TITLE At the End of Chaos

CHAPTER The Healing Never Ends

SUMMARY It's the day after Christmas. Carter's POV

DISCLAIMER Once again: I don't own anything. Seriously. You can search me if you want, but you won't find anything on me!

AUTHOR'S NOTE I'm incredibly sorry that it has taken me so long to update. The new season started and my life got crazy and I guess it didn't seem as important to write since there was completely different stuff happening on the show. BUT—I decided to re-flex my writing muscles in anticipation of the Carby Holiday Fic Exchange on c&p. So here ya go!!

CARTER

The snow falling outside is like a dream you had once as a kid about what Christmas really is. I half expect to hear Santa's sleigh passing overhead, except that it's no longer Christmas and Santa doesn't actually exist.

I awoke a half hour ago in a cold sweat. Part of that, I'm sure, is because of the fact that Abby's apartment is freezing and she had stolen most of the covers. She always does that; it's probably my number one pet peeve about her. Soon I'll have to just have my own set of blankets while I'm here.

But the other reason is because I had this dream, one I haven't had in a while. I started having them every night after Kem left, and then, after therapy and time, they pretty much went away. I thought maybe I was rid of them, that now that I'm pretty much past the really bad part, I can be done with nightmares of crying babies and women who speak my name but aren't really there.

I have no idea what caused this tonight. I had just basically re-proposed to Abby in her living room on one of the most perfect Christmasses of my life. We were so happy as we fell asleep, realizing that this is it; this is going to be the time that really, really sticks. I felt complete, a feeling I thought I had had before but now realize wasn't genuine until tonight.

So I sit here now, at some stark hour of the night, gazing out a cold window into a perfect Christmas world. I just keep trying to pinpoint exactly what it is I'm feeling, why something doesn't feel right, why I can't wrap my mind around that dream.

And then I realize: I feel guilty.

Here I am, 6 months after the death of my son, the end of my relationship with Kem, and I'm acting almost as if it never happened. I find myself wondering if that's okay. I also find myself thinking, what if he hadn't died? What if he'd been okay? I would've stayed with Kem, we would've had that life. I would never have gotten Abby back.

I would not have been happy. Or, should I say, as happy.

So, what is it? Am I glad he died? Of course I'm not glad he died; it's something else. It's…gosh, I guess a realization that things happen for a reason. Sometimes one thing has to die for something else to be reborn. I'm a doctor, I see this happen all the time. One person is in an accident and is left brain dead. We take organs from that person and give other people new life. A life they wouldn't have had if someone else hadn't lost theirs.

Lost in thought, a million miles away, I am brought back by the feeling of warm lips on my neck and arms wrapping around my shoulders.

"Hey," I hear her whisper from behind me. I pull her hands in mine and bring her around in front of me to rest on my lap. Once she's settled, her arms around my neck again, I kiss her forehead.

"Hey," I respond. Our foreheads rest against each other.

"What are you doing up? I missed you in there."

"I, uh," I start, not knowing whether to bring her into all this. But then I know: if this will work for forever, I have no choice. "I had a bad dream." I chuckle slightly at this, realizing how childish I sound.
"Really? What about?" Concern etches her forehead.

"It was…one of the old ones. About Kem and the baby." She brings her hand to my face, stroking my cheek. "I don't know…I didn't know why it was coming back again. I had to come out here and think about it, why I was suddenly having this dream again."

"And did you figure it out?" she asks quietly, carefully.

"I think so." I take her hand in mine, holding it to my chest. "Abby, I'm happier than I ever thought was possible. And I guess that…makes me feel guilty. It's like I realize that I wouldn't have this if I had him, and I'm almost ashamed to be happy to have you. Because that means I'm happy to not have him." I start to look down, but she catches my eyes and I look back up at her.

"Carter, please don't feel that way. Of course you're not happy to not have him. I know how much you wanted that baby. What happened was horrible and out of your control. But you can't live the rest of your life feeling guilty about being happy."

"I know, I just…I don't know. It's hard to explain." My gaze turns toward the window, as I see the sun making it's first imprint on the sky.

"You don't have to explain, Carter. I know." It takes a few seconds for me to realize the weight of what she's saying, and when I do, I turn to her. Her eyes are filled with fear and anxiety and longing.

"What? Abby, I don't…" Confusion reigns on my face.

