Title: Stranger Than Your Sympathy
Disclaimer: Not mine. Or so I make you believe. The trick of the puppeteer is to make the puppets think they control their dance . . .
Song: "Sympathy" by the Goo Goo Dolls
Spoilers: Well, uh, if the summary didn't make it clear: through "Brothers and Sisters." All other spoilers in the post scenes are merely proof of how psychic I knew I always was – or some damn lucky guesses on my part.
Summary: Because we all knew she was going to call *someone* . . . two possible post-scenes after "Brothers and Sisters."
Note: This is the first possible post-scene.
------------------------------------------------------
Stranger than your sympathy
And this is my apology
I killed myself from the inside out
And all my fears have pushed you out
------------------------------------------------------
The sound of a violent clatter caused Abby to sit up in bed abruptly. For a long, tense moment she listened, scanning the silence for another noise, any indication that he was back. Yet there was nothing more, and exasperated, Abby sank back onto the bed. This was what, the third time her heart had stopped at the sound of a rustle outside her apartment? True, each time she never really woke up – it's impossible to wake up if you never really went to sleep in the first place.
No. Screw this. She wasn't getting any sleep anyway, not as long as her nerves were completely shot – and the fact that the bumps in the night only seemed to be becoming louder and louder didn't help. Angrily she tore back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Pulling on her old white sweater, she found that she was too annoyed at this point to consider what exactly pissed her off more – the fact that she was being kept awake, or the fact that she simply couldn't get to sleep. True, they sounded one in the same, but right now they were incredibly different . . .
Slowly, methodically, she tightened each of the locks on her door, her fingers gently grazing the newly replaced chain. Half-heartedly she checked the peephole for what seemed like the tenth time that night . . . still nothing. The grip of fear was waning, but as in the past, it usually took some assistance for Abby to truly relax.
She flopped onto the sofa and found herself staring at a sight that had only grown more familiar in the moonlight of the last few months. Admittedly, it had been quite a while since she'd seen the bottle half empty – waste not, want not, was the joyous credo that always flashed into her mind as she tipped her head to finish the last drop. But now, when the mere thought of its bittersweet taste was enough to make her crave the smooth glass on her lips, she tucked her chin into the crook of her arm and gently pushed the bottle away.
Goddamn Carter. He had to stick his nose where it didn't belong, making accusations he knew nothing about, putting words in her head that were impossible to forget . . .
Though Abby really couldn't pick out any specific things he'd said to her all day. It wasn't that she hadn't been listening . . . well, all right, it was . . . but it felt like he'd said it all before. Even though he'd only known about it for a day now, it felt like she'd already heard the same things in her head, in his voice, in that vaguely concerned yet mildly disappointed tone only Carter could truly accomplish.
The more time passed, the more disappointed that voice sounded, and the more bottles it took to really shut it up.
The one thing Abby could not erase from her mind was the burned image of Carter's face when he'd seen the bottle. He'd been stricken yet indignant; horrified yet concerned; there were questions behind his eyes and Abby hadn't had the answers for him. She'd read him and unfortunately, she knew he'd read her. And it *sucked.* Abby hated being read.
Yet her taste for the drink had momentarily lapsed, and instead her hand slid to the phone. Before Abby knew what she was doing her fingers were slowly tapping out the number she'd committed to memory so long ago. To her horror it was ringing . . . to her horror she heard his groggy voice: "Hello?"
Abby took a deep breath; glancing once more at the half empty beer, she murmured "Hey, Carter."
"Abby? What's wrong?"
Abby scowled slightly and curled onto the couch. "Nothing's wrong," she informed him. "I can't call you up to just talk any more?"
"At 2 am?"
"Yeah, at – never mind. I just . . . I want to talk."
It was quiet on the other end, and Abby wished she knew if it was awed silence or Carter drifting off to sleep. His next words answered her question – "I'm listening."
But suddenly there was too much to say and no breath to say it – at the same time there was absolutely nothing to talk about, and Abby wished she could just hang up the phone. "I'm . . . sorry for the way I acted today," Abby finally told him, mentally chastising herself – though she wasn't sure why.
