Now this one ain't a hot, steamy chapter like the last couple. This one's a little more angsty and full of plotty stuff, so if you're just here for ol' Robbie and Pete gettin' it on, you should probably wait or skip ahead, depending on when you're reading this.
Takes place during 7x06; The Visit
It was a rather traumatic Thursday in the city of Chicago, Illinois. In fact, it had been the first time our two heroes had been thrown through some real serious shit from TBTB in this story.
It was gloomier outside than most emo kids' Tumblr pages.
The birds had shut up for once.
Gunshots rang out from downtown Chicago not a couple hours beforehand, a typical occurrence for the Windy City, no matter who was behind the trigger.
And our beloved surgical hero, Robert Romano, had just spent the last 45 minutes or so looking everywhere for our other beloved surgical hero, Peter Benton.
And when this mentally exhausted, slightly deranged narrator says everywhere, she MEANS everywhere. Every trauma room. Exam rooms 1-4, four times over, in fact. All the OR's, storage rooms, medicine closets in the hospital. Hell, he even barged into Dr. Anspaugh's office to look for the guy, giving him a taste of his own damn medicine. But the only thing he'd achieved there had been waking the elder surgeon up from his afternoon nap and pissing him off to no end.
Romano checked the parking garage. Then the rooftop. Then the street below the rooftop to make sure he hadn't gone and jumped off of it. To his relief, he failed to find the bloodied remains of his guy smeared against the sidewalk, outside of Cook Fucking County of all places.
A few more stairwells and a couple of depressingly empty lounges later, Romano decided to call off his one man search party, ready to drop dead from his frantic hunt for the tall, bitchy surgeon. He felt like his feet had been chewed on by a one eyed whore, and not to mention his head. So, he snagged himself a quick drink from the bubbler, and did the only thing he could think of.
The bald surgeon strode in the direction of his office on the surgical floor, with every intention of collapsing in one of his big overstuffed chairs and paging Benton another 45 times, at least hoping for a reply that disproved his suspicions that either; A. In his grief stricken state he'd gotten his ass in trouble with God knows who, especially considering that big mouth of his, B. He's abandoned his habit of drinking on occasion and was currently pickling his own liver inside inside of some grungy pub on the bad side of town. And he STILL would have come out maimed and bruised on account of his big fat mouth.
And of course, there was, what in Romano's opinion, the worst scenario, in which Peter was alone, grieving the loss of his nephew in some dark corner, his only condolence being the hollow apologies and unbearable pity from anybody who'd heard.
All he wanted to do for the man was drag him out of that hellhole with him for the day, maybe more, and try and make him forget. At least for a little while. He got lost in his musings as he trudged up the stairs, eyes still searching for his lover desperately.
The fact was simple; he couldn't bring Peter's nephew back. He couldn't bring anyone back. And he sure as hell couldn't solve the city's gang violence crisis. He wasn't Jesus, after all.
All he wanted in that moment was to just be there for him. To help him feel less like he'd just taken a railroad spike to the chest, to patch the hole in his heart, or at least try.
He'd never felt like that towards Peter before. Before they got together, every little favor the man had asked of him, he'd brush off, and eventually bury the man in scut work for having the audacity to ask him for said favor. He never gave him any leeway when he was dealing with the critical phases of fatherhood, or his career. For God's sake, he'd even tried to keep the man from spending Christmas with his son not two years prior. And he would've gotten away with it, had that fat guy not busted a staple from his gastric bypass, tearing his drunk ass away from the Surgeon's Gala only to almost deck the tall surgeon with whom he was now involved.
He failed miserably, of course, after he fell over, his fat head hitting the cold OR floor.
He chuckled slightly at the memory, thankful that the stairwell was empty so he didn't have some smart ass begging him to share what had managed to amuse the dispassionate and cold blooded Rocket Romano. Who the hell would've believed the two would have a hot date in some fancy Italian restaurant almost two years later?! The thought was almost surreal.
And to think he'd been so pissed at Peter because of Dr. Corday. Dr. Lizzie Fucking Corday, who didn't even swing for the same team, he found out all too late! While he'd been stood up, drinking himself sick off scotch whilst listening to a Dr. What'shisface from gynecology drone on and on about all the wretched diseases, cysts, and assorted unholiness he'd treated in his "22 years of service to the hospital" and how they'd still refused to name one of the hospital wings after him. Or even a damn bubbler, for that matter.
