The Sweetest Goodbye

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own Carter or Abby. They might be kind of glad of that fact by the end of this (although IMHO TPTB have treated them much worse this season /rant).
Spoilers: Hmm, this is sorta set in season nine but as if Carby haven't previously hooked up, so long as you're down with the Wycenski clan happenings in season nine, you're good to go
Thanks to: Goods and Noods, OrmanGod, John Denver, Maroon 5, Sarah McLachlan, Emerson Drive and Maura and Noah of course.
Feedback: Is welcomed with open arms.
Additional Ramblings: I know, I know, I usually write cute, happy stuff. Well, umm, sorry…

He stands there outside her door, numb fingers clinging tightly to a bunch of dried flowers. He knocks softly and waits for her answer. The door opens slowly to reveal a pale face, dimly lit by the dull hall lamps. She's been crying again.
"Carter," she states, the ghost of a smile caressing her lips.
"I came to… to say…" he swallows hard, unable to voice the words.
She opens the door wider and he enters the bare apartment quietly.
Boxes are strewn all over the floor; her life, conveniently compartmentalized.
"Coke?" she offers, holding up a diet coke can. "I've no coffee," she explains apologetically.
He shakes his head and take a seat on the floor. He picks up the ticket from the top of the nearest box.
"You're flying into Orlando?" he asks perfunctorily.
She nods, "Eric doesn't live too far out."
"So you're moving into his house?"
She nods again. "For now, I just want to get settled to start with, make sure he's okay. We can worry about finding a more suitable place in a few months time."
She pops open a can of soda and takes a long, slow sip, allowing the caffeinated beverage to glide over her tongue before joining him on the sparse floor.
"You know it's weird," she begins, "it still doesn't seem real. And it's ironic too. Three times she tried, I mean seriously tried to end it all. Find her sweet release in death's murky waters. And then she seemed to get her life together, she was happy, she was med compliant, things were finally working out… then that truck came along…"
Her tears are flowing freely now, sobs choking in her throat, strangling her words.
He shuffles closer to her, places an arm gently around her quivering frame.
She buries her face in his chest, clutches at his sweater with cold fingers and cries. Cries tears of grief for her dead mother, tears of guilt over not having been able to protect her this time, and tears of sorrow for leaving the city she has come to love.
He kisses her hair delicately, "it's not your fault Abby."
She pulls back from him and bats at sticky cheeks with her sweaty palm.
"I'm going to miss you," she tells him shakily.
Tears spring into his eyes, reflecting her emotions. "I'll miss you more," he replies, fake smile on lips. "What time's your flight?" he asks sorrowfully.
"Midday from O'Hare."
He glances at his wrist watch, the face upturned as always, just one of the little characteristics she'll remember with complete clarity.
"It's almost midnight, I should let you sleep."
She bites her lip and nods in response before handing him a slip of paper.
He looks at it inquisitively.
"That's Eric's address and phone number," she explains, "you will write?"
He smiles sadly, "of course."
They stand pensive for a moment before he breaks the silence.
"So I guess this is… goodbye."
She steps into his embrace and allows his arms to envelop her. A few more tears leak from her already damp eyes. His burn in harmony.
As they pull back, their eyes lock and he thinks he'll never forget the intensity of her gaze. Every wasted moment, every missed opportunity they've ever had kaleidoscopes through his mind and his arms tighten slightly about her waist. Her fingers trace patterns idly over the back of his neck relishing the feel of his skin. With an intermingling of breath she inches closer, their mouths now millimetres apart. They both know the timing couldn't be worse, the timing that has never been right. Despite that he also knows he'd rather stop breathing than move away now. And his desire is mirrored in her chocolate eyes. And neither knows how it began or who initiated it but suddenly the distance is crossed, lips are captured and in sweet surrender, they kiss.

To the rhythm of the rain that drops outside, the two figures melt into their embrace. Tongues slip past teeth, tasting flavours previously forbidden. The kiss continues hungrily until, lungs screaming, they part reluctantly. Breathlessly, the staring resumes. She tugs passionate, desperate at his tear-stained sweater and he raises his arms to allow its swift removal. She pulls his t-shirt off also and gapes at his bare chest in the half-light. Lips find lips again and he deftly unbuttons her shirt. It slips to the ground in one fluid movement. She pulls back slightly and interlaces his fingers with her own before leading him to the bedroom. Clumsily they collapse onto the mattress, her half-naked body sprawled across his. He sweeps the bangs out of her eyes, delicately tucking them behind her ears. She watches him with interest.
"You're beautiful," he whispers.
She responds with a kiss.

