Authors Note: Thank you so much to my two reviewers – Brookestar and Mana. You guys are the best :)

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Chapter 4 ~ Truth and Clarity

A cold eerie blackness surrounds me, though I feel my body lit up by hazy hues of parallel light as I run through the streets. The alleys are deserted – there's no-one about except for odd pieces of litter carelessly weaving their way through the cracks in the pavement. At a corner a solitary beggar lies sleeping off the effects of his afternoon binge, his stink fills my nostrils, quickening my pace and pushing me onwards.

My chest burns with each breath and the salt of dried tears stains my cheeks, but the pain is ignored. I'm on automatic. The moonlight quells all desire to think – there is no time to think, only to concentrate on moving my arms and legs, motions that bring me closer to him, closer to the answers that I'm already sure I know.

My fingers close around the wrought iron gates of the Carter mansion. Arrival brings with it notions of clarity and I realise that I have no way of entering except by alerting the butler. I don't want anyone to know of my presence. I want to talk to him and him alone, to ask the awkward questions, not be their target.

Maybe I haven't planned this well, but before he always seemed to revel in my spontaneity. Now, well, I can't decide whether to turn around or climb over the gates on wings of temporary insanity.

It's true.

I haven't thought this out at all. I don't know what to say to him, where to even begin. And that's assuming he'll even listen to me, to anything I can come up with. I can't even figure out why I care so much, why I'm running back to him, why I'm standing squeezing the bars of the gates, hoping that they'll open and allow me in. I'll probably scare him away, but at the moment I'm scaring myself even more. What I feel is so powerful, as though I'd take the leukaemia and fight it for him, or at least help him, protect him.

It's not natural. Well not for me. It's out of character. It violates every single rule I've ever made to prevent myself from being hurt. But I don't care. It's at the back of my mind that this won't end well, but given the choice I'd be here, any time.

So here I am, Carter. Where are you?

"Abby?"

A voice.

His voice. He sounds confused, surprised even. But I know better. He's behind me. Just like old times, always a few steps ahead of me. I wanted him to come. He came, whether by chance, or some strange twist of fate he's here. Perfect timing, which is by all accounts, unusual for us. I pull my face outwards, praying that the two iron bars it was wedged between have left no imprint.

"Are you okay?"

He speaks the words with the tenderness of old, his face crumpled with evident concern. He moves closer to me – but not close enough, and then it hits me. I've been crying. I'm suddenly as aware of my puffy, swollen eyes as he is.

God, he must think me a right fool, showing up at his door in this state.

"Aren't you going to tell me what's happened?"

And that was all it took. Suddenly I find myself lashing out at him, taking all the hurt I feel, the anger, all those feelings I've pushed aside because I don't want to deal with them, taking them and using them to give strength to my voice, my intent, as I scream back at him. I lose control. I become some sort of human Pandora's box, once the shouting starts I can't stop. Once I tell him what I feel I don't stop. Not until all the cards are on the table. Not until I've heard the truth.

"No, Carter why don't you tell me what's happened? Or rather why don't you tell me what's going on?"

"Huh?"

"Don't play the innocent with me, because I know. I know Carter. Why can't you just be honest with me. Just this once, or it is too much to ask?"

"Abby, I honestly haven't a clue" –

He puts a hand out and touches my shoulder, gently but my senses are so heightened that the force almost knocks me over. I push him to the side. Don't touch me Carter. He still has this look on his face. This clueless, I-don't-know-what-you're-talking-about look. Maybe he can't believe I've got him sussed. It looks as though I'm just going to have to spell it out for him, show him letter by letter that his secret is exposed. And much as I don't want to hurt him any more than this is hurting me, I'm so worked up that I can't help myself, and before I've time to ponder the words have left my lips.

"I know you have leukaemia."

Silence.

So it's true then. I stiffen. Up until that moment I'd hoped, I'd prayed that maybe I'd let my imagination run away with me. That this was all some great misunderstanding. But it's not. It's a living nightmare, and I'm part of it. I turn away, I can't look into his eyes and see the desperation there.

"What are you talking about? I don't have leukaemia."

He doesn't? I spin back around. I can always tell if he's lying. His whole face, his entire expression gives him away. His lips move ever so slightly, and he shifts his gaze towards me.

He's telling the truth.

Suddenly I feel stupid, I'm kicking myself mentally. How could I have let myself get so carried away? I feel myself deflate like a burst balloon, as an innate desire to run takes over. He moves closer to me until we are a foot apart. Too close Carter.

"I'm sorry."

I push past him and run, but I don't go anywhere. His hand grips my arm and he pulls me back towards him. I'd forgotten how strong his arms were. Once we stand face to face he doesn't let go. His fingers remain tightly closed around my wrist. For the second time that day I try to look away, but his response is the same as hers – with his free hand he lifts up my chin until our eyes meet.

