The ride to the hospital was worse then uncomfortable silence in the van.
The mbulance kept running over bumps in the and each one elicited a
grimace or groan from Carter. All he wanted to do was sleep. He wanted to
forget this night, to forget the past three months. He wanted all his problems
to disappear. In his heart, he knew this was impossible, but he could try. The
confrontation with Benton had made it perfectly clear how close he was to
the edge.He had been walking a fine line for months now. He had started
with extra doses of his pain medication, but, in the confusion of the ER, he
had done the unthinkable. He still couldn't believe he had started injecting
himself with narcotics whenever there was a sudden onset of pain. Not only
did he endanger patients' lives, but he had put his friends in danger. If they
had not felt the need to send him to rehab, then Dr. Benton might not have
been out in a dangerous situation. It didn't even occur to him that he saved
the man's life.

Carter suffered through the painful ride, sighing with relief as he felt the
ambulance slow at what was apparently their destination. He was unloaded
and wheeled into a foreign ER. There was a flurry of activity, people
shouting and poking him. They were asking him questions again, the same
ones he had been asked all night. He answered each one, tired of the
unwanted attention.

`````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Mark and Peter followed the gurney into the ER. They were instructed to
wait outside, so they informed the staff that they were doctors. One of the
nurses told them that trauma two was cramped as it was, and only one of
them could come and observe. Peter was in the room before the nurse could
finish giving him instructions on protocol. Peter wasn't gloved or gowned,
but he stood back, keeping at least one of his many promises.

He watched all the procedures that were being performed, noting that the
team was running efficiently. The man running the trauma was busy
checking vitals.

He yelled to one of the nurses, " I want a chest film, abdomen, and call
radiology for a head CT." The paramedics had explained that Dr. West was
excellent, and even Peter had to admit that his command of a trauma was
impressive as he continued to examine Carter, ruling out various injuries.

"Mr. Carter, have you had some recent surgery? I have noted some surgical
scars on your abdomen." Dr. West leaned over for the answer, but Carter's
reply was muffled by his oxygen mask.

Peter walked over to the doctor, ignoring the warning stares of the nurse.
"I'm Dr. Benton, and I was the surgeon who operated on Dr. Carter," Peter
explained, placing a little too much emphasis on "Doctor."

Dr. West looked over at the man who had answered for his patient. He
looked very serious and was obviously concerned for a colleague. This was a
man who clearly wasn't going to allow hospital politics to dictate how to
properly care for his patient. "Dr. Benton, by all means, please update me on
Dr. Carter's history," Dr. West said sincerely. "It will be helpful when
examining the X-rays."

Peter glanced over at John, knowing he didn't want to think about the recent
past. But there was no choice, and, as a doctor, Carter understood the
medical reasons for speaking for him.

"Dr. Carter was stabbed twice in the lower back about three months ago. I
repaired the kidney; there was no permanent renal damage. I performed a
colostomy, and he hasn't had any complications since."

"Thank you, Dr. Benton, I'll look for any scar tissues from his previous
injury and order an MRI." Dr. West ordered the test as one of the nurses
returned with Carter's chest films and x-rays. Both Peter and the other doctor
looked at the chest film, noting the sternal fracture. Carter's ribs were indeed
broken on the right side, but he wasn't suffering from a flail chest, meaning
no respiratory complications. Peter sighed with relief when the other x-rays
confirmed that there was no internal bleeding. This meant no ex-lap, no
additional surgery.

Dr. West was pleased, and turned to one of the other residents. "Alright, et's
take a look at that concussion with a head CT. Hopeful we can rule out a
subdural hematoma and any other head trauma." Dr. West turned back to
Carter as he was being wheeled to x-ray. "Your pupils were sluggish, and I
think you may have a medium-degree concussion, but I'm pretty sure there
are no addition problems. Once we confirm that-should be a couple of
minutes--I'll hook you up with a small does of morphine, IV, okay?"

"No!" came Carter's garbled, but vehement, answer.

"Excuse me, Dr. Carter?" Dr. West asked, confused. The nurses stopped
wheeling the gurney so the conversation could continue.

Carter clumsily took off his mask, in order to make his point clear. "I don't
want any pain medication. No narcotics. I'm within my right to refuse," he
told the bewildered doctor. Carter looked around the despite the pain it
caused in his head until he located Peter. He locked eyes with him, knowing
his friend would back him up.

