Title: Off Limits

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 "Foreign Affairs"

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, "Heir Apparent" (Chapter 13), post-ep to "Foreign Affairs", which is being crafted as we speak. As mentioned in prior chapters, while the two post-eps are meant to be read in tandem, blah blah blah (::wink::) ... 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.

Ever make a list of all the things you never thought you'd miss until you'd lost them… even just for a minute?

Comfort. Protection. Completeness. Gone.

Dreams. Promises. Resolutions. Broken.

All of it. Shattered.

We've lost control. Of our emotions, of our actions.

Of our lives. Of each other.

And I don't know if any of this can be fixed. The dye has been cast, the damage has been done.

I don't know where I am.

I don't know what to do.

I only know one thing.

I want out.

"Abby."

I blink away the last of my tears and pull my eyes away from the posters outlining the latest treatments for depression. They'd provided for a well-do cover as I waited here in Psych for news about Eric. Not like I could tell a passerby what they were about. But, no matter. I was done with them.

I glance up at Dr. Meyers.

"He's ready."

I can see him down the hallway and through the window, slumped in a chair at the end of a long table. I inhale a shaky breath, nod at Dr. Meyers, steal myself and slowly continue towards him.

My brother.

My blood.

My inevitable fate.

No. I won't let it.

He looks up briefly as I open the door to the room, raising his eyebrows at my entrance before lowering his head again, choosing instead to concentrate on the wood-grain pattern of the table top. I shake my head and sit down beside him, folding my hands in front of me. I watch him ignore me for several seconds before I too cast my eyes downwards. Several more seconds pass before I open my mouth to speak.

He's there before my words even find their way to the surface.

"So when do I make bail?"

I lift my head and angle it to look at him. "Is that it? Is that all you want to know?"

He frowns, then scoffs, stretching his arms over his head and clasping his hands behind his neck. He looks back at me and shrugs. "I'm hungry."

I stare at him for a moment, my mouth open in disbelief. I close my eyes and look away. Taking a deep breath, I push myself away from the table and stand up, turning towards the window that looks out into the hallway. I can feel his eyes burning into the back of my head.

I can't do this anymore.

The words escape my mouth even before I have a chance to stop them.

"I'm done."

The room is silent for a few seconds. Then he shifts in his chair, and it grinds against the floor with a sound that sends a shooting pain from one temple to the other.

I'm dangerously close to the edge.

"You're done?"

I sigh in an attempt to calm myself and turn around to face him. He's perked up, leaning forward in his seat, his hands flat on the table. He raises his eyebrows, signaling me to continue.

"I'm done."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means…" I shake my head in defeat and glance up at the ceiling. "It means I'm done. I'm done chasing you. I'm done making up excuses for you. I'm done…"

"… I'm done feeling sorry for you."

Although he looks like he's been slapped in the face, as the words begin to sink in, his features soften. He twists his mouth and ticks his eyes around the room. Clearing his throat, he rubs his chin before gesturing towards me.

"Is that it?"

I frown and cross my arms over my chest. "What else do you want me to say?"

His gaze flickers from my face to the table. "You don't mean it," he adds quietly.

"I don't?"

He shakes his head. "This is your life, Abby."

"I didn't ask for this," I state firmly.

"Neither did I!" He rises from his seat sharply, sending it toppling over.

I wince at his outburst and glance through the window. I take another deep breath and set my jaw before looking at him again.

"What do you want me to do?"

Eric stares at me for several seconds, sighs and runs a hand through his hair before making a move for the door. "I'm hungry."

As he passes by me, I catch his arm and pull him to a halt. He avoids my stare.

"Eric, answer me. What the hell do you want from me?"

He fixates his gaze on the floor before twisting out of my grasp, opening the door.

"Take me home."

And I stand there for a moment, because I can't bring myself to follow.

But I will.

"Okay."

I always do.

***

The ride home had been less than comfortable. We sat there in silence as the train lurched along, the company my brother doing nothing to still the myriad of thoughts that were hell-bent on playing their usual dance with my emotions. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't keep our last confrontation from playing on repeat in my mind.

"You know I came in to find you, right? I shouldn't have, I shouldn't have come."

"It's okay, things are gonna get better."

"Can you do me a favor? Can you leave me alone?"

"What?"

"I need some time. Can you just go?"

"Okay."

I part of me was trying to convince myself that it was just his grief talking. Grief over his loss. Grief compounded with guilt at not being able to give his grandmother the touching send off that she deserved. Guilt compounded with frustration, having watched his good intentions come crashing down before his very eyes whilst not being able to prevent any of it.

