Title: The List
Author: Steph
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Robin/Patrick
Category: Humor/Romance/Good Old-Fashioned Fluff
POV: Robin
Disclaimer: I do this out of a love for this couple. No infringement is intended.
Spoilers: Nope.
Summary: Patrick helps Robin complete the things on her list that she wants to do in her life. (Sequel to 'How to Get a Player to Commit')

Note: First, there's a small town in here and something it's famous for, but I did not make the town or what it's famous for up. Trust me, you can make that stuff up! Second, something happens to Patrick in this one that almost happened to my brother the other day. I thought of Patrick so I put it in. Third, take the skydiving stuff with a grain of salt. You'll see what I mean! Hope you enjoy it and please let me know what you thought! -Steph

--- The List: To Do # 9 - Skydive ---

"BE AGGRESSIVE! BE-E AGGRESSIVE!"

I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my temples. Please make it stop. Please make it stop. Please make it stop.

I slowly open my eyes and look at the front of the bus where the cheerleading squad of Polk High School sits, practicing their cheers. Their school bus broke down in Kansas City on the way to a cheerleading competition, so they decided to take our bus the rest of the way. Lucky us.

They've been practicing their cheers for three hours now. This is what I imagine hell must be like.

I look over at Patrick. He's simply grinning, as he enjoys watching their skinny little bare arms forming various gestures and catching glimpses of their perky faces in the rear view mirror. They had been kneeling on the seats and facing our way until the bus driver made them sit down.

I groan. "Do you mean to tell me their incessant cheering isn't bothering you?"

He answers without removing his gaze. "I think they're quite good. Very...spirited."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure it's their cheering skills that's got you fascinated."

He still won't look at me. "I appreciate a good cheer like anyone else."

I nod. "Right. Two words: Jail Bait."

"Isn't that one word?"

"Who cares? My point is they're underage."

He finally turns to look at me. "I'm sure a couple are eighteen."

My lips turn downward. "You're disgusting." He shrugs and turns his attention back to them.

I hear my stomach growl. We've been riding this bus for 26 hours. That's right, 26 hours. After we purchased our one-way bus tickets home, we bought lunch and then took $10.00 out of our remaining $71.34 and bought a bag full of junk food. We've had a few rest stops and changed buses a couple of times, but that's the only time we've been off the bus. We haven't had an actual meal in 15 hours.

Patrick's been popping M&M's while watching his little show, like this is a freakin' movie theater.

I turn to him and hold out my hand. "Can I have some M&M's please?"

He looks down and peeks into the bag. "I don't have very much left."

"You ate the whole bag! Patrick, we're supposed to share."

He removes a handful and then gives me the bag. I look inside. "There are only blue ones left."

"I don't like the blue ones."

My eyes narrow at him. "They all taste the same."

"Your opinion."

I grit my teeth. I am so not in the mood for his little quirks. I am getting crankier by the minute. I am tired and sweaty and dirty and hungry. The moment I sat down on this Godforsaken hell on wheels, I realized gum was on my seat. So now I have a huge, pink BubbleYum spot on my pants.

I look at Patrick again. He looks cool as a cucumber. He looks as fresh as the morning dew, as if he just woke up and showered. His hair is perfectly styled in that boyishly messy way and his skin is positively glowing. Sometimes I hate how blessed that man is.

Meanwhile, my hair is greasy and hanging limply around my face. My skin is sticky and oily.

He realizes I'm staring at him and turns to me. "What?"

"How is it that you look so good?"

A wide grin spreads across his lips. "Genes, baby."

I let out a little groan and resist the urge to roll my eyes. "No, I mean we've been on this hot, dirty bus for 26 hours and you look like you just came from a restful day at the spa. I, on the other hand, look as if I've just crawled across a desert."

He leans over and kisses my forehead, while keeping one eye on the cheerleaders. "You don't look so bad."

My mouth drops open. "Gee, thanks!"

Whatever happened to how beautiful I am? Not that I'd believe him right now.

I feel my jaw tighten as he looks back at the cheerleaders and they start a new cheer. Something that involves ticking and booming and requires them to move their arms from a 90 degree angle downward, like the hour hand on a clock.

I can't take it anymore. These girls are the last straw. They've pushed me over the edge.

I stick my hand into the bag and pull out some blue M&M's. I then chuck them toward the front of the bus.

They hit a few of the girls in the backs of their heads and the rest hit the ground. They let out screams, as if I'd just hurled grenades. They turn around and scan the back of the bus for the culprit, their eyes wide with shock. I sink down in my seat, as Patrick turns to me, his mouth agape.

