One Moment, Forever
Disclaimer: Carter and Abby aren't mine! Neither is ER or anything related.
Spoilers: For anyone who hasn't seen Kisangani. This takes place during and after this episode.
~*~
Everyone has a picture, Abby, an image which they hold inside – a scene from somewhere in the future which lies suppressed in a seldom visited corner of the mind. It depicts the deepest of desires, all those that are held close, all that is wanted most. Not always apparent, it hides, but given time comes into focus, and once in sharp view it lights a candle in the darkest crevasse of the soul. A burning feeling fuelled by need and want. A hunger satisfied only by attainment.
When your picture comes into focus Abby all that you've felt before won't matter. There'll be a calm, a sense of quiet and an absence of hurt and pain. You just have to hold on in hope. Wait patiently for that time to come. One day, in one moment never to be forgotten it will suddenly appear. A silent vision which changes the course of a life forever. Then you will truly be happy, having found the place where you belong.
She sighs, closing her eyes briefly and leaning her head against the corner of her bed. Their bed. Her heart is still, like the silence in room around her.
She looks down at the photograph in her hands. It edges are softened by the wetness of her tears, worn and torn by the tight grip of white fingers. She could stay like this for hours, slowly tracing his face with her eyes, remembering the sound of his voice, capturing images of how he used to smile mischievously before wrapping his arms tightly around her, holding her close.
He's gone to Africa. Building communities with bricks taken from the walls around her heart. She's alone.
Unwilling to tear herself away, she takes a last lingering gaze before pulling the little wooden box off her bedside table. Opening it reveals a hoard of memories: childhood necklaces, woven bracelets and scraps of paper – notes from Eric. When things got really bad he used to lock himself in his room. He wouldn't open the door, not even to her, but all requests were slid under the door on pages torn from his school notebooks.
She doesn't know why she kept them. Even now, his spidery handwriting reminds her of times that she wants so badly to forget. But somehow when she left for Chicago all those years ago she wasn't sure if she'd ever go back to Minnesota. Perhaps it was out of fear, because for all her running away she was still afraid to let go, but now she's glad she has them. Maggie always was Maggie and always will be. She doesn't know how to think of her in any other way. But the handwriting belongs to the Eric she wants to remember, the brother she once knew, laughed with, talked to. The boy with the cheeky grin who cheered her up when Maggie's world came crashing down and she was left to try and pick up the remnants.
Her diary with a lone dried flower carefully pressed between its pages lines the bottom of the box. She rubs her fingers along the swirling impressions on its cover. Hesitantly the photograph is placed back in its place - beneath the flower for safe-keeping. Until tomorrow night at least. The lid slams shut and she stares around the room, momentarily lost.
She pulls herself to her feet and slides slowly in between the sheets. She snuggles down into them, flinching under their coolness until gradually body heat warms them sufficiently for her shivering to cease.
Sleep won't come easy. Its been the same every night since he left. She tosses, turns and then faces the ceiling, before rolling over and resting her head on the side of his pillow.
Sometimes it's as if he's still there. His scent still lingers on the cotton of his pillow. In the gloaming she spies his dressing gown, untouched, strewn across the back of a chair. A pair of shoes standing idly underneath. So many things, so many words left unsaid, sentences unfinished. If he were here she'd say them aloud and make sure he listened. She'd tell him the truth, how much he means to her, how she's feeling without him and if he walked away then at least it would be in the knowledge that she cares.
Except that he's already gone. Already flown away, with barely an exchange or a goodbye and she's left hanging – too afraid to move in case he pushes her away again.
In the middle of the night she dreams. Imagines the door opening and him slowly making his way over to her side. She sees him pause, before stumbling blindly through her apartment, tired and jet-lagged. It's real to her. She smiles in her sleep as his lips gently drop a kiss on her forehead. In the dull lamplight his hands stroke her cheeks, tenderly so as not to disturb her slumber. She moves her legs to make room at the end of the bed for him to sit down. His eyes savour her sleeping form and he watches, transfixed by the sound of her breathing. She sighs and her hand brushes the length of the bed beside her. It's empty.
