Title:  Between Worlds Description:  Post-ep for "The Advocate." Tenth 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.

Spoilers: Everything during Season 9 up to and including "The Advocate."  And a bit of foreshadowing from spoilers for "Finders Keepers" and the as-yet-untitled Episode #19.

Notes:  This is the latest installment in a series of crossover post-eps with Sunni's (a/k/a Lanie) highly acclaimed  "Reflections" series, which will continue throughout the remainder of Season 9.  Look for her to pick up the story thread in "Things That You Said" her current post-ep (Chapter 15) to "The Advocate."  As mentioned in prior chapters, while the two post-eps are meant to be read in tandem and there is a common thread interwoven through our chapters, our work remains faithful to Abby (hers) and Carter's (mine) points of view.  Her chapters won't exactly parallel mine and vice versa.   The song cued up at the outset of each scene is "Maybe" by Dana Glover.  It's Track #6 on "Testimony," her remarkable debut CD, a veritable treasure trove of carby song lyrics.  Just ask Lanie who incorporated "Thinking Over" (Track #2) into her companion post-ep.  Even better, Dana's earned the Pemberley "Official Carby Historian" seal of approval.  I recommend it highly.

The excerpt from Carter's journal entry is from "The Little Prince" by Antoine De Saint-Exupery, first published in 1943, a year before the author's plane vanished over the Mediterranean during a reconnaissance mission for his French air squadron.

Mega thanks and heaps of praise, as usual, to Pemberley, Taylor Wise and Anna, my carby confidantes extraordinaire.  And to my steadfast reviewers of the past few chapters --  starbright, flutiedutiedute, carby luva 313, Jane McCartney, lilyhead, jakeschick, Megan Star, soulofanangel, Flirty Friend, Konstantin92, DeeDee, dramabelle and Ceri   – your feedback continues to delight and inspire.

Once upon a time last fall, I found myself drawn to the Abby-centric writings of a fan fic author by the pen name of Sunni.  Somehow, I sensed this amazing person peeking out from underneath the lilting cadence of Abby's musings.  On a lark, I sent her an e-mail challenging her to do a Carter POV post-ep for "Walk Like A Man."  She painted me – and her many fans – the Mona Lisa of post-eps.  And slowly drew me into the magical world of fan fic (though at times it's felt like I've been sucked into a vacuum cleaner).  And so, Lanie, for that – and the warmth and understanding and friendship you have extended to me through cyberspace – I am unabashedly grateful. 

As always, reviews (even of the monosyllabic variety) are welcomed and appreciated.

  * * * * * Here I go climbing a mountain

It's much too high for me

And here I go crossing the ocean

Losing myself, getting lost in the sea

Where did I go wrong

When did I stop singing a love song

* * * * *

She sits across from me at a softly lit corner table at the Union League Club of Chicago, meticulously slicing a wedge of melon through gnarled, though elegantly manicured fingers.  She would have made a good surgeon.

The one constant thing in my life.

The woman who would always be more of a mother than the icy love-me-not who had spawned me.

My Gamma.

I feel the ripple of quiet confidence punctuate the wood-paneled room, the kind of inimitable self-assurance that only money can buy.  All around us well-heeled men and women huddle together over breakfast – attorneys lingering over coffee before setting out to uphold corporate greed at white shoe law firms, investment bankers sipping tomato juice poised to do battle with the bear market's assault on the mercantile exchange's psyche, plastic surgeons munching on Danish all the while wondering how they'd squeeze in a squash game amid the daily torrent of tummy tucks and botox injections.  

"I'm thinking of doing a two-week tour of duty in the Congo with Doctor's Without Borders." 

I push pieces of my as-yet untouched mushroom omelet around on the plate in small concentric circles, its reflection casting a muted glow against my fork's silvery shadow.  The thought of ingesting even a morsel or two was immediately met with a militant rumble deep in the cavern of my belly.  Everything since the chocolate soufflé had tasted like sawdust.

She looks up from her slicing, a bemused twinkle dancing in her eyes, her trademark pearls and matching button earrings, a gift from my grandfather during the early days of their courtship.   

"Why am I no longer surprised by anything that you tell me?"

I let out a low chuckle and impulsively lay a hand over hers.  "I didn't do it to get a rise out of you.  It's something I've been thinking about for awhile.  I'm getting a little restless in the ER."

"Getting a little bored with your new toys?"  I assume she's referring to the metal detectors and spruced up waiting room accoutrements.  I wonder where she's getting her information.

"Nah, it's something I've been thinking about for awhile.  Medicine on the frontlines in its purest form.  Can't be any more dangerous than County."

She opens her mouth, forming a small 'o,' then thinks better of it, and instead draws her napkin up to her mouth, expertly blotting her pale pink lipstick.  "Is your friend going with you?"

