TITLE: Through the Door (7/10)
AUTHOR: C. Midori
EMAIL: socksless@hotmail.com
CATEGORY: JC/AL Angst
RATING: R for adult themes and language
SPOILERS: All of Season 8, except "Lockdown." (Crappy season finale? What crappy season finale?)
ARCHIVE: Please ask first for permission, and notify when archived. Thanks!
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations owned by Not Me. These Other People may include, but are not limited to: NBC, Warner Bros., Michael Crichton, etc. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Chapter Six is dedicated to my returning reviewers: Kate, Ceri, Em, and Cat. I appreciate it when readers take the time to review, but I'm really very humbled when readers keep on coming back to let me know how I'm doing. So, all-you-can-eat-chocolate-bars to you guys, and also other assorted sweets to new reviewers Lyssa, Dana, Theresa, Surlykins, Charlotte, and JD. Holy Schmuck, I'm still having trouble scraping my jaw off the ground after reading all your generous compliments—so generous, in fact, that the muse repented for its leave of absence last time and decided to make it up to me by bringing home this monstrously long chapter one week ahead of schedule. I'm stunned, I'm dazed, and I'd like to thank the Academy! *weeps* ^_^ Eternal thanks to the Best Hosts Ever: Neoxer (of The Lounge fame) and pix (of Carter 'n Abby fame). Finally, please review! Hit me at socksless@hotmail.com or drop a review at ff.net under my pseudonym, and you too can get your own personal shoutout in my A/N. ^_-
SPECIAL ADDENDUM TO INORDINATELY LONG A/N: To sequel or not to sequel? (That is the question.) Although it basically depends on whether Carter and Abby will let me take them out for a second spin ^_^, I'd also like to read your thoughts on the matter. Rock the vote: email me your two cents.
SPECIAL ADDENDUM FOR FANFICTION.NET READERS: If you've been reading Through the Door on FanFiction.net, you may be reading an incomplete version. First, I just discovered that Chapter One: River Going Through was actually missing and instead Chapter Two: Night Swimming was uploaded in its place. Second, the first post of Chapter Five was incomplete. Two more scenes have been added to the end of the chapter, which leads right into the opening of Chapter Six. Both mistakes have been corrected. I recommend going back and reading the missing parts if you haven't already because both parts are integral to the growth of characters and their relationships in this story.
SUMMARY: A day in the life of Abby Lockhart, featuring some familiar ER clichés to make this a Very Special Episode (snerk). Also stars Carter, Susan, Luka, and Weaver; with cameos by Randi and Haleh; and Yosh gets named-dropped somewhere.
CHAPTER SIX
Long Day's Journey
Porcelain
Are you wasting away in your skin
Are you missing the love of your kin
Drifting and floating and fading away
* * *
SHE DREAMED ONLY IN COLOR: in the muted, somber tones of a faded watercolor long after people had begun to overlook the work, like forgotten petals left to die between yellowed pages. Never did these colors have a distinct shape or form—rather, they remained nebulous, formless things, warm and melting like the sunlight that broke through her window and diffused along the plane of her skin.
Drowsily, she brought a hand up to shield her eyes from the rays of light that fell upon her face. She felt herself waking, consciousness bobbing to the surface like a buoy, and her eyelids fluttered open as a hand reached out only to grasp a fistful of sheets.
"Carter?" she murmured, half-asleep.
She sat up and immediately swore as her head began to pound in a series of quick, dull throbs. Son of a bitch, she cursed to herself. Damn hangovers. Automatically, her eyes searched for the half-empty glass she knew would be near and reflexively, she reached for it.
Only, it was not there.
Instead, small circles of color danced along her skin like a miniature aurora. Her eyes followed the path of their light to the source, a glittering beach of broken glass on the floor surrounding her bed. Sunbeams caught on the individual pieces of glass and broke, splitting into a riot of color—languorous arcs kissing the curve of her wrists, pale rainbows streaking along her bare arms.
She smiled at their prism-like beauty. Their colors reminded her of the flowers she had so loved as a child. When she was younger, her mother always kept flowers in their kitchen; flowers that had been plucked from their yard and arranged in pretty bouquets in old handmade vases. Her family was never well off and Maggie always said that flowers reminded you that things like that didn't really matter, so long as you were alive and healthy and together.
Alive, they were; healthy and together, most decidedly not.
