Title: This Thing About Birthdays

Summary: It's Abby's birthday, but this year things are a little bit different. Same old Carby fluff with some Suby thown in for good measure.

Author's Note: This is the first time I ever tried getting inside of Carter's head. Yeah, it's a scary place. But kinda fun. I fully intend to do it more often.

Disclaimer: Yeah, they're still mine.

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This Thing About Birthdays

Part I

Chapter 2: Just a Little Visit

I'm standing at the admit desk chatting with Susan about the rather colorful assortment of patients we had that morning. It's not everyday that a bus full of Christ Our Redeemer choir members crashes into the front window of an adult book store. I smile ruefully, thinking that it's almost too bad that Abby has to miss this. I can only begin to imagine the sarcastic quips that might come out of her mouth.

And then suddenly, as if just thinking about her can conjure up her presence, I sense that she's there and turn to see her just walking through the doors of the ambulance bay. I'm unreasonably happy to see her. After all, it's not as if I hadn't just been sitting of the edge of the bed watching her sleep a few hours earlier. But I've missed her . And she's just so damn cute. Even all bundled up in her big winter coat, hat pulled down over her ears to fight off the fierce Chicago cold. Especially all bundled up in her big winter coat …

"Hey Abby, just couldn't stay away, huh? The possibility of missing out on delousing a patient was just too much for you, so you came to work after all?" Susan calls from behind me, laughter in her voice.

But Abby doesn't seem to hear her. She's got that look on her face. THAT look. Determination and purpose. And she's directing it right at me. And frankly, I'm a little scared. Is she mad at me? What did I do? Or what didn't I do? Maybe she's mad that I've made a fuss over her birthday, but I thought that's what she wanted.

"John Truman Carter!" Uh-oh, the middle name. I must be in trouble. She marches over to where I stand at the admit desk … here it comes … wait, she's leaning up on tip toe and taking my face in her hands. My eyes close as she brings her lips to mine in a sweet little kiss. Her lips are soft and taste vaguely like chocolate. I can't help but smile around the kiss. She pulls back and looks at me, still holding my face in both her hands. She smiles and looking right in my eyes, just inches from her own she says quietly, in her softest, sweetest voice, "You are the sweetest man I've ever met."

Oh, well, I guess she's not mad at me. "So what brings you by, Abby?" I can't help but ask in my best innocent voice. Inside I'm practically turning cartwheels. I made her happy. I love to make her happy. To see that smile. The one that she reserves just for me. I look down at her now, a little half smile playing on her lips.

"Oh, just a little visit. I wanted to thank you in person."

"So you , uh, liked the cake?" I ask as she releases my face and takes a step back.

"Yep. And the card and the phone calls. But that cake was really good. I had no idea you could bake."

"Ha. Neither did I. I was gonna just buy one, but …" I shrug as my voice trails off. But I figured a hand made cake would have this effect. She tries to act so tough and unflappable and completely unsentimental. But I know better. I know how much these kinds of gestures mean to her. And I can see how she appreciates it in that smile she gives me. She may not overwhelm me with mushy sentiment, but she doesn't have to for me to know how she feels. It's really pretty cool, this thing we have going.

"Wait a minute," Susan starts, "you baked her a cake?" She turns to Abby, "He baked you a cake?"

"Uh-huh."

"Was it any good?"

"Yeah," Abby tells Susan and then turns to look at me, "It was the best birthday cake I've ever tasted."

"Wow, I'm impressed."

"It was no big deal. Just a box mix. It's not like I made it from scratch or anything."

"Carter," Susan says, "the only thing any of my boyfriends ever made me for my birthday was …"

"Angry, frustrated and disappointed?" Abby finishes for her.

"Hmm ... Basically. But Carter's good with birthdays. One year he even managed to salvage one of my most memorable birthdays. Remember, John?"

"Yeah, I remember. That was some fun, huh?"

Abby's giving me a slightly suspicious look now. I can't help but laugh at the glint of jealously I see in her eyes. I walk around the side of the admit desk, and drape my arm over her shoulders. I kiss her cheek and reassure her, "Don't worry, baby, that was long before you. And … well, all I did was share my champagne with her on the roof."

"And you can't even imagine how much I needed a drink."

"Yeah, I think I probably can." Abby says. But she's laughing. This must be a good sign, that she can joke about her addiction , her recovery. I squeeze her shoulder to remind her of how proud of her I am.

"Oh God, open mouth, insert foot." Susan says. "Abby, I'm sorry, that was a stupid thing to say."

"No, it wasn't. It's fine Susan, really. I know exactly what you mean. I know it all too well. But, luckily, this won't be a birthday that threatens to drive me to drink." With that she turns and wraps her arms around my waist, reaching up to kiss me again. Just a quick peck on the lips, and then an amazing grin. "In fact, this birthday is already better than the rest of them combined."

