Title: "Worlds Colliding."





Description: Post-ep for "Saint in the City." Fifth chapter in "The Long Way," a series of Season 9 post-eps beginning with "First Snowfall." Carter's POV.





Author: KenzieGal (a/k/a It's Always Something)





Disclaimer: Carter and Abby do not belong to me - they are the property of the wise and wealthy minds of TPTB at Warner Brothers. No copyright infringement intended.





Notes: At long last, a more Carter-centric episode. Though it may lack originality, the opportunity was too tempting to try to get inside Carter's head and hear what he was thinking as the real dialogue unfolded.



Billy Joel continues to be my carby muse. The tune playing in the background is "She's Got A Way."

Once again, kudos to Lanie, Pemberley and the posters at The ER Exchange who continue to inspire and delight.

Coming in February: Carby crossover post-eps with SunniSkies (a/k/a Lanie).

Spoilers: Everything during Season 9 up to and including "Saint in the City."





Please read and review. And enjoy. If you do, let me know. If you don't, let me know, too.







* * * * *



She's got a way about her

I don't know what it is

But I know that I can't live without her



A waft of cold air hit me as I exited the 77th Street Clinic and climbed into the Jeep. I let the engine warm a little, then quickly sped out onto the darkened roadway, tapping my foot to the remaining strains of Jason Mraz & The Matrix's "The Remedy."

At a red light, I idly massaged my temples, an attempt to ease the steady throbbing that had begun as I ducked the barbs that had been thrown my way earlier that night, somewhere between "Don't you think you're getting a bit long in the tooth for the disaffected youth role," and "There's still a lot of kids freezing to death every winter, Carter."

Hardly the evening I had imagined when I donned my tux in the ER lounge what now seemed like ages ago. Not by a long shot.

I had pictured a quick appearance at symphony hall to present the oversized check, some friendly posturing for the grateful audience, a bit of dutiful small talk and a peck on the cheek for Gamma and her minions, and a late dinner with Abby who would be just as anxious to escape the maddening crowd.

Instead I had been treated to a guilt-inducing request from Gamma to at long last embrace my birthright, an uncomfortable evening long diatribe from Abby on how I might make better use of that birthright and a late night rejection from a cantankerous old doctor who had been quick to dismiss my birthright as a tool of "white, liberal guilt."

Talk about worlds colliding.

I was surprised that she had taken the invitation so seriously. I smiled at the thought of her going to great lengths to properly primp for the evening. The little black dress. The stiletto heels. The hair. The make- up. None of it had been wasted on me.

She had clearly reveled in the sneak peek she had been given into what passed for high society in the Windy City.

Amazing what a different person she became when she remembered to check her baggage at the door.

Not that I had ever expected her to act like some waiflike arm candy or wide-eyed ingénue.

What I hadn't bargained for, though, was her ability to see right through me. And the courage to call me on it.

I should have known to never underestimate her ability to infuriate me. Or to astound me.

I knew that some of my words must have stung. Deep down, I knew she was right about everything. But after the way she had seemed to pull away lately after the latest go-round with Maggie and Eric, I still felt she had no right to tell me what to do.

She may have thought she knew me as Carter, the devoted ER doc and caring friend or John, her gentle lover. But she had no idea what it was like to live my life as John Truman Carter IV.

Gently pumping the brakes at the intersection where I would normally turn toward her apartment, I pondered my next move.

Another fork in the road. I thought back to the night last week on the El when forward motion had failed me and I instead sat paralyzed as the train pulled away from her stop.

Which way to go from here?

Before I could know the answer, I had to go back and think some more about the question.

* * * * *

She's got a way of pleasin'

I don't know what it is

But there doesn't have to be a reason

Anywhere



I sauntered toward the admit desk, hoping to unload the patient that stood between me and our night on the town, still craning my neck in the hope of finding comfort in the collar of my tuxedo shirt.

"Hot date?" Susan clucked as she raised her eyebrows at me.

"No, I gotta give a check at this symphony fundraiser."

"Lifestyles of the rich and famous, baby."

I waved the folder at her with the sweetest smile I could muster. "Look at what the patient fairy brought you."

