Guess who's back, fuckers.

I know everything's kind of on fire right now, both figuratively and literally, but I've still been working on the latest chapter intermittently for the last week or so, and figured what the hell, at least one thing should be normal around here.

Not sure how many of these little epilogue chapters I'm gonna write, but I've got a few ideas and prompts swimming around my fucked up head right now, so I'll probably be typing them up every now and again. What can I say, it's my first major fic ever, I've invested at least a few hours a day for 2 or 3 month's time on this fuckin' thing, it's hard to let it go after so long!

Alright. I'll stop running my mouth. Go ahead and read away!

For the first time in well over a year, our favorite little ex-surgical hero, Robert Rocket Romano, failed to start his morning falling off his bed in a cold sweat, awful nightmares of helicopters and severed limbs plaguing his mind as he scrambled around the floor in a haze. Nor did he wake up with that searing pain in his left arm, almost as if he'd just hit into that damn rotor, leaving a wicked open wound in place of his lost upper extremity. No.

This time, he was greeted with the familiar scent of his lover's cologne, and the slow, steady thumping of a heartbeat in his right ear. A tuft of feathery black chest hair tickled his nose with each breath his companion took. He opened his eyes slowly, allowing them to adjust to the soft morning light that now streamed through his bedroom window, coloring everything in the room with rays from the hot white sun.

The one-armed doctor raised his head slightly to meet his favorite sleeping trauma surgeon only to find two chocolate colored eyes looking right back at him, still soft from a night's rest. Robert just sort of gazed into them for a while, almost afraid that this lovely little scene was merely a dream, a delusion to distract him from his devastating reality, and he'd just wake up moments later in his cold bed all alone.

He didn't, though. Of course he didn't. The writer of this erotic, sappy...downright FRIGHTENING 65+ thousand word was pretty cruel when it came to their abrupt, tragic break up, but she isn't a fucking monster.

Instead, the tall, brawny surgeon who lie in bed with him spoke, that rich velvety voice as smooth as a fresh shot of amaretto to Romano's ears.

"Morning, Robbie." Peter rumbled before lazily pressing a kissing the top of Robert's fat head, drawing a content sigh from the bald man as he did.

"Don't call me that, Petey." Robert grumbled right back in mock annoyance. "Christ, what time is it? I haven't slept this long in...oh God, what year is it?"

"Almost 9:30. We must've really tired each other out last night." The taller surgeon pointed out with a smile.

"Yeah, well, we really were quite overdue for another one of our little discussions, Dr. Benton."

"Very..." Peter remarked, running a hand over his chin and down his neck carefully, wincing a bit as he reached a particularly sensitive spot. "Jesus Christ. You got beard burn all over me!"

Romano laughed as the man lifted the sheet to gaze down at himself, only to conclude that every expanse of bare skin the weird, short man in bed with him had kissed was now covered in the same annoying, itchy rash that had popped up on his face over night.

"Oh, you think this is funny?" He whined at the bald man's amusement that was derived from his suffering. But Robert only laughed harder at Benton's grumpy face as his scowl deepened, then broke at the sight of his bald lover's bright smile and rosy colored dimples.

Peter brought a hand up to Robert's face as his fit of laughter slowly reduced to giggles, running his fingertips through the gingerbread colored hair that covered his chin, intermingled with little gray patches here and there.

"Since when did you decide to get one of these anyway?" He questioned the man, still admiring his scruffy salt and marmalade beard.

"I hear the ladies like it!" Romano snarked at him, still grinning at his lover. Benton took this as an opportunity to exact revenge on the bald man. He clambered on top of him while his guard was down, straddling his hips as he dug his fingers into his ribs, tickling the one armed doctor as he tried to squirm away pathetically.

"Well it just so happens that I like it quite a lot! Minus the awful rash! Does that make me a lady?" Peter questioned him, doubling his efforts as Romano tried to fight back with his one arm, not getting very far before he ran out of breath from his fits of laughter.

"No! Fuck off, Peter!" He yowled between uncontrollable laughter, still trying to squirm from where Peter had him pinned down. "This is assault! I swear to God, I'll scream!"

