Title: Close, But Not Touching (2/9)
Disclaimer: You know the drill.
Rating: Hmm, PG-13 for language and the like.
Setting: Right after "Never Say Never." Yeah, I'm a slacker, I know . . . this thing's been in the works for about a year, the last 5 months being me completely rewriting the whole damn thing. Excuses, excuses – on with the story.
Notes: This chapter is from Carter's point of view.
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In the morning I woke comfortably – the sunshine streaming through the window was pleasantly accompanied by the chirping birds outside. The sheets covering me were warm and inviting, but as I became increasingly conscious, the texture of the sheets seemed unfamiliar. I cracked one eye open and was surprised to find myself surrounded by a definitively feminine room - the curtains on the window were pale yellow, the walls were adorned with pink rosebud wallpaper, and even the sheets I was under were yellow and flowery.
Quickly I snapped my eyes open, and for one frightening moment I didn't know where I was. Then the memories of the night before came flooding back and I let out a sigh of relief. Deb's. I was at Deb's, like I'd been so many times before.
Except I didn't remember ever being quite so naked at Deb's before.
I sat up almost immediately as I remembered the circumstances regarding my location. Talking with Deb. And joking with Deb. And yikes . . . kissing with Deb. And . . .
Oh, God.
I closed my eyes as the weight of the world crashed upon my shoulders. The conflict of remembering last night with both pleasure and immediate regret was too much for me to comprehend, and suddenly my focal point became Deb's lacy bra hanging from her ceiling fan. I had no idea how *that* happened, but to tell the truth, I didn't remember many details from the night before – it was all an intensely surreal, frantically romantic memory; a blurry, drunkenly passionate dream . . .
I smiled in spite of myself. It seemed so dreamlike that if I hadn't been sitting exactly where I was sitting at that moment, I would have doubted it had even happened. Yet the dreamlike part was confusing to me. The soft afterglow of sex still loomed over me – a cloud of intrinsic pleasure and warmth was blissfully unaccompanied by a hangover. Yet there was also a sense of guilt, which I had known would be inevitable even before we'd gotten to her apartment. It was a nagging feeling of dread, a feeling that could only be explained as slight disgust; though nothing about last night really disgusted me.
The thought of seeing her now, however . . . now that she'd be in this new light . . .
Absently my gaze drifted to the other side of the bed, and I was relieved to see it empty. My solitude didn't help my jumbled thoughts, however, and I scanned the room for my clothes – yet in the back of my mind I knew they weren't anywhere nearby. A mental image of Deb's living room floor occurred to me and I winced, knowing I'd have to walk through the apartment completely naked to collect my clothing. Luckily, Deb was most likely at work, so there was no worry of her seeing me . . .
I winced again, realizing that the only reason for Deb to be at County would be to sort out any loose ends in her quitting. The last thing she would probably need after a day like that would be to find me still here. In fact, the more that I thought about it, the more relieved I became that Deb wasn't around – if she felt half as confused as I did at that moment, this morning would be a lot more awkward than any normal "morning after." It was incredibly conflicting. I'd woken up next to women I knew next to nothing about many times before; I'd woken up to women I was convinced I was in love with even more often. But Deb was my rock, my best friend, the only true constant in my life. I knew everything about her, yet I wasn't in love with her. Ordinarily I'd long for an encore – now, I found myself perversely relieved that I wouldn't see her at work today.
I pulled the bed sheet around me – truly one cliché wrapped in another – and stumbled out of the room. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and scowled, becoming increasingly relieved that Deb wasn't around to see how I really looked in the morning.
I spotted my boxers down the hall, and quickly slipped them on. The details of last night were becoming increasingly clear, and I turned towards the sofa to retrieve my slacks and shirt. I groaned when I noticed that the shirt was missing every single button – even the buttons on the cuff. I made a mental note that Deb was a ripper – next time, I'd wear a less expensive shirt . . .
I froze at this thought. Next time? Would there even be a next time? Why would there possibly be a next time? Last night was an impulse, an impromptu non-decision; we were both hormonally charged . . . the sexual tension could have been there for years . . . best friends slept together all the time. It was like a rite of passage, or something . . .
Yet a next time really didn't sound half bad. Hell, as long as my relationship with Deb was ruined and awkward, why not? Maybe I was just deprived of sex for too long, maybe I'd missed emotional intimacy just as much as physical intimacy . . .
I shook my head discontentedly and resumed picking up my clothes. I decided to stop overanalyzing it all – some things were better left impulsive. But if Deb brought the topic up the next time I saw her, well, I'd be willing to listen. She'd probably leave me a message on my machine once I got in, or she'd make some effort to see me before I started up my shift at County. Hell, if she was there now, I'd probably run into her once I got there. We could have lunch maybe, friendly chit-chat, just like the best friends I knew we were . . . but maybe I just needed to be convinced.
I didn't see her again for eight weeks.