"No, nah, nah, nah."

"Mrs. Hawks, 44, fever, cough times three days."

"I'm juggling 10 patients already."

I persisted anyway. "Just waiting for a chest film, if it comes back clear, write her a little script, send her home, easy dispo."

"OK, good, it's probably just the flu, give it to Pratt, he'll hate it." Bingo. Charm will get you everywhere.

"Done."

I spied Abby out of the corner of my eye, striding purposefully toward the lounge, armed with black high heels and a garment bag.

She eyed me in my tux. "Ten minutes."

"You two have fun," Susan smiled giving us the once over.

I fell into step behind her. "You sure you want to go?" I said, all the while wondering which version of Abby would be showing up for the evening.

"Definitely. Free canapé. What is a canapé, anyway?" Hmmm. Lighthearted Abby, perhaps?

I still couldn't get comfortable in my collar. Before I could answer, she continued, "Don't worry, I'll use the right fork." Add self-deprecating Abby to the mix.

I tried to lighten the mood a little. "Next time we'll do something fun. Next time we'll do something that you want to do."

"Oh, you mean like miniature golf or bowling. Things my people enjoy doing. It's too bad 'Cats' closed," she mused entering the lounge.

"Shut up."

Looked like I should make room for irreverent Abby as well.

I braced myself for a wild ride.

* * * * *

She's got a smile that heals me

I don't know what it is

But I have to laugh when she reveals me



I watched her intently as she hunched over to scrutinize a model of the new and improved Carter Symphony Hall with childlike curiosity.

"The real one will be bigger."

"I hope so," she said grinning and straightening up.

My eyes gave her an admiring once over. I'm not sure what I had expected, but her look had bowled me over. She had definitely come a long way from her pink bridesmaid's dress.

A waiter appeared with hors d'oeuvres. She took one, thanking him and waved it at me before biting into it. "Have you tried these? They're like perfect little salty things."

"Don't fill up on those," I advised, eliciting quiet laughter. My heart lurched at the sight of the smile that could light up any room. "With any luck we might get out of here early enough to get some real food."

We strolled toward the crowd. I scanned the sea of unfamiliar faces for a sign of Gamma. Despite how much I loathed cocktail party chitchat, the whole scene was surprisingly familiar. I felt unexpectedly in my element. I brushed the thought aside.

"How much money are they trying to raise?" she inquired.

"58. I know we're throwing in 10."

"Thousand?" Obviously a shorthand that she didn't understand.

"Million," I said breaking the news as gently as I could.

She paused, a little embarrassed at her faux paus.

"Right," she replied attempting a gracious recovery. "So I guess that means you'll get great seats forever?"

"Gamma will." I did my best to distance myself from the project. I wasn't sure why.

"What do you do with $58 million dollars?"

"You get architectural significance. I mean what's the point of building a cultural edifice if you're not going to prove your civic superiority?"

"Well, that's a lot of civic superiority." She stopped in her tracks, weighing the idea in her head, as though it was a concept worthy of serious consideration.

Once again, I tried to lighten the mood. "Hey, you know, McNulty's clinic is not too far from here. What do you think he would do with 58 million bucks?"

She took the bait. "Hot hors d'oeuvres in his waiting room?"

Just then, Gamma and Steve, her valet and the evening's escort of choice, approached us. It seemed odd to see her on the arm of someone other than my Grandfather.

"John," she greeted me. She seemed older and more fragile than I remembered, even though I had had dinner with her just last week.

I kissed her cheek and shook Steve's hand. "Hello Gamma. Hi Steve."

Before I could say a word, Gamma turned to Abby. "I'm Millicent Carter, John's grandmother."

Abby hesitated, perhaps in search of some titular significance from me to attach to her presence. I stood there tongue-tied.

She forged ahead on her own. "Hi, um, Abby Lockhart."

"Gamma, you've met Abby before," I said suddenly finding my voice.

Unfortunately, Gamma wasn't or was choosing not to make the connection. "Oh, I'm sorry. So many people in John's life." Her voice trailed off.

