It was a lovely Friday evening in Chicago, at our beloved Cook County. Around 7, to be exact.

The sun was setting.

The birds were just about to turn in for the night.

And our weird, bald little surgical hero, Robert Romano was waiting anxiously at the patient entrance of the hospital in an imperceptible little corner of the lobby, sitting in an overstuffed armchair, bouncing his left leg nervously. He was clad in a full suit and jacket, his favorite trench coat covering it with the intention of keeping out the Chicago elements. It was complete with a small black bow tie that sat under his chin. He had on his best golden cuff-links, and his most expensive Rolex watch.

He had ice on his wrist and a jumpy stomach.

And he was praying yet again to God, Allah, Buddha, Satan, WHOEVER that our other glorious surgical whatever, Peter Benton, would just show up so they could go before some nosy cunt he knew saw him and asked what he was doing all dressed up and no where to go.

'Come on. How long does it take to close an open laparotomy?!' Robert's nerves spiked even more. What if he was standing him up, making him look like an absolute fool for actually thinking he'd go out with him? What if he got some of those asshole ER docs in on it, and started a betting pool on how long he'd wait before giving up and trotting off to the nearest bar to get drunk of his ass and drown his sorrows?

He was probably still upstairs, laughing about the whole thing. He stared at the floor, hunched over slightly, thinking of every way Peter could fuck him that night, and not in the same context as in exam one. And before that, the shower room. And before that...

He was spooked out of his quickly escalating thoughts by a hand squeezing his shoulder gently, causing him to flinch.

"Sorry," Peter said, wanting to kick himself for scaring him for the umpteenth time that month. "You want to get going before anyone catches on?"

"Sounds like a good idea." Romano replied, standing up, straightening himself up after sitting for a bit. He took briefly took in Benton's appearance. The taller man appeared to take the same route. White shirt, red tie, dark navy blue slacks, and a blazer, covered by a long brown coat.

They walked out the doors of County, one after the other, and Peter started them off going left, which made reminded the other man of one tiny kink in their plan;

Where the hell were they even going?

"Dr. Benton, I do believe we never sorted out one small detail about our next discussion..."

"Don't worry, I know a place." Peter said, reassuring the man, looking over at him briefly. He knew he probably looked pretty pale, undoubtedly more than a little nervous. They'd already done so much more than this, so why was he ready for God to strike him dead before he made a fool of himself?

They walked in companionable silence as Romano followed Benton to whatever place he'd picked out for the two. He wasn't even going to try to get after him for that, his head void of anything apart from the millions of little things that could go wrong that night. 'Jesus this man is going to be the death of me.'

And he was doing okay until his hand gently brushed Peter's, causing him to yank it away as if he'd been electrocuted, that blush threatening to throw itself back onto his cheeks.

The other man looked at him, slowing down slightly. Looking over his shoulder to make sure they'd put a considerable distance between themselves and County, he grabbed Romano's hand, lacing their fingers together, giving it a squeeze.

"Relax." He said softly to Robert, whose cheeks were as red as the blood they'd had smeared on their gloves not a half hour before. "You don't have to be like that around me. I don't bite...much." He spoke the last word more softly than the rest.

And so they walked, hand in hand, for the next couple of blocks it took to get to the restaurant. If anyone was looking at them, both men were blissfully unaware, minds preoccupied with each other's company and their entwined fingers.

They reached a rather classy looking Italian place, a sign that read 'Midicci's' in bright white cursive, shining in its ever darkening surroundings as the sun continued to set, bright city lights slowly becoming more visible in the absence of daylight.

They entered. Instantly noting the amount of people who'd had the same idea as them—'Friday night, no shit Einstein', Romano began to fret all over again. Benton let go of his hand to talk to the waitress at the front desk.

Soon enough, they were being led to a table for two, which was complete with silverware, freshly poured champagne for the pair, and even a candle serving as a centerpiece.

Peter pulled out his chair, then helped him shrug out of his trench coat before seating himself across from Robert, who smirked at him.

"Well, aren't you a gentleman," he said, some of his usual sarcasm coming back to him. "Who gave you the right to spoil me like this?"

"If I gave you anything less I'd never hear the end of it," Benton snarked, grinning at the man.

"Besides, after yesterday, I thought you deserved something special..." he finished lowly. Romano looked down at his folded hands on his lap, color threatening to return to his cheeks.

"I've made you blush. The all mighty and all powerful Robert Romano. Second time this evening and it's only 7:30," Peter said amazed, taking a sip of his champagne.

If Romano was going to bite back with anything clever, he was cut off by their waiter, who was taking that inopportune moment to take their orders.

A depressed looking man with a 5 o'clock shadow wearing a tuxedo and bow-tie not unlike Romano's stood by the table, notepad in hand.

"Hi, my name is Edward Dorsett. My friends call me Fast Eddie. I'll be taking care of you tonight. Can I start you off with any appetizers?" He had as much excitement in his voice as a boiled potato.

The two men at the table exchanged looks, then glanced at the menu.

"We'll take an order of garlic bread." Romano said after a beat, looking over at Peter for approval.