"You already apologized for that, Abby. You didn't shoot me. One apology's enough." There was another silence, and he added "That's not what you wanted to talk about."
Abby shook her head with frustration and stared ahead at the blank television screen. She shouldn't have called Carter, he knew her too well and apparently he could read her thoughts over a goddamn telephone line.
She couldn't smile him away over the phone.
"It was, and now I have to go," she told him abruptly. "Got an early shift, may as well attempt to sleep."
"Abby –"
"I'll . . . talk to you tomorrow, all right?" she murmured quickly, and before she could hear his response she hung up the phone. Abby stared at it for a while, her fingers contemplatively sliding across the keys, before the ringing of the phone freaked her out and she quickly tossed it onto the floor.
------------------------------------------------------------------
And I wished for things that I don't need
(All I wanted)
And what I chased won't set me free
(All I wanted)
And I get scared but I'm not crawlin' on my knees
------------------------------------------------------------------
He caught her outside the hospital as she was arriving, and somehow she could sense that he'd been waiting out there for her. For a moment she wanted to pretend she didn't see him – just walk past him and pass the avoided confrontation off as a lapse in memory. But no, Carter had obviously spotted her, and as he trotted to her side Abby deeply regretted having called him.
"Hey," he greeted softly.
She glanced over at him and nodded slightly. "Hey."
"You said you wanted to talk."
Abby sighed and turned to face him just outside the ambulance bay doors. Carter definitely wasn't one for small talk these days. "I did. But now I don't."
"Abby, you call me in the middle of the night, say you want to talk, then decide you have to go," he pointed out. "You obviously had something on your mind."
"Yeah, well, I don't anymore," she quipped. "It was nothing anyway, I just couldn't sleep and I was bored."
He watched her carefully. "Why couldn't you sleep?"
"Because I . . ." Abby ran a hand through her hair and turned to stare at nothing to the side. "I've called you late at night before, and you never had a problem with it," she finally retorted.
"I don't have a problem with it," he insisted. "I was glad you called. But I wish you'd open up a little more."
Abby shot him a glare that was more hateful than she meant it to be. "Open up?"
"Well . . . yeah. I've been there, I can relate –"
"Carter, you haven't even hit your two year mark yet," Abby sighed, "if you even count it as two years. Which you shouldn't, since you haven't technically been clean for the whole two years." Even she was surprised at how nasty she'd managed to make that sound. Abby wasn't exactly known for whispering sweet nothings to people who tried to intervene in her life, but she hadn't taken such verbal low blows since . . .
Well, must have been six years now.
After a moment of what Abby assumed to be stunned silence, he replied "Exactly." His gaze was relentless and pleading – Abby had to turn away. "I've slipped up. I know how it feels, and I know that I can help you."
Abby shook her head and began to walk away. "You don't know anything."
"Just come to a meeting with me tonight, all right?" Carter called from behind her.
She stopped walking; glancing around her, Abby murmured "I don't know" in a much more hushed tone than Carter's.
"I'm off at 6," Carter continued. "I'll tell Kerry you have to go home sick."
Abby bit her lip. "Carter, no –"
"6!" he called, nodded adamantly. "All right?"
Abby shrugged with what she hoped looked like indifference, but what felt like complete and utter weariness. This was just getting plain stupid. Meetings, programs . . . people needed to learn that not everything in life was so black and white. She'd had drinking problems in the past, yes, this was universally understood – but that was when she was downing entire six packs in an hour and waking up hung over every morning. A glass of wine or a few beers never hurt anyone. As long as she kept it in *moderation* That would be the key. She could do it.
Abby caught sight of Luka down the hall and offered him a tight, pleasant smile. She enjoyed how Luka could be convinced with a smile that everything was all right – how he was so loyal to her "space" that she didn't even need to mask the confusion in her eyes. Damn Carter. Goddamn Carter.
