Author's Notes: Okay so the story gets interesting right around here. And I know it seems sorta grim right now,but believe me, it will get better. Just give me time. So please hang around, I do read all the reviews and take into consideration what you guys are saying, and just dont' worry. It will all work out in the end.... SO please stick with me, and just review, because I build the story on the reviews. Thanks guy!!! Love ya!!!

He reached her apartment, the same steps he had gone up day after day. It seemed like a vague memory now. Everything was the way it was supposed to be. The El ran by every fifteen minutes. The neighborhood kids playing some game on the sidewalk, even at this hour of the evening, the same rattling gate that opened and squeaked. It had been as if he never left. Yet he was changed. Everything was changed. This wasn't the same person he was going to see. He wasn't the same person that was going up there to see her. He had changed, yet he didn't know if it had been for the better or the worse. The old Carter would have done anything for her. He would have climbed the highest mountain and swum the deepest sea for her. But now, he didn't know if he would do the same. She hurt him. But not having her with him hurt him even more. It was almost like a paradox, a question without an answer. Why was he drawn to her? Why would he give up his own life for her?

He was chasing her, probably would be headed toward a dead end. And he would go home to Kem, and he would have security, stability, love. And the next morning, he would get up and do it all again. Kem was like his shield, thankful for her as he was. He didn't know if letting her go would be as easy as he planned. Hell, he never planned it at all. Back in Africa, everything had been crystal clear. They would get back to America, have a small, simple wedding. They would raise their children together, the whole white picket fence scenario. Yet he had also pictured Abby as more depressed and unhappy than ever. And then it would easy to choose. He never imagined coming back to find her, motivated, happy, energetic. It was a complete three-sixty. It drew him to her even more. He should be drawn to her at all. All she was was pain and misery, hurt and despair.

He had Kem. Why was he searching for more? She was always there. She would be there, through thick or thin. She had told him as much. And Abby was so uncertain. Would she leave him? Would she be there? Would she decide that he wasn't the one for her, and leave him? And then what? Would he be alone? He had such a great thing right now, was he willing to throw it all away?

He answered his own questions as he started to turn the first door to get into the building.

He headed up the stairs, almost in a trance, avoiding the weak steps, and the ones that creaked loud enough to wake the dead. He let go of the handlebar where it had splints sticking out, the careless work of the owner, and he finally reached her door. They had finally decided to replace the lightbulb in the hallway.

He knocked quietly on her door, yet it still echoed through the empty space. He instinctively reached into his pocket to get her key, and then he remembered, he had given it back. She had asked for it back. He reached for the knob, for some weird chance it might actually be open. But he knew it probably wouldn't since she had this obsession about locking her doors. Ever since the attack.

He turned the knob. It was open. He walked into the apartment. The same furniture, the same designs, the same places. Nothing had been moved. He walked in hesitantly, not knowing how she would react. If she would react at all. He followed the only source of light in her apartment to the kitchen. She sat with her back to him, hunched over the table, piles of books in front of her.

"Luka, what are warning signs of pre-op infection? I'm missing something for Zlechy's presentation."

She didn't know it was him. She probably wouldn't unless he decided to say something.

"Fever . . . Rash . . . Dehydration . . . Unusual urine output . . . Jaundice color . . . "

She didn't turn around. He would hear her heavy breathing, but she didn't turn around. He hoped she wouldn't because she would see the hurt in his eyes. Standing here, in the same apartment he had only a few months ago. Telling her it would be okay, that he would help her. And now she was okay, and she was without him.

"Carter . . . "

His name gently came off her lips, like a whisper.

"You need to stop running away from me."

He heard her usual sigh.

"You'd be the expert at that, wouldn't you."



She said it with a bit of a sting in her voice. Like she wanted to hurt him.

"Abby . . . "

He said it pleadingly. At least now they have established who they are talking to.

How many times had he said her name? How many times did their conversations start or end in a hostile fashion? They both wanted to hurt each other.

"What do you want?"

What did he want? Did he expect her to go running back into his arms? Yes. Actually he did.

"I...I want you back in my life..."



He watched her get out of her chair and turn around.

"Little too late, don't you think?"

He looked at her questioningly.

"You leave me, break up with me in a letter. In a damn letter, that was read to the whole ER . . . "

He heard her voice cracking.

"And then you come back with some whore, parading her around like she's some god or something. And I'm absolutely nothing to you."

He knew she was getting angry. He had seen her only this way once or twice.

"So suddenly I'm supposed to forget everything that happened, and pretend to be happy?"

He went after her, grabbing her by the shoulders, stabilizing her in front of him.

"I never asked you to pretend."

She looked straight ahead, instead of looking at him.

"And I'm not pretending now. Get out of my life."

He didn't know what to say, how to act.

"What?"

She looked up at him, locking eyes with him.

"Get out of my life."

He let her go, slightly pushing her away. He mustered a simple "fine" and headed toward the door, slamming it on his way out.