Edward scribbled the order down in his note pad.

"Alrighty then. I'll bring that right up, along with a pair of ladies. Two guys all dressed up in a place like this, sippin' wine? People are gonna think you're 'funny' as my grandpa Joe used to call it, God rest his soul." He jabbed, laughing like a fucktard at his own mediocre attempt at a joke.

The pair glared at Edward. If looks could kill...

His shit eating grin was wiped away in a nanosecond.

"Right. Garlic bread it is then." He made his hasty retreat.

The two were left in silence, both looking away after that horrendous encounter. The sound of a piano being played in the far corner, coupled with the chatter of others around them filled the silence, making it more bearable than if they were alone.

Edward came back with their garlic bread, wordlessly setting it on the table and leaving. Romano eyed him as he stormed off.

"God," He said, a cocky smile returning to his face, causing Peter to look at him. "What a loser!"

The other man chuckled, shoulders shaking slightly with laughter.

The two tucked into their bread basket, unfazed by...ugh...Fast Eddie. Peter decided to pipe up as Romano was taking a big sip of his champagne.

"Be honest. Was I your first?"

The weird bald man inhaled sharply at the question, choking on his drink. He sputtered, and Peter handed him his napkin.

"Thank you." He choked out, still coughing.

Peter chuckled. "I'm sorry. That was a little—."

"No, no...uh, it's fine..." He stammered, flustered. Peter reached his hand across the table, covering Robert's hand with his own.

"Was I?" He asked, looking him in the eye.

"Yes," Romano said softly, looking down at their touching hands. Peter took another sip of his champagne. "The first man, anyway...you?"

"Same here..." He murmured, picking up the man's hand and holding it gently. He stroked his knuckles with his thumb. Robert sighed from the gentle caress. His skin tingled from the other man's touch, kind of wanting to drag him right out of that restaurant and let him take him all over again.

The two saw Edward Horseshit coming back their way, and reluctantly pulled away.

"So, are we ready for the main course?" He said, his voice exuding a raw energy not unlike a cold stick of unsalted butter.

The two ordered in turn. Edward scribbled furiously onto his notepad.

"Okie dokie. I'll get those right out for ya. And if I were you, I'd buy a drink for those lovely ladies over at table 13," he pointed to a pair in the opposite corner, blissfully unaware of the weasel who was currently staring them down.

And, as luck would fuck them, it just so happened to be Doctors Weaver and Legaspi, who, what had to be due to some higher power looking out for their asses had not noticed them. Or at least they were PRETENDING they hadn't.

"By my calculations, after a martini or two, I wouldn't be surprised if ya both got some tonight!" He winked at that last part, cackling like an idiot.

Again, he was met with blank stares and awkward silence.

"Okay..." He said, and briskly walked away.

As soon as the little annoyance left, the two looked at each other with wide eyes.

"I'm starting to wish we'd arranged for this discussion to be held in the ass end of Milwaukee." Romano said, taking another sip of the drink that almost killed him a few paragraphs back. Peter laughed slightly at that, shaking his head slightly in disbelief.

"I wouldn't be surprised if we found some of them out there, too." He said, flicking his eyes over to them, then back at Robert.

"So..." the bald man started, unsure as to how to proceed. 'How about "So, wanna talk about how we've been boffing in assorted spots of the hospital where we happen to work, or whether or not it'll be pissing down with rain tomorrow morning?" How about a nice middle ground of "It's been lovely out this week, I can't wait for the next time you can rearrange my guts in MY hospital. Maybe we should do it in a storage closet, just to even things out between first and fourth floor?"'

"So..." Peter began, seeming equally as unsure, especially after Eddie Dipshit and his audacity. You would've thought the greasy looking man could read minds!

"Alright, I'm aware of the elephant in this room, so I'm just going to say this flat out," Robert started, looking at Peter.

"That was easily the best sex I've ever had in my life. Now of course, I can't be crazy enough to think that the two of us could make anything work in terms of how to treat a PATIENT let alone a romantic relationship but the fact of the matter is...I find you very attractive." He paused, taking a sip of his champagne, looking at Peter to try and gauge his reaction.

"Of course there is the prospect of someone in a position administrative power having an affair with a subordinate, which is...let's face it, a whole other clusterfuck to deal with, not to mention that it's a same sex affair in the somewhat unaccepting times we're living in. But to be fair, the two of us share the same insane schedule, therefore the same lacking social life, so I'd really like to give it a try...with you...what do ya say?"

"Well, quite frankly Dr. Romano, I'm surprised." Peter said, still processing his words.

"Really. I thought you could see right through me." Robert gave him a small smile, picking at his garlic bread.

"Well with all of the dirt everyone has on you, I'd imagine you'd want to end things right away. Between the rumor mill and protecting your place in the food chain..." he trailed off. The bald man shrugged, picking up his wine glass.

"Well I suppose some little problems could arise..." Romano noted, thoughtfully observing the liquid in his glass.

"I'd say there'd be A LOT more than a few." Peter laughed, sipping at his own drink.