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When I did see her, she was sitting at the counter at a coffee shop we used to frequent. "Long time, no see," I commented, sliding onto the stool next to her.
She turned around sharply at the sound of my voice. "Oh . . . yeah, I know," she responded, and I was surprised to find that I couldn't read her expression. She looked tired, which was how I'd grown accustomed to seeing her, but there was an uneasiness in her eyes that was questionable to me. "I'm sorry, I've been busy . . . various interviews around town, doors slammed in my famously malpracticing face . . . you know the story." She looked at me once more, then added "Maybe not."
I smiled reassuringly. "It'll get better once the dust clears," I told her. "You're a great doctor; that reputation's going to come through eventually."
She shot me a glare that almost made me fall backwards off the stool. "It's that reputation that I'm having so much trouble with," she replied as the man behind the counter plopped a bill in front of her. Deb reached for her purse and pulled out her wallet. "Hopefully things should be looking up soon."
"You have to go already?" I asked, disappointed.
Deb nodded and placed a 5 dollar bill on the counter. "I've got to get over to Mercy before the cabs get taken up and traffic gets ungodly." She flashed me a half-hearted smile. "It was nice to see you again, Carter."
"Now, wait, hold on," I interrupted, grabbing her wrist. "Why don't I drive you to Mercy? I don't have to be anywhere for a while."
She laughed darkly and shook her head with something that looked like amusement. "No, no-o, that's all right," she chuckled, eyeing the door. "That's not going to happen."
I rolled my eyes. "Deb, allow someone to help you once in a while. It's fine. I want to do it."
She bit her lip, obviously conflicted and unable to think of inevitably bogus excuses. "It's fine, I can get there myself . . ."
I shook my head and stood up with her. "No, sorry, I've already made up my mind. I'm taking you there."
Deb sighed, but I could see a smile playing on the end of her lips. "Well, if you've made up your mind, then I guess all I can do as a woman is to comply with your orders, sir," she replied wryly.
I nodded with a tight grin – Deb was in a bad mood, all right, and this might not be the most pleasant drive of my life, but I was making headway. Eight weeks was too long to go without seeing her. "I'm parked across the street," I informed her as we left the café. "What time is your interview?"
"Um, three," she answered quickly. "John, seriously, you don't have to do this –"
I waved a hand dismissively. "It's nothing, really," I insisted. "Come on, we haven't seen each other for ages. A car ride won't hurt you."
Deb didn't respond as I unlocked her door and then crossed over to mine. As long as I kept my spirits up, things wouldn't be awkward. I'd decided that long ago, back when I'd assumed Deb was avoiding my phone calls and not answering the door when I came by. Deb always retreated when she didn't want to face something – I refused to be that particular something.
She was silent as I closed my door and buckled my seat belt. I shook my head slightly as I started the ignition and pulled the car into traffic. "I'd ask you how things have been, but I think I've got a pretty good idea," I commented.
Den sighed gravely and for a moment of sheer terror, I thought she was going to cry. But instead she replied "Things have been all right. The entire world seems to be turned against me, but I'd worry if it wasn't. Consistency is important."
I chuckled. "I've missed the apocalyptic Deb Chen," I told her fondly.
"Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get me," Deb reminded me.
I shrugged complacently. "Good point."
We were silent for a moment, and I started to regret my feeble attempt at repairing our friendship. I was about to break the silence when she said "Look, John, about that night . . ."
I nodded vigorously, relieved that she'd broached that topic instead of me. "That's just what I wanted to talk to you about," I told her, and it wasn't altogether untrue. "It was –"
"A mistake," she finished quickly, and I turned to her in surprise. "It was a mistake. I've been feeling guilty all this time about it, how I'd had a bad day and I dragged you into it."
"No, I didn't mind," I interrupted hastily.
But she didn't pay attention. "It was inexcusable of me, really, to use our friendship so frivolously. I knew it would hurt our relationship, and I went for it anyway. I just wanted to say I'm sorry . . ."
I shook my head; staring ahead at the road, I said "You really don't have to worry about it, Deb. Honestly. I'm only sorry I haven't gotten to see you for so long." I stopped at a light and flashed her a reassuring smile. "I've missed you."
She smiled back, and I had a feeling it was the first time in a long time. "I've missed you, too. It's no fun lamenting to myself."
I chuckled and started to drive again as the light turned green. "Well, maybe if you'd picked up the phone or answered the door once in a while, you could have vented to me for as long as you wanted," I told her with a bitterness that was only mostly teasing.
"Yeah, yeah," she responded, smiling. "I needed some time."
"I could see that," I observed. "So what else have you been doing, besides looking for openings?"
Deb sighed. "This and that," she told me. "It's boring as hell when your life is normal."
"A normal life," I remarked. "What must that be like?"
"It's not as relaxing as you'd think," she told me. "I'm dying for that infrequent sleep schedule again."
