Hello Morning

Hello Morning
By Rilla

Chapters 1-8

Chapter 1

"Robin was released from the hospital."

"When?"

"Just a few minutes ago. Dr. Drake signed her out."

"Did he take her home?"

"No. I think she drove herself. Dr. Drake is still here. Do you want me to follow her? Make sure she gets home safe?"

"No, that’s fine. Max, did she seem..."

"…She seemed fine. She seemed healthy."

"Thanks for checking in. Take the rest of the day off.

"Thanks, Mr. Morgan."

***

Robin leaned into her front door as she turned the key in the lock. She was exhausted. As the door swung open, she let her body fall with it, sighing as she went. And looking around, she sighed even deeper still. Things were still in a shambles. Boxes sent from Paris were standing where they’d been stacked when the movers arrived. A cast-off couch from her uncle remained pushed against the wall; her antique desk shoved against it; lamps in a cluster under the window; dishes only half unpacked on the dining room table. Robin dropped her keys and the backpack of her meager possessions from the hospital to the floor as she shut the door and bolted the lock against the world.

Three short weeks can change your life a helluva lot, she thought.

Just three weeks ago she’d begun moving into the lakeside cottage she’d bought from Skye Chandler. If she was going to be a resident of Port Charles again, she couldn’t keep living with her uncle. It was Jax that put her in contact with Skye, saying that not only did Skye have a house for sale, but that the two of them might get along. He was right. The sale was agreed on within 30 minutes over drinks at Metro Court. The bonding between the two women continued for the next three hours. Robin was moving in the next day.

The first thing she assembled was her bed, a queen with the most amazing pillow top and a headboard of twisted and carved maple and cherry bought at an estate auction just outside Paris. The shipping had cost a fortune, but it was a sanctuary Robin refused to relinquish. She’d dressed it in Egyptian cotton and a feather duvet with four pillows to surround her. But before she could even sleep in it, she’d been called into the hospital. People were getting sick—mysteriously sick—and they were shorthanded.

Forty-eight hours in, her fever began. And then the cough. And then the hallucinations. And then the days descended into a blur of pain and fear.

It wasn’t AIDS-related. They’d figured that out pretty quickly. But that didn’t really make much difference. Robin was dying and people were sucker-punched by the irony. Robin might die…and it could have nothing at all to do with HIV.

Robin herself was mostly blessed by not being able to clearly recall much of her stay in intensive care. The needles, the machines and the masks were more like an impressionist painting too close to her eyes to make out the details. She knew people were crying. She knew people were holding her hand. She even knew that she sometimes spoke to them. What she said and how she formed the words, however, were a mystery.

And then came the day that the mists parted and from the haze of delirium and an ache that permeated every corner of her body, she saw a face. She saw her father leaning over her.

"You’re going to be well, Luv. I promise you."

***

Robin looked around her new home and all its disorder with resignation. Her father had come back to her just eight days ago. Risen, phoenix-like, from the dead to bring her away from that self-same darkness. Robin was still wrapping her mind around the concept.

"I’m so sorry, Robin. For so many years, I didn’t even know who I was. And then, when the memories returned, I tried so hard to get back to you and your Mum. There wasn’t a day I wasn’t trying to get back to you."

Luke had found her father on an island in the South Pacific. God knows how. Filthy, disoriented, maimed, but still Robert Scorpio beneath all the pain. He returned and breathed life into Robin as no one else could. She believed he was a ghost, his spirit come to give her strength. And she followed what she believed was a heavenly guide; followed his voice and his face away from the brink.

"Daddy…" she’d whispered. They were the first words she’d uttered that she herself could recall saying. It was Patrick that realized Robin believed her father was still a ghost, and it was he that ordered Robert away from Robin before she regained consciousness. After she was well enough, and the truth of Robert had been revealed to her, Liz told her how Patrick and Robert had fought. How Patrick had battled to make Robert understand what a shock of that kind would do Robin at that delicate point in her healing.

"Robin, he was so upset."

"My dad’s been through so much, Liz."

"I meant Patrick…Patrick was…well I don’t think I’ve ever seen a doctor so torn."

Robin shook the conversation from her head. She couldn’t think of that tonight because thinking of Patrick meant she had to think about her father. And that meant she had to relive the bitter fight she and he had this morning. Robert didn’t want to see Anna. He wanted to disappear again. He believed the world—and Robin—was safer and better with Robert Scorpio dead. And she couldn’t think about their fight, because that would mean thinking about the man who’d picked her up from the hospital floor where she’d collapsed in breath-stealing sobs after her father left the room.

Chapter 2

"Where is she?"

"Jason, you can’t go in there. Jason! JASON! Stop…you can’t go in there. She’s in a sterile room. You’ll contaminate it."

Jason stared at Liz, his eyes darting around the lobby of the ICU. "Then her immune system…? It’s compromised?!"

Liz grabbed fistfuls of Jason’s jacket and pulled him away from the door, using every ounce of nursing authority. "They don’t think so. But it’s a precaution." She moved them toward a corner, away from the other people waiting for news of their loved ones. So many people were sick, all throughout Port Charles. The first victims were the children and the elderly. And Robin Scorpio.

As Liz pushed Jason against the wall, his eyes always looking over her head at the ICU double doors, she asked, "Jason, who on earth told you Robin was here?"

Jason tore his eyes away from the doors long enough to look into Elizabeth’s face and register her surprise. "Sonny. Sonny told me."

"And how did Sonny find out? Mac only wanted family to kn…" And then Liz put it together. "Emily…Emily told Sonny and Sonny told you."

"He said it was serious. That she’d been here for days! Liz, is she ok? What’s happening?"

Liz tried to control her rising anger. Emily had no business going against the wishes of the family. They wanted Robin’s situation to be kept quite—probably for this very reason. But Emily was so immersed in Sonny’s world she clearly thought he had some right to know. The situation was nauseating. And now Mac and Felecia and the girls, who were already emotionally raw from watching Robin’s deterioration, had to now deal with frantic mobsters and the baggage they brought with them.

"Jason, I’m going to tell you what I told Nikolas. And what I’m apparently going to have to tell Sonny," Liz sighed. "Robin is sick with whatever this virus is that’s hitting half of Port Charles. It isn’t AIDS-related, but the doctors are taking every precaution. She’s in the ICU and her only visitors are Mac and Felecia. Even Maxie and Georgie are being kept out. And that means you, and Sonny, and anyone else who comes storming in here will have to wait for them to update you." Liz saw the wrath working its way onto Jason’s face and quickly said, "I’m sorry. I know this is probably hard to hear, but I’ve already told you more than HIPPA regulations allow, so you should know I’ve put my job on the line to give you this much peace of mind. There’s nothing you can do here, Jason. Go home." And though she knew it wasn’t necessary and possibly mean, Liz felt she needed to make one more point clear. If not for Jason, then for Robin's sake. "You aren’t a part of this, Jason."