My heart leaps at her intimation, though I was becoming increasingly skilled at keeping my cards close to the vest, somewhere in the vicinity of the blue box that still resides in its now familiar perch inside my jacket pocket. 

"Luka – Dr. Kovac's -- already done three stints with them.  He's a big advocate – "

Her eyes pierce mine across the table.  "I meant your lady friend."

Reflexively, I feel my jaw tighten.  This isn't how I had planned to tell her. 

"This isn't about Abby.  Or me and Abby."  I let her name marinate in the space between us for a moment.  As always, the sound of it instinctively upturns the corners of my mouth.  "She has nothing to do with this."  I carefully brush a trail of crumbs to the center of the table and signal for the check.

Gamma sighs and places her napkin on the table as a bus boy clears the dishes.  

I curse myself silently for keeping Abby under wraps during the early days of our courtship, away from Gamma and her discerning eyes and probing questions.  Why had I fought so hard to keep my love a secret from her?  How could I begrudge her for wanting what she wanted for me – a beautiful adoring wife and a gaggle of tow-headed, apple-cheeked cherubs frolicking on her front lawn – when I had never given her any indication that Abby could fit the bill?

I feel the muscles in my mouth soften as I watch her sign the tab with the impeccable flourish of her pen.

"So what's the Foundation up to these days?"

She shoots me a devilish grin, telegraphing an instant message that she accepts the invisible olive branch I've extended.  "I got the impression after our conversation at the symphony gala that you weren't really interested."  I hear the faint sound of tongue meeting cheek.

"Try me again."

I could see the wheels of the mental rolodex whirling through her mind.  "Let's see.  We're underwriting the food and beverage tent for the annual Northwestern Dance Marathon.  Did you know those youngsters raised close to $1 million last year in a single weekend?  And then there's the annual gala for the after school arts enrichment program – we're moving it to the aquarium this year.  Have to stay fresh you know.  Oh, and we're helping Gilda's Club buy the brownstone next door."

"The cancer support clubhouse down on Wells Street?"  I raise my eyebrows.  "You're not suddenly going all soft on me?"

She withdraws an antique silver compact from her purse, carefully checking the corners of her mouth for errant crumbs.  "Hardly.  The executive director simply called and invited me to tea and a tour of the place.  And flat out asked.  Spunky little thing.  Kind of reminded me of your old friend Carol Hathaway." 

I flick my wrist to check my watch.  "My shift starts in less than an hour.  Can your driver give me a lift to County?"  She nods, pushing back her chair from the table and handing me a Burberry umbrella as I rise to help her to her feet.       

We ride in a not uncomfortable silence, the tires of the limousine making gentle whooshing sounds as they roll across the rain-soaked pavement.  Gamma, clad in a fashionable black coat and gray silk scarf, looks as though she had been suddenly swallowed up by her thoughts, her hand resting carefully on the door handle.

I gaze up absently through the passenger side window at the overcast city skyline.  Everywhere I look I see her face.

Despite the hopefulness I had felt leaving her apartment the morning after my non-proposal, a palpable malaise had engulfed me in the four weeks since.  In the immediate aftermath, we had both been lulled back into the vortex of a familiar complacency, going about our daily routine as though nothing much had happened.  But even that had disintegrated lately. 

It hadn't helped that the scheduling fairies and their impeccable sense of timing had seen fit to tinker with our comfortable routine, as though they too had placed misdirection on speed dial.  For the past few days, I had drawn the day shift while Abby worked nights.  I had spent each successive night alone, wolfing down the evening's take-out du juor before crawling into bed and the sudden bursts of dark, fitful sleep that awaited me there.

I longed for the insouciant days of the early fall, when every moment was ripe with possibility, harbingers of our first faint stirrings of sexual awakening and budding emotional attachment. 

Before Eric and his unpredictable comings and goings had disturbed our nascent day-to-day rituals. 

Before the discordant tides of his illness had forged the tenuous bonds of the Wyczenski's family's latest rapprochement. 

Before we began to run, then walk, then crawl, in place.  

"Is your jalopy still in the shop?"

"It's a Jeep."  I close my eyes smiling at her term of endearment, in the past reserved exclusively for my grandfather's beloved roadster.  "Jalopy…" I whisper under my breath, rubbing my hand back through my hair.  It seemed unreasonably long these days.  I made a mental note to get a haircut.

"Oh, Jeep."  She returns the smile in a moment of shared remembrance, enunciating the words carefully, her voice dripping with characteristic good-natured chagrin.

Our eyes meet as she continues.  "You hardly touched your breakfast."

She didn't miss a trick.  I inhale nonchalantly, doing my best to deflect attention from what had always been one of her pet peeves. 

