Alternate Chapter Title: But WAIT, THERE'S MORE

Takes place late in the night of season 10, episode 7; Death and Taxes

The beginning of this chapter has since prompted me to add a couple of trigger warnings. I would skip the first 800-1200 words, or just wait for the epilogue if I knew I got triggered by the following things: depression, alcoholism, suicidal thoughts.

There's a happy ending to this one I SWEAR. My author's note makes it sound so much darker than it actually is, but hey, you never know how people take things, and I don't wanna inflict people with internal suffering without at least an advisory.

Okay, I'll shut up. Now go see how this dumb thing ends!

It was a dark, fateful Wednesday night in Chicago, quite a leap from where we last left off. About a two year leap, in fact. And a lot has happened with our two well known surgical heroes since they've separated.

The moon was shining almost as bright as the sun had that day, illuminating everything its pale light touched, casting shadows on the empty street in the shape of various trees and buildings that littered the area.

The gangbangers were out, capping each other in the ass, filling the rougher sides of the city with the sound of gunshots and yelling, waking up everyone who slept in the homes that lie within a one block radius.

And our beloved, well-known surgical...ER Chief, Robert Romano, was sitting in his dark lounge, sipping his third, generously filled glass of Scotch for the night. All of the lights were out, leaving everything within the mostly vacant room to be bathed in the silver moonlight from outside. The rays hit Robert's big bald head from where he was sitting in an overstuffed armchair, not unlike the one in his...Dr. Weaver's office, making it gleam like a beacon.

His fat head glowed brighter than his coffee colored eyes, though, as he gazed out the window of his big empty house, taking a big sip of the strong, caramel hued liquid.

Today, like all days in the depths of the ER, had been over 12 hours of absolute hell. Why the hell did he even bother anymore? Nothing had been the same after that conning, conniving bitch Kerry snagged his job as Chief of Staff. The absolute nerve of that lout Anspaugh to suggest sharing the position with her. He may not be able to perform surgery, but he could still manage the administrative part of his job! And when he refused to split the position with the Wicked Witch of the West, what did he do?

He shoved the entire position into Weaver the Beaver Eater's bony little hands, that's what he did.

And after having been thrown into the deep end with emergency medicine, something he had about as much experience with as fucking pole dancing—he just didn't feel like anything was fucking worth it anymore.

He put everything into his career. Every damn important little thing he threw out the window for that dumb job. All for it to be taken away by some loud, mechanical monstrosity and a dropped clip board.

He took another long sip of his whiskey. It's all fucked now. Fucked into oblivion. Everything he's ever worked for. Unless technology just so happens to leap ahead 40 or 50 years, or the thing just grows back on its own, his career is as good as over. It's fucked. He's fucked.

He should just leave. Him and that whole God forsaken hospital would be better off for it. But he just couldn't give them all the satisfaction of knowing that they finally broke him down, that he'd finally had enough. Not now, not after this long.

He's got nothing. He's got no one. At this point, he was wondering if anything was worth it, County and beyond. His mind drifted back to that one day, way back when...

He'd had his chance to leave then, while he still had his dignity. He should have left with him, everything else be damned. He wanted to go back in time, find his old self, shove him against the wall and scream at him to join the man he loved in fleeing County. He'd throw his bleak future up in that pompous two-armed idiot's face until he dry heaved, and then some.

If he just went with him, none of this would have happened. He wouldn't be sitting here, drinking himself sick in a big house all alone. He'd still be whole. He'd still be happy.

And he'd had one shot, maybe at being truly happy, and he blew it. All for what? The same damn job that'd be ripped away from him not 2 years later. That's what. He emptied his glass, refilling it immediately, and taking another swig.

Wouldn't they just love that. The almighty and all powerful Robert Romano, pushed over the edge by a demotion and a missing arm. They'd probably give him some phony memorial service, someone would deliver some phony speech about how much they'd all miss him whether they realized it or not, they'd all eat themselves sick on snacks at the reception and that would be the end of it. Maybe some crocodile tears here and there. But after that, everyone would go right on their merry way as if nothing happened. Hell, they would probably be happier.

