*BANGING A POT AND A PAN AGAINST EACH OTHER* CHAPTER 20! GIVE IT UP FOR CHAPTER 20! ALMOST DAY 50 OF QUARANTINE AND WE'VE ALREADY HIT 20 CHAPTERS, GOD HELP US ALL!
It was a lovely evening in our little Windy City. In fact, it was Valentine's Day. The day where all of America hooks up with their chosen loved one. Whether that be a boyfriend, a girlfriend, a couple of each...Hell, maybe even a SIBLING if you're from the South.
There was still snow on the ground, just like our previous chapter. Not the good kind, though, that only came around Christmas time. It was the wet, heavy kind that combined with garbage and dog shit on the streets, the kind that makes you want to kill yourself if you try and make a snowman with it.
Cupid had been shooting people in the ass with his arrows all day, becoming less and less precise as he upped his whiskey intake the longer that wretched holiday went on.
And just GUESS who he'd decided to shoot on that cold blue Chicago night.
Peter Benton had been caught up in cheap, bland...downright UNBEARABLE small talk with Dr. Cleo Finch for about an hour now. Had the punch in his glass been just a bit more potent, he might have just had the audacity to walk away from her without another word and actually try and enjoy his night.
Seeing as last year's Valentine's Day party ended in a complete and total blood bath, another one was held. This year, though, it'd been held in some cozy little joint about 10 miles away from Hell's Hospital. Any of the County staff who'd been lucky enough to get the night off had ventured to the dark ballroom in some grand hotel, one only the blood sucking succubus Weaver had picked out, all by herself.
It was all complete with a security guard here or there to prevent any unwanted anxiety. Dr. Carter, of course, was off in his own corner, giving his own little soliloquy to Abby between sips of his apple juice, letting his inner demons run wild. He went on and on about how it was days like this when he could still feel the knife in his back, and how he'd eventually let himself be driven to narcotics. Before the party was even over, Abby and him will have already skipped off to do something more fun to get their minds off of that horrible night, like egging Dr. Kovac's house while he was working on taking some chick home at the bar.
Ah, well. That's enough about the Donald Trump of the ER world, minus the blunt racism and rancid cheddar style spray tan. Where were we again?
Ah, yes. The prestigious Dr. Benton was taking in his surroundings. The drinks were pretty decent, for a hotel. The snacks weren't great, but enough to keep the alcohol from hitting you like a school bus. Even the music was pretty good, consisting of all the 80's and 90's hits the tall surgeon couldn't help but hum along to every now and again.
And then there was Cleo.
That damn pediatrician. From the very moment she'd walked up to him, Peter had gotten the feeling that she had feelings for him. And not the typical sort of feelings you have towards a colleague. No matter how desperate for a V-Day date someone is, you probably haven't seen anyone trying as hard as Cleo had with that man.
It's not like Peter could say anything, either. It really wasn't. What the hell was he gonna do? Take a big swig of his drink, slam it down as hard as he could on the table in front of him without breaking eye contact and come right out and say "I'm sorry, Cleo. But recently I've taken to fucking the hell out of Dr. Romano every time I catch a break in my busy life, so I don't think this is going to work. Unless you're particularly interested in being a third voice in our little discussions?".
Yeah, that'd go over swell. Real swell.
Speaking of the little bugger...
As Cleo droned on and on about this kid she'd treated the previous week who'd had an entire bag of jellybeans stuffed up his nose, Peter glanced up every now and again from his seat, looking, praying to God, Buddha, Freddie Mercury...oh, you get the point, that he'd be able to pick out that one man from the sea of faces belonging to various people from the hospital staff.
Murphy's law, of course, he managed to see just about anyone BUT Romano throughout the whole damn ballroom, ever since he'd first come in. He'd spotted radiologists, oncologists, various other doctors whose specialty ended in -ist who Benton hadn't talked to in literally years, despite working in the same puny little county hospital. On one occasion he even saw Anspaugh, drunkenly dancing with a terrified-looking Dr. Lewis to Africa by Toto, who seemed to want nothing more than to get the FUCK away from him and cower behind Elizabeth for the rest of the night.
A rather colorful scene, yes. But regardless, Peter still couldn't pick out his favorite bald idiot.
"Hey, Peter. Are you with me?" A voice spooked him from his search, and he immediately met the puzzled eyes of the pediatrician.
"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I was just..." he grappled for an excuse, any excuse, though he didn't know why. It'd be a blessing for this dull conversation to die, to be put out of its misery so he could saunter off to find the real reason why he'd even showed up to this glorified office party in the first place. 'God damn it, he said he'd be here!'
"I've had a really nice time with you tonight, Peter." Cleo said out of nowhere, leaving her bizarre story unfinished. She place a hand over his own where it rest on the table all of a sudden, taking Peter off guard. He stared at it as if she'd just used it to fish a carrot out of a horny old man back in the ER.
"Uh, yeah. Me too." 'A bag of stale popcorn could be more exciting than the time we've spent together. God, is this woman on crack?!'
"This party's pretty boring." She piped up again, gazing at Peter as if she was Dr. Weaver and he was the latest hospital gossip. "We should get out of here. Maybe head back to my place."
Just then, Peter's eyes fixed on a lone figure, clad in a tuxedo and a black tie with little pink hearts printed all over it, sitting at his very own table, just over Cleo's shoulder. He was nursing some scotch on the rocks, watching the two intently. His expression was unreadable.