And he'd come in, drunker than Paris Hilton in her rich uncle's wine cellar, and tried pathetically to punch the hell out of his SUPPOSED rival, and FUTURE lover, then almost got his ass reported to Anspaugh (and to be fair, the Medical Board) all for what? To discover that the "scutwork" he'd suspected Peter to have sent his dear Lizzie off to do in order to keep her out of his desperately reaching grasp had in fact not been scutwork at all. It'd been Susan Fucking Lewis!
And now? He'd have felt bad if he actually succeeded in keeping Peter from spending the holiday with the little munchkin. Especially after seeing how much he loved the damn kid. The two were inseparable, which was surprising, all facts considered. If Romano had a reputation for eating small children, then Peter would be the one picking at the leftovers!
His amusement had faded with a new thought that sprang to his head.
Peter hadn't told him all that much about his nephew. But Romano knew that he was still a kid; not one of those annoying nephews that come to mind, the ones who're 23, still living in their mother's houses, doing nothing but smoking pot and skipping all their classes. And a good kid too. He'd just happened to be associated with the wrong people in the wrong place at the wrong time. And what was the consequence of that? A GSW to the chest, that's what!
As he walked towards the outer door to his office, Romano concluded that God, if there even was one, had a pretty sick, twisted sense of humor, and was probably laughing his ass off up there with a bunch of his angels. And as soon as he died, he was going to kick that nutmeat straight in the balls, and slash the tiny wings off his precious little angels with a scalpel. All for his Petey, of course.
"Anyone report any sightings of Dr. Benton? God forbid he grace us with his presence this fine afternoon." Romano snarked to his assistant at the desk outside his office. Despite it all, he knew he still had to keep suspicions as low as ever.
"I'm sorry Dr. Romano, but no one's seen him." Brenda informed the man, bringing a frown to his face. "But Dr. Anspaugh was looking for you. He wanted to know why you would barge into his office in such a discourteous, disparaging manner. In his words, of course."
"And if I were you, I wouldn't be so hard on him. He just lost his nephew, you know." She finished before he could retreat straight into his office. He turned around quick, fixing her with an annoyed look.
"He can get his love at home." The man retorted coldly, earning a glare from his assistant.
He stumbled into his dark office, illuminated slightly by the fading daylight from outside.
His breath caught in his throat with one quick glance around the room.
Wordlessly, he shut his office door, locking it behind him.
Romano took a cautious step toward the other surgeon, whose figure was illuminated around its perimeter by the light glowing from his office window. His back was turned to the shorter surgeon, those robust shoulders slumped slightly.
He made no indication of acknowledging Robert's sudden entrance.
"I've been looking all over for you." He said quietly.
"Yeah. Well, you found me." Peter replied just as quietly, his voice seeming far away. Robert stepped further into his own office, the distance between the two finally diminishing.
"I just heard. I'm so sorry, Peter." The man said earnestly. Peter scoffed humorlessly.
"The hell you are. You didn't even know him. Don't give me that shit." He replied darkly, his voice reaching a new tone that Romano had never heard on him before. It sent a chill down his spine. He almost sounded like a different man lacking his usual airy demeanor.
"You're right, Peter. I didn't know him." Romano said, still taken aback from his curtness. "But I know how awful it's got to be, losing someone so young."
"You don't know the half of it." Benton said sharply, his tone failing to change.
Despite the sense of dread he'd developed deep in his gut from the man's uncharacteristic dejection, Robert stepped closer to the man. He stopped just behind him and the window, taking the opportunity to observe his appearance.
Those royal blue scrubs of his that Robert loved seeing him in were now a grisly sight to be seen; bloodstains all over his scrub top, even some on the side of his scrub pants. He knew exactly whose it was without a second thought. His eyes flicked up to Peter's reflection in the window panes, his eyes dull and brooding, his expression one of despair. He had a telltale bruise under one of his eyes from his scuffle with that loathsome little weasel Dave Malucci. Robert added him to his mental Shit List alongside God and his angels before piping back up.
