Takes place around 8x10, "I'll Be Home for Christmas"

Dr. Benton walked through the doors of Cook County General the next morning, feeling as if God would strike him dead at any given moment. No matter where he went, he felt as if people were staring at him. In the parking garage, at the daycare, even in the fucking bathroom, he swore he could feel eyes boring into him from all sides.

As if Donald Anspaugh would tell anyone. Without vomiting profusely between the stammered, panicked description of what he'd walked in on, at least.

So they'd been found out. No big deal.

Well, actually, it had to be the biggest deal Peter had ever faced in his entire career, only to be seconded by his current battle with Roger over the custody of his own damn son.

Needless to say, Santa Claus had given him some really shitty gifts that year.

Merry Fucking Christmas.

They didn't talk about it yesterday. At all. Hell, they didn't talk about much of anything. It was almost as if they'd witnessed a murder. Neither of them wanted to talk about it, but it was very obviously the elephant in the room. And even talking about anything apart from it seemed painful, because no matter what the weather was like or what the other wanted to fetch for breakfast before they inevitably passed out for the day—none of those silly little things could truly distract them from the very serious matter at hand.

Thankfully, the obligation of sleep had taken away any of the awkward, uncomfortable silence between the two. Even Reese could distinguish the thick tension between the two, but even as young as he was, knew not to press either of the two men about what ailed them.

Even in bed, the tension was still there. Even as they lay there, side by side, they just couldn't gather any words, related or unrelated to the morning's incident. It took a good while, a real good while until our two troubled heroes drifted off into a dreamless sleep, finally relieving themselves of that mind-numbing exhaustion you only really got from what was, collectively, half a day in surgery.

And even as when they got up to take the evening shift back at Hell's Pass Hospital, that thick tension remained, looming over them like the dark clouds in the sky that indicated that the whole city would probably be dumped with yet another 6 feet of snow before dawn.

It wasn't a big deal. None of this was ever a big deal.

Until now.

And as Peter Benton paced through his daily routine on the surgical floor, making his rounds, operating on some poor schmuck who'd managed to perforate his intestine with nothing more than a Buzz Lightyear action figure, signing off on things that needed his John Hancock—he just couldn't help but feel as if something was...very wrong.

Of course, he already knew what was wrong, what was already on his mind with every step he took, every stitch he sewed, every patient he spoke to. But this feeling delved deeper than what he already knew was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it, but whatever it was, it caused a pit to form at the bottom of his stomach and his skin to prickle on his scalp unpleasantly. It was not unlike the feeling he got as soon as he walked into the hospital Reese and Carla had been brought to, before he even knew what happened.

It was like the feeling you get just before a major thunderstorm in the middle of the summer. The sky may look okay, the ground as dry as a saltine cracker, but despite what you saw, you could still feel the pressure changing around you. You could feel it in your skin.

As far as he could tell, word hadn't got out. That, or it had, and the hospital staff had suddenly, miraculously become professionals at keeping their gossip on the down low.

And Peter was busy consoling John Carter the 582nd—or whoever the fuck he is, trying to reassure him on the fact that his patient with an inflamed appendix was really a victim of food poisoning from the grungy old barbecue place down the street when his pager went off.

No doubt, it was Robert, telling him that he was due in his office in 5 minutes or less.

He walked away from the bitchy white fuckboy upon reading the page, leaving him to yell after him for a brief period before focusing back on his patient, distressed greatly by the entire exchange.

Of course he had to go up there. Robert was his boss, no matter what happened between the sheets. And as his subordinate, he was obligated to stop whatever the hell he was doing and see that man at the drop of a hat.

Robert hadn't done anything wrong. Neither of them had done anything wrong. So why did it feel like they were partners in some sort of heinous crime?

The tall, dark surgeon walked up to that same opaque glass door. It felt just like the first time.

This time, though, he allowed his hand to linger on the cold metal doorknob, as if debating whether or not he should really enter. Whether or not he should just walk away, to continue dodging his lover despite every word that'd been said, every hot, passionate night they'd spent together, every kiss they'd shared.

It all felt surreal, so very arbitrary when it was all laid out in front of him, threatening the very foundation of his life as he knew it.

He found his strength again, though, turning the knob and pushing the door open before Brenda could notice him just standing there, staring at the outside of his lover's door like some idiot. He shut it again upon entering, turning to face the man, swallowing the ever-present dread that ate away at the back of his throat.

"Dr. Benton. I'm glad you could join me," Robert began, being unnecessarily courteous to him right off the bat. "Please, have a seat." He gesticulated towards the overstuffed armchair that sat in front of his desk.

