Title: Dazed, Beautiful, and Bruised
Rating: PGish, for some slight language
Spoilers: Only up til "A Simple Twist Of Fate." Look, Ma! I'm branching out!
Archive: If you dare
Feedback: You'll be my best friend
Disclaimer: They're mine...and Noah Wyle's chained to my bed.
Author's Notes: You know where to look by now.
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To say that I'm freaking out right now would be putting it mildly.
Abby is in the hospital because she's been beaten up.
Though, I haven't talked to her yet, so I can't really confirm that, but judging by the damage done to her face, I'd have to say she's been smacked around.
I probably shouldn't even be here, standing outside her hospital room, too shocked to move. It's not technically my business. But, at the same time...it's Abby.
And being Abby, she'll probably be royally pissed at me for butting in like this. But I just can't find it in me to care about her being mad at me. All I need to know is if she's all right. The only trick to that is to somehow make myself enter the room.
I found out about all of this completely by accident. My mother and I had been leaving the hospital after helping Mickey, and I remembered that I forgot to stop in and say goodnight to Susan, so I left Mom in the car and went back into the ER. I found her standing at the Admit desk, looking over some charts. She was talking to Connie about something, so I happened to look down at the chart in her hands and the name "Abby Lockhart" almost seemed to jump off the page. I had to double check to make sure I was seeing it correctly, that it indeed said she was a patient. That was about all I could read before Susan turned her attention to me and I had to try to focus on her. It didn't work out so well.
I said a very weak "Good night," covertly checked the board to see what room Abby was in, went back out to my mother, told her I had some stuff to take care of and not to wait for me, and then managed to sneak down the hall without being seen.
At the time, I really had no reason to panic. I hadn't been able to find out what she was in the hospital for, but I didn't see how it could be anything good, given the time of night and that Abby is rarely seen in the hospital or surrounding area if she's not working. Nonetheless, I panicked.
Then I reached her room. That's when the real panicking began. And I think I can honestly say that I've never been more scared in my entire life. Or at the very least, that scared about someone else.
I've seen battered women before. Obviously. Unfortunately, it'd be odd to work in an emergency room and not see an average of one abused woman per shift. There was just something entirely different about seeing someone I know, seeing Abby of all people, sitting in a hospital bed, face swollen, darkened by angry bruises. I thought my heart was going to stop. I thought I was going to throw up. I thought I was going to run out and beat up whoever had done this to her, to make him feel a fraction of what she might be feeling at this moment.
Of course, at that point, I still had no real reason to worry all that much. She very easily could have slipped and smashed her face into a table or something. But, if that were the case, she wouldn't have been huddled in on herself, her arms tightly crossed over her chest, her legs pulled as close to her body as the human form allows. If she'd done something as simple as falling and hitting her face, she'd simply be embarrassed. She wouldn't look like she was wound as tightly as a spring, or have the deer- caught-in-headlights look about her.
I still can't bring myself to go in there. I have no idea what I'd say at this point. There's really no delicate way to ask about being beaten up. I mean, what should I do? Go in there and say, "So, you got smacked around?" Somehow, I don't think that would go over too well.
And, ultimately, it really is none of my business.
But it should be.
I am, or at least up until recently, one of her closest friends, despite my very best efforts to be something other than just friends. If nothing else, I should be able to go in there as a concerned friend and see if she's all right. But at the moment, even though our relationship is a lot less strained now than it was a couple of months ago, I don't know how well she'd deal with me of all people popping to say hello. Especially since Susan's her doctor for now.
Yeah, this might not be the best idea I've ever had.
Doesn't change the fact that I need to see her. This is Abby, the woman that I...That I what? Desperately want to be with, though have somehow managed to get myself into a position where I'm not with her? The woman that means more to me than anything else in the world?
Oh, hell, the woman that I love?
It's official: I'm pathetic. There's no way around it. I have a terrific girlfriend, who's smart, funny, beautiful, who I get along with and have lots in common, and it's somehow not enough for me. All I can think about is how badly I want to be with someone else. Not that I think I have a snowball's chance in hell with Abby anymore, not after I turned her down when she all but told me she wanted to be with me. Instead, I'm dating Susan, and I can't seem to break up with her, even though, if I'm being honest with myself, I don't feel anything for her. Not in the romantic sense, at least. But Susan's nice, and easy to be with, and...safe.
I think I just had insight.
