Author's note: Thank you for the reviews. :) Anna - I'm sorry you don't like the way I wrote Kem. I didn't want her to come across as uncaring, my aim was to show how hard this really is on her, and that Carter was making it worse when she really needed him to be there for her. I'm sorry she didn't come across like that, I'll have to take a look at how I wrote her. Hopefully this chapter will be more to your liking. :) I hope every likes it, I would love to know what you think. Jo xx

Saturday

Saturday I'm running wild
And all the lights are changing red to green.
Moving through the crowd I'm pushing
Chemicals all rushing through my bloodstream.
Only wish that you were here
You know I'm seeing it so clear.
I've been afraid
To tell you how I really feel
Admit to some of those bad mistakes I've made.

---

I start the engine of the jeep, and just drive. I don't know where I'm going or what I'm going to do when I get there, I just have to be somewhere else, away from everything that's happened. I finally pull into a side road and stop the jeep. I stare out of the windscreen into the dark street, lost in thought. I ran, and I ran, and now I have no idea where I am. Except I didn't know where I was before, either. Maybe I learnt more off Abby than I realised. And it seems she stopped running. Strange, how roles are reversed like this.

Glancing at my watch I realise I had been driving for at least an hour. I don't know where I am, or how to get home. Or even where my home actually is. It seems pointless to find my way back there, and then have no where to stay. I decide I may as well take another leaf out of her book...

---

The bottom of the pint glass stares up at me, the final drops of beer floating around in the bottom. I tell myself I'm not drowning my sorrows. Three glasses isn't drowning your sorrows. "Another?" the bartender asks, and I give him a nod. Four glasses. It's just a social drink, I tell myself. I try to ignore the fact that a social drink usually means you're with other people. I try to ignore the fact that social drinking was exactly what I told her would lead her back to her problem. It's only now that I fully realise what a hypocrite I am. And what a jerk.

"Wow, looks pretty heavy," someone remarks, and it's a moment before I realise he's talking to me.

"Pardon?"

"You look pretty down about something. Looks pretty big," he explains.

"Oh." I just shrug, unwilling to share the information.

"You want to talk about it?"

"Not really." I try to give him a friendly smile, but it doesn't quite turn out right, and he gives me a concerned look. The bartender passes my beer over, and I take it as the other man orders one of his own.

"You know, my wife's just left me after twenty years of what I thought was perfect marriage, for a man ten years younger. And I'm the one who has to pay up the divorce settlement."

"I'm sorry," I say, trying to muster some sympathy for him.

"Can you beat it?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, I'd say that's a pretty rotten thing to happen. Can you beat it?" I sigh. There is no way I'm going to get out of this place without divulging some sort of information. I take a moment debating whether to tell him the truth, or make up something. But nothing I can think of sounds convincing, and I get the feeling that he'll know when I'm telling the truth.

"My son died. And I left the only woman I ever loved." There. Said it. He doesn't seem wholly satisfied with my answer though, and I know he'll have more questions for me.

"I'm sorry, that must have been very hard for you. How old was he?" There's a sympathetic look in his eyes, and I feel like I can trust him with these personal details. Besides, no one here in the suburbs of Chicago knows me.

"Newborn," I choke out. "I lost him before I even knew him."

"That must be very hard. So why did you leave the girl?" he enquires. "Surely you need each other more than ever now?"

"I needed her, and she wasn't there. She had other priorities, which came above me. And when she tried to talk to me and work things out, I pushed her away. And then I ran."

"Did it occur to you that she might be hurting just as much about your son as you are, and just not feel able to express that to you?" What, is this man some sort of a counsellor?

"Err, he's not her son. I left her a year ago. And screwed everything up." I cradle the beer in my hands, staring down into the undrunk liquid. If she could see me now, I know for sure that she wouldn't like the person she saw.

"And you're with your son's mother now so you can't do anything about it?"

"I think I left his mother." I shrug, not entirely sure what actually happened. "It was a sort of mutual decision. But I can't do anything about her because I screwed everything up."

"Screwed it up how?"

"I think running away, breaking up with her in a letter, getting someone else pregnant just about covers it." I sigh loudly. I am such a complete loser. No wonder I'm sitting here in a pub on the outskirts of Chicago, talking to a complete stranger. Surely none of my 'friends' want to know me.

"Sounds to me like you've got some apologising to do," he remarks, and I know he's right. But not now. Not when it's all so painful, when I've just left someone else and lost something so precious. "Did you ever tell her how you felt?"

"What?"

"The love of your life. Did you say you loved her?"

"No, I...I was scared of how she would react. She wasn't a very secure person." For the millionth time this evening I sigh. "And now she's completely turned her life around, without me, and I'm the insecure one. She's happy with herself, and I'm sitting here drowning my sorrows." I push the full pint glass away from me, turning away from it in disgust.

"Wow, that's pretty mucked up."

"Well, thanks for the support," I say sarcastically.

