The Last Laugh, Part 4 - Secrets of Rome
By Lindy
This whole series is to change the whole exploitation of the fentanyl ordeal. I don't own these characters, they belong to NBC (but if I can buy any of them, contact me! I'm willing to pay for one of the pretty boys!). I know this series is a little different, because they've already dealt with it on the show, but I like digging into what could've happened. :) Enjoy!
There were just some days you didn't feel like getting out of bed in the morning. It was like adding one more number to a really big pile. Only to find out that the pile was going to be divided largely. It was hard to explain...
Carter scratched his face. He hadn't shaved in days. Normally, it wouldn't have bothered him, but today it did. Too bad, he didn't have time... no, he had the time. He just didn't want to waste it on himself anymore. There he stood: a black, dirty old T-shirt and some ripped jeans. Slamming the mirror back on the medicine cabinet, something dropped to the floor and clattered. Carter flinched, surprised at the noise, but didn't bother to look. He took a look at his face, the one he considered pitiful and disgusting. Frustrated, and not wanting to do anything, he walked quickly out to the living room and sat down on the couch in a fluster of tension. *Another anxiety attack...* Carter thought to himself, but it never helped to assess the problem. Woohoo, he found out what it was! And to think, Dr. Greene wanted him to pay a psychiatrist to do that for him.
His mind jumped back in time for a moment....
It was two years earlier, at a banquet for the hospital staff. It had been exquisite, high in the elegant Pomp Room standing high over Chicago. How beautiful it had been: some crystal had hung above, but not too much. There was a little drapery, of several sorts, mostly hardened silk and lace, there was food and tables, and all of the baggy bags were inside talking "business" and whatnot... but not outside... outside there was a smooth jazz band, playing the most beautiful jazz Carter had ever heard. The sky was clear, stars dotted the black infinity with a jeweled mist. There was a fountain in the middle of the balcony that danced the color of diamonds. And then there was her... oh, was she beautiful...
Her blonde hair had been picked up, except for a few curled strands. The black dress was simple, but so elegant on her. She really was a sight, especially against the scene of the night. Most of the younger doctors and their escorts were outside, and that made the mood mutual. It was all so good. So good...
The two must have danced for hours. He would sway there, holding her, and she, him. The surrounding and the atmosphere. It had been so wonderful. And clean, there was never anything sexually dirty, or anything like that. Not here. Not now. It was perfect, the most perfect night ever, and Carter knew it. How he didn't want that night to end...
But it did. At four in the morning, the band finally seemed to dissemble, and the couples dispersed. Carter could feel the anxiety burning inside him as he sat on that couch. Why had that night ended? So soon?... but it was so long ago... and those days were over... he could never go back to that again... and he didn't really know why...
Carter leaned back on the couch, rolling his head to one side and staring off. He thought of the woman he had danced with. She was perfect for that night. Everyone seemed to be perfect, even though they really weren't, and that would be a sin to think so. Carter didn't care. He missed her. She fit so well in his arms. He had lost sleep over it, and nothing seemed to help. It was like he was addicted to that night. It was so wonderful, an immense paradise. Something so far away... but it had been real... for a moment, at least...
"Anna..." Carter whispered, falling asleep. Drifting, he dreamt thoughts of that once realistic night, breathing in the fresh smell of her hair...
"Carter?" There was a pounding at the door. "Are you there?"
"Wha...." Carter mumbled, waking. Where was he? His... apartment? And who was at the door?... "Oh my gosh, it's four o'clock!" Carter sprang from the couch. He had overslept.. by about thirteen hours. *You stupid fool...* he thought, sprinting to the door. "Who's there?" He asked, looking through the peephole.
"It's Dr. Greene, Carter. Open up!" Carter immediately unlocked and opened the door.
"Carter, are you okay?" Dr. Greene asked. He looked over Carter. "You look like hell." And he did, too. In a tattered, stained mess of clothes, Carter stood, droopy-eyed, and seemingly upset for a man who had overslept by thirteen hours.
