Mark strained his neck to see out the dark window. He couldn't see anything,
but he could hear running footsteps. After a few minutes the dejected doctor
climbed back into the front seat. He remained still, his head bowed over the
steering wheel, resisting the urge to take his frustration out on the instrument
panel.
"The car was already driving past us by the time I got outside." Peter stared
at the wheel for a few more seconds, only looking up when he heard Carter
speaking.
"Don't worry, Dr. Benton, I'll be fine," Carter gasped. That word again.
"Fine." And once again, it was miles away from the truth.
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````
It had been forty-five minutes, and no more cars had approached. Peter sat in
the front seat with the driver side door open a crack, waiting and ready to
flag down an approaching vehicle.
Mark was beginning to feel cramped and uncomfortable, and the small talk
he was making with Carter was becoming more and more difficult. Mark's
fear of hypothermia was fading, as the younger doctor's skin felt warmer and
his shaking had subsided. However, it was apparent that he couldn't string
together complete sentences, and this had Mark very concerned.
Mark decided to break the silence with Peter. "I think I'm going to try to
walk outside and use my cell phone. Maybe I can find an area where the
signal might work."
"Isn't that how this situation was created in the first place?" Peter asked
solemnly.
"Yeah, well, I don't think waiting for help to find us is going to work. These
roads probably get flooded during these intense storms and I doubt we'll be
seeing any traffic anytime soon." Mark didn't wait for another rebuke from
Benton. He carefully lowered Carter flat on his back feeling each and every
grimace that spread across Carter's face as he was moved.
"I think letting him lie flat is the best thing for him right now. Normally I
would want to elevate his legs, but I think that would only put further strain
on his broken ribs," Mark reasoned, not looking at Peter.
"Moving him around didn't seem to concern you too much earlier," Peter
replied stoically as Mark opened the back door of the van to exit. Mark
lingered for just a second, letting Peter's words sink into his already
burdened conscience. Before he closed the door to keep the wind from
blowing in he said quietly, "We all have regrets that cannot be undone,
Peter."
The door was slammed shut, leaving Peter alone with Carter. Silently, Peter
considered the regrets which weighed the most heavily on his heart at that
moment.
`````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````
"Why--do--you always--do that?" Cater asked without bothering to look up.
Speaking was pure torture; the exercise of inhaling and exhaling was putting
a tremendous exertion on what felt like the collapse of his chest cavity.
However, the question was one that he often thought about, and always
wanted to ask. No time like the present.
"Do what?" Peter asked, frustrated.
"Shut--yourself--down. You're ssssso--scared..."
"Carter, now's not the time to try to analyze me. There's more..." Peter was
silenced, not by an angry verbal interruption, but by the feel of someone's
hand squeezing his arm. It was not a signal of comfort. It was a gesture that
clearly communicated "Shut up!" The grip loosened when it won its desired
effect, then remained as one in need of human contact.
Carter could tell it made the surgeon slightly uncomfortable, but for once he
didn't care what Dr. Peter Benton thought about him. He needed the
reassurance of his presence. The younger doctor resumed his conversation,
fighting for every word.
"You're scared to show--any feelings. T-t-that you're human. T-t-that you--
care." Carter could feel the tide changing; the wave of pain was starting to
take him under. His thoughts were muddled and it was hard to focus on
talking. "Its--easier--for you to--be--c-c-cold-- detached." Carter swallowed
painfully, his chest compressed by an unbearable weight.
"Stop seeking my approval, Carter. You don't need it anymore." Peter
lowered his head, his words soft and genuine. "You've had it for a long
time." Instead of seeing happiness, or at least ease, Carter's eyes seemed to
be filled with even more sadness.
"I--I know. I-I-I j-just wanted your--friendship." Carter couldn't hold out
anymore; finally letting the agony win him over. He groaned as the double
images inside the car blurred into an unrecognizable montage of color. Then
he closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him.
His hand slipped from Benton's arm and fell unceremoniously to the side.