The first time that Maggie hit her, she was not hurt very badly. She had never been hurt very badly, actually. Her mother was far too irrational during her unexpected bursts of anger to ever inflict any serious physical damage upon her children. Still, nightmares of this first time plagued Abby. In her head she could still see the vivid red of the blood washing from her hands, the luminously white basin of the sink, and the deep blue of the broken vase shards, like puzzle pieces of a beautiful spring sky.
And she found that she could not bring herself to stomach the sight of her mother's flowers again. The tulips that had rested in that vase were unceremoniously dumped into the trash along with every arrangement of blossoms that Maggie tried to place in their house thereafter. As far as Abby was concerned, the pretty bouquets no longer had a place in their home. She didn't need a constant reminder of everything her family wasn't: alive, healthy, or together.
When she became older, these flowers had no place in her home either, although she had learned by then to love the look and feel of old, dried flowers. Their colors dull and their scent faded, she found that they belonged to her in a dark, wistful way that the bright coquettish blooms could not. So she kept them around, more as a reminder of what she did have than what she didn't.
Now, a bouquet of these dried flowers lay strewn on the floor; she had knocked them over along with their vase when she flung her glass wayward last night. Their stems looked awkward and crooked, like old gnarled pieces of driftwood rotting amidst a beach of broken glass, and their petals scattered like shells, broken and washed out by the endless rolling of the tide. With a cold lurch in her stomach, she realized that these were Carter's flowers—the ones he had dropped in disgust when he found out that she was drinking again.
She stared at them, at this reminder of what belonged to her and what never could, and sat quietly for several moments, composing herself.
* * *
"Hey stranger." Susan looked up from her magazine and smiled.
"Hey." Carter opened his locker with a ruthless yank, shrugging on his white coat and placing a stethoscope around his neck. "How was your shift?"
"Okay, give or take your random loony." She yawned, and checked her watch. "I'm off. I was just waiting for you to get in."
"You should be at home, sleeping."
"In a bit. How was your night?"
"Almost wished I had worked the night shift instead."
"That bad?"
"Calling it 'bad' would be an understatement."
"Ouch."
"Yeah," Carter sighed. He closed his locker and gave the dial a spin.
Susan looked at him carefully, a cup of coffee at her lips and a pair of curious eyes peeking over the brim. "So you told her."
"Told who what?" he said, staring at his locker.
"You know."
"What?"
She rolled her eyes. "That I'm having your baby," she retorted, exasperated.
Disinterested, "Are you?"
"Yes. Immaculate conception."
"Right."
"Jesus, Carter."
"Actually, call me God."
"Carter."
"What?" He turned around to face her.
Susan spoke slowly, enunciating each word as if she were talking to a child, and not a very bright child at that. "You told Abby how you feel about her."
"None of your business."
"Oh my god." She raised her eyebrows. "She shot you down."
He made some kind of muffled, indecipherable sound.
"You should talk to her again."
"Why should I?"
"You know Abby."
"I thought I did."
Susan raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He shrugged his shoulders elegantly. "I don't know."
Carefully, she leaned back in her chair, cradling her cup in her hands. "Carter, what's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong."
"God, talking to you is like—"
"Talking to a brick wall?" he supplied.
"I was going to say, talking to Abby."
"No." Carter let out a short, bitter laugh. "Abby talks a lot, actually, when she's got something to say."
"So something is wrong," Susan confirmed with a tilt of her head. He watched as she checked her watch and gathered her things, rising from her chair. "I'm off. Call me if you need to talk."
She brushed by him.
"Susan?" he blurted.
"Yeah?" She stopped, her hand pushing gently against the door.
"Can I ask you something?"
"You just did."
"Okay, then," he said patiently, "Can I ask you something else?"
"Why not," she muttered, tucking an errand piece of hair behind her ear. "It's not like I haven't slept for the past twenty-four hours."
"Why did we break up?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Must I humor you, Carter? Must I?"
"I know you say it's Abby, but—"
"But?"
"Am I too nice?"
"What?"
"Am I a push over?"
"Where is this coming from?"
"Well?"
Shaking her head, Susan walked forward and placed her hand on his arm. "Carter, you're a nice guy. It's a good thing. It's not why we broke up."
Carter shook his head. "Nice guys finish last, right?"
"What makes you say that?" She looked at him appraisingly, securing her bag over her shoulder.
"Nothing," they said together.
"You're impossible," she laughed.
"Oh, so I'm nice and impossible."
"You're the nice one, I'm the sarcastic one, it's the way things work."
"Why do I have to be the nice one again?" he whined jokingly as they stepped out of the lounge together.
"Because Luka's the heartthrob," Susan quipped.
