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this.He woke up feeling a bit disorientated, vaguely remembering regaining consciousness some time during the night and after a few words from the doctor, falling into a restless sleep again. The pain was still there, but nowhere near as bad as it had been when he firs woke up last night. Grateful for small favors, Patrick allowed the nurse
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Riding up in the lift Brendan rubbed at his chin, trying to think if he'd forgotten anything. There was something nudging him but he couldn't figure it out, which bugged him. He passed down the now-familiar corridor and reached his hand out to open Patrick's door. It was as if the door handle was repelled by his hand, a nurse having reached it just as he had and pulled it open.
"Oh!" She jumped, startled when she saw Brendan and his outstretched hand. "Oh lordy me, you scared the living daylights outta me!" she told him, laughing. "Merry Christmas to you Brendan," she continued, pushing the trolley she had with her out of the way.
"And same to you, Denise," Brendan replied, holding the door open for her. "How's our patient this morning?" he asked, jerking his head toward the bed and man in the room. "Behaving himself is he?"
"Why you know, I think he is!" she chortled, glancing back across at Patrick and giving him a wink. "He only played wheelchair derby till 2am this time, so's had a good couple of hours sleep I think."
Brendan grinned at her, chuckling at her good humour. "Well I hope you have a good day, and enjoy your Christmas dinner when you get to it." He let the door go as she returned the sentiment and moved off down the hall. When he turned and headed over to the bed he could see the hint of dark shadows under Patrick's eyes. "So, did you win the races, or what?" he asked, concern in his eyes belying the humour in his voice.
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"C'n give you a hand if you need it," he said, "but it shouldn't be too hard."
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Once he'd finally managed to remove the paper and looked at the silver iPod in his hand, Patrick couldn't do anything but smile, because he'd thought of getting one - something else to do other than reading when he found himself unable to sleep again - but had never mentioned it to Brendan. Nor had he mentioned that he wasn't sleeping much here either, and yet Brendan had known just what to get him.
He raised his gaze to meet Brendan's, blinking up at the man, and for the first time since he'd been in hospital his smile actually reached his eyes and he nodded. "Thanks, Brendan," he said, his voice audible this time, yet a little hoarse.
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He shook his head at himself, blinking a couple more times and swallowing repeatedly before asking, "What did you load onto it?" Asking the question because, now holding both Ipods, he couldn't check for himself but also because he needed something to distract him from getting oddly emotional all of a sudden.
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Perhaps it had something to do with the rather unpleasant night he'd had, but he wasn't used to feeling this way and it was making him feel uncomfortable, vulnerable almost. "Don't knock it till you've tried it, mate."
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Absently rubbing at both eyes, Patrick smiled as he noticed some familiar songs there that he hadn't heard in years and he was rather impressed - and touched - that Brendan had remembered some of his old favorites as well.
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He clenched his jaw as if preparing himself for pain, he hadn't heard this song in years and he wasn't sure how he felt about hearing it again, wasn't sure how he felt about his eyes tearing up. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, convinced - and determined - that he wasn't going to cry. He couldn't even remember the last time he had and he wasn't going to now. He couldn't.
If it's a mirror you want
Just look into my eyes
Or a whipping boy
Someone to despise
Or a prisoner in the dark
Tied up in chains you just can't see
Or a beast in a gilded cage
That's all some people ever want to be.
But it was too late, the tears that had been threatening to fall most of the morning finally breaking free as the all too familiar lines reached his ears, and he found himself unable to do anything other than just listen, the tears he could no longer hold back rolling down his cheeks.
You can't control an independent heart
Can't tear the one you love apart
Forever conditioned to believe that we can't live
We can't live here and be happy with less
So many riches
So many souls
With everything we see that we want to possess.
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If you want someone, you can do the same
If you want to keep something precious
You got to lock it up and throw away the key
If you want to hold onto your possession
Don't even think about me
If you love somebody, set them free
He was vaguely aware of Brendan standing up and speaking to him, but the man's words didn't really register. Nor did the fact that for the first time in about twenty-five years he was doing the one thing he'd promised himself he'd never do again.
Memories, thoughts and mental images intertwine and, much like hearing this song again, things he hasn't thought of in years suddenly pop up, doing nothing to stop the tears from running down his face.
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