Dr. West looked at both men at a loss for words. He shook his head and
turned to Dr. Benton, noting anther man hovering behind him. "I don't
understand. Dr. Carter, it is very advisable that you accept some form of
pain medication. I can give you 10 to 15 milligrams of morphine IM, or if
you'd prefer, 75 to 100 milligrams of Demerol IM. If you don't want to take
it orally I can give it to you through an IV."

His voice grew louder and more agitated as he spoke Carter closed his eyes
after glimpsing Mark standing next to the gurney, beside Dr. West. He
wasn't up for a confrontation regarding his care. "No. I don't want any pain
medication. I'll take some aspirin. Dr. Benton understands, he's my doctor."
Carter looked past Mark and at Peter.

Peter had three different people staring at him for answers, each with a
different expression. He looked away from all of them for a second and
searched his heart. Carter had just called him "his" doctor: he trusted him.
Benton returned his gaze to Dr. West. "Yes, I'm his doctor," Peter
confirmed, almost proudly. "If he doesn't want any pain medication, don't
give it to him." Peter didn't like what he was saying, but it was what Carter
really wanted.

Dr. West indicated for the nurse to take the patient for his head CT. Then he
placed his hands on his hips in obvious irritation. It was late at night, he was
exhausted, and he wanted to avoid this argument at all costs. He looked over
at the guy with glasses, who was trying to send lightning bolts to the surgeon
with his eyes. The guy with the glasses turned to him.

"I'm Dr. Mark Greene, and Dr. Benton is no longer Dr. Carter's physician.
He hasn't been his caregiver for over three months. I have to disagree with
Dr. Benton's opinion."

Dr. West clasped his hands together. "I don't know what is going on here,
but my patient has a fractured sternum and broken ribs. He's in a lot of pain.
Right now, he is in my hospital, and he is my responsibility."

"And he also clearly indicated that he doesn't want to be administered
morphine," Peter said forcefully. "He has the right to refuse."

"Peter, you know the circumstances under which he made that decision. It's
in his best interests..."

"Mark, I think we should respect his wishes," Peter said wearily. "Let him
take control of some aspect of his life."

"Excuse me, Doctors. If you are truly being this man's friend, then I suggest
you change his mind. He is within his rights, but I don't think it's his option
right now," Dr. West tried to reason.

Peter turned to both of them. "For once, I am being his friend. He has to start
fighting his problem, and if he wants to do it the hard way, then I'll support
him." Peter took a deep breath. "In any way." He walked away, searching for
a quiet place to relax.


Mark decided to let the surgeon be and went to find a phone to alert Kerry of
their current situation. Once that difficult job was complete, Mark realized
that it was necessary to find accommodations for the night. He quickly
dismissed the idea of going back out to his car. After locating a motel down
the road, Mark journeyed back to the ER for an update on Carter. As he
headed to the admit desk, he glimpsed Dr. West coming his way. The doctor
was very confused about their current situation, but seemed to take it in
stride.

"Dr. Benton has been lurking outside the radiology room; he doesn't seem to
understand that we do know how to do our jobs around here." Dr. West
looked at Mark pointedly.

"I'm sorry about that. It's been an extremely-long day. How is Carter?" Mark
asked, trying valiantly to keep the exhaustion from his voice.

Dr. West sensed his companion's weariness, and his tone grew sympathetic.
"Dr. Carter has a severe concussion, but we ruled out any bleeding or
permanent damage. He'll have quite a headache for a while, and will
continue to suffer from episodes of blurred vision, but he'll be fine in about
four or five days. I want to keep him here for at least three."

Mark shook his head in relief, but immediately grew anxious at the stern
look he was receiving from the other doctor. "What's wrong, Dr. West?"
Mark asked.

"Look, I examined his MRI, and even I can tell that there's still some
inflamed tissue from his previous injury. I know he should still be on some
form of prescribed medication. So why is it that he refuses to take any for a
painful sternal fracture, Dr. Greene?" Dr. West questioned, annoyance
creeping into his calm voice. Mark was at a loss for words, unsure of how to
handle this issue. Dr. West answered his own question.

"Dr. Greene, I think I know what the refusal is all about. It can happen.
However, I think it presents a problem for a full recovery. You know there is
a chance he could develop pneumonia if he can't properly maintain some
normal respiration, which is problematic with broken ribs and a fractured
sternum."

"I know," Mark responded, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Convince him to take some meds. I'll lower the dose, but do it." Before
Mark could argue or agree, Dr. West picked up a chart and walked towards
another exam room. Mark looked around for any sign of Peter. He stopped
searching when his tired eyes landed on their goal. Peter Benton was with
"his" patient. Great, Mark thought, leaning against the wall. How do I tell
the Berlin wall that it's time to come down?

