Title: Stealing Home
Disclaimer: Not sure I'd know what to do with them even if they were mine, which is probably why they belong to Warner Brothers, instead. No copyright infringement intended.
Spoilers for "Finders Keepers"
Notes: This is the latest installment in a series of crossover post-eps with KenzieGal's (a/k/a Its_Always_Something) Carter-derived "The Long Way" series, which will continue through the remaining final episodes of Season 9. Look for her newest post-ep "Circling the Bases" to "Finder's Keepers." As mentioned in prior chapters, while the two post-eps are meant to be read in tandem with a common thread interwoven through the respective pieces, our work remains faithful to Carter's (hers) and Abby's (mine) points of view. Her chapters won't exactly parallel mine and vice versa.
See notes at the end.
***
Pivotal Moment #4: Our Road Trip to Oklahoma
No one has ever done that for me.
No one has ever gone above and beyond the call of duty to be there for me. Dropped everything, to be with me. To be with my family.Not my father.
Not Richard.
Not Luka.
I hesitate to bring any of them up in this passage… This book I dedicate to you, but it's hard not to look back on that journey across the heartland and not try to compare my roadside companion to those I once kept company with.
Until I realize that the comparison is futile. Until I realize that you are, by far, the most generous, most gracious, most compassionate man I have ever been with. That I have ever loved.
That has ever loved me.
I didn't want Luka to come that weekend. His forceful attempts to make me see things his way were too much for me to take at that moment.
I knew what I was doing. Because I'd done it before.
By myself.
Flying across the country to some darkened motel room. Peeling her off the bed. Washing soiled sheets in the bathtub. Scraping enough money together for the debts she'd racked up. Defending myself against her physical attacks. Trying not to cry as I watched my mother – the strongest woman I'd ever known – slowly slip away from me.
I haven't given her much credit. I talk about the ways she's ruined my life… The countless times I've had to drop everything to be there for her. The way I've resented the life she's forced upon me.
The life I've forced upon myself.
I've never talked about the good times. When she was on her meds. When she'd be there when I got home from school. When she'd help Eric with his homework, and read to him at night.
When she made my dress for the junior prom.
When we'd stay up late, gossiping and giggling.
When she was my mother.
I did a lot of thinking during our trip across Oklahoma in that convertible. About Maggie. About myself. About you. About us.
About the idea that I'd never taken this trip with anyone else but Eric.
I wouldn't care to take it again… if I had to at all… with anyone else but you.
My best friend.
***
"Here we are." I state matter-of-factly as I scrunch my shoulders underneath the layers of clothing I'm wearing. If I was tired after my shift, hauling an extra fifty pounds of wool and cotton up to Wrigley Field only added to my misery. I was still freezing.
Still, I can't help but sink into his embrace as he pulls me close, guiding my head to his shoulder. I glance up at him as he smiles warmly. "You're a good sport, you know that?"
I laugh and shake my head lightly before turning and watching the end of the third inning in silence.
Half an hour ago I was ready to give up on this day and retreat to my apartment – alone if I had to. Resigned to the idea of spending another night in front of the television, wondering where it all went wrong.
He'd practically begged me to come along. And, even though I put up a fight, I accepted the invitation.
He'd gone to all this trouble of making arrangements. I couldn't let him down – even if my body protested the entire time I was getting dressed. It was my heart that convinced me to go.
After all, a crappy date with John Carter was worth more than a thousand nights alone. As long as we were together.
As the Cubs and Mets trade places on the field, he shifts against me, rising to his feet. I watch him with acute interest as he twists his torso a few times and secretly wonder about the last time we spent this much time together.
"Think I'll head over to the snack bar – looks like management took pity on the roving vendors tonight and let us fans fend for ourselves. What can I get you?"
"Uh… maybe just some coffee."
"That's it?"
I shrug. "I'm not very hungry."
He sighs and rolls his eyes. "C'mon, Abby, you gave up smoking less than two weeks ago. You must be starving all the time. I'd think you'd be dying to try new things now that everything you eat doesn't taste like nicotine."
"What, and give up this girlish figure?" I glance down and pull at the red DePaul sweatshirt that threatens to swallow me up.
"I can think of a few places you can stand to pack on a few pounds."
I raise my eyebrows at him. "Surely you jest." I challenge.
