Blame
Summary: An AU. Lucy talks to Peter after Carter dies of his stab wounds. Different then what I usually do.
Lucy swallowed hard and knocked on the door.
"Come in if you want," came a gruff voice. Lucy took a deep breath and quickly composed herself. She turned the doorknob and wheeled herself in the room. The man she wanted to see had his back to her, looking out the window.
"I knew it was you," he whispered, "I knew you'd come eventually."
"I'm sorry," Lucy said sincerely.
"Sorry?" at these words, Peter turned to her, "Sorry for what? You didn't do anything, did you? It wasn't your fault."
"I know you think it is. I know you think I did something. And I just wanted to say I'm sorry. For whatever it is I did. And for your loss." Lucy's blue eyes were as bright with life as ever and her soft red lips were straight and her face was set in an unreadable expression. Her golden hair fell lightly on her shoulders as she sat in her wheelchair. As Peter looked at her, sitting there, dressed in a black suit, he found that loathing that he'd felt towards her ever since he heard Carter's EKG stop. Ever since he'd called that time of death.
It just wasn't fair! Why is it that she got to live while his best friend had to die? The best student he'd ever had was gone and it was her fault. He hadn't really minded her before it happened. Hadn't even really noticed her either. He hadn't really known her at all. He remembered Carter complaining about how clumsy and incompetent Lucy was to him and he remembered defending her and saying that Carter used to be that way too. He remembered running into her occasionally, exchanging a brief word or two, or looking at a patient of hers for a surgical consult, but that was all. Now, it was if this one girl, this one person that he hadn't known that well, had just taken the life of his best friend. She might as well as stabbed him herself.
Even though he thought this in his head, he said to her aloud:
"I don't blame you, Lucy."
"Yes, you do. Stop lying to me about it, Dr. Benton. I know you blame me." Lucy was calm and her face and posture was still inscrutable. Peter was silent, so Lucy continued.
"Come on, Dr. Benton! Just say it. I know you blame me. You might as well tell me!"
"Lucy, I'm sure you have a patient or something..."
"I'm not working yet, remember? Not as long as I'm in this damn wheelchair!" Lucy's composure was no longer calm. If her legs had allowed her to stand up, she would have.
"You think you got it bad? Hell, you don't wallow in self-pity every damn day of your life! God damn it, Benton! He was my friend too! At least you aren't stuck in damn wheelchair for half your life! At least you don't have scars and wounds from here to Kentucky! He was my teacher, God damn it! And if he'd listened to me in the first place, we could have avoided this whole thing!"
"Don't you dare make this his fault!" Peter spat at her, losing his own temper, standing up and slamming his hands hard on the desk, "You're the reason he went in there in the first place! He was looking for you! He was concerned about you!"
"If he was concerned about me, then how come he didn't listen to me? How come he didn't believe Paul Sobriki was schizophrenic? How come he just pushed me aside like a rag!"
"You have to have some nerve to talk about John Carter that way!" Peter said softly, shaking his head. Lucy closed her eyes tight and turned her head. When she took in a shuddering breath was when Peter realized she was trying hard not to cry. He sat down in his chair again, watching her.
"He was my friend too, God damn it. You weren't the only one who lost someone here, Dr. Benton," she muttered, grievously. There was a long silence as Lucy swallowed the lump in her throat again and blinked away the tears. With red eyes, she looked at Peter again with a sad, pitiful face.
"Why do you blame me, Dr. Benton?" she asked, quietly, "Why is it that I annoy you so much? It's not enough that I blame myself everyday, it's not enough that I'm beside myself with grief, it's not enough that I'm drowning in my own guilt, but you all have to blame me too. Hell, maybe it is my fault. But what I can really use right now is a friend, and the closest person I had to that here is dead. I don't need fingers pointing at me, what I need is someone to tell me why. I need someone to tell me why this happened. I need someone to tell me why there's so much blame on my shoulders. I need someone to tell me why I wish I'd died instead of him."
There was a long awkward silence after Lucy said her paragraph she'd been longing to say ever since someone shot her that first reproachable look. Neither Peter nor Lucy said anything to each other. Finally, Peter decided to break the tense silence that seemed to engulf them.
"You're right. You don't need people blaming you. He was your friend too. You have a right to be angry with me. But I guess the reason I've been so hostile towards you is because, even though truthfully you may not be at fault, I need someone to blame. I need something that I can blame for the death of my best friend. I need something to ease my guilt. And unfortunately, you're the lucky winner. I suppose everyone's been like that. You see, Lucy, a lot of us have known John Carter for a long time, longer than you know, and in the long time I've worked by his side, in the several years I've been is caring friend, mentor, and companion, I've grown closer than him than you can imagine. As for why this happened, that I can't answer easily. Are you a Christian woman, Lucy?"
