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Elizabeth came into the outer office and greeted Brenda and Shirley, "Is he in, Brenda?" The secretary nodded, as Shirley said, "But I wouldn't go in there if I were you. He's in a royally foul mood." Elizabeth gave her a reassuring smile and said, "Don't worry. I know what I'm getting into."
'Do I really?'
Shirley still looked dubious as Elizabeth knocked on the office door. She heard his terse, "Come in" and opened the door. Robert was bent over the desk, his back to the door, poring over paperwork. Now that she was actually in the office, Elizabeth didn't feel any of the nervousness she had been dreading. Rather, there was simply an overwhelming feeling that she was doing the right thing.
Time seemed to slow as she watched him. Little details sprang out at her. The subtle play of muscle under the fabric of his scrubs, his scent, a clean mix of aftershave and soap, the ticking of the clock on the wall, her own racing heart. When she didn't say anything to announce her presence, Robert glanced back over his shoulder.
A myriad of emotions crossed his face before he turned back to the papers on the desk. "Lizzie," he said flatly. Elizabeth heard the layers of hope and despair beneath the surface of his words. Before she could think twice, Elizabeth moved forward and embraced him. She wrapped both arms around his chest and laid her cheek against one shoulder. His body went rigid at her contact and his breath hitched in his chest. His hands clutched at the edge of the desk, his knuckles whitening. He started, "Wha . . .?" When it came out as a dry rasp, he tried again, "What do you think you're doing, Lizzie?"
"Something I should have done long ago," she murmured into his shoulder. The longer she held him, the more her remaining doubts leaked away.
"Lizzie, if . . ." he swallowed hard, his body still taut as a wire, "If this is some form of pity or out of a guilty conscience, then . . ."
"No, Robert," she said, stroking his chest gently, "It's neither of those. I've been doing some soul searching. I realized that this is what I want. Really, what I've wanted for a long time, if I'm honest. You said you love me. I wasn't sure how I feel. I'm still not completely sure, but what you said today changed things for me. I realized that I've been waiting. I've been waiting for something to happen to me ever since Mark died."
Her breath hitched a bit, and she paused, "Then, when something did happen, I didn't do anything about it. Robert, I'm tired of waiting for something to happen like I have no control over my life. I'm taking control." Romano had relaxed a fraction as she talked and he drew a shuddering breath. Almost to himself, he whispered, "How do I know that this is real?"
She slipped around in front of him and cradled his head between her hands. "Like this," she whispered and leaned in and kissed him. There were no fireworks, the floor didn't suddenly open up and swallow her whole, nothing so melodramatic. But, it was also nothing like she had expected. It was gentle and sweet, tentative even, almost asking for permission. His hands, shaking, came up to frame her face lightly.
He stayed still for a moment, trembling faintly, but suddenly, his reserve broke and he swept her into his arms and kissed her fiercely. When he broke the kiss, they were both more than a little breathless and she rested her forehead against his as she fought to get her breath back. He asked, "So, what do we do about the gossip mongers?"
She thought about it, and found she didn't really care. She shrugged and kissed him tenderly again, "Let them talk. We know the truth and that's all that matters."
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AN: I was originally intending to end this here, but my plot bunnies have ordered me to continue it through the events of season 9. If what I've done so far gets a favorable reception, I will continue. Let me know what I should do.