A/N: This was written in response to a prompt from Sharon-cooley, who suggested that I "[go] in-depth on a stalker!Robbie...why he does it, who he does it to, when he does it, things like that." Enjoy.

Disclaimer: As ever, don't own.

As night falls and the cicadas cry, you conceal yourself and peek through the window.

Inside, all is brightly lit, cheerful, shining. But you are at home out here, in the all-embracing dark. Unseen, unnoticed. It is where you belong – hidden from the world's scornful gaze.

She appears in the kitchen at last, wearing a white camisole and red shorts, with a smile on her face and a bounce in her step. Once again you drink in the smoothness of her legs, the elegance of her perfect proportions.

Your mind becomes a camera, your eyes the lens. An inner flashbulb captures every movement she makes.

Talking excitedly on the phone, she twirls her long hair around her index finger.

Click.

She pours herself a tall glass of iced tea and drinks deeply from it.

Click.

She removes her glasses and wipes them clean with a dishcloth.

Click.

Tonight, while you sleep, your subconscious mind will collect these hundreds of images and run through them one after another until they blur into continuous motion, like the pages of a flipbook. You will add sound to the silently moving lips:

"Come to me, Robbie. I need your strong arms around me. I long for you, every moment of every day."

And you will come to her, a knight astride a white horse – no longer gangly and awkward, but handsome and muscular. You will thrust a spear through the heart of the terrible dragon who holds her captive; then you will pull her up behind you, and together you will ride off into the clouds.

It is a false joy, and it vanishes like smoke the moment you awake; but in a life without love – ignored by your parents, ridiculed by your classmates – it is the best joy you can hope for.

You move slightly to one side to get a clearer view – and a twig snaps beneath your foot.

She looks up; spots your indistinct form moving in the bushes; screams for dear life. "DAD!"

Panicking, you run; but you do not get far before you are thrown against the outside wall. A fist slams into your back, knocking the wind out of you. You are spun around; a flashlight shines in your face.

"Robbie?" cries David Vega in astonishment and fury. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

You can see the bloodlust in his eyes. This is not the easygoing man you have met before, who responded to your presence with no more than mild annoyance. You've frightened his little girl, and he wants to make you pay.

She appears behind him. "Dad?" She tugs at his elbow. "Dad, don't. It's okay."

"But he-"

"It's all right, I promise. I'll take care of this."

"…If you say so, sweetheart." He turns to you and jabs his finger in your face. "But if I catch your sorry butt out here again, you'll be spending the rest of the night in the ICU, do you hear?"

You can only nod; your throat is too dry to speak.

When he is gone, you stand face to face with her, breathing hard. Perhaps, you think with rising hope, perhaps she stood up for you because, deep within, she truly feels about you the same way you feel about her. Perhaps you are her white knight in her dreams, as well as your own.

"Robbie," she says sadly, "you need to seek professional help. Please. And until you do…you're not welcome here."

There is pity in her eyes, and sorrow; but not love.

Never love.

You do not answer. Instead you limp away, feeling the bruise that is rapidly growing on your back. At the corner you pick up your bike and cycle away, toward a home where no one will greet you on your return, except for a worthless little block of wood whose vicious taunts will ring in your ears.

Eventually you will fall asleep. But in your dreams this night, you will no longer be the knight on the white horse.

You will be the dragon.