Title: Finding A Way Home

Author: Andrea

Rating: PG-13

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Finding A Way Home

Chapter 3: Sick

I don't have to see her or hear her voice to know she's near. I'm in the middle of a trauma, bent over a patient, working on a difficult intubation when the very air in the room seems to change. Abby's here.

The patient is a train wreck. No sooner do we take care of one problem, than we find another. Plus, the guy doesn't smell too good. Nothing quite like the combination of garbage and whiskey to create a unique cologne.

I'm watching Abby surreptitiously as we go through the motions. I watch her all the time. It's a habit I can't seem to break myself of, even now. Especially now. Nothing is ever simple between us. No matter what, I feel myself gravitating towards her. Thinking about her. Wondering about her. Watching her.

And I notice that she's been different lately. Well it only makes sense that things should be different--strained--between the two of us now. I asked for some time and space … for me to get my head together and for her to figure out what she wants. And she didn't take it too well. So I guess I can't expect her to be anything more than civil to me. I can't blame her for being a bit standoffish with me. But it seems like something more is going on with her. Lately she's been sullen and moody. Even more so than when we first … separated. I worry because she seems so withdrawn and quiet. I know she's probably upset about what's going on with us, but still … these past couple weeks she's been so distracted that it's beginning to interfere with her work. Much like now. There's a million and one things she should be doing for the patient, but instead she's standing stock still, staring into space.

"Abby? Abby!" She finally looks up at me. And she doesn't look very good. Kinda green. "Abby? You okay?"

She slowly backs away from the patient on the gurney. "I …I … oh, God." She says as she turns and grabs an emesis basin just as she begins throwing up. As soon as she stops, she looks up at me, a look of horror on her face. And then she flees the trauma room.

This is a first, in my experience. Abby getting sick in the middle of a trauma? And this particular, run of the mill kind of stabbing isn't the sort of the thing that seems likely to produce such a reaction from her. She's seen far worse and not batted an eye. She must be sick. I should go check on her. The patient next door is getting rolled off to surgery, so I call Susan in to take over for me so that I can go after Abby.

I figure the logical place to start would be the ladies' room. It presents a problem, of course, being that the ladies' room is for … well, ladies. Nevertheless, I knock on the door, and push it open a crack.

"Hello?" No answer. "Abby?" I hear a toilet flush and push my way into the room. Abby comes out of the stall and moves over to the sink. Making a point to ignore me. I catch her eye in the mirror.

"Feeling any better?" I ask. She shrugs. I look at my watch. "I'm off now. I can give you a ride home."

She turns and looks at me for a moment before she starts speaking. "I'm on for another four hours."

"Abby, you're sick. You need to go home."

"I'm fine. I'll be fine."

"You'll infect all the patients. You need to go home."

"I'm not sick, Carter."

"Is it something you ate? You want some Compazine?"

"No, it's not food poisoning. It's not the flu. It's … nothing. But I'm fine. I'm not sick."

"Well then what do you call it? You never just throw up. So it must be something." She just glares in my direction before pushing past me and out the door.

And then I get it. All at once it hits me. All the pieces fit together. I take off after Abby, intending to confront her, but then think better of it. Instead I storm into the lounge and yank my locker open, grabbing my stuff and slamming the locker shut again.

"Geez, Carter. Let the locker live, would you?" Susan. Of course. I just level a look at her. "Something wrong?"

"I can't believe she'd do this!" I note the startled look on Susan's face.

"Who?" She asks as if she already knows.

"Abby."

"She told you?" Now she really sounds surprised.

"She didn't have to tell me anything. I'm not stupid, I figured it out."

"You did?" She looks skeptical.

"Yeah. I should have seen it before. The way she's been acting. Remote, irritable, kind of out of it. Sometimes she seems half asleep. Dazed. And then today she up and barfs in the middle of a trauma. I mean, my God. It's disgusting." Really, I can't believe that Abby would do this. Again. And that she'd be so unprofessional as to let it affect her work. It must be pretty serious this time.

"And that leads you to believe … what?"