***

Robin moved from box to box, opening some, leaving others for her uncle to cart to closets or the attic. It felt good to put her hands on familiar things. Extra coats, well-read books, picture frames, CDs, towels, summer shoes…things that spoke of her life in Paris. Just touching these concrete representations of her life buoyed her and her earlier exhaustion turned into a kind of calm. She’d nearly died, and now she was back again…back among her things and her new home and the people she loved. Things outside the cottage walls might be in turmoil, but she would greet that tomorrow. Until then, she wanted to soak in her freshly granted life.

First, she showered. She languished in the heat of the water and steam as the lingering film of illness and hospital funk was scrubbed from her skin. Then, with her own towel wrapped around her body she rummaged through a box marked "Top Dresser Drawer" and pulled out a white nightshirt that still smelled like her old apartment. It billowed like a musketeer’s smock, open wide at the throat, as she slipped it over her head.

God it feels good to feel normal again, she thought, pulling her wet hair from under the collar and wrapping her arms around herself in contentment.

The soft knock at the door made her gasp.

Her heart thumping, she let out a small laugh at her own foolishness. Of course, Mac had heard she’d checked herself out and had come to rail at her. But she couldn’t blame him this time. The return of Robert had shaken more than just Robin’s world. Mac had been a frenzy of concern and confusion while she was in the hospital, and she knew things were being set into motion regarding her father beyond the hospital walls. No one would tell her anything, and that was part of what she intended to iron out tomorrow. Robin made her way to the door, beginning to speak as she went, "Uncle Mac, I’m fi…"

Robin opened the door to Jason, standing before her with a hard face that revealed nothing and eyes that asked a thousand questions.

"Jason."

And at the same time, "Robin."

They stood quietly in the doorway for a long moment, until, "Come in."

Jason took in Robin’s nightshirt, her bare legs and fresh face, her dark, wet hair, "If this is a bad time…?"

"No. This is fine. I was just…unpacking." She made no move to find a robe, or make an excuse to change. No blush came to her cheeks. She’d lost any modesty with Jason. He’d seen her bare, inside and out, and she simply couldn’t find the energy to hide herself anymore. "Why are you here?"

***

It was four in the morning and the night nurse at the ICU station had finally taken a bathroom break. Jason knew this was the only chance he would get to slip past the walls that had guarded Robin for the past twelve days. Each night, Jason had paid off an orderly to give him updates on Robin’s condition. Sam never questioned the phone calls and rendezvous. A simple "business" was enough to explain away any curious glances.

Three nights ago, he’d learned that Robin had been moved from the sterile room. And every night since, Jason has crept from the bed of his fiancé to attempt to be at the bed of a woman he’d once loved. Still loved, if he allowed himself an honest moment. Which he rarely did.

Silent and swift, Jason slid through the doors and past the nurses’ station without disrupting even the air around him.

He’d seen Robin sick before, but when he glanced through the window to her room he blanched. She wasn’t hooked up to many machines, and aside from the tube bringing oxygen to her nose and an IV, she was unmarred by medical equipment. What was so startling was how small and pale she was. Where vitality had once run through her face, now only pallor and weakness shown through. She was everything Robin Scorpio wasn’t. The woman laying in the bed wasn’t a fighter.

He entered the room and she didn’t stir. The orderly could tell Jason nothing more than Robin was "still out of it," so Jason was unsure of what to expect. A chair was pulled to her bedside, and Jason thought for a moment how Mac must be camped out here. Sliding into the chair, Jason eyed the chart at her bedside and scanned Robin’s progress. He blanched as words like "cardiac arrest," "delirious," and "diminished capacity" leapt from the page. Robin’s heart had stopped!

Several sets of handwriting covered the pages of her chart, but one stuck out. Patrick Drake’s. Jason’s mind raced: He’s a brain surgeon, what the hell is doing working on Robin?! As Jason read the notes, it became clear. They were concerned that if Robin didn’t regain consciousness soon, her motor skills might be affected. Possibly her cognitive reasoning skills. Whatever this illness was, it was having drastic effects on several system levels.

Jason pulled his eyes from the chart and focused them back on Robin’s thin face. He took her hand.

"Robin, you have to fight this," he started, whispering and not knowing what words would come next. "This isn’t where your story ends. Sure, you’ve become a doctor and you’re on the career path you dreamt of. But there’s more for you out there. Maybe, more than anybody else, I know there’s more for you."

Tears came to his eyes. He was in love with Sam. He wanted to give Sam the family she so desperately desired. When she was around, he was so consumed by her that he saw no one else and cared for no one else -- until he saw Robin trapped on the train. And ever since, try as he might, the idea of Robin lingered on the periphery of his vision. It was frustrating, and even annoying. And it was comfortable. Having Robin back in his life was something so natural he didn’t know how to control his emotions surrounding it. Did he love her after all these years? Was it just nostalgia? Did he just expect her to be waiting in the wings?

He didn’t like asking these questions of himself. If anything, Jason had always known his mind.

"You still have a future, Robin, you just have to open your eyes now to see it." His hand squeezed hers, willing her to squeeze back. "You have to fight now. I know you’re probably tired of that; that you’re wondering when you get to stop fighting and when things are going to get easy for you. But nothing worth having is easy, Robin. And if your future is even half as amazing as the one I see before you, it’s going to take everything you’ve got. So start fighting now."

It was a passionate speech, and Jason poured his heart and soul into it. It was the kind of speech that should made her eyelids flutters and her fingers tighten around his. Jason watched for it; vainly believing his words would have some restorative power over her.

Seeing no response, he pulled out the final clincher. The big truth he hadn’t felt he could use unless as a last resort.

"I still love you, Robin. I never stopped."

Her hand remained limp in his; her eyes remained closed; her breathing never altered. Finanly, he slunk out of her room as the nursing shift changed.

Chapter 3

Note: The song is "Possession" by Sarah McLachlan. So 1993 of me, I know. But this song and another were the inspiration for Hello, Morning.

"Why are you here?" Robin repeated. Despite looking refreshed from the shower, Jason could still see the traces of dark circles under her eyes. Her cheekbones looked sharp in the waning afternoon sun.

"I wanted to…" he began, but Robin interrupted.

"Wait…how did you know I checked out of the hospital? I practically snuck out the back door to be sure Uncle Mac wouldn’t stop me." She wasn’t mad. But she wasn’t pleased.

Jason didn’t respond; just stared at her, knowing she’d figure it out without him.

"Oh," she finally said, realizing he must have had a guard keeping tabs on her after witnessing morning meltdown. Or perhaps even before. "Fine. Come in. It’s cold." A February snowstorm had struck while Robin was still in the hospital and the lake was glittering with ice. Robin loved the view, but it also meant the wind swept right into her front door. "Do you want something to drink?" she asked when they were both inside. She padded to the kitchen and scrounged for some glasses.

"No, I’m fine," Jason answered quietly, looking around the cottage. Robin nodded, and filled a glass with water for herself. On autopilot, she began popping pills into her mouth. Jason tried not to watch as she downed them, ten at a time. Robin tried not to notice Jason trying not to watch her. "I’m glad you found a place to stay. This is," he said, searching for a word, "perfect for you."

Robin tried to read between the lines, but found nothing judgmental there. Still, her guard was up. "I haven’t even spent a night here yet, but I think it’ll be comfortable," she shrugged. "It’s not my garret in Paris, but I like being near the water."

