Copyright May 19-July 23, 2000 by Matthew Haldeman-Time

Rating: NC-17 for adult themes and graphic m/m sex, not to mention a car metaphor

Pairings: Robert Romano/Dave Malucci, John Carter/Peter Benton, Mark Green/Luka Kovac

Disclaimer: "E.R.," with its related characters and themes, belongs to Michael Crichton and others, not to me.  I make no money from this venture.

Dedication: This slashfic is for Paul McCrane and Ewan McGregor.

Wherein the reader will find various ludicrous romantic notions, hideously inaccurate medical situations, and a grave disservice to Peter Benton, all at the fault of the author.

Notice: This slashfic follows the season finale "May Day," May 18, 2000, but I've skipped the part about Carter being on drugs.  I'm sorry if I spelled the nurses' names wrong.

        Dr. Romano's head turned sharply to the right, jaw clenching.  "Dave..."  Dr. Romano tilted his head back, biting on his lower lip.  "Fuck me."  Their eyes met.  "Now."

        He shifted his hips a little and Dr. Romano inhaled sharply.  "Sorry."

        "Less talking, more - - Christ!"

        He would have gloated over that little explosion, but he had no time to waste on gloating; he was too busy thrusting, thrusting, moving hard and fast, pistoning his hips, aiming straight for that sweet spot that made Dr. Romano twist.  He kept expecting Dr. Romano's ass to get looser; it only made sense that the more often they fucked, Dr. Romano's ass would lose some tone.  But no, that baby was clenched tight, and it felt so good around Dave's cock, even around his fingers, even around his tongue, that every time he pushed inside he wanted to come.  He kept being afraid that he was hurting Dr. Romano, and they still didn't do this on a regular basis.  But he loved it, it was perfect, to be inside his lover.  To be inside Dr. Romano.  To enter this man's body, to force pleasure on it, to experience Dr. Romano in a way that no one else ever had.

        Dr. Romano had ridden him once.  Climbed onto him, seated his cock in the sexiest move he'd ever seen, looked as high on self-satisfaction as anyone could.  Rode him hard, panting, gripping his cock, hands on his body for support, watching him come.  He hadn't asked for it, hadn't expected it, and maybe that was part of the high that it brought him.

        Dr. Romano was deep into the gasping phase now.  When Dr. Romano stopped saying intelligible words, then the panting started.  When the panting turned to gasps, and the gasps turned into near-hyperventilation, orgasm was close.  Dave thrust harder, and the gasps came faster and shallower.  He thrust harder, harder, slamming into Dr. Romano's body, feeling the tight hotness slick all around him, wanting to come, feeling it in every pore.  He grabbed Dr. Romano's cock and gave it a quick pull, and Dr. Romano came.  He came too, hard, fast, deep in Dr. Romano's body.

        The room finally stopped spinning when he found himself collapsing beside Dr. Romano, dropping onto his side, breathless.

        "Good work," Dr. Romano said.

        He found the energy to moan in response.

        "Poor boy.  You worked hard."  Dr. Romano kissed him.  "Rest."

        He wrapped a boneless hand around Dr. Romano's wrist.

        "I'm not sleeping covered in semen.  Go to sleep."  Dr. Romano shook off his hand and left the bed. He managed, no doubt using talents gained in med school, to stay awake by sheer will.  Then Dr. Romano was back in bed beside him, and he tugged Dr. Romano closer, closing his eyes, sleeping against Dr. Romano's warm body.

        "What's wrong?" Luka asked him.

        "Look at this.  This kid's got traces of every illegal drug known to man.  I don't believe this.  The kid's like seven years old."

        "The one with heart failure?"

        "Seven years old.  I don't fucking believe this.  Where's his brother?"  Dave stormed off, found the ten-year-old in chairs.  "You're Mark?  Kevin's brother?"

        "Yeah.  He's okay?"

        "No, he's not okay.  Where'd he get these drugs?"

        "What?"

        "Drugs!  Where did he get them?"

        "I don't know."

        "You know I'm calling the police.  You're going to have to tell them."

        "Cops?"

        "That's right.  Cops.  Now start talking.  Where'd your little brother get drugs?"

        Two hours later:

        "White male, mid-twenties, found in parking lot.  Two GSW's to the chest, one to the-"

        Luka glanced down, did a double-take.  "Kerry!  Kerry!"

        Kerry came over.  "What's the-  Dave?  Dave?"

        "You know him?" the paramedic asked.

        "He's a doctor here," Luka said.  "One, two, three!"

        "What happened?" Kerry asked.  "What the - - what happened!"

        "Page Dr. Benton," Luka told Connie.

        "Dr. Benton went home," Connie said.

        "Then page Dr. Corday and get her down here now!"

        "What's going on?" Carter asked.

        "Dave's been shot," Lily said.

        "We need a surgeon," Luka said.  "I'm in!"

        "We need a miracle," Kerry said.  "Damn it, what's his blood type?"

        "Check his wallet," Carter said.

        "It's gone," Kerry said.

        "A positive," Lily said, and ran to get it.

        "Carter, get over here," Kerry said.  "Where's Elizabeth!"

        "Right here," Elizabeth said, rushing into the room.  "What's - - oh my god."

        "Elizabeth," Kerry said.  "Elizabeth.  Elizabeth!"

        Elizabeth snapped into action.  "We need to get him up to the O.R.  Where's Robert?"

        "I didn't have him paged," Kerry said.

        "You didn't have him paged?" Elizabeth demanded.

        "Where the hell is the rapid transfuser?!" Luka shouted.

        "If we page him, he'll want to operate, and I can't allow that," Kerry said.

        "Kerry, Dave is going to die," Elizabeth said.  "You have to call Robert."

        "And have him die on Robert's table?" Kerry asked.

        "You're right," Elizabeth said.  "Better mine than his."

        "He is not going to die," Luka said.

        "Carter, you go make sure that Robert doesn't hear," Kerry said.  "Lock everyone who knows in a closet, I don't care."

        Carter nodded and left.

        "God damn it," Elizabeth said.  "Paddles.  Clear.  Clear.  Clear."

        "How did this happen?" Luka asked.

        "More blood," Kerry ordered.  "Four units, A+."

        "Get Carter back in here," Elizabeth ordered.  "How many places can he be bleeding?"

        "How long was he lying there?" Kerry asked.

        "He's going through this blood as fast as we get it in there," Connie said.

        "Come on, Dave, be cooperative for once in your life," Elizabeth said.  "Got it!"

        "Carter!" Kerry shouted.  "Where did he go?"

        "Damn it!  Paddles!" Elizabeth shouted.

        "Where's that miracle, Kerry?" Luka asked.

        "Clear!"

        "Damn it, Malucci!" Kerry shouted.

        "Clear!"

        Carter came back.

        "Clear!"

        "Thank god," Luka said.  "Damn it - - suction!"

        "Peter!" Elizabeth said.  "Thank god."

        "Where's Romano?" Peter asked.

        "What are you doing here?" Kerry asked.

        "I was in what passes for my office waiting for Carter's shift to end.  He paged me.  Suction."

        "We're not telling Robert," Kerry said.

        "Why not?" Peter asked.

        "He's bleeding out," Luka said.

        "When Carter got stabbed, and you worked on him, what would have happened if you hadn't saved him?" Elizabeth asked Peter.

        "You have to page him.  He has to be here," Peter said.

        "We have to get him to the O.R. now," Kerry said.

        "We can't get him stable," Luka argued.

        "We aren't equipped to handle this," Kerry said.

        "What do you want me to do?" Luka demanded.

        "Where is this blood coming from?" Peter asked.

        "I lost the bullet," Elizabeth said.

        "More suction," Carter said.

        "You lost the bullet?" Luka asked.

        "Which one?" Kerry asked.

        "Oh god..."

        Dr. Romano strolled into the ICU and found a good number of the E.R. staff standing in a huddle.  "I would like to know what is so important that I can't go home until I come down here."

        Kerry separated herself from the cluster, walking over, reaching out a hand.  "Robert," she began.  "There's been...a shooting."

        "Kerry, what's going on?" he asked.

        "We don't know what happened.  The police are still working on it.  Dave was shot."

        "Shot.  Dave.  My Dave."

        "Yes.  We managed to get out most of bullets."

        "Most of the-"

        "He's stable now.  We had to do most of the work in the E.R., but Elizabeth and Peter got him to the O.R. and managed to repair-"

        "Tell me that he's going to be fine."

        "I'm sorry, Robert."  Mark guided back the rest of the staff.  "If you'd like to see him," Kerry began.

        "What exactly is the prognosis?" Dr. Romano asked.

        "We're waiting," Kerry said.  "There's nothing more that we can do."

        Dr. Romano walked into Dave's room.  He knew exactly what all of the tubes and machines were for, what they meant.  That was scarier, somehow, because it meant that he knew exactly what was wrong, and how serious the situation was.  He was too well informed this time.

        In the dim light, he stroked his knuckles along Dave's cheekbone.  "You'll be all right."  He waited, watched.  "Lizzie."

        She came to the doorway.  "Yes, Robert."

