When You Think You're Alone
A post-Season-8 Carby romantic thrill ride.
CHAPTER
2: KNOCK, KNOCK. WHO'S THERE?
Subtitle: Define 'Alone'
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, but the story and dialogue . . . you know.
Summary: Chapter Two finds Carter and Abby quarantined in the hospital but wondering whether they are indeed alone. At the same time, they struggle to get closer. Old arguments die hard.
Author's Note: Before my post-season-10 piece Written in the River, this was a favorite chapter of my Carby friends. Not sure I would agree with the comparison, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Warning: Lots of dialogue that's "water under the bridge" in this one. Note the season 8 time period. I'm happy to read your thoughts.
8/21 ETA: Thank you to the reviewer who noticed that an unproofed draft of this chapter had been posted accidentally during all the technical glitches. The updated version is below. It is 99.99 the same as originally posted except for corrections and slight action changes during the "Picnic at the Admit Desk" and "Huddled Behind the Door" scenes.
CHAPTER 2: KNOCK, KNOCK. WHO'S THERE?
Subtitle: Define 'Alone'
"I don't see anything," Carter said as he peeked through the glass of the swinging doors that separated them from the empty, cavernous hospital.
He pushed one door open and looked out. "Nope, nothing," he confirmed.
"Well, I know I heard something." Abby jumped off the bed and pushed by him out into the dim hallway. She headed down the corridor, and Carter followed. But the farther they got from their refuge in Trauma 2, the slower they moved, until they were just inching their way toward the Admit Desk. They were struck by the silence that surrounded them. Without the melodies of monitors, the hospital felt like nothing more than a warehouse. They were navigating a sea of stillness that got darker and deeper with each step. Without thinking, Abby reached for Carter's hand.
"What's that?" His voice broke through the silence and made her jump.
He squeezed her hand for reassurance but pointed to a piece of cloth on the floor in front of a partly open door.
"It's the linen supply closet," Abby clarified—as if they each didn't pass it one hundred times a day. He let go of her hand, approached the door, and nudged it open wider with his toe. Even in the darkness, he could see that several items had fallen from the shelves onto the floor.
"How'd that happen?" he wondered.
Abby approached and looked inside the dark closet. "I don't know. I took bed linens for us a little while ago . . . "
"You may have knocked something over or left a pile at the edge without realizing," Carter concluded.
"I guess I could have. It's so dark in there."
"I'm sure that's what happened. See there's nothing to worry about."
Carter closed the door, and they headed back to Trauma 2.
"I wasn't worried," Abby said defensively.
"Yes, you were—but don't be. I'm here to protect you," he teased, flexing his bicep muscles.
"Protect me? From what? The towels?" And with that she laughed and sped back toward the room.
Carter didn't run after her. His fragile ego was hurt by her off-hand comment—though it was intended to do nothing more than instigate a playful romp that would lead them back to her bed. But Carter's old wounds healed slowly.
"Why? Would you feel safer with someone else—?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Like, say . . . Luka?"
"What? I don't need anybody to protect me."
"I'm sure Luka could. Then if there were an intruder, he could bash his head—"
"Are you trying to be funny?" she interrupted angrily. "Because if you think it was funny to have someone try to mug us—"
"I'm just saying, maybe you'd rather be here with someone else—"
Even as the words came out of his mouth, he knew how childish he sounded.
Back in the room, they retreated to their own beds. Abby clenched her teeth to control her anger. "How could you say that? Not five minutes ago you were . . . I was . . . we were . . ."
His jealous comments hurt her, and he regretted making them.
"Forget it. Maybe you'd be more comfortable if I were Susan," she fired back angrily. And she turned her back to him.
They lay silently, a chasm between them once again.
"I'm sorry," he said softly a little while later, hoping she was awake enough to hear.
She was. She rolled toward him. "I didn't deserve all that."
"No, you didn't."
He struggled to think of something he could say that would bring them back to where they were before—he needed to touch her again.