"Do you miss Paris?" He was peaking into a box by the sofa, trying to remain casual. Robin did a mental check and concluded there was nothing too embarrassing or uncomfortable in the box. Still, when she finished her pills she crossed to it and slid her hand over the flap to close it. Jason took the hint and moved to an unoccupied corner of the living room.

"I miss being close to my mom and Brenda," she replied, still with a hand on the box marked "Bathroom Cabinet." "I miss the smells most of all. Fresh bread and chocolate. There was a bakery underneath my apartment."

Jason smiled, "Pan au chocolat?"

"My daily indulgence," she confided, returning his smile. This was right where she wanted to keep the conversation. Nice, easy, surface-level. Pleasantries about pastry. But she knew it wouldn’t stay this simple for much longer, and so she might as well go forward on her terms. "Jason, I know you came to make sure I was alright. Especially after this morning. There was just…a lot going on. And while I appreciate it, I also question it. Why are you really here? You knew I was fine…one of your people must have already told you that."

"Max told me."

"Fine. Max told you. So…" she was getting frustrated and she turned away from him to face the window. The light was warm and orange and slanting low. The sun would go down soon. "Why?" Robin continued, more softly, "We’re not those people anymore, Jason. We haven’t been for years. We don’t come running to each other’s aid anymore."

"You did."

"What?" she exclaimed, turning back to face him.

"You came running," Jason said, simply. "When I was dying."

Robin began to shake her head, "No, I did not. I came because I was called by Tony, and because, as a doctor, I thought I could help."

Jason was incredulous, "You didn’t come because it was me."

"I came because, medically, I was needed." Robin stopped short of stamping her foot.

"You wouldn’t have come if you couldn’t have helped?" he asked.

"No, I wouldn’t have," she lied. "We’re not those people anymore." Her words sounded harsh and hollow to her own ears, and she stopped short of wincing as she said them. But she wasn’t going down this road with him.

Jason nodded, as if agreeing with her. "Okay, then. But what if I was to say I came running?"

Though the entire living room separated them, Robin could feel the familiar connection between them vibrate with his words. It twanged like a tightly pulled cord that ran from her gut to his. She knew he felt the tug as well. His eyes told her the connection was as visceral as ever. "You never came to see me," she said, her voice suddenly hoarse.

He moved toward her as he spoke, "I did. Once. I begged you to fight." She began backing away, but was stopped by the dining room table. Jason kept moving forward. "I begged you to live so you could have the future you deserve." Robin started to shake her head—against Jason, against the knowledge that he hadn’t abandoned her, against the vibrations that were running through her body as a result of his words. He was right infront of her. She was staring down at his belt buckle. "I told you I still loved you," he said in a voice that matched hers.

Listen as the wind blows from across the great divide. Voices trapped in yearning; memories trapped in time. The night is my companion and solitude my guide. Would I spend forever here, and not be satisfied?

Robin’s breath hitched and her eyes shot up to meet his. It took only that glance for Jason to see the truth in her eyes and in an instant his lips were on hers. Her hands flew up to wrap around his neck and he pulled her body into his with arms that could have wrapped around her twice. They both moaned into the kiss, sending shivers throughout their bodies. The kiss when Jason was in the hospital had been automatic. This was animalistic.

And I would be the one to hold you down; kiss you so hard. I’ll take your breath away and after, I’d wipe away the tears. Just close your eyes, dear.

Robin arched her back so that her every curve could mold to Jason’s stomach, hips, chest…she wanted to touch all of him. She wanted to imprint his muscles and bones onto her body so the next time she hugged her arms to herself, she’d feel him against her. "Robin…" Jason said in a voice aching with much more than need. It was a sound Robin understood well. She heard it in her own voice when said his name. It was atonement.

Through this world I’ve stumbled, so many times betrayed. Trying to find an honest word, to find the truth enslaved. Oh, you speak to me in riddles and you speak to me in rhymes. My body aches to breathe your breath. You words keep me alive.

Jason released her only long enough to run his hands down her sides, and further to her bare thighs. Her skin rippled in reaction, like a cat’s, and the tremor beneath his fingertips made his knees buckle. His hand moved back up, this time underneath the nightshirt. He choked at the reintroduction to her nudity. Pulling his lips from hers he looked into her face, trying to read the nuances of her desire. Every inch of her body said she wanted this.

And I would be the one to hold you down; kiss you so hard. I’ll take your breath away and after, I’d wipe away the tears. Just close your eyes, dear.

"Robin, did you hear me?" The words came out in a rush of air. "At the hospital? Did you hear me say I still loved you?" Her answer would tell him everything he needed to know.

***

"Carly said she saw you this morning...with her, Jason. She saw you holding her."

"It wasn’t what you think, Sam."

"Then what was it?"

"What Carly saw…it was just me helping a friend. That’s it."

"That’s not what Carly said!"

"Sam, please don’t cry. You know Carly. You know how she is."

"Can you deny that you were holding Robin in your arms?"

"No…but she’s just a friend. Nothing more. Trust me. I love you."

And Jason quietly kissed her.

***

"We were scared for you, Robin."

"We?"

"Yeah…me, too. I was scared."

"I had good people taking care of me."

"Are you admitting that I’m a good doctor?"

"I’ve never denied you that."

"…There’s something else I hope you won’t deny me."

And Patrick quietly kissed her.

***

"No," Robin answered, tearing herself away from Jason’s arms, tears suddenly flowing down her face. Her whole body felt as if it was crying. "I didn’t hear you."

Jason reeled back, both from the sudden loss of her body entwined in his, and from her sharp words. They were painful in their honesty. "It’s not too late, Robin. I thought this was done between us, but you can’t deny what’s happening here."

"I can," she cried, putting an arm out to support her body against the wall she’d flung herself toward to escape him. "Jason…God…don’t you see?"

"See what?!" he shouted, tears coming to his own eyes now, too. "I see you and I see me. And I see that we’re not done!"

Robin’s mind reeled and her body reeled with her. She stumbled to the front door and flung it open. The light had gone out of the sky completely and the wind rushed in. Jason, standing tall in leather but looking beaten; Robin swathed in white and bent with cold, but finally looking firm. "We’re not those people anymore," she said.

The tension between them snapped and recoiled as Jason flung himself out into the darkness and Robin slammed the door behind him.

Into this night I wander. It’s morning that I dread. Another day of knowing of the path I fear to tread. Oh, into the sea of waking dreams I follow without pride. Nothing stands between us here and I won’t be denied.

And I won’t be denied.

Chapter 7

"Dad…who’s in there with Robin?"

"That, my dear girl, is the best friend, best compatriot, and best scoundrel a man could ever ask for. That, is Robert Scorpio."

***

It was like the air stopped circulating, and where Jason had stood there was now a void. Nothing existed there. It made the room feel emptier than it already was.

Robin walked, trancelike to the dining room table, pulled out a chair and slowly sat. Her tears dried on her face and she had stopped shaking. The battle that had taken place inside her body—whether to give herself up to desire or protect her heart—had been decided; and like any battle, an eerie calm lay in its wake. "You did the right thing, Robin," she said out loud, her voice emotionless and even.

