I'm sorry for the slow posting - sometimes life interferes. Thanks again to everyone who's continued reading! My goal is still to post at least once a week if I can.

Anna was driving back to the police station when her phone finally rang. She pulled her car to the side of the road and answered without checking the caller i.d. "Robert?" she asked hopefully.

"Commissioner." It was Rubin. "Where are you right now?"

"I'm on my way back to the office," she replied; "I'm maybe ten minutes away. I've left the reception but I think we should keep a couple of officers outside the door just in case . . ."

"Don't come here," Rubin told her. "You need to get to the hospital. You daughter is already en route. I think she's still his primary contact."

Anna became perfectly still. "Robert."

"He's in emergency. We got a 9-1-1 call from a hysterical bartender who'd seen some woman blindside him. He went straight down and hit his head pretty hard. Last I heard he hadn't regained consciousness."

Anna ended the call, threw her phone down on the passenger seat, pulled a u-turn and sped off, her heart pounding.

Robin was waiting for her when she arrived. "How is he?" Anna asked her daughter, grabbing her shoulders. "Can I see him? How serious is it? What do you know?"

Robin shook her head. "I don't know any more than you do. I just got here ten minutes ago."

"Where the hell was he? Who was he with?" Anna took a step away from her daughter, pushed the hair back from her forehead, ran her hand back over the top of her head, and began to pace. "He said he had some personal business to attend to, nothing dangerous. For god's sake, he had the nerve to tell me to be careful! Why didn't he ask for back-up? Why did he go solo? The stupid, stupid stubborn man."

Robin shook her head again. "Honestly, Mom, I don't know anything. Rubin could tell you. They have an eyewitness at the station. I'm sure they're taking his statement."

"How long ago did he arrive at the hospital? When did all of this happen?"

"As far as I know, the ambulance was sent out about an hour ago. Someone called, didn't know who Dad was. When he got to the hospital they checked his i.d., called me, and informed the police. Then I guess Rubin called you."

Anna stopped pacing, frowned. "And no one has spoken to you yet about his condition."

Robin took her mother's hand. "Don't read anything into that. Doctors are careful with head trauma."

"Are the doctors aware that he's had previous concussions?" Anna asked. "And are they aware that he was in a year-long coma until only a few months ago?"

Robin nodded. "They'll be especially cautious given his history. I promise. It's all in his file."

Anna let her shoulders slump. "I've spent far too much time in hospitals worrying and wondering if your father will be all right."

Robin squeezed her mother's hand and drew her toward two chairs in the corner of the waiting room. "I know, Mom. I'm sorry. But he's going to be okay. This isn't as serious as the other times. I promise."

Anna lowered herself down into one of the chairs. Robin sat beside her. They waited. After a few minutes, Anna got up to pace again, but the space was small, and others were waiting for news of their own loved ones. She gradually became aware that her agitation was adding to their stress and sat down again.

Finally a young emergency room doctor – too young, Anna thought – came out to speak to them. "Dr. Scorpio," he nodded at Robin; "Commissioner Devane. I'm Dr. Roth. I've just finished evaluating Mr. Scorpio."

"Is he awake?" Anna asked. "Can we see him?"

Dr. Roth (how old was he? twelve? he looked like he didn't even need to shave) shook his head. "No, he hasn't regained consciousness yet. But yes, you may see him. We've run a number of tests, including a CAT scan. We've seen nothing to alarm us. He should wake up soon. I can't tell you exactly when."

Anna stood up. "Take me to him."

Robin stood as well. "We'll both go in."

Dr. Roth smiled. "Of course. Follow me."

Robin entered the room first; Anna hung back. When she finally forced herself to move through the doorway, her breath caught. Robert was on his back in the hospital bed, an i.v. in his left arm, a heart monitor by his side ("Just a precaution," Robin told her; "Nothing to worry about"). Anna was reminded of every hospital room in their history, every wrenching experience of Robert ill or injured, too quiet, too still: Robert poisoned, Robert almost killed by explosives in his office, Robert ravaged by infection after the removal of his cancer, Robert in a coma after being injected with propofol. Every single time she'd stood in the doorway of his hospital room, here in Port Charles or in Switzerland, and wondered how she could possibly go on if he died.

