Title: Two Steps Back

Spoilers for "No Strings Attached"

Disclaimer: I don't own Abby, Carter or even the premise to ER. Those all belong to the creators and producers of the show, and the folks at Warner Brothers. No copyright infringement is ever intended.

Notes: This is my first chapter in a series of crossover post-eps with KenzieGal's "The Long Way". If you haven't read her fic yet, I highly recommend that you do! It's amazing. Please consider that while there will be another common thread weaving its way through our chapters, our individual work will remain our own. Her stories won't exactly parallel mine, and vice versa.

Thank you and Enjoy!

Of all the nights to be alone. Of all the times for untapped messages and bad days at work and missing brothers and globe trotting boyfriends.

Of all the moments to be weak.

I should have known it wouldn't take long for the other shoe to drop. If I'd been any more cautious, I would have predicted this long ago. But no. I was distracted. I let my guard down. Sometime between Christmas and the day Eric came to visit me… I became blinded.

Damn it, Abby. You should know better. Hasn't your life taught you anything? Don't set yourself up for anything but the unthinkable.

I take the last drag on my cigarette and stub it out in the tray resting beside me. I exhale slowly and try to shake the temptation to light up another. My gaze wanders around my darkened apartment - from the television to the bedroom to the kitchen… To the bottle sitting on the table, and the empty glass resting next to it.

Always expect the worst.

I push myself off the couch, picking up the ashtray as I stand, and make my way into the kitchen. Emptying the remains of my all-night nicotine binge into the trash, I set the tray aside and turn around, coming face-to-face with yet another temptation. It's different, somehow, this one. The movements I make are no longer unconscious. They are very much purposeful, and could potentially ruin the only thing I have right now that is worth fighting for.

I know exactly what I'm doing. It's as simple as that.

Could I stop myself? Right now, I'm not so sure I want to. And if I did, I'm not so sure I'd be able to.

One glance at the kitchen table affirms that.

How easy would it be to walk away right now. To go to bed. To fall into a deep slumber. To 'just say no.' To confess my sins and beg for forgiveness. To wait for that happy ending.

Not as easy as it would be to sit down right here, I realize, as I lower myself onto a chair. I survey the spread set out before me. The opened bottle, its cap long forgotten, seconds after it was removed from the bag. The stout glass with its few remaining drops of tequila pooling at the bottom. I glance up at the sink briefly and consider dumping the rest, but decide against it.

Who knows how many nights like this are in store for me. I might need it, later.

So instead, I reach for the bottle, dragging it over to me. I turn it around on the table a few times, watching the liquid slosh around inside as it spins on its edge. I lick my lips, the memory of the taste still lingering.

Do you believe that… for some people... death is instantaneous?

My eyes drift over to the glass sitting nearby.

Maybe… If you're going nose first into the water at two hundred miles per hour, it is instantaneous.

Grasping the bottle with a hand, I tip it slowly towards the rim of the glass. I fill it half way and set the bottle back down. I purse my lips and look away for a moment, glancing around my darkened apartment. Waiting for that ominous figure to come creeping out of the shadows. The one that followed me home… The one urging me to give in. Again.

I lean forward on the table, crossing my arms and resting my head on top of them. I concentrate on the sounds that come in the silence of the early morning. The soothing hum of the refrigerator is counter-balanced by the incessant tick of the clock as it marks away the passing seconds… minutes of my breakdown.

I just need something. Something to get me through… Or take me away…

Suddenly, something inside me jerks to life, and I push the glass away. It skips on the surface of the table, some of the tequila splashing out over the rim. I reach for the phone sitting beside me.

I just need something else to hang on to.

My fingers dance over the numbers in automatic fashion. I can feel myself take a deep breath as I bring the phone to my ear and listen for my rescue on the other side of the line.

It rings twice before he answers.

"Hey."

I close my eyes at the sound of his voice.

"Hi."

"What's wrong? Did you hear…" He trails off, not finishing his inquiry.

I shake my head and press my palm face down on the table. "No. I just wanted to hear your voice…"

I hear him sigh on the other end. "Abby…"

I wince and look over at the clock on the wall. "Did I wake you?"

There's a pause before he responds. "No."

I frown. "Really? It's five-thirty in the morning..."

"I was up."

I smile for a brief moment before I look at the bottle sitting across from me. I take a deep breath and attempt to put on my best nonchalant phonation. "I bet the weather is beautiful, there…"

What I wouldn't give to be lying next to him right now.