"So I'm not the only one prone to horrific birthdays?" Susan asks. Abby pulls away from me and turns toward Susan. Oh boy, here comes the girl talk and probably a contest to see who has had the WORST birthday. This seems like a good time to check on the chest pain, diagnosis: indigestion, in curtain 3. I slip away from Abby with a little pat to her butt which elicits a wicked little grin from her, and perhaps an obscene little gesture with her tongue. Or was she just trying to get a remnant of frosting? My eyes must widen, because she bursts out laughing, shaking her head at me. Guess it wasn't frosting after all. Ah, that's my Abby. Poor Susan looks rather confused. However, I'm sure I can count on Abby to fill her in while I'm off winning the war against heartburn.

When I come back out to the admit desk a few minutes later there's no sign of Abby or Susan.

"Randi? Have you seen Abby?" I ask our desk clerk du jour.

"Yeah, I saw her. And I saw that ridiculous get-up she's wearing. Really, Dr. C, for a guy made of money, you would think you could maybe get your girlfriend some decent clothes. You know, I know this great little boutique, where I'm sure you could find a great birthday gift. And maybe some nice sexy, lingerie, huh? Like a gift for both of you." She imparts this bit of advice while chomping on her gum and looking at me expectantly. I can only chuckle.

"I've got the birthday gift covered, but thanks, I'll keep that in mind."

"Okay, whatever. The lounge."

"What?"

"She's in the lounge. Abby."

"Oh, okay. Thanks." I turn and push open the door to the lounge and find Abby sitting the couch, eating something out of plastic container. She looks up at me guiltily and I slide onto the couch next to her. With a little kiss to her cheek, "Happy birthday." She smiles around her fork. " How are you feeling?"

"We're fine." she says, as she swallows hastily. 'We.' I love it when she does that. I rest my hand lightly on her slightly protruding belly. The other half of the 'we' is in there.

"Feel anything yet?"

"Hmm … not really. Little flutters maybe. Assuming it's not just gas. But nothing as substantial as a kick. Any day now, though." She rests her hand next to mine. Well this would be a convenient time for our little peanut to kick and make it's presence known. I try to coax a response by pushing gently on Abby's gently swollen belly, hoping to feel a little kick from the baby. But, of course, this being a child that we made, no such thing is going to happen. Stubborn little thing. God, I love it already. Just about as much as it's mother. I lean down and kiss the belly. Abby's hand rests on my head as I whisper nothing in particular to the baby. Of course it can't understand what I'm saying, but it should be able to hear my voice, and I want it to know it's daddy as soon as possible. But this would look mighty peculiar to anyone who happened to walk in right now, so I give the belly one last kiss.

"So what are you eating?" I ask as I straighten up. A sheepish look from Abby.

"Birthday cake. I brought you a piece so you could sample your work, but … uh … the baby was hungry."

"The baby, huh?"

"Yep. So we had to have some of your piece. But it was a big piece so … here, try some." She shoves a forkful of cake into my mouth before taking a bite for herself. Hmm, she's right. This cake isn't bad at all. "Pretty good, huh?"

"Yeah, not bad. Even if it was lopsided, at least it tastes good."

"It wasn't lopsided, it was …" she starts. " Okay, maybe it was lopsided, but who cares? You made it yourself, and that makes it better than all the most beautiful bakery cakes. But just so you know, I'm never letting you give me a haircut."

"I don't really think it's the same thing."

"Maybe not, but I'm not taking any chances." Since we've finished off the cake, she gets up to put the container in the sink. As she walks across the room, I see what Randi was talking about.

"Abby," I blurt out as I laugh, "What are you wearing?"

She turns from the sink and leans back against it, facing me as I sit on the couch. "This old thing? I don't know … something I found in your closet." Well, that much was evident. Some sort of nylon warm-up pants of mine, rolled up about fifty-seven times and one of my big bulky sweaters.

"I can see that. But the question is 'why are you wearing my clothes?' "

She gives me a 'duh' look, as if maybe I left my mind behind on the el this morning. "Uh … hello? Mine don't fit anymore. I'm not sure why, but I think it might have something to do with your kid completely taking over my body."

"Oh well, you know, I hear there is this new revelation in fashion called 'maternity clothes'. Maybe you've heard of it. I think you should buy some. It's only gonna get worse and you can't wear my clothes forever."

She wrinkles her nose adorably, "Yuck. Nothing but frilly lace and bows and t-shirts that say 'baby on board'. No thanks."

"Because that ensemble you are wearing is so incredibly attractive."

"Could you maybe try to be just a little more sympathetic? After all, this is all your fault anyway. YOU did this to me."

"Oh well, that's a relief. Because that guy on the first floor gives you some strange looks sometimes. I was beginning to worry."

"Henry? Henry is about a hundred years old and told me I remind him of his granddaughter. Sorry, you're not getting out of this whole fatherhood thing that easy. Nice try, though."

