Returning home, Robin felt a great deal better. She almost wished they hadn't left that spa resort because she could totally go for a massage right now. Though she had expected to go out and get trashed on chocolate and alcohol, she had been pleasantly surprised when Elizabeth's solution had been to visit a nearby park. Robin hadn't visited that particular park since she and her cousins were little and the fresh air had been a nice change from the stale, stagnant atmosphere of Jake's. It just went to show that the only person who knew you better than yourself was your best friend.
She had been so sure she would start pouring out her heart and insecurities at the first opportunity given, but that just hadn't happened today. Elizabeth had been equally quiet. Lucky's accusation must have been just as hard for Elizabeth to hear as Patrick's had been for her. She wished Lucky had proven her right and gone straight to her friend instead of giving her even a moment to question the power of his devotion. She had thought he would call and interrupt them during their outing, but she couldn't remember Elizabeth ever reaching down to pick up her phone. In fact, she wasn't entirely certain that she had brought her cell at all which was incredibly strange for her friend.
Throwing her thin cream jacket into the closet, telling herself she'd come back and hang it up later, she made her way slowly up the stairs. Losing her black skirt somewhere between the first step and her bedroom, she nudged her bedroom door open with her elbow, her fingers bunching up in the fabric of her white tank top as she started to lift it over her head. Her heart jumping into her throat, Robin ducked into the room. She had a bat under the bed and a gun in the top drawer of her nightstand. The gun was unloaded because the weapon had always frightened her, but the bat was made of aluminum and it was brand new. It had been a present from Uncle Mac. He hadn't been comfortable with her leaving his home without some sort of weapon, so they had agreed on the bat. She hadn't told him about the gun because he would insist she fill it with bullets and learn how to shoot it. She didn't want to have to tell him that she already knew how, that she wished she could forget.
"Is there someone in here?" She called to the seemingly empty room. Holding her breath, she hurried to the bed and retrieved the bat. Gripping it tight enough to make her knuckles whiten, Robin darted her eyes from left to right, keeping her back against the wall to keep from being surprised. Of all the decisions she had made over the last eight months, why had she convinced her mother to send Hannah away? She doubted that woman was afraid of guns, not if the one that lived on her hip was anything to go by. But, like a control freak, Robin had all but insisted that Hannah be relieved of her current position and sent away.
There didn't seem to be anyone in here with her and, if it wasn't for the item on the windowsill, she might have been able to deduce this all to paranoia or lack of sleep. However, that wasn't the case. This break-in artist had left her something to remember him by. To anyone else this might not have been frightening. It wasn't the item itself that sent cold chills up and down her arm. After all, it belonged to her. Of all the things she could have found, this should have been the least revolting. Who got spooked by a glass vanilla candle? Slipping deeper into the room, she was able to answer the incredulous question. The wick was black and tarnished even though she had never even opened the candle to use. Also, there was the evidence of smoke billowing above it proving that it had been previously lit, and not too long ago. She had just missed them. Or they were really good at hiding.
"There's n-nothing of value to steal." With that, she turned on her heel, dropping the bat, and hurried downstairs for a more effective weapon: her cell phone. There were a dozen people she could call and they would answer; they would get to her immediately. And what would they find? A used candle? What proof did she have that she hadn't lit it herself? She had come home alone. Elizabeth couldn't back her up. Uncle Mac would determine that the neighborhood she was raising Morgan in was far too dangerous and maybe it was time for her to come back to the Scorpio house so he could protect her. At least when you're buried alive, you'll have your pride to keep you company, a disappointed voice patronized.
There wasn't even a good chance he'd answer his phone once he recognized her number, but she had to try. She was more than willing to play vulnerable if he would just get here, just make sure there was no one watching her. There was no distinct indication, other than the candle, that this was more than a simple burglary attempt. She could almost convince herself that she had spooked them away, but she would check to make sure later if it turned out that she was just stressed and sleep-deprived. Still something at the back of her mind screamed that this was no burglary.
A sleepy voice came over the line and Robin recognized it immediately, the grip in which she held the phone slackening a bit, "Yeah?" It was the first time he had picked up his phone in days and, while part of her wanted to jump for joy, logic insisted that he must not have glanced at the caller ID and probably didn't realize it was her he was talking to. She didn't care. As long as she could keep him on the line, she didn't care if he was mad at her or not, if they could work through this or not.