"You got that right." Randi snapped her gum as they walked by the front desk.
"How could I forget." Carter rolled his eyes.
"Do you want to be the heartthrob?" Susan raised an eyebrow. "I think if we talk to Luka, he'd be more than happy to—"
"I don't want to talk about Luka." Abruptly, he cut her off, the muscle in his jaw clenching.
"This wouldn't have anything to do with Abby, would it?"
"No, of course not," he said, a little too quickly.
"Uh huh." Susan looked at him skeptically. "And Weaver's running first place in the staff popularity contest. Anyway, this is my stop." She gestured at the double doors. "I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Yeah." He raised his hand to wave.
"Oh, and Carter?"
"Yeah?"
"What happened to your jaw?"
* * *
It was noon, and it was Africa-hot. Abby quickened her paces as she approached the ER, smiling appreciatively as the crisp coolness of the air conditioning hit her skin. She slowed her paces, indulging in the wonders of climate control, and pulled her hair back in a neat ponytail as she circled the front desk.
"Abby, I'd like to talk to you when you get a moment," Kerry Weaver said, glancing over the rim of her glasses. She sat perched on a stool behind the front desk, a stack of files in front of her, looking every bit the authority figure.
"I haven't even clocked in yet," was her automatic response as she tried to flee.
"Great, then, you have a moment."
Abby stopped in her tracks and inwardly sighed.
"I wanted to talk to you about your recent absences from work," Dr. Weaver began.
"I'm sorry about missing work yesterday," she interrupted.
"I understand Yosh filled in."
"Yeah, I know. I owe him a haircut."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Anyway," Dr. Weaver lowered her voice so only Abby could hear what she was saying, "I know your mother passed away early last week. I understand what a difficult time this can be and I am more than happy to accommodate any time off you feel you need to take—but only if you let me know ahead of time."
Abby nodded.
"Otherwise, I can't have you and Dr. Carter making up your hours as you go along, trading shifts with others. Too much time goes into the making of the ER schedule for that."
Raising her eyebrows, "Dr. Carter?"
"If you could pass the message along," Dr. Weaver said, without looking up from her work.
"I understand. It won't happen again."
She touched Abby's sleeve lightly, peering into her face. "Are you okay with being back so soon?"
Abby felt herself force a smile, and tried very hard to ignore the headache that blossomed behind her eyes. "I am. I mean, I'm fine, Dr. Weaver. Thanks." Exhaling, she turned around again.
"Hey Abby," Luka greeted her, nearly bumping into her.
"We've got to stop meeting like this," she replied under her breath.
"Dr. Kovac, why don't you and Abby take the patient in curtain area one," Kerry called after their retreating figures.
Luka followed Abby's quick steps. "I heard you missed work last night. Are you feeling okay?"
"Twenty-four hour bug."
"You don't look that great."
"Thanks."
"Are you still feeling sick?"
"No, I'm better."
"Okay." He hesitated. "If you have time later, I was wondering if we could talk. It's important."
"Well, I'm busy right now," Abby shrugged, pushing the curtain open to reveal a bored teenage girl with red hair that fell to her waist. "Hi, I'm Abby. What seems to be the problem?"
The girl arched an eyebrow. "Who are you?"
"I'm a nurse."
"Maybe later, then when you have time," Luka persisted.
"Is this your boyfriend?" The girl snapped her gum.
"No." Abby planted a perfunctory smile on her face. "This is Dr. Kovac."
"Hi," he said warmly.
"You're cute," she replied approvingly, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
Abby rolled her eyes.
Luka smiled. "What can we do for you, Miss, uh…"
"Drue," she supplied. "Nancy Drue. D-R-U-E, not D-R-E-W, like that girl detective."
The reference seemed lost on Luka. "Okay then, Nancy, what can we do for you today?" he said pleasantly.
Gingerly, Nancy pulled a gym bag out from below her dangling feet. "I'm not sure what to do with this," she admitted, looking embarrassed. "I just got it. It was kind of an accident."
"What is it?" Abby asked, not looking up from her clipboard.
"It's my baby."
* * *
"Why am I in a room again?"
"Dr. Kovac would like to run some tests on you to make sure you're okay." Abby handed the girl a hospital gown. "I need you to put this on."
Nancy stared at her. Abby stared back.
"Some privacy?"
Rolling her eyes, Abby faced the wall and didn't turn around again until the girl cleared her throat. "All right. Go ahead and take a seat on the bed. Can you hold out your wrist for me?"
"I don't know," she said plaintively, "Can I?"
Abby gave her a look.