He was just confused, she told herself. Near-death experiences, no matter if you’re the one nearly dying or not, are bound to be confusing. He loves Sam, she thought. He loves his fiancé.

"I see you and I see me. And I see that we’re not done!"

Robin shook her head. They were done. They had to be done, or else what did that leave her with? Another chance to be the other woman? One more go at being taken for granted, mistreated, maligned…forgotten?

***

"You did the right thing, Robin." Robert, stroked his daughter’s hair with his good hand. "You went on and you lived for us.

Robin’s tears ran down to her ears, soaking the hospital pillow. "I didn’t want to live for you!" She looked into her father’s eyes and shuddered. "I should have known," she cried. "Shouldn’t something inside have told me that you were still alive?! First Mom, now you. Oh God… What kind of daughter just accepts that her parents are dead. There were no bodies…why didn’t I believe in you?"

"Shhhh…Robin. You had to go on living, and you couldn’t have done that if you’d believed we were somehow alive. I didn’t even know I was alive."

Robin shook her head and bit her lip to keep the sob down, "But I could've looked for you. And I could've found you and Mom so much sooner. We wouldn’t have lost all those years. I should have believed…"

"It would have consumed you. It would have mangled you inside. I wouldn’t have wanted you to destroy your life for mine."

"So instead your life was destroyed," she whispered. Robert fell quiet, thinking of how to convince her. He listened to the sound of the IV dripping salvation into Robin’s veins. The serum he and Luke had brought with them was in its final dose. The first one nearly killed her. The second one brought her back. The third one put her in a coma and the fourth one woke her up. It wasn’t until the last one, this one, that the virus died and Robin opened her eyes to see clearly.

"I’m the dad, Luv," he finally answered, laying his other hand across hers and gripping it awkwardly. "I lay my life down for you. Not the other way ‘round."

His words nearly stole her breath. They poured love into places she hadn't known were empty.

Her father was alive!

Robin turned her own hand upward so she could feel the strangeness of her father’s fingers and palm. The bones had clearly been crushed and the skin torn and scarred over badly. She held it tenderly, "How…?"

"Tiger," Robert murmured, throwing every ounce of his Aussie growl into the word. And for the first time since father and daughter re-met, she laughed.

"How does the tiger look?" she smiled.

"Worse."

***

"You did the right thing, Robin," she said again, before getting up to turn on some lights in the now dark cottage.

Chapter 5

Robin glanced at the clock to see, to her surprise, that it was nearly 10 o’clock. After pulling on a pear of jeans and washing the saltiness from her face, she’d spent the last four hours in a steady rhythm of domesticity and barely even realized it. She unpacked the rest of her dishes. Dragged her couch to a reasonable spot in the living room. Hooked up her television and DVD player. Filled her medicine cabinet. Stacked her linens in the hall closet. Tucked extra paper towels and toilet paper under the basement stairs. Arranged stacks of CDs on a rack. Ordered pizza.

At the knock on the door, Robin called out, "Just a second!" grabbing a $20 from her purse. She opened the door with a smile, holding out the money.

"I’m not that kind of guy, Dr. Scorpio." Patrick stood before her, smirking. "I wouldn’t take anything less than a 50 for my services."

Robin’s smile dropped to a frown. "What are you doing here?"

His own grin never wavered, "Be careful or your face will freeze like that. Think of what that would do to your bedside manner."

Robin shook head in exasperation. Frowning at Patrick was a habit at this point. Or at least it had been before she got sick. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be…"

"Mean?" he supplied.

"Right. It’s just been a long day. And honestly, I don’t know if I’m up to doing what we do." As soon as she said it, she regretted it.

"And just what is it that we do, Dr. Scorpio?" he asked, voice dripping with suggestion.

Robin sighed, "You know what I meant. This. We do this. We spar and score verbal points off each other. And while it has its charms, I don’t have the energy for it tonight."

His reaction was exactly opposite of what she expected. His gaze turned serious, "Are you running a fever? Light-headedness? Trouble focusing?" He took a step toward her, over the threshold, and reached for her hand—presumably to take her pulse.

"Oh good grief," Robin laughed, pulling her hand away. "Patrick, I’m fine. I meant I’m tired. This is the most activity I’ve had in nearly a month, and I’m about to go to sleep."

He raised an eyebrow, "But first you thought you’d throw some money at whoever came to the door?"

"It’s for my dinner, you idiot," she said, rolling her eyes. To prove her point, the pizza delivery car pulled up behind Patrick’s in her driveway. Money and pizza exchanged hands and Patrick sniffed the air.

"Smells good. So…you’re not exactly ready to pass out this very moment."

Robin stepped back from the door, clearing the way into her cottage with some resignation. "Do you want to stay and have a very late dinner and then go straight home?"

"Now that you mention it…" he said with a grin, striding past her. He shrugged out of his black wool coat and tossed it over a box before making himself at home on her couch. "You have anything to drink?"

Robin ignored him and tossed the pizza on the dining room table. From the kitchen she pulled out two plates and ripped paper towels from the rack. Bringing them back to the table, she deadpanned, "Dinner is served." Patrick hopped up from the couch, but rather than join her at the table, he went to the kitchen and began rooting around in the fridge.

"Ooh! Dom. Very bourgeois."

Robin dropped a slice on the plate, "Leave that alone. It’s for a special occasion."

"There’s a note tied to it: ‘Drink me with the first reasonable man you find in your new home!’"

"Uughh," Robin groaned. The champagne was a housewarming present from Skye. The note was a joke they’d shared the first night at Metro Court, lamenting the lack of sane men in Port Charles. "That certainly leaves you out." And Jason, too, for that matter, she added silently.

Patrick scooped two wine glasses from a cabinet and brought them, and the champagne, to the table. "It’s your first night back home and among the living. I think that’s a special enough occasion, don’t you?" He popped the cork and began to pour.

"Those aren’t even the right glasses," she protested, mildly.

"Like you really care," he countered. "And while I’ve been called many uncharitable things—mostly by you—‘unreasonable’ is not one of them. Cheers," he said, lifting his glass. "To your health."

Robin looked at the glass before her. She felt railroaded; hijacked in her own home. And it wasn’t altogether terrible. "And to yours," she said, raising the glass and looking the doctor in the eye, "especially after tonight."

"Promises, promises."

***

"Doctor Drake is here to see you."

"Show him in."

Sonny stood at the French doors of his study, staring out into the morning light. He’d been up half the night trying to find out information on the epidemic that was sweeping through Port Charles. As a precaution, he’d sent his boys to the island with Leticia, and despite her distrust of Sonny, Alexis allowed Kristina to be sheltered there as well. But there were some people he couldn’t protect. Carly had refused to go, for reasons Sonny couldn’t fathom. Emily was determined to work through the crisis at the hospital. And Robin. Well, he certainly hadn’t been able to protect Robin. So he sent for Patrick Drake, wanting answers.

"I just finished a 13-hour shift. I hope you have a good reason for postponing my date with my pillow." Patrick walked past Sonny’s guard, irritation rolling off him.