Lucy began to shake her head but then paused.
"I didn't believe in God two weeks ago. But I guess, after all this, I kind of... oh, who am I kidding? A real God would have left my Carter right here where he should be. A real God would have taken me instead."
"Don't say that," Peter said, finding a soft spot for his best friend's ex-medical student.
"What were you saying? About why this happened?"
"I was going to say if you believed in God that God works in mysterious ways, but I'm sure you've heard that before. I was also going to say that wherever Carter is, I'm sure he's watching over us. All of us. I'm sure he makes a great angel. Just like he made a great doctor."
"And now that I said that I don't believe in God?" Lucy asked.
"Then I can all I can tell you is that this was how it had to be."
"I can't accept that. I like your first answer better," Lucy said. There was another silence.
"I wish I could just die!" Lucy finally blurted out, "I wish that the knife had just gone straight through my heart! Hell, I think it did!"
"And yet, it's still beating, isn't it?" Peter asked. Lucy looked at him strangely.
"Yeah, I guess you're right."
"Lucy, you listen to me," Peter said sternly, "You are alive for a reason. Whether it's religious or not, you are alive for a reason. As are all of us."
"If we're alive for a reason, does that mean Carter's dead for a reason?" Lucy caught Peter unaware and he had no answer for her.
"Lucy, why do any of us die?" Peter answered her question with one of his own, "No one really knows. But what I can say is that you aren't to blame. And I'm sorry I've been so mean to you lately. Carter would hate me for doing this to you." Lucy smiled at Peter, the first real smile she'd given someone in a long time.
"Thank you," she said, honestly, "You don't know how much that means to me."
"I enjoyed this, Lucy," Peter told her, "I look forward to your next surgery rotation."
"So do I, Dr. Benton," said Lucy. As she turned to leave and was nearly out the door, Peter said:
"And Lucy?"
"Hm?" Lucy asked, turning her head towards him.
"Call me Peter."
"Thank you, Peter," Lucy smiled again, "Thank you very much."
"Remember, you're not to blame," Peter added as she was leaving.
"And neither are you, Peter, neither are you," Lucy replied, "No one is."[]
Summary: An AU. Lucy talks to Peter after Carter dies of his stab wounds. Different then what I usually do.
Lucy swallowed hard and knocked on the door.
"Come in if you want," came a gruff voice. Lucy took a deep breath and quickly composed herself. She turned the doorknob and wheeled herself in the room. The man she wanted to see had his back to her, looking out the window.
"I knew it was you," he whispered, "I knew you'd come eventually."
"I'm sorry," Lucy said sincerely.
"Sorry?" at these words, Peter turned to her, "Sorry for what? You didn't do anything, did you? It wasn't your fault."
"I know you think it is. I know you think I did something. And I just wanted to say I'm sorry. For whatever it is I did. And for your loss." Lucy's blue eyes were as bright with life as ever and her soft red lips were straight and her face was set in an unreadable expression. Her golden hair fell lightly on her shoulders as she sat in her wheelchair. As Peter looked at her, sitting there, dressed in a black suit, he found that loathing that he'd felt towards her ever since he heard Carter's EKG stop. Ever since he'd called that time of death.
It just wasn't fair! Why is it that she got to live while his best friend had to die? The best student he'd ever had was gone and it was her fault. He hadn't really minded her before it happened. Hadn't even really noticed her either. He hadn't really known her at all. He remembered Carter complaining about how clumsy and incompetent Lucy was to him and he remembered defending her and saying that Carter used to be that way too. He remembered running into her occasionally, exchanging a brief word or two, or looking at a patient of hers for a surgical consult, but that was all. Now, it was if this one girl, this one person that he hadn't known that well, had just taken the life of his best friend. She might as well as stabbed him herself.
Even though he thought this in his head, he said to her aloud:
"I don't blame you, Lucy."
"Yes, you do. Stop lying to me about it, Dr. Benton. I know you blame me." Lucy was calm and her face and posture was still inscrutable. Peter was silent, so Lucy continued.
"Come on, Dr. Benton! Just say it. I know you blame me. You might as well tell me!"
"Lucy, I'm sure you have a patient or something..."
"I'm not working yet, remember? Not as long as I'm in this damn wheelchair!" Lucy's composure was no longer calm. If her legs had allowed her to stand up, she would have.