Carter confounded Abby—just a short while ago, he couldn't get enough of her. Soon after, he was picking a fight. She didn't understand his feelings about Luka. It all seemed so long ago to her. Now she just wanted to lie close to him again and show him that she was worth the wait.
It was close to midnight when Abby's thoughts were interrupted by Carter, who was lying on his back and busily drumming a tune on his stomach.
"Why are you still awake?" she asked.
"I'm starving. I haven't eaten since breakfast. What about you?"
"I need a cigarette, but I'm hungry, too."
He sat up, swung his legs off the bed, and slipped into his shoes. He peeled the thin blanket from her body and called a truce in favor of a midnight snack.
Like the rest of the hospital, the cafeteria was eerily quiet. As a condition of their quarantine, the "prisoners" were given carte blanche to enjoy anything the cafeteria offered—though the emergency generators barely powered any of the oversized appliances. They toured the humongous pantry and saw rows and rows of giant cans and huge sacks containing all sorts of not-so-delicious foods.
"Wow, I've never seen a bigger collection of tapioca pudding," Abby observed.
Carter came around a corner hoisting a three-gallon can in each arm.
"How much creamed corn do you think I can bench press?" he asked.
"Yuck. More than you can eat, I hope."
They headed toward the giant refrigerator. Abby grabbed a plastic tub of chicken salad and a box of crackers. But Carter's mouth watered at the sight of a long wedge of watermelon. He grabbed a knife for the fruit, and she threw some crackers on a plate. They had everything they needed—except for a cigarette to quell Abby's craving.
In the dim stairwell, Carter asked, "Doesn't this remind you of that movie—you know the one? The man, the woman, and the little boy are all alone in that huge abandoned hotel? Jack Nicholson played the guy . . . " Carter struggled to remember the title.
Abby helped him out: "The Shining."
"Yeah, The Shining."
"And this feels like that to you?"
"A little."
"Doesn't he try to kill them at the end?"
"Yes, but I don't remember why."
"I bet he just needed a cigarette."
They picnicked at the Admit Desk. Abby jumped up on the counter, and Carter plopped down in a rolling chair. He let out a groan.
"Does your back hurt?" she asked.
"Don't tell anyone it was a creamed corn accident."
"Okay, but it'll cost you."
She hesitated but then decided to ask a question that had been on her mind.
"Do you remember what it felt like—when you were stabbed?"
He closed his eyes and nodded yes.
"Were you scared?"
For a brief moment, he considered putting on an air of bravado. But his need to talk to her, confide in her, be close to her was stronger.
"Very scared," Carter confessed.
"What about the drugs? When did you know you were hooked?"
"At first I took them for the pain," he remembered. "Then it was the fear of the pain. After a while, it was just about the fear."
She understood, but her heart broke for him just a little as he said the words.
Now it was his turn: "When you saw me that day—injecting the fentanyl—why did you tell?"
"You needed help. I saw it in your face."
"But you could have gone about your business."
"I could have. But you were a good doctor, and you were in pain. And there was help out there. I knew that better than anybody." She looked at him from the corner of her eye. "You were mad at me though, admit it."
"That day, yes. But when I came back and saw you I was . . . thankful."
He slowly rolled his chair over to where she sat on the counter and looked up at her.
"You . . . You helped me through the roughest time in my life."
His eyes met hers with an intensity that jolted Abby and caused her fingers to crush the crackerful of chicken salad she was about to bite into. They laughed. Carter grabbed a paper napkin and took her hand. And as he wiped the salad from her fingers, he dared to speak from his heart: "Those first few months when I got back from Atlanta, I wanted your advice, I wanted your support, I wanted your company. Pretty soon, I just . . . wanted you."
His words made her cheeks warm. But when she didn't react right away, he retreated and spun his chair in a nervous circle. "But you were with Luka so . . . that's the breaks."
She didn't owe him an explanation about Luka, but she wanted to close the chasm between them once and for all.
"Luka's a good man, Carter," she said while wiping chicken salad onto a new cracker and licking the rest off a plastic knife.
