Chapter Eighteen
"I had felt cold," Patrick thought as he slept in a semi-conscious state. Such astonishment came oddly for him. He had never so much as shivered in his life. His powers had always allowed him to conquer all temperatures he had encountered. To feel so mortal, so cold, was beyond what he wished to grasp. On occasion, he would open his eyes. Though they were so out of focus, he couldn't see anything. His body was unable to move for so long. The time passed awkwardly for him. In the amounts of time that he was aware, he felt as if he would never wake. But once he slipped back into sleep, time seemed to pass almost instantaneously. It made him feel that he had been aware through all of his time healing.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he was able to open his eyes and see clearly. It was dark in the room he was laying it. The bed felt alien, a soft, uncomfortable place to lie for too long. He had been unaware of this the whole time he had been recuperating. The whole time, he had been under the somewhat dense assumption that he was sleeping sound in his own room, in his own bed.
"Hospital wing?" he mumbled as he looked over to see the bedside table with a glass of water on it, the condensation running down it's side, staining a ring in the painted steel. He sighed and sat up, feeling that he had to have the worst track record as a Titan when it came to life threatening injuries. The room was pitch-black, no light whatsoever to see by. There were no windows in the room, just the hypnotic hum of the air conditioner, pumping out warm air.
He ran his hands down his stomach, feeling no gaping holes, nothing seemed to be missing. His mind felt clear, awake, and refreshed. With a snap, he formed a small spark of fire that lit the room enough to look around. The floor was clear of any objects to trip over. It had to be the cleanest room in the tower. He smiled and stood up, walking across the soft, carpeted floors towards the door. He was wearing some loosely fitting pajamas and no shirt. They were no what he was wearing that night. He blushed for a moment in modesty, but got over it quickly, certain that his privacy had been preserved. It was the Teen Titans he was dealing with, not voyeur world.
The door slid open, all high tech and flashy, just as it always did and he walked out into the familiar hallways. They were dark, but more lit than his hospital room. Off in the living room he could see the light of the beginning of the sunrise. His room was the first stop, to get more comfortable of clothes, and more covering ones at that. Then he took up his place in his favorite chair and watched the sun rise.
All that could be heard in the tower was the muffled sounds of birds chirping and the frigid waters of the bay crashing on the island's rocky shore. Other than those, the tower was dead silent. Patrick sat there in almost a trance-like focus on previous events. His mind marred by the recent events in the complex.
"So that's the price of our lives?" he thought. The death toll of his rescue was almost enough to qualify it more as a slaughter with benefits.
He put into the back of his mind the memory of his sense of fulfillment from killing them. How he had felt that night was malicious and wrong. Killing was not a sport, something to be proud of. It was an act of desperation. He forcefully convinced himself of this and purged those memories of enjoyable murder to the back of his consciousness.
By now, the sun had rising and was well in the sky, lighting the living room and the whole of the city. Patrick looked over at the time. 6:53. No one would be awake anytime soon. Patrick sighed and stood, the sunrise no longer holding his attention as the most enjoyable part had already come and gone.
He paced for quite some time before he finally heard the silent sounds of people moving about. He had no idea who was waking up, nor could he tell; not even his ability to see heat patterns were able to penetrate the thick metal walls of the tower.
"Someone's up early," he said happily as the first member of the team to wake, beside himself entered the living room.
"Patrick? You're up?" a familiar voice asked. It was that of Cyborg's.
"Slept for two weeks straight didn't I?" he retorted quickly, "'bout time I woke up." He smiled as he said this and turned around to see the familiar friendly face of the robot man. He stood. "So what are you doing up so early in the morning?" he asked.
"My turn for breakfast duty," he said, "I'll be damned if I eat another tofu square."
"Beast Boy's cooking still that bad, huh?"
Cyborg nodded and turned around, opening the refrigerator. He treated things the way they were before. Pulling out all sorts of meat, he set to work preparing them for whatever extravagant cholesterol-fest he had in mind. "Oh," he said, still working on the meat, "welcome back."
Patrick smiled and turned on the television.
It was another hour before Cyborg's cooking drove much of the rest of the team out of their chambers. The first one out was Robin, but he was followed almost instantly by Starfire, who shouted in glee in seeing her fellow comrade healed and back on his feet. Robin was much more nonchalant in his greetings.
His back sore from the hug he had received from Starfire, he sat down at the table and waited for Cyborg to unveil his creation.
"Oh it smells marvelous Cyborg," Starfire said airily, and far too loud for the indoors, "When may we eat?"
"Wait for Raven and BB" Cyborg said quickly.
"Then, Raven is alright," Patrick said somewhat happily.
"Yeah, she was up and awake in less than two days," Robin said, "You did good work stopping her from bleeding out." He paused and looked at Patrick. "Tell me. What happened?"
Patrick looked at Robin oddly. "I'll tell you another time." That was the end of it. Not even Starfire, with her lack of earthly social grace, pushed the topic any further.
"Raven," Cyborg said in a falsetto, "there you are!"
"Not hungry," were her first words as she entered the room following Cyborg's verbal fanfare.
"Well, aren't you a bucket of sunshine this morning," Patrick said sarcastically.
Raven seemed to be caught by surprise by the voice she had no heard in so long. She hid it well after a few seconds. "Nice to see you're still alive," she said about as warmly as she could permit.
"Yeah," Patrick said a bit take aback, "You too."
"Where in hell is Beast Boy," Robin said irately, though not truly mad.
"Why?" Patrick said, "He won't eat this stuff."
Cyborg sighed and showed what he had been making in a separate pan. It was some sort of fake meat.
"Awww, Cyborg," came the familiar nasally voice of Beast Boy as he walked in the room, "You do care." He then looked over at Patrick. "Whoa, when did he wake up?"
"Earlier than you," Patrick said smiling as Cyborg finally set the table with food. Patrick's hands went instantly towards the steak and eggs. He had missed having good meals. It seemed that a good portion of his recent time spent in the tower had been unconscious.
The breakfast had been happy and light hearted. Even Raven laughed at some of the funny anecdotes Cyborg and Beast Boy had to share. Some never even happened, but that didn't seem to dampen anyone's enjoyment of them. The morning ended with the Titans well fed and feeling lazy.
Patrick had taken up a new habit he found. He would sit in his chair and stare absentmindedly out the window. He would loose track of time completely when he did this. Hours could seem like seconds and seconds, like days. It was a blissful state of self reflection.
"And I thought Raven was the only one who meditated," Robin said to Patrick.
His mental blankness had shattered and he was flung back into reality. "Whoa. Where was I?" he asked out loud.
"Dunno," Robin said laughing, but then his face turned serious. "Patrick," he said, his voice low enough so no one could hear, "I need to know what happened back at the facility you found Raven at. What you saw, anything that might let us know what we're up against."
"It's not pretty," Patrick replied quickly.