"Ah, you mean the 24 hours on your feet, followed by an hour and a half of half-sleep, and eventually stumbling back home at random hours in the night to get ready for another shift?" I questioned, sliding the wheel in my hands as I made the appropriate turn. "You know firsthand that it's not nearly as glamorous as we once thought."
"Maybe," she answered, "but it's better than just floating through life. I need to *do* something besides going to countless interviews. I've even stopped getting my hopes up about them."
"Something's going to come along any time now," I told her sympathetically. "I mean, what's this interview right now for? An attending position?" Before she could speak I added "I know everyone always had bad things to say about working at Mercy, but it's got to be some kind of paradise after County, right?"
"Some kind," Deb murmured.
I nodded. "It's chaos since you left. No one wants to do anything, no one wants to work, we all just sit around and cry miserably."
Deb rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "John . . ."
"No, seriously," I defended. "We all sit around in a group circle and weep all day. 'We cry 'We miss Dr. Chen!' and we exchange sad memories of you in your prime." I glanced over at her, and she was clearly trying not to laugh. "Tomorrow we're burning Weaver in effigy. I'll send you pictures."
"John . . ." she began again, but she shook her head and chuckled. "I've got a Weaver voodoo doll you can use. It's slightly used, though."
"Not a problem," I assured her, stopping at a light. "We'll just have to make sure Malucci doesn't get his hands on it."
"I actually saw Malucci the other day," Deb remarked. "He got a spot up in Wisconsin or something, somewhere out of state." She shook her head. "I don't check one X-ray and I've got a scarlet letter emblazoned on my chest. Malucci screws some paramedic in an ambulance and he's got a job already. It's not fair at all."
"Well, would you consider working out of state?" I asked her. "Malucci probably snagged his job before they got wind of his reputation."
"I don't know yet." She didn't seem sad as much as worried, and I took that as a good sign. "I'd really rather stay in Chicago, but if worst comes to worst . . ." She sighed. "I don't know."
----------------------------------------------------
A few minutes later we pulled in front of Mercy's entrance. "Do you want me to find a spot?" I asked her as she opened the passenger door. "We can go out afterwards to celebrate or commiserate, depending on how it goes."
Deb shook her head. "I'm fine. I'd rather do this by myself." She smiled at me; taking my hand, she squeezed it appreciatively. "Thank you, John. For everything."
"My pleasure," I told her, flashing her a warm smile. "Call me afterwards, all right?"
Deb nodded and unbuckled her seat belt. "Absolutely." She gave me one more smile, one that even looked hopeful, before climbing out of the seat and shutting the door behind her. Yet her eyes deceived her – she was scared as hell.
I watched her stroll to the entrance and go in; starting to drive off, I impulsively turned the car around and drove into the parking structure.
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"Excuse me, can you tell me where they're interviewing for positions in the ER?" I asked the receptionist quickly.
Even though she was middle-aged and definitively unRandi, she still shared Randi's unimpressed glare. "We're not hiring right now," she informed me. "Come back in a month or so, there might be a position available by then."
I shook my head. "No, I'm not applying – I'm looking for Dr. Chen. Dr. Jing- Mei Chen . . ."
The woman shrugged. "Sorry, I don't know anyone by that name."
Confused, I started to speak again – but I spotted Deb waiting by an elevator. "Never mind," I told the woman hastily, and rushed to catch up to Deb. She stepped into the elevator, oblivious to my approach, and the doors shut long before I got there. Irritated, I considered going back to my car and going home, but the thought of Deb becoming elusive for another two months was nagging at me. I glanced up to the lighted numbers above the elevator – they stopped on 5. I made a mental note as I pressed the button for the elevator to come down. Level 5, level 5 . . .
A few moments later I was exiting the elevator and looking up and down the halls, which were empty. I glanced at a directory before realizing it didn't make a difference – yet after noticing the 5 large letters at the top of the board.
But why would Deb interviewing in OB-GYN?
A door closed down the hall, and immediately I followed it. I opened the door and surveyed the room – it was a waiting room, with one or two pregnant woman sitting in the chairs. I spotted Deb at the registration desk; relieved, I closed the door behind me and approached her. "Your interview is in OB?" I asked from behind her.
Deb whirled around. "John, what are you doing here?" she hissed.
"I decided to give you moral support whether you wanted it or not," I told her uncertainly, suddenly doubting how brilliant this idea was after all. "Why are you up in OB?"
Deb sighed and turned back to the desk. "It's nothing, John," she mused, picking up a pen and signing herself in. "Really, I'll call you when I get home, all right?" She turned back around and seemed annoyed that I wasn't retreating. "It's just a check-up. Nothing to worry about." Quietly she replaced the pen and took a seat at the end of the waiting room.
Refusing to take a cold shoulder as an answer, I followed Deb to her seat. "You told me you had an interview," I stated, taking a seat next to her.
"No, you assumed I had an interview," she informed me.
"You didn't bother to correct me."