"Well, isn't it obvious Susan? She's drinking again."

"You think she threw up because she was drunk?"

"Well, hung over anyway. I mean, at first I thought she was just sick. You know, the flu. But she insists that she's not sick and it's not food poisoning. And she certainly wasn't willing to talk to me about it. So it makes sense. She's hung over and doesn't want me to know."

"Oh boy. You are so wrong. She's not drinking again. Believe me. Not that you didn't give her more than enough reason to want to drown her sorrows. But in spite of that, she's managed to avoid the temptation. She's stronger than you think."

I study Susan for a moment. "How do you know she's not drinking?"

"I just … know. Trust me. She wasn't hung over." Susan looks like she wants to say something more, but she doesn't.

If Abby's really not drinking again and it's not a simple stomach bug, then what's going on? A knot of fear settles in my stomach as I realize that something could be very wrong.

"Susan? You know something don't you?" She looks at me but doesn't answer. "Is Abby sick? I mean, really sick? She said she was fine but …"

"No," Susan says quickly. "She's not … sick."

"But something's going on, right? And you know what it is." She doesn't answer, but she really doesn't have to. "Susan? Please. Tell me what's wrong with Abby." I hear the note of begging in my voice. But really, I have to know that she's okay. I just … have to know.

"Nothing's wrong with Abby. She's … okay." I don't like Susan hesitating like that. There's more to this. And I want to know it is.

"Dammit, Susan! Tell me what's going on!" She looks a little stunned, and I realize that not only was I shouting at her, but I've also got a pretty good grip on her arm. I let her go and apologize. "Sorry …it's just … this is Abby. I have to know if there's something going on with her. And with the way she's been acting lately … "

"Maybe she's just upset about the break-up."

"It wasn't a break-up."

She raises her eyebrows at me. "Oh really. Then what do you call it?"

"Not a break-up. Just a break. A time out."

"Uh-huh. Maybe you should try telling Abby that. She's got a decidedly different point of view."

"She thinks we're over? For good?" Susan nods. "I told her I just needed some time. I … No wonder she won't talk to me. But even if she thinks that there's no chance for us, that doesn't explain … " The look on Susan's face makes me think that there's still more going on here than meets the eye. "There's something else going on here, though, isn't there?

Susan sighs. Gives me a look somewhere between pity and exasperation. She seems to being debating something with herself. Finally she says, "There's something going on all right."

"What?"

"I … can't tell you."

"Susan … please?"

"I can't, Carter. I'm sorry. She'd never forgive me." I nod in understanding. I don't want Susan to betray a confidence, but I need to know what's going on. "Of course, if you were to happen to guess …"

"Guess? What? Are we gonna play Twenty Questions?"

"Think about it, Carter. Just think about it. You were putting all the pieces together, you just came up with the wrong picture." She looks at me significantly, only I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be getting out of it. "Just think about what you know."

"Well, Abby's been acting kinda funny lately. Moody and distant."

"Maybe like something's bothering her? Like she might be worried about something."

"Well, yeah, but I guess I figured she was upset about us … you know like you said. But then today she threw up."

"Uh-huh."

"And she was acting so strange about it … well, it seemed like she was hiding something."

"So you thought she was drinking again."

"Yeah. But she's not?"

"No. That's not why she was nauseous. It wasn't a hangover. It was … something else." I give her a look that's probably about as blank as my mind is at the moment. Not alcohol. Not a stomach flu. Not food poisoning. Not some weird illness. Some sort of medication with adverse side effects?

"For God's sake, Carter, am I going to have to draw you a picture?" Well, yeah, that would be nice. "Think about it. You're a doctor. Pretend she's patient. Woman in her thirties complaining of nausea, mood swings, irritability, exhaustion … what would you do?"

"Well, for a patient, I'd probably run a pregnancy test. But this is Abby, and she's not …" I stop talking when I see the look on Susan's face. The look reads 'ding ding ding.' "No … she's not … she couldn't be …" Susan shrugs as she gets up and heads to the door.