"Yeah, I don't like to eat much before a shift.  All that blood and guts, you know."  I adjust the cuffs of my sleeves and straighten my tie.

"Don't remind me."  She winces, eliciting a knowing smile from my lips.  From my earliest memory of her, she had always recoiled at the faintest sight of blood, probably the most compelling reason she found my chosen profession so distasteful.  "I had a feeling there was some agenda this morning." 

I look away, no longer able to meet her watchful eyes.  Suddenly, the square bulge pressing inside my left breast pocket felt a little heavier.

I had every intention of returning the ring when I had been ceremoniously deposited, courtesy of the Jeep dealership's curbside shuttle van service, on her doorstep late last evening.  After learning that Gamma had already retired to her room, I had slipped into the library, eager to place the now familiar blue box back in its former resting place. 

What I hadn't counted on was Alger's inauspicious arrival as I fumbled with the combination to the wall safe. 

Sheepishly, I had enlisted his assistance in opening the lock, though I could tell from the befuddled look on his face that he was surprised to find the ring still in the box.  That was when he nervously volunteered that Gamma had learned through the Lake Forest rumor mill that I had popped the question to my "nurse friend" behind the shuttered doors of the Cantare Ristorante and ordered him to check the library safe to confirm the ring's whereabouts.  He had pretended to be as surprised as she was to find the ring had gone missing.

And so, after a night of tossing and turning, this time in the familiar confines of my old room, I knew it was time to come clean.       

"I just wanted to check in, see how you were…and, I wanted to give this back to you, for the time being."  I reach into my breast pocket and place the box into her suddenly outstretched hand.

"She said no?"  She appeared oddly taken aback, unexpected disappointment creeping into her voice.  Perhaps I wasn't hearing right.

"I didn't ask."  I look down, straightening my jacket, shifting my weight against the slippery leather seat.

"Did something happen?"  She seemed to be trying hard to make sense of it all.

"Nah, it just felt kinda rushed."  My eyes meet hers, willing them to believe me.

"What did she do?"

"Nothing."  I shake my head convincingly.  "Doesn't even know.  I don't think she knows."  Once again, I shift uncomfortably in my seat.  "Maybe she knows, I don't know."  I fidget with my tie.

"I'm sorry, John."  She pats my thigh gently, letting her hand linger there for a moment.

"I thought you'd be relieved."  I fold my hands ceremoniously and smile smugly.

"That you're unhappy?"

"I got the impression that you never really…cared for her."  There, I'd bared my soul, laying every last one of its cards on the invisible table between us.

She emits a soft sigh, a wistful look creasing her forehead.  "I've spent so many years trying to get you to do what I think is best for you."  I nod grudgingly, bracing myself for a much-deserved "I told you so" lecture.  "Your past, having me badger you about your choices."

And then she does what I once would have thought unthinkable.  She hands the ring back to me.  "This is yours.  Give it, or don't, to whomever you choose."  She gently places the box in the palm of my hand. 

I stare down at it for a moment before springing open the lid and turning it up to meet her gaze, the luminescent hues of the center cut diamond casting a brilliant glow as it leapfrogs against the Towne Car's rain-streaked windows.

"It is a beauty, isn't it?" I ask softly.

She touches my shoulder.  "He wanted you to have it.  To give to your intended bride."  Her eyes look past me and out into the downtown streets as we draw closer to my intended destination.  "He used to mention her sometimes.  She must have made quite an impression on him that night at the history museum.  He said she reminded him of Cinderella.  You know how he always had a thing for the underdog." 

I knew.

"How 'bout those Bears?" I squint, my voice barely audible, recalling one of his oft-repeated phrases.

A faint smile creases the corners of her mouth as she straightens herself up in her seat and clasps my hand as firmly as she can. 

"All your life, every step of the way, every part of your journey, every fork in the road, you've chosen the road less traveled by…much to my frustration."

She pauses, the corners of her mouth straining as she struggles to find just the right words.  "Now I know why these past few months have been among the happiest I've ever seen you.  And I saw the way she looked at you that night at the symphony when she thought you weren't looking.  I know.  I've seen it before.  It was the same way I looked at your grandfather.  I felt like I was looking in a mirror."  Her grip tightened in my hand. "Whatever it is, you'll figure it out.  Both of you.  You've come too far in your journey to choose a different path." 

I feel a moist pinprick at the corners of my eyes as the driver pulls into the ambulance bay.  I unbuckle my seat belt and place the box back in my pocket.  Leaning over, I touch her cheek, and turn her head toward mine before planting a gentle kiss on her forehead.  I linger there briefly, drinking in the subtle whiff of her perfume, trying desperately to memorize this moment.

"I love you, Gamma," I whisper before climbing out of the car.

How well she finally knew me. 

