too. She may not understand everything I do right now, or everything I don’t do, but I hope she will someday. I’m trying my hardest to be a good dad. I know it doesn’t always work, but I do my best, and I don’t really need some woman on the radio telling me what I’m doing isn’t good enough.”
As Pete whooped loudly, Doctor Victoria nearly stuttered. “Patrick, that’s not what I …”
Patrick interrupted her again. “I’m sorry Jessie called you. Good night, ma’am.”
There was a click, and after a moment of silence, Doctor Victoria began talking again, scrambling to introduce a commercial. Pete finally looked up at the road, only to realize he’d driven three exits past Nick’s house. Cursing, he flipped the radio off and looked for a place to turn around.
In the silence, though, he still stared at the radio. “Patrick,” he said aloud, “whoever you are, I might need you to marry me.”
Chapter Two
romanticbandom story. Which is now very late, and still in process, but I plan to be done with all six parts by the middle of March! This is the plan, and my determined face, and all that. If you like reading WIPs, feedback is love, naturally!
Title: Sleepless in Chicago (1/6)
Pairing: Pete/Patrick (Pete/Ryan, Patrick/Brendon)
Rating: PG-13, mostly for language
Word Count: This chapter clocks in around 4,800 words. Yeah, this whole thing's going to be epic.
Notes: Again, for
romanticbandom, in which I obviously chose Sleepless in Seattle. Lots of love to dragonsinger for the beta, and to rue_quercus for listening to me ramble about this at odd intervals!Summary: AU. Patrick is a widower and young father. Pete is an advertising exec with a boring relationship. When Patrick's daughter makes a call to a radio shrink, lives intersect and shenanigans ensue.
“Dad! I can’t find my shoes!”
Patrick resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he handed Bob a beer. “Which ones?” he called back into the hallway.
“The pink ones! With the glitter!”
“Didn’t you wear those to school yesterday? They’re in the hall closet.”
“Daaaaaaaad!” Jessie’s voice rose an octave in the middle of the word. “Those were the PURPLE ones!”
Patrick shrugged and sat down opposite Bob. “I don’t know, I can’t keep them all straight,” he said, more quietly.
“Like father, like daughter,” Bob snickered.
“What, shoes? Kiss my ass, mine don’t have glitter.” Patrick grinned, and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. They had two hours before they had to be at work. (Some kind of popular indie kid concert, Patrick had heard of the band but hadn’t been terribly impressed with their three-chord sound when he listened to the songs on their MySpace. Still, a paycheck was a paycheck, he could run a sound board without liking the music). When he and Bob worked the same event, they had a standing pre-show tradition that consisted mostly of beer and work gossip. “So, we’re working at the Metro tonight, huh? I wonder who they have tending bar. I heard they finally fired Kyle for skimming.”
“Ouch. Sucks to be him.” Bob pointed his bottle in Patrick’s direction. “You haven’t answered my question, though.”
“What question?” When Bob raised an eyebrow, Patrick scowled. “No, I am absolutely not doing fucking speed dating. Forget it.”
“Dad!” Jessie’s voice was sharp from the living room doorway. “Language!”
“Sorry. Did you find your shoes?”
“Yeah, I found them, but where are my jeans?”
Patrick rubbed the back of his neck. “I think I forgot to fold them. They’re probably still in the dryer.”
“Daaaaaad!” The changing octave was back. “Trina’s mom will be here to pick me up ANY MINUTE!”
“She’ll be here in an hour, Jess. I’ll fold them right now.”
Jessie flounced off to her bedroom. Patrick stood up and shrugged at Bob again. “Mom duties call. Be right back.”
A year and a half later, Patrick could almost ignore the pang that came with even breathing the words “mom” or “Becca”. When he closed his eyes, he only saw a brief flash of blonde hair and pink fingernails, only heard a whisper of an alto voice. When he did hear it, he could only hear the gentle rasp of her voice at the end, destroyed by chemotherapy that they both knew would never work in the first place. But, if he let himself linger on the thought, he could still almost smell their bedroom, the metallic tang of the drugs that flowed into her catheter from a metal stand next to the bed. She’d refused the hospital at the end, wanted to be comfortable. He could see Jessie standing in the doorway, refusing to come inside, clutching the Elmo doll she’d proclaimed herself too old for two years earlier. He could feel Becca’s hand in his, squeezing lightly with all of the strength she had, and hear her soft voice. “God, Patrick, promise me you’ll be happy. I want you to do whatever it takes to be happy. Promise me.”