I think this is what Abby felt with Luka, and why she stayed with him for so long. He was safe for her, and with him, she was in no real danger of getting hurt. Because you can't be hurt by someone you don't love. Or, someone you don't fall in love with.
Just when I think I couldn't feel any more like an idiot. Why couldn't I have had a revelation like this a few months ago?
And why do I have to be in love with someone who doesn't seem to even like me that much at the moment?
I should go in there. She should at least know that I'm here for her if she needs anything.
I take a deep breath and gently push open the door. I don't know if she even realizes that there's someone else in the room-her face is turned to the side, and she looks kind of out of it and dazed.
"Abby?" I say, very softly so I don't scare her.
I don't think it works because I see her already very tense body tense further at the sound of my voice.
"What're you doing here?" she asks me, still not looking at me.
"I was worried."
"How'd you even find out that I was here?"
I shrug, even though she can't see it. "I was upstairs, taking care of a patient. I came down here and saw your name and wanted to see if you were all right." I pause, waiting for some kind of response. "Are you? All right, I mean."
She lets out a little laugh, though it's completely devoid of any humor or mirth. "What do you think?"
I cautiously step further into the room. "What happened."
"I guess you could say I stuck my nose in where it didn't belong, and the guy decided to remove it." She finally turns her face toward me, and it's all I can do to not react. Her profile was deceptive; I didn't think it was this bad. The entire left side of her face is swollen and bruised, so badly that she almost can't open her eye. I want go to her and hug her and say that everything will be all right and I want to make that bastard pay for doing this to her all at the same time.
Eventually, she elaborates, though she has to look away as she speaks, choosing to focus on her hands, which are now fiddling with the blanket. "One of my neighbors was beating up his wife, and she came to me for help. So I helped. He wasn't too happy with it. He sort of kicked open my door and hit me. That's just about all I can remember."
Without even thinking about it, I drag a chair over to her bedside and sit next to her. "God, Abby..." Honestly, there are no words I could use at this point, nothing I can say to make this situation any better. Finally, it occurs to me to ask, "Do you have anywhere to go? Somewhere to stay other than your apartment?"
I hear her sniffle, and a hand comes up to wipe at the unscathed eye, and I realize that I'm surprised to see her crying. In all the time I've known her, I've never actually seen her cry. I never thought about her not crying, it was just something she didn't do, so I never thought to question it. For whatever reason, her tears make things that much worse, at least from my perspective.
I do know better than to make any sort of comment about it. Instead, I silently pull a handkerchief out of my jacket, and she just as silently accepts it.
"Yeah. I'm staying with Dr. Lewis tonight. She wouldn't let me go back to my place, and I don't have my wallet so I can't go to a hotel."
I find this bit of news quite surprising. I thought Susan didn't like Abby. Of course, that really doesn't matter when someone has been beaten up and has nowhere to go. Differences are put aside quite easily in such a scenario.
It's then I notice that she's buried her face in the handkerchief and her body is shaking with sobs. I want so badly to do something, to somehow comfort her, but I don't want to overstep my bounds. But I can't just sit there and let her cry. I finally reach out a hand and gently place it on her back, rubbing in slow, soft circles. She doesn't pull away, so that's probably a good sign.
"I'm sorry," I hear her say, though her voice is muffled.
"Abby, you have nothing to apologize for. If you need to cry right now, cry. If you want to throw something, throw something. If you want to yell, go ahead, I won't take it personally."
This actually elicits a tiny little laugh from her. It's not much, but it's a start.
Finally, she looks at me, and gives me an ironic half-smile. "I must look attractive right now, huh? Crying, runny nose, bloody, swollen, bruised face-" "You're beautiful," I say, interrupting her, keeping one hand on her back and reaching out the other to gently hold her hand. "You're always beautiful."
She looks stunned, and I have to say, I am, too. I don't what provoked me to tell her that at this moment in time, but now it's out there.
It's also true. It's always been true. Even with half of her face swollen and bruised almost beyond recognition. But it's not just about the outside, though there is no denying that she is, in fact, a beautiful woman. It's inside, too. It sound cliched, but she's such an amazing person, with this enormous heart and endless capacity for caring and giving, and taking nothing for herself. She astounds me, and it's what makes her truly beautiful.
"Carter..." she begins, but trails off. She starts crying again, harder, if at all possible. This time, I can't just sit by and watch. I move so I'm sitting next to her on the bed and wrap my arms around her. She surprises me by hugging me back and burying her face in my neck.
