The knife was heavy in her hand as she chopped up a handful of carrots for the soup. The dinner itself wouldn't take more than half an hour to make and that was mostly because she was extra sluggish in her preparation tonight. Reaching for the next carrot, she shaved off the gritty first layer into the sink, flipped the garbage disposal, and turned on the faucet to dull the sound and wash away the leftovers. Once she was satisfied, she clicked it off and placed the carrot on the cutting board, her mind a million miles away.

More specifically, nine miles, two left turns, and one long stoplight away. All she had to do was close her eyes--not the smartest thing to do when she was handling a sharp object--and she would be back in Patrick's apartment. Though she hadn't ever thought the studio was that big before, they had managed to have sex on every surface in the place. Her cheeks grew hot when she let herself really think about all that had been done and said in the span of a day, not even, more like eighteen hours. She had told him that she loved him and he had said it back, not just repeating the words, but actually meaning them. It had been obvious in the way he touched her, the way he spoke to her. Who would have thought playboy Patrick Drake would take the time to learn some of the most erotic phrases in French for her and her alone? His effort made her feel special; his intent made her feel beautiful.

And he'll be here for dinner, she recalled dreamily. That was why she supposed she couldn't focus on the simple task of preparing the easiest meal she could make. Every time she started to think in measurements or degrees, her brain would get foggy and she would have to pinch herself. Quite literally considering how red her left arm already was. All she had to do was throw the carrots in and let the food cook in perfect harmony together. Finish the carrots, damn it! Up until the point where she set the knife down and started playing with the tip of the vegetable she had thought she was successful in blocking out all distractions. Clearly not! She had never realized just how insatiable she actually was. And Patrick was just as bad.

She was being a damned fool, but she couldn't seem to help herself. Why she had fought this feeling as long as she had would remain a mystery. Masochism only went so far, right? Speaking of how far, a naughty voice teased, licking at her curiosity like a flame to a log. It wasn't as if she was a stranger to Patrick's body, not after today, but she bet there were still a lot of things they could try that she hadn't even thought about. This was what happened when two intelligent, creative people were put together: good things started to happen for them.

The front door opened and closed before she even knew what was happening. Dropping the knife when she felt a hand wrap around her waist and pull her backwards, she fought back for a second before his voice caught her attention, "Still thinking about that shower?" Leave it to Patrick to show up now of all times. All she had wanted was to get the dinner in the pan and have a nice glass of wine. Now she was flustered and…yep she was crying. Confused at her dawning reaction, Patrick lifted her chin with his thumb and caught her stare. "Did I scare you?" He asked in a remorseful voice.

"Of course not. Onions." Robin shook her head and dumped the carrots into the pan, setting the burner on medium heat. She knew he wouldn't let her go, but she really wanted to put some distance between them.

"I'm an idiot. I didn't think." Patrick apologized, nuzzling her neck with his nose. "You just looked so cute in your little apron, all caught up in your thoughts."

"I'm glad you're here." Robin admitted, leaning into him slightly to show that she was telling the truth and had missed him greatly.

"Smells good." Patrick whispered.

"I hope you like soup." Robin replied.

"What?" Patrick inquired, distracted.

"Did you have any clients when I left?" Robin wondered, stricken with an unfamiliar case of awkwardness.

"No, I don't want to talk about work." Patrick countered, turning her mouth into his to kiss her gingerly. Sliding her arms around his neck, Robin stood on tiptoe to deepen the kiss. Walking her away from the searing pot, he tucked her into a small corner at the back of the kitchen.

"We can talk about other things." Robin said through frenzied kisses. "News. Weather. The coming of the Apocalypse."

"The only coming I'm worried about is ours." Patrick answered honestly, cupping her face in his hands and sliding his leg between hers.

"Oh." Robin whimpered into his mouth as his knee brushed intimately against her thighs. She could already feel her resolve breaking dramatically. At the scraping of his fingers over her clothed yet vulnerable breast, she dropped one hand to his tie and started yanking it apart.

"Careful there. I don't think we're quite ready for S&M." Patrick mumbled teasingly against her cheek.