"Did you just throw M&M's at the cheerleaders?"

I bite my lip guiltily. "I couldn't take it anymore!"

"Me watching them?"

"No, they're cheering! They pushed me over the edge!

"Ya think?"

It's then that I realize we've just pulled into their stop. I feel my chest deflate in relief as they gather their belongings and slowly file out of the bus. I have to swallow to suppress my laugh as I notice a few blue M&M's caught in their hair.

"Thank God," I mutter.

As they get off, five college guys get on. I smile. They're cute in a frat-boy-backwards-cap kind of way. This is more like it.

Patrick looks at me. "You've got to be kidding."

"What?"

"You like those guys?" he says.

"No!"

He shakes his head. It quickly becomes clear they're inebriated. The bus driver has to keep telling them to sit down and they keep trying to stick their heads out the windows. Okay, so maybe they're not so cute anymore.

Patrick lets out a huge breath and turns to me. "What else do we have to throw?"

I clutch the paper bag with our food close to my body. "No, we are not wasting anymore of the precious little food we have."

"I was actually thinking about something bigger and...harder."

Patrick's eyes raise as the tallest frat boy comes walking down the aisle toward us. His hair is short and light brown. His upper body is strong and solid, like he plays football. He sways with each step, then stops, his eyes landing on me. I see Patrick's jaw tighten. The frat boy leans over the seat in front of us and smiles at me.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doing on here?"

Patrick swallows hard. "Look, why don't you just go back up front," he says calmly, but makes sure it doesn't seem like a request.

The frat boy's eyes slowly move from me to Patrick. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm her boyfriend," he says bitingly.

He laughs and turns back to look at me. "You can do so much better, sweetheart. Oh, the things I'd do to you."

And that's all it takes. I see Patrick's eyes flare and his face redden. He clenches and unclenches both fists, before bring his left hand up and hitting the frat boy square in the jaw. He stumbles backward, probably more than he would have had he been sober, and falls into the seat behind him, before rolling onto the floor.

His frat buddies come running down the aisle and, for a moment, I'm afraid they'll attack Patrick. But they just dissolve into a fit of giggles and then pull him up by his armpits and practically drag him back to the front of the bus.

Patrick sucks in a breath and shakes his hand. "Son of a bitch!" I see him bite at his bottom lip so hard I'm sure he'll draw blood. "Why does it always seem like it doesn't hurt in the movies?" he croaks.

I turn to him in concern and take his hand in mine. "Are you okay?"

His head snaps up. "Do I sound okay?"

"What were you thinking? You know how important your hands are."

He grits his teeth, as I rub at the red skin. "I was thinking, drunk or not, no guy has a right to speak to you like that."

I raise my eyes to him. "This wasn't ego? Because of what he said about you? This wasn't jealousy?"

He tightens his jaw. "This may surprise you, but I wouldn't risk my career over my ego or jealousy."

I arch my brow. "Oh really? What about wrestling those alligators? What about that risk to your precious hands? That wasn't about your ego?"

He shakes his head and drops his eyes. "You still don't get it, do you? Everything I've done during these little adventures has been about you, Robin."

I tilt my head, as he raises his eyes to meet mine. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, that as much as I may act like completing these things is about my ego and as much as I may enjoy some of these once-in-a-lifetime opportunities or the chance to fulfill a childhood dream, I'm doing it for you. That alligator thing wasn't exactly my idea of fun either, but it was on your list and I know that one day you would look back on that list and regret it if one thing wasn't crossed off." He shakes his head, a smile appearing on his lips and his voice emerging softly, "In case you haven't realized it yet, I'd do anything for you."

I glance around the bus. "Except call home and ask for help."

"Except that," he replies with a laugh. "I'll admit, that was about ego."

I bring his hand up and kiss his knuckles. "All better?"

He offers me a crooked grin. "Yeah...if I were six."

I laugh. "Well, the bus driver said his dinner time is 6:00, so he should be finding a rest stop soon and then we can get some ice."

---

"Here," I say, as I hand Patrick a little plastic bag with ice.

We're sitting in a McDonald's. The frat boys are nowhere to be seen. They're probably passed out in the parking lot.

He applies the ice to his hand, wincing as it makes contact. After a couple of minutes, he stands up and jerks his thumb in the direction of the bathroom. "I think I'm going to use the bathroom before we leave." He leaves the ice on the table and walks away.