Blinking furiously, Patrick slammed the dryer door shut and shoved the last handful of laundry into the basket. He banished Becca’s voice from his head when he walked back to the living room. “No speed dating,” he repeated when he sat down. “I’m not interested.”
“Oh, come on. I’ll even go with you.”
Patrick tried to imagine Bob – long blond hair, lip ring, faded Iron Maiden t-shirt, broad-shouldered build that made him seem to loom over the perpetual parade of skinny emo kids he worked for – enduring a parade of suburban singles with neat outfits purchased at the local mall. “I’d almost agree for the entertainment alone,” Patrick said, “but no. Seriously. Can we drop it?”
Bob fell silent as Jessie walked back out into the living room. She stood behind Patrick’s chair and tapped him on the shoulder. “Dad, do you remember where I left Trina’s Christmas gift? We wrapped it last night, but it’s not in my room and it’s not in the dining room.”
“I put them away in the closet. The candy for Trina’s mom is there, too, grab that while you’re at it.”
She walked away, and Patrick twisted around briefly to watch her. Her hair was tied back into a messy ponytail – right now, its color tended more towards Patrick’s copper than Becca’s pure blonde, but he knew from experience that would change when the summer came. When the sun was involved, Jessie became a miniature image of her mother, all blonde and blue eyes and heart-shaped face. There was a photo on his bedroom wall, the only photo he’d hung since they moved in – Becca and Jessie were dressed in matching sundresses, and they both were laughing uproariously. He remembered when it was taken; the two of them had gone (“girls day out”) to have photos taken for Becca’s mother’s birthday, and Becca had decided to buy the dresses at the last minute. “It’s so cheesy,” she’d told Patrick that night, still giggling, “but it’s the kind of thing my mom lives for. She’ll probably bust out into tears when she sees them.”
Veronica had, in fact, cried when she saw the pictures. Becca’s hair had already started to fall out by her mother’s birthday.
Patrick turned back to the laundry, and to Bob. Bob leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and put his empty beer bottle on the table in front of him. “Okay, no speed dating, but we have to start getting you out in public, Patrick. Working concerts doesn’t count, especially since you won’t even look at any of the women who hang around at shows.” He gazed at Patrick, who busied himself with the pile of jeans in front of him. “Seriously, dude. I don’t want to be offensive or anything, but it’s been a year and a half. It’s time to stop hiding here at home.”
“I’m not hiding. I have a kid. That takes a lot of time.”
“I know.” Bob sighed and sat back. “Is it Jessie?” he asked softly, after checking over his shoulder to make sure she didn’t appear again. “Do you think she’ll be mad if you start dating again?”
“I don’t know.” Which was a lie. He’d already deflected Jessie twice – “You should get a girlfriend, Dad,” she’d said the first time, in a matter-of-fact voice. The second time, it was “Hey, my friend Marie’s mom is single, you should go on a date with her!” Each time, Patrick had managed to change the subject. “I just don’t want to start dating right now,” he told Bob. “End of story. And why are you so pushy about it, anyway? It’s not like you have a girlfriend right now.”
Bob scowled. Patrick knew it was a low blow – Bob’s ex-girlfriend had left two months before, and it was still a sore subject – but he hoped it would get him off the hook. He finished folding Jessie’s laundry and stood up. “Be right back. What time do we have to be there tonight, anyway?”
“Five-thirty.”
“Good.” Trina and her mother – Dawn, Patrick had to remember that, the woman was doing him enough favors that he should at least remember her name – would be there to pick Jessie up at four-thirty. That would give them plenty of time to get to work. Patrick didn’t often pick up concert jobs during the week; he didn’t like staying out so late when he had to get Jessie to school in the morning. Besides, it was a bitch to find a babysitter that could stay so late during the week, especially since his mother moved out of town and he lost contact with Becca’s parents. But, this show paid obnoxiously well, and Dawn had been kind enough to agree to keep Jessie overnight and make sure she got to school in the morning. Right now, with property taxes on the new house coming due and Christmas gifts to buy, any money was likely to be right.
He delivered the jeans into Jessie’s bedroom, which held a mount of clothing on her bed. “What are you doing?”
She emerged from her closet. “Trying to decide what to wear to school tomorrow.”
“Are you going to put everything away before you leave?”
“If I have time.”
Patrick raised his eyebrows. “Okay, but don’t blame me when you come home and have nothing to wear to school on Thursday. I’m not doing laundry again until Sunday.”