Robin was already at his side. "Hey, Daddy," she said, taking his right hand. "We're finally here. You can wake up now."

Anna walked up beside her daughter. "Yes, we are; we're here. By your hospital bed. Again. It's getting a bit tiring, really." Anna stroked Robert's forehead.

He didn't move.

Two hours later, Robin had left the room to call Patrick and give him an update on Robert's condition. Anna, seated, was leaned over, her cheek resting against Robert's hand. "Wake up, you bastard," she told him. "Now that our daughter's out of the room, I can be honest. I'm so angry with you for putting yourself in this position. What were you thinking? Not asking for back-up when you need it is the mark of a lousy agent. Your stupid ego, your over-confidence will be the death of you. And of me." She lifted her face, observed him closely.

Robert didn't move.

"For god's sake, Robert, wake up. I'm not done with you yet. Come on, old friend." She squeezed his hand.

Nothing.

"Bobbie? Can you hear me? Open those big blue eyes for Annie." She smiled. "Come on, Bob-of-the-nine lives. Give me a sign."

Robert was still.

Anna grew exasperated and stood, taking a step back from the bed. "You know, I'm starting to regret choosing you over Duke. For all his faults, Duke's done everything in his power to be with me, to get back to me. You, on the other hand, seem always to be looking for a way out: getting ill, getting blown up, joining an assassination squad." She hit him lightly on the shoulder. "Damn it, Robert, you're staying with me this time. You hear me?" She paused. "You told me you wanted to."

At first, Robert didn't move. Then he slowly opened his eyes.

"Duke Lavery is a hairball of a man," he croaked, his throat dry. "And you have always had an abysmal bedside manner."

Anna smiled and took both his hands. "I knew that would rouse you. Welcome back." She kissed him lightly.

When Robin returned, Anna met her outside Robert's door. "You go in and be with him," she instructed her daughter. "I need to call the station to get an update on the witness. Your father's still too weak for me to question him now; I want him to rest. Tell him I'll be back in a few minutes." Anna squeezed Robin's arm and walked down the hallway, pulling out her phone.

Robin entered the hospital room. Robert's bed had been raised slightly; his eyes were open, and he looked more awake than she'd expected. He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

"You look pretty good for a man hit over the head and left to die," she told him. She walked over and gave him a hug.

"I'm glad to hear I look good. I feel pretty good too, considering. Though I'm a bit embarrassed. Your mother told me I'm a lousy agent, letting my guard down like that. She's right."

Robin sat on the side of his bed. "You know Mom – she's angry because she's worried. You scared her. You can't break her heart again, Dad, not even involuntarily. Make sure you give her at least a few good years before you die."

"Has she said anything about what happened?" Robert asked cautiously. "Does she know anything about the circumstances? Does she know who did this to me?"

Robin shook her head. "No. Not yet. But she just told me she was calling the station for an update. Because apparently you're too weak to answer her questions." Robin narrowed her eyes. "But you're not, are you? Too weak? You used that as an excuse. What's going on, Dad?"

Robert sighed and sagged slightly into the bed. "I need you to get some things for me before I tell your mother everything. First, I need you to get an envelope from my hotel room. The key should be with my personal possessions – the hospital has them somewhere; I don't know where. Just ask. You'll find the envelope taped to the bottom of the bathroom vanity. Not a terrific hiding place, I know, but my options were limited. Get it and bring it to me. But don't open it. Please. I promise you don't want to know what's in it. I wish your mother didn't need to know."

Robin nodded. "Of course I won't open it. You can trust me, Dad. I may have wanted to be a spy when I was young, but I have no interest now. I'll go right away."

Robert told her the second thing he wanted her to get him.

Robin lifted her eyebrows. "Really? What's this about?" Robert's expression became grimmer. "Okay, okay, I get it, I don't want to know. But you do remember that I was raised Catholic, right? Philomena brought me to church every week and I went to Sunday School. I'm familiar with the symbol." Robin looked hard at her father, and then softened. "I'll get it for you. But I can't get it tonight. I'll make arrangements tomorrow morning and bring it to you then."

