I'm horrible. I'm terrible. I know, I know. I promised an update like - well...a while ago. LMAO! But ya know, life happens. But I'm going to try my best to get these out quicker, for your sake and mine - as I am trying to get two other ideas down on 'paper' as well. I appreciate the WONDERFUL feedback from all of you. It means so much to me. Thanks so much!!!!

A couple of things:

1.) There is no whatshername in this fic. As far as I'm concerned, she fell down an elevator shaft back in July before she started making regular appearances again in August or September or whenever it was. If you're not a violent person, pretend she got transferred to the basement like the stapler guy on Office Space.

2.) This is a little bit shorter than I originally intended it to be, but I'm trying to do each part from either Patrick or Robin's POV. This one is Patrick's, but what comes next I need to write when it's Robin's.

Part Two: Let's pull an all-nighter

He couldn't think straight. The words on the paper appeared jumbled and out of focus to him, partly from lack of sleep, partly from disinterest. Propped against a mountain of pillows in his empty bed, the brilliant doctor was drawing a blank upon studying the patient's chart before him. The hour wasn't severely late, but his mind was on other things. One other thing in particular, anyway: Robin.

He probably needed to have his head examined. He was clearly losing his mind, little by little. Once upon a time, he'd been driven…inspired. Certainly before meeting her, but even more so after. She'd been his muse of sorts, his partner. And having experienced that sort of excitement, the void of that challenge made even the most interesting cases seem dull. Ordinary. Without her, the thrill was definitely gone.

Turning his gaze from the file on his lap to the bare space beside him, Patrick's thoughts drift to a happier time, when instead of rumpled bed sheets, he'd find a beautiful woman…the most beautiful woman he'd ever known…Robin. Whether she was wearing boxers and one of his t-shirts or a slip of sexy lingerie, she never failed to take his breath away. What made her even more alluring to him was the absurd fact that she didn't see herself the way he did. A radiant, modest blush would always follow a compliment, no matter how many times he'd said it before. He missed the softness of her long, chestnut hair tangled about his fingers…he missed her smile - how it could light up her whole face, and yank at his heart strings. Most of all, he missed her eyes. Big, brown and full of truth…all the things she neglected to say…or couldn't at the time. One look could comfort him, envelope him in peace…in love.

How many nights had they sat together like this? He couldn't recall. There were too many. They'd start out against the headboard, at a respectable distance, working semi-quietly, only talking when asking or answering a question. But soon, what began as a perfectly innocent act would result in clothes being strewn across the room, papers and books being tossed onto the floor and doctors becoming lovers…joining in a fierce passion he'd only known with her, before and after. They simply couldn't get enough of each other - from the beginning, in the middle and even at the end. Their need, their desire never faltered. He missed holding her…being held by her…touching her…being touched by her…making love to her. He'd never felt more connected to another person, and it was a feeling that he longed for now that it was gone.

Swiping a hand across his face, he groans in irritation. He just couldn't let her go. No matter how much time had passed, his love for her just wouldn't fade. And while a part of him insisted that he needed to move on, as she seemed to be doing so, another part wanted to keep hanging on forever. In loving her, in sharing his life with someone for the first time…it was the greatest thing he'd ever done. No matter how much it hurt now, he still believed that to be true. For having known that glimpse of true, unexpected happiness, he'd known the best days of his life. And if nothing else, those precious memories would hold him until he breathed his last breath. Presently bitter and angry with the world, in that respect, he still considered himself to be quite lucky. As his father had once told him, he'd been loved by an amazing woman, and he'd lived alone. The former was definitely much better.

The only difference is, he's still loved by that woman. She's still here, on this earth…waiting. Or was she ? Had she given up? Tired of waiting on him to change - be who she wants him to be for the sake of their future? He really was a perfect imbecile. His mother was probably looking down on him and glowering. If she were here, she'd give him a hard time, just like Robin. She'd tell him to stop being stupid and be the man that she raised, and not the one that she unwittingly left behind, scarred by her death and the unfortunate events that followed it. She'd tell him to learn from his father's mistakes, and not repeat them. She'd tell him everything he already knew, but couldn't seem to find the nerve to trust.