"Yeah. I suppose it is."

I trace patterns on the table top with my fingertips. "You got big plans for today?"

"Abby…"

"Yeah?"

"Stop."

I sigh.

"Do you want me to come home?"

My eyes travel from my hands to the bottle once more as the tears find their way to the surface.

Come home.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

I need you.

"I… I'm sure it's nothing."

"That's not what I asked, Abby."

I swallow once, slowly. "Yes. I'm sure."

We share the silence for a few moments. I don't want to hang up. Not yet.

I close my eyes and listen to his breathing on the other end.

Come home. Hold me. Tell me it's going to be okay.

"Okay."

I smile weakly into the phone. "Go. Have fun."

"Call me if you hear anything."

I nod. "I will."

"Good. And try and get some sleep, okay?"

I roll my eyes. Sometimes he knows me too well.

"Yes, doctor."

I make out the muffled noise of movement from the other end of the line, as if he's shifting his weight.

"I have to go."

"I know."

"Sleep," He repeats.

"I'll try…" I bite my lip. "Bye."

Another pause. More movement.

"Abby, I love you. Bye."

I open my mouth to respond, but am silenced by a click and a disconnection. I sigh and pull the phone away from my ear, looking at it sadly.

I love you, too.

I set it down on the table and prop my elbows up, resting my head in my hands.

You blew it.

I groan outwardly and rub my face in frustration, trying to knead some sense into my otherwise numb features. I open my eyes and once more peer at the picture painted before me. The table I've set for myself.

I reach out a hand and mop up some of the spilled liquid with my index finger. I bring it to my lips and inhale deeply before inserting the digit into my mouth, allowing the droplets of bittersweet reality to mingle with my taste buds.

The sensation that comes next brings back a flood of memories.

My first drink…

My last…

And all the ones in between.

I used to drink because I was miserable.

Back then, it was all about escape. I'd never really been happy. With my life, with my mother, with myself. With Richard. I was already on the path to self-destruction when I met him in my second year at Penn State. At a keg party, of all places. He walked me home that night and stopped by in the morning to make sure I was okay. He was the first person I'd ever met that cared enough to check up on me.

But it wasn't long before we slowly began to lose interest in each other. He turned to his studies to keep him busy, and I threw myself into my job… and booze.

He mentioned my drinking only once. Ironically, it was the night that changed my life.

I had come home from a long day at the hospital to an empty apartment, as usual, and headed straight for the bedroom. I still remember where I kept my bottle. In my underwear drawer, underneath all the old garments I never wore but refused to throw out, 'just in case'. Jose Quervo was the typical beverage of choice, although in a pinch I would settle for anything I could find. I always thought I was clever at my ways, proud of myself for deceiving those around me for years. Looking back, I'm almost embarrassed by how obvious I must have looked.

That night, I paused during my self-pity party long enough to traipse into the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove, before I headed back into the bedroom and passed out. I never did check to make sure I turned on the right burner. The shrill wail of the smoke detector was enough to alert the neighbors, who came rushing in to put out the fire.

I was busted.

I tried to brush the notion aside, telling them that I wasn't feeling well and had taken something to help me sleep. But there was no mistaking the look on their faces. They didn't buy it, and neither did Richard when he came home.

He gave me an ultimatum. Get help or get out. And as much as I hated him for it, I knew he was right.

I attended my first meeting out of reluctance, but of my own will. I didn't know what to expect. A part of me refused to face up to the fact that I'd hit rock bottom. I wasn't one of them.

It wasn't long before I looked into the circle and saw a dozen faces that looked just like mine staring back.

That first night, I was handed a chip. They told me to keep it. Put it in my wallet. In my purse. My car. Somewhere. To remind me of the bigger picture. My quest for sobriety.

On my fifth anniversary, I taped it to the bottom of my underwear drawer.

Shortly after that, I began drinking again. Gave it all up.

And I could have lost it all, and then some, the night Brian attacked me.

But I didn't.

And now there's John.

You know, I agreed not to rescue you, help you, or fix you, so I'm just going to shut up and wait for the car wreck.

I look at the glass sitting in front of me, the bottle near behind. I close my eyes.

It's not worth it, it's not worth it, it's so not worth it.

I open my eyes and stand, picking up the items off the table. I empty the remains of the glass into the sink, but hesitate with the bottle. I withdraw and cork it, sticking it up on the highest shelf in the cupboard.

