Stories from the City 3/?
By: Jenny Brown
Category: Carter Angst
Rating: PG, adult situations...although there will be one or two NC-17 parts
Spoilers: Season Six and Season Seven up to "Surrender"
DISCLAIMER: ER and its characters are the property of Warner Bros. Entertainment, Amblin Television, NBC, Michael Crichton and Constant C Productions. There is no copyright infringement intended. This has been written purely for the enjoyment of ER fans everywhere. I am receiving no monetary compensation for my work. These ideas belong to this author and in no way reflect the values or intentions of the creators and writers of ER.
Summary: Carter deals with a crisis, and gets some help along the way. This story happens over a long period of time.
Note: This is almost a song fic, except it's not. It's based on the songs and lyrics from PJ Harvey's brilliant album "Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea."
Part Three A: A Place Called Home
~One day I know
We'll find a place of hope
Just hold on to me
Just hold on to me
Walk tight, one line
You're wanted this time
There's no one to blame~
Just hold on to me
The most pressing question of the moment was suspenders or belt and for this he was grateful. After he'd been shooed out of the ER by Kerry yesterday, he'd made his way to his grandparent's home and spent the afternoon avoiding his Gamma and contemplating the baffling parade of misfortunes that was his life. As it turned out, he didn't have to try too hard to miss Gamma, she'd thrown herself into her charity work, leaving just enough time for one awkward conversation on the second floor landing. It was another trait he'd inherited from her, the tendency to cover up emotions by focusing completely on something else.
John sighed, picking up the suspenders and holding them up to his shirt. He was looking forward to an evening with Abby; even through he'd have to exchange pleasantries with Chicago's elite. It was a small price to pay. The time with Abby was worth it. She made him feel normal or at least that he wasn't as freakish as he once thought. She'd stared addiction in the face and kept her demons at bay for the last five years. It was something he hoped he would one day achieve and, just by knowing her, he knew it was possible.
He put down the suspenders. They wouldn't do...for tonight. He grabbed the belt, putting it on hastily. In the past year, he'd only worn suspenders a handful of times. If anyone had bothered to ask why, he would have told them he was looking for a more mature look. The fact was, he didn't really understand why he stopped wearing them. They had been his trademark for so long; he used to feel naked without them. Now, every time he picked up a pair an uneasy ripple passed through his stomach. He stopped wearing them after the stabbing because they aggravated his back, but they didn't anymore.
He shrugged his shoulders, staring himself down in the large vanity mirror. Why did even the simplest questions bring him back to that night? This was not good, he thought as he poured himself a glass of brandy from the decanter on top of the bureau, sipping the velvety liquid down quickly. He didn't give the drink a second thought. He wasn't an alcoholic and it had been almost a year of sobriety. One little drink wouldn't hurt. Besides, with the naltrexone in his system, it would take a lot more than one tiny sip to give him a buzz. Furthermore, he rationalized, he deserved this; it had been a rough two weeks.
The shrill ringing of the phone by the bed interrupted his train of thought. It was a welcome distraction. "Hello...yeah...okay, I'll be right down...Thank you, Turner." He set down the receiver and gave himself one last glance in the mirror before downing the rest of the brandy.
So...Abby was here. The gatekeeper had just called to notify John of her impending arrival. Carter slowly started to make his way down to the massive foyer. If he remembered correctly, she should be at the front door five minutes from the time she passed through the gate. He smiled at the thought of her reaction to the grounds. Would she be amazed, intimidated, or delighted? It didn't really matter to him, as long as she was here.
**********************************
~I walk and I wade
Through full lands and lonely
I stumble, I stumble
With you I wait
To be born again
With love comes the day
Just hold on to me~
'What is this place? I thought we were at the house, but I guess this is some kind of gated community. I mean...I know Carter is rich...but no family can own this much land.... Can they?' Abby's mind raced with possibilities. After passing through the massive iron gate, they'd passed through a series of different gardens each grander than the last one. She'd caught a showing of "Pride and Prejudice" on PBS last week, and, for a moment, she imagined she was Elizabeth Bennett, on her way to the first ball of the summer season.
It was a brief moment though, as reality crept back into her head. John was no Mr. Darcy; no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't be that dark and brooding. Okay, maybe he could be that brooding, but he wasn't dark, not now. He was a great friend and hell, he was incredibly handsome, but he was off limits. Not only had she been his sponsor, but his father had just died. Even if they decided to pursue this relation-date-ship thing they'd been flirting around, it wouldn't be appropriate
Abby leaned back in the seat, anxiously awaiting her arrival. She couldn't believe how long this driveway was. She started to pull at her sweater nervously, picking at non-existent lint. Dinner parties made her nervous, and tonight's made her doubly so. Not only did she feel like she was intruding on a world that was not her own, but she couldn't imagine what the mood would be like. Carter's father had just died; how could they be throwing a party?
This was something she would never understand; how they go on with a party, of all things, as if nothing had happened. In fact, it frightened her a little. The avoidance of grief, coupled with the insane need to project an image to the outer world, was reminiscent of another family she'd known, her ex-husband's. Holidays used to be the worst, with the fake plastic smiles, thinly veiled resentment and the pent-up frustrations of generations. It was passive-aggressiveness at it's most terrible, and one of the major reasons the marriage between her and Richard didn't work out. Before she could dwell any further on her failed matrimony and the awkwardness of this evening's plans, the limo stopped.
The chauffeur opened the door and Abby stepped out; her sharp intake of breath clearly audible as her eyes surveyed the scene before her. It was like nothing she'd ever seen in person. She knew John was well off, but this was just opulent. His grandparent's 'house' was more like a castle, complete with flying buttresses, turrets and roman columns adorning the exterior. She could only imagine the wonders that awaited her on the interior. Her wondering was cut short as she found her self on the front step, tentatively ringing the bell.
