Title: Time Cannot Erase

Rating: PG-13, because I used a couple of bad words here and there.

Spoilers: Everything up to and including the season 10 premiere

Archive: Please

Feedback: Such a ego-booster, and one is quite needed

Disclaimers: If they were mine...my little world would be a happy place indeed

Website: I finally put all my stuff in one place!

He left me.

Again.

I never knew it was possible to love someone so much, and hate them with every fiber of your being at the same time.

And, quite frankly, I could have gone my whole life without knowing what this felt like.

How could he do this to me? I asked him not to leave. Hell, I begged him, and he ignored me. He didn't even stop to look at me.

Missed me my ass.

For someone who missed me so God-damned much, he sure left in a hurry, didn't he?

The fact that I was standing in the middle of Chicago, crying for him, obviously meant nothing. How often has he seen me cry? In all the years we've known each other, I could probably count on one hand how many times he's seen me cry and still have fingers left over. So, I would think that I was crying in public for him would have at least made him stop and turn around.

Fine. You know what? Whatever. I don't need him. I've never needed him.

That thought actually makes me laugh. Sure, I don't need him. I don't need oxygen, either. And if you believe that story, I've got this bridge I want to sell you. Of course I need him. I've needed him for a long time.

What I don't need is him putting this all on me. I am not the one who walked out on us. He did that all on his own. I didn't push him, I didn't tell him to leave, he just left. I'm not the only one who's good at walking away.

I know I'm not perfect, that I have many flaws, but I have never walked out on us. Never. Not once did I leave him when things got rough. I may have tried to let him go, but that's about it. I wanted us to work too badly for me to ever just walk out on him like that. And then he acts like I'm the bad guy in this scenario. Like it's somehow my fault that he decided on the spur of the moment to go to Africa and to leave me and everything else behind. That's bullshit. He left. Not me. I tried.

I just want to know exactly what he expected from me when he woke me up in the middle of the night. Was I just supposed to throw my arms around him and welcome him home? Just rip off my clothes and throw myself at him, all because he said he missed me and was sorry that he left the way he did? He must have been delusional. Yeah, I missed him, too, but that doesn't make everything better. He walked out on me. And now he's done it twice.

Did he really want me to say, "Welcome back, Carter," then move over so he could have his side of the bed back, and fall asleep happily in his arms? Did he think all would be forgiven and forgotten just by his presence in my bedroom? In a perfect world, that might've happened. But from what I've seen, this world sure as hell isn't perfect.

I just can't figure out what he expected of me. Why, at that moment in time, would I have been happy to see him? He was gone for two weeks. He'd hardly spoken to me the week before he left, he wasn't going to tell me he was leaving, and then he waltzes back into my apartment, and my life, and wants me to roll over like a good little puppy and just be happy?

There was a part of me that was actually very happy to see him. I opened my eyes and saw him sitting there on my bed, and my heart started racing. Because he still has the power to do that to me. And, an even smaller part of me would have loved to just been able to hug him and tell him how much I love him and that he could never leave me again. But I think I have too much pride to let myself do that. He hurt me. He hurt me a lot. And I can't just forget all that. He of all people should know that. My best friend. My boyfriend. My other half. The freaking love of my life. He of all people should know that I can't just forget about things.

I can't believe he just walked out on me this morning, either. I know that's very female and manipulative of me, but he wasn't supposed to leave. He was supposed to put up a fight. He was supposed to tell me that he wasn't going to just give me my key. He was supposed to stay there with me and figure it out. Or at least work on figuring it out. If he'd actually bothered to look at me, to notice me, he would've seen that I was doing my best to hold back my tears, and I really wasn't doing a very good job at it.

He's the only man I've ever cried over. I mean, aside from my father and brother. But as far as men I've had relationships with. I didn't cry over Luka. I sure as hell didn't cry over Richard. Not even college or high school did I cry over some boy. No, there's only been one man who's brought me to tears, and he's the one person who shouldn't do that to me. And I hate the fact that I've spent so much time lately crying for this man who seems, at least at the moment, to have no regard for my feelings whatsoever. Not that it stops the tears.

