His eyes seemed to be fixated on the ceiling. He felt such a fool as he didn't realise the full extent of his mental instability. Lt. Colonel Hawkes confined him to his quarters until medical help arrived. He was trapped within the twisted, distorted cage of his mind. From what he had heard, Adams was alright, just a little shaken. Patrick had tried to prove that he was alright, that it was just a blip, but Lt. Colonel Hawkes said that attacking a fellow member of staff whilst delusional was not a blip.

Lt. Colonel Hawkes was an older gentleman of 40. He had seen enough death to last him a lifetime. He had been raised in an upper middle-class family. He lost his father on the Titanic as he was on a business trip to New York, leaving his mother a widow and him with no father figure in his life. Lady Hawkes never remarried, as she thought it would insult her husband's memory. She loved him with all her heart and she always will.

The Lt. Colonel was deeply troubled about Patrick. He had heard what happened to him in Dawla. Loss of a friend can deeply affect people, especially if they had a close bond. He knew medical staff were getting more overwhelmed without Major Turner. He was torn about what to do.

As he sat in his office, thinking about the options, he went to the filing cabinet and looked for Patrick's file. Reading through the records, he saw that Patrick cared about his patients and that he had brilliant statistics for someone his age. Even though he had suffered much throughout his career, he had never let those statistics go down. Hawkes wondered whether or not he should risk letting Patrick do his duty. He was aware that the medical staff needed him, but he couldn't face another incident like the one last night. He feared that, if Patrick lost his mind again, he could go even further than bashing someone's hand and cause them serious harm. But he had to think of the other staff who were under enough stress as it is.

He would personally be in the hospital tent to make sure that Patrick didn't go off on one. Before signing up, he worked in a psychiatric hospital dealing with violent patients, so he knew what the procedures were if Patrick ever got to that stage.

A decision was made, and he would inform Patrick immediately. He just hoped that he wasn't wrong about this as the repercussions would be very severe.

….

"I don't understand, sir."

Patrick was unsure of the Lt. Colonel's reasoning for wanting him to go back to work. Surely, he knew the potential risks.

"It's like this, Turner. You are the backbone of the medical staff. If you fall, they do too."

Lt. Colonel Hawkes sat by Patrick's desk while Patrick laid on the bed. Patrick knew that he was important, but he didn't think he was that important. It showed how much respect other medical staff had for him.

"I understand the potential consequences of my decision, but it appears that I have no choice."

To him, Patrick looked normal, like there was nothing wrong with him. But he knew that his mind was breaking. He didn't want to push Patrick to the extent where he had a psychotic breakdown. One little thing could tip Patrick over the edge, so he had to tread carefully.

"I'm going to allow you to go back to work but, you will be doing light duties and I will be there in case anything happens. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Patrick understood perfectly. Knowing that Lt. Colonel Hawkes wouldn't have made the decision lightly, he was grateful that he was allowing him a chance to do what he loved. He would have to try and keep himself together.

"Thank you, sir, I'll try."

"I know things haven't been easy for you over the last few years. The war is nearly over. You can go back home and get proper treatment, OK?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good lad. Now, let's tend to the patients."

Patrick leapt out of bed and proceeded to put his doctor's coat. He overflowed with so much enthusiasm that Lt. Colonel could see it radiating off him. He was glad that Patrick seemed to be like his old self again. He was still a little fragile, but he looked well. As Patrick walked outside the tent to make his way to the hospital, Hawkes decided to make a phone call before joining him.

…..

For the first half of the shift, Patrick was doing alright. He was a little frustrated that he couldn't do anything more, but he was thankful for small mercies. It made the Lt. Colonel smile that Patrick's passion for his work and caring for patients didn't dwindle.

Lt. Colonel Hawkes was tucked in the corner of the tent so that he didn't distract Patrick from what he was doing. He kept a watchful eye on him for anything that would suggest a psychotic breakdown.

So far, so good.

Patrick was in charge of doing primary assessments of the patients, leaving other personnel to take charge of overall treatment. There was plenty of patients, so he wasn't bored.

A young man, around 23, was waiting to be seen. He hailed from the Emerald Isle, so he had a fighting spirit. A victim of a blast injury, his left arm was torn away, leaving a bloodied mess on his uniform and tissues hanging from the stump left behind. He needed to have surgery to seal up the wound and therapy to help him recover from trauma.