"Patrick, I'm scared." Robin admitted, biting into her bottom lip hard as she willed back the urge to cry. She shouldn't even still be in the apartment, but she was just as afraid to go out into the hallway. In the eight months she had lived her, she had yet to meet any of her neighbors, save Mrs. Edelman, and, really, how much protection would that woman provide her? She would just call the police and Robin could have done that on her own. Now she wouldn't have to.
Her voice must have given her away, because his response was softer, proving that he was a little more alert, "Why are you scared?"
"Someone was here…in the loft…in my room. I know because there was a spent candle in the windowsill and I've never used that candle; Courtney's still on location; and I always lock up before I leave." Robin said everything very fast in case he might try to convince her that she was
imagining things. "And I'm so scared, Patrick."
"What do you want me to do? Come there?" Patrick's voice was muffled as if he was pulling a shirt over his head. He must have been getting dressed. He was coming over! She wouldn't have to wait alone.
"Please. I'd feel so much better if you were just here. Even if it's nothing. Even if I'm just freaking myself out for no reason. I know you're probably still mad at me and I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry for all of the awful things I said to you and for telling Elizabeth about your exposure. I didn't know you were keeping it a secret. I swear. I never would have--" Robin couldn't hold back the tears any longer. Her teeth were chattering and her voice was trembling and breaking as she went on.
"Calm down, Robin. I know all of that. I haven't wanted to answer my phone, but it's not because I've been trying to avoid you. I want to call you everyday, but things have gotten so messed up. Not just with us, but the whole family. I'll explain it all once I get there." Patrick promised, his car keys clanking together as he stuffed them into the pocket of his slacks.
"So you are coming over?" Robin whispered in relief.
"I'm not exactly close. Listen, I want you to go and wait with your uncle--" Patrick advised.
"If I tell him, he'll never take me seriously again." Robin argued.
"Then don't tell him why you're there. Just go over and make up some excuse. I don't want you all alone in that apartment." Patrick countered rationally.
"I can help Georgie with her checklist for Paris." Robin decided.
"I'll meet you over there. Lock up the apartment behind you and take your cell phone. I'll call you when I'm close." Patrick told her.
"Thank you, Patrick." Robin replied.
"There's not a lot I wouldn't do for you." Patrick said and then hung up the phone before she could comment.
"Daddy?" Lance tugged on the hem of Dillon's fifties inspired bowling shirt. "Something is wrong."
Dillon looked into his son's blue eyes and couldn't disagree with him. Lucas had been almost silent since he returned from Luke and Laura's house the day before. He had managed to work out something had happened with Bobbie but, other than that, nothing. Dillon sighed. It was probably way past time for Lucas to actually be the star in a Spencer family drama instead of the supporting player.
Kneeling down to look Lance in the eye, Dillon winked. "I know pal, but I'll figure it out. Why don't you go upstairs and play ok?"
Lance nodded and ran up the stairs to his playroom. Dillon squared his shoulders and walked over to where Lucas sat at the computer, staring at the screen as if it held the meaning of life. Pulling a chair over next to him, Dillon touched his husband's shoulder. "Meditating on how to win the Oscar again?"
"No." Lucas answered, not in the mood to be played with or teased. He wanted only to be left alone. He wished the whole world would just leave him alone. The flipside of the coin was of course that he wanted to tell his husband the truth, wanted to be able to share the truth with someone he loved. He was not proud of his behavior upon finding out about his mother's current condition or his ability to hide it this long from Dillon.
"Solving the disappearance of Amelia Earhart then?" Dillon was desperate to get Lucas to talk to him, even it was just to tell him to shut up. Something was obviously eating him up inside and it killed Dillon to not be able to help. He was going to keep pushing until Lucas broke and spilled all.
Lucas clicked on the little x in the right-hand corner and turned off the screen, turning to face Dillon, the look on his face one of irritation and confusion. "What's on your mind?"
"I was going to ask you the same question."
"I'm just tired. Nothing new." Lucas hated how easily the lie slipped off of his tongue and hurried to show his back to his husband, walking over to the closet to pick out an outfit for the following day.
"Bullshit." That tired lie might have worked for the majority of Lucas' family but not with Dillon. He sat back and crossed his arms. "Try again."
"What do you want to hear? There's nothing to be done about it. It's already in motion." Lucas grumbled, angrily shoving the majority of his dress shirts to one side.
"Just thinking out loud here, but it might help to know what the 'it' is that is in motion." Dillon pointed out.
"Do you think I'm a hypocrite?" Lucas asked earnestly, letting his husband make out the tears in his eyes when he slowly moved his head to the right.
