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Twenty
Fear has become a constant companion over the past couple of weeks. I wouldn't say it's distorted fear, though. I think my level of fear is quite in line with what's going on. Fear of what's happening to Robin and fear of imagining a life without her. I never feared for my own life until I walked into that church and had mere seconds to make my escape. One flub and I was a goner. I've never really faced my own mortality before, I wasn't even worried when I donated part of my liver to my father, and even though I made it out okay the sensation of almost dying still crawls over my skin. I knew she was one of the bravest people I know, but I've never really understood what it must be like Robin for every day with HIV under her skin. That thought is even scarier than a bomb explosion singing my hair. I need to find her, hold and make her and myself feel safe. I need to let her know how much I admire her. And I need for her to never be afraid again.
Patrick is dead. Patrick is dead.
Hope is a word she can barely remember anymore, never mind feel.
The ache in her chest and stomach is a constant now.
They gave her another viewing of her father this morning. Battered, bloodied, exhausted and chained like an animal to a wall behind glass. It was, they said, to make sure she knew to stay focused on her work. Her hands moved automatically, filling vials, taking measurements, making calculations, but all she could think is "Patrick is dead. Patrick is dead."
She had to keep that thought in her head because she doesn't really believe he's gone. It doesn't feel like he's gone. She knows it's called denial. They told her all about it, the therapists and helpful adults, after her parents died. Except they weren't helpful or, ultimately, right. This time, though, she saw the explosion with her own eyes. She saw the news coverage. Saw bodies being carried out of the decimated building. Saw Patrick's handsome face flashed on the television screen and in the newspaper among the other victims who had been innocently attending services at what once was a historical monument.
She also has to keep thinking it because the other thought simmering on the edge of her consciousness is that she is the one who killed him.
She had tunneled through the online pharmacology database and sent out messages. Two to Patrick. One to her Uncle Mac. Some to her father and mother. Even one to Brenda. She had to let them know she was alive. She didn't know which if any of the messages got through, but each one was a clue. A little of what she knew as to where she was, though she was not conscious for most of the trip here and hadn't seen the light of day except for what they deigned to show her. Now, they took away all of her access even though she wouldn't dare try again.
She killed Patrick. She doesn't know how to live with that. But she cannot die as that would only ensure the deaths of the others she loved. How can she value her comfort over the lives of others? She can't.
A small sound came from her throat. She sounds like the caged animal she knows she has become. That she will always be. She knows now for certain that she can never leave. Nor can she let herself die. This is her own personal hell.
She hears the door open behind. The loud screech of the metal rips at her nerves. She refuses to turn around. She is dropping a solution into the drug. Today, they informed her when they woke her up, she would begin human trials. She would see the magnificence she was creating. Their words, not hers.
"Robin."
She closes her eyes and the dropper she's using falls to the table. It's his voice. She could swear it's his voice.
Patrick is dead. Patrick is dead.
It is a trick. A tape.
Yet, she can feel his presence. Maybe, a thought flashes into her mind, she is going insane? Could she be so lucky?
She's so pale, he thinks as he approaches her.
"Robin," he says again, softly. Uncertain of her physical and mental state as she has not yet turned around he hesitantly touches her shoulder. She flinches and turns her head. She opens her eyes wider trying to take in the sight of him. They are darker than he's ever seen them. Flinty. Pained.
Her mouth opens into a tiny "O". No sound escapes. Sweat breaks out over her body.
"Robin," he says again, more urgently this time.
"A dream." Her voice is a disappointed sigh. "Another dream." She closes her eyes.
"Robin." Patrick grasps both of her shoulders and turns her to face him. "This is no dream and we have to get going." Now that his hands are on her, now that he is holding her he cannot let go. He intended to shake her, instead he pulls her to him, knowing he's wasting precious time and unable to help himself. "Oh, Robin. I've missed you. God, I've missed you." His arms wrap around her and hold her trembling form against him.
"You're real? Patrick?" Her voice breaks on his name. She starts to tremble in his arms.
He pulls back and puts his hands on her face and looks down at her, heedless of the tears streaming down his face. "I should be asking you that." He looks around. "We need to go."
"Go?" Robin gasps and grab onto the front of Patrick's black t-shirt. "We need to go! My father. We have to get my father!"
"Your father?" Patrick paused, surprised at this curve ball and suddenly panicked about what to do next.
"He's here! They have him. They hurt him! We have to go get him!" Robin turned back to the table and pressed a button on the computer releasing a compact disk.
"Wait." Patrick put a quelling hand on Robin's shoulder and he put his other hand to press the ear bud. "Donely. We have Robin. She says that her father is here somewhere. Injured." Patrick nodded and then his eyes focused on Robin again. "Sean is going to get your father. We still need to get out of here."
"No! I need to…"
"Robin," Patrick grasped both her shoulders. "I need to get you out of here. Sean and your mother and your cousin and my father will take care of Robert. We can't deviate from the plan." He leaned in closer and whispered. "I'm not good enough at this yet to improvise."
