Disclaimer: Is it really necessary to rub this in, time and time again?
All right, fine: The characters contained herein are the exclusive property
of yadda yadda yadda WB, NBC, blah blah blah, ownership by the author is
neither stated nor implied humina, humina, DONE! Not mine! Got it? Good.
RL, my separated-at-birth-alternate-universe-twin - stated somewhere your desire to move to Texas. Bring it on, girl.Corona and lime on the beach, another visit with Mr.Cuervo, then settling down at the word processor - we could really curl some hair, couldn't we? If not a relocation, maybe a vacation? Hmmm. Seriously though, readers - if you like what your reading, blow noisy kisses Rocket Launcher's way, 'cuz that last chapter wouldn't have happened the way it did without her.
And finally, to PMCFan - my other lovely, if impatient muse - many, many thanks for seeing me through those long, bleary-eyed nights in front of the monitor, helping provide the grist for the Romano Lust Mill. You're a gem, you are. ***sending Scooter the Patented Romano-Ella Wave***
Maybe just PG this time.and quit throwing things at me; mad shagging is always best if you haaaaaave....tooooo.....waaaait....foooor....iiiiit...
A little music to set the stage, courtesy of Alanis Morrissette:
"Like anyone would be, I am flattered by your fascination with me. Like any hot-blooded woman, I have simply wanted an object to crave. But you? You're not allowed. You're uninvited. An unfortunate slight.."
She was exhausted.
The coffee was hot, but lousy, and it wasn't even doing its job. Eyelids weighted, arms hanging heavily at her sides, legs walking as if through wet concrete instead of over polished tile. Her blood droned a monotone in her ears, she could feel the pulsing of the artery just below her jaw. A head- splitting yawn, the ding of the elevator, and she was inside. Muzak. Dear God.
She had been afraid to go back to sleep.
She was so certain that she'd close her eyes and he would pounce, from the darkest recesses of her mind. Drag her down into that swirling vortex of revulsion, confusion, and erotic desire. And she was terrified that she would go. Willingly. Eagerly. Begging for more.
Elizabeth, you've got to get laid.
The doors before her slid open and she stepped out onto the surgical floor. Phones ringing, pagers chiming, the familiar beeps and whispers of various monitors. Felt like home. She made her way down the hall to the desk and checked the board. An audible sigh of relief escaped her. Another Romano- free afternoon. Thank God. She didn't think she could have handled that. Having to face him after..
..the taste of his tongue in her mouth, the strength of his hands gripping her hair, the rumble of his voice in his chest as he pressed it to hers...
She shook her head to clear it. A voice at her elbow. Peter Benton's. "Elizabeth? Are you all right?"
She turned to him with a tight-lipped smile. "Yes, fine, thank you, Peter." He was gazing at her piteously. "Why do you ask?"
"Well," his tone turned sheepish. "You look like hell. Like you didn't sleep at all last night."
She glared at him. "Well, I appreciate your concern, but it really isn't necessary - "
He reached out and touched the elbow of her scrub coat. "Is this about the trauma fellowship? Because if it is, Elizabeth, you've got to believe me when I tell you I never thought it would affect you this way." He cast his eyes down. "You've always handled yourself so well - I had no idea you were that desperate to get away from him."
And you still don't..
"Listen, Peter, there's no need for us to re-hash this every time we come face to face." She sighed heavily. "Let's just wish each other good luck and leave it at that, all right?" She smiled briskly. "Besides the suspense will be over soon - I hear Anspaugh has scheduled a meeting for this evening." Benton nodded, his eyes finally meeting hers. That deep, chocolate brown..
....that seemed to swallow her as he gazed down at her from above, his nose brushing hers, his weight pressing her into the embrace of the mattress, and he would speak her name and her blood would rush to the sound..."Lizzie"...
" - find you after, okay?"