Deb looked uneasy. "I know, but I didn't want –
"Jing-Mei Chen!" the receptionist called out, bored. Deb looked at me once more, then walked back up to the desk. Sighing, I followed her to the desk.
"I need these filled out, you need to sign here, and I need your insurance information," the woman recited. "First time at this hospital?"
"Um, yes," Deb told her softly. I could tell she was aware of my presence, and that she was trying to ignore me. She took the clipboard, jotted a few things down, and quickly handed it back to her.
Surprisingly, it was only then that the obvious answer came to me. "Are you *pregnant*?!" I asked much too loudly.
Deb glanced up at me, silenced me with a glare, then returned to her seat.
I stood there for a moment, staring at her in awe with wide eyes. I blinked once, then quickly followed her to her seat. "Are you serious?" I whispered, shifting back into the chair next to hers.
"You know, this shadowing thing is started to get really annoying," she informed me irritably.
"Then talk to me!" I urged. "Are you seriously pregnant?"
"No, I'm jokingly pregnant." Deb rolled her eyes.
"Deb – "
"John, I don't know anything yet," she retorted, now clearly annoyed. She picked up a magazine and started to flip through it. "Don't freak out before we know for sure."
I froze. "We?"
"Yes, 'we,'" she informed me, turning the page in the magazine. "Me and my gynecologist. But now that you mention it, you did have a pretty prominent part in this. Have you forgotten already? We just had this conversation a few minutes ago."
"No, we didn't have *this* conversation," I corrected her with a sharp laugh. "When were you planning to tell me, exactly?"
She sighed in exasperation and put her magazine down. "I was going to think about *that* once I found out one way or the other. I didn't want you to freak out over nothing."
I stared at her. "So you were thinking about not telling me at all?!" I exclaimed. "Is that why you didn't want me to drive you here?"
Deb groaned and looked up at me from the magazine. "*This* is what I wanted to avoid," she informed me.
"I'm not freaking out. This isn't freaking out." I noticed I was speaking faster than usual, so I made an effort to relax my speech. "I'm not."
Deb looked at me with amusement. "Whatever you say, John."
"Jing-Mei Chen?"
We both looked up at the mention of her name. "Here goes nothing," she said with a nervous smile.
"Do you want me to come with you?" I asked.
"No," she responded, standing up and grabbing her purse. "No, that's all right. Just go home, John. I'll call you once I'm done."
"Right, like I'd go home now," I told her with a wry grin. I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back in the chair. "I'll wait for you right here."
"Fine," Deb sighed. "I won't be long."
I nodded and gave her what felt like a supportive smile, but it was probably more shaky that I would have liked. She followed the doctor through the door, and I found myself alone – with only my screaming thoughts to keep me company. A hundred questions came to mind, but when they all ran together all I could think of was a frantic buzzing. Immediately I decided to put all thoughts aside until Deb came out of that room. There was no point in thinking about it if it wasn't even a real problem yet – once I knew for sure, I'd think about options, and decisions, and all the painful thought processes I hated even contemplated for fear of their complexity. Satisfied with my lack of decision, I picked up a nearby magazine – then nearly threw it across the room as I noticed the widely grinning baby on the cover. A bold headline on the cover proclaimed "10 Steps to Being a Great Father," and I felt my stomach churn in anticipation.
How long did a pregnancy test take, anyway? I'd done countless ultrasounds and blood tests in my life, and I never remembered them taking so long. What was she doing, giving birth?
That particular thought made me feel faint. Anxiously I glanced at my watch and was perturbed to discover that 30 seconds had passed since Deb had left the waiting room. Ugh. The pressure of fatherhood was already taking its toll – and at this thought, I again felt an unmanly lightheadedness.
I took a deep breath and clasped my hands together. There was nothing to worry about, really. Deb probably wasn't pregnant, she was probably a day late or something, there was nothing to really worry about there. She was jumping to conclusions, that was all. And now, so was I, thinking about fatherhood and babies and pregnancy . . . it was probably just a false alarm. That was it. There was no way Deb could be pregnant.
A nagging voice in my head cried "But what if she is?"
Before I could go over the procesdures of denial again, the door to the waiting room opened and a woman walked though with a toddler. The little boy clutched onto her hand and babbled pleasantly; the woman stroked his head and answered "In a minute, baby. Mommy's got to see the doctor, then we can get you some ice cream."
The little boy babbled some more and outstretched his hands – the woman lifted him up and expertly planted him on her hip. "Now shush for a second while I talk to the lady, all right?" she asked, kissing him on the forehand. The boy clapped his hands and sang a joyous song; the woman smiled slightly at the receptionist. "He's a little hyper today," she explained sheepishly, bending slightly to sign herself in.
The little boy chattered happily to himself, then caught my eye and exclaimed "Bye-ah!" as he waved with both hands.
I smiled and waved back. Then again, it might not be so bad, after all . . .
