Chapter 39

In your love, my salvation lies

Robin stood in front of the open closet, her arms folded across her chest as she stared in disbelief at the sight before her. Patrick, reclining on the bed, looked from her to the closet and back again.

"You seem perplexed Scorpio."

"Mmm" she grunted, furrowing her brow. Taking several steps closer to the closet she carefully examined it from one end to another, shaking her head and murmuring to herself as she did so.

"Okay, you're beginning to freak me out. What is the problem?"

"Nothing" she responded quietly with a small shake of her head. "Well...it's just..."

"It's just what? I thought you wanted this?"

"I do." She nodded. "It's just I had no idea?"

Exasperated, he flopped back on the bed and exhaled slowly. "No idea of what? It's a closet with clothes in it. Our clothes - that's all part of the whole moving in together thing."

Slowly turning on her heel to face him, her rich brown eyes twinkling, she shook her head. "I had no idea you had more clothes than I do."

Sitting up suddenly, he scrunched up his face. "I do not."

"Patrick! You have 10 pairs of jeans - 10! And don't even get me started on your sweatervests..."

"What? We're not even living together for a day and you're already picking apart my wardrobe? There is nothing wrong with sweatervests."

"No," she replied slowly as she inched towards him, "I'm just not sure you need seven of them. You are one high-maintenance boyfriend!" Robin ducked the incoming pillow, giggling as she did so.

Scrambling off the bed, he chased her into the living room and grabbing her around the waist, spun her round as she shrieked in delight.

"Put me down!" she protested laughingly.

"Not a chance roomie" he told her, pulling her closer to him as he backed them both up against a wall. Robin wrapped her legs around his hips, smiling daringly at him. "Take it back - the part about me having more clothes than you" he said, his lips hovering just out of reach of hers.

"Okay," she said breathing unevenly as she lost herself in the feeling of his body pressed against hers.

"Okay?" he checked, pleased to have won his point so easily. Unable to resist her he cradled his head between her neck and shoulder, sucking softly on her sweet skin.

"Mmm-hmm" she nodded. "Just one thing though"

"What?" The sound of his voice vibrated against her skin sending ripples of pleasure through her.

"You actually DO have more clothes than me!" Quickly unwrapping her legs, she slid down the wall and took off running down the hallway.

Shaking his head at her playfulness, he gave chase. "Scorpio! When I get my hands on you, I'm going to-"

"You're all talk, no action Drake!" she called, ducking into the linen closet to avoid detection.

"You've never complained about my action abilities befo-"

Stopping suddenly at the threshold to the hallway, he gripped his head which had begun to painfully pound. He blindly groped for the wall, trying to stay upright as he clenched his eyes shut, wincing in pain.

"Is that the best you've got?" she called to him, still locked away in the closet.

"Ro-robin" His legs were unsteady as the pounding continued.

His voice was barely above a whisper but even in the closet she could hear the pain threading its way through. Pushing the closet door open, she sprinted down the hallway to him; she slid her arm around his waist to support him.

"Patrick?"

"It's just a headache," he bit out, his eyes still slammed shut.

Robin let out a quiet breath to steady herself. "Let's get you to the couch and-"

Starting to shake his head in protest, he thought better of it and acquiesced to her. Leaning on her, he let her lead him to the couch and gingerly lowered himself onto the chocolate brown leather. Still gripped with pain, his entire body tensed in an attempt to ward it off.

"I'm going to get you some ice, why don't you lean back?" she suggested.

As she walked to the kitchen she lowered the lights in the living room; both knew exactly what was causing the headache and that this was only the opening act. If the radiation didn't succeed in shrinking it, the pain would only intensify to the point of being disabling until the tumour was removed through surgery. She sighed quietly as she pulled the ice tray from the freezer. It was going to be a long road ahead for him. For both of them.

Retrieving a dishtowel from the bottom draw, she laid it out on the counter and filled it with ice cubes. As she did so, she looked over at the one small box of Patrick's possessions, tipped up against the wall. Having arrived at the MetroCourt to help him move his things, she had been surprised when everything was packed into three suitcases and one small bankers box containing mostly books. She had been sure that he had things in storage in Manhattan or Port Charles and felt a wave a sadness when he told her that he didn't - that his entire life could be boiled down to these simple mementos.