The soft buzzing of his phone vibrating snaps him out of his trance, and back to reality. Tossing the folder onto the bed, he reaches over to the nightstand and picks it up, answering it automatically, not bothering to look at the caller ID. "Patrick Drake."

Instead of hearing a response, the line goes dead. Furrowing his eyebrows in confusion and annoyance, Patrick pulls the phone away from his ear and looks at the screen. "Robin," he mutters, jumping up from his place on the bed to his feet as if he'd been bitten. In the six months they'd been broken up, he'd only seen her. He hadn't received one phone call from her. Not even after his embarrassing late night confession to her voice mail. In fact, she never even mentioned it to him. So, why the hell would she be calling now? And why would she hang up? Unless…

"Oh God," Patrick breathes, frantically pressing the necessary buttons to call her back, pacing the room as he does. "Pick up, Robin. Pick up. Come on, Robin. Please, pick up. Please, be okay…" After the fifth ring, he hears her answering machine click on and begins to plead into the phone. "Robin! Robin? Are you there? Are you okay? Are you hurt? If you can hear me, please pick up! I swear, I'll come over there -"

A split second away from hanging up, throwing on the first set of clothes he can find and bolting out the door, he checks himself when Robin's voice abruptly comes through. "Patrick, Patrick. I'm here! I'm okay! Don't come over!"

Relieved beyond words, he exclaims, "Thank God!", but soon finds himself caught in the fear of the moment and lashes out, "Are you trying to give me a heart attack or something? There's a damned serial killer on the loose and you're calling me in the middle of the night and hanging up without a word!"

"I know…I'm sorry."

She sounded incredibly vulnerable, and sad. And he felt like an ass. "Me too," he echoes, lowering his voice. "I didn't mean to shout. I just…worry. It's not the same when I'm not there to protect you all the time…" What a joke. Protect her? From who? Craig? Well, he failed on that account not once, but twice. She'd been taken hostage, shot, and forced to lie to everyone she cared about and he couldn't do a damned thing to stop it, no matter how much he loved her. "Not that I was ever good at that when we were together."

"That wasn't your fault, Patrick. Nothing that Craig ever did was. It was all him."

It scared him how she could read his mind, even now. She knew him better than he knew himself. "I wish I could believe that as easily as you, but since we're clearly never going to agree on it, I guess we should just agree to disagree."

"Fair enough."

Dropping on the edge of the bed, he licks his lips in thought and asks the only question he can think of at the moment. "So…why did you call?"

"I was just returning your phone call…"

"What phone call? I don't remember -" Realization hits him, and he stops short of finishing his initial thought. "Ohhh…"

"I know it's absurd. It's been two months and I never even said anything about it -"

"No, it's okay," he insists quickly. "Better late than never, right?" he adds with a shy chuckle.

"Yeah, I guess so…"

There's an awkward silence that lingers for what seems like hours. He hates this. He hates not knowing what to say to the one person he's come to share everything with. He misses her so damned much.

"Robin?"

"Yes, Patrick?"

"Was there - is there something that you wanted to say? Or are you just trying to think of a nice way to tell me to lose your phone number?"

"I'm sorry, I just - hate this." Sighing in frustration, she explains, "What you said…in your message, I - I feel the same way. I miss talking to you…I even miss you telling me how wrong I am…I miss the sound of your voice. It's stupid, I know, but gosh, I - I just feel so -"

"Alone? Miserable? Lost?" He offers words that describe his own feelings, not caring at the moment what putting himself out there might cost him. And really - what did he have left to lose?

"Yeah," she confirms, her voice raspy with emotion. "I just got used to us, I guess. You've been there for so long now, even before I realized I wanted you to be…when it was all I wanted and I denied it anyway, just so I could protect myself from you."

"I did the same thing. I kept telling you that I was afraid of hurting you, but you knew different. You knew it was about me."

