24 Hours Earlier

"Robin, are you still here? It's after eight."

Robin looks up from the desk/makeup table of her tiny little walk-in-closet-sized dressing room at Metro News 1 to see Patrice's concerned face staring back at her. "I'm just finishing up on a new story," she says, her fingers typing furiously to get that last line down before she forgets it.

Patrice's expression brightens. "A new story for tomorrow?"

Patrice's misplaced hopefulness effectively deflates Robin's own tenuous enthusiasm and, sighing, she glances back up. "No. Tomorrow I'm still covering the pet fashion show in the park," she acknowledges drearily. "This was something of my own I was hoping to pitch." Who is she kidding, though? No one here is ever going to take her seriously. It's a waste of time trying. "Never mind. It's stupid. You're right; I should just go home."

"I'm sure your story's good, Robin," Patrice puts in brightly. "They'll want you to deliver it on air if you only let them see it."

At least Patrice takes her seriously, Robin thinks to herself. But Patrice is only a production assistant – as well as her self-appointed position as Robin's part time personal assistant – so fat lot of good it does her professionally speaking. "Thanks, Patrice, but we both know this is a dead-end job. All I get are little fluff pieces, and we have all of two viewers to watch them."

"Three," Patrice corrects encouragingly. "I always watch."

"Metro News 1 thanks you for your support," Robin smiles wryly. The truth is they need every viewer they can get since most people have never even heard of the station. She herself hadn't before she got hired.

Robin took the job at Metro News 1 right after she moved to New York. It was the first and only thing she could get in a competitive city, but it's turned out to be a far cry from what she dreamed of back at home in Canada.

Her very first day on the job she met Patrice, and the two women couldn't be further opposites. Patrice is optimistic, openly warm, effortlessly congenial, and easily opens up about every little thought, feeling, and emotion. Patrice wears her heart on her sleeve for the whole world to see, whereas Robin keeps hers locked away buried deep inside where no one can touch it so that no one else can ever break it again.

One would never guess the two of them could get on at all, but Patrice was instantly taken with Robin, first and foremost because she's a genuinely nice person and gets on with everyone. But Robin quickly became her special case. The way Patrice sees it, Robin is a strong, competent, intelligent, professional woman worthy of admiration, but there's also something of need and vulnerability in her that was instantly apparent to Patrice. Robin's walls were and still are up – that's evident in the way she acts – but they're up for her own protection. Everything about who Robin is, particularly as she's gotten to know her more, makes Patrice want to help her.

Robin for her part found all the attention and adoration overbearing at first, but a couple weeks into knowing each other Patrice met someone who is now her serious boyfriend and he takes some of that constant focus off of her. With that balance in place, Robin finds it's actually kind of nice having Patrice around as a friend. A work friend anyway. They don't see each other much outside the studio. She doesn't see anyone much outside the studio.

"But let's face it," Robin rationalizes. "This story is never going to see the light of day."

"Probably not," Patrice levels with her, sadly. "But that doesn't mean it wasn't deserving."

As she walks past her to grab her laptop case, Robin pats Patrice's shoulder once in the same way she pets her Dalmatian. It's the closest to open affection she ever shows; anything else makes her uncomfortable. "I'm heading home now, so you don't have to worry."

Patrice shakes her head. "I'm still gonna worry. Heading to work and heading back home is all you ever do. There's got to be something more to life than that. We need to find you a boyfriend."

Robin gives her a disappointed look, groaning audibly. "You too? I mean I know you're all about 'true love' and 'destiny', but you've also been paving a career in a male dominated industry the same as I have. I thought there'd be something of a feminist in you."

"Being a feminist doesn't mean you can't believe in love and marriage," Patrice points out.

And, okay, Robin has to give it to her; she does have a point. "I never said I didn't believe in it. Just that I personally don't need a man to function in life. I hear enough of that point of view from movies, TV shows, and my own mother," Robin adds defensively. "I don't want to hear it from you too."

"Of course you don't need a man, Robin," Patrice laughs gently. "I just want you to have what Joe and I have. I think you want that kind of happiness too, even if you won't admit it to yourself. It can get awfully lonely when you're single. Having someone to be with, finding that kind of love, you don't absolutely have to have it to function but it enhances your life. It's just like your dogs; you don't need them but it's nice to have them around. Boyfriends are the same way."

"Maybe for some people. Maybe even for me someday," Robin allows. "But I'm not ready for that right now. I'll just stick to my dogs, thanks."

"At least come out with the girls then. Have a little bit more of a social life. Cindy and Chad just broke up so we're all taking her out tomorrow night to this bar she likes, MacLaren's. You should come with us, Robin…..Maybe you'll even meet someone."

