The Road Less Travelled – part two
Okay, so this is the companion piece of sorts to the second in Laura's 'Miles to Nowhere' series, which she has kindly allowed me to write Carter's POV for. (Well, okay it's taken bribes of alcohol, money and threats of violence, but eventually she gave in…)
Spoilers: To the end of series 7. We've got it covered from there…
Summary: Carter helps Abby through a difficult time…(hence please note, it's a Carby fic…)
Author: Cath
Feedback: Goes to
Disclaimer: Unfortunately they're not mine…yet…. But if I promise to be good, can I have a Carter for Christmas? Please?
Notes: Don't think there is anything else to say. Am English, so if anything doesn't read like an American has written it, it's because it's not. Duh.
Anyway, here I go, wish me luck…
~*~ The Road Less Travelled, part two ~*~
We travel on until we reach a small town. If it could even be classified as a town. The gas station/grocery store, fleabag motel and few houses seem more to punctuate the endless desert land rather than represent a place to live. I wonder what would make anyone want to live in such a place, or stay longer than the time it takes to drive through. Unfortunately the car begs for more gas, and so we must prolong our visit to this comma, or dash, or whatever the hell it is.
I pull into the gas station, and stop by the lonesome pump.
I get out of the car and look around to make sure that it is actually self-service. It is, well there are no signs or people to say otherwise, and so I proceed.
Abby gets out of the car, and I give her a questioning look, as it's obviously not just to stretch her legs. She motions with her head towards the small grocery store/gas station and I don't ask why. It's not really my business. Unfortunately she doesn't have to tell me if she wants to buy a bottle of alcohol of any description. If she wants to ruin her life, I can only watch.
Not that I think that she will buy any alcohol, for all I know she could want some lifesavers, or chips, or some water. She has more strength than to become a victim to the temptation once again, and I'd like to think that she would have better judgement than to do it whilst I'm so close by.
There is nothing to look at on ground level and so I look up at the sky, empty of clouds' cumulus, stratus, nimbus and whatever the hell the other one is. Rhombus? No, I seem to recall that in my geometry class.
It seems almost incredulous to me that I'm obsessing over the names of cloud types whilst Abby could be in the shop, buying the liquor that will put her back so many years. It must be the effect of mind numbing boredom that this town seems to exude.
What the hell was that last cloud type? I think that maybe I'll ask Abby, see if she knows, but then decide against it as she'd only think that I was going insane. Which I think I might be.
Stratus. Nope, already had that one.
Cirrus. That was it. Cumulus, stratus, nimbus, and cirrus. None of them in the sky, like the ground, it is devoid of any thing of interest. Just the bright blue sky, accented by the ever-present sun.
I see Abby come out again from the shop, and she smokes several cigarettes before she walks over and starts talking to an old man sat outside. I don't hear what they say, but he nods over at the gas station and Abby looks somewhat annoyed, but starts to walk back to where she came from.
The gas stops pumping, the car is full again, and will hopefully be happier for it, and it brings me out of my short reverie. I look at the amount before following in the direction Abby went.
I go into the shop, and hear Abby ask the guy at the counter for a phone.
"You could borrow my cell." I offer, knowing that there is no way that she will take me up on it.
She startles, unaware that I had followed her. "I have to call Luka." She says, and I can't read the expression on her face.
"Oh." I comment, for lack of anything else to say. I decide that now might be the time to ignore any feelings that I might have about their relationship and back down, walk away. So I go over and peruse the selection of candy that they have. Not much. I select a packet of pepper mint lifesavers, and by the time that I've returned to the counter, Abby has gone, as has the clerk. The clerk returns shortly, and I give him the mints and point to the car. Not that there would be any need for it, I'm the only person, apart from Abby in the store, and there are no other cars around. I pay the amount that the guy tells me, and then go outside again, and look towards the sky, hands held high as my life falls apart and I become certifiably insane.
I muse that the old guy across the road might think that I'm praying to God. I don't even think that God exists in places like this. My hands drop by my side, and open the eyes that I had closed. God has not granted the wish that I am out of this place, out of this life, and I begin to think that only a miracle will allow me to do either.