Her attention jerked -reluctantly?! - back to the moment at hand. "Hmm? Oh, uh - yes, of course, Peter." She nodded, having no earthly idea what she had just agreed to. But it seemed to have been the right move. He was leaving, his amiable gait carrying him off down the hall. Once he was gone, she leaned on the edge of the desk, gripping it painfully with taut knuckles. Get a grip, get a grip, get a grip. She scanned the board once more. She was due in OR one in ten minutes. Please God. Let it be something lengthy and tedious and detailed, a procedure that would require full attention, no time for mind-wandering or daydreaming. A nice, good, intense distraction - triple bypass, aortic graft, hell - a bowel resection would do at this point.
A hernia repair? Well, it will have to do.
She headed for the scrub room...
...and stopped short when she saw him inside.
It was inevitable, she guessed. Couldn't avoid him forever.
She squared her shoulders. You can do this, Elizabeth. Deep breath, push with the hips, and here we go..
"Dr. Corday," Anspaugh greeted her with a respectful nod.
Romano's eyes were on his lathered forearm. He didn't lift them. "Lizzie"
"Gentlemen." She took her place at a sink. Scraped under fingernails, collected sponge, triggered water - see, this isn't so difficult.
"So, Donald," his voice, lilting on the air. "You sure we can't push this meeting off just one more day? I'm totally jammed."
She looked at him from beneath lidded eyes. He was still focused on his arms, speaking to Donald, but she knew full well the words were for her. More cat and mouse. It was all in his tone. I've got your jo-hob, and you ca-han't have it, ha ha ha ha ha ha.
"We've put this decision off long enough, Robert. It's time to move forward."
"I agree," Romano finally lifted his gaze, and she felt it dance lightly across her face as he spoke in a maddeningly reasonable tone. "I should think it's obvious that moving forward is my main concern, since I am the one lone voice speaking in defense of our residents. Moving forward is not something they'll be doing sitting on their scalpels down in the ER."
"Believe me, Robert," Anspaugh spoke icily, "you've made your concerns quite obvious."
Elizabeth had been observing the exchange with mild interest and contempt to this point, but her heart leapt into her throat as Donald nudged off the water and shook off his hands. Moved towards the door. He was leaving! And she'd be alone with -
The door swung shut. She swallowed. Hard.
He's not looking at you, he's scrubbing. He doesn't expect you to look at him, he knows how you feel. And he has no idea about - you know - so no ammunition there. Just don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about him.
"Well, Dr. Corday, I'm sure that sets your heart all a flutter."
She flinched visibly. "Excuse me?"
His eyes met hers over the running water. Open, unfettered, innocent. Well, as innocent as his could be.
"The final countdown. T-minus nine hours and counting until the launch of the trauma fellowship. The suspense must be killing you." The smirk in his voice was undeniable.
"Really? I rather thought it was you doing the squirming there..." Suitable response, nice delivery. Stay away from words like 'squirm', though, or you'll be your own undoing. Don't look at him, just scrub.
"Well," his drawl told her she had chinked but not penetrated. "I must admit the pillaging of the surgical staff does set my teeth on edge. But what I'm more amazed by is your apparent lack of appetite -"
Her knee gave out. She pretended to be adjusting the flow of the water, but could feel the rush of blood coloring her neck. He'd be able to see it if he cast a glance at the dip in the collar of her scrubs. Which he probably would, when he thought she wasn't paying attention.
"The appetite is still there, Robert. Tastes change is all."
He snorted. "You really did spend too much time with Benton. Turing away from the hearty meat on your plate up here to waste away in the vegan lifestyle of trauma surgery. You know what they say, Lizzie. You can live on it, but it tastes like shit. Couldn't do it myself."
Scrub. Don't look up. Scrub. "Really?" Dry. Disinterested. Good girl.
"Nope. I'm one for substance. Essence. A little juice to get the blood flowing, know what I mean?"
Dear God. Do I ever. Care for a boiled egg?
She cleared her throat. "Well, after the year I've had, I could use a bit of thinning."
Wrong thing to say. His eyes swept her from head to toe, drinking in face and form and leaving her feeling stripped bare. He turned off the faucet, shook out his fingers. A low, throaty voice. "I don't know about that. A curve here and there never does go amiss."
She was speechless. Game. Set. Match. Romano.
He was still holding her gaze evenly. When had they made eye contact? "Planning on operating one handed, Dr. Corday?"