He was an artist before signing up. Luckily, he drew with his right arm, so his work wouldn't be affected. Like Patrick, he was getting tired of the death around him. He just wanted this ghastly war to end. His appearance was quite dishevelled. Chocolate brown hair looking unkempt, stubble forming around his face.

Patrick walked up to the lad but stopped for a brief moment.

It can't be...

Timmy?

Lt. Colonel Hawkes got up from the chair, moving a little closer to the scene. He sensed that something was wrong.

"Timmy?"

The lad didn't know who Patrick was on about, as his name wasn't Timmy, it was Christian. Patrick came closer to the bed. Christian could see mania in his eyes. It made him feel a tad uncomfortable.

"Don't you remember me, Timmy? We were in the queue for signing up together."

Christian glanced at the Lt. Col. This was not looking good. Lt. Colonel. Hawkes edged a little closer but taking great care not to appear in Patrick's line of sight.

A noise alerted the Lt. Colonel, diverting his gaze to the entrance of the tent. They were here, waiting patiently. He wished he didn't have to go to this, but it was for the safety of the staff.

"You're very quiet, Timmy. I'm here to see if your leg has healed. I had a sneaking suspicion that you were making your injuries worse. By what method, I don't know. It's not going to make your injuries better, is it?"

Christian shook his head. He didn't know what else to do. Patrick was starting to creep him out.

Who the hell is Timmy?

He suspected that his appearance was similar to this Timmy, hence why Patrick was confused. But Christian had a feeling that Patrick was more than confused. The mania in his eyes was another sign.

Patrick pulled back the blanket and, looking at Christian's legs, surprised at the healing rate on his injuries.

"Timmy, this is unbelievable. Your legs have healed remarkably well. I'm impressed."

"Actually sir, my stump is bleeding. I lost my arm."

"Your arm?!

Patrick saw the stump where Christian's arm used to be. The sleeve of his uniform was stained with blood.

"Ah yes. Don't worry, Timmy. I'll sort it. I'll book you in theatre this afternoon."

Alarm bells were ringing in Lt. Colonel Hawke's ears. Patrick was supposed to be doing light duties. He would bide his time to see where it would lead.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. There's no need to worry. You'll be in my capable hands."

Both Christian and Lt. Colonel Hawkes gave puzzled looks at Patrick.

"How do you mean, sir?"

"I'll be doing your surgery, Timmy. I will do my utmost best to save you this time."

Lt. Colonel Hawkes was stunned.

Patrick, you fool.

He dreaded to think what Patrick would do in surgery in his present mental state. He had to stop him.

Shaking underneath the blankets, Christian was scared about Patrick's words.

What did he mean by "this time"?

Christian was deeply afraid. This man, who he had never seen before, is calling him by another name, giving him weird looks and wants to do his surgery when his superior is staring at him as if to say no.

"Umm, is there another doctor I can speak to?"

Staring blankly at Christian, Patrick tilted his head slightly, giving Christian the impression that he had offended him.

"What are you trying to say, Timmy?"

Christian detected a hint of menace in Patrick's voice. He had to keep him calm.

"Nothing at all, sir. It's just that you don't seem to be in a good place at the minute."

Patrick stepped back a little. Timmy was right. He wasn't in a good place. He would do his best to save him.

Why would he want a new doctor? Patrick was capable to treat him. No harm would come to him. He would be perfectly safe.

Surely Timmy wouldn't have forgotten their friendship. Admittedly, he hadn't seen him since Dawla when he was transferred to another hospital.

"Alright, Timmy. I'll get you another doctor."

Christian smiled at Patrick, who reciprocated the gesture. Patrick noted that the gauze on "Timmy"'s arm should be changed every 4 hours. As he would be waiting a long time, Christian reached for his sketchbook in his satchel. He thought about drawing a forest clearing, with a gushing waterfall in the middle. He would give it to his girl back home. He loved her to bits. Before he left, she said that, if he was injured, she would stick by him, no matter what. He always kept a photo of her in his quarters and kissed it every morning to bring him luck.

As he got his pencils out, Patrick rushed to him and took the pencils off him.

"No. You can't have them!"

"But they're my pencils."

Patrick gazed upon the supposed pencils. They were knives. Terror become prominent in Patrick's eyes.

No, not again. I won't let him.

Christian couldn't understand. They were sketching and colour pencils. He was a little annoyed that Patrick snatched them off him. But, judging by the terror-possessed eyes, Christian was concerned about the state of mind.

Patrick began to shake, clutching the pencils tight to his chest. He moved back slowly.

