TITLE At the End of Chaos
RATING PG-13
SUMMARY Carter is beginning to heal from his agony, and Abby is attempting to be there for him.
AUTHOR'S NOTE Thank you for reviewing! I appreciate it so much! Please keep doing it!! And as a consolation for making you wait so long…here's an extra-long chapter.
ABBY
Two weeks have passed since Carter came into the hospital drunk, and we've been carefully avoiding the topic between us. I know what an awkward situation it is, considering our history, but I was hoping that wouldn't matter. I want to help him, and I want him to let me do so. Unfortunately, he hasn't been particularly willing. Not that he's been pushing me away; on the contrary, it seems Luka and I are the only ones he really talks to. Luka more than me, of course.
I think he's getting better. Very slowly, obviously, but he's definitely improving. I see the more frequent moments of ease during his days here.
But I know that she hasn't called him, and I know that that hurts him. The thing is, I think I understand. Losing a child like that, after loving it and imagining it's future--with someone you haven't been with very long--must be unimaginably difficult. Again, though, we haven't talked about it.
Today we are working the same shift, which I always like because it means I can keep an eye on him. It would drive him crazy that I do that, but I can't help myself. I can't fix his pain, but I can make sure that he's doing all right from a distance, and step in if he needs me.
It seems odd to me that after so long, and after what happened between us, that I feel like I have something to make up for. I know and understand that I really didn't do anything wrong by choosing Eric over John that night, but I know that he doesn't necessarily feel that way. And I also know that my life has changed and improved since our relationship ended, and his has gotten considerably worse. He left because he had lost his grandmother, and ended up losing another whole family. Somehow, that makes me feel somewhat guilty.
Somewhat.
See, I've learned some things over the last year. I used to spend so much of my time focusing on the crap in my life, the things that could hold me back from what I really wanted. And what I realized is that the only thing truly holding me back was fear. In essence, I was holding myself back. Once I saw that, I knew I could change it, and what made me see that was John. His letter hurt me more than I could express, but it was like a shock to my system. You do the same thing over and over your entire life, and something has to happen to push you out of your own inertia. And his letter did that for me.
What does all this have to do with Carter's current pain? My own experience taught me that sometimes you have to go through incredible pain in order to change and grow. Or maybe I'm just trying to find a positive aspect to watching him go through all this.
Huh. Abby Lockhart, trying to look for the positive? Who knew?
So I look for moments of stress during his day, and attempt to relieve him of it. Like I said, it seems that he's getting better, so he needs that relief less and less. But today I notice that he seems more ragged than he's been the last few days, and after he's forced by timing to take a trauma involving a child, he disappears. I curse myself for having been too busy to take it first. I know that that's how this place works, but I've been so on top of it lately. And now I don't know where he's gone.
"Frank, have you seen Carter?" I ask, approaching the large man with a donut in his hand. I give him a reproachful look; he knows full well he shouldn't be eating that.
"No, I hav—what?" he says, noticing my eyes. I nod my head toward the sugary pastry, and he shrugs his shoulders. "Doc knows I have a treat now and again." I roll my eyes.
"Fine, Frank, but if I see you eating another one anytime in the next week, I'm going to call your doctor and tell him." He shrugs in reply again, and I walk away to find Carter. I ask around, but the closest I can approximate is that he's not in the ER. I don't think he would have left the hospital altogether, seeing as how it's been pretty busy today and we seem to be short a doctor or two, so I take a guess at where he'll be and head across the street for two coffees. Fortunately for both of us, the steady stream of patients has ebbed a little, and we can take this much-needed break.
I exit the elevator, careful not to spill the hot coffee on myself. I'm always a lot more careful now than I was when I just wore scrubs; I hate getting my doctor's coat dirty. It's silly, I know, but wearing this makes me so proud, and I don't want to lessen that just yet. I love the clean, crisp, whiteness of it.