Ouch. That had to hurt.

Abby and I exchanged looks. If she was disappointed, she wasn't letting on. I wasn't sure whether she'd be more upset over what she viewed as Gamma's selective memory lapse or the fact that I hadn't clued Gamma in to the fact that she was more than just the flavor of the month.

"Don't you look beautiful?" Gamma attempted a gracious recovery.

Once again, Abby rose to the occasion, attempting to interject some lighthearted humor into the conversation.

"What exactly are canapés?" I mean, are they different from...appetizers?"

Gamma looked stumped. "I'm not sure, dear." I turned toward Abby, removing myself from Gamma's line of vision, and shot her a look of repressed laughter. She rolled her eyes at me.

Suddenly, Gamma's tone grew clipped and businesslike. Time to cut to the chase.

"There's a foundation board meeting Thursday, John. Can you come?"

She was nothing if not persistent. I had turned her down at dinner last week. She knew that and I knew that. Still, she was trying to call me on it, trying to embarrass me in front of Abby and Steve, hoping to catch me in a moment of weakness.

"No, thank you."

"I'd appreciate it. We're electing new officers." As if our prior conversation had never taken place.

"Oh, well. I always thought that was a sort of "whoever's in the bathroom gets elected president" kind of thing."

More subtle humor though the role of dutiful grandson was getting harder to play. I could see Abby's attention alternating between us. I wanted to whisper to Abby, "Watch. Next she's going to ask me to be treasurer."

Gamma remained undaunted. "I'm stepping down. I'd like you to take your father's place as treasurer."

Bingo. Still, I continued the charade. "How did dad get off so easy?"

She continued the ruse. "I've asked your father to take my place as president. Don't you think you're getting a bit long in the tooth for the disaffected youth role, John?"

Abby's growing discomfort was written all over her face.

I repeated was what rapidly becoming my signature response. "Gamma, thank you, but no, thank you. I already have a day job."

I turned on my heels and strode off, feeling her eyes bore into me, and knowing I'd eventually have some serious explaining to do.

* * * * *

I was relieved when I didn't hear the sound of her footsteps. Instead, as I cleverly observed through the mirror behind the bar, she chatted with Gamma and Steve a minute longer before politely excusing herself and heading in the direction of the ladies room.

I watched her amble up to me. I shot her a look that said if she were smart, she'd keep her opinions to herself. I didn't want to talk about it. Not now. Maybe not ever.

"That was a little rude." No such luck.

Looked like I'd have to draw her a picture. "Stay out of it."

"So was that."

I could hear the formal presentation beginning in the background.

OK, she was asking for it. I'd give her the quick and dirty version. After that, she'd be sure to see things from my side of the fence. "My grandmother doesn't want me to be the treasurer of the family foundation. She wants me to quit working."

"She's old. She's probably looking to you to take on some of her load." Uh- oh. Gamma had an ally. Not to mention that she'd met her match.

"Embrace my familial responsibilities. Join the family business." I tried to make her see the irony in it all.

"Which is -- what exactly?"

Funny, how I had failed to clue her in. I had been better than I thought at compartmentalizing my life. "This. It's giving away money. It's cutting ribbons. It's waving to the common man." I gave her a little queen's wave. "It's Prince Charles without the castle."

She grinned at me playfully. "I don't know about no castle, I've seen your grandmother's house."

Okay. Much as it pained me, it was time to pull out the big guns and whack her over the head. "Abby. I know you mean well, but don't try to tell me what to do with my life. Okay?"

I heard the mistress of ceremonies calling my name. Perfect timing.

"Okay," I heard her mutter as I walked toward the dais.

The hole was getting deeper.

* * * * *

She's got a way of talkin'

I don't know why it is

But it lifts me up when we are walkin'

Anywhere



We stood in line outside the symphony entrance in pallid silence waiting for the valet. She refused to look at me. I guess I deserved it after what I'd said. But she had no right to butt in.

Still, I extended an olive branch. "I think Shaw's is open late if you still want to get something to eat."

"No, I'm not hungry," she said icily through clenched teeth. Her eyes darted straight ahead, burning a hole in the back of the person in front of us. She ran her fingers through starched hair.

