Well.
We started our humble journey here with this fic way back in March, when the pandemic had first started. And now it's Thanksgiving, and almost Jack shit has changed. Hell, some...okay, MOST(including me)could argue that things have actually gotten worse.
I have decided to update this thing for old times sake, but mostly because a new idea for a sequel chapter came to me late at night while I was half asleep. I'm still entirely sure the devil is in control of me whenever I write or form ideas for this mess.
Alright, alright. I'll fuck off.
Enjoy the chapter!
'Twas late on Thanksgiving Day in the incredibly cold, world renown, really really fucking cold city of Chicago; to be more specific, around 9 o'clock, and by now, darkness had fallen upon the Windy City.
Light shining through the several hundred windows belonging to the skyscrapers towering above it all, as well as street lamps and car lights made up for the lack of daylight, setting the whole city aglow with their artificial gleam.
All the birds were settling in to their evening roosts...except for the turkeys, which had long since been roasted and served on hundreds of thousands of tables belonging to grateful American families, because back in the early 00's, they weren't being bombarded with catastrophe on top of catastrophe each and every God damned month.
Families of all races, shapes, and sizes all across the country were gathered together to share but one important meal, whether they even wanted to or not, feasting and feuding. Much like your young, cynical narrator, most of these families were probably more thankful that this gluttonous, stressful holiday only takes place one day out of the year than anything else there was to offer.
And our tall, surgical DILF of the story was currently freezing his ass off, fumbling with his keys, trying desperately to manipulate his cold fingers into locking the doors of his Chevy so he could get the fuck inside. And, preferably, before someone lurking in darkness could take advantage of his frenzy to leave the frigid city streets, mugging him some 50 feet away from his own front door.
Upon success, Peter literally sprinted away from his car, across the sidewalk and up the stairs, thankfully avoiding the various patches of ice that littered the area this time of year, all those morning and evening runs he'd been taking finally paying off. Just as frantically, he fumbled with that pesky key chain once more until he successfully drew his house key, taking one or two tries to jam the thing in the lock, cursing under his breath all the way.
He threw the offensive wooden contraption open and shut with rapid succession, throwing himself into the house, sighing with relief as warmth engulfed his shivering form, a direct result of the fire he'd left burning in his fireplace in order to keep the place heated in his absence. Allowing himself at last to shrug off his coat and pull off his heavy winter boots, he ambled further into the establishment.
Introduced by the progressive sound of claws scrambling against hardwood flooring, he was greeted by Robert's behemoth of a dog, coming to ensure that the bulky surgeon who'd just knocked into the house, waking her from a drawn out slumber by the fire was not in fact an intruder of any kind. Once again, the bald man in question had insisted on bringing Gretel to spend yet another holiday with him and Reese, not wanting the furry, gray creature to feel left out.
Not that Peter really minded at all. By now, that big Bouvier of his had just become another thing of Robert's he'd come to love. So long as she didn't try and snag his food from off the table or try to slaughter his mailman, anyway.
He leaned down a bit, sparing Gretel a quick scratch behind her ears before he made out for the living room, seeking out a certain short, freckled doctor who could help him warm up.
"Robbie, I'm home!" Peter called out, once again using that time-honored nickname just to spite him. "Reese better be in bed. I don't care how many of those early Christmas specials he wanted to stay up and watch,"
He rounded the corner, entering the room, just a little bit surprised that the bald idiot wasn't already yapping right back at him, or running to greet him much like his dog, pulling him into their first kiss since Peter's family had gone on home.
The tall surgeon hardly thought much of it, though, as he soon acknowledged just how much he'd missed Robert in his relatively short mission to give his sister and his niece a ride back home.
"And I hope you've got your energy back!" He called out, a mischievous, toothy grin finding itself plastered to his face, his mind already pacing towards the early Christmas present he'd grabbed for Robert just the other day. "I know it's still a ways away, but... well, let's just say I got you a little stocking stuffer that'll really—"
Trailing off, he all but gawked at the scene he was met with as his chocolate-colored eyes shifted to the couch.
Peter regained even more of the body heat he'd previously lost at the sight of the Evil, Wicked, Vindictive Rocket Romano, Reborn Terrorist of All Medical Personell(courtesy of his new Chief of Staff position at Northwestern) sprawled out on his couch, sleeping off his 4-course Thanksgiving Dinner quite peacefully. His shoes had been knocked off along with his prosthetic, and left quite haphazardly on the floor near the large piece of furniture, but he still had on his dark brown slacks and black socks.