It amazes me to realize that this is the first time I've ever hugged her. We've been through so much together up to this point, and not once have we ever hugged. I can't help but wonder why that is. I also can't help but wonder at how right she feels in my arms, at how perfectly she fits against me even as we're sitting side by side on a hospital bed.
This is definitely not the time to be thinking those kind of thoughts. That's not what this is about. This is about helping out a friend, about being there for Abby while she really needs someone. And I really am happy that I can offer some sort of comfort to her right now.
I don't know how long we stay locked in that position, but I finally realize that her arms that were gripping at my waist have now slackened, and her breathing has evened out. She's actually managed to fall asleep in my arms.
I gently pull one of my arms free and look at my watch. Susan's shift is just about over, so she'll be by to collect Abby soon. It's probably a good time for me to make my exit.
As carefully as possible, I lower her limp body onto the bed, trying to arrange her in a comfortable position. I stand up and pull the flimsy hospital blanket up over her shoulders, hoping that it'll somehow keep her safe and warm. I see that my handkerchief is still clutched in her hand, but I don't worry about it. It's hers if she wants it. I don't need it.
I stand over her, watching her sleep for a few minutes. She doesn't actually look relaxed-far from it, actually, but I don't think I can help that. It's probably going to be a while before she's able to relax completely.
Unable to help myself, I lean down and press a light kiss on her forehead. It's more for my sake than hers, but it feels like the right thing to do. It's not much, but I can hope that it registered in her subconscious somewhere, and she'll know that if she needs anything, I'm here.
I'll always be here for her. I hope she knows that. And I can wait. We'll both be ready someday. And I'll be there for her.
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Author's Notes: Okay, this one was really hard for me to write. I've never tried anything like this before, and I have no idea if this was any good at all. I've always stuck Carter and Abby as a couple, and never dared try anything before that. I want to thank C-dawg for telling me I had to write this when I mentioned the title before I even considered actually writing the fic, and I want to thank the Alley-cat for telling me to "write write write write!" You're both awesome, and I love you. And I also trust you both to tell me if this absolutely sucks. Oh, and course, shout out to the Whore!
Rating: PGish, for some slight language
Spoilers: Only up til "A Simple Twist Of Fate." Look, Ma! I'm branching out!
Archive: If you dare
Feedback: You'll be my best friend
Disclaimer: They're mine...and Noah Wyle's chained to my bed.
Author's Notes: You know where to look by now.
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To say that I'm freaking out right now would be putting it mildly.
Abby is in the hospital because she's been beaten up.
Though, I haven't talked to her yet, so I can't really confirm that, but judging by the damage done to her face, I'd have to say she's been smacked around.
I probably shouldn't even be here, standing outside her hospital room, too shocked to move. It's not technically my business. But, at the same time...it's Abby.
And being Abby, she'll probably be royally pissed at me for butting in like this. But I just can't find it in me to care about her being mad at me. All I need to know is if she's all right. The only trick to that is to somehow make myself enter the room.
I found out about all of this completely by accident. My mother and I had been leaving the hospital after helping Mickey, and I remembered that I forgot to stop in and say goodnight to Susan, so I left Mom in the car and went back into the ER. I found her standing at the Admit desk, looking over some charts. She was talking to Connie about something, so I happened to look down at the chart in her hands and the name "Abby Lockhart" almost seemed to jump off the page. I had to double check to make sure I was seeing it correctly, that it indeed said she was a patient. That was about all I could read before Susan turned her attention to me and I had to try to focus on her. It didn't work out so well.
I said a very weak "Good night," covertly checked the board to see what room Abby was in, went back out to my mother, told her I had some stuff to take care of and not to wait for me, and then managed to sneak down the hall without being seen.
At the time, I really had no reason to panic. I hadn't been able to find out what she was in the hospital for, but I didn't see how it could be anything good, given the time of night and that Abby is rarely seen in the hospital or surrounding area if she's not working. Nonetheless, I panicked.
Then I reached her room. That's when the real panicking began. And I think I can honestly say that I've never been more scared in my entire life. Or at the very least, that scared about someone else.