        "Tell me exactly what happened.  Exactly.  I want every step, every flatline, every scalpel."

        "All right."  She came to stand beside him and carefully told him every moment of the procedure from her arrival to her last stitch.

        "Six bullets."

        "Yes, Robert."

        "Who emptied a gun into..."

        "We're not sure.  There was a patient here, this morning.  Dave's patient.  A young boy with heart failure.  Apparently the boy was doing drugs.  Dave questioned the boy's older brother, older being ten years old.  We believe that he went to see the source of the drugs."

        "He couldn't possibly be that stupid."

        "The police are looking for the drug dealer based on what the boys have said.  Whoever did this will be arrested, Robert."

        "He couldn't possibly be that stupid."

        "I'm sorry, Robert.  Is there anyone I can call?"

        "Rebecca.  I'll do it myself."

        "Maybe you should stay here.  I'll take care of it."

        "Call my house.  Tell Rebecca what happened."

        "All right."  Elizabeth left him alone.  He had enough presence of mind to pull over a stool before he was lost again, gazing at Dave's face, knowing he might never see those eyes open again.

        Rebecca came.  Young, blonde, pretty.  Crying.  She kissed Dave's forehead and spoke to him and kissed him again.  Then she left the room quickly, crying, explaining in half-coherent sentences to Abby that she didn't want to cry too much and upset Dr. Romano.

        No one knew who she was, except that she seemed to be the infamous blonde stripper and she'd been called at Dr. Romano's home.  Was she their live-in mistress?  But Dr. Romano barely seemed to register her presence.  Was she Dave's girlfriend?

        "She's the housekeeper," Luka explained.

        "Housekeeper?" Cleo asked.

        "Housekeepers don't look like that," Carter said.

        "You would know," Deb said.

        "She's the housekeeper," Luka said.

        "She's very close to Dave," Abby murmured.

        "God, here we are speculating on his sex life," Cleo said.

        "Is this what it was like before?" Carter asked.  "From your end of it?"

        "You mean were we all scared and no one knew what to do and we realized that one of our own, one of us, a doctor, was - - yeah, it was like this," Abby said.  "Except that there were two of you."

        "I'm taking you home," Peter said.

        "I'm fine," Carter said.

        "You should go," Cleo said.  "You both look awful."

        "We'll call if anything changes," Abby promised.

        "We're short a doctor," Mark said.  "Luka, you can stay?"

        "Sure," Luka said.

        "Carrie, go home," Mark said.

        "We shouldn't leave Robert alone," Kerry said.  "I don't care what you all think of him, no one deserves to be alone for this."

        "Kerry, you're exhausted.  Go home, get some rest, come back tomorrow."

        "This isn't just a tough patient, Mark.  This is Dave."

        "I know."

        "How the hell could he be so stupid?"  She walked off angrily.

        "They're going to call us the minute anything happens, right?" Abby asked Mark.

        "Yes," he assured her.  "Come on, we have work to do."

        "He's still not breathing on his own." Cleo reported.

        "But everything else?"

        "Is just fine."  She smiled.

        "Thank god."

        "It's been two weeks.  I think he's finally bored and ready to wake up soon."

        "All of this attention and drama - - too bad he's not enjoying it."

        "He'll milk this for months."

        "Months," Carter agreed.

        Rebecca smoothed back Dave's hair.  "He got a haircut this morning."

        "It looks nice," Deb said.

        "No purposeful movement yet.  We keep waiting."

        "How's Dr. Romano?"

        "I wouldn't know.  Unless you need his official signature on something, he doesn't talk to you."

        "I heard."

        "He'll be here soon."

        "Then I'll get going.  Bye, Dave."

        The doors opened.  "Dr. Romano."

        "Peter."

        "Dave's waking up."

        "Take over."  Dr. Romano was out the door.

        "Thank god," Elizabeth said.

        A nurse was shouting.  "Dr. Romano, you can't go in there - - Dr. Romano!  You can't go in there.  Dr. Anspaugh is doing the examination for you.  He'll be out in a moment."

        "This is my hospital, damn it!" Dr. Romano shouted to the security guard.

        "Robert," Dr. Anspaugh said, emerging.  "This is a hospital.  This is the ICU.  Do not yell in the ICU."

        "How is he?"

        "He looks good.  Everything's as it should be, and much better than anyone expected.  You may go in and see him - - quietly."

        Dr. Romano shoved into the room.  "About fucking time."

        "Dr. Romano."

        "So you remember me, do you?  What else do you remember?"

        "Dr. Anspaugh said that I was shot.  I've been in a coma for four weeks."

        "Yes."

        "A month?  I've lost a month?"

        "You almost lost your life."

        "I was shot."

        "Yes."

        "Six times?  He said six?"

        "Six times.  Six bullets in your body.  One of them's still in there."

        "I think...  There's...  I'm so tired..."

        "Sleep."

        "You'll come back?  Later?"

        "Yes."

        "Good."

        "Four."

        "Five," Rebecca corrected.

        "Four."

        "What's the last thing you remember?" Rebecca asked.

        "Dr. Romano.  Dr. Anspaugh."

        "Really?  You were in a coma for four weeks, and then you woke up for five minutes, and then you relapsed.  You just woke up this morning again."

        "What?"

        "You don't remember?"

        "You're kidding.  You're making that up."

        "I'm serious.  I can't believe..."

        "Five weeks?  I relapsed?  Where's a doctor?"

        "Will I do?" Mark asked.

        "Hey, boss.  Good to see you.  How long was I out of it?"

        "Five weeks, altogether."

        "You're shitting me."

        "I shit you not."

        "God I hate being a patient.  That's why I never get sick.  Doctors always poking at you and testing you."

        "Maybe now you'll learn to stay away from men with guns," Mark suggested.

        "You want to tell me what's happened?  I got shot.  I was in a coma.  I've got a bullet-"

        "You're awake?" Abby asked, entering.  "For real this time?"

        "I'm popular today," Dave said.

        "We all grew quite fond of you while you were unconscious," Abby said.  "How do you feel?"

        "Please resist the urge to ply me with your stethoscope," Dave said.  "I am fine.  I could use some morphine."

        "You're in pain?" Mark asked.  "Where?"

        "How about everywhere?" Dave asked.  "Why are you all here?"

        "Whenever anything changes, they alert us immediately," Mark said.  "You have about ten unofficial doctors working on your case."

        "That's nice," Dave said.  "Thoughtful of you."

        "How is he?" Peter asked, entering.  "You're awake."

        "Hey, Dr. Dave," Carter said.  "How do you feel?"

        "Are you all this annoying with every patient?" Dave asked.

        "He's feeling better," Carter told Peter.

        "Much better.  So did I miss any exciting cases?"

        Dave had visitors, slept, ate, slept, had more visitors, got more sleep.  He awoke again, and someone different was standing by his bed.  "Dr. Romano."

    "Dave."

        He waited for more.  He didn't get it.  He grew nervous, which meant that he was ready to cover it up with wisecracks or hostility.  But he didn't have to say anything, because Dr. Romano just looked at him, looked some more, and left.

        Rule #3: It was hard to be a patient in a hospital where you worked.  It was embarrassing.  It was mortifying.  He hated them all.

        Rule #4: If you were really nice to Rebecca, she'd sneak in some food from the outside.

        And Rule #1: Don't ask about Dr. Romano.

        He had to repeat Rule #1 to himself constantly.  He kept wanting to ask.  He was dying to ask.  And they kept wanting him to ask, he could tell.  Hell, they probably could tell that he was dying to ask, too.  But no one said a word.  They talked about his progress and how the E.R. was running and anything else under the sun, including all that he'd missed for five months.  Dr. Romano's name was not mentioned in his presence.  He never said it himself.  Even Rebecca was unnaturally quiet on the subject, and that worried him.

        He began to worry that when he was released, he'd have nowhere to go.

        He worried that all of the money he'd saved had just been shot on medical bills.  This excursion was becoming extremely expensive.

        The police stopped by more than once, but he remembered nothing of the shooting.

        Good news...  Well, he wasn't dead.  He had people fussing over him and being nice to him and being glad to see him, which was new and different.  He and Carter were friends again.  Everyone was his friend, suddenly.  Even the E.R. nurses liked him now.

        Don't ask about Dr. Romano.  Don't ask about Dr. Romano.  Don't ask about-

        "Dr. Dave."

        "Hey, boss.  What's up?"

        "You're going home tomorrow."

        "Really."

        "Really.  See for yourself."  Mark handed him his chart.  The cool thing about being a doctor was that he understood every nook and cranny of what was wrong with him.  Which was scary, too, really scary, because he knew that he should have died about forty dozen times.

        "Well, I'd send me home, too," he said, handing the chart back to Mark.  "So I can get back to work?"

        "Not just yet."

        "Come on, why not?  I'm the picture of health, thanks to this very institution."

        "You're not coming back to work yet.  Give it time."

        "What does that mean?"  His heart beat faster.  God no...

        "It means that you're taking a little time off to recuperate.  Then you'll come back for desk duty and a few light cases.  You know that you can't handle traumas now, Dave."

