Author's Note: Thanks so much for your reviews!!! In response to some of
your comments: No, this won't be a Cordano romance story, though I foresee
the possibility of a Cordano-friendly ending . . . Instead, I will focus
on Romano finding his place at work and developing relationships with the
ER staff. For Robert, professional and personal recovery go hand in hand.
Elizabeth will play an important role, even though she won't often be front-
and-center.
Although it worked for the first chapter, I've decided not to tell the whole story from Romano's perspective. One of the intriguing things about this character is that often the audience is NOT privy to what he is thinking; I don't want to lose that. So, much of the action will be seen through the eyes of other characters, with occasional direct glimpses into Robert's thoughts. Please let me know if the shifting perspectives become distracting.
*******
A week after the helicopter tragedy, Kerry Weaver found herself making a quick pass through the ER, just to make sure things were going smoothly. She peered in through an exam room window and observed Romano and Gallant assessing a patient. Without even looking at the patient's face or addressing him directly, Romano none-too-gently felt the man's abdomen. Then he barked some orders at Gallant and threw in an insult for good measure. Kerry kept on walking. She knew she could count on Michael Gallant to keep his cool, and that she had to pick her battles with Robert.
In the past few days, Kerry had covered several shifts at her old post. With Carter and Chen out of the country, the ER had been short-staffed even before the accident. Then afterwards, Susan put in a request to temporarily cut back her hours in order to care for Chuck. With Romano out recovering from his injuries, they were perilously short on attendings.
Robert was supposed to stay home for a week; he was back at work five days later. As far as Kerry could tell, his brush with death had done nothing to improve his belligerent attitude. When she thought about the little bastard abstractly, she felt sorry for him. He was probably at least as miserable as he tried to make everybody else. But when she had to deal with him, or watch him deal with others, he was so obnoxious that her sympathy evaporated.
Momentarily, Kerry flashed back to the night following the crash, when she had checked on Robert in Observation. She had roused him from a nightmare and then sat for several minutes talking to him - ostensibly to fill him in on the status of the patients in the ER. 'We get along so much better when he's not fully conscious,' she thought wryly.
Kerry arrived at the nearly-empty waiting area in time to see a cluster of children enter, accompanied by two women. One of the women carried a boy - kicking and screaming - and pulled another boy by the arm. The other woman led a disheveled-looking girl, while trying to herd three other children who seemed bent on bolting off in all directions. Kerry's mood sank as she went over to the Admit desk.
"Brat pack's back," quipped Chuny.
"Oh God," Abby sighed. The "brat pack" were repeat customers. A class of 8-to-10-year-olds with severe emotional and/or behavioral problems from a nearby school, they showed up at the ER frequently to get treatment for various injuries that they inflicted on each other. Most of the staff had worked on them at one time or another - and had the bruises and bite-marks to prove it. "Haven't they heard of the school nurse?" she complained.
Chuny put in, "Probably don't have one. Or maybe she locks the door when she sees them coming."
Kerry regarded the children, who were starting to squirm and tussle. "I have a meeting in half an hour. When's Susan on?"
"Not 'till four," supplied Abby, "I think we should give them to Romano."
"Why?"
Abby replied brightly, "Because we hate him."
Kerry allowed herself a moment of vindictive glee at this comment, but then her professionalism kicked in and she worried, "I don't know if that's such a great idea . . ."
Abby interjected, "Actually, it worked pretty well the last time. The little monsters feared the hook. Kept 'em in line. Not sure if 'the hand' will have the same impact . . ."
Just then Romano entered the Admit area. Walking by "chairs" he said in a low, slightly menacing voice, "I KNOW you're not messing around in my waiting room."
The kids immediately stopped fighting. Some of them even tried to sit up straight in their chairs. Kerry let out a short laugh.
"Hello Kerry," Romano purred coldly as he approached the desk, "Checking up on me?"
"You know, Robert, re-hiring the people you fire is becoming a full time job." Kerry didn't want to get into a public snit with Romano, so she tamped down her irritation and kept her comment light.
Without acknowledging the other staff clustered around the desk, Romano collected several charts from the rack and tucked them under his prosthesis. Then he blustered, "Yeah, well, I'm gonna be firing a few more if they don't get cracking. What the hell are you slackers waiting for? A written invitation?"
Romano headed toward the largest exam room, gesturing with his head to indicate that the kids and their caretakers should follow.