Another part of me basked in the realization that everything that could have gone wrong, had. That I'd been right, once again. I'd disappointed him. I'd really done it this time. Lost him for good. Way to go, Abby. Way to live up to the low standards the world has set for you.

There's no way he'll ever want to be a part of your life now, not after you've ruined the one thing he had left to get him through this, the most trying time of his life.

All he wanted to do was to say goodbye in his own way.

He didn't.

"How's John?"

I glance towards the kitchen from where I stood, arms crossed, motionless in the middle of the living room. "What?"

Eric pokes his head out from behind the fridge door. "How's John? Did you get to see him?"

"Oh, um…" I shake my head as I struggle to put together a coherent sentence. "Yeah. I saw him. He's uh… He's fine."

He's at the counter now, preparing himself a sandwich. "Yeah? 'Cuz, you know, I'm really sorry about what happened. I had no idea I would lose control like that."

I chew my lip and tap my fingers against my arm. "Uh-huh."

"Guess he'll never want to go drinking with me now, huh?"

I frown and glance towards the kitchen. "Excuse me?"

"I was going to ask him if he wanted to, you know… Go out and kick a few back one night. Maybe next week."

I roll my eyes in exasperation. "Uh… I think it'd be better if you kept your distance for awhile."

"You think?" He stops in the doorway, plate in one hand, glass of milk in the other. "I mean, of course." He pushes past me and plops down on the sofa. "You did apologize for me, right?"

I turn around and gape incredulously at my brother. What nerve he has… I sigh in defeat and shake my head, throwing my arms up the air.

"I'm going to bed." I turn towards the bedroom.

"You're not going to eat?" He asks.

I twist around and look back at my brother. "No."

I wait for another quip, a response… anything from Eric. But he's stopped listening and I sulk off, retreating to my bedroom, closing the door. My sanctuary. At least, for now. We share a bathroom, and it's only a matter of time before my privacy is interrupted once more.

My privacy. Right. I've never felt so obvious.

In the bathroom, I change into my pajamas and wash my face slowly and carefully, my eyes transfixed on my reflection in the mirror. It's a dull contrast from the image that once greeted me, months past, and a twinge in my heart reminds me that those times of bliss and easy-living have been washed away with the changing seasons. I empty the sink and turn off the light to the bathroom heading back into the bedroom. My heart and soul long to call it a day, but something in my mind compels me to drag it out even longer. I pull back the comforter with one hand and pick up the phone with the other. Propping a pillow against the headboard I lean back and set the unit in my lap, staring at it. Several minutes pass before I finally convince myself to pick up the receiver, and it takes a few moments more before I can bring myself to dial. I close my eyes and listen for the rings, a silent mantra being spoken by my inner voice.

You need to do this Abby. If not for him, then… For yourself.

You're done.

You've made the decision, now follow through with the actions. Prepare yourself for the consequences, whatever they may be.

Just do it.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Mom… It's me."

"Abby…" The relief in her voice is evident.

"Yeah."

There's a pause between the lines, and then "What's wrong? Is it Eric?"

I sigh, suddenly at a loss for what to say. How do you tell your mother that you give up? That she's ruined your life? That you just want to make it all go away?

"Eric's fine."

You lie.

"I was just calling… To ask you for a favor."

I can practically hear her smile on the other end of the phone. "Okay. Of course. You can ask me anything."

I bite my lips as I pick at the pattern of the comforter. "I, uh… I was wondering if you could maybe… Check out some programs in your area?"

"For Eric."

"Yes."

"Abby. What's wrong?"

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. "He's fine, Mom. Except he's… you know."

"Is he taking his meds?"

I open my eyes and tick my head from side to side. "Not really."

"What does that mean, Abby? Is he taking them or not?"

"He's not. At least, not faithfully."

I sigh again and rub my left temple with my fingertips.

"He thinks he can control it. He thinks he knows. But he really doesn't."

"Abby, you have to let him come to this on his own…"

I sit up abruptly. "No!" I shout, startling myself. Instantly, I look towards the bedroom door, waiting for his footsteps. I sink back into the pillows.

"I know this is hard, Abby. It's hard on everyone. But you of all people should understand…"

I shake my head. "Stop, Maggie. Just stop. Don't tell me what I should and should not understand."

There's more silence on the other end. "I'm sorry."

I nod and close my eyes, taking a few breaths to calm my nerves. "So do you think you could check out some programs?"

"Does he want to come here?"

