Title: Never Gonna Hold The Hand Of Another Guy
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Well, I must say, if you haven't seen "Tell Me Where It Hurts," you'll probably be quite
lost. A general working knowledge of season 9 is probably necessary for this, too. There's also a
very small reference to "Secrets & Lies," but you may not even catch it. I'd also recommend
reading my other stories because they all kind of tie in together. Plus, I'd just like everyone to
read my other stuff :)
Archive: Just ask.
Disclaimers: Not mine. I just like to borrow them from time to time so they can play in my
universe. I always return them safe and sound.
Feedback: Loved, honored, and adored. If you email me, I'll respond to you, too–I'm just that
kind of person.
God...why?
Why Eric? And why now? Why did this have to happen? I honestly don't think I can take this
right now. I don't think I could take this ever.
My little brother. Of all people, why him? It should have been me. If there was someone else in
my family who was going to wind up being manic-depressive, it should have been me. Someone
should have escaped relatively unscathed.
Really, I should have known that something was going to happen. It was a given. Things were
going too well for me. I'm in a great relationship with a wonderful man, we're just about living
together, I have easy access to my brother so I can see him more often, and my mother has been
doing so well lately. It just makes sense that something would happen now of all times. And,
yeah, I realize that I'm being selfish and petty and thinking about myself when it's really my
brother who's going through all this right now. Know what, though? I could care less–it IS
happening to me. Something like this doesn't just happen to one person, it happens to the entire
family and everyone else around that family. And everybody has to think about themself, even in
the midst of being concerned about family. If I don't think about me, if I'm not concerned with
me at the same I'm worried about Eric, then no one will be.
Well, that's not true. I have John. And he's thinking about me. He's concerned about me.
I love that man. I'm so happy that I have him with me during this. Because I really don't think
I'm strong enough to deal with this on my own. And I know that when I break down, he'll be
strong enough for the both of us. Because he's that kind of man. And he loves me just as much
as I love him. It's such an unbelievable comfort to know that he's there by my side. If I have him
with me, I can get through anything. Correction; WE can get through anything.
I think, of all the people I know in this world, Carter is the only one who has ever even really tried
to understand what this is like for me. I don't know if he has necessarily agreed with every choice
I've made regarding my mother, but at least he's been supportive. He was there when I needed
him, and he didn't try to force me into a decision that I didn't feel was right. I don't know how I
ever lived my life without him.
Oh, I think most ironic thing of the past few hours has to be that I keep focusing on something
Eric said to me earlier. I mean, when I'm not thinking about the fact that he's bipolar, and that he
thinks I called the MP on him, and that I don't know where he is. He said that the three of us
should fly to Vegas and find a wedding chapel so Carter and I could "take care of business." Why
is this the thing that's sticking out in my mind? I really don't have time to think about marriage at
the moment, and I'm pretty sure it hasn't really crossed John's mind, either. But I can't help
thinking about how, if Eric hadn't been manic when he suggested it, I probably wouldn't have
brushed the idea off the way I did. Eloping doesn't sound half bad. Especially right now, with
Carter being so amazingly wonderful. All I want to do is hold on to him and never let go.
Marriage really isn't something to think about right now. Even in the best of situations, I think
that scenario is still a long way off. I would not quantify this as the best of situations. Not by a
long shot. I don't know. I suppose I keep thinking about it because it's something normal. It's
something normal people do every day of their normal lives. And, God, would I love to be
normal right now. I would enjoy that greatly. I'd probably go so far as to say that it would be
fantastic. Carter and I could just lead our happy little lives, maybe someday plan a happy little
wedding, buy a happy little house, have a happy little family. I don't know if he realizes that
having a family is becoming a smaller and smaller possibility for me at this point. It has nothing to
do with my biological clock, but more to do with becoming increasingly worried about my
children being sick. I would love them no matter what, but I just don't know if I could put
someone through that.
