Somewhere In Between
Part II
Authors: CCC and Robbie ( wooksrus@yahoo.com )
Spoilers: Up to and including the Season 8 finale "Lockdown."
Archive: Please ask first! Contact us as wooksrus@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: Carter & Abby are the property of the big shots at NBC, Warner Brothers, Amblin Productions etc …
Authors Note: Hey all … 'tis me, Robbie. Big surprise, eh? In my endeavors to help CCC with the first part of this story, I ended up being coerced into producing a part of my own. Not that I mind, I love to write! But anyhow, I must give credit to CCC for this production is entirely her idea with some input on my part. So, thanks to her for beta-ing her own story as written by Moi. This chapter alone is written by me and the ideas in the chapter are mine, save the basic framework which does belong to her. I'd love to hear your thoughts on it (as would she). I am happy to announce, with my writing of this part, I've officially joined the team and this fic, complete with a changed outcome is now a co-authored work.
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A few days later …
The world spins nauseatingly about my body. But I'm fixed in place, unmoving. People around me bustle about. They have places to go, people to see, things to do. I'm in my own little world. I can hear them speaking, I interact … but my mind is elsewhere.
Something is wrong with me. Each second I take a step forward, I feel as if I'm violating my body. Because as much as I'd like to admit I have no idea what's going on with me, I know. With each passing moment, it becomes harder and harder to deny it, to ignore it.
Said thing all boils down to that notorious, unforgettable night that occurred not long ago. Despite the fact that certain events of that afternoon and consequent evening are suspended in a mental fog so thick I can barely even remember the tiniest detail, other memories break through like sunlight; clear as a bright light shines forth from a light house.
I know I was drunk. I know I met a man, a blond haired, blue eyed man whose eyes were so clear and deep I could see my tousled reflection in them. I know we spent the evening together sitting on the plush round seats of the bar. I remember growing drowsy at his side. But from there things go blank until morning.
And I don't quite know what happened in those foggy, semi-conscious hours between the time I became over-drowsy and the time I woke up. What I do know is that I rose from sleep in a dimly lit, dank room that reeked of alcohol. The white sheets entangled around my naked body were dirty, stained, and pricked at my delicate skin. The walls were painted an off-white color, but chipped with lack of care. The window was open, letting the room bask in the soft rays of sun-light. A warm breeze blew the dark mahogany shutters against the wall resulting in a banging noise only filtered by the incessant whiz of the ceiling fan that whipped a thin covering of dust about the room.
I still have so many questions. What the hell happened in those crucial hours that I can't seem to recall? Each time I allow these questions to cross my mind, a shuddering sense of dread wrenches through my body. My fingers go cold and begin to shake and my heart begins to pound in my chest.
That feeling is only too similar to the one I felt waking up in that strange, uncomfortable room: The gut-wrenching fear, breathlessness, and grief that overcame me as I sluggishly stumbled around the empty room, picking up my clothing and draping it chaotically about my shivering body as my head throbbed with pain the entire time. And I got out of there as quick as I possibly could, luckily without encountering the owner of the home.
The unknown is still what gets to me. I can't handle not knowing anymore. I'm fairly sure we slept together, otherwise why would I have woken up completely naked? Whether it was consensual or rape … I can never be sure. But for now, I find myself closed into an empty exam room at the hospital, mid-shift. The darkness of the room envelops me, providing sanctuary from the madness of the hospital.
Beside me, on a cold metal tray, sits a pair of latex gloves, a syringe to draw my blood, an order form to send to the lab, a ball-point pen, and a container to hold the sample. My fingers are trembling, and I feel like a shroud of frigid air is covering my body. At least County's air-conditioning is finally working, I think to myself bitterly.
I need to do this before someone notices I'm missing and comes looking for me. I told Jerry I was re-stocking some supplies in here. Was that a mistake? Is someone going to come barging in, mid stick? And suddenly my thoughts turn on myself … Why am I such a coward … Can't I just do this at home? Why am I so terrified? But I know. This veil that's been hanging over me since that night is something serious. Something that could change my life forever.
Pregnancy.
Because in that split second that I find out I'm pregnant, my whole life changes. Suddenly it's not just about Abby anymore; it's about a helpless little baby who needs my care 24/7. And not just any baby, it's mine. My own flesh and blood. My baby.
But before I drive myself crazy thinking about the what-ifs, the maybes, the what-then's … I need to know. And so here I am, closed into an empty exam room at the hospital, mid-shift, preparing myself for a pregnancy test.
I gingerly reach out for the syringe, first tying the tourniquet onto my upper arm. I take a deep breath, still facing away from the door. I'm home free … I just need to do this.
Like a scene from a horror movie, there's a strange creaking noise as I reach out for the needle. It's a figment of my imagination, I ignore it. I hear footsteps drawing closer and stifle a shriek.