More silence.

I tried again.

"Not hungry or pissed at me?" I tossed the words into the starlit night. There.

Still, not another peep out of her. I took that as a yes.

I soldiered on. "Look, I'm sorry, but I don't think you have any right to lecture me about my family." I pulled the valet receipt from my wallet and examined it intently in the hope of finding some magical advice written on it. No such luck. I fiddled it between my fingers.

She turned to face me and paused for effect. "Was that an apology?"

A seldom seen side of me rose to the surface. The side that refused to give her the upper hand.

Once again, I let it rip. "I don't owe you an apology."

She looked away as I handed the ticket to the attendant. I wondered what price I might pay for these words. Or which version of Abby would emerge to counter them.

We walked down the block to await the Jeep's arrival. Still nothing. Unresponsive Abby. Not the one I was expecting. I decided to add a bit of back-story with bold, dramatic strokes for good measure.

"Look, you want me to end up like my father - at Gamma's beck and call handing out checks so the Art Institute can have another De Kooning? Or the symphony can have travertine instead of tile in the bathrooms?" I pretended to shoot myself in the head, pulling an imaginary trigger.

Finally, the gloves came off.

"Why don't you get involved with the Foundation and change its priorities? Give the money to health care, education, needle exchange - I don't know, anything you felt passionate about?"

Obviously, she had given the matter some thought. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck, hot and cramped underneath the starch of my shirt collar, sticking up.

"I feel passionate about what I'm doing, okay? I feel passionate about working at County."

Hopefully that would shut her up.

It didn't.

"Who says you can't do both."

Stubbornness was taking over. "I do."

We stopped walking. She reached back and pulled out some ammunition of her own.

"Okay, look, you were born really, really rich. So what? It's nothing to be ashamed about."

What was that supposed to mean? How dare she.

"I'm not ashamed of who I am." I could feel the righteous indignation creep into my tone until it became a palpable presence between us.

She wouldn't let up. I hadn't seen her this animated since she tried to convince me not to get on the El after I'd discovered the secrets of the Girls' Club.

"No? You drive a Jeep. You wear a cheap watch. You rent a two-bedroom apartment."

I failed to suppress a giggle. Her words would have been amusing if they weren't so true. "So what do you want me to do, drive a BMW?" I tried to show her she didn't have the market cornered on self-deprecation.

"No. I don't care. I couldn't care less. But you care a lot."

We stopped walking again. Apparently, she was just getting warmed up.

"You want everybody to think that you're just like them. And you're not. You just signed a check for 10 million dollars in there. You didn't even blink. I write a check for over a hundred dollars and I get a stomachache."

I loosened my tie, ready to rumble.

"I give something more important than money. I give my time and I do it everyday to real people and it makes a difference." I ticked my hands together for emphasis.

My voice dared her to find a comeback to that remark. But the lady was on a roll.

"And I think that's great. I really, really do. But money makes a difference, too."

Ah, she had fallen into my trap. I drew out my ace in the hole.

"You know where my money comes from?" I rubbed my right eye, which was beginning to twitch. "Do you know where the money for the Carter Symphony Hall comes from? My great-grandfather made a killing during the Depression cornering the coal market. In the winter of 1933, a lot of children froze to death. And my family made out like bandits."

There. I had said it all.

Finally, I had lulled her into submission.

Not so fast.

"That was 70 years ago, Carter. You can't give the money back now. Why not help give it to people who really need it? There's still lots of kids freezing to death every winter."

Bulls-eye.

The cumulative effect of her words stung me.

I was too stunned to speak.

There was a plucky, feisty side to her the world seldom saw. Who did you think she was - my conscience?

I turned away as the attendant announced, "Black Jeep."

A different kind of silence settled between us as we drove the short distance to Abby's apartment. Not the uneasy variety like before. More like two people alone, yet together, lost in their thoughts. Gamma had a word for it. She liked to call it woolgathering.

I pulled up in front of her building and shifted the car into park before placing both hands firmly on the steering wheel. I made no attempt to get out.