I'm pretty secure with the knowledge that Carter will support me in whatever choice I make, just
as I'll do the same for him. But I'm getting ahead of myself. I don't know if we'll ever even get
married, never mind have children. Ah, who am I kidding? We'll get married. You'd think that
after being married once, I would have learned my lesson, but the more time I spend with John,
the more certain I am of him and his commitment to me. I really have a hard time not seeing us
together in the long run.
And this is the kind of thing I've been thinking of all day. Of course, I suppose it's better than
having a panic attack about my brother. It keeps my mind off of the really heavy stuff and lets me
think about how life could actually be happy all around in the future. Well, God willing, a happy
future.
Focus on the now, Abby. Focus on the now. And right now, Carter and I are just holding each
other. At this point, I'm not sure if it's me who's holding on to him for dear life, or if it's him
holding on to me like that. I don't suppose it really matters. It just feels really nice right now.
He's not going anywhere. That's so impossibly wonderful to hear right now. Because I need him
so much.
I can't believe I almost drank tonight. What is wrong with me? I may have wanted things to
stop, but I should know from personal experience that drinking has never actually done that. It
may put things on hold for a while, but it never makes anything stop. I guess it must say
something about me and my increasing reluctance to drink and disappoint John if it took me
nearly two hours to pour a glass and that I didn't even manage to take a sip. I just couldn't bring
myself to do it. Buying the wine was just an impulse, but as I was bringing it home, I thought
about it more and more, and it just didn't make sense to me. I couldn't understand why I was
going to drink. I think I thought I was supposed to. It was something I used to do when my life
turned upside down.
I left it out on purpose, though. I wanted Carter to know. I said I wasn't going to hide anymore,
and I meant that. And if I had just thrown it away and pretended nothing had happened, that
would definitely be hiding. I needed him to know what I had tried to do, and that I hadn't
actually managed to do it. It was important to me that he knew what was happening.
"I'm sorry about the wine," I manage to mumble against his neck, sniffling a little in the process.
I hope he isn't too fond of this sweater because it may be drenched with tears shortly.
"It's okay, Abby. I understand." He rubs my back soothingly, and it feels wonderful. I've
always found it amazing how someone, especially Carter, can just rub my back and it makes me
feel better, if only fractionally. "There's just one thing I want to know."
"Anything."
"Why did you leave it out? I mean, you could have thrown it away, and I never would have
known."
What, is he reading my mind or something? I wouldn't be surprised. He always seems to have
this knack for knowing exactly what it is I'm feeling or thinking the moment it's happening.
Another one of the reasons why I love him so damn much.
"I think that's exactly why. I didn't want to hide it from you. It was important that you knew
about it. I wanted you to know that I'd bought alcohol, but that I hadn't been able to drink it." I
felt a sob bubble up through my chest and it came out somewhere between a laugh and a choke.
"God, I'm such a screw up."
"No, hon, no you're not. Accidents happen. I know this isn't easy for you and you were just
looking for comfort. The important thing is that you didn't drink, all right? That's what counts."
Yeah, I guess that's what–wait. What did he just call me? Hon? We've never used terms of
endearments before, unless you count "Carter" as a term of endearment. Okay, okay. Eye on the
ball, Lockhart. Eye on the ball. It doesn't matter right now. But it does. Because, somehow, it
was exactly what I needed to hear. How does he do that?
I can't help it; I slide off of my chair and onto his lap, pulling myself closer to him. "You just
called me 'hon,'" I whisper.
He pauses for a moment, then says, "I did?"
I nod a little. "Yeah. I said I was a screw up and you said, 'No, hon, no you're not.'"
I feel him smile against my hair a little. "I hadn't even realized it. Does it bother you?"
"No. Not in the slightest. I really liked it, actually."
"This could open up a whole new door for us," he says, and by the tone of his voice, I can tell that
he's teasing me.
"I wouldn't go that–"
"Sweetie."
"Well–"
"Darling."
