Lookie! Lookie! An update!

Patrick was glad he wasn't a part of the writing team at Cruz's magazine, because he didn't have a flattering thing to say about Robin's two-bit bakery. Somehow in all the commotion, Cruz had gotten away. For all he knew, she had tricked him and wasted his time for no good reason. She was a little tipsy already and it was barely eleven o' clock in the morning. At least she had agreed to work with him this morning.

"It's too bad your tech guy led us to the wrong spot yesterday." Patrick mocked, adjusting the lens so that he captured the million-dollar shot. He wasn't the sort of person who enjoyed doing things more than once. He was a perfectionist in his art, and that meant no room for mistakes. Besides, the quicker he did the shot, the sooner he could leave. Port Charles was a fairly small town and he and Miss Scorpio had managed to stay out of each other's way for the past six months...was a lifetime too much to ask for?

"He didn't 'lead' us to the wrong spot." Robin argued defensively, playing with the plastic sword the restaurant had served her maraschino cherries with. "We simply got there too late."

"Whose fault was that? You were the one throwing back drinks like nobody's business." Patrick pointed out.

Robin simply glared at him. "Shouldn't you be concentrating? You don't want to mess up." Robin told him.

"I don't mess up." Patrick barked back.

"No?" Robin kicked him in the left shin with the toe of her two-inch black heels. Patrick leaned forward and his thumb smashed the button down. A light flashed, illuminating the little bakery in the same respect as a runway did for a plane. "Whoops!" Robin chuckled, doing a little victory dance across the tile floor.

"I thought you agreed to be professional about this." Patrick reminded her through gritted teeth.

"I never said anything like that. I asked how I could rid of you quickly. You suggested the compromise." Robin corrected him with a grin.

"Give the woman a few shots of Vodka and she's completely incapable of even the simplest things." Patrick muttered to himself.

"You'd know all about getting women drunk, wouldn't you Drake?" Robin teased, hiccupping loudly.

"What is with the pot shots, Scorpio? I'm doing you a favor." Patrick retorted, narrowing his eyes at her when he noticed that she was mimicking his facial expression. Of course, she couldn't keep a straight face, so all she ended up doing was scrunching up her face and flapping her lips like a blowfish.

"You're getting paid for this particular favor, Drake." She said his name slowly, tasting it, testing it out.

"I have an idea." Patrick changed tactics. "Why don't you go organize something in the kitchen and I'll finish up the shots." He suggested, steering her toward familiar-looking double doors.

Robin stumbled forward and then spun around to face him, her right hand raised, her index finger pointing at him. "That's the smartest thing you've said all night." She congratulated.

"What's the definition of inebriated?" Patrick countered, biting the inside of his cheek.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you that your face could get stuck that way?" Robin murmured.

"My mother's dead." Patrick bit off shortly. That sobered Robin up quick.

"I'm sorry, that's right." Robin dropped her head and retreated to the damn kitchen where the broken china plate mocked her from the plastic trash bin.

Cruz cautiously set up his laptop from the bed. He had been successful in avoiding Patrick all night. He had made a beeline for the car after he had made contact with Lucky and hit the road. There was no way Patrick would ever suspect where he was.

The plan was simple. Work from here for the day, lay in bed with his girl all weekend, and if necessary move to Los Angeles on Monday. New York was too close and Patrick had grown up there. It would be far to easy for him to be tracked down there.

He waited patiently while his work email account loaded on the page. The usual assortment of completed stories, story suggestions, and letters to the editor filled his inbox.

He went about deleting his spam when the new message icon flashed in the corner of his screen. Crap. It was Patrick. He knew it was Patrick. He was going to be the first person in history killed by the Internet.

Lucky's email address mocked him. Cruz was in for it now. He had been desperate last night and Lucky knew it. There was no escaping this. He was so going to pay.

C-

In addition to being insane, you must also be the luckiest son of a bitch in the world. Not a single call from our irate friend or the police department. Either he killed her and ditched town immediately after or he's laying low and still plotting out your demise. For your sake? Pray for the first one. And just so you know…you are paying for his lawyer. It's the least you could do.

L

Sometimes Lucky's sense of humor showed itself at bad times. Like now. All he had done was succeed in increasing Cruz's paranoia. Patrick hadn't called looking for him? Why the f--- not? He had known Patrick would be pissed. He had even prepared a defense that given enough time and alcohol Patrick would half-heartedly accept. It was why he was currently hiding in his girlfriend's bedroom. So why hadn't Patrick been calling all over town looking for him?

Of the two cousins, Lucky had always been the planner and Patrick more impulsive. Patrick not calling was what Lucky would have done. Patrick not calling sounded like a plan being formed. And that would not be good for him.

"Baby?" Her siren voice distracted him from his increasing doom. Meditate on his impending ass kicking or on her ass? It was a no-brainer. He quickly pulled on the pajama pants he had thrown on the floor the night before.

Cruz moved down the stairs. "Yeah..." His voice died in his throat. She laid on the couch, wearing nothing as far as he could see under a silk bathrobe. Her legs were crossed, one foot bouncing in the air. She had the self-satisfied smile of a woman who had gotten the exact reaction she was aiming for.