She rolled her eyes, and Patrick expected another octave change, but she simply brandished a hanger that had a green t-shirt hanging from it. “I’m wearing this on Thursday.”
“Why can’t you wear that tomorrow?”
“Because I wore another green shirt today.” There was an unspoken “duh” tacked onto the end of that statement, he could hear it. If this was what he had to deal with at ten, how was he going to survive the teenage years?
“I am only twenty-six,” he announced to Bob when he returned to the living room, “I am too young to have to worry about fathering a teenager. Right?”
“You know, she’s only six years younger than you guys were when you had her,” Bob pointed out. Patrick simply flipped him off. It would be easy to make sure Jessie didn’t repeat her parents’ mistakes. She just wouldn’t date until she was forty.
Apparently, even thinking the word “date” was a jinx. “You know, you’re right, I need to get back on the wagon, too,” Bob said. “Dating, I mean. We should go out some night, to a bar or something. You’re right, speed dating is lame. There are other ways …”
“Bob! Was I not speaking English? I. Am not interested. In dating right now.”
“Why not? And don’t give me bullshit, either, I know you. I knew both of you.”
Patrick sat down and rested his forehead in his hands. “I loved Becca,” he said helplessly. “You know I did.”
“I know. And I also know you two hadn’t touched each other in … years? Seriously, I can’t remember the last time I saw you two kiss each other. I’m not trying to be disrespectful, man, but … I’m pretty sure you’ve been a monk for longer than you’ve been a widower.”
“Why is my sex life so interesting to you?”
“Fuck off, I’m worried about you.”
Patrick looked up. Bob’s eyes were, indeed, full of concern, which made Patrick sigh. “Jesus, Bob. The thing is …” He closed his mouth. Becca was the only person he’d ever told. Which was kind of fucked up, if he thought about it too long. He opened his mouth again, and the words spilled out in an unstoppable roll. “The thing is … I’m not sure I want to date women. No, scratch that, I’m pretty damned sure I don’t want to date women.”
Bob stared at him for a long minute – one of the longest of Patrick’s life, it seemed. “So, wait, you’re …”
“Yeah. Pretty sure.”
“Huh.” Bob was quiet for a minute more. “I never guessed.”
Patrick leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling. “Becca and I were so young, man. I didn’t know anything about myself back then, and suddenly … we were a family. By the time I started to sort things out in my own head, there was so much at stake.” He closed his eyes. They’d gotten married right after Jessie was born – against the advice of any of their parents, but they were both adamant, they wanted their daughter to have a real family and they were going to take responsibility – but their romantic relationship had never really come back. It had taken three years, though, for Patrick to acknowledge to himself that he was more turned on by the drummer in his friend Bill’s second band than he was by his wife. It had taken two more years for him to stop hating himself for it.
“So …” Bob said slowly. “That’s okay, we work in music, we can find you a boyfriend just as easily as a girlfriend.”
Patrick wasn’t sure whether to be irritated or insanely grateful for the acceptance. He eventually landed on the latter. “I was serious, I’m not interested in dating right now, period. There’s so much going on …”
“That’s cool. It’s just … okay. You know, whatever.”
“Thanks.” Patrick felt the corner of his mouth quirk upwards.
“Um, Dad?”
Patrick jerked around hard enough to wrench his back. “Ouch. Fuck. Sorry …” She was standing halfway between the doorway and his chair, suitcase clutched in her hand. His heart jumped. “Jess? How long were you standing there?”
She didn’t answer. She just walked over to him, sat down on the arm of his chair and kissed his cheek. “I love you, Dad.”
Patrick felt a lump appear in his throat. He slung his arm around her waist. “I love you too, munchkin.” Suddenly, they heard a horn from the front of the house. “That’s Dawn and Trina,” he said. “You have their gifts, right?”
“Yep!” She jumped up from the chair. “Bye, Dad. Bye, Bob.”
“See ya, short stuff,” Bob said, poking her in the arm as she walked past.
“Be good, Jess, I’ll see you after school tomorrow,” Patrick called to her back as she walked out the front door. When she was gone, he looked at Bob. “Well, shit.”
“What?”
“You know she heard all that.”
“So?”
“So? What the hell, I just admitted that I’m gay. You think she’s not going to be freaked out by that?”
“She didn’t seem freaked out. Kids are surprised by a lot less than we were back when.” Bob stood up. “So what, you like guys. So do a lot of people. Let’s go to work.”