Robin's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. "Oh my god." She bit her lip at the shaft of amusement he managed to elicit inside her. "Well, I am. We are at least going to destroy this place." She stuck the disk in her pocket and then turned around and swept her arm across the table. Then she moved on to the next table. And the next. Smashing everything she can get her hands on including all of the computers. Patrick moved in her shadow, pouring the caustic chemicals she handed him onto the debris. Finally, Patrick checked his watch. "We need to go."
"My meds." Robin looked around wildly. She knew she wasn't thinking straight. She's still wasn't completely sure she's not dreaming.
"I brought them. Come on." He pulled her out of the lab, his other hand pulling the gun out of the waistband of his pants. Patrick walked in front of her, silently stopping at the doorway to make sure the coast was clear. She heard him sigh and then he waved her on past him. She walked around him and then stopped, her eyes widening and her face breaking into a smile. In front of her was quite a sight. There were at least four guards down one of which were decorated with one Brenda Barrett, her designer boot dug into his ribs.
Robin gasped. "Brenda!" She rushed forward and was met with a hug from her friend. "You're all right. They showed me photos!"
"There's a lot of that going around. We have to go." Patrick kept glancing from side to side down the hallway, his gun drawn.
"Patrick's right, we have to go." Brenda pulled back and gave Patrick a nod and then she smirked at Robin's shock at her acquiescence.
Robin looks around again and a pain of a different sort grips her chest; pain at the knowledge that Patrick should have to know this kind of violence because of her. Even as she laments the loss of Patrick's innocence she is reaching down and taking the guard's weapon and checking the clip.
"Ready. How do we get out of here?"
"You and I will go get Robert. From the sound of it he'll need medical care," Sean informed Noah, not missing a beat despite the need for a change of plans or the news that his old friend was alive.
They had been on their way to the second security check point. Now, they were going to have to divert. "Anna." Sean pulled Noah into a doorway and pressed his ear bud. "We got the package. There's another one that needs medical. Switch teams," Sean said, directing Anna and Aidan to take over the security detail while he and Noah went to get Robert and the hard drives Anna and Aidan were tasked with getting.
"Someone's coming," Noah whispered, raising his gun in rock steady surgeon's hands.
"Take them out," Sean directed as he ripped the key pad off the door they were in front of and shorted it open. Inside the room there were two people working that he dispatched without hesitation. Behind him came the sound of shots and then Noah barreled in behind him, his lean face a mixture of excitement and horror. Noah looked at the bodies and his doctor's fingers itched to save them. The father in him itched to make sure they were dead for hurting their children. The door snapped closed behind him.
"What are we doing?" Noah asked quietly.
"We need to find out where Robert is." He pulled out another communicator, one with a longer range and a scrambled frequency. He attached it to his ear bud. "Alex." He paused. "Robert's here. Ask our guest where." He waited.
"I think I found something," Noah called out from where he was standing in front of a computer screen and pointing.
Surprise obvious on his face, Sean walked over to where the elder doctor was pointing.
"How did you get this?" Sean asked.
Noah shrugged. "Didn't need a password." He motioned to the dead guys. "I just typed in Robert Scorpio."
"Alex, see if he reacts to Sector 4." Sean put his fingers back up to his ear. After a moment he nodded at Noah and then studied the screen to figure out the easiest route to the target area. "They know we're here." Sean began typing. "But they don't know where or how many. Our work on the alarms is holding." He continued typing. "Let's go."
It took ten minutes to work their way to the area where they were holding Robert. As expected, the room was heavily guarded in anticipation of the invaders coming for their comrade.
"We might need to wait for back up," Sean said, assessing the number and depth of hostiles they faced.
"Robert may not have the time. We need to see what condition he's in," Noah protested, intent on going forward.
Sean looked around. "Wait here." Sean got down on his haunches and held his gun in the air. "I'm going to blast my way in. Count off to five and then follow." He turned his head to Noah. "We might not make it."
Noah nodded and checked the clip on his gun like Anna had showed him.
Sean took off with his arms straight out shooting with two guns in an arc in front of him sending the waiting guards and the ones that came out to fill their places down onto the ground. He leapt over the bodies piling up in front of him.
Noah pressed his back to the wall, listening. Gun fire. Groans of pain. Bodies dropping. He counted off to five and then went barreling in Sean's wake. It would be too easy he realized in the heat of battle to shoot his partner in the back. "Shit," Noah grunted as he saw someone get past Sean and come at him. He wildly glanced between Sean and the oncoming and then pulled off a couple of shots. He cursed as the man went down.
He cleared the doorway of the place where they believed Robert was being held. Sean jammed the door shut behind him. "This is crazy shit!" Noah gasped and wiped at the sweat that was pouring down his face. He looked over at Sean who was favoring one side. "Were you hit?" He rushed over and put the gun down on the table.
