Title: In From the Cold
Author: little_miss_writer
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I own nothing unfortunately. Elizabeth Corday, Robert "Rocket" Romano (Warner Bros, Michael Crichton and a variety of other lucky, lucky people. I wish I did own them, but I don't. This is a work of fiction so nobody get upset ok?
Notes: A few things to know. In this story Elizabeth is not involved with Mark, so no marriage and no Ella. Takes place sometime before "Lockdown". It's just a nice little piece about Romano and Corday's friendship. I have read the season nine spoilers (I wish I hadn't!), but nothing is given away here at all, so its entirely safe. Also I'm British and so is my spelling, you have been warned!
Not entirely consistent with Romano's comments about his mother in season seven (?) but I hope it works out well.
Please r/r! My inbox is beginning to look empty people and you all know what that means!! lol All constructive comments are welcomed. Thanks to all my fellow Robbie fans for the encouragement and support, it's all very much appreciated.
A few people have mentioned to me that in the last chapter Robert seemed a little out of character, his lines weren't too believable. I've taken this on board, and have decided to repost chapter seven with a few minor changes, just to try and keep his character more consistent.
Chapter 7
She felt the change to through him. Every muscle seemed to tense and tighten. She lifted her head off his shoulder to look at him, and there in his face she saw it. The look of pain, the look of fear, written across his face. She immediately regretted asking. How like her, to spoil a lovely morning after an amazing night. She should have known he wouldn't want to talk about it, known that it was far too soon in the relationship, or at least she hoped it was a relationship, to be asking such deeply personal questions. The silence stretched on between them, a troubled, awkward silence. He wasn't going to answer, and why should he? Just because she was perfectly prepared to share everything, or mostly everything with him, didn't mean he felt the same way about her.
"Robert, I'm sorry it's, it's none of my – "
He cut her off abruptly, but in a quiet, almost wavering voice, "I hated them."
What should she do? What could she say to that? Her mind was spinning with questions, most of them for Robert. Why did he hate Christmas as a child? What was his childhood like? Suddenly he continued to speak, almost as if he has read her thoughts. But it was in a quiet voice, little more than a whisper, his eyes took on a far away look, as though he could stare straight into the past, could see the scenes playing out before him.
"There were three of us, me, Michael and Katie. I was the youngest, Katie was the oldest, and Michael, Michael was the favourite. Christmases were always the same; tree, gifts, turkey. Michael's gifts were exactly what he wanted, every year, Dad spared no expense, and Katie, well she was at uni by the time I was six, she never came home for the holidays, so I never really had much contact with her until after.
I was the third child, the unplanned pregnancy that just 'happened'. Mom and Dad had decided to settle for one boy and one girl, but one night they just got lucky, or I suppose unlucky. I was born over a month premature, seriously underweight. The pregnancy was long and hard on my mom, she was never quite the same after it, or so dad said.
We constantly moved around, from air base to air base. Never staying in one town for too long. I hated it. I was short and skinny with flaming red hair. And I was smart. So, I'm sure I don't have explain how I was treated at school?" He glanced up, eyes suddenly back in the present.
"You were picked on." It wasn't really a question, she knew the answer. Few people realised how cruel children could be, or how damaging could truly be. It stayed with the victims for years after, the taunts, the threats, the beatings.
His short bark of laughter startled her, in comparison to his previous hushed tones. "Correct Elizabeth, two plus two does equal four." She let the sudden volley of sarcasm go without comment. It was a defence mechanism, one that she was beginning to understand more and more. He obviously couldn't have fought his battle physically, so he had used his verbal skills instead. And probably have been hit for his comments. Elizabeth waited, not trying to pressure him, but not wanting to let it go either. She knew he would be embarrassed or possibly resent it if she tried to comfort him, so she let the pause pass without comment.
"Michael was six years older than me. He was a daddy's boy. Exactly like dad in every way. He was fit and strong, worked out every night in the garage, with the set of weights dad had bout him. He got what ever he wanted, whenever. Dad took him wherever he wanted to go. I just accepted it, I figured the oldest kid, or the oldest son was always going to be the favourite, y'know, and nothing would change that.
I remember as a kid trying hard to impress my dad. I was smart for my age, and could run pretty fast. Something I'd learned from school. But he didn't notice. The more I tried the more he ignored me,. I was just an inconvenience. Michael did the same, always copying dad. It wasn't even like he tried to get me into trouble or anything, I could have handled that, he just acted like I wasn't there. My mom, she just followed dad's lead. She was too afraid of upsetting him somehow. I knew that he had hit her. Not regularly. Just if he'd had a bad day. He'd had to leave the air force, cause of health grounds, though there were rumours round town that it was for disciplinary problems. He took an office job somewhere. And he hated it."
Silence. He just stared. Not at her, not at anything, his eyes were locked on something she couldn't see, couldn't understand. He was still, save for the regular rise and fall of his chest. She sensed there was more to the story, knew that it had to end somehow. She lay, listening to his breathing, watching his eyes wandering in his past. She heard him inhale deeply, his breath catching.