Robert gazed down to where his big gray behemoth of a dog lay on the floor, snoring away, once again uninterested in whatever her owner had gotten his ass into this time.

"Gretel, you hairy lump of fuck! Get up here and help me!" He yapped at her before Peter jabbed a spot that got him laughing too hard to beg for help as he writhed terribly, helpless against the trauma surgeon's brutal attack.

But the lazy canine on his bedroom floor merely picked her head up for a second, paying the short man just one bored glance before setting it back down on the wooden floorboards, continuing to wait patiently for her breakfast. Robert cursed as Peter lowered his head to meet his neck, blowing a big wet raspberry against where it met his jaw, only causing the former surgeon to squirm and yell even more.

Eventually, though, Peter's onslaught came to an end after a little while, his violent molesting dulled to a gentle caress of Romano's sides as he gazed once more into those coffee stained orbs. He brought one hand up to hold the bald man's face as he took in those handsome features he'd missed after so long.

Peter stroked Robert's cheek, gently grazing his pale skin through that bushy auburn beard.

"There it is," he whispered. "There's that smile."

"I could say the same for yourself..." Robert replied just as quietly, bringing his hand up to caress the back of Peter's head as he was pulled into a soft, loving kiss. With time, it grew more passionate, more deep, revealing the other's wants and needs that he'd had ever since that fateful day, and had just been dying to fulfill in each other's cruel absence.

Peter covered the bald man completely with his own tall, muscular form, holding his head in one hand as his knee edged up between Romano's legs. The man beneath him moaned softly into the kiss, clutching Peter's robust shoulders tightly as he spread his legs at the contact, prepared to let the man love him all over again.

They both flinched at the shrill sound of Robert's telephone, which screeched like an aggravated toddler who's parents were keeping them from buying a 500$ tablet despite the fact that they already had two at home. It rang a couple times before Peter reluctantly pulled himself off the man, allowing him to mercifully shut the offending machine up. Robert took the phone off the hook, fury covering his face, eager to find out who was on the other line so he could make them sorry they'd interrupted his precious time with Peter.

But his ears were only pierced even more as soon as the aggravated Karen on the other line began to explain herself.

"RAW-BERT!" Kerry squawked from where she sat, high and mighty, in Robert's former office, practically drooling at this opportunity to tear him a new one. The helicopter in my lovely little story hadn't killed her just yet.

"You were due in the ER over 3 hours ago! If you don't get your sorry ass down here in the next 10 minutes I swear to God," Oh yes, here come her two favorite words. "You're fired!" Her voice was like a set of nails on chalkboard.

Robert held the phone a good 6 inches away from his face, almost as if the thing was radioactive or something. Peter just stared at the screeching object as if it were something obscene, his rising excitement falling faster than the narrator's sanity during these trying times.

A cold shower had nothing on that woman.

"Awww. She hates you." Peter told him sweetly, careful to keep quiet as to save himself from a lecture of his own from the red headed demon. Robert stuck his tongue out at the man, before bringing the phone back to his ear, immediately regretting the decision and yanking it back away as Weaver decided to go off again.

"Well?! Are you gonna answer me, or should I just send you straight to the unemployment line?!"

And it was at that moment that Robert decided to do something that, when it comes to Kerry Weaver, you just don't do.

"You know what Kerry? Why don't you just shove it straight up your ass!" Robert yelled into the phone, attempting to get his usually silky, smooth voice to match the horrendously shrill noise that vaguely resembled human vocalization which was Kerry's voice.

"You just listen to me, Robert! I am your boss whether you like it or not—"

"No you listen to me, Kerry!" The bald man began indignantly, holding the telephone like an annoying Karen yelling into the bottom of her tacky iPhone 11 on speaker in a public park. The early 00s version of this, of course, with his mouth less than an inch from the receiver, the speaker pointing outward in the direction of his bedroom window in front of him.

Peter, though, was doing his absolute best to contain his laughter, his face reddening as he attempted to stifle himself with one of Robert's many decorative throw pillows.