        "I get shot and now I'm being punished?"

        "I know what's happened to you and I know how your recovery's going.  I also happen to work in the E.R. and I know what it takes to do your job.  Don't argue with me."

        "This is shit."

        "You can go home tomorrow.  You can come back for light duty in a week.  Then we'll see."

        "Hey, boss?"

        "Yeah?"

        "If I'd just come in off the street, and they hadn't known it was me, do you think they would've let me flatline?"

        "I don't know."

        "I can't exactly ask somebody who was there."  That wouldn't be easy for him or them.

        "From what I heard, from what I saw, yes."

        "Guess I'm lucky they didn't take me to Mercy."

        "Rest up.  Back to work next week."

        Home.  He was going home.  And where was that, exactly?  To Dave, home was Dr. Romano, with Rebecca, Gretel, soft thick carpets, delicious cool silk sheets, sitting over the kitchen table debating treatments, sitting on the living room sofa debating medical politics, lying in bed sucking tongue.  Home was where he had people who cared about him and people who took care of him, people he loved.

        Where would he go tomorrow?  Would he leave the hospital and head straight for the classifieds to find a new place?  Should he go back to Dr. Romano's for his things?  Everything he owned had been paid for by Dr. Romano, so was it his right to take it?  On the other hand, could he afford to pay his medical bills and still buy food, clothing, amenities, and a new apartment?

        "If I needed help, would you dress me?"

        "I'd call in a nurse.  An unattractive nurse."

        "I can dress myself."

        "Good."

        He dressed, and Dr. Green signed papers, and Rebecca hugged him, and everyone he saw came to wish him well, and then they left.  He had no idea where they were going or how to ask.  He was glad to be out of there; he'd felt like a science experiment by overeager scientists.  It was strange to be in clothes again.  He'd lost weight, predictably.

        He sat in the cab with his eyes closed.  He didn't want to see their route.  He didn't want to know.  Maybe they could just get in a car accident, something that killed him but left Rebecca unscathed.  No, then they'd all just be mad at him for ruining their hard work and dying anyway.

        The taxi stopped.  "Come on, no more sleeping," Rebecca said.  "Not until we get inside, anyway."

        He managed to get out of the cab without raising his eyes.  Finally, Rebecca slipped her hand into his and squeezed reassuringly.  He looked up from his feet and felt his heart stop.

        Home.

        Oh god...

        Rebecca led him inside, and Gretel ran in to jump on him, but Rebecca intervened.  "You may sniff at him, but no jumping.  You know he's not well."

        "Hi," Dave said, getting to his knees, wrapping his arms around Gretel, hiding his face a little in her fur to blink back tears.  He was not going to cry.  He was an adult male, and men didn't cry.

        "You just sit here on the sofa and rest.  I won't send you up to bed because you've been lazing around for far too long now, but I don't want you doing anything more than sitting and resting."

        "Yes, doctor," Dave muttered.  "Come on, Gretel, let's go sit and watch the paint peel."

        "You should be reading all of those medical journals.  You've missed so many you're probably completely outdated in your medical care.  They're not using scalpels anymore, you know."

        "Don't you have dishes to wash?"

        Dave got to sit on the sofa with Gretel, who rested her head in his lap.  Rebecca brought him food and every medical journal he'd missed.  So he sat there and read and ate and pet Gretel.  Waiting.  Tense.  Waiting.

        He got supper, finally, and then Rebecca sent him up to bed.  "It's only eight o'clock."

        "I don't care.  You need your rest.  Your poor body's still trying to recover."

        "I'm fine."

        "Come on."  She grabbed his hand and pulled him up the stairs, to the first room on the right.  "Brush your teeth, take off your clothes, get in the bed, close your eyes, go to sleep.  Do you need help?"

        "Brush my teeth for me?"

        "You're pathetic."  She hugged him.  "I'm so glad you're home."

        "Rebecca?"  He put her at arms' length.  "Are you sure that I should be here?"

        Tears glittered in her eyes.  "Yes."  She left quickly.  Apparently he wasn't the only one who hated to be seen crying.

        He took a shower, just to do it, glad to be out of the hospital, wanting to wash off the hospital smell.  His soap and shampoo were right where he'd left them.  Everything was, which meant that the supplies that Rebecca had brought him at the hospital had been brand new.  Which was sort of weird.  Clean and dry, he looked at himself in the mirror, looked at all of the ugly scars, looked critically at his loss of muscle tone.  He looked awful.  He looked horrifying.  He'd been shot to pieces, cut to pieces, and sewn back together again.  Maybe Frankenstein's monster had looked something like this, with jagged scars running every which way.

        They'd heal.  He just had to give it time.

        He pulled on boxers and approached the bed.  The bed.  He was afraid of it, felt guilty for wanting to touch it.  After all, it wasn't his anymore, was it?  It was Dr. Romano's, always had been.  He pulled back the covers carefully, afraid of being caught.  One hand smoothed over the sheets, the pillows.  God, this was a far cry from that thing he'd been sleeping on at the hospital.

        Don't ask about Dr. Romano.  Don't ask about Dr. Romano.

        Apparently the policy was don't ask, don't tell.  Rebecca still hadn't mentioned the elusive owner of this fine home.<br>
 Wait.  They would tell him if Dr. Romano had died, right?

        God, idiot, don't even think things like that.  He turned off the light and got into the bed carefully, gratefully.  He was alive.  He was home.

        "Gretel!"

        Gretel came to a screeching halt and looked around, confused.  Dave sank to his knees, suddenly weak, and she licked his face.  He remembered to breathe and managed to look up to see Dr. Romano standing in the kitchen talking with Rebecca.  Dr. Romano finished speaking with Rebecca, got his keys and wallet, and left the house without a word or even a glance to Dave.  The only evidence that Dave actually existed was that Dr. Romano had saved him from being run over by two hundred pounds of eager dog.

        "About time you got up," Rebecca said gently.  "Come and eat something."

        "Rebecca?"

        "Don't make me talk about it."

        He stood.  "I can't ask anyone else."

        "I know, I know, just...give me a few minutes.  I'm going to go cry, then I'll feed you, then I'll talk."

        An hour and a half later, Dave and Rebecca sat on the sofa together.  "The only reason I'm telling you this is because you deserve to know something and no one else will tell you," she said.  "I'm going to give you the basic facts.  Interpretation is up to you."

        "I don't want to hear this."

        "Dave-"

        "Don't you have dishes to wash?"

        "Do you know how long it's been since I've washed anyone's dishes but my own?"

        He'd struck a nerve there.

        "You know that Dr. Romano didn't work on you.  They wouldn't allow him to operate.  They didn't even tell him that you'd been shot until you were in the ICU.  Don't interrupt or I'll never get it said.  All of your operations and all other care was done by everyone else.  I mean everyone.  But Dr. Romano wasn't...  I think that they thought that if you died - - and, at first, when you died - - if it happened while he was operating on you, it would be hard for him.  Which, believe me, is an understatement of how it would have been.  He wasn't allowed to do anything, but he was always there, always informed.  He spent all of his time with you.  He ate sometimes if we brought him food.  He didn't perform surgery for two weeks.  Two weeks.  Then, when he did, it was the only time he left you.  And then you woke up, you came out of your coma, and it was a miracle.  For all of ten minutes.  And then you were gone again.  I think that that's what did it.  He couldn't handle the stress.  You were in a coma again, and you might not come out of it this time.  Dave, you have no idea of what it was like.  At first, we just waited for you to die.  Then we waited for you to wake up, and we barely had any room for hope.  Then you woke up and it was...  But you went back again, and...  Dr. Romano...  Dave, you're all he has.  I told you not to interrupt.  A week later, you woke up again.  Dr. Romano was doing a post-op consult or something, he came barrelling into the room, and you said, 'Dr. Romano,' like you'd just seen God in a vision of glory.  And then you went to sleep.  And you're fine.  You're here and you're safe and you're going to be healthy as ever as soon as I fatten you up some.  But you almost died, and it almost killed him, and I don't think that he can stand that pain again.  Dave, you know that someone can be arrogant and egotistical and still, deep inside so deep you can't get it out, believe himself unworthy of love.  He knows that he's going to lose you, one way or another.  Either through death or a pretty blonde or lack of interest.  He's been through the pain and he can't go through it again.  So he's keeping you at bay.  If he doesn't try to have you he can't lose you."

        "His solution is to pretend that he doesn't care?"

        "Yes."

        "Does he care?"

        "The two of you deserve each other!  You love him and he loves you and what is it going to take to get either of you to understand that?!  Dr. Romano is in love with you.  He's as infatuated, obsessed, and entranced with you as you are with him.  I don't know if you've changed him or just allowed him to show a hidden side, but the Dr. Romano that I knew and lived with for three years is not the man who, my...smiled and teased and had sex on the kitchen table.  But now...when he does speak, if he breaks his silence...  He wouldn't let me move your things.  He's been sleeping on the third floor, if he ever comes home, if he ever sleeps."

        "I didn't die.  I'm fine."