I sit quietly while I wait, smiling at the young family sitting across from me. The mother smiles down at her little girl, who is about six and has ketchup all over her face. The father picks up a napkin and wipes at her mouth. I'm captivated by the warm, ordinary little scene they present, when a boy about ten takes a seat across from them.

His blonde curls fly back and forth, as he talks excitedly and gestures with his hands. "You're not going to believe it, Dad! There's some guy stuck in a stall in the bathroom!"

I close my eyes and drop my head. Oh no. You've got to be kidding me. Will it ever end?

I sigh and reluctantly do the only thing I can. I stand and walk to the men's bathroom. I should probably inform the manager and have him deal with it, but I know Patrick would be embarrassed. So now I'm forced to go where no woman should ever go: a man's bathroom...at a rest stop.

Eww. Gross.

I take a deep breath and hold it, as I push the door open. I quickly look around to make sure there are no other men in here. I then walk to the stalls, stopping at the third one with the feet peeking out from beneath.

"Patrick?"

"Yeah," he answers, his voice defeated.

"Are you stuck in there?"

"The latch is jammed. It won't open," he says quietly.

I look around at the stall. "Can you climb under and go out the other one?"

"Tried that already. I didn't fit."

"What about going over?"

"I tried that, too. I stood on the toilet but couldn't get enough leverage to get over."

I bite at my lip. "I have to get the manager. They'll have to take the door off."

He lets out a groan, but doesn't object. I leave the bathroom and find the restaurant manager. I inform him of our predicament and he calls to have the rest stop janitor come. The janitor arrives a few minutes later and goes to work on removing the hinges from the stall door. After nearly ten minutes, he removes the door, revealing Patrick sitting on the toilet, fully clothed. He stands and walks out.

I open my mouth to speak, but he holds his hand up. "Not a word. Not a word."

I nod and follow him out. Boy, the stories we're going to have to tell our children and grandchildren!

---

We arrive outside just in time to see the bus pull out of the lot. Gus, the driver, said we had twenty minutes. Anyone not back on by then, would be left behind. I glance at my watch. Twenty minutes exactly. He wasn't kidding.

Patrick sighs and sinks down onto the curb.

"I'm sorry," he says softly.

My expression softens and I sit down next to him. I rub my hand down his back. "It's not your fault. That could have happened to anyone."

He shakes his head, his eyes rooted to the asphalt. "No, I mean I'm sorry I was such an arrogant ass and wouldn't let you call home for help. We wouldn't be stranded at a rest stop somewhere in Kansas if I had. We would be home, curled up together in our warm bed."

I nod. "Yeah, that's true."

His head snaps up and he looks at me. "What?"

"You're right," I say with a shrug of my shoulders.

He sighs. "Okay, maybe I'm not doing this pouting, self-pitying thing correctly. You're supposed to say something comforting and supportive now. Go."

"All right, give me a second," I say.

Hmm. Comforting and supportive, huh? I've got to admit, I'm coming up empty on this one. After all, I've just spent the last three days being robbed, losing all of my money, nearly starving to death, sitting on a dirty, smelly, hot bus while being tortured by cheerleaders and hit on by drunk frat boys...and now where stranded in Kansas. I'm not sure I have the energy for comforting and supportive.

He let's out an exaggerated breath. "Well, if it's going to take you that long..." he says, his voice trailing off.

I sigh and shake my head, as I realize something. "You know, I think we need to get something straight."

His head snaps up again and he looks at me, eyes narrowing at my tone. "Okay."

I take a deep breath. "Being together doesn't mean I'm going to soothe your conscience whenever you do something wrong. You need to be held responsible for the choices you make, Patrick. The mistakes you make. I'm not going to sit here and tell you that this wasn't your fault because it was. Yes, I know you didn't think we'd end up sitting on a curb in Kansas, but refusing to swallow your pride is what got us here, whether you like it or not."

He swallows hard. "Way to kick me when I'm down, Robin. Thanks."

My expression softens. "I'm just trying to get you to understand that your actions have consequences."

He drops his head and blows out a slow breath. "I was wondering when this would happen. I can't believe it took this long."

My brow furrows. "What?"

He kicks at a pebble with his foot. "I warned you. I warned you that you needed to be prepared for failure and disappointment if you were going to be with me."

I feel my breath catch in my chest. This is not where I expected this to go. I was hoping those fears of his were a thing of the past, but maybe they'll never truly go away.