"No, I don't. And truth be told, I probably never will. I just..." Romano trailed off for a moment, unsure of how to proceed, trying his best not to upset the man further. 'God, what a lovely time to suck with people!'
"I just wanted to make sure you were okay." He finished, putting a hand on Peter's shoulder. It was immediately shrugged off.
"Don't touch me." His tone was like ice. It felt like a 10-blade had hit Romano straight in his windpipe, hearing him talk like that. Hearing Peter talk like that to him. He knew he was only being so cold because he'd just about as shitty of a day as shitty days can get, and that those lips had uttered far worse things to him before they'd become partners, but it still hurt.
"Come on Peter. We should get out of here." He tried again, putting his hand back in its place on the man's shoulder. "We can grab something to eat. You don't have to be alone tonight—"
"I said don't touch me, you fucking prick!" Peter roared, whirling around to look at the man with fire in his eyes. Romano withdrew his hand as if he'd been badly burned, taking a quick step away from him.
"I don't need to drown my sorrows in some quick fuck with you! When I wake up in the morning he's still going to be dead, and you can't fix that!" He shouted at the man, who stared at him with wide eyes. "Get the fuck out of my face, Robert. I can't do this. Not tonight."
"Oh come on, Peter! That's not all we are and you know it!" Romano yelled back, allowing his temper to get the best of him. Despite Peter's continuous rebuking of the action, he reached out, holding one of the man's hands in both of his own.
"I love you, damn it!" Peter's gaze was fixed at their linked hands as the man continued, expression unreadable. Romano half expected the man to deck him, right between the eyes, a cruel allusion to his previous musings.
"I love you, and I'm not just going to let you go through this alone. And whether you like it or not, I'm not just some fuckbuddy of yours that'll only give you the time of day when he's got blue balls. I don't care how pissed you are at me, or God, or that gang, or hell maybe even the kid himself, but I'm not going to leave you like this..."
"Robert, stop." Benton interrupted, his voice getting quiet again.
"No! You're not getting out of this that easy, you jackass! Burning your bridge with me isn't going to do you any good after the absolute fucking shitstorm you've just dragged yourself out of."
"Robert, stop."
"You can scream at me, call me every name in the book, hit me for all I care, but I'm not leaving. I wouldn't do that. Believe it or not, I may be capable of some pretty inhuman, callous acts of vindication but I'm not a monster—"
Benton moved closer this time. And Romano was almost sure that he was going to hit him right on the nose and leave him there, bleeding in his office, his attempt of actually showing some sort of compassion towards someone other than his dog shot down as he sat, defeated, nursing a broken heart (and probably a broken nose), silently vowing to never love again in that dark room.
But no.
Instead, Benton took the man in his arms, leaning down slightly to accommodate his height, burying his face into the crook of his neck. He held him, clinging to him for dear life.
Romano stood still for a moment, surprised at his sudden change of heart.
He slowly wrapped his arms around the man, holding him just as close. He was still afraid the man would flee if he moved too quickly, and just held him there in the back of his office.
The bald man felt his heart break as Benton hugged him tighter to his chest, weeping into his shoulder.
"Oh, Peter..." he murmured softly to the now trembling surgeon. He brought a hand around to rub his back in slow, comforting circles.
"I-...I should've been there for him. I should have kept him from getting involved." Benton said shakily against Romano's thick lab jacket.
"There was nothing you could've done. It's not your fault." Romano reassured him gently, pressing a soft kiss to his head.
"I-I could have stopped this, Robert. I could've been around more. I-I could have—" the other man hushed him, squeezing him tighter.
"It's not your fault Peter. It's not his either." Tears stung at Romano's eyes, his chest aching badly as sobs wracked Peter's body. Not sure of what else he could say to comfort the poor man, he just held him in his arms, occasionally rubbing little circles between his shoulder blades, whispering soft reassurances into his ear. He'd never seen the man like this, and frankly, it killed him with every passing second, seeing him so miserable.
He'd never had anyone really cry on his shoulder before. Probably because the Almighty and All-powerful Rocket Romano's Shoulder was not one to be cried on. Sure, there'd been a devastated patient here, an incredibly joyful one there, both of which he just stood there awkwardly with until they were eventually peeled off him by a nurse.
