Title At the end of Chaos
Rating PG-13 (just in case)
Spoilers Yes yes…through S11-2
Summary Carter's and Abby's POV's of what happens after Kem leaves and Carter is left alone and depressed and grieving.
Author's Note I decided to write this after reading reviews of my previous fics, specifically Kate Rosen's of The Dream. Thank you thank you thank you!!! I appreciate feedback, especially since, so far, it's been positive. LOL Anyway, let me know what you think so far, and I'll get Abby's POV written soon, I promise!
CARTER
The ache is the worst part. It is torture, anguish, torment, agony. And it never, ever stops. It dulls, yes, from time to time, when I get caught up in a trauma, or maybe sometimes when I can actually sleep, those restless few minutes every night. But it does not stop. It remains there in the back of my brain, like Dr. Green's tumor, something that could maybe be treated, but not cured.
And this is what comes of hoping. This is what happens when you wish for something so hard that you can think of nothing else, and then that thing is ripped from your grasp, suddenly and unexpectedly.
This is what it feels like when your world crashes down around you, leaving you absolutely and utterly breathless. This is what speechless feels like.
But you can't stop living, you can't stop moving, you can't stop going through the motions, because then the pain worsens. It's like a bad cramp; the only way to really heal it is to stretch out the muscle. It hurts like hell at first, so much that you don't think you can handle it, but eventually the muscle stops contracting and the pain subsides.
This is how I am surviving. The death of my child, my hope, and the end to my relationship with Kem, is, by far, the worst thing that could have happened to me. No stabbing, no drug addiction, not even Gamma's death, nothing could compare to this. And to make things worse, everywhere I look there are reminders of what happened, what I have lost: fathers with babies, so many children and happy families, everywhere. There is no way to hide from it. Even at home…well, it isn't home anymore. It was supposed to be our home. I know I have to move out. I have to change my setting, because living there I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't stay there for more than 20 minutes without feeling like I will go insane.
So I go to work. I nod when people ask if I am all right, though they and I both know that this is a lie. Some said I should take some time off, but I've never been good at that. Work is another addiction for me; one that is acceptable, but still dulls the pain. I treat patients because I can make them feel better, I can ease their symptoms. Mine I can do nothing about.