The Patrick Reid Alternative

As promised, my attempt at Offspring fan-fiction.And now it's super scary to post this because isn't it easy to be super critical lady who can pick characterisation flaws from a distance.

I will admit it came out a lot more angsty than I'd planned, also, this story does continue and bring in other Proudmans and sort of continue the flash back momentum - if people are interested, I'll keep going.

In the meantime, enjoy ALIVE PATRICK, behind the link.





She wakes with a start, her heart thumping, her mind racing. Already it’s gone though, the understanding of the dream, or she corrects herself, a nightmare. Whatever it was, she feels deeply unsettled. Was she swimming? She remembers swimming but somehow in the sky.

Shaking the confusion away, she reaches a hand beside her but the bed is empty, the covers tossed back. Nina isn’t alarmed, this is her new normal. Of course she understands, just because she gave birth to a healthy baby boy, doesn’t mean he’s forgotten the pain. It doesn’t wipe away the grief of Oscar and she would never expect it too. Rising from their bed, she tip toes softly down the stairs, knowing where she’ll find them both.

It’s strange to her, to think that only two years earlier of how lost she was, how adrift in the world she felt. At her lowest, after Chris had left, she’d wondered if her great love was beyond her. Not something that she deserved somehow. But then he came barging into her life, burdened and sarcastic. Snapping away the emotion with his patented deflection. Of course, as he’d wanted, she assumed he was an egotistical jackass and yes, of course, he was but like every cliché, truth lies at the bottom of it. And for Patrick Reid underneath his bravado, a never ending well of self-recrimination, of doubt and sorrow, of loneliness.

Somehow, and she often wonders how, they made it through to each other. After too many times of almost misses and accidental confusion, they’d made it home, to here.

The moonlight was pouring in through the windows, and as she reached the bottom step, she could hear him murmuring. The late summer air was still warm for the hour and he stood there shirtless, cradling Lenny, pointing at the stars, often words of wisdom she couldn’t hear, but caused her to grin none the less.
He moved gently back and forth, soothing the Lenny in his arm. Her boy sometimes needing time at night to settle.   She smiled and corrected herself, her boys that sometimes needing settling.

Two Months Earlier

He’s practically creating tracks across the rug, his pacing bordering on frantic. It’s the third night she’s found him here, at strange, darkened hours of the morning.

She’d noticed his restlessness in the day time, but with their unending parade of family members and problems, it’s been enough to distract him. Now though, in the quiet hours, he can’t contain it, can’t hide it from her. He’s spent the better part of their relationship attempting to hide from her, his attempts to protect himself and those around him, she guesses. It drove her mad and it’s only been with therapy and counselling that she can understand he’s not deliberately punishing her but still in some way punishing himself.

The heat of early summer hasn’t made it easy to sleep and it’s the excuse he’s used the past two nights. Tonight, his breathing is laboured, his shoulders glisten with a slight sweat and his tank is damp.

‘Patrick,’ she whispers, attempting not to startle him. She fails and he whirls around, his eyes wild and then hooded, automatically putting the shield in place.

‘Yeah?’ he replies, coming to a stop away from her, his hands automatically going to his hips, his posture of one slight defiance.

She sighs, and automatically wants to pester him, poke and prod and question him but she knows, especially lately, she knows this will only drive him deeper. Instead, she tries a new technique.

She sits on the couch, far less gracefully than she wanted, and then calmly waits. Not accusing him, not glaring at him condescendingly – just waits.

‘Lawrence trick,’ he smirks, recognising her efforts immediately.

‘It might be,’ she stammers in reply, not realising how obvious she was. ‘I’m trying to listen.’

His smirk fades and she can tell he’s disappointed in himself, for being trouble, for being difficult. She desperately wants to say something at this very moment, say anything to fill the silence, to not feel him slipping away and just fix it for him but she knows she can’t. It’s not her turn to speak and Nina Proudman has to do the hardest thing in her life right now, simply shut up.

The minutes tick by and he’s waiting her out, she can see this. It’s not a test but he’s so used to people filling the silence he’s grown accustomed to the chatter. She won’t budge though, she won’t let him use her rambling to hide behind.

‘This must be killing you?’ he grins, attempting to joke her into a response but she just nods slightly and then stays quiet.

Suddenly and without warning, he slowly kneels to the floor, the extending silence unravelling his bravado. He doesn’t say a word, just closes his eyes, maybe hoping to escape. Right here, in this moment, she can imagine how he got so far down the road of numbing the pain. She sits to the edge of couch, again, at almost full term pregnancy, it’s not a graceful act but she wants to close the distance between them.

He stays still, eyes scrunched closed, his fingers curled into fists, almost physically fighting the emotions in his body. Just when she thinks he’ll never let her in, never be able to let it all go without fear, he reaches out a hand, resting it on her leg.

He opens his eyes slowly, and with sheer terror looming large in his brown eyes, murmurs, ‘What if? and he can’t even finish the sentence.

With everything inside her, she grabs his hands and pulls him closer, wrapping him into her arms fiercely. Nina manages to stay quiet because she knows words, especially those words, offer no consolation. They’re both doctors, they know the truth – that there is no promise to be made that can ever make it okay.

So all Nina does is hold him, gently stroking his back, listening as his breathing slows, waiting for him to return. She offers the only words she knows to be true, the only words that will be the promise she can keep.

‘I will be here,’ she whispers, and places a gently kiss on the crown of his head.