Title:
Lose The Time
Author: Whoser-Chick
Summary: Will
Carter's wounds ever heal? Eventually a Carby story.
Rating:
R – for some rough language and drug use.
Disclaimer: The ER
series and its characters belong to Constant C Productions and Warner
Brothers. The plot of this story, however, is mine all mine! This
story may not be redistributed in any way without the express consent
of the author. No infringement is intended.
Spoilers: 11x01 –
One For The Road and 11x02 – Damaged.
If you don't want to know what happens in these two episodes, then
don't read this story, it goes into depth about 11x02 –
Damaged.
Author's notes: Sorry for the delay in
posting. I got into a serious car accident this past weekend that I
was ever so lucky to walk away from with only minor injuries. Wish I
could say the same for my car. The driver's side (where the girl
hit me – wasn't my fault, she ran a red light and hit me on the
driver's side full force, and never even slowed down or tried to
stop. Can we say I'm incredibly lucky?) is completely smashed in
and the car will have to be totaled. But hey, I'm here, right?
Anyway, here is chapter 3. I've only written up to chapter 4, and with everything's that's been going on, after I post chapter 4, it might be a while until I post chapter 5. But I promise I will keep it coming, so just bear with me. : )
Feedback:
Yes, as long as it is constructive criticism. No flames please.
I'd like to thank my beta readers: Beth and Chrissy. Thanks
for all your invaluable input. I couldn't have done it without you
guys!
Chapter 3
Abby's POV
I had been watching him recently; watching him plunge head first into a downward spiral of depression and drinking. People who didn't know him as well as I did thought he was doing better. Just recently he'd started being happy and cheerful at work, like everything was fine. But I knew him well; that was his defense mechanism and he used it when things got rough and he didn't want people to keep asking him if he was all right.
It had been about a month and a half since the baby had died and only a little over a month since Kem had left him. That definitely wasn't enough time to get over a loss of this magnitude. I knew he opened up to Luka because I'd see them leaving together after work sometimes and although Luka wouldn't tell me what they talked about, he did tell me they talked; really talked. And that just supported my suspicions even more about Carter really not doing well.
Then there were the days he'd come in looking like he was hungover. I had been there before...I knew what hungover really looked like. It seemed more and more he was coming into work hungover. I longed to talk to him, to help him. I hated seeing him like this: hurt, depressed, feeling like he was all alone and feeling like his life was falling apart. And he was turning to alcohol to help him cope. Having been there myself, I already knew this wouldn't end well.
I really wanted to help him, but there was nothing I could do. I'd already tried to talk to him to no avail, and the next step had to be his. I couldn't help him unless he truly wanted help; wanted to help himself. All I could do was be there for him in the best way possible.
It was hard for me to stand by and do nothing though. I honestly cared about him, and when you cared about someone, doing nothing was hard. But me pushing him would probably only force him further into drinking; and that was the last thing I wanted.
00000000000000000000
The next day at work he came in looking like death warmed over. I was shocked and alarmed at his appearance. His face was extremely pale, he had dark circles underneath his eyes, he had a five o'clock shadow and looked like he was losing weight overnight. I knew the drinking, lack of sleep and stress was taking its toll on him, but to actually see him looking like this...it was almost heartbreaking; it only confirmed that he was not dealing with the loss of his son or Kem well at all. I saw him walk into the lounge and decided to follow him in; but I needed to tread carefully without pushing too hard.
As I walked into the lounge I saw him putting his stuff into his locker and slinging his stethoscope around his neck.
"Hey," I said softly from behind. He jumped a little bit, obviously startled, having not heard me come in.
"Hey," he said back, turning around to greet me, cracking a smile that didn't reach his dark chocolate eyes. He quickly turned back around and shut his locker door. He sounded as bad as he looked.
"How's it going?" I asked lightly. Again, I had to be careful here.
"Fine, everything's fine," he said flippantly, turning back toward me. I could see he was purposefully avoiding eye contact because he kept his head and eyes down toward the floor.
"You look tired," I said bluntly, yet casually, trying to catch his gaze. 'So much for treading lightly,' I thought.
"Yeah, I didn't go to the b...," he let his sentence trail off and then hurriedly cleared his throat. He started fidgeting and it almost looked he wanted to run screaming out of the lounge. It was very obvious he was uncomfortable with where the conversation was leading and he was still avoiding my eyes as if they were the plague.
