Title: Wires and Waves
Author: Ella
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Post "Skin"; spoiler free should continue with extreme caution. Anything that's aired in the US is fair game. Tiny spoiler for 11.20 modified in this chapter, although you won't catch it if you don't already know what it is.
Disclaimer: My mother never trusted me with sharp playthings, either.
Summary: They're still dancing.
Notes: Whoa, all of a sudden a month has gone by! How did that happen? ... I have no idea, but I blame midterms. I struggled with this chapter, and it went through many more revisions than previous chapters before landing in my beta's inbox. I don't expect the fourth chapter to take as long, depending on my schedule.
And while I've got your attention, it seems that some of you may have the wrong idea about where this story is going. I'm not giving away any secrets, but I've got the entire story planned out. I'm expecting seven chapters plus a short epilogue. Just to clear up any further confusion, this story is about Carter and Abby. I'm not going to guarantee an outcome ... but while other characters may make appearances, the main story does not ultimately concern them.
Interpret that as you wish and read on ...
Chapter Three: "Bend and Not Break"
I am fairly agile
I can bend and not break
Or I can break and take it with a smile
And I am so resilient
I recover quickly
I'll convince you soon that I am fine
Her earliest memories revolve around storms in one way or another: thunder and lightning, wind and rain, lamps violently disconnected from end tables as they crashed to the floor, temper tantrums and fits of rage and shrieks and cries that would last all through the night. Yet it was not the weather phenomena that would visit her nightmares or fill a dark silence with ghosts.
For she was Abby Lockhart and, at age nine, she was not afraid.
Some twenty-six years later, this is no longer the case. She wonders if maybe she'd have been better off had she known fear all those years ago.
This particular evening the rain fell heavily, an uncharacteristic storm for Chicago at that time of year. She curses the forecast for stranding her without means to deal with the impending challenge of darting to the El platform; her attentions are otherwise occupied when she hears a voice - a man's voice - call her name.
For the record, Abby has probably seen Jake a collective six or seven times outside of the hospital since his graduation the previous spring. Four of those times, she might add, could be credited to journal club. At County, they were bound to run into each other from time to time as he had matched in pediatrics and would somewhat frequently find himself volunteering to assist with any case that might draw him to the emergency room.
For though their breakup had been clean, both subconsciously decided it would be best to keep their distance for the time being. Abby did so to hide her embarrassment; being called on a relationship by John Carter had not been in her plans. Not that he had any room to judge, she reassured herself - but it stung nonetheless. And to make matters worse her conscience agreed with him. Her brain wracked with professional guilt, she finally found the strength to deal with the fallout of the abduction.
Jake, of course, decided to keep his distance because he found it almost as difficult to be near Abby and not be with her as it was to be with Abby while her mind was somewhere else entirely. Matching at County gave him comfort in the knowledge that he could watch her from afar, and watch he did. All year he watched - coffee breaks, difficult patients, friendships, relationships. He noticed Dr. Dubenko's continued fumbling interest in the resident, her careful footsteps around the feelings of Luka and Sam in the aftermath of their breakup, her close friendships with the other second year residents, her dealings with that new PICU attending ...
And so he watched. He watched and he watched and he waited.
Now March is turning quickly into April, nearly three months since her romantic arc with Dr. Tollison came to a close. And he's anxious and tired of waiting. Combined with the fact that he is no longer a med student – no longer her med student - Jake cannot help but wonder to the illusion of a second chance.
"Abby ...?"
He's glad to catch her alone, to have the chance at a conversation uninterrupted. Some casual snooping told him that her shift would be over at seven, bringing him to the ambulance bay at 6:50 that evening - weak excuse in tow. She seems a little bit distracted, but she is alone. It's almost better than he might have hoped where Abby is concerned.
If Abby is startled by the greeting, she does not show it.
"You get called down here on that little girl in two?"
"Hmm?"
"The little girl in exam two. I've been waiting on a consult for a couple of hours. I'm waiting for some test results, but I thought I'd go ahead and put the call into peds so that I might get to talk to someone before I sign out."
"Oh, no. I've got a shift in a little while, and I thought I'd stop by to see if you were here. I've been wanting ... to see you ... It's been awhile."
"We've both been busy," she says, flustered. She's not sure she wants the time between meetings to shorten any - especially now that he's back. She doesn't want to risk misunderstandings or misinterpretations.
They settle quickly for teasing conversation of a slightly fragile. But before he can even begin to broach his objectives, the shift change crowd casually begins to make their way in and out of the lounge. The stream of doctors and nurses ebbs and flows sporadically. In the commotion Jake's eyes shift their gaze to the lockers on Abby's left side, immediately focusing on the name directly behind her face.
Almost as though his acknowledgement of the nametag sends a telepathic signal to its owner, John Carter appears in the now-quiet lounge. And it's questionable as to which man is more taken aback by the presence of the other or, for that matter, who feels more threatened.
"Dr. Carter?"
