Details: Set in Season 9, at least post- Hindsight, but not anywhere specific.

Rating: Currently PG, but open to change.

A/N: This just came to me. The idea, the story… it just came. I'm not sure where from. Review, if you're so inclined… they would be more likely to encourage me. Constructive criticism is encouraged, but no flames. If I get enough reviews to encourage me, I'll continue. If I don't, I won't. That's how I work.

WHAT CAME BEFORE

Abby: Snow Always Came, Of Course

It was summer. The glowing sun painted a multi-colored picture over the clear blue sky, not a cloud in sight. It was certainly a contrast to just a few months ago, when snow had piled up so high that your head could barely see above it. It was unreal. I'd never seen snow that high before. Snow; snow always came, of course. It was part of living in Chicago. Cold, wintry, rainy Chicago.

I heard the sound of sirens approaching and I stood, throwing the empty coffee cup into the trashcan beside me and rising from the bench. I snatched the gloves from the wood and pull them on, watching the ambulance draw into the bay. I walk over, ready for the barrage of facts from the paramedics. They annoyed me sometimes, I admit, but I knew they were just doing their job. I had no doubt they were often as tired as I was.

We wheel the gurney up to the doors, which steam open as we get within range, and run into the ER. I see Carter rush over, his face drawn. He seems tired. He is tired.

"What've we got?"

His voice isn't particularly concerned, or distressed; but what did I expect? He was simply doing his job. Very well, I might add; but maybe that's my biased perspective speaking.

I listen to a paramedic repeat what he had just told me, and let in wash over me, the facts and figures already lodged in my mind. I've done this job long enough; I've learnt how to get things like that stuck in my head the minute I hear them.

We push the gurney into Trauma One, and Chuny and Chen have joined us, already taking orders from Carter as we transfer the man onto the bed. I watch the paramedics rush out again, wheeling the gurney quickly away, ready to race out to another patient. I paused to wonder who would be next: a diabetic man collapsed on the floor? A woman beaten by an abusive husband? A kid, hit by a speeding car?

I force myself to stop thinking about what could be, and focus on what is. Carter's already spinning orders out to Chuny as Chen intubates the man, machines beeping behind him already. I'm hearing all the words, all the noises, and letting them rest in my head. That was the way it worked. If you didn't know the facts, you weren't cut out for this. It was as simple as that.

Sometimes life is like that. Sometimes things are so black and white that the choice is obvious; and when you've made it, it seems there was little point in ever even thinking about it at all. But sometimes, life is complicated. Life is color. A mixture of blues, reds, greens, oranges… all those colors of the rainbow. And it wasn't clear. The choice was difficult. Sometimes the options were hard to see too.

At this point in my life, I was happy. Yes, my brother had shut me out of his life, and my mother had gone with him; lost in their own little bi-polar world; but I had Carter.

John. Carter was a force of habit. I still called him that, once in a while. It hadn't been that long, and I still felt oddly like I was settling into the relationship. I called him John more and more now. It was his name. At work, you always called him Carter, because it's just Doctor Carter. Only without the doctor part.

"Ca- John," I say, correcting myself in time, hoping no one notices my slip. "What do you want?"

He looks up at me, stethoscope still stuck into his ears, and frowns. "Er… head CT, lytes, and a tox screen," he says, and I nod, heading out to admit to order the above. Frank glances at me from his computer screen, donut in one hand, clicking the mouse with the other. The noise in the hospital in almost deafening, but I guess I've learnt to live with it by now. I hear one particularly whiney patient moan that they're burning up from the heat, and suddenly realize I agree- it's boiling hot in here. I pull at my shirt, trying to get air onto my skin, and see Luka glance at me from his position next to a bed.

I smile at him. "It's hot in here."

"No kidding."

"You think you can ask Weaver to see about the air conditioning?"

"I'll see what I can do," he offers. "You in a trauma?"

I nod. "Yup. I'll see you later," I say, and he nods back, smile fading.

My smile vanishes too as I re-enter the trauma room, seeing only Chuny and Chen left in here now, but one glance through the doors tells me where Carter- John, sorry- has gone.

"He stable?" I ask, and Chen looks up.

"Yep," she nods. "He isn't, though," she says sadly, pointing through the door, where Susan and Carter are busily working. "It's boiling in here," she says, echoing both me and the whiney patient.

"I just said that to Luka," I say. "He said he'd talk to Weaver."