Morning comes and as the cold, hard light of day enters her room she heads for the shower, determined to wash away the illusion of the previous night. The freezing water refreshes her tired body, wakening her and willing her to face the rest of the day. She listens to it patter against the plastic of the shower tray, concentrates on the gurgling noise as it flows down the plug hole, swirling.
She stands unsure, as though waiting for something to dictate her next move. But nothing happens and so she wraps the towel around her body.
His dressing gown still lies abandoned and lost. She smiles as she gently caresses its smooth silk fabric. He may drive a jeep, but when it came to his wealth, that dressing gown was a dead give away. Of course she never told him so, because it was those little things which made him so special to her. Sometimes she even frightened herself with her ability to notice such trivialities, but in the end it always boiled down to the fact that they brought out the best in one another. Or at least she thought they did. And that was what made losing him so hard.
She swallows. With Richard there was anger, hatred, but with Carter there's none of that. Just hurt and rawness and an undeniable sense of loss. She was always the one who did the running away. It was the easier option. The one which left less room for thinking, for wondering. Now she's the one left behind. It's out of her control. Would he return? She never returned. Not to Maggie nor Eric in Minnesota. Why would he want to come back to her anyway.
"Stop with this whole routine, this whole fatalistic, black cloud, nothing good is ever gonna happen routine"
She realises that she can't. It's a comforting habit. She remembers telling Maggie that it's scary to hope too much. The higher you aim, the harder you fall. She never had any dreams as a child, didn't see herself as anything special. Goals reached arose from split second decisions, not because of a life-long ambition. Of course there were times when she was happy, but she was never complete.
The dressing gown envelopes her tiny body. It trails along the ground, but she fails to notice. He's surrounding her. She clutches it to her tightly, eyes shut and inhaling.
A tall figure stands alone leaning against the kitchen doorway.
She freezes as she catches sight of him and they remain motionless, eyes searching as time stands still. She wonders if he is there, if her silent prayers have been answered or perhaps it's a mirage, a cruel imagining.
Her hands drop slowly to her side as he straightens, removing his weight from the door jam. It is him. She doesn't want to make the first move, but finds herself treading cautiously towards his brooding form. Step by step, inching her way closer until she can feel his breath on the top of her head.
She looks up to meet a pair of glassy brown eyes. He's different somehow. Changed. Not in appearance, but in soul. She can tell. She can feel it. He's world-weary, troubled. She's drawn to his eyes and the harrowing story within them. Whatever he has experienced she can't pretend to know, but she can try to understand.
His arms are folded, the last barrier between them. He always comforted her. Now it's her turn. She raises her hands and slips them gently into the crook of his elbows, prising his arms apart. She rests her head on his chest and holds him to her.
His arms flail loosely by his side, as though surprised by her sudden gesture, but eventually they too become involved and she feels his hand tenderly rubbing the small of her back, his lips upon the top of her head.
He's crying quietly. Her body jolts with each gentle sob. Softly she pulls away and puts a hand to his cheek. His tears collect on her fingertips and she wipes them away slowly. He smiles down at her and reaching in sweeps a stray piece of hair behind her ears. She pauses, suddenly aware of the tears that are trickling down her own cheeks.
They stand together. Each tucked away in the others embrace. It's a moment, a scene that will last forever. She captures it and holds it and everything at once becomes clear. Whatever she had thought or felt before no longer matters. She's found that place, that space in time with her name on it. It's here that she belongs - with him, around him. And there's nowhere else she'd rather be. When he's ready they'll sit down and talk and until then she'll wait for him.
He returned. She stayed. But they were always together.
When your picture comes into focus Abby you'll know. You'll feel something stir inside of you, something different. It will creep upon you silent and gentle, but so powerful it will take your breath away. You'll never be left wondering, you'll never be alone again because in that instant, when it arrives, you'll finally know why life is worth living and you'll always be able to say that you have loved.