Nancy snapped her gum and relented, flopping onto the clean sheets. "You're no fun."
"And you act like you're twelve. How old are you again?"
"Eighteen."
Fastening the identification bracelet, Abby looked at her skeptically. "Right. And I'm loads of fun."
The girl sighed. "Okay, fourteen."
Abby's eyebrows shot up. "Fourteen?"
"How old are you?"
"Older than fourteen," she said evasively, hooking the girl up to a monitor. "This is to regulate your breathing."
"You look thirty," Nancy mused. "No wait—twenty-eight."
"Are you trying to get on my good side?"
"Maybe. Is there food? I'm starving."
Laughing, Abby scribbled something on her chart. "I'll try and see if I can steal something from the cafeteria. In the meantime, is there anyone I can call? Your mother…"
A short, sharp laugh escaped Nancy's lips. "No, not my mother."
Abby gave her a half-smile. "Well, we need to call someone. You're fourteen."
"There's no one." Abruptly, Nancy looked away. "Is my baby okay?"
"Well," she began slowly, "Right now they're keeping her in the NICU. She's in critical condition, but she's stable. You can ask Dr. Kovac when he sees you; he should know more."
The girl looked down, playing with a loose strand of her long, red hair that gleamed copper and lovely in the late afternoon sunshine that flooded the room. "Is she…is she going to be okay?"
Abby tried hard to look neutral. "It's too early to tell. I can go get Dr. Kovac now if you want to talk to him."
"Okay." Nancy hesitated as she turned away to walk out of the room. "Hey, do you have a smoke or something?"
"Smoking's bad for you," Abby said, without turning around.
* * *
"Her baby was in where?"
"A gym bag," Abby sighed, cleaning up the trauma room after their latest patient crashed. She stuffed a pair of bloody gloves into a large plastic bag. "She was carrying her around in a gym bag."
Carter gave her a sympathetic glance, sliding in drawers and moving trays back into place.
"You know, I was a lot like her when I was that age," she mused.
"Except for that teenage pregnancy thing."
"Yeah, except for that. But the rest of it…" Sweeping her hair off her face, she trailed off and stood up straight, catching his eye. "Thanks. You don't have to help me clean up this place. It's not your job."
"I know." He shrugged, and tore off his scrubs. He watched her carefully as she went around the room and methodically cleaned it of its waste, and frowned when he saw her close her eyes, her hand going to her head momentarily. "You okay?"
Abby gave him a long, sloe-eyed glance. "I'm fine."
"It's just that you seem a little…"
"Tired?" she suggested.
"I was going to say 'distant,' but yeah, tired works."
"Funny," she mumbled under her breath, "I could say the same about you."
Clumsily, Carter shrugged. "Things are weird."
"When are they not?"
"They've been unusually weird these last several weeks," he clarified.
"Are you angry with me?"
"You know," Carter deflected her question, "A wise man once told me that time solves most things."
Abby snorted.
"And what time can't solve, you have to solve yourself, which isn't too much to ask."
She paused, her hand clutching the plastic bag, and tilted her head thoughtfully. "Who's the wise guy?"
"Remember Icicle Andy?"
The bag dropped from her hands.
"No way."
"Way," Carter replied seriously.
"Really?"
"Nah. I'm joshing you."
"Who says 'joshing' nowadays?"
"Chief Residents."
"Chief Resident," Abby said pointedly. "Singular."
"Quality, not quantity."
"You're awfully glib," she laughed.
He shrugged. "Is there something wrong with that?"
"No, nothing wrong. Just…unexpected, I guess."
Carter stopped to face her. "If you're asking me whether I'm angry at you, I'm not. I'm not angry with you, and I'm not upset. I'm just…disappointed, I guess."
Abby's face froze, all traces of a smile vanished from it.
Disappointed, her mind echoed.
"Well, I didn't ask, did I?" she said curtly.
* * *
Carter stiff-armed his way into the lounge, exasperation clearly written onto his face as he made his way with bone-aching slowness to the refrigerator. Glaring into it, he pulled out a can of soda and dropped it on the table, flopping into a chair and staring sullenly off into space as the door to the lounge opened.
"Abby, I'm not really up to—" Abruptly, he cut himself off. "Luka. Hi. I thought you were someone else," he finished lamely.
"She's difficult, isn't she?" Luka greeted him.
"Understatement of the year," Carter exhaled.
"How's your jaw?"
"It's doing okay. A little discoloring, but nothing big."
"Sorry about that," Luka apologized. "I didn't mean to hit you."