"Robin Scorpio’s my reason," Sonny snapped back, turning to look at Patrick. "I want to know what’s being done to make her well."

"I don’t really see how that’s any of your business," Patrick said, stalling. He was tired to the bone, and furious at being dragged away to play audience to a street thug. But more than anything, he needed time to figure this situation out. Why would Sonny Corinthos be sniffing around Robin? As far as Patrick new, Sonny had barely spoken to Robin outside the OR the day she observed Manny’s operation.

"It’s my business because I chose to make it so." Sonny crossed to his bar, and began pouring himself a drink.

Patrick thought back over the last three days since Robert Scorpio and Luke Spencer had come barreling into the hospital like two refugees. The epidemic couldn't even compare with the pandemonium they caused. Not only did they bring with them a possible cure, but apparently Robin's father was making a surprising return from the dead. Was this the information Sonny was really after?

"I’m not aware of your name on the list of people connected to Dr. Scorpio."

Sonny closed his eyes in anger. Both at Patrick, and at himself. How had he let himself drift so far from Robin’s life? "Robin couldn’t have predicted she’d need to put me on her death-watch VIP list," Sonny hissed.

Nodding, Patrick considered his options. The hospital couldn’t afford to have anyone poking around at the moment. The experimental treatment was in its third course. Robin was deep in a coma, but the trials suggested that the next dose would bring her out. Robert had assured them this was the case. Why Dr. Jones and the rest of the GH staff seemed to take his word for it was a mystery never satisfyingly explained to Patrick. But when government badges started getting flashed, he had no choice but to accept the situation for what it was and move on. It was a position he loathed.

And the secrets ran even deeper than the treatment. Robert had briefed the doctors handling Robin. The virus was a torture mechanism, developed by some depraved family in Greece. They would unleash it on the family members of a person they wanted to "influence." If the coercion worked, the treatment was administered…sometimes. The exact target in Port Charles was unknown, but Patrick had the feeling there were several possibilities in a town this insane.

And now a known crime boss was putting his nose into the mix. Patrick knew how Jason fit into it all. And, of course, Jason worked for Sonny. But where did Robin fit with Sonny, such that Sonny would care if Robin lived or died? And, he wondered absently, why did half the women of this town seem to be mixed up with the mobster?

"It appears we have a problem, then," Patrick said, feeling Sonny out. "Because unlike your girlfriend—I have a few patient confidentiality rules the medical board would like me to follow." Patrick knew he was pushing it, letting Sonny know Emily had been fingered as the loose-lips quotient. It was the main reason her pretty hands were doing nothing but emptying bedpans these days. "And if I break those: no more license. And no more license means this brilliant mind doesn’t get to make Robin Scorpio all better."

Sonny’s hand tightened on the glass. "Robin was…Robin is like a little sister to me," he said, hating to reveal any emotion to this punk. "And I give the hospital’s AIDS wing an obscene amount of money."

"Compelling," Patrick said, finally connecting the dots. Robin had only told him the necessities of her past and how she’d contracted HIV, but he knew enough. Especially now. "But if I remember correctly, you threatened to break my hands, so forgive me if I’m going to need a little more incentive."

"You want money?!"

Patrick shook his head, "I have money, Mr. Corinthos. No, I want an answer to a question. Just like you."

Sonny eyed the doctor suspiciously, "What’s the question?"

"What does Robin have to live for?"

Sonny scoffed, "What the hell kind of question is that?"

Patrick smiled, knowing he’d hit the target, "It shouldn’t be a hard one, if Robin’s as close to you as you suggest. Just give me a few examples of the things she has in her life that will make her want to live. Love? Friendship? Family? Well, I know she has family…real family, if you don’t mind the distinction. But anything else? A favorite pet? A good book she hasn’t finished yet? What do you know about Robin—right now—that will make her want to open her eyes? Because that’s information I’d actually find useful."

At first dumbstruck and then outraged, Sonny roared, "Get the hell out of my house."

Patrick’s smirk widened, "Ah, I see. Not quite as close as you imagined, then."

"Max! Get this arrogant son-of-a-bitch out of here."

"No need, I can leave of my own accord. And Mr. Corinthos, next time you want information about Robin, just ask Jason Morgan. Around three a.m. he can be found skulking in the GH hallways. But for his next birthday you might get him shoes that don’t squeak so much."

Patrick showed himself out before a goon could scurry in, and as he got in his car he turned the wheel back toward GH. There would be time to sleep when Robin’s treatment was complete.

Chapter 6

"Don’t try to talk, Robin. You’ve had a rough couple of days."

Robin’s eyes were open, but Patrick was sure she wasn’t seeing anything in the room. "Stone. Where’s Stone…?"

"Robin. Can you hear me…? Nurse, stand by with the paddles in case she arrests again. And check the IV."

"Stone…." Robin’s head lolled to the side and tears fell from her unseeing eyes.

"What’s happening, Robbie?" Mac asked through gritted teeth, trying very hard not to put a fist through a wall.

Patrick took her pulse. It was racing. "This is your treatment, Scorpio. Is this what’s supposed to be happening?"

"Yes," Robert answered, his heart clearly tearing at the sight of his daughter in pain. "She’s hallucinating as she comes out of the coma."

"And then what." Robert didn’t answer, and Patrick raised his voice, "Then what?!"

"She’ll be like this for most of the night. She’ll be confused and disoriented. She might need to be restrained. And when the fever breaks, you give her the final IV. We’ve followed the pattern perfectly. The last dose will cure her."

Patrick turned Robin’s head toward him, gently, and looked into her eyes. He could see them struggling to focus. "She’s fighting—either the drug or the virus. But she’s finally fighting."

***

"You have terrible taste in music."

"Excuse me?" Robin picked her drink up from the table and walked to where Patrick was riffling through her CD collection. Though she’d prudently nursed her one glass of champagne in deference to having just gotten out of the hospital, she couldn’t deny the light feeling in her chest. Call it champagne bubbles or simply sharing a meal that didn’t include JELL-O, but Robin felt good. "And what would I find in your CD player right now? The newest Hoobestank?"

Patrick snorted, and continued inspecting her music. He was working on his third glass, and feeling pretty good, himself. Having an alcoholic father had dampened Patrick’s enthusiasm for alcohol, so a little went a long way with him. "Here," he muttered, selecting Otis Redding from the stack. "This is passable." He plopped the CD into the stereo and pushed play.

Robin grinned, "I wouldn’t have pegged you for an oldies fan." She sat on the couch, pulling her legs underneath her and Patrick sat beside her. Close to her. Close enough for his knee to touch her thigh.

"Well, when you have so little to work with," he said, gesturing to her CDs, "you take what you can get."

The two sat companionably, listening to the music. But through both their minds, questions swirled.

"So…I’ve wanted to ask you something," Patrick finally said, at a pause between songs. Robin’s head was leaning back against the couch, and she rolled her head to the side to look at him. It reminded him of when she was in the hospital, and the motion unnerved him.

The shrill ring of her telephone stopped any response she would have made. The phone rang once. Twice. Three times… "Are you going to get that?" Patrick asked, raising an eyebrow.

