TITLE: Things Behind the Sun (2/12)
AUTHOR: C. Midori
EMAIL: socksless@hotmail.com
CATEGORY: Drama (JC/AL/SL/LK)
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: For Seasons 6, 7, 8 (except "Lockdown"), and for the prequel Through the Door.
ARCHIVE: Do not archive without permission.
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations owned by Not Me, etc. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Two notes about the prologue: (1) Unidentified Naked Man has either brown or black hair that appears "charcoal-colored" in the darkened room (so don't jump to any conclusions), and (2) you're not meant to know when the scene takes place with respect to TTD or TBtS. You won't know for some time so in the meantime feel free to be confused. :D Thanks and drink umbrellas to everyone who reviewed the prologue: the indomitable JD, Ceri, Dana, Kate, Rebecca, Jane, CARBYfan, and not-so-dumb-blonde. You don't know how much your reviews mean to me. Thanks also to Heather and pix for hosting. Questions, comments, concerns, suitcases full of unmarked twenties? Review! You can email me at socksless@hotmail.com, drop a review over at fanfiction.net under my pseudonym, or leave a comment at my fanfic journal (www.livejournal.com/~cmidori).
SUMMARY: The morning after and it's not Carter and Abby (sorry); apparently, Susan Lewis can lose; Luka learns how to use acronyms; Abby stands around in the rain and thinks Deep Thoughts; and Carter is busted, in more ways than one.
* * *
CHAPTER ONE
The Writing on the Wall
This'll never end, this'll never stop
Message read on the bathroom wall
Says, "I don't feel at all like I fall."
And we're losing all touch, losing all touch
Building a desert
* * *
Late October.
The same dream again--blood and bone, bleak midnight and blinding light, the darkness at his feet rising and the world around him falling away. All he knew was pain--pain splintering up and down his back, twin blades cut like runners in ice; pain like broken glass screaming against the knuckles of an angry fist; pain in a mouth twisted with agony, in eyes narrowed to tear-shaped slits.
Time faded the scars on his back but did not erase the memory of death from his sleep.
"John."
A reel of memories stretched out behind him but there was nothing left before him. Nothing but the weight of a body too much for his legs, knees staggering to the ground, wrists slamming against linoleum with a sickening crunch.
"John, it's time to wake up."
There were things he didn't understand when he was eleven and when people left him, and there were things he didn't understand when he was twenty-eight and people still left him. Death came to him dressed in the skin of those he loved and lead the endless parade of people leaving his life.
"It's already seven."
It was always the same expression on her face. The same face that came to him again and again in those first few days after the stabbing, and during those long bleak stretches of time leading to Atlanta. She with the death-pale skin and the enormous eyes of fright, colorless and gray and dying, with her hand on his shoulder, shaking him.
"Get up, John."
His eyes fluttered open. Thickly, "Lucy?"
"Who's Lucy?"
Fuck.
"…John?"
He forced himself awake. Struggling to rise, he found himself peering up into a pair of dark slate eyes. They stared back at him with a mixture of curiosity and worry. "Nobody," he said, his voice thick with sleep, "She's nobody."
A cool palm glided across his forehead. "You okay?" it asked worriedly. "You don't feel so well."
"I'm fine," he said aloud, though later he would realize that there had not been a question. "Bad dream."
"Okay." A thoughtful pause and the removal of the hand. "Breakfast is ready when you want it."
He waited until the footsteps coupled with the silence. Rising, he disentangled himself from the sheets that knotted around his wrists. He crept to the bathroom, turned on the shower, and leaned over the toilet bowl to heave.
* * *
Carter smiled when he saw her seated at his kitchen table. Her head was bent over a stack of medical journals, hair like burnished gold in the citric light of the morning sun, and she wore nothing save an old dress shirt of his improperly buttoned. When she looked up at him, her eyes and her mouth smiled, all at once so sudden and easy that he found himself startled by it.
He walked over to where she sat. "Morning," he mumbled into her hair, leaning down to plant a chaste kiss on her cheek.
She lifted her face to receive the kiss but did not tear her eyes from the page of text in front of her. "I hope you like your eggs sunny-side up," she said in reply. Her highlighter swept across the page.