"Sure you did." Carter smiled easily. "Just like I meant to hit you. I think I'm the one who owes you an apology." He moved aside and gestured for the other man to sit down, sliding the soda across the table. "You look thirsty. Have a drink."
"You sure?"
"Be my guest."
"Thanks," Luka said gratefully. He held the drink to his forehead and exhaled. "It's hot today."
"Like every day," Carter replied politely. "How's your jaw doing?"
Luka smiled. "Doesn't hurt at all."
He paused, and tilted his head slightly. "Should I take that as an insult to my manhood?"
"Nah, just to your fighting skills."
"Can't say I've had a chance to work on those a lot."
"Well, it helps if you grow up in a war-torn country," he joked.
Carter shook his head and smiled, the grin fading away as he cleared his throat. "I want to apologize for last night."
"Forget about it."
"No," he persisted, slowly, firmly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions I shouldn't have."
"You didn't jump to any conclusions. Abby gave them to you."
Shrugging, he felt his throat close a little. "Still no excuse."
"No harm done," Luka said, his can of soda hovering near his lips.
"And I wanted to thank you," Carter continued haltingly. "We both know that this isn't easy for me to say but—thank you. Thank you for taking care of her."
"I was lucky I found her." Luka smiled ruefully. "Really, really lucky."
"She was lucky," Carter admitted, looking the other man in the eye. "She was lucky that night, and she's lucky now to have you as a friend."
"At least someone's thankful," he joked. "She still won't talk to me."
"Yes, well, she thinks she slept with you. I think she's embarrassed."
"It's not like we haven't slept together before."
"You were dating, then," Carter rolled his eyes. "You're not dating now."
Thank God for that.
"It was a joke, Carter."
He glanced at Luka, and cracked a smile. "When are you going to tell her?"
"Whenever I can corner her," Luka sighed. "She's hard to catch."
You have no idea.
"Anyway, I gotta get back to work. Thanks for the drink."
"No problem."
Carter frowned, deep in thought, as the other man made his way to the exit.
"Luka?"
The other man turned around. "Yes?"
"Last night…when I first came to your door…why did you lie to me about Abby coming to your apartment? Why didn't you just tell me you found her in a bar?"
Luka paused a moment before answering. "I don't know," he said finally. "I guess…I guess I just wanted her to choose me for once."
The door swung open, and Carter was left alone in the lounge with his thoughts.
* * *
"We need a little help here!"
The doors to the ER burst open, several paramedics rushing in along with two gurneys.
"Where's Dr. Carter?" Dr. Weaver barked, hobbling along with the first gurney. "Abby—get over here."
"I've got this one, Kerry," Luka called, running up along the body and shepherding it into trauma one. Dr. Weaver nodded and rushed back to treat the second victim.
"Two GSWs," the paramedic said, breathless. "Patient's name is Nell Fletcher. Shot by her husband, Max Fletcher, who's on the gurney behind her."
Luka glanced at Abby, who looked away. Sighing, he turned his attention to the body and sucked in his breath. "Oh, God," he muttered, before raising his voice to a shout. "Somebody get Corday down from the OR!"
"Where's Dr. Carter?"
"Somebody get Corday."
"All right, on my count, move her. One…two…three."
"What do we have?" Carter rushed into the trauma room, yanking scrubs over his shirt.
Abby rattled off the bullet. "Nell Fletcher, age thirty six, multiple gunshot wounds to the chest and to the heart."
"BP?"
"90/60, pulse 92."
"Jesus Christ, where's her hand?"
"The husband had a knife," the paramedic added grimly.
"Husband?" Carter repeated incredulously.
Abby looked disgusted. "He did a pretty thorough job on his wife."
"Where's her hand?"
With a grunt, she pulled something from beneath the patient. "I think I found it," she said, a wave of nausea hitting her at the sight of the bloody appendage.
Carter noticed her expression right away. "You okay?"
She nodded.
"We need to intubate," Luka said, his hands working furiously above the bleeding chest of the patient.
"32 French."
"Somebody put the hand on ice until Corday gets here."
"Where is Corday?"
"All right, bag her."
Abby held her breath, a flurry of activity buzzing around the room.
"Abby," Luka said sharply.
"I said I'm fine," Abby spat back loudly, her hands a blur as she worked to stop the bleeding.
Carter dared to exchange glances with the other man. They looked at each other and said nothing.
