Chapter 30

And in the darkness, all that I can see
The frightened and the weak
Are forced to cling to mistakes

His tongue started to grow fat inside his mouth as the pounding in his head became more persistent. Tiny droplets of sweat formed against his forehead and he knew, not matter how much he wished to deny it, he was minutes away from a seizure.

He could not have a seizure.

Not here.

Not here in a room full of people that he worked with. Not here, in front of his girlfriend who had no idea he was already sick.

He could not have a seizure.

Smiling gamely, he brushed his lips against Robin's cheek. "I have to make a pit stop" he told her, hoping she would not pick up on the rising panic in his voice. "I'll be back in a few."

"Okay" she smiled, giving his hand a small squeeze before returning her attention to the performance on the stage.

Pushing back his chair and scrambling to his feet, he pulled at his tie in a futile attempt to get more air into his fast constricting lungs. He was so focused on getting out of the room before the inevitable happened that he did not hear his father calling to him until he pulled him to a stop.

"Patrick? Are you okay?" Noah asked, concern etched into his face.

"I'm fine" he snapped, eyeing the door nervously. The tremor in his hand increased and he jammed it in his pocket, hiding it as best he could.

Mistaking his son's irritability and run for the door, he ploughed on. "Look, sport, I can only imagine how hard it was for you to hear Robin's speech. That must have really driven home some realities for you but don't let that scare you off – I know what it's like to love a woman with a time bomb inside of her. It doesn't matter Patrick – how sick they can get, how short their time may be – it doesn't matter. It's worth everything to love them."

Time.

He was running out of it.

The tell tale black spots had started to appear in front of his eyes and the seizure was minutes away. He needed to get out of there.

"Dad-"

"Patrick, I know you love her and I know that frightens you as much as anything-"

Desperate to get out of the ballroom, Patrick shook free of his father's grip. "Jesus Dad! I don't have time for one of your AA-inspired lectures right now – okay?"

The black spots were forming a curtain in front of his eyes, making it nearly impossible to see. Otherwise he would not have missed the look of hurt on his father's face. Turning on his heel, he practically sprinted to the doors, throwing them open.

Once in the bright lights of the lobby, he shielded his eyes and headed for the men's bathroom. He slipped inside a stall and fumbled with the lock on the door, hoping to keep it shut.

He was too late.

His knees trembled and gave way just before everything went black and he fell to the ground, outside of the stall, in a heap before his body became rigid and spasmodic from the electrical currents running through his body.

His head swirled and he was vaguely aware of someone pressing a cold cloth to his face. He opened his mouth to speak but found he had no voice, not uncommon for him post-seizure.

"You're okay Patty, you're going to be okay," Noah said soothingly as he dabbed the wet cloth across his lips

Surprised by his son's curt reply in the ballroom he had followed him into the bathroom hoping to get to the root of his anger. He had believed that Patrick was angry about Robin's speech – not the content but the reality. His son had always believed that he could beat anything or anyone and had no doubt felt the same way about Robin's HIV – that it was something he could somehow conquer. Noah had feared that the speech had only served to remind him that some things were unconquerable and that had was what had infuriated him so.

As he had pushed open the door to the men's bathroom, he watched in horror as his son writhed on the tile floor in a grand mal seizure.

Once the seizure had dissipated he had moved him to the far corner, laying him gently on the floor and returned with a cold, damp cloth. He swallowed down his own fear as he cradled his son, waiting for him to come around.

"Dad" he croaked.

"It's okay Patty – you don't have to speak."

He gave a small shake of his head trying to rid the cobwebs that had built up. "I….need….I need you to call Eric."

A bitter lump formed in Noah's throat. It had never occurred to him that Eric's visit was anything more than one friend dropping in on another. Not in his wildest dreams could he have imagined that his son required the attention of a neurosurgeon.

"How…how bad is it?"

Patrick's tongue darted from his mouth, moistening his lips. "Bad," he admitted.

Noah sat back on his heels and sighed quietly. He had always known there would be a punishment for his actions – for walking out on his family, for not being the father his son needed him to be – he just didn't understand that the punishment would be so severe.

He also realized that part of his son's panic to get out of the ballroom was because his condition, whatever it was, was still a secret.

"Robin doesn't know, does she?"

Feeling the strength slowly returning to his body, he pulled himself to a sitting position and leaned back against the cold bathroom wall.

"No" he replied hoarsely. "And you can't tell her."

"Not my story to tell" Noah told him softly. "And now is not the time for me to remind all the reasons you why you need to tell her but I will at some point." Removing the cloth from Patrick's forehead, he flipped it over and pressed the still damp side to his skin. "What….what is your diagnosis?" he asked nervously.

He didn't really want to know. Like his son, he would prefer to pretend that whatever it was, wasn't happening but he was still working every one of the 12 steps and that required him to be honest and not live in denial.

Patrick swallowed thickly as he tried to calm his ragged breathing. "I…I…" he stammered.

He did not want to be the one to tell his father. He didn't – he couldn't – tell him that he had the exact same condition that took his mother's life. Though he had done a poor job of telling him, he was proud of his father's sobriety and how hard he worked to maintain it. The knowledge of his diagnosis would send him reeling and Patrick was not ready to see his father turn back to the bottle – to lose his father again so soon after getting him back.

"Eric has my latest scans – I'd rather wait until he gets here and we can go over everything together."

Noah decided not to push any further, knowing it would only make Patrick defensive. He also knew in that moment that his son was potentially very ill.

"Okay. I'll call him tonight and ask him to meet us tomorrow."

With Noah's assistance, Patrick rose unsteadily to his feet. "I…I have to get back to Robin."

"You should go home to bed," he admonished gently.

Patrick shook his head. "This night is too important to her – I need to – I have to give her this." He brushed off the shoulders of his jacket. "How bad do I look?"

"You're a little pale and clammy but a little food in your stomach and some gingerale will help with that."

"So you don't think she'll know there is something wrong?"

"Patrick, you are lying to you the woman you love about a very serious situation." And me, he thought to himself. "A relationship cannot survive if it is infected by lies."

"I'm protecting her" he bit out. "And I will tell her – when I'm ready. Do NOT push me on this."

Physically taking a step back, he exhaled slowly. "I won't push. I…I love you Patty."

"I know" he blew out his cheeks and straightened his tie. "I love you too Pops. I have…I have to get back in there."

"Okay" he smiled gamely.

He watched as Patrick walked to the sink and gave his face one more washing before heading to the door.

With his hand wrapped around the handle, he turned and looked over his shoulder. "Thanks Dad."

Noah gave him a small wave. As soon as the door shut behind him, he sank down to the floor and buried his head in his hands.

Yet one more person that he loved was in a fight for their life. He would not make the same mistakes twice.