I bring my hand to his cheek and he slowly turns to me. "Failure and disappointment are a part of life, Patrick. You will fail and disappointment me. And I will fail and disappointment you. It's a part of life, it's a part of being human. What counts is how we handle those failures and disappointments. I'm not going to just let you off the hook if it's warranted, but I'll never leave you. We'll work through whatever it is together. And I'll never stop loving you."

A bitter smile appears on his lips. "You might want to reconsider that."

I shake my head, smiling. "Sorry, can't do that. The truth is, I love you just the way you are. I don't want someone perfect."

His smile softens. "Well, I guess that's good news for me."

"There's no such thing anyway. And if there were, if I could choose between perfect, do-no-wrong, infallible Patrick versus inflated ego, stubborn as hell Patrick, there would be no choice. You're it for me. You, with all of your flaws. Those things make you who you are. They make you the man I fell in love with. I wouldn't have it any other way." His smile widens and he gives me a kiss on the lips. I finish, as he pulls back. "Like I said before though, that doesn't mean I'll always like what you do or won't hold you accountable. And it doesn't mean I don't want you to try to learn from your mistakes."

He scrunches up his nose. "Learn from my mistakes?"

I nod, smiling. "Yes, that's what mature adults do, Patrick."

He holds up a finger, grinning. "Whoa, you just said you love me the way I am. Now you're throwing out words like 'mature' and 'adult'. Come on, Robin. You can't have it both ways."

I shake my head, laughing, before cupping his face and kissing him. I then stand up and hold my hand out to him. "Come on, it's late and I'm exhausted. Let's find a place to stay for the night."

He slips his hand into mine and stands up.

---

Patrick and I had no choice but to walk until we found an inn or a motel. After about three miles, we saw a sign that read: Welcome to Cawker City! Home of the World's Largest Ball of Twine.

Wow. That's exciting stuff.

I turn to Patrick. "How's this for comforting? If you acted like a mature adult, we'd miss getting to see the World's Largest Ball of Twine."

Patrick laughs and shakes his head. "Thanks, that helps. Here's my question though: Does it really have a lot of competition? I mean, how many abnormally large balls of twine in the world can there be?"

I shrug, smiling as we continue to walk. Soon, we come to a little one-story white ranch house with a sign outside that reads, "Ma & Pa's Inn."

I turn to Patrick. "What do you think?"

"I think I'm tired of walking."

I look at the house. "This doesn't look like an inn. Inns are usually big, old houses two-three story that have been redone so the bedrooms can accommodate guests. I'd be surprised if this house has more than two bedrooms."

Patrick sighs and gestures to a sign. "Robin, it says it's an inn. I really don't think we're in a position to argue."

I eye the house skeptically, then shrug in defeat. Patrick and I walk up to the door. There's a sign that says 'Come in', so that's what we do.

We walk inside, a tiny desk immediately greeting us in the foyer that's about 3 by 3. There's a bell, so I ring it. A moment later, a man comes walking out of the kitchen that I spy off the living room, which is to the right of the entry way.

He smiles at me, revealing only gums. He looks so old I'm pretty sure he went to school with Jesus. He's rail thin and frail. His skin looks as if it were merely placed over a skeleton. He has a full head of shocking white hair that seems like it's been slicked back with vegetable oil. He wears a white button down shirt with brown suspenders and matching pants.

"Evening, folks. What can I do for you?"

Patrick smiles. "We'd like to rent a room for the night."

He nods and holds up a key. "You're in luck. We've got one room."

I tilt my head. "You mean one room left?"

He shakes his head, "No, ma'am, I mean one room. Ma and I have the other one."

I turn to Patrick, throwing him a pointed look. He doesn't meet my eyes.

"Pa! Who's there!" a shrill voice calls.

A large woman then appears from the direction 'Pa' came, wiping her chubby hands on a dishtowel. She's round and shapeless in her flowered house dress, with no discernible waist. Her face is featureless, with no chin or cheekbones to speak of. Her small green eyes sparkle like two tiny emeralds that have been stuffed into pizza dough. She has curly gray hair with a slight blue tint to it. Her lips are thin and red, but she possesses an easy smile. Her appearance makes it harder to tell her age, but she's got to be close to her husband's age. They're both 85 if they're a day.

"Oh, we've got guests!" she says, clapping her hands. "And aren't you two just the cutest!"

Pa tells Patrick how much the room costs, a reasonable $7.50. Patrick pays him in cash.

