Happy Holidays! This is the last segment of our present to you! We really hope you like it! We're wishing you and yours a wonderful holiday season!
Patrick wasn't sure how he managed to break free from his friends, but they must have understood the importance of a good night's sleep. He had slept too, like a baby as a matter of fact, in his very soft, very large bed. For the first time in he didn't know how long he didn't need to have something playing to lull him to sleep. The television was abandoned in the corner and the stereo had gotten unplugged somehow. It just so happened that the cell phone had suffered the same fate. If anyone wanted him tonight, they were going to have to take a number.
He woke up to the sound of silence. His alarm hadn't been brave enough to rouse him and he thanked God for it. Those things were damned expensive despite their nonresistance to being handled roughly. Kicking back his sheets and the comforter Laura had sent him home with last night he stretched and slid off of the bed, padding over to the mirror where he was met by a very handsome reflection. Good morning sexy, he thought to himself as he headed toward the kitchen. Cold cereal was all that waited for him, but it was a huge step-up from hospital candy bars.
Running a hand through his hair, he searched the drawers for a spoon, suddenly feeling very disoriented. It had only been four days and yet it was like he had stepped into a stranger's apartment. Finally, he located one clean spoon and mentally reminded himself to go by the store and pick up a new set. It was just easier to buy all new ones than actually wash them. What happened in his apartment, stayed in his apartment, at least where dinnerware was concerned. One ceramic bowl and half-empty cereal box later he had a hearty breakfast waiting for him.
Patrick ate at the bar since he didn't have a table and chairs available to him. As far as he was concerned, he would stand up for the rest of his life if it meant he never had to spend another second in a hospital chair. He read the paper with mild interest, proving to himself that he hadn't missed anything especially important. Mayor Floyd still insisted that there was crime to be wiped out of their fair town, but it was the same garbage he had been saying since Corinthos and Morgan got sent up the river. Wait, Patrick mused thoughtfully. There was that old lady last month who tried to rob that bank teller with her grandson's water gun. What a monster!
He felt rejuvenated and ready to face whatever the day held in store for him. Today, no one would get in his way. He was going to see Robin with or without permission. All he needed was a plan. Deciding that it had better come to him on his drive to the hospital, Patrick tilted the bowl to finish the milk, and then set the dish and his last remaining spoon in the sink. He grabbed his keys, locked up, and took a minute to say hello to his new neighbor, Greta. She was a nice height: about five foot eight, with a trim, athletic waist, long, slender fingernails, and short blonde hair. Even though she was dressed for an early-morning workout--navy blue stretch pants, white tennis shoes, and a matching blue sports bra--she didn't seem to be in that big of a hurry.
It was barely seven a.m. so Patrick felt justified in talking to her for the next hour. He didn't plan on her inviting him in, but it would have been rude for him to decline her offer of orange juice. He had just run out and had been craving it when he woke up. Her apartment was a bit cluttered, but Patrick wasn't going to judge. His had been a mess when he'd returned to his last night, clothes thrown over chairs and such.
"It looks like I'm all done." He assured her, presenting his glass as evidence.
Greta frowned. "Are you sure you wouldn't like some more?"
"I'm actually due to meet a friend." Patrick explained.
"I'm sure your friend can wait for you to have another glass of juice." Greta went on with conviction.
"I'd love to stay--" Patrick replied.
"Then stay." Greta challenged.
Patrick was whistling when he finally got to his car. He had traded his usual blue on black attire for a pair of crisp blue jeans, a form-fitting white button-down, and a pair of tennis shoes. He had even slapped a bit of gel in his hair, but not an excessive amount. As soon as he turned the engine on, the radio just happened to be playing his favorite song, Free Bird. He sang along with it until he reached traffic and people started regarding him with confused expressions. Chagrinned, he rolled up the window and showed the eavesdroppers a stiff middle finger.
His opportunity to see Robin came a quarter after ten a.m. He had been keeping his distance from the Scorpio groupies, wanting to catch them off guard. It was actually Morgan who provided him with a sure entrance. Courtney had left her nephew to have a few minutes alone with his new mommy. Patrick didn't feel ashamed for taking advantage. They had pushed him this far. Under normal circumstances, he would have certainly respected the private conversation between mother and son.
Morgan noticed him standing in the doorway, his little arms folded over his chest. "You aren't 'posed to be in here." He pointed an accusing finger in Patrick's general direction, hopping down from his chair.
"You aren't supposed to be talking." Patrick countered, smiling when he noticed his second cousin's submission.
"I'm watching you." Morgan was mimicking a scene he had seen in Meet The Parents when Robert De Nero had used his index and middle finger to point once at himself and then at Ben Stiller.
"Right, okay Morgan." Patrick patronized, taking over the spot Morgan had vacated. He took a deep breath, taking the time to brush Robin's bangs away from her face. "I see you've gotten away from those trends and added these tubes and machines to your wardrobe." A quick glance at Morgan said that the joke was stupid. "Okay, so I've been sitting outside for days trying to figure out just what I wanted to say to you."
"Do I have to hear this?" Morgan wanted to know.
"You have to stay in here or they'll suspect something. I need you to be my wingman." Patrick explained.
"What's a wingman?" Morgan asked.
"What's a--a wingman is a friend who has your back, protects you from getting into trouble." Patrick clarified.
"What will you do for me?" Morgan wondered.
"Whatever you want." Patrick insisted hastily.
"A full week at Chuck E. Cheese's?" Morgan's eyes lit up.
"What?" Patrick gasped. "Fine. Whatever. Just shut up." Morgan responded by sticking out his tongue. Patrick looked down at Robin's sleeping face. "You taught him that didn't you?" He whispered, leaning in closer to catch the faintest scent of her perfume. Even after almost a week in the hospital and it still clung to her flawless skin. He wasn't sure if it was the perfume that did it or her natural scent, but he found himself getting lightheaded.