"One December, when I was eight…….Michael died. It was my parents evening, at school, and Dad was taking us there. It was snowing, real bad, he kept glancing back into the rear view mirror, talking to Michael about the football." Robert paused, his breaths coming more rapidly now. "Then……then I remember Mom screaming, trying to grab the wheel, and Dad yelling, and the horn of the other car, the impact….then, then it just went black.
Michael died of severe internal bleeding, several of his ribs had ruptured his internal organs. He was gone before the ambulance reached the hospital. Everyone else was ok, physically at least.
Dad blamed me. It was my parents evening we were going to, so it was my fault. After the funeral he just sat, drinking a bottle of whiskey, staring at a picture of Michael. It was two days before Christmas, and I went up to him to ask if we were going to put up a Christmas tree. And he looked at me for a moment, and then he-he, hit me. Straight across the face. He'd never hit me before, but then he kept going, kicking me and punching me, screaming I wasn't his son, I'd killed his only son, he hated me, he wished I was dead. All the time mom just stood there watching. When he'd finished he got up and went for a walk, she handed me a towel and told me to have a shower.
After that I stayed away from him, and we didn't celebrate Christmas. I became terrified each year. Dad would sit with a bottle of whiskey, looking thought photo albums, of when Michael was little. Each year I would do something to upset him some how, come home late, or trail mud through the house, and he would hit me. He was usually drunk, and I was too small to be able to stop him. I was never out celebrating New Year with other kids, I didn't want them to see the bruises. One year, I was fifteen, I hit him back, right in the nose, I think I broke it. I spent that Christmas in hospital, with three broken ribs, one had just missed my lung, and a severe concussion. They said I'd fallen down the stairs. Dad said if I ever hit him again, he'd kill me. I believed him.
I never invited people over, hardly ever went bowling, or parties or go out trying to sneak into clubs. The other kids assumed I was arrogant and thought I was superior to them because I was smart. I never explained why and they never asked. I took jobs after school to try and shorten the time I spent at home. Everything I earned I put in a bank account I set up. When I finished school, I announced I was going to med school. I packed up my stuff and left. Mom cried and tried to get me to stay, the only time I can remember her crying after Michael's funeral. Dad just watched the tv as I left the house for the last time, he didn't say goodbye. I never saw my dad after that.
After my first year of med school I wrote to Katie to tell her what had happened. I hadn't seen her since the funeral, she was living her own life. She didn't believe me at first. Then gradually she realised I was telling the truth. We met up a few times, but we'd never been close, too much of a difference in age. So I settled for a casual relationship, just glad to have some family left.
Mom, I saw her over ten years later, she tried to ask for forgiveness, but I just couldn't give it. She had stood there and watched him beat me, blame me for Michael's death. I just couldn't accept it."
Her mind just couldn't take it all in. In her time at County she had, of course heard tales similar, but this affected her in a way that none of the others had ever done. Because it was Robert. The insufferable, arrogant bastard that was Robert Romano. The man who had no feelings, just enjoyed trampling on other people's. Or at least the Romano everyone at County thought was real. Did they ever wonder, did they even care about his past? Ever wonder why he was so abrupt and abrasive. Yes, she had, in her time, had wonderful daydreams about Robert coming to a very sticky end, but now. Now she felt a sudden surge of protectiveness, to keep him safe, to be close to him in a way no one ever had before.
"Why didn't you report it?"
His harsh laugh returned, "Who would have believed me Lizzie? I would have just been some kid makin' up tales because I was jealous. And if I had gone, I don't know what he would have done to me."
Elizabeth considered this for a long time, understood his fear. She could feel the shock slowly giving way to a swelling of anger. Somebody should have helped him. Saved him from such a life. She could imagine him as a child, shy, awkward, eager to please, and it had been destroyed, turned him into some one afraid to love, somebody who had never been loved. If it wasn't for the fact that his will was so strong, he may not have made it through.
"Was it Michael's death that made you realise you wanted to be a doctor?"
He was quiet for a moment before he replied, "No. When I woke up after the accident, and when I woke up after I'd hit dad, I remember being amazed by the doctors and nurses. They were so dedicated and caring. I watched them treat people, black people, white people, rich and poor, terminally ill or just with the flu. They treated them all with such compassion, they treated them as equals. And I remember wanting to be able to help people like that, to do something good with my life. You may not believe me but I was a lot like Carter during my early years as a doctor."
He smiled self deprecatingly and turned away. Elizabeth took his chin in one hand, turning him firmly, back to face her, "I don't doubt it for a second."
Tbc
Okay just a few changes, I bet you never even noticed them. Well folks my inbox isn't filling up, and when I log in I don't see any new reviews!!! Come on people I have a need for feedback, please let me know what you think. As always send it to little_miss_writer@hotmail.com or r/r!!!
Thank you