I cleared my throat as she turned toward me. "There's a patient I need to check on."

"I thought the MVA guy was Luka's patient. Didn't his wife crash up in CT?"

Chuny must have mentioned it when Abby had been standing at the admit desk waiting for me. "I pawned a flu patient with two little kids off on Pratt. I just want to make sure everything's OK."

She seemed satisfied with my lie. "You coming back?" Her voice was flat.

"Depends. Should I?"

"Suit yourself, Carter," she said tightly as she fumbled with the door handle and climbed out of the Jeep.

I reached into my pocket and examined the post it note with the address Sarah Wilson had scribbled on it. I waited until she was safely inside the door before speeding off toward McNulty's clinic.

* * * * *

She comes to me when I 'm feelin' down

Inspires me without a sound

I can't explain how I get turned around



I was lulled back to reality by the blaring honk of the horn behind me. In the blink of an eye, the light had turned green. Obviously, someone was in a hurry and didn't think I was fast enough on the uptake.

I pulled into the parking lot of an all-night diner close to the intersection where I should hang a left if I planned on heading to her apartment.

I still couldn't decide.

I glanced to my left and spied an Irish pub on the opposite side of the street.

The sign above the door jolted me, sending a shiver down my spine.

Callahan's.

I struggled for a minute, trying to place the name.

Finally, I made the connection.

Callahan. Jesse Callahan. And her husband Tom. Their car had been struck by a snowplow on I-40.

Remarkable coincidence or divine intervention?

All it once, everything came tumbling back.

The palpable despair that punctuated my gut as I exited the trauma room after my futile attempts to resuscitate her. Although she had been conscious when the paramedics first brought her into the ER, she had crashed while awaiting a head CT. Her husband, aware that she was in the next room, had refused to go up to the OR until he saw her. I had left Luka with the sad task of informing him that she was brain dead.

I remembered swallowing a big gulp of air to stifle the sob that threatened to slip out as I stood there with hunched shoulders feeling helpless and alone.

And then, turning to my left, I saw her standing there. I saw her before she saw me. A vision of loveliness in all her uncharacteristic come hither glory. All decked out for the symphony fundraiser. Waiting for me expectantly. Hoping for my approval.

As her eyes met mine, I softly mouthed a gentle "hi." She waved to me, a luminous smile lighting up her face.

How many people are lucky enough to find the one person who can see right through them?

And love them just the same?

I thought about Tom Callahan and ached for the moment when he'd wake up from surgery and it would hit him. That never again could he comfort his beloved with gentle kisses or ask her forgiveness to atone for his sins.

But I still could.

I guess I had my answer.

* * * * *

She's got a way of showin'

How I make her feel

And we found the strength to keep on goin'



I unlocked the door to her apartment to find her sitting in the near dark, save for the glow of a trio of candles the lined the coffee table. Soft, smoky jazz filled the room.

She had dozed off wrapped in an old white chenille robe and the blanket I had given her for Christmas, her hair still damp from the shower I'm sure she had taken the minute she walked in the door. I remembered her complaining about the unfamiliar sensation of her hair feeling stiff as cardboard.

I quietly removed my coat, scarf and tuxedo jacket and draped them on a rocking chair, placing my duffel bag on the floor next to it.

She stirred as I sunk down at the other end of the sofa, opening up her eyes to reveal sleepy surprise, as though she wasn't quite sure whether she was awake or dreaming.

"Thanks for waiting up," I said in the most conciliatory tone I could muster.

She rubbed her eyes, sitting up straight. "You'll be pleased to know that the Carter Family Foundation's little soiree made all three network newscasts. You and your fat check are the toast of Chicago. Don't be surprised if "The Bachelor" comes knocking on your door soon. You know, so you can have more people in your life."

I winced. "I'm sorry the evening didn't turn out quite the way I had planned."

She looked at me expectantly, apparently still hankering for an apology.

"But I still don't think I owe you an apology, Abby. You can't possibly know what it's like to have lived my life. Or what it's like to be me. Not unless you've walked a mile in my shoes."

"Great. A half-hearted apology for a non-apology. Might as well quit while you're ahead, Carter."