:
Disclaimer: You know the drill.
Rating: Hmm, PG-13 for language and the like.
Setting: Right after "Never Say Never." Yeah, I'm a slacker, I know . . . this thing's been in the works for about a year, the last 5 months being me completely rewriting the whole damn thing. Excuses, excuses – on with the story.
Notes: This chapter is from Carter's point of view.
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In the morning I woke comfortably – the sunshine streaming through the window was pleasantly accompanied by the chirping birds outside. The sheets covering me were warm and inviting, but as I became increasingly conscious, the texture of the sheets seemed unfamiliar. I cracked one eye open and was surprised to find myself surrounded by a definitively feminine room - the curtains on the window were pale yellow, the walls were adorned with pink rosebud wallpaper, and even the sheets I was under were yellow and flowery.
Quickly I snapped my eyes open, and for one frightening moment I didn't know where I was. Then the memories of the night before came flooding back and I let out a sigh of relief. Deb's. I was at Deb's, like I'd been so many times before.
Except I didn't remember ever being quite so naked at Deb's before.
I sat up almost immediately as I remembered the circumstances regarding my location. Talking with Deb. And joking with Deb. And yikes . . . kissing with Deb. And . . .
Oh, God.
I closed my eyes as the weight of the world crashed upon my shoulders. The conflict of remembering last night with both pleasure and immediate regret was too much for me to comprehend, and suddenly my focal point became Deb's lacy bra hanging from her ceiling fan. I had no idea how *that* happened, but to tell the truth, I didn't remember many details from the night before – it was all an intensely surreal, frantically romantic memory; a blurry, drunkenly passionate dream . . .
I smiled in spite of myself. It seemed so dreamlike that if I hadn't been sitting exactly where I was sitting at that moment, I would have doubted it had even happened. Yet the dreamlike part was confusing to me. The soft afterglow of sex still loomed over me – a cloud of intrinsic pleasure and warmth was blissfully unaccompanied by a hangover. Yet there was also a sense of guilt, which I had known would be inevitable even before we'd gotten to her apartment. It was a nagging feeling of dread, a feeling that could only be explained as slight disgust; though nothing about last night really disgusted me.
The thought of seeing her now, however . . . now that she'd be in this new light . . .
Absently my gaze drifted to the other side of the bed, and I was relieved to see it empty. My solitude didn't help my jumbled thoughts, however, and I scanned the room for my clothes – yet in the back of my mind I knew they weren't anywhere nearby. A mental image of Deb's living room floor occurred to me and I winced, knowing I'd have to walk through the apartment completely naked to collect my clothing. Luckily, Deb was most likely at work, so there was no worry of her seeing me . . .
I winced again, realizing that the only reason for Deb to be at County would be to sort out any loose ends in her quitting. The last thing she would probably need after a day like that would be to find me still here. In fact, the more that I thought about it, the more relieved I became that Deb wasn't around – if she felt half as confused as I did at that moment, this morning would be a lot more awkward than any normal "morning after." It was incredibly conflicting. I'd woken up next to women I knew next to nothing about many times before; I'd woken up to women I was convinced I was in love with even more often. But Deb was my rock, my best friend, the only true constant in my life. I knew everything about her, yet I wasn't in love with her. Ordinarily I'd long for an encore – now, I found myself perversely relieved that I wouldn't see her at work today.
I pulled the bed sheet around me – truly one cliché wrapped in another – and stumbled out of the room. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and scowled, becoming increasingly relieved that Deb wasn't around to see how I really looked in the morning.
I spotted my boxers down the hall, and quickly slipped them on. The details of last night were becoming increasingly clear, and I turned towards the sofa to retrieve my slacks and shirt. I groaned when I noticed that the shirt was missing every single button – even the buttons on the cuff. I made a mental note that Deb was a ripper – next time, I'd wear a less expensive shirt . . .
I froze at this thought. Next time? Would there even be a next time? Why would there possibly be a next time? Last night was an impulse, an impromptu non-decision; we were both hormonally charged . . . the sexual tension could have been there for years . . . best friends slept together all the time. It was like a rite of passage, or something . . .
Yet a next time really didn't sound half bad. Hell, as long as my relationship with Deb was ruined and awkward, why not? Maybe I was just deprived of sex for too long, maybe I'd missed emotional intimacy just as much as physical intimacy . . .
I shook my head discontentedly and resumed picking up my clothes. I decided to stop overanalyzing it all – some things were better left impulsive. But if Deb brought the topic up the next time I saw her, well, I'd be willing to listen. She'd probably leave me a message on my machine once I got in, or she'd make some effort to see me before I started up my shift at County. Hell, if she was there now, I'd probably run into her once I got there. We could have lunch maybe, friendly chit-chat, just like the best friends I knew we were . . . but maybe I just needed to be convinced.
I didn't see her again for eight weeks.
