Author's Notes:: Reviews make my day!!! Thank you so much!!!!! LOL There's nothing more I can say but thank-you!!!!!

Also, since I've been doing this fic in the Abby perspective, I sorta forced Kat into doing a companion fic to this, Finding the Truth, in Carter's POV.... It's really well written and it works with every chapter of the fic, giving both of their views... So after you've read and reviewed this chapter... Go check it out... Pretty please? I'll post an extra chaper..... (Kat, I do NOT blackmail people...) I'm done. Go enjoy.... Review... Tell me what you love and what you hate.... :-)

I drag my feel against the waxed floors, the only sound in the hallway besides the beeping of machines. The wards are dark and unlit, lights turned off for the night. The only light that seeps into the rooms is that from the hallway. She reached his room, his residence for the last week or so. Amy sat at his bedside, holding his hand. She was lying on the bed, practically half-asleep. She's stopped by every day, spent time with him. She needs him. I walk in, and she sits up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She's stubborn, and refuses to let anyone else take over for her bedside vigil. I've taken the nights, only because I somehow manage to work them into my schedule, not that I've gotten alot of sleep anyway. I just got off a 12 hour shift from hell, and I would rather be going to bed, but I can't. I help her up from the chair she's been sitting in, and walk with her toward the door, grabbing his chart as I walk.

"So what did the doctors say?"

She shakes her head, still trying to wake up, but on her face I see the look of grief and pain. It's enough for me to know the news isn't good. I pull her into my arms, although she's almost a foot taller than I am. Her body shivers, but no tears fall. I kiss her on her cheek, and we both lean back on the wall as I flip through the chart. There's been no spontaneous movements, he's not breathing on his own, he's in a coma. Every day that he's in it, the statistics get worse. Now, it just depends on how long we're going to be flogging him for. I don't think that he'd want to be on a respirator for years and years. That would be torture, but if the hope that he would wake up was there, we would keep it. I don't know anymore. I would have given my best advice to a patient, but I can't do that this time. This was my husband, the father of my children, a son, a friend.

I give my daughter one last hug before I move in for my shift. We've been doing it for the last few weeks, we all alternate so someone can be with him in case he wakes up. I know the chances of that keep falling lower and lower every day. The kids all work out their schedules, but it's not unlikely to see all of them in the room at one point. It's not fair what's happening.

look up at the screen and watch his heart work. His heart's still beating, his body's still working, but he's on a different world, a different plant. And there's not much that can be done. Take his hand and link my fingers with his. I remember how I used to marvel at how perfectly if it into mine. The nights we would spend walking from apartment to house, the times we used to spend lying in bed or on the sofa. We weren't all that bad, were we? Or were all those times lies too? Were we putting on an act to make ourselves believe we loved each other? I don't even know what love for a man is anymore. I understand love for my children, for my family, but I can't bring myself to figure out what love for a man is. If I even love this man the way I'm supposed to. I want to know if I'm here because I truly love him, that I'm not here because of necessity or dependence or because it is expected of me.

I lie my head down on the spot next to his arm. My head is aching from the lack of sleep, the hospital smell is permanently etched into my skin, and I can't function anymore, but I'm staying here. I have to stay here, even if not for me, for him. It's funny, because if this didn't' happen, I don't think I'd be here, closer to him physically than I've been in years. I don't think every waking moment would have revolved around him. I don't know if its considered a burden, but its slowly killing the mentality of everyone involved. The ER just isn't the same without him, his patients continuously asking for him. What are we supposed to say? I'm sorry, but Dr. Carter suffered a major MI. He's not likely to come back, but you'll be fine? I don't think that would go too well. We've got to keep our lives going, there's no other way out. We can't put everything on hold any longer. Amy and Jack need to get back to school, Rob's been ignoring his studies, Ethan and Millie have finally gotten on summer break. Amy and the twins have finals coming up, their not prepared at all. I'm afraid of what's going to happen. The most I've been able to do is yell at them that dad would be disappointed if they didn't pass their finals on account of him.

I lean toward my purse and pull out my bottle of Advil and take four tablets. It takes me four tablets to get rid of my pain. I would rather a strong drink back at home in own home, in my own bed, out of the hustle and bustle of the place that's taken my health and life for the last thirty years. That's not an option tonight. I swallow the tablets with a sip of water, and turn my attention back to the slab of flesh lying on the bed in front of me. If there's anything I'm feeling right now, it's definitely hate. I hate him for doing this to everyone, for making me go through this. It's not supposed to end this way. He's supposed to live a long, energetic life and not give a damn when I die. I hate him for making my sons and daughters loose sleep, begin to get grey hair. I hate him for the pain he's causing everyone, the tears that could probably fill a river. I hate him.

"Do me one last favor, Carter. Listen to me right now. Your kids need you, you've still got a family that loves you. So you have to get out of his. You have no other choice. Don't be a pain in the ass. Just get better."

I get up, the inconsiderate ass hole is the only thing running through my mind. I go to the other side of the room, finding a comfortable chair, and pulling it closer to his bed. I leave it about two feet away from him, and sit down in it. I need sleep. I can't sit here and stare at him, and think of the reasons I hate him at this moment. I grab a blanket from the closet and throw it over myself as I make myself comfortable on the worn leather chair. The last thing I remember before my eyes closed was the dark of the evening, and the glow of the green from the machines against his pale body. And how much I hated that pale flesh.