And of course, he was also still bundled up in the soft cashmere sweater Peter had given him not all that long ago, yet another of his early Christmas gifts meant for his short, bald lover.
Much like the aforementioned, though, the rather pricey sweater was as just as much a gift for Robert as it was for Peter. Whether they were dragging their asses to work in the morning, or just going out together, often taking long walks out to the park with Reese and Gretel, or even taking the rare chance to go out somewhere dressy for dinner—he'd gotten to see Robert pair the thing with his favored knit beanie almost every day now, fitting perfectly with his rosy red cheeks and the snowflakes that often got caught in the downy, auburn remainder of his hair...
But what really got him was the small boy curled up on top of him, his head on his chest, using Robert as a glorified pillow. Peter quickly drew the conclusion that the 'malevolent cockroach' he knew and loved so well had probably been sitting with the boy for a while, signing him a quick story or three to get him to wind down before bed...and, more than likely to distract him from roping Robert in to letting him stay up an extra hour or so past his bedtime, knowing he could always wear the bald man down with puppy eyes and bargaining.
Evidently, neither of them got far enough in their routine before exhaustion set in after their big holiday, leaving them both curled up there, dead to the world.
Peter shook his head, allowing himself a quiet chuckle before circling the big leather couch, fetching a blanket from the end of it and covering the pair up, tucking them both in for the night. Bending down a bit, he kissed them both on their respective heads. He lingered a bit when he got to Robert's shiny, bald one, drifting down to press a tender kiss to his lips, moving gently as to avoid waking him up.
As Peter drew back, he couldn't help but just stand there, reveling in the sight of his reclaimed lover, holding his son like a damn Teddy Bear as he napped. What had been two long years of lost time, miscommunication, and loneliness between himself and Robert had seemed like absolutely nothing to little Reese. He didn't have a care in the world towards the bald man's abrupt departure and just as abrupt reentrance into his life, and only that he was back to stay and spoil him rotten.
The taller of the two surgeons smiled, crossing his arms as he mused, his warm, dark eyes still fixed on Robert's sleeping form. A two sided coin, he found himself thinking once again, a coin worth its weight in solid gold. He could spend all day at the hospital barking orders at nurses, antagonizing his colleagues, antagonizing Peter sometimes just for old time's sake, and even going out of his way to steal any and all the interesting cases that found themselves over his radar—or at the very least, the ones he could handle with just one arm.
Even after less than two weeks of having the new job, he could see the bald man starting to turn into his old self again. Between the fact that he once again had a position in administration, this time without a bunch of damn sharks trying to tear him down and his rekindled relationship with him, Peter could tell even after so much time apart that he was smiling more than he had in a long time, bossing people around and making his usual snarky comments, his coffee-stained eyes carrying a bright gleam in them wherever they went.
He really should find it annoying—especially considering the fact that he was allowed to both steal and supervise the surgery for a case in which some lunatic decided to swallow 10 mandarin oranges whole, skin and all, just because he could.
And he should find Robert quite condescending, using his new lease on life to be an evil, horrid little toad, just as he did in years past. It was like if Scrooge, fresh out of being tormented and warned by numerous apparitions decided to run to the Cratchit household and smack poor Tiny Tim square in the face with a shovel, take a nice, long piss on their kitchen table, and then buy their house with the tiny fraction of his money it was worth, just to fuck them.
But as he delved deeper, Peter soon found that he really didn't want his Romano to have some grand, self-righteous epiphany and start throwing bake-sales to raise money for the local church and dish out empty compliments to all his fellow hospital employees like hot soup, kissing babies and sucking up to everybody, bending right over and taking whatever anybody, including life itself, wanted to fuck him with.
Peter wasn't sure he'd even be able to recognize Romano if he ever got like that. The thought was enough to send shivers down his spine—and they weren't the same ones he'd been getting all week when he found himself with Romano on top of him, working his way down his body, his hot breath hitting his skin delightfully and his nails gently raking against smooth, dark skin as he went.
He knew, even before they fell in love, Robert was never that kind of guy. Robert could never be that kind of guy, even if he tried. He was bold, passionate, took any crap that got thrown at him and sent it hurling right back at his opponent at twice the speed. He was snarky and brusque, and under most people's definitions, those who were expecting someone personable and benign, seldom dealing anything apart from pleasantries despite his true feelings, only to be sorely disappointed—he was just plain awful...
