Title: How to Get a Player to Commit
Author: Steph
Rating: PG
Pairing: Robin/Patrick
Category: Romance/Humor/Drama
POV: Robin
Disclaimer: I do this out of a love for this couple. No infringement is intended.
Spoilers: Picks up after the cabin, so includes all of that.
Summary: Robin decides she wants a commitment from Patrick and comes up with a set of rules to follow in order to get her man.

Note: Thanks for the feedback! Hope you enjoy Rule # 9 and please let me know what you thought. -Steph

--- How to Get a Player to Commit: Rule # 9 - Make Him Come to You ---

Even though I didn't expect to admit to Patrick that I wanted a commitment, I decide to stick to Rule # 9. The best way to approach my situation with Patrick is to do nothing at all. I will keep it purely professional between us. He will realize what he's letting go of eventually. I won't push. I am going to make him come to me.

I step off the elevator, my eyes immediately landing on Patrick, who is standing at the nurses' station reading over a patient chart. I take a deep breath and enter the station. He doesn't look up from what he's doing, but I notice him look at me out of the corner of his eye.

"Good morning, Dr. Drake," I say, as I reach for a patient chart.

"Good morning, Dr. Scorpio," he replies, never looking up.

I frown. He says my name so coldly. There's always a hint of playfulness in his voice when he calls me Dr. Scorpio, but not today. His tone is completely professional and detached.

I review the patient chart, then look up at him.

"We have the consult with Mrs. Flanders now, right?" I say.

"Yes, we do."

We both reach over to put the patient charts away at the same time, our hands brushing against each other and our faces so close I can feel his warm breath on my cheek. Our eyes meet for a moment, before he lowers his head and licks at his lips.

"Let's go," he says softly.

He moves out of the nurses' station and I follow him. We walk down the hall to Mrs. Flanders' room. Mrs. Flanders is eighty-seven with frizzy gray hair that sticks out in all directions and a body so frail she looks like a chicken. She's suffering from an aneurysm that's being treating with medication now, but looks as if it is going to require surgery. She's also a busy body, know-it-all, who says exactly what's on her mind. The first time she saw Patrick and I together, she took one look at us and waved her finger, saying, "So, how long has that been going on?"

Patrick and I had ignored her, had a laugh about it later, then made-out in the stairwell. This was before things got so strange and strained between us.

Patrick enters her room and I follow him. He flashes Mrs. Flanders his trademark grin. "So how's my favorite patient doing today?"

He may not have the best bedside manner, but he knows how to turn on the charm when he wants to.

Mrs. Flanders frowns at him. "Salisbury steak for lunch. How do you think I'm doing?"

I stand next to Patrick, not saying a word. She looks at me, then him, then me again.

"What's going on between you two?" she asks.

My brow furrows. Patrick lowers his eyes.

She waves her hand at us. "Come on, spill. Something's different. You usually look at each other all sickening like. Makes me want to puke. Come to think of it, I haven't seen both of you together in a while. Trouble in paradise?"

Patrick offers her a closed-mouth smile. "You really should concentrate on getting your rest, Mrs. Flanders. We just looked at your chart. It's looking more and more like we're going to have to operate. We've discussed the risks with you. You know the chances of survival with surgery are fair, but the chances of the aneurysm bursting without it seem to be too great now."

She shrugs. "Go ahead, cut into me. If I die, I die. I've lived a good life."

I shake my head. "You have a good chance at survival, Mrs. Flanders."

"If I survive, that's great, too, but I'm ready to go. I did what I wanted to do in my life."

My eyes widen. How is that possible? There are a so many things I want to do before I die. After I was diagnosed with HIV, I made a list. Uncle Mac thought it was morbid, but I felt better knowing that I had a plan. Kind of like these rules. But it's been over ten years and I've barely made a dent in the list.

I look at her. "Wow, you must have lived some life."

She shakes her head, tapping her temple. "Not really. There was only one thing on the list in my head."

"What was it?" Patrick asks, looking up, his tone suddenly eager and filled with curiosity.

She smiles sadly. "Find someone to love and to love me back."

I move my eyes to Patrick, but he quickly lowers his to the floor again.

"My Bernie died five years ago, after fifty-eight wonderful years together. You may think that you need to do more in your life and that's fine. But trust me, when you get to be my age and you're knocking on death's door, nothing else will matter. Your professional successes or failures. Whether or not you ever climbed Everest or jumped out of that plane. None of it will really matter. What will matter is if you can look back and see the face of the one you loved and who you were lucky enough to have love you back. I have no regrets."