``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Peter Benton entered Carter's room. The lights that normally shone brightly
were dimmed to accommodate the extreme headache of the occupant. Peter
found a chair and sat down heavily. The room was filled with the steady
sound of the cardiac monitor. He sat quietly for a long time, staring with
resignation at the unused PFC machine next to Carter's IV. The patient was
not resting comfortably, like he should have been. Like he needed to, Peter
thought angrily. In fact, Carter looked terrible. His face was pale, his body
tense, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Noting that Carter was
awake he spoke quietly.

"You know, Carter, you can stop being so damn stubborn. You're not
proving anything to anybody."

Carter opened his eyes, his expression weary. "I'm not proving anything," he
whispered in a soft, raspy voice. "I don't want to go down that road again."
Carter put his hand up to his head in a futile attempt to rub his forehead. He
dug his thumb into the side of his skull in an effort to rub some of the pain
away. The end result was only an agonizing wince after he raised his arm
above his head.

"If you would act reasonably, you would be sleeping now. Or did you forget
that rest is what helps heal the body?" Peter asked sarcastically.

"I haven't had any real sleep in months and that was on my prescription,"
Carter answered resignedly.

"That's your line, huh? You're just going to hide behind that BS forever?"
Peter snapped.

Carter looked visible upset, almost confused by the conversation. Then his
face resumed an offended, stone like appearance. "BS? Have you forgotten
why this whole thing happened tonight? What I've been through these past
months? I thought...I thought."

This time, Peter didn't let him continue. "You thought wrong, Carter. You
have for a long time. You thought you could endure things all my yourself.
You thought it was okay to lie about how you were feeling, and how much
pain you've been in. You thought you could somehow self medicate without
consequences. Well, Carter, you know better!" Peter leaned into Carter's
private space, not allowing him to look away during this tirade. Carter
seemed to crumble before Peter's eyes. His expression melted into one of
despair and disappointment. Peter pressed on, since all that greeted his ears
was the steady beep of the heart monitor.

"However, your biggest mistake was thinking that you couldn't turn to
anyone for help," Peter said, his voice even and clam.

John rubbed his eyes absently and grunted an empty laugh. "Yeah, you think
so? Do you really think I could unburden my conscience to someone? I
didn't want to do that. I didn't want to be a pitiful person who everyone could
just feel sympathy for. I just wanted things to be..." He trailed off.

"Carter, your life is going to change, and that's normal. You have to accept
that as a reality," Benton chided him softly.

"I couldn't let anyone in the ER know. I needed to work, who could have
helped me objectively?" Carter asked sincerely.

"You could have asked me," Peter said, as if it was an obvious answer.

Carter grew quiet for a moment, studiously examining the area where the IV
was inserted in his wrist. "You?" he said, surprised. The very idea
dumbfounded him.

"Yeah. We could have, uh, talked," Peter said uneasily.

Carter couldn't help but laugh. "You can't even discuss this now, Dr.
Benton." Carter paused and searched Peter's face, seeing resignation and
despair replacing his usual calm countenance. "Patient doctor counseling
was never you strong point," Carter told the surgeon in a light tone.

Peter looked away and sighed. "Carter," he started to say.

"Dr. Benton," Carter interrupted. "I didn't expect it. I mean, it's alright, I
know you feel uncomfortable in these situations." Carter really had not
expected this conversation.

Benton leaned closer to Carter, resting his hands on the bedrail. "That's the
point. You never considered talking to me, because of the way I am. And
that's my own fault."

Realization began to dawn on Carter and it threw him for a loop. "You don't
really blame yourself for any of this, do you, Dr. Benton?" Carter asked
incredulously. It didn't make sense that Peter would think his actions or
inactions were in any way responsible for my problems, Carter thought. The
whole notion was completely ridiculous.

"Carter, you know I've had lapses in judgment before. In fact, I know you
were thrilled when I admitted them before," he said ruefully. "You were my
patient and I didn't follow up. I didn't want to get too close so I assigned you
another doctor. I didn't want my emotions clouding my decisions regarding
your care, like they did in the OR." Peter stared at the wall, unable to look
Carter in the eye.

John knew what Peter was saying and, more importantly, what he was
implying. A few days after surgery he had told him about the problems with
keeping the bleeding under control and how Benton opted to take out his
kidney. Carter had never considered the other implications.