Chen sighs. "Well, he better do it soon, before I faint from this heat wave. How did it get so hot so quickly?" she asks, fanning herself with the chart she was holding.

I shrug. "Page me if you need me," I say, and she nods, as I back out of the room.

I pass Luka again, smiling briefly at him as he walks past me into trauma two, where distressed yells and beeps sound for a second before the door swings shut.

I try not to worry about Luka anymore, but it's a little impossible with everything I've seen him go through. His life seems to have fallen apart, and I can't help thinking that it's my fault. I know he wouldn't want me to think that; but yet, maybe that's why I do. He cares for me, I know, still. I care for him too, I guess. I'm not really sure.

Drink may be a dangerous thing. Hell, I know that. But sometimes it breaks barriers; breaks inhibitions. Luka might not remember, but I do. Hell, do I.

He said I don't seem happy. Maybe I don't. I've never been one for showing my emotions on my sleeve. I can put up a front that looks totally different to what I feel inside. So maybe I don't seem happy, but maybe I am.

Or maybe, he knows me too well, so well he can see beyond whatever façade I have up, and see what I really feel.

I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. I didn't know how to deal with my brother, or my mother, or Richard, or Luka… the list is endless. The world spins, and it's as if it's going too fast for me to keep up with. People change. Maybe they change too fast for me to keep up with.

Maybe life is too complicated to keep up with.

Maybe my life sucks.

Maybe I'm not as happy as I thought.

It's midnight. Dark in my apartment, as I crept silently from the bedroom, leaving a snoring Carter- John; shit, I did it again- behind on the bed, sheets folded over him, his shirt moving slightly in the breeze from the window, set ajar.

I walk into the kitchen, picking a glass from the shelf and pouring water into it from the tap. I take a sip. It's cold. Cold as ice. Which is how water is supposed to be, no?

I glance back at the bedroom, John's snores still emanating from it, and ponder going back; but my tired brain decides I need to sit without him. Even his presence intrudes on my thoughts. I just wanted to relax, silent in the middle of the night, and sip at my water, enjoying the cool sensation as it trickles down my throat.

The window in the living room is slightly ajar too, the heat too much for this building's feeble air conditioning to deal with. I walk over to it, pushing back the curtains so I can look out down the street.

It's deserted. A lamp at the end of it flickers, momentarily distracting my attention, but one more quick look and I see that there's nothing to see. I let the curtains fall back into place and wonder over to the sofa, quietly resting myself upon it, letting my back fall into the cushions.

I take another sip from my glass and let the liquid swirl around. I watch it; it's almost like a tornado. A tiny tornado, in a crystal clear glass, ready to break loose and wreck havoc.

But then, its just water. I down the rest of it in one go, and walk over to the kitchen to refill the glass.

As I let the tap drip water into my glass, the bottle of wine Carter was drinking from last night catches my eye. He teased me while he drank, and I laughed; but now, it didn't seem so funny. Alcohol, just sitting there, on my table, in my apartment. Unfinished.

I didn't want it. It was just Carter's teasing, and my natural lapse to give in. But I didn't want it.

I looked down. My hand was reaching out toward it. I stared at myself. It froze, fingers millimeters away from the bottle. My breath caught in my throat. My whole body had frozen; silent, in the middle of the night.

I let my breath go, and my whole body swung into movement again. I turned away, but my head swung back as I heard the smash of glass behind me.

A muffled groan sounded through the bedroom door, and I knew that Carter was waking. I didn't want him to see this. I scrambled to the ground, shoving the pieces of glass under the table quickly, and standing just in front of the puddle of wine.

"What's going on?" he asks, standing against the doorframe. "Why are you up?"

I take a deep breath, trying to disguise my exhalation by coughing. "I was just getting a glass of water," I answer, hoping my voice sounds natural.

He rubs his eyes, his shirt hanging loosely over his pants. "Okay, well, come back to bed, okay?" he says, smiling; and I nod, not moving.

"I'll be back in a minute," I reply, and he disappears back into the bedroom, leaving the door as it was.

I grab a cloth from a cupboard and mop up the mess, blushing slightly at my moment of weakness. I gather the pieces of glass from under the table, and wrap them in three paper towels before throwing them into the trashcan. I refill the glass I had dropped in the commotion, and slowly walk back to the bedroom, putting my front of happiness back up.

Maybe it was for his benefit; maybe it was for mine.