Chuny said, "I had them last time," backing away.
Abby retorted, "I had HIM last." But it was too late. Chuny had disappeared into a trauma room. "Damn."
"Come on," Kerry sighed, "I'll help get things started."
Kerry and Abby entered the room to find Romano examining the boy with the most obvious injuries - a bloody nose and split lip. The teacher, Ms. Anders, sat next to the boy, restraining a girl in a bear-hug from behind and monitoring another boy who flitted around nearby. The other three children were a few feet away, with the teacher's assistant trying to keep them from touching anything or hurting each other. Kerry and Abby approached the latter group and began examining them.
"What happened to your arm?" the boy Romano was treating asked bluntly.
Irritated, Romano responded, "Miguel, what did I tell you the last time you asked me that?"
"That it's none of my business."
"Do you see any reason to believe that has changed?"
Miguel apparently couldn't think of anything, but the other boy near them piped up, "My Mom says I have to change my underwear every day."
Romano almost laughed. "Thanks for sharing."
Miguel, after recovering from the hysterics produced by hearing the word "underwear," persisted with, "But I really wanna know!"
Romano replied evenly, "Too bad."
Miguel was about to say something else, but his teacher interjected, "You're being a pest, Miguel. Quit it."
Fortunately, the boy was distracted by noticing that his lip had stopped bleeding. He went to test this discovery by poking at the area, but Romano stopped him with a stern look.
"Hey! It stopped bleeding. Did that sting-ey stuff make it stop?"
"Uh, no . . .," Romano began.
Miguel charged along with, "Know what? If it don't stop then all the blood goes Whooosh, and then you're a zombie."
Romano cocked an eyebrow, unconvinced by the boy's theory. "Your lip will be fine. You're finished. Go away." His tone was gruff, but less nasty than usual.
When Miguel had vacated the chair, Romano turned to the girl that Ms. Anders had been restraining, and who now sat quietly next to her. "Are you going to let me examine you today, Kiesha?" he asked, a hint of humor in his voice.
Kiesha didn't look at him, didn't respond at all for several seconds. Finally, she pressed the side of her fist against her chest, then moved it to another location a couple of inches away, then to another. Romano put on his stethoscope and listened to the girl's chest through her shirt, moving the end of the stethoscope in roughly the way that Kiesha had moved her hand.
"OK," he said, "Can I look at your tummy now?"
The girl folded her arms across her chest, becoming completely withdrawn and inaccessible.
Romano offered, "Would you rather have a lady doctor look at you?"
Kiesha didn't react. Romano looked over at her teacher, who shrugged and said, "Worth a shot."
Romano addressed Kerry, who was observing him surreptitiously as she finished treating another child's abrasions. "As long as you're still loitering down here, wanna take a look at her?"
Kerry nodded, "Fine," and led Kiesha and her teacher over to a curtained area in the corner. She started by asking the girl, "How are you feeling today, Kiesha?"
No response. Not even a blink.
"Has she been ill?" Kerry inquired.
Ms. Anders supplied, "No, I don't think so. I just have a hunch that something's up with her. Something at home, you know?" The teacher was being surreptitious, but she gave Kerry a meaningful look. Kerry noticed the code in Keisha's chart that indicated unconfirmed suspicion of abuse.
The child definitely looked unkempt, and there was a troubling dullness to her mocha-colored complexion. But there were no visible injuries or signs of physical distress, and hence, there was no justification for forcibly examining her without parental consent. The teacher had general consent forms for each child, permitting first-aid and emergency care. However, there was no real evidence that Kiesha needed either.
Ms. Anders continued, "This place is probably the closest she's going to get to 'continuity of care'. But so far she hasn't let anybody really examine her."
Unfortunately, Kerry proved to be no exception to this rule. Any time she tried to look under the girl's clothes or restrain her in any way, Kiesha began banging her head and lashing out with her arms and legs. Finally, Kerry settled for cursorily feeling through her clothes to rule out any broken bones.
Meanwhile Romano was trying to treat the last patient - Zach, the boy who had made the "underwear" comment. According to the teacher's assistant, Zach's balance had recently become erratic, causing him to stagger for no apparent reason. To make a diagnosis, Romano (and Abby who had come over to help) needed to take the boy's temperature and draw blood to check the levels of the various psychoactive medications he was on.