"Dr. Greene, I am so sorry I didn't show up for work," Carter braced himself, hands forward. "I just, I overslept, I'm so sorry." Carter pleaded, knowing he really didn't have an excuse.
"Carter, it's okay!" Dr. Greene looked at Carter. "I wasn't upset with you, I was worried. You didn't show up for either of your shifts, and no one had seen you since Tuesday..." He peered into Carter's apartment. "Carter... this place is a mess..."
"Yeah, I know..." Carter rubbed the back of his hand with his neck. "I'm really sorry, Dr. Greene, I didn't realize what time it was." Mark Greene pushed past him, entering Carter's apartment. He looked around, amazed at what he saw. Carter usually kept things in such good order. Something was wrong with this picture: pizza cartons, beer cans, milk cartons, laundry, dishes, and papers scattered across the floor. "I just have been working a lot lately, but that's no excuse, I should've at least set my alarm."
Mark Greene turned back to look at Carter. "I really should've set my alarm..." Carter went on, his hand went to the back of his neck again.
"Carter..." Dr. Greene threw his hand out, displaying the mess of a residence before him. "This place is a pig sty. I thought you liked things neat and clean and organized...?" He looked to Carter for an answer.
"Well, usually I do. I've just... been busy. Lately." Carter shruggingly said, hoping Dr. Greene would leave soon. What did he want anyway? He had just sort of... walked into his apartment, fully prepared to give the third degree? Did he suspect something? Carter's mind wracked with thoughts, but he tried to hide the suspicion from the attending.
"Carter..." Mark Greene said again, turning back to the mess in a gaping observational stare. "This is not good..."
"Well, I know it's a little messy, but-"
"No, that's not what I mean." The attending turned back to Carter. "You need help, Carter. You do."
"Wait a second!" Carter folded his arms in protest. "Just cause I'm living a little bit more... complicated life style."
"Would this complicated life style involve weight loss, disoriented living, and a changed mental status?" Dr. Greene shot back, fully prepared to fight Carter's protests.
Carter shook his head, extremely mad. "All this because I didn't come to the shift."
"Carter, look at you!" Dr. Greene was at his wits end. "There is something obviously wrong! Is the pain medication not working?"
"No." Carter shot back immediately, lying into Dr. Greene's face.
Mark could see it in Carter's eyes. Should he ask him about the missing fentanyl? No... that would seem like he had come over for that very purpose. And it hadn't even occurred to him. But it had been gone for three days... and that was the last time he'd seen Carter... and side effects involved an increase in sleep...
"Dr. Greene," Carter said, not flinching a muscle, "if you have something to say..." He paused, raising both of his eyebrows. "Then go ahead and say it."
Mark Greene just looked at Carter, very worriedly. "No, Carter," he said, stepping back. He wasn't going to push it. This wasn't the time, or place. "I'm just worried about you." He stared at Carter for one more moment. No, he wouldn't say anything for now. Besides... Carter was struggling with Lucy's death. That was reason enough to let it go. Smoothly, and without making eye contact again, Mark Greene brushed passed Carter on his way out the door.
Carter stood there, reflecting for a moment. Did Dr. Greene know? Carter let a breath of air that he had been holding pass out his nose, and then fell back on the couch, rubbing his eyes. *Shouldn't have jumped on Dr. Greene like that...* He thought to himself. He knew there would be a little suspicion floating about now. Oh well. He would just apologize, that seemed to be the only thing he could do, lately. Apologize for how he was acting. Apologize for having a hand in murdering Lucy. Apologize for being a certain way, a way that was different than he had been before. Didn't they get it? Didn't they realize he could never go back to the way life was before? That after being stabbed, and losing his apprentice/friend/lover/whatever they wanted to call her... that things would never be the same again?
Carter jumped as he heard someone at the door. "Carter?" It was Dr. Greene.
"Yes?" Carter stood up, trying not to let on too much of how he felt.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to attack you like that." Mark looked at Carter again.