"Uh–"
"Dumpling."
"Hang on–"
"Pookie?"
I shove his shoulder gently, chuckling all the same. "You know, muffin, the couch may be a
pullout, but it's not that comfortable. And with that bad back of yours, I don't imagine you'd
enjoy it at all."
He gives me a gentle squeeze, and says softly, "But, it made you smile, didn't it?"
I smile a little wider, even though he can't see it. "Yeah, I guess so."
"That was all I wanted." He pulls away from me a little so he can look at me. "To see you
smile."
I guess that's what finally breaks me. I feel my eyes well up with tears and in a matter of seconds,
I'm sobbing like a baby. He pulls me back into his arms and I cry into his shoulder. He starts
rubbing my back again, and it helps a little, but I can't seem to even make the tears slow down.
And Carter, bless his pointed head, doesn't tell me to "shh," doesn't tell me that everything will be
all right, doesn't try to make me feel better with promises he can't keep, doesn't say anything. He
just lets me cry. I still really want to know how he's held out this long without someone snapping
him up and marrying him. No one else does this. At least, no one that I'm aware of. I'm so
unbelievably lucky to have him. It feels like he was made especially for me, as sappy as that
sounds, even in my own mind. But, if I didn't know better, and I guess I really don't, I'd say that
the two of us really had been made for each other, even if it took us a long time to get to this
place. For some reason, these thoughts make me cry harder. He doesn't question it, though. He
just holds me and lets me cry.
Suddenly, I realize that he's standing up and taking me with him. "What are you doing?"
"I'm bringing you to bed," he answers softly, moving toward the bedroom.
"But, your back–"
He cuts me off. "My back is fine. You're not."
Can't argue with that. Because I'm about as far from "fine" right now as I could be. At the same
time, though, I'm so happy simply because I have someone that cares enough about me to carry
me to bed, even though he has a bad back.
I think I'm just a big ball of contradictions right now. But it's understandable, given the
circumstances.
He brings me into the bedroom and sets me down on the floor. Then he gently removes my shirt
and pants, and then my bra, leaving me just in my underwear. He goes over to the bureau to pull
out my pajamas, but I stop him.
"Carter?"
"Yes?"
"Can I...uh...wear one of your shirts tonight? I know it's an odd request, but I would–"
"Of course." He smiles at me, and I know he understands. "What shirt do you want? T-shirt,
button-down..."
"I don't care, just as long as it's yours."
"Well, would you rather have an actual one of mine, or one of mine that you've managed to
pilfer?" He gives me a teasing grin, and I can see a slight sparkle in his eyes, letting me know that
he doesn't mind that I've stolen some of his shirts.
For my part, though, I look down mock-meekly and say, "One of yours, please."
He goes to the closet and pulls out a white dress shirt; it's one I know he's had for a few years
and his smell is permanently etched into it. Exactly what I need right now.
But, instead of handing it to me so I can put it on, he comes over and actually dresses me. He
slides it up over my arms and shoulders, then buttons it up for me. I think what's really amazing
is that I allow him to do it. I never would have let anyone else do this for me.
As soon as he's finished, I wrap my arms around him once more. "Thank you," I whisper.
"Thank you for taking care of me."
"I love you, Abby. Part of this whole being together thing includes us taking care of each other.
And you know me, I love to take care of you. It makes me happy just to be there for you. I
know that probably sounds really mushy and sentimental, but that's just how I feel."
I place a kiss over his heart, even though he still has his sweater on. He has such a wonderful
heart. "Thank you, anyway."
"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you."
We stand like that for a few minutes, just wrapped in each other's arms. It feels fantastic. I've
learned that sometimes, there's nothing better in life that simply holding and being held by
someone. Just the safe, secure feeling you get from it can be the best thing in the world.
Finally, he brings me over to the bed and helps me ease into it. "You need to sleep," he tells me.