This was easier said than done. Zach literally never stayed still. Sitting him down was out of the question. The best one could hope for was to get him to hover within a confined area. Romano coerced him into keeping both of his hands on the back of a chair, thus limiting his range of motion. After several minutes of maneuvering, Abby finally got the temperature and blood sample.
As Romano and Abby were finishing up with Zach, Kerry and the others emerged from the curtained area. The teacher, who had heard the commotion surrounding Zach, thanked Romano and Kerry, adding apologetically, "I know they can be a bit of a handful. It's the same way at school."
Romano, on his way to leave the room, shrugged and commented, "It's nice to know that some people's jobs suck even more than mine does."
'Oh God,' Kerry thought, 'I can't believe he just said that.' Before Kerry could intervene to smooth things over, Ms. Anders fixed Romano with a beatific smile - one that conveyed complete sincerity but exaggerated to comic effect - and said, "I love my job."
Abby, writing notes in Zach's chart, asked, "Psych consult?" Of course, she meant the order for Zach, but she looked sideways at the teacher, barely keeping a straight face.
Romano, following her gaze, smirked, "You bet." He walked out, ignoring Kerry's glare and Ms. Anders' bemused grin.
Stepping outside the exam room into the comparative calm of the hallway was like dipping into a refreshing pool of quiet. Robert was relieved to be away from the noise and disorder. It was his second day back at work and he was growing impatient with the low-level anxiety that he continued to feel, especially when interacting with people. It was stupid. Sure, walking through the ambulance bay doors creeped him out (he took that route anyway out of spite, though he wasn't sure out of spite for what), and he didn't even want to think about going up to the roof. Fine, that all made sense. But this free-floating stress was senseless, and thus, infuriating.
Doing the scut work was distracting, at least. And it made him feel somewhat less useless. At the same time, it was demeaning. If not for the behavior problems, any resident could have easily handled these cases. Bloody noses and ear infections were beneath him. And it was frustrating to not even be able to take a kid's temperature by himself. He could tell himself that taking temperatures was a nurse's job anyway, but it didn't help.
Yelling at people helped a bit. Disturbingly, it seemed to be helping less and less as time wore on . . .
As Robert was musing bitterly, he noticed a familiar head of curly red hair about 30 feet down the hallway. Seeing Elizabeth gave him an instant kick of joy, but that high passed quickly and he decided that he didn't really have the energy to deal with her right now. He ducked into the lounge. As he poured himself a cup of the toxic sludge that passed for coffee, he heard the lounge door open and close behind him.
Elizabeth said, "Hello Robert."
He turned toward her, nodding a greeting, "Elizabeth."
"You didn't return my calls," the English surgeon pointed out neutrally.
Robert shrugged, "Figured I'd run into you soon enough."
Elizabeth was mildly annoyed. She had visited him briefly in the ER after the disaster last week. But he went home AMA before she was done treating the other accident victims. And she hadn't heard from him since. Taking in his tense posture and tired expression, she asked quietly, "How are you doing?"
Typically, he responded, "Oh, fine. Just another day in the E-armpit."
'This isn't getting anywhere,' Elizabeth thought. She glanced at her watch, trying to decide if she had the time to drag any genuine conversation out of Robert. He observed her looking at her watch, and said, "You missing your 'coffee break'?" enunciating the last words in a lewd tone.
"Grow up," she spat, turning on her heel to walk away. Yes, genuine conversation would definitely have to wait - until she got over the urge to slap him.
"Elizabeth, wait, wait," Robert began, "I didn't mean to . . ."
She cut him off with, "What? You didn't mean to make crude insinuations? You didn't mean to mock my affair with Dorsett?"
"No, I meant to do that," he admitted with a trace of a mischievous smile, "But I didn't mean to piss you off enough to make you leave."
"Well, that's very sweet of you," Elizabeth countered, "excuse me if I don't feel like staying around while you revel in my humiliation."
"Uh, Lizzie, what are you talking about?" Robert asked, puzzled. "Granted, he doesn't seem like the sharpest tool in the shed. But I don't see what's humiliating about you getting your groove on with the boy-toy."
"Oh, I thought you knew. I thought everybody knew. The 'boy-toy' is married. I didn't even suspect it until Jacy took a call from his wife in the middle of surgery." Elizabeth's cheeks colored, remembering that moment.