Robin bit her lip and looked over her shoulder at the phone. It rang a fourth time, and then a fifth. And then went silent.

"Avoiding someone?"

Looking back at Patrick, she shrugged, "Everyone, mostly." Her eyes made it clear she didn’t want to be pressed on this issue.

"OK, then. Where’s your answering machine?" He stood up suddenly, and began poking around the boxes still stacked near the window.

"My what? My?...Well…" Robin stopped to think, and then, "It’s in the ‘Odds and Ends’ box. But I’ll just hook it up tomorrow. There’s no need for you to…"

"Nope. We need to get you set up, Dr. Scorpio. If only to keep that panicked look off your face." He found the box and ripped the tape off.

"What look?!"

Pulling the answering machine from the box, Patrick turned around and mimicked her, "The ‘Oh-no-there’s-a-ringing-telephone-and-I-must answer-it-or-else-the-order-of-the-known-universe-will-collapse-around-my-ears!’ look. Your freak-ish need for control is shining through." He was teasing her, not unlike all the times he’d teased—or goaded—her in the past. But tonight, there was a new layer to his voice that Robin recognized: gentleness.

"Oh, my freakish control needs," she said, mock-incensed and laughing, as she followed him to where her phone sat in the hallway outside her bedroom. "Hi, Pot. I’d love to introduce you to Kettle."

Patrick plugged the machine into the wall and hooked it to the phone. "Here you go. You’re officially reconnected to the world." And to punctuate it, he pushed Record.

"Wait…Patrick, you have to give me a warning!" she squealed.

"Think on your feet, Doctor," he ordered with a smile.

Robin laughed again, big and broad. The kind of laugh that used to be second nature to her. "Right…umm…this is Robin. You’ve got the right number but the wrong timing. Leave a message!….Alright, I’m done. Turn it off, turn it off."

Patrick stopped the recording, enjoying seeing her flustered. "That was smooth."

"You didn’t give me time to think of anything better," she chided.

With every laugh and tease, they took another step closer. "Well you can re-record it to sound stuffy and professional if you want." Without knowing how it got there, Robin felt Patrick’s hand on her shoulder. More to her shock, her own hand was resting on his waist. "But personally, I’d love to meet the woman who uses that as her greeting."

The playful tone in his voice ebbed, and Robin could tell their unexpected closeness was surprising him as well. "Patrick…" she said, softly. His hand moved from her shoulder to her neck. Her grip tightened on his belt.

"The shirt you’re wearing…" he said, looking down into her face. She licked her lips, unsure. His fingers trailed from her neck to her collarbone, where the nightshirt she still wore lay open. The ties had come undone during her clutch with Jason and now the soft white material was pulled askew, nearly off her shoulder, inviting. "I’ve wanted to kiss you," he touched a finger to the hollow of her throat, "here, all night."

He glanced back into her eyes before dipping his head to her chest and kissing the thin skin at her throat. Robin breathed out, making the tiniest of sweet noises. Her free hand slid up his back and into his thick dark hair. At her encouraging touch, Patrick trailed kisses up her neck until he found her lips, pulling her to his body at the same time. Robin opened her mouth for him and lost herself in the feel of this strange and new warmth. Her hands were pulling his shirt from his pants. He fumbled with her jeans. It was the touch of his knuckles across her stomach that triggered, for the second time that night, a simultaneous flood of lust and a freeze of fear.

Arms shaking, she pushed hard against him, "Wait," she breathed. "Just wait." Patrick stumbled back, nearly pulling her with him. For a long moment they teetered on the edge of something enormous.

Robin caught her breath and said in a trembling voice, "You know what I am. We can get as caught up in kissing and touching as we want, but in the end, you have to understand what I am."

Patrick’s eyes narrowed, "What are you?" His hands were reaching for her, and she took another step back.

"You know," she whispered, bracing for the rejection.

Instead, he closed the distance between them in one stride. "You’re right, I do," he said, bending to slide his hands over her hips. "I know you’re distractingly beautiful." He kissed her lips. "I know you’re annoyingly intelligent." He kissed them again, longer. "You’re shockingly persistent." And again. "You’re HIV-positive." And again. "You’re detrimentally compassionate." And again. "You’re probably a Democrat." And again. "You’re in a tailspin because you’re father just returned from the dead and your ex-boyfriend can’t make up his mind." And then, his lips hovering over hers, breathing the words into her mouth, "And you’re about to realize that you have more choices in this life than you thought."

Robin’s world collapsed in on itself in a rush of release. She pushed against Patrick, this time moving with him, and the two stumbled into her dark bedroom and unmade the bed she’d so carefully arranged before she got sick.

***

"Wait…Patrick, you have to give me a warning! Think on your feet, Doctor. Right…umm…this is Robin. You’ve got the right number but the wrong timing. Leave a message!….Alright, I’m done. Turn it off, turn it off."

Jason hung up his phone, breathless.

Chapter 7

Jason strode down to the waterfront, stopping only when he reached the launch for Spoon Island. The morning was cold and clear and he inhaled deeply, though the smell of the hospital lingered in the air around him. He closed his eyes to shake the image from his brain--the fresh sight of Robin laying deathly still, her unresponsive hand in his. He had to believe that she heard him!

"Damn it," he cursed, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, trying to shake the anxiety that gripped him.

"I know how you feel, mate. The site of that bloody island kills me, too."

Jason jumped. No one ever snuck up on him! How had this old guy managed it?

"Who are you?" Jason asked, uneasy at being caught off guard.

The man sighed, "Just someone looking for a place to think, like you."

Jason’s eyes narrowed, "Do I know you?" Something about the man was familiar. A particular expression Jason knew he’d seen before.

"Maybe. My head’s a little foggy these days. What’s your name, mate?"

"Jason Morgan," Jason replied, and then, without knowing why, "But I used to be Jason Quartermaine." The admission shocked Jason himself. He hadn’t felt compelled to introduce himself in connection with his past life in nearly a decade.

"A kindred spirit, then," the man smiled ruefully. "It seems we both have a past that doesn’t quite match our present." At Jason’s questioning eyes, "Yes, you know me. Or knew me. But you were just a kid then. I’m Robert Scorpio." It took seconds, minutes maybe, for Jason to comprehend what he’d just heard. The man was patient, and waited for Jason to collect his thoughts. "I’m growing used to this reaction," Robert said. "Take all the time you need."

"It’s not that," Jason finally stammered, frantically trying to figure this one out. "I don’t remember Jason Quartermaine’s life or the people he knew."

"Oh," Robert said, surprised but not interested in prying. Every man had his demons. "Then mine must not be a very intriguing admission."

"But I know Robin," Jason said, the words sounding as though they were being punched from his body. "And Robin’s father is dead." Confusion and anger warred in Jason’s mind. How could an imposter return now when Robin was so fragile?

"He was, for a very long time," Robert said, evenly, noting with curiosity Jason’s building aggression.

"Who are you," Jason asked again, his face hard and cold, his hands clenching into fists. His mind searched out the names of all the enemies he’d known Robin inherited from her parents. Was this a trick of Helena’s? Was this a new incarnation of Faison?