I square my shoulders and walk through the sliding glass doors, more determined than ever to find a way to make things right.

* * * * *

Maybe I was wrong

Maybe I was blind and could not see

Maybe you were never the one

Maybe you were not the one for me

Maybe

* * * * *

I push open the door to the lounge, scrunching my shoulders against the back of my stethoscope, struggling unsuccessfully to work the kinks out of my back.

Susan leans into her locker, extracting an array of personal items and quickly dumping them into a red canvas overnight bag.

I clear my throat, announcing my entrance.  "Blowing this popsicle stand, are we?"

She stands up, momentarily startled.  "Hey.  I didn't hear you come in."  She zips the suitcase and adjusts the velcro-handled ties, then drops it onto the linoleum with a weary thud. 

"Chen and I are headed out to Vegas for a little quickie.   You know, a little roll of the dice, an all-night buffet, a glimpse of Wayne Newton.  What more could two single gals ask for?"

I suppress a snicker, twirling the combination to my locker, all the while admiring her outfit.  Abby wasn't the only one taking great pains with her appearance these days.

"Nice 'do."

She pats her hair and waves open her lab coat revealing a sleeveless black shirt.  "This way, we can go straight to the casino."

She steps forward and leans against the back of Abby's locker.  "So where's she been hiding the Rock of Gibraltar?"

I knew I had been avoiding her for a reason. 

"She," I enunciate dramatically, "isn't hiding it anywhere because…" I reach up into the top shelf of my locker and cup the blue box into the palm of my hand, then spring the lid open with a ritualistic flourish.  "I still have it."

Susan looks at me incredulously as she stares down at the ring.

"Carter…"

"Go ahead, try it on."  I pan it from side to side.  "You know you want to."

"She said no?"

"Still haven't asked her…" Though I try hard to fill my voice with cryptic cheerfulness, the notes fall short.  I lean my head back against the locker door and sigh deeply.

"More misdirection?"

"No…" I transfer the ring back to my jacket pocket.  "Yeah, I guess."  I shrug my shoulders dejectedly.  "I was all set.  I bought out that Italian restaurant in the Seneca Hotel.  I had my speech all rehearsed about how despite all the baggage we both bring to the table, I can't live another moment without her." 

I bring my hand to my head, massaging my temples.  "Unfortunately, I spent the better part of that afternoon stuck in traffic with Maggie trying to get her to the bus station, and she said some things that spooked me…took me out of my game plan."

"Like what?"

"I don't want to get into it now."  I wave my hand dismissively.  "Let's just say that by the time I got to the restaurant, I was confused.  Something didn't feel right.  I'm not exactly sure what it was.  But the moment was lost."

"But not forever…"

"No."  I squeeze my eyes shut tightly.  "I don't know."

"Do you think she knows?"

I smile ruefully thinking back to the not-so-subtle changes she had revealed throughout the course of that day.  "Oh, trust me, she knows."  After hanging up my stethoscope, I don my overcoat.  "Listen, I have to go. I have to pick the Jeep up at the dealership before it closes."  With a flourish, I snap my locker shut and sling my satchel bag up on my shoulder.   "Yeah, I know.  Something else that isn't working."

She lays a gentle hand on my arm.  "Don't worry, Carter.  You'll both figure it out."

"Funny.  That's exactly what Gamma said."  Her look of wide-eyed wonder was priceless to behold.  I wink, jabbing her playfully on the shoulder.  "Stay away from those Elvis wedding chapels, you hear?"

I exit the lounge and stride purposefully into the dusky evening.  At least it had stopped raining.

I arrive at the Jeep Dealership near Northwestern after a lumbering trip on the El during the height of rush hour where every passenger it seemed was Irish for the day.  Although the service department had called and informed Frank that the brake pads had been installed, I was told there apparently had been some mix-up with another vehicle.  An apologetic clerk hands me a coupon for a free latte and directs me to a "Customer Appreciation Room, " a state-of-the-art bastion of consumer friendliness as evidenced by a high-end snack bar, wide-screened TV and semi-circle of leather wing back chairs.  I felt as though I were back a the Union League Club.

I sit down at a bistro table after exchanging my coupon for bottled water.  I lean my head back against the wall, replaying the day's events in my mind.

I don't know if people ever really change.

Well, she certainly had come to work today whistling a different tune.

A thousand questions snake through my brain, like some imaginary mental conga line.

Instinctively, my face muscles morph back to mimic my look of stunned surprise as I stood outside the drug lock-up, staring into the wire mesh window that divided us as she nonchalantly scratched the back of her neck.  How many times had I chided her over her short-lived vows to give up smoking?  Had she unknowingly wanted me to see the patch?  Because she certainly hadn't volunteered the information.  And God knows I hadn't gotten close enough to her in the past few days to discover it on my own. 