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Day breaks and the dawn light sneaks through the curtains to illuminate the couple in the bed. Hastily deposited clothes adorn the otherwise barren room and tangled sheets envelop the dreamers.
A moment later she awakens in his arms. A glance at the clock informs her that it's 6a.m. She looks back at the pale face on her pillow, traces his jawline with her thumb and blinks back the tears that spring from the corners of her eyes.
He stirs, senses her move beside him and pulls his body up from the deepest realms of sleep.
"Hey," he says thickly.
"Hi," she replies.
Silence descends over them, more descriptive than any words could be. He takes her hand in his, plays with her slender fingers, kissing each one in turn.
She takes his lips with her own, assuaging the tight feeling around her heart. And why they took so long to reach this point is a mystery to her. She finds it impossible to believe she ever thought she should be anywhere else. He breaks off from her mouth and trails light butterfly kisses along her neck to her collarbone. And she wonders if she could perhaps remain in Chicago; amongst the friends she's made over the years, in the job she enjoys and in the arms of the man she's come to love. But the photo on the nightstand tells her otherwise. Her baby brother needs her and she'd shoot the moon for him. Carter looks up at her face concernedly. The battle for her unshed tears has been lost. He kisses them away delicately, treating her as if she were made of porcelain and could crack at any moment. Too late; she's already broken. The ephemeral dream is over.

Finally, the harsh reality is voiced.
"How are you getting to O'Hare?"
"I'll catch a cab," her voice cracks.
He shakes his head. "I can drive you."
"Okay," she consents. Every second with him is precious.
She kisses his chest before resting her head upon it. He strokes her hair lightly, running the silky strands through his fingers. She wonders how she's going to be able to move from the bed.
Yet move she must. With immense effort she extricates herself from his embrace and steps onto the cold, hard floor. Every fibre of her being opposes the movement, every muscle aches for him, skin prickles at the loss of contact. She takes the robe from the back of the door, surrounds herself in its cottons but finds no comfort there. Forcing a smile, she picks up a pile of clothes and slips into the bathroom.

When she emerges, he's seated on the edge of the bed, clad in a t-shirt and boxer shorts. She tells him that she needs to pack the sheets and together they pile the bedding into an empty box. Alarm clock and photograph follow before she tapes the lid shut, traces of the night before hidden away.
There's a knock at the door and she goes to open it as he pulls on his jeans. The removal men have arrived. Box after box is transported through the door, never to return, until the apartment is all but deserted. He stares at the blank walls of the living room as the last box vanishes.
She retires to the bedroom to retrieve her purse and returns with his sweater. She hands it to him but he shakes his head and mumbles, "keep it."
Without a moment's hesitation she pulls it over her head, his scent enveloping her.
"Are you ready?" he asks weakly.
She knows she'll never be ready for what she's about to do but nods her head anyway.
He takes her hand in his and together they leave the apartment.
The rain is unrelenting as they walk out to the jeep. She clambers into the passenger seat slowly, reluctantly letting go of his hand. She stares up at the building as he walks round to the driver's side, remembering the events of the last few years. And all her thoughts focus upon the man soon to be seated beside her. The charity event at the natural history museum, replacing Luka's fish tank, his piercing eyes upon finding her with beer bottle in hand.
He starts the engine and the car purrs enthusiastically to life. She remains taciturn beside him, lost within her reverie. With a heavy heart he eases his foot onto the gas and the car glides away.

O'Hare is crowded as always. The building bustles with the masses moving between A and B and she thinks that she'd ideally be at point C: anywhere but here. They sit stationary on a bench waiting for the flight to be called, the tableau reminiscent of their many riverside visits but now bathed in silence. He toys with the idea of buying a ticket and leaving with her. But he knows that just as she has commitments she cannot ignore, he is equally tied to the city he's in.
All too soon the death bell rings, "12:00 to Orlando, now boarding."
They stand and she turns to face him, pressing her lips together tightly. However, she loses control regardless and tears run in rivulets down her hot cheeks. Her face crashes into his chest and she clutches at him wildly. He kisses her forehead tenderly, cradling her head in his hands. He brings his lips down to capture hers and she responds frenetically.
Trembling, they part.
"Goodbye John," she breathes before being swallowed up by the flood of people swimming towards the boarding gate. He watches her until the last, swollen lips burning from the intensity of her kiss.
She is carried by the flow, legs moving against her will. She chances a look back and sees him still standing there, the epitome of desolation. She blows a kiss and he pretends to catch it, holding it to his breast. She smiles sadly in response, meeting his eyes for the final time and then she's gone.