Robert recognized a man ready to fight when he saw one. And this man, this Jason Morgan, was clearly one step away from attacking him.

"I’m Robert Scorpio. Robin’s father. And you’re about to make a big mistake." The two men were squared off, one ready to attack and the other more than ready to defend. Robert continued, calmly, "You must be pretty close to Robin to get worked up like this, so I’m going to give you a chance to cool off and think about your next move. But I really wouldn’t recommend taking a swing, friend."

Jason took in the man’s tilted, alert stance; noticed his ready right hand; and then his damaged left one. "If you’re Robin’s father, where have you been? Why are you back now?"

"The first question would take too much time—and probably a few beers—to answer," Robert said, relaxing, but still ready. "The second is easier. Luke Spencer found me. It was luck that it happened right as Robin needed me."

"Luke found you?" The puzzle pieces were beginning to fall into place. He remembered Luke telling him how he and Robin’s father had been an unstoppable team.

"Best friends have a way of showing up exactly when they’re necessary," Robert said. He could see Jason was beginning to believe him, and so he stuck out his good hand. "Now, Jason, let’s try this again—since I know you care about Robin. I’m Robert Scorpio, and it’s good to meet a friend of my daughter’s."

Jason took the man’s hand warily and shook it. "Robert," he said, by way of acknowledgement. "How long has Robin known?"

Robert was silent and stared out over the water to the Cassadine mansion, and Jason clearly understood. Robin didn’t know. And Jason knew the news would shatter her universe. The two stood quietly as Jason contemplated his options. He had no rightful place in this, but he wanted…needed…to know more. It might be his last chance before Mac filled Robert in on his and Robin’s tangled back-story. "There’s a bar a few block from here. Nothing special, but they have decent beer on tap."

Robert grinned, but behind his smiling eyes he was running through the people he’d seen at the hospital, desperate to know Robin’s condition—people who were let into the circle by Mac. Jason Morgan hadn’t been among the count. And if this man was close enough to Robin to react so strongly to Robert’s return, why Mac hadn’t mentioned him? Who was this angry, dangerous-looking person to Robin? Without question, there was far more to Jason Morgan’s interest in Robin than the man was letting on. And Robert was going to find out what that was. "Sounds good. Just as long as it’s not Fosters. Where the hell did Americans get the idea Aussie’s drink that piss?"

"Don’t ask me," Jason said, chuckling, just as his cell phone rang. Turning to Robert he said, "Just one second. Morgan here."

Sonny’s voice snapped, "Jason, I just found out from that prick, Patrick Drake, that you snuck in to see Robin this morning. Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this? Was she awake? What the hell is going on?"

Jason’s eyes shifted to meet Robert’s. Jason had his own baggage to deal with in terms of Robin. For once, Sonny could figure things out for himself. "I can’t talk right now. I’ll call you back later." And he flipped the phone shut, turning the ringer off as he did so.

"Business?" Robert asked.

"Business," Jason confirmed. Robert was looking at him curiously, his mind strangely calling up memories of Duke. "I’ll buy the first round," Jason offered.

"You’ll have to buy the second and third, too, mate. Being dead doesn’t make a man rich."

***

"I don’t belong here."

Luke gnawed on his cigar and glanced sideways at his best friend. "Bull."

Robert sighed. "You don’t understand."

"I? I don’t understand? Robert, I hate to tell you, but you don’t have the market cornered on being a disappointing father. I took that trophy years ago."

The two men were sitting in Luke’s office draining scotch straight from the bottle. It was near midnight and they’d been drinking since Robert arrived that afternoon, fresh from a blow-out with Robin. Luke knew a man ready to flee when he saw one.

Robert took a long pull and passed the bottle to Luke. "But at least you were around to accept the honor."

"Robin doesn’t blame you, man. Not for being gone. But if you leave now…" Luke took a sideways glance at Robert. Clearly he was still deciding if he should slip away into the night. "Now Anna…she might be a different story. But then again, she always was when it came to you."

"Mac’s meeting her at the airport tomorrow morning?"

"Bubba called with the flight information. He said she’s been frantic to see Robin. And pissed as hell that no one found her before now. He wants to know what you’re going to do."

Robert ignored the question. "And he’s taking her to Robin’s house?"

"Yep. Then it’s up to you. You have ‘til the morning to decide. Be there with Robin, or make your escape."

Robert put his head into his hands. "I let her down." Luke remained silent, letting his friend rehash his demons. "On the boat…I wasn’t enough to save her. I cost her a lifetime with Robin."

"Robin forgave you," Luke pointed out.

"She shouldn’t have."

"She won’t if you leave her now. And neither will Anna."

Chapter 8

As the wind buffeted the cottage walls, Robin let her eyes roam over the barely covered body of the man sleeping in her bed. And she couldn’t help but take stock of the differences. It had been this way with the few man she’d slept with since Jason and though she knew it was unfair, it was a compulsion she couldn’t shake. Was he as soft where he should be soft? Was he as hard where he should be hard? Was he as tall? Was he as gentle? Was he has passionate? Was he as talented? Was he…as good as Jason?

Rarely did the memory of making love with Jason suffer by the comparison. But Patrick had been invitingly soft, and thrillingly hard. He’d towered over her, nearly bending double to encompass her. He’d been tender in the moments her body yearned for lightness, and he’d been fierce when she’d ached for action. He’d taken her, gasping, to the edge of her senses with a dexterity she had fleetingly attributed to his surgical skills. That is, when she’d had the capacity for non-linear thought.

Was he as good as Jason, she wondered?

No.

Was Jason better?

No.

Robin closed her eyes and cast her mind back to another man. A boy. And what she’d felt when she was in his arms. And it was only by doing so that Robin realized Patrick Drake was much more than unexpected comfort on a cold night.

Patrick—like Stone, like Jason—was different. Different and separate.

"Damn," she whispered into the dark. Patrick had been right. For the first time in a long time, Robin had options.

The sound of her voice stirred him from his light sleep, and Robin tried to lay stock still, hoping he’d continue to sleep. He’d been working ungodly hours at the hospital, and Robin knew many of those hours were directly related to her. Patrick had been a constant throughout the course of her illness. It was into his arms she’d collapsed in the hospital that first day. And it was his sure and cool hand against her cheek that calmed her when she’d finally woken from the delirium, weak and confused.

Patrick settled and Robin took the chance to slide from beneath the sheets, her feet landing quietly on the floor. She pulled on a robe from her closet and, checking to be sure he was still asleep, she crept to the window to peer into the frigid night.

***

"You’re in General Hospital, Robin…and you’re going to be just fine."

Robin strained to focus her eyes on the dark blur of a man that was speaking to her from somewhere down an impossibly long tunnel.

"We’ve given you the last dose of a treatment that’s killing the virus—the one that’s infected half the town."

The blur moved out of range of Robin’s clouded vision and then back again, his voice pitching like a train whistle as it passes. Things were beeping and Robin realized something was pricking her left arm.

"You’re HIV is one hundred percent under control. You’re going to be just fine," the man repeated. No, not ‘the man.’ Robin knew the voice.