Ma hands us a brochure. "Now I don't know how long you two are going to be in Cawker City, but while you're here make sure you see the World's Largest Ball of Twine. It weighs 17,554 pounds. That's almost 9 tons! It has a 40 foot circumference and is made from over 7,009,942 feet of twine! It would stretch 1,325 miles if unraveled!"

Patrick and I nod our heads, feigning interest.

Pa points to a picture on the brochure of people winding twine. "That's our Picnic and Twine-a-thon. If you're around in August, make sure to check it out. Or, better yet, just plan on coming back for the Twine-a-thon!"

Note to self: When you get home, call travel agent to arrange to come back to Cawker City for Twine-a-thon!

Pa smiles and then waves us to follow him.

We follow him through the living room, which is crowded with furniture and knick knacks. Apparently, someone likes panda bears because figurine after figurine lines the shelves and tables. We follow Pa down a narrow hallway. He stops at a door and opens it, flipping on the light.

"This here's your room."

Patrick and I look inside. It's obvious it was their son's room, which they've preserved. It's done in a cowboy theme. There are boots painted along the border of the ceiling and a twin bed in the corner has a comforter with horses, cowboy, and Indians all over it. A shelf contains countless toy horses.

I glance at Patrick before plastering on a smile, "This is a lovely room."

Ma's eyes cloud over. "Yes, it was our Barry's. It's been vacant since he left home."

I nod. "That's never easy."

She shakes her head. "No, it sure isn't. It's been a tough year. I mean, sixty-two years old and he decides to go out on his own. Well, every parent has to deal with this sooner or later. And now we're left with an empty nest. That's why we opened an inn."

Patrick looks at me and I can see him biting his lip to keep from laughing. Sixty-two years old?

I pat Ma's shoulder comfortingly. "That must have been very difficult."

Ma nods and takes a wadded up tissue from the pocket of her house dress and blows her nose.

"Oh, Ma! Stop you're blubbering and let these poor people get some rest. They look exhausted." He points to a door across the room. "The bathroom's through there."

I offer Pa a grateful smile, as he puts his arms around Ma's shoulders and guides her down the hallway. Patrick and I step inside the room and close the door, before bursting into laughter.

"Sixty-two!" I say.

"And they're acting like they weren't ready!" Patrick adds.

Our laughter slowly subsides and I eye him. "These people are crazy, Patrick. They'll probably kill us in our sleep."

He shakes his head. "The crazy people are never the ones you have to worry about. It's the ones who seem normal. When you watch the news, there's always the guy who says, 'He was a great neighbor. Always let me borrow his lawn mower. I never would have guessed you'd find ten heads in his freezer.' You never hear, 'I knew there was something off. I just knew he buried eight people in his basement'."

I laugh. "I hope you're right."

He sighs and shrugs. "That's a risk I'm willing to take. We're both exhausted, Robin."

I nod. "And I feel disgusting. I need to take a shower."

He smiles and wraps his arms around my waist, "I could use a nice, hot shower, too."

I grin as I think back to how we commemorated our 'anniversary' in Vegas.

"I don't know. I would actually like to shower. You know, with soap and shampoo."

His grin widens. "I can arrange that. We both need showers, so taking them together will save time and then the sooner we can crawl into that cozy little cowboy bed."

I chuckle. "I love it when you're efficient."

He waggles his eyebrows, then takes my hands in his. He leads me to the door, then spins around, his lips finding mine as he cups my face. His left hand then drops away and he reaches behind him for the doorknob. He opens the door and backpedals into the room. He bites at my bottom lip and runs his tongue across my teeth, as I giggle into his mouth.

"Don't mind me. I'll be out of your hair in just a minute."

My eyes fly open, and Patrick and I abruptly pull apart. Our heads snap downward in the direction of the voice. Our eyes nearly fall out of her heads as they land on Pa sitting in the bathtub, soaking in a thin layer of suds.

He looks like a chicken marinating.

"Oh God!" I say, as I bury my head in Patrick's chest.

"Don't be embarrassed kids. Ma and I used to get passionate back in our younger days, too. And it was like the world would just fall away."

Patrick sucks in a breath, as he probably tries to ward away those images, along with the one sitting in the tub.

"Sorry, we'll come back," he says and then pushes me forward out the door, closing it behind him.

I raise my head and then shake it, my lips turning downward. "Scarred. I am now scarred for life."

"You're not the only one," he says, as he shakes his entire body. He sighs. "I guess we're sharing a bathroom with Ma and Pa."

I groan and sink down onto the bed. "I just want to wash up. I want to wash off the bus smell!"