"He's a good doctor, I'll give you that," he responded, unable to concede much more of a compliment to his perceived rival. "Look, I watched him go home with you for a year, and—"
He shook his head remembering what it felt like to see them leave together, night after night, arm in arm, when he had wanted her so badly.
"He was good-looking, and he flattered me at a time when I didn't feel so good about myself. But I don't think he cared about me much at the beginning," she admitted.
Carter raised his eyebrows in surprise, and she nodded her head in affirmation. It was hard to talk about, but it was worth it—for him.
"Luka had his own demons to deal with, and there was no room for me. I guess I knew that all along."
He stared at her face, not understanding why any man wouldn't cherish her.
"Luka's great, but the whole time we were together, I felt . . . alone. Toward the end, when I knew we weren't right for each other, something happened to him, and he started to cling to me more. We clung to each other really, much longer than we should have. I guess I felt safe with him—but not safe the way you're thinking," she added.
"Then how?" he wondered.
This was more than Abby planned to say. She hopped off the counter and announced, "I'm tired. Why don't we clean this up in the morning?"
She headed down the hall, but he followed her. "How, Abby?" His eyes begged to hear more.
She stopped and took a deep breath. She turned back toward him with her arms folded across her chest. She stared at her feet and said: "It was safe with Luka because as long as I was with him . . . I didn't have to think about . . . how I felt about . . . you."
She turned on her heel and headed back to Trauma 2. He stood frozen, not knowing how to react. She stopped at the trauma room doors and looked back at him.
"Well," she said, "are you coming?" She smiled and disappeared into the room.
She was like a rollercoaster ride to him—sometimes dangerous, always exciting. He couldn't get enough of her.
When he got to the room, she was lying on her bed. She slid over slightly, inviting him to join her. He walked over to her, and she reached up and slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him onto the narrow mattress with her until his body half covered hers. They kissed, both of them excited by the very first stirrings of requited love. She ran her fingers through his hair. He softly kissed her neck. She relaxed and giggled at the ticklish feeling it gave her. "Let's try this again," he said. Only their clothes stood in the way, so he reached under her shirt . . .
And then . . .
Once more, their whispers were overpowered by noises outside the trauma room, their throaty giggles drowned by distant sounds, their soft moans broken by the sound of—music.
Desperate for
changing
Starving for truth
Closer to where I started
Chasing
after you
They both heard it, opened their eyes mid-kiss, and lay frozen in place.
I'm falling even
more in love with you
Letting go of all I've held onto
I'm
standing here until you make me move
I'm hanging by a moment here
with you
His heart skipped, and he could feel Abby's pulse racing. She was frightened.
Forgetting all
I'm lacking
Completely incomplete
I'll take your
invitation
You take all of me
He pulled himself away from her. She could feel his tension.
"Stay here," he said. He left her on the bed and went to push open the door. It was louder.
Now I'm falling
even more in love with you
Letting go of all I've held onto
I'm
standing here until you make me move
I'm hanging by a moment here
with you
"Hello? HELLO! Is anybody here? The ER is closed. Do you need help?" Carter yelled down the empty corridor.
I'm living for
the only thing I know
I'm running and I'm not quite sure where to
go
And I don't know what I'm diving into
Just hanging by a
moment here with you
No answer. Now he was getting angry. "What the—?" He started out the door.
There is nothing
else to lose
There is nothing else to find
There is nothing in
the world
That could change my mind
There is nothing else...
"Carter!" she whispered sharply. "Don't go out there!"
He looked back at her and then pushed the door all the way open and headed down the hall. She jumped off the bed and followed him rather than be left alone in the trauma room.
Desperate for
changing
Starving for truth
I'm closer to where I
started
Chasing after you
For the second time that night, they made the tense walk down the dim hallway—this time searching for the source of the ghostly music. She was scared but wanted to be with him; he was scared but wanted to be strong for her. They kept going not knowing what they'd find but feeling helpless to do anything else but investigate.
I'm falling even
more in love with you
Letting go of all I've held onto
I'm
standing here until you make me move
I'm hanging by a moment
here with you
As they got closer to the Admit Desk, they could tell the music emanated from the on-call room, where each of them had napped at one point or another during an exhausting shift.