Nor does it make the ache in my heart go away. I don't think anything can make this pain stop. It's at the point where it's a physical, at times almost debilitating, ache. It was so bad that I had to leave work because I couldn't function. Not that going home is an option at the moment. I don't think I can bring myself to do that yet. But then I realize I can see the river, and see the benches we used to sit in together, and I can't bring myself to go down there, either. I can't go and sit at the river and pine for him, as if I live in some cheap romance novel. But I don't know where to go now. I can't just wander aimlessly until I have to be at work in the morning. Everywhere seems to have too much history

No one person should be able to make me feel like this. At least not someone who I only have one year invested it.

Right. Only a year. Not including the year before that, when we couldn't get our acts together long enough for us to figure out what we wanted. Or the year before that when I was dating Luka, but thought and cared more about this man who I was only supposed to be sponsoring in AA. Or the year before that, when I may or may not have saved his life.

It feels like more than a year. It feels like we've been together for a lifetime, that we were a given. Carter and Abby. Abby and Carter. Joined at the hip. Finally. That's probably why the gossip surrounding us when we first got together was minimal. There was nothing left to say about us except, "About time." It seemed like we'd always been together. And I guess everyone thought we'd always be together, and couples like that aren't very interesting. At least not where gossip is concerned.

Apparently, Carter didn't have as much invested in us as I thought. And I always kind of figured it was the other way around, even though I knew that I was putting everything I had into this relationship. For someone who said he'd wanted me for two years before he ever managed to kiss me, for someone who said I wasn't alone anymore and that he wasn't going anywhere, he was able to drop me like a bad habit.

Huh. Well, I guess I just figured out who won that argument.

A few years ago, we teased each other about who would dump who first. He was right when he said I'd never dump him, and right again when he said he'd be the one who'd do the dumping. You know, that's something else I could've gone my whole life without knowing.

Once we got together, I never thought dumping would be an issue. From either of us. Not with the way we talking. From the beginning, it was forever. It was never anything but forever. That's what it was to me, at any rate. I knew going into this that this was it for me. He was the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with, one way or another. I knew that we wouldn't be able to just be friends ever again. Hell, we haven't "just been friends" for a long time. I don't know how I'm going to face him now with the knowledge that he won't be waiting for me at home. It's never going to be just my bed again. I'll always think of his side as just that: His side. It's where he's supposed to sleep.

I sniffle and wipe my eyes on my sleeve, finally realizing that I must look like a basket-case to the people around me. Some chick wandering the streets of Chicago at night, unabashedly crying into her shirt. Who cares? They didn't have the one person who you love more than anything else in the world walk out on them only an hour or so ago. Let them think what they want.

I finally reach an El station and wander in, not caring where it takes me as long as I don't have to go anywhere. I could easily just sit there all night, staring out at the city, oblivious to the world. I put my face in my hands and sigh, realizing that I'm defeating the purpose of sitting so I can stare, but I need to close my eyes for a few minutes.

How did we come to this? I can't understand how I got to the point where I'm sitting on a train at night, no destination in mind, crying over my...

God, I can't even bring myself to think it. A loud, hiccupy sob escapes me as I try to make myself think it. I can't put "ex" in front of anything that relates to Carter. It's too final. And despite what's happened between us lately, I just can't bury our relationship like that. Especially since I can't say for sure that we're over. It feels like it, except for that little sunshine–Pollyanna–the–sun'll–come–out–tomorrow voice that's singing somewhere in my heart who's telling me that it's not over until one of us says it. And asking for a key back is not ending it. Halts it, yes. Ends it, no. Not with the way we left each other a little while ago, with him saying he'll call me but not seeming to care that I don't want him to leave again. Not even giving back his stuff ends it.

I realize, though, that was kind of harsh. Putting a bag of his stuff on his locker, I mean. But I was angry. And I didn't give him all of his stuff. He left a lot more than a few shirts at my place. And if he wants them back, he can ask for them. The pictures of us probably wasn't the most mature thing I've ever done though. But I didn't give them to him to say that I'm finished and want him out of my life. Well, not entirely. They were partly to point out to him how happy we were at one point, that we used to go together like...butter and popcorn.

I lift my face out of my hands and try to figure out where I am. I'm not terribly far from Susan's apartment, and I briefly consider going there, because God knows I could use a friend right now, but I decide against it. She's had to listen to me whine and complain enough today. That may be "what friends are for," but that's all she's been hearing from me lately. Besides, Chuck could be there, and the last thing I want to do is interrupt them while they're...busy. I bury my face in my hands once more, trying to get my runaway emotions under control.