"It's okay, Dr. Greene. I know that I have been acting a little different lately." Carter struggled with not rolling his eyes. He knew everyone had thought that... he just hoped no one had the guts to say it to his face... now he had to admit it. It was true though... he knew that.
Dr. Greene looked around his apartment one more time. "Again, I mean... if there's anything you ever need to talk about..." Then he saw it: the bathroom. The light was on, and small, white pills scattered the black bathroom rug. What was that on the sink, sticking out? A short, silver-tipped needle and container protruded from the sink. Dr. Greene immediately looked back to Carter, who was starting to follow his gaze into the bathroom. "You know where to find me. If you ever need to vent." He backed up towards the door. "I'll see you at seven," he said quickly, then left.
Carter nodded, but worried what Mark Greene had seen. Carter walked over to the bathroom, stepping lightly over all the trash and garbage. His eyes were wide as he saw the bathroom. He had left it a mess! Pills were all over the floor... crap, he must have spilled a bottle of the pain meds while he was slamming the door. Carter looked at the sink, almost falling down in disbelief. He had left the needle of fentanyl out for all the world to see.
*Great...* he thought, going over to the couch. *Not only does Dr. Greene have suspicion, but now he has some proof...* He reached down for a can of diet coke he had sitting out. *The question is... why didn't Dr. Greene say anything about it...* Maybe he hadn't seen everything? No... he had gotten a good look...
"Won't be long now..." Carter said, getting up from the sofa. No matter what he said or thought, he couldn't shake the feeling of insecurity. The feeling that no matter what he did, someone would find him out. Carter knew he was in way over his head. But he couldn't tell anyone that he was still in pain. He remembered Jeanie Boulet, and her AIDS. No one, absolutely no one, treated her the same way again after they found out about it. Even Carter himself had a hard time getting past the fact. Now, here he was. He knew what it felt like to be the center of attention, the weaker being. Gosh, how he didn't want to be thought of as "the one with the disease" or "the one in pain." He didn't need that.
Walking into his room, he dressed himself, and grabbed his briefcase. It wasn't seven yet, but it was time to go to work.
By Lindy
This whole series is to change the whole exploitation of the fentanyl ordeal. I don't own these characters, they belong to NBC (but if I can buy any of them, contact me! I'm willing to pay for one of the pretty boys!). I know this series is a little different, because they've already dealt with it on the show, but I like digging into what could've happened. :) Enjoy!
There were just some days you didn't feel like getting out of bed in the morning. It was like adding one more number to a really big pile. Only to find out that the pile was going to be divided largely. It was hard to explain...
Carter scratched his face. He hadn't shaved in days. Normally, it wouldn't have bothered him, but today it did. Too bad, he didn't have time... no, he had the time. He just didn't want to waste it on himself anymore. There he stood: a black, dirty old T-shirt and some ripped jeans. Slamming the mirror back on the medicine cabinet, something dropped to the floor and clattered. Carter flinched, surprised at the noise, but didn't bother to look. He took a look at his face, the one he considered pitiful and disgusting. Frustrated, and not wanting to do anything, he walked quickly out to the living room and sat down on the couch in a fluster of tension. *Another anxiety attack...* Carter thought to himself, but it never helped to assess the problem. Woohoo, he found out what it was! And to think, Dr. Greene wanted him to pay a psychiatrist to do that for him.
His mind jumped back in time for a moment....
It was two years earlier, at a banquet for the hospital staff. It had been exquisite, high in the elegant Pomp Room standing high over Chicago. How beautiful it had been: some crystal had hung above, but not too much. There was a little drapery, of several sorts, mostly hardened silk and lace, there was food and tables, and all of the baggy bags were inside talking "business" and whatnot... but not outside... outside there was a smooth jazz band, playing the most beautiful jazz Carter had ever heard. The sky was clear, stars dotted the black infinity with a jeweled mist. There was a fountain in the middle of the balcony that danced the color of diamonds. And then there was her... oh, was she beautiful...
