Chapter 65

You're stuck in a moment that you can't get out of

As Robin strolled through the aisle, scanning the shelves she could not help but smile. It had been three days since their New York weekend and she still found herself daydreaming about it. They had laughed plenty, explored the city and each other and grown closer still. Patrick had offered her a glimpse into the life he had lived prior to her bursting into it and she had enjoyed every minute of it.

There was something endearing about the way he treated and charmed the older Portuguese woman at the bakery who still remembered him. Not surprisingly they discovered she had slipped two pastries in with their bagels. He took her to the top of the Empire State building and shared with her how he when he was missing his family, he would wander up there by himself and stare out over the city – a city he had been raised in and that his parents had loved.

He had taken her to MoMA and led her through some of his favourite exhibit halls, demonstrating knowledge of art and artists that she was unaware that he had. But the best moments, the ones that still danced through her mind on replay were the small ones: the look on his face as he watched the hockey game; the feel of her hand in his as they strolled through the city very much a couple in love; and the times she would catching him looking at her, with adoration and love in his eyes.

Now the day before Valentine's Day she was scouring the Wyndhams for what she felt would be the perfect gift. At least she hoped it would be. Seeing the bright glint of stainless steel from the corner of her eye, she stopped and turned to the shelf.

"Aha!" she exclaimed out loud as she picked it up. It was exactly what she was looking for.

"Aha? For a kitchen appliance?" Lifting her head at the familiar voice, Robin grinned as she saw Alexis standing before her. "I mean, don't get me wrong Robin, I have often been heard to say Aha! in this store but I'm usually in the shoe department or with handbags. I can't say that I have ever been excited about a kitchen appliance."

"That's because you can't cook and are afraid of appliances," she teased.

"Not true" Alexis protested jokingly. "I am not afraid of the microwave. In fact I embrace the microwave – I would have no popcorn if not for the microwave. But I have no use for that…..that….what the hell is that?"

"It's a waffle maker" she told her, brandishing it.

"A waffle maker."

"Yes – usually used to make waffles."

"You brat" she grinned. "So you're buying a waffle maker? Is it a Valentine's gift?"

Her cheeks were tinged in embarrassment. What made perfect sense in her head as a gift would no doubt sound strange to anyone else. It lacked obvious romance but to her held possibility of new traditions.

"It's a long story," she demurred, "but yes, I'm buying a waffle maker for Valentine's."

"I see" she nodded, indicating she clearly did not. "That's very…domestic….of you."

"Haven't you heard Alexis? The kitchen is the heart of the home."

Tapping a perfectly manicured finger against her chin, she furrowed her brow. "You know, that would explain so much about my dating issues."

"Speaking of dating" she interjected smoothly. "Would you like Patrick and I to pick you up tomorrow night for the gala or do you have other arrangements?"

"I'm just going to meet you guys at the Metrocourt. When I spoke to Eric last week-"

"You spoke to him?" she asked with a sloppy grin.

"Shut up" she told her kindly. "Anyways, when I spoke to him, we decided we would just meet at the hotel."

"Well this should be an exciting night" she remarked.

"Yes – waffle makers and ball gowns, oh my." Folding her arms across her chest, she eyed her friend carefully, noticing the hollows of her cheeks were slightly more pronounced. "And how you are doing?"

"I'm okay," she replied. "I had the flu a couple of weeks back and that knocked the stuffing out of me but Patrick took good care of me – he even cooked."

"Well I'm glad you're on the mend - just make sure you don't overdo it, okay?"

"I'm doing fine Alexis –nothing to worry about."

"Okay, okay" she said, holding up her hands. "I just like to check in on my daughter's guardian angel every once in a while."

"I appreciate it, I do. But I'm doing well – Patrick's doing better too. I'm really looking forward to tomorrow."

"Me too" she said shyly, "I'll see you tomorrow night – enjoy the waffle maker."

Eric tried not to wince as he examined Patrick's mouth. The burns from the radiation, at the back of his mouth and near his throat were growing larger. They were red and angry looking and no doubt a source of pain for him.

"Are you taking anything for those?" he asked as he pulled the latex gloves from his hands and tossed them in the bin.

"Just some ibuprofen" he replied, scratching the back of his head. A small bald spot had started to form, also from the radiation and he pulled at his hair to try and cover it.

Eric furrowed his brow at his response. "That's it? They have to be pretty painful."

He shrugged lightly. "I just don't eat anything too hot or too spicy and I'm okay."