        "You're mad at him?"

        If he didn't get angry he'd fall apart and sob, and that wouldn't help.

        "Want to get madder?" Rebecca asked, seeming to understand now.

        "What'd he do?"

        "Paid for your hospital bills.  Every last cent, paid in full."

        "He didn't!  Son-of-a-"

        "You can't be surprised."

        "How much was it?"

        "I have no idea.  I'm guessing a lot."

        "What time is he coming home?"

        "Late."
        "Bastard."  His heart pounded with fear and love.

        "Let me tell you a secret."

        "Tell me."

        "He likes to watch you sleep.  Now that it's a healthy, restful sleep.  He's been watching you.  He did it last night, too."

        "All of this time I thought that he was avoiding me-"

        "He's been by your room at least once a night, sometimes for hours.  I've had the nursing staff keep me informed.  And I'm sure that it was even more poignant last night, having you home."

        "Half-naked in his bed."

        "That, too."

        "Could he be more of a-"

        "Completely impossible person?"

        "Like you're not?"

        "Look who's talking.  I'm glad you're home."

        "I'm glad to be home."

        "Where you belong."  She smiled.  "Half-naked in his bed."

        "It's hard to be horny when you're drugged up and living life with a bedpan, but recently I've rediscovered my libido.  Would it be wrong to try to - - damn it, I can't get him with sex, the first time I tried it got me nowhere."

        "Yes."  Rebecca pondered.  "You could try an angry confrontation, or a tear-filled monologue, or...what else..."

        "Tie him to the bed and...mmm."

        "Too much information."

        "Pervert."

        "You'll be back at work soon.  You feel up to it?  Remember where the heart and lungs are?"

        "What's a lung?"

        Dave continued to do his physical therapy routines at home now.  The pain and exhaustion helped to dull his libido somewhat.  But when he went up to bed that night it kicked in again.  Maybe the surroundings served as a stimuli, with his brain and body remembering this room and this bed as the haven of sensual lights and erotic nirvana and passionate lusting desires fulfilled.

        At least he hadn't had his cock and balls shot off.

        He burrowed his right hand inside his shorts, between his thighs, in the dark.  He sighed with satisfaction.  It had been a long time, too long.  Sexual release would make him feel better, and he deserved to feel better.

        Of course, better was a relative term.  What would make him feel even better would be Dr. Romano's hand.  Dr. Romano ruled his cock.

        "I'm not calling.  I'm taking a cab," he told Rebecca with a grin.

        "You can't handle trauma cases in your condition."

        "I was discharged.  All they have to do is clear me for work."

        "You shouldn't-"

        "See you later.  Have a nice day."

        Dave walked into the E.R.  "Hey, Frank.  Dr. Green or Dr. Weaver around today?"

        "You're back," Frank said.

        "Dave."  Cleo came over to him around the desk.  "How are you feeling?"

        "Should you be up and around?" Deb asked.

        "I'm fine.  Dr. Green!"

        "Dave.  What are you doing here?"

        "It's been a week."

        "And you want to come back to work," Mark guessed.  "Come on, I'll give you an exam."

        "You don't have to do that."

        "Yes, I do."

        So he was put through the paces, and Carter came by to talk, and Mark said, "All right, you look good.  Connie, give Dr. Romano a call."

        "Dr. Romano?" Dave asked.  Shit, he hadn't meant to say that.

        "We need his signature to put you back to work."

        "No you don't," Dave said.

        "Yes, we do," Mark said.  "I'm putting you on light duties for a week.  By next week, I want you back in the regular rotation."

        "Yes, sir, boss."

        "Good.  Now be a good patient and sit here and wait for a minute.  Carter, make sure he doesn't go anywhere.  I have patients to see."  Mark left them.

        "How's it going?" Carter asked, sitting beside him on the exam table.

        "Totally sucks."

        "Glad to hear it."

        "Thought you might be."

        Dr. Romano came down about five minutes later and walked into the exam room with Mark.  Dr. Romano looked over his chart.  "Looks good.  Remember how to use a suture kit?"

        "Yes," Dave said.

        "No traumas.  I don't need a resident who's been out of the game and is still in physical therapy trying to perform anything fancy."  Dr. Romano signed his name.  "Ask me again in a week."  And then Dr. Romano was gone, no eye contact made.

        "Welcome back," Carter told Dave.

        "I hate him."

        He'd been given a short shift for his first day, but regular hours for the rest of the week, if light duties.  He got the mild cases, lots of standard complaints and suture work.  He watched the traumas, and half of him was itching to get in there, to snap on some gloves and join the tense pressured commands.

        And then he saw a cascade of blood...

        ...and someone was shining a light in his eyes.  "He's still in there."  Dr. Romano, it was Dr. Romano.

        "What happened?"

        "Don't sit up too fast," Dr. Romano warned.

        "Is he all right?" Abby asked.

        "Dr. Malucci, you fainted in the middle of the E.R.  Can you tell me why?" Dr. Romano asked.

        "There was blood," he said.

        "Blood, in the E.R.?" Dr. Romano asked.  "I can't imagine how that happened.  What have you eaten?"

        "It's not...  I'm fine.  I'm fine, really."

        "Call psych," Dr. Romano told Abby.

        "I'm not crazy!" Dave protested, alarmed.

        "You were shot.  Call psych.  Dr. Malucci, I expect you to be cooperative."  Dr. Romano left.

        "He's the boss," Abby said to Dave.  "Sorry."

        "I'm not crazy."

        The psych guy came and talked to Dave.  Dave was asked about what led to the shooting, how the shooting happened, and what came next.  He didn't really remember any of it; he had hazy vague memories, and he'd been told what had happened, but it wasn't clear to him.  He just remembered being upset about the kids and drugs, and he remembered waking up in the hospital.

        He was asked about his personal life.  He refused to answer those questions.

        He was asked about work, how it felt to be back in the E.R., what kinds of cases he'd seen lately.  He answered in the most obtuse medical jargon he could conceive.

        "So am I loony or can I get back to work?" Dave asked.

        "Well, that's up to Dr. Romano or Dr. Green.  You seem fine to me."

        "Good."

        Mark came by then and said, "All right, Malucci, finish your shift and head on home.  If you feel dizzy or faint again, tell me."

        "It's a fluke," Dave said.  "I'm fine."

        "Glad to hear it.  Get to work."

        When he got home, he didn't tell Rebecca that he'd fainted.  No sense worrying her needlessly.  He was fine.  She sent him to bed early.  He took Gretel with him.

        He awoke, half-naked and sweating, shuddering with a scream in his throat, Dr. Romano's hands on his shoulders.  He was so relieved to be awake that he barely registered the significance of Dr. Romano's presence.

        "Dave.  It's all right.  Tell me what's wrong."

        "What the fuck do you care?"

        "Gretel came to get me."

        "Nice to know someone's looking after me."

        "You don't need looking after."

        "Everybody needs looking after.  Let go of me."  Dr. Romano's hands left him; Dr. Romano straightened.  "Get out."

        "Of my bedroom in my house?"

        "Get out."

        "Come on, Gretel, let's leave Dr. Malucci alone to feel sorry for himself."  Dr. Romano and Gretel did just that.

        He was tired, but he was afraid that if he slept he'd fall back into the dream, so he left the bed and pulled on a T-shirt over his boxers.  He wandered downstairs but nothing interested him, so he went upstairs.

        He'd never been on the third floor.  He found sitting rooms and bedrooms draped in white.  And he found a bedroom in use, with Gretel on the floor and Dr. Romano asleep in the bed.

        Not asleep.

        When little kids got scared at night, they'd crawl into their parents' beds.  He'd done it himself.  Now he'd had a nightmare, and he wanted comfort, and he crept into bed with Dr. Romano, nestling under the covers, warm and protected.  Dr. Romano held him close, stroked his back, pet his hair.  Fingers traced ever-so-gently along the edges of the scars on his back and shoulders.  A kiss was pressed to the top of his head.  He closed his eyes and rested in the security.

        "Good morning, Dr. Dave."  Dr. Romano was using the affectionate personal tone, not the official brisk loud business tone; this voice was mildly amused, patient.

        "What time is it?"  He shifted up and back a little, getting his nose out of Dr. Romano's chest, putting a bit of space between them.  Dr. Romano's hands slid away from him in response.

        "Almost ten."

        "Ten!  I have to be at-"

        "I told Kerry you'd be in at noon.  You are going to stay here and tell me what is wrong."

        "Nothing's wrong."

        "You were shot."

        "So?  I'm better.  I'm fine."

        "People who are fine don't faint."

    "So I'll take some iron supplements."

        "You're not anemic."

        "How do you know?"

        "I know everything about you, medically, down to your heartrate of a minute ago."

        "Now you show an interest in how I'm doing?"

        "You think that I haven't?"

        "You've been ignoring me and avoiding me ever since I woke up, it's been weeks, I don't know why I'm even still living here."

        "So move out."