He began his sentence again, giving me a different story. "Yeah, I had a hard time sleeping last night...you know how it can be sometimes," he said softly, his eyes finally wandering up to mine. His eyes held so much pain inside of them and it made my heart ache all over for him again. And I knew what he had been about to say before; he was going to say he was so tired because he hadn't gone to the bar last night. I could've called him on it, but I decided that wouldn't get me anywhere.
"You want to go get some coffee in a while?" I asked, hoping he'd accept. He needed the coffee, I could tell. He needed the break as well.
"Sounds good. I'll catch up with you later, but I have to get to work. Weaver is going to have my ass already for being late. Damn jeep is already giving me problems again even though I just got it fixed," he said hurriedly and almost angrily.
"You need to get a car that works," I said echoing a conversation we had had when we were dating. He cracked a genuine smile, which was good to see.
"Someday...Someday I will. I'll catch up with you later on that coffee," he said as he began to make his way out of the lounge. I stared after him; our conversation had not eased my worry any. I sighed and made my way out of the lounge back into the vortex that was the ER.
0000000000000000000000000000
I caught up with Carter later on in our shifts and practically forced him into a cup of coffee with me. I could see he needed it, so we went to the cafeteria and got our coffees, and then took a little stroll outside. We were both on break, but he needed the break more than I did. We didn't talk about anything too serious at first; we just made small talk. We ended up in a spot we both knew well; the bench in front of the river that I had once considered our spot, because we had been there so many times together.
We sat down on the bench and for a while just sat in a comfortable silence. I didn't want to push him into any type of conversation he wasn't ready for.
"Thanks for dragging me out here, I really needed it," he said, rubbing a hand over his tired looking face, breaking our silence. "I'm just so damned tired lately and coffee seems to be the only thing that can wake me up," he ended.
I didn't say anything, but put a friendly hand on his shoulder and he glanced at me, a small smile gracing his features.
"I don't know how my life got so turned upside down," he said sadly, sighing as he looked out into the river, as if it would have the answer he was looking for.
I couldn't believe he was actually opening up to me. This was the first time he was voluntarily divulging his inner thoughts to me. I didn't say anything for fear that he'd realize what he was doing and stop. I kept my hand on his shoulder though, rubbing it gently to let him know I was listening and was here for him.
"I miss Kem and the baby," he said in a hoarse whisper. He continued to stare straight ahead into the river. "Do you know we were having trouble coming up with a name for the baby that we both liked? I really liked George, but she didn't," he paused and took a deep breath and then continued again, "but in the end we decided we were going to keep the Carter family tradition and name him Jonathan Truman Carter the fourth," he finally ended and I could see the tears welling up in his eyes. I squeezed his shoulder, encouraging him to go on. I was still afraid to speak, feeling that if I did I'd break the spell he was under that was causing him to actually open up to me.
"I wasn't exactly planning to have a baby at this stage in my life, especially with a woman I'd only known for six weeks when she became pregnant...but when she told me she was pregnant, I was actually happy. I realized..." he trailed off and let the tears run freely down his cheeks. He made no move to wipe them away. A huge part of me wanted to reach out and wipe the tears away for him, but I didn't. I just continued to rub his shoulder.
"Am I ever going to be able to have another baby with anyone?" he whispered brokenly as he finally looked at me, almost as if he expected me to have the answers. There was so much desperation in his eyes that I had to answer him; even if it did mean breaking my code of silence and the spell he was under.
"You will, John," I began, rubbing his shoulder a little bit harder now. "You'll meet the right woman someday and you'll have children together...it'll happen for you. I know it will," I ended. I hoped I had said the right thing. No one could predict the future and I didn't know for sure that he'd meet a woman and have children with her; how could I know that? But it had just seemed like the right thing to say at that particular moment.
I noticed that he was now staring at me much more intensely. His gaze penetrated into my very soul it seemed. "Thank you, Abby," he said softly, while finally wiping the tears from his face, his voice cracking a bit in the process.
And that's when the spell ended, because our conversation was over. It seemed he had suddenly realized he had opened up to me and was uncomfortable again. He refused to meet my gaze and was fidgeting with his hands. He stood up very quickly and turned around to meet my eyes, only to tell me his next words.