Peter was overwhelmed with an intense fear, and grabbed Carter's wrist to
check his pulse. Relief flooded him when he felt it; weak but steady. He
moved his hand to grasp the younger man's. He held it tenderly in his own,
and gave it a gentle squeeze. Carefully gathering the unconscious man in his
arms, he gently embraced him. His face moist, Peter whispered in his ear,
"I've always been your friend."
Not wanting to aggravate the younger man's broken bones, Peter gently
lowered him to a prone position on the floor. He let his hand linger on
Carter's shoulder, for his own comfort. Benton sat quietly, staring into the
emptiness of the van, every once in a while checking Carter's pulse to
reassure himself of its steady rhythm. The vehicle was be silent, but filled
with the pounding of the storm outside. The rain was so heavy that it was
hard for Benton to hear Carter's shallow breathing. He was alone, he realized
nervously, without anywhere to go.
Peter glanced down at his former student and wondered if that was how he
had felt these past few months: in the midst of chaos, but trapped by a cruel
reality. The world continued on its track, oblivious to the drama inside the
van. Benton looked toward the back door, hoping Mark would come in with
a solution to their situation. The surgeon tried to recall little things he should
have noticed, things he'd missed these past months. He'd seen Carter in the
halls or during traumas. Of course, he wasn't looking for anything. Things
were back to normal, the staff had to move on with their lives, and he had
his budding relationship with Cleo. Benton knew that when you weren't
looking for something, you didn't usually find anything. John Carter was a
doctor, a grown man. Peter had done his job, taught him what was required.
Sure, he considered him a friend, but he also didn't seek him out to talk to or
go out for a drink with. The hospital was his home, but he had his son and
Carla. It wasn't a substitute family for him, as it was for others. Like it was
for the Carter, he thought.
Peter was trying to understand why he never let down his wall for Carter,
when he heard the faint sounds of footsteps over the pounding of the rain.
"Hey, Carter, you hear that man? That's Mark and I know help's going to be
here soon. You got to wake up now, this isn't the time to take a nap." Peter
tried shaking his left shoulder gently, but there was no response. He was still
attempting to wake the younger man, when the back door opened and a
wave of cold air rolled through the vehicle.
"Mark, shut the door! It's finally warm in here," Peter said crabbily,
adjusting Carter's suit jacket. He ignored Mark as he settled down on the
opposite side of their friend.
"I was able to get a signal out. What happened?" He gestured to Carter. "Is
he stable, Peter?" He whipped out his penlight and bent over to examine
Carter's pupils once more.
"He's unconscious. What does it look like?" Peter grumbled. "When's help
going to arrive? We need a CT to rule out a subdural hematoma."
"Pupils still even, very sluggish, though. God, I wish we could get a BP."
Mark tucked his penlight back into the pocket of his soaked through shirt.
"Mark, who did you reach?" Peter asked impatiently, unable to wait any
longer for news.
"I got in touch with a fire station. I couldn't get through to a hospital. They're
going to send a couple of their EMT's when they can clear the roads. There
are many trees down..."
"How long, Mark?" Peter interrupted.
"They said an hour or two," Mark responded, eyes downcast. He didn't
lookup, feeling Peter's angry glare.
"Damn it! We can't wait that long! He needs x-rays, a possible ex- lap, he
could have re-injured..."
"Peter! Stop it!" Mark cut him off. "We can't do anything right now. We
have to accept that. You don't think I'm worried? You don't think I feel just a
little bit responsible for what happened tonight?" Mark calmed down when
he saw Peter listening. "I'm the one that made the arrangements for him to
go to Atlanta." Mark held up one finger. "I'm the one who didn't think the
idea out enough. I was just going to hand him a ticket and hope for the best."
Mark held up a second finger. "I'm the one who thought that driving at night
and in the rain was a bright idea." Mark held a third finger. He wasn't
looking for forgiveness; he just needed to let Peter know that he felt terribly
guilty.
"I'm not going to defend you in anyway, Mark. You're right. I think the
whole intervention was poorly done. I don't think he was monitored properly
when he returned to the hospital. He was overworked and he had no one to
turn to. So, he turned to his pain medication." Peter's voice competed with
the booming sound of the thunderstorm raging outside.