"This probably isn't a good time to bring this up. I don't want to make this about me, but I want you to know that if anyone has any reason to feel guilty about moving on with their life, it's me." She breathes deeply, and I'm trying hard not to urge her to go faster. Her eyes look away from me as she continues. She's so quiet that although I am within 6 inches of her, I have to strain to hear. "I was pregnant once, when I was with Richard. Things weren't good for us at that point; he worked all the time, I was in school all the time, and I'm pretty sure there was someone else. When I missed a period I shrugged it off as stress, and then it happened again the next month, and then…I'm regular as clockwork, Carter." She looks at me then, and her eyes are shiny with tears. "I never told him. The only call I made that day was to a clinic, and when it was over, he never knew. If our marriage wasn't done yet, it certainly was after that. I couldn't look him in the eye or talk to him, knowing what I had done." She looks away again, then back at me, but I don't respond; I don't know how. A single tear falls down her cheek, and because I just look blankly at her, she gets off my lap and walks toward the bathroom, wiping it off her face. I realize too late, through my shock, that she now thinks that I don't want her anymore.

I rise out of the chair and follow her path to her bathroom, where I see that at least she has left the door open. As I enter, she is sitting on the toilet with the seat down, toilet paper wadded up in her hand. She looks up at me slowly, more tears on her face.

"I'm sorry, John. I shouldn't have told you. I just—"

"No, Abby, please, I'm sorry," I plead, kneeling down on the cold linoleum in front of her. I have to give her credit; the old Abby would not be holding eye contact that way she is right now. I reach my hand up to touch her face. "I'm glad you told me. I can't imagine how hard that must have been." As I say this, she begins shaking her head.

"No, don't have sympathy for me. This is nothing like what happened to you; I did this." She takes a deep breath, and glances down. "I'm not blaming myself anymore. I'm not beating myself up for it, you know? But after you left, after you got together with Kem, I kept thinking that that was my punishment for what I'd done." She wipes her nose, and I expect her to continue, but once again she falls silent. And in the silence, a realization dawns on me.

"It wasn't just about you and Richard not being good together, was it?" She looks up at me again as I say this. "You were worried…you thought the baby might be bipolar, and you were scared to let that happen, weren't you?" I ask this quietly, hoping that she realizes I'm not accusing her in any way. She nods slowly.

"Yeah. And not just that it would be bipolar, but that he and I couldn't handle it if it happened. It would be just me again, dealing with all that, and I just…I couldn't…oh…" she falls into tears then, and all I can do is hold her, shushing her, as she lets it all out. I find myself wondering if she's ever told anyone this, or if the only people who have ever known about it are the doctors and nurses at the clinic she went to.

After a while she falls quiet, and I pick her up and take her back to bed. As I lay her down, she emits those post-sob hiccups. I lie next to her, under the covers (both of us this time), and stroke her stomach, something my grandmother used to do when I had the hiccups. We stay like that for some time, until her breathing is slowed and I think she has fallen asleep. She surprises me by speaking.

"I wouldn't feel that way about our kids, John." Her voice is almost a whisper as she says this, and I look at her. Her eyes are locked intently on mine.

"What do you mean?" My hand, where it lays on her stomach, begins making small circles. The other is propping up my head.

"I would never be scared that we couldn't handle it. I don't think anything could prevent me from wanting to have children with you." I move my hand up to her face, tenderly moving a hair away from her cheek. She turns to face me. Despite the seriousness of the moment, I can't help but smile.

"Good," is all I can get out. I lean down and kiss her. When our lips part, I find myself staring into her eyes again. "Abby?"

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you told me about that. I know that is was probably one of the hardest things you've ever had to do, and it just…" I pause momentarily, looking for the right words.

"What?" she asks, expectantly.

"It makes me realize that we really are going to be okay this time. There really won't be any more hiding or secrets or pretending. I guess I wasn't 100 sure of that until now." I pause again, but this time I know the right words. "I love you, Abby. Always have and always will."

"I love you, too, John. Merry Christmas." She leans up and kisses me.

"But, it's not Christmas anymore," I correct her, jokingly, as she pulls away.

"Baby, every day is Christmas when I'm with you." I sense the half-joke in this, and am amused and touched deeply at the same time. I can't even conjure a response, just a shocked and pleased grin.

She's smiling, too, but I can see that her eyes are closing, and I realize that neither one of us has had much sleep tonight, and we both have to work in about 10 hours. So I cuddle up next to her, already falling asleep myself.

Nightmares and baggage behind us, we will continue into our future together.