"I have to get back to work. I'll catch you later, okay?" he said at what seemed like lightening speed. He turned around and walked away before I could even reply. Well, anything was better than nothing, I supposed.
0000000000000000000000000
Over the next few weeks, I watched Carter fall into an even more alarming depression than he had been in before. His happy-go-lucky attitude was completely gone and although he never missed a shift and was always punctual, performing his duties with the same skill as always, it felt like he was only there in body, not spirit. He barely ever spoke to anyone outside of giving orders to treat patients. I noticed he went into the lounge by himself a lot and also noticed that the time he was spending with Luka outside of work was diminishing. And one time I'd accidentally walked in on a conversation between him and Luka in the lounge in which Luka was trying to persuade him to go for a bite to eat after their shifts were over. Luka had voiced his concern at Carter's refusal of the offer and Carter had actually yelled at him to leave him alone, getting up and leaving the lounge in such a rush he had almost knocked me over. I heard him muttering something about how he wished everyone in the damn ER would just leave him the fuck alone. Luka and I had shared a look of concern and talked about Carter's diminishing state of mind, and how it seemed he was getting worse and not better.
It was getting harder and harder for me to see my ex-lover this way: a broken and depressed man. And although I realized he was going to need a lot of time to get over this, the way he was rapidly deteriorating was frightening. He needed help and I wasn't quite sure how to give it to him. He needed to talk to a therapist; he obviously wasn't going to be able to get through this without some professional help. But trying to talk Carter into going to therapy would be like pulling teeth; I knew he wouldn't do it unless it was his own idea.
I saw Luka walking down the hall and asked if I could talk to him alone in the lounge. I needed to get his opinion and maybe even his help. Carter seemed to really trust him the most.
"What's up?" he asked once I had him in the lounge. We were sitting at the lone table and luckily no one else was in here at the moment.
"I know we've talked about Carter's situation before, but I'm starting to get even more worried about him; he seems to be rapidly deteriorating and I'm afraid something really bad is going to happen," I ended, hoping Luka would have some ideas.
"I know," Luka sighed. He looked just as concerned as I felt, his eyes giving everything away. "He hasn't wanted to go get anything to eat after work at all lately and he hasn't been opening up to me anymore either...But he has been through a lot," Luka paused and looked me right in the eyes. I knew that look and I already knew I wasn't going to like what he was going to say.
"When I lost my family," he continued, "It was devastating. It takes a long time to heal from a wound like that; years even. And truthfully, you never get over the loss of a child...I think he just needs more time," Luka ended, looking in the opposite direction of me.
I knew it was painful for him to talk about the loss of his family. And even though I understood Carter needed time, his destructive ways were only going to get worse with time, not better. I knew that from firsthand experience.
"I understand he needs time," I began, "And I'm not trying to force him to get over this; but he's not doing himself any favors by drinking himself into an oblivion to forget. Believe me, I know," I paused trying to gather my thoughts and think of exactly what I wanted to say. "It's been almost three months and instead of getting better he's only getting worse. He needs professional help; it's the only way he's going to start to heal. What he's doing right now is not healing, Luka," I ended desperately, wanting someone else to see this from my point of view.
"We can't force him to get help, Abby," Luka started, putting a hand on my shoulder. "I'm concerned about him, too, and I do want to help; really. But sometimes things have to get worse before they can get better. I know this from personal experience," he stated.
"And you're okay with that explanation?" I asked incredulously. "You're okay with just watching him destroy his life, watching him waste away like this?" I couldn't believe I was hearing these words from him. I practically stared daggers at him.
He smiled slightly at my look and then said, "Come on, Abby, of course I care and of course I don't want to see him this way. But you know as well as I do that we can't help him unless he truly wants our help," he ended, his accent becoming thicker which each word it seemed.
"I know," I sighed helplessly, knowing what he was saying was the truth, as I'd thought the same exact thing on many occasions. "I just hate to see him this way," I said softly, lowering my head.
"I know," Luka said sympathetically, touching my cheek in a friendly manner. "I don't like it any better than you do."
"What are we going to do?" I asked, looking back up at him. We were the only two that really knew what was going on with him.
"Be his friends and try to help him in any way possible," Luka said, rubbing my shoulder. I knew he was just as concerned as I was.
