The next morning, while both friends were still sound asleep, when the door was suddenly slammed open. It hit the wall, making a deafening noise. Both musicians woke up immediately. John almost jumped out of his chair while Mark jerked up in bed and then screamed in pain and fell back into the pillows. The bassist quickly ran to his friend's side. Mark was breathing heavily and clutching the bed frame with his good hand.

"What the hell!? Can't you knock!?" John shouted angrily, turning to stare at the person in the doorway, but he froze instead. "Mrs. Knopfler?" The older, short woman ran towards the bed with her handbag over her shoulder. Behind her stood an older man who closed the door and nodded to John in greeting.

"Marky!" She shouted in shock and ran towards her son. John had to bite his bottom lip to keep from bursting out laughing. Mark looked very unhappy about his mother's visit. She patted his face. "Marky, how are you?" She asked worriedly. "I saw the accident on TV. Oh God, I always told you that this music stuff wasn't going to end well for you." Mr. Knopfler Sr. sat down in the chair where John had been sitting and rested his head on his hand. Mark turned his head and looked at his father for help, but the older one just grinned back. John stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed, watching the action.

"Hello, Mom." Mark said, trying to push her hand away from his face because she had pinched his cheek.

"How are you dear? I was so scared for you."

"I'm...I'm fine." Mark said, looking up at her. He tried to smile. She gently stroked his cheek and smiled at him.

"My beautiful boy. Your eyes are still as beautiful as the day you were born. So blue. All the nurses loved you back then. You know that?" John bit his bottom lip and tried to cover his laughter with a cough into the crook of his arm.

"Mom." Mark whined as she tried to hug him.

"What? I haven't seen you in so long, darling." She complained. "You didn't even call. And you didn't visit us either. We were worried sick about you. That's true, Erwin, isn't it?" She looked at Mark's father. The man just nodded. Mark couldn't help but grin a little. His father didn't have an easy time with his mother.

"Mom, can you...can you come back in a week?" Mark asked. She looked at him with wide eyes.

"In a week? How come?"

"I'm tired and..."

"You've always been lazy, Mark! But the fact that you want to throw your mother out is going too far." The singer looked at her with his mouth open.

"Oh fuck you." He growled angrily. She gasped and slapped him across the face. John held his breath. Mark stared wide-eyed at his feet sticking out from under the blanket on the other side.

"How dare you say that to me!" She shouted indignantly. "I am your mother! I raised you and changed your diapers, Mark Freuder Knopfler! You are 36 years old and still single! I'm still waiting for my grandchild and you say something like that to me!? You were a great journalist! I said from the start that the music scene would make you a bully! Smoking, drinking and one-night stands! That's not how I raised you!" Mark put his hand over his mouth and swallowed. The blow his mother had struck on his head had caused his brain to move against his skull. The already injured brain, still suffering from a concussion, sent an alarm signal to Mark's stomach. He pressed a hand over his mouth and tried to sit up, but couldn't because of the pain. John reacted quickly. He picked Mark up and put a bucket under his head. Mark winced in pain as the bassist touched his back. Mrs. Knopfler watched with wide eyes as her son vomited into a bucket. "What's wrong, Marky?" She asked worriedly. 

"He's got a concussion." John sighed, rubbing Mark's shoulder. "The blow to his head finished him off." Mrs. Knopfler gasped and put a hand over her mouth.

"I'm so sorry, darling." She whimpered, reaching out to stroke his shoulder. When Mark had stopped vomiting, John gently laid him back on his back. He wiped Mark's forehead with his handkerchief. Mrs. Knopfler was now swarming around her son with great concern. She offered him water, a second blanket, opened the window to ventilate and asked him if he was hungry.

"Mom, I don't want anything. Just let me...fuck, stop that!" Mark let out a cry of pain as she lifted his casted arm to place a pillow under it. John was now sitting on the second chair next to Mr. Knopfler Sr. and watched. He quickly realized that his help wasn't needed at the moment and that he shouldn't mess with Mark's mother.

