"I'm sure she's going to be fine." Robin assured Patrick, throwing her hands over his chest as he sat slumped in her computer chair. She had just put Morgan to bed when Patrick showed up hair a mess, eyes red and blotchy. She had automatically assumed something had happened with Cameron because she had known he was with Lucky tonight. Laura had sent the cousins over to Bobbie's to put the baby crib together. As much as Robin had wanted to watch them attempt a seemingly impossible task, she had attended her first PTA meeting at Morgan's school. She had met a lot of women there, most of whom she would only ever remember their faces instead of their names, and some men who had guilted into stopping in and staying for a ridiculously long meeting in which bake sales were the biggest concern. Robin wondered if she was too old to get a sick note from her mother.
"You didn't see her face when we brought her in." Patrick argued stubbornly, not wanting to fight with her but not quite ready to accept that she was okay without hearing the words from his aunt.
"Cruz is with her." Robin pointed out to which she was answered with a pouted expression. "He rushed right there, did he not?" At Patrick nod, she continued, "Well there you go. Cruz isn't going to let them do anything that they aren't supposed to do. He's got a lot on the line."
"And I don't? Bobbie is my family--" Patrick shot back bitterly.
"Don't you use that tone of voice with me Patrick Drake, or you'll be sleeping on the couch." Robin warned with a shake of her finger. "She's Cruz's family now." Before he could interrupt again, she went on, "Like it or not, Cruz isn't going anywhere. He loves Bobbie. You don't have to like it, but you might as well accept it."
"I hate it when you're rational." Patrick grumbled, snatching her arm gently and pulling her around the chair so that she tumbled into his lap.
"Frustrating isn't it?" Robin teased, kissing the tip of his nose.
"There are far worse frustrating things." Patrick countered, rolling his eyes. He caught her chin and tilted her head.
"Yeah? Like what?" Robin whispered, closing the space between them to plant a sweet kiss on his waiting lips.
"You know I'm more of a hands-on kind of guy." Patrick responded, sliding the strap of her lavender velvet nightgown down her shoulder.
"Too bad. Morgan and Courtney are upstairs." Robin pointed out, though she didn't pull away from him.
"All the more reason to stay downstairs." Patrick murmured, pressing his forehead to hers.
"I have so much to do." Robin argued, sliding out of his lap and getting to her feet with some difficulty.
"It can wait." Patrick shook his head, trying to grab her hand even as she stepped back another foot.
"It can't wait. Showers are all about details." Robin explained in a straightforward voice.
"Now you're talking my language." Patrick smiled, propelling his tired body out of the chair.
"Not that kind of shower. I mean Bobbie's baby shower." Robin told him, holding him back with a single finger poked into his chest.
"Baby shower? It's the middle of the night. Can't it wait until tomorrow?" Patrick whined, his eyes pleading.
"It's nine-thirty." Robin corrected, lifting her chin defiantly. "You'll just have to wait."
"Are you sure I can't--?" Patrick challenged in a lulling voice. Diving his hands into her hair, he cupped the back of her neck so that she had to look up at him.
"I have no doubt you can, but not right now." Robin countered, walking out of his arms. "Why don't you put on a movie or something? This won't take that long."
"Sure. I've heard that before." Patrick muttered, walking dejectedly to the couch.
"I feel a headache coming on." Robin alerted him cautiously.
"Fine. I'll be quiet. Just don't take too long." Patrick insisted.
"I might work on it all night." Robin threatened coldly.
"Yeah? I may not leave you anyplace to sleep in bed." Patrick retorted.
"What's different about that?" Robin wanted to know. When he didn't say another word, she checked off a mental point for herself. Robin Scorpio: 2 points. Patrick Drake: I point. She felt she had to give him one point for just being so damn sexy. Though she wouldn't be telling him that. It was a miracle he and his ego could fit in her tiny bed. More often than not, she was forced to sleep on top of him which, of course, he didn't mind, but the man was all muscle and thereby not as comfortable as her mattress.
Bedtime called the couple a few hours later. Patrick tossed and turned for the better part of an hour before Robin suggested maybe he get a glass of water or something. It wasn't that she was bothered by his worry, only that she knew he was never going to work through it lying in bed with her. Maybe he could go out for a run, clear his mind. She wished she had told him to do that instead, even though being left alone wasn't a favorable alternative.
The sheer curtains blew hastily in the breeze, nothing calm about the way they beat against the window in defiance. The night air was nice for the first time in a long time, not cold, but not humid either and she supposed that was why she had left the window cracked to begin with. Patrick would have freaked out if he had known, but she had done so after he had gone downstairs. Her bedroom was too stuffy to just rely on the central air; she would have suffocated in her sleep. Or lack thereof since she couldn't keep her eyes closed for more than a few minutes at a time. Patrick hadn't been gone for a long time, but she still considered hopping out of bed and going to find him. What if he had left and she was alone in the apartment with only Courtney and Morgan?