Luka nodded amicably in her direction, and as Abby approached him she could tell that he was watching her closely. He sensed something . . . did she forget to put on makeup this morning? Was her face really set in a frown when it felt like a smile?
"You all right?"
Oh, how Abby was beginning to remember how much she hated those words. "I'm fine," she assured him, shifting her purse from one shoulder to the next.
He nodded, but his gaze still poured over her. "Everything go all right last night?"
"It was fine. A little nerve-wracking, but fine." She smiled once again, feeling the corners of her mouth ache with overuse. "Thanks for putting the chain in, it did a lot for my peace of mind."
"Then there wasn't any trouble?" Luka asked softly.
"Nope. None. I'll get over my demons eventually, I guess."
"No one expects you to be comfortable right away," Luka told her. "I mean, if you want me to stay over . . . if it would make you feel better . . ."
Abby's eyes widened with surprise. Sure, it would be nice to have someone over there with her . . . but with Carter doting over her and her supposed "relapse," she didn't know how smart it would be to hurl Luka in the middle of that. The last thing Abby needed was *another* person asking her the significance and the relevance and the supposed importance blah blah blah of the beer she'd had. "Nah. I can deal with it. Thanks for the offer, though."
-------------------------------------------
Oh, yeah
Everything's all wrong, yeah
Everything's all wrong, yeah
Where the hell did I think I was?
-------------------------------------------
"I don't know, Carter," Abby murmured uncertainly as the cab pulled up to the poignantly familiar building. "I'm not sure all this is necessary."
"You know better than anyone how necessary it is," Carter told her as he shoved a few bills towards the driver. "Come on. I won't make you share, you can just listen today."
Abby frowned. "This is the funniest way of not throwing the program at me I've ever seen," she commented irritably, opening the cab door and stepping onto the curb.
"Hey, you remember how we spent Christmas two years ago," Carter pointed out. He joined her on the curb and stuffed his hands into his pockets as they walked. "You were on me about those pills, you made me tell Weaver, and now look at me."
Abby's steps weren't nearly as brisk as Carter's, and she fell out of stride when her feet began to shuffle. "I pushed you to tell Weaver because I was your sponsor, Carter."
"Oh, come on," Carter responded, turning around with a tiny sly grin. "There was more to it than that."
Abby raised her eyebrow skeptically. The closer they got to that room, the more she resented Carter – and the slower her pace grew, until she was walking several steps behind him. He actually seemed to have some kind of self-righteous glow that pissed her off to no end. "No, not really. I did what I had to do as your sponsor, I helped you, that's all there was to it."
"Right," Carter chuckled, turning around and coolly strolling backwards towards the lighted building. "You're telling me that the only reason you cared about my recovery was because you felt obligated to help as an unbiased caregiver?"
At this point Abby stopped walking altogether, the constant stream of incomprehensible thoughts quieting a little as her forward momentum ceased. Suddenly it didn't matter how much time passed – suddenly she didn't care what she said. As long as Carter would stop walking towards that building, then she would stop feeling like she was moving so damn fast . . . "That's what I'm telling you. I'm sorry if you thought any different, if you thought there were other feelings there, or something . . . I was just doing my job."
Carter finally stopped and Abby felt sudden relief at the halt. She honestly couldn't recall her exact words, just that she'd known what would make him quit walking to that meeting so briskly. And grateful she felt that she had finally found the right button to push to slow this whole thing down.
Yet she hadn't anticipated that stunned look he was treating her with. The good-natured smile had slowly faded from his face, and in his eyes was an accusatory pain that made Abby duck her gaze uncomfortably. She'd seen Carter stunned before, this vague stare that managed to bore into her intensely, but this was different. This time there was no disembodied voice of Paul Sobricki floating up behind him; Mark and Kerry weren't sitting with her as she'd avoided his glare and recanted her tale of forbidden needles; Luka hadn't just answered the door and Abby wasn't trying to conceal a bottle of beer. This time all she had were words to fight him with, to keep herself out of that room, and in the end, it looked like whatever she said had killed him.