"Don't run away from me again." He speaks softly, then continues with more determination in his voice. "I think you owe me an explanation for this."

Perhaps I do. Perhaps I should tell him exactly where I got this crazy idea from, but I don't know how. It will just come out in some sort of garbled mess and I'll use all the wrong words, say the wrong things and make him hate me even more. Maybe, but his grip on my wrist tells me it's Carter, tells me I'm not going anywhere until I've said what I'm thinking, and then I realise that I'd better find a way to tell him, to say my piece and stop taking the easy route of running away.

So I open up. I tell him about the clairvoyant, and her frightening predictions. He laughs. I pout. I had expected him to take me a little more seriously than that, but maybe he's changed, so I hide my disappointment. But of course, being Carter he notices and his face immediately clouds over with concern.

"I thought that you didn't believe in any of that stuff."

So did I. I suppose I should be more honest with him. If I'm honest to myself I'm not sure I want to hide anymore. It's too hard. I bite my lip, and he leans his head to one side, anticipating my next sentence.

"I had evidence, Carter."

"Evidence?" He chuckles. I give him a look and that shuts him up quickly.

"You'd been tired, run down for a while. I noticed it, but didn't say anything to you. I guess I really didn't think anything of it until today, and then that bandage. I just assumed you'd had a blood test and put two and two together..."

I look down, acutely aware of how ridiculous I sound.

"... and got four hundred and fifty-eight million." He finishes my sentence, and deliberately lowers his face down to my level.

"You're right. I have been tired, but then I've been covering for Chen, and clearing up a backlog of charts so really I've been run off my feet. And as for the bandage.." - he looks at his arm as he speaks - "I'm O negative. You know that as well as I do! They needed blood, I obliged. Simple as that!"

I laugh. Awkwardly.

"I'm sorry," I repeat. I'm so confused, emotionally drained. I want to cry. I need to cry but I just don't have the energy. "Guess, I jumped to conclusions and didn't think. I was angry with you, for not telling me, even though now I see there really was nothing to tell." I shrug and wrinkle my chin. "I don't know..."

I look at him, trying to hold back the hot tears that sting my eyes.

"Come on," he says simply, linking his arm in mine. "I'll walk you home."

Thank you Carter. Thank you for caring, thank you for not questioning, thank you for your soft touch, reassuring. I was wrong about you. I screamed at you, I said so many hurtful things, yet here you are walking me to my door, linking my arm, supporting me.

We walk the streets in silence, hiding from each other in the dark corners, but yet fully aware of each others presence, connected by tightly woven elbows. His coat billows out behind him in the wind, brushing my leg every now and then. I welcome the contact gladly.

As we turn to cross the road his hand slips out from mine and then I feel his fingers brush the sensitive skin below my ribcage. His arm has found a place around my waist, the place I had forgotten existed. He sighs as my hand reassumes it's position around his. We don't speak, just mind read. We don't walk, just float. And for a while there's only the two of us and a faintly lit street.

I could learn to live here.

The illusion is shattered by the harsh light of my apartment block. Paradise is lost, or put on hold for a time. I put the key in the lock and turn it, opening the door. I want to invite him in, but I know he won't accept. There's been enough drama already for one night. He turns to leave, but then seems to reconsider, pausing for a few seconds.

"Abby..... if I was sick, even ..... even if I waited until the 24th hour I would have told you. I would never keep something like that from you. Never. You mean too much to me."

"Carter – "

Something overflows inside of me, some burgeoning sense of respect, of love for this man. There's nothing else he could have said that would have made me feel any better than I feel now. There was heart in those lines, soul. I didn't think I could ever mean as much to him as he means to me. I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. We both stand transfixed, savouring the moment as we hold each others gaze.

The phone in my apartment starts to ring, but neither of us move to answer it. We're mesmerized. Speechless. Nothing can interrupt this. I thought I'd lost my best friend, I got used to not talking to him, but now we've made amends, built bridges I can't imagine how I survived those months without him. I wipe away those stray tears that slowly trickle down my cheeks. I can't believe I'm crying. Maybe it's relief – for a while it was as though we stood teetering on the edge of some giant abyss, but now we've  taken a step back just in time to stop ourselves from falling in.

We're okay.

..... This is a message for Ms. Abigail Lockhart. Dr. Myers from Minnesota speaking, Ms Lockhart, your mother Margaret Wyczenski passed away this morning. I'd appreciate it if you could call......

The answering machine records the call, loud and clear as we listen. Moments pass like hours as the news sinks in with the coldness of a thousand sharpened icicles. I'm numb, cold, shocked. My mouth opens, eyes widen. Without warning he catches me as I hit the floor with undeniable velocity. I crumple. I tear. I bruise. I cry.

He holds me, but even he can't make this go away.

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Comments: Thank you for reading, please review. I live for constructive criticism and all comments are appreciated.