For the second night in a row, Anna slept poorly. Although she didn't want to be in the same room as Robert, in case she had another nightmare, she woke repeatedly with the irresistible urge to check that he was still breathing. Almost every hour she started awake, tiptoed down the hallway, opened the bedroom door as delicately as possible, and stole beside him, hunched down, stared into his face, watched the rise and fall of the blankets as he breathed. He never woke up, which concerned her (her sleep-deprived brain wondered and worried if he'd slipped into a coma – it had happened before). But his colour looked good. He looked peaceful. Anna tried to persuade herself that everything was fine.

The last time she woke it was just after 5:00. No point going back to bed, she thought. She made herself coffee and sat in the living room looking out of the window at the water. In all the excitement and stress, she'd almost forgotten the appointment she'd made with Siobhain McLean for that morning. Anna felt a flutter in her chest and realized she was afraid.

She watched the sun rise before reluctantly starting her day. After showering, she entered the bedroom again and sat on the edge of the bed. Robert was still asleep. She knew she should leave him undisturbed but she needed to know he was okay, couldn't help herself: she reached out and stroked his cheek. His eyes flickered open.

"Good morning," she smiled. "How are you feeling?"

Robert rolled onto his back and stretched. "Better. Much, much better."

"Your headache's gone?" Anna asked.

Robert looked up at her. "No. I still have a headache. But I don't have any more secrets. And I still have you – you're still here with me. Except for the headache, I haven't felt this good in ages."

Anna leaned over and kissed him. "It's early, and I'm sorry, but if you're able, I think you should get up. I have to go out for a while, and I don't like to leave you sleeping and completely vulnerable. Can you manage being up and awake for a few hours? When I get back you can have a nap."

Robert smiled. "I feel fit as a fiddle. If you put me in the easy chair with a pot of coffee on the table beside me, I'll be perfectly fine. You don't have to worry."

She helped him up. Aside from some initial wooziness as she walked him to the bathroom, he really did seem and look much better. By the time she was ready to leave, she felt much easier about him. But Robert picked up on her other anxiety and misread it.

"Good grief," he exclaimed; "I'll be fine. Stop worrying about me and get out of here. You're acting like a mother hen."

Anna smiled. "I'll be gone two hours, max. Don't fall asleep. There's a guard outside. Call me if you need anything. My phone will be off for about an hour, but I'll check my messages when I can."

"I told you, Robert Scorpio knows about Alan. And worse, he knows about Carolyn." Her voice was whinging, shrill. "I need you to take care of it. If you won't, I will. And who knows what kind of trouble I might get myself into. I'm not a professional killer, like your friends."

"But what can he prove? What evidence does he have? I don't care what he knows; I need you to tell me if he's a threat. I'm not putting out a hit on Robert Scorpio."

"How do I know what he can prove?" Elizabeth almost screamed into the phone, her tone and (he suspected, though he couldn't see it) body language that of a hysterical thirteen year old. "What does it matter? He's a threat. You've helped me before."

Fifty floors up, in a penthouse office suite overlooking Victoria Harbour, he was staring out the window behind his massive desk. His eyes were tired. He rubbed them with one hand. "It matters, Sweetheart. It matters to me. I know you're unhappy, but you shouldn't overreact. I've been kept informed. The only warrant for your arrest is for assault – a silly move on your part, if you don't mind me saying so. Why didn't you just walk away from this man? You let him get under your skin."

Angry silence followed.

He sighed. "I've already helped you. I gave you the files you asked for. You wanted to study them, use them to understand your enemy. And worse-case-scenario, you were going to use them to broker some sort of deal if you were cornered."

Nothing – no sound. He knew Elizabeth was vibrating with rage wherever she was.

"What is the status of the files, Betty? Does Scorpio know about them? Does he know what's in them?"

No response.

He'd of course copied and read the files carefully before handing them over, never naïvely trusting what Elizabeth told him, her inevitably tainted and biased version of events. "I guess I have no choice. I'll take care of it. You stay where you are and don't use your real name."

"What does that mean, 'I'll take care of it'?" she demanded. "You need to be straight with me. Because I'm telling you he won't let it drop. He'll try to blackmail me. He knows I'm rich. Or worse, he'll try to kill me. He might, you know, if he thinks I should be punished. He was one of your hired assassins. Human life means nothing to him."