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When I did see her, she was sitting at the counter at a coffee shop we used to frequent. "Long time, no see," I commented, sliding onto the stool next to her.
She turned around sharply at the sound of my voice. "Oh . . . yeah, I know," she responded, and I was surprised to find that I couldn't read her expression. She looked tired, which was how I'd grown accustomed to seeing her, but there was an uneasiness in her eyes that was questionable to me. "I'm sorry, I've been busy . . . various interviews around town, doors slammed in my famously malpracticing face . . . you know the story." She looked at me once more, then added "Maybe not."
I smiled reassuringly. "It'll get better once the dust clears," I told her. "You're a great doctor; that reputation's going to come through eventually."
She shot me a glare that almost made me fall backwards off the stool. "It's that reputation that I'm having so much trouble with," she replied as the man behind the counter plopped a bill in front of her. Deb reached for her purse and pulled out her wallet. "Hopefully things should be looking up soon."
"You have to go already?" I asked, disappointed.
Deb nodded and placed a 5 dollar bill on the counter. "I've got to get over to Mercy before the cabs get taken up and traffic gets ungodly." She flashed me a half-hearted smile. "It was nice to see you again, Carter."
"Now, wait, hold on," I interrupted, grabbing her wrist. "Why don't I drive you to Mercy? I don't have to be anywhere for a while."
She laughed darkly and shook her head with something that looked like amusement. "No, no-o, that's all right," she chuckled, eyeing the door. "That's not going to happen."
I rolled my eyes. "Deb, allow someone to help you once in a while. It's fine. I want to do it."
She bit her lip, obviously conflicted and unable to think of inevitably bogus excuses. "It's fine, I can get there myself . . ."
I shook my head and stood up with her. "No, sorry, I've already made up my mind. I'm taking you there."
Deb sighed, but I could see a smile playing on the end of her lips. "Well, if you've made up your mind, then I guess all I can do as a woman is to comply with your orders, sir," she replied wryly.
I nodded with a tight grin – Deb was in a bad mood, all right, and this might not be the most pleasant drive of my life, but I was making headway. Eight weeks was too long to go without seeing her. "I'm parked across the street," I informed her as we left the café. "What time is your interview?"
"Um, three," she answered quickly. "John, seriously, you don't have to do this –"
I waved a hand dismissively. "It's nothing, really," I insisted. "Come on, we haven't seen each other for ages. A car ride won't hurt you."
Deb didn't respond as I unlocked her door and then crossed over to mine. As long as I kept my spirits up, things wouldn't be awkward. I'd decided that long ago, back when I'd assumed Deb was avoiding my phone calls and not answering the door when I came by. Deb always retreated when she didn't want to face something – I refused to be that particular something.
She was silent as I closed my door and buckled my seat belt. I shook my head slightly as I started the ignition and pulled the car into traffic. "I'd ask you how things have been, but I think I've got a pretty good idea," I commented.
Den sighed gravely and for a moment of sheer terror, I thought she was going to cry. But instead she replied "Things have been all right. The entire world seems to be turned against me, but I'd worry if it wasn't. Consistency is important."
I chuckled. "I've missed the apocalyptic Deb Chen," I told her fondly.
"Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get me," Deb reminded me.
I shrugged complacently. "Good point."
We were silent for a moment, and I started to regret my feeble attempt at repairing our friendship. I was about to break the silence when she said "Look, John, about that night . . ."
I nodded vigorously, relieved that she'd broached that topic instead of me. "That's just what I wanted to talk to you about," I told her, and it wasn't altogether untrue. "It was –"
"A mistake," she finished quickly, and I turned to her in surprise. "It was a mistake. I've been feeling guilty all this time about it, how I'd had a bad day and I dragged you into it."
"No, I didn't mind," I interrupted hastily.
But she didn't pay attention. "It was inexcusable of me, really, to use our friendship so frivolously. I knew it would hurt our relationship, and I went for it anyway. I just wanted to say I'm sorry . . ."
I shook my head; staring ahead at the road, I said "You really don't have to worry about it, Deb. Honestly. I'm only sorry I haven't gotten to see you for so long." I stopped at a light and flashed her a reassuring smile. "I've missed you."
She smiled back, and I had a feeling it was the first time in a long time. "I've missed you, too. It's no fun lamenting to myself."
I chuckled and started to drive again as the light turned green. "Well, maybe if you'd picked up the phone or answered the door once in a while, you could have vented to me for as long as you wanted," I told her with a bitterness that was only mostly teasing.
"Yeah, yeah," she responded, smiling. "I needed some time."
"I could see that," I observed. "So what else have you been doing, besides looking for openings?"
Deb sighed. "This and that," she told me. "It's boring as hell when your life is normal."
"A normal life," I remarked. "What must that be like?"
"It's not as relaxing as you'd think," she told me. "I'm dying for that infrequent sleep schedule again."
