this is the last chapter of this fanfic. i hope everyone enjoyed it!

Chapter 28: October 1st, 2000, 3:00 PM, Chicago (John Carter's Point of View):

I was in the 'safe room' for thirty days. I guess the answer was always obvious. Even though I did not want to ruin my pride, I couldn't risk not coming back to County. So I went to the 'safe room' not knowing what to expect.

The first week was the hardest. I was still going through withdrawal. My family came and left, rather quickly. It was probably best that way. They didn't need to see me in the shape I was in. I can't begin to imagine how I looked. I was able to trade my paper gown for a set of scrubs. The nurses and doctors at first did not like this idea, but I told them that I just wanted to be a step closer to dignity. I wasn't allowed to shave my own face; one of the nurses did that for me. And I didn't eat much in there. I just didn't have much of an appetite. But in the end I am glad that I cleaned up my act.

I was released today. And although I am just as scrawny as before, I do look much better. Benton offered to drive me home, but I declined the offer. I told him that I needed to walk around for a while. Honestly, I was surprised I could function, let alone walk around Chicago, without the pain meds I had been using for so long. Yes, my back still bothers me every so often, but I can handle it now. I was back in physical therapy the last two weeks of my stay, mainly to teach me how to cope with the pain. I am required to go to ninety NA or AA meetings and continue going to therapy for a while if I want to return to County. But I won't be able to start there for a while either. Kerry and Mark don't want me to rush back into work. And they also have set very strict rules that I must follow, including no access to narcotics and random drug tests.

I can't go to work and I don't want to go home. So now I don't know what to do with myself. The first thing I did upon my release was buy a pack of cigarettes. And I have been walking around so long that the pack is almost empty. I guess it is better to have this addiction than the other one. And strangely now I find myself in the ambulance bay of County. I turn and walk into Doc Magoo's. For a while I sit in silence, just drinking coffee and smoking. But then I spot her.

"Hey," I call out. She comes over and sits down across from me.

"I didn't think you would ever want to talk to me again," she says to me. She stares at the table as if she is afraid to look me in the eyes.

"After what I said to you, I was afraid you wouldn't talk to me," I respond. This gets her to look up. I continue, "I am very sorry for what I said. And I wish I hadn't put you in that position."

"What position?"

"Seeing what I did, and not knowing what to do about it." I take a drag from my cigarette. "I don't know what I was thinking when I started using. I probably wasn't thinking at all."

"That's how it usually goes I guess. But you are looking much better now."

"Thank you. I guess I couldn't look much worse than the last time you saw me." We both nervously laugh at that comment.

She looks like she wants to say something, but is unsure if she should. So I decide to help her along, "You don't have to be careful around me, Abby. You can say whatever you want to say."

"Well, it's nothing big. I was just wondering how you are feeling now."

"Umm . . . every day I feel a little better than the last. Usually at least. I've had my ups and downs. But I think I am handling it pretty well now," I feel as if I said that before. I am snapped out of my thoughts when I hear Abby again.

"What are you thinking about?"

I chuckle to myself and respond, "The last time I said that I was trying to convince Dr. Montgomery that I wasn't suicidal. It was before anyone knew about the drugs." I stop and correct myself. "I guess you knew then." I am ashamed of myself again. Now I am the one trying to avoid eye contact. I stub out my cigarette and light a fresh one. I feel as if Abby is really listening to me, not like the psychologists I have been forced to speak to. It's as if she understands what I am going through, maybe because she has known about it the longest.

I finally continue talking, "I have a long way to go, but I'm getting there." I think that is the best explanation I can give to anyone.

"I'm glad to here that, Dr. Carter." She looks at her watch and says, "My break is over. I should get back." She starts to walk away but turns back and continues, "I look forward to you coming back," and she leaves.

As I sit there alone, once again, I say in a whisper, "So do I."

FIN