Just then Chuny came crashing through the lounge door. "Abby, Carter needs you in Trauma One, your patient just started seizing," she yelled loudly and quickly.
"Which one?" I asked, going through my patients in my mind that could possibly be seizing, as I stood up.
"Brian Gomez, the MVA," she said, closing the door to the lounge and heading back into the ER.
"I have to go, obviously," I paused and smiled, thinking of how silly it was of me to have said that. Of course he knew I had to go, he was a doctor himself. "But thanks for listening," I said, giving him a genuine smile.
"Anytime," he said, standing up with me. "I have to get back to work anyway," he said. And we both made our way out of the lounge and I headed off toward Trauma One.
000000000000000000000000000
"Where the hell were you?" Carter practically screamed at me as I walked in. "Your patient started seizing and you were nowhere to be found!" he yelled, throwing daggers my way with his stare. He was frustrated and was completely overreacting. None of us could keep an eye on all of our patients all the time.
"I'm here now," I said, stepping in to help him.
"You should've been keeping a better eye on your patient," he said very gruffly, handing me the chart. "It's not my job to watch an intern's patient," he ended, trying to catch my eyes, to get his point across. I ignored him as my patient was seizing quite badly.
"Has he been given any anti-seizure medication yet?" I asked quickly.
"Not yet, what do you want to give him?" Carter asked in an irritated tone of voice. I looked at the chart in my hand to check for any drug allergies and to see if he was currently on any other medications. His wife who had filled out his chart listed no known drug allergies or other medications. Just as I was about to give the orders, Carter stepped in for me.
"Damn it, Abby, you need to be quicker. What are you thinking about? Next time just give the damn drug order, or I'll continue to do it for you! One hundred and fifty of Phenobarbital," he barked, staring at me angrily. It was the first time he had ever treated me this way in a trauma. Even when I was a nurse, he still treated me equally. I was taken aback and shocked by his actions. This was the person who had told me months earlier that I was going to make a great doctor. This was the person who had paid my tuition when I thought I was going to have to drop out of med school again, because I didn't have the money to pay it, and who told me he was giving me the money and that I didn't have to pay him back, because he believed in me.
It took me a second to get back into trauma gear and ignore the way he was treating me, but I finally did and right as I was about to get the Phenobarbital he yelled, "Never mind, I'll get it myself!" He brushed by me in an irritated fashion and walked over to the drug lock up cabinet, unlocked it and pulled up two hundred of Phenobarbital into a syringe.
"I was going to get it, Carter. I don't know what your problem is, but this is my patient and I will give the orders," I said angrily. I knew he had much more seniority over me, but I wasn't about to let him get away with this attitude of his.
He turned around and looked at me, his pupils were slits and the color of his eyes a darker brown than usual. They held anger in them, and even though he was yelling at me, I could see that the anger in his eyes wasn't really directed toward me. It was anger at the world in general, anger for what had happened to his baby and Kem leaving him. He actually didn't say a word, but just stared at me for a moment. Then as if he realized he was in a trauma he quickly walked back over to my patient.
At first I didn't think twice about the dosage of Phenobarbital he had drawn up as I went to help him hold down my patient. But then I realized the orders were one hundred and fifty of Phenobarbital, not two hundred. I decided to call him on it, after all the exact dose was essential in medicine.
"You said one fifty not two hundred," I said pointing at the syringe.
"Uh...I guess I, uh, made a mistake," he said nervously, which really threw me for a loop. "I'll just give the one fifty...help me hold him down," he said as he gave the Phenobarbital IV. After giving the one fifty he put the syringe with the extra fifty into his lab coat pocket. Alarms immediately went off in my head. Of course everyone had done that before, I'd even been guilty of it myself. But the way he was acting nervous, flighty and angry made me think that maybe the extra fifty hadn't been an accident after all. I wasn't quite sure what to do. I decided to stay to make sure he disposed of it properly.
My patient immediately stopped seizing. We took the basic vitals and I wrote everything down in the chart, while Carter went about his business. I wasn't watching him because I was busy writing, but I could hear him doing things behind me; cleaning up I assumed.
Haleh came into the trauma room and announced that Luka needed help because we had a triple MVA in the ambulance bay. Man, today was turning out to be a really busy day for MVAs.