Robert took another swig if his whiskey. After this much contemplation, he was beginning to think that himself and everyone around him would be better off if he was dead.

It wouldn't be hard. He was a doctor, it'd be pretty hard to screw it up. Hell, it might just be the one single thing he couldn't botch nowadays. How easy would it be just to get ahold of a real sharp scalpel, or some real strong pills. It would all be over in 20 minutes or less.

All of this would finally be over.

Something drew him out of these madness inducing thoughts. Something that had probably shaken him out of running to where he kept his good steak knives and ending it all right then and there.

His head was foggy, and it took a minute to register that it was coming from his front door. 'Who the fuck could that be at this ungodly hour?!'

He glanced at his Rolex. It was almost half past midnight.

He trudged to the door, ready to tear the eye sockets out of whoever would dare to drag him away from his efforts to get completely shitfaced before daylight.

"What the fuck—" His heart sank as he threw the door open, his anger instantly turning to a mix of shock and confusion. He held onto his doorframe, legs threatening to give way between the alcohol in his system and the man on his doorstep.

"My, my. Dr. Romano. What have they done to you..." our other well-known, beloved surgical hero Peter Benton drawled, taking in Robert's current state with soft eyes. The bald man was still wearing his work clothes, his shirt unbuttoned, his undershirt peeking out from between both sides of it, and his tie was hanging loose around his neck.

His prosthetic had been taken off for the night, and left in his living room, forgotten as he wallowed in self pity. His left sleeve hung limp from his shoulder, and he'd managed to grow a scruffy gray and auburn beard in Peter's absence.

"Peter..." Robert murmured, the name foreign to his lips after so long. "What are you doing here?"

"I've heard some rumors. Viscous ones, as a matter of fact. Thought I'd come and see you for myself." He explained to the bewildered man in front of him. Robert stared at him with wide eyes, then looked down.

"Well, now you've seen me. And now that you've seen me, you know that they're all true. Congratulations Peter, you've got that all figured out. What do ya want, a freaking medal?" He said softly, the words sounding oh so familiar to both men's ears.

Peter stepped forward slightly, reaching out his hand slowly, as if Romano would startle if he made a move to sudden. His hand made contact with his bearded cheek in a gentle caress.

Robert leaned into his touch, his eyes fluttering closed as Benton stroked his cheek with his thumb.

"Can I come in?" He asked, voice almost too soft for Romano to hear. The other man nodded his head against his hand. Reluctantly, Peter pulled his hand away as Romano stepped out of the way so he could enter.

Robert led him into the dark lounge, sitting back down in the overstuffed chair. Peter sat on the couch across from him, promptly noting the half-gone bottle of scotch whiskey on his coffee table, and the almost empty glass that sat beside it.

"You been eating anything with that?" He chastised lightly.

"The hell do you care?" Robert growled. Peter sighed. Two years apart, and the man still sounded the same, despite so much obvious change within. "How much did you hear? About me?"

"A lot. Some of it was pretty ridiculous. You're Chief of the ER now?"

"I'm lucky they didn't give me the honorable position of desk clerk." Robert sighed, gaze fixed at his hand. "They made Weaver Chief of Staff, and me, Lord of the Flies. I've been knocked all the way back down to the bottom of the food chain, just like you said." He took another swig of his whiskey, the last one of that belt, before pouring a fresh glass for himself. Peter eyed him the entire time, disapproving, yet remaining quiet about it, not wanting to upset the man after only a little bit.

Once he had his fill, having taken another lengthy sip of the whiskey in that fresh glass, Romano piped up again.

"Frankly, I'm shocked, Peter. We've already spent 4 or 5 whole minutes together and you haven't so much as breathed an I told you so."

Peter barked out a humorless laugh. "I expected you to get butted out by some other hot headed, arrogant bastard much like yourself. Either that, or just get sick of County's shit in General and burn out. But this?"

