TITLE At the End of Chaos
RATING PG-13
SUMMARY Carter's POV; Carter and Abby are both trying to work through what happened Thanksgiving Day, and deciding where to go from here.
AUTHOR'S NOTE You know, on the worst of days, I see what y'all think of my fics and it makes me so happy. Please continue to read and review, as this story will go on for a while until I feel like I've told all I can tell of their story.
CARTER
I'm beginning to think the weather is too cold for this. The breeze off the river makes it even worse, but I wrap my coat tighter around me and grasp my coffee cup as if it can warm my whole body. I tell myself I need to be away from the hospital on my breaks, need to escape the madness and just think, because amidst the rush and rabble of the ER, my thoughts can't win. So I come out here and weed through my daily musings.
Christmas is coming soon. Thanksgiving marks the yearly countdown to the busiest of holidays. In the past, I would be feeling that excitement, that anticipation of all that goes into it. This year, it brings back that empty feeling that losing Kem and our baby created. A year ago, I was finding out she was pregnant, and we were happy. Of course, it's not like it was at first. I can fight the pain, keep it at bay. It doesn't threaten to immobilize me. But it certainly affects my mood and patience.
However, dueling with that sadness are the butterflies I still feel from last Thursday night. Abby and I haven't been able to talk about it at all, but I've seen her smile at me over everyone's heads and I know that it was a positive step. I talked about it in my session with Dr. Thatcher this morning, and he helped me clear up my feelings about it.
"So, you and Abby had a 'moment'?" he asked, after I explained what had happened.
"Yeah." I replied, smiling at the memory.
"And how does that make you feel?" Therapist open-ended questions. They always make me want to chuckle. This time, however, my smile fades and I become thoughtful.
"Uh…" I sigh. "Scared? Happy? Hopeful? I don't know. I mean, part of me knows how bad she and I were for each other. All we ever did was hurt each other, sometimes more than we made each other happy. But then I can't help but realize that we've both changed and grown, and that maybe we wouldn't do that this time." I scratch my forehead, and pause long enough that Dr. Thatcher feels the need to interject.
"Well, you knew you still had feelings for her, right? And when your relationship ended, it was because of the timing of events at the time." I nod in agreement, not looking at him, still thinking. "But my question is, do you think you have healed from what happened with Kem and your child enough for you to attempt a relationship—this relationship in particular—at this time?" This question surprises me, and I look up at him. Somehow, I hadn't even considered this.
"I, um, I'm not sure. I mean, if we took it slowly, didn't jump in the way we did before, maybe it could work." I pause again, considering. "What do you think about it?"
"It's not impor—" he replies, attempting to dodge the question. Fortunately I'm very experienced in dealing with issue-dodgers.
"Doc, come on. Just tell me what you think." I look at him pointedly, and he relents.
"John, I think you have come a very long way since June. For all intents and purposes, your life has returned to 'normal.'" He does the quotation marks in the air, implying that my life is anything but. " But—and this is a pretty big one—you and Abby are both recovering addicts. This makes you naturally codependent. So if you haven't both grown as much as you think, you may slip back into your old patterns and not be capable of having a more healthy relationship than the one you already had." I take a second to absorb this information, disappointed, and before I can respond, he continues, sighing. "But, John, do you want my layman's opinion?" I nod. "If you truly love each other, and that love has survived all this time apart, then as long as you work at it, it can be the relationship you both desire." He smiles at me, knowing that this is what I really wanted to hear, not the psycho-babble about addiction. And then our time has finished, and I am back out into the world.
So that leaves me with a lot to think about. Abby and I need to take it slowly. IF she even wants to try this again. It just seems so odd to go back to the earlier parts of "dating" when we've already slept together. A lot. How do people do that? I guess they just pretend that they're starting anew, as if they've just met. I think we can do that. Only if she's willing, though.
"I thought I'd find you here," a voice says, and as I turn to see who, it is the woman who was passing through my mind just now. Speak of the devil.
"Hey," I say, smiling.
"Hey yourself," she replies, and I notice that she's got two cups of coffee in her gloved hands. I cock my eyebrow, questioning. "Well I thought maybe you didn't have one, or would need a fresh cup." She peeks into the one in my hand. "Guess I was wrong," she says, smirking. She sets down one of the cups she's holding on the cement wall, bringing the other one to her lips. I can't help watching her do all this with a kind of fascination. How is it that such simple things can demonstrate how different she is? She notices me looking at her, and squints her eyes at me. "What?"