It's been god-knows how many hours since he left me for the second time, and I'm no closer to figuring out what I want from him, from us, than I was when I found him sitting on my bed in the early hours of the morning. There's this huge part of me that wants him back. And I can't believe that I'm even considering putting myself in that position again, but then, I love him, and you'd do anything for the person you love, even if it means setting yourself up for humiliation and more pain than you ever thought conceivable.

Ultimately, it shouldn't be a tough decision. He left me. Twice. I should have my answer right there. But it's not simple. Nothing with us has ever been simple. If it was simple, it wouldn't be us. And the one thing that makes this complicated is the fact that he's the love of my life. The Love Of My Life, capitalized, underlined, exclamation point. I've never felt this way about anyone before, and I know I will never feel this way about anyone again. It's just not possible. And I know that without him, I'll only be part of me. Because part of my heart will always belong to him. Inside, I'll feel like an empty shell, this big empty void that nothing but John Carter will ever be able to fill. And I used to be so sure that he felt the same way about me. We were...us. If you could be certain of nothing else in this life, you could count on John Carter and Abby Lockhart being together. We practically had our life together planned out. He was going to propose to me, for the love of God. He actually told me he wanted to marry me. And now...now, he can't even bring himself to tell me he's going to Africa.

I suppose I can understand why he's going there this time. He is a good man, despite current evidence to the contrary. I think what bothered me the most this time is that he didn't even acknowledge me. I was pleading with him not to go, telling him that I wanted to stay with me, being, unintentionally, the open, expressive, emotional woman he has always seemed to want, and he couldn't even spare a glance back in my direction. He just kept walking. If he'd done something–I don't know, stopped, turned around, spoken, walked back to me and hugged me or kissed me–something, I might not be as distraught as I am right now.

I would like to know, however, what happened to that whole "not going anywhere" thing he said to me last year. He told me he wasn't going anywhere, that I could count on him, and I made it known to him that I needed him there with me. And now, he's just gone. He went somewhere. I'm not sure but I think that may be what hurts me the most. And it's why I don't trust people easily, or let anyone in, or let myself love completely. Everyone I know has left me, especially the people who aren't ever supposed to leave me. But I trusted him. I let him in and let myself love him more than I've ever loved anyone before in my life, and he took my trust and stomped all over it. He did a number on my heart, too.

I finally get up the courage to go home. I can't avoid the place forever, and I need to sleep eventually, even if it's alone, on Carter's side of the bed, holding his pillow. I recognize my neighborhood, and drag my sorry ass off the train and down the platform, and trudge to my

apartment.

This is just pathetic. I can't even stand being in my apartment anymore. What am I going to do? Move because this place holds too many happy memories of my brief but amazing and intensely fulfilling life with Carter? Even as I think it, it doesn't sound like the most ridiculous thought in the world. That's how I know I'm going over the deep end and I need to force myself to relax.

I reach the stairs, and start shaking. I can't bring myself to walk up them. I collapse onto the bottom stair and try to take deep breaths. I reach into my bag and pull out my cigarettes and light up, hoping that it will calm my nerves at least somewhat.

Smoking in front of Carter like that this morning probably wasn't entirely necessary, now that I think about it. But I think it was a defiant act, to show him that it was my life and that I'd changed since he'd been away. A bigger reason I smoked this morning, even though I'm loathe to admit it, is because I needed the control. I couldn't control what was happening with me and Carter, but I could control how often I brought the cigarette up to my lips, how long of a drag I took, and I needed some semblance of control, even if I did break down into tears the moment I heard the door slam.

I know I'm not going to be able to go inside for a while. I'm going to have to convince myself, and even then, I'll only be able to take it one stair at a time.

Blowing out a billow of smoke, I crane my head back and look at the sky. Even here, in the middle of the city, the stars are bright. And I find myself inexplicably wondering if Carter is looking at the sky right now, and if he's thinking about me.

And this time, I don't know if I ever will see him again.

Author's notes: Okay, this one was written specifically at the request of my good friend, C-dawg. She said something needed to be written about this ep, and I felt that I should be the one to write it. So, if it sucks, blame her. If it doesn't, well, thank her for getting me to write it. Oh, and I also took a lot of this stuff from the conversations said Dawg and I had during and post the premiere. One more thing–Hi Alex!