TWO
Robin's fear is palpable and Patrick has been a rock for her.
At the airport in Port Charles Robin had tried, using her calling card and a pay phone, to get the hospital in Monaco to give her information on Dylan's condition. She failed because the media attention surrounding the crash has made the hospital administration clamp down. They were suspicious of her unaccented French and dismissed her claims of being a doctor and friend of the patient; she was quite bluntly told that media is not to be given information and hung up upon more than once. She was also unable to get through to his parents, therefore the only source of information she has on Dylan's condition has come from vague newscasts that only say that he is believed to still be alive and she will be without those for the next seven hours before they land in Paris for their connecting flight to Monaco. She prays that she will not be arriving in time for a funeral.
Robin looks over at her traveling companion. She can't believe that Patrick was really going with her to Monaco. She can't believe she let him. Not that, she admits, he could be dissuaded. She sighs and looks back out the window. Like on their trip to the Markham Islands they are sitting in business class seats Patrick has insisted on paying for and without consulting her given her the window seat. Her mind is too jumbled with the past and present to take it all in. She can't muster up the energy to resist the instinctive support she and Patrick have always offered each other when the chips were down even though she knows she is in danger of once again mistaking it for more than what it is. Not that, she presses her head against the window, she could ever figure out what it is between them. She gathers the airline blanket up to her neck and closes her eyes. She hadn't been sleeping well in the nights since the one spent in Patrick's arms. She doesn't realize it's his nearness that lulls her into a deep, restful sleep.
A couple of hours later Robin wakes up and finds that sometime during her sleep she migrated from the window and is now lying with her head on Patrick's chest, his arm around her shoulders. "Morning sunshine." Patrick turns the page of his sports magazine with his free hand.
"Sorry," she mumbles and tries to move away, but Patrick tightens his arm.
"We still have another four hours if you want to go back to sleep."
His voice is tender and sends a shaft through Robin's heart. She sighs and rubs at her bleary eyes. "It'll throw my body clock completely off if I go back to sleep." She pulls away again, this time he lets her go. She pushes her hair off her face and looks at Patrick sideways. Nothing. He's just reading his magazine. She reaches down for her purse and excuses herself to the bathroom.
When she's gone, Patrick stops pretending to read the magazine and rubs his hand over his chest and bites his bottom lip. It felt good to hold her in his arms again. Which was probably why, he admits for a brief second of self-awareness, that he maneuvered her into that position telling himself that it was purely for her comfort. He wonders if coming along on this trip was such a good idea, but then he imagines being left behind in Port Charles while she went to visit some guy she was going to marry. But it's not just that. Nor is it that he wants to see Dylan and lend any medical expertise he might provide because Dylan was his biggest rival and best friend on the racing circuit; the guy with whom he perfected his ability to pick up the girls who flocked to the tracks to meet the drivers. It's that, he chuckles quietly to himself; it was boring as hell working without her at the hospital.
He grimaces as he thinks back to the days she was still in the Maarkham Islands having an adventure while he was involved in the mob drama that would not end. He operated illegally, played footsie with Robin's mafia hitman ex, fought the same old fight with his father, was held at the police station and almost went to jail, was confronted by Liz Spencer's pissed off and messed up husband and he had never been so bored in all his life all because Robin wasn't there. He must have checked his cell phone five times an hour when he wasn't operating waiting for her to call. When she finally did he couldn't get to her apartment fast enough.
And that was the damned problem, he thought now, and rubs his forehead. He rushed over there, caught Robin in one of those vulnerable moods she was always in after dealing with her father so she didn't fight him off and they fell into bed and he didn't know which way was up the next morning. He knows he shouldn't have run out and acted like a coward, all they had was a disconnect. They obviously both lusted and cared for each other. She didn't do one night stands and he didn't do commitment. It was a basic disconnect that could be resolved with a simple conversation, which was why he had gone over to Robin's apartment today to clear the air and get them back on track. It wasn't to try to talk himself into her bed, he tells his libido. Once they talk, he tells himself, everything will be fine. Patrick has managed to talk himself back around into his comfort zone by the time Robin returns to her seat looking freshly scrubbed and beautiful.
So what if he wants to kiss her, he's a guy. He knows that it can't happen again. He licks his lips and picks up his magazine. He lasts only two minutes before he turns to look at Robin who is doing a crossword puzzle in the in-flight magazine, in French. He smirks at her geeky intelligence and decides he has to get her attention.
"How did you two meet?" Patrick congratulates himself for sounding, he thinks, so blasé. He has been dying to ask that question and a ton of others since the moment she uttered his name in panic on the phone with Brenda. He wants to know everything about her connection with Dylan Neal. He feels sucker punched by her admission that they were once engaged. He wants to know when, how, why did it end, why is she so upset that he's hurt now? In his mind there have only been two men before him – Stone and Jason, neither of which were real competition. He feels like the rug has been pulled out from under him, though he's not clear as to why he feels that way or what exactly he's competing for.