Sean grabbed the gun, put on the safety and shoved it at the doctor. "Don't lose track of this."
"You're shot." Noah ignored the proffered gun and pulled Sean's shirt away from a bloodied wound.
"We don't have time for that. We need to find Robert and get to the rest of the work."
Noah ignored him again and looked around. "We're in a medical center. Shit." That meant Robert was probably seriously hurt. Noah began searching through the medical supplies and grabbed what he could carry.
Taking advantage of his distraction, Sean walked to another door and opened it. "He's in here." Sean rushed through the door, both guns still in his hands. "Robert, man." Sean found his old friend sitting on a bed a gun of his own pointed towards him, obviously taken from the doctor that was on the ground next to the bed.
"Did you get Robin?"
"She's on her way out. You look like death old friend," Sean said, cocky as ever.
"You don't look much better." Robert motioned towards Sean's wound. The movement was obviously painful for him. Suddenly a noise caught his attention and he straightened up and pointed the gun towards the doorway behind Sean.
"Whoa!" Noah stopped short inside the doorway. "It's just the doctor."
Robert's beaten face broke into a grin. "You brought him? How desperate were you?"
"That's something you should ask your ex-wife."
"What?" Robert blinked as if he was hallucinating.
"Both of you sit down. You there." Gone was all trace of fear and panic, Noah was now all arrogant surgeon as he directed Sean onto the bed next to Robert's. "I'm bandaging that up before you go anywhere." He got to work. "No way is Robert going on your little recon mission," Noah informed Sean.
"The hell I'm not!" Robert protested, trying to stand up.
"He can't walk."
"He's right. You'll just slow us down. I'm meeting up with Anna and Aidan and we're going to get the hard drives. Then we'll come back to get you out. You need more arming for the wait." Sean got up and went into the other room to look for weapons.
"Can you climb?" Patrick asked, his voice croaking as he tried not to show shaken he was at seeing Robin shoot people with such unerring aim and without hesitation as he had just moments ago.
"They didn't hurt me." Robin hopped onto Patrick's hands and into the air duct where they were going to crawl until they got to the vent that would let them out into the train tunnel. Robin crawled in a way and waited for Brenda and Patrick to follow. At Patrick's "go" she began to crawl. It was hot, but it felt amazing to Robin because it was the path to freedom.
Sweat was pouring down her face and into her eyes, but she had to ignore it. She was more worried about sensors or booby traps along the way.
"There," Brenda said quietly from behind her.
Robin stopped and looked down through the grate in front of her.
"It's not screwed in," Brenda said.
Robin took her gun out of her waistband and laid it down next to the vent and then began to pull it out. She slid it in front of her and picked up the gun and slowly peeked out. "Clear." She grasped the edges of the hole and flipped down to the ground. She looked around. They were in a stone and cement room. It was damp and filthy. She knew from Patrick that it was on the backside of a train tunnel and from there they would have to stay close to the wall. She worried about her father's ability to get out in the condition he was in, but forced herself to put that away. Sean, Aidan and Anna would make sure he got out. She helped Brenda down and Patrick followed.
She grabbed onto his hand just to touch him.
"All right lovebirds. Let's get through this grossness without seeing a rodent or I might scream this damn train station down." Brenda pushed the metal grate door open that led to the tunnel.
Twenty harrowing minutes later they were in the train station. Around them workers and tourists were rushing around to their trains. Train announcements echoed through the cavernous maze of a building, sounding in Dutch but still sounding as unintelligible as train stations everywhere. The big board of train departures and arrivals was illegible to Robin.
"Where are we going?" she asked as she and Patrick walked through the station as if they were lovers. Brenda was walking just ahead of them as if she was separate from them.
"Out of the station down to the Grasshopper."
"The bar?" Robin asked in surprise. The Grasshopper was a three-floor bar and restaurant that sat at the edge of a canal and the edge of the Red Light District. It was the favorite of tourists and Brenda and Robin had spent a few nights there downing Red Bull and Vodkas or whatever was popular and dancing with bachelor parties over from England and other assorted strangers. She even had the t-shirt.
"Remind me to ask about that tone in your voice later," Patrick said, his eyes darting around for anything that looked hostile.
The cool night air felt like freedom. The threesome changed formation and headed towards the Red Light District, blending in with the crowd intent on the same destination.
"Blue van," Patrick's gruff voice sent shivers through Robin's body. He opened the door and they climbed in and locked it.
"Now what?" Robin asked.
"We contact your Aunt Alex and we wait," Brenda said. "I'll do that." She looked between the two lovers and cleared her throat and crawled over to the radio to send the message. She kept her back to them to give them what little privacy she could.
"I can't believe you're here." Robin cupped Patrick's face, studying it in the dim glow of the light in the blacked out van. "You came for me." Her voice was filled with awe.
Patrick cupped her shoulders. "I love you, Robin." She gasped and he buried his face in her hair and wrapped himself around her. "I love you."
TBC