I hear the door to the shop open several long minutes later, and I know without turning round that it is Abby. At least I hope it is as I ask, "what did Luka say?" with as much enthusiasm as I can possibly muster. I don't make the mark even by half, but Abby thankfully makes not comment on it, instead saying, "Not much."
I choose not to ask more, I don't think I want to hear the answer anyway. "So, do you want to drive?" I ask, trying to make the moment less awkward, and trying not to yell out loud that Abby shouldn't even have to think to call Luka. I'm here for her, as I always have been, as I always will be. But she does not hear my silent scream, and it seems as though it will be that way forever. I throw her the keys, and she deftly catches them with both her hands.
"What are we doing here?" She asks after a moment. What are any of us doing here? I wonder, but now is not the time for philosophical discussions with myself that will only increase the reality of my insanity.
"I don't know." I opt for, answering truthfully. Really, I don't. I would never choose to come to this godforsaken hyphen in the desert. And I'm there with the metaphors again. Certainly not improving my chances for sanity. "You were the one who wanted to come." I complete, not knowing what else to say.
"I was drunk at the time. I'm not exactly at my most rational when drunk. If I'd said I wanted to pony trek in the Himalayas, would you have taken me?" Probably.
Abby doesn't seem to realise the hold she has on me. I'd do anything for her, I think, which only proves my madness.
However, I know better than to say any of this out loud. So I laugh. Or give my best attempt at a laugh. "Come on. This is hardly Nepal. You said you wanted to get away for a couple of days, so now we're away."
"Away in the middle of nowhere," she replies, and I agree with this more than she knows. "Do you even know where the Hell we are?"
No, I don't. I'm not sure I'll ever know, I'm not sure I ever want to know, all I know is that I want to be as far away from this place in time as I possibly can be. However I point towards the signpost signaling that it isn't in fact hell we're in, but Grantsville, AZ. About as close to hell as I've ever been. "Sure I do. We're in Grantsville. Grantsville, Arizona." I point out unnecessarily.
"Why thank you for making that exceptionally complex deduction. And where, pray tell, is Grantsville, in relation to anywhere resembling civilisation, that is?" She seems to think that it was unnecessary as well. Great minds think alike and all that.
We're out in the middle of nowhere, miles from anywhere and even further from home, and I begin to think that we're never going to get back. Back to where we came from. And this saddens me far more than it should. Of course we'll get back, the endless desert isn't in fact, endless, just seems that way.
I reach into the glove box of the car and look for a map. I'll give Abby the real answer, and not some philosophical mumbo jumbo that seems to have plagued me recently. I think it's this town. Nothing to do but pass the time thinking and philosophizing.
"The Nevada Stateline is about 100 miles west on this road, then it's a little further on to Vegas. Or we could head back the way we came to Phoenix. We can catch a flight back to Chicago from either city – since I'm assuming that's what you want to do." And it's what I'd like to do.
"So, which way? Onwards or back from whence we came?" And again we double-talk. Choose your meaning and use a phrase that will expand to fit either version, but will really answer your own meaning.
"We should carry on – after all, there's no going back is there?" And I mean this less in the geographical sense. We've come this far, and we can't go back to what we were before. Too much has changed. We've changed.
"No. There never is." She says, and I think, once again she is agreeing to it in the more emotional sense. We think alike, Abby and I. And it can drive me crazy, and it can make me laugh. And sometimes it can just mean nothing. Now it means that we've agreed on something fundamental, but I don't think I can even start to sort that out in my head until we get on the open road, and away from Grantsville, AZ.
We drive for hours. More desert, more open landscape with no obscuring views, and it all reminds me of the sky empty of the clouds. There is nothing to see after a while that is different than before, and we close our eyes to it all.
The music playing in the background is as sparse as the view, and it does nothing to improve my mood.