And what about the enigmatic way she had rebuffed my dinner invitation forcing me into a game of twenty questions to wheedle out her plans for the evening?   When was the last time she had been to an AA meeting anyway?  She had never even mentioned that her sponsor still lived in Chicago.  Of course, with the typical walking-on-eggs aplomb I used to dance around her issues, I had never dared ask.

How could I ever hope of making things right -- which could now only be defined as throwing the ring a coming-out party -- if she kept leveling the playing field?

What had prompted her sudden urge to change especially in light of her fateful protests to the contrary the night at the restaurant?

The fact that she had woken up four days ago and stared down at her naked ring finger?  And wondered where the wheels had fallen off the wagon?

Or was my non-proposal simply the spark that had forced her to take a long hard look in the mirror, to face up to herself and the private stocktaking she knew was in store if she could ever dream of being whole again?

Who was she doing it for, really?

Herself?

Or me?

Through the dense fog of my bewilderment, I hear my name called over the intercom announcing that my car was ready for pick-up.

There were a half a dozen equally compelling excuses I could tick off if asked to recite on cue why the ring had remained in my pocket. 

Fear of rejection, fear that she didn't love me enough, fear she wasn't ready or in the same place as me, just to name a few. 

But none of these reasons matter as much as hearing her tell me why she thought I hadn't proposed.

I was sure her answer would speak volumes about where we were.  And where we were going.

Suddenly, it was all I needed to know.

* * * * *

Here I go posing a question

Not sure of what I'll hear

Here I go refusing to let you answer

Until I make myself so very clear

We can take what was wrong

We can end these words in a love song

* * * * *

I stand next to a fluorescent billboard under the El overpass, my eyes timed to catch a glimpse of her as she makes her way through the soggy streets at the end of her shift.

My heart quickens at the sight of her resolute gait and the trademark pensiveness etched across her face.

"Hey.  What time's your thing?"

She blanches at the sound of my voice, stops and pivots, then steps back, her eyes masking stunned surprise.

"Uhh, she's probably waiting for me right now.  Did you get your car fixed?"

We begin walking in lockstep together toward an unknown destination.

"Yeah.  One of these days I'm gonna get one that works."  I shoot her a look of exasperated resignation, eliciting a laugh as she tucks her hair behind her ears.  She looks especially lovely in the soft waft of light emanating from an adjacent street lamp.

We cross the intersection, both stopping just past the curb.  I cut right to the chase.

"So…you know, right?"  I spread my arms open for added emphasis.

"Know what?"  If she knew where I was going with this, she wasn't letting on.

"That night at the restaurant.  I had a ring."  I nod emphatically, sure that she'll finally come clean.  "You knew that, right?"  I was Perry Mason asking the mother of leading questions.

She stares down at her feet, unable to meet my penetrating gaze.  "I figured if you wanted to talk about it, you would have."  Her voice sounds poised for impending doom.

It looked like if I were going to extract a confession from her, I'd have to lay all my cards on the table.

"I didn't go through with it, because in that moment, it just felt…it didn't feel right."  I shake my head.  "And I don't know why.  And I wish I did know why, but, I think the fact that I didn't do it means that maybe there's something there that isn't working…"

Something else besides my Jeep.

She looks up at me with placid resignation.  Her voice is quietly reassuring, almost apologetic.  "I get it.  It's okay."  Then opening her eyes wide as though the floodgates might open, she shoots me one last glance.  "I gotta go."

Inwardly, I cringe at the way her skewed rationale has spun my question.    Instead of trying to help me figure out how we might get back on track, she assumes that the gig is up.  How typical of her.  How had we veered so wildly off-course? 

I chase her across the street, trying desperately to match her short, determined strides.

"You get it?  Well, that's good, maybe you could explain it to me, because I don't get it.  I know that I show up for work…"  I place myself squarely in her path.  "…And you act like a completely changed person.  And I think that's great, if that's real.  The patch, the sponsor…"

She looks up at me.  "Real?"  As usual, she's a little slow on the uptake.

"For real, for you.  Or is this something that's gonna get thrown out the window the next time something bad happens…"

"What?"  She brushes her hair back and sneers at me, her eyes cast downward, her voice dripping with disdain.

I continue my steady barrage.  "Because if you're trying to prove something to me, like some kind of quick fix…"

"I didn't do it for you!  I woke up sick of myself, okay, and if you're sick of me, and just all of it, I don't blame you…"  She closes her eyes tightly.

Her words are like an arrow through the heart.  How could my displays of affection have missed their mark so completely?   "I'm not sick of you.  How do you hear that?"  I squint at her and wave my hand, my body abruptly contorting into a tightly wound rubber band ball of blaze and fury.