"There is plenty of blame to go around, Peter. I had no idea he was in that
much pain. Did you? Hell, you were his surgeon! Then you turned over his
care to someone else. Why did you do that, huh, Peter?"
The veins on Benton's face stood out, an indication of the rage he was
holding back. He took a deep breath, and slowly answered the other doctor.
"I thought it was for the best to transfer his care to someone else. I kept tabs
on him." He sat there in the thick, heavy silence, hoping his last statement
would justify his actions.
"Why did you go after him in the parking lot, Peter?" Mark asked pointedly.
Taken aback, Benton let out an exaggerated sigh. "Because I could talk some
sense into him."
"Because he respects you?" Mark pressed.
"Yeah, I guess," he replied tersely.
"Because you were his teacher," Mark said matter-of-factly.
Aggravated Peter said, "Yes, I was his teacher for three years.
Mark shook his head as if disappointed with a child. "You can't admit it,
canyou?"
Benton didn't reply. He rolled his eyes, and tried to distract himself by
adjusting Carter's suit jacket. Again.
"Peter, you are an extremely gifted surgeon. You always seek out a
challenge and you never back down from an argument. But you can't handle
something as simple as accepting or admitting friendship?"
"How I deal with people, Dr. Greene, is none of your business. Carter knows
where he stand with me. He doesn't need to be coddled. We've had our
differences in the past, but he understands."
"Maybe. Maybe not. I've learned that if you open up to people then they'll
open up to you. When..." Mark wasn't allowed to finish.
"Dr. Greene, save your lectures for your own conscience, mine is fine,"
Peter told him firmly, without flinching.
"You could have fooled me, Peter. Mine is quite burdened right now, its
downright driving me crazy. I was Carter's direct supervisor, and I failed to
do my job. I missed the signs. I approached him, but I didn't force the issue.
Maybe..."
"M-m-maybes don't get you anywhere, D-D-Dr. Greene." Carter's voice
startled both of them, and they turned to hover over their patient.
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````
but he could hear running footsteps. After a few minutes the dejected doctor
climbed back into the front seat. He remained still, his head bowed over the
steering wheel, resisting the urge to take his frustration out on the instrument
panel.
"The car was already driving past us by the time I got outside." Peter stared
at the wheel for a few more seconds, only looking up when he heard Carter
speaking.
"Don't worry, Dr. Benton, I'll be fine," Carter gasped. That word again.
"Fine." And once again, it was miles away from the truth.
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````
It had been forty-five minutes, and no more cars had approached. Peter sat in
the front seat with the driver side door open a crack, waiting and ready to
flag down an approaching vehicle.
Mark was beginning to feel cramped and uncomfortable, and the small talk
he was making with Carter was becoming more and more difficult. Mark's
fear of hypothermia was fading, as the younger doctor's skin felt warmer and
his shaking had subsided. However, it was apparent that he couldn't string
together complete sentences, and this had Mark very concerned.
Mark decided to break the silence with Peter. "I think I'm going to try to
walk outside and use my cell phone. Maybe I can find an area where the
signal might work."
"Isn't that how this situation was created in the first place?" Peter asked
solemnly.
"Yeah, well, I don't think waiting for help to find us is going to work. These
roads probably get flooded during these intense storms and I doubt we'll be
seeing any traffic anytime soon." Mark didn't wait for another rebuke from
Benton. He carefully lowered Carter flat on his back feeling each and every
grimace that spread across Carter's face as he was moved.
"I think letting him lie flat is the best thing for him right now. Normally I
would want to elevate his legs, but I think that would only put further strain
on his broken ribs," Mark reasoned, not looking at Peter.
"Moving him around didn't seem to concern you too much earlier," Peter
replied stoically as Mark opened the back door of the van to exit. Mark
lingered for just a second, letting Peter's words sink into his already
burdened conscience. Before he closed the door to keep the wind from
blowing in he said quietly, "We all have regrets that cannot be undone,
Peter."