Patrick's eyes light up. He holds up a finger. "I'll be right back."

My brow furrows. "Where-..."

But he's out the door before I can get more than a word out. He reappears a moment later, locking the door behind him and pulling a chair from the desk by the window to wedge under the doorknob to the bathroom.

"What are you doing?"

"Door locks from the inside," he replies, as he walks toward me.

"I don't understand. What-..."

He holds his hands behind his back and demands, "Strip."

I roll my eyes. "I am so not in the mood, Patrick. Especially after that whole-..."

He pulls a wet dishtowel (not the one Ma was using) out from behind his back, smiling. "I'm going to give you a bath. You know, repay for that sponge bath you gave me when I was in the hospital."

I laugh. "Uh, I hope you plan on doing a better job than I did."

His eyes twinkle. "Undoubtedly. Now strip."

I quickly peel off my tank top and jeans, throwing them onto the floor. I move to remove my bra and panties, but he says, "Leave them."

He motions for me to lay down on the bed, face down. I comply, closing my eyes. He sits down next to me and brings the towel to my skin. I suck in a breath form his touch, not the cool wetness of the cloth. He slowly trails it down my back, rubbing it in circles. He goes down one leg, then up the other. His slow, sensual touch is driving me insane. I want him so bad right now.

I hear the grin in his voice. "This room looks like mine did when I was a kid." He pauses and then whispers in my ear, "And this brings back some very good memories of my teenage years."

I laugh, "Oh, so you bathed a lot of girls on your bed in your teenage years?"

"Well, I did something to them on my bed."

I reach my hand upward and smack his thigh. He chuckles.

He then brings the towel back up my back and to my neck, gently washing every inch. He then whispers in my ear. "Turn over."

I again comply, but keep my eyes closed. He brings the cloth down one leg again and then up the other, his hand sliding between my thighs and causing me to gasp. He then moves it up my stomach, stopping to make circles around my belly button. I smile, as I can feel him trace a heart, even through the cloth. His long fingers splay across my torso as he moves up my stomach. He brings the cloth up to the crevice of my bra and then over the crests of my breasts. It moves up to my neck and I sigh as he surprises me with a little kiss at the base of my throat. I then feel the cloth break contact and feel his fingers tips brush against my skin at the crevice of my bra. He undoes the front clasp and allow the bra to fall away. I smile at the freedom and his touch. He brings the cloth up again and moves it over my breasts, while massaging them in a way that makes me bite my lip. I swallow a moan.

He finishes making me very clean there and then pulls his hand away. I sigh from the lack of contact. I open my eyes and look downward. "Uh, I think you missed a spot."

He smiles at me. "I think I heard Pa leave if we want to try our hand at that shower. I promise I won't miss that spot again."

I wrinkle my nose. "I don't know. I still have disturbing images running through my head. Plus, it's kind of gross, don't you think? He was just soaking in that bathtub."

"I'll clean it for you," he says.

I laugh. "Yeah, right. You mean like you clean the bathtub at home?"

"What? I do."

I shake my head. "Leaving me messages on the mirror saying you think the shower is getting 'scummy' is not cleaning, Patrick."

He grins and shrugs. "I'll really clean it for you. Isn't that what a mature adult would do?"

I smile, as he walks toward the bathroom.

---

I snuggle up to Patrick, as I feel the warmth of the sun on my face. We had no choice but to sleep very close together in the twin bed. Not that we wanted a choice.

I nuzzle his neck and sigh in contentment, when I hear the door fly open.

"Rise and shine, lovebirds!" Ma says.

Patrick and I bolt up in bed, the sleepiness immediately gone from our eyes.

Patrick rubs at his face and whispers, "Didn't I lock that door last night?"

I answer out of the corner of my mouth. "She must have a key."

It's then that I notice she's carrying a tray with two glasses of orange juice and two bowls of oatmeal. My stomach growls. Patrick and I both detest oatmeal, but it's been so long since we had a real meal that we don't care.

She smiles, as she sets it down in front of us on the bed. "I don't know if Pa told you, but here at 'Ma & Pa's Inn' we offer complimentary breakfast in bed!"

I smile and move to sit against the headboard, as I pull the sheet around my naked body. Patrick does the same.

"Thank you," I say.

Patrick and I wait for her to leave, but instead she sits down on the end of the bed. I'm afraid that we may end up having another bed mishap from the sound it makes under her weight.

"Well, eat up before it gets cold!" she says

Patrick and I exchange a look, before picking up our spoons. Just then, Pa arrives. I wait for him to shoo her out of the room, but he just sits down across from her.