"Our witness is Bob Wiles, the bartender at McNally's Sports Bar. It's near the docks." Anna was speaking to her most senior detective, a man named Powell, 64 and months away from retirement. He reminded her a great deal of Guy Lewis, Robert's right-hand-man back-in-the-day: unflappable, dependable, loyal, with a dry sense of humour and a quick wit. "He says Robert met with another man at about 2:15; then, when their meeting was over, at maybe 3:30 – Mr. Wiles wasn't entirely sure – a woman walked in and sat down with Robert. She made it seem like they were old friends, or maybe even something more. Anyway, she ordered a pitcher of beer for them to share. Then she asked the bartender to give them some privacy. So he went to the back room."

Anna frowned. "Mr Wiles seems a very trusting man."

"I pressed him on that," Powell agreed, "and he admitted the lady offered him an excellent tip. There was no one else in the bar, so he thought no harm, no foul."

"Then what happened? You said Wiles was a witness. How did he see what took place if he wasn't even in the room?"

"It seems that the owner of the bar recently invested in a security system – cameras , monitors, the whole nine yards. Mr. Wiles went to the back, busied himself with a few chores, and watched Robert and the woman on the screen. They talked for quite a long time. The conversation seemed friendly enough, according to the bartender. And then the woman picked up the almost-empty pitcher of beer and slammed it into the side of Robert's head. He went straight down, hit his head again on the floor. Mr. Wiles says it took him a moment to react – he was understandably shocked. Then he saw the woman pick up a big piece of glass – he didn't know what she was going to do with it, worried she was going to use it to cut Robert's throat or something – so he ran out, grabbed a baseball bat he keeps under the bar, and shouted for the woman to step away. She did, dropped the glass, and calmly left the building. Wiles ran over, checked for a pulse, and called for an ambulance. Unfortunately none of this was caught on video – the bartender had turned off the recording system on account of the fact the bar was almost empty. He wasn't expecting trouble."

"What kind of sports bar serves beer in glass pitchers? Aren't they usually plastic?"

Powell laughed. "I didn't think you frequented these kinds of places, Commissioner. You're absolutely right. Plastic is much safer around drunken and jubilant, or angry and despondent, sports fans. But one of their customers – some hoity toity type – insists on a glass pitcher, and because they know him and trust him, they keep one at the ready. Robert and the lady were the only two in the bar. They weren't tipsy, and the lady at least seemed refined, so Wiles decided to class things up a bit."

"His description seems awfully detailed. Why was he watching them so carefully? I thought you said he went back and did some work while they were talking. Is he credible?"

"Great minds think alike," Powell replied. "I wondered the same thing and asked him if he'd actually seen the woman hit Robert or if he just assumed she had when he heard the noise and saw the aftermath on the screen. He assured me that he'd seen the actual attack, that he'd seen everything." Powell cleared his throat. "Commissioner, I don't want to get Robert in trouble. I like the guy a lot. But you're my superior officer, and I have to report everything the witness said. It took a bit of pressing, but Wiles told me that he was watching the monitor really carefully because – well, because the woman had kind of suggested that she and Robert wanted to be alone so that they could be a bit more, I don't know how to say this, 'friendly.' 'Comfortable' maybe. 'Intimate'."

Anna's eyebrows furrowed. "He was watching them closely because he thought they were going to have sex in the bar?"

Powell cleared his throat. "Well, yes. To put it bluntly. If it makes you feel better, I don't think Wiles was interested in watching Robert. He was more interested in the lady."

Anna's expression became neutral. "Yes, Powell, that makes me feel so much better."

"In Robert's defense, Wiles said the lady was an absolute knockout. For an older woman." Powell realized he was digging himself an enormous hole. "Not that older women aren't attractive." More stumbling. "And not that it would make any kind of, I don't know, 'encounter' between Agent Scorpio and this woman excusable …."

Anna paused before she spoke. "Are you quite done?"

"Yes, completely," Powell answered quickly. "Anyway, we have a description of the woman and we're trying to i.d. her as we speak."