Carter nods in acknowledgement, though it's obvious that the reintroduction is not necessary.
"I didn't mean to interrupt anything," he motioned toward the pair, noting the guilty look that crosses Jake's face.
"Oh no, I was just on my way out." She gives a self-deprecating laugh that could be attributed either to the storm raging outside or the potential storm brewing in the room.
Jake looms awkwardly in the corner as Carter continues.
"Actually, I was hoping to catch you. Before you go, if you've got a second ..." Once again his eyes scan the pair in front of him, this time locking with hers.
Before she has a chance to agree, an incoming trauma and several caffeine-seeking colleagues break the quiet scene unfolding in the lounge. Jake slips out unnoticed and almost forgotten. Discouraged as his business is left unfinished.
Abby slips out moments later, a haphazard "We'll talk later" mouthed across a busy ambulance bay.
She disappears to the El platform, and Carter wonders if she said anything at all.
While Abby's early memories revolve around storms, Carter remembers places, people, landmarks; his childhood divides into before, during, and after his brother's illness. He recalls both separating events with unforeseen clarity considering his age at the time of occurrence, though most of the details in between blur so that he remembers only portions - pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that hold no specific markers. Colorless, odorless interlocking fragments of a childhood spent in a different kind of darkness.
This particular stormy night, he keeps his composure until patient and family of exam two finally made their way to pediatrics. Now the room is vacant, save the tiny stuffed creature he cradles in his hand.
It happens, every so often. He stumbles across the case - the one that hits the heart at a 45 degree angle. Two years ago, each case seemed that it might be so critical. At the time when everything needed to mean something, he was careless in both thought and action. He suffered, refused to heal as he heard words unspoken and unintended: figments of a desperate imagination.
Some things never change; this case is one of them.
You never get used to it. The good news is you never get used to it. At least, I haven't. So you may have come up here to be alone - but you're not.
But he is alone. Very much so. Everything and everyone he loved disintegrated beneath his touch, and he is alone at the end of the day. And that makes this case - this patient - all the more difficult.
"Mr. and Mrs. Murphy? ... The results of Emma's blood work just came back ... I'm afraid I've got some bad news."
"How bad?" The little girl's father is speechless, and her mother's voice breaks as she speaks for the two of them.
"The tests and physical examination point to Hodgkin's lymphoma." His own voice is unsteady, and he has to pause for a moment. "I know this is a hard thing to hear, but I've called a couple of specialists and we need to get Emma admitted as soon as possible ... I'm really very sorry."
"Then what?" Her mother asked. Her eyes were broken and lifeless. For a fraction of a second he thought he saw his own mother's pain written into each crease on her forehead.
It's only this time, this night, that he understands. The realization comes so quietly that he does not hear it, even an hour later as he fingers the child's toy with his right index finger in the empty room.
The rest of his shift passes uneventfully in the wake of his unacknowledged metamorphosis.
It's over just as the sun should be climbing the sky. Though the storm itself retreated, the vestiges of grey clouds that remain seem to have other plans.
No destination comes to mind as he starts the car, so he simply drives. He finds himself sitting in front of the Methodist church and, before his so-called better judgment gets a chance to protest, makes his way inside.
The clock glares at his ten-minute late arrival, though no one else in the basement room seems to mind - or even take notice. Experience has told him there are three types of people who attend AA meetings. First, there are those whose attendance is - to some extent - obligatory; their disinterested stares are backed by an otherwise occupied train of thought. There are about fifty other places they'd rather be - their jobs, for one, or painful dental procedures. Second, there are those who feel the need to be there, for whatever reason. They are so wrapped up in their own pain and suffering that they wouldn't hear the fire alarm if it started to blare in the background. Lastly, there are those whose attendance is no longer mandated, yet they feel some stabbing sense of obligation to continue to attend. They are the ones whose distractions neither focus on their own problems or on the fact that they'd rather have their teeth pulled. Nevertheless, they only catch small fragments of the words that echo in the room.
As he takes an empty seat in the back row, it strikes him that he doesn't quite fit in any of these groups. He's not sure quite what to make of that notion.
Three days and two AA meetings later, he does not know what's come over him. Why the sudden change? Why now? He thought he had found all the answers over the course of the past year. He isn't so sure anymore.
It's then that it happens.
He's just finished sending an eight year old MVA to surgery when he hears laughter coming from the drug lock up. Her laughter. It's not loud, but he would know that sound anywhere.
He knows he shouldn't listen, but he cannot quite tear himself away.
"So, you never told me what you thought about next Saturday?"
"Oh, Jake. I don't ... I don't know."
"You don't think it's a good idea?" Silence for a moment, and he holds his breath for any indication of what might be happening. "Abby, we had so much fun the last time, and my family - they love you."
It's worse than he had expected. How could he never have known that she met Jake's family? The obvious answer would be that she'd never told him.
The idea that she had met the Scanlons sent a sinking feeling straight to his gut. Their relationship may have been more serious than he'd let himself believe.