Abby blinked, completely missing the exchange. The room seemed to be moving in slow motion. Vaguely, she heard the machines screaming and she heard the frantic voices; she saw Carter turn his head toward her, and say something. Her vision trembled, a small pinprick of light burning along her irises, and she shook her head vigorously, unable to hear what he was saying to her.
The doors flew open. She spun around. Dr. Corday charged into the room, moving as if underwater, her motions sluggish and exaggerated.
Then a voice cut through the dream.
"We need to get this woman up to the OR."
Faintly, she heard the gurney rolled out of the trauma room and she felt herself step back, her hands questing for the wall, for something to lean against. She snapped the goggles off her face and let them fall to the floor.
Suddenly, Carter's face filled her field of vision. "Abby?"
"I said I'm fine," she muttered, before she blacked out.
* * *
"I'm fine, Carter."
"Fine people don't faint in trauma rooms," Carter replied, dabbing at a bleeding cut near her eye. He wrinkled his forehead in concentration, his face near to hers as he cleaned the wound and began to place stitches in the gash.
"I just got a little dizzy," Abby protested weakly.
A pause. "You looked more than a little dizzy. Did you get enough sleep last night?"
"You mean, after you stormed out of my apartment? Yes, yes I did."
"I did not storm out of your apartment."
Abby snorted.
"Careful," he admonished her. "Don't move."
"I won't breathe," she promised, her heart beating strangely fast as he hovered near her face, his eyes just inches from hers. She stared at him, her thoughts moving of their own will to a Very Bad Place, imagining all sorts of dramatic and rather implausible scenarios more fitting to a daytime soap than a busy ER; with an effort, she forced herself to stop, blushing furiously.
He frowned. "What's that sound?"
"What sound?" she blurted.
He stopped for a moment, then shook his head and exhaled, his breath caressing her cheek. "Nothing. I thought I heard—a squeak, or something." He looked at her closely. "Do you have a fever? You look a little flushed."
"The weather," Abby explained feebly. "It's hot."
"It's cool in here."
"Maybe I'm coming down with something."
"Maybe."
The room was eerily quiet, and Abby lowered her voice to match its hushed, hallowed stillness. "Are you busy after your shift today?"
Carter shrugged noncommittally.
She fiddled with her sleeve. "Maybe we could get some coffee and pie, and talk?"
He hesitated before answering. "I think I'm busy."
Abby bit her lip, struggling to keep her face impassive. "Okay, some other time, then."
"Some other time," he echoed.
They sat in silence as she fidgeted with his sleeve and he focused on stitching her cut.
"I'm sorry about snapping at you earlier today."
"It's okay."
"I just didn't like the idea."
"Of what?"
She paused. "You being disappointed in me."
Her eyes darted away. Carter said nothing.
Abby cleared her throat, forcing herself to be cheerful. "There better not be a scar."
"Wouldn't dream of it." With great care, he placed in the last stitch. "Done," he declared. "Good as new."
He smiled at her, gently, and against her will she felt her cheeks redden again. Swallowing, she looked up at him. "Thanks."
"Anytime." He started to rise out of his seat.
"Carter—"
Abby caught at his sleeve and he sat back down, his face dangerously close to hers. Blinking, she could almost hear him breathe; hear the soft inhale and exhale of every draw of breath, see the barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest beneath the shirt and coat he wore. Wordlessly, she stared at him, her eyes searching his, and her pulse began to race alarmingly fast as she felt herself take grasp of something and—and know.
"Carter," she exhaled, realization dawning on her face and in her voice, "I think—"
The door to the exam room opened. Luka popped his head in. "Abby—when you get a moment, can I talk to you?"
Immediately, he pulled away from her, busying himself with the thread.
"Is it about a patient?" she asked, a feeling of frustration welling unreasonably inside of her.
Luka glanced at Carter. "No, it's personal."
"Carter's still putting in some stitches," she lied deliberately. "I'm afraid it'll have to wait."
Luka looked from Carter to Abby, pressing his lips in a line. "Later, then. I'll find you."
"I'm sure you will," Abby said under her breath as he closed the door.
"He seems awfully persistent." Carter observed off-handedly.
"Like the plague," she shot back, grimacing at the throbbing that began to beat again behind her eyes.
He shrugged. "You're welcome."
"What?" she said distractedly.
"You're welcome. For bailing you out there." He snapped his gloves off. "Not that I'm going to do it again. Maybe you should try listening to what he has to say."
Taken aback, she stared at him as he exited the room.
* * *
The sun was setting.