"Ugh, what did I literally just say, Patrice?"

"I know, but I haven't seen you with a guy since you moved to New York two months ago. In that time your dogs can't be providing all the companionship a man can."

Robin thinks about that for a moment and Patrice is unfortunately right. She has been going through something of a dry spell, and there are just certain things that even the love of the sweetest puppy – or the nightly attention of even the most high-powered vibrator – can't quite satisfy. "It has been a while….and there are some things I miss," Robin admits.

"Like what?"

"Patrice," Robin smiles waywardly. "They'd make you blush."

"I have a boyfriend," Patrice reminds her. "Maybe one of the things you miss is something I did last night."

"Touché. Alright…." Robin's smile turns decadent as she imagines the things she misses most about having a male bed companion. "One of the things I miss is running my fingers over a man's chest and abs – especially when he's built enough that there's something to run my hands over. But my favorite thing, what I miss most of all – well, besides the main thing, his thing," she smirks, "is that muscle ridge that forms a V just above the hips pointing right down to the good stuff. I can't get enough of that…..Or of being taken, hard and fast and just – " She stops herself, realizing she's clutching her laptop case to her chest.

"Robin, you really need to come out with us tomorrow," Patrice deadpans.

"Fine. Yes. I need to get laid. So alright, I'll come out to this bar – MacLaren's, is it? – tomorrow night. But I'm not becoming BFFs with the rest of the female staff. And I'm not falling madly in love either," she rolls her eyes. "The only thing I'm falling into is some hot guy's bed."

Present

If Robin had any idea how wrong she'd been about tonight she would have went home after work like every other night, sex starved or not.

Because she's been nothing but miserable. What's worse, Patrice came down with the flu this morning and didn't even come to the bar herself, despite insisting she be there. At least with Patrice as a mediator it would have kept her more involved in the conversation with her coworkers. Robin's made an honest effort on her own, but sometimes friendships with women – especially flighty, girly-girl women like these ones – can be trying. And she can't even be on the prowl like she'd hoped when she has to stay here with the group in some kind of anti-male, girl power comradery, drying Cindy's tears with all the others. She's firmly planted herself in their large corner booth like she knows she's expected to do, but her thoughts and focus have drifted as the night wears on.

The first place they drifted to – and where they've been ever since – is on the hot blond up at the bar in the killer suit she saw eyeing her earlier. She can't say how long he's been here or when he first came in because when she herself arrived she was too preoccupied with all the expected but loathed fanfare. Although they see each other on a daily basis, every time the women of the station meet again they greet one another as if it's been ten years. There are hugs, cheek kisses, squeals, simpering little salutations and over-the-top reception all around. And in her case it comes along with excited requests for an explanation as to how she came to be out with them tonight when she usually avoids it like the plague.

By the time the women's attention was off of Robin enough for her eyes to wander without being caught Blondie was by himself up at the bar. His dark-haired friend who she scarcely got a look at since all her focus was on his magnetic blue eyes was nowhere to be found and the suited hottie was instead entertaining himself with the fairer sex, talking to what would be the first of many women she'd witness him hit on and vice versa.

It's been fascinating to watch the smoothness with which he operates. She'd say the women never stand a chance but it really doesn't look like they want one.

Oddly enough, however, for all the numbers she's watched this Barney collect – or so he claimed his name to be in one of the come-ons she'd overheard – he's never actually left with any of the women, and more than a time or two she's caught his eyes back over on her.

….She almost wonders if he's waiting for her, waiting for a chance to take her home since she hasn't left the booth all night and men like him always wait until they've got you separated from the pack before they pounce.

The thought isn't unpleasant to her. Not at all. She came here looking for a one night stand and when she scanned the bar he was easily the one she wanted to go home with. The only one.

She hasn't had sex in too long. Far too long. Robin misses sex. She misses everything about it. She's in the market for something casual and fun, and she has no doubt Hot Guy in the Suit could satisfy her requirements and then some.

But she doesn't want to be a part of anyone's revolving door of bed partners, no matter how hot he is. Maybe that's hypocritical since she herself wants a one night stand – or possibly a laidback, ongoing sexual affair if the guy was right. That appears to be exactly what Blondie's after too, and what's good for the goose is good for the gander; that's always been her rule. Yet even on the prowl for a one night stand she still doesn't want to be just another number to a guy.

And with a guy like this he probably can't even remember what number she'd be.

Still, she's been here for over an hour, the night has been insanely dull….and she finds she can't resist tempting it just a little, playing with fire knowing she absolutely won't get burned because this game will never go any further than the barstool.

Standing up, Robin heads across the room – alone for the first time all night – to order herself a drink, waiting to see if he takes the bait.