He smiles in response and I sigh, giving in. I turn around in an attempt to surmise the ballpark menu amongst the other die-hard patrons.
"Ok, I'll have a hot dog, mustard and relish, some nachos with cheese. And hot chocolate."
Hey, if you're going to suffer, you might as well suffer with a full stomach.
I watch him as he disappears off towards the concession deck and turn back towards the game. I shift in my seat, trying to find some feeling in the lower half of my body, and glance around my section again, studying the other baseball fans. Clusters of groups huddle in various locations, no one row being occupied with more than five people at a time. To my far right sit a father and his two sons, baseball mitts in their hands, waiting for that rare foul ball. I smile to myself as I remember the few Twins games Eric and I went to when we were younger.
A couple sit two rows in front of me, nestled close in a blanket. Every few minutes, one leans into the other and whispers something into their ear. They smile at each other and share a kiss before returning their eyes to the playing field.
I glance at the empty seat next to me, and then up the stands towards the concession area, a pang of jealousy rippling through my chest.
I stand for a moment as the teams trade positions before engrossing myself in the game once more.
He sits down a minute later and hands me my food. I take it with a smile and we both turn our attention back to the game. Outs for Mark Grudzielanek and Alex Gonzalez, ant then a hum rolls through the crowd as the next player takes his position at home plate, making me realize why there are so many fans out on this chilly April evening.
Apparently the prospect of witnessing a history making baseball player hit his 500th homerun was incentive enough for some.
"C'mon Sammy, let one rip!" I set my food aside and slip off my gloves. Let's see if I still know how to do this... I stick my fingers in my mouth and blow sharply, startling Carter with the noise that I make. He looks at me, a bemused expression draped across his face.
I shrug and grin up at him. "At this point, I'll do anything to get warm."
Much to the crowd's chagrin, Sosa taps the ball weakly to first, ending the inning.
"I didn't know you were such a baseball fan," he admits as we settle back in our seats.
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye as I watch the Cubs take their place on the field. "I was the star shortstop of my Little League team in Minnesota, remember?"
"Right. I forgot."
I smile and inhale a breath of crisp Chicago air.
"When I was a little girl, it was an escape from reality. My reality with Maggie. It was something I could do to be just like all the other kids…well, boys mostly since not many girls played baseball back then. Some nights, before falling asleep, I'd listen to the Twins on the radio, and imagine myself escaping to far flung places. Maybe as the Major League baseball's first female umpire or some network's first play-by-play announcer. Or maybe just a baseball wife. You know how little girls grow up idolizing pop icons? Not me. Instead of being married to John Travolta or Shaun Cassidy, my Barbie dolls were always married to baseball players. Ken was usually Steve Garvey or Bucky Dent."
He chuckles lightly. "What, none of the Twins' hometown heroes catch your eye?"
"Did you ever get a good look at Harmon Kilebrew?" I throw him a playful look as the first batter swings and misses.
His eyes drift over towards another section of the stadium and nudges me in the side. "See those seats down over there. That's the owners' box. When Mr. Wrigley owned the Cubs, he'd always invite my grandfather – they were old tennis doubles partners – to join him on Opening Day. And he'd always bring Bobby and I along…"
He drifts off at the memory, and I can't help but smile. It's times like these when I can't picture my life without him. I take his hand and squeeze it lightly.
He returns the gesture.
"This is such a great old place. Only Fenway Park is older. I remember coming with my grandfather to see the first game played under the lights in the pouring rain – 8/8/88 in case you're superstitious – and just feeling kind of sad. Kind of like the end of an era."
"So did you ever get to meet the Double Mint twins?"
He laughs again. "No, but I played spin the bottle with one of Mr. Wrigley's granddaughters in prep school."
I lean into his side as we revert our attention back to the game, our hands still locked together.
We rise to our feet once again as Sammy Sosa steps to the plate at the bottom of the sixth, with the Cubs leading 3-0.
"Think third time's the charm?" I ask and let another high-pitched whistle reverberate through the air.
Sosa lines the first pitch into centerfield for a stand-up double as the crowd unleashes a collective groan before providing perfunctory applause. Looks like tonight might not be the night after all. After Al Leiter strikes out Moises Alou to end the inning, even more fans head for the exits.