I've seen battered women before. Obviously. Unfortunately, it'd be odd to work in an emergency room and not see an average of one abused woman per shift. There was just something entirely different about seeing someone I know, seeing Abby of all people, sitting in a hospital bed, face swollen, darkened by angry bruises. I thought my heart was going to stop. I thought I was going to throw up. I thought I was going to run out and beat up whoever had done this to her, to make him feel a fraction of what she might be feeling at this moment.
Of course, at that point, I still had no real reason to worry all that much. She very easily could have slipped and smashed her face into a table or something. But, if that were the case, she wouldn't have been huddled in on herself, her arms tightly crossed over her chest, her legs pulled as close to her body as the human form allows. If she'd done something as simple as falling and hitting her face, she'd simply be embarrassed. She wouldn't look like she was wound as tightly as a spring, or have the deer- caught-in-headlights look about her.
I still can't bring myself to go in there. I have no idea what I'd say at this point. There's really no delicate way to ask about being beaten up. I mean, what should I do? Go in there and say, "So, you got smacked around?" Somehow, I don't think that would go over too well.
And, ultimately, it really is none of my business.
But it should be.
I am, or at least up until recently, one of her closest friends, despite my very best efforts to be something other than just friends. If nothing else, I should be able to go in there as a concerned friend and see if she's all right. But at the moment, even though our relationship is a lot less strained now than it was a couple of months ago, I don't know how well she'd deal with me of all people popping to say hello. Especially since Susan's her doctor for now.
Yeah, this might not be the best idea I've ever had.
Doesn't change the fact that I need to see her. This is Abby, the woman that I...That I what? Desperately want to be with, though have somehow managed to get myself into a position where I'm not with her? The woman that means more to me than anything else in the world?
Oh, hell, the woman that I love?
It's official: I'm pathetic. There's no way around it. I have a terrific girlfriend, who's smart, funny, beautiful, who I get along with and have lots in common, and it's somehow not enough for me. All I can think about is how badly I want to be with someone else. Not that I think I have a snowball's chance in hell with Abby anymore, not after I turned her down when she all but told me she wanted to be with me. Instead, I'm dating Susan, and I can't seem to break up with her, even though, if I'm being honest with myself, I don't feel anything for her. Not in the romantic sense, at least. But Susan's nice, and easy to be with, and...safe.
I think I just had insight.
I think this is what Abby felt with Luka, and why she stayed with him for so long. He was safe for her, and with him, she was in no real danger of getting hurt. Because you can't be hurt by someone you don't love. Or, someone you don't fall in love with.
Just when I think I couldn't feel any more like an idiot. Why couldn't I have had a revelation like this a few months ago?
And why do I have to be in love with someone who doesn't seem to even like me that much at the moment?
I should go in there. She should at least know that I'm here for her if she needs anything.
I take a deep breath and gently push open the door. I don't know if she even realizes that there's someone else in the room-her face is turned to the side, and she looks kind of out of it and dazed.
"Abby?" I say, very softly so I don't scare her.
I don't think it works because I see her already very tense body tense further at the sound of my voice.
"What're you doing here?" she asks me, still not looking at me.
"I was worried."
"How'd you even find out that I was here?"
I shrug, even though she can't see it. "I was upstairs, taking care of a patient. I came down here and saw your name and wanted to see if you were all right." I pause, waiting for some kind of response. "Are you? All right, I mean."
She lets out a little laugh, though it's completely devoid of any humor or mirth. "What do you think?"
I cautiously step further into the room. "What happened."
"I guess you could say I stuck my nose in where it didn't belong, and the guy decided to remove it." She finally turns her face toward me, and it's all I can do to not react. Her profile was deceptive; I didn't think it was this bad. The entire left side of her face is swollen and bruised, so badly that she almost can't open her eye. I want go to her and hug her and say that everything will be all right and I want to make that bastard pay for doing this to her all at the same time.
Eventually, she elaborates, though she has to look away as she speaks, choosing to focus on her hands, which are now fiddling with the blanket. "One of my neighbors was beating up his wife, and she came to me for help. So I helped. He wasn't too happy with it. He sort of kicked open my door and hit me. That's just about all I can remember."
Without even thinking about it, I drag a chair over to her bedside and sit next to her. "God, Abby..." Honestly, there are no words I could use at this point, nothing I can say to make this situation any better. Finally, it occurs to me to ask, "Do you have anywhere to go? Somewhere to stay other than your apartment?"