"Ah, you mean the 24 hours on your feet, followed by an hour and a half of half-sleep, and eventually stumbling back home at random hours in the night to get ready for another shift?" I questioned, sliding the wheel in my hands as I made the appropriate turn. "You know firsthand that it's not nearly as glamorous as we once thought."
"Maybe," she answered, "but it's better than just floating through life. I need to *do* something besides going to countless interviews. I've even stopped getting my hopes up about them."
"Something's going to come along any time now," I told her sympathetically. "I mean, what's this interview right now for? An attending position?" Before she could speak I added "I know everyone always had bad things to say about working at Mercy, but it's got to be some kind of paradise after County, right?"
"Some kind," Deb murmured.
I nodded. "It's chaos since you left. No one wants to do anything, no one wants to work, we all just sit around and cry miserably."
Deb rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "John . . ."
"No, seriously," I defended. "We all sit around in a group circle and weep all day. 'We cry 'We miss Dr. Chen!' and we exchange sad memories of you in your prime." I glanced over at her, and she was clearly trying not to laugh. "Tomorrow we're burning Weaver in effigy. I'll send you pictures."
"John . . ." she began again, but she shook her head and chuckled. "I've got a Weaver voodoo doll you can use. It's slightly used, though."
"Not a problem," I assured her, stopping at a light. "We'll just have to make sure Malucci doesn't get his hands on it."
"I actually saw Malucci the other day," Deb remarked. "He got a spot up in Wisconsin or something, somewhere out of state." She shook her head. "I don't check one X-ray and I've got a scarlet letter emblazoned on my chest. Malucci screws some paramedic in an ambulance and he's got a job already. It's not fair at all."
"Well, would you consider working out of state?" I asked her. "Malucci probably snagged his job before they got wind of his reputation."
"I don't know yet." She didn't seem sad as much as worried, and I took that as a good sign. "I'd really rather stay in Chicago, but if worst comes to worst . . ." She sighed. "I don't know."
----------------------------------------------------
A few minutes later we pulled in front of Mercy's entrance. "Do you want me to find a spot?" I asked her as she opened the passenger door. "We can go out afterwards to celebrate or commiserate, depending on how it goes."
Deb shook her head. "I'm fine. I'd rather do this by myself." She smiled at me; taking my hand, she squeezed it appreciatively. "Thank you, John. For everything."
"My pleasure," I told her, flashing her a warm smile. "Call me afterwards, all right?"
Deb nodded and unbuckled her seat belt. "Absolutely." She gave me one more smile, one that even looked hopeful, before climbing out of the seat and shutting the door behind her. Yet her eyes deceived her – she was scared as hell.
I watched her stroll to the entrance and go in; starting to drive off, I impulsively turned the car around and drove into the parking structure.
--------------------------------------------------
"Excuse me, can you tell me where they're interviewing for positions in the ER?" I asked the receptionist quickly.
Even though she was middle-aged and definitively unRandi, she still shared Randi's unimpressed glare. "We're not hiring right now," she informed me. "Come back in a month or so, there might be a position available by then."
I shook my head. "No, I'm not applying – I'm looking for Dr. Chen. Dr. Jing- Mei Chen . . ."
The woman shrugged. "Sorry, I don't know anyone by that name."
Confused, I started to speak again – but I spotted Deb waiting by an elevator. "Never mind," I told the woman hastily, and rushed to catch up to Deb. She stepped into the elevator, oblivious to my approach, and the doors shut long before I got there. Irritated, I considered going back to my car and going home, but the thought of Deb becoming elusive for another two months was nagging at me. I glanced up to the lighted numbers above the elevator – they stopped on 5. I made a mental note as I pressed the button for the elevator to come down. Level 5, level 5 . . .
A few moments later I was exiting the elevator and looking up and down the halls, which were empty. I glanced at a directory before realizing it didn't make a difference – yet after noticing the 5 large letters at the top of the board.
But why would Deb interviewing in OB-GYN?
A door closed down the hall, and immediately I followed it. I opened the door and surveyed the room – it was a waiting room, with one or two pregnant woman sitting in the chairs. I spotted Deb at the registration desk; relieved, I closed the door behind me and approached her. "Your interview is in OB?" I asked from behind her.
Deb whirled around. "John, what are you doing here?" she hissed.
"I decided to give you moral support whether you wanted it or not," I told her uncertainly, suddenly doubting how brilliant this idea was after all. "Why are you up in OB?"
Deb sighed and turned back to the desk. "It's nothing, John," she mused, picking up a pen and signing herself in. "Really, I'll call you when I get home, all right?" She turned back around and seemed annoyed that I wasn't retreating. "It's just a check-up. Nothing to worry about." Quietly she replaced the pen and took a seat at the end of the waiting room.
Refusing to take a cold shoulder as an answer, I followed Deb to her seat. "You told me you had an interview," I stated, taking a seat next to her.
"No, you assumed I had an interview," she informed me.
"You didn't bother to correct me."