"So, what brings you two kids through here?"

I swallow and then spend the next ten minutes explaining what we've been through over the last few days, including the list.

"A list, huh. Interesting," Ma comments. "Whattya got left to do on it?"

I reach down to my purse and pull out the piece of paper. I hand it to her. Her eyes scan the page and then her mouth drops into an 'o' and she squeals, as she turns to Pa and points at the paper.

"Pa, will you look at that? It must have been destiny that brought these two to our doorstep!"

Patrick's brow furrows as he glances at me. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, number 11, of course! It's your lucky day. Our Barry owns a skydiving company!"

I nearly choke on my oatmeal. I come up coughing.

If this is an 'inn' to these people, I can just imagine what a skydiving company is to their son. He probably hands you an umbrella as he pushes you out of a plane. Which is great...if you're Mary Poppins.

I swallow. "Oh really."

"Oh, yes, that's what his dream was. That's why he left home. He wanted to be independent and so he started his own business." She then turns to Pa. "Go call Barry and set the whole thing up. Tell him to give these young lovebirds a discount too."

I wave my hands as Pa stands. "No, please, don't go to any trouble. We really don't have time to go skydiving anyway. We have to be getting home."

Patrick nods. "Yeah, we really do."

But she waves a hand. "Don't be silly. You want to do things on your list and here's your chance. Pa will even drive you over there himself."

I look at Patrick and then say weakly, "Great."

---

So Barry's Skydiving Company is run out of a barn on a deserted farm about three miles away from his parents. He houses his plane in the barn and sleeps in the loft above. He uses the large plot of land to take off. I swallow and squeeze Patrick's hand in mine, as we follow Pa inside.

He looks down at me and tries to smile comfortingly, but fails.

Barry is the male version of his mother. He's like a blob with two little green eyes. His gray hair is thinning on top and he's made a comb over from ear to ear.

"Barry, this is Robin and Patrick. They would like to go skydiving today. Now you make sure to give them a discount."

Barry smiles at us. "Sure thing, Pa."

Pa then goes to stand in the corner. He wants to watch us. Barry walks to a desk in the corner next to a rusty tractor. I look at the small plane. It's paint job is peeling and I can see spots where it is also rusty.

I turn to Patrick. "I am not getting on that plane!"

"And you think I want to!"

"Well, what are we going to do?" I eye him. "Tell him you're scared. Tell him you're too chicken."

"Me? Why do I have to do it?"

"You can pull off scared better. You'll be more convincing."

He eyes me, "You seem pretty convincing to me right now."

I glance over at some green knapsacks in the corner by some bales of hay. "Those are the parachutes, Patrick."

"I'm sure they work, Robin. I mean, this guy wouldn't still be in business if it wasn't safe," he says, unable to hide the fear and uncertainty in his voice.

"Right and his parents run a top of the line inn! Patrick, Cawker City doesn't seem to be too concerned with setting high standards for their small businesses." I shake my head and point. "Those aren't parachutes. They're only parachutes if they open! Until then, they're just knapsacks!"

He shakes his head. "Well, I don't want to do this either, but I will if you want to. It's your list, so if you want to back out, you need to be the one to tell him."

I groan. Maybe it will be fine. Maybe he does know what he's doing.

Barry sighs and walks over to us with a napkin, "Well, darnesdest thing, I can find the paperwork. It basically just says you know the risks and you won't sue me if you die or are seriously injured or anything."

I hear Patrick suck in a breath, as my heart begins to race.

He hands us a napkin. "This is all I could find for writing on. I've got to get myself down to the store and buy some paper. Just sign this and I'll staple it right to the forms."

I squeeze my eyes shut. I must need to have my head examined. I look over at Pa who smiles and gives us the thumbs up. For some reason, I don't want to disappoint Ma and Pa.

"Um, is this all safe?" I ask.

Barry nods. "Sure, I have the highest safety rating of all the skydiving companies in Cawker City."

"How many skydiving companies are there?"

He smiles. "Well, I'm the only one, but I still got a good rating."

"What was it?" Patrick asks.

"Four out of five parachutes."

I refrain from asking why he didn't get the fifth parachute, but decide to take what I can get instead.

I look over at Patrick. "Are you sure about this?"

He swallows hard. "I told you I'd do anything for you."

I smile. "And that includes this?"

He grins and nods. "That includes this."

I look at Barry. "Um, is there any kind of training?"