Abby, he knows, is not his; she never was - not entirely. But there's a primitive instinct that he can't stand the thought of some other man winning her heart. This concept isn't foreign to him; he did, after all, spend well over a year pining after her. He satisfied himself with her mind and her heart and her friendship while she herself went home with Luka each night. Then, when he finally had a chance, he turned her down. His ego had been long-past wounded, and he wouldn't be the second choice. He's often regretted this, in the years that followed that fateful night by the river. Past dreams have offered vivid details of how things might have been different. It remains one of the only times where he recalls her being truly vulnerable in his presence, and she had been beautiful.
"Dr. Carter!"
Morris' voice brings him back to reality with a painful jolt as he realizes he never heard Abby's answer.
He glances casually in drug lock up as he follows Morris to triage, but no trace of the two residents remains.
The next few days pass slowly in John Carter's world. His renewed attendance at AA meetings is the only way of marking the time. He keeps with him the thought that one day she might make an appearance as well. The Methodist church, he remembers, was her preference for some unknown reason.
Several days have come and gone since he overheard her invitation from Jake, and he has not yet gathered the courage to approach her. Among other things, he feels the pressure of the date fast approaching.
He's sitting at a meeting on Friday evening and listening somewhat attentively to a middle aged man telling of his struggle against the bottle when he catches her eye across the room. She's sitting with a woman he doesn't recognize, though he feels that maybe he should.
His attention to the remainder of the meeting is almost nonexistent. He cannot quite think of her, but he cannot forget her presence either. His thoughts are a haze of memories, bitter cold mornings and coffee mugs and breezy summer evenings and a nondescript sound of chatter over dessert. It might not be her voice - or it might be. All order and accuracy displace each other and minutes tick away.
Only as it draws to an uneventful conclusion does Carter's focus return to earth. She waves at him across the room as she stands holding her coffee and, for a moment, his whole world stands still. Her grip on him is as firm as it ever was, though she remains endearingly unaware. And he gravitates toward her.
"Hey, stranger." She greets him amicably, causing him to wonder just how much caffeine must be in that coffee. It is still early in the day. "I had no idea you were coming to Bill's again."
She seems both surprised and pleased, offering a small smile and kissing him on the cheek.
"Yeah, I've been coming a lot the past week or so. No reason in particular, it just ... felt like the right thing to do. I guess -"
"I know what you mean. I come once every couple of weeks just because I've got this voice that keeps nagging me to make an appearance."
She almost adds that the voice sometimes sounds remarkably like him. She's glad, moments later, that she does not.
"You know, I've got a shift in an hour. I was going to grab some real coffee, if you're up to it?" Like old times.
He watches her intently as she answers, worried that his offer has offended her. She stops to check her watch but then beams up at him as she says, "I'd love to."
Forty minutes later, they find themselves tucked away in the back corner booth of an ordinary, uninteresting coffee shop. The location isn't important, other than the fact that it's about halfway between the hospital and the church. She's sure she's seen its name advertised somewhere, although she cannot remember when or where. It's a hole-in-the-wall kind of place, the one that you'd pass by a thousand times and not ever notice its existence no matter how much it might want you to. Second rate classical music fills the background, but neither Carter nor Abby is listening enough to notice even the genre of music playing.
"... Oh, I'd be willing to bet you haven't shared since I was your sponsor!" she exclaims with such enthusiasm for the jest that her face flushes slightly.
Yes, and look how well that turned out, his eyebrows threaten right back at her. "You weren't sharing either, you know."
"But I've been attending meetings on a regular basis for almost three years! It's hardly necessary, Carter."
He wonders when she became the one lecturing him on AA again, when the tables turned and roles rotated once again in their relationship. He realizes that this happened long before he was willing to recognize it. He knows it happened sometime while he was in Africa that second time, and he once again is overcome with regret that he did not witness that change in her first hand. If only ...
"Carter?" The concern in her voice is evident as it breaks his thoughts. "You got quiet on me all of a sudden. What's on your mind?"
"Nothing, really." He wants to be honest with her, but time is once again getting away from him. His shift starts in less than twenty minutes. "There's just something I've been meaning to talk to you about." He stops briefly to ensure she's listening, "The Foundation is having this big benefit for the opening of the house, and if you're not doing anything next Saturday night, I was wondering if you could ... if you wanted ...?"
He trails off, not continuing the question any further as to gauge her reaction.
"Date stood you up again? It's not flu season anymore." She's mocking him, he notes. He enjoys her playful tone for what it's worth.
"There's no one else I'd rather take, you know." He thinks she might have smiled at this, but he does not want to hope too much. "It's formal, of course. But I can promise good food and great music."
"So, basically dinner and dancing?"
"Yes. But this time - I promise - no dinosaurs."
Now when she smiles, her whole face lights up. And he knows it.
Again, sorry this took such a long time. I really appreciate all of the kind and encouraging words thus far :)