"I'm not going to say that things will look better in the morning, because we both know that's a
bunch of crap, but at least if you get some rest, you'll have more energy to deal with everything."
I don't fight him; I know it's the truth. I don't know how much sleep I'll actually be able to get
tonight, but I can try. And at the very least, I'll have Carter beside me.
A few moments later, he has stripped down to his boxers and undershirt and is crawling in beside
of me. Immediately, like I'm a magnet, I roll over and wrap myself around him. I'm craving
physical contact at the moment. I meant it when I said I needed something to hold on to–mentally
and physically. And he's the perfect thing for me to hold.
He lets me cling to him as tightly as I need to, and he holds me just as close, letting me know
without saying it that he's there for me, and will always be there for me.
Amazingly enough, I can feel sleep creeping up on me. I didn't think I'd be able to manage sleep
tonight, but I forgot how exhausting sobbing your eyes out can be. Speaking of which, I hadn't
even noticed that I'd stopped crying. Huh. That's kind of funny. I don't know exactly why it's
funny. I usually notice when my tears subside, though. I guess it was some point between him
picking me up in the kitchen and tucking me into bed.
I can tell I'm fading; my thoughts are completely jumbled right now. That's okay. Sleep is good.
Sleep with John is even better. Thank God he's here. He's like my oxygen at this point. And I'm
really all right with that.
"I love you," I whisper into his neck.
He kisses my forehead. "Love you more."
I don't think that's possible.
Author's notes: I didn't know exactly where this story was going to go when I started writing it.
I just knew that I needed to write something. I think it's a little different than my other stuff, in
that it's not pure sap, but I think it's halfway decent.
About the title of the story–got it from a Dixie Chicks song called "Travelin Soldier." It's an
amazing song. And after "Tell Me Where It Hurts," it reminded me a little of Eric, and of Carter.
I don't know why; it could just be me, but I like it.
Remember that whole feedback thing, too–it's appreciated more than you'll ever know. I don't
mind criticism, but don't be a schmuck about it–constructive is good...destructive, not good.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Well, I must say, if you haven't seen "Tell Me Where It Hurts," you'll probably be quite
lost. A general working knowledge of season 9 is probably necessary for this, too. There's also a
very small reference to "Secrets & Lies," but you may not even catch it. I'd also recommend
reading my other stories because they all kind of tie in together. Plus, I'd just like everyone to
read my other stuff :)
Archive: Just ask.
Disclaimers: Not mine. I just like to borrow them from time to time so they can play in my
universe. I always return them safe and sound.
Feedback: Loved, honored, and adored. If you email me, I'll respond to you, too–I'm just that
kind of person.
God...why?
Why Eric? And why now? Why did this have to happen? I honestly don't think I can take this
right now. I don't think I could take this ever.
My little brother. Of all people, why him? It should have been me. If there was someone else in
my family who was going to wind up being manic-depressive, it should have been me. Someone
should have escaped relatively unscathed.
Really, I should have known that something was going to happen. It was a given. Things were
going too well for me. I'm in a great relationship with a wonderful man, we're just about living
together, I have easy access to my brother so I can see him more often, and my mother has been
doing so well lately. It just makes sense that something would happen now of all times. And,
yeah, I realize that I'm being selfish and petty and thinking about myself when it's really my
brother who's going through all this right now. Know what, though? I could care less–it IS
happening to me. Something like this doesn't just happen to one person, it happens to the entire
family and everyone else around that family. And everybody has to think about themself, even in
the midst of being concerned about family. If I don't think about me, if I'm not concerned with
me at the same I'm worried about Eric, then no one will be.
Well, that's not true. I have John. And he's thinking about me. He's concerned about me.
I love that man. I'm so happy that I have him with me during this. Because I really don't think
I'm strong enough to deal with this on my own. And I know that when I break down, he'll be
strong enough for the both of us. Because he's that kind of man. And he loves me just as much
as I love him. It's such an unbelievable comfort to know that he's there by my side. If I have him
with me, I can get through anything. Correction; WE can get through anything.