To his surprise, he didn't feel so awkward with Peter, who happened to be a colleague, no less. He expected to, but he just—didn't.
He'd only felt an overwhelming urge to protect the man then, to keep him from anything else that might ever make him cry again. He wanted to hug him, kiss his head, tell him he loved him, anything if it'd make him feel even a little bit better. The dreadful sound of his muffled sobs even made Romano himself feel like crying.
Robert had quit rubbing Peter's back as his tears began to slow, just holding the man in his dim office. He rocked the man gently in his arms, shifting his weight on his heels back and forth.
"It's alright. I've got you..." Robert mumbled to the man. He wiped away a few stray tears from his face he didn't even know had fallen. "It's not your fault. It's no one's fault."
Benton pulled away to look at the man after a little while. Romano held his head in both hands, gazing into his wet, red rimmed eyes. He moved to brush his fingers against the little purple bruise underneath one eye.
Romano marveled at just how handsome the man still looked, despite being flung through the wringer. The mark on his face only added to his rugged charm. Had the circumstances been a lot different, Romano would probably not have still been clad in his lab coat, shirt, and tie for this long.
He leaned up then, pressing a soft kiss to the dark mark on Peter's face, his lips just barely brushing the skin there, not wanting to hurt the man any more than he had been. He reveled in the warmth and softness of his skin, a striking contrast from the cold words that had left his mouth just minutes ago. Peter shut his eyes at the contact as another silent tear rolled down his cheek, only to be kissed away by Romano.
Peter leaned down then, ever so slightly, allowing his lips to meet Romano's in a tender, yet passionate kiss, one soaked in pain and raw emotion. The bald man kissed him back slowly, still holding the man's face in a gentle caress as the kiss gradually deepened. The other man moved his shaking hands moved to grip the sides of Romano's lab jacket, holding on to them for dear life.
They kiss broke after a long minute, their lips parting with a soft noise that managed to fill the silent room on its own.
Peter leaned his head against Romano's shoulder as if it were the only thing keeping him standing. Romano wrapped an arm around him again, squeezing him to his chest. With his free hand, he ran his fingers through the soft black hair on the back of his head, gently caressing it.
"It's okay." Romano murmured in his ear, his lips pressing a kiss into his hair. His palm began to move up and down the length of his back, rubbing it again, comforting the man. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
Just then, someone yanked on the locked door handle quite persistently before knocking. The two failed to move away from each other, having a helluva lot of trust in that opaque glass door.
"Dr. Romano, you're needed in post-op right away. One of Dr. Corday's patients is going south, and before you even ask, Dr. Benton still has yet to be found." Brenda informed the man through the glass door, suspecting nothing out of the ordinary.
"I'm busy right now, Brenda!" He yelled back, still holding Peter in his arms.
"Doing what, taking another one of your afternoon naps?" She snarked at him, becoming inpatient. "And you better go quick, I hear the guy's spinal cord is leaking fluid like Old Faithful back there. Sounds like you might have a pretty hefty malpractice suit to deal with in the near future."
"Get Anspaugh! I can't deal with this right now!"
"I'm pretty sure he's still pissed at you."
"Just get him!" He roared back, already tired of her interruption.
Romano's petulance seemed to have worked, causing his assistant to walk away from the door without another word. He turned his attention back to Peter, nuzzling the head resting on his shoulder.
"How're you feeling, love?" Romano murmured into his velvety hair.
"I don't." Peter grumbled back at him, burrowing his head further into the spot between the man's shoulder and his neck. "You didn't have to do that."
"Do what? It's Corday's screw up! She probably sped through that damned procedure so she could get an early start on her weekend Vegas trip with Lewis!" Romano assured him quietly. "Besides, Don owes me one for walking in on us not too long ago. Whether he knows it or not."
"You still didn't have to do that. I've been treating you like shit, Robert." Peter said, words once again muffled against Romano's lab jacket.
"Oh come on, that wasn't your fault. I'd be pretty pissed at me too if I were you right now." The man excused him.
"You were only trying to help. You didn't deserve that." Benton picked his head away from the man to look into his dark eyes, bringing a hand up to stroke his cheek. "I'm really sorry."