The smarminess faded from Robert's demeanor, and he said seriously, "Wow. That's asshole-ish even by my standards. What a . . ." He trailed off, looking for the right word.
"Abby suggested 'wanker'," Elizabeth supplied helpfully.
"I was gonna go with 'prick', but that'll do."
The two doctors paused for a moment in companionable silence. Then Robert said, "So, I guess this means I don't have to be nice to him."
"Was there ever any risk of that happening?" Elizabeth teased.
"Uh, no. But I was trying to be mature about it. I wasn't going to torture him for going out with you."
"How big of you," Elizabeth replied sarcastically. Seeing the sad look in his eyes, she immediately regretted this.
He continued quietly, "I know you need to get on with your life, and I don't want to get in your way."
"Robert, you know you're not in my way. I care about what happens to you . . ."
"I mean romantically," he interrupted. "I'm just saying that you don't have to worry any more about me pulling a 'Benton' on the guys you date."
For some reason, Elizabeth found this terribly sad. The man who'd had a crush on her for six years was now assuring her that he wouldn't interfere if she dated other people. She should feel relieved. By any other standard he was exhibiting healthy adult behavior. But, coming from Robert, it seemed wrong - like he was giving up on yet another thing that used to be important to him.
Elizabeth didn't know how to respond, so she turned to humor. "Of course, now I'm not dating him any more, so he's fair game. If you do something evil to him, can I watch?"
"Heh. Sure," Robert replied, flashing a grin. Then he became somber again, "Ah, who am I kidding? I don't have any power over Dorsett. If he knew I had it in for him, he'd probably just laugh. What am I gonna do - let the air out of his tires?"
"I've thought about doing that," Elizabeth said mock-sheepishly, trying to lighten the mood, "Come on. Let's go get some decent coffee and conspire against him."
"No, thanks," Robert replied, softly but firmly, "I'm not really up for being sociable." Then, making his way to the exit, he added, "See you around."
After he left, Elizabeth stood there perplexed. This was by no means the first time that Robert had pushed her away. This time, however, his distancing himself from her seemed so deliberate, so final. He wasn't angry, and he wasn't trying to make HER angry. He was just walking away, quietly closing - not slamming - the door behind him. Elizabeth had no idea what, if anything, she should do about this.
*****
To be continued . . .
I'm planning on about 12 chapters. The first 3 or 4 are kind of depressing, but then things start looking up - I promise! Next chapter: the Pratt meeting.
Although it worked for the first chapter, I've decided not to tell the whole story from Romano's perspective. One of the intriguing things about this character is that often the audience is NOT privy to what he is thinking; I don't want to lose that. So, much of the action will be seen through the eyes of other characters, with occasional direct glimpses into Robert's thoughts. Please let me know if the shifting perspectives become distracting.
*******
A week after the helicopter tragedy, Kerry Weaver found herself making a quick pass through the ER, just to make sure things were going smoothly. She peered in through an exam room window and observed Romano and Gallant assessing a patient. Without even looking at the patient's face or addressing him directly, Romano none-too-gently felt the man's abdomen. Then he barked some orders at Gallant and threw in an insult for good measure. Kerry kept on walking. She knew she could count on Michael Gallant to keep his cool, and that she had to pick her battles with Robert.
In the past few days, Kerry had covered several shifts at her old post. With Carter and Chen out of the country, the ER had been short-staffed even before the accident. Then afterwards, Susan put in a request to temporarily cut back her hours in order to care for Chuck. With Romano out recovering from his injuries, they were perilously short on attendings.
Robert was supposed to stay home for a week; he was back at work five days later. As far as Kerry could tell, his brush with death had done nothing to improve his belligerent attitude. When she thought about the little bastard abstractly, she felt sorry for him. He was probably at least as miserable as he tried to make everybody else. But when she had to deal with him, or watch him deal with others, he was so obnoxious that her sympathy evaporated.
Momentarily, Kerry flashed back to the night following the crash, when she had checked on Robert in Observation. She had roused him from a nightmare and then sat for several minutes talking to him - ostensibly to fill him in on the status of the patients in the ER. 'We get along so much better when he's not fully conscious,' she thought wryly.
Kerry arrived at the nearly-empty waiting area in time to see a cluster of children enter, accompanied by two women. One of the women carried a boy - kicking and screaming - and pulled another boy by the arm. The other woman led a disheveled-looking girl, while trying to herd three other children who seemed bent on bolting off in all directions. Kerry's mood sank as she went over to the Admit desk.