I'm living for
the only thing I know
I'm running and not quite sure where to
go
I don't know what I'm diving into
Just hanging by a moment
here with you
They stood in front of the closed door. He waved her back a few steps, and she obeyed. He turned the knob and pushed open the door and was assaulted by a wall of sound.
Just hanging by a
moment
Hanging by a moment...
Hanging by a moment...
Hanging
by a moment here with you.
The room was dark, yet they could see it was empty and that the music burst forth from the clock/radio. Carter approached, slapped the "off" button, and they were again in silence.
"Pratt," Abby said from the doorway. "He did a double yesterday. I think he was on again at one in the morning. He probably crashed here."
Carter hit the "Wake" button. It was set for 1:00 am. He looked at his watch: It was 1:04.
"It must have been Pratt," he agreed. They exhaled with relief, walked out of the room, and closed the door behind them. They smiled nervously knowing they each had a bad case of the jitters. Abby turned to go back to the room, but Carter reached for her hand, swung her around, and pulled her closer.
"You'll do anything to get out of mak—"
But as she turned to him, Abby stopped dead in her tracks, her face frozen, her eyes fixed at a spot behind him.
"John—" she said pointing to where they had shared a midnight snack just a short while ago.
The plate of crackers was empty; the fruit was gone.
"Are you sure we didn't finish it all?" he whispered, his eyes desperately scanning the area.
"I'm sure I didn't. My stomach was feeling queasy." She said softly, moving closer to him.
"Where is the knife?" he said to her.
"What?"
"The knife I was using, where is it?" His voice was tense.
At the same moment, they realized it was gone, too.
"Abby, go back to the room," he said as he lunged for the phone.
"What?"
There was no dial tone.
"Go back to the room!" he repeated. He pressed extension after extension on the console—no tone.
He moved to the phone on the wall near the waiting room.
"Abby, go back."
She wouldn't move.
He eyed the computer.
"You know someone who checks their e-mail in the middle of the night?" she said.
"Do you have your cell phone?" he asked her.
"I have it, but it's broken. Doesn't make calls."
"Then why do you have it?"
"I just use it for the clock." He rolled his eyes.
"Look, my cell's in my lab coat in my locker. I'm gonna go get it. You go back to the room, and I'll meet you there."
"No!"
"Abby—"
"Not without you!"
He looked in her eyes. They begged to be with him. She was too scared to be alone.
"Okay, stay close to me."
Carter pushed open the door to the dark lounge. "Hello?" It was quiet. He took her hand. "Hello?"
"How are you going to see your combination?" she whispered.
"I leave it on the last number."
"I'll remember that."
He opened the locker, and grabbed his lab coat.
"Let's go."
They ran quietly down the hall toward Trauma 2.
"Wait," he stopped. "Those double doors don't lock. Follow me." He led them to Exam 3 instead, which locked from the inside and housed a tiny bathroom.
"Get down and don't turn on the light."
Carter locked the door, sat down behind it on the cold linoleum floor, and Abby sat next to him. He dialed 9-1-1, and as it rang he put his arm around her.
"I'm John Carter, and I'm calling from County General. It's been evacuated, and two of us are under state-ordered quarantine."
"We know the situation, Dr. Carter," the dispatcher said. "Is this a medical emergency?"
"Uh, no, but—"
"Then I am supposed to put you through to Central Command."
"Okay, but—"
"Captain Gordon." A voice answered at the other end.
"Captain, I'm John Carter, and I'm calling from County General. It's been evacuated and—"
"Yes, Dr. Carter. Everything okay?"
"Captain, there's an intruder here in the ER."
"An intruder? Not likely, Dr. Carter. There's a police perimeter set up around the hospital about 500 yards from where you are now."
"Yes, but we're hearing noises, and some of our things have gone missing—"
"Dr. Carter, it would be impossible for anyone to enter without us seeing."
Carter raised his voice in frustration. "Well, perhaps—"
"Sssshhhhh," Abby reminded.