"No, I won't let you kill yourself again, Timmy. I WON'T!

His eyes began to fill with tears. He sobbed gently as Lt. Colonel Hawkes stepped further into the situation. The tears fell on top of the pencil case and ran off onto Patrick's sleeves.

"I don't want to lose you again, Timmy."

Lt. Colonel Hawkes walked towards Patrick. It was clear to him that Patrick was very unwell.

As Patrick saw the Lt. Col coming towards him, he picked up a pencil and pointed it towards him.

"YOU STAY AWAY FROM ME!"

In Patrick's mind, Lt. Colonel Hawkes's face was unrecognisable. His features were hardly a face. Disfigured beyond recognition. Its frightened Patrick to death. His fight or flight response was kicking in.

"Patrick, my lad. Put the pencil down. It's alright."

It's not a fucking pencil, it's a knife!

"GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU MONSTER FROM HELL!"

The Lt. Colonel could see that Patrick was beyond reason. He indicated to them outside the tent to come in slowly. One was holding a straitjacket, the other, a sedative.

Patrick saw the change in the Lt. Colonel's face. His entire appearance changed to reflect that of an orderly. As the Lt. Colonel reached out his empty hand to prompt Patrick into giving him the case, Patrick noted that he had a leucotome in his hand. That was a bad omen. The leucotome was a deadly instrument that can damage the frontal lobe of the brain, leaving its victims like vegetables.

Patrick moved closer to Christian, frightening the poor lad.

"If you think you're going to make Timmy a vegetable again, you are very much mistaken."

Patrick placed his arm around Christian, bringing him close to his chest.

"Patrick, can't you see that you're scaring the poor boy?!"

Turning towards Christian, Patrick saw that his eyes were filled with fear. A rustle alerted Patrick to the presence of the two men.

"Who are they? Why are they holding a straitjacket?!"

Uh oh.

Christian realised that he could get through to Patrick, to help him stop this madness. He knew exactly what would happen to him and he felt for him.

"Patrick?"

"Yes, Timmy?"

"They're here to help you. Your mind is broken due to the stress and trauma you've faced. They'll help you get better."

"No. No, I'm not going. They hurt my grandfather, I'm not going. What's that ringing noise in my head? Why are they staring me like that?! They're gonna make me a vegetable. I WON'T GO! I'M PERFECTLY SANE!"

With that, Patrick flew towards Lt. Colonel Hawkes and placed the pencil to his neck.

"Call them off."

Patrick whispered into the Lt. Colonel's ears. He wasn't in the mood to play games.

Patrick pressed the cold pencil to the throat.

"Call them off now, or I'll slice your neck!"

Deciding to act, in a matter of seconds, Lt. Colonel Hawkes lifted up his elbow and hit Patrick in the nose, causing him to drop the pencil. As Patrick was trying to contain the river of blood coming out his nose, the Lt. Col restrained him. Arms were flailing, curse words being said, punching, kicking, screaming. One of the men rushed to Patrick and injected the sedative into his neck.

For Patrick, he felt very drowsy, the room was spinning. Collapsing on the floor, he reached to Christian.

"I'm glad you're ok, Timmy."

Tiredness overcame Patrick's resilience. Within seconds, he was out cold. The men placed Patrick into a straitjacket, as they had no idea what his mood would be when he woke up. Seeing Patrick being carried on a stretcher, Lt. Colonel Hawkes poured him and Christian a glass of brandy. He passed him the tumbler and sat beside him.

"Are you alright, lad?"

"Yes, sir. Just shaken."

They reflected on the fact that the situation could have turned very quickly. They were thankful that they were alive.

Staring at the empty glass, Christian was worried about what would happen to Patrick.

"Where are they taking him, sir?"

Lt. Colonel Hawkes downed the last of his brandy and stared into the distance. Patrick gave him no option. He became increasingly volatile and could have put lives at risk. He prayed that, where they were taking Patrick, he would receive the best possible care.

"There is a psychiatric hospital back in Blighty. Northfield, it's called. One of the best, so I've heard. He will be alright there, lad."

"That's good."

"Anyway, get some rest. You've been through a lot today."

Christian laid back into the bed, just as a doctor walked up to him to discuss surgery. The Lt. Colonel went outside and looked to the stars. Reaching down into his shirt, he pulled out a rosary, as his family were Catholics. He prayed to Maria to grant Patrick mercy and to help him overcome his mental sickness. Praying that she will watch over him, to grant him and his family strength in this troublesome time.