The driving, the emptiness, the nothingness - all collects and leaves me feeling hollow and tired. Shattered even, and I sense that Abby feels the same. We say nothing to one another, and once again I begin to feel that this impromptu road trip has done nothing for either one of us, and was an expensive mistake.
And then after we stop for a quick break she reaches out to me, lets me know that she is still with me and it all feels worthwhile again. Those few moments where we connect make up for the hours that we spent together but apart.
And then we finally arrive at our final destination. Viva Las Vegas. I'd not been here for years, but it has not changed one bit. I peer over at Abby who was trying to catch some sleep, and I see that she, too, has perked up with the idea of civilisation, of people, of a promise that we can get home after all. It's a welcome relief, and I don't know of many people who could say that about Las Vegas.
I drive straight to the airport - there is nothing else to do. Abby goes to the bathroom, and I head over to the desks, hoping to extend our tickets to Vegas. Which I am assured is fine. However, not until the morning.
I beg and plead with many of the staff, embarrassing myself for Abby's sake, however there is nothing that they can do, no miracles that they can perform, and I think back to Grantsville, that we are no nearer home than we were then. We can't get home without miracles tonight, and all I want to do is get into my apartment, wash off the days' accumulation of dust and dirt and crawl into bed. However, there is no chance of this, and I'm not sure whether I'm more upset for my own or Abby's sake. Both, I think.
I walk over and stand outside the women's bathroom and wait a few minutes for Abby to emerge. She looks clean, but tired beyond all belief, and I regret that I am the one to tell her that there is no way home for us, not tonight. She asks about the plane tickets, and I consider for a moment what I am going to say.
"I asked at all the desks. And the first flight to Chicago I could get is at ten a.m. tomorrow." She is not happy. That much at least is evident. But there is nothing that I can do.
"Not until tomorrow morning?" She asks me, pleading with her eyes that I can do more to help her. And I desperately want to, but cannot. "Did you go through every airline? There can't possibly be nothing available? What about in first class? Or transfers – we could fly somewhere else first then go on to Chicago."
She is starting to panic, and it's understandable. I try my best to calm her, but I don't think it's entirely effective. "And the journey would take twice as long and cost twice as much. What's the big deal, anyway? We could spend the night in a motel here, get some sleep, then go back tomorrow. Eighteen more hours isn't going to change anything." I don't think that even I believe what I am saying. Eighteen hours is a long time when we have nothing to do, no where to go, and all we want to do is go home.
"I'm not sure…"
"It's just one night, Abby." I tell her, trying to convince both her and myself.
"All right, okay. I can handle it," she says, but she sounds more as though she is trying to psyche herself up for it than actually agreeing with me. I decide to take her answer at face value, though.
"Good. I saw a motel outside the airport, we can stay there."
"Fine," she says as we gather ourselves together and walk back towards the outside and the oppressive heat. We walk outside before she starts to question me again. "Are you sure they were no flights left? You weren't just saying that to make me stay?"
I'm not sure how to reply to this accusation. Does she not realise that I did almost everything that I could to try and get home? I don't want to stay here any more than she does, especially since it is so obvious that she no longer wants to stay here.
"What? You really think I'd do that?" I answer eventually, and half hope that she was only joking. But I know that she wasn't. She really thought for at least a moment that I was prolonging our stay here for some selfish, inexplicable reason, and it hurts.
"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. In fact, I'm sorry for all of this. For dragging you into this, for acting like a total bitch." She immediately draws back and I see the sadness in her expression. And all I want to do is wrap my arms around her and take away the hurt and the sadness and magically transport us home. However I can't do any of that, I have no secret to make her happy again, to make her mother alive again, to even get us home tonight. So, I settle for hugging her and try to make things better by telling her that I'm sorry - for her mother.
But I'm more sorry that she has to go through this alone, that she has to feel that she has no one to help her, and feels as though she is a burden on me.
She is anything but, however there is no way that I can tell her this, not right now, not here.
I only hope that she'll work it out before it's too late, and I hope that soon she'll stop feeling guilty about the way she feels towards her mother, to Luka, to me, even, but more so about herself.
To Be Continued???