Chapter 113

And all my instincts, they return

As the emotional exhaustion had taken its toll, Robin had taken by the hand and led him back to the bedroom. She had stripped off his shirt and as she had handed him a new one, he had shaken his head; he didn't want there to be barriers between them. He had pulled back the covers and as she crawled into bed with him, he had tugged off her shirt and pulled her flushed to him. He wanted to - he needed to - feel her skin against his. They had kissed lazily before giving into the circling slumber.

He had not been asleep for long when thoughts of his father, his tumour and his behaviour woke him up. In reading his chart he was stunned at how sick he had been prior to his surgery and could not decide if it was a good thing or a bad thing that he had no memory of it. Without needing anyone's confirmation he knew he had been clumsy and inelegant during it all – it was who he was. When he was scared he could always be counted on to lash out at the people closest to him. As he drew languid patterns against Robin's skin with his fingertips, he looked down at her with curiosity and concern. In what ways had he exercised his fear and frustration on her? He knew she was keeping a secret from him but he didn't know what exactly and while he was tempted to confront her, what he really wanted was for her to tell him on her own. He wanted her to stop seeing him as a patient and trust him as her boyfriend with whatever she was holding back.

Looking over at the nightstand he could see the frayed edges of the envelope holding the letter to his father. Eric was right, he had no memory of writing the letter but on some level he knew even now that he meant it. His reaction to seeing his father with a bottle in front of him was a visceral one and he doubted there would ever be a time that in the same circumstance he would feel differently. But that didn't undo what he told him in his letter.

Exhaling slowly, he gently untangled himself from his girlfriend's warm and inviting body and swung his feet to the floor. He reached for a t-shirt, pulling it over his head and then reached for the letter and a pad of paper. If his father was anything like he was then he would be wide awake and it was time to have a conversation.

Quietly padding down the hallway, he stopped for a moment and smiled at his friend sprawled out on the couch and sleeping heavily. Theirs was a friendship with deep roots and he was incredibly grateful that he had been by his side and on his side through all of it.

He climbed the stairs to the master bedroom and smiled wryly at the light peeking from underneath the door. Rapping gently on it as he pushed it open, he glanced around the room looking for his father; he froze in his spot when he found him.

Noah was seated on the floor on the far side of the bed, reading. His eyes were red rimmed and his bottom lip quivered slightly. Shocked to see Patrick at the door, he sprang to his feet and tried to kick the air mattress out of view as he came around the bed.

"You okay Patrick?" he asked worriedly.

Looking past his father at the mattress covered in blankets, he furrowed his brow in confusion. He looked to the large king sized bed with its unrumpled bedding and perfect hospital corners and then back to the air mattress.

"You…sleep there?" he asked haltingly.

Noah's cheeks burned a deep crimson. He hated his own weakness but more than that he hated his son witnessing it. It was simply one more confirmation for him that he was inadequate. Swallowing thickly, he nodded.

His voice was barely above a whisper when he answered. "Yes"

"Why?"

Noah sank down on the corner of the bed and stared in discomfit at the ground. "Because…because I miss her" he admitted.

Sitting down beside his father, Patrick nodded. "M-m-me too."

Noah blew out his cheeks. "I'm sorry about earlier. I….I really did find the bottle in the basement and….I wasn't…or at least I hadn't when you found me."

Patrick nodded and handed his father the letter. A small gasp inadvertently escaped from the back of his throat. "Wh-where did you find this?"

Your jacket – which I grabbed by accident

"Did you read it?" Patrick nodded. "Did it jog any memories?" he asked with a tinge of hopefulness in his voice.

Not really.

"Oh" His disappointment was total. If it brought back no memories then the sentiments in the letter would also be foreign to him and that cut him to the quick.

Patrick wrote furiously for several minutes before passing the paper to his father.

Here's the thing though – I still mean what I wrote even if I don't remember it. You are my Dad, for better or for worse and I don't want to be owned by the past any more. I may not remember much but I do know now that I could not have made it this far, being this sick, without you.

Noah swiped at his eyes and looked over at his son. "Thank you" he whispered.

"M-must be h-hard to be here" he offered.

Smiling gamely, he shrugged. "It's okay."

Patrick slapped the bed in frustration and angrily picked up the pen and pad.

You need to stop treating me like I'm going to fall apart. I may not be able to speak well but I think just fine. If it's hard for you to be here then I need you to tell me. I need people to start telling me the whole truth.

Noah's lips curved upwards in a small smile at his son's outburst. That was more like him than anything he had seen in quite some time. Looking his son in the eye, he nodded. "It's much harder than I thought it would be. Normally when I come here, I come for a day or two but I'm alone. Being here with you and reminiscing about how things were…I get very lonely and sometimes very sad."