"If two batters reach base safely before the eighth inning ends, he might get another shot," I point out as an argument to stay.
He opens his mouth to respond, but is distracted by a commotion on the stairs beside us. We watch as a rowdy group of men trudge their way in front of us, finding rest in the first available seats. They holler to one another, waving their plastic cups of beer in an attempt not to salvage every drop. As they make themselves comfortable, one turns around, eyeing me with undue interest. I exaggerate an eyeroll in his direction, but he turns before he has a chance to misinterpret it.
I can feel Carter tense at my side, and I lean over to stop him from whatever course of action he's thinking of taking. "Don't. They're harmless."
He raises his eyebrows at me before shaking his head and turning attention back to the game.
A few minutes later I glance over and catch him staring at another drunken patron seated in front of him. I smile with amusement and try to focus on the player stepping into the batter's box. But the crowd in front of us distracts us once more, and I hesitate before changing the subject.
One more glance at the lug sitting in front of Carter and the words spill out before I have a chance to stop myself.
"So what did you think of Chuck?" I pause, glancing over for his reaction. "Or is that topic still off limits?"
He thinks about it for a moment, pretending as if his opinion wasn't at the tip of his tongue, waiting to be spoken. "He seemed nice enough…not exactly Susan's type…"
I knew it.
"And that would be…"
"I don't know, certainly not your average lug."
I stare at him in disbelief. "What? You're telling me it's fine for a doctor to be married to a lowly nurse as long as he's the one wearing the pants in the family…but as soon as the roles are reversed…"
"Abby, get off your soapbox…" The annoyance in his voice rises in crescendo with the noise emanating from the group in front of us.
Still, something compels me to push the issue. "No, it irritates me the hell out of me that you would…"
He cuts me off. "It's not him that's the problem. Mostly, I'm just worried about Susan. And the idea that she'd just go traipsing off to Las Vegas with Chen and get married instead of getting takeout with the first guy who gave her the once over on the plane…even if it was a meaningless spur of the moment thing…"
I sigh in frustration. "Carter, where's your sense of romance?"
"Sorry. I must have left it up on the roof at County." He lobs with bitter ferocity.
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
Our emotional outburst is interrupted as the crowd once more rises to its feet for the top of the eighth, and it doesn't take long for the fans to catch on that the remainder of the game will fare less than the first seven innings.
"Now playing right field, replacing Sammy Sosa…"
Disapproval rings through the air, the loudest and crudest coming from the inebriated bunch in front of us.
"Guess number 500 deserves a moment in the sun." Carter wanes as he begins to gather our belongings.
I shrug and glance towards the exit. "Win some, lose some."
"Ready?" He asks, holding out a duffel bag.
I stare at him for a moment before accepting it. "Yeah."
And as we head out silently into the night, an uneven air of tension stretches between us. It's an atmosphere neither one of us can ignore, but one which neither one of us is ready to confront.
So we wait and see what happens next.
***
And as I think about the time we spent wandering the open roads, I ache for the time when everything with you felt so… simple.
Easy.
Carefree.
And I wonder… When did all that change? When did the burden of being together become more than the pain of being apart?
I miss you, John.
I miss the way you once touched me. Carefully and gently. As if any harder, and I would break under your fingertips.
I know I teased you about it back then, but now… I long for your soft caresses.
I miss the awkwardness. The hesitant way we danced around each other for two years… The stolen glances in the ER. The way you'd be able to catch my eye from across a crowded AA meeting. The smiles that came with those looks.
And later… The way we'd sneak a moment in an empty exam room, the way you'd whisper lusty secrets in my ear at the admit desk.
I miss the newness of our relationship. From the casual conversation during the day, to the romantic interludes at night.
That lightness. It's missing. And I'm afraid.
I'm afraid of losing you. We're so incredibly close to the edge, and it's only a matter of time before one of us gets pushed over.
Some days I think that if I grabbed your hand, we'd be able to save each other.
Or at least, fall together.
Sadly, I think we're beyond that, now.
We're beyond the banter, the conversation laced with whimsy and lighthearted humor. We're beyond the soothing touches and the tender lovemaking against a moonlit canvas.
Now our words are lined with unspoken frustration. With each other, with ourselves.
And on those nights we are together, there's no mistaking the canopy of obligation that insists on blanketing us.
