Had it really been twenty-one years since he had stepped foot inside a hospital nursery? Georgie, he mused. She had been such an incredible baby smiling before she was supposed to be able to, talking before the books said she would…Twenty-one years since he had held a baby. And yet, here he was, standing over another plastic crib on wheels gazing down at the most precious baby he had ever seen.

"You look like your mother. I'm not biased. You have the Scorpio chin, eye shape, and ears. Maybe you have some of your dad in you." Mac admitted, running his hand lightly over the baby's chestnut hair. Half of it was facing forward while the rest was sticking up. "A handsome devil." He added with a nod.

"Has anybody held you?" Mac asked the infant. "I'll bet not. I'll bet they're too afraid to. They probably think you're fragile, but you're not. They don't know you like I do, like your mother does. Have they told you about her?" He reached down and carefully picked Nathan up, holding him close.

"There, that's right." He whispered to his nephew when he started to whine. "I've got you. Nobody's going to hurt you."

He cradled Nathan against his left side using his thumb to finger the thick curls that lay beside his ears. "Your mother is the strongest person in the world. I should know. I raised her."

Mac paid little attention to the other babies as they started to cry. "Quite a noisy bunch, aren't they?" He asked the baby. "I bet you don't get a lot of sleep in this place. I don't want you to worry. In just a few days, you'll be coming home. Home with your mommy and your daddy and your big brother."

He sighed. "I don't know what they've told you about any of them. Your mother risked everything for you. I'm not saying that you should be grateful because you're just a baby. What do you care about besides milk and a clean diaper? And your brother. I don't want you to judge him. He's not speaking right now, but he will be. One day he'll speak again. Until then, we've all got to be patient." Mac breathed in the sweet baby scent and fought back the urge to sob. "I know you can't understand this; you probably think the world has abandoned you, but that's not the case. We love you. We've wanted you from the moment we knew you were coming. I don't care what anyone tells you. That's the truth. How could we not want you? You're our miracle."

A nurse entered the room unobtrusively. She held out a fresh bottle until he took it. "It's time to feed Nathan." She explained patiently.

"See what I mean? You've got the whole world wrapped around your little finger." Mac told Nathan, moving to the corner where a single white wicker rocking chair sat. "There's a similar chair in your nursery. I saw it...I saw it the day I found out about you. Your mom doesn't know that. She thinks...who knows what she thinks at this point?" Mac carefully scooted the chair away from the wall and sat down, holding Nathan's head and balancing his tiny body on his left knee. "Here you go." He plopped the bottle into the baby's waiting mouth and listened to him suck away at it greedily. "I don't...I don't want you to judge your father either. Don't tell anyone this, but I understand what he's going through, probably in a way no one else can. I haven't even been to see your mother. I've been avoiding that particular room, because what can I say? She's had the most important people in her room and I've heard them...I've heard them all beg for her to come back to us, but she remains..."

Mac had to control himself better than this. All his nephew demanded of him was to hold the bottle upright. "She is going to wake up, Nathan. She will come back to us, to you and your brother, to your father and your mess of cousins. She will come back because she's not done yet. She's got too much to do, too many people depending on her and...and your mother is the most reliable person. She will regain her responsibilities and she will get out of that bed and take you home. I swear she will."

*****

When he told the family that he couldn't be at the hospital anymore, he hadn't told them where he would go. Everywhere he went held some memory of Robin; what he needed was a quiet, non-confrontational location. It also needed to be a place where no one, not Lucky, Elizabeth, or even Cruz would think to look for him. He glanced around the tiny space and breathed in the scent of old wood and chipping paint. Calmness. Or was it numbness? He honestly didn't care. He would take anything that allowed him a moment or two of stillness. There were no standards for him here; he wasn't watched like a hawk.

It was amazing Bobbie hadn't come home and found him already, but there was the off chance that she wouldn't. The tree house might have been big by normal standards, but once the sun set, it was almost impossible to spot. He didn't know exactly what had made him think of this particular point, but he was thankful he had. The memories were as palpable as the paint, each one more ingrained in the wood than the last. How many times had he or Lucky fallen out of this particular tree? Or the younger generations? Lucus and Lulu had been even more competitive than he or Patrick. This tree had seen more scrapes and bruises than any other one in the yard.

Morgan was too young to climb the tree, but he wouldn't always be. Would Nathan like this tree house? Would they sleep out under the stars like he and Logan used to do? The bitterness was sharp; he could taste it on his tongue. The rest of the world could block out the first thirteen years of Logan's existence, but Patrick couldn't. Logan hadn't always been terrible. For a little while, he had been selfless and funny. God, he had such a great sense of humor. He was the one people were constantly stealing jokes from.

Patrick knew he needed to go the morgue and identify his brother's body. His father sure wouldn't come to Port Charles and do it. When had that bastard ever taken the time to do anything for his children? Though it seemed impossible, Logan had gotten an even shorter end of the stick where their father was concerned. Yes, he hated Patrick and often blamed him for his wife's illness, but Noah Drake at least acknowledged his oldest son. He treated Logan like a stray dog. Or at least he had. Patrick didn't know how to think of Logan in past tense. It didn't seem real. He buried his head in his hands.

Sometime later the phone buzzed and he reached into his pocket to retrieve it. He gargled a hello, his hands pressed against either side of his head. Maybe that would keep it from flying off. His head pounded; he could barely see straight. He hoped the person on the other end wasn't going to require him to get out of this tree because he was a little uncertain it could be done.

"Patrick." Bobbie sounded startled. She must not have expected him to answer the phone.

"That's my name." Patrick replied unenthusiastically.

"Where are you? You've got to come back." Bobbie explained getting right to the point.

"Why?" Patrick sat up a little straighter. If something had happened with Robin he would never forgive himself for leaving her.

"Patrick, I can't...I can't quite explain it." Bobbie hesitated.

"What happened?" Patrick demanded impatiently. "Tell me what it is!"

"It's Nathan." Bobbie whispered.

Patrick felt the air whoosh out of him. "Wha-what about Nathan?" He tried to steady his voice as best he could.

"He needs his father."

Maybe it was because he had heard almost those exact words from every family member he had talked to over the last forty-eight hours. Maybe it was the lack of control he had on this entire situation. "Listen..."

"No, there's no reason you can give me to excuse your absence right this minute." Bobbie informed him.

"He's got all of you. He doesn't need me." Patrick insisted.

"I hear babies do that."

"Babies also sleep. And he isn't. He should be sleeping several times a day, at least six different frames, but he's not."

"What did the doctors say?"

"They can't diagnose him."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because they've never seen a baby act like this before."

"You're not making any sense. You make it sound like he's doing this on purpose. He's not even a week old."

"Patrick...physically he's fine. At least for now. The doctors are hesitant to induce sleep. So far his HIV status is negative but his immune system isn't what it should be. He can't afford to avoid sleep. This is costing him greatly."

"What do you want me to do? I'm not a doctor."

"He doesn't need doctors." Bobbie ground through her teeth. "He needs you."

"I'm sure there is someone there far more capable than I am." Patrick dodged.

"I know that—listen I understand..." Bobbie struggled for the right words. "You think you're going to lose Robin and there's nothing easy about that. I get it. I really do. Have you considered what would happen if you lost them both? Because it's a very real possibility."

"He's in the hospital. They aren't going to let him die."

"Lucky for him they care about him more than his own father."

Patrick swallowed a large dose of guilt. She was right. He had to go. "What if I can't get him to sleep?"

"Then you'll try something else. Right now, all he wants is his parents. Robin hasn't woken up so that leaves you."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes." He promised hanging up.