"I was just thinking, we have the whole house to ourselves today. It would be a shame to waste it..." she purred seductively.

He grinned. When she was right, she was right. His plans to leave town flew from his mind as he went to join her. He would be fine for now.

It wasn't like Patrick would ever think to look here.

"Let me get this straight." Elizabeth ran her hand haphazardly through her hair as she pushed the porch swing with one foot. "The photographer was your ex-brother-in-law?"

"Yep." Robin answered rather enthusiastically as she poured herself another cup of coffee.

"Are you sure you weren't watching that soap opera again? Something like that is right up their alley."

"I think it has more to do with the fact that this town is so damn small. It was bound to happen. Damn it!"

"Well what's he like? What does he look like? If I am supposed to hate him with you I need to avoid him right?"

"He's like an asshole. He looks like a walking ego. I don't hate--oh I completely hate him." Robin replied, running some cold water on her throbbing right hand. Screaming had been a mistake with the hangover she had, but the coffee had been a lot hotter than she had realized.

"A walking ego? Well that narrows it down." Elizabeth laughed. "Why exactly do you completely hate him? It has got to be more than the connection to the ex thing." She waved at the bug that had been circling her head since the beginning of the phone call.

"He's a judgmental prick." Robin didn't care if she was being immature. He had thought it'd be a good idea to start playing drums with a few of her wooden spatulas and hanging metal pans.

"Well that's most of the male population our age."

"Yeah, but it's unfounded. He has hated me ever since I walked out on his brother. Hell, maybe before then. You know, he was always sarcastic during the holidays." Robin mused quietly.

"Ahhh, loyalty to a cheating bastard. Well then you're completely in the right to hate him."

"What would you make if your kid had a sore throat and a cough? Chicken soup?" Robin changed the subject, peeking in the cabinets to see if she had any.

"I'm a preschool teacher, not a doctor. I hear the words "sore throat and cough" and I say stay home." Elizabeth laughed but quickly continued, "But Grams always swears by chicken soup so it won't hurt anything."

"Okay, thanks. Morgan has been coughing up a lung since I came home for lunch. I sent my friend, Lucas, to cover the store. He's got a boy about Morgan's age, so he needs to earn a little cash now and then." Robin explained, searching every drawer for the can opener.

Lucas. The name caused Elizabeth to pause. For a split second she had thought of Lucky Spencer, but quickly remembered that Morgan was a few years older than Cameron. And Lucky certainly wouldn't need the money. "He only needs to earn cash now and then? Is he living off royalty checks or something?"

"Do you know Lucas?" Robin asked.

"Robin, I've lived here for six months and outside of you, the only people I have met are working in a doctor's office or three-year-olds. Does Lucas fit in one of those categories?"

"His son is a little old to be in your class." Robin remembered.

"Well then I'm fairly certain I haven't met him, but I would love to know the secret to only having to work every now and again."

"Own a business. Have a mother with political connections. Have a father that used to be a spy." Robin giggled, holding up the can opener as if it were a gift from God. "Of course if you ask Courtney, she'll disagree. She only thinks you need one thing."

"What's that?"

"'A killer rack.'" Robin quoted her roommate.

Elizabeth burst out laughing. "I can't argue with that logic. She's got a point."

"She's a model. She has been brainwashed, but she knows her stuff." Robin agreed.

"True that." Elizabeth glanced at her watch. "Do I have to go to work today?"

"I'm afraid so. Do you have any dinner plans?"

"As of this second, I get off at eight and have a hot date with leftover Chinese food."

"Bobbie Spencer, Morgan's grandmother, told me that he lives for Spaghettio's. It's not gourmet, I'll admit--" Robin replied hesitantly.

"I love Spaghettios. I can bring Kool-Aid!"

"Your grandmother is welcome to come. I doubt Courtney will be home in time for dinner." Robin dropped the clump of noodles into a pan and let them cook.

"As completely pathetic as this is to say, my grandmother has plans tonight. You tell anyone that and I'll kill you."

"I got drunk at breakfast and went to do that photo shoot with Mr. Professional Photo Guy." Robin admitted, hoping she had succeeded in leveling the playing field.

"My grandmother is in her seventies!"

"He said maybe I should start answering to Lush Scorpio."

"She's my grandmother."

"I can't argue that." Robin gave in.

"It's just easier to admit I'm right. Accept your membership in the loser club and move on with life."

"Dinner is at eight-thirty."

"I'll be the one who reeks of processed cheese!"

"Awww, you poor girl." Robin teased.

"Should I bring the wine in a box Lush Scorpio?"

"Oh crap, they're going up in flames!"

"You burned noodles? I thought you owned a bakery?"

"That has nothing to do with canned noodles."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Even I can do canned noodles without burning them. I bet Courtney can pull that off too!"

"I have to go. The sprinklers are going off." Robin spit out water.

"Call me back if you've burned down your place. We can move the party to my place then."

"Eight-thirty." Robin repeated, hanging up.

Elizabeth headed inside the house. She had twenty minutes to change and get to work. It promised to be another long uneventful shift, but what else was new?