After a long moment of silence and an emotional distance rivaled only by the 15 or 20 feet of physical space between them, Carter finally spoke. "I came clean with Weaver because you convinced me it was the right thing to do. If you hadn't been there . . . I don't know what would have happened. I don't want the same thing happening to you."
"You don't have to return any favors, Carter." Her tone was sharp and she regretted not softening her words. Every time he even leaned in the direction of that building, her stomach tensed and she could only think of ways to keep him sedentary. "That's the difference between you and me. You feel like you have to pay me back for something, and I was just following the criteria for sponsorship."
"I'm trying to help you, not fulfill some chore –"
"And when did this become all about you, anyway?" Abby suddenly snapped, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. "I'm the one getting dragged to a meeting against my will, or did you forget that on your quest to Ultimate Carter Spiritual Fulfillment?"
Carter merely exhaled sharply and shook his head. "I'm trying to help," he repeated, not meeting her eyes.
"I don't need help," Abby informed him. "I'm not some charity case for you to donate your time."
"I'm not trying to treat you like a charity –"
"Yes you are!" Abby felt a sudden anger within her, one that only stirred when she'd gone a while, a day, an hour without something to help her relax . . . but now, more than anything, she just wanted to leave.
"You know, believe it or not, there are people in the world who actually care about you!" Carter snapped. "*I* care about you! *I* don't want to see you ruin your life!"
"That's not your choice to make!" Abby shouted, ignoring how loud her voice was getting or how her cheeks were burning furiously. "You're blowing this whole thing way out of proportion!"
Carter snorted at this and turned to face the building behind them. "How about we see if they think I'm blowing this out of proportion?"
Abby shook her head with contempt. "Fuck you, Carter," she muttered, shoving past him and storming down the street. She didn't care where she went, as long as she got away from that room, that meeting, those words and his voice. She couldn't take it anymore.
Goddamn it, she needed a drink.
-------------------------------------------------------
And stranger than your sympathy
Take these things, so I don't feel
I'm killing myself from the inside out
And now my head's been filled with doubt
-------------------------------------------------------
Disclaimer: Not mine. Or so I make you believe. The trick of the puppeteer is to make the puppets think they control their dance . . .
Song: "Sympathy" by the Goo Goo Dolls
Spoilers: Well, uh, if the summary didn't make it clear: through "Brothers and Sisters." All other spoilers in the post scenes are merely proof of how psychic I knew I always was – or some damn lucky guesses on my part.
Summary: Because we all knew she was going to call *someone* . . . two possible post-scenes after "Brothers and Sisters."
Note: This is the first possible post-scene.
------------------------------------------------------
Stranger than your sympathy
And this is my apology
I killed myself from the inside out
And all my fears have pushed you out
------------------------------------------------------
The sound of a violent clatter caused Abby to sit up in bed abruptly. For a long, tense moment she listened, scanning the silence for another noise, any indication that he was back. Yet there was nothing more, and exasperated, Abby sank back onto the bed. This was what, the third time her heart had stopped at the sound of a rustle outside her apartment? True, each time she never really woke up – it's impossible to wake up if you never really went to sleep in the first place.
No. Screw this. She wasn't getting any sleep anyway, not as long as her nerves were completely shot – and the fact that the bumps in the night only seemed to be becoming louder and louder didn't help. Angrily she tore back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Pulling on her old white sweater, she found that she was too annoyed at this point to consider what exactly pissed her off more – the fact that she was being kept awake, or the fact that she simply couldn't get to sleep. True, they sounded one in the same, but right now they were incredibly different . . .
Slowly, methodically, she tightened each of the locks on her door, her fingers gently grazing the newly replaced chain. Half-heartedly she checked the peephole for what seemed like the tenth time that night . . . still nothing. The grip of fear was waning, but as in the past, it usually took some assistance for Abby to truly relax.