"Go on and help Luka," Carter said in a flat tone of voice, "I'll finish up here," he ended, running a hand through his hair and sighing. It was obvious that he was really tired.
I really didn't want to leave; I wanted to watch him dispose of the extra fifty of Phenobarbital the right way.
"He's my patient, I'll finish up, why don't you go?" I asked, hoping he'd go for it.
"Whatever," he said angrily as he took off his gloves and started walking toward the door, not looking at me on purpose.
"Carter...what about the extra fifty of Phenobarbital in your pocket?" I asked squeezing my eyes shut momentarily. I really hadn't wanted to ask that, but what was I supposed to do? And because Carter and I knew each other so well, I knew he'd get the inflection in my voice and I knew he'd know why I was asking. And I wasn't wrong.
He whipped around so quickly that I thought he was going to fall flat on his face for a second. I had never in my life seen him look as angry as he did right now. It was a little scary and disconcerting. He stared at me in a way I had never seen, without saying a word for a moment.
"I threw it in the sharps container already, Abby," he said with utter disdain in his voice. "I can't believe you would think...I can't believe you....Dr. Lockhart," he said scathingly, drawing out my last name. I was shocked at the way he was speaking to me. I knew Carter could get mean when he got angry at times, but even with over a year of dating, I'd never seen him act like this toward me. The last time I had seen this side of him was when he was addicted to drugs...Shit, he wasn't, right? Even with the alarms going off in my mind, I still didn't want to believe it. He turned around and headed in the direction of the sharps container. He grabbed a syringe out from the very top and showed it to me, practically throwing it in my direction. It was in fact the syringe he had used to push the Phenobarbital and it still had the extra fifty in it.
"Are you happy now?" he asked sarcastically, the anger flashing in his eyes almost making me want to take a step back. He took a step toward me, and I realized I actually took a step back at the same time.
"Carter, I didn't mean it like that," I lied, even though we both knew I had. And why was I lying to him? Why didn't I just tell him that I did mean it like that? It was something in his eyes that was making me hold back. The type of anger I saw there, it actually scared me a little bit and that was very hard to admit. I wasn't the type of person who backed down in the face of fear, and not a lot scared me, so to admit that my ex-boyfriend was almost on the verge of scaring me was disconcerting to say the least.
"I have to go help Luka," he said hotly, suddenly turning on his heals and actually throwing the syringe back into the sharps container. "And I can't believe you of all people would even think of accusing me of this!" he yelled as he stormed out of the trauma room.
Maybe I had jumped to conclusions and had been too hasty in my accusation. Even though he hadn't really disposed of it correctly, he had put it in the sharps container after all. Either way it didn't matter, I didn't like the person Carter was turning into.
0000000000000000000000
Later on that day, after searching fruitlessly for my stethoscope and realizing I'd left it in Trauma One with my earlier seizing patient, I headed that way to pick it up. Just as I laid my hand down on the handle and was going to open the door, a movement from inside the room caught my attention. I could see through the window that the room was free of any traumas, but that Carter was standing in there by himself. I kept my hand on the door handle, but decided not to open the door quite yet. He was fishing through the sharps container and I saw him take out the syringe that had the extra fifty of Phenobarbital in it from earlier. He stared at it for a moment very intensely, spinning it around in his hand. He then quickly changed the needle to a new fresh one. My heart was pounding so loudly in my chest, I was afraid he'd be able to hear it from inside the room. I wasn't witnessing this happening, I couldn't be. I watched as he lifted up his watch on his left wrist and then quickly glanced up at the door, looking right in my direction. I quickly moved out of direct sight, but where I could still see him. He obviously hadn't seen me, because he continued on with what he was doing, which was sticking the needle in his wrist and injecting the rest of the Phenobarbital into himself.
How could I have not seen this coming? What was I supposed to do now? Tell Kerry on him like I had before all those years ago? It was different now, we'd been through so much together and I didn't know if I could just go tell Kerry like I had before. But could I stand by and watch him destroy his life? I needed to think, but right now my head was so cloudy because of what I'd just witnessed and I seemed to be having a hard time breathing.
I put my head down and began to walk away. I finally verbally used the swear word that had been whirling around in my mind the whole time I had been witnessing Carter's relapse back into drug addiction. "Fuck," I muttered quietly under my breath.