He felt his jaw clench. Carolyn Thompson. Alan Schaber. "Not one of my hired assassins," he corrected her. "Robert Scorpio worked for the WSB."

"Which has been and still is in your back pocket."

He knew he'd pay for what he was about to say but couldn't help it. "Tell me, Elizabeth. Had Alan really found out that you'd killed your friend Carolyn? Was any of what you told me true? Was he really blackmailing you? Did he have proof? Or did you play me to get rid of him? Was he a threat? Or were you just done with him, done playing happy family?"

Silence. Then a small laugh. "Oh Daddy." Her voice was a half a world away. "You still don't trust me?"

He grimaced, ended the call, and sat a moment. Then he lifted the handset to his ear again and punched a button. "Tell the pilot to get my jet ready," he sighed. "I need to leave within the hour."

"So, I think during today's session we should just concentrate on your dreams. We won't worry yet about the memories you've lost or blocked; that work will come later. I promise we'll take it slow and gentle – it's very important that you feel no pressure. We want to establish this time and space as safe. We don't want to create new or aggravate old anxiety."

Anna had taken her place on a white leather loveseat across from Siobhain, who was seated in a mint-green cloth armchair. The desk was white; the walls of the office were a pale yellow. Anna knew she was being manipulated with colour but didn't care: the atmosphere of the room was incredibly soothing.

"Are you comfortable sharing the content of the dream? Is it always the same? Does it ever vary? And is the emotional response you feel consistent, or does it change?"

Anna blinked. "The dream isn't consistent, but events within it never really change. It's more like each dream represents a different part of a whole, a different section of the narrative. And lately the dream has progressed in a disturbing way. I don't know what to make of it."

Siobhain looked at Anna encouragingly. "Tell me."

"Well," Anna cleared her throat, "I'm in a white room. A hospital room, I think. My arms are strapped down. I'm wearing a gown. There's a sheet draped over me."

Siobhain nodded, smiled.

"My legs are in stirrups. And I'm in labour with my daughter Robin."

Siobhain glanced down, began writing notes on a pad of paper.

"But I don't seem to understand that I'm in labour – if that makes any sense."

Siobhain looked up and stopped writing.

"Well, part of me knows what's happening and the other part just feels pain. I can't explain it any more clearly. There are two doctors, nurses, someone in the room. They ignore me, don't speak or look at me even though I'm screaming and crying. This is the first part, the first dream. The second is after, once Robin is born. I know I'm giving birth – and I don't, if that makes sense. But I hear a baby cry. And I know it must be Robin I'm hearing. It's my daughter. And I'm sure she's being taken away. I try to get to her, I struggle against the straps, but I can't get loose. All I know is that I have to protect her. And I can't." With one hand Anna had grabbed the arm of the loveseat and was squeezing it; with the other, she pressed against her thigh. "It's generally when I'm in the middle of the second dream that I become violent."

Siobhain put the pen to her mouth. "How does this dream differ from the memory you have of the birth of your daughter?"

Anna leaned forward as though to emphasize her point. "It couldn't be more different. Robin was born in a small village in Italy, in a lovely home, with a caring midwife."

Siobhain pursed her lips. "So in the dream you've changed the memory. You've transferred the birth to another location. Did the room remind you of anything? Anything at all?"

Anna thought. "I don't know. A laboratory? Maybe even a prison. I'm not sure."

Siobhain nodded again.

Robert searched and eventually discovered where Anna had hidden his phone – well, "hidden" was perhaps too strong a word. He was sure she'd simply hoped "out of sight" meant "out of mind" and that he wouldn't think to check it while she was away. He turned it on, began scrolling through his missed calls.

He stopped when he noticed Stephen's number. He listened to the voice mail. "I don't want to bother you, Robert," Stephen said, his voice apologetic; "I know it's only been a couple of days, maybe not even, since we last met. I might have been imagining things, but I got the impression you'd come up with a theory. About Carolyn. Anyway it's Stephen. Call me when you can."

Robert turned the phone off again, put it on the table and stared at it. What in god's name was he going to tell him?

The office was silent. Siobhain looked thoughtful.

