"Hey! Carter!" a familiar voice called out from behind him on the El platform.

Carter turned, a broad smile making it's way across his face as he saw who was walking toward him. "Peter!" he called out in greeting, extending his hand. "How are you? What are you doing here? I haven't seen you since the wedding."

Peter Benton took the offered hand and shook it strongly, a small smile on his own face. "Don't get all excited, Carter. Cleo and I are just up for the weekend. There's a show she wants to see, and that Ethnic Market on Monday."

"Really? What show?" Carter asked, stepping aside to let other passengers board the train.

"Um...The Nutcracker actually," Peter answered, rolling his eyes slightly.

"Reeeally?" Carter laughed. "The sugar plum fairy and everything, huh?"

"Not my idea, man. But you know, you gotta keep 'em happy."

Carter smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, you do." He cocked his head as a thought occurred to him. "You know, I've been thinking about taking Abby to see a show. You think we could go with you?"

"I don't see why not," Peter answered with a shrug. "Actually, I think it would probably be a good idea."

"So, how's Reese? I bet he's getting big."

"Yeah. He's almost six now."

"Where is he?"

"Oh, we dropped him off at Roger's for the weekend. Let them have Christmas together. You know."

Carter smiled and nodded. "Man, Peter, I am so glad you showed up. Abby's got three hours left on her shift, and I had no idea what I was going to do this afternoon."

"Well, Cleo's at the hotel taking a nap. I told her I'd pick her up about four. So that leaves..." Peter trailed off as he checked his watch. "Two and a half hours. You want to go grab lunch or something?"

"Yeah," Carter answered, nodding his head. "Doc Magoo's?"

Peter moaned and turned to follow Carter down the steps. "You know, there are places to eat in this city that don't put your life in danger."

"Oh, you risk your life getting out of bed in the morning, Peter. And besides, they make really good cheeseburgers."

"Carter?" Peter called from the hallway, pounding on the door. "Carter? Open the door, man!"

The door on the left opened, and Peter saw an old woman poke her head out. "Who are you?" she asked.

"Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to disturb you," Peter responded, banging his fist against the door again. "Carter!" He looked back at the neighbor. "My friend here, he's a little slow. And I'm getting tired of waiting!" Peter directed the last part of the statement at the still-closed door.

"Well, it's just that they're normally such a quiet couple. They're such nice young people. And since Abby had all that terrible trouble with Brian last year, I get worried when I hear yelling out here. And with all the noise I heard from their apartment earlier..."

"All what noise?" Peter asked, only half listening.

"Banging and thumping and shouting. A lot of shouting. I even thought I heard John scream, but I think it must have been the television. That other young man left, and it's been quiet since then. I think they were arguing."

"What other young man?" Peter asked, suddenly concerned.

"Oh, I don't know his name. I've seen him before though. I think he's a friend of theirs. But today...there was just a lot of noise going on."

"Go back inside," Peter ordered the old woman. He started banging on the door frantically. "Carter! Open this door or I will!" When there was no answer, Peter started ramming his shoulder into it, trying to force it open.

"Really, is that necessary?" the woman asked quietly. "Perhaps John left?"

"Go inside!" Peter responded impatiently, backing up a few steps and running into the door with his shoulder. "This doesn't concern you."

"I'm calling the superintendent," she answered shortly, closing her door and locking it.

"Carter, I'm coming through this door!" Peter bellowed, throwing himself against it again. "And I'm coming through right now!" The door moaned in protest once, then the frame cracked, and Peter fell to the floor inside the apartment.

"Carter!" he called, pushing himself to his feet and looking around. "Carter! Where are you?"

Peter heard water running in the bathroom and walked to it, pushing the door open slowly.

"Carter!"

"I can't believe you eat this stuff willingly," Peter said in disgust, poking at the pile of lettuce and cheese in front of him. "Who ever heard of a garden salad with cheese in it?"

Carter smiled at him around the large cheeseburger he'd been about to bite into. "Maybe it's time to rethink that whole vegetarian thing..."

Peter shot a glare in his direction, and Carter smiled. "When was the last time you had a great big juicy cheeseburger?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Long enough ago that I don't remember what I'm missing."

"Nah...you never forget the good stuff. You may convince yourself that you've forgotten. You may even want to believe you've forgotten. But you never do."

Peter's expression became one of concern, and he leaned forward slightly. "Carter, don't talk like that."

"Talk like what?" Carter asked in confusion. He ran his words back through his mind, and almost choked when he realized what Peter meant. "I was talking about cheeseburgers, Peter."

"Right," Peter replied, unconvinced.

"I was! I swear! I was talking about cheeseburgers."

Peter studied Carter's face for a moment before speaking again. "So, how are you doing with that?"

"Two years today," Carter beamed, reaching into his pocket. He rubbed the small gold coin fondly, and then laid it on the table.