"I'll save you the trouble," Anna sighed. "Her name is Elizabeth Beaty – last known address, the penthouse suite of the Metro Court Hotel. But I'm sure you'll find she packed her bags and left hours ago. And unfortunately she has the money needed to disappear completely. I'm sure we're already too late. Check it out, of course, and inquire whether she's flown out of Port Charles using her own name. I doubt she would be that stupid, but we need to dot our i's and cross our t's."

Anna ended the call. Powell, seated at his desk, hung up the phone. He felt sorry for Scorpio. The Commissioner had apparently already known about the other woman, even knew her name. Robert was in for it now.

Anna pushed open the door to Robert's room. He was still awake, but when he saw her, his eyes half closed – probably from the pain, Anna thought. He'd been putting on a brave face for Robin. Now he needed to sleep.

She walked up to her daughter, gave her a hug. "You should go home to Patrick and Emma," Anna told her. "Everything's under control here."

Robin stood. "Okay. Make sure to call me if you need anything – either or both of you." She hugged her father. "I'll bring what you asked for tomorrow morning," she promised. "Take care of yourself. Listen to the doctors and the nurses. And, more important, listen to Mom."

Robin left. Anna looked at Robert quizzically. "What did you ask her to bring?"

Robert smiled wearily. "Just a few personal things."

Anna took his hand and sat down on the bed. "You could have asked me. I may not be your emergency contact, but I am capable of picking up your slippers, robe and shaving kit. They're all at my apartment anyway. Do you have anything left in your hotel room?"

Robert grimaced. "Just a few things. Robin's getting them for me. And about the emergency contact list – consider yourself added. It was just an oversight. I wasn't expecting to be back in hospital so soon."

Anna leaned over and kissed him. She pulled back slightly. "Elizabeth Beaty did this to you, Robert, didn't she? Are you going to tell me why?"

Robert closed his eyes. "Tomorrow. I promise. But right now I need to rest. You should too. You should go home. I'll see you in the morning."

Anna settled back into the chair. "I'm afraid I'm not leaving." Robert opened his eyes again and looked at her. She unbuttoned her blazer, showed him her holster, and smiled. "I'm your bodyguard tonight. There's a uniform outside, but I don't entirely trust him. He's good, but I'm better. So I'm sticking around, at least until we find Ms. Beaty."

Robert closed his eyes again. "You're not 'better', you're the best. But I'm afraid you'll never catch her."

"I know," Anna agreed. "I guess that means you're stuck with me for a really, really long time."

After Robert fell asleep, Anna watched for a while, then allowed herself to doze lightly, confident she would wake at any strange noise, her senses on high alert. She flitted in and out of consciousness and snippets of dreams, some pleasant, some disturbing, some involving Robert, while in others she was alone. In one particularly upsetting fragment, the sun was setting; she was in a strange city; her holster was empty; she had no other weapon and knew she was being stalked. She knew she had to find someone, had to save someone, but she didn't know who, didn't know where to start, where she needed to go. In another, she and Robert were sitting on a beach; he was trying to say something to her but the waves were crashing against the shore and she couldn't hear him. She leaned in, called out to him, but he just smiled and kept on talking. In the last dream that she remembered, a baby was crying – maybe Robin, maybe Emma – and Anna couldn't move. She wanted to scream for help but couldn't. The crying continued.

Hours later, Anna jolted awake. The door to the room had opened, and she'd pulled her gun part way out of its holster before noticing the smiling candy striper standing across the room with Robert's tray. "Breakfast," the young woman announced cheerily, blissfully unaware of any danger. Anna holstered her gun, heart thudding, and smiled back. "Hello," she said, slightly disoriented, one hand reaching up to straighten and smooth her hair. "I think he's still asleep."

She looked over at Robert, who was wide awake and watching her. "Good morning, Sunshine. You seem a bit edgy. Anything wrong?"

The candy striper put the tray on Robert's side table. "There you go – oatmeal, applesauce, coffee, and orange juice." Robert looked at the breakfast without appetite. "Eat it up," she told him brightly. "It will give you energy." She smiled again at Anna and left the room.

Robert looked after her. "Unbelievable. Did you notice she was flirting with me shamelessly? And with you in the room. Terribly unprofessional."