Her blonde hair had been picked up, except for a few curled strands. The black dress was simple, but so elegant on her. She really was a sight, especially against the scene of the night. Most of the younger doctors and their escorts were outside, and that made the mood mutual. It was all so good. So good...
The two must have danced for hours. He would sway there, holding her, and she, him. The surrounding and the atmosphere. It had been so wonderful. And clean, there was never anything sexually dirty, or anything like that. Not here. Not now. It was perfect, the most perfect night ever, and Carter knew it. How he didn't want that night to end...
But it did. At four in the morning, the band finally seemed to dissemble, and the couples dispersed. Carter could feel the anxiety burning inside him as he sat on that couch. Why had that night ended? So soon?... but it was so long ago... and those days were over... he could never go back to that again... and he didn't really know why...
Carter leaned back on the couch, rolling his head to one side and staring off. He thought of the woman he had danced with. She was perfect for that night. Everyone seemed to be perfect, even though they really weren't, and that would be a sin to think so. Carter didn't care. He missed her. She fit so well in his arms. He had lost sleep over it, and nothing seemed to help. It was like he was addicted to that night. It was so wonderful, an immense paradise. Something so far away... but it had been real... for a moment, at least...
"Anna..." Carter whispered, falling asleep. Drifting, he dreamt thoughts of that once realistic night, breathing in the fresh smell of her hair...
"Carter?" There was a pounding at the door. "Are you there?"
"Wha...." Carter mumbled, waking. Where was he? His... apartment? And who was at the door?... "Oh my gosh, it's four o'clock!" Carter sprang from the couch. He had overslept.. by about thirteen hours. *You stupid fool...* he thought, sprinting to the door. "Who's there?" He asked, looking through the peephole.
"It's Dr. Greene, Carter. Open up!" Carter immediately unlocked and opened the door.
"Carter, are you okay?" Dr. Greene asked. He looked over Carter. "You look like hell." And he did, too. In a tattered, stained mess of clothes, Carter stood, droopy-eyed, and seemingly upset for a man who had overslept by thirteen hours.
"Dr. Greene, I am so sorry I didn't show up for work," Carter braced himself, hands forward. "I just, I overslept, I'm so sorry." Carter pleaded, knowing he really didn't have an excuse.
"Carter, it's okay!" Dr. Greene looked at Carter. "I wasn't upset with you, I was worried. You didn't show up for either of your shifts, and no one had seen you since Tuesday..." He peered into Carter's apartment. "Carter... this place is a mess..."
"Yeah, I know..." Carter rubbed the back of his hand with his neck. "I'm really sorry, Dr. Greene, I didn't realize what time it was." Mark Greene pushed past him, entering Carter's apartment. He looked around, amazed at what he saw. Carter usually kept things in such good order. Something was wrong with this picture: pizza cartons, beer cans, milk cartons, laundry, dishes, and papers scattered across the floor. "I just have been working a lot lately, but that's no excuse, I should've at least set my alarm."
Mark Greene turned back to look at Carter. "I really should've set my alarm..." Carter went on, his hand went to the back of his neck again.
"Carter..." Dr. Greene threw his hand out, displaying the mess of a residence before him. "This place is a pig sty. I thought you liked things neat and clean and organized...?" He looked to Carter for an answer.
"Well, usually I do. I've just... been busy. Lately." Carter shruggingly said, hoping Dr. Greene would leave soon. What did he want anyway? He had just sort of... walked into his apartment, fully prepared to give the third degree? Did he suspect something? Carter's mind wracked with thoughts, but he tried to hide the suspicion from the attending.
"Carter..." Mark Greene said again, turning back to the mess in a gaping observational stare. "This is not good..."
"Well, I know it's a little messy, but-"
"No, that's not what I mean." The attending turned back to Carter. "You need help, Carter. You do."
"Wait a second!" Carter folded his arms in protest. "Just cause I'm living a little bit more... complicated life style."
"Would this complicated life style involve weight loss, disoriented living, and a changed mental status?" Dr. Greene shot back, fully prepared to fight Carter's protests.
