Any background information: Pat was shot through the shoulder during the events of Bloody Sunday and is in hospital; his Protestant best friend Jack showed up at the hospital an hour or so later and got in a fight with Pat's father; Pat got out of his hospital bed to drag the two of them off each other, and as a result, his da stormed off in a huff. NOW READ ON...
Excerpt: “Nobody clears a room like Jack Barry,” Jack remarked, with a strained brightness to his voice, as he limped back into the ward. Pat was supporting him, or maybe he was supporting Pat, it was hard to tell. Either way, Pat was blessedly relieved when they got back to his bed and he could collapse back onto it.
“Shut up, you great eejit,” he mumbled, sitting on the edge of the bed. His head was spinning; it had probably been a terrible idea to get up like that, but what else could he have done? It wasn’t like he could just have let them go at it, and just because he was hurt didn’t mean he was deaf. He’d clearly left it too long as it was; Jack’s face was a mess, his lip split in two places and his nose bloody. Pat should have got out there before the two of them had even come to blows. Jack was his friend, and Adam was his da... that made them both his responsibility, and he felt a sick kind of guilt that it had got this far because of him.
As if reading his mind, Jack reached out a hand to touch Pat’s leg, carefully. “It’s not your fault. You know that, yeah?”
Pat shrugged his good shoulder, gritting his teeth as even that small move jolted his already painful arm, and put his good hand on Jack’s. “Maybe not,” he said, quietly, “but it’s still because of me. So don’t start, okay?” He patted Jack’s hand, purposefully patronising, and then met his friend’s eyes. “Listen, mate, I think maybe you should go...”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Jack interrupted, immediately and fiercely. “Look, Pat, I’ve been running halfway around the fucking city after you, if you think I’m just going to piss off and leave you now, you can forget it.”
“What?” Pat blinked at him, taken by surprise. “No, Jack, listen, I was just going to say you should go and wash your face, stop bleeding on my blankets.”
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2011-11-18 01:23 am (UTC)Any background information: Pat was shot through the shoulder during the events of Bloody Sunday and is in hospital; his Protestant best friend Jack showed up at the hospital an hour or so later and got in a fight with Pat's father; Pat got out of his hospital bed to drag the two of them off each other, and as a result, his da stormed off in a huff.
NOW READ ON...
Excerpt: “Nobody clears a room like Jack Barry,” Jack remarked, with a strained brightness to his voice, as he limped back into the ward. Pat was supporting him, or maybe he was supporting Pat, it was hard to tell. Either way, Pat was blessedly relieved when they got back to his bed and he could collapse back onto it.
“Shut up, you great eejit,” he mumbled, sitting on the edge of the bed. His head was spinning; it had probably been a terrible idea to get up like that, but what else could he have done? It wasn’t like he could just have let them go at it, and just because he was hurt didn’t mean he was deaf. He’d clearly left it too long as it was; Jack’s face was a mess, his lip split in two places and his nose bloody. Pat should have got out there before the two of them had even come to blows. Jack was his friend, and Adam was his da... that made them both his responsibility, and he felt a sick kind of guilt that it had got this far because of him.
As if reading his mind, Jack reached out a hand to touch Pat’s leg, carefully. “It’s not your fault. You know that, yeah?”
Pat shrugged his good shoulder, gritting his teeth as even that small move jolted his already painful arm, and put his good hand on Jack’s. “Maybe not,” he said, quietly, “but it’s still because of me. So don’t start, okay?” He patted Jack’s hand, purposefully patronising, and then met his friend’s eyes. “Listen, mate, I think maybe you should go...”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Jack interrupted, immediately and fiercely. “Look, Pat, I’ve been running halfway around the fucking city after you, if you think I’m just going to piss off and leave you now, you can forget it.”
“What?” Pat blinked at him, taken by surprise. “No, Jack, listen, I was just going to say you should go and wash your face, stop bleeding on my blankets.”