"I didn't say that your words had no effect on me." I let that revelation hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "He tore up my check."

A familiar knowingness immediately crept across her face. Another "aha moment." You could almost see the light switch being turned on. Amazing, that even when the road grew bumpy between us, that we still could decipher each other's comments with a peculiar shorthand only we understood.

She pulled a pillow from behind her and laid it across her lap. She gently laced her fingertips through mine, elegantly motioning for me to place my head on top of it. Though I knew it was a gesture I probably didn't deserve, I was nonetheless happy to oblige.

She looked down at me expectantly. I returned the gaze, my heart creeping into my throat. And then almost surreally, a torrent of words came tumbling out of my mouth. My stubborn way of trying to make things right.

"All my life, I've compartmentalized everything that matters most to me. Each one in a separate drawer. So there's a drawer for John Truman Carter IV, scion of one of Chicago's wealthiest families. Another drawer for John Carter, M.D., chief resident at County. And finally a drawer for "Carter" or "John" - depending on her mood, take your pick - Abby Lockhart's lover."

"Sure there's been a bit of crossover between Drawers 2 and 3 - how can there not be when we work side by side day and night in the same ER? But up until now, Drawer #1 has been an island unto itself. Being born into the Carter family has been something I've never managed to come to grips with. And I'm still having trouble after all these years.

She brushed my cheek, her eyes still riveted on mine.

"So I've just put up these walls. Not walls, actually. Boundaries. And no one's managed to cross them. Until you came along. And nothing since then has been quite the same."

I paused for a moment as she traced a finger around my mouth.

"You see right through me, Abby. Tonight you just nailed it. And it totally blew me away. I felt completely naked standing there in front of you, like something out of "The Emperor's New Clothes." You stepped outside of yourself, outside of whatever feelings you may have for me. You held a mirror up to me and tried to help me see the situation for what it is, pure and simple. That there's got to be a balance between giving away money and giving of oneself. That the two concepts aren't mutually exclusive."

I reached up and playfully touched her nose.

"But I wasn't quite ready to hear the truth. So I resorted to the kind of behavior that's worked so well for the two of us in the past - harsh words and dismissive accusations. But surprisingly tonight you refused to take the bait. You just kept chipping away at my armor. All I wanted to do was push back. And push you away."

She looked at me skeptically.

"So why are you here?"

I leaned up and swung my legs around, placing my feet on the floor as I batted the answer to her question around in my head - the same answer that had crystallized in the car. It was the only part of the evening I really wanted to remember. I placed my elbow on the back of the couch behind her shoulder and turned her face towards me, cupping it in my hand.

"Right after you went into the lounge to get dressed, Jesse Callahan crashed waiting for a head CT. She was my female MVA who had been brought in earlier in the day when a snowplow hit the car she and her husband were riding in. And despite our best attempts to revive her, she ended up brain dead. Her husband wouldn't go up to the OR for surgery until he saw her. As I left, they were wheeling him in. Luka had to tell him that she wasn't going to make it. And as I pushed through the trauma room doors, I felt totally bereft, as though I had failed her. Failed both of them. I thought I was going to lose it."

I could see the knowingness once again creep across her face, like she knew what I was going to say next. After all, she had been there.

"And then I turned and saw you. I saw you before you saw me. Standing there so expectantly. A vision of loveliness, waiting for me. Waiting for the night to begin. When you smiled at me, all the bad stuff just melted away."

I stroked her face. "So that's what I want to remember most about tonight. The rest we can figure out later. What to do about canapés and cheap watches and children freezing in the dead of winter."

She answered any questions that still lingered between us with a tender salty kiss placed firmly on my mouth.

When she pulled away, I could see the wheels were still turning.

"So what happened with McNulty?"

I clasped her hand and pulled her up off the couch, encircling her in my arms. "I'll tell you in the morning."

She blew out the candles before taking my outstretched hand toward the bedroom.

Still miles and miles to go before we could sleep.

* * * * *

She's got a light around her

And everywhere she goes

A million dreams of love surround her

Everywhere

* * * * *