Chapter 119

And I'm free falling

Noah looked up from his coffee as the door to Kelly's swung open. Watching carefully as his son walked through the door, he saw him pause and grimace as he looked around the diner. It took all of his self-restraint not to bolt from his seat and rush to his side. But if he had learned anything about his son in the last few weeks it was that he did not want to be treated like he was weak.

Finally spotted, Patrick gave him a small wave and made his way to the table. Noah studied his walk, the way he gripped the chair to pull it out before sitting down - every small movement, to see how he was healing.

"How's it going sport?" he asked.

Patrick nodded. "O-okay." He blinked several times and anxiously rubbed the back of his neck.

"You seem agitated" Noah observed. "Are you sure you're okay?"

There was a knot forming in the pit of his stomach and his heart was hammering in his chest. It was his first trip to Kelly's since his surgery and though he couldn't place it, there was something very upsetting about being in the diner.

He shook his head. "Did s-s-something happen here?"

Doing his best not to react, Noah kept his face impassive as he cocked his head to the side. "Do you feel something?" he prodded gently.

Patrick nodded. "F-feel sick…to my….st-st-stomach" he stammered. "What happened here?"

Smiling sympathetically, he gave a small shake of his head. "Nothing you need to worry about."

He jumped as his son slammed his fist against the table sending cutlery clanging to the floor. Patrick's brown eyes darkened in anger and he glared at his father. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a small notepad and a pen.

You don't get to say it's nothing to worry about. I walked through that door and felt like I hit a wall. That's something to worry about. What the hell happened?

Noah read the note and returned the pad to him. "Patrick, you know just as well as I do that if I tell you what happened you may never recover that memory. If you get all the details filled in then your brain doesn't have to force itself to remember and your short term memory will be a series of facts told to you by someone else rather than what you experienced."

He rolled his eyes and wrote: I think you and Robin need to accept the possibility that I may never regain those memories. At some point someone is going to have to tell me what the hell happened in the last six months. Holding in secrets makes people sick

Noah's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Is Robin sick?" He had been concerned all along that she was either neglecting her health or that it was all proving to be more than she could handle on her own and he worried about what that meant for her.

"D-d-don't know" he answered. "Something is wrong. W-won't say what."

"That's hard. I'm sorry"

Patrick smiled gratefully as the waitress poured him a cup of coffee. He sighed quietly as he wrapped his hand around the mug. "Wh-what do I do?"

Leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table, Noah took a deep breath. "You have to give her space and time Patrick. The impact of an illness like this on family and friends lingers long after it's resolved. But as each day gets you further from it, the easier it will become."

There was something about both what his father was saying and the way in which he said it that provoked an image in his mind. He saw him gripping his father's shirt and slamming him into a wall. Blinking rapidly trying to clear the image, he was confronted with another one – his fist ploughing into his father's face and the sickening sound of cartilage being compressed ringing in his ears. His mouth dropped open as he took one serrated breath after another. He tightened his hold on his coffee mug, squeezing it as his brain was flooded with one disturbing image after another.

Seeing the distress on his son's face, Noah placed his hand on his arm. "Patty? Are you okay?"

Patrick looked down at the table and then back at his father; his eyes were filled with confusion. He shook his head and tried to push the image from his mind but it stayed and he saw himself raining punches down on his father. Beyond the occasional dust up at school, he had never really been a fighter and could not reconcile the image in his head with what he knew of himself.

Taking a long, slow breath he picked up the pen. Did we fight?

Noah swallowed nervously. If Patrick was asking the question it was likely because he was remembering something and that was a victory. But there were some things he wished would stay buried in everyone's subconscious and the morning his son beat him up was one of them.

"We always fight" he answered, trying to dodge the question. "Ever since you got your first words."

Patrick would not be deterred. That's not what I mean – and you know it. Did I hit you? Here at Kelly's?

Exhaling slowly, Noah rubbed the back of his neck. If his son was remembering something then he owed him the truth, however painful it may be. "Yes" he finally answered.

"NO!" Patrick gasped, horrified that the pictures he was seeing were real.