But that was just the way Peter loved him. Having all those rough, despicable, deplorable qualities in plain sight, all the while being a sweet, charming, delightful man deep, deep down.
It was the other side of him that mingled with his snarky, arrogant side that captivated Peter fully. The side that, whenever given the chance to come out led to him taking long walks by the river with the taller surgeon, or wake up early to watch cartoons with Reese. Or whenever Robert insisted on caring for Gretel himself, using his years upon years of medical training on the large dog rather than seek out some random vet and dump her on them without even an ounce of thought, much like anyone who didn't know him any better would expect him to.
It was that side of him that kept Peter's heart in the palm of the Robert's hand. And, frankly, he wasn't to sure if he wanted the meaty, pulsating thing back.
"Peter, Honey, quit staring," Robert grumbled, squinting against the light of the living room as he abruptly stumbled out of his food coma. "Creeps me out when you do that..."
Slowly, Peter dragged himself out of his long, thoughtful reverie, realizing that the subject of interest had woken up at some point while he stood there, thawing out from his quick expedition outside. The bald man stretched a bit, extending his arm and legs as far as they could go, moving carefully to avoid waking the boy still in his lap.
"How was your nap, Robbie?"
"I woulda slept a lot better without you staring down at me like some sort of deranged pervert escaped from the nut house!" He yapped at him, though almost mechanically keeping a low, soft tone, despite being perfectly aware of Reese's deafness. "Did they get home okay?"
"Yeah, yeah...Jackie insisted we keep the extra couple of sweet potato pies she brought over," Benton informed him, stepping closer to where he was laying in his spot, reaching out to caress his big, bald head, playing with one of the the soft, auburn sideburns he found there, running through the soft down with his fingertips. "She really missed having you around, Robert."
"Oh really? I could hardly tell!" The balder man told him sarcastically as he leaned into Benton's touch, his eyes closing briefly, looking just about as content as your not so esteemed narrator's own cat getting pet by her favorite person. "I hardly got a chance to touch anything on my plate before she caught me, making me fill her in on everything that's happened since we split—and then some!"
The taller man chuckled, now shifting so that he was sort of half-sitting on the arm of the couch, still running his fingers against the skimpy remainder of Robert's hair.
"And she's not the only one," Benton pointed out, his gaze drifting once again to his son. His hand came around to caress the back of Romano's neck, drawing a soft sigh from the man, distracting him briefly before he answered.
"I know...I'd just got him to brush his teeth before he conked out," Romano slurred a bit, starting to sound as if he could fall right back asleep in his spot, losing himself slightly in Benton's touch as the man started to massage his neck a little. "Begged me to let him watch the rest of Muppet Christmas Carol before I tucked him in—neither of us even made it another 5 minutes into the movie."
"Boy's been stuck to you like Velcro, Robbie! Usually he's glued to his Gameboy or something whenever he's got a free moment, and now lately all he's wanted is to hang out with you!" Peter smiled, internally recounting the first time they saw each other again and it took a full 5 minutes just to pry Reese off the bald doctor so they could continue on their jolly old way to iHop.
And of course the bright, toothy grin in place of the dark, miserable expression that'd been plastered to Robert's face on the cold, dark night of their own little reunion. His heart skipped a beat whenever he saw Robert smile like that, now more than ever, and no matter what mood he was in, no matter how much death and injury he'd witnessed in one day—he couldn't help but smile right along with him, all of his previous worries feeling small and insignificant compared to the joyful, bald idiot, who dragged him out of those dark moods on a biweekly basis.
Robert ran his hand over the boy's head, sighing as he thought briefly of the last week or so, a small smile spreading across his face.
"I've really missed you guys, too." He told the younger surgeon, the almost-2 fucking pounds of Thanksgiving turkey from earlier still weighing him down as his eyelids began to droop a bit, sleep still yearning to catch him in its grasp. "I really have. Between everything that's happened between us, and the accident, and..."
Robert trailed off, his gaze fixed towards the fire that blazed in front of that large leather couch, pondering their lost time, his expression unreadable, if not filled with wonder and awe, and just a little bit of anguish.
Peter rose from his spot, shifting to the floor, more or less getting down on one knee to accommodate Robert's current position on the couch. Those large yet delicate surgeon's hands came up to caress his head, framing his handsome features, his thumbs gently grazing his cheeks in a loving caress of their own.