"Hmm, okay then. I guess if this is all my responsibility … although, I have to say, I distinctly remember that you had a part in it …"

"Who pulled who into that shower?"

"Which time? C'mon, Abby, it's not like you've never pulled me into the shower … the bathtub … the closet. You certainly have. Plenty of times, in fact. Besides, you don't know when it happened."

"Oh, don't I? How can you be so sure?"

"We provided way too many opportunities to pin it down. Anyway, don't change the subject. We were saying it's time for you to get a new wardrobe."

"No, you were saying that. I was saying something along the lines of 'over my dead body.' "

"Come on, Ab. It can't all be that bad."

"What if it is?"

"Well, then … just buy regular clothes. But big enough to fit you. And hopefully not quite as long or as baggy as my pants. Because there's enough room for you, the baby, me, and probably Henry too, in those pants you are wearing now." This gets her laughing.

"Well, okay then. You win. Because the last thing I need is you trying to get in my pants. Well, any more than usual."

"Oh, no, Ab. You are the one who is always trying to get in my pants. Hell, you're in my pants right now."

She snorts, "You wish." She crosses the room and settles down on the couch with me, straddling my lap. I can't help but sigh at having her so close to me, pressed up against me. She kisses me softly, and at my moan, she says quietly, "That's what I thought. But you'll just have to save that thought for later."

"Later, huh? Is that a promise?"

"Oh yeah, you can count on it. After all, it IS my birthday. I'm expecting an especially nice gift from you."

The fact that she's whispering this against my lips while running her fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck, is having an effect on me that really isn't the kind of thing that I want to happen in the middle of the work day.

"Uh-oh." She's whispering into my ear. "You're definitely going to have to button up that lab coat for a while, aren't you?" Wicked, she is absolutely wicked. I should push her off me right now, before it gets any worse than it already is. But she smells so good, and feels so soft, and God, I miss her when we aren't together. This is really all I want, to have her here in my arms like this. I have to remind myself that we are in a public place. It's the only thing keeping me from throwing her down on the couch and ravaging her right here. Okay, maybe I am always trying to get into her pants. Sue me.

"Oh, for God's sake, would you two just get a room?"

I look up to see Deb giving us her best disapproving look. Only the look doesn't quite extend to her eyes, and I figure that she's really amused. Abby seems completely unphased , "We had one," she mumbles into my ear without showing any signs of ceasing her attack. Okay, so it's her birthday. So she's pregnant, and all those hormones are floating around and making her rather … well, horny. God knows how much I normally enjoy that aspect of this whole thing, but this really isn't the place. I put my hands around her waist and lift her off my lap, sitting her down next to me.

"Hmmph," Abby snorts, giving me her best, 'I'm-so-put-upon' look. She's cute when she pouts.

I pat her knee and lean over to whisper, "I'll make it up to you later."

"You'd better."

"Oh, I will."

"Oh… God." Deb takes her coffee and heads back out of the lounge.

"I should really get back to work. But I've only got a couple more hours."

"And then I get my surprise?" Her eyes are twinkling, and she looks like a little kid.

"Yep. So what are you gonna do this afternoon?"

"Hmm, shopping, I guess."

"New clothes?"

"I guess. Maybe I should get something nice for tonight?"

"If you want."

"What does that mean? Should I wear something nice or something casual or what?"

"No hints. Wear anything you want. Whatever you are most comfortable in. It's your birthday after all."

"I'm pretty comfortable in this."

"Okay, something you are comfortable in that isn't …"

"What?"

"That."

"Okay, I don't know what I'm supposed to be looking for, but maybe I can find it at Bloomies."

"Did someone say Bloomies?" Susan asks, as she crosses the lounge to her locker.

"Abby's going on a birthday shopping spree."

"She is?"

"I am?"

"You are."

"Right now?" Susan asks, sounding intrigued.

"Looks like it." Abby says somewhat reluctantly, but then her face perks up. "Hey, are you off now?" she asks, seeing Susan pulling out her coat. And hat. And scarf. And mittens. And ear muffs. Gotta love Chicago winters.

"Yep … why? You want some company?"

"I'd love some. Bloomingdales, here we come."

Oh God, Abby and Susan taking Bloomingdales by storm. "I'll call the store and warn them."

"Ha ha." Abby, who has gotten herself all wrapped back up in her winter gear, comes over to kiss my cheek. "I'll meet you at home … you'd better have my surprise all ready."

"And you'd better be wearing something other than my clothes."

"Like what?"

"I told you, no hints. Now go. Have fun. Break the bank."

"We can do that." She says as she heads over to the door to join Susan. She turns to blow me a kiss and then they are gone, already laughing and talking conspiratorially. Sometimes I wonder why I encourage that friendship. I don't want to know what they say about me when I'm not around. Oh well, too late now. Guess I'd better just get back to work. And hope that Abby really doesn't break the bank