"What you're saying is that you didn't expect to find a one-armed gimp in the place of the prestigious surgeon I was. Let's be honest here, Peter." He deadpanned, his dark eyes full of some unidentifiable emotion Peter had never seen in him before. He was different from when he left him. He seemed broken, disheartened, kicked down by recent events and when he'd tried to get up, he was kicked even harder. He looked utterly exhausted, like a completely different man than the haughty, arrogant bastard that always made sure that what he lacked in height was made up for with his big mouth and his animated mannerisms.

Peter's heart broke in his chest as he continued.

"You're just lucky that you left before all of this happened. Trust me Peter, you wouldn't want me anymore. I'm worthless." He said miserably. Then he took another swig of his drink, letting the alcohol burn his throat. Ironically, it seemed to have a sobering effect on him, he thought. The burning pain was enough to push through the everlasting sense of numbness and misery he felt on a nightly basis, making him perceive something real.

"You're not worthless, Robert. Not even a little bit."

"Oh yeah? Try telling that to Anspaugh, or Weaver—or how 'bout the entire hospital staff at this point!" His voice raised a bit, pain contorting his features as he tried to make his point with his past lover, who currently sat, staring at him as if he'd been struck.

"If you're really as smart and as you think you are then you'll see me for who I really am now." Robert continued more softly, holding his glass, preparing to down the rest of the harsh liquid all in one gulp, which would almost immediately be replaced by a fresh belt. "A washed up, good for nothing misery medic with nothing to his name but the smoldering remains of his career."

"You're not any of those things, Robert! And for God's sake, quit drinking that!" Peter had closed most of the distance between them to pull the cocktail glass from Robert's grasp, whiskey spilling onto his hand as he forced the opposing thing out of his grip and slammed it on the table.

Robert merely scowled at him, but said nothing. His eyes shifted down to the empty hand that now moved to his lap.

Benton wiped his wet hand on his blue jeans, kneeling down in front of the man, putting one hand on his knee while the other moved to one side of his jaw, making Robert look at him. The bald man resisted at first, but Benton's grip soon became more firm, causing him to relent at once.

Peter looked deep into those dark, almost black eyes. So beautiful. So sad. They made his chest ache the longer he allowed himself to lose himself in those eyes, until his breath hitched in his throat. His voice returned to him once again, calmer, quieter, in the form of an almost whisper choked with his own emotion.

"I don't care what you think, Robert. You could never be worthless. Not to me." Benton paused for a moment, attempting to swallow back the soreness in his throat that had managed to make its way up from his broken heart. "You're one of the most amazing men I've ever met. Demotions and helicopters be damned." He said earnestly.

His voice dropped down even quieter as he caressed Robert's jaw, his fingers playing with the wiry gray and auburn down there.

"You know...even after our disagreement...and then my decision for us to stop having discussions with each other...I have never stopped loving you."

Tears welled up in Romano's eyes, threatening to fall. He shot up from where he was sitting, as if coming to his senses about exactly where he was and who he was talking too. He walked slowly away from Peter, his back to him.

"You should go." He said, his voice shaky. "You can't possibly want this! Not now!"

Benton came closer to him, hugging him from behind. Robert shook him off, turning around, his wet, narrowed eyes enough to pierce Benton's soul.

"Don't touch me! Just get out of here! Just burn your bridge with me like everyone else has. All I've done is ruin everything around me, so just—...just get the fuck away before I ruin you too!" He sobbed, tears falling freely, trailing down his cheeks and off his chin. He trembled uncontrollably. The sight earned Peter another sharp pang in his chest as his heart broke even more.

"With all due respect, Dr. Romano, you've got no idea what I want," Benton said, getting much closer to the man, grabbing him by the shoulders, drawing him closer despite his struggling. Eventually Robert gave up, letting Peter wrap him in a warm, tight hug. It'd been the closest anyone had been willing to get to him since before his accident.

"I'm not leaving. I wouldn't do that." The taller man murmured into his ear as Robert wrapped his arm around him, gripping at the fabric of his sweatshirt like a lifeline. "Not now. Not again."

