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"I'm sorry," is the first thing Tom says.
Patrick doesn't let go of his hand though, keeps still because he knows there's going to be more.
"I didn't know what to do, Patrick I— I was lost without you. I didn't think I'd ever see you again and even if I did, I didn't quite reckon what I'd say to you. Seeing you at the station, it— it killed me. I was frozen."
Closing his eyes, Patrick lets Tom's thumb caress the back of his hand. He continues talking.
"It didn't take me long to realize what had happened. I knew, and it felt like— it felt like my world had come crashing down. And there was nothing I could do about it. I was helpless and confused and upset. Everything. Then when I got home , I—"
"'s okay," Patrick garbles out, and Tom stills.
Tom stills because it's been years since he's heard Patrick's voice and because he sounds so different. He sounds like nothing Tom has ever heard before, and he can't help but feel his heart break.
This is his Patrick, his love. Aged and sad. Aged and sad and quiet. But no matter what, nothing will change that he's his. He always has been and he always will be.
"It's not," Tom says, shaking his head. "Nothing about it is okay."
Patrick gives a half nod.
Tom sighs before carefully crouching down in front of Patrick's wheelchair. The angle puts a strain on his back but he doesn't care. Not when he's in front of the love of his life for the first time in decades.
"I missed you," Tom chokes out, hands on top of Patrick's that are resting on the handles of his wheelchair.
Patrick smiles, a lopsided smile that is more than enough for Tom. It shows him that even though he's changed, he's still Patrick. He's still Mr. Hazlewood.
"Can I take you outside?"
With a nod, Patrick lets Tom take hold of the wheelchair and wheel him out to the sea. They have a perfect view of the water here, expansing along for miles.
It's calming, it's calm in a world where there has been no sense of it for as long as the two can remember. And now, it's just them. Tom and Patrick. There's no one trying to tear them apart and poison their love anymore.
"When we first moved here," Tom begins, "the water reminded me of the painting you had me describe back then."
Back then.
It only reminds Patrick of just how long it's been.
"It made me think of you, Patrick."
Patrick feels his eyes water, and he reaches up in search of Tom's hand. He finds it, intertwining their fingers together with a squeeze.
"I've been thinking of you, for so long. I haven't stopped."
And it's in that moment that Patrick wishes nothing more than to be able to talk. He wants to take Tom in to his arms and hold him close, tell him how much he loves him and needs him.
But he can't. He can't and so he just presses harder on Tom's palm. It's all he can do.
They stay in silence for awhile, so long that the sun begins to set. It paints the sky in different hues of orange and pink. Beautiful, is what it is.
So much times passes that once they realize it, it's about time for Patrick's bath. They leave it unspoken as Tom wheels him back inside.
He helps Patrick back in to bed, and if Patrick holds onto him for longer than necessary, neither of them comment on it. They don't need to.
Patrick watches from afar as Tom gets the water and rag ready. He sets them down, sitting on the side of the bed softly.
Tom is cautious as he undresses Patrick, makes sure to do it slow and sacred like he knows Patrick deserves.
"Is this all right?" Tom asks as he wrings out the wet rag.
Patrick nods, resting back comfortably against his pillow.
With the go-ahead, Tom begins cleaning him. He's hesitant at first, considering he's never been the one to do it. He gets the hang of it though, is gentle with wiping Patrick down.
It should be awkward, but it isn't. Instead it's comfortable and safe and warm. It's love.
Once Tom finishes, he redresses Patrick with the same amount of care he did when he undressed him.
"I promise," Tom starts, "I will never let you go again."
And he means it.