"Brat pack's back," quipped Chuny.
"Oh God," Abby sighed. The "brat pack" were repeat customers. A class of 8-to-10-year-olds with severe emotional and/or behavioral problems from a nearby school, they showed up at the ER frequently to get treatment for various injuries that they inflicted on each other. Most of the staff had worked on them at one time or another - and had the bruises and bite-marks to prove it. "Haven't they heard of the school nurse?" she complained.
Chuny put in, "Probably don't have one. Or maybe she locks the door when she sees them coming."
Kerry regarded the children, who were starting to squirm and tussle. "I have a meeting in half an hour. When's Susan on?"
"Not 'till four," supplied Abby, "I think we should give them to Romano."
"Why?"
Abby replied brightly, "Because we hate him."
Kerry allowed herself a moment of vindictive glee at this comment, but then her professionalism kicked in and she worried, "I don't know if that's such a great idea . . ."
Abby interjected, "Actually, it worked pretty well the last time. The little monsters feared the hook. Kept 'em in line. Not sure if 'the hand' will have the same impact . . ."
Just then Romano entered the Admit area. Walking by "chairs" he said in a low, slightly menacing voice, "I KNOW you're not messing around in my waiting room."
The kids immediately stopped fighting. Some of them even tried to sit up straight in their chairs. Kerry let out a short laugh.
"Hello Kerry," Romano purred coldly as he approached the desk, "Checking up on me?"
"You know, Robert, re-hiring the people you fire is becoming a full time job." Kerry didn't want to get into a public snit with Romano, so she tamped down her irritation and kept her comment light.
Without acknowledging the other staff clustered around the desk, Romano collected several charts from the rack and tucked them under his prosthesis. Then he blustered, "Yeah, well, I'm gonna be firing a few more if they don't get cracking. What the hell are you slackers waiting for? A written invitation?"
Romano headed toward the largest exam room, gesturing with his head to indicate that the kids and their caretakers should follow.
Chuny said, "I had them last time," backing away.
Abby retorted, "I had HIM last." But it was too late. Chuny had disappeared into a trauma room. "Damn."
"Come on," Kerry sighed, "I'll help get things started."
Kerry and Abby entered the room to find Romano examining the boy with the most obvious injuries - a bloody nose and split lip. The teacher, Ms. Anders, sat next to the boy, restraining a girl in a bear-hug from behind and monitoring another boy who flitted around nearby. The other three children were a few feet away, with the teacher's assistant trying to keep them from touching anything or hurting each other. Kerry and Abby approached the latter group and began examining them.
"What happened to your arm?" the boy Romano was treating asked bluntly.
Irritated, Romano responded, "Miguel, what did I tell you the last time you asked me that?"
"That it's none of my business."
"Do you see any reason to believe that has changed?"
Miguel apparently couldn't think of anything, but the other boy near them piped up, "My Mom says I have to change my underwear every day."
Romano almost laughed. "Thanks for sharing."
Miguel, after recovering from the hysterics produced by hearing the word "underwear," persisted with, "But I really wanna know!"
Romano replied evenly, "Too bad."
Miguel was about to say something else, but his teacher interjected, "You're being a pest, Miguel. Quit it."
Fortunately, the boy was distracted by noticing that his lip had stopped bleeding. He went to test this discovery by poking at the area, but Romano stopped him with a stern look.
"Hey! It stopped bleeding. Did that sting-ey stuff make it stop?"
"Uh, no . . .," Romano began.
Miguel charged along with, "Know what? If it don't stop then all the blood goes Whooosh, and then you're a zombie."
Romano cocked an eyebrow, unconvinced by the boy's theory. "Your lip will be fine. You're finished. Go away." His tone was gruff, but less nasty than usual.
When Miguel had vacated the chair, Romano turned to the girl that Ms. Anders had been restraining, and who now sat quietly next to her. "Are you going to let me examine you today, Kiesha?" he asked, a hint of humor in his voice.
Kiesha didn't look at him, didn't respond at all for several seconds. Finally, she pressed the side of her fist against her chest, then moved it to another location a couple of inches away, then to another. Romano put on his stethoscope and listened to the girl's chest through her shirt, moving the end of the stethoscope in roughly the way that Kiesha had moved her hand.
"OK," he said, "Can I look at your tummy now?"