"So it's Dr. Benton now? What happened to Peter, or Petey?" Peter questioned, raising an eyebrow. Robert brushed it off, his gaze glued to one of the chairs before him, as if looking straight at the taller surgeon would turn him to stone.

"Why don't you take a seat. Right over there." He repeated once more, his eyes pointed towards the glazed, mahogany colored desk in front of him. Peter sat down, reluctantly, giving Romano a good once over. He was quite pale. Unusually pale. The guy was already whiter than WonderBread on his own, but now, he appeared as if he were about to be sick.

Those coffee colored eyes were dark, unreadable really, flicking from the floor, the chairs, his own hands, almost anywhere as long as they didn't settle on the other man in the room with him. Such a striking deviation from his norm, and his usual slow, measured observation of his subordinate. Especially when he was in those royal blue scrubs he wore now, the bald man usually could never keep his eyes off of him. It was weird. Unnatural, even.

Something was definitely wrong.

"Alright. Talk to me, Robert. What the hell is this all about?" Peter asked the bald man, looking at him quizzically. At last, Robert brought his eyes to meet his own. His expression was unreadable, though he thought he could detect a general sense of uneasiness within those magnificent features he'd grown to love after so long.

There was a long silence between the two as dark brown eyes searched each other. Then, Romano spoke again.

"I just got out of a meeting with Donald Anspaugh," he hesitated, as if trying to find a way to find to tell Peter what needed to be said in a way that would soften the blow. An oddity for the bald surgeon. "He's been in contact with a Dr. Teal, who deals with all that budgetary crap that needs to be dealt with around here..."

Romano trailed off, shaking his head slightly, his eyes cast back downward, studying the little model rocket that sat on his desk.

Benton leaned forward, rising slightly, taking the side of the man's face in one hand. He tilted his chin up, making him look into his eyes.

"Go on," he murmured as his thumb brushed over Robert's cheek in a gentle caress. The shorter of the two closed his eyes briefly, the contact causing his skin to tingle delightfully, making him forget, if only for a brief moment, the gravity of their current situation.

"Well as it turns out, we're going to have to let you go." His boss said simply, his eyes blackened and grave. "For...budgetary reasons." Even to Robert's ears, the excuse sounded phony. Peter's hand dropped from where it cupped the man's cheek as he leaned backward again, sinking down into the armchair, giving a thousand yard stare to the hard wooden leg of the desk.

Robert continued on, as if it'd ease the shock and awe his lover was feeling in that moment.

"This Dr. Teal. He was insistent that in order to make next year's quota we needed to lay someone off. A surgeon. Specifically...an attending." He sighed, covering his face with both hands.

"That lousy son of a bitch...is firing me?" Peter said, mostly to himself, almost as if the very idea was just too ludicrous to believe without further persuasion.

"I did everything in my power to talk him out of it. I really did. But no matter how hard I tried, there was just no pacifying the bastard." Robert assured him again, holding his own head in both hands.

"I've spent more than 8 years here, Robert. I...my career was practically born here." Benton went on, gazing over Robert's shoulder, leaning his head against the hand that was propped up on one arm of the chair from his elbow. "I spent my entire residency here...all my friends are here..."

"He threatened to fire me too if I didn't stop begging for them to keep you. I..." The bald man didn't know exactly what to say, exactly what would make his ex-subordinate feel better about the matter at hand. "I'm really sorry, Peter."

The taller man sat there a moment longer, still gazing out that back window in Robert's office. His eyes were fixed on a telephone pole as his mind raced, flustered from the latest box of bullshit, or in this case, Donald Anspaugh, had decided to gift him.

After a long moment of shocked, thoughtful silence, Benton piped back up again, a new idea in mind.

"I think you should come with me."

"What?" After such a long pause, that rich, deep voice sounded almost foreign to Robert's ears.

"You're my boss. And you being in a relationship with me is ground for dismissal. Not for me of course, but you..." He trailed off. "But I'm willing to bet anything I've got left that Anspaugh just wasn't ready to let his prized little Chief of Staff go that easily. So he chose the next best thing."

Benton stood up again, glowering down at the man, who looked at him as if he were proposing to storm the White House and overthrow the president.

"We both know what this is really about. And so does Donald. None of us are complete idiots," True, they both knew the actual reason Peter was being laid off, but neither man wanted to say it out loud in the cold, hard light of day. "And I think you should resign. Give the pompous jackass a taste of his own medicine."

"Peter, I—...I can't do that." Romano gazed up at the man, horrified by the mere suggestion.

