Elizabeth woke to the sound of a pager, but when she rubbed her eyes and looked at the one lying on her nightstand, she realized that the beeps weren't coming from there. She rolled over and nudged Edward. "You're being paged," she said firmly. He groaned and tried to roll away but she grabbed his shoulder. "Edward!" she said a bit more loudly. He finally got up to retrieve the pager from the pocket of his pants which had been thrown on the floor in haste only an hour or so before. Turning off the pager, he looked back at Elizabeth who had her eyes closed and was trying not to lose sleep over this interruption. "I have to go," he apologized. She didn't reply, letting him dress in silence in the darkened bedroom. "By the way," he added before sliding on his shoes, "Romano's back."

**

The next day, Elizabeth was on edge, looking around for signs of Robert but not wanting to ask anyone where he was or what he was doing in the hospital. To stop from obsessing between procedures, she pursued her new little habit: observing Kerry Weaver. Over the last two weeks she had watched Kerry on about five or six shifts and had realized that Kerry was perhaps the most competent ER doctor she had ever seen. When working a trauma, Kerry personified efficient action and total focus. When dealing with distraught parents or scared kids, she demonstrated a compassion which Elizabeth had never before noticed. But Robert must have. That's why he had spared his rival's career.

But right now, Kerry had handed off a simple procedure to a student and was headed for the lounge. I might as well keep following her, thought Elizabeth, realizing that she'd been on her feet all day. When she opened the door, Kerry had just taken a seat and was reading a thick file of some sort. Elizabeth nodded hello, found a chair and started flipping through some charts for review. After a few moments of silence, though, Elizabeth looked up to see Kerry looking at her. "Did you know about this?" Kerry asked. "About what?" Elizabeth replied a bit shortly. "Robert's grant?" Kerry answered. Elizabeth opened her mouth to ask for more information when the door to the lounge opened and Jing-Mei Chen entered followed closely by Robert Romano.

"Remember," he was saying, "it's a no-go if they're under fifty pounds." Then he paused and looked at Chen carefully, "I know, I know. It's not pretty, but just read over the results of the pilot study. And then if you don't want to work on this, you'll let me know. By five o'clock today." With that, he looked up, acknowledged Kerry and Elizabeth with a quick nod and blew back out of the room.

Jing-Mei sat down as soon as she could grab a free chair, looking a pale and a bit overwhelmed. "You don't have to do this, Jing-Mei," Kerry said softly. Jing-Mei fixed her eyes on Weaver and responded firmly, "I'm doing this Kerry."

When Kerry left, Elizabeth moved her chair a bit closer to Chen's. "Jing- Mei," she began quietly, "What's going on?" The younger doctor sighed. "It's this study," she answered. "Romano's got a huge grant to look at organ transplant and rejection in kids under twelve. The protocol is a bit unorthodox, though, since we have to get parental consent for experimental treatments to the donors." She drew a deep breath and shook her head before continuing. "It's a great project. Romano's coordinating the efforts between County, Mercy, and Northwestern." Elizabeth nodded, understanding, "And you have to deal with the hysterical parents and dying kids at County."

**

Later that day Elizabeth saw the press release on a bulletin board. She took it down to read it. There was Robert in the photo, not smiling but looking solid. The grant was enormous and the pilot data was impressive. And he would have an office in each hospital.

Throughout the afternoon, Elizabeth thought about his entrance into the lounge. Why hadn't he spoken to her? Was it because Kerry was there? Was it because he was focused on Jing-Mei? In any case, she was certainly not satisfied with his greeting, and the more she thought about it, the more provoked she felt. Well, she thought, he's taken a step back. Time for a step forward in our dance. And she smiled. Having Robert back made her happier than she'd been in a long time. Her peer. Her partner in crime. She looked around in the surgeon's lounge and saw another copy of the press release and tore it down from the board. Folding it in half, she wrote a note on the back: "Let's celebrate. Dinner at my place. Tomorrow at 7." On the way out, she slipped the note under the door to his new office.

**

Day off, she thought stretching in bed. Time to shop, cook, shower, dress. Mmmm. She smiled a bit archly as she imagined the look of surprise on his face when he got her note. After all, he'd waited a long time for an invitation from her. Then, suddenly, she sat up. Would he even be in his office at County today? What if he didn't get the message? She grabbed the phone and dialed the switch board, and pushed 1 for directory. When she reached his voice-mail she heard the following: "This is Dr. Robert Romano, head of pediatric transplant research. I am in this office on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 8am to 6pm. Please leave a message or press 2 for more options." Good, she thought, it's Thursday.

**

Robert parked on the street and walked up her driveway in the light summer rain. The end of a thunderstorm, but he'd spent the storm in a wine shop, choosing just the right bottle of burgundy. He still wasn't sure why he was there. He even had the note in his pocket to remind himself that she'd invited him. Her handwriting was unmistakable. He knew it from years of chart reviews and phone messages and memos. Still.

He squared his shoulders under his linen jacket and rang the doorbell. The chimes echoed. No one came to open. No car in the driveway. Robert grimaced. Was she playing a prank on him? Was she angry that he hadn't told her about the grant himself or more likely that he hadn't asked her to coordinate the surgical stage? Well, he had decided from the beginning that doctors with small children were out of this study. He couldn't afford to give them time off for counseling after they'd seen what they would inevitably see.

Robert began to head back to his car, not really irritated and even slightly relieved. He really should have called her to say that it was a kind thought but that he couldn't make it, but he hadn't had the courage to call. He balanced the wine bottle carefully on the roof of the car to find his keys in his pocket. He didn't trust his new prosthetic claw to hold the 1971 Montrachet. Suddenly, he heard brakes and crunching gravel as a car pulled up behind his.