A collective sigh could almost be heard from the city as its people welcomed a respite from the oppressive heat. The sun took its dying breaths, its fingers stretching across the land in long, bold rays of light, gilding streets with the glare from its light and making silhouettes out of faces. It slanted through the window in the small room, leaking between the blinds and striping the room and its slumbering inhabitant in bars of pale gold. It set the red hair on her head aflame, like a ruby held up to firelight, and lighted the few freckles that dotted her face, golden and sun-kissed.
Abby folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the door, watching with a curious kind of protectiveness as the girl in the bed slept, her hair fanned out on the pillow behind her and the vulnerability rather evident in her young face. But even in her sleep, her mouth was puckered in a determined line, her chin set almost in defiance.
Abby smiled. She knew that look well.
Eventually, the girl's eyes fluttered open and she became aware of another presence in the room. "Hey."
"Hi Nancy." Abby approached the girl. "I have to check some of your vitals. Can you sit up for me?"
"Maybe," Nancy yawned, struggling to sit up in bed. She cocked her head. "Is she okay?"
"Your baby?"
"Yeah."
"Still in the same condition."
"No news is good news, right?"
"Spoken like a true diplomat," Abby smiled.
"I wonder what I'll name her," she mused. "What's your name again?"
"Abby."
"Nah."
Abby laughed. "Well, thanks."
"No offense."
"None taken."
Nancy fell silent as Abby checked her respiratory and heart rates, jotting down notes on her chart. "So how long have you worked here?" she finally asked, absently winding a curl of her hair around her finger.
"Several years, now."
"Did you and Dr. Kovac have a messy breakup?"
She raised an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"
"Stuff," she shrugged in return.
"Stuff?" Abby queried. "What kind of stuff?"
"Like the way you're a complete bitch to him."
"I am not," Abby huffed, "A complete bitch to him."
"Are too."
"Not." She groaned. "Oh my god, I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you."
"Why don't you like him? He's pretty cute."
"He is," Abby agreed. "But looks aren't everything."
"There must be another guy," Nancy declared.
"What?"
"Another cute guy."
Abby rolled her eyes.
The door to the room opened. Haleh came in, handing Abby a sheet. "Tox screen came back."
"Thanks Haleh," Abby said absently, her eyes scanning the paper and her mouth settling into a frown. "Do you think you could get Dr. Kovac in here?"
"Sure thing," Haleh replied before disappearing again.
"Your tox screen came back positive for alcohol." Abby looked at the girl.
"Hey, I took a drink after I had the kid," Nancy retorted defensively.
"That's a relief. Did you drink while you were pregnant?"
"A little," she admitted, sweeping her long hair off her face. "At the beginning."
"You decided to drink when you were pregnant?"
"Well, I didn't know I was pregnant for awhile," the girl said defensively.
"The bulging stomach wasn't an indicator?" Abby put down the chart.
"Nah, I stayed pretty flat. But after I found out I was pregnant, I stopped."
"Oh yeah, that's a big help to your baby."
"Have you ever been pregnant?" the girl shot back.
"Once," Abby said simply.
"Boy or girl?"
Abby hesitated, looking away briefly. "I don't know."
"You aborted it."
"You've got a lot of questions."
"I'm young, what can I say," the girl shrugged, pulling up the blanket with her thin hands. "Was it hard?"
"Of course it was hard." Abby folded her arms across her chest. "Do you have any other questions?"
Idly, the girl played with the long hair that ran like red rivers on each side of her face. "Can I tell you what happened?"
She nodded.
"I went to a party, I got drunk, I got laid. And I got pregnant."
Abby felt her mouth go dry. "How did you know it happened at that party?"
Nancy shifted in her bed. "I've only had sex once, I think."
"You think?"
"I don't remember much. Anyway," she continued, picking at the strands of hair, "I didn't know for awhile."
"What about your period?"
"It's irregular."
"For six months?"
"I was hoping," Nancy said, a little defensively. "I'm not the only girl who hopes to skip her period for six months."
Despite herself, Abby laughed. "Okay."
"But I did stop, when I found out. I took that drink after I had the baby, I swear to God."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why'd you need a drink?"
Nancy shrugged. "Habit. My mom drinks."
The door opened. Luka walked in.
"Abby," he nodded. "Do you mind if I talk to Nancy alone?"
She looked at the girl, who avoided her glance. "Sure."
* * *
Abby stared through the small square of glass and into the room, noticing the stubborn and proud way the girl held her chin, her eyes dark and defiant. It could've been her, she reflected, save the bright red hair. She watched as Luka spoke to her, his voice soft and full of feeling, she was sure, and she watched as the girl ducked her head, her eyes filling up with tears.