Robert's coffee-colored eyes focused now on his tall, dark lover, his own hand coming up to hold the back of Peter's own.
"Those couple of years were pretty tough, Robert. Obviously a lot more so for you than me," he told the one armed doctor, all traces of levity and lightheartedness from earlier in his gaze fading away. "I wish I could have been there for you...I really do. And not to mention the fact that I really wish I still coulda' been at Cook County to tell Anspaugh where he could shove all his ideas of chucking your whole career into a blazing dumpster fire."
Romano let out a small laugh at the idea of Peter sticking it to one of his own mentors for him, the one who'd known him since he was a wide-eyed, surgery-hungry dweeb of a little surgical resident, possibly earning himself one helluva suspension on top of giving Anspaugh a fucking aneurysm.
"But at least we've still got the rest of our lives ahead of us. And you have to admit, they've already started off pretty great,"
"Yeah, especially when you're looking at my 5 minutes at Northwestern!" The balder man yapped, that pensiveness beginning to dissolve a bit as that smile grew back on him like the narrator's well-watered succulent plant, affectionately named after Kentucky Senator Mitch McConnell. "It's been 5 days and not once have I seen someone stranded in the E.R. for 6 hours, waiting to be taken up for surgery! Nor have I seen anyone taking a shit on the floor, looking you straight in the eye, right in the middle of the lobby for everyone to admire!"
The two broke out in laughter now as they lovingly and sentimentally recalled their most favorite parts about their beloved County hospital, and all the loving memories they made there.
"Did I ever tell you about the time this one patient held me hostage in Exam 4 with a butternut squash?!" Peter howled, sitting back on his legs from his spot on the floor, clutching his gut now as his laughter grew just a bit less controllable. "Took security a whole hour to break the fucking door down! She kept hitting me with the damn thing, fully convinced my surgical consult was just a cover, and that I was really there to harvest her organs for extra cash!"
"You'd think with all the absolute head cases they roll in and outta there they'd at least lay off a few of those good for nothing drag-asses for some extra security!" Robert argued, those cheeks of his now red and rosy as he now pictured his poor Petey, used to nothing but the mechanical normality of the surgical floor, getting beat up by some crazy fuck while some other guards who clearly don't get paid enough are banging on the door. "Did I ever tell you about the time I got held at gunpoint by an 8-year-old who stole his grandmother's revolver?!"
The taller surgeon took this opportunity to one-up his bald companion, one of the only few he ever got nowadays.
"Sounds almost as crazy as the time I got chased from the Suture Room all the way to the cafeteria by some crazyass wielding a syringe!" Benton countered, leaning heavily against the side of the couch in his sort of half-kneeling position, doing his best not to fall on the floor as the long day he'd had, combined with the unholy amount of food in his system and, quite possibly, the glass or two of Pinot all began to make him feel overtired and giddy, and as if everything they said in that moment was downright hilarious.
Robert proved to be in a like state, the various jocularities of the night waking him right back up again, the corners of his eyes crinkled a bit and his freckles really being brought out by the contrast of his face, now flushed with an almost crimson blush as Benton piped right back up.
"Quit laughing! It was actually really traumatic for me!" He yapped, not looking even a little bit traumatized at all by the whole ordeal. "The worst part was nobody even tried to save me! Just one lousy security guard who tripped over an emesis basin! I'm pretty sure I sprinted past Elizabeth on the way, and she didn't even look up!"
Both physicians were inconsolable now, and Robert had to strain not to laugh too hard and wake Reese, or knock him off the couch completely from his outburst.
The bald doctor's efforts proved useless, though, as Peter eventually fell right over, his head landing a mere 3 or 4 inches away from the hearth, the boiling flames right behind him finally sobering him up a little bit as he worked to clamber back upright. That got him laughing hard enough for to disturb the young boy's slumber, and he sat up a bit in Robert's lap, rubbing his eyes with one hand, evidently as groggy as a hooker after a basement heroin party. No doubt, homemade sweet potato pie had proven to be one helluva drug.
Just then, the phone rang, screeching incessantly from where it sat on the hook, sounding not unlike an annoying old Facebook bitch named Becky who regularly writes 5-8 paragraph arguments on why her sweet, precious little cherubs should be able to attend school without any of those toxic vaccines—or, Hell, even a lousy Flintstone Vitamin.