She flopped onto the sofa and found herself staring at a sight that had only grown more familiar in the moonlight of the last few months. Admittedly, it had been quite a while since she'd seen the bottle half empty – waste not, want not, was the joyous credo that always flashed into her mind as she tipped her head to finish the last drop. But now, when the mere thought of its bittersweet taste was enough to make her crave the smooth glass on her lips, she tucked her chin into the crook of her arm and gently pushed the bottle away.
Goddamn Carter. He had to stick his nose where it didn't belong, making accusations he knew nothing about, putting words in her head that were impossible to forget . . .
Though Abby really couldn't pick out any specific things he'd said to her all day. It wasn't that she hadn't been listening . . . well, all right, it was . . . but it felt like he'd said it all before. Even though he'd only known about it for a day now, it felt like she'd already heard the same things in her head, in his voice, in that vaguely concerned yet mildly disappointed tone only Carter could truly accomplish.
The more time passed, the more disappointed that voice sounded, and the more bottles it took to really shut it up.
The one thing Abby could not erase from her mind was the burned image of Carter's face when he'd seen the bottle. He'd been stricken yet indignant; horrified yet concerned; there were questions behind his eyes and Abby hadn't had the answers for him. She'd read him and unfortunately, she knew he'd read her. And it *sucked.* Abby hated being read.
Yet her taste for the drink had momentarily lapsed, and instead her hand slid to the phone. Before Abby knew what she was doing her fingers were slowly tapping out the number she'd committed to memory so long ago. To her horror it was ringing . . . to her horror she heard his groggy voice: "Hello?"
Abby took a deep breath; glancing once more at the half empty beer, she murmured "Hey, Carter."
"Abby? What's wrong?"
Abby scowled slightly and curled onto the couch. "Nothing's wrong," she informed him. "I can't call you up to just talk any more?"
"At 2 am?"
"Yeah, at – never mind. I just . . . I want to talk."
It was quiet on the other end, and Abby wished she knew if it was awed silence or Carter drifting off to sleep. His next words answered her question – "I'm listening."
But suddenly there was too much to say and no breath to say it – at the same time there was absolutely nothing to talk about, and Abby wished she could just hang up the phone. "I'm . . . sorry for the way I acted today," Abby finally told him, mentally chastising herself – though she wasn't sure why.
"You already apologized for that, Abby. You didn't shoot me. One apology's enough." There was another silence, and he added "That's not what you wanted to talk about."
Abby shook her head with frustration and stared ahead at the blank television screen. She shouldn't have called Carter, he knew her too well and apparently he could read her thoughts over a goddamn telephone line.
She couldn't smile him away over the phone.
"It was, and now I have to go," she told him abruptly. "Got an early shift, may as well attempt to sleep."
"Abby –"
"I'll . . . talk to you tomorrow, all right?" she murmured quickly, and before she could hear his response she hung up the phone. Abby stared at it for a while, her fingers contemplatively sliding across the keys, before the ringing of the phone freaked her out and she quickly tossed it onto the floor.
------------------------------------------------------------------
And I wished for things that I don't need
(All I wanted)
And what I chased won't set me free
(All I wanted)
And I get scared but I'm not crawlin' on my knees
------------------------------------------------------------------
He caught her outside the hospital as she was arriving, and somehow she could sense that he'd been waiting out there for her. For a moment she wanted to pretend she didn't see him – just walk past him and pass the avoided confrontation off as a lapse in memory. But no, Carter had obviously spotted her, and as he trotted to her side Abby deeply regretted having called him.
"Hey," he greeted softly.
She glanced over at him and nodded slightly. "Hey."
"You said you wanted to talk."
Abby sighed and turned to face him just outside the ambulance bay doors. Carter definitely wasn't one for small talk these days. "I did. But now I don't."
"Abby, you call me in the middle of the night, say you want to talk, then decide you have to go," he pointed out. "You obviously had something on your mind."
"Yeah, well, I don't anymore," she quipped. "It was nothing anyway, I just couldn't sleep and I was bored."
He watched her carefully. "Why couldn't you sleep?"
"Because I . . ." Abby ran a hand through her hair and turned to stare at nothing to the side. "I've called you late at night before, and you never had a problem with it," she finally retorted.