"Because all I ever do is disappoint you."  Her voice disintegrates into a low plaintive wail.    "I feel like all I'm ever going to do is disappoint you.  I've said this before, I don't know why you're surprised to hear this."

"Stop!  Stop!"  I smack myself in the head, snatching a clump of hair in frustration.  "Stop with this whole fatalistic, black cloud, nothing good is ever gonna happen routine."

"Problem is, it's not a routine."  She tries to bolt past me. 

I grab her arms, pinning them roughly in place, bending to gauge the reaction written across her face.  "Hey!  "What do I have to say?  What do I have to do to get through to you?"

She looks up, down, all around, anywhere to avoid returning my gaze.  Slowly, I straighten up and relax my grip.  If anyone was going to leave, it was going to be me.  Though part of me, the part dug deep way beyond my heels, hoped against hope she'd follow suit.

But as I slink away from her, there are no footsteps behind me, just the sounds of sooty damp silence.

I climb into the Jeep and slam the door shut, adrenalin coursing through my veins.  I stare blankly out the window as I watch her draw her body up into her shoulders and cross the street, her head bent down to avoid being battered by the blowing wind. 

I slam the steering wheel before gripping it tightly, the sting gushing through my black-gloved hand.  Letting my head fall back against the seat, I recall the last time I had walked away from her.  

It's just – how far are we going to go if we keep hiding from each other?

Somewhere in the far off distance, an imaginary clock signals the arrival of 2400 hours, an infinitesimal sound I knew was intended only for me. 

I waggle my thumbs on the steering wheel and peer through the windshield at the throngs of people crossing in front of me, searching intently for her familiar silhouette.

Looks like if I wanted answers to our questions, I would need to be the one doing the asking.

Again.

I turn on the ignition and roll into the night, narrowing the short distance between us.

She stops dead in her tracks even before I can shift into park. 

She knows it's me.

I climb out of the Jeep and step onto the curb.

She twirls around ever so slightly, her head tucked under her chin as she spreads her broken wings in a slow-footed pirouette.

I won't hide anymore.

In nakedness, her heart had found rest.

And I knew.

I just knew.

She had done it for herself.

With a strength she barely knew she possessed, she had reached deep, deep down to uncover a new found willingness to take a chance on herself, even if it meant that it would never change anything between us.

Suddenly, all I wanted was for her to know that I knew.

But this time it had to be on my terms. 

Now, more than ever, I needed her to be the one to make the next move, to come further than halfway, to overcome her inhibitions against showing her feelings, to express something of what she was feeling about herself, about me, about us. 

To give us some hope.

Mirroring her outstretched gesture, I shake my head and grind my feet to a halt, ardently willing her to come the rest of the way to meet me.

 I didn't mean to leave like that.  It just – seemed kind of complicated and I wanted to give it time to figure out where we were.

With disbelieving eyes, I watch her take several confident steps toward me.  I hedge forward slightly, closing the gap between us, and reach down to wrap a hand around hers.  She draws herself closer still, leaning her body into my chest, bowing her forehead into my shoulder.  I press my lips against her hair and close my eyes, wanting nothing more than to savor the moment.

Suddenly, I feel a set of diminutive arms, tentatively at first, and finally with breathtaking ferocity, reach up to envelope me, pulling me out of my long dark abyss. 

At long last surrounding me with her love. 

And telling me everything I needed to know.

Here we are.

* * * * *

Maybe if we try

Maybe we can start again when we've already said good-bye

Maybe we can still be what we've always dreamed we could be

And I know I was wrong to let you go

But I'm still holding on to let you know

* * * * *

I sit in a booth in a coffee shop in her neighborhood munching on a turkey club sandwich.  I had thought about heading straight to her apartment after she had reluctantly disentangled herself from my embrace and gone to meet her AA sponsor, until I realized, for the first time in longer than I could remember, that I was completely and utterly famished. 

I reach into my satchel bag and pull out the familiar spiral notebook, just beginning to show the telltale signs of its world-weary travels.  I turn to the entry I had penned the previous evening in the middle of my restless slumber at Gamma's. 

Pivotal Moment #3:  Our "charity date" at the natural history museum 

March 16, 2003

Abby –

For me, it will always be a night of firsts.

The first time I saw you in a dress, and a most cleverly unconventional one to boot.

The first time I saw the inside of your apartment.

The first time I stole a glimpse of you in your black bra and panties through your bedroom door, though I had undressed you with my eyes a hundred times before.

The first, and, regrettably only time you met my grandfather.

The first time we danced.

The first time I conspired to let the air out of someone's tires.

The first time I seriously thought about kissing you.

The first time I stayed up the whole night afterwards thinking about you, trying hard not to picture you in the arms of another man.

