Chapter 9

I'm not waking up each morning with forgiveness I can use.

Despite the oppressive heat outside he curled his hands around the steaming mug, letting the heat soothe him. Leaning against the door frame, he watched as Robin slept on the couch. He had been unable to tear his eyes from her since they had returned from the bridge to her apartment. She had sobbed herself in to exhaustion and keeping his promise, he hadn't let her go; not even when she had sunk to her knees, holding her stomach as though trying to keep her pain from escaping. He had sunk to his knees beside her and pulled her back against him. He had felt so ridiculously out of his depth in trying to help her but figured if he could just hold her, just make her feel less alone then that had to count for something. It had felt like she was coming apart right before his eyes but in a very Robin way - precisely and quietly. He had seen people fall to pieces before; any time he had been forced to deliver bad news to a family, inevitably one family member would lose it. But, if you didn't count his father's decade long meltdown, he had never seen it happen to someone he cared so much about, someone he loved.

As her tears had finally given way to exhaustion he had scooped her into his arms and carried her to his car, driving her home. Once at her apartment she had put up a weak protest, telling him she was fine but he had insisted that he stay with her. They were sooner in the door and Patrick was ordering her to lie down. Too tired to put up a fight, Robin stretched out on the couch and let Patrick tuck a blanket around her. She was fast asleep by the time he kissed her forehead.

Though he tried to ignore them, Robin's words about dying rung loudly in his ears. The idea of her beautiful body being eaten by cancers and sores, of her vision slipping from her and of her spirit being totally crushed knocked him breathless. In that moment he realized that he was not afraid of testing positive - he could cope with that if he had to - what terrified him, what made a cold sweat trickle down his spine on even this, the most sweltering of days, was losing her - especially when he had just found her. He had lost only one person in his life that he loved and there were days when he was still reeling from it.

So lost in thought, he barely noticed his left hand trembling until the mug slipped from it and crashed to the floor. He groaned as he heard Robin stir, bending down to pick up the pieces.

"Patrick?" she called to him sleepily, "is everything okay?"

"Yeah" he answered. "Just being clumsy." He dropped the shards of ceramic in the garbage can before joining her on the couch. He smiled softly at her as he lovingly stroked her hair. "You should go back to sleep."

Robin shook her head. "No" she sighed. "That's enough of a nap." It took an enormous effort on her part to look him in the eye. It had been years since she had allowed her self to be that vulnerable in front of anyone and though she knew she loved him she also knew his feelings were not as deep and she was fearful of driving him away. "Um...I'm okay now - you don't have to stay."

Leaning easily against the couch he carefully studied her face. "Tell me Scorpio," he started gently, "why is it you are always trying to get rid of me?"

Robin's cheeks flushed crimson as she pursed her lips together. "I'm not...I just don't want you to feel like you have to stay."

"What if I want to stay?"

Robin was unable to conceal her surprise at his question. "So you're saying you like your girl...girlfriends a little on the crazy side?" she asked, nervous laughter escaping from the back of her throat.

Reaching out, Patrick took her hand and laced his fingers through hers. "First of all, you're not crazy. Second of all, I wouldn't know if I like my girlfriends on the crazy side - you're my first girlfriend." Robin smiled shyly in response. "So" Patrick's tone was cautious, "do you want to talk about it?"

Pulling her legs to her chest, Robin brought her chin to rest on her knees. "Not really. There's not much more to say."

"I think there's a lot to say" he countered kindly. "Robin, I think you've holding this in for a long time and you need to talk about it. April's death opened some kind of wound inside you."

Silent for a moment, Robin chewed anxiously on her bottom lip. "I can't...I can't talk about Stone's death. It's not going to change anything. What's done is done and it has put me on the path I'm on." Her voice was flat and the slight dullness to her eyes did not escape Patrick's notice.

"You're right. Nothing is going to bring Stone back but Robin that doesn't mean you wouldn't feel better about it if you talked about it."

"This is ironic" she sniffed, "coming from you who could never pass up an opportunity to lecture me about getting involved in other people's lives."

He flinched slightly at her accusation. She was right of course, in his inimitably smug way he had berated her for poking around in other people's issues and now here he was doing the exact same thing. But even if she considered him a hypocrite he was not about to let it go, he was worried about her, he was worried for her, he loved her and in his mind that meant he got to stick his nose in.

"Guilty as charged" he replied jokingly, hoping to ease the tension.

"I can't talk about it" she repeated, "so don't ask me again."