"I don't have a problem with it," he insisted. "I was glad you called. But I wish you'd open up a little more."
Abby shot him a glare that was more hateful than she meant it to be. "Open up?"
"Well . . . yeah. I've been there, I can relate –"
"Carter, you haven't even hit your two year mark yet," Abby sighed, "if you even count it as two years. Which you shouldn't, since you haven't technically been clean for the whole two years." Even she was surprised at how nasty she'd managed to make that sound. Abby wasn't exactly known for whispering sweet nothings to people who tried to intervene in her life, but she hadn't taken such verbal low blows since . . .
Well, must have been six years now.
After a moment of what Abby assumed to be stunned silence, he replied "Exactly." His gaze was relentless and pleading – Abby had to turn away. "I've slipped up. I know how it feels, and I know that I can help you."
Abby shook her head and began to walk away. "You don't know anything."
"Just come to a meeting with me tonight, all right?" Carter called from behind her.
She stopped walking; glancing around her, Abby murmured "I don't know" in a much more hushed tone than Carter's.
"I'm off at 6," Carter continued. "I'll tell Kerry you have to go home sick."
Abby bit her lip. "Carter, no –"
"6!" he called, nodded adamantly. "All right?"
Abby shrugged with what she hoped looked like indifference, but what felt like complete and utter weariness. This was just getting plain stupid. Meetings, programs . . . people needed to learn that not everything in life was so black and white. She'd had drinking problems in the past, yes, this was universally understood – but that was when she was downing entire six packs in an hour and waking up hung over every morning. A glass of wine or a few beers never hurt anyone. As long as she kept it in *moderation* That would be the key. She could do it.
Abby caught sight of Luka down the hall and offered him a tight, pleasant smile. She enjoyed how Luka could be convinced with a smile that everything was all right – how he was so loyal to her "space" that she didn't even need to mask the confusion in her eyes. Damn Carter. Goddamn Carter.
Luka nodded amicably in her direction, and as Abby approached him she could tell that he was watching her closely. He sensed something . . . did she forget to put on makeup this morning? Was her face really set in a frown when it felt like a smile?
"You all right?"
Oh, how Abby was beginning to remember how much she hated those words. "I'm fine," she assured him, shifting her purse from one shoulder to the next.
He nodded, but his gaze still poured over her. "Everything go all right last night?"
"It was fine. A little nerve-wracking, but fine." She smiled once again, feeling the corners of her mouth ache with overuse. "Thanks for putting the chain in, it did a lot for my peace of mind."
"Then there wasn't any trouble?" Luka asked softly.
"Nope. None. I'll get over my demons eventually, I guess."
"No one expects you to be comfortable right away," Luka told her. "I mean, if you want me to stay over . . . if it would make you feel better . . ."
Abby's eyes widened with surprise. Sure, it would be nice to have someone over there with her . . . but with Carter doting over her and her supposed "relapse," she didn't know how smart it would be to hurl Luka in the middle of that. The last thing Abby needed was *another* person asking her the significance and the relevance and the supposed importance blah blah blah of the beer she'd had. "Nah. I can deal with it. Thanks for the offer, though."
-------------------------------------------
Oh, yeah
Everything's all wrong, yeah
Everything's all wrong, yeah
Where the hell did I think I was?
-------------------------------------------
"I don't know, Carter," Abby murmured uncertainly as the cab pulled up to the poignantly familiar building. "I'm not sure all this is necessary."
"You know better than anyone how necessary it is," Carter told her as he shoved a few bills towards the driver. "Come on. I won't make you share, you can just listen today."
Abby frowned. "This is the funniest way of not throwing the program at me I've ever seen," she commented irritably, opening the cab door and stepping onto the curb.
"Hey, you remember how we spent Christmas two years ago," Carter pointed out. He joined her on the curb and stuffed his hands into his pockets as they walked. "You were on me about those pills, you made me tell Weaver, and now look at me."
Abby's steps weren't nearly as brisk as Carter's, and she fell out of stride when her feet began to shuffle. "I pushed you to tell Weaver because I was your sponsor, Carter."