"I've had just about enough of yours and that hospital's bullshit for an entire lifetime! I fucking quit!" He shouted. The feeling was to Robert like watching your favorite hockey team win the season for the first time in decades, or the sight of an entire hundred yard's worth of clean, fresh winter snow on your lawn on Christmas morning.

He swore that finally sticking it to the old broad was almost as satisfying as a discussion with Peter.

"Robert, you know damn well you can't just quit! We need someone to man the ER, so why don't you just quit kidding yourself and—"

"No, you quit kidding yourself, you wretched old bitch!" He was getting impatient now. "I'm sick of your shit and your stupid ER position, so you and everyone else in your little queendom can all get fucked!"

"Oh, and one last thing!" The other line went silent in complete and utter shock at the bald man's words. "That big ol' desk your sitting at? The one where you beat yourself with a little pocket rocket each and every time you belittle a colleague? Benton fucked me over that desk so hard I went blind for a straight minute after nutting all over the front drawer! Stop and think about that next time you hold a meeting in my office!"

And then he slammed the phone right down on the hook. Not perfectly, though. He missed a few times, and it took three or four good tries to actually set the thing back down right, so that all Weaver heard before he hung up was Robert angrily banging his phone against various spots on his nightstand.

The taller man beside him, now howling with laughter, nearly fell of the bed before wrapping an arm around his irritated bald companion to stabilize himself.

"Now...where were we?" Romano asked, as if they'd been interrupted by something small and monotonously ordinary, like a package at the door that needed to be signed for, or an untimely bathroom break.

"A pocket rocket?!" Peter wailed, still having yet to recover from his outburst. "Dr. Romano, you have such a way with words!"

"Yes, yes, I know. I'm brilliant. Now get your ass over here!" He demanded, effectively pulling Peter on top of him as best he could with one arm. The other man complied, covering him again, pulling him into another passionate kiss.

"Dr. Romano...I'm afraid we'll have to cut this particular discussion short." Peter mumbled against Robert's lips, causing the man beneath him to groan with despair.

"Who the fuck says?!" Robert yapped back, still clinging to Peter like a small child with his favorite toy.

"Reese says. I've gotta pick him up from Jackie's place." Peter explained, rolling off him to fetch his boxers. "I promised him I'd take him out to iHop for brunch."

"You got him back?"

"Yeah. Actually it happened to be the one good thing I got out of getting fired," Peter allowed himself a small laugh as he thought about the complete and total bust that was Roger's day in court. "As soon as they saw how much time I'd be able to spend with Reese because of my new position at Northwestern, Roger didn't stand a snowball's chance in Hell at full custody. 9-5, with weekends off. And it's quite a welcome adjustment after working your ass half off at County."

Robert gazed down for a moment, his thoughts shifting towards the young boy he hadn't seen in so long. Reese must be nearly as tall as him by now; which, if he was being honest, didn't say much.

"You think there's a snowball's chance your little munchkin still remembers me?" Robert asked quietly, more to himself than Peter.

"Are you kidding? He asks about you all the time!" The taller surgeon told him from where he was shrugging on his jeans.

"Oh yeah? And what'd you tell him?" Romano asked as he finally started to get dressed himself. "That you were only waiting for me to get knocked down to the bottom by hospital administration like a cheap Walmart piñata? He's a little young to be learning about corporate hierarchy, don't ya think Peter?"

"Actually, I told him you were taking a long vacation in Texas..." Peter said, suddenly right behind Romano, having walked around his obscenely large bed to wrap him up in his big arms, holding him from behind. Romano flinched slightly at the voice that was now right against his ear before relaxing into the touch, a little less than thrilled from the fact that Peter's sneaking abilities had continued to thrive.

"Don't worry, Robert," He rumbled, his mouth flush against the back of Robert's fat head, sending shivers down his spine. "You've still got my little man wrapped around your finger. He'll be thrilled to see you."

Robert turned his head slightly to press a kiss to Peter's cheek, smiling back at him.

"Just like his father." The bald man teased, before slipping out of Peter's grip to fetch his shirt and scurry off to feed Gretel.

to be continued, probably