"Don't worry." She kissed his forehead. Mark sighed exhaustedly. His mother's visit was more stressful than the operation he had had two days earlier. "Have you bathed the last few days?" She then asked, wrinkling her nose. Mark let out an annoyed sigh and turned his head to look at John, who just smiled apologetically at him. The silence was enough for the woman. "Then let's do it now, darling." Mark looked at her with wide eyes. "Come on." She pulled him onto the edge of the bed. Mark felt tears of pain in his eyes and bit his lip hard as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"Let the poor boy catch his breath for a moment." Said Mr. Knopfler when he saw his son's pained face. "You're dragging him around like a rag doll, Louisia." Mark was now standing next to his bed and holding on to the railing. His body shook from the exertion and he bit his lip. His mother stood nearby, holding him by his forearm.

"John." Mark whined weakly and looked to his friend for help. The bassist looked at him with pity.

"Come on." Mrs. Knopfler dragged her son, who was much taller than her, into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Mr. Knopfler leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

"Peace and quiet." John burst out laughing.

"So bad?"

"I can't tell you how glad I am that she's gone for a few minutes, John." The bassist chuckled softly. "Don't get me wrong, I love this woman, but...damn, she's tiring." 

"She...seems to be a woman of character." John said.

"Are you kidding?" Mark's father chuckled. "I'm glad I can still leave the house without having to log out by her." The two men burst out laughing. John chuckled and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. He had always liked Mark's father. "I'm telling you, John. Choosing a wife is extremely difficult." Said Mr. Knopfler, leaning back in his chair since he was already 60.

"What do you mean?" John grinned.

"Well, the women who say nothing and will do anything you ask...they're just boring." He turned his head and looked at John. "At least I always found these women boring. Someone who doesn't have their own opinion and doesn't think for themselves... I don't know. These women always seemed boring to me. If you choose a woman who has her own opinion...well...it gets complicated." They giggled.

*

At the same time in the bathroom:

Mark sat on the plastic chair again and his mother swarmed around him. She had pulled the hospital gown over his head and tossed it to the side. The singer tried to hold himself up with his left hand and was panting because he was straining his ribcage.

"Mom, that's not necessary." He tried to push her away as she tried to remove the bandage.

"Of course it is. I know what's right for you." She said a little angrily and continued working. Mark was too weak to stop her, so at some point he just gave up and slumped with his head against the tiled wall. Crap. Why the hell had she even come? As she tossed the bandage aside, she gasped and felt tears in her eyes. She examined his back, which had blue threads sticking out of it that were used to hold the battered flesh back together so it could heal. Mark's chest didn't look much better. "Oh Marky." She whispered. "These will be big scars." She quickly wiped her tears from her cheeks and kissed his cheek. "My poor boy." Mark couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes. She got a washcloth and started washing his skin. Mark hissed as she dabbed at the freshly stitched wounds. The pain became so bad that he could see black spots in front of his eyes.

"Stop it." He panted weakly, pushing against her leg to keep her away from him.

"This is for your own good." She said softly. 

"Go away, leave me...leave me alone." The pain increased and Mark felt his vision slowly blurring. "John!" He gasped as loudly as he could. In fact, it didn't take more than four seconds before the bassist's head peeked through the door. "John." Mark whined. The bassist ran up to him and knelt on the floor in front of him.

"What's wrong?" He asked worriedly, completely ignoring his mother. "Are you sick?"

"I believe..." Mark took a shuddering breath and placed his hand on John's shoulder to steady himself. "I believe I'm going to faint." He whimpered weakly. The bassist looked around in alarm. What should he do now?

"Hey. No. You won't faint now. Look at me." He cuped Mark's face with both hands. The singer's eyes drooped. "Are you dizzy?" Mark nodded groggily. "Can you get something to drink?" John asked, looking at Mark's mother. "Preferably something with a lot of sugar."

"I'm on my way!" Mark's father called and the door closed behind him. His mother stood awkwardly in the room. She had tried to help her son, but apparently he had more trust in the bass player than in her.

"Hey. Look at me." John said calmly, noticing that Mark's breathing had increased drastically. "Chill out. You're fine." Mark's ears were ringing, but he heard John's voice clearly. "Calm down." It didn't take long and Erwin Knopfler had managed to get a glass bottle of cola from the cafeteria in a surprisingly quick time. He stormed into the bathroom and handed John the open bottle. "Thank you." Smiled the bassist. Erwin shooed his wife out of the bathroom.

