[Weekend—Lucas' Car]
The car ride was strange, not uncomfortable exactly but not easy either.
Lucas drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting near the gear shift, his eyes fixed on the road a little too intently.
Patricia sat beside him, seatbelt on, hands folded in her lap, staring out the window as the city slipped past.
"So," Lucas said finally, clearing his throat. "How are you feeling?"
She glanced at him. "Alive and still dramatic, unfortunately."
He huffed a short laugh, relieved by the familiar sarcasm. "Good. That's good."
Another stretch of silence followed.
Then, more carefully this time, "Are you—" he paused, choosing his words, "—taking your meds on time?"
Patricia didn't bristle this time, she didn't joke either.
"Yes," she said. "Before you ask, exactly as prescribed and no, I didn't spit them out."
Lucas nodded, jaw tightening. "I wasn't accusing."
"I know." She hesitated. "You are just worrying."
"I almost lost you," he said quietly.