"We did" he confirmed gently. "But we made it up" Seeing the colour drain from his face, Noah desperately wanted to reassure his son. "We were in a good place before your surgery."

"No. No. No." Patrick rubbed his hands over his face. "Wh-wh-why?"

"Patrick, son, you need to understand that the tumour had short-circuited your emotional responses and that your ability to cope was severely limited."

Stop making excuses. Why did I hit you?

Noah swept his tongue along his bottom lip. He was unsure of the response that would await him as he repeated the truth that had put his son over the edge a few months earlier. This wasn't how he wanted it to happen – this wasn't the memory he wanted him to have rushing back to him – but for better or for worse, this was what they had.

"You were struggling with the impact the tumour was having on you and felt that you were not being as strong as your mother was. It was tearing you up inside. So I…we met for breakfast and I…I told you some of the details of your mother's illness that you weren't aware of."

Patrick ran his hand over his head, furrowing his brow. "Why I h-hit you?"

"You thought I was lying" he offered simply. "Your mom and I worked very hard to shield you from some of the more unsavoury aspects of her illness and when I pulled the curtain back to reveal it to you, it was more than you were able to accept."

Blowing out his cheeks, Patrick looked down at his mug. Feelings of shame and embarrassment enveloped him. The idea that he struck his father was so foreign to him; the little bits he was discovering of who he was before his surgery seemed unrecognizable to him.

"I….am…..sorry" he told him haltingly. "V-v-very sorry."

Noah's heart cracked as he looked at his son. His beautiful boy born of a love that was a once in a lifetime looked as if he might crumple under the strain of it all.

"Patrick" he began, his voice hoarse, "I love you. And we are okay. I don't want you rehashing it over and over. It's in the past and we dealt with it. Okay?"

I'm going to need time to process it. I can't believe I did that.

"I know" Noah reassured him, "but it's okay."

Patrick was less sure that it was alright but had neither the energy nor the memories to debate it with his father. The one thing the revelation did tell him was that if he beat up his father, there is no telling what he did to his girlfriend.

What did I do to Robin?

It was Noah's turn to grimace. He had suggested to Robin that she tell Patrick about his leaving and his reasons for doing so but she had demurred. She felt that he was not ready to know it, that the knowledge would be too upsetting for him and could stand in the way of his recovery. Noah was beginning to wonder if it was Patrick that wasn't ready or if it was her.

"I can't answer that Patty."

Patrick narrowed his eyes in frustration, angrily scribbling on the pad. Can't or won't?

"Both" he admitted. "That's for you and Robin to sort out and I can't be in the middle of it."

He looked at his father and tossed his pen on the table. Now he had all the confirmation he needed that whatever it was he did, he hurt her deeply. He was going to get answers – with or without help.

xxxxx
Pulling into the driveway, Robin put the car in park and clenched her eyes shut. Her hands were clammy and her face flushed. The waves of nausea from the new medication felt like a tsunami and she had been forced to pull over three times during the short drive from her apartment.

It had been a restless night as her mind took her to all kinds of dark places in her dreams. She had felt his arms around her during the night, calming her and she had snuggled closely to him as though she was holding on for dear life. She had been grateful when she woke up that she found a note from Patrick telling her he was off to have breakfast with his father. She had barely opened her eyes before she was sprinting to the bathroom. She had washed her face and slowly dressed before swallowing down her morning pills, knowing the cycle would start again in short order. Alan, well aware of the toll a change in protocol could take, had actually insisted she take two weeks off until it was settled but she had not shared that with anyone. For that reason and because she didn't want her boyfriend to find her being sick, she hopped in her car and headed to the one place where she knew she could hide out – even if it was just for the day.

Finally feeling strong enough to stand up, she opened the door and swung her feet to the ground. She walked the familiar path to the door and rang the doorbell. As it opened, her eyes welled with tears.

"I'm not feeling well" she blurted, "can I stay here for a while?"

Mac pulled his niece into his arms and hugged her tightly – he had almost been expecting her visit. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "Of course you can sweetheart. You can stay here for as long as you'd like."