Patrick reached for Robin's left hand, gulping at the tube he saw taped to the outside of her palm. "I don't know why I'm here. It might be just to see for myself that you're still breathing. You scared the hell out of me the other night and I don't just mean about the HIV thing." He whispered to her, not sure this conversation was appropriate for a six-year-old. "What were you thinking, driving like a maniac? You, always so levelheaded and together. I swear you're a walking contradiction. Every time I think I've got you figured out, you go and do something to surprise me. I don't mind saying, it's a major turn-on."
"What are you talking about?" Morgan inquired from across the room.
"The weather." Patrick lied.
"Okay." Morgan went back to his comic book.
"I always heard my kisses were distracting, but I must have underestimated by abilities." He took a breath and then continued. "I guess what I wanted to tell you is life is boring without you. I miss that mouth of yours." Morgan's abrupt movement distracted Patrick. "Is someone coming?" He asked when the child poked his head out the door.
"I don't know, but if they are, I'm not taking the fall." Morgan assured him.
"Some wingman you are." Patrick griped.
"You should have gotten it in writing." Morgan pointed out.
"As I was saying," Patrick turned back to Robin and moved his mouth to her left ear. "I miss your mouth and, if you ever wake up, I have a pretty good idea of what you can do with it. A few ideas actually." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed each of her knuckles. "Can you feel that? You've got me going all kinds of crazy here. If nothing else, you should wake up to laugh at the mockery my life has become in your absence."
"Dude, you gotta get out of here!" Morgan declared.
"How close?" Patrick whispered.
"A minute tops. You've got to hide."
"Hide?" Patrick gave him a look. "Where?"
"Under the bed." Morgan indicated to the ridiculously small space that separated the floor and the bed.
"You're kidding right?"
"You're messing up this wingman thing. Get under the bed!" Morgan ordered.
"Fine!" Patrick shot back, somehow managing to pull his legs underneath him. "Can you see me?"
"Nope. Now, shh." Morgan said just as the door opened. Courtney held out her arms and he ran to her.
"Did you say all you wanted to?" She inquired.
"A lot was said." Morgan answered vaguely.
"All right then. Let's leave Grandma--erm Anna to talk to her." Courtney reached for Morgan's hand and led him out into the hall.
The hour Anna spent talking to her daughter was the longest Patrick could ever remember and that included his hiding in the trunk. At first, the closed in space had intimidated him, but the gun at Anna's hip had about caused him to have an early heart attack. He had met this woman half a dozen times, but that didn't mean the two of them couldn't share a mutual loathing of one another. As usual, she blamed him for his brother's bad choices. Well, there wasn't much he could do to get her on good side from under the bed. He had actually contemplated slithering out of the room, but the door was too far away. For a moment in which he had surely lost all coherent though, he had considered making his presence known. Of course, he hadn't done that either. He wasn't bulletproof and he bet Anna Devane-Scorpio didn't miss.
Their conversation wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Anna felt guilty for not being with Robin the night of her accident. She apologized for not having spent enough time with her daughter and grandson even though she had been in town for a record three weeks. By the time Robert Scorpio's name entered the conversation, Patrick was ready to apologize for every single thing he had ever done including that time he had switched Carly's shampoo with blue hair dye. He couldn't handle much more of this!
"Excuse me Miss Scorpio, but I need to check Robin's blood pressure." A friendly nurse with black hair and pink polka dot scrubs explained as she stepped into the room.
"Yes, of course." Anna nodded, getting to her feet.
If Patrick was ever going to get out of here, he'd have to do it now. Anna's back was turned, but the nurse might be a problem. Yes! They were both focused on Robin--duh!--and speaking quietly about her health history. Anna filled in the blanks for the dutiful nurse and stayed out of the way. Patrick crawled out from under the bed and was just about to slip through the door when he tripped over a small CD player he hadn't noticed before. It read: Property of Lucky Spencer. If he lived through this, he was going to murder his cousin in his sleep!
"You there, you're not allowed in here!" The nurse shouted.
Anna drew her gun.
"Whoa, whoa, you can't just shoot me in the middle of the hospital!" Patrick informed Anna, his voice quivering slightly.
"What did you think you were doing under there?" Anna wanted to know.
"I snuck in to talk to Robin since you've made any other option impossible--" Patrick stated with a wave of his hand.
"Are you some kind of psychotic stalker or something?" Anna inquired, her eyebrows rising in question.
"Of course not! I had to see that Robin was okay." Patrick countered with a shake of his head.
"Well, you've seen that she is, so you'll understand why you have to go."
"I'm not turning my back on you, especially not when you're holding that gun." Patrick argued.
"What gun?" Anna asked innocently.
"That .45." Patrick pointed to the weapon in question.
"Oh, this?" She glanced down at the gun.
"Yes, that!" Patrick clarified.
"I don't think I trust you enough to put my gun away." Anna told him.
"How about we flip for it? Heads you shoot him and tails you let him leave?" The helpful nurse suggested.
"You can't flip a coin--" Patrick protested.
"I think that's a wonderful idea!" Anna beamed, reaching into her pockets. "Does anyone have a quarter?"
"I have one." Patrick handed it over.
Anna took the coin from him and balanced it on her thumbnail. "Now, how does one do this? Oh, of course. Heads, I get to shoot you. Tails, you're free to go." Anna mumbled more to herself than to those in her company.
Robin's left hand came down suddenly, slapping the shiny coin from her hand. "Mom." She shook her head, slowly opening her eyes. "Are you trying to lose this election?