Crash
Athena13 – 2006

crash (krAsh): To break violently or noisily; smash; To undergo sudden damage or destruction on impact.

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"Patrick, what are you doing here?"

"I thought we should talk," Patrick says quietly and clears his throat.

"Now, you want to talk?" Robin rolls her eyes. "Tell me why I should want to hear anything you have to say?"

It has been two days since Robin and Patrick had made love for the first time. Since then, Patrick has deliberately avoided Robin and Robin has been too mad to force him to talk to her. Seeing him turn in the other direction when he saw her just hours after he left her bed staggered her. Then and there she cursed herself for a fool as she realized that it has been her who has made all the moves in their non-relationship. Sure he laid on some lame come-ons and asked her out a bunch of times, called her a coward to goad her on and shoved Carly in her face to get a reaction, but anything that resulted in them actually getting closer on any level other than sex had been her doing not his.

She doesn't even know where to direct her fury. Who should she really be mad at? Objectively, Patrick has never lied to her and she hadn't woken up in his arms expecting him to suddenly declare his love. She was the one to believe counter to all the evidence that there was something more between them than the chase. And maybe, just maybe as her mother accused he was only a stand-in Robert Scorpio she was trying to get to love her. In both cases, she acknowledges, she is totally to blame for how things have turned out. It doesn't, however, lessen the hurt slicing through her with every breath.

"Because we have to work together?" Patrick says hesitantly, lamely. Looking at her, standing there in all her righteous fury Patrick itches to touch her. To kiss her. To feel himself inside her again. That he can't he knows he only has himself to blame. He knows he did a classic, amateur, juvenile thing – he quite simply freaked out. He knows that it's all his fault and he has no idea how to make it right, or even what making it right looks like in the end.

He knew that sleeping with Robin was more than just about the challenge, he knew that he had feelings of some kind for her. It was all right there on the surface, his desire to make sure she was happy at all times, the need to make sure she was safe, all standing side-by-side with his constant need to get her attention by any means available, which usually consisted of flirting with other women or bragging about his medical talents or telling her how cowardly she lived her life when she didn't succumb to his charms. Even he couldn't ignore it so he ascribed it to sexual attraction and friendship. He even told himself that it would be a novel thing to have sex with someone he cared that much about, even if he refused to figure out how big "that much" measured. Worse, somewhere between the night in his hotel room when he nobly put a stop to things and the Maarkham Islands he convinced himself that Robin's desire for "long haul" was something negotiable or mutable – that it meant they would be friends with benefits and eventually they would drift apart. She would, of course, realize he really was just a shallow jerk and not want to be with him in that way anymore at the same time he would get tired of being with her, like he always does with women, and move on. Then, they'd remain colleagues and friends and life would go on.

Somehow, in some way, he realized he was completely wrong about all of it when he woke up the next morning with her in his arms and looking at her and feeling her naked body against his took his breath away. And when she opened her eyes he freaked out because he had never felt like that before; for that matter, he rarely felt when he was in that position. If the woman even spent the night – and he considers himself a nice guy in that he's always considered the morning after as part of the package and didn't toss women out with the sun – he was usually thinking about morning sex, what surgeries he had scheduled that day and whether he wanted a repeat with the current bed contestant some other time. Lying about and mooning over the woman in his arms was a completely foreign experience. He even passed up the opportunity to have morning sex he was so freaked out.

Unlike Patrick, Robin was not surprised that morning. She knew it was all a new experience for Patrick, she expected him to stumble his way through. What she didn't expect was for him to avoid her and then revert to type and ask out some busty blonde nurse right in front of her the very next day.

"Then let me put that concern to rest. I have no problem working with you Dr. Drake. So if you're finished I have a life to…." Before she can finish her sentence her cell phone begins to ring. She considers ignoring it, then she considers slamming the door in Patrick's smug face – not that he's looking quite so smug just then but she knows it's only a matter of time – but before she can decide he's pushing his way into her apartment. She glares at him, slams the door and picks up her cell phone which was sitting on the table near the door where she dropped it along with her keys when she got home from work.

"Hello!" She snarls into the phone as she watches Patrick amble his way over to her couch and make himself at home. She wants to throw the phone at his head. He managed about two seconds of humble and now he was making himself at home, unbelievable. "Sorry, Bren. I'm in the middle of…what's wrong?" Robin freezes. "Bren, you need to slow down and speak in English, not Italian. What…what happened to Dylan?" Robin sounds breathless.

Patrick has been watching Robin since she asked what was wrong. The alarm in Robin's voice and the mentioning of another's man name has him stand back up as she slumps back against the door as if her legs will no longer hold her up.

"How is he? What hospital?" Robin is shaking so bad now she can hardly hold on to the phone. A minute later she turns off the phone, drops it from nerveless fingers back on to the table. Her face is white and she isn't even aware any longer that Patrick is in the room.

"Robin, who's hurt? Who's Dylan?"

"He was in a car crash." Robin put her hands over her face, trying to regain her composure now that she remembers she's not alone. "He's seriously injured, still in surgery." She takes her hands down. "I need to go." Decision made she straightens up and heads for her bedroom, Patrick hot on her heels. Neither of them pauses as they cross the threshold of the room they last spoke, and did so much more, inside of two days ago.

Robin reaches into the closet and pulls down a suitcase and begins packing. Patrick stands watching her, assessing. All thoughts of the tension between them disappeared the moment she looked stricken and they are now a distant memory as he watches her looking more distressed than he's ever seen her. He's deeply unnerved in fact by her uncharacteristic lack of control as she tosses clothing into the suitcase without her usual care and precision. Without even realizing he has made a decision he walks over and puts his hands over hers.

"I'm going with you. Tell me what to pack."

Robin stops and puts her hands over her face and blew out a breath. "I can do this." Calmer now, she begins to fold her clothes.

"I meant it, Robin. I'm coming with you." He put his hands on her shoulders. Before Robin can protest he continued. "Where are you going?"

"Monaco. He's in Monaco."

"Who is in Monaco…car crash?" Patrick rears back, a stunned look immobilizing his face. "Do you mean Dylan Neal at the Grand Prix?"

Startled, Robin's eyes widen and she looks up at him. "How…" she broke off. "Racing. You know of him from racing."

"Know him, we…we started out on the circuit together. His dad and my dad, they became friends. We used to…." Patrick looked away for a moment, he frowned. "How do you know him?"

"I was going to marry him," Robin whispered, looking down at her tightly clasped hands.