He shakes his head. "Whattya need training for? You just strap on the parachute, pull the cord once you're clear of the plane, close your eyes, say a prayer and jump."

I'm pretty sure you're supposed to have some training before going skydiving!

Patrick rubs at his forehead, which is beaded with sweat. "Uh, how high do we go?"

Most planes go 15,000 feet when skydiving. At least, that's what I heard somewhere.

He gestures to the hunk of junk...I mean, plane.

"This here plane only goes up 500 feet. Those parachutes are special to accommodate a much, much, much lesser altitude than usual." He then leans forward and says in a conspiratorial tone, "Don't tell anyone, but it's not technically skydiving. It's more like just falling from pretty high."

Huh. 500 feet. That doesn't sound so bad. Sounds a lot better than 15, 000 feet, that's for sure. I mean, we could still die, but as long as our parachutes open we should be okay. Right?

If I go through with this, I don't care if it's not 'technically skydiving'. I am crossing it off my list!

"And those parachutes open?" I ask.

He chuckles. "Of course."

I sigh in defeat. "Okay."

Barry smiles, as I sign the napkin and hand him $15.00, which is what he says it costs with the discount. Patrick's mouth falls open in shock, but he somehow manages to sign it. I turn to him, as Barry goes to get the parachutes.

"What's the matter?"

"I didn't think you were actually going to go through with it! Are you insane!"

"But you said you would go through with it if I wanted to!"

"That's because I was trying to be supportive and didn't want to seem like a chicken. I didn't think you'd actually go through with it though!"

Barry comes over to us and straps the parachutes on us and puts goggles over our eyes. I want to ask if we're supposed to wear helmets or special suits too, but I can't seem to find the words.

"It's too late now!" I say to Patrick through gritted teeth, as Barry leads us to the plane and Pa waves at us.

"It's not too late! Let's just make a run for it!" he whispers out of the corner of his mouth.

But we both must be too paralyzed by fear to make a move to escape. Instead, we step onto the plane. Barry goes to the front and starts it up. It makes a sound like a garbage disposal chewing up silverware. Then it sputters. Great. We'll probably die before we even get a chance to jump out of the plane.

He moves the plane out of the barn and down the 'runway'. It doesn't seem like it will be able to, but it manages to get off the ground and starts to climb upward.

Barry then puts it on auto pilot, which actually makes me feel safer now that he's not behind the wheel. He turns to us.

"Okay, whenever you're ready."

Patrick turns to me, smiling weakly. "I love you. It was nice while it lasted."

I bring my lips to his and kiss him. "I love you too."

I then take his hand in mine, as Barry opens the door. 500 feet is still pretty frightening. I swallow hard at the sight of the ground below.

We stand rooted to our spots. Neither one of us makes a move.

"What're you waiting for?" Barry asks.

We must be crazy! This must be from exhaustion and lack of food! We are doctors. We are sensible, rational people. Usually. What's wrong with us!

We both turn to each other and say in unison, "I can't do this."

We then turn to tell Barry, but he doesn't give us the chance. He puts his hands on our backs and gives us a shove.

Patrick and I both come flying out of the plane.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

That's what I try to scream but no words come out. I manage to look at Patrick, who's still holding my hand. He seems to be doing the same thing. His face is white as a ghost.

It finally dawns on me that I better pull the cord. I reach up and pull the cord. With a heavy sigh of relief, my parachute opens. I look over at Patrick. He's pulling on his cord, but nothing's happening. My eyes widen and my heart nearly beats out of my chest. He pulls again. Nothing. His eyes are huge with panic He then pulls one more time and, thankfully, it opens. I feel my chest deflate in relief.

Before we know it, the ground is getting closer. There's plenty of open land, but somehow we seem to find the one tree sitting in the middle. We're nearing the tree and I know we're not going to be able to avoid it. I close my eyes. I feel some branches whip across my body and then I feel a yank. I slowly open my eyes and find myself staring into Patrick's. I then lower them and realize we're dangling from the tree about ten feet above the ground.

But a smile crosses my lips. We're not dead.

Patrick grins at me. "What happens in Cawker City, stays in Cawker City."

I couldn't agree more.

-----
Up Next: To Do # 10 - Make a Complete and Utter Fool of Yourself.
I know what you're thinking. Haven't they already done this over and over again? Well, yes, but those were without trying, so they don't count. Now the object will be to purposely make a complete and utter fool of themselves.

Also, my brother almost got stuck in a bathroom stall the other day so that's why I put that in there.