Somewhere In Between
Part 3
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 …
CCC + Robbie's Notes: Hey again! 'Tis us back with more. Didn't think we do it huh? Thought we'd forgotten about it. Nope! Feedback is appreciated, you know where to send it! And again this part was written by the both of us.
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I'm seeing pink. But that can't be right. Because a pink line on this little plastic applicator would imply that I really am pregnant, but that can't be. It's blue. It has to be blue. I can't raise a baby. For that matter, I can't raise a baby whose father is some drunken bastard who might as well have raped me.
My eyes are shut tightly, clutching the tiny apparatus for dear life. I'm so dizzy. In the past couple of days, my world has become hazy, and I briefly wonder if instead of living in my world, I'm suspended in a bizarre dream universe where nothing seems to make sense. With my eyes closed, my fantasies manifest themselves, twisting my thoughts and merely adding to my confused state. I take a deep breath and open my eyes to the real world and the harsh reality that my worst fear has come true: I'm pregnant.
The feelings coursing through my mind aren't new. There was a time, many years ago when I was placed in a similar situation: pregnant with the baby of a man who wasn't in love with me. The only difference was, he was my husband. And so, being young, frightened, and utterly ignorant as to the ramifications of my actions I promptly had an abortion. I took the easy way out, terminated the life of my baby and all my problems in one fell swoop.
But I can't do that this time. This time it's different. I can't blame this on anyone. I can't take the easy way out. Because this time an abortion would only cause more problems. I'd still have Carter to deal with and my alcoholism. My alcoholism…an abortion would only make my life worse. Worse, is that even possible?
And as much as I'd like to say it's all John Carter's fault, I can't do that either. That childish act of pointing fingers and blaming someone else has to stop. I look into the mirror and see the slightest bulge beginning to form.
Suddenly, things begin to sink in. I'm finally realizing what this will mean. Looking at my life, I'm ashamed. I'm in no shape to care for a baby. I can't even care for myself. I laugh bitterly at myself. But in all honestly this is no laughing matter, it's my life. My screwed up life. I can't bring an innocent child into this. No baby deserves to deal with this.
With a raw vengeance, Carter's words reverberate through my head. I thought we had a chance, Abby. I can still hear his painful tone; still see the hurt in his chocolate brown eyes. Somehow it's all too familiar to me, and then I remember why. The day I moved back in, Carter came by, and he saw me with a beer in my hand.
Once again I've let him down. I don't need him to tell me that. I just know. You would think many years of screwing up would make it easier to deal with. It's not true, not when pregnancy is the mistake. No, I've really done it this time.
And to make matter's worse; I've lost the one person I need most. Not that can ever admit it to him. It was too much of a struggle just to admit it to myself.
A few days later…
It's been a few days since I've seen Carter. I haven't been to work in a few days either. I told Kerry I'd be out all week because I think I have the flu. Carter's the only one who knows the real reason. Although I suppose that'll have to change soon too. Looking down at my stomach I know I can't hide much longer. I'm already showing.
Each day that passes brings me closer to the birth of this baby. I still need to see my OB and verify that everything is okay, in addition to getting started on some pre-natal vitamins. I should probably start shopping around for bargains on baby nursery items … doing this single-parent thing is going to be no walk in the park.
I heave a large sigh. I've still got a rough road ahead of me, and I need to get moving. First things first, I need to fix things with Carter. When it all comes down to it, he's my best friend and I can't live with him so angry at me. I'm slowly sinking into paranoia. The phone rings and I jump, wondering if it's him. Every time I've walked into a store in the past week and seen a man with dark brown tresses and of a moderately similar build, I'm on edge wondering if it was him until I cross the threshold of my apartment.
The hard cold truth is that I can't make peace with this until he can. However long that takes …
Gently, I finger the raised numbers on the telephone that rests in the palm of my hand. His number is indelibly ebbed into my mind, fastened by an invisible bond that can only be broken by the shutdown of my mind through a debilitating disease. Against my warm skin, the smooth plastic feels cold and alien. I've been sitting here for the past couple of minutes contemplating, like I do everyday, whether or not I should call him. We need to talk things over. And I need to bury the hatchet between us.
Before my frazzled nerves can contemplate what's happening ... the phone is ringing. I've dialed and he's answering the phone.
"Hello?" I've woken him up. His voice is fuzzy, warm with sleep. I steal a glance at the clock and murmur a curse under my breath. No kidding he's sleeping, Abby … it's 3 am.