"What is it with the kitchen?" Robin heard herself ask, knowing that he would understand. She had been in her kitchen when she and Patrick had first kissed. They had ended up in the kitchen the night of whipped cream and too much wine. She had been in Lucky's kitchen when Patrick had come over to apologize for the misunderstanding with Emily. When he had caught her downstairs in his kitchen making them a snack, they had decided to christen every surface of the apartment. No wonder she had always been drawn to this room: she had been waiting for Patrick to join her here.

"Easy access to sweet things." Patrick figured, fingering the buttons on her sheer white blouse. She tilted her head then to give him better access to her neck and shivered when he took the hint.

Robin didn't wonder aloud how she had made it as long as she had without him, just chalked up those lonely years to preparation for what she had found with Patrick. Giving up on the tie for the moment, she pulled the ends of his shirt until they broke free of his pants and ran her hands up his chest.

"That must be it." Robin agreed, smiling when he lifted her off of her feet and placed her on the end of the counter. Kneeing her legs apart, he settled against her as if he belonged there, and drank desperately from her mouth.

"Never enough." Patrick muttered almost inaudibly, tangling one hand in her hair while the other dipped beneath the waistband of her black leggings. His hand was cold against her skin, setting off a string of shivers that she couldn't suppress.

The steam from the soup enhanced the heat between them, wrapping around them like a warm blanket. In a matter of seconds, the tiny space seemed to double as a sauna. Clothing was torn away, buttons were lost, hands started to roam expertly, and breaths mingled as the temperature continued to spike.

"Patrick, we've got to stop." Robin declared, shoving at his bare shoulders with enough force to make him raise his head from her breast.

"Are you crazy? Why the hell should we stop?" Patrick challenged stubbornly.

"Dinner is going to burn--" Robin began.

"Let it. I'll cook you whatever you want." Patrick insisted, his mouth finding hers without incident.

"We aren't alone in the apartment." Robin pointed out, having realized it but not bringing attention to it until now. It might already be too late, she mused. There was little common sense to be found in her swimming brain what with her body trying to take over. She couldn't ignore the incredulity in Patrick's eyes as he watched her start to withdraw even as he continued to kiss her.

"We'll just be quiet." Patrick suggested, unable to keep the desperation out of his tone.

"I can't be quiet." Robin admitted bashfully.

"We'll be quick." Patrick offered, trying another approach.

"No." Robin shook her head. "We're not going to cheapen it."

"Cheapen it?" Patrick repeated in a strangled voice.

"Can you hold out until after dinner?" Robin asked, though she wasn't leaving him much choice.

"No." Patrick pouted.

"I'll make it worth your while." Robin promised provocatively.

"Robin." Patrick whined, resting his forehead against hers.

"Thank you." Robin patted his back and hopped off of the counter, her muscles protesting.

His sister had often accused him of decorating Cameron's room as if he was thirteen instead of three. While most of his friends had rooms decorated with cartoon characters, superheroes, or animals, Cameron's walls were a plain dark blue. His artwork decorated the otherwise bare walls, mounted with thumbtacks. Toys littered the floor, and a small TV and DVD player sat on top of a red dresser. Lucky tended to defend his decorating style by claiming he was preparing Cameron for the future when the truth was his father had not one ounce of decorating sense.

Cameron sat up in his bed, the train-covered sheets pushed down towards his feet. A scowl covered his normally smiling face as he attempted to color with his left hand, not his usual hand. He was finding it difficult to balance the coloring book between the two casts that covered half of his body.

Lucky made his way into his son's room, sitting down on the bed carefully so as to not disrupt the delicate balance of crayon, coloring book and three-year-old. "What you doing there?"

"I not color no more." Cameron tossed the yellow crayon to the ground in a huff. "Stupid crayons."

"Hey buddy. You may be still hurt but the rules still apply here. No throwing." Lucky bent down to retrieve the victimized crayon. Catching sight of Cameron's defeated face as he straighten up, Lucky pulled his son close to him. "I know it sucks when you can't do what you want."

Cameron nodded against his father's chest. "I want to color."