Robert buried his face into the crook of Peter's neck, sobs wracking his body. Peter only squeezed him tighter, rubbing between his shoulder blades in slow, lazy circles. He whispered soft reassurances into Romano's ear as he fell apart in his arms.

"It's okay. I've got you. You're alright." He whispered, as if his heart had been torn out of his chest by a fucking gorilla. He kissed the side of his head as tears sprang to his own eyes at the sound of Robert's muffled sobs. "I love you...I won't leave you. Never again."

It took a while for the bald man's tears to slow, but once they did, Peter pulled away slightly to look at him. He ran his hand through the soft hair on the side of Robert's head, looking into his eyes. He tried to think of something, anything else to say, but with Romano's wet, intense eyes boring into his own, it was difficult, so he did the one thing he could think of.

He kissed him. Hard. Peter thrust his tongue into his mouth, tasting the whiskey on his lips. Romano gripped the side of Peter's sweatshirt, holding the fabric tight in his fist. The other man untucked his undershirt from his slacks, pushing his hands underneath, running his hands over the wide expanse of warm, freckled skin on his back. His hands wandered from his lower waist to his abdomen, all the way up to his chest, tongues still locked in their intricate dance.

Romano flinched hard as Benton's hand brushed his left shoulder, breaking the kiss. He looked at him, those dreadful tears threatening to return to his dark eyes.

"It's okay..." Peter whispered, bringing his mouth down to his ear. He nipped at Robert's tender earlobe, drawing a soft gasp from him. He clutched Peter's broad shoulders as the taller man lost himself in the task of reacquainting himself with the man's body, trailing kisses from the start of his jaw down to his chin. Then Peter moved to his neck, working his way to all of the sensitive spots he still remembered after so long.

Robert moaned as his lost lover held his head in one large, yet surprisingly delicate hand as he sucked against a specific spot on his neck, working on leaving his mark on the bald doctor.

He had to admit, he'd missed this. All of this. His gentle touch, his lips against his skin, the way he always took his time, drawing every ounce of pleasure he could from him, leaving him breathless and oh so satisfied. The taller man elicited indescribable feelings from him in that room, just like he had the first time, giving him that warm, tingly feeling all over again. Peter continued with rapid succession, moving to the other side of his neck now, caressing with his lips, leaving not one bit of bare, freckled skin untouched.

"Peter..." He moaned for the first time in what seemed like decades as Peter's kisses intensified. "We should take this upstairs. I don't wanna scar Gretel for life."

Peter reluctantly tore his mouth away from Romano's neck to pay a glance to the behemoth of a dog lying in the far end of the room, snoring away.

"Yeah...yeah, I suppose you're right." Peter panted, a little out of breath, obviously not wanting there to be a pause in the exploration of his ex-boss's neck. "God, she's still alive?"

"Of course she's still alive, Peter! You haven't been gone that long!" Romano griped, giving the man a grumpy look, though he was almost equally as breathless. He took Peter's hand without any further delay, leading the the tall surgeon to his spacious bedroom, where they'd spent so many passionate nights together, long ago.

And they barely made it 6 feet into the room before Peter was on him again like an aggravated lady named Karen on some poor Red Lobster employee who forgot to serve her extra garlic butter with her biscuits and crab legs. Slowly, deliberately, the taller man peeled the soft fabric of Robert's button-down shirt from his shoulders, pressing kisses to every little bit of skin that got exposed from the action.

Peter was but one flick of the hand from pulling the garment off of him completely when Robert stopped him, tensing up slightly in his arms. The only hand he had left held onto one of Peter's tightly, the one that clutched the fabric just barely covering his left shoulder. His tall, brawny lover pulled away from where he was tasting the dip at the base of his throat to meet Robert's worried gaze, one that was ridden with anguish and a touch of self consciousness.

"Peter..." The bald man whispered softly, knowing his companion could already sense the root of his sudden interruption.

"It's okay," Peter murmured, pressing a soft, loving kiss to one of Robert's whiskered cheeks. Gently, he pulled against the man's grip until his shoulders were exposed, leaving only his light gray undershirt to cover his top half. He tossed the garment off to one side for it to be forgotten as he drank in the appearance of his former boss, and reclaimed lover.