"I mean, we wouldn't want anything to happen that would ruin our work relationship that we have now, or ruffle any feathers up at risk management."

"Yeah, because our work relationship is going so GREAT." Peter snarked, giving Romano a look.

"So great, mind you, that it's pretty much what brought us here." He snarked right back, gazing right back at him.

And, like many other good things, another one of their intense staring sessions was interrupted by a weasely little presence that brought them their food and filled their wine glasses. None of them said a word.

When he left, the two tucked in to their respective dishes. They remained quiet for a while, the last few minutes of the conversation still sinking in, trying to make sure they knew just what the other wanted from them.

"I mean let's just say," Romano started again after a while of silence, piercing a ravioli with his fork. "What if...we went for it."

"What if?" Peter agreed, taking a bite of his shrimp scampi.

"What's the harm in it if we just keep it quiet from HR and the rest of that damn hospital? It's none of their damn business anyway!"

"It's not like it's the end of the world or something!" Benton said, a wry smile covering his face as he thought about it. Come to think of it, all of County probably WOULD treat it like a meteor on its way to Earth.

"And outside of hospital business we clearly enjoy each other! We share similar interests, we can both take a good joke every now and again," The rather elated bald man explained, sipping his champagne some more. "I mean it's almost stupid if we don't!"

"It's moronic!"

"Absurd!" The bald man agreed, who was now sporting a rather huge goofy grin, champagne starting to get to his head. "Well then, it's settled. Dr. Peter Benton, knowing full well that HR could have our balls served on a steel platter assuming they ever do find out about us, and that we would face everlasting torment from the rumor mill for years to come, possibly obliging us to change our names and move to Europe...do you want to be my lover?"

"Yes," he said, chuckling. "Yes, Dr. Robert Romano, I would love to be "funny" with you, as what's-his-face's-dead-grandfather would put it."

Romano put out his hand for Benton to shake, and he did, laughing as the bald idiot almost dipped his sleeve into the Alfredo sauce covering his plate returning his hand to his side of the table.

And so they talked. And ate. And drank themselves to the point of thinking everything was funny.

"They bought it. They actually fucking bought it!!" Romano bellowed, in stitches, a little after their dinner plates had been cleaned and taken away by Fast Ejaculator, their glasses having been refilled 3 more times since. "Rumpled clothes, a bite mark here and there, and they still fucking bought it! Hell, I'm surprised they didn't sick security or at least Kerry Weaver on us to make sure we weren't turning the place into a damned crime scene!"

"Well she certainly couldn't have that in her ER. It's bad for publicity!" Benton howled. He was leaning back in his chair, observing Romano's current state. He'd never seen the man so laid back before. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he laughed, his dimples showing, his cheeks slightly flushed on account of his drunkenness. He looked absolutely wonderful.

Peter rest his head on one hand, propping that elbow up on the table, watching him as he continued. "The look on her face if she'd barged in, expecting to see us throttling each other—it would ruin things but GOD, would that be to die for!" Robert continued, nearly in tears.

It wasn't until his laughter died down that he noticed Peter staring at him, dreamily. He gazed back at him, amused.

"What are you looking at?" He asked in mock aggravation.

"You're pretty..." the other man said sweetly, dragging the 'e' sound for slightly longer than necessary. This got Robert laughing again.

"Am I? Really?" He said between giggles at Benton's ear-to-ear grin.

"Yeah...but there's just one thing..."

"There's someone else, isn't there? Let me guess, it's Dr. Edson! You cheating bastard!" He said, feigning a hurt look.

"Not that," Peter said, standing up slightly, reaching over to Robert's mouth, wiping some Alfredo sauce that had managed to find its way to the corner of his mouth with his thumb. He turned his head quickly to nip at it.

"Watch it, you!" He warned jokingly, pulling the hand away. Just then, our favorite comedian showed up with the check. Benton shoved his card in the guy's face before Romano could get a word in.

"Oh, come on Petey, that's not fair! I should at least get half! You're making me feel like some spoiled sugar baby or something!" The bald man whined.

"Don't call me Petey, Robbie," Benton teased back. "And besides, tonight's my treat."

Edward DickTwitch, or whatever his name is, returned with the check. "You two have a lovely night." He said as Peter retrieved his card. As he was about to walk off, Romano piped up.

"Fast Eddie!" The man turned as Robbie got his attention. "That guy over there's been eyeing all evening!" He nodded his head to some lonely schmuck at the bar who was on his 7th round of scotch on the rocks. He had vomit on his sleeve and was about a sip away from hitting the floor. He was a spitting image of Paris Hilton at her worst.

"By my calculations, if you buy him a martini or two, you'll be gettin' some tonight!" He howled as Benton was beginning to drag him away from the table, being the first to notice that Weaver and Legaspi were starting to saunter towards them, probably with the intentions of saying hi. He was dragging his heels, taking in the appalled look on Eddie's face.

"If I remember correctly there's one fine Motel 6 a few blocks down the road! You two lovebirds can make your own little nest there!" He slurred, alcohol making him unable to stand still. Peter was now behind him and working on physically pushing him out the doors of the restaurant into the cold Chicago streets.