I think, of all the people I know in this world, Carter is the only one who has ever even really tried
to understand what this is like for me. I don't know if he has necessarily agreed with every choice
I've made regarding my mother, but at least he's been supportive. He was there when I needed
him, and he didn't try to force me into a decision that I didn't feel was right. I don't know how I
ever lived my life without him.
Oh, I think most ironic thing of the past few hours has to be that I keep focusing on something
Eric said to me earlier. I mean, when I'm not thinking about the fact that he's bipolar, and that he
thinks I called the MP on him, and that I don't know where he is. He said that the three of us
should fly to Vegas and find a wedding chapel so Carter and I could "take care of business." Why
is this the thing that's sticking out in my mind? I really don't have time to think about marriage at
the moment, and I'm pretty sure it hasn't really crossed John's mind, either. But I can't help
thinking about how, if Eric hadn't been manic when he suggested it, I probably wouldn't have
brushed the idea off the way I did. Eloping doesn't sound half bad. Especially right now, with
Carter being so amazingly wonderful. All I want to do is hold on to him and never let go.
Marriage really isn't something to think about right now. Even in the best of situations, I think
that scenario is still a long way off. I would not quantify this as the best of situations. Not by a
long shot. I don't know. I suppose I keep thinking about it because it's something normal. It's
something normal people do every day of their normal lives. And, God, would I love to be
normal right now. I would enjoy that greatly. I'd probably go so far as to say that it would be
fantastic. Carter and I could just lead our happy little lives, maybe someday plan a happy little
wedding, buy a happy little house, have a happy little family. I don't know if he realizes that
having a family is becoming a smaller and smaller possibility for me at this point. It has nothing to
do with my biological clock, but more to do with becoming increasingly worried about my
children being sick. I would love them no matter what, but I just don't know if I could put
someone through that.
I'm pretty secure with the knowledge that Carter will support me in whatever choice I make, just
as I'll do the same for him. But I'm getting ahead of myself. I don't know if we'll ever even get
married, never mind have children. Ah, who am I kidding? We'll get married. You'd think that
after being married once, I would have learned my lesson, but the more time I spend with John,
the more certain I am of him and his commitment to me. I really have a hard time not seeing us
together in the long run.
And this is the kind of thing I've been thinking of all day. Of course, I suppose it's better than
having a panic attack about my brother. It keeps my mind off of the really heavy stuff and lets me
think about how life could actually be happy all around in the future. Well, God willing, a happy
future.
Focus on the now, Abby. Focus on the now. And right now, Carter and I are just holding each
other. At this point, I'm not sure if it's me who's holding on to him for dear life, or if it's him
holding on to me like that. I don't suppose it really matters. It just feels really nice right now.
He's not going anywhere. That's so impossibly wonderful to hear right now. Because I need him
so much.
I can't believe I almost drank tonight. What is wrong with me? I may have wanted things to
stop, but I should know from personal experience that drinking has never actually done that. It
may put things on hold for a while, but it never makes anything stop. I guess it must say
something about me and my increasing reluctance to drink and disappoint John if it took me
nearly two hours to pour a glass and that I didn't even manage to take a sip. I just couldn't bring
myself to do it. Buying the wine was just an impulse, but as I was bringing it home, I thought
about it more and more, and it just didn't make sense to me. I couldn't understand why I was
going to drink. I think I thought I was supposed to. It was something I used to do when my life
turned upside down.
I left it out on purpose, though. I wanted Carter to know. I said I wasn't going to hide anymore,
and I meant that. And if I had just thrown it away and pretended nothing had happened, that
would definitely be hiding. I needed him to know what I had tried to do, and that I hadn't
actually managed to do it. It was important to me that he knew what was happening.
"I'm sorry about the wine," I manage to mumble against his neck, sniffling a little in the process.