The first time I saw you in a new and different light.

I know there were things about our "first date" that were less than perfect. 

The uncomfortable silence in the limousine that followed your wistful lament about how  Luka didn't ever get  jealous of your dalliances with other men.  I can still hear the hollowness in your voice and can't help but remember suppressing an irresistible urge to take you in my arms and melt all your self-doubts away.

And then, of course, there was our unexpected run-in with Richard and Alexis.

 He was different than I imagined him to be, more polished and suave, though with a harder edge underneath.  To be honest, I had a hard time picturing you happy with him, though we both know what problems and flaws can get swept under the rug in the heady, early days of a relationship.  In hindsight, I can see how the demons you fought during your time together and the eventual crumbling of your union has jaded your views of marriage – and how differently you and I probably view it as a destination, if only because you've been through it before and I haven't.  I can only hope that in time you'll open your heart to the idea again, guided by the not-so-naïve notion that the right partner can change everything.

Yet, when all is said and done, I'll always come back to the image of myself standing in your doorway, bouquet of fresh flowers in hand, poised to knock, feeling as though I were on the verge of something wonderful.

I had picked up the flowers on my way home from work, having caught a glimpse of them as I passed a storefront kiosk near the el station.  For some reason, they reminded me of you.

Which is why I was so floored to discover that you preferred your flowers dead.

Because, in the analogy of the mind's eye, I had never imagined you as anything other than a budding flower teetering on the verge of full bloom.

If you've been keeping up with copy of "The Little Prince" that I left for you, I'm sure you already know that.

The little prince went away, to look again at the roses.

"You are not at all like my rose," he said.  "As yet you are nothing.  No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one.  You are like my fox when I first knew him.  He was a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes.  But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world."

And the roses were very much embarrassed.

"You are beautiful, but you are empty," he went on.  "One could not die for you.  To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you – the rose that belongs to me.  But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses:  because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing.  Because she is my rose."

And he went back to meet the fox.

"Goodbye," he said.

"Goodbye," said the fox.  "And now here is my secret, a very simple secret:  It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.

"What is essential is invisible to the eye," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

"It is the time that you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important."

"It is the time I have wasted for my rose  -- " said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember.

"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox.  "But you must not forget it.  You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.  You are responsible for your rose…"

"I am responsible for my rose," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember. 

Abby, I hope that every time you read about the little prince's rose, it will feel like looking into a mirror. And you'll see the beautiful flower who has tamed me. My wild blooming rose.  

Yours,

John

Satisfied, I close the book, reach into my pocket and toss some bills on the table.  I glance at my watch, staring down at the hands as they creep up on ten-thirty.  She hadn't known how long she'd be.

After a short walk in the crisp night air, I approach her doorway tentatively, unsure whether to knock or pull out my key.  I opt for the latter, thinking, despite the lateness of the hour, that I may have beaten her home.  If that were the case, I'd reward myself with a long shower, even though tonight I'd prefer not to do it alone.

Turning the knob, I'm surprised when the door jerks against the gold-plated chain.

"Abby…" My voice filters through the crack, my eyes squinting to get a glimpse of how I'd find her.

I hear the padding of bare feet stumbling against the wood floor.

"Abby, it's me…"

The door slides gently toward me as her hand moves up to unlatch the chain.  The hinges groan as the door swings open and thuds against the small table behind it.

She looks exactly as she did when she reluctantly pulled herself away from me just hours earlier.  Yet something's different, an inimitable softness planed across her face.  I smile at her in quiet wonder.

"You locked me out."  There was a lightness in my voice I hadn't heard in what seemed like ages.

She rolls her eyes in response.  "Hello to you, too."

The living room is swathed in soft light from the glow of two candles that burn at either end of the coffee table.  The Burberry blanket, my Christmas gift to her, lies balled up at the edge of the couch.  The sounds of a throaty contralto I had never heard before gently reverberate from the CD speakers.  Obviously she had been home for a while.

I step into the room, closing the door behind me, unable to take my eyes off of her, wanting nothing more to tangibly test the hypothesis, with my hands, my lips and parts unmentioned, that we had indeed entered a new dimension.

"Hi."

She closes her eyes and draws a deep breath, perhaps reading my thoughts.

"I didn't think you'd be coming tonight."  Her eyes grow sheepish once she dares to open them.

I look back at her, my heart exploding into a thousand silver shards.

"I'm sorry."

She raises her eyebrows, tilting her head to the side.  "For what?"

"For…"  I shake my head and shrug.

We both know for what.

And the feeling is mutual.

She nods.  "Me too."

Not wanting to break the trance, but in the interest of inching closer to the business at hand, I turn around, drop my bag on the floor and proceed to hang my coat in the closet. 