"Water under the bridge, Peter. You deserve some slack after the day you've had." He retorted, giving Peter a small smile.
"Yeah but I still feel like an asshole. I didn't mean any of that stuff." He leaned down to give him another tender kiss, allowing his lips to linger against Romano's.
"I love you, Robert. I really do. No matter how pissed off I get at you." Peter said earnestly to the man after he'd pulled away, gazing into his eyes. He gave Romano a little smile of his own, one that made the shorter man's heart melt in his chest.
"I love you more." Romano said simply, beaming back at the man, causing his smile to grow larger. He brought a hand up to caress his cheek, his thumb brushing against the soft black down of his goatee. He leaned in, giving him another kiss on the lips, savoring his taste.
He pulled away to look at Peter again, looking back at him with a glint in those coffee colored eyes of his. Peter caught on immediately, giving him a look.
"Penny for your thoughts?" He asked, amused at the sudden change in his expression.
"How about we get out of here? I can smell an extra large milkshake, burger, and fries with your name on it over at Mickey D's," Romano informed him suggestively. "It's on me."
"That stuff clogs your arteries and pumps you full of preservatives. You of all people should know that." Peter said matter-of-factly to the man, who pouted at him.
"Oh come on, Peter! It's been a long, wretched day! You should cut yourself some slack." He whined at Peter, who shook his head slowly, still giving the man a wry smile. "Come on and eat your feelings with me!"
"You wouldn't turn down a hot date with your boss at one of the finest chains in America, now would you?" He asked, still trying to persuade the man.
Peter gazed into Romano's hopeful brown eyes, thinking on the offer. Even after the terrible shift he'd had, he couldn't help but begin to feel quite a bit better around the bald man, whose dimpled smile continued to pull him further out of his dismal mood with each passing second. He still felt a pang of guilt over how harshly he'd treated him earlier, looking down at that big goofy smile, which was plastered to the man who'd wanted nothing more than to be there for him, to make him feel better even if he could never fully understand what he was going through.
Peter kissed Romano's dimples, causing him to giggle before he eventually gave in to his desires yet again.
"Alright, fine. I'll come and poison my body with you, if you insist." He relented, pinching the man's cheeks as he tried to pull away. "As long as you're paying, Robbie."
The bald man pulled him into another big hug, squeezing him against his chest. Peter hugged him back, pressing a kiss against his fat head as he secured his arms around his big shoulders.
"It's gonna be okay, Peter." Romano mumbled into his neck, patting the man gently on the back. "Everything's gonna be alright. I'll make sure of it."
"Alright, lets blow this swine infested hospital from hell!" Romano announced, grabbing his trench coat and briefcase to leave for the day. He took Peter's hand to lead him out of his office.
They passed Brenda on the way out, who gawked at them, jaw dropped slightly. Romano shot her a look fit to make children cry and the elderly shit their last pair of Depends.
"Keep your mouth shut and I'm buying your coffee for the next month. Squeal, and I swear to God I'll tie you up in steel chains and toss you into the damn river." He warned her, his tone hardening 10 fold compared to about 15 seconds prior. "Oh, and I guess I could fire you too."
"Yes, sir..." She said promptly, turning her attention back to her work, breaking her stare at the two men.
Romano gave Peter's hand a quick squeeze before letting it go as they left his outer office, allowing the man to saunter off in the direction of the surgeon's locker room to finally change out of those dreadful bloodstained scrubs.
And out they went, in their exodus from Chicago's finest cesspool, out of the patient entrance of course, well on their way to drown their sorrows in the perfect mix of sodium, carbohydrates, and most of all, the most important ingredient, the one that begins with L...
LARD.
To be continued...
In case y'all want my completely biased, disgustingly honest opinion, if I'm not shipping Lizzie with little ol' Robbie, then I'm not shipping her with ANY living or dead dude on this show. Especially Mark, a dumb (yet pure of heart) thot who I believe should have been in an OT3 with Doug and Carol.
Sorry diehard Greeneday fans, they had fun together, but in the technical sense, they SUCKED together. If Markiepoo hadn't died of cancer, that ship woulda just hit the reef and sunk anyway.
Not that this particular ship would work any better. Thank you for listening to my TEDTalk~
