Dream Weaver: For this story, Writer took a turn I think no one expected... It's a beautiful story, but something that no one is expecting... No one I think had attempted this pairing, and I think Writer has pulled it off wonderfully. I give to you, Writers:
Rocket’s Red Glare
Kerry Weaver held on for dear life. Her small hands clung to him, nearly clawing. He seemed to be clinging back but stronger, more forceful. His breath in her ear was ragged, and she had no time to think before he tightened his grip on her, taking her breath away. She gasped involuntarily.
“Robert…” her voice was distant and still. She hung on.
An hour earlier, she’d been at the admit desk, glancing at the board when her pager had gone off. It had been Romano, and she’d ignored it – as usual. The only times she made it a point to go see him was when they had scheduled meetings or appointments. Now, was not one of those times, so she’d continued with her rounds. It was only fifteen minutes ago that she’d gained word that he was in trouble – and like a good underling, she’d rushed to see about him.
His office was dark, and he’d stood in a black corner, brooding. His face was shadows as she stood in the threshold, in the silence, and regarded him as best she could without feeling obtrusive.
“Robert?” she’d asked, finally breaking the silence.
After his failure to reply, she’d gone for a light switch only to hear his hoarse. “Don’t.”
Halted by this, she’d felt a shiver go up her spine, and approached him cautiously. He crouched, cradling his arm, eyes downcast. She’d gently raised her hand to his arm and eventually met his glare.
“What is it?” her concern stirred feelings inside him, overpowering the rage he generally felt for her.
“It…hurts…” He whispered. “…Dammit….”
She took her glasses off her face. “Let me admit you.”
He withdrew. “No. No doctors…I…”
“Robert…”
“Go away, Kerry!” He shouted, startling her.
The tense silence between them now had only the measure of a few restrained breaths and harsh glares.
She could feel the disdain between them but even more so, she felt the almost uncomfortable intensity.
“I want to help.” She said, softly. “I know you don’t want anything from me, but…”
“You don’t know what I want!” He spat. “Are you some great psychic lesbian, now? You able to read minds?”
On this note, she backed away from him, ready to leave his office when he grabbed her, holding her tight to him. The suddenness of the action had left her powerless.
Now, as she tried to unclench herself from his embrace, she was stopped by his warm breath against her neck, the scent of his perspiration, his thundering heartbeat. God, what was this? What was happening? His hand had found its way into her hair, and she felt rather than heard the shuddering sob that escaped from his soul. The hot tear that wet her own cheek – his tear.
“Robert…” she whispered, unevenly. “…let me admit you..”
He shook his head, further wetting her with his crying. “I’m nothing.” He sobbed, and Kerry Weaver felt her crutch slip from her grasp as she cradled his bald head. God, what was this? He was like a child in her arms, wounded, vulnerable. She’d felt this way before.
Bringing his face from the hollow of her neck, she managed to meet his eyes.
“I’m sorry,…” she said, softly, brushing tears from his cheek. “…I’m so sorry…”
He was shaking his head. “Don’t,…” he whispered… “…I mean it.”
His good arm held her fiercely. The other was around her, timidly, unsure of its place.
He was so close.
“Tell me what you want.” After the words left her lips, she felt heat color her cheeks. Maybe she didn’t want to know.
“I want…” his voice stalled, became adrift. “…Kerry, I….”
She became so desperate to hear him, to help him, she came even closer still, her ear brushing his lips as he touched her cheek. This sent a strange pulse through her, and she remembered she was without her walking aid, clinging to him.
He lessened his grip on her and used his good hand to bring her face in closer, pressing his mouth to hers.
At this moment, Dr. Weaver felt as if she’d met with chaos, uncovered something sacred and forbidden.
His hand in her hair, tugging but not hurting, his lips against hers… God, what was she feeling as she opened her mouth to him, allowing for the intense struggle between good and evil…or perhaps evil and more evil?
His tongue was invasive in her mouth while he held on, pressing her to him, and she wondered if this was what surrender really felt like.
When he released her completely, they both fell away as if previously chained together by electricity.
She wiped her mouth, gasping as he stared at her, his eyes laser beams of hate and desire. Then…it passed.
“I’m sorry, Kerry.” He said, clearing his throat, bending to find her crutch and handing it to her. Then after several seconds… “Don’t sue me, and I’ll promise not to tell your little firefighter Lolita.”
It was said with a small measure of sincere calm, but behind that lurked the same old Romano, and Kerry was stunned to realize she was glad.
“Right.” She whispered, securing her crutch in place and brushing errant strands of her red hair away from her face.
“Are we okay?” he asked, his back to her, straightening his tie, then papers on his desk, then a plant on his windowsill, desperate to seem busy.
She nodded. “Yes. Fine.” Then, after a moments hesitation, she inquired, all business. “I could…umm…have Luka look at that for you…or should I get Anspaugh or…”
“I’m fine, Kerry.” He said turning to her, face like stone. “Now, if there’s nothing else…”
She nodded and exited his office without so much as a glance back in his direction, unsure of what had happened in that last fifteen minutes but positive she wanted to forget.
FIN
