Something Worth Fighting For (Patrick Stump Imagine Story)

Are You Okay?

You're sitting at the dining table trying to get Zach to eat his baby food, but he refuses, shaking his head and sticking his little arms out to keep you away.

You groan, "Come on, Zach. You need to eat, you haven't eaten all day!"

"Maybe I could try," Patrick offers, taking the spoon and jar of baby food out of your possession and turning Zach's high chair towards him.

"He can have my dinner!" Gabby exclaims, pushing her plate of food away from her. She's going through her I only like chicken nuggets and mac n' cheese and I'm not going to eat anything else phase.

"No, Gabby, eat your spaghetti," You push her plate back at her. She crosses her arms and pouts at you.

"I'll eat it," Ethan offers, leaning across the table and picking up her plate.

"Sit down and give her her plate back!" You snap. Your son heaves a sigh and drops his sister's plate back on the table, spaghetti sauce splattering onto the table cloth.

You sit back in your seat and cover your face with your hands, tears beginning to form in your eyes. It's all just too much for you.

Patrick pops the spoon into Zach's mouth and looks up at you, seeing you flustered. "Hey, hon?"

You lower your hands from your face and glance over at him, "Yes?"

"Are you okay?" He inquires concernedly, attracting Ethan and Gabby's attention in the process.

"Yeah, I'm fine," You lie, though he doesn't believe you. No one at that table believes you. You don't even believe you.

"Why don't you go upstairs and lie down?" He suggests, "You look like you could use a rest."

You shake your head, "I'm fine. I'm just...I don't know." You run your hand through your hair and let out a shaky sigh.

"Go upstairs, (Y/N)," He demands kindly, "I've got this. Take a nap or something. I'll come up to check on you later."

"I don't need a nap, I need to get Gabby to eat her dinner," You glare over at your daughter who crosses her arms and turns her head away from you defiantly.

"Go," He points to the stairs.

Your eyes narrow before you rise to your feet and leave the table, dragging yourself upstairs to your bedroom. You close the door behind you and just stand there, observing the room.

The queen sized bed across from you is messed up, the sheets strewn all over and a pillow lying on the floor beside the bed. What happened last night is still a vivid memory for you, but doesn't make you feel any better or any more loved.

Next to the bed, sitting in the corner of the room, is a newly acquired crib, (since you and Patrick don't have a fourth bedroom to make into a nursery). Inside the crib are a couple stuffed animals and a baby blanket Mrs. Stumph made - she's made one for each of your children - balled up at the foot of the small mattress. Attached to one of the walls is a mobile, slowly turning in the air flowing from the heat vent beside the crib.

Hanging on the wall above the crib is yours and Patrick's (second) wedding picture, the two of you standing close together underneath a tree with Ethan sitting on your hip, held close to you by your arms. The three of you are genuinely smiling, something you haven't done in a while.

You hug yourself as your body begins to shudder, the room feeling as if it's been turned into an ice box. Tears blur your vision.

You know you have no reason to feel like this. Things are going well for once in your life. Your husband and you are finally getting along, you've got three amazing kids, your life is in a good place. Yet you're miserable, you're absolutely, one hundred percent, miserable.

Just then, the door opens behind you and hits you in the back. You take a small jump forward and glare back to see Patrick peer his head into the room.

"Sorry," He immediately apologizes, "I didn't know you were standing there." He steps into the room and closes the door behind him. He meets your gaze and inquires, "Is everything okay, (Y/N)?"

You shrug your shoulders.

He pulls you into a warm hug - one you don't reciprocate - and kisses you on the side of the head, "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

"Yes," You murmur, though you only say it because that's what he wants to hear. Not because you mean it - you feel you can't tell anyone what's going on. You've got to maintain your sense of strength, that you can take on anything and everything. Even if it's not true.

"Good," He replies, not detecting the falsity in your response. He leans back and pushes your hair out of your face, "I love you."

"I love you too," You say back, though you're not sure you entirely mean it.

The corner of his lip curls up.