The dart flew from Elizabeth's hand, zinging its way towards a collision with the dartboard. As the arrow hit the bullseye, Elizabeth turned to Peter and shook her head slowly. "I can't believe the nerve of that contemptible bastard." Her throaty voice shook with barely concealed hatred for the aforementioned 'bastard'. "Romano revokes my fellowship with no reason, dashes off to an island for golf--" the British surgeon waved her hand, indicating the general direction of the island. "And leaves me hanging, without a work visa for next year, or the slightest hint of a future here." Elizabeth took a swig of her Fuzzy Navel and sighed. "Your go." She stepped back from the dart-toss area.

Peter threw his dart half-heartedly, pondering the situation. "Maybe Jerry was right," he shrugged noncommittally. "He was kidding when he said you should marry an American citizen for your visa, but..." he paused briefly, "But maybe he was right." A hint of a question hung in the air.

Elizabeth looked stunned. "Peter?" her brow furrowed in consternation. "Are you suggesting I run off and marry someone I don't love, just to stay in America?" she laughed derisively. "I'd rather go back to England."

Peter shrugged, sipping his Perrier. "Well, maybe--"

He was cut off mid-sentence. "Yo, buddy, quit yapping and finish the damn game!" The man waiting to use the dartboard sounded a bit impatient.

Elizabeth whirled on the biker, snapping, "Look, asshole, we were here first, so go find a place to relax. We'll take as long as we damn well please." She turned back to Peter, her cheeks flushed bright pink with anger.

Internally, Peter was impressed. Outwardly, he just shook his head. "Elizabeth, I'm not suggesting you marry a stranger," he persisted in his explanation. "What about that friend you mentioned in California? Andrew something?" he suggested helpfully.

Elizabeth shook her head. "Peter, I've been through one ugly divorce already, and I don't intend to remarry unless it's for love. I won't commit to marriage for a green card." Peter knew that tone of voice from Elizabeth. When her accent became more pronounced, and her blue eyes turned ice blue, Peter knew that any further argument would be futile.

So Peter did what any sane surgical resident would do when his British-born, trauma surgeon lover was threatened with deportation. He got down on one knee. He took Elizabeth's hand in his own and tried to look romantic. "Elizabeth, this is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Not because I don't want to," he frowned. This was not going well. "But because you know how much I hate to ask anyone's permission for anything." He nearly laughed at himself.

Elizabeth was hardly amused. "Peter, don't you dare mock me." She snatched her hand away angrily. "This is not amusing."

"I'm not mocking you. I'm serious." Peter's dark eyes had a new look in them, one that Elizabeth had never seen before. "Elizabeth Anne Corday, will you marry me?"

Elizabeth practically fell over. "What?!"

"Will you marry me?" Peter repeated.

Elizabeth blinked her beautiful blue eyes exactly seven times. Peter knew because he was counting. Then she opened her mouth, slowly, her mind numb. "Yes. Of course, yes!" She sat down on Peter's bent knee, wrapping her arms around him, and kissing him soundly.

Peter wondered what he was getting himself into...then decided he didn't care.

THE END