And that, it seemed, was that. Patrick would have been more annoyed that his biggest secret didn’t cause as much external drama as it did internal drama if he wasn’t so damned relieved to have it out.
***
Powerpoint gave Pete a headache. That was his entire reason for having Minesweeper open on his computer, or at least that would be the story if his boss walked in. Also, it was technically after hours on a Friday, so no one could complain anyway. It meant absolutely nothing that his presentation to AT&T was Monday and he wasn’t nearly ready. Nothing at all. “Who the hell has a gigantic marketing meeting right before Christmas, anyway?” AT&T was obviously owned by Satan.
“What was that?”
Pete looked up and quickly minimized his game. He blew out a breath when he saw Ryan leaning in the doorway. “Jesus. Scare me, why don’t you?”
“Are you talking to yourself again?”
“Best conversation I ever get.”
Ryan’s face didn’t change as he sat in the chair opposite Pete. Sometimes, Pete found himself contemplating that face, cataloging the small list of events and words that would cause some kind of emotional expression to show itself. It was a game sometimes – make Ryan laugh, make Ryan cry, make Ryan punch you in the face – anything, as long as it caused an expression that wasn’t deadpan. Maybe, Pete thought, if he told Ryan he was a lousy fuck … Pete passed a hand over his face. “God, I need to get the hell out of here.”
“Good thing it’s Friday night, then. Also, past time to leave.”
“I can’t leave yet,” Pete groaned. He leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling. “I haven’t finished my AT&T presentation yet.”
“You do remember that we’re due in Kenosha at eight, right?” When Pete looked back over, Ryan’s mouth had quirked downward, just a tiny bit. That was annoyance, Pete knew from experience. “Nick’s holiday party? You did remember, right?”
“Fuck.” That answered that question, and Ryan huffed a breath through his nose. Definitely annoyance. “Sorry,” Pete said. “Why don’t you go on? We have both of our cars here. I’ll finish this and follow as soon as I can. I swear, I’ll be there by nine. Nine-thirty, at the latest.”
Ryan stared for a moment, and then shrugged. “Why not? I certainly don’t want to stick around here any longer than I have to. I spent three hours this afternoon on a conference call revolving around bingo jokes. Seriously, if I have to design an ad around bingo balls, I’m hanging myself from the scaffolding outside my office window.” He stood up and walked around Pete’s desk. When Pete tilted his head to look at him, Ryan planted a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Don’t work too late. Nick’s probably busting out the good vodka just for you.”
“Yeah, because Nick loves me.”
“And no one else does, I know.” Ryan cuffed Pete lightly on the back of his neck as he walked away. “Send me a text when you’re leaving.”
“I’ll text you all the way up there, I promise.”
“Please don’t. I don’t feel like identifying your body in a wreck of twisted metal.”
And that, Pete thought when his office was empty, constituted an affectionate goodbye in their world.
True to his word, Pete walked out of the office just after eight, after announcing “AT&T can go fuck themselves!” to the fish in the tank behind his desk. He’d wing his way through the presentation on Monday. Or, possibly, he’d get to the office at five in the morning and rush his way through the rest of it fueled on a lack of sleep and six or seven shots of espresso. Either way, it’d get done.
He was in his car and three blocks away from the freeway entrance before he realized he’d left his iPod in the office. “Well, fuck.” He never had bothered to get the satellite radio reinstalled in his BMW after it’d started broadcasting gibberish in the fall, which meant … “God damn, am I going to have to listen to regular radio?” Pete rubbed his forehead and sighed. He possibly hadn’t listened to normal radio stations since college. Even then, it’d been DePaul’s underground radio station – he remembered their programming director fondly, having spent many a night doing wonderful things in the DJ booth during said director’s midnight to four shift. Well, at least until they were caught by the radio station’s staff advisor. Pete was fairly sure the old dude had been turned on by the sight of Pete on his knees, but nevertheless, they’d both been forcibly evicted from the premises. Good times.
Pete fiddled with the radio dial as his car began to point in the direction of the Wisconsin border. Country music, classical music, rap – he almost stopped, but no, his brain was too fried to appreciate the driving beats right now – and a screeching car horn behind him, causing him to jerk up and look in his rearview mirror. “Oh, sorry, dude,” he said to the car behind him, when he glanced down and realized he was going forty-five on the freeway. “Watch the road, Pete,” he told himself. “But, hey, if I die in a car crash, AT&T can really go fuck themselves!”