"John … it's me" I pause. The lilting tone of my voice is unreal, it sounds calm and serene with a touch of scratchiness from lack of use. Seemingly, they're good compliments of each other, my voice and my mind. Complete opposites.
I hear him yawn and visualize him stretching out as the wooden bed creaks with disapproval. "Abby?"
"Yeah."
I've called him, woken him up from what was a deep sleep judging from the grogginess in his voice, and now I have absolutely nothing to say to him. Great Abby, just great. In the next momentary silence I wonder if maybe he's fallen back asleep. It sure would have solved my problems.
But I suppose in our separation, I've lost the connection with him that lets me read him so well, as he begins to speak again, a hint of annoyance flavoring the exhaustion. "Listen Abby, don't take this the wrong way, but I have a shift in an hour. Is there a reason you called?"
"I'm sorry," I blubber. "I'll call back later …"
Through my stream of mental curses I almost don't hear him speak. "Abby wait. You wouldn't call if there wasn't a reason. What's the matter?"
I don't know what to do. Laugh, cry, scream, or maybe we need to talk this through. Maybe I need to take control of this situation, not try to worm my out of things again, and get past this. If I'm lucky and I play my cards right, maybe we can work this out and I'll be up one best friend. I need to be the adult here.
Only problem is I'm not sure John is thinking the same thing. Perhaps he's had enough and figures I'm not worth the trouble. Perhaps I'm not.
"Can we talk?" I sound so timid, unsure, and mouse-like. This time, my voice matches my feelings. I'm so afraid he'll say no and that will be the end.
This wasn't the approach I wanted. I need to be firm and demanding but seek his guidance and comfort at the same time. My emotions are so contorted right now, I don't know what to feel, what to think, or more importantly how to act. I can't close him out completely, but at the same time, letting him in completely is going to be the only to get him on my side of things.
"What's there to talk about, Abby?" He sure does know how to get under my skin, despite what efforts I make to keep abreast of the situation. His words act like a searing dagger, puncturing my heart and splintering it in the midst of an overwhelming guilt. Amazing how something as simple as the six words he's just effortlessly rattled off into the darkness can have such an adverse effect on me.
"This. Us. Everything."
He laughs bitterly. He's very awake all of a sudden. I can almost taste the tension he secretes with each word. "What do you want me to say?"
"Nothing. I need you to listen." Oh god, please. Please. There is sheer silence as I await his answer. I can hear him breathing heavily on the other side of the connection. It almost sounds like he's struggling to keep himself from something. But what? Is he holding back unbridled tears, a severe lashing out aimed in my direction?
"I'm listening, Abby."
I release a sigh I didn't know I was holding. "Good. Thank you." Where do I start? I've spent this week at home going over this conversation in my mind a hundred thousand times. He's waiting for me to speak, but all I can think about is the feel of his lips brushing, tender and warm, against my mouth. Sitting quietly and waiting for me to speak, he's rendered me speechless. It's events of the near past that are affecting me this way.
"I'm going to start from the beginning of this. Feel free to stop me or jump in at any time, but what I'm going to tell you … it needs to be said." I'm undressing before him; slowly and sensuously stripping down to the tenderest parts of me. Parts that even my most intimate sexual partners have never seen; my innermost feelings, thoughts, and maybe some pleas.
Somehow I know he's nodding, drinking in every word that escapes my mouth like a thirsty puppy clambering for its mother's milk. And suddenly, I realize something. The words I'm pouring out aren't a product of my thoughts and the musings of my mind. Right now, I'm speaking from the heart.
"Go ahead, Abby. I'm here, I'm listening" His voice has changed. It's soft and soothing, gently but eagerly goading me to move forward. It's the voice I'd expect him to use, tenderly rocking our baby to sleep. With this last comment, he's opened the doors to letting me speak my heart to him, almost as if he could read my newfound revelation in my voice.
"I guess this whole mess started that day … with the smallpox. You remember?" We're talking. Really talking. I almost want to cry out in exuberance.
He laughs that bitter laugh again, although this time it's tinged with regret. "A potentially fatal virus that hasn't been seen in decades enters the ER and we treated both the kids, how could I possibly forget?"
"You know that isn't what I'm talking about."
"I know." He sounds so sorrowful, I want nothing more than to take him in my arms and smother him with kisses like a small child with a scratch. Band-aids can't help this kind of pain, though. We have to talk this through.