"Hmm" he mused. "Just the same, I'm going to write you a prescription for Tylenol and for some Zithromax. The risk of infection is higher in your mouth and a long course of antibiotics wouldn't be a bad thing at this stage."

Pulling out his prescription pad, he walked to the counter and started to write. "How are you feeling?" he asked, looking over his shoulder.

"Robin and I had a great time in New York" he offered, a large smile firmly planted on his face. "I even took her to Bread and Roses"

"For bagels?" Patrick nodded. "Did you see Maria-Jesus?"

"Yes and she still loves me."

Eric rolled his eyes. "That's only because you spent four years of college batting your baby browns at her and fixing her dishwasher."

"I don't recall you complaining when I came home with free bread and bagels."

"Whatever" he sniffed. "But you haven't answered my question – how are you feeling?"

Having finished writing the prescriptions, he folded them and handed them to his friend. Leaning against the opposite wall, he folded his arms across his chest and waited for an answer.

Patrick dropped his gaze briefly before meeting his friend's steely blue eyes. It was hard for him to admit that he didn't feel well. His headaches were increasing in intensity, his bones and muscles ached from the radiation, his appetite had disappeared and his temper was razor sharp. But what was truly sapping his energy was the monumental effort required to keep Robin from knowing the true extent of it all. In his mind, he just needed a little longer for the radiation to work and then he would be a viable candidate for surgery.

"I don't feel great" he finally said. "Radiation is awful – I'm tired all the time."

"Your tremor seems better" he said, nodding at his left hand.

"I guess the radiation is working." He knew he should tell him the truth, he knew that it was wrong to misdirect him but there was so much, in his mind, riding on his steady hand that he could not say otherwise.

"Well, let's find out"

"What?"

"We're due for some new pictures of your noggin. I've booked the MRI – let's go."

The two men walked in side by side in silence to radiology. Eric knew his best friend well enough to know that there was something bubbling inside of him but as of yet had been unable to put his finger on it. He seemed more strained than usual and while never a big talker, he was nearly mute with Eric having to practically drag answers from him – answers related to his condition at least. He was unsettled by it and wouldn't be leaving until he had figured it out.

He left Patrick to change into a hospital gown while he sat with the technologist preparing the machine. Behind the darkened window, Eric sat back and watched as his friend shuffled towards the machine. There was a flash of silver from the chain holding the Michael the Archangel medallion. His arms, though never overly muscular seemed thin and his face, against the white of the gown, seemed very pale.

His friend was failing.

Now, what he really needed was for the films to show a shrunken tumour so he could go in and get it. He had not forgotten Patrick's words to him at Jake's.

I want to marry her. So you have to keep me alive so I can.

"All set Pantsy?" he asked, speaking into the microphone.

"Yeah. Good thing I'm not claustrophobic."

"I'll have you out in 20 minutes."

"You ready for your big date tomorrow?" Patrick asked as the machine started, sounding very much like jackhammer in his head.

"It's not a big date. It's a gala which you and your girlfriend snookered me into going to."

"Yes but you're going with a woman. I know it's been a while Smitty but that is what we call a date."

"You're annoying."

"Yes I am," he replied with a smile. "Are you nervous?"

"I am not having this conversation with you. Next you'll be wanting to go the spa and get our nails done or something. When did you get to be such a girl?"

"So that's a yes?"

"I take it back – you're not annoying, you're insufferable."

Leaning back against the chair, he turned his full attention to the computer monitor as the first images of Patrick's brain appeared. With his previous films in front of him, he was hopeful that he would see a marked improvement in the tumour's size and impact.

What appeared before him stole his breath from his lungs.

Hitting the mute button, he stared again at the screen in utter disbelief.

"Son of a bitch" he swore. "I'm going to fucking kill him."

Patrick sat on the table in the exam room waiting for Eric. After their initial banter, his friend had gone unusually quiet and he was left wondering if that was a positive sign of not. He could feel the nervous energy coursing through his veins but did not have the energy to pace. His head snapped up as the door opened and Eric walked through. His face was impassive, giving Patrick no indication of what he found on the MRI.

Eric stood in front of him and offered him both of his index fingers. "Squeeze my fingers."

"Why?"

"Squeeze my fingers" he demanded tightly.

Patrick looked at him warily as he wrapped his hands around his fingers and squeezed as hard as he could.

Pulling a pen from his pocket he held it out to Patrick. "Hold this."

"Eric what are you doing?"

"Hold this, like you're going to write with it – in your left hand."