The girl folded her arms across her chest, becoming completely withdrawn and inaccessible.
Romano offered, "Would you rather have a lady doctor look at you?"
Kiesha didn't react. Romano looked over at her teacher, who shrugged and said, "Worth a shot."
Romano addressed Kerry, who was observing him surreptitiously as she finished treating another child's abrasions. "As long as you're still loitering down here, wanna take a look at her?"
Kerry nodded, "Fine," and led Kiesha and her teacher over to a curtained area in the corner. She started by asking the girl, "How are you feeling today, Kiesha?"
No response. Not even a blink.
"Has she been ill?" Kerry inquired.
Ms. Anders supplied, "No, I don't think so. I just have a hunch that something's up with her. Something at home, you know?" The teacher was being surreptitious, but she gave Kerry a meaningful look. Kerry noticed the code in Keisha's chart that indicated unconfirmed suspicion of abuse.
The child definitely looked unkempt, and there was a troubling dullness to her mocha-colored complexion. But there were no visible injuries or signs of physical distress, and hence, there was no justification for forcibly examining her without parental consent. The teacher had general consent forms for each child, permitting first-aid and emergency care. However, there was no real evidence that Kiesha needed either.
Ms. Anders continued, "This place is probably the closest she's going to get to 'continuity of care'. But so far she hasn't let anybody really examine her."
Unfortunately, Kerry proved to be no exception to this rule. Any time she tried to look under the girl's clothes or restrain her in any way, Kiesha began banging her head and lashing out with her arms and legs. Finally, Kerry settled for cursorily feeling through her clothes to rule out any broken bones.
Meanwhile Romano was trying to treat the last patient - Zach, the boy who had made the "underwear" comment. According to the teacher's assistant, Zach's balance had recently become erratic, causing him to stagger for no apparent reason. To make a diagnosis, Romano (and Abby who had come over to help) needed to take the boy's temperature and draw blood to check the levels of the various psychoactive medications he was on.
This was easier said than done. Zach literally never stayed still. Sitting him down was out of the question. The best one could hope for was to get him to hover within a confined area. Romano coerced him into keeping both of his hands on the back of a chair, thus limiting his range of motion. After several minutes of maneuvering, Abby finally got the temperature and blood sample.
As Romano and Abby were finishing up with Zach, Kerry and the others emerged from the curtained area. The teacher, who had heard the commotion surrounding Zach, thanked Romano and Kerry, adding apologetically, "I know they can be a bit of a handful. It's the same way at school."
Romano, on his way to leave the room, shrugged and commented, "It's nice to know that some people's jobs suck even more than mine does."
'Oh God,' Kerry thought, 'I can't believe he just said that.' Before Kerry could intervene to smooth things over, Ms. Anders fixed Romano with a beatific smile - one that conveyed complete sincerity but exaggerated to comic effect - and said, "I love my job."
Abby, writing notes in Zach's chart, asked, "Psych consult?" Of course, she meant the order for Zach, but she looked sideways at the teacher, barely keeping a straight face.
Romano, following her gaze, smirked, "You bet." He walked out, ignoring Kerry's glare and Ms. Anders' bemused grin.
Stepping outside the exam room into the comparative calm of the hallway was like dipping into a refreshing pool of quiet. Robert was relieved to be away from the noise and disorder. It was his second day back at work and he was growing impatient with the low-level anxiety that he continued to feel, especially when interacting with people. It was stupid. Sure, walking through the ambulance bay doors creeped him out (he took that route anyway out of spite, though he wasn't sure out of spite for what), and he didn't even want to think about going up to the roof. Fine, that all made sense. But this free-floating stress was senseless, and thus, infuriating.
Doing the scut work was distracting, at least. And it made him feel somewhat less useless. At the same time, it was demeaning. If not for the behavior problems, any resident could have easily handled these cases. Bloody noses and ear infections were beneath him. And it was frustrating to not even be able to take a kid's temperature by himself. He could tell himself that taking temperatures was a nurse's job anyway, but it didn't help.
Yelling at people helped a bit. Disturbingly, it seemed to be helping less and less as time wore on . . .
As Robert was musing bitterly, he noticed a familiar head of curly red hair about 30 feet down the hallway. Seeing Elizabeth gave him an instant kick of joy, but that high passed quickly and he decided that he didn't really have the energy to deal with her right now. He ducked into the lounge. As he poured himself a cup of the toxic sludge that passed for coffee, he heard the lounge door open and close behind him.