I need to cut to the point or we're going to skirt around this for the rest of the night. "John. When you kissed me that night …"
"You don't need to say it, Abby. I shouldn't have, I was wrong."
"No!" I cling desperately to my composure. "When you kissed me … John, that was the greatest moment of my life. For the ten seconds your lips were locked with mine, everything in the world was perfect."
"So what happened?"
"I honestly don't know. I was scared. I was so consumed with fear, for everything. For our lives, our relationship, our future. Going home after the way we exposed ourselves to each other left too much on my mind. So I did the only thing I knew how to do. I got drunk. The only catch was this time; I fell into bed with some stranger and got knocked up."
"Have you seen your OB? Maybe …" He's hopeful all of a sudden, but I have to remove the possibility from his mind. I feel like such a bitch, but it will only make things harder. I interrupt him.
"We used a condom, John. I wish … I wish the baby was yours. Things would be so much easier that way."
"So you're sure you're pregnant."
I pause, the regret now creeping into my own voice. "Yeah," I whisper delicately. Then with more solidity and conviction, "Yes, I'm sure."
"You could do a DNA test … to be sure."
But I can't let him do that to me and to himself. If I'm going to let him back into my life, baby or no, it has to be for me. If this is going to work, we need to build a relationship upon a mutual love and trust.
It's all I can do not to burst into tears now. We were doing so well, sharing our feelings. Now I'm stuck up against a wall, with little to say. So I pause, sighing loudly and heavily.
"What is it, Abby?"
Do I dare tell him my reasons? "I don't want to know who the father of this baby is. That way, I can pretend it's you and not that jerk that might as well have raped me." I'm almost yelling now, breaking into hysterical tears.
"I want something between us, John. I want you to take me in your arms and kiss me and hold me and love me. You promised me everything was going to be okay." I'm rambling now, telling him things that I should really keep to myself, but I can't. I'm never like this, I'm supposed to stay in control and keep my emotions to myself. Nobody can help me but myself, and I don't need anybody's help. The damn hormones are turning me into something I'm not. But John needs to hear this eventually, and if this is how it's going to happen, so be it.
"I want you to be the father of my baby so badly, John. I want to wake up every morning and know that a little piece of you is growing inside my body, taking nourishment from me. I want you to be with me in the delivery room, holding my hand and after the birth for you to be able to kiss the downy hair on the head of my newborn and think 'This is the baby that I made with Abby.' That's what I want for my baby, and knowing that it might not be true is too much for me to handle. If you're willing I want to raise this baby as if it is ours."
I pause now, incredulous at the things I've said. Somehow, an unknown force swept over me and began to control my mouth saying things that I didn't even realize I want. But now, having said them, I know they're all true. Again, John is silent, only this time the soundless atmosphere is punctuated by my heaving breaths, sniffling, and an occasional hiccup.
Before him, I'm now naked. Like an onion, he's peeled me, layer for layer, reaching deeper and deeper down into my essence. Now that we're finished, my soul lies in a crumpled heap upon the floor as I stand, waiting any sort of reaction from his direction. Together, sharing these feelings with each other like this, we've just been more intimate with each other than we could have ever hoped. Tonight we've reached a heightened sense of understanding. And somehow, through a faint glimmer of hope that's looming in the distance, I know we're going to be okay.
He hasn't said much yet. "John?" I wonder aloud, my voice begging for his reply.
"I'm still here, Abby." He sounds flabbergasted and for a moment I pray this is some cruel trick by my subconscious and this is actually a dream.
"I'm sorry. I have no idea where that came from …" I'm beginning to ramble again until he abruptly cuts me off.
"No, it's fine. I … I had no idea you felt this way." He pauses thoughtfully, to collect his thoughts maybe? "When I heard you and that other man had … you know, I took it as a sign you didn't feel the way I did. But it seems like I was wrong."
"You were."
"I guess I can respect your wishes not to do the DNA testing. I know it's a long shot, but the chance that the baby might be …"
Each time he suggests it, my heart breaks. But it can't be. It's been at least a month since that night we were quarantined together. The same night we kissed … and the kiss became something more. Besides, I had my period last month. The baby can't be his. There's no point in thinking it might be.
"Please. Don't say it."
"I'm sorry. Listen, I have a shift … sleep on things and I'll talk to you later, okay? "
"Yeah. Bye John."
"Bye."
I hang up the phone, realizing that I never got an answer to my question. He'll sleep on things … but what the morning may hold is a completely different story.
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To be continued. We'd love to hear your thoughts.