Patrick sighed quietly. When he had said he wanted to spend some time here recovering, it had never occurred to him that it would be a burden for Noah. He was moved by the knowledge of his father making such a sacrifice for him.

"Th-thank you for telling truth"

"I'm sorry about the bottle Patty," he paused as his tongue swiped at his lips. "I'm sorry about all the bottles."

You're my dad and I love you

Noah exhaled slowly and patted his son's cheek. "I did two good things in my life – I married your mother and we had you."

xxxxx

Rolling on to her back Robin stretched and groaned as she woke up. Sweeping her hand on the other side of the bed, she was surprised to find Patrick sitting up. Prying her eyes opened, she did a double take as she realized he was dressed – in a brown sweater and jeans, instead of his usual sweatpants and t-shirt.

"Hi" he greeted her, nipping at her lips.

"You okay?" she asked pulling herself into a sitting position.

He nodded as he passed her a piece of paper. Do you still have my list?

Robin's face was immediately framed with worry. "Why?"

"D-do have it?" he asked.

"What do you want it for?" she asked unable to determine if the pitching and rolling of her stomach was due to her meds or his request.

Biting back his frustration he took a deep breath. Because I want to see it. I want to see what I wrote.

"I'm not sure-"

"I am" he told her as confidently as he could. I want to see the list, he wrote again, I need to see it and I would really appreciate it if you gave it to me.

Uneasily, Robin pushed back the covers and walked across the room to where her purse lay perched on a side table. Fishing out her wallet, she opened it and pulled out the carefully folded paper. She crawled back in to bed and handed it to him.

"Thank you" he said softly as he took it from her. His hands shook a little as he unfolded it, unsure of what it said. He could not help but smile as he saw Robin's familiar handwriting on the title of the list.

Memories to make with Robin AND Patrick

Hogmanay in Scotland

See Paris through her eyes

Meet Brenda

Show her my city

Rangers/Devils Game

Spend time in the Hamptons and let her see all the embarrassing childhood photos

One perfect night at the Cabin

One perfect week on a beach in Greece

He scanned each item hoping it would evoke some kind of memory no matter how fuzzy but there were none forthcoming. Holding up the list, he looked at her.

"How many?" he asked.

"How many did we do?" He nodded. "You don't remember any of them?" Her chin quivered as she asked him. His memory loss still had the ability to knock the stuffing out of her when she wasn't looking.

"No"

She smiled a little sadly and pointed to the list. "We did those three before your surgery. And I guess…I guess we're doing the Hamptons one now."

Patrick nodded and quickly jotted a note.

Thank you for giving it to me. I'm going to go for a walk and I'll be back in a little while.

"Patrick" she began, panic welling up inside her. "Maybe you shouldn't…"

I'm okay he reassured her, I just need some time to think.

He kissed her quickly and rose from the bed. Folding the list, he stuck it in his pocket and reached for his jacket. "Love you" he told her again.

Her rich brown eyes welled with tears. She was confused and worried. Patrick had woken up very different from how he went to bed and though she knew she should see it as a good thing, it felt the ground underneath her was rumbling with uncertainty.

"I love you too" she replied.

*****
The sun shone brightly as he walked the length of the property and he liked the sound of the snow crunching under his feet. As was always the way, each new answer he found seemed to spawn a dozen new questions. He had written essentially a goodbye letter to his father – had he written one for Robin. He had made a to do list - but what had prompted him? His tumour had grown rapidly and no doubt had impeded both his emotional and physical responses – how had that manifested itself? Had he been rude? Violent? Weepy? According to his chart, he had regular appointments and treatment in New York. Was he living there? Was Robin?

After walking for more than an hour, he wound up back at the studio. Shrugging off his coat, he laid it on the table nearest the door and he began to pace. The list confirmed for him that his feelings for Robin were as strong before surgery as they were now. There was no doubt in his mind that he loved her in a way that he would love no one else.

She was still holding on to a secret and he worried about what it was. He was sure it had something to do with his illness – with something he had done or said. Somehow, in some way, he got the impression that he made her doubt him or his love for her. He remembered telling her - shouting at her, really – that he was in love with her. She had been in such pain that her initial reaction had been to throw him out of her apartment. He distinctly remembered not leaving; he remembered thinking, in that moment, that he had to stay so that she understood she could count on him; that him loving her didn't mean him leaving her as had happened so many times in her life before. He needed to remind her of that again.

He pulled his phone from his back pocket and flipped it open to text her.

I'm in the studio. Can you come meet me in 15 min? xoxoP