I hope he isn't too fond of this sweater because it may be drenched with tears shortly.
"It's okay, Abby. I understand." He rubs my back soothingly, and it feels wonderful. I've
always found it amazing how someone, especially Carter, can just rub my back and it makes me
feel better, if only fractionally. "There's just one thing I want to know."
"Anything."
"Why did you leave it out? I mean, you could have thrown it away, and I never would have
known."
What, is he reading my mind or something? I wouldn't be surprised. He always seems to have
this knack for knowing exactly what it is I'm feeling or thinking the moment it's happening.
Another one of the reasons why I love him so damn much.
"I think that's exactly why. I didn't want to hide it from you. It was important that you knew
about it. I wanted you to know that I'd bought alcohol, but that I hadn't been able to drink it." I
felt a sob bubble up through my chest and it came out somewhere between a laugh and a choke.
"God, I'm such a screw up."
"No, hon, no you're not. Accidents happen. I know this isn't easy for you and you were just
looking for comfort. The important thing is that you didn't drink, all right? That's what counts."
Yeah, I guess that's what–wait. What did he just call me? Hon? We've never used terms of
endearments before, unless you count "Carter" as a term of endearment. Okay, okay. Eye on the
ball, Lockhart. Eye on the ball. It doesn't matter right now. But it does. Because, somehow, it
was exactly what I needed to hear. How does he do that?
I can't help it; I slide off of my chair and onto his lap, pulling myself closer to him. "You just
called me 'hon,'" I whisper.
He pauses for a moment, then says, "I did?"
I nod a little. "Yeah. I said I was a screw up and you said, 'No, hon, no you're not.'"
I feel him smile against my hair a little. "I hadn't even realized it. Does it bother you?"
"No. Not in the slightest. I really liked it, actually."
"This could open up a whole new door for us," he says, and by the tone of his voice, I can tell that
he's teasing me.
"I wouldn't go that–"
"Sweetie."
"Well–"
"Darling."
"Uh–"
"Dumpling."
"Hang on–"
"Pookie?"
I shove his shoulder gently, chuckling all the same. "You know, muffin, the couch may be a
pullout, but it's not that comfortable. And with that bad back of yours, I don't imagine you'd
enjoy it at all."
He gives me a gentle squeeze, and says softly, "But, it made you smile, didn't it?"
I smile a little wider, even though he can't see it. "Yeah, I guess so."
"That was all I wanted." He pulls away from me a little so he can look at me. "To see you
smile."
I guess that's what finally breaks me. I feel my eyes well up with tears and in a matter of seconds,
I'm sobbing like a baby. He pulls me back into his arms and I cry into his shoulder. He starts
rubbing my back again, and it helps a little, but I can't seem to even make the tears slow down.
And Carter, bless his pointed head, doesn't tell me to "shh," doesn't tell me that everything will be
all right, doesn't try to make me feel better with promises he can't keep, doesn't say anything. He
just lets me cry. I still really want to know how he's held out this long without someone snapping
him up and marrying him. No one else does this. At least, no one that I'm aware of. I'm so
unbelievably lucky to have him. It feels like he was made especially for me, as sappy as that
sounds, even in my own mind. But, if I didn't know better, and I guess I really don't, I'd say that
the two of us really had been made for each other, even if it took us a long time to get to this
place. For some reason, these thoughts make me cry harder. He doesn't question it, though. He
just holds me and lets me cry.
Suddenly, I realize that he's standing up and taking me with him. "What are you doing?"
"I'm bringing you to bed," he answers softly, moving toward the bedroom.
"But, your back–"
He cuts me off. "My back is fine. You're not."
Can't argue with that. Because I'm about as far from "fine" right now as I could be. At the same
time, though, I'm so happy simply because I have someone that cares enough about me to carry
me to bed, even though he has a bad back.
I think I'm just a big ball of contradictions right now. But it's understandable, given the
circumstances.