Elizabeth said, "Hello Robert."
He turned toward her, nodding a greeting, "Elizabeth."
"You didn't return my calls," the English surgeon pointed out neutrally.
Robert shrugged, "Figured I'd run into you soon enough."
Elizabeth was mildly annoyed. She had visited him briefly in the ER after the disaster last week. But he went home AMA before she was done treating the other accident victims. And she hadn't heard from him since. Taking in his tense posture and tired expression, she asked quietly, "How are you doing?"
Typically, he responded, "Oh, fine. Just another day in the E-armpit."
'This isn't getting anywhere,' Elizabeth thought. She glanced at her watch, trying to decide if she had the time to drag any genuine conversation out of Robert. He observed her looking at her watch, and said, "You missing your 'coffee break'?" enunciating the last words in a lewd tone.
"Grow up," she spat, turning on her heel to walk away. Yes, genuine conversation would definitely have to wait - until she got over the urge to slap him.
"Elizabeth, wait, wait," Robert began, "I didn't mean to . . ."
She cut him off with, "What? You didn't mean to make crude insinuations? You didn't mean to mock my affair with Dorsett?"
"No, I meant to do that," he admitted with a trace of a mischievous smile, "But I didn't mean to piss you off enough to make you leave."
"Well, that's very sweet of you," Elizabeth countered, "excuse me if I don't feel like staying around while you revel in my humiliation."
"Uh, Lizzie, what are you talking about?" Robert asked, puzzled. "Granted, he doesn't seem like the sharpest tool in the shed. But I don't see what's humiliating about you getting your groove on with the boy-toy."
"Oh, I thought you knew. I thought everybody knew. The 'boy-toy' is married. I didn't even suspect it until Jacy took a call from his wife in the middle of surgery." Elizabeth's cheeks colored, remembering that moment.
The smarminess faded from Robert's demeanor, and he said seriously, "Wow. That's asshole-ish even by my standards. What a . . ." He trailed off, looking for the right word.
"Abby suggested 'wanker'," Elizabeth supplied helpfully.
"I was gonna go with 'prick', but that'll do."
The two doctors paused for a moment in companionable silence. Then Robert said, "So, I guess this means I don't have to be nice to him."
"Was there ever any risk of that happening?" Elizabeth teased.
"Uh, no. But I was trying to be mature about it. I wasn't going to torture him for going out with you."
"How big of you," Elizabeth replied sarcastically. Seeing the sad look in his eyes, she immediately regretted this.
He continued quietly, "I know you need to get on with your life, and I don't want to get in your way."
"Robert, you know you're not in my way. I care about what happens to you . . ."
"I mean romantically," he interrupted. "I'm just saying that you don't have to worry any more about me pulling a 'Benton' on the guys you date."
For some reason, Elizabeth found this terribly sad. The man who'd had a crush on her for six years was now assuring her that he wouldn't interfere if she dated other people. She should feel relieved. By any other standard he was exhibiting healthy adult behavior. But, coming from Robert, it seemed wrong - like he was giving up on yet another thing that used to be important to him.
Elizabeth didn't know how to respond, so she turned to humor. "Of course, now I'm not dating him any more, so he's fair game. If you do something evil to him, can I watch?"
"Heh. Sure," Robert replied, flashing a grin. Then he became somber again, "Ah, who am I kidding? I don't have any power over Dorsett. If he knew I had it in for him, he'd probably just laugh. What am I gonna do - let the air out of his tires?"
"I've thought about doing that," Elizabeth said mock-sheepishly, trying to lighten the mood, "Come on. Let's go get some decent coffee and conspire against him."
"No, thanks," Robert replied, softly but firmly, "I'm not really up for being sociable." Then, making his way to the exit, he added, "See you around."
After he left, Elizabeth stood there perplexed. This was by no means the first time that Robert had pushed her away. This time, however, his distancing himself from her seemed so deliberate, so final. He wasn't angry, and he wasn't trying to make HER angry. He was just walking away, quietly closing - not slamming - the door behind him. Elizabeth had no idea what, if anything, she should do about this.
*****
To be continued . . .
I'm planning on about 12 chapters. The first 3 or 4 are kind of depressing, but then things start looking up - I promise! Next chapter: the Pratt meeting.