Benton and Corday

Dr. Elizabeth Corday enters the ER of Cook County General just after 7am. It's a cold January morning and she's due in at 8am but she is arriving early to catch up on paperwork . . . amongst other things. She walks in and looks around in an attempt to be casual but still search for the person she is seeking. No luck, she doesn't see him. Her face falls and she continues on towards the elevators. The doors are just about to close when she hears a familiar voice say, "Lizzie, wait!" A hand reaches into the doors and holds them opened. They pull back to reveal a very unwelcome sight: 'Rocket' Romano.

"Good morning, Dr. Romano," Elizabeth says in her English accent. She smiles politely but secretly wishes she could have shut that elevator door in his face.

"Morning, Lizzie," he replies as he boards the elevator with her. The doors close, this time for good. "So, you're assisting me in the bypass this morning, right?"

"Am I? Oh, I hadn't realized. I thought Peter was assisting."

"No, he's going to be in late. He called me last night to let me know. I left you a message but I guess you had already left."

"Yes, I suppose I had," Elizabeth says. She's disappointed to hear that Peter Benton won't be in this morning. She knows he was supposed to be on at eight just like her and she had been hoping they could talk for a few minutes before hand. She's been thinking a lot since their game of darts a few nights ago. It had been their second date. Well, not really a date. Peter seemed adamant to keep things on a friendly level, for now at least . . .

"Lizzie? You still with me?" Rocket says, breaking into her thoughts.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm just a little . . . distracted. What were you saying?" she says politely. He continues on with his story, something vulgar and ridiculous that she has very little interest in but she tries her best to pay attention.

They reach the surgical floor and Dr. Anspaugh catches up to them just outside the elevator doors. He says he needs to talk to Dr. Romano and the two men excuse themselves to go talk. Elizabeth is happy for the reprieve. This is her chance to get away and hide in a far corner of the dictation room until her shift starts. She only hopes Dr. Romano doesn't come looking for her.

It's nearly 10am when Peter Benton enters the locker room on the surgical floor. "Good morning, doctor," he hears as he enters. He looks up to see Dale Edson. Certainly not the first person he was hoping to see today.

"Morning Edson," he says as he makes his way to his locker.

"So, I heard you missed that quadruple bypass Romano did this morning. From what I hear it was really something."

"You hear quite a lot," Benton says with his head still in his locker.

Edson decides he's done with this conversation. "Well, I'm due in surgery in a few minutes. See you later Dr. Benton." With that he is gone. Peter breathes a sigh of relief. He's not in the mood to talk to Edson today. Not that he ever really feels like talking to Edson, but today especially.

He's late this morning because he had to take Reese to daycare. It was his first day there and Peter wanted to be there to see him off. He's still not too pleased with this whole arrangement. He knows Carla needs to get back to work but . . . well, it's hard for him to accept the thought of his little boy spending all day with strangers.

Peter continues rooting through his locker. Reese had drooled on his shirt this morning so he finds a clean one and begins changing into it. He has just removed the soiled shirt when he hears the door open behind him but doesn't turn around. He hopes silently that his visitor is not Edson again.

"Hello Peter," he hears. There is no need to turn around to know who has spoken. The voice could only be that of Elizabeth Corday. Still, Peter looks her way. "You're looking well this morning," she comments. Her eyes travel to his bare chest then back to his face. Peter suddenly realizes he is shirtless and scrambles to remedy the situation. Elizabeth grins at this frantic, fumbling attempt.

"How was the surgery this morning?" Benton asks as he quickly buttons the clean shirt.

"Fine . . . interesting really. You should have been there."

"Yeah, it was Reese's first day in daycare . . ." he begins.

"Oh, that's right. I had completely forgotten. Well, how'd the little guy seem? Was he very unhappy about the situation?" she asks with concern.

Peter looks at her and the corner of his mouth twitches up just slightly in an almost smile as he sees that she is truly worried as to how his son responded to being left with strangers for the first time. "He was fine. Better than Carla and I. She's going to be a wreck all day, I can already tell."

"Well, perhaps this is for the best though. Reese will get acquainted with other children and learn to interact. Social skills are important to development."

"So I'm told," Benton sort of laughs at this.

Corday smiles and looks down at his shirt. "Crooked," she says.

"Huh?"

"Crooked," she repeats and walks over to him. He stares down at her as she unbuttons the first button on his shirt. His mouth opens to say something but he is at a loss as to what to say. "Your shirt," she finally explains. "You buttoned it up crooked. See," she fingers a loose button at the bottom of his shirt. "An extra button down here and an extra hole up top. We can't very well have you going to rounds like that, now can we?" she grins at him and goes back to the buttons. She carefully unbuttons and rebuttons the shirt correctly. "There," she says softly as she finishes. "All done." She smoothes her hands down the front of the shirt along his chest.

"Uh, thanks," Peter says and turns quickly back to his locker and away from her hands. His cheeks are on fire and he's sure his face is bright red with embarrassment.

Elizabeth smiles at her effect on him. "I'd better get back now. See you later, Peter," she calls and then she is gone. He looks back at the door after she has gone and a hint of a smile graces his lips but it is gone as quickly as it came and he turns back to finish preparing for rounds.

To Be Continued . . .

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