Deb looked uneasy. "I know, but I didn't want –
"Jing-Mei Chen!" the receptionist called out, bored. Deb looked at me once more, then walked back up to the desk. Sighing, I followed her to the desk.
"I need these filled out, you need to sign here, and I need your insurance information," the woman recited. "First time at this hospital?"
"Um, yes," Deb told her softly. I could tell she was aware of my presence, and that she was trying to ignore me. She took the clipboard, jotted a few things down, and quickly handed it back to her.
Surprisingly, it was only then that the obvious answer came to me. "Are you *pregnant*?!" I asked much too loudly.
Deb glanced up at me, silenced me with a glare, then returned to her seat.
I stood there for a moment, staring at her in awe with wide eyes. I blinked once, then quickly followed her to her seat. "Are you serious?" I whispered, shifting back into the chair next to hers.
"You know, this shadowing thing is started to get really annoying," she informed me irritably.
"Then talk to me!" I urged. "Are you seriously pregnant?"
"No, I'm jokingly pregnant." Deb rolled her eyes.
"Deb – "
"John, I don't know anything yet," she retorted, now clearly annoyed. She picked up a magazine and started to flip through it. "Don't freak out before we know for sure."
I froze. "We?"
"Yes, 'we,'" she informed me, turning the page in the magazine. "Me and my gynecologist. But now that you mention it, you did have a pretty prominent part in this. Have you forgotten already? We just had this conversation a few minutes ago."
"No, we didn't have *this* conversation," I corrected her with a sharp laugh. "When were you planning to tell me, exactly?"
She sighed in exasperation and put her magazine down. "I was going to think about *that* once I found out one way or the other. I didn't want you to freak out over nothing."
I stared at her. "So you were thinking about not telling me at all?!" I exclaimed. "Is that why you didn't want me to drive you here?"
Deb groaned and looked up at me from the magazine. "*This* is what I wanted to avoid," she informed me.
"I'm not freaking out. This isn't freaking out." I noticed I was speaking faster than usual, so I made an effort to relax my speech. "I'm not."
Deb looked at me with amusement. "Whatever you say, John."
"Jing-Mei Chen?"
We both looked up at the mention of her name. "Here goes nothing," she said with a nervous smile.
"Do you want me to come with you?" I asked.
"No," she responded, standing up and grabbing her purse. "No, that's all right. Just go home, John. I'll call you once I'm done."
"Right, like I'd go home now," I told her with a wry grin. I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back in the chair. "I'll wait for you right here."
"Fine," Deb sighed. "I won't be long."
I nodded and gave her what felt like a supportive smile, but it was probably more shaky that I would have liked. She followed the doctor through the door, and I found myself alone – with only my screaming thoughts to keep me company. A hundred questions came to mind, but when they all ran together all I could think of was a frantic buzzing. Immediately I decided to put all thoughts aside until Deb came out of that room. There was no point in thinking about it if it wasn't even a real problem yet – once I knew for sure, I'd think about options, and decisions, and all the painful thought processes I hated even contemplated for fear of their complexity. Satisfied with my lack of decision, I picked up a nearby magazine – then nearly threw it across the room as I noticed the widely grinning baby on the cover. A bold headline on the cover proclaimed "10 Steps to Being a Great Father," and I felt my stomach churn in anticipation.
How long did a pregnancy test take, anyway? I'd done countless ultrasounds and blood tests in my life, and I never remembered them taking so long. What was she doing, giving birth?
That particular thought made me feel faint. Anxiously I glanced at my watch and was perturbed to discover that 30 seconds had passed since Deb had left the waiting room. Ugh. The pressure of fatherhood was already taking its toll – and at this thought, I again felt an unmanly lightheadedness.
I took a deep breath and clasped my hands together. There was nothing to worry about, really. Deb probably wasn't pregnant, she was probably a day late or something, there was nothing to really worry about there. She was jumping to conclusions, that was all. And now, so was I, thinking about fatherhood and babies and pregnancy . . . it was probably just a false alarm. That was it. There was no way Deb could be pregnant.
A nagging voice in my head cried "But what if she is?"
Before I could go over the procesdures of denial again, the door to the waiting room opened and a woman walked though with a toddler. The little boy clutched onto her hand and babbled pleasantly; the woman stroked his head and answered "In a minute, baby. Mommy's got to see the doctor, then we can get you some ice cream."
The little boy babbled some more and outstretched his hands – the woman lifted him up and expertly planted him on her hip. "Now shush for a second while I talk to the lady, all right?" she asked, kissing him on the forehand. The boy clapped his hands and sang a joyous song; the woman smiled slightly at the receptionist. "He's a little hyper today," she explained sheepishly, bending slightly to sign herself in.
The little boy chattered happily to himself, then caught my eye and exclaimed "Bye-ah!" as he waved with both hands.
I smiled and waved back. Then again, it might not be so bad, after all . . .
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