Peter brushed a hand over the stump where Robert's left arm used to be, caressing his cheek with his other hand. Robert gazed deep into those cocoa colored eyes, the ones he'd longed for since the day they'd split up, searching for the same feelings he usually seemed to elicit from people these days. Contempt, disdain, shameless pity. It was what he was used to.

But as foreign as the sight was to him by now, all he could find within the lovely dark eyes of his former subordinate was that same old love, mixed with raw, unadulterated desire. It was the one sight he'd been waiting to see ever since that sleepless night way back when, and every lonely night to follow. It was enough to make Romano want to leave his wife and kids, and he wasn't even married.

He looked away, his eyes flicking to the stitching in Peter's worn old sweatshirt, afraid that looking into those eyes for any longer would just make him do something stupid, like cry.

Peter drew him in for the second time that night, pausing from his current task of undressing the man to just hold him. He nuzzled the top of his big bald head, rubbing slow, comforting circles between his shoulder blades.

"You look just fine without it, love..." Benton murmured against the top of his head, pressing another soft kiss against it. Robert just burrowed his head into the crook of his neck, taking in the sweet, musky scent of his cologne. He still smelled the same, even after so long. The bald man pulled himself even closer to the man, hugging him tightly, trying to take in more of the intoxicating aroma.

Peter brought a hand up to caress the back of Romano's head, playing with the soft auburn down there. "You're just as beautiful as the day I left you. Some freak helicopter accident could never change the way I feel about you."

They pulled away after a little while. Slowly, but surely, they found their way around each other, as old lovers do. And for the first time in a very, very long time, our beloved ex-surgical hero, Robert Romano felt alive again. With every delicate touch, every loving kiss, every jolt of Peter's hips—he finally felt as if something mattered. The certain sense of dread and misery that loomed over him on a daily basis like a big black cloud melted away, and by the end of it, he was left feeling whole again.

"Come with me."

They had just come apart when Peter had said it, with blood roaring in their ears as they shook from their exertions, and the sweet agony of their passionate lovemaking. The words had barely even registered in Romano's head. He couldn't register much at all in fact, apart from the feeling of Peter's hand gripping his own tightly, and the scorching heat that radiated from their bare skin.

They were both still panting, and the taller man's plea had come out so quietly that Romano had almost brushed it off as a dream.

"What?"

He repeated himself, slowly, fully aware of the conflict that very question had caused not all that long ago. "Come with me, Robert. To Northwestern."

"Peter, I can't..."

"You can. You can't operate anymore. They lost the best damn surgeon they ever had in that hospital, whether they realize it or not, and now they're treating him like a used condom." He said, pleading with him. "I can get you a spot."

"It'll just give them the satisfaction of knowing they got to me. I'm just gonna be the sad, one armed old man that got what he deserved for terrorizing them. Hell, I'm pretty sure if I died tomorrow in some freak accident they'd celebrate." Robert explained miserably. "This job's all I've got. And there's no way I'm letting those fucking assholes in administration butt me out of the hospital just like that, just because they thought 'Hey, one of our best surgeons just got his fucking arm sliced off after years of service, let's just demote him and chuck him in a dumpster like yesterday's tuna casserole.' After all they put me through...after all they put us through—I just can't let them win."

The man beside him reached out with his other hand all of a sudden, holding Robert's jaw, making him look directly into his smoldering dark eyes.

"Robert, love, I'm saying this from the bottom of my heart to you," Peter began. The bald doctor merely gazed back at him in acknowledgment, awaiting what he had to say.

"Fuck them. Fuck them all. You're absolutely miserable there, Robert. I can see it in your eyes. The day I left you, there was still spirit in you, man. And from what I can see they've beat that spirit out of you. Who says a month from now they're not gonna go and demote you again, just to spite you?"

Peter continued, an unknown hatred he had towards County suddenly rearing its ugly head at him, making his words sound almost bitter, despite the softness of his gaze into his lover's eyes.