There were too many people on the road – everyone must have some serious Friday night plans, more Christmas parties, he supposed – so Pete decided to concentrate on the road, rather than the radio. He made a face when the commercials ended and a talk radio show came blaring over the speakers. “Good evening, Chicago,” a somewhat sexy-sounding female voice said. “My name is Doctor Victoria Asher, and I’m here to listen to you.”
“I bet you are,” Pete muttered. But, hey, she sounded better than Carrie Underwood, so she could stay, he supposed.
Actually, the radio show turned out to be pretty entertaining, in ways the good Doctor Victoria probably didn’t intend. (Or maybe she did. Maybe she was just a fake shrink who wanted people to humiliate themselves on the air. It wasn’t the worst idea for entertainment, Pete figured.) He laughed for a full five minutes straight at the poor sap who called in to ask about his potentially cheating girlfriend. “She and my best friend,” the guy said morosely, “they’re working all these late hours together, and sometimes she comes home wearing his coat. But he’s just being nice, right? He doesn’t want her to be cold, I figure!” Pete shook his head. “God, you totally deserve it, I swear,” he told the empty car.
Pete had just crossed the Wisconsin border when Doctor Victoria came back from another commercial break. “On the phone now, we have a little girl named Jessie, who wants to talk about her father. Go ahead, Jessie, you’re on the air.”
“Oh, right,” Pete said, rolling his eyes, “let’s tug some heartstrings now, shall we? Kids always mean ratings.”
The voice on the radio was young – not precociously young, but not quite teenage, either. “Hi, Doctor Victoria. I … um, well, it’s about my dad. It’s just me and him. My … um, my mom, she died a couple of years ago.”
“Oh, Jessie, I’m very sorry to hear that.” Doctor Victoria sounded the very picture (the sound?) of sympathy. Pete clucked his tongue and scowled.
“It’s okay … I guess. We’re doing all right. But, the thing is, I think my dad’s lonely. He hasn’t been on any dates since Mom died. I think he needs someone.”
“Have you talked to him about it, Jessie? Told him you’re worried about him?”
“Yeah, I tried. He just blows me off. But …” There was a pause, and Pete suddenly found himself leaning closer to the radio. He made himself sit back in his seat, disgusted. “It’s sorta complicated,” Jessie finished.
“How so?” Doctor Victoria asked.
“Well … um.” The girl paused again, and Pete could hear the shaky, indrawn breath before she continued. “I sorta found out that my dad is gay.”
“What??” Pete’s voice was louder than he intended it to be, and the echoes in the empty car made his eardrums vibrate. That was emphatically not what he’d been expecting.
Possibly, it wasn’t what Doctor Victoria was expecting, either, because there was a noticeable silence before she picked up the conversation. “Jessie, does that bother you?”
“No, not really. I mean, who cares, who you love doesn’t matter, right?”
“God bless the future generations,” Pete said.
“I just want him to be happy,” Jessie continued, “you know? He doesn’t act like he’s happy a lot of the times. He tries, and he’s not sad all the time, but I can tell when he’s just acting. I don’t want him to act happy. I want him to be happy.”
Pete felt something tickling at the back of his throat, and he coughed to get rid of it. It wasn’t tears. Absolutely not. Because there was no way some radio show was going to make him cry. The little girl was probably an actress, anyway; they were doing this whole spot because gay people were in fashion, that was it. He was absolutely not going to cry over some fake little girl and her fake gay father. And even if he did, he was never telling Ryan about it. Ever.
“Jessie,” Doctor Victoria continued while Pete carefully sniffed, “is your father home with you tonight?”
“Yes …” The girl spoke quietly, as if afraid of being discovered.
“Would you be willing to put him on the phone? I’d like to talk to him.”
Pete’s sniffles stopped immediately. “Oh, hell no, lady. I can’t even believe you’re doing this!”
“I don’t know … he’s going to be mad if he finds out I’m talking to you!”
“Smart girl,” Pete told her.
“He won’t be mad. You’re just looking out for him. I think he needs to know how much you want him to be happy.”
“I don’t know …” But, suddenly, there was a muffled voice coming from somewhere behind the little girl. Pete made out a form of “who are you talking to?” a few moments before he heard a male voice on the phone. “Who is this?”
“Sir,” Doctor Victoria asked, “are you Jessie’s father?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“What is your name, sir?”
“Patrick. Who is this?” he repeated again, with an emphasis on the words that made Pete blow a breath out slowly and mutter, “Oh, lady, you’re in trouble now.”