He had explained how his father had boxed up all of his childhood things and sent them to the family summer house in the Hamptons and from the moment he entered university he had vowed to travel lightly through life. There had been so many moments in her life when she felt as though her existence were small or solitary but she knew, even if she were being judicious in her packing, her life would require much more than three suitcases and box to hold it.

Patrick was stretched out on the couch, his arm draped across his eyes. He had accused her once of living a small life but she realized now that is was him whose life lacked expansion. That despite all of his bravado and cockiness, all of his partying and dating, he lacked tangibles, memories to hold onto when the present let you down.

Heading back to the couch, ice in hand, her eye was caught by a leather frame poking out of his box. Stooping down, she scooped it from the box and carried it with her. Slipping in behind him, she gently pressed the ice against the side of his head that he was still holding. He flinched slightly as the cold make contact with his skin but his breathing immediately lengthened as the pounding started to recede.

Wrapping her arm around him, she soothingly stroked his chest trying to reduce his tension. "Better?" she asked quietly, her lips near his ear.

"Yeah" he replied. "I'm sorry"

"You have brain tumour Patrick, this is part of the package."

Blowing out his cheeks, he dropped his head against her shoulder. "I wish it wasn't."

Her fingers threaded through his hair and she kissed him softly. "It'll be over soon Patrick and then you can chase me all over the apartment."

He smirked. "Naked?"

"Feeling better already, I see." Reaching over to the couch, she picked up the closed leather frame and handed it to him. "What's this?"

A small sigh escaped his lips as he held it. His mouth twitched up into a smile. "Echoes of a life long ago."

"May I see it?" she asked carefully. There was simply no rushing Patrick. Without question, if pushed he would always, inevitably push back. She wanted him to open up to her on his own not because she pressured him to. There was always a risk in being vulnerable to another person but she hoped to show him there was a reward as well.

Patrick flipped open the frame, revealing two photos. The one on the left was of Noah and Mattie; he held her in his arms and it was clear they were dancing. The look of love in Noah's eyes was unmistakable. The photo on the right was of Patrick and his mother - by Robin's guess he was about 17 - they were in their pyjamas playing with a racetrack.

"Good god!" she groaned, "you looked that good as a teenager? You must have been insufferable."

"It's true" he sniffed, "I was born this handsome."

Laughing lightly, she brought her chin to rest on his shoulder. "Did your parents dance a lot?"

"All the time" he admitted. "It got embarrassing as I got older - I'd bring friends home and my dad would get home and waltz my mother around the kitchen. Or he'd be making brunch and a song she'd love would come on and he'd go looking for her and slow dance with her."

"It sounds romantic" she told him quietly. "Are you and your mom playing race cars?"

He gave a small nod. "That's the set that you knocked over in a huff a few months back," he teased; she buried her face against his shoulder. "It was the last Christmas before she died and we spent all morning on Christmas Day playing it."

"There's a lot of love in those two photos," she observed softly.

"Yeah. Not sustainable though or possible to live up to."

Tilting her head to the side, she looked at him carefully. "Why do you say that?"

"Because inevitably you fail."

"Why are you so afraid of failure?"

He curled his fingers through hers and brought the palm of her hand to his lips, kissing it softly. "Because the cost of failure is so high. My father failed and I lost everything. I could never do to another person what he did to me."

"So it's easier to keep people at a distance?" she prodded.

He gave a small shrug as he continued to play with her fingers. "Easier, no. But safer, maybe." Turning his head, he looked at her. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Why aren't you afraid of failure?"

"Because I have failed. Multiple times. Patrick I've failed as much as one person can and I've lived to tell the tale. Without great risk, there is no great reward and I would rather fall on my face having tried to reach for the stars than sit comfortably and never made an effort."

Her words broke through all his defences and as with so many other occasions, she made him believe that anything was possible if only he'd try. "I might...I might need you to teach me how to do that" he whispered.