"Better go get that. Might be Jackie, maybe she forgot something over here," Peter told him, mostly wondering aloud as he shook himself from their brief fit of merriment. "You'll get him settled?"
Robert had since sat up from what he thought, after binge session like that, would've been his final resting place, attending to a now-wide awake Reese who was begging to be carried upstairs, lazily signing to him about wanting to go up to bed.
"Yeah, yeah, I've got him. He doesn't look like he's gonna last long at all," he told the tallest of them as he scooped Reese up in his arm, pulling them both off the couch and starting towards the stairs.
And it wasn't all that much longer before Robert re-emerged from the second floor of that roomy Chicago abode he knew and loved, only to be met with the sight of his favorite surgical prodigy sitting on the couch, gazing into the fire with wide eyes, looking almost as if he'd been slapped in the face by an ex-wife or two who'd just proclaimed to be well on their way to taking every last dime from him, as well as every piece of furniture and even the dog in their divorce settlement.
"Jesus, Peter. Who died?" Romano pressed, those few words dripping with the pleasant airiness of his own mood from the day's events.
Benton barked out a long, humorless laugh now, shaking his head as if in complete and total disbelief.
"Funny you should say that..." he began, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to collect himself in preparation to accept the penny Romano had dealt him for his thoughts.
"I just got off the phone with Elizabeth. Kerry Weaver just died in some freak helicopter accident..." Benton trailed off for a moment, his expression still one of complete and utter shock and confusion, looking as if even he didn't believe the words that just spilled out of his own damn mouth.
"Actually I think she might have been a quite drunk while she was explaining the whole thing to me...but from what I could make of it someone picked a fight with her over the course of treatment for some rich hot-shot that came in today. She stepped out into the ambulance bay to cool down, keep from firing them on the spot when the thing had some sort of...mechanical malfunction. Started acting up, fell sideways off the roof and...splat,"
Whether it was the pure poetic justice of the entire situation, or just Peter's oh-so eloquent use of the word 'splat' that got Robert straining once again to not start laughing at the whole story, the bald man had no idea.
For a moment, they said nothing, and the room was silent with the exception of wood crackling and spitting in the fireplace as the flames died down for the night, the coals within glowing with a vibrant, tangerine hue.
"Oh..." Robert said thoughtfully, his eyes glued to some random spot on the floor as he tried desperately not to think of the word splat as he conjured up some words to say on the matter. Sure, he may lack quite a bit of the necessary human decency for situations like these, but if nothing else, the Honorable, Prestigious, City-Renowned Rocket Romano knew better than to just laugh at Peter's tragic story outright like that, no matter how much the irony was burning him like V.D. right now.
"That's...that's really awful, Peter. God," Robert kept his voice level with an element of poise and grave sincerity he never even knew he had in him before. "Poor Kerry."
"Yeah, it's a shame." Peter concurred. "One helluva way to go."
Again, silence. With the exception of Gretel yawning quite noisily somewhere off in the depths of that living room.
"Well, I'm gonna go up and get ready for bed," the bald man informed him, almost as if he'd just been told of some minor traffic inconvenience they were gonna have to conquer in order to get to work in the morning. Or a stray cat puked on the hood of his black Jag, and it froze there, doomed to spend at least a few days worth of driving plastered to the thing.
"You can sit here for as long as you need to and...process this traumatic news of yours," Peter looked at him with a curious look on his face, both proud and horrified at just how low Robert could stoop sometimes.
"When you need me, I'll be in your room, in bed, in my socks..." Robert started up the stairs before intentionally turning around again when he got to the second or third step, eyeing Peter with quite a glint in those dark, almost black, beady eyes of his.
"Just my socks."
It only took him 5 more seconds, after he heard Robert trudge all the way up those hard, wooden steps and towards his bedroom before Peter shot right up, determined to catch up with him, ready to forget about Kerry Weaver and whatever bullshit she's gotten herself into now and stuff something a whole lot different than turkey on this most blessed, special holiday.
TBC
Okay so OBVIOUSLY two things are quite obvious right now; 1–Kerry Weaver is in the leads of my fictional character shit list, and B—this was supposed to come out well over a week ago.
Well, what can I say? Shit happens...and by shit, I mean more specifically a fucking bacterial infection that had me laid up, popping antibiotics like those old school PEZ candies and bargaining with God. So, naturally, this thing got delayed just a little bit.
Stay tuned for s'more season 10 chapters.
Or don't.
I don't get paid for this shit either way.
Toodles 3