***
Tell me I'm dreaming. Help me realize that all of this is a figment of my imagination. Let me down easy, and catch the pieces of my heart as it breaks. Stay with me until I begin to breathe again. Just… Watch.
I thought I would feel better. God, I wanted this so much. Just to hold him… make love to him. Surround myself with his scent, his warmth. His love.
I should open my eyes. I should open them and look at him… Watch him while he sleeps. I should stroke his face and whisper his name, planting soft kisses across his chest. I should savor this moment… Our passion.
It should make me feel good, right?
Then why do I feel so guilty?
My eyelids twitch a few times as I force them open and blink against the moonlight. My gaze drifts from the hand I've splayed across his chest, to the tangle of our legs beneath the cotton sheets. I take a deep breath and roll my head upwards as my eyes travel across the relaxed features of his face. Beads of sweat dot his forehead, a lingering reminder of the heated encounter that had landed us in this position on the bed only minutes ago.
Bodies tangled.
Hearts racing.
Desire punctuating the darkness.
It had been the least of my expectations for this evening. I'd wondered if I'd ever have the opportunity… The privilege of making love to him again.
His lunge took me by surprise, especially considering that I practically had to seduce him to join me upstairs tonight…
"Thanks for coming with me."
I shrugged, smiling. "It was fun."
He raised an eyebrow at me as a grin crept across his lips. "Liar."
I rolled my eyes and shifted my feet on the pavement – moving closer to him. Inching up on my toes, I lowered my voice. "I really did have a good time."
He watched me for a moment before responding. "What did it for you? The windchill or the less than stellar ballgame?"
I tipped my head to the side thoughtfully. "More like the man I was with." I licked my lips and leaned in. "Thank you," I added as I slid my hand around his waist.
"Abby…"
I closed the distance, capturing his lips with mine in a soft kiss. I felt him sigh as his hand slid up around my neck to cup my cheek. He pulled back a moment later.
"Abby - "
"Come inside, Carter."
"Abby, I can't."
I took a step back, looking towards my building. "Not even for coffee?" I asked.
"It's late."
I glanced up at him. "I don't remember that ever stopping you before," I returned, not bothering to hide the bitterness in my voice.
"I've got an early shift."
"So do I."
"Abby."
"Carter."
He paused for a moment and looked up the street. Shaking his head, he laughed lightly and turned back to face me, taking my hand and entwining his fingers around mine.
"Please?" I tried again, my voice a little softer, more desperate.
"Okay."
I sigh and pull myself up off the mattress. He responds to my movement, groaning clutching the sheets with his hands. His chest rises and falls with an intake of air and he settles back into the pillow. I bite my lip sadly and squeeze his arm before pulling out of the bed.
I pad my way to the bathroom and flip on the light, squinting against the darkness. My eyes wander towards the mirror over the sink and I look away quickly. I have no real desire to criticize my naked reflection tonight. So instead, I turn my attention to the shower I'd originally planned before I'd been so passionately distracted. I smile to myself as I turn on the taps, recalling the hungry, determined look in his eyes as he challenged me to stop him. It fades, however as I try to rationalize his intentions behind his actions.
What's your motive, John Carter?
I turn on the shower and step under the stream, sighing as the hot water begins to pound against my back. I stand there for a few minutes, just letting the water play its rhythmic beat against my body. Perhaps some sense will wash over me.
Guidance. Because I have no idea where I am, what I'm supposed to do, or what will happen next.
John would never give me pity sex. And I would never ask him to.
Were his advances tonight an attempt to replace the lack of emotional closeness we'd been experiencing lately?
Was he trying to prove something? To himself? To me?
I can't help but reminisce the last time I felt this way…
Luka.
I kick myself for the reference.
I recall the awkward way the three of us made conversation in the elevator. Or, as Luka called it later, "little talk". Things between us are good now… Tolerable, at the very least.
At least he's trying to move on.
I reach over to the shelf and grab the shampoo, flipping the cap and depositing some in my hands. I return the bottle to its place of rest and begin to work the soap into my hair as I allow my mind to wander back over the day's events.
One highlight sticks out.
Susan.
Married.
To a nurse, no less.