"I know Champ. I know. And you will. These casts aren't forever and you'll be good as new. Until then we just got to be creative. We'll have to find some new ways to play ok?"

"Promise Daddy?"

"I promise." With a final squeeze, Lucky released Cameron from his arms. He would figure out someway for Cameron to do the things he loved to do while he was healing. Well everything but ride horses. That was still on the over his dead body list. Surely Elizabeth would know something he could try. "Maybe Miss Elizabeth could help us out."

He kept one eye on Cameron's face as he spoke. It was only an instant, but he finally saw it. The glare Elizabeth swore appeared every time she was near Cameron showed itself at last. Damn if she wasn't right. That was one intimidating look his son shot. Lucky was completely confused. Last year Cameron wouldn't be quiet about Elizabeth and now this was the look he got whenever her name was even mentioned? What was going on? "Hey. What's that look about?"

He apparently inherited more than his Aunt Lulu's love of horses. Cameron began to look at everything but his father, just like Lulu continued to do from a bad grade down to and including wrecking the family car. "Cameron. What's going on?"

"Is it Miss Elizabeth? Is that why you're so quiet?" He prodded, noticing the glare's return the second he mentioned Elizabeth's name. "Cameron I thought you liked Miss Elizabeth when she was your teacher."

Cameron nodded, still not meeting Lucky's eyes. It was a start at least. He didn't hate her outright like she swore he did. "Is this because we are dating? Do you not like that?"

With his lower lip sticking out, Cameron glanced quickly in his father's eyes and shook his head, curls bouncing around his head.

"Why not?" Somehow this was his father's fault and Lucky swore he was going to make him pay for it. If his father had just kept his big mouth shut, then he would have had more time to get Cameron used to his idea, instead of just springing it on him.

With sad eyes, Cameron finally met Lucky's eyes for longer than a second. "You'll go away."

"What? Cameron I'm not going anywhere."

Stubbornly, Cameron shook his head. "No. You date her. You get married and then you leave me. You have other kids and you no see me anymore."

"Cameron." Lucky pulled his son back to him, feeling the tears start to wet his shirt. "Where did you get an idea like that?" he asked softly.

"Kristina."

Kristina? Cameron hadn't seen Kristina since the night of the back to school festival. Which was also around the time Elizabeth started to swear Cameron hated her. It was all starting to make sense now. "What did Kristina tell you?"

"That her daddy dated. And then he got married and didn't see her no more."

Lucky silently cursed Sonny Corinthos. How was it possible that even locked away for life, he could still screw with people's lives? Making a mental note to enlighten Alexis on her daughter's view of parenting and remarriage, Lucky pulled back just enough from Cameron to look his son in the eyes. "I'm very sorry that happened to Kristina but that's not going to happen with you and me."

"But Kristina..."

"Cameron, it's not going to happen with us. You aren't getting rid of me, even when you are old and too cool to hang out with me anymore. End of story. We are stuck like glue." Seeing Cameron hesitantly smile, Lucky cocked one eyebrow. "That's why you've been so mean to Miss Elizabeth lately? You were afraid she would take me away?"

At Cameron's brief nod, Lucky sighed. "Cams, she isn't going to take me away. You know you are the reason we even met in the first place. And she was at the hospital with you the entire time." He placed one finger under Cameron's chin. "I promise you she won't. Ok?"

"Ok." Lucky wasn't a fool. He knew this wasn't the end of this, but at least now he had some idea of how to handle this situation. Elizabeth could understand this and at least she would be reassured that Cameron did not in fact hate her. It would take some time for Cameron to be truly ok with this but at least now they could start.

"Now I asked Miss Elizabeth to eat dinner with us and you mister are going to be nicer. She wants to be your friend and it's hard to do that with you making ugly faces all the time."

Cameron giggled, covering his mouth with his left hand. "I sorry."

"Don't tell it to me. Tell it to her." Lucky scooped Cameron off the bed, heading for the door. "She even suggested we order your favorite pizza and you're sitting here making faces." He tickled Cameron lightly. "You better be careful or your face will freeze like that."

"Grandpa says that not true."

"Your grandpa lies."f