"Well, there's a lot for us to work with, Anna. Giving birth is a fairly common metaphor. For example, when I was writing my PhD dissertation, I and a number of my female colleagues repeatedly dreamed about being in labour; it's an obvious symbol for bringing a task to completion. The dream might be about something coming to a conclusion and might express anxiety or fear about that conclusion – a fear that it won't come to be, that something bad will happen to prevent it, that the 'baby' will be snatched away. You said the dreams started when you began a relationship with your ex-husband. Maybe the dream is expressing anxiety and insecurity about that renewed partnership.

"The ending of the dream and its shift in location also might make perfect sense, given recent events in your life. You and your ex-husband were locked in a lab, all the while knowing your daughter was alive, unable to reach her and help her. I can certainly see how your psyche might alter that scenario, change the lab to a hospital room, change her rescue into her birth, her rebirth. Does any of this make sense to you?"

Anna felt uneasy. "When you explain the dream away like that, it does. I can see the logic."

Siobhain picked up on Anna's reticence. "But?"

Anna shook her head. "I don't know. There's something. Something I can't explain. It all seems so real. When they take her away, it seems so final, so hopeless. But now, when I'm awake, I have her back. Robin is alive; she's back in my life; I can hold her, touch her. Why can't I in the dream? Why am I dreaming about her being taken away now that she's back home, back in Port Charles?"

Siobhain frowned. "That I don't know. It might be anxiety that you could lose her again. Or the dream might really be about your relationship with your ex-husband. When you gave birth to your daughter, you'd just suffered through a divorce. Perhaps now that you have Robert back, you fear the loss of your daughter. The mind does strange things, Anna. Perhaps, given your history, you feel you can have one but not the other – your daughter or your husband, not both. I promise you we'll work through your feelings over the next few sessions. If I can help you understand the content of the dreams, they should stop."

Anna nodded, but she didn't feel convinced.

Mei Wu was uncharacteristically late in bed and uncharacteristically not alone. She was also uncharacteristically generous that morning, and so she rolled to her side and away only after her partner – a lovely smooth-skinned young man, delicate and feminine – had finished.

But her generosity extended only so far. "You may leave now," she told him. "Get out."

He did so, quickly and without objection, with only the faintest of smiles and a slight bow, clutching the clothing he had gathered up hurriedly to his chest. She watched him leave disinterestedly, then stood, put on her robe, walked to the window of the penthouse suite and looked out. The view was shit, she thought to herself. She hated Port Charles.

There was a knock at the door. It opened. "Your breakfast, Ms Wu." Her assistant trembled as he placed the tray on her dining table. "And something was sent to you care of the hotel." Her assistant held up an envelope. "There's no return address, no indication of who it's from. May I open it?"

Mei Wu never opened her own mail, cautious of anthrax and letter bombs, but insisted it always be opened by others in her presence, suspicious of blackmail and other treachery. "Of course."

Her assistant opened the envelope, which contained neither explosives nor white powder. Once that fact had been established, he handed it over to Ms Wu and backed out of the room.

She unfolded the letter. It was short. She read it, twice, with interest, folded it again, and put it in the pocked of her robe. She sat down to breakfast.

Anna was back home by 10:00. She nodded at the guard outside the building and again at the guard outside her apartment door. Once inside, she threw her keys down on the hall table. She felt tired, felt like she'd worked a full day, like it was time to go to bed again and not still mid-morning. "Robert?" she called.

She found him where she'd left him, in the chair by the window – fast asleep. Of course, she thought, and decided to leave him be. Ignoring the temptation to lie down on the sofa and nap with him, she went into the kitchen to make a few calls.

Not twenty minutes later, feeling awake and well rested, he walked into the kitchen and found her, head down on the table as she was speaking to Rubin on the phone. He shoulders were sagged; one arm rested limply on the table as the other held her phone and propped up her cheek.

"No," she was saying. "Yes. I understand." She yawned. "Of course. Well, keep me informed." She gave Robert a wan smile. "I may be able to make it to the station later today . . . Yes. Fine. Okay."

Anna ended the call and lifted her head. "You're looking chipper."

Robert tightened the belt of his robe. "While you're looking done-in. Funny, that – I'm in better shape than you and I almost died two days ago."

