She was cold. Chilled to the bone cold even in the warmth of the church. Since that night she hadn't been able to get warm. Hadn't stopped wishing they hadn't found her--- had left her there to freeze to death like her little girl had.

She was tired of the platitudes and rationalizations that fell from their lips. They didn't matter. The one she needed to hear that he understood from would never say it.
She saw the blame in his eyes.
Blame mixed with an unspeakable grief. A grief she wasn't so sure she shared, but one she did know she had caused.

Oh, she was putting on a good show.
She knew she had to.
No new mother wouldn't mourn for their so wanted miracle child.

And she knew what to say.
How to act.
When to cry.

It was all done on cue.

A shudder here.
A tear there.

But it wasn't real because she was too cold to care.
Too cold to make them understand that they were all wrong--- it hadn't been an unspeakable accident.

She had known what she was doing.
Knew it was stupid to drive a new car she had only driven once before on roads covered by ice and snow.
Knew that she should've stayed in the warm car until help--- help that was only a 9-1-1 call away--- came.
Knew she was walking away from the road instead of towards it.
Knew she should've dressed Emma warmer. Had her wrapped in more blankets. Kept her in the car seat or drawn her to her chest under her own coat.

But she hadn't done what she knew was right.

And why? Because she was tired of it?
Tired of Emma's constant wailing.
Tired of not being the perfect mother she had dreamt of being.
Tired of watching others do what she couldn't manage.
Tired of her dream becoming a nightmare.
Tired of her own child. . .

So she let her fall.

Let her illusions go when she allowed herself to collapse a few feet away, ready to give up because she wasn't perfect anymore.

Only they had found her too soon and Emma too late.

So here she was, the formerly perfect Dr. Robin Scorpio-Drake cold as ice waiting for the funeral scene to play out so she could let down her façade. Come up with someway to place the blame on someone else.

There was no way she had PPD.
She wasn't that person.
She wasn't Carly.
Carly who had just walked away from Michael--- no she had held her baby until her weight had become too much for her to bear.

Until she dropped her in the snow one cold night.
And she was still cold.
Ice cold.
Cold enough to shatter; only she couldn't.

Not here.

Not now.

Not ever.

Because perfect people didn't shatter.

And that was why, she'd eventually say, that her eyes shimmered with cold and not tears of grief. Why she forged on and didn't look back.

Why, when the right amount of time passed, she'd leave Patrick, who would be buried under his imperfect grief.

She'd never allow them to know how cold she was, because Robin Scorpio was a survivor.

She was warmth and compassion.
Never imperfect.
Never cold.