        "Make me.  Last time, last time I left on my own, it was my decision, it's always my decision, every little step is up to me, what, don't you have the balls to step up and say what you want?!  Why is it always up to me?  Why can't you do something?  You always leave me room to say no, room to back out, room to take all of the responsibility.  Nothing's ever on your shoulders.  Why is that?  Is it because you just don't give a fuck whether I'm here or not?  Is it because it could go either way and you don't care?  Is it because you're afraid that if - - when - - it goes wrong I'll blame you or sue you or something so now you're making sure that it's all on me?"

        "You think that I don't care about you?"

        "I haven't seen much evidence saying that you do."

        "I give my time, my attention, my body, my home, and my money to just anyone?" Dr. Romano asked.  "Dave, how long have you known me?  Haven't you noticed that very few people are worth my time or my attention, that no one else has my body, that my home is limited to you and Rebecca, and that I'd sooner part with my teeth than my money?  I'm a greedy bastard.  But I have given you everything that I have."

        "You've been avoiding me and ignoring me."

        "I know that you were shot.  I realize that you may be feeling insecure and in need of affirmation.  But I will not lie here and have a drama with you.  You need to be at work by noon, I need to go to work, and you are going to tell me what's upsetting you."

        "You're upsetting me!  You vicious bastard!  I was shot!  I almost died!  And where were you?!  Where the fuck were you?!  I needed you!  I was scared, I was alone, I woke up and you weren't there, you were never there!  I needed you, I needed you, I didn't know what was happening, I didn't know what to expect, I almost died, I was in a coma, I needed you, and you weren't there.  I was so scared, I was all alone, and there was...blood...and...it hurt.  God, I've never been so scared in my life, I was dying, I knew that I was dying, all I wanted was for you to be there, for you to...just be there...I was alone, I was cold, it was so cold, and the blood, and it hurt, and I didn't want to die."

        "You remember," Dr. Romano said.  "You remember getting shot."

        "He shot me once," Dave said.  "I fell.  He kicked me over until I was on my back and then he handed his gun to his friend, and his friend emptied the gun in me.  I tried to stay conscious, I didn't want to die, but I could feel it coming, darkness, death, I could feel it, I didn't want to die, it hurt, and there was blood, it was just pouring out of me, and they were gone, they'd left, they knew I was dead."

        "You're not dead."

        "You don't care."

        The world spun for a moment and he found himself flat on his back, pinned down, Dr. Romano over him.  "I care."

        "About yourself!  You care about yourself and your authority and your dog and your ass and you don't give a fuck about anyone else as long as you and the bottom line are all right.  There's a reason the whole hospital hates you, Dr. Romano, and it's not because you're short and it's not because you're bi, it's because you're an asshole, you're selfish and blind and arrogant and self-centered and you don't care about healing or patients or any of the noble reasons people go into medicine, you care about yourself and politics and money.  You're so self-absorbed that you have this beautiful smart blonde woman in your home every day and you've never hit on her once.  You're so self-absorbed that, god, I was killing myself trying to get you to let me lick your balls, but I wasn't good enough for you, I will never be good enough for you."

        "You're better than I am.  Get up, Kerry expects you at noon and I'm giving you an appointment with Dr. Wynes."  Dr. Romano was leaving the bed.

        "Who's - - the shrink?" Dave asked, sitting up.  "You're better than I am."  "You're better than I am."  "You're better than I am."

        "She's an excellent psychologist."  Dr. Romano pulled on his robe and left the room.

        When Dave showed up for work, Kerry said, "You have an appointment upstairs.  I expect you back here at one, Dave."

        "Sure thing, Chief.  So, does everybody know I'm psycho?"

        "You've been through a traumatic ordeal.  A little therapy is perfectly normal."

        "Besides, we've all known you're nuts since we met you," Carter said.

        "Later," Dave said, grinning, going upstairs.

        He talked to Dr. Wynes, who was fairly relaxed the entire hour.  He just sat and talked about what had happened, what happened before the shooting, what happened when he woke up afterward.  The kids who'd done it had been arrested.  They hadn't gone to trial yet, but he wouldn't be called for a witness, maybe.  Being a star witness would be cool, but he wasn't eager to get up and tell everyone how stupid he'd been, either.

        He hadn't remembered the shooting.  He thought maybe that seeing blood and fainting had brought it back to him.  It had been hazy, even then, until he'd started to talk to Dr. Romano about coming out of the coma, at which point he'd also started talking about being shot as it came back to him in a rush, but a clear rush, and he could remember it in detail, odd sharp-focus detail.  He hadn't cried then, but he cried now, telling Dr. Wynes, and she just handed him the box of tissues and looked like she wanted him to keep talking, looked understanding, so he kept talking.

        The hour ended.

        "So did I do it right?" he asked.  "I'm not real practiced at talking to shrinks."

        "I'd like to see you again."

        "Most women do."

        "You'll come back Friday?"

        "Friday..."  He tried to remember.

        "I'll check your schedule with Dr. Weaver and schedule an appointment."

        "So what are we going to talk about?  I'd like to think of stuff to say beforehand."

        "I don't want a rehearsed speech, Dave.  But I would like to hear something about Dr. Romano."

        He swallowed.  "Dr. Romano."

        "Dr. Romano.  I'll see you Friday."

        "Shit."

        He went down to work.

        It was a fairly calm day, for him at least.  He still wasn't doing traumas, so he stuck to his boring slow patients, which was still work, with tricky diagnoses and bizarre symptoms, so he got to exercise his brain.  When he finished, he went home, ate dinner, and went upstairs, to the third floor, where Dr. Romano had been sleeping, and jerked off in the bed, on the bed, shooting his semen across the sheets in a blatant show of hatred and sexual disgust, and went downstairs, showered, and went to bed in Dr. Romano's bed in Dr. Romano's room.

        Monday, he got another check-up from Mark.  "Put me in the game, boss, I'm ready."

        "Yosh, page Romano for me," Mark said.  "Dave, you know I have to."

        "You know I can do this," Dave said.

        "Yeah, he hasn't passed out for days now," Carter said.

        "Don't you have a boil to lance or something?" Dave asked.

        "How's the therapy coming?"

        "I'm seeing her tomorrow," Dave said.  "Done me no good so far."

        "Obviously," Carter said.  Dave smacked him.

        Dr. Romano came down, read Dave's chart.  He signed his consent.  "Don't push it.  It gets to be too much, back off; I don't need anyone working on patients who isn't ready.  Mark, I want you to watch him," Dr. Romano ordered on his way out again.

        "Thank you," Mark said.  "Dave, you're cleared for takeoff."

        "About time," Dave muttered.

        "You heard the man," Carter said.  "Don't push it."

        "So what's the worst that can happen?"

        "You could faint again.  You could have a nervous breakdown in the E.R.  You could flip out and start charging the paddles for an unintended use."

        "I'm not going to go stark raving mad just because I got shot," Dave said.  "I got shot, I got better, now I'm getting back to work.  I fainted once, because I was repressing my memories or some shit like that.  Now I'm fine and I want to do my job."

        "Hey, I get it," Carter said.

        "Good.  You really think I'll end up losing it?"

        "You might.  I wouldn't be surprised.  You've been under a lot of stress."

        "Everyone who works here is under stress.  Even Randy, and she does jack shit."

        "But you were shot.  And you have some love-life drama happening again."

        "There is no drama.  There is no love life.  Shut up."

        "Are you still living with him?"

        "I don't know if he's still living there, but I am."

        "He moved out?"

        "I don't know."

        "Ask Rebecca."

        "We don't talk about him."

        "You don't?"

        "We don't."

        "Why not?"

        "If I were going to lose my mind, and if I were going to kill someone, I'd kill him."

        Friday they talked about Mark and Kerry.

        Tuesday they talked about Rebecca and Gretel.

        Tuesday night, Wednesday night, and Thursday night, he masturbated in Dr. Romano's bed again, on the third floor, where he knew Dr. Romano had to be sleeping because he'd caught Rebecca cleaning up there.

        Friday they talked about his recent E.R. cases.

        "Dr. Malucci."

        "Dr. Romano," he said, eyes on the magazine before him on the floor.  Gretel went over to sniff at Dr. Romano.

        "Give me five dollars."

        "What?  No way."

        "Is your wallet upstairs?  Sign this while I'm gone."  Dr. Romano dropped papers and a pen before him, heading for the staircase.

        Dave looked at the papers.  Blinked.  Read.  Blinked again.  Dr. Romano was with him again, and he assumed that Dr. Romano had taken money from his wallet.  Five dollars.  Because the papers before him said that he, David Malucci, had bought this piece of property, this gorgeous house, from Robert Romano for $5.00

        "What is this?"

        "Sign where it says, keep the ones I stapled for you, have a nice day."

        "You're selling me your house."

        "So you can read."

        "What the fuck is this?"

        "You were worried that if I stopped liking you you'd have nothing left.  This is yours.  If you decide to kick me out, you'll have this beautiful home all to yourself.  You have a place to live and no one can take it from you."

        "You're giving me your house."

        "I'm selling it to you."

        "For five dollars."

        "Yes."

        "What about Rebecca?"

        "She works for me.  If you kick me out you're free to try to hire her yourself."