"Well, perhaps someone was left in here during the evacuation," Carter said more softly, though he seethed with impatience.
"Dr. Carter, my officers supervised the evacuation under the orders of the CDC. I assure you, every person's been accounted for."
"Listen, Captain, this is an empty hospital with a huge pharmacy and millions of dollars in street value of narcotics. Don't you think there's reason for somebody to want to break in here?"
"Look, Doc, we're all on pins and needles about this smallpox thing. Trust me, no one is on the property. But if it makes you feel better, I'll pull one of our units off the blockade and have them examine the premises for signs of entry, okay?"
"Yes, thanks. And could you tell whoever's in charge that we are still without telephone service? I'm calling on a cell phone: 3-1-2-5-5-5-1-2-9-9."
"Yes, sir. We'll call if we see anything, but take my advice Doc, get some sleep."
Carter closed the phone and filled Abby in.
"They're going to send a car to check."
"I hope you mean a getaway car."
"Nope." He had to chuckle to release the tension. He dropped his cell phone in his pocket, leaving him free to wrap both of his arms around her and pull her close. "We just have to wait though," he said and kissed her on the head.
She closed her eyes against his chest, and they stayed huddled together waiting for the police to do their check.
"Maybe they'll bring me a cigarette," she whispered.
"They're not allowed to get close to us."
"What if I wave a dollar out the window?"
"Ssssshhhh," he smiled, burying his lips in her hair to mute his laughter.
Exam 3 had a small, high window to the street. The translucent glazing prevented any clear view in or out. But it made it easier for them to hear the patrol car wheels slowly crackling over the gravel as it cruised around the building. They could see the reflection of the headlights moving past the window until the patrol car finally headed away.
His cell phone rang. He flipped it open with one thumb rather than remove his arms from around her.
"All's secure, Dr. Carter. I promise you. You've probably misplaced your items. Call us again if you hear anything."
He clicked off the phone and reported to Abby.
"They say the place is secure."
"But—"
"We'll stay in here until morning, and then we'll check things out. Then I'll get the police on the phone again—or the CDC or the FBI or our congressman, if I have to."
"Friend of the family?"
"My godfather, actually."
"Figures."
She pulled closer to him. "Maybe the knife just dropped on the floor, do you think?"
"Maybe, but we'll stay locked here just the same."
Carter removed his arms from around her, stood up, and checked the security of the door lock. Then he reached down for Abby's hand and helped her up.
"Why don't we get some sleep?" he whispered and tugged her toward one of the beds in the room.
She hopped up on the mattress and slipped her shoes off with her toes. He sat next to her and leaned over to kiss her neck. She pulled away.
"John—"
"Are you okay? Scared? The police didn't see anything . . . we probably dropped the knife like you said. . . and we're safe in here right now."
Abby was tired, she was getting a headache, and she didn't know what the next few hours would bring. Still, she wanted to feel him close to her in the darkness. But first there was something she needed to know . . .
"Before we . . . I just want . . . I need you to explain something to me." Her eyes squinted with doubt or skepticism or defensiveness. Or all of the above.
"Explain what—?" He looked confused.
"Last year . . . I thought something would happen with us and next thing I know . . . you're dating Susan."
"Look, you and Luka—"
"I don't want to talk about Luka anymore." She struggled to keep her voice down. "You were wrong about Luka—you were wrong about Luka and me and Nicole and staying at his apartment and encouraging me to drink—you were wrong about everything with me and Luka. But what about Susan?"
She was frustrated, and she wanted her lingering questions answered before she opened herself up to him again.
"Susan is great, but we never . . . I told you, it was about friendship and nothing more. What did you think?"
"What was I supposed to think? I thought . . ."
She couldn't look at him.
"I thought . . . you didn't want me anymore." He watched her toy with her fingernails.
He slipped off the bed and stood in front of her and took her hands in his. "Look at me, Abby."
She did. Her eyes were soft with sweetness but round with trepidation.
"I've never wanted anyone the way I want you."