He brings me into the bedroom and sets me down on the floor. Then he gently removes my shirt
and pants, and then my bra, leaving me just in my underwear. He goes over to the bureau to pull
out my pajamas, but I stop him.
"Carter?"
"Yes?"
"Can I...uh...wear one of your shirts tonight? I know it's an odd request, but I would–"
"Of course." He smiles at me, and I know he understands. "What shirt do you want? T-shirt,
button-down..."
"I don't care, just as long as it's yours."
"Well, would you rather have an actual one of mine, or one of mine that you've managed to
pilfer?" He gives me a teasing grin, and I can see a slight sparkle in his eyes, letting me know that
he doesn't mind that I've stolen some of his shirts.
For my part, though, I look down mock-meekly and say, "One of yours, please."
He goes to the closet and pulls out a white dress shirt; it's one I know he's had for a few years
and his smell is permanently etched into it. Exactly what I need right now.
But, instead of handing it to me so I can put it on, he comes over and actually dresses me. He
slides it up over my arms and shoulders, then buttons it up for me. I think what's really amazing
is that I allow him to do it. I never would have let anyone else do this for me.
As soon as he's finished, I wrap my arms around him once more. "Thank you," I whisper.
"Thank you for taking care of me."
"I love you, Abby. Part of this whole being together thing includes us taking care of each other.
And you know me, I love to take care of you. It makes me happy just to be there for you. I
know that probably sounds really mushy and sentimental, but that's just how I feel."
I place a kiss over his heart, even though he still has his sweater on. He has such a wonderful
heart. "Thank you, anyway."
"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you."
We stand like that for a few minutes, just wrapped in each other's arms. It feels fantastic. I've
learned that sometimes, there's nothing better in life that simply holding and being held by
someone. Just the safe, secure feeling you get from it can be the best thing in the world.
Finally, he brings me over to the bed and helps me ease into it. "You need to sleep," he tells me.
"I'm not going to say that things will look better in the morning, because we both know that's a
bunch of crap, but at least if you get some rest, you'll have more energy to deal with everything."
I don't fight him; I know it's the truth. I don't know how much sleep I'll actually be able to get
tonight, but I can try. And at the very least, I'll have Carter beside me.
A few moments later, he has stripped down to his boxers and undershirt and is crawling in beside
of me. Immediately, like I'm a magnet, I roll over and wrap myself around him. I'm craving
physical contact at the moment. I meant it when I said I needed something to hold on to–mentally
and physically. And he's the perfect thing for me to hold.
He lets me cling to him as tightly as I need to, and he holds me just as close, letting me know
without saying it that he's there for me, and will always be there for me.
Amazingly enough, I can feel sleep creeping up on me. I didn't think I'd be able to manage sleep
tonight, but I forgot how exhausting sobbing your eyes out can be. Speaking of which, I hadn't
even noticed that I'd stopped crying. Huh. That's kind of funny. I don't know exactly why it's
funny. I usually notice when my tears subside, though. I guess it was some point between him
picking me up in the kitchen and tucking me into bed.
I can tell I'm fading; my thoughts are completely jumbled right now. That's okay. Sleep is good.
Sleep with John is even better. Thank God he's here. He's like my oxygen at this point. And I'm
really all right with that.
"I love you," I whisper into his neck.
He kisses my forehead. "Love you more."
I don't think that's possible.
Author's notes: I didn't know exactly where this story was going to go when I started writing it.
I just knew that I needed to write something. I think it's a little different than my other stuff, in
that it's not pure sap, but I think it's halfway decent.
About the title of the story–got it from a Dixie Chicks song called "Travelin Soldier." It's an
amazing song. And after "Tell Me Where It Hurts," it reminded me a little of Eric, and of Carter.
I don't know why; it could just be me, but I like it.
Remember that whole feedback thing, too–it's appreciated more than you'll ever know. I don't
mind criticism, but don't be a schmuck about it–constructive is good...destructive, not good.