        "Are you leaving?"

        "If you tell me to go."

        "You'd take Gretel?"

        "Gretel's mine."

        "The furniture?"

        "Comes with the house.  Except the stereo."

        "I want the stereo."

        "It's mine."

        "I'll pay you for it."

        "You can't afford it."

        Dave rose to his knees, kneeling before Dr. Romano, looking up, hands on Dr. Romano's hips.  The first time he'd touched Dr. Romano in a week.  "I'll pay you for it."  Not teasing, not joking.

        "You can't afford it."

        "Installment plan."  He opened Dr. Romano's pants, reached inside, pulled out Dr. Romano's cock.  Did a little rub and tug to make it harder, started licking at it, couldn't stop, felt so good, tasted so good, couldn't stop, kept licking, all over, oh god...

        Dr. Romano came in his mouth.

        He closed Dr. Romano's pants again.  Breathing hard, he held onto Dr. Romano's hips for a moment, forehead resting on Dr. Romano's stomach, nerves twitching.

        "You can't afford it," Dr. Romano told him.

        "I want it," he said.

        "It's mine."

        "Practically mine by now."

        "It's mine.  It's always been mine, it always will be mine."

        "Everything's yours."

        "The house is yours."

        "You gave it to me.  And I'm yours anyway."

        "You gave yourself to me.  You can take yourself back again."

        "I can leave you.  But you can't take back the house."

        "No, I can't."

        "It's mine."

        "It's yours."

        "I can tear it down, I can sell it, I can kick you out, I can do whatever I want with it."

        "Yes, you can."

        "You gave it to me, and you can't take it back.  It's permanent.  It's mine."  He laughed, without humor, still holding onto Dr. Romano for support.  "I gave you myself, and I can't take it back, either.  It's permanent.  I'm yours.  I can't stop being in love with you.  I can't stop wanting you.  I'm infatuated, I'm obsessed, I love you and I can't stop, it hurts so much and it feels so good and I love you so much I hate you now, I hate you for what you've done to me, what you've been doing to me, god, I'm so in love with you, I'm so in love with you."  He closed his eyes.  "You can tear me down, you can sell me, you can kick me, you can do whatever you want with me."

        Dr. Romano moved back a step, taking Dave's hands; Dave stood.  "Take Rebecca out for lunch."

        "Why?"

        "You need to see something besides this place and the E.R.  Take Rebecca out for lunch."

        "Give me some money."

        "You can afford it."

        "Come with us?"

        "I don't want to spend my free time with my housekeeper."

        "I'm not going to kick you out, you know."

        "You'd better not.  Take her someplace nice.  Change your clothes.  And, Dave," Dr. Romano said as Dave was turning to go.  Dave turned back, waiting.  "Next time you get the urge to give me a blowjob, don't do it in front of Gretel."

        "Oh god."  Dave went up the stairs, finally laughing.

        "Why?  What's going on?"

        "Comb your hair while you're at it.  Go, go, hurry."

        "What's wrong with my hair?"

        Dr. Romano's study door opened.  "Dr. Malucci."

        "Dr. Romano."  He ran his fingers through his hair nervously.  Dr. Romano was in business attire, dark suit, and behind Dr. Romano, seated in the study, were a similarly attired man and woman.

        "Come in here, you need to sign some papers."

        "Papers for what?" he asked, coming across the living room.  "Not now, sweetheart," he told Gretel.

        "Dr. Malucci," Dr. Romano said, as the man and woman stood, "meet Elliot Stabler and Olivia Benson.  Elliot has some papers for you to sign.  Once you've put your signature on every proper dotted line, Olivia will explain to you what you've accomplished."

        "You want me to sign this stuff first, and then you'll tell me what it is?" Dave asked.

        "Live dangerously," Dr. Romano said.  "That should appeal to you."

        "Is this an exercise in trust, or a test of my stupidity?"

        "I like to think of it as seeing how well you follow orders."

        Dave turned to Elliot, who placed a stack of papers on Dr. Romano's desk, hand planted firmly over the document to obscure the contents, other hand pointing to the dotted line.

        "If you'll just sign right here," Elliot said, and Olivia smiled and held out a pen.

        Dave looked to Dr. Romano.  "If this doesn't work out to my advantage, I'm kicking you out of this house."  He accepted the pen and signed numerous times as Elliot flipped from page to page.  Once he'd finished, Elliot paged through the stack to ensure that nothing had been missed.

        "Olivia, why don't you tell Dave what he's won," Dr. Romano said, escorting Elliot from the room and closing the door.

        Dave sat on the sofa with Olivia.  "So, did I just sign away my life's savings?  Did I promise my first-born child?  Did I hand over my medical license?"

        "Nothing nearly so dire," she said with a smile.  "Would you like the information in detailed legalese or simple layman's terms?"

        "I'm a doctor, not a lawyer.  Just give me the bottom line."

        "Everything that Dr. Romano owns, his money, investments, properties, accounts, half of it is yours."

        "What?"

        "His homes in California, New York, England, France, Canada, and the Bahamas are half yours.  His-"

        "What's he doing with seven houses?  Wait - - so, what, I own half of everything.  So I can totally run around spending his money and he can't stop me."

        "That is correct.  You are the joint owner in his every venture, and you do not need his approval or permission to act."

        "So I could sell all of his stocks and invest everything in the Belgian waffle market and he couldn't stop me."

        "That is correct."

        "That's insane.  How much is it?  Don't tell me.  I don't want to know.  What's the catch?"

        "There is no catch."

        "I could have him bankrupt if I felt like it, and there's no catch."

        "No catch."

        "There has to be a catch.  What aren't you telling me?"

        "No catch."

        "Listen, I don't know about your world, but where I'm from, you don't just hand over your fortune, your huge big crazy fortune, to somebody you're not even getting along with.  I mean, what am I supposed to do now?  Go out and - - you know, I wouldn't mind having a house in the Bahamas."

        "Dr. Romano wanted you to know that we've drawn up your housekeeper's contract, and as she's signed it already, she now is under the employ of Dr. Romano and yourself.  Also, you are listed as one of the dog's two owners."

        "I get Gretel?"

        "You're sharing her with Dr. Romano, but yes, you get Gretel."

        "He loves Gretel.  She's all he has."

        "All he has he's just quite generously shared with you, Dr. Malucci."  She was sorting through the papers, and she handed him a stack.  "These are yours.  I suggest that you keep them safe so that in case of an emergency you can prove ownership.  Have a nice day."

        Dave stood, following her to the study door.  She left the house with Elliot.  Dr. Romano closed the door and looked across the room at Dave.

        "You know what?  First I'm going to fly to the Bahamas, first class.  Then I'm going to lie on the beach by my house and let my investments make money for me while I'm on vacation.  Then I'm going to take my housekeeper and my dog on a trip to California.  Then I'm going to donate a fat lump of money to County General so that they can afford to pay their staff a decent salary.  Then - - who were they, by the way?"

        "Elliot's from the bank.  Olivia's my lawyer."

        "My bank.  My lawyer."

        "Yes."

        "My house.  My stereo."

        "Yes."

        "My Gretel.  My Rebecca."

        "Yes."

        Dave walked over and put his hands on Dr. Romano's shoulders.  Dr. Romano looked up at him warily.  "My Dr. Romano."

        "Don't be so greedy."

        "You trust me enough to share all of this with me, all of your life with me.  And you trust me enough to believe that a long-term investment in me is worth it, that you can share all of this with me and expect me to stick around for it."

        "Dave-"

        "You're in love with me, you have to be."

        "Watch the hands."  Dave's fingers were stroking down Dr. Romano's chest now.

        "You're in love with me."  Dave kissed Dr. Romano.

        "I never said that."

        "You said that you like me."

        "I like Brussels sprouts, Dave.  It's not meaningful."

        "You want to take me upstairs and fuck me?"

        "Are you going to interpret it as making love?"

        "Yes."

        "You don't owe me sex."

        "Not even as a thank-you?"

        "For what?"

        "Giving me Gretel."

        "She's still mine."

        "She's mine, too.  God you kiss so fucking well."

        "Suck me."

        "Suck me."

        "I said it first."

        "I don't owe you sex."

        "I'm chief of staff."

        "I'm off duty."

        "On your knees, Dave."

        "On yours, Dr. Romano."

        Dr. Romano drew on Dave's tongue, backing Dave against the front door.  Dave was sure he'd won.  Dr. Romano's hand reached between Dave's thighs, fingers pressing up against Dave's balls. Dave moaned, leaning against the door for support.

        Dr. Romano eased away from Dave's kiss.  "You want me to fuck you?" he asked, voice low and firm, hand cupping Dave's balls through thin fabric.  Dave moaned slightly, turned on by the words because he knew what they meant, but not really registering that he was supposed to do anything about them.  Dr. Romano asked again, "Do you want me to fuck you?"  The cupping hand squeezed a little and Dave jerked, moaning.  "Do you want me to fuck you?"

        "Yes," Dave said, finally finding an answer.

        "Rebecca," Dr. Romano said, raising his voice, not removing his hand.