"Don't remind me. And don't exaggerate."

"Whatever. You're in desperate need of a few hours of kip, Luv. Let me keep watch until noon. I feel bright-eyed and bushy-tailed."

"Thanks but no thanks, Robert. I don't want to screw up my sleep cycle." Anna couldn't help it; she broke out in yawn. She shook her head. "God. I need another coffee."

Robert sat down at the table with her. "Where did you run off to so early? From the sound of it, you weren't at the station."

Anna shook her head. "No. I wasn't out on business. It was personal."

Robert frowned. "Now you've got me worried. Did you go to meet your other lover? Did you tell him you haven't been getting enough at home?"

Anna laughed despite her difficult morning and despite herself. "I told him no such thing. I told him I got too much at home, thank you very much. I told him not to touch me. I needed a couple of hours of peace and quiet."

Robert grinned. "You lie like a rug. You know you want me 24-7."

Anna's smile changed. "Clearly," she said and took his hand.

Robert became serious. "Anna." Her eyes were moist. "Anna, what's wrong?"

She shook her head, frustrated, and rubbed the corners of her eyes. "Nothing," she answered. "Nothing. I'm just tired. And disappointed somehow. And God, Robert, you gave me a scare. I can't lose you. I want to protect you. But I can't trust myself right now. I couldn't sleep next to you last night. I wanted to. I'm so sorry."

Robert shifted his chair until he was right beside her. He pulled her toward him and held her tight. "It's okay, Luv. I'm okay. And you'll be okay too. You'll see. It'll work out."

Anna pushed him away. "God, Robert, no it won't; not on its own. It's a bloody mess. I've got to sort out a mob war; you've attracted the ire of a fucking psychopath; seven hours of the day I'm a dangerously unstable bedmate, a ticking time bomb. I was always so good with explosives, but I have no idea how to defuse myself."

Robert took her hand again. "I'll do whatever it takes to help you. Let me help you."

Anna stood and began to pace the kitchen floor. "You'll love this: at 7:30 this morning I was sitting on a therapist's couch describing my dreams. While you were here alone. I should have been here protecting you."

Robert was still. "I was fine, I am fine. And you repeatedly told me you didn't remember your dreams."

Anna stopped pacing and met his gaze. "You're right; I did tell you that. But you never really believed me."

She began to move again. "As I was saying, I told my dreams to a psychotherapist who scrutinized, dissected, and explained them away in less than an hour. I feel so humiliated, so stupid. Robert, I've been so stupid! I was stymied by the simplest operations of dream logic. A cigar is, in fact, never a cigar. It's always something else."

Robert gave his head a shake. "Okay, now I'm confused. I thought in fact that a cigar is sometimes just a cigar."

Anna became still. "No, Robert. A metaphor is never literal. You want to know what I've been dreaming? I'll tell you. I'm locked up in a room. Robin is a baby, and she's snatched away from me. I can't protect her; I can't save her. I'm tied up. There's nothing I can do. The literal content of the dream is distressing enough. But apparently, on another level, according to my doctor, I might be worried about something else. I might be worried about us – worried that I can't save us. My subconscious is warning me that we won't work. Something will happen, something will drive us apart. Or you'll be taken away."

Robert stood and held Anna gently by the shoulders. "Okay, listen – I don't care what you're dreaming about. It's all rubbish. First of all, Robin isn't a baby anymore, and although someone took her, we got her back. Second of all, nothing's going to force us apart. Not this time. Not now, not ever. I'm going nowhere."

Anna put her hand to his cheek. "I had no intention of going anywhere twenty-two years ago. Look how that turned out. In the end I had no choice. And God, Robert, you could have been killed two days ago. After everything, now that I finally have you back again, I could have lost you forever."

Robert took her hand and kissed it. "I'm here. You're here. And I love you."

Anna folded into his arms. "I love you too. I just hope it's enough."

Mei Wu had breakfasted and was showered and dressed. She stood and looked again at the view outside her penthouse window. Her phone was in her hand. She dialed, lifted it to her ear.

When the call was answered, she spoke in her most pleasant voice. "There's been an interesting development. Meet me and I'll tell you all about it. 3:00, my office in the Asian Quarter."

She hung up.