Inhaling sharply, Patrick knew he had been found out. Balancing the pen as best he could, he tried to grip it with his fingertips but as Liam had told him, Botox had worsened his sensitivity in his extremities. He at least had the good graces to lower his eyes as the pen crashed to the floor.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Eric hissed, "Wait. Don't answer that. I swear to god Pantsy if your brain wasn't already in so much trouble I would knock your head into next week."

"I can explain" he offered meekly.

"Which part? The part where you made a medical decision without consulting me or the part where you lied to my face?"

"I…I…" he stammered.

"You what?" His rage was cool and hard. "You thought you inject yourself with a little Botox to send the symptoms away – ignoring the fact that those symptoms are the one indication we have as to how your tumour is behaving? God dammit Patrick! You know better than this."

"Eric-"

"When I ask you how you are feeling I'm not inquiring out of politeness. I'm asking you to disclose any change in symptoms. Your headaches must be excruciating" he told him. "And you need to tell me that. You should have phoned me the minute you went more than two days with a marked increase in pain."

"What did the MRI show?" he asked, knowing the answer as he did so.

"You tell me"

"Tumour is unchanged."

"No – your tumour has changed alright – it's bigger Patrick. It's fucking bigger and we have lost weeks – WEEKS – because of your vanity."

"It wasn't vanity" he whispered, his eyes welling with tears.

"What?" he glowered.

"It wasn't vanity," he repeated, meeting his friend's eyes.

"Then what the fuck was it?"

"Robin."

"Pardon me?" he hissed. "I don't think I heard you right because it sounded like you said Robin – like you did this for Robin."

"I did" he admitted.

"That's impossible," he stated unequivocally with a shake of his head. "There is no way she would allow you to endanger your health for her."

His tongue darted from his mouth as he moistened his perpetually dry lips. His hands gripped the exam table as best he could as the room swirled around him. "She doesn't know."

Eric let out a long, frustrated breath. He knew first hand how difficult it was to make good decisions as you battled for your life. But that knowledge did little to quell his anger. This was his friend – his best friend – who already had the odds stacked against him and in some misdirected sense of love or goodness, had only made his situation worse. He wasn't ready to give up on his friend without a fight but he didn't want to have to fight his illness and him at the same time.

"Of course she doesn't" he snapped. "Why would you bother telling her – she's only your girlfriend."

"You don't understand" he told him, narrowing his eyes as his temper churned inside him.

"Then explain it to me like I didn't graduate suma cum laude"

His palms were sweaty and his heart raced as he tried to put into words what overhearing Robin's conversation with Mac had done to him. He wiped his hands on his jeans and swallowed thickly.

"She hates my tremor."

"And?" His tone was tart as he glared at him.

"It stresses her out and it …it makes her sad and I don't want to….I don't want to hurt her."

"Nothing you just said makes any sense and even if it did, a girlfriend is a lousy reason to play Russian roulette with your health."

Eric did not even realize he had been struck until he stumbled backwards as Patrick advanced on him.

"Shut up – just shut the fuck up" he hissed. "I will rip you limb from limb" He was blind with rage and wanted to expel it from his body by any means necessary. He took a second swing at Eric but his energy was failing him.

Eric grabbed his arms and shoved him up against the wall. "ENOUGH!" he shouted.

"You don't get to talk about Robin like that" he seethed. "She is worth everything – EVERYTHING!"

"No, she isn't" he repeated slowly. "If she was worth this you would have told her."

"I hate you. I fucking HATE you"

"I don't care" Eric told him calmly, still holding his arms by his side. His tone betrayed his feelings as it felt as though his heart was ready to pounce from his chest.

His rage dissipated as quickly as it came on and Patrick's chest heaved as he gulped for air. "Oh god….Smitty" he stammered as he finally started to comprehend what he had said about his tumour.

"I know" He nodded his head. "I know."

"Smitty…"

"We're going to find a solution Patrick – we are."

"We know what it is" His brown eyes were huge and haunted, every ounce of fear and failing reflected in them. "We have two options – do I die or do I become a vegetable?"

Eric slowly released his grip on his arms. "I don't like those options and so I'm going for other ones. I need you to not give up Patrick."

Quietly moving away from the wall, he shook his head. In a flash, scenes from his mother's illness and death flashed through his mind. "I can't…I can't be here."

Before Eric could stop him, Patrick had grabbed his coat and sprinted from the room. But both Eric and Patrick knew there was simply no outrunning reality.