Her brow furrowed. "Beg pardon?"
His lips curled in a knowing grin.
"You've been scrubbing that same spot since you stepped to the sink.."
RL, my separated-at-birth-alternate-universe-twin - stated somewhere your desire to move to Texas. Bring it on, girl.Corona and lime on the beach, another visit with Mr.Cuervo, then settling down at the word processor - we could really curl some hair, couldn't we? If not a relocation, maybe a vacation? Hmmm. Seriously though, readers - if you like what your reading, blow noisy kisses Rocket Launcher's way, 'cuz that last chapter wouldn't have happened the way it did without her.
And finally, to PMCFan - my other lovely, if impatient muse - many, many thanks for seeing me through those long, bleary-eyed nights in front of the monitor, helping provide the grist for the Romano Lust Mill. You're a gem, you are. ***sending Scooter the Patented Romano-Ella Wave***
Maybe just PG this time.and quit throwing things at me; mad shagging is always best if you haaaaaave....tooooo.....waaaait....foooor....iiiiit...
A little music to set the stage, courtesy of Alanis Morrissette:
"Like anyone would be, I am flattered by your fascination with me. Like any hot-blooded woman, I have simply wanted an object to crave. But you? You're not allowed. You're uninvited. An unfortunate slight.."
She was exhausted.
The coffee was hot, but lousy, and it wasn't even doing its job. Eyelids weighted, arms hanging heavily at her sides, legs walking as if through wet concrete instead of over polished tile. Her blood droned a monotone in her ears, she could feel the pulsing of the artery just below her jaw. A head- splitting yawn, the ding of the elevator, and she was inside. Muzak. Dear God.
She had been afraid to go back to sleep.
She was so certain that she'd close her eyes and he would pounce, from the darkest recesses of her mind. Drag her down into that swirling vortex of revulsion, confusion, and erotic desire. And she was terrified that she would go. Willingly. Eagerly. Begging for more.
Elizabeth, you've got to get laid.
The doors before her slid open and she stepped out onto the surgical floor. Phones ringing, pagers chiming, the familiar beeps and whispers of various monitors. Felt like home. She made her way down the hall to the desk and checked the board. An audible sigh of relief escaped her. Another Romano- free afternoon. Thank God. She didn't think she could have handled that. Having to face him after..
..the taste of his tongue in her mouth, the strength of his hands gripping her hair, the rumble of his voice in his chest as he pressed it to hers...
She shook her head to clear it. A voice at her elbow. Peter Benton's. "Elizabeth? Are you all right?"
She turned to him with a tight-lipped smile. "Yes, fine, thank you, Peter." He was gazing at her piteously. "Why do you ask?"
"Well," his tone turned sheepish. "You look like hell. Like you didn't sleep at all last night."
She glared at him. "Well, I appreciate your concern, but it really isn't necessary - "
He reached out and touched the elbow of her scrub coat. "Is this about the trauma fellowship? Because if it is, Elizabeth, you've got to believe me when I tell you I never thought it would affect you this way." He cast his eyes down. "You've always handled yourself so well - I had no idea you were that desperate to get away from him."
And you still don't..
"Listen, Peter, there's no need for us to re-hash this every time we come face to face." She sighed heavily. "Let's just wish each other good luck and leave it at that, all right?" She smiled briskly. "Besides the suspense will be over soon - I hear Anspaugh has scheduled a meeting for this evening." Benton nodded, his eyes finally meeting hers. That deep, chocolate brown..
....that seemed to swallow her as he gazed down at her from above, his nose brushing hers, his weight pressing her into the embrace of the mattress, and he would speak her name and her blood would rush to the sound..."Lizzie"...
" - find you after, okay?"
Her attention jerked -reluctantly?! - back to the moment at hand. "Hmm? Oh, uh - yes, of course, Peter." She nodded, having no earthly idea what she had just agreed to. But it seemed to have been the right move. He was leaving, his amiable gait carrying him off down the hall. Once he was gone, she leaned on the edge of the desk, gripping it painfully with taut knuckles. Get a grip, get a grip, get a grip. She scanned the board once more. She was due in OR one in ten minutes. Please God. Let it be something lengthy and tedious and detailed, a procedure that would require full attention, no time for mind-wandering or daydreaming. A nice, good, intense distraction - triple bypass, aortic graft, hell - a bowel resection would do at this point.