Anna rose painfully from the chair, stretched to one side, then the other. "I hate to burst your bubble, Robert, but she wasn't flirting with you. That girl is twenty if she's a day. She was speaking to you the way she'd speak to her grandfather – a bit too loudly and slowly, as though she expected you to be hard of hearing. She was exhibiting a grandchild-like care and concern for you, not lust. Trust me on this."

"Ah, but that remark about the food giving me energy? Energy for what, I ask?" Robert winked. Then he turned his attention to the breakfast laid out before him. He steeled his nerves, took a wary sip of coffee, grimaced, spat it back in the cup. "For god's sake," he moaned, "that's atrocious." Next he unpacked his cutlery, inserted the spoon into his oatmeal. He removed his hand; the spoon stood straight up. "Dear, if you want to protect my life, you really should pick up something for me from Kelly's.

"Same old Robert," Anna grumbled under her breath. Then, louder: "I'll get you something later, I promise. First let me check on the changing of the guard outside. I want to see who's been assigned, see if I can trust him."

Anna gave Robert a kiss, left him picking at his breakfast, and went out into the hall. The assigned officer was Russell – good, Anna thought; she liked and trusted her. Anna quickly checked her watch. It was later than she'd thought, almost 9:30. She'd search out a washroom first and make herself feel more human, make a call to the station, and then try to speak to Robert's doctor. She wanted to know when she could get him out of the hospital and into some place more secure. After, if everything seemed quiet and she was confident that he would be safe while she was out of the building, she'd go and buy him something to eat, the fussy bastard. If he needed home care, she told herself, she'd learn from past mistakes and pay someone else to put up with his nonsense. She headed off, charged with purpose.

Robin arrived just after 11:00 with everything Robert had asked for tucked into in a reusable shopping bag. "Not very chic," she admitted, "but I thought it would look less suspicious than a briefcase handcuffed to my wrist. I didn't want anyone to think I was carrying something they might want to steal."

Robert smiled wanly. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. That's my girl. Sly as a fox. Promise you'll still love me tomorrow?"

Robin put the bag beside Robert's lap. "I'll love you forever." She looked carefully at his expression. "Are you all right, Dad? You look sick – or worried."

Robert pointed to his cheek. "Peck for your old dad?" he asked. She kissed him, stood back up. He cleared his throat. "To be completely honest, I'm scared out of my skin, Sweetheart."

Robin was puzzled. "Of the woman who tried to kill you? Do you need more guards, Dad?"

Robert shook his head. "No. Of owning up to past mistakes, and of their consequences. But I will, and I'll face up to everything. I don't have a choice anymore."

When Anna returned, it was with a large bag of take-out. It was almost 11:30 – too late for breakfast anyway, so she'd picked up Chinese, everything Robert especially liked.

"Lunch is served," she announced as she entered the hospital room. Robert was sitting up, shaved, hair combed, in his robe, waiting for her. Something in his expression and body language stopped her cold.

"Robert? What's wrong?"

"Tell the guard not to let anyone disturb us for the next half hour," he ordered. Anna didn't argue, did as she was told, and came back into the room. "Now come here, Luv. We need to talk."

Anna lifted the bag. "You don't want to eat?"

Robert stretched his hand out to her. "I don't have much of an appetite at the moment. I need to get a few things off my chest."

Anna slowly walked toward him. She put the bag of take-out at the foot of the bed, came up, and sat down beside him. "About Elizabeth? About the Thompson case?"

"Yes." Robert looked at her steadily. "And about us. About what happened after we escaped from Faison back in 1992."

Anna looked confused. "How are the two things related, Robert?"

"First things first," he told her. "Open the side drawer of the bed table." Anna did. She found a cloth bag there – it was heavy. She put it on the bed beside them and opened it up.

Coins. Anna didn't count but assumed there were thirty. She felt her hands break into a cold sweat.

"What is this, Robert?" she asked.

"You know what it is. An acknowledgement of guilt. A plea for forgiveness. A final reckoning. Any of the above, and all three. It'll make sense once you read this." He picked the file up off his tray table. "I just hope you can forgive me."