"Mmm." He left another kiss by the side of her ear. "Sunny-side up sounds perfect," he whispered.
"Someone smells good," she murmured. "New cologne?"
"The one you gave me," Carter shrugged. He slid into the empty chair beside her and gratefully accepted a plate heaped with pancakes and eggs. The sun slanted onto his face, dispelling the remains of his sleep, and he thought the sensation very pleasant indeed.
"John?"
"Yeah?" he said, between mouthfuls of breakfast.
"Who's Lucy?"
Fuck, he thought, for the second time this morning. He swallowed his food and tried to look impassive, his appetite disappearing as fast as the color that filled the space between the thin lines of his face. "What?"
"You said something about…Lucy…earlier…" She trailed off and looked at him expectantly.
His brown eyes flickered beneath her solid gray gaze. He was the first to break away. "I don't know anyone named Lucy," he shrugged. His fork stabbed at his food.
A noncommittal sound escaped her throat as she returned to her journal. A moment passed before she spoke up again. "Are we still on for tonight?"
Carter felt himself relax as he received his usual reprieve. "Of course."
"Is something bothering you, John?"
"I'm off at seven." He ignored the unexpected second wave.
"You can talk to me, you know," she pressed, her eyes boring holes into his
His voice sounded strange to his own ears. "It's formal, right?"
She gave him one last sharp look before surrendering. "Yeah."
"How about I meet you at your place?"
"Sounds good. The function starts at eight. Maybe you should change at County?"
Carter nodded his ascent. He felt her heel rub affectionately against his; it was her belated apology for prying.
"I'm glad you're coming," she spoke up, her tone conciliatory. "It should be a great event. We're raising a lot of money for the Peds ward and--"
"It doesn't mean anything," he reminded her.
She paused. "I know."
"I'm happy at County."
"I know," she repeated. "But who knows? You may end up liking us."
"Who?"
"My colleagues. They'll all be there."
"Your colleagues," he echoed.
"They could be your colleagues, too," she reminded him gently. "Just say the word."
Swallowing, he gave her a weak smile. "I told you. I like County."
"I don't know, John," she mused, playing with the corner of a page. "Long hours, crappy pay, general lack of appreciation."
"What can I say," Carter shrugged, "I'm a glutton for punishment."
"You know, at Northwestern--"
"I'll think about it, okay?" he interrupted.
"As long as you think about it soon." She put down her journal and looked at him seriously. "You can't be Chief Resident forever, John. And County's not looking for another Attending."
"Don't remind me." A pause. "You've given this a lot of thought."
"I know how much your career means to you." She squeezed his hand. "It was all you ever talked about when we were in high school."
Her comment startled him, as if he was suddenly and painfully forced to bear the weight of all those years and all that change. Rising from his place, he let his hand slip out of hers. He walked his plate over to the sink and felt her eyes on him the entire time.
"Leave it," she said.
"My place," he tapped his fork against the sink, "my dirty dishes, my responsibility."
Carter heard the scrape of wood against tile. A pair of warm arms slipped around his waist. "Leave it…please?"
The plate unwillingly slipped out of his hands. Making a small sound of mock frustration, he turned around. "Stop it," he grumbled.
"Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed." Her voice dropped to a hush. "Maybe I can fix that."
Tiptoeing slightly, she kissed the side of his mouth.
Carter stared at some place beyond the bright glint of her hair. He heard the sound of blood rushing through his head, drowning out the promises he now made to himself on a daily basis. Leave it, he thought fiercely, pushing away the darkness that came to him in his sleep. Leave it all behind; leave everything that did not touch this woman who knew him when he was eleven but not when he was twenty eight.
"I love it when you wear the pants in this relationship," he heard himself say. Her hands danced along his spine.
"Well," she leaned up to claim his mouth, "I love it when you don't."
Almost mechanically, his fingers reached for the hem of her shirt. "Good taste," he commented, easing the shirt off her shoulders, "This one's my favorite."
"I couldn't find anything else to wear." She shook her hair free from its clip and glanced up at him with an easy smile on her face. "You don't mind, do you?"
Carter felt his heart hammer against his chest as he opened his mouth to meet hers. He found his hands reaching out to undo the clasp of her bra and push the hair away from her face as he lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around him.