I pause. "Probably not. But he's going. I just…" I trail off.

"You just what?"

I close my eyes and tilt my head towards the ceiling, trying to fight back the tears that threaten to fall.

I just want my life back.

"Abby?"

"I just can't do this. Not anymore."

"Abby… What happened?"

I sigh. "You know what happened, okay? He came back, and now everything is a mess."

"You don't mean that, Abby."

"Yes. I do." I take a deep breath and swipe my hand across my cheek. It's almost surreal, this idea of crying to my mother over the phone. "I just want to fix it, and I don't know if I can fix it, as long as … As long as you two keep… showing up."

Maggie sighs on the other end of the line. "You need to be more patient."

"I've been patient! I've been patient for thirty years, Mom. But the truth is, the minute one of you walks through the door, nothing else matters anymore. Not my job, not my sobriety…"

"… Not John?" She adds, a hint of knowing laced through her echoes of sympathy.

A bitter laugh rings through my tears. "Yeah."

"Abby… Maybe you two need some time –"

"So you'll check out some programs, right?"

A pause. "Yes."

I sit up as I hear movement coming from the other room. "Thank you. I'll, um… I'll call you back in a couple of days. Okay?"

"Abby, I want you to think about this… He needs you right now."

I shrug. "Other people need me too."

"He's your brother."

"I know."

"I'm just saying…"

"Sleep well, Mom."

Another sigh. "Goodnight, Abby."

I hang up first, put the phone back on the nightstand and use both hands to wipe away the lingering tears that insist on blurring my vision. Reaching over to turn off the lamp on the night stand, I notice my notebook sitting beside it and frown. I don't remember leaving it there. The last time I'd looked at it had been four nights ago, in a motel room in Des Moines. It had been resting in my bag since then, until…

… Last night, when I'd pulled it out in a moment of nostalgia. I'd called John before then, confirming my presence at the cemetery the next morning. At a loss for what to say, I blurted out the first thought to pop into my head, only to kick myself instantly for once again using the wrong words to convey my true feelings. Why was it that I could express myself so much better on paper than I could through voice? I'd pulled out my journal and began to read my responses to John's prompts in an attempt to gather some inspiration for the next, most difficult day.

I pluck the notebook from its spot on the table and open it, pulling the pen from between the pages of the last entry, and flip to the next one. It takes me a second for my brain to register the phrase that announces the topic of the next pivotal moment he has set before me.

If it weren't so incredibly sad, I'd almost say it was ironic.

Pivotal Moment # 6: "Crashing' my Grandfather's funeral

I blink twice as the emotion swells in my chest once again. I'd remarked about the uncanny parallels between these prompts and our current life crises before, but this latest coincidence was almost spooky.

How to compare that day to the one just experienced, in all its maddening glory? What thoughts meandered through my head back then? Had I carried them with me today? What kind of comfort will I walk away with this time? How can I convey my sympathy and utter regret over today's events? How will I be able to make it up to him in verse, so that he may read it and know exactly what I want him to know about how I feel?

I sink into the pillows and poise my pen, ready for the answers to those questions…

April 28th, 2003

I remember your face when you told me he was gone.

Your quiet reassurance that you were okay. The way you rolled your eyes and told me that you'd never want to subject me to the trials of any Carter family gathering.

I remember thinking about how you'd react when I showed up anyway.

My instincts were justified when you turned around and saw me standing there.

Grateful comfort.

Still, I was nervous. We hadn't spoken much since the afternoon you told me you were tired of standing along the sidelines, waiting for me to make my choice.

Our relationship was in limbo.


It was a beautiful afternoon, and as you talked about your grandfather and how he loved riding the lawn mower around the grounds, I felt a sense of tranquility envelope both of us, answering our questions and soothing our fears.

Perhaps my presence that afternoon had brought about a new level of commitment and understanding between us.

Or, perhaps you shared your peace with me.

I admit, I came to see you that afternoon for two reasons. At first thought, I might have done it for myself, because I felt bad that something so big could happen in your life and we wouldn't have a chance to talk about it. I did it because I wanted to be a good friend to you.

But, ultimately, I came for you. Because I knew that, even though you said you didn't need me there… A small part of you wanted someone to lean on.

I came for the same reason you came to Oklahoma with me. Because I cared about you.

I still care, John. I still came for the same reasons.

Today didn't go as I had intended, John. If anything, I want you to know that. Because the last thing I wanted to do to you was hurt you again.

You've suffered loss to last a lifetime. And… not just family.

Lucy. Mark.