Thankful for the distraction, Robin's lips tilt into a small smile. "It's really cliché," she warns. "We met in a café in Paris. I was drinking a café au lait and working on the fifteenth billionth draft of a very frustrating journal article when this very attractive man I'd never met before sent me a custard pastry." She laughs softly. "The garcon brought it over, pointed Dylan out to me and said that he said that I needed to eat more. I didn't know whether to be appalled or…" Robin trails off and shakes her head. "No, no, I was only appalled. I thought he was some French ass, but turns out he was an American ass."
Robin's tongue darts out over her lips as she remembers her first view of that fine American ass. Something about Dylan Neal attracted her on a visceral level from the moment he walked over to her table and in his booming American voice invited himself to sit down. She slipped quickly from being appalled to flattered and very, very attracted.
"Love at first sight?"
Robin tilts her head and looks past Patrick as she thinks about it. "No," she says softly. She looks thoughtful for a moment, but then her expression closes off. That was not a subject she was prepared to talk about with Patrick. "When was the last time you saw Dylan?"
"My mother's funeral." Patrick shrugs, but the serious look on his face belies the unconcerned gesture. As does his physical turning away from her.
"And then you decided to quit racing." Robin's voice is filled with realization. She had momentarily fit the pieces together when he told her about his choice, but then was distracted by the kissing. Her tongue darts out again, this time countering a strong desire to experience those kisses again.
"It was about that time." Patrick shifts in his seat, still avoiding her gaze. "When were you two supposed to get married?" He looks at her from the corner of his eye.
"Last August. It was going to be very small, just a few close friends, family. I hadn't even gotten around to inviting Uncle Mac when I, we, decided…" Robin waves her hand meaningfully.
Patrick nods and looks down. He starts to wonder if he knows Robin Scorpio at all. Then again, he grins, he knows her well enough to know she always finds a way to make him eat his words. He had a feeling that regardless of what else happened on this trip he'd be treated to the special brand of Robin Scorpio comeuppance - subtle and effective.
"What are you smiling about?" Robin is once again dazed by Patrick's quicksilver mood changes.
"Just thinking that I'd better have a really big appetite." He pats his stomach and stretches his long legs out in front of him.
Robin looks at him like he's crazy and goes back to her crossword puzzle and trying to find a four letter word for essence of life. Amor.
>>>>>>>
"How is he?" Patrick asks when Robin hangs up the airport phone. He hands her a hot coffee and has two croissants in a bag waiting for them. They have just over half an hour before their connecting flight boards.
"He's out of surgery, but in critical condition. He hasn't woken up and they expect to have to have to operate again. He's broken every limb, some ribs, ruptured his spleen and he has a head injury and some burns. It was apparently a pretty horrific crash."
"I saw it on the news just now," Patrick says quietly and dips his head. "There were two cars. The other drive didn't make it, Graham Ellis."
"Did you know him, too?" Robin asks and looks up into Patrick's distressed face.
"No. What about his spine, neck?" Patrick asks.
Robin nods in confirmation to his supposition. "They don't think he'll be paralyzed." They both know that it means that while vertebrae were broken, if it healed properly it was not a in locale sure to cause paralysis. Now, only time would tell. It was the unconsciousness that was more alarming at this point.
In sync they walk over to some tables, as far from the cigarette smoke that fills the waiting areas at Orly Airport as they could find and sit down. Patrick opens the bag and passes Robin a croissant in tissue paper and took out his own. They sit silently for a few minutes drinking their coffee and eating. In that time, the awkwardness that disappeared while still operating under crisis settles back over them.
Robin wants to ask him why he insisted on coming, whether it was because he knew Dylan and his family or if he came for her. At the same time, she doesn't want to hear it because she doesn't want to get sucked back in by him. God, she props her elbow on the table and drops her cheek onto hand; she was seriously on overload right now. "About what happened…?"
"Robin?" Patrick interrupts.
She looks at Patrick and frowns at the interruption.
"There are things we should talk about, but I don't think you're ready to do that. How about for right now we just call a truce? Pretend the last few days never happened?"
"Where's Patrick Drake and what have you done with him?" Robin sits up straight and stares at the man sitting in front of her. He looks like Patrick Drake. He sounds like Patrick Drake. And, dammit, he smells as delicious as Patrick Drake. But the maturity and generosity of the statement was, she sighs, exactly what she saw flashes of in him that kept her reeled in. She tilts her head back and looks up at the high ceiling of the airport.
"It must be the time change." Patrick smirks and pushes her croissant closer to her.
"Must be." Robin looks at him and grins. He was here. That was all that mattered right now.