"Abby?" Oh god. It wasn't my imagination. The syringe drops to the floor in slow motion, hitting the linoleum with a sickening crash.
His voice is etched with worry and surprise but I'm not too dumb to sense the questioning it possesses. One word and I can read him like a book. I slowly turn around, pivoting on the rolling metal stool.
"What are you doing?" This time his words are laden with accusation, but I know he didn't mean to be this harsh. I've been skirting around him for days, ignoring his pleading looks, invitations to talk, and offers for help. He wants answers.
"Go away, Carter … this is none of your business." My words seem to puncture him in the chest and I can almost see him visibly deflate. Or is that my eyes playing tricks on me, knowing that I'm worthy of deception after hurting the man I care so deeply for? But he doesn't deserve to be pulled into this mess I've created.
"No." He's adamant, defiant, strong, and sure of himself. I'm not going to win this one, I'm so weak. Suddenly he softens, and takes a step towards me, holding out a friendly hand. "What's the matter?"
Tears sting the back of my eyes. I don't want him to be nice to me right now, I'll break down. I can't depend on him like this! "Please, John …" I'm pleading with him now, but I've already lost this battle. He takes my cold hands in his, rubbing the back of my palm gently with his thumb.
"Something's wrong, Abby." He pauses for a moment, contemplating what to say next. He takes a breath, searching my face for answers. "Why are you shutting me out? I want to help you. Please, Abby … let me help you."
"I can't let you do that," I murmur, slipping my hands out of his grip, and standing up. I turn to the opposite wall to gain composure and begin to pace the room.
"At least tell me what's going on …" Now he's pleading with me, grasping at straws. How easy would it be right now to sling some demeaning insult in his face and make him angry? How easy it would be to refuse him again … yell at him angrily and get into some unnecessary fight. But I don't. We've done this before. It hurts our friendship, but the tie we have is so strong, nothing can sever it. And for that reason, it hurts even more.
I can't just blow him off, can I? Why can't I just fall into his arms sobbing and tell him everything so he can make it all better? It's because I've wronged him, violated the terms of our relationship, and alienated him from my life. I feel like I've ruined all prospects of a possible relationship between us, and that scares me. He's sitting there watching me, waiting for my reply. If I start talking, I might not be able to stop. From there, I'll start hysterically crying and that will be the end of things.
The silence is deafening. We're both getting anxious, and the tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife. We've already been through so much together, why this? So many confrontations, they always seem to end bitterly. Just maybe, maybe there's a chance I can keep things from going bad this time.
I slump my shoulders in defeat. I'm preparing him. "John. I … I've really screwed things up this time." My voice is quiet and bitter and for a moment, I wonder if he's really heard me.
But he looks up from the invisible spot on the floor and meets my eyes. He chooses his words carefully, perhaps trying, much like me, to keep things civil. "Screwed up how?" That shield of bravery and valor has been set on the floor, and I can see he's scared to hear my answer. That doesn't work to help things at all. The guilt sets in.
I'll make this quick and painless. "I might be pregnant, John." I gesture towards the metal tray, "That's what this is. A pregnancy test." Instantly, I regret my words. He takes it as a sharp blow, stepping back mid-sigh. My tone was too harsh.
"John?" Our roles are reversed again … now I'm pleading with him, talking in a hushed murmur, begging for his understanding guidance.
He shakes his head, but I have no idea what he's feeling. Regret? Anguish? Pity? Anger? Carter begins to pace back and forth. He looks up abruptly, "Is it Luka's?"
"No. John, God. No." I briefly wonder if I'm apologizing to him. But I'm feeling too many emotions right now to make anything of this.
"Then who's is it?" He's accusing me again, getting angry. That shield has been raised and he's trampling me on the floor.
An alien noise escapes my mouth, surprising us both. It's like a cross between a stifled sob and a desperate plea for help. But I break down and the tears start running down my cheek. "I don't know."
His eyes widen in shock. "You don't know?" I can't articulate an answer, only shake my head. "Are you sure you're pregnant?" I shake my head again, trying to convey to him that I don't know yet and still need to take the test.
He's silent. And somehow, the silence is worse than the sound of his accusations. "Say something," I croak. And he shakes his head and turns to leave the room.
His hand turns the knob, and I'm sure that he's done speaking to me. But I've misjudged him again as he turns his head to me once more. A painful anguish is imprinted across his familiar features as he speaks, "I thought we had a chance, Abby. I can't believe this …"
"John, wait! Let me explain." I jump up and start to walk towards him, but the heavy door shuts in my face.
And just like he came, he's gone. Again, I'm alone. My stomach sinks with a sickening thud and without the results of the test, I know I'm pregnant. Abby the screw up has screwed up again.
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