His eyes locked with Peter's as he took another sip of the bitter liquid, looking as if he were about to walk out the door and drown his sorrows somewhere else, somewhere he didn't have to sit and watch this. He of all people should know, there's nothing worse than the sight of your lover with someone else.
Whether it be slightly heated talking or otherwise.
Jealousy brewed in the pit of the bald man's stomach, eating away at him like a burning acid, though he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away. Even as Peter's own flicked back to Cleo, who continued to gaze at him with romantic intent.
Cleo began to stroke Peter's knuckles with a light touch, taking his hand in both of hers. "I can make a mean cosmopolitan. I doubt anyone here will know you're missing..."
Contempt filled Peter to the brim then, but he didn't know quite where it came from. The sorrowful look on his forbidden lover's face? The way this woman was coming onto him, so shamelessly and lacking any consideration of the consequences. For God's sake, for all she knew he could have a girlfriend lurking around the place, who'd be utterly heartbroken by the mere thought of their current position.
Or a boyfriend.
And it was at that moment that Peter decided he'd had just about enough. Enough of his watered down punch, enough of Tainted Love playing in the background, filling his senses as this pediatrician dared him to betray the one person he knew no matter the circumstances he'd be the one he wanted to see at the end of a long day. And frankly, he had just about enough of Cleo Finch for one night.
Hell, maybe even his whole lifetime.
"I'm sorry, Cleo. But I can't." Peter said simply, looking her straight in the eye. He withdrew his hand with just a little more force than necessary, more than what was needed to get it out of Cleo's gentle, enticing grip.
He rose from his chair and sauntered off, knowing there was only one man he wanted to spend the rest of his night with.
And he found him. Just about 5 feet from walking out the door, his back to Peter in his retreat, his shoulders slumped slightly.
Peter stopped him before he could get any further, taking his hand. Romano whirled around, panic taking over his face as he realized who that hand belonged to.
"Peter. We..." he looked around, appearing almost paranoid. "We shouldn't do this. Not here. Go back to her. I was about to leave anyway."
The taller man gave him a bright smile, squeezing his hand. "Now why would you want to do that? I've been waiting around this crumby ballroom to see you all night, suffering through smalltalk and watching my colleagues drink like fish, and now you're just gonna bail on me? I'll tell you one thing, you make one lousy Prince Charming."
Robert allowed himself a small laugh, turning around fully to look at the man before him, finally able to take in his appearance from closer up. He had on a suit and jacket not unlike the one he'd worn when he took him to dinner all that time ago. He wore a red tie and had on his gold earrings, the small gold rings that'd get in the way of Romano's lips against his earlobe whenever they happened to be alone together.
The bald man was used to seeing him in a suit on what was almost a daily basis. But whenever they were out together, to dinner or otherwise, the sight always hit him in a different way.
Just then, a new song came on. One of those songs you'd expect to be playing at some sappy school dance, one that called for a slow dance between a bunch of hapless teenagers who barely knew how to slow dance yet.
The lyrics to "I Want To Know What Love Is" seemed far away as Robert lost himself in Peter's soft brown eyes, which peered down at him with the usual intensity that made butterflies flutter around in his gut.
"Dr. Romano," Peter began, his voice soft and silky, enough to make Robert shiver. "May I have this dance?"
"Peter, I..." he started, but couldn't find the strength to turn him down. He didn't want to turn him down, either. No matter how much he tried.
And so off they went, to the dark ballroom dance floor. One they both hoped was dark enough to prevent any unwelcome eyes from catching a glimpse of Peter leading Robert by the hand as he sought out the perfect spot for the two of them.
"I'm not quite sure how to do this...what if someone sees?"
"No one's gonna see." Peter whispered in the bald man's ear, reassuring him. "And don't worry, I'll show you how."
He drew the man in closer then, so close that their chests just barely touched. Peter guided Robert's hands to clutch his shoulders. He moved his own to Robert's shoulders, holding him in a loving embrace.
Slowly, they moved. With Peter leading his boss slowly, step by step, the man's warm breath against his neck. No one around them knew better.
Feeling brave all of a sudden, Robert leaned up slightly to give Peter's cheek a soft kiss.
He let his head rest on the taller man's shoulder as they continued, taking in the scent of his cologne. It was something different than usual, something with a little more lime and spice, but he loved it all the same.
As Benton's eyes scanned across the dance floor, once he managed to set a suitable rhythm for the pair, he noticed but one person knew they were there.
And they...she, rather, was Cleo.
They locked eyes in that moment, and for a fraction of a second, Peter felt guilty, though he knew he had no reason for it.
It passed like a fleeting shadow in the night, leaving nothing but that same sense of contempt from earlier on in its place.
Fully aware of those watchful eyes, Peter broke his gaze with the pediatrician, leaning down ever so slightly to give Robert's head a kiss from where it was on his shoulder. The man sighed at the contact, relaxing even more into his touch, blissfully unaware of the exchange happening just beyond.
The tall trauma surgeon looked up just quickly enough to see Cleo's retreating figure as she bolted out the door. So much for keeping it on the down low.
And so our two lovers danced, as the voice of Foreigner droned on, locking them in that moment, making everything else in the world seem oh so far away.
to be continued...