I feel my chest begin to tighten at the surprisingly sweet sentiment from the old woman and suddenly my list seems so inconsequential. Will I really care if I watched the sun set from top of the Eiffel Tower if there's no one by my side to watch it with me? If he's not by my side?

I look at Patrick, his eyes still rooted to the linoleum. I wonder if the same thought is running through his head. I wonder if it will make any difference at all.

Patrick looks up at Mrs. Flanders. "We're going to run some more tests and then make a definitive decision about surgery."

He then turns on his heel and walks out of the room. I follow him. He's walking so fast and his strides are nearly twice the size of mine, that I practically have to run to keep up with him.

"She's an amazing woman," I say.

"Yeah," Patrick replies flatly.

"It must be nice to be so satisfied with your life that you're prepared for whatever happens."

"It's obvious she's not thinking clearly. It's probably a side-effect of the medication."

My brow furrows and I touch his arm, forcing him to stop walking. "You don't believe she's ready?"

"It doesn't matter what I believe. It's my job to fix her."

"And what if you can't? Isn't it nice to know that she's ready? That she's lived a life without regret?"

He lowers his eyes. "We can't all be so lucky."

He then walks away from me. I shake my head. He just won't face it. Love and happiness are staring him in the face, but he won't let himself feel it. He's setting himself up for a lifetime of regret and taking me with him in the process.

---

I enter the locker room, as Patrick is about to leave. We nearly collide and do an awkward back and forth dance, before he finally stands still and allows me to enter.

I walk past him and wait for him to cross the threshold. Instead, he stands frozen to his spot, as the door swings closed in front of him. He slowly turns around. He runs a hand through his hair and licks nervously at his lips.

He drops his eyes to the ground, his voice emerging so softly I barely hear him. "I'm sorry."

My head snaps up and I move my gaze to meet his. "For what?"

He takes a few steps toward me. "For accusing you of something I am guilty of doing, too."

My brow furrows. "I don't understand."

He swallows hard. "I knew the moment I looked at you when we were having sex for the first time that it was much more than sex. I guess I'd always known deep down, but it didn't really hit me until then. Yet I pretended, just like you did. And I've pretended every time since."

The words I've waited to hear take my breath away. I want to throw my arms around him, but something in his eyes makes me resist.

I finally manage to say, "So what does this mean?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing's changed for me, Robin. I still don't think I can give you what you want."

"How do you know what I want, Patrick? Because right now I'm looking at what I really want. Nothing else matters."

He drops his head. "The truth is, you're an amazing woman and you deserve a man who's going to be everything to you. Open and sensitive and faithful. Let's face it, that's not who I am."

I bring my hand up to his cheek, but he moves out of my reach. "You have no idea what you can be to anyone. You've never let yourself try."

He shakes his head, his voice sharp and his tone firm. "And I'm not about to start with you. I refuse to be anything less than you deserve. I won't do it."

My jaw tightens. "So, it doesn't matter what I want? It doesn't matter that you're my choice?"

"I won't be one of your regrets, Robin."

"If I never get a chance to be with you, then that will be my regret, Patrick. You're assuming it won't work out between us. I have more faith in what we have than that."

He closes his eyes momentarily. "Look, after listening to Mrs. Flanders, I wanted you to know how I feel. I thought that you deserved that."

"I deserve you. I want you, Patrick," I say, as tears begin to sting my eyes.

His voice becomes constricted with emotion. "When you look back on your life, Robin, you deserve to see a man who loved you without restrictions and limitations. I'm not that man. I'm sorry."

With that, he turns on his heel and walks out the door.

I sink down onto bench. I can't help the tears that begin to fall down my face.

A moment later, the door swings open again. I slowly lift my head, the tears now streaming down my face. My eyes once again fall upon him. His eyes are glassy from the tears he refuses to let fall. My heart begins to pound in my chest, so loud I swear I hear it in my ears. Maybe he realized he couldn't just walk away.

He walks over to me and looks down. I meet his eyes. He lowers himself down to his knees, settling his body in between my legs. He then cups my face in his hands and brings his lips to mine. The kiss is sweet and raw all at the same time, and I never want it to end.

He finally pulls back, his forehead touching mine. I don't dare open my eyes.

He whispers, "I needed to feel you one last time."

I feel my heart drop into my stomach. He then stands up and walks out the door.

---
Rule # 10: Make Him Believe He's Lost You

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it and please let me know what you thought. -Steph