A hernia repair? Well, it will have to do.
She headed for the scrub room...
...and stopped short when she saw him inside.
It was inevitable, she guessed. Couldn't avoid him forever.
She squared her shoulders. You can do this, Elizabeth. Deep breath, push with the hips, and here we go..
"Dr. Corday," Anspaugh greeted her with a respectful nod.
Romano's eyes were on his lathered forearm. He didn't lift them. "Lizzie"
"Gentlemen." She took her place at a sink. Scraped under fingernails, collected sponge, triggered water - see, this isn't so difficult.
"So, Donald," his voice, lilting on the air. "You sure we can't push this meeting off just one more day? I'm totally jammed."
She looked at him from beneath lidded eyes. He was still focused on his arms, speaking to Donald, but she knew full well the words were for her. More cat and mouse. It was all in his tone. I've got your jo-hob, and you ca-han't have it, ha ha ha ha ha ha.
"We've put this decision off long enough, Robert. It's time to move forward."
"I agree," Romano finally lifted his gaze, and she felt it dance lightly across her face as he spoke in a maddeningly reasonable tone. "I should think it's obvious that moving forward is my main concern, since I am the one lone voice speaking in defense of our residents. Moving forward is not something they'll be doing sitting on their scalpels down in the ER."
"Believe me, Robert," Anspaugh spoke icily, "you've made your concerns quite obvious."
Elizabeth had been observing the exchange with mild interest and contempt to this point, but her heart leapt into her throat as Donald nudged off the water and shook off his hands. Moved towards the door. He was leaving! And she'd be alone with -
The door swung shut. She swallowed. Hard.
He's not looking at you, he's scrubbing. He doesn't expect you to look at him, he knows how you feel. And he has no idea about - you know - so no ammunition there. Just don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about him.
"Well, Dr. Corday, I'm sure that sets your heart all a flutter."
She flinched visibly. "Excuse me?"
His eyes met hers over the running water. Open, unfettered, innocent. Well, as innocent as his could be.
"The final countdown. T-minus nine hours and counting until the launch of the trauma fellowship. The suspense must be killing you." The smirk in his voice was undeniable.
"Really? I rather thought it was you doing the squirming there..." Suitable response, nice delivery. Stay away from words like 'squirm', though, or you'll be your own undoing. Don't look at him, just scrub.
"Well," his drawl told her she had chinked but not penetrated. "I must admit the pillaging of the surgical staff does set my teeth on edge. But what I'm more amazed by is your apparent lack of appetite -"
Her knee gave out. She pretended to be adjusting the flow of the water, but could feel the rush of blood coloring her neck. He'd be able to see it if he cast a glance at the dip in the collar of her scrubs. Which he probably would, when he thought she wasn't paying attention.
"The appetite is still there, Robert. Tastes change is all."
He snorted. "You really did spend too much time with Benton. Turing away from the hearty meat on your plate up here to waste away in the vegan lifestyle of trauma surgery. You know what they say, Lizzie. You can live on it, but it tastes like shit. Couldn't do it myself."
Scrub. Don't look up. Scrub. "Really?" Dry. Disinterested. Good girl.
"Nope. I'm one for substance. Essence. A little juice to get the blood flowing, know what I mean?"
Dear God. Do I ever. Care for a boiled egg?
She cleared her throat. "Well, after the year I've had, I could use a bit of thinning."
Wrong thing to say. His eyes swept her from head to toe, drinking in face and form and leaving her feeling stripped bare. He turned off the faucet, shook out his fingers. A low, throaty voice. "I don't know about that. A curve here and there never does go amiss."
She was speechless. Game. Set. Match. Romano.
He was still holding her gaze evenly. When had they made eye contact? "Planning on operating one handed, Dr. Corday?"
Her brow furrowed. "Beg pardon?"
His lips curled in a knowing grin.
"You've been scrubbing that same spot since you stepped to the sink.."