"No, Phil--I don't mind."
* * *
"I do mind," Susan snapped angrily at the phone pressed against her ear. "This is the third time you've stood me up in the last week."
She felt a tug at her elbow. Winding the cord of the phone around her finger, she turned around and found Carter giving her a curious look, a garment bag slung over one shoulder and a coffee in his hand.
"I'm okay," she mouthed at him, before returning to the phone. "Look, I waited for you for half an hour this morning…no, I'm at work right now, I'm just about to start my shift in…no, don't bother coming down…what?"
The last "what" was directed at Carter, who still hovered at her elbow. "Susan?"
She covered the mouthpiece with her free hand. "I'm sorry, Carter. I've got to take care of this first." She paused, her face scrunched up in frustration. "And I'm not on for another five minutes," she added.
"Are you sure--"
"Five minutes," Susan reminded him, taking her hand off the mouthpiece. "I don't think…what is that supposed to mean?" A pause. "You know what?" she spat into the receiver, "You obviously have the mental capacity of a stuffed iguana. I don't think we should see each other anymore. No, I'm not kidding. Yeah, have a great day. Bye."
She hung up the phone.
Carter grinned at her.
"Don't look at me with that tone of voice," Susan said wearily.
"Trouble in paradise?" He followed her in the direction of the lounge.
"Awfully liberal definition of paradise you've got going there."
He shrugged, the garment bag bouncing against the back of his shoulder. "Look on the bright side--"
"Carter," she interrupted him. "There is no bright side when you're about to begin a thirty-six hour shift."
The lounge door swung open. "So I take it that things didn't work out between you and Joe from Neurology."
"You are, as always, the master of understatement," Susan sighed, dumping a scoop of coffee grounds into the machine. "No, things didn't work out with Joe from Neurology."
"I'm sure you'll find someone."
"Well, we're not all meant to find love in the work place."
Carter opened his locker. "Was that a veiled hint about me and--"
"Abby?" Susan offered. "No."
"Oh," he hung his bag.
"It was an obvious hint."
Carter ignored her.
Susan yanked open the refrigerator door. "What's going on between you too, anyway?"
"We're friends, if that's what you mean," he shrugged on his lab coat.
"That's not what I mean," she said in a sing-song voice, her head buried in the contents of the refrigerator. "Dammit, who used the last of the dairy creamer?"
"Then say what you mean," Carter said evenly.
Susan emerged from the refrigerator, the side of her face white with light. "You're in love with her and you can't live another moment without her," she said solemnly, her mouth quirking at the memory of those familiar words.
"Right," Carter laughed. He slung his stethoscope around his neck and slammed his locker shut. "I've heard that one before." He gave her a smile and walked into the ER.
"Funny, because I haven't," Susan said aloud to the empty room, before turning to her coffee.
* * *
Stifling a yawn, Abby leaned against the steel chair propped beneath her and tried hard to look like she was interested in hearing yet another yarn of alcohol-induced woe. She wasn't the only one having trouble keeping her concentration. In front of her a woman's head jerked up and down as she nodded off to sleep, and a man with dark hair sat across the aisle with his head bent deep in thought over a crossword. Abby raised an eyebrow and smiled at the familiar scene.
Finally, the hour came to its conclusion and she joined the sluggish line of people filing out the door. A thin beam of gray light hit her eye as she found herself staring directly into an overcast sky.
She felt a touch on her elbow. Startled, she spun around. "Luka," she said, failing to keep the surprise out of her voice. "What are you doing here?" She paused, then cut him off before he could reply. "Wait, let me guess: you were joyriding through the streets of Chicago and just happened to be in the neighborhood."
"Something like that," Luka grinned, jangling his car keys. "Want a ride?"
"My mother always told me never to ride with strangers," said Abby.
"I'm not that strange," he protested.
"Beg to differ," she responded playfully as they began walking toward his car. "So what brings you over to the dark side?"
Luka unlocked the passenger side door. He looked faintly embarrassed as he opened the door for her. "I wanted to see you…at your AA meeting," he corrected himself.
"AA," Abby said automatically, stepping into the car.
"That's what I said," he replied, looking confused.
"Sorry." She hid her grin. She beckoned for him to close the door. "C'mon, let's go."