Her fingers gripped the ends of her blanket when she heard a scratching sound come up behind her. The odds of it being anyone but Morgan were low, so why was she afraid to turn around? He had probably had another bad dream; they weren't exactly foreign to him. She wished desperately to comfort him, but something told her that it wasn't her son who had startled her. She had taken a self defense class or two back in high school. She knew how to defend herself, but it had been years since she had even attempted it. Patrick had been an easy target at the bakery because she had been fueled by anger. The feeling pumping through her right now was nothing like anger, the exact opposite actually. She had never been so frightened in her entire life and she was almost certain no one would hear her if she screamed. If she could scream. Her throat was closing up.
She hadn't thought about that spent candle in weeks…now it was all she could think about. She hadn't told her Uncle Mac, but maybe she should have. Maybe he could have done an entire investigation and she wouldn't be in this situation right now…whatever this situation actually was. She had yet to turn around and face it like the strong woman she knew herself to be would do. The only weapons at her disposal from her position on the bed were the lamp and the mace. The lamp would do the most damage but she would go for the mace first just in case she was scaring herself for no reason. Over the last few weeks she had paid special attention to the news, listening, waiting, wondering if any other woman in Port Charles had been a victim of terrorization, but the local news stations had been silent. This did nothing to alleviate her worry. This meant she was being targeted. But why? A warm hand reached across her and closed over her mouth.
Choking on her fear, she drew her right elbow back and delivered a blow to her assailant's chest, causing him to wheeze slightly. Thankful for her quick thinking, she rolled onto her back and thrust the same elbow into his throat, her eyes catching his for a moment, but he reached for her arm and threw it over her head, the other returning to her mouth. Why hadn't she screamed? Why hadn't she turned the other way and made a run for the door? But there hadn't been enough time. She had cost herself precious time by waiting for him to attack her.
His face was hidden by a plain black mask but she knew the eyes well enough to know his identity. They were almost too light to be considered any one color. She had always seen them as green, but he had sworn they were gray and cunning like a lone wolf. At one time she had laughed at his reasoning, now she was terrified of what he might have picked up in their time apart. It was amazing what she thought about on the brink of hysteria. His messy beard had always bothered her and yet, she assumed he hadn't shaved it off. Some of his thick, chestnut hair stuck out of the back of the cotton mask, proving her suspicions that it was her ex-husband who had climbed through her open window with the intention of hurting her.
Logan must have assumed she would try to get away immediately, but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of being right. She would get away, but she had get a clear idea of how to do it first. Escape was essential, but this entire ordeal had her trembling and then he smiled in response. Forget thinking. Forget planning. He had one agenda in mind and he wasn't going to stop until it was carried out. Would he leave her alive this time?
Flailing mindlessly against him, her left hand shot out and her fist collided with the lamp, knocking it off of the nightstand. She hoped someone heard it, someone who could help her. She would never be able to forgive herself if Morgan was the one that came running, thus putting himself in harm's way. She would kill Logan before she let him anywhere near her son!
Logan shifted and settled between her legs, ignoring the way her head turned from side to side in agony. Robin wanted to close her eyes and will him away, but her days of make-believe were over. As it stood, he was restraining her right arm and crushing her legs beneath his. He thought he could overpower her? He thought he was a big, strong man? He was strong, but not smart. She had that advantage on him. He had taken the necessary steps to plan this out; patience rarely won over spontaneity. She was left with only one weapon. From this position, she was at least able to reach the wrist that was restraining her. Closing her hand over his wrist, she brought her free arm up and around his neck, latched both of her hands together, straightened her back, and used the back of her legs to hold him in place. Heels in his back, she was able to force him over her shoulder and smash the top of his skull into the headboard of her bed.
She held him in that position for as long as she could, a little voice telling her not to let go, to never let go. He would get loose. He would hurt her. Not if she held him there. Just a few more seconds and he'd pass out. Even though his hand was no longer over her mouth, she couldn't scream for help, couldn't even breathe. As she felt his body relax above her, heard the last full breath expel from his parted lips, she squeezed her eyes shut and cried out Patrick's name. She had no way of knowing how many times she called him or for how long. She was only aware of him being next to her instantly. He rolled Logan off of her, sending him flying into the ground, his unconscious body still.
"Come on, Robin. Breathe, damn it." Robin recognized Patrick's voice, but she couldn't respond to it. He pulled her carefully into his lap and rocked her for several minutes, his hand patting her back. She didn't know what he was saying, but was fairly certain he was having a difficult time getting them out. "Come on baby. I'm right here. I'm right here." If not for her struggled breathing, he might have thought she had passed out. She wanted to open her eyes, but her brain refused to send the message. She didn't want to see Logan, see what she had done to him, or think about what he would have done to her. She didn't want to explain any of it to Patrick, didn't want to shatter his world with the truth. All she wanted, all she really needed, was for Patrick to not let her go.