I don't know what to make of the announcement, much less her reaction to it. She seemed almost… insouciant about it. As if making a life commitment to a man she knew less for less than 48 hours was no big deal. Her aloofness seemed as almost out of character as her choice of a husband.
But then again, people are bound to surprise you if you let them in close enough.
Carter was a little less than comfortable with the news. And I don't blame him. Really. As a friend, I would expect him to have reacted in much the way that he did. That's the way he is. Protective. Concerned.
Overbearing, sometimes.
Or maybe that's the jealousy talking.
Still… She's married. And there's nothing we can do about it. Except, of course, wait and see what happens.
It should have been us.
As if on cue, I can hear movement from behind the shower curtain as his presence enters the room. He pauses first, then seconds later I hear the closing of the medicine cabinet.
"Did I wake you?" I inquire as I turn to face the shower.
He mumbles something that I can't quite make out.
"I'm sorry," I reply anyway, as I dip my head under the pulsing stream to rinse the shampoo out of my hair.
I gasp as a cool rush of air greets my backside as the curtain pulls back, but before I can manage a protest, he's stepping in behind me. I open my eyes and peer over my shoulder.
"I'll be done in a minute."
He doesn't say anything, choosing instead to reach around me and pull the loofa off its hook, holding it under the water for a few seconds as he fumbles with the shower gel. I smile to myself and resume my rinse before I turn around and face him.
"Thought I needed some company?"
He smiles coyly as he works the loofa into a lather before dropping it onto my shoulder.
"More like I decided I needed some company," He replies as he drags the poof across my chest.
"Oh."
We stand there in contented silence for a few minutes as he works the sponge up and down my arms, over my torso and around my shoulders. I sigh at the feel of his fingers tracing absent patterns in the wake of the soap suds and choke back a small giggle when he tickles that sensitive spot at the back of my neck.
"You next?"
He remains mute, a captivated look etched across his face as he admires my body and the concentrated tactic he's maneuvering over it. It's been awhile since I have seen that look of awesome wonder in his eyes, and my heart wrenches at the idea that I'm worried I'll never see it past tonight.
I look down between our bodies as he guides the loofa down my back. "You have an early shift…"
"So do you…"
"John…"
"Abby, stop."
I look up, frowning. "What?"
He only smiles before planting a small kiss on my nose. "Don't talk. Just let me do this."
My lips press together as I gaze into his eyes. I nod quietly and bow my head once more as he resumes his gentle wash up and down my back. Closing my eyes, I think back to the first time we shared a shower together... When everything was new and exciting.
There's something to be said about uncharted territory.
He knows every inch of my body now. What spots to caress when he wants to arouse me. There are no more surprises. The mystery is gone.
Still, when he's holding me like this, I can't help but wonder how I ever lived without his touch.
And how I will survive when that touch is gone.
He finishes his careful wash over my body, and I can feel him reach behind me to hang the loofa back up. A second later his hand is on my back, pulling me closer to him.
I rest my head against his chest and guide our bodies so the spray cascades down his back now. Still, my head remains lowered, my eyes remain closed.
He sighs and lifts my chin with his fingers.
"Hi."
I manage a smile that I pray looks genuine and slip my arms through his, clasping my hands behind his back.
"Feel better?"
I close my eyes again and take a deep breath before looking up at him.
How am I going to go on without you, John Carter?
I reach up on my tiptoes, pulling his body closer to mine. He leans in and meets me halfway, pulling back playfully before capturing my lips in a kiss. He pulls away a moment later, much too soon for my unsettled heart, and regards me from above.
"Abby?"
I look away shaking my head. "No."
"No?"
Swallowing, I bring my gaze to meet his stare. "No."
And I know he can see the tears in my eyes.
***
This rift between us… Is it too big to overcome?
Will we ever find that which we once had?
Can we ever be new lovers again?
Or, at the very least… Friends?
I'm afraid it's time to decide.
***
Notes: Some highly overdue accolades to my partner in crime. Six months ago she issued me a challenge in an attempt to get me to see the strength in my writing. I took it, and the rewards were so much greater than I'd ever could have anticipated. Somehow "Thank you" doesn't seem to be quite enough. I owe her big time... For the support, the confidence, the encouragement, the praise and the loyalty I never knew I needed so much. But above all, a connection… a friendship. Something I hope will keep going long after these series have been put to bed.