One

Even the hallway was plush. It had thick, brown and gold carpeting. The walls papered in thick, gold-flecked material, dotted with dark cherry furniture, mirrors and those flower arrangements you only, thankfully, see in hotels. Patrick was whistling as he dug into his pants to find his key card. His hand came up empty. He stopped in front of his hotel room door and frowned as he pulled out his wallet and searched through it. Nothing. He licked his lips and thought back. He definitely had it when they checked in and dropped their luggage into the hotel room, before he had gone out to meet with an old high school friend for dinner and then drinks where he proved to himself and anyone who might be questioning it that he still had pull with the ladies, though he didn't take up any of the offers. So since he hadn't so much groped with anyone and he had his wallet he clearly hadn't been pick-pocketed.

"I must have dropped it." He shrugged and raised his hand to knock. His father, who for some unfathomable reason he was sharing a room with, would probably be in the room doing old man things to let him in so he didn't have to go back down to the registration desk. Before his knuckles connected with the wood his eyes fell on the "Do Not Disturb" hanger on the doorknob and above it a towel for good measure. Patrick's jaw dropped. The towel was something his father taught him before he went to college – telling him it was the unspoken agreement between him and his college roommates that when one had a girl in the room to go away for a couple of hours. Patrick looked again at the numbers on the door to make sure he had the right room.

1425.

Yup, definitely the right room. What the hell? He checked his watch, 10:13pm.

Patrick knocked on the door anyway. No response from within. He knocked again, waited and then began pounding. That's when he heard some muttered curses, something falling on the floor and footsteps. Moments later the door was pulled open a slit and his father's voice emerged.

"What the hell do you want?"

Patrick blinked and tightened his jaw. "What the hell do you think? I'm trying to get into my room."

"I'm busy." Noah leaned his head out of the door. "Don't you know what the white towel means?"

Patrick shook his head to clear it. He'd only had one drink, he couldn't be drunk. "Where the hell did you…."

"Noah, darling, who is it?"

Patrick closed his eyes and struggled to decide if he should laugh or pass out. He opened his eyes again and noticed that Noah's shoulders were bare and only one hand was visible. As if…Patrick pushed on the door before Noah knew what he was about and found his father holding a small hotel towel around his bare waist. His eyes flitted behind him and confirmed that the dulcet, English tones he'd heard were indeed those of Anna Devane, who was herself apparently en flagrante and wrapped in a sheet.

His father. Robin's mother? How did this happen? They seemed to get along well since they'd met a couple of weeks before and were enjoying their conversation during the train ride and taxi to the hotel – indeed they were the only two talking since Robin was still only communicating with him on a need-to basis – but this? Flirting, he groaned inwardly, he had been so focused on trying to incite Robin to some kind of reaction he had missed completely that they had been flirting.

Noah looked at his son, standing there in shock, his eyes glued to Anna and stabbed his finger into Patrick's clothed chest. "Watch your eyes, boy!"

Patrick chuckled and looked at his dad. "Way to go, pops. How about giving me luggage so I can get another room? Hmmmm?" Who was he to ruin what was probably a once in a lifetime for the old guy. Oh god. Patrick closed his eyes. When his father turned around he could see his bare butt cheeks.

"Here! Go celebrate youth." Noah took the bag from Anna and shoved it into his son's chest and slammed the door.

Grumbling to himself, Patrick went back down to the front desk to get another room.