“My name is Doctor Victoria Asher, and you’re on the air on Night Talk, Chicago’s only nighttime talk radio show.”
“I’m … what? The radio? What the hell is this?”
“Dude, hang up the phone right now,” Pete advised the empty car. “No good is going to come of this.”
“Your daughter called into my show, Patrick. She’s worried about you. I wonder if you might talk to me for a few minutes.”
“What? She … what?” Pete heard the tell-tale sound of a hand muffling the telephone receiver, followed by quiet, unintelligible murmurs in both a deep adult male and a high child’s voice. After a short conversation, the man – Patrick – came back to the phone. “What did she say to you?” he asked.
“Jessie thinks you’re lonely, Patrick, and she’s worried about you. She thinks you need someone else in your life.”
“Jessie and I have had this discussion before,” Patrick said, “and it’s not one I’m interested in repeating on the radio.”
“I don’t think she thinks you’re taking her seriously, Patrick,” Doctor Victoria pushed on, “or else, why would she call me? Obviously, she’s asking for help. I’d like to give it to her, if you’d let me.”
Pete groaned and flipped his middle finger at the radio, but if he was being honest, he was actually pretty happy when the guy started talking again. Pete was a sucker for voices, and this Patrick had one of the best he’d ever heard, deep and casual and commanding all at the same time. “I love Jessie more than anything else in the world,” Patrick said, and it was obvious he was addressing more than just the telephone, “but she’s ten years old, and there’s a lot she doesn’t understand about being a parent.”
“Being a single parent is one of the hardest things in the world, I know,” the woman on the radio sympathized, “but you don’t necessarily have to do it alone. Is there anything specific holding you back from reentering the dating scene?”
“I just don’t have time,” Patrick said, and Pete could hear a tightening in his voice.
“Jessie seems to think the problem might be something else.”
“Like what?”
There was a pause, and Pete held his breath. “Perhaps,” Doctor Victoria began, “your dating interests might lay in a different …direction. Like, with men.”
Pete nearly choked. “You did it. You went there. Holy shit.”
There was a long pause, and Pete thought – hoped, maybe – that Patrick had hung up on her. Doctor Victoria filled the silence. “If Jessie’s correct, Patrick, then this is definitely something you should talk …”
“Okay, listen,” Patrick cut her off. “Here’s the thing. I am who I am. I’m not going to sit here and deny anything or argue with you, because … because I don’t want anyone to think it’s something to be ashamed of, alright? There are a lot of things that make my life complicated. But, in the end, it all boils down to something really simple – my daughter. Jessie is my life, period, end of story. I’m doing what I think is best for her, and that’s all I can do. Everything else comes second … or, somewhere beyond second, there is no second, there’s only Jessie and everything else way far away out there. Are there things I … might like to do?” There was a pause, and then he continued. “Yeah, maybe, but the first thing I think of every morning is Jessie, and the last thing, too. She may not understand everything I do right now, or everything I don’t do, but I hope she will someday. I’m trying my hardest to be a good dad. I know it doesn’t always work, but I do my best, and I don’t really need some woman on the radio telling me what I’m doing isn’t good enough.”
As Pete whooped loudly, Doctor Victoria nearly stuttered. “Patrick, that’s not what I …”
Patrick interrupted her again. “I’m sorry Jessie called you. Good night, ma’am.”
There was a click, and after a moment of silence, Doctor Victoria began talking again, scrambling to introduce a commercial. Pete finally looked up at the road, only to realize he’d driven three exits past Nick’s house. Cursing, he flipped the radio off and looked for a place to turn around.
In the silence, though, he still stared at the radio. “Patrick,” he said aloud, “whoever you are, I might need you to marry me.”
Chapter Two
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-02-25 12:24 am (UTC)and now I go back to do actual work.
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Date: 2008-02-25 02:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-25 01:00 am (UTC)Teenage parent Patrick!
Best friend Bob Bryar!
Everything about Pete!
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Date: 2008-02-25 02:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-25 01:53 am (UTC)Two thumbs up!
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Date: 2008-02-25 02:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-25 03:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-25 06:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-25 06:38 pm (UTC)Very awesome. :)
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Date: 2008-02-25 07:03 pm (UTC)(And if your internal dialogue matches Pete Wentz's at any time, real or fictional, it's time to start analyzing your own sanity. ;))
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Date: 2008-02-29 10:29 pm (UTC)