"You think you got it bad? Hell, you don't wallow in self-pity every damn day of your life! God damn it, Benton! He was my friend too! At least you aren't stuck in damn wheelchair for half your life! At least you don't have scars and wounds from here to Kentucky! He was my teacher, God damn it! And if he'd listened to me in the first place, we could have avoided this whole thing!"
"Don't you dare make this his fault!" Peter spat at her, losing his own temper, standing up and slamming his hands hard on the desk, "You're the reason he went in there in the first place! He was looking for you! He was concerned about you!"
"If he was concerned about me, then how come he didn't listen to me? How come he didn't believe Paul Sobriki was schizophrenic? How come he just pushed me aside like a rag!"
"You have to have some nerve to talk about John Carter that way!" Peter said softly, shaking his head. Lucy closed her eyes tight and turned her head. When she took in a shuddering breath was when Peter realized she was trying hard not to cry. He sat down in his chair again, watching her.
"He was my friend too, God damn it. You weren't the only one who lost someone here, Dr. Benton," she muttered, grievously. There was a long silence as Lucy swallowed the lump in her throat again and blinked away the tears. With red eyes, she looked at Peter again with a sad, pitiful face.
"Why do you blame me, Dr. Benton?" she asked, quietly, "Why is it that I annoy you so much? It's not enough that I blame myself everyday, it's not enough that I'm beside myself with grief, it's not enough that I'm drowning in my own guilt, but you all have to blame me too. Hell, maybe it is my fault. But what I can really use right now is a friend, and the closest person I had to that here is dead. I don't need fingers pointing at me, what I need is someone to tell me why. I need someone to tell me why this happened. I need someone to tell me why there's so much blame on my shoulders. I need someone to tell me why I wish I'd died instead of him."
There was a long awkward silence after Lucy said her paragraph she'd been longing to say ever since someone shot her that first reproachable look. Neither Peter nor Lucy said anything to each other. Finally, Peter decided to break the tense silence that seemed to engulf them.
"You're right. You don't need people blaming you. He was your friend too. You have a right to be angry with me. But I guess the reason I've been so hostile towards you is because, even though truthfully you may not be at fault, I need someone to blame. I need something that I can blame for the death of my best friend. I need something to ease my guilt. And unfortunately, you're the lucky winner. I suppose everyone's been like that. You see, Lucy, a lot of us have known John Carter for a long time, longer than you know, and in the long time I've worked by his side, in the several years I've been is caring friend, mentor, and companion, I've grown closer than him than you can imagine. As for why this happened, that I can't answer easily. Are you a Christian woman, Lucy?"
Lucy began to shake her head but then paused.
"I didn't believe in God two weeks ago. But I guess, after all this, I kind of... oh, who am I kidding? A real God would have left my Carter right here where he should be. A real God would have taken me instead."
"Don't say that," Peter said, finding a soft spot for his best friend's ex-medical student.
"What were you saying? About why this happened?"
"I was going to say if you believed in God that God works in mysterious ways, but I'm sure you've heard that before. I was also going to say that wherever Carter is, I'm sure he's watching over us. All of us. I'm sure he makes a great angel. Just like he made a great doctor."
"And now that I said that I don't believe in God?" Lucy asked.
"Then I can all I can tell you is that this was how it had to be."
"I can't accept that. I like your first answer better," Lucy said. There was another silence.
"I wish I could just die!" Lucy finally blurted out, "I wish that the knife had just gone straight through my heart! Hell, I think it did!"
"And yet, it's still beating, isn't it?" Peter asked. Lucy looked at him strangely.
"Yeah, I guess you're right."
"Lucy, you listen to me," Peter said sternly, "You are alive for a reason. Whether it's religious or not, you are alive for a reason. As are all of us."
"If we're alive for a reason, does that mean Carter's dead for a reason?" Lucy caught Peter unaware and he had no answer for her.
"Lucy, why do any of us die?" Peter answered her question with one of his own, "No one really knows. But what I can say is that you aren't to blame. And I'm sorry I've been so mean to you lately. Carter would hate me for doing this to you." Lucy smiled at Peter, the first real smile she'd given someone in a long time.
"Thank you," she said, honestly, "You don't know how much that means to me."
"I enjoyed this, Lucy," Peter told her, "I look forward to your next surgery rotation."
"So do I, Dr. Benton," said Lucy. As she turned to leave and was nearly out the door, Peter said:
"And Lucy?"
"Hm?" Lucy asked, turning her head towards him.
"Call me Peter."
"Thank you, Peter," Lucy smiled again, "Thank you very much."
"Remember, you're not to blame," Peter added as she was leaving.
"And neither are you, Peter, neither are you," Lucy replied, "No one is."[]