"You've got to pull yourself together."

"What?!" I exclaim, angry with him. How dare a complete stranger tell me something like that!

"Honey, I'm ready to go!" a female voice calls, preventing him from responding. A woman of about the same age as my 'counsellor' appears, and wraps an arm around his shoulders.

"This is my wife," he explains to me, before turning to her. "Go and wait in the car darling, I'll be there in just a moment." She gives him a quick peck on the cheek before leaving.

"You said your wife left you for a man ten years younger."

"I needed a way to get you to talk." He grins at me, and winks, before getting up from the barstool. "It was nice talking to you." And with that he walks away, leaving me staring after him in shock. I can't believe I just opened up to a complete stranger, especially one who could convincingly lie to me.

Looking back to the beer I pushed away earlier I shake my head frustratedly, and get up to leave. This won't solve anything.

Once back at the jeep I realise I shouldn't really drive. I get in and climb onto the back seat, pulling my jacket around me, hoping for a peaceful night's sleep. As I lie there in the cold jeep, I can't help but think how foolish I've been, today and in the past. It's stupid to be sleeping in a car next door to a pub in a Chicago suburb where I know nothing about crime levels. It's stupid to think that alcohol can solve anything. And I was stupid to run. Running from everything and anything became my speciality. But I don't want to run anymore. The only running I want to be doing is into her arms, or in the park with my child.

---

I wake up the next morning, neck stiff from sleeping in the car. I rub it awkwardly as I sit up and look around me. It seems this Chicago suburb wasn't as dangerous as it could have been, and both I and my jeep are completely intact. Although I'm not quite sure of whether being fine is a relief or a pain in the ass.

It takes me a moment to realise that I can't stay here, sat in the back seat of my jeep, forever. I hardly have a home to go to, but I know that wherever is my home now, it must be in Chicago. I've never known anything else. How did I fool myself that Kisangani could ever be anything near a home to me? Or that I could have a perfect little family. It was all so easy when I was sitting in a tent in the Congo, arm wrapped around a pregnant girlfriend. Nothing to challenge me, or scare me. Nothing to make me run. And now it seems that at the first sign of trouble I run every time. But not anymore, I resolve. Now I'm going back to Chicago, and I'm going to pull myself together. No more late night drives, or sessions at the bar. From now on my only resolution is to live my life how it should be, through good and bad. Not changing my mind about everything when one thing happens.

Getting out of the jeep I turn to face the pub that I visited last night. Seems like as good a place as any to find directions back to Chicago. I walk determinedly back towards the pub, and push through the doors with what I hope is a confident look on my face. The place is pretty much deserted, as I would expect at this time of day. I begin to make my way to the bar, planning to ask the barman for directions. I just hope he doesn't remember me moping behind a beer last night. I can imagine him giving me a pitying look, like he thinks he knows how this feels.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Mr. Depressed again!" I turn around to see the man from last night sat at a table in the corner. He grins, waving me over.

"Doctor, actually," I correct as I take a seat opposite him. Confidence is the key, I tell myself. If I can just be confident he'll see that last night was a slip up. A one off.

"Okay, Dr. Depressed, what are you doing back here? Can I buy you a drink?"

"No thanks, I have to drive back into Chicago today."

"Ah, from the city are we? I should have known. Properly cut clothes, smart hair. You don't exactly look like a country boy."

"No, I'm not. Was always more of a city person."

"So where did you stay the night then? I'm guessing you didn't camp out in the fields round the back."

"It doesn't matter, I slept."

"In the car?" I stare at him, speechless. He seems to know everything: this man scares me.

"Yes, as a matter of fact. But how do you know that?"

"Lucky guess. Most depressed city people who turn up here downing pints end up in the back of their car."

"So I'm not the first?"

"And you won't be the last. Unfortunately city life seems to be pretty bad for some people."

"Well, this will be the last time you see me. Like I said, I'm heading back to Chicago. I'm going to sort myself out, and never run away again, even when things get to their worst."

"Find the girl?" I shake my head. As much as that is the one thing I want, I know I can't do it to her. I already hurt her once, she doesn't need me back straight out of another relationship. She wouldn't want it. Besides, I guess she has her biker guy.

"That one will have to wait a while. But from now on I am going to pull myself together." I nod my head, resolutely, like I'm confirming it to myself. I will sort myself out. "Thank you for the talk last night."

"My pleasure. What's life if we can't help a few people?" It strikes me that this is one of the places I went wrong. Helping people was what I did, as a doctor, but now I've managed to fail at helping people. It didn't occur to me before, but in the last few months my attitude with patients and staff alike has changed. And I don't like that change. "Now, I really must be going. More stories to hear, more people to help. If there's anything else I can do in the future, you know where to find me." He winks, and I'm unsure whether to be glad someone will be here for me, or scared by him.

"There is one thing you can do before you leave. Do you know how to get back into Chicago?"

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