"Oh, come on," Carter responded, turning around with a tiny sly grin. "There was more to it than that."
Abby raised her eyebrow skeptically. The closer they got to that room, the more she resented Carter – and the slower her pace grew, until she was walking several steps behind him. He actually seemed to have some kind of self-righteous glow that pissed her off to no end. "No, not really. I did what I had to do as your sponsor, I helped you, that's all there was to it."
"Right," Carter chuckled, turning around and coolly strolling backwards towards the lighted building. "You're telling me that the only reason you cared about my recovery was because you felt obligated to help as an unbiased caregiver?"
At this point Abby stopped walking altogether, the constant stream of incomprehensible thoughts quieting a little as her forward momentum ceased. Suddenly it didn't matter how much time passed – suddenly she didn't care what she said. As long as Carter would stop walking towards that building, then she would stop feeling like she was moving so damn fast . . . "That's what I'm telling you. I'm sorry if you thought any different, if you thought there were other feelings there, or something . . . I was just doing my job."
Carter finally stopped and Abby felt sudden relief at the halt. She honestly couldn't recall her exact words, just that she'd known what would make him quit walking to that meeting so briskly. And grateful she felt that she had finally found the right button to push to slow this whole thing down.
Yet she hadn't anticipated that stunned look he was treating her with. The good-natured smile had slowly faded from his face, and in his eyes was an accusatory pain that made Abby duck her gaze uncomfortably. She'd seen Carter stunned before, this vague stare that managed to bore into her intensely, but this was different. This time there was no disembodied voice of Paul Sobricki floating up behind him; Mark and Kerry weren't sitting with her as she'd avoided his glare and recanted her tale of forbidden needles; Luka hadn't just answered the door and Abby wasn't trying to conceal a bottle of beer. This time all she had were words to fight him with, to keep herself out of that room, and in the end, it looked like whatever she said had killed him.
After a long moment of silence and an emotional distance rivaled only by the 15 or 20 feet of physical space between them, Carter finally spoke. "I came clean with Weaver because you convinced me it was the right thing to do. If you hadn't been there . . . I don't know what would have happened. I don't want the same thing happening to you."
"You don't have to return any favors, Carter." Her tone was sharp and she regretted not softening her words. Every time he even leaned in the direction of that building, her stomach tensed and she could only think of ways to keep him sedentary. "That's the difference between you and me. You feel like you have to pay me back for something, and I was just following the criteria for sponsorship."
"I'm trying to help you, not fulfill some chore –"
"And when did this become all about you, anyway?" Abby suddenly snapped, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. "I'm the one getting dragged to a meeting against my will, or did you forget that on your quest to Ultimate Carter Spiritual Fulfillment?"
Carter merely exhaled sharply and shook his head. "I'm trying to help," he repeated, not meeting her eyes.
"I don't need help," Abby informed him. "I'm not some charity case for you to donate your time."
"I'm not trying to treat you like a charity –"
"Yes you are!" Abby felt a sudden anger within her, one that only stirred when she'd gone a while, a day, an hour without something to help her relax . . . but now, more than anything, she just wanted to leave.
"You know, believe it or not, there are people in the world who actually care about you!" Carter snapped. "*I* care about you! *I* don't want to see you ruin your life!"
"That's not your choice to make!" Abby shouted, ignoring how loud her voice was getting or how her cheeks were burning furiously. "You're blowing this whole thing way out of proportion!"
Carter snorted at this and turned to face the building behind them. "How about we see if they think I'm blowing this out of proportion?"
Abby shook her head with contempt. "Fuck you, Carter," she muttered, shoving past him and storming down the street. She didn't care where she went, as long as she got away from that room, that meeting, those words and his voice. She couldn't take it anymore.
Goddamn it, she needed a drink.
-------------------------------------------------------
And stranger than your sympathy
Take these things, so I don't feel
I'm killing myself from the inside out
And now my head's been filled with doubt
-------------------------------------------------------