"Get out, Lousia."

"I just wanted to help our boy." She said dazedly.

"I know that. But now you can't help anymore. He has to sort it out himself." Mr. Knopfler turned back to his son in concern and watched as John held the bottle to Mark's lips and let him take small sips. Mark's left hand was shaking like crazy on John's shoulder.

"Sh. Chill out. You're fine." John hummed, rubbing Mark's knee. After a while, Mark's breathing had returned to normal a little and he slumped against the tiled wall. The bassist put the half-full glass bottle aside and remained silently kneeling on the floor in front of Mark. After a while he stood up.

"Where are you going?" Mark asked. If he had been weak before, he now felt destroyed. As if a tank had driven over him. His body was throbbing with pain and he felt like he was dying.

"I'll get you something to wear. Your forehead is hot, you start to have a fever. Sitting here in the cold shower isn't going to help." John left the bathroom and searched his bag for a pair of pajamas.

"He has a fever?" Mark's mother asked worriedly. John raised his head and looked at her.

"Yes. A little. I think the fever is starting slowly. The wounds on his back are slightly infected because they've been stitched for the second time." John pulled a pair of pajamas out of his bag and went back into the bathroom. "Can you raise your arm for me?" The bassist asked. Mark carefully stretched his left arm into the air. John placed the long-sleeved shirt over Mark's head and then pulled it down his arms. Mark hissed a little in pain as the material rubbed against his back. John carefully adjusted the shirt to touch as little skin as possible. "That's better than that horrible hospital gown." John grinned happily.

"You really didn't like that thing." Mark chuckled quietly and looked at the floor.

"No. It looked horrible." Laughed the bassist. He got the pajama bottoms and slipped them down Mark's legs, up to his knees. "OK. Mr. Knopfler? I'm going to need some help." He said, looking at the older man. "I'll pull him up and hold him and you'll have to pull up his pants." Erwin nodded and got into position.

"Bloody charming." Mark muttered.

"Shut up, Mark." Erwin scolded.

"Uh. Now I know who he got it from." John chuckled. He carefully pulled the guitarist to his feet. "Hold on tight to me."

"What the hell do you think I'm trying to do?" Mark swore, clinging to John's shoulders as he tried to keep his upper body straight. Damn, his ribs were killing him. As soon as he tilted his upper body a little, there was a sharp pain. Erwin pulled the pants up to Mark's hips.

"Done." He grinned and pulled away. John carefully supported his friend back into the room. Mark ran like a little child. Looking at the ground and carefully placing his foot on the ground before taking another step. Soon they arrived at the bed.

"Shit, I hate this bed." Mark growled, looking out the window. The sun was shining outside, you could see a lot of people in the park.

"Well, you're going to have to lie in this bed for a while." John lifted Mark's legs onto the bed and swung them around so that the guitarist was lying down again.

"I don't know how lying on my back is supposed to help me when it looks like Swiss cheese." Mark grumbled. John tucked him in and placed a hand on his forehead.

"Slightly increased. You'll probably have a fever tomorrow."

"Bloody charming." Mark muttered. His eyes closed.

"This reminds me of when you were a little boy." Said Mrs. Knopfler. "You were constantly sick. Too skinny for your age." Mark sighed.

"That was 30 years ago, Mom."

"So what? Can't I think about my baby?" She teased. John bit himself on the lip so as not to laugh. "You were a wonderful child, Marky. But messy. Every third day, I had to sew up the holes in the knees of your jeans."

"Oh, really?" John teased. Mark groaned in annoyance and put his arm over his eyes.

"Erwin, do you remember when Mark built that ramp that he wanted to ride his bike over?" She smiled, lost in thought.

"The one with 90 degrees?" Erwin teased. "Sure. And I remember the crying I heard was pretty loud when the whole thing didn't work out as expected."

"That is very interesting. So even back then you couldn't really do any manual work." John teased.

"Uh. Go to hell everyone." Mark scolded, but they could all see that he was grinning himself.