Chapter 5

Carter had been driving for more than an hour when it occurred to him to call the police.

He dialed them, and prayed that they wouldn't find a corpse in Abby's motel room.

When Carter got there, all was silent. He was surprised to see no sirens, no police tape, no news vans. Where was everyone?

Carter realized that he didn't know what room Abby was in. He had expected to be able to follow the trail of police cars.

But one car was enough to guide him. There, in the middle of ten empty parking spaces, was Abby's car. Which meant one of these rooms was Abby's.

Carter didn't have time to go door to door. "Abby!" he bellowed, jumping out of his car and racing towards the doors. "Abby!"

One of the doors opened.

"Carter!" Her face was bruised, her eyes were red, but other than that, she was okay.

He ran towards her, unable to believe that she was alive and well. " Abby!" he said, gathering her in his arms. "Are you alright? I was so worried about you!"

"I am now," she said, burying her face in his chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the tears leaked out regardless.

"It's gonna be okay now," he promised her. "I'll make sure it is."

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She didn't want to get out of the car.

"C'mon, Abby, it's okay."

She didn't budge.

"Do you want to go to Susan's? Would you be more comfortable there? She doesn't get off for another hour, but I could take you over, if you want."

Abby shook her head. "No, it's okay, I'm...fine. Just give me a minute."

Carter did indeed give her a minute, but he spent the entire minute hovering outside the car.

Abby closed her eyes and leaned her head against the headrest. What was wrong with her? Why was she so afraid when she knew Brian wasn't here?

She was afraid of him and mad at him at the same time. What right did he have to make her feel this way?

It didn't make any sense. He hadn't hurt her that badly. He had done much worse to Joyce, she knew that. She had a few bruises that would be gone within a week, and her nose would probably mend itself in a few weeks. So why did just the thought of what had happened fill her with unshakable fear?

"Abby? You ready to go?"

She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to be back in Chicago, and she didn't want to be at Carter's house. Why had she called him in the first place? She needed time alone, time to sort out her feelings. She couldn't do that with Carter hovering over her every second of the day.

"Abby?"

"Actually, could you just take me home?" she said abruptly, as if she were continuing a conversation.

"What?" Carter asked, sure he had misheard her. Hadn't she just called him, desperate, afraid, begging him to come and help her?

"I just...need some time alone. Time to sort everything out."

Carter paused. He wasn't sure how to handle this, but he knew that he couldn't leave her alone. She had been on the brink of hysteria when she called; things hadn't changed that much in a matter of hours.

Choosing his words carefully, he asked, "Well, don't you think it would be better if maybe you stayed here for a while, and we could talk about this?"

Abby didn't hesitate in shaking her head. Her moment of vulnerability had passed; Stonewall Abby was back. "No, I really just need some time alone. Could you take me home?"

"Abby, you were...really upset when you called me. Don't you think it would help if you talked about this, instead of just bottling it up inside?"

Now he was talking down to her, and it annoyed her. "No, Carter, I don't. Are you gonna take me home, or do I have to walk?"

Carter knew what was going on. He had seen it many times before. Abby had reached out to him in a moment of panic; now that the crisis was over, she retreated back into her protective shell. Well, this time he wasn't going to let her.

"Okay," Carter said, going over to the driver's seat, but he had no intention of driving. He placed the key in the ignition, then turned to face Abby. "You know, we both know what this is."

"Know what what is?" Abby asked blankly.

"What's happening to you. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder," he said his gaze unblinking.

"Thank you for the diagnosis, Doctor Carter. Now, if you don't mind taking me home-"

But Carter had just begun, "Occuring in victims of trauma, common symptoms include flashbacks to the traumatic event, inability to sleep, feelings of panic-"

"That's enough, Carter," Abby said, tightlipped. "I went to med school too. I know what it is."

"But do you know that ignoring it won't make it go away?"

"You know what? I think I'll just take the El." Abby almost broke off the door handle it her eagerness to get out of her car.

Carter was right behind her. "You know, running away isn't going to solve anything. Abby, stop!" he said, grabbing her arm, forcing her to come to a standstill. "You called me because you were scared, because you needed help." Abby's eyes dipped down, unable to meet him gaze. "But that's nothing to be ashamed of! We're all scared sometimes." He loosed his hold on her arm. "But Abby, I want to help you. You can't make this go away by yourself."

Abby sighed wearily. "I don't want your help, Carter," she said, sounding tired.

"No, but you need it. Whether you want to admit it or not." He took Abby's hand in his. "Now c'mon, this doesn't have to be a therapy session! Let's go get something to eat, and we can come back to my place and just...talk. About whatever you want."

"You sure know how to get what you want," she said with a tone of resignation.

"It's what you want too," he told her. "You just don't know it yet." Then, in a lighter tone, he asked, "Want to order a pizza?"

"That's fine with me," Abby said, resigned to her fate. With his arm around her shoulders, the two of them walked towards his house.

"Carter?"

He turned toward her. "Yeah?"

"Thanks."

A/N: And that, my friends, is where the story ends. Don't wanna be getting into fuzz or anything crazy like that. Yep, you'll just have to wonder how things went once they got in Carter's house... ~Taz