She looked in his eyes searching for sincerity and found it easily. She wanted to tell him how she felt, but nerves and fear kept the words inside.
Instead, she touched his lips with her fingertips, inviting him to kiss her. He did—more deeply, more passionately than he had all day. And when he needed more of her, he boldly reached down, grabbed hold of her white knit shirt, and slid it over her head. He lifted himself up onto her bed, his mouth still joined to her lips, and gently guided her down until she was lying on her back and he was over her. He hooked his thumb in the strap of her bra and moved the thin satin strand down off her shoulder, lower and lower, until it took with it the lace that covered her breast, revealing it to him. He looked at her, kissed the side of her face, and whispered in her ear, "You're so beautiful."
She'd heard that before from men in the throes of passion—either when they were anxious for release or afterward to ensure there'd be a "next time." Even Luka said it to her when they shared a bed. But when Carter said it just then, he meant it. He made her feel beautiful, and it touched her deeply. She felt a tear forming in her eye, and she struggled to keep it from slipping down her face so he wouldn't see it. He moved to kiss her lips again, and his cheek grazed her forehead.
It burned.
"You're hot . . ." He put his lips to her head.
"I am?"
"I don't mean HOT hot," he corrected, sitting up abruptly.
"So, I'm not hot?" she flirted, her voice husky with passion.
He jumped off the bed and raised her strap to cover her breast and pulled a thin blanket from the end of the bed over her.
"I mean fever hot . . . feverish . . . I think you have a fever." He kept trying awkwardly to make his point.
His sudden move shook her into lucidity.
"Do you feel okay?" he asked her.
"Well, I was feeling pretty good a moment ago," she said, pretending to be annoyed at yet another interruption of their intimacy.
Okay, so she wasn't pretending.
He ignored her and reached over to grab an electronic thermometer from a cart. He slipped it in her ear.
She sighed.
"102.4," he read a moment later.
He grabbed a stethoscope from his lab coat and listened to her breathing.
"I'm fine—" she tried to explain.
"Ssssshhh" he ordered.
"Carter, I'm fine."
"Sssssshhhh."
He listened carefully to her chest and then her back. He pulled down her lower lids to check the color of her eyes. And he gently pressed his fingers under her jaw to feel her glands.
"Are you sure, you're okay?"
"Yes, just tired. Maybe a little headache. It's nothing."
"Do we still keep Tylenol in here?" he said looking around as if it were the first time he was ever in the room.
"Non-narcotics are in the cabinet over there. Everything else is in the drug lockup."
He retrieved two capsules and handed them to her with a small cup of water from the little bathroom in the room. "Take these and get some sleep, okay?"
Maybe the fever made her brazen. She sat up on her elbows. "But I don't feel like sleeping," she flirted.
He had to remind himself for a moment that he was a man and not just a doctor. He had two years worth of caresses he hadn't used, two years of kisses to catch up on. But for now, he slipped his fingers in her hair and kissed her forehead—easing her head back down to the pillow. He tucked the thin blanket tightly around her, and stopped to look at her, caressing her cheek with the back of his fingers.
"I'm sorry," she said, worried that she was disappointing him.
They'd waited this long, they'd wait a little longer, he thought. Clearly Abby wasn't well, and that's what concerned him now.
"Get some rest," he answered.
He lay down on the bed across from hers and watched her as she fell asleep. Her breathing was a little labored, her brow furrowed in some discomfort. Her soft brown hair flowed around her face but was tucked behind one ear so he could see the delicate bones of her cheek, her dainty lips, and her smooth skin, now flushed with fever.
Carter didn't feel himself drift off to sleep with his cell phone in his pocket. It was drained, too, and rapidly losing power.
BEEP! BEEP! Several minutes later, his phone began to warn him that it was running out of energy.
BEEP. BEEP. He was fast asleep and couldn't hear the alarm.
Beep, Beep. The dying battery tried desperately to call to him again and again, each time a little softer, a little weaker.
Beep.
beep...
Until it cut them off from the world, leaving them all alone, at 3:22 a.m.
NEXT
Panic Room