I glance up to see that years of knowing John Carter has landed me in the right spot. He's standing looking out over the city, his arms crossed in front of him. I stop for a second, just to watch him, noticing that he hasn't heard the elevator, clearly wrapped up in his thoughts. And I also observe an odor in the air and smoke emanating from his side: he's smoking. I don't judge him for this, but I almost laugh at the irony of this moment. The last time we were up here together, I was the one smoking, the one with the problems.
And he had asked me to marry him.
This abrupt realization almost causes me to drop the coffee and gasp aloud, but I manage to catch myself. I shake the thought away and continue forward, stopping just next to him.
"Abby Lockhart makes an appearance," he announces, making me smile in surprise. He glances over at me, smirking slightly himself. We smile at each other for a moment, sharing in the memory. It makes us both blush, and he looks away. He takes a drag from his cigarette, then realizes what he's doing. Blowing out the smoke, he answers an unasked question. "It's the only addiction that I'm allowed to touch."
"That, and this," I respond, handing him his coffee.
"Ah, yes," he says. Then quietly, catching my eyes, "Thank you." He stubs out his cigarette, which he has only half smoked.
"Don't stop on my account," I tell him, taking a sip of my still-hot coffee.
"I only wanted half," he replies, looking pointedly at me, a smile playing on his lips.
"Oh, I get it; this is the part where we rehash old conversations and switch roles." I tap him lightly with my elbow and look away, over the city. The sun is setting, and I can feel the beginnings of a chill in the air. Indian summer is fading and soon we will be battling snow and ice once again.
"Well, I thought it would be better than talking about my depressing life," he says, then seems to catch himself. He didn't intend to be that frank with me. The key now is to find the right approach to keep him talking.
I become conscious suddenly that this must be like what he used to have to go through with me all that time. The thought makes me look at him, and we lock eyes for another moment. I know that I'm looking at him strangely, and he starts to make that face, that "what is Abby thinking right now" face. God, I've missed that face.
"What?" he asks me finally, cocking his head to one side. I ponder this for a moment, not sure exactly what would best explain why I'm looking at him like this. There are so many words that haven't passed between us, and I don't want to open a can of worms he can't handle right now. And yet, if this is going to work, this friendship of ours, there are things I should say.
"You know how you apologized for the crap you gave me about drinking?" He nods in reply, the smile falling from his face, realizing that this is no longer the joking exchange it was before. "I'm sorry for always pushing you away. You tried so hard just to reach out to me, and I constantly shut you out. That wasn't fair of me." He looks at me for a moment, then turns his head away. Drinking his coffee, he seems to deeply consider what I've just said. I wonder briefly if it was too much right now, if this will force him back into his shell. But I can't take it back now, so all I can do is wait for his response.
It seems like hours pass before he turns back to me. I alternate between drinking my coffee and watching him. He takes a deep breath and slowly moves his head back in my direction, finally settling his eyes on mine. He sets his coffee down, putting his hands in his pockets. Then, another deep breath before he speaks.
"Abby, nothing we ever did to each other was fair. I know that we haven't talked about it, but the fact of the matter is that we're both to blame for what happened between us. It was all bad timing, all the time." He chuckles slightly at his own redundancy, and I can't help at mirroring him. He scuffs his foot on the cement, glancing down. When he looks back up, he is serious again, and so am I. "Look, Abby, there are so many things I haven't told you. Things I should. But not today, okay? Today I wouldn't be able to say it right and I don't want to do it wrong. I've done enough to hurt people—especially you—and I want to get it right. Some other day." He sighs again and looks away, and I realize that this is all he is going to say to me. I put my hand on his arm, and he glances back at me once more.
"It's okay, John," I say quietly. He nods slightly at me. My pager goes off just then; as usual, perfect timing. I glimpse at it, acknowledge that it is, of course, the ER, and look back up at Carter. He nods again, and I give him a small smile. I lower my head before walking away, leaving him behind me to brood over whatever is truly on his mind.
Later when he returns to the ER, we acknowledge each other with a nod and a smile. The smile doesn't leave my face for a few more minutes as the awareness of what has happened today really strikes me.
I got my friend back.