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If You're Not the One - 29
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If you're not the one then why does my soul feel glad today?
If you're not the one then why does my hand fit yours this way?
If you are not mine then why does your heart return my call
If you are not mine would I have the strength to stand at all
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"If there's Jell-o in that bag I'm staging a walk out."

"Boy, aren't you a grateful one." Robin walks into the room and puts the bags of food Dillion dropped off for her at a side entrance so she could smuggle them into the Transplant Unit. She made sure to close the door tightly behind her and close the blinds.

"Not that I'm not glad you're here, but according to your own notes your very own treatment requires bed rest." Patrick tilted his head where it lay on the pillow and studied her as she climbed into the sleeping chair and began to unpack their contraband. "How do you feel?"

Robin was facing him in profile and turned her head to look at him. His expression was serious and he was plainly asking her to be honest with him. Robin looked away and sighed.

"Hey?" Patrick reached out and put a finger on her chin and turned her back to face him.

"Everything is progressing fine, I just hate…being sick. My head hurts, these drugs are screwing with my other protocol, which of course I expected, I'm just not sure I really feel like eating." She twiddled the bottle of water she held in her hand nervously.

Patrick swallowed and looked down for a moment. "Why didn't you stay in bed, Robin?" His voice was a husky whisper. Her honesty cut through him. It was all laid out before him - what it felt like for her to live with HIV and just how far into her life she had allowed him. Yet, he still needed to hear more from her, to know that there was no more retreat. At least not for tonight.

"I wanted to see you." She didn't look away, just looked at him her face open and serious.

Despite her pallor, to him she had never looked more beautiful and brave. Without conscious thought he pushed the over-the-bed tray away and clasped her arm and tugged her towards him. Not hard, just enough to let her know what he was offering and giving her the opportunity refuse. But she didn't. With a soft breath she acquiesced to him, letting him guide her onto to the bed and into his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

As she slid into sleep against him, Patrick thought of the promise he had made. The promise to tell her he loved her once she awake to hear it. Inside those words there was a whole life that he was beginning to picture in vivid color, his life with her in it. Feeling her breathing against him, trusting him to protect her, he just had to believe it was what she wanted too. To be without her was not an option; but he also knew her well enough to know that her guard could go up at any time. That the feeling of weakness wasn't just something the scared her, but was something that was intimately tied to her need to compensate for the control that being HIV positive had taken from her. He suspected that most of the time it was an automatic response as he had seen her react and then consciously take a step back and respond to situations, to him, with the fire that was her true nature. He could and he would wait it out, but he was afraid that there would be many missteps on both of their parts until there was an equilibrium that would carry them through. Missteps that would hurt them and could cost them dearly. Somehow he would have to gain her trust and her word that she too would persevere through it all. He had to make her see that they were worth it. He had to paint for her the picture that was in his mind. And that would take more than words. That would take action and time.

He closed his eyes and kissed the top of her head and just lie there listening to her breathe and enjoying the unfamiliar weight of her against him.