        "Yes, Dr. Romano," came the reply from the kitchen.

        "How soon is dinner?"

        "Five minutes, Dr. Romano."

        "Not enough time," Dr. Romano told Dave.  "I don't eat my food burned or cold."

        "We have time."  God, that felt so good, so good his cock was trying to break through his clothes to get to Dr. Romano.

        Dr. Romano's hand gently massaged Dave's balls through the cloth of Dave's pants.  "We don't."

        "Fuck me."  It was hard to think of words, much less manage to say them.

        "Not now."

        "I'll fuck you."  Too long, it had been too long, it had been months, he hadn't come with Dr. Romano in months.

        "In your dreams."

        "Suck me."  Oh god yes, that mouth would feel so good...  It might even bring him some relief from this torture.  But it was a torture, full torture, all on its own.  He could remember that hot wet mouth, that tongue, god, that tongue...

        "In your wildest dreams."

        "I'll suck you."

        "Later, maybe."  Dr. Romano kissed him.  "Time to eat."  Dr. Romano's hand left Dave's crotch; Dr. Romano walked to the kitchen.  Dave tried to will away his erection so that he could appear at the table without embarrassing himself.

        Dinner went fairly well.  Dave got over his horniness somewhat, or at least tried to temper it, by thinking of other matters, such as all of those papers that he'd just signed.  Dr. Romano was sharing everything with him.  What did it mean?  It was a commitment, a partnership.  Marriage?  Yet there had been no declaration of love - - but then, why did it matter?  Why did he care about three empty words when he had been granted access to and equal ownership of everything that Dr. Romano had?  The words weren't empty, though, not when he said them, and he wanted to hear them.  Didn't he deserve to hear them?  He sure as hell didn't deserve a house in France.

        He was getting mixed messages.  He was ignored, then showered with ridiculously extravagant riches.  He was pushed aside, then groped.  Not that he was being entirely straightforward either, as far as that went.

        They made quite a pair, he supposed.  Too many self-esteem issues in one relationship made for an interesting time, at least.  They were completely arrogant and self-centered, but they had low self-esteem at the same time.  They loved themselves, loved each other, hated themselves, and felt unworthy of each other.  Or something like that.

        The meal ended.  Dave decided that he could have an angst fest-international coffee moment later; right now he was going to get laid.  No matter what their relationship was doing, he might as well get sex out of it, either as the beginning or end of a beautiful friendship.  "Come upstairs and fuck me," he said as Rebecca cleared the table.

        "Subtle," Rebecca muttered into the sink.

        "No commentary needed," he told her.

        "Go ahead," Dr. Romano said.  "I'll be there in a minute."

    "I'm going to start without you," Dave warned, heading for the kitchen doorway.

        "Horny child," Dr. Romano muttered.

        "Do you love me?" Dave asked, turning in the doorway.

        "I thought you were leaving," Dr. Romano said from his chair.

        "Do you love me?"

        Dr. Romano glanced over in Dave's direction.  "If I say yes will you let me fuck you?"

        "You can fuck me if you say yes or no."

        "Then no.  I don't."  He reached up just in time to grab in mid-air the dishrag aimed at his head.  "Rebecca, you're fired."

        "You're getting a raise," Dave told her.

        "Go wash the front windows," Dr. Romano said.  She snatched the rag from his hand and stalked out of the room, muttering to herself.  Dr. Romano stood and leaned casually against the table.  As he opened his mouth the phone rang on the wall by the archway.  "Get that."

        "I can't answer your phone."

        "It's your house.  Dave, everybody knows you're my...living here."

        "I'm your what?  I'm your what?  What were you going to say?"

        "Answer the damned phone."

        Dave grabbed the receiver.  "Hello.  Junie?  Oh, holy shit.  I'll tell him."  He hung up the phone.  "They need you for a heart transplant and there was a car accident."

        "I can't do both."

        "Junie says you can do whichever's still alive when you get there."

        "Come on," Dr. Romano said, heading for the front door.

         "No problem," Dave said, grinning.  "Can I drive?"

        "No."

        When they got there, the transplant patient was ready in the O.R.  Elizabeth was taking care of an accident patient; the other two involved in the crash had died.  Dr. Romano said to Dave, "You want to go home or stay?"

        "Can I watch you?"

        "Will you behave yourself?"

        "I'll be quiet as a mouse."

        "Scrub up," Dr. Romano said.  "Peter," he said, heading for a sink.  "Dr. Dave will be observing this evening."

        "Hey," Peter said to Dave.

        "Hey," Dave said.  "What're you doing here anyway?"

        "I was supposed to be off two hours ago but I told Alicia that whenever her heart came in I'd be the one giving it to her," Peter said.

        "God, you guys wash your hands like this all the time?  I'd get sick of it."

        "Better than the alternative," Dr. Romano said.  "Besides, standing here gives us a chance to bond."

        "So what do you guys talk about?" Dave asked.

        "The old white guys talk about golf," Peter said.  "Elizabeth complains about Dr. Romano.  I try to stay out of it."

    "Very wise, Peter," Dr. Romano said.  "Very wise."

        The transplant went well.  Dave held body parts in his hands all of the time, including the human heart, and he saved lives on a regular basis.  Still, it was pretty awesome to watch one person's heart being given to a complete stranger, and to watch it work.

        After the procedure Dr. Romano left, leaving Peter to finish the post-op details.  He drove Dave home again.  "You want your own car?"

        "I can afford one now.  I can afford a fleet of cars if I want."

        "What would you like?" Dr. Romano asked.

        "How long do you have?"

        "We don't have room to park a fleet of cars, Dave."

        "So we'll buy a garage."

        "I wish that you thought that I was modestly wealthy."

        "Nothing modest about you, Dr. Romano.  Except that goddamned bathrobe - - god, if I'd known you were fucking naked under that thing - - every time I see it I just, my hands itch, I just want to-"

        "Why the sudden burst of vulgarity?"

        "I'm so fucking horny."

        "We're almost home.  Then we can go upstairs and I'll fuck you to your heart's content."

        "Oh god."

        "What?"

        "It's...  It'll be the first time we've been together since I was shot.  My body's a mess of scars.  You don't want that.  It looks awful.  You'll never be able to get a hard-on seeing me like that."

        "I've seen it, Dave."

        "They're awful.  You won't want me."

        "You say that with great conviction."

        "My body looks like a patchwork, like Frankenstein's monster or something.  You won't want me."

        "I will."

        "No way."

        "Let's make a deal."

        "What deal?"

        "If I want you, and I fuck you, you owe me a blow job."

        "And?"

        "If I can't go through with it - - not because of outside interference but because I genuinely don't want you, I owe you a blow job."

        "Okay."

        "At the moment of the recipient's choosing."

        "No way."

        "Scared?"

        "Hell yes.  You'll ask me to do it at some weird freaky time."

        "And you wouldn't?"

        "I'd make you do me in the E.R."

        "I know."

        "Where would you want me?  If you could have me anywhere?"

        "I'm not falling for this."

        "Come on, tell me.  Tell me.  Anywhere - - anywhere and any way you could have me.  What would it be?"

        "I'd blow you in my office."

        "Your office at the hospital?"

        "Yes."

        "You want to go down on me in your office."

        "Yes."

        "Are there cameras in there?"

        "Don't get any ideas.  Don't even think about it."

        "That would be so hot.  You have serious psychological issues happening, Dr. Romano.  That office is the center of your administrative power.  It's like a symbol.  And blowing me, I'm the one in power.  So, I don't know, it's probably something about humbling yourself or - - I don't know, I go to a shrink, I don't even play one on TV or anything."

        "How's that going?"

        "She's great.  Hey, you can't read her files or anything, can you?"

        "No."

        "Good."

        "You talk about me?"

        "Maybe."

        "What do you say?"

        "I said maybe."

        "So you don't?  You don't even mention me?"

        "What's to mention?"

        "I'm your boss."

        "Dr. Green's my boss."

        "You're living in my house."

        "My house."

        "This is why I don't love you.  You're such a bastard."

        "You want me to spend my therapy sessions babbling on about you?"

        "You should!"

        "And say what?"

        "That you love me and you forgive me for being an asshole."

        "You're an asshole?"

        "All of the time.  You didn't notice?" Dr. Romano asked dryly.

        "I'm an asshole, too.  We're perfect for each other."

        "Probably."  Dr. Romano let him into the house and kissed him.

        They went upstairs together, Dr. Romano leading the way in the darkness.  Reaching Dr. Romano's room, Dave said, "This is my bedroom now.  Officially.  My house, my bedroom."  He found Dr. Romano's hand, pulled Dr. Romano close.  "This is your bedroom."

        "Remind me never to give you any more power."

        "Can we rename the hospital?"

        "No."

        "You wouldn't like Dave's Hospital?"

        "No one would come to us."

        "How about Dr. Romano's House of Surgery?"

        "Do you want me to fuck you or not?"

