I don't know about you guys, wherever you are across the world, but I'm on day 61 and counting of self quarantine! And I've spent the better part of it writing this fic, facing my innermost demons, drowning my sorrows in alcohol and Animal Crossing, and violently lusting after Paul McCrane. I don't even know who I am anymore.

This fic went WAY farther than I ever expected it to go. Plot bunnies will be plot bunnies, I suppose. Breeding like the coronavirus in my head.

I'm afraid this is the beginning of the end. The fic, not the world. Well, probably the world too. It's broken up into 4 chapters. Not sure how long it'll take me to write each one, but rest assured, I will NOT be that writer that just gets within 4,000 words of revealing how this shit ends and then just dips.

Alright. I'll shut my fat mouth now. Enjoy chapter 23!

It was yet another peaceful morning in the city of Chicago, Illinois.

The sun was just peaking over the horizon, bathing everything its rays hit with soft, yellow tinted light.

The skyscrapers shimmered and gleamed on account of the rising sun before them, blinding anyone who took too long of a look.

Dr. Kovac was just waking up from yet another lousy hookup, slowly realizing that his pants—along with 2 of his credit cards and about 800 of his dollars, was now gone.

And Robert Romano currently sat in the abandoned surgical lounge all by his lonesome, leisurely sipping his third cup of coffee for the day while reading one of his old medical journals. He sighed, turning the page, with only one thing on his incredibly weary mind.

An entire day at Cook County General without a nap longer than 45 minutes and our favorite bald surgeon was beginning to feel as if someone had replaced his brain with a bucket of mud. Truthfully, he wasn't really reading any of the text in front of him. He'd read over that same damn journal so many times now that one more attempt would probably cause his eyes to glaze over even if he hadn't been in surgery all night.

He'd just plucked the old thing off of the bookshelf in his office to gain himself a distraction from the real reason he was in that empty lounge, sucking down that weak caffeinated drink. He didn't give a crap what Sigmund Freud had to say, he just wanted to be home already, in his nice warm bed, in good company with the one man that haunted his thoughts persistently, despite his best efforts not to allow it. Just like always.

His eyes raked over the pages, all of the information going in one and straight out the other as he continued to wait for the one other equally as exhausted surgeon he wanted to see.

As his head rose to take another sip of the sweet, heated liquid, the door flew open, and he entered. Those tired eyes explored the lounge, barely processing what they were seeing, until Robert called out to him.

"Over here, jackoff!" Robert exclaimed, slamming the dusty journal shut to be forgotten, along with his coffee. He got up, approaching Peter to where he stood towards the center of the large, dim room. "Finally! You know, for someone so enthusiastic about another one of our little meetings, you sure do take your sweet ass time!"

"Oh come on, don't give me that! I got caught up!" Peter whined, taking a few steps forward so that the two were less than a few feet away from each other.

"Anspaugh went on and on in the locker room about how unprofessional Dale was, calling him old man in OR. And then he had the audacity to ask how my custody case with Roger is going..." he let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing his eyes as if it'd do any good. "Why do I get the feeling that this week is going to be the death of me?"

"I don't know, Peter. But if it does kill you, then it better kill me too! No way in hell am I spending the entire Christmas Eve shift next week with just Anspaugh and Dale the Douchebag!" Robert yapped back, smiling at the man brightly. Peter just looked at him, the usual look glowing in his dulled eyes that came to them whenever he's thought of something crazy.

"What's on your mind now, Petey? Or am I gonna have to guess this time?" Robert questioned the man, crossing his arms.

The taller surgeon gazed down at him, taking in his appearance. He'd been worked half to death, and yet, he still looked as lovely as ever. He wore his favored navy blue scrubs, the ones that had his name printed on the chest at one side, and his light blue surgical gown hung from his shoulders. And despite his exhaustion, he still managed to crack a smile up at Peter, one that brought out his dimples and caused the corners of his eyes to crinkle up.

Peter closed any unnecessary distance between them, taking Robert's face in both hands as he leaned down to kiss his cheek. The bald man's smile only widened at that. Peter pulled back only slightly, still holding him there, gazing into those beautiful dark eyes.

"Seeing as we've been together for...a while," Benton began, gently stroking Romano's cheeks with his thumbs. "I was wondering if you'd like for us to live together. That way we wouldn't have to spend all this time waiting up for each other and going back and forth every night." He stopped, trying to gauge the shorter surgeon's reaction.

"We don't have to do it all at once," Benton reassured him after a brief pause. "I mean...I could get you a house key, maybe clear out a few drawers and we could just go from there. But only if you want—"

Peter's rambling was stopped in its tracks with a soft kiss. He sighed into it as Romano wrapped his arms around his neck, opening his mouth to him as the kiss deepened.

"Only if I get to bring Gretel." He rasped as soon as the kiss broke, the man leaving him breathless.

"Of course..." Peter murmured, equally as breathless. "Just as long as I get to keep Reese."

Robert's eyes flicked from Peter's eyes, which sparkled like shattered glass from a car window, to his red lips before he closed the distance between their mouths again, kissing him hard. Hands wandered as they usually did, pulling at clothing, settling on the other's shoulders, sides, and even hips at some point.

And before either of our favorite surgeons knew it, they lost themselves once again in each other's company, the rest of the world be damned.

And in the midst of their usual exploration, they must have forgotten where they were and what they were really doing, because not too much longer had the kiss deepened, had it been broken again.

The door to the lounge flew open.

"Dr. Benton, I'm glad I caught you, I just wanted to—" Low and behold, it was Donald Anspaugh, barging in on the pair yet again like the fucking Koolaid man. He froze upon seeing our two heroes, dropping the cup of coffee he held in one hand to the floor. His prized "#1 DAD" mug fell and shattered on the floor. Black coffee splattered everywhere.

The two men pulled away from each other, as if badly burned. Quick, but not quick enough.

The old man glared at them with a mixture of shock, awe, and disgust before he turned right on his heels, throwing the door back open and slamming it shut behind him. Through the opaque glass windows of the surgical lounge, he could be seen breaking out in what was almost a sprint, as if he were a little boy who'd innocently walked into his grandparents' room, only to get an eyeful of wrinkled skin and cellulite. Kerry Weaver had been less dramatic about finding Lucy and Carter stabbed half to death on the floor of one of her exam rooms.

Romano and Benton were left alone in the room once more, unable to peel their eyes away from that damn door.

to be continued...