The door was slammed shut, leaving Peter alone with Carter. Silently, Peter
considered the regrets which weighed the most heavily on his heart at that
moment.
`````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````
"Why--do--you always--do that?" Cater asked without bothering to look up.
Speaking was pure torture; the exercise of inhaling and exhaling was putting
a tremendous exertion on what felt like the collapse of his chest cavity.
However, the question was one that he often thought about, and always
wanted to ask. No time like the present.
"Do what?" Peter asked, frustrated.
"Shut--yourself--down. You're ssssso--scared..."
"Carter, now's not the time to try to analyze me. There's more..." Peter was
silenced, not by an angry verbal interruption, but by the feel of someone's
hand squeezing his arm. It was not a signal of comfort. It was a gesture that
clearly communicated "Shut up!" The grip loosened when it won its desired
effect, then remained as one in need of human contact.
Carter could tell it made the surgeon slightly uncomfortable, but for once he
didn't care what Dr. Peter Benton thought about him. He needed the
reassurance of his presence. The younger doctor resumed his conversation,
fighting for every word.
"You're scared to show--any feelings. T-t-that you're human. T-t-that you--
care." Carter could feel the tide changing; the wave of pain was starting to
take him under. His thoughts were muddled and it was hard to focus on
talking. "Its--easier--for you to--be--c-c-cold-- detached." Carter swallowed
painfully, his chest compressed by an unbearable weight.
"Stop seeking my approval, Carter. You don't need it anymore." Peter
lowered his head, his words soft and genuine. "You've had it for a long
time." Instead of seeing happiness, or at least ease, Carter's eyes seemed to
be filled with even more sadness.
"I--I know. I-I-I j-just wanted your--friendship." Carter couldn't hold out
anymore; finally letting the agony win him over. He groaned as the double
images inside the car blurred into an unrecognizable montage of color. Then
he closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him.
His hand slipped from Benton's arm and fell unceremoniously to the side.
Peter was overwhelmed with an intense fear, and grabbed Carter's wrist to
check his pulse. Relief flooded him when he felt it; weak but steady. He
moved his hand to grasp the younger man's. He held it tenderly in his own,
and gave it a gentle squeeze. Carefully gathering the unconscious man in his
arms, he gently embraced him. His face moist, Peter whispered in his ear,
"I've always been your friend."
Not wanting to aggravate the younger man's broken bones, Peter gently
lowered him to a prone position on the floor. He let his hand linger on
Carter's shoulder, for his own comfort. Benton sat quietly, staring into the
emptiness of the van, every once in a while checking Carter's pulse to
reassure himself of its steady rhythm. The vehicle was be silent, but filled
with the pounding of the storm outside. The rain was so heavy that it was
hard for Benton to hear Carter's shallow breathing. He was alone, he realized
nervously, without anywhere to go.
Peter glanced down at his former student and wondered if that was how he
had felt these past few months: in the midst of chaos, but trapped by a cruel
reality. The world continued on its track, oblivious to the drama inside the
van. Benton looked toward the back door, hoping Mark would come in with
a solution to their situation. The surgeon tried to recall little things he should
have noticed, things he'd missed these past months. He'd seen Carter in the
halls or during traumas. Of course, he wasn't looking for anything. Things
were back to normal, the staff had to move on with their lives, and he had
his budding relationship with Cleo. Benton knew that when you weren't
looking for something, you didn't usually find anything. John Carter was a
doctor, a grown man. Peter had done his job, taught him what was required.
Sure, he considered him a friend, but he also didn't seek him out to talk to or
go out for a drink with. The hospital was his home, but he had his son and
Carla. It wasn't a substitute family for him, as it was for others. Like it was
for the Carter, he thought.
Peter was trying to understand why he never let down his wall for Carter,
when he heard the faint sounds of footsteps over the pounding of the rain.
"Hey, Carter, you hear that man? That's Mark and I know help's going to be
here soon. You got to wake up now, this isn't the time to take a nap." Peter
tried shaking his left shoulder gently, but there was no response. He was still
attempting to wake the younger man, when the back door opened and a
wave of cold air rolled through the vehicle.