"Nothing," I respond quickly. It's a good thing she's not psychic. She doesn't appear to believe me, but doesn't push the issue. She resumes drinking her coffee, and I do the same. Drinking mine, that is. And while we stand there in silence, I ponder the fact that sometimes what's not being said is as important as what is.
"So, how have things been this past week? It seems like we never get to talk anymore," she says, both of us knowing that the last time we did get to talk was a week ago today, and that the conversation was a pretty big one.
"They've been…fine," I reply hesitantly, knowing there's more I want to say and not knowing where to start. She seems to sense this awkwardness—I mean, come on; this is Abby—and decides to take the initiative.
"Thanksgiving was nice, huh? I had a really good time." She smiles at me mischievously, as if this is a game we're playing. Who-Can-Avoid-the-Topic-Longest?
"Yeah, it was great. Thanks again for having me over." I wink at her, letting her know I'm in on her ploy.
"No problem. Anything to maintain the balance of the craziness, you know?" She winks back at me, and suddenly I don't care if I win or lose this game.
"You know, Abby, I've been thinking a lot since that night. I know something happened between us, and I know you felt it, too." She raises her eyebrows to imply she doesn't know what I'm talking about, but she can't fool me. "Standing outside with you, holding hands, watching the snow…it was the best, most real thing I've felt in a really long time." Her face is serious now, forgetting her own playfulness. I take a step closer, leaving only one between us.
"Yeah, Carter, it was pretty great. It wasn't…what I was expecting." She clears her throat, looking down. "What do you think it means?" She raises her eyes to me, hopefully. Oh, what I wouldn't do to make all her wishes come true.
"I think it means that maybe there's something still there between us." This time I make a question mark of my forehead, and she nods.
"What—what do you think we should do about it?" She touches my hand, and I lock my fingers in hers. We close the space between us, essentially leaving no room for the bad things we are hoping to leave behind.
"I think we should go on a date," I say quietly after a time, and suddenly she's laughing, all seriousness gone from our conversation. I realize how silly what I said sounded, and then I'm laughing, too. "What?" I manage through my laughter. It takes her a minute to catch her breath.
"Nothing, Carter. That just…sounds like you're 15 years old!" And then she's laughing again. She can't stand up anymore; she collapses on the bench with her giggles. I join her, laughing too, though not as badly as her. I feign a hurt face, and she stops laughing. "Oh, John, I didn't mean it. It's—actually a great idea." I remove the hurt from my face, and this time I smile uncertainly.
"So, you…want to try this again?" I glance at her through my lowered, cautious eyelashes. She pauses for a moment, and I think she might say no, until she nods slightly.
"Yes, I do. I think we're both ready to do this for real this time." She's smiling at me now, and I can't help but mirror it. Then she looks serious again. "What—what are we going to tell everyone? They'll think I'm taking advantage of you or something." I can't help but chuckle at her fear.
"Abby, I think they all know that we haven't quite gotten over each other. Just ask Susan." Her anxiety seems to ease at this, and I can't help reaching my hand up to touch her cheek. The intensity of the connection between us makes us both jump as I do this. I realize it's been a long, long time that I've been wanting to touch her in this way.
We stay there like that for a few minutes, just looking at each other. I'm not sure exactly what she's thinking, but I also know I couldn't possibly explain the things going through my mind at this moment. I want to kiss her, but I want to make sure that we do everything right this time and I'm not sure that now is the instant to do that. She saves me the decision though, and leans forward.
If I thought Abby used to take my breath away, that was nothing compared to what I feel when she kisses me now, on our bench. It isn't intensely passionate, it doesn't last long, but it is the most amazing feeling having her lips on mine. When she pulls away my eyes stay closed for just a split second, savoring her taste—coffee and vanilla, no nicotine. If this is any indication of how things will be for us now, then I'm ready for it.
When I open my eyes I find hers gazing into mine. She has a small smile on her lips and her eyes are more alive than I think I've ever seen them. I smile too, and look away towards the river, embarrassed by the stupid grin that I'm sure is on my face. We are silent for a moment, and then we are interrupted by the evil vibration of my pager. I look down and see the number, grasping the urgency of the call. When I glance up she catches my meaning and we stand to walk back to the hospital.
As we walk we don't speak, not wanting to break the spell. But we do quietly grasp each other's hands, and occasionally look in the other's direction. Each time I do this she laughs, looking away, those lively eyes dancing.
If slow is
what we need, slow is what I'll do. I
can't ever lose this woman again.