"For what?" Dillon was truly confused now. What the hell was going on in Lucas' adorable head?
"I go around talking about how I just want my family to be happy but, when it suddenly happens, I know better than everyone else." Lucas told him, his voice incredibly soft. If Dillon hadn't been standing so close, he wouldn't have been able to make out the words.
"Just tell me what is going on." Dillon reached out and pulled Lucas towards him for a hug. "Just tell me."
"Don't." Lucas warned, shrinking away from his husband's touch. "I don't deserve it."
"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?"
"You are a lot of things, but biased happens to be one of them." Lucas shook his head stubbornly.
"In this case I think it actually works in your favor." Dillon cocked his eyebrow up. "You realize Lance knows something is wrong, right?"
The mention of their son even picking up on his mood made Lucas drop his head in shame. "My mother is pregnant." He had to bite down hard on his bottom lip to keep from choking on the words. Saying them out loud made it even more real and he had to brace his hand against the door of the closet.
Dillon shook his head in disbelief. He quickly scanned the room for a hidden camera or any evidence that he had just been the victim of an exceptionally well planned prank. Just as quickly he dismissed that idea. Lucas wasn't that good of a actor to keep a charade going this long. This had to be real. Bobbie pregnant? "Well I guess you were right about the boyfriend."
Lucas swallowed a wave of anger and curled his fingers into fists. The more he thought about it, the less sense it made to him. It wasn't as if she and Cruz had just gotten together for a night or even a few weeks. No, they had been sneaking around for the better part of a year without a thought as to how he or the rest of the family would react. "Cruz." He replied. And to go to Uncle Luke and Aunt Laura before informing her own son of the impending condition she now found herself in? It was preposterous!
Dillon blinked rapidly. Cruz? Bobbie had been dating Cruz? This had Lifetime based on a true story movie of the week written all over it. "And how did you find this information out?"
"I stopped by the Spencer house without an invitation. Cam left his toy bear here, remember? I figured they would see Lucky before I would." Lucas explained. "I just happened to walk in about the time my mother announced it to my aunt and uncle."
Forget Lifetime. He could sell this to Showtime easy. "Did you at least talk to her about this?"
"I let her know I was standing behind her by repeating what she'd said back to her. And then I think she started to say something, but I got in the car and drove away. I don't really remember." There was one thing he'd never forget and that was when his mother's blissful expression had turned distorted. "It was stupid. I know that now. But I panicked. It was unreal. I can't explain it." Lucas muttered hoarsely. "And I'm not exactly proud of myself for how I've been acting." He defended himself even though Dillon had more than enough reason to be mad at him.
"Well sure it's unreal. It's not every day you find yourself plunged into a Lifetime movie." Dillon shrugged.
"This is not a joke!" Lucas snapped at his significant other, squeezing his eyes shut.
"I didn't mean it like that." Dillon approached Lucas carefully. "You know me. When in doubt lead with the bad joke."
"I'm sorry." He apologized profusely. "I'm so damn sorry." Without opening his eyes, he felt
Dillon's gentle touch and let his husband pull him into a hug.
"Not your fault." Dillon carefully rubbed up and down Lucas' arms. After a few minutes of silence, he attempted to speak again. "What are you thinking?"
"That I wish I hadn't scoffed at Uncle Luke's psychiatrist when he tried to prescribe me Prozac." Lucas murmured into Dillon's left shoulder.
"I am a man of many talents but I'm no Doc Brown. Any thoughts on how you're going to deal with this?"
"I have to talk to my mother." Lucas replied in a quiet voice. It was the logical response, but he didn't know what he'd say to her. "I don't know that I'm strong enough to stay and listen to her explanation though. And I don't want to upset her...in her condition." His head started to spin and he buried his face into Dillon's shoulder again.
"Do you want me to go with you?"
Lucas shook his head, opening his eyes and meeting his husband's beautiful brown gaze. "No. I think I need to do this by myself."
"Are you sure? You are turning down years of Quartermaine family drama experience. Things get bad, I'm good for firing someone or starting an argument over who's house it is."
Lucas patted Dillon's hands. "I know you're talented, sweetheart, but this is my family drama and I've already made such a mess of things. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if you got hurt."
"I've survived Thanksgiving with Edward and Tracy. This would be nothing." Dillon scoffed. "If you want to do this alone, I'll support you. But just know, I think you are a fool for turning my unique qualifications down."
"Yeah, yeah. Let's get some dinner." Lucas rolled his eyes.