I hear her sniffle, and a hand comes up to wipe at the unscathed eye, and I realize that I'm surprised to see her crying. In all the time I've known her, I've never actually seen her cry. I never thought about her not crying, it was just something she didn't do, so I never thought to question it. For whatever reason, her tears make things that much worse, at least from my perspective.
I do know better than to make any sort of comment about it. Instead, I silently pull a handkerchief out of my jacket, and she just as silently accepts it.
"Yeah. I'm staying with Dr. Lewis tonight. She wouldn't let me go back to my place, and I don't have my wallet so I can't go to a hotel."
I find this bit of news quite surprising. I thought Susan didn't like Abby. Of course, that really doesn't matter when someone has been beaten up and has nowhere to go. Differences are put aside quite easily in such a scenario.
It's then I notice that she's buried her face in the handkerchief and her body is shaking with sobs. I want so badly to do something, to somehow comfort her, but I don't want to overstep my bounds. But I can't just sit there and let her cry. I finally reach out a hand and gently place it on her back, rubbing in slow, soft circles. She doesn't pull away, so that's probably a good sign.
"I'm sorry," I hear her say, though her voice is muffled.
"Abby, you have nothing to apologize for. If you need to cry right now, cry. If you want to throw something, throw something. If you want to yell, go ahead, I won't take it personally."
This actually elicits a tiny little laugh from her. It's not much, but it's a start.
Finally, she looks at me, and gives me an ironic half-smile. "I must look attractive right now, huh? Crying, runny nose, bloody, swollen, bruised face-" "You're beautiful," I say, interrupting her, keeping one hand on her back and reaching out the other to gently hold her hand. "You're always beautiful."
She looks stunned, and I have to say, I am, too. I don't what provoked me to tell her that at this moment in time, but now it's out there.
It's also true. It's always been true. Even with half of her face swollen and bruised almost beyond recognition. But it's not just about the outside, though there is no denying that she is, in fact, a beautiful woman. It's inside, too. It sound cliched, but she's such an amazing person, with this enormous heart and endless capacity for caring and giving, and taking nothing for herself. She astounds me, and it's what makes her truly beautiful.
"Carter..." she begins, but trails off. She starts crying again, harder, if at all possible. This time, I can't just sit by and watch. I move so I'm sitting next to her on the bed and wrap my arms around her. She surprises me by hugging me back and burying her face in my neck.
It amazes me to realize that this is the first time I've ever hugged her. We've been through so much together up to this point, and not once have we ever hugged. I can't help but wonder why that is. I also can't help but wonder at how right she feels in my arms, at how perfectly she fits against me even as we're sitting side by side on a hospital bed.
This is definitely not the time to be thinking those kind of thoughts. That's not what this is about. This is about helping out a friend, about being there for Abby while she really needs someone. And I really am happy that I can offer some sort of comfort to her right now.
I don't know how long we stay locked in that position, but I finally realize that her arms that were gripping at my waist have now slackened, and her breathing has evened out. She's actually managed to fall asleep in my arms.
I gently pull one of my arms free and look at my watch. Susan's shift is just about over, so she'll be by to collect Abby soon. It's probably a good time for me to make my exit.
As carefully as possible, I lower her limp body onto the bed, trying to arrange her in a comfortable position. I stand up and pull the flimsy hospital blanket up over her shoulders, hoping that it'll somehow keep her safe and warm. I see that my handkerchief is still clutched in her hand, but I don't worry about it. It's hers if she wants it. I don't need it.
I stand over her, watching her sleep for a few minutes. She doesn't actually look relaxed-far from it, actually, but I don't think I can help that. It's probably going to be a while before she's able to relax completely.
Unable to help myself, I lean down and press a light kiss on her forehead. It's more for my sake than hers, but it feels like the right thing to do. It's not much, but I can hope that it registered in her subconscious somewhere, and she'll know that if she needs anything, I'm here.
I'll always be here for her. I hope she knows that. And I can wait. We'll both be ready someday. And I'll be there for her.
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Author's Notes: Okay, this one was really hard for me to write. I've never tried anything like this before, and I have no idea if this was any good at all. I've always stuck Carter and Abby as a couple, and never dared try anything before that. I want to thank C-dawg for telling me I had to write this when I mentioned the title before I even considered actually writing the fic, and I want to thank the Alley-cat for telling me to "write write write write!" You're both awesome, and I love you. And I also trust you both to tell me if this absolutely sucks. Oh, and course, shout out to the Whore!