Here's another chapter of this fic, and I'll start updating them all together again regularly... I hope.
--
"What's wrong with me?"
The doctor nodded toward the nurse, dismissing her from the room and rung around on a chair. Carter had done it so many times, and never had noticed the intense unsecurity a patient could feel when his caretaker had taken this action. How many times had he rolled around on a chair, and then explained to someone that they were about to die, or that they had a life-changing disease? What was wrong with *him?*
"Well," he sighed, "Dr. Carter, we - or I - was hoping that you could tell me that yourself."
"I'm kind of sick of everyone telling me that," Carter said, his head bowed. "If something's wrong with me, seriously wrong, than why don't you just say it?"
He sighed again and pulled his thin glasses down to his nose. He folded his hands in his lap and cocked his head to one side. "You fully fainted at an airport when you were walking with your friend." As he said this, he flinched at the word 'friend.' Yeah, right. Not anymore. "She panicked, is what she said," he continued. "You had a weak pulse. Said you were barely alive."
Carter watched as this man talked. He couldn't quite predict how to react to this, what he was telling him. He felt like he was in a cage with all of these people around him and these tubes in and out of him. He hated it, once again.
"And?"
"And you're very sick," he said. "Its serious, but not that serious. We don't know what's going on with you, but we're pretty sure that its not going to kill you."
Carter closed his eyes.
"Have you been sleeping lately? Eating?"
Carter didn't want to speak today. Or, if it were his way, ever again.
"Abby," he said. "Your friend, Abby."
"She's not my friend."
"Do you know who I'm talking about?"
He shouted with closed eyes, "Obviously!" His eyes were revealed again. He set his neck and head back to the pillows behind him. They were immediately warm and uncomfortable, smothering his face with its mock tranquility.
"She said you'd been in San Francisco for nearly eight days - "
"Really none of your business - "
"That you'd left unexpectedly from work one day. That you'd been terribly sick."
"Terribly sick."
"Is this true?"
Carter knew he was being stubborn. He didn't care. He never would, never again. No way, now how. No need to be. No reason, no feeling to it. Nothing. Not ever.
Stubborness hit him hard when it came, and he never-minded it still.
"Have you been depressed lately?"
He gathered both palms into fists and gently pounded the rails repeatedly with one of them. A calm and carrying, but hidden rhythm that he vowed not to reveal, even if he was just hitting a bed rail. His lips were sealed insistantly. He didn't feel like speaking to anyone at all. Why couldn't they get that through their heads?
"Dr. Carter?"
"What?"
"Are you," he said slowly, "or are you not having problems? Currently?"
"Is you life problem-free?" Carter said, raising his eyebrows in sarcasm. "My, my, God has blessed you." With this he pointed two hands together toward the ceiling and winked upward. After this act, he put one hand over his eyes and frowned.
"No one appreciates sarcasm or stupid jokes when you're in the hospital."
An appropriate response could have been, "Abby did," but he knew it wouldn't help. Nothing would help, and really nothing would jeapordize. He wondered if he wanted to die...
"I hate my life," he whispered huskily.
--
Sorry that was so short. --That seems to be my motto these days.
Someone said something about being confused with this... Carter fainted *after* the plane. I mentioned that he passed out in O'Hare, which is the internation airport in Chicago for those of you who don't know. :)
mandy
--
"What's wrong with me?"
The doctor nodded toward the nurse, dismissing her from the room and rung around on a chair. Carter had done it so many times, and never had noticed the intense unsecurity a patient could feel when his caretaker had taken this action. How many times had he rolled around on a chair, and then explained to someone that they were about to die, or that they had a life-changing disease? What was wrong with *him?*
"Well," he sighed, "Dr. Carter, we - or I - was hoping that you could tell me that yourself."
"I'm kind of sick of everyone telling me that," Carter said, his head bowed. "If something's wrong with me, seriously wrong, than why don't you just say it?"
He sighed again and pulled his thin glasses down to his nose. He folded his hands in his lap and cocked his head to one side. "You fully fainted at an airport when you were walking with your friend." As he said this, he flinched at the word 'friend.' Yeah, right. Not anymore. "She panicked, is what she said," he continued. "You had a weak pulse. Said you were barely alive."
Carter watched as this man talked. He couldn't quite predict how to react to this, what he was telling him. He felt like he was in a cage with all of these people around him and these tubes in and out of him. He hated it, once again.
"And?"
"And you're very sick," he said. "Its serious, but not that serious. We don't know what's going on with you, but we're pretty sure that its not going to kill you."
Carter closed his eyes.
"Have you been sleeping lately? Eating?"
Carter didn't want to speak today. Or, if it were his way, ever again.
"Abby," he said. "Your friend, Abby."
"She's not my friend."
"Do you know who I'm talking about?"
He shouted with closed eyes, "Obviously!" His eyes were revealed again. He set his neck and head back to the pillows behind him. They were immediately warm and uncomfortable, smothering his face with its mock tranquility.
"She said you'd been in San Francisco for nearly eight days - "
"Really none of your business - "
"That you'd left unexpectedly from work one day. That you'd been terribly sick."
"Terribly sick."
"Is this true?"
Carter knew he was being stubborn. He didn't care. He never would, never again. No way, now how. No need to be. No reason, no feeling to it. Nothing. Not ever.
Stubborness hit him hard when it came, and he never-minded it still.
"Have you been depressed lately?"
He gathered both palms into fists and gently pounded the rails repeatedly with one of them. A calm and carrying, but hidden rhythm that he vowed not to reveal, even if he was just hitting a bed rail. His lips were sealed insistantly. He didn't feel like speaking to anyone at all. Why couldn't they get that through their heads?
"Dr. Carter?"
"What?"
"Are you," he said slowly, "or are you not having problems? Currently?"
"Is you life problem-free?" Carter said, raising his eyebrows in sarcasm. "My, my, God has blessed you." With this he pointed two hands together toward the ceiling and winked upward. After this act, he put one hand over his eyes and frowned.
"No one appreciates sarcasm or stupid jokes when you're in the hospital."
An appropriate response could have been, "Abby did," but he knew it wouldn't help. Nothing would help, and really nothing would jeapordize. He wondered if he wanted to die...
"I hate my life," he whispered huskily.
--
Sorry that was so short. --That seems to be my motto these days.
Someone said something about being confused with this... Carter fainted *after* the plane. I mentioned that he passed out in O'Hare, which is the internation airport in Chicago for those of you who don't know. :)
mandy