Luka trotted over to the driver's side and slid in. "I didn't actually go into the meeting," he explained. "I didn't know if I was allowed." They pulled into the street.
"You're allowed." Absently, Abby stared out the window and watched the familiar Chicago scenery roll by. "It's just a bunch of sharing and caring."
"Sounds like fun."
"Oh yeah, real fun," she laughed dryly. "Fun for the whole family."
Uncertain, he kept his glance on the road. "Do you like it?"
"Like it?" Abby laughed again. "Nobody actually likes being a drunk, Luka."
He looked at her quickly, embarrassed again. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," she shrugged. She resumed her scenery gazing.
They stopped at a light. "I didn't know there were so many people," Luka admitted.
"Yeah," Abby said absently, "I'm not the most original screw-up in the world."
Lightly, "You're not a screw-up."
"Says you," she countered.
"Says me," Luka confirmed, with a ghost of a smile.
She turned her head and grinned at him. "How'd you know where to find me?"
"Carter." Luka glanced sideways. The look of surprise that flitted across Abby's face did not go unnoticed by him. "I asked him."
"Oh," she said. "I didn't know you two were on speaking terms."
"Why wouldn't we be?" His car stopped at another light and he turned to look at her.
She hesitated. "No reason," she said finally, and changed the subject. "Are you working today?"
"I have a night shift at eight. You're working too?"
"Yeah," answered Abby.
"We could…get something to eat before our shift?"
"Sure," she agreed readily. Turning her gaze back outside the window, she watched as a strong wind clipped the leaves from trees and rattled bare branches in violent claps of thunder.
"Magoo's?" he suggested.
A few fat drops of water splattered against the window. "Not Magoo's," Abby said, after a moment.
Luka felt his eyes turn to her. Her gaze was distant, her hands small and white and clasped in her lap, and her expression thoughtful. Dizzily, he saw the look upon her face and had to resist the urge to reach over and take hold of her hand.
"What?" Abby turned toward him. "What's the matter?"
"What?" he said back.
"You're staring."
Luka only shook his head.
* * *
The ambulance bay was cold and empty in the waning half-light. Long blue shadows flattened themselves along its concrete planes and bent in haphazard strips of darkness and light along its angles, giving the bay the appearance of peeling paint. Susan winced against the cold as she stood just outside the doors to the ER and pulled on her gloves.
"Susan," Carter jogged outside to meet her.
"I'm on my break," she said automatically.
"A couple of your bounce-backs need to be discharged," he shivered, handing her some clipboards. "We need the beds."
"Right," she muttered. She took his pen and signed off on the charts quickly. "There you go."
"For me?" he pointed at the box tucked under her arm. "You shouldn't have."
"Unless you want to trade in your Jeep for a pink Barbie convertible, I suggest you keep your hands to yourself," Susan answered with a wry smile.
Carter laughed. "Is this for Suzie?"
"It's her birthday," she confirmed, a sudden surge of happiness distracting her from the cold. "I've got to get this to the post office before it closes."
"Yeah, sure, no problem," he said immediately, noticing the wistful smile that crossed her face. "Take your time."
Susan shook her head and held the box to her chest. "What?"
Carter hesitated. "You really miss her," he said quietly. "Don't you?"
He saw her waver uncertainly for a moment. But he blinked and this uncertainty was gone, replaced by her usual wry grin.
"Of course I miss her," she said off-handedly. "She's my niece."
Carter nodded as she gave him another smile and turned around to walk away.
* * *
Rain was falling steadily in long leaden needles of water by the time Luka dropped Abby off at her apartment. She showered and grabbed an umbrella on her way out the door, but managed to find herself soaked by the time she made her way off the El train and down the stairs toward County.
A pencil-gray darkness flowed all around her and the wind cut through her raincoat like tiny daggers. A chill crept up the cuffs of her coat to raise goose pimples on her arms. Buildings cast iron-clad shadows across her face as she crossed the ambulance bay and wet leaves swirled loosely at her ankles. But she paid the world little attention as she stopped to stand in the middle of the bay, water pelting the side of her face and a broken umbrella dangling from one hand, for her eyes were diverted elsewhere.
