(Okay, so this is a cheat. I went away on a small vacation after writing this and I didn't get around to writing the second half and now I feel bad that it's taking me so long to finish. So I'll upload in segments and maybe export and combine it later. This is chapter 5.1: In The Life Of. It focuses on Robin Scorpio and her work. Next up, the final half of chapter 5, will be Lucky Spencer.
So consider this a sneak peak, or something. Enjoy!)
Chapter 5.1: In The Life Of
The morning sunlight, filtered by closed shutters into thin bars, fell across tightly drawn dark green curtains, effectively keeping the room behind the window dark. The thickness and color of the fabric absorbed the warmth of the climbing sun and, despite the winter outside, the bedroom was comfortably toasty. The rise in temperature, normally more than enough to rouse her from the deepest of sleeps, had little affect on Robin Scorpio this morning. She let out a groan, despising the brightness and everyone awake at this hour, and rolled onto her stomach to shed the heavy quilt. It did not care to be tossed aside after a devoted night of protecting her so easily and wrapped itself around her legs in protest.
Old Man meowed and leapt onto the bed. He began to purr, the sound resonating in his chest like a motor, rubbing her face with his. The lithe cat was a mix of long and short fur. As a result he looked scruffy, no matter how frequently he groomed. His creamy white fur was blotched with orange-brown spots, as if aged by the sun, and when he stared he would squint his vacant yellow eyes like his sight wasn't quite what it should be. His whiskers looked like a long white moustache and his meow was throaty and soft. All of this combined assured him his name the first time Robin laid eyes on him at the local animal shelter.
The joke was that he was only two years old. She couldn't help but love him. He was her confidant, someone she could talk to without being judged or teased. He didn't pity her, or act like she was made of glass. All he knew was that she was his master, the one with all the food and the nice warm hands. That was enough for the both of them.
"I'm going to kill you, Old Man." The cat mewed at the sound of her voice and redoubled his purr, butting his head against her cheek. His stomach eliminated the need for an alarm clock. He never allowed her to sleep past eight if she was home at that hour, "Okay, alright: I'm getting up."
Robin kicked her legs free of the mutinous blankets and sat up in the bed, her feet on the floor and the cat in her arms. He was all purrs and love, rubbing his body against her chest and looking up at her with doting, expectant eyes. He knew this part of the routine: she was giving in, getting him what he wanted. She stood and, stifling a yawn, carried the animal across the apartment into the kitchen. She dropped him on the tiled floor and he promptly weaved his long body through her legs. She dumped a half cup of indoor-recipe dry cat food into a bowl and mindlessly set if down for him.
The feline instantly forgot his everlasting love for his owner and attacked the food voraciously. Robin ran her hand across Old Man's fur and then left him to his breakfast, entering the living room with arms wide as she stretched out her shoulders.
Eight in the morning. It wasn't a particularly early hour by her regular schedule, but her body knew it could get away with a couple more hours of sleep this morning and refused to shake off that morning sluggishness that accompanied early wake-ups; even after her first and then second cup of coffee. After downing her third cup of the tasteless black brew she stood from the preposterously comfortable leather recliner and returned the coffee pot to its vital home atop a short bookshelf.
The apartment was, in a word, comfortable. It wasn't very feminine, leaning more to "bachelor pad" over anything else. Besides the pink and blue toys that dotted the floor, the apartment was sparsely decorated and the color palette was limited to black, dark greens and browns. Leather dominated the furniture and deep cherry wood replaced it where fabric failed.
The living room furnishings consisted of the recliner, a bookshelf, a flat screen plasma TV mounted in a corner near sliding door to the balcony, a coffee table littered with paper, and a matching loveseat for the recliner. They belonged to her father back when she had a happy family. Before the boat accident that claimed the lives of both her adventuring parents. She clung to the memories of each of them in different ways. When ever she sat down in one of the beaten leather seats she could feel the warmth and safety of her father's arms around her.
Across from her bedroom door was the island, a fully stocked but rarely used bar, that separated the kitchen and living room and beyond that the kitchen itself, with its green marble countertops and dark brown cabinets. Robin was fond of cooking, though she only had herself to feed. It was relaxing and lonely: a welcomed change from her job.
There was a spare bedroom next to hers, marginally smaller, but since she never used it there was only a bed and three large bookshelfs: a makeshift medical library.
Robin crossed the large expanse of the living room and returned to her bedroom. She checked the clock on her nightstand and was disappointed to find it read only eight thirty. Somehow she hadn't managed to make three cups of coffee last the untended hour. She sighed and decided she would make up for it in the shower.
The bathroom, the only one in the apartment, was a medium sized room connected to the master bedroom. If she had people over, a rare event indeed, they were made uncomfortable by the news that the toilet was in her room. Just one of a dozen reasons the guest room was never in use.
Robin ran the water ice cold and shut the door behind her before taking off her pajama slip. She made sure the door was secure by giving it a tug. Old Man loved the water. Robin loathed cleaning up after a wet cat. Following the first time he slipped in, a disaster of wet fur and carpet stains, Robin trained herself against a recurrence. She had to lock the door because the cat was a genius at opening doors. She was almost certain he was teaching himself how to pick the lock.
The opportunity to make a bad pun loomed tantalizingly overhead, but without company to groan in the wake it wasn't worth the effort.