It's never fair. It's never fair when it's a life cut short. When it's a brother, or a student or a friend. It's never fair when it's a grandfather. Or a grandmother.

She meant a lot to you.

They all did. But this… This is the most difficult. I know.

Two years ago, you told me you didn't need me. Still, I came.

This time, you said you needed me. I came. Later, you told me to leave.

I left.

You don't need me. Not like this. You don't deserve to have me there only half the time. You don't deserve to come second in my life.

Not when I've come first in yours, time and time again.

I don't blame you for asking me to leave. I blame myself for leaving.

So I've made a decision. A decision about you and I, and our future.

And it's the hardest decision I've ever had to make.

I could really use your opinion on this one… But I have a feeling I already know what it is.

Maybe it'll work. Maybe it won't. But I'll never forgive myself if I let you slip away without doing everything in my power to hold on to you.

It's time. It's time to show you. It's time to tell you what I want

It's time to regain control of my life and fight for a future with you.

***

The sound of the television blaring in the next room jolts me out of a fitful slumber, and I roll over and glance at the clock.

1:37 a.m.

Music begins to play as I reach over and turn on the bedside lamp, blinking several times against the light. My notebook, which I'd fallen asleep holding, sits half-lodged under my hip, and I move to extract it, placing it on the opposite nightstand. I frown at the sounds coming from the next room, smooth my hands over the creases in Carter's pillow, and drag my exhausted body out of bed and to the door.

From my spot in the doorway, I spy Eric sitting up on the sofa, staring blankly at the television station playing late-night music videos. Blankets and pillows are strewn about the floor, and the remnants of his earlier meal sit forgotten on the coffee table.

I clear my throat as I enter the room.

"Hey."

"Hey… I thought you were asleep."

I lean against the back of the armchair and look at the television. I glance over at him. "I thought you were asleep."

He rolls his eyes as he begins to flip through the channels. "These things keep me awake at night."

I raise my eyebrows and glance around the room. "These things?"

"Yeah. These things… Whatever you give me."

"Your meds?"

His gaze remains transfixed on the flickering screen in front of him. "Yeah."

"Depecote."

"Whatever."

I watch him for a moment before pushing away from my spot. I look over my shoulder towards the bed, and then back at my brother. I sigh and round the chair, lowering myself into it.

"We could try you on something else…"

"Don't bother."

"Eric."

"When are you kicking me out?"

I frown. "What?"

He tears his eyes away from the television and glowers at me. "When are you sending me away?"

I shake my head and look away. "I'm not…"

"I heard you."

I shift my gaze back towards him. "On the phone?"

He responds by rolling his eyes and turns his attention back to the TV.

"It's not like that, Eric…"

"No, no. You don't need to explain. I understand. I screwed up." He stares straight ahead, that look of permanent defeat chiseling its way deep into his features.

I take a deep breath and pull myself from my seated position, moving towards the couch. I tuck a leg underneath me as I sit again.

"Look, I'm not going to say it wasn't your fault."

He laughs bitterly. "Thanks. I feel a lot better."

"Listen to me."

He shuts up, glancing over at me briefly.

"I'm not going to tell you it's not your fault, but I'm not going to let you take all the blame, either. Eric, you got a really raw deal. It sucks. But you know what? You can beat this. You don't have to give in."

I pause for a moment, attempting to gauge his reaction. Nothing. I take a deep breath and soldier on.

"I did a big thing very badly yesterday." I laugh slightly and look up at the ceiling. "Actually, today was just the latest in a string of big things." I lower my gaze. "Did you know he was going to propose to me?"

Eric's eyebrows flinch. "Yesterday?" He chirps with amusement.

I roll my eyes. "No. Two months ago."

"And he didn't."

"Nope."

"Why?"

"Because… " I stop and frown. I look down at my hands. "I don't know. I guess he wasn't ready."

He nods quietly. "Too bad."

"Yeah." I watch him for a moment, waiting for him to say something else. He tips his head and begins to flip through the channels again. I bite my lip and shrug, picking myself up off the couch and turning toward the bedroom.

I'm almost in the doorway when his speaks up.

"Why did you think I was dead?"

I turn, to see him looking at me expectantly. "You really didn't give me a reason to think otherwise, did you?"

He considers this. "I guess not."

A small smile creeps across my lips. "I'm your big sister. I worry."

"Yeah." He pauses, then adds an afterthought. "I'm sorry."

I blink once slowly, nodding. "I know."

"Night, Abby."

"Goodnight, Eric."

***