"Why not? Word's already gonna get out that you've been sleeping with me for God knows how long!" Peter argued in an effort to get through to him. "I've heard you go on and on, day in and day out about how much of a dump this place is!"

"It's a human cesspool, actually." He corrected, looking down. His voice quieted significantly. "My human cesspool."

"Cesspool, dump, same thing! And what just happened just goes to show how shifty and low the people around here can really be! This is your chance to get out from under this, all of this, before they decide to pull something on you next!"

"And where the hell are we gonna go, Detroit?!" Robert stood up suddenly then, his voice raising slightly from Peter's onslaught. "I can't just pick up and leave, Peter! I put just as much time and effort into this damn job as you have, maybe even more!"

"Oh be realistic, Robert! I've spent at least twice as much time in here as you have! And you saw what they did to me! It's only a matter of time before they up and decide to fuck you too!"

"I'm different! I can't—" Robert paused for a moment when he realized his voice was raised to the point of drawing attention to the pair, putting them in danger of causing a scene. "I can't just leave. I'm Head of Surgery, Chief of Staff, one of the best damn surgeons they've got in this hospital. I help people, people who nobody else can help, and I've been building up that reputation for years! I can't just let it all go, let them run me out of my position at the drop of a hat!"

Peter's scowl deepened. He glared at Robert as if he were the sun, his eyes squinted in frustration. Even so, tears threatened to escape from them due to the brash intensity of his words, the carelessness of the point he was so adamantly trying to make. As if the last year or so didn't matter to him at all.

"I care about you Peter. I really do. But I can't just give all of this up for—...for-..." he trailed off, allowing his urgent expression to speak for itself.

Peter's eyes finally strayed from his from his lover. He barked out an airy, humorless laugh, shaking his head.

"So that's what this is all about. To hell with everything we've got between us." His voice was almost too quiet to hear, as if he were speaking only to himself, unaware of the blistering presence in the room with him.

"Peter, just listen to me—"

"No, you listen to me, Robert!" His voice grew so loud and harsh so abruptly that the man in front of him flinched hard, backing up a step purely out of instinct.

"I put everything on the line to be with you. Every. Damn. Important thing. My job, the way my family sees me, the way all of my friends see me. I don't even know how they'd react if I just came out and told them. But you know what I did?" Peter stepped closer to the desk, staring Robert down as he spoke. "I swallowed every ounce of doubt I had about us. And at that point, none of it really mattered anyway..."

He fell silent for a moment, gazing at the man with that raw emotion in his smoldering dark eyes.

"As long as I loved you, none of that mattered to me. None of that scared me anymore. Because as long as we were both together..." he stopped again, for fear that he'd say too much, that it would all be too much, and this would end with him sobbing on the floor of his ex-boss's office.

"Come with me. Let your past die. We can start fresh somewhere. I don't know where, but somewhere, somewhere better. Somewhere nice and far away from this dump." Benton implored finally, with his words, his eyes, every fiber of his being for the man to just throw his pride to the wind and leave with him, like two runaway kids with nowhere to go, no home except for the one they had within each other.

Robert looked as if he were at a loss. Torn between the man he loved, and the job he loved. And of course, his pride, his ego; both of which were screaming at him not to let those administrative bastards run him out of the hospital this easily.

All because he fell in love with Peter fucking Benton.

When it came back to him, his voice was nearly at a whisper.

"I'm sorry, Peter." Robert said so softly one had to strain to hear. "I just...can't. I can't give this up. It'd be exactly what they want..." followed by another soft apology as a silent tear rolled down his cheek to fall off of his chin.

Shameless begging soon turned to anger as Peter shook his head, as if in complete and total disbelief over the shorter man's answer.

"Fine. I'm out of here."

"Peter, wait—"

The taller man had his hand on the doorknob, about to leave before he whirled around to face his ex-boss.

"Someday you're going to realize that life is worth a little more than just some high-end position at the top of some shitty hospital. Eventually, you're gonna get knocked right back down to the bottom, all of that time and effort be damned." Peter told the man, even, calm, and colder than the snow that lie on the ground outside. "They're gonna shove you down every hole they can possibly fit you down, Romano, and then they're gonna spit in those holes. Either that, or this place will just kill you." Which fate was worse?

He raked his eyes over the bald surgeon as he'd done since the very beginning, slowly. Almost as if it'd be the last time he ever did so again. Tears were falling freely from Robert's eyes now as he was unable to find a way, any way he could keep both the man that he'd jump in front of a truck for, and the job he'd wanted ever since he was but a lowly medical student.

"Have a nice life, Robert."

And with that, he walked out, leaving Robert alone in his office once more.

to be continued...