"They don't deserve you. And you sure as hell don't deserve the massive platter of bullshit they've been feeding you on a daily basis. That damn hospital already fucked you once, putting my job on the line as soon we were found out, but this? " He paused briefly, just looking into Robert's coffee colored eyes. "This—is just completely ridiculous...I think it's time for you to cut your losses."

Again, silence ensued.

Then Romano piped back up.

"Maybe you're right..."

"No, I am right." Benton said, running his fingers against the length of Robert's strong jawline in a gentle caress.

"I want you to join me." He was adamant, Robert had to give him that. "That hospital's full of nothing but dead ends. It's not you, Robert, that absolute shithole is what ruins people. And if you're not careful, you might end up being one of them. You—...we can start over from scratch."

"Who to says it won't happened again? That something won't come between us like before?" Worry plagued Robert's features again. "I don't think I could handle being without you. Not again."

"There may be no guarantee. But I have a reason. A simple one."

Peter leaned in then, capturing Robert in a passionate kiss that took his breath away and made his skin prickle. He moaned softly as it deepened, wrapping his arm around Peter, moving to lie on his side to face him completely.

When they broke apart, Peter had him fixed with a look that made his heart skip a beat, and his breath catch in his throat.

"Because I love you." He said earnestly. "I love you, and there's no way in Hell I'll ever let anything get in the way of that love again. Especially something County-related."

The shorter man lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling thoughtfully, weighing his options.

"Alright." He said finally, still staring at the ceiling. "I'll do it. I'll send in my 2 weeks notice tomorrow."

"No. You're not giving them another God damned shift." Peter said shortly.

"It'll take time for them to find a replacement, Peter. Until then...they'll need..." he sat up abruptly, his expression one of disbelief at himself.

"Wait a minute. What the fuck do I care?!" He yelled into the dark room, that was illuminated only by pale moonlight.

"That's the spirit!" Peter said, sitting up as well and patting the man on the back.

"So that's it then. The end of my reign at County." Said Robert, somewhat sadly. "Thought it'd end with a bigger bang than this."

"Believe me. Once you see Northwestern, you won't miss it." Peter laughed.

"Well for one thing it's got you, so it's gotta be good up there!" Romano joked back.

The taller man pulled him into another deep kiss, holding his head with one hand. He nudged Robert so that he was lying back down, once it broke, bringing his head down to rest over the shorter man's heart.

Peter wrapped his arms around Robert as he listened to that familiar rhythm for the first time in almost 2 years, sighing from the comfort it brought him.

"I've missed you." Robert piped up again, sincerity in his soft, smooth voice. "I've missed this. Hell, I've missed everything. Even cardio surgery with you would be enjoyable right now. God, I never thought I'd be saying that."

"I've missed you too. So much." Peter sighed against his chest, his hot breath making the man shudder.

They began to doze off after that. After a striking revelation, the excitement of their reunion. And before they slipped into a deep sleep on that cold November night, the strange bald man underneath Benton spoke back up.

"I love you too, Peter. Nothing could ever replace you. Not some dumb job. Not all the administrative power in the world."

Peter just held him tighter, kissing his chest before drifting off to the beat of his lover's heart.

And they all lived happily every after...

Oh, except for Kerry, who got crushed in the ambulance bay by a helicopter one week later.

...oh, and also Donald Anspaugh, who died of a violent rectal prolapse 3 more days later.

But...oh god...Fast Eddie from chapter 5 came out of the closet ANOTHER 3 days later, so it all weighed out.

FIN

And there ya have it! The bold ending to my absolute monstrosity! See, I told you I wouldn't be that writer and leave this thing unfinished!

I'd like to thank the Academy; or, more importantly, you fuckers out there who've been reading this sappy, smutty...downright disturbing slash fiction and leaving some feedback! It's been a helluva ride, and I blame the plague for every little bit of it. And I can't wait to write some more about these two. I just keep getting these ideas on FanFiction prompts for them. I don't know why. I think the devil does it!