The light behind him and the impending darkness before him, a man stood silhouetted against the stark fluorescent backdrop of the hospital like a dark stem pressed between two sheets of glass. His head was bent and a stethoscope swung forgotten around his collar, the familiar lines of his body sharp against her eyes. Closing her eyes briefly, she stopped and held the image in her head.
When she opened them again, he was smiling at her.
Her lungs filled painfully with the cold air as the doors slid open. "You look cold," Carter greeted her.
"You look nice," she returned, joining him under the shelter of his proffered umbrella. "You off already?"
"Yeah." He fidgeted with a bowtie. "Is this thing straight?"
She felt herself lean further into the cover of the umbrella as she reached up to adjust his tie. Her fingers were wet and cold with the rain and she wiped them against the dry sleeve of her turtleneck beneath the coat she wore. Her fingers tugged at the bow, her knuckles brushing against the soft skin at his throat. "It is now."
"Thanks." Carter cleared his throat. She felt it humming beneath her fingertips.
Abby withdrew her hands. "Where are you going?"
He gave a barely perceptible pause before clearing his throat. "Charity ball," he answered, nonchalant.
"Another charity ball?" She tried hard to keep the surprise out of her voice and realized, with a heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach, that she was succeeding completely. "I think there are programs for people like you."
"Only if you promise to be my sponsor," he flashed a purposely boyish grin in her direction.
"Never again," she laughed, shaking her head.
"It wasn't so bad the first time around," said Carter, clutching his chest in mock-hurt.
"No," she agreed, "it wasn't." Faltering, she tucked a wet piece of hair behind an ear. "Where's your date?"
"No date," he said neutrally.
Abby tugged playfully at the stethoscope slung around his neck. "Is this a costume ball?"
Carter reddened, and slid the instrument off his neck. "No." He stared at her, his eyes dark and sparkling with rainwater. She shifted uncomfortably under his stare. "Night shift?" he asked finally.
"I prefer to think of it as trial by fire."
"Well, you know what they say," he said encouragingly, "Time flies when you're--"
"Irrigating pus wounds, I know," she deadpanned as they walked toward the ER. "Thanks for the sentiment."
The glass doors slid open. Unexpectedly, Carter took hold of her hand and pressed something into it. He smiled at her and turned to walk away. It wasn't until the doors had closed again that Abby looked down. Water sliding down her face, she bent her head to find his stethoscope tucked into her palm, still warm from his grasp.
* * *
"Hey, watch it, Pratt!" Susan ducked her head, a good-natured scowl on her face, as she narrowly avoided decapitation via bed pan. "No flying projectiles in the hallways."
"Sorry." Jerry gave her an apologetic smile as Pratt went off running after the makeshift Frisbee.
"Didn't know hall monitor was part of the job description." Abby gave a little hop as a bed pan whizzed by her feet.
"Hall monitor, warden for the mentally unsound, bearer of bad news--it all kind of comes with the job," Susan explained.
"I see," Abby dodged into the lounge, the sound of breaking glass behind her.
"Jerry!" Susan yelled. Wearily, she followed Abby to her locker. "It's a little slow tonight."
"Knock on wood."
Susan leaned against the row of lockers. "So how was the meeting?"
Abby shrugged, her voice muffled as she unwound the scarf around her neck. "Painless."
"Sorry I couldn't be there."
"It's okay," Abby assured her. "You don't have to be there. They don't take attendance."
"Damn. I was really gunning for that Perfect Attendance Award, too."
"Overachiever."
"Deadbeat," Susan returned good-naturedly. "You know, I actually like going. It kills time."
"Are you telling me," Abby smiled, shrugging off her coat, "that you don't have anything better to do with your life than work your deadbeat alcoholic friend through her steps?"
"Nope," Susan said brightly.
"Whatever happened to Joe from Neurology?"
"The last time I saw him he was wearing a sweater and an idiotic grin. And the sweater was new."
"Ouch." Amused, Abby slammed her locker shut and followed Susan out into the ER.
"Tell me about it." Susan looked glum. "Sometimes I really hate the human race."
Abby looked amused. "We're not all bad. Some of us perform random acts of kindness."
"Well, nobody's performed a random act of kindness for me lately."