        "Guess," Dave said, kissing Dr. Romano, sliding his tongue into that wide mouth, god yes, it had been too long, too long.  He felt those skilled fingers unbuttoning his shirt, unbuttoning his cuffs, pushing his shirt down to the floor.  His brain remembered the scarring, and he became distracted from the hot wet kiss, wondering when he'd feel the rejection he knew would come.

        The kiss ended - - here it comes, he thought - - but Dr. Romano dropped to kneel before him, startling, shocking, making his mind do a one-eighty.  Dr. Romano opened his pants, bared his feet, pulled down his pants and boxers.  Dr. Romano gave his cock just a little lick and suck, enough to make him feel the burn run through his body but not enough to make him come.  Then Dr. Romano stood and pushed him towards the bed.  "On your back, Dave."

        "You're still dressed."

        "On your back."  Dr. Romano gave him a gentle shove and he went down, on his back on the mattress, head on a pillow, feeling completely exposed.  Then Dr. Romano came over him on all fours, sat back, ran a hand down his chest slowly.  "You're still in pain."

        "Sometimes."  Why deny it?  Dr. Romano was, hello, a doctor, and knew all about recovery periods, knew what had happened to him, would know if he lied and said that he never felt soreness.  His body had been through a lot, and his muscles were healing still.

        "Tell me if I hurt you."

        "You won't."

        "You trust me?"

        "Yes."

        "You shouldn't."

        "You trust me."

        "I've hurt you."

        "I've hurt you."

        "Not on purpose."

        "You never hurt me to hurt me.  Fuck me already."

        Dr. Romano kissed him in response.  He wrapped his arms around Dr. Romano's shoulders, pulling Dr. Romano's body down against his.  Dr. Romano stretched out over him, still clothed.

        "Take off your clothes," he said when they parted for air.

        Dr. Romano didn't comply, just slid down and then slid off to the side, lying beside him, to his right, right hand passing over his abdomen.  Dr. Romano's fingers traced over the stitches and scarring, over the angry puckering of his flesh, over the bulletholes and scalpel lines.  His torso was a healing crosswork.

        "It looks worse than it is."

        "Bullshit," Dr. Romano said.

        "Did they tell you what happened?"

        "Yes."

        "They were using that kid, that little boy-"

        "I know."

        "-as a test subject.  To see how good their shit was.  Because they didn't want to use it themselves, no, they weren't lousy shitty drug users, they just sold the stuff.  They couldn't take drugs, no way.  But they needed to be sure that it was good cocaine, that it was pure heroin, so they gave it to this little boy."

        "I know."

        "I don't know what I was thinking.  I don't know why I thought that anything I had to say would make a difference."

        "You should have called the police."

        "I know.  I was going to.  I was going to."

        "People who will do that to children don't have any regard for human life."

        "I kind of got that when he shot me."

        "Six times," Dr. Romano said.

        "I thought that we were going to fuck."

        "Do you want me to?"

        "No."

        "I didn't think so."

        "I want you to make love to me."

        "Young men don't talk like that."

        "Make love to me."  He turned his head on the pillow, looked into Dr. Romano's brown eyes.  "Please."

        "Coming up next, on the Lifetime Original Movie," Dr. Romano muttered, and kissed him, slowly, tenderly, carefully opening his mouth, licking him gently.  Dave moaned just a little, feeling a thrill of pleasure shudder through him.  He rolled to his side, arms coming around Dr. Romano, easing their bodies together.  Dr. Romano rubbed against him a little, kissed him harder.  Dr. Romano's hand slipped over his side and up his back, tracing over more scars, fingers following the ridges on his skin.

        They kissed, and stroked, and rolled around a little, taking their time, experiencing each other all over again.  Then Dr. Romano reached over to the nightstand.  Dave's body tightened in anticipation, cock hardening; he knew what that meant, knew what came after the reach to the nightstand.

        "I don't want to hurt you.  If you're on your back-"

        "I can do it," Dave said.

        "It will strain-"

        "I know what it will strain.  I'm not going to pop my stitches.  Fuck me."

        "Is that what you want?" Dr. Romano asked, getting a bit of lube on one finger.

        Dave swallowed.  "No."

        "I didn't think so."

        "Make love to me."

        Dr. Romano eased one finger inside of Dave's tight body.  Dave gasped at the intrusion.  "Say 'please,'" Dr. Romano said calmly, pushing in farther with a little twist.

        "Please," Dave gasped, feeling that one finger thrust and thrust again, deeper.  Then two, and two fingers went in deeper than one, thrust far and set off those old, familiar, shattering fireworks.  Three fingers now, how could he possibly have forgotten what this did to him, how it opened him and slayed him and exposed him and filled him up more than he could stand.  He couldn't tolerate it, this penetration, this violation, this supreme torture of being entered, being known.

        Dr. Romano entered his body in one long, slow slide home.  Then the rhythm began, slow and steady, no frantic frenzied coupling here, only this even pace that gradually wore down his every last defense.  He had nothing to stand up to this regular stroke, every thrust triggering his prostate gland, filling him up inside, making him intimately and terrifyingly aware that Dr. Romano was inside of him, inside of him where it was dark and deep and secret, inside of him where it counted, so far inside there was no way to excise the invader.

        Not an invasion.  He'd invited Dr. Romano in, from the very start, begged for attention, begged for more and more, and now he'd gotten what he'd wanted, now he had it.  He had Dr. Romano.  In his bed, in his heart, in his body.

        He was doing it again, he realized, as Dr. Romano made love to him by ever so carefully fucking him through the mattress with even, erotic, punishing strokes.  He was lying there, legs up, gasping for breath, whispering, "I love you I love you I love you I love you" as though he knew no other words, in any language.  He was watching Dr. Romano, and he was being watched in return.  They gazed into each other's eyes.  He couldn't stop saying it, didn't remember how to work his mouth, didn't remember anything but how good the last thrust felt, knowing that the next would feel even better.

        Some men couldn't reach orgasm through being fucked; they needed for their cocks to be touched.  Other men could come solely from being fucked; trigger their prostate enough and they'd come good and hard.  Dave had discovered - - or, Dr. Romano had discovered for him - - that he was one of the latter.  Not that he ever minded a little attention paid to his cock, but he could come quite happily and thoroughly without it.

        This time, Dr. Romano reached down and stroked him, did a little squeeze and twist, flicked a thumb over the head, rubbed down and pulled up again, passed a thumb over the head, and he came, came hard, came screaming, hips lifting up against Dr. Romano.

        Dr. Romano relentlessly pushed onward, and he moaned with pleasure, no longer distracted by forcing back an orgasm, now able to enjoy being fucked to its fullest.  God that felt good, indescribable, the clean strokes in and out, sending his nerve endings into brilliant flashes of pleasure pure as snow, the jolts to his prostate giving him mini-orgasms on every thrust, the feel of fullness as Dr. Romano pistoned, the smell of sex, the sounds of sex, the feel of god yes being made love to, no rose petals or candles or violins, just being fucked by someone he loved.  Being fucked by someone who loved him.

        The panting had turned into gasping and was nearing hyperventilation now; Dr. Romano came, resting on his body.  They settled, coming apart and refitting back together on their sides, facing each other.  He stroked the back of Dr. Romano's head, one finger tracing the line on Dr. Romano's scalp where hair began.

        "Dr. Romano?"

        "Hmm," Dr. Romano said into his neck.

        "Do you love me?"

        "Hmm."

        "I know I'm too young for you and I don't have any money and I don't come from a wealthy WASP family who can trace its roots back to the Mayflower and I went to med school in Grenada and you should be with Kerry, or Elizabeth, or Cleo.  Or Mark, or Luka, or Peter, or Carter, or-"

        "Yes?"

        "But I'm in love with you.  And I'm here.  And they're not."

        "Yes?"

        "Are you in love with me?"

        "Yes."

        He went still.  "Yes?"

        "Will you stop babbling now?"

        "You said yes."

        "I said 'Will you stop babbling now.'"

        Dave untangled their bodies and rolled off of the bed, staring at Dr. Romano.  "You said yes."

        Dr. Romano rolled to his stomach and pulled up the covers.

        "Dr. Romano?"

        Dr. Romano groaned into the pillow.

        Dave grinned.  This was better than a home run, better than a touchdown, better than getting the vein on the first try, better than watching someone's potential flatline start to-

        "What?" Dr. Romano demanded of the pillow.

        He crawled onto the bed, waited over Dr. Romano.

        Dr. Romano rolled to his back, looked up at Dave with impatience and suspicion warring in brown eyes.

        "Are you in love with me?"

        Dr. Romano took Dave's jaw in two hands and pulled Dave down until they were nose-to-nose.  "Dave, I am in love with you.  Either suck me or let me sleep."

        Dave grinned and kissed him.  "I love you."

        "I got that already."

        "My bed, my bedroom, my house.  My money, my car, my property, my stocks.  My Gretel.  My Rebecca."

        "Our bed, bedroom, house, money, car, property, stocks, Gretel, and Rebecca."  Dr. Romano slid a possessive hand down Dave's back, kissed him.  "My Dave."

        Dave kissed Dr. Romano in return.  Smiled down at him.  "My Robert."