Until next time.

I turn off the lights in the kitchen and make my way into the bedroom, flipping on the lamp in the corner. I look at the clock. Six-o-nine. I look at the phone. Maggie will call soon. I sigh. Sleep will have to wait.

Playing on a hint of curiosity, I find myself standing in front of my dresser. I finger the pull on the top left drawer, my underwear drawer, and slide it open. Examining its contents, I pick up one pair, then another, as I sift through my respectable underwear and their less-than-respectable counterparts, unconsciously sorting them into their respective sides of the drawer. I reach further into the bin and underneath the folded piece of wrapping paper that I've used to partition the old from the new, as always, feeling around slowly for the chip I had taped to the bottom of the drawer years before.

I frown when my hand gropes a firm package. Pushing aside the fabric obstructing my view, I lean over the drawer for a closer look. I pull out the item and turn it over in my hands. Funny, I don't remember hiding a book in here. I read the title.

'The Little Prince'.

The crease in my brow grows as I stare down at the book. Where did this come from?

I gaze over the edge of the drawer again, checking for anything else. To my surprise, a CD case and a spiral bound notebook stare back up at me, and I reach in, collecting them both. I take my finds and travel over to the bed, hoisting myself up onto the mattress.

I pick up the CD case first. I flip it over, looking for a title, but come up empty. A look inside the case confirms the presence of a CD, with the words "To Make You Feel My Love" scrawled across the top in handwriting I do not recognize. I stare at the CD for a second longer before putting it down and picking up the last mysterious treasure.

I graze my finger over the quote on the cover.

'Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be'.

A small smile begins to make its way across my lips as I open the cover of the book, eager to see if my suspicions as to its original owner pan out. I gasp as my eyes fall on the two-page inscription that greets me when I do. My heart skips as a familiar feeling overwhelms me. I'd recognize this penmanship from across the room.

Abby - -

Right now, more than anything, I'd love to see the look on your face once you've found this…

I smile and blink once slowly as my eyes travel over the fastidiously thought out words he's chosen to write to me.

… My mind keeps coming back to several conversations we've had the past few months, trying to make some sense of where we've been, where we are and where we're going....

… Each day I realize more and more that life with you is all about the journey, not the destination...

… I had no idea what you were thinking or the thoughts that passed through your mind. Because I had never heard the words. Words I longed to hear...

I bite my lip, bringing my hand to my mouth. To muffle a sob? I can't be sure.

Still, I read… Captivated by my desire to know what his intentions for me are… His desire to know what my intentions are for him.

… Throughout these pages, I've listed nine of these so-called "pivotal moments" in our relationship...

… I'd like you to first jot down whatever comes to mind when you think back on the thoughts that went through your head at the time...

… the memories you carried away with you from that moment when viewed through the prism of everything that's happened since then...

I frown for a moment, unsure of what to think of his request.

… I'll let you in on a little secret – I'm going to answer the same questions...

… In case you ever get stuck, I've included two items for inspiration…

… The first is a book that's a particular favorite of mine… Gamma used to read it to Bobby and I on the balcony outside her bedroom under the stars...

I look down at the book lying on the bed.

… even when we're not together, you're still with me. Because you have tamed me…

I sigh softly, the tears welling in my eyes. The ones that refuse to fall.

… The second is a song that perfectly captures where my head and my heart are at right now….

… Until the next place. Yours, John…

I set the book down in my lap and look at the ceiling. In the three years that I've known him, John Carter has succeeded in making me speechless on several occasions. However, none of those moments compare to the way I'm feeling right now.

I'm not sure there are words to describe what he wants. And if there are… Would I be able to find them?

My hand turns the page and I look down at the first entry he's laid out for me. I read the prompt to myself and close my eyes, thinking back to that point in time. How different things were back then. For him. For myself. For us. Was that really where it all began, for him?

When did it begin for me?

I sigh and close the book, leaning back against the pillows.

I can't do this.

Not tonight.

I push myself up off my bed and collect the book and the CD, carrying them back to the dresser. I lay the CD and the book in their respective places. I look down at the journal in my hands one more time before I place it back in the drawer.

Soon, John. I promise.

I close the drawer and make my way back to the bed, picking up the blanket off the end and wrapping it around me. Lying down, I close my eyes the moment my head hits the pillow.

Even when we're not together, you're still with me.

As I drift into a welcome slumber, I can't help but think that … in the light of day … no truer words have ever been spoken.

***