"You didn't hear it from me, but if I were you, I'd talk to her. Soon. Real soon."

Real soon? Well now, what's that supposed to mean? I don't understand. But then I don't understand any of this. It all seems unbelievable. Abby? Pregnant? How is that possible? And wouldn't she have told me? Of course she would have told me. Unless, it's not … no, impossible. It's crazy. This whole thing is crazy. And sitting here any longer is going to make me crazy. I have to find her and talk to her. I drop my stuff on the table and rush out into the ER, on a mission. Luckily I find her alone in an exam room, cleaning up after the most recent patient. I lock the door behind me and plant myself in front of it. She's not getting out and no one else is getting in.

"Abby." She turns and looks at me.

"Go away, Carter." Well isn't that nice? I guess she's not in the mood to talk. I was going to just confront her point blank, but now I think better of the idea and try a different approach.

"No, I'm not going away. I've been thinking about it. You really need to go home."

"I don't need to go home."

"Sure you do. You're sick."

"I'm not sick."

"You threw up. You're sick."

"I'm not sick." She's getting irritated now. Good, that was the plan.

"Of course you're sick. You wouldn't have thrown up if you weren't sick."

"Dammit, Carter. I'm not sick."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Abby, why won't you just admit you're sick?"

"Because I'm not."

"Then why did you get sick, if you're not sick?" She just looks at me, but I can see she's fuming and fed up with this whole conversation. "See? There's no other explanation. So you must be sick. Come on, I'll take you home." I take her elbow and try to guide her toward the door.

"What's wrong with you?" Yelling at me. "How many times to have to tell you I'm fine? I'm not sick!"

"Of course you are. Maybe we should run some tests. Do a complete work up. You know, just in case."

"Not necessary."

"Of course it is. Something could be really wrong."

"It's not, I'm fine."

"How do you know? There must be a reason you're sick."

"Not sick."

"Now come on Abby , you know you're sick."

"No. I'm. Not."

"You are."

"NOT."

"Are."

"Am not!"

"Abby, I can tell by looking at you. You look exhausted. Run down. Green. Of course you're sick."

"For God's sake Carter, I'm not sick, I'm pregnant!"

Holy shit, that actually worked. I can't believe I managed to argue her into admitting it.

"So it's true?" I ask her.

"You knew?" She sounds really pissed. "I can't believe she told you!"

"Who?"

"Don't give me that crap, you know who." I just shrug and shake my head as if I have no idea what she's talking about. "Susan! That's who. She had to have told you, she 's the only one who knows."

"She didn't tell me. I guessed."

"Uh-huh."

"Maybe she gave me a little hint."

"In the form of a drawing and various gestures?"

I ignore that and for what seems like a really long time we just stand there staring at each other.

"You're really pregnant?"

"You wanna see the test results? Susan did a blood test last week, I can get you a copy of the labs if you don't believe me. "

"That's not what I meant."

"I'm really pregnant."

"Is it …"

"Yours? Yeah, it is. There isn't anyone else, so there's not even a chance it's not. Sorry."

"Sorry? Why would you be sorry? I'm not." A baby. My baby. Abby's having my baby. Does she really think that I would think it's a bad thing? Maybe that's why she didn't tell me sooner. "When were you going to tell me?" I ask as gently as possible.

She looks at me with a stony expression on her face. Anyone else might assume that it a reflection of her feelings, but I know better. It's a mask she wears when she's trying her best to keep her emotions in check. When she speaks, her voice is tight, just as I suspected it would be. "I wasn't."

"You weren't going to tell me?" She shakes her head. I laugh. "Well, you would have had to tell me sooner or later. It's not exactly the kind of thing you can hide for long. I mean, I think in a couple of months its going to be pretty obvious that you're going to have a baby."

She looks at me and a flicker of some emotion -- fear, sorrow, despair -- floats across her face before she quickly reverts to the stone mask. "I'm not going to have a baby."

"What?"

"I'm getting an abortion." With that she pushes past me and goes out the door, disappearing in to the ER and leaving me stunned.