Standing under the intense cold spray of the water, letting it run down her soapy body, Robin turned her first actual thoughts of the morning to the day ahead of her. As an Emergency Physician at General Hospital she was used to hectic hours and chaotic days. Doubling as one of the premier researchers in the state only added to her work load. She was used to and fond of the days when she was constantly on her feet, pushing medical science forward and saving lives.
She shut off the water, wrapped a towel round her body and used another to dry her long, reddish brown hair. She blow-dried her hair with meticulous familiarity, the hair falling through her fingers the same way it did the day before. She didn't spend much time on it. As long as it was straight she was fine. She pulled it back into a loose ponytail and moved out of the bathroom, leaving the second towel behind.
Pulling a pair of jeans and a red top from her closet, she got dressed at her leisure, painfully aware of how much time she had to waste before her shift started.
Old Man, finished with breakfast and his morning clean, returned to thank Robin. He daintily landed on the bed and looked up expectantly as his owner, who was fixing her make-up in the mirror. He mewed through a purr and she gave in, rubbing his ears. She checked the clock, saw that only an hour had passed, and sighed.
"I guess I'll just go to the hospital and check in. There's probably a ton of paper work waiting in my box," she said to the cat, who seemed to nod sagely. She often found that her best conversations were with her cat, rather than one particularly annoying colleague. It was a troubling thought, "be a good boy."
She left her apartment with a strange tingling in the back of her mind. It wasn't the familiar nagging that comes with forgetting something like keys or to turn off the television. It was a cold sort of creeping that vanished when she focused on it, leaving only a vague awkwardness in its wake. It was almost an 'I-have-a-bad-feeling-about-this', but she couldn't imagine what she might be worried about. She shrugged it off as a side affect from the break in her regular schedule and moved on to the elevator and down to the parking lot. She got into her car, a non-descript four door, revved the weak engine and started out onto the road.
She took the long way to the hospital, considering she only lived a few blocks away, and stopped at a small bakery for her fourth cup of coffee, which would last her the rest of the car ride and maybe the elevator into the hospital, and a small bag of fresh donuts. She rounded the staff parking lot with a glazed donut in her mouth and pulled into her reserved spot. She cut off the engine, finished her food, gathered her things and got out of the car.
Crossing the dark, expansive underground parking lot never failed to freak her out. She doubted she would ever get used to it. There something inherently creepy about a vacant, echoing cave filled with shadows and corners. Today was particularly unsettling, the incessant prickling hiding in the back of her mind making her paranoid and jittery. Or maybe it was all the coffee.
Whatever it was, it made her feet move faster. She reached the elevator panting, her heart beating in his throat. She swallowed hard but it wouldn't go down. With shaking hands she hit the button for the door. The immediate ding made her jump, and her coffee cup crashed to the floor from its perch atop her briefcase.
"Geez, get a grip," she mumbled to herself, sweeping the cup away with her foot and entering the cubical elevator. The doors slid closed and a soft, measured tune filled the air. She felt her pulse slowing, her mind easing back into neutral. By the time she reached her floor she was as serene as could be, a smile in her eyes and only the slightest of shadows flickering in the corner of her thin smile.
The hospital was strangely calm that morning. There didn't seem to be any emergencies in the ER, and the waiting area was unusually empty. The feeling of unease, which was becoming more and more familiar as the day progressed, settled into her limbs. Restless, she hurried to the front desk in search of some patient's malady to get lost in. There she found two of her colleagues, Dr Patrick Drake and Elizabeth Spencer, RN. Not a combination that could possibly be good.
Patrick was leaning on the desktop to Elizabeth's side, disrespecting her personal space by standing almost against her, speaking over her shoulder and into her ear. She looked distressed, her eyes scanning a chart she had almost memorized. She tried to brush him away with her shoulder and dismissive comments but he would not be deterred. He grinned like a wolf, hungry for the chase.
Drawing a deep breath, Robin knew it was her duty to rescue the nurse.
"Patrick, stop drooling on her," she said in haughty tone, tilting her head at him with an expression to match, "she's married. And you're a pig."
Patrick fixed Robin a look of surprise, his eyebrows raised and his eyes lighting curiously. He took a step back and Elizabeth wormed her way free, escaping past Robin with a thank you riding on her sigh. Robin nodded at her, a secret sign that they would talk later, and Elizabeth fled from the desk.
"You know, Robin, you really shouldn't let your jealousy get to you like that. I mean, it's bad enough you have to come in here early just to keep an eye on me. But accusing me of hitting on a married woman?" Patrick shook his head at her, as serious as could be. She gaped at him, lost for a blinding moment in his dimples, messy dark black hair and disorienting deep black eyes. He smiled, softer than the animal sneer he was giving Elizabeth.
"You're a pig, you know that?" Robin snorted, recovering as quickly as she could. She went behind the desk and grabbed a stack of charts, old paper work she knew she had to get done and had stored there just in case, and then walked away from the desk. Patrick followed her at a short distance, easily keeping pace with his long strides.
"Why don't you just admit you want me? You'll sleep better at night."
Robin caught the elevator as someone was leaving, the door sliding closed as she stuck out her hand. It dinged and opened for her. She entered and turned around, hitting the button that would take her to her office and then stared at Patrick one last time, trying to look as serious as she could.
"I sleep fine, thanks. And I don't think lying to myself would help anything."
"That sounds like someone who hasn't had good sex in a long time, but really, really wants it. With me." Patrick said flippantly. Robin was lucky the doors shut. It saved her the additional embarrassment of having Patrick witness how red her face turned.