"Mark, shut the door! It's finally warm in here," Peter said crabbily,
adjusting Carter's suit jacket. He ignored Mark as he settled down on the
opposite side of their friend.
"I was able to get a signal out. What happened?" He gestured to Carter. "Is
he stable, Peter?" He whipped out his penlight and bent over to examine
Carter's pupils once more.
"He's unconscious. What does it look like?" Peter grumbled. "When's help
going to arrive? We need a CT to rule out a subdural hematoma."
"Pupils still even, very sluggish, though. God, I wish we could get a BP."
Mark tucked his penlight back into the pocket of his soaked through shirt.
"Mark, who did you reach?" Peter asked impatiently, unable to wait any
longer for news.
"I got in touch with a fire station. I couldn't get through to a hospital. They're
going to send a couple of their EMT's when they can clear the roads. There
are many trees down..."
"How long, Mark?" Peter interrupted.
"They said an hour or two," Mark responded, eyes downcast. He didn't
lookup, feeling Peter's angry glare.
"Damn it! We can't wait that long! He needs x-rays, a possible ex- lap, he
could have re-injured..."
"Peter! Stop it!" Mark cut him off. "We can't do anything right now. We
have to accept that. You don't think I'm worried? You don't think I feel just a
little bit responsible for what happened tonight?" Mark calmed down when
he saw Peter listening. "I'm the one that made the arrangements for him to
go to Atlanta." Mark held up one finger. "I'm the one who didn't think the
idea out enough. I was just going to hand him a ticket and hope for the best."
Mark held up a second finger. "I'm the one who thought that driving at night
and in the rain was a bright idea." Mark held a third finger. He wasn't
looking for forgiveness; he just needed to let Peter know that he felt terribly
guilty.
"I'm not going to defend you in anyway, Mark. You're right. I think the
whole intervention was poorly done. I don't think he was monitored properly
when he returned to the hospital. He was overworked and he had no one to
turn to. So, he turned to his pain medication." Peter's voice competed with
the booming sound of the thunderstorm raging outside.
"There is plenty of blame to go around, Peter. I had no idea he was in that
much pain. Did you? Hell, you were his surgeon! Then you turned over his
care to someone else. Why did you do that, huh, Peter?"
The veins on Benton's face stood out, an indication of the rage he was
holding back. He took a deep breath, and slowly answered the other doctor.
"I thought it was for the best to transfer his care to someone else. I kept tabs
on him." He sat there in the thick, heavy silence, hoping his last statement
would justify his actions.
"Why did you go after him in the parking lot, Peter?" Mark asked pointedly.
Taken aback, Benton let out an exaggerated sigh. "Because I could talk some
sense into him."
"Because he respects you?" Mark pressed.
"Yeah, I guess," he replied tersely.
"Because you were his teacher," Mark said matter-of-factly.
Aggravated Peter said, "Yes, I was his teacher for three years.
Mark shook his head as if disappointed with a child. "You can't admit it,
canyou?"
Benton didn't reply. He rolled his eyes, and tried to distract himself by
adjusting Carter's suit jacket. Again.
"Peter, you are an extremely gifted surgeon. You always seek out a
challenge and you never back down from an argument. But you can't handle
something as simple as accepting or admitting friendship?"
"How I deal with people, Dr. Greene, is none of your business. Carter knows
where he stand with me. He doesn't need to be coddled. We've had our
differences in the past, but he understands."
"Maybe. Maybe not. I've learned that if you open up to people then they'll
open up to you. When..." Mark wasn't allowed to finish.
"Dr. Greene, save your lectures for your own conscience, mine is fine,"
Peter told him firmly, without flinching.
"You could have fooled me, Peter. Mine is quite burdened right now, its
downright driving me crazy. I was Carter's direct supervisor, and I failed to
do my job. I missed the signs. I approached him, but I didn't force the issue.
Maybe..."
"M-m-maybes don't get you anywhere, D-D-Dr. Greene." Carter's voice
startled both of them, and they turned to hover over their patient.
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````