"Susan, you've got a seventy year old male with foot fungus in curtain three." Dr. Weaver walked by, dropping the chart in Susan's hands.
"See?" Susan turned pointedly to Abby. "Kerry, can't we let Pratt get this one?"
"Pratt's not on," Weaver called behind her as she disappeared around the corner.
Susan and Abby exchanged glances. "Gallant," they said in unison.
* * *
"Jerk. Seven letters."
"Starts with?"
"A."
"Asshole."
From behind his crossword, Luka raised an eyebrow at Abby.
Innocent, Abby looked at him. "What?"
"Agitate," he shook his head, his pen carefully filling the empty blocks. But he was smiling.
"I was close." Smiling in return, she leaned over the counter of the admit desk to peek at his magazine. "You do your crosswords in pen?"
"Yep," he said, not looking at her. "At the front. 5 letters."
"Impressive," Abby remarked.
"Not on company time," Susan clucked, her hands full of coffee. "Heads will roll."
"Ahead," Luka murmured to himself. "Thanks, Susan."
"Slow night," Abby protested airily as Susan handed her a cup. "Crossword with us."
Susan shook her head and the water from her hair. "I suck at crosswords," she said, slightly breathless. "Son of a bitch, it's storming outside," she said, handing another cup to Luka.
"Thanks," he said automatically.
"Joe called while you were out," Abby waved a piece of paper at Susan, "Begging for your forgiveness."
"Ugh," Susan made a face. "I hope you gave him a piece of your mind."
Abby looked guilty. "I told him you'd call him back."
Susan took the piece of paper and crumpled it into the trash. "Call who back?" she said innocently.
Abby grinned.
Yawning, Susan plunked herself on a stool and glanced at her watch. Midnight. "I can't believe I've struck out two times in the last three weeks," she mused aloud. "This has got to be some kind of all-time personal low.
"James called, too." Abby examined another slip of paper. "He called to say he had to cancel this weekend."
"Oh, no, here's a lower place," Susan sighed.
"At least you've been at bat," Abby pointed out reasonably.
Susan looked at her slyly. "Well, you could--"
Abby cut her off. "Susan, I swear to god," she said warningly, "if you say one more thing about--"
Susan held up her hands in mock surrender. "I'm just saying."
Abby was about to respond when Jerry piped up behind them. "Incoming trauma. MVA. Drunk driver versus Jeep. Drunk's already dead, but they're bringing the other two passengers here. ETA five minutes."
Wordlessly, the three of them exchanged glances and dumped the rest of their coffee.
* * *
Abby stood sandwiched between Susan and Luka as the three of them huddled together under an overhanging, two gurneys waiting behind them and violent lashes of water whipping against their faces. Rain fell against the earth in solid sheets of liquid metal, and the sound of water hitting concrete was deafening to their ears. Abby could barely see anything beyond the bay but in the distance she thought she heard the wail of an ambulance car drawing near.
Soon, she saw the flicker of lights refracting against the puddles of water and she found herself soaked to the bone as she pushed a gurney through the rain. She gulped water and not air, and her breath came in gasps--something was terribly wrong. Dimly, she was aware of Luka throwing her a concerned look, his face like a white smudge in the darkness, but she ignored it and stumbled backwards when the doors to the ambulance car burst open.
She felt herself shoved aside as the first patient rolled out. A woman in her late twenties or early thirties, her eyes the color of rain and her hair matted with blood, still conscious and breathing. Abby strained to hear the bullet but could not make out a voice above the roar of the rain.
Susan waived her off and hollered at her to get the next one.
Nodding, Abby flung her hands out and reached for the second gurney. She grimaced at the biting, metallic smell of blood that assaulted her nose. Brushing the water from her eyes, she looked over at Luka, who was staring at her with a peculiar expression on his face.
Dimly, Abby wondered why he was looking at her like that.
The rain pounded harder against her eyes. She looked down and heard the shock in her voice before the name tumbled from her lips.
"Carter."
* * *
CREDITS: Opening quotation from "Custom Concern" by Modest Mouse. "Don't look at me with that tone of voice" and the comment about Joe's sweater are both nicked from the movie Playing By Heart (*drools over Jon Stewart*). "Here's a lower place" is from Buffy (I think).