"We were both cowards."

"We wasted a lot of time," he declares, his tone regretful. Just like we're doing now, he adds to himself.

Laughing fondly, Robin hums. "I like this."

"Me too," Patrick agrees, standing and moving towards his dresser, tracing his thumb over the image of her cheek. Closing his eyes briefly, he yearns for the warmth of her skin beneath his touch, instead of the cool glass of the frame holding a constant reminder of what once was, and would never be again.

"You know what we never did?"

"What's that?"

"Pulled an all-nighter."

"Oh contraire," he teases, glancing back towards the bed, his mind replaying vivid memories of the two of them doing anything but sleeping in it. "I recall many days where I could barely keep my eyes open at work because you'd kept me up all night in bed."

"Patrick," she gasps, "get your mind out of the gutter! I wasn't talking about sex!"

"Nice to know I can still shock you," he laughs, walking out of his room, towards the kitchen. "What then?"

"We never had one of those nights where we just stayed up all night and talked. You know, tell each other our deepest, darkest secrets. Eat junk food. Laugh. Cry. Maybe even argue. What am I saying - it's us - of course we'd argue!"

"I'm sure you're right," he snickers, flicking the light on and walking towards the fridge.

"I've never done that with anyone, you know. But I always wanted to. Especially with you."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I guess…I guess it's because you were always so honest with me about everything. Even if it hurt sometimes, you always gave it to me straight. You never treated me like I was fragile. You made me feel like….me. That it was okay to be me."

"You did the same for me," he vows. You still do, he thinks, refraining from saying it aloud. He wants so badly to say all the right things. He wants to tell her so much - all the things he wishes he would have said when they were still together. "We could, you know…"

"What?"

"Pull an all-nighter."

"Yeah?"

"Why not? I mean, I know we're not a couple anymore -"

"But maybe that's better," she cuts in. "I mean, that way there's no expectations. We can just say whatever we want to say…whatever we need to say…and we can just hang up. We can forget this whole thing ever happened if we want to."

"Okay," he nods, his response enthusiastic. Thinking for a second, he asks, "Should I go first? Or did you want to ask me something?"

"It doesn't really matter, I guess…"

Another bout of silence stretches on as they both ponder who should make the next move. But before too long, Patrick finds himself sinking down onto a barstool - food forgotten - the words coming through his lips before he even realizes it's happening. "Your pillow…it doesn't smell like you anymore. It used to smell like roses…and vanilla. Sweet. Not too sweet, though. Not heavy either. I could always tell when you'd been somewhere before me…like you were unintentionally leaving a part of yourself behind so you'd always be with me. But uh…it's gone now. And when I hold it every night…instead of you…I realize how much I miss the little things about you, too."

Sniffling, Robin opts to recite her own confession, instead of countering his. "Over the past two months, I've listened to your message so many times I've lost count. Everything you said…was so beautiful. I know it couldn't have been an easy thing for you to do, and I know I didn't make it any better by pretending like it never happened. It was rude of me, and selfish and it hurt me so much to do it, because I knew that it was hurting you, too. I wish…I wish I had an answer for you. I wish I knew why we got here…how. Maybe it's supposed to be glaringly obvious, but if it was that simple - surely it wouldn't hurt so much, right? It hurts SO MUCH, Patrick," she chokes on a sob, "I can't even breathe most of the time. Everyday, I have to tell myself to breathe in and breathe out and get up and get dressed and go on!"

"So do I," Patrick divulges, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I dream about you. I know I already told you that, but it keeps getting worse. I keep losing you, Robin. Over and over and over again. I wake up, and you're not there anymore. I reach out for you, and there's nothing. Part of me wants to stay awake forever just to avoid another nightmare…but another…another just wants to keep falling asleep, just so I can be with you. I hate being away from you, more than anything. I hate having to see you everyday, knowing that I can't have you anymore. And most of all, I hate myself, because I know that it's my fault."

to be continued...

THANKS FOR READING!!!!!!!