"I want you to squeeze my hand if you can hear me," and a strong hand was slipped into hers. She squeezed with as much pressure as she could manage, and the voice…Patrick’s voice…laughed. "Good. Trying to break my fingers is a sign you’re back to your old self." Patrick’s hand slid from her own and his blurred image moved away again. Robin could hear the sound of a pen scribbling notes. She closed her eyes tight to try to clear the fog. When she opened them again, the room spun into more detail. She looked to the foot of her bed and saw a more completely formed but still fuzzy Patrick checking her chart.

"Pat…" she said hoarsely, and he was by her side in a shot, his hand reaching out to cup the side of her face. It was cool and Robin reflexively leaned into it for comfort.

"Hey…looks like you’re really coming around this time." He smiled and Robin wanted to smile with him, but found she couldn’t make the muscles in her cheeks behave. "You’ve been fading in and out for the last few days. Here," he said, moving his hand from her cheek to reach behind him to the bedside table. "Eat some ice chips before you try to talk again."

Robin nodded as best she could. Patrick brought the cup of chips to her mouth, but she couldn’t manage the hard plastic. "Am I going to have to hand feed you, Dr. Scorpio?" he chided. He dipped his fingers into the cup, pulled out some chips and nudged at Robin’s lips. She parted them, and Patrick let the melting ice drip from his fingers into her mouth. It was a gesture he repeated several times in silence, and when she appeared to have enough, he gently slid his thumb over her bottom lip before pulling away.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yes…thanks," Robin breathed.

Patrick smiled again, and Robin’s heartbeat quickened in fear at the tenderness she saw there. If Patrick was being this gentle with her, she must have seriously sick.

"What happened?" she managed to ask. Patrick turned his head as Robin’s heart rate monitor reflected her agitation.

"I’ll tell you all about it, but first I need you to trust me when I say you’re recovering. You’re out of danger, I promise."

[i]"Daddy’s here, Luv. I’m not going anywhere, I promise."[/i]

Robin gasped, causing both Patrick and her heart rate monitor to react. "Robin? What’s wrong?"

"My dad…"she said, her voice full of awe. "He came to me…" She closed her eyes to see better, and the image flowed back to her. Her father was where Patrick now stood. He was saying that he was going to help her fight. But he wasn’t the Robert she remembered. He wasn’t smooth and charming. He looked older and rougher, like Robin thought he might have looked if he’d lived. He looked like the fathers of her friends that she’d longingly observed over the years—rugged and wise. And in this case, afraid.

"He told me to fight. He promised me he would help me fight." Robin’s voice rose in excitement as she turned to Patrick. With tears in her eyes, she didn’t notice the tense set of Patrick’s jaw or the way he glanced away from her to the closed door of her room.

"You called out for him," Patrick explained. "We’d just given you another round of medicine to bring you out of a coma." His voice had fallen back into the clipped tone Robin was more familiar with.

The light that had come into Robin’s face faded at his revelation. "Hallucinating?" she asked. Patrick nodded once, grimly. "Oh…" she said softly. "It always seems so real."

"Robin, I need to call a few other doctors in here who’ve been working on your case. They’ll want to review your progress."

Robin nodded weakly, and Patrick noted how small and sad she looked in the bed. How alone she must feel. "I’ll be back before you can think of an insult for me," he promised, as he slipped out the door and into the brightly lit hallway. Robert and Mac both leapt to their feet from where they’d been camped out in chairs outside her room.

"She just woke up," Patrick said quietly to the haggard men. "All her vital signs are normal. I drew blood for a work-up, but I think we’ve beaten it. I have to brief the other doctors and then I’ll be back."

Mac took a shaky step toward Patrick, "Can we see her?"

Patrick looked from Robin’s uncle to her father, and locked eyes with the relieved, older man. "She’s stable, but very weak. And overwhelmed since she just remembered getting a visit from the ghost of her dead dad. So maybe just Mac should go in this time." Mac only glanced once at Robert before propelling himself into Robin’s room.

"How long should I wait?" Robert asked, when the door to her room shut.

"I’ll let you know when I don’t think the shock will kill her," Patrick said as he walked away to spread the news of Robin’s recovery.

***

"Hey…what are you doing all the way over there?"

Robin jumped at the sound of Patrick’s voice calling out from the bed. "I couldn’t sleep," she replied, turning from the window. Her face broke into a broad smile when she saw him still wrapped in her sheets. It was an enjoyable sight. "The wind is so wild right now."

"The wind wasn’t the only thing that was wild," Patrick teased, sliding confidently from the bed to walk, naked, to her side. For the first time that night, she found her adolescent shyness return in the face of such boldness. She hadn’t felt herself blush like this in years, and she was glad the only light came from the moon through the window.

"You’ve got to be freezing," she managed to choke out, stepping back from him slightly.

Patrick grinned, rakishly, "Do I look like I’m freezing?"

His brazenness broke through Robin’s embarrassment and she laughed. "No…I have to admit, you don’t look like the cold is affecting you."

At her renewed welcome, Patrick stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her body. "Maybe it’s all that residual heat we created that’s keeping me going. We should hurry and create some more?" he suggested, nuzzling his head into Robin’s neck as she continued to laugh.

"You’re incorrigible," she chuckled, succumbing slightly to the kisses he trailed down to her shoulder. "But is it my imagination or did I see your name on the rotation for a 5 a.m. shift?" Patrick groaned into her hair and slumped against her. "And a 6 a.m. surgery?" she continued.

Patrick fairly growled at her protestations as she pushed against him to make him stand on his own. "You know…I’m not that good of a surgeon. Maybe someone else should take my…" he started, just as she playfully jabbed his ribs. "Ow…ow..fine, fine, you got me—I’m brilliant and irreplaceable."

Robin couldn’t keep from laughing harder and the two of them stumbled around, until Patrick was able to pull her back onto the bed with him, falling in an ungraceful heap. "You’re an idiot," she said, exhaling with a laugh.

"So you keep saying."

"But you know you have to go," she said, swatting away his hand that was trying to untie her robe.

"I’ll reschedule the surgery."

Robin narrowed her eyes, "No you won’t. And besides, I have a big day ahead of me."

Patrick raised an eyebrow in slight concern, "You should still be resting, Robin."

Robin rolled her eyes, "Ya, like you’ve been a big help in that department."

"I’m your doctor, Robin," he replied in all seriousness, "I know what’s best for you." And leaning over her, he began to kiss her mouth, encouraging her to let him in again. Robin responded in spite of herself to the kiss, but as Patrick’s hand wandered again, this time beneath her robe, Robin’s resolve returned.

"Patrick, you have to go."

He pulled back to look into her eyes, sighing, knowing the seriousness he’d find there. "What’s happening tomorrow that has you pushing me out of your bed? What are you hiding?"

Robin put her hand up and ran it slowly through his hair, her expression kind but firm. "I have to do something hard tomorrow. And I can’t have you here when I do it."

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The characters of Robin Scorpio, and the other residents of Port Charles belong to ABC Television and no copyright infringement is intended. This is merely for the enjoyment and wish fulfillment of this character's fans!
The story itself belongs to the author who wrote it.