"You can't talk about it with me or at all? What if you went to see someone? I...uh...erm...therapy can help."

Blinking in surprise, her mouth dropped open slightly. "Did you go to therapy?"

Blowing out his cheeks he nodded. "Just for a little bit. About a year after my mom died and my dad was already a regular at the local pub I was having some anger management issues. About two months before high school graduation I rammed my car into a parked car at my school."

"Why?"

"Because the guy was parked in what I considered my parking space. My guidance counselor took pity on me and recommended a really good therapist. We talked about my mom and stuff around her death and it helped."

Scrunching up her face Robin looked at him curiously. "Really?"

He smiled sheepishly and dragged his hand through his hair. "It helped for a while" he ammended. "But then things with my dad got worse and I was at college and became singularly focused on med school."

"We never talk about your mom."

"We never talk about Stone."

"Touche" she smiled. "I know that your mom died during surgery but you've never said what her diagnosis was."

"Meningioma" he replied clinically. "Deep in her occipital lobe and it was malignant. It was growing quickly and neither chemo nor radiation were having any effect on it. She was losing muscle function and the power of speech. My dad was only one of two doctors who would attempt the surgery given the tumor's placement and size. The other doctor refused saying that her case was too far gone and she should make peace with the fact that she was going to die. The thing is, my mom was a fighter and she wouldn't, she couldn't go down like that - not without trying all possible options. The irony is my dad refused as well at first - telling her that it was unethical for him to operate on her but she pleaded with him. She didn't want to die and she thought my father could do anything so she pushed and begged and went so far as to meet with the head of medical ethics to get clearance for him to operate and I don't know what she said to convince him but next thing I knew my dad was scrubbing in."

"Was she sick for long?"

Patrick nodded. "About a year and a half. As her condition deteriorated, she needed more and more help. The last six months of her life she was mostly bed ridden."

"That must have been so hard for you" she said softly. Visions of Stone losing his sight and become weaker flashed through her mind, squeezing the air from her chest. If she could just keep him talking she hoped the feeling would pass.

He shrugged. "I don't know - it was what it was. I would cook, my dad would clean - when my dad worked nights I would sit on my mom's bed and we'd watch Jeopardy together - making our bets with nickles and quarters. I guess in some ways I spent more time with her than I would have if she wasn't sick." Well aware that she had changed the subject to deflect, Patrick looked at her intently. "Robin, I've never lost someone I've been in love with - I don't know what that particular pain is but I do know what loss feels like and I know that it can be paralysing at times."

"You're relentless."

"And you're avoiding."

"What do you want me to say?" she asked, dropping her head on the back of the couch. "Patrick, I wake up every day knowing I'm dying - that even with a low viral load my health is fragile. Having watched Stone die I also now know what my death will be like. Some days that's harder to live with than others and today was one of those days."

"Do you..." his tongue darted from his mouth, moistening his dry lips. "Do you feel guilty that you're still alive when Stone isn't?"

Closing her eyes, she exhaled loudly. "Where did that come from?" She tried to keep her anger at bay but it was still seeping through. She wasn't sure what she was so angry about - she was a survivor - she had survived loss and unspeakable grief and she was surviving her disease but it all felt so hollow - like there was a void that could not be filled.

He saw the struggle mapped on her face and knew he had hit close to home with his question. "I don't know" he lied, "I guess, I'm just trying to figure out where your head is at."

"I really don't want to talk about this and I wish you would stop pushing me."

He paused for several beats as he watched her walls start to rise around her and he knew that it was enough for one day. "Okay," he agreed.

Unfurling her legs she rose from the couch. "I think...I think I'm going to go take a bath" she announced.

"Do you want some company?" he offered playfully.

Robin gave him a small smile. "Not this time. Actually, I think you should probably go home."

"You don't want me to stay?" he asked in surprise.

"I kind of want to be alone" she replied.

Knowing it was pointless to fight with her, he sighed heavily and rubbed his hands over his face before standing up. "Okay - I'll go. On one condition." Robin quirked an eyebrow up. "I'll go on the condition that you know that even if I don't spend the night that you're not alone. Robin I lo-" he paused, "you mean so much to me." Walking towards her, he gathered her in his arms and pressed his lips against hers. "I'm here for you, when you're ready to talk."

Feeling relief that he was going but reassured that she hadn't driven him away, Robin softly brushed her lips against his. "Thank you for taking such good care of me."

"There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you" he whispered.