Carter shook his head, extremely mad. "All this because I didn't come to the shift."
"Carter, look at you!" Dr. Greene was at his wits end. "There is something obviously wrong! Is the pain medication not working?"
"No." Carter shot back immediately, lying into Dr. Greene's face.
Mark could see it in Carter's eyes. Should he ask him about the missing fentanyl? No... that would seem like he had come over for that very purpose. And it hadn't even occurred to him. But it had been gone for three days... and that was the last time he'd seen Carter... and side effects involved an increase in sleep...
"Dr. Greene," Carter said, not flinching a muscle, "if you have something to say..." He paused, raising both of his eyebrows. "Then go ahead and say it."
Mark Greene just looked at Carter, very worriedly. "No, Carter," he said, stepping back. He wasn't going to push it. This wasn't the time, or place. "I'm just worried about you." He stared at Carter for one more moment. No, he wouldn't say anything for now. Besides... Carter was struggling with Lucy's death. That was reason enough to let it go. Smoothly, and without making eye contact again, Mark Greene brushed passed Carter on his way out the door.
Carter stood there, reflecting for a moment. Did Dr. Greene know? Carter let a breath of air that he had been holding pass out his nose, and then fell back on the couch, rubbing his eyes. *Shouldn't have jumped on Dr. Greene like that...* He thought to himself. He knew there would be a little suspicion floating about now. Oh well. He would just apologize, that seemed to be the only thing he could do, lately. Apologize for how he was acting. Apologize for having a hand in murdering Lucy. Apologize for being a certain way, a way that was different than he had been before. Didn't they get it? Didn't they realize he could never go back to the way life was before? That after being stabbed, and losing his apprentice/friend/lover/whatever they wanted to call her... that things would never be the same again?
Carter jumped as he heard someone at the door. "Carter?" It was Dr. Greene.
"Yes?" Carter stood up, trying not to let on too much of how he felt.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to attack you like that." Mark looked at Carter again.
"It's okay, Dr. Greene. I know that I have been acting a little different lately." Carter struggled with not rolling his eyes. He knew everyone had thought that... he just hoped no one had the guts to say it to his face... now he had to admit it. It was true though... he knew that.
Dr. Greene looked around his apartment one more time. "Again, I mean... if there's anything you ever need to talk about..." Then he saw it: the bathroom. The light was on, and small, white pills scattered the black bathroom rug. What was that on the sink, sticking out? A short, silver-tipped needle and container protruded from the sink. Dr. Greene immediately looked back to Carter, who was starting to follow his gaze into the bathroom. "You know where to find me. If you ever need to vent." He backed up towards the door. "I'll see you at seven," he said quickly, then left.
Carter nodded, but worried what Mark Greene had seen. Carter walked over to the bathroom, stepping lightly over all the trash and garbage. His eyes were wide as he saw the bathroom. He had left it a mess! Pills were all over the floor... crap, he must have spilled a bottle of the pain meds while he was slamming the door. Carter looked at the sink, almost falling down in disbelief. He had left the needle of fentanyl out for all the world to see.
*Great...* he thought, going over to the couch. *Not only does Dr. Greene have suspicion, but now he has some proof...* He reached down for a can of diet coke he had sitting out. *The question is... why didn't Dr. Greene say anything about it...* Maybe he hadn't seen everything? No... he had gotten a good look...
"Won't be long now..." Carter said, getting up from the sofa. No matter what he said or thought, he couldn't shake the feeling of insecurity. The feeling that no matter what he did, someone would find him out. Carter knew he was in way over his head. But he couldn't tell anyone that he was still in pain. He remembered Jeanie Boulet, and her AIDS. No one, absolutely no one, treated her the same way again after they found out about it. Even Carter himself had a hard time getting past the fact. Now, here he was. He knew what it felt like to be the center of attention, the weaker being. Gosh, how he didn't want to be thought of as "the one with the disease" or "the one in pain." He didn't need that.
Walking into his room, he dressed himself, and grabbed his briefcase. It wasn't seven yet, but it was time to go to work.