Chapter 38

The more I know, the less I understand
All the things I thought I knew, I'm learning again

Noah looked at the drawer, his hand gripped around the handle and yet he was still not sure that he wanted to open it. After Mattie had died and after Patrick had finally left for college he had simply packed up their house and put everything in storage save for two things, both of which were in the drawer. It had been months since he looked at one and years since he had looked at the other.

Inhaling sharply, he pulled the drawer open and looked inside. There, laying on top of a group of files was a photo of Patrick and Mattie from the last Christmas before she died. Picking up the photo, he traced his finger over both their faces. She had been feeling weaker but had rallied at Christmas and was intent on giving her son and her husband the best Christmas she could. None of them had any way of knowing but less than six months from the time the photo was taken she would be dead and the Drake family fractured.

He smiled as he gazed at the photo. Mattie had insisted on buying Patrick the latest race track even though Noah had insisted their 17 year old son was too cool for children's games. He had been wrong, of course. Patrick had loved it and the picture captured his wife and his son, in their pyjamas on Christmas morning, playing with the track. It was an almost exquisite torture and he could only look at it on days when he felt strong enough.

Setting the photo aside, he pulled out the bundle of files and laid them on his desk, beside the other file. The contents of the brown folder were torture. Not exquisite, just torture. It was not everyone who could pinpoint the moment in their lives when they lost it all but he could. His fingertips tapped lightly along the label.

Mattie Drake.

There was a small tremble in his hand as he flipped open her medical chart. The one that contained every detail of her illness, every x-ray, cat scan and MRI. It also contained the post-operative report, completed by his resident and he was in a bar getting drunk. Swallowing thickly, he pulled out the last MRI she had prior to surgery and placed it on the light board on his desk.

Opening the other folder, Patrick's chart, he pulled out the MRI and placed it beside Mattie's and turned on the lights.

Eric had given him the chart earlier in the day, asking him to review it to see if he had anything to add. He didn't know if it as an act of mercy by the young doctor to help ease a father's worries or if he genuinely wanted his opinion, either way he was grateful to be included.

It was a monumental effort on his part to actually look at the MRIs but he did and was left shaking his head. The tumours were almost identically placed, though Patrick's was significantly smaller than Mattie's was at the time of her death. Taking one calming breath after another he tried to look at it clinically but he could not get past the fact that his son, his precious son, was host to such a terrible enemy.

He squeezed the pen in his hand tightly, forcing himself to calm down. He had failed his son and ultimately his wife 10 years ago and could not let it happen again. He needed to find the strength that he once possessed, that he had thrown away in abject grief and reclaim it. Patrick was going to need him and though he knew better than to try and be his doctor, he was absolutely going to be his father.

Jerking his head at the rap on his door, he quickly flicked off the lightboard. "Come in," he called.

His hazel eyes widened in shock as Patrick crossed the threshold carrying two coffees in his hand. Placing them both on the desk, he pushed on towards his father before, nervously, sliding into the chair on the other side of his desk.

"Hey"

"Hey," Noah replied. Pushing back the plastic tab on the cup, he smiled. "Kelly's coffee? I feel spoiled."

Patrick gave a light shrug. "Well as I am on medical leave I have nothing but time to scour coffee shops for the best Port Charles has to offer."

"You spoke to Alan?"

"I did, this morning. He was great," he sighed, "I just wish..."

"I know" Noah told him softly. "It must feel like so much is spinning out of control and to not be able to work only compounds it."

Patrick looked at his father thoughtfully and gave a small nod. In little ways he was beginning to understand what Noah had faced all those years ago and how easy it may have been to dive into a bottle rather than face things head on. It didn't undo any of the hurt but it did make things somewhat clearer.

"I wanted to apologize," he told him, taking a sip of his coffee. "The other day in the exam room, I was really mean to you - out of line really and I'm sorry for that. I know how hard you work to stay sober and it was wrong of me to strike out like that."

"Thank you" he replied softly. "How are you?"

"Hyper" he admitted. "I started the high dose steroids and they've got me wired for sound. Two weeks and I start radiation."

"Are you nervous?"

"A little" he answered with a shrug. "I've never really been sick, you know?"

Noah leaned back in his chair and gave a small nod. His son had been blessed with good health throughout his childhood save for a bout of chicken pox when he was eight; never a broken bone nor a surgery. The prospect of transitioning from doctor to patient was scarier than anyone could really understand.

"Are you going to be treated here or in the City?"

"Eric said he'd come down so I'll stay here."

"Good," he murmured, "that's good."

Patrick flicked the rim of the plastic lid over and over before taking a deep breath and lunging forth with the question that had been foremost in his mind over the last several days. "Did Mom...was Mom in a lot of pain at the end?"

Noah looked at him in surprise. "How much do you remember Patrick?"

He chewed nervously on his bottom lip, reminding his father of the young boy who had been devastated at his mother's death. "I remember her being bed ridden and needing our help to eat. I remember her getting lost or confused when she was out but mostly I just remember spending time with her - playing cribbage or doing crossword puzzles together or watching hockey. She was always so happy when we were hanging out - she taught me how to bake cookies as she sat at the kitchen table calling out instructions. I don't - I can't remember if there was more."

A small smile formed on his lips and he realized he was envious of his son's memories. The last few months of Mattie's life, when they were alone together, were awful. Her moods swung wildly out of control and she would say horrible, hateful things to him. He had known that it was the tumour and its pressure on her brain that caused her to lash out but that did little to remove the sting of her harsh words. There had been nightmares and awful, gut-wrenching seizures but they had both done everything they could to shield Patrick from it. His envy was tempered with relief that it had worked.

"She had some pain," he admitted, "but we did pretty good at controlling it. Are you...are you having pain?"

"No. Other than the seizures but I just wondered...maybe I'm worried about what could come."

Inhaling sharply, Noah curled his hand around the coffee cup. "Ten years is a long time in medicine Patrick and you and I both know that there are options and treatments available to you know that were not available to your mother. I think...I think you're in good hands with Eric."

"I think so too" he said quietly.

Another silence fell over the room. They were both trying but neither knew how far they could go before they overstepped. The landmines were plentiful and it was an art form to try and dodge them all.

"There's another piece of news I should tell you." Patrick's tongue swiped at his bottom lip.

"Oh?"

"Robin and I are moving in together - this week - I'm moving into her place."

Noah blinked away the tears that were forming in his eyes. "I'm happy for you Patrick - this...this is really good."

He could not keep the smile from his face when he thought of her. "I love her" he said simply, "I get it now. I get what everyone was always banging on about - how powerful it can be."

"Your mom would be proud of you," he told him quietly, "as am I."

Pushing back the chair, its legs scraping against the floor tiles, Patrick rose to his feet. "Thanks."

Heading for the door, he paused with his hand on the doorknob. Turning around, he looked to his father. "Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks...thanks for taking care of me at the Nurses Ball. It was scary and...I'm glad it was you" he told him hoarsely.

"I love you Patty."

With a quick nod, he slipped outside the door and pulled it shut behind him. He was beginning to believe that anything was possible - even forgiveness.