After a moment of silence, Peter managed to continue. "I shouldn't have
transferred you to another physician." Peter looked Carter in the eye. "And
I'm sorry for that." Peter leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his
lap. He waited anxiously for a reply, but was greeted by a thick, heavy
silence, only interrupted by the constant beeping sound of the heart monitor.

Carter didn't quite know how to respond. The emotions he was experiencing
were overwhelming; they had even managed to distract him from the pain in
his body. Instead, it was replaced by an ache in his heart, and a feeling of
tremendous relief: he did have someone to turn to. "Why are you telling me
this now?" Carter whispered.

"I don't want past regrets to hurt you in the future. Our past mistakes
shouldn't be allowed to haunt us forever, Carter. I think you should listen to
me, and to yourself. I think we both know that it is in your best interests to
let Dr. West give you some morphine." Peter took his hand and placed it on
Carter's arm when the other man began to rub his temple again.

"I know what you're thinking. I thought that instead of it being in your
control, one of the nurses could administer it. I'm only talking about one and
a half milligrams every four hours, man. This way you could get the rest you
need and the peace of mind that you are not making any medication
decisions." Peter was sure it sounded like a reasonable argument.

"I don't know what to do," Carter said dejectedly. The pain of his chest was
excruciating, but he didn't want to touch anymore narcotics. It was just too
much for him to handle.

"Hey," Peter said. "I'm suggesting this as your doctor and ...as your friend."

Carter tried to breathe deeply, a reflex when he was frustrated and forced to
make a tough choice. The lancing pain reminded him of why Benton was so
concerned about the issue and as a doctor, he knew all the reasons why he
should accept the offer. "I trust you. Tell Dr. West to administer the smaller
dosage." Carter saw the look of contentment on Dr. Benton's face, and knew
he'd done the right thing.

"Well, good," Peter said, as he got up and headed for the door. "I knew that
bump on your head didn't knock that much sense out of you."

"Dr. Benton," Carter called.

Peter turned around. "Yeah?"

"Thank you," Carter said quietly.

Peter lingered in the doorway for a moment. "Thank you, for pushing me out
of the way back there."

"You're welcome," Carter replied, a small smile lighting up his face.

Peter left to find Dr. West, knowing that nothing more needed to be said.
Plenty had been communicated without actually being spoken. Then again,
that was the way things had always been between the two of them, Peter
thought. This time, he had made sure Carter got the message.

``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

EPILOGUE

The accommodations at the Cozy Night Inn were not quite as "spacious" and
"luxurious" as the manager had promised. After locating Peter in the waiting
area the surgeon informed him that Carter had changed his mind. Dr. West
was given the news and had ordered the needed medication and assigned a
nurse with the special instructions that Peter had wanted.

Mark had hailed a cab, and both men had gotten a somewhat decent night's
sleep. Mark had made arrangements for a tow truck, and his van was at a
local shop. At noon, Mark was just finishing a phone call when Peter walked
in. He looks sunny as usual, Mark thought, toying with the receiver.

"When's the van going to be ready?" Peter asked in his usual restless tone.

"In about two hours. I just got off the phone with the clinic in Atlanta, and
they said they'd appoint a special doctor for Carter when he arrives there
next week. He won't miss the program and have to wait until next month."

Peter stopped pacing and nodded. "That's good."

Figuring that was the only response he was going to get out of Peter, Mark
decided to take the opportunity to praise him. "It was a good thing, what you
did back at the hospital. I'm glad that you persuaded Carter to accept some
pain medication."

"He just needed to convince himself," Peter said confidently.

"Well, it was what he needed to do."

"I would have supported him either way, Dr. Greene," Peter explained.

"Look, Peter, I know that we both have regrets about these past few months
and about last night. I think it would be a good idea if we just got past
them," Mark said reasonably.

"Yeah, okay. I think you're right, Mark."

"About what?" Mark asked, confused. Was this the right Peter Benton? He'd
expected a fight.

"Actions sometimes speak louder then words. Come on, I'll buy you lunch."
Peter did not wait for Mark to agree, pushing open the door.

Mark went outside after him, noting what a beautiful day it was. The sun
was shining, and there was a pleasant breeze blowing. It was a complete
contrast to the turbulent weather of the previous night. "I think Carter is
going to be fine when he returns," Mark told his companion.

"He will. He's going to have all the support of his friends when he gets
back."

Peter was right, as usual, Mark realized. There was no worry or concern.
Carter had taken the first steps back, and both men had taken their own steps
to assure that Carter would never feel alone again.

The end.