Fandom: General Hospital
Rating/Classification: R for language and nongraphic smut, Robin/Patrick, angst.
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
Summary: In the middle of a brutal epidemic, somewhere between reality and fantasy is where these doctors have to live.
Notes: This one's for Michy, because you requested it. Well, part of it, anyway. LOL.
Patrick moves over her, trapping her on the hospital bed, taking up space, all her space, as he kisses her. He cuts off protests and one-liners and verbal foreplay as he tangles one hand in her hair and uses the other to tug at the drawstring on her scrubs. She lifts her hips, making it easier for him, kicking off the pants and gasping when his fingers dive beneath the waistband of her bikini panties. Yes. Yes. Yes.
This is what she's wanted from him. All along. Every second. Every minute. To spread out under him and feel his stubble scraping her jaw. To lick the rims of his dimples and wrap her legs around his waist and throb against his palm.
He pulls back just long enough to yank blue cotton over his head and toss it…and she lets her gaze roam freely over the lightly-haired expanse of his chest. This is how she first saw him…naked, ready for sex…and this time it's for her. All for her.
"*Only* for you," he assures, gently.
But she doesn't want gentle. She wants hard, she wants oblivion, she wants to forget that there's death right outside the door, so she drags him back down to her. No, below her, as she bites, licks, and sucks a trail down his chest. He's huge in her hands, even bigger in her mouth, and, "Jesus Christ, Robin!" he gasps, his head falling back against the pillows as she takes him down to the hilt.
She bets he didn't know she could do that. She bets he didn't know she would want to.
She plans on surprising him as many times as she can before reality intrudes.
But Patrick has his own plans and he urges her up before she can make him come. She crawls back up his body, finding his lips again and kissing him fiercely as he grabs her hips and positions her just right for his cock. Smooth like silk and rough in all the right places. He buries himself inside her with one sure stroke and she cries out his name.
He fills her, he completes her, and he gives her everything. "I'm here," he murmurs against her ear, driving her into the mattress again and again. "I'm here, Robin, and I am not leaving you."
She believes him.
And she can finally let go.
She's damp with sweat, limp and exhausted and he holds her hand, brushing it along his cheek and wishing her skin weren't so fucking warm.
She moans his name, "Patrick…" and he doesn't know what she's seeing behind her eyelids, but he tells her, he promises her, "I'm here. I'm here, Robin, and I am not leaving you."
That's when her EKG goes wild and she begins to seize.
And Patrick realizes that she's the one leaving him.
He punches the 'Call' button knowing they're short-handed, knowing no one will come and there's no medicine, and nothing he can do except watch death spread through her. "Damn it, Robin, no." He vaults into the bed, hauling her against him, as if he can stop the spasms with his own body. "Stay with me. Stay with me, no. Don't do this, Baby. Don't."
Her eyes flash open, but she doesn't see him. Her pupils are dilated and her frail, fragile body is racked with seizure after seizure that he can't seem to take inside himself. And he would if he could. He would take it all. The HIV, the encephalitis, the pain and the sorrow and the loss. Anything to keep her alive.
"You said I'm the best doctor you know…so listen to me. Listen to me, Robin. Doctor's orders. Fight this," he pleads, not even recognizing the weakness in his voice or the tears coursing down his cheeks. He's Patrick fucking Drake, brilliant surgeon, and he doesn't beg. He damn well doesn't cry.
He holds her tightly, willing the code to stop, but not all the way, willing her to stop moving, but not all the way…willing her to love him enough…but not all the way.
"Robin…please," he whispers, one last time, before everything goes black.
"Stubborn little shits, aren't they?" Noah murmurs, quietly, leaning against the door.
"They certainly are." Robert looks at him askance, a dry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I wonder where they get it from."
Robin's fever broke at dawn. Patrick's minutes later.
They never even felt the needle pricks.
They could deny the serum all they wanted, but Robert and Noah have no use for heroes and saints, and certainly no desire to lose their only children. They're more ruthless than that, more mercurial. With his own daughter safely out of the woods, Luke was happy to cough up just enough blood -- not literally-- for another miracle.
They watch them sleep, a tangle of limbs and dark hair. Probably the first honest rest the two young doctors have had in days.
And the first moment's peace two fathers have had in years.
"First grandkid gets named after me, Scorpio."
"The Hell you say, Drake. 'Noah' is a terrible girl's name."
"And 'Roberta' just flows off the tongue?"
"She's going to hyphenate, you know. So, it'll be Roberta Scorpio-Drake."v
"Welcome to the family."
Robert reaches out, closes his hand around Noah's shoulder and squeezes. "Welcome, yeah."
And then their pagers go off, simultaneously, and reality intrudes once more…
February 12, 2006.