My hand is on her cheek moments later as I rub my thumb lightly across her flesh. 

But something's not right.

There's an unmistakable sadness in her eyes, that wasn't there two minutes ago.

"What's wrong?"

"I didn't think you'd be coming home tonight."

I pull her close to me, trying to reconstruct the moment on the sidewalk.  She takes her cue, wrapping her arms around my torso and burying her head in my chest, kissing it lightly.

I inhale deeply into her upper body, shifting my weight to balls of my feet.  She pulls away and looks up at me expectantly.

For some reason, I need to hear her say what my heart now knows to be true.

"Look, I…"  My ears are suddenly diverted to the sound emanating from the CD player.

He wants to marry me, carry me far away

He wants to love me for life

I shake my head, momentarily spooked by the mystical convergence of ideal and reality.

"What is it?"  Her hand roams my back, her fingers tracing a line up and down my spine.

I find my voice again.  "I don't want you…to change."

She raises an eyebrow.  "You don't?"

"No.  Yes…" I sigh.  "What I meant to say was…I don't want you to change, just for me."

My pronouncement is met with stony silence as she untangles herself from my grasp and turns her back toward me.

"I told you I wasn't."

"Yeah, you did.  And I…I just wanted to make sure you're doing it for the right reasons, and not because I didn't propose."

She tips her head over her shoulder and looks at me pointedly.  "What are the right reasons?"

I return her gaze with equal intensity before closing the gap between us, placing my arms on her shoulders and squeezing them lightly.

"For you."

"For me?"  Her tone is mocking.

"Yes."

She rolls her eyes.  "I told you…"

"I know what you told me."

"Then why…" She turns around to face me as a thought clicks into place.

"…You don't believe me."

"Abby."  I sigh.

She shakes her head.  "No.  Don't.  Don't try and make up for it…I told you.  I said I get it.  So just…"

She pulls away from me, more roughly this time, and heads for the couch.  She picks up the blanket, neatly arranging it next to her before sitting down.

"Just what?"  I ask from behind her.

"I don't know, Carter.  Just…"

Suddenly she tosses her hands in resignation.  "I can't do this."

"Abby…"

She covers her face with the back her hand.  "I told myself I wasn't going to do this…"

Undaunted by her outburst, I sit down beside her.  "Do what?"

She takes a deep breath, gazing down at her hands in her lap.

"I really thought you were ready to end it tonight."

"End what?"

"Us.  I thought it was over."

"Oh."

"And even though…Even though I knew it would hurt…Even though I knew it would probably kill me to lose you…I convinced myself I deserved it."

"Abby…"

She shakes her head, trying hard to manage a self-deprecating laugh through salty tears before continuing. 

"I made myself a promise…That no matter what happened…I wouldn't continue to be like this…I would change.  Because I couldn't keep living like this.  I couldn't keep hating myself."

"So sure…Maybe I did it for you.  Maybe this has something to do with what you said to me in the restaurant.  All I know is…That night you were going to propose to me…Despite my best efforts to convince myself otherwise…It was all I had ever really wanted…and all I can think about since then is…Why you didn't."

"I did it for you, but I did it for me, too.  So that even if…Even if the end came, I'd have something to keep me going."

She looks over at me timidly, biting her lip.  "Pretty selfish, huh?"

As my mind and heart work overtime to process her testimony, I can think of only one thing.

She had affirmed every thought that had raced through my head as I stood on the sidewalk waiting for her to walk toward me. 

Only this time with words instead of her naked heart.

Slowly, my lips move in to silence our doubts.

One long slow kiss for her.

And one for me.

"Do you know how much I love you?"  I cup her chin tenderly.

She smiles demurely, licking her lips.  "That's something else I'm working on."

"Mmhmmm…Maybe we can work on that together."

She laughs, the moment suddenly transcended by an incredible sweetness.  "I was hoping you'd offer."

I sit up, pulling away from her briefly while I shift over to the other end of the couch.

"Come here."

She obliges eagerly, fitting her body neatly against me, draping an arm across my chest and leaning her head against my shoulder.  I cover us both with the blanket, my fingers lingering on her hair.

"So when did you get this CD?"

"Mmmm…I found it a couple of weeks ago."

"Not your usual noise."

"I don't know…I guess I was just…drawn to it."

I kiss the top of her head and tighten my grip around her.

"Hey." She breaks the silence.

"Yeah?"

"Guess what we're doing?"

I pause briefly.  "What are we doing?"

She smiles looking up into my eyes.

"We're growing…We're changing."

So we were.

Who knew?

* * * * *

Maybe I was wrong

Maybe I was blind and could not see

Oh, but baby I'll be strong

And I'll sacrifice the very breath I breathe

If I can only hear you say to me

When I ask you if you think you still love me

Maybe