Sighing, she looked away.
"Abby, I need you in curtain area two," Dr. Weaver said, with a tilt of her head. "Flu shot, then discharge."
Luka emerged from the room. "Can we talk?" he said quietly, staring at Abby.
"Got a patient," Abby replied, holding up the chart Dr. Weaver handed to her. She busied herself with it and walked away quickly, barely aware as she brushed someone's arm. "Sorry," she said automatically.
"It's okay."
She looked up to see Carter standing there, apparently engaged in conversation with another doctor. Tall, with a gloss of spun-gold hair pulled back in a clip, the woman smiled politely at her.
"How's the girl doing?" he inquired.
Tiredly, "What girl?"
"The girl with the baby in a gym bag?"
"Oh." Abby paused. "I don't know."
They stood around awkwardly, eyeing each other, until Carter broke the ice. "Oh, Abby, meet Dr. Weston. She's here from Northwestern as a kind of 'exchange student' in that new program we've got going with them."
"Phil," the woman smiled. "Please, call me Phil."
"Phil?"
"Short for Phyllis," she explained.
Abby smiled weakly. "I'm Abby, Abby Lockhart. I'm a nurse in the ER." She shook her hand. "I've, uh, I've got a patient. Nice meeting you, Phil." She paused. "I'll see you around, Carter."
"Sure thing," he smiled.
"Nice meeting you," Phil echoed.
"Is your head feeling better?" Carter called after her.
"I'm fine," she replied under her breath.
* * *
Moonlight cascaded through her windows, falling onto her shoulders like a soft blanket. She sighed, letting her head fall back against her couch, and felt a wetness pricking against the back of her eyes. Reflexively, she closed her eyes against the wetness and against the light, tightening her hold on the glass, which was warm and smooth in her hands.
The girl's baby had died. Abby wasn't surprised given the absence of prenatal care and the girl's drinking early in the pregnancy. But the girl had been shocked. She had barely looked at Abby as she stuffed all her things into the gym bag she had brought with her and yanked on her clothes. Mostly unresponsive, the only time she said something to Abby was when she asked for a cigarette.
Unsurprisingly, she had disappeared by the time Social Services arrived.
The day blurred across her vision like a grotesque parade of images, the colors painfully electric and the shapes burning onto her eyes like a hot light. She saw the girl and the baby in the gym bag, the victim they had failed to save, the woman on the table and her husband in the next room. She saw herself fainting, Luka's anxious face before hers, then Carter's, full of a kind of exasperated tenderness—and, of course, Maggie. She saw Maggie, just as she had seen her every night for the past week; seen the shape of her face, heard the color of her voice.
Drumming her fingers along the curved surface of the glass, she rose from her seat on the couch and punched the buttons on her answering machine. Three messages. Idly, she skipped the first message (from a telemarketer), entranced by the way the light from her window skated along the rim of her glass and wavered across the surface of the tawny liquid inside.
"Hey Abby, it's Carter." A pause. "I'm sorry if I was short with you today…I guess I just have a lot on my mind…but that's no excuse. Anyway, I'd love to take you up on that offer for coffee and pie, if it's still standing." Another pause. "I hope everything worked out with that girl who brought in her baby."
Playing with the light upon the glass, she skipped forward to the last message.
"Abby? It's Luka. I'm sorry about bothering you again, but we really need to talk. It's kind of urgent so…anyway, give me a call when you can." A pause. "It's about last week. It's not what you think."
She heard the high-pitched beep signaling the end of the message. Deliberately, she placed her glass down on a surface, deleted her messages, and picked up the phone.
* * *
CREDITS: The title of the chapter is borrowed from the title of an episode in Season One of ER. Abby's harrowing day ends up taking her to the proverbial "two roads diverged in yellow wood," so I thought that this title was particularly apt. The quotes prefacing the chapter are borrowed from the song "Porcelain" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers; it was playing in the background as I wrote some scenes for this chapter and I thought the lyrics described my Abby very well. Devoted followers of AL/MT will recognize the line "I haven't even clocked in yet" as being lifted from her mouth in "Beyond Repair," as this chapter is my little homage to the episode. The little piece of wisdom Carter shares with Abby ("Time solves most things…") is borrowed from my favorite author, Haruki Murakami, and his novel Dance Dance Dance. Finally, the Moment in the suture room in which Carter plays doctor to Abby is brought to you by a similar moment that Carter had with Lucy some years ago, except she was playing doctor and he had nasty hair and their Moment ended a lot differently. ^_-