Peter picked it up carefully and inspected it, flipping it over to read the inscriptions on the back. He smiled at the younger man as he handed it back to him. "I'm damn proud of you, Carter. You're doing it."

"Some days are harder than others, I have to admit," Carter said thoughtfully, turning the coin over in his fingers. "Today has been a bit rough. But I've been there, Peter. And I don't want to go back. I won't go back."

Peter glanced down at his watch again. It had been an hour since he'd dropped Carter off to get changed. He'd already gone back to the hotel and gotten Cleo, and there still was no sign of Carter.

"What do you think's taking him so long?" Cleo asked.

"I don't know," Peter answered. "He told me he'd be ready in fifteen minutes."

"Maybe Abby ended up getting off early after all?"

Peter shook his head. "No. Even if she had, it still wouldn't take them an hour to get ready."

"Well, what do you think we should do?"

Peter sighed, glancing up at the window to the apartment Carter shared with Abby. "I'm going to see if I can get him to buzz me up. Wait here. I'll be right back."

Peter climbed out of the car and walked toward the building, pushing open the iron gate and taking the front stairs two at a time. He started looking around for the intercom when he reached the door, but stopped when he saw someone walking toward him.

"Can I help you?" the old man asked through the glass in the door.

"Yeah, I've got a friend who lives here. John Carter?"

"John Carter? I don't think I...oh, wait, is he the boy that moved in with Abby? The doctor?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah. I'm waiting for him out here, and it's starting to get a bit cold. Any way I can go up?"

The man considered it for a moment, and then smiled. "Sure." He unlocked the door and let Peter through, closing it behind him. "You look like a nice enough sort. Top of the stairs, second door on your left."

"Thanks, man," Peter answered. "I really appreciate it."

Carter lifted his head and forced his eyes to open.

It had been an instant reaction, a remembrance of things he'd thought he'd forgotten, a feeling he'd sworn he'd never feel again: the warmth in his veins and skin as the heroin flooded through his blood, the false happiness, the rare lack of pain. His mind screamed at him to fight it, and to pay attention to what exactly was going on around him, but part of him just wanted to give up and give in, to relax into and relish the familiar sensations that had been missing from his life for so long.

He was slowly forgetting that there was a reason he didn't allow himself to do this any more. He was slowly forgetting about Peter waiting outside, about Abby, about himself, about everything that was important to him. Though he had never used heroin before, he was slowly sinking back into his addiction, the heroin replacing his constant craving for painkillers.

His body had been to hell and back since he'd first walked through the door to the apartment, though he couldn't remember exactly when that had been. He was bruised, battered, and broken in more ways than one. He still couldn't move, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd been able to. At least the heroin also had the comforting side effect of making his arm stop hurting.

It was his mind though, his tortured, unfocused, numbed mind, that was trying to pull him back to reality. It was his mind that focused on the picture of Abby hanging on the far wall of the living room, and on the sweetness of her smile. He had to survive this, if only to tell her how much he needed her.

He felt the confusion subsiding somewhat, and he concentrated harder. Peter...Peter was downstairs, somewhere, waiting for him. Peter didn't like to be kept waiting, and Carter had no clue how long he'd been here. He hoped and prayed that Peter's temper would get the better of him soon, and that his friend would break through the door to help him, to end this.

He closed his eyes again and focused on his breathing. He counted the breaths, in and out, and found that with each breath, it was easier to concentrate. He was remembering more about his situation, and about how he had ended up in it.

He opened his eyes again, only to find the other looming over him. Carter jerked involuntarily, trying once again to pull away, only to find that his arms and neck were as immobile as they had been before. He tried to push against the floor, but his legs wouldn't move. Tears of fear and frustration ran down his face as he realized he was still helpless.

The full syringe was in the other's hand again.

"It's time to end this now," the other said, pulling his other hand from his pocket. In his fingers, he held a razor blade.

Carter tried to scream, but no sound escaped the tape across his mouth. He shook his head violently. "No!" His mind cried the words that his voice couldn't. "Not like this...please...not like this!"

Carter felt the sting as the syringe sank deep into his vein, again felt the familiar warmth as the drug spread through his system. It vaguely occurred to him that it was more than before, that it hadn't completely cleared his system from the last time, that it was going to be too much for his body to handle.

His hands were suddenly free, as were his feet, chest and neck. Had he been able to move, now would have been the time to run. As it was, he could only shuffle his feet along as the other moved him from the kitchen to the bathroom. He couldn't fight when he felt the other lower him into the bathtub and turn the faucet on.

"Just relax, Carter," the other's strangely soothing voice told him. "This will all be over soon."

Carter jumped slightly when he felt the razorblade break the skin above his wrist. His mouth was still covered with tape, but it was unnecessary; Carter didn't have the energy to scream again. He let his head fall to the side and watched with morbid fascination as the blade cut across his wrist from right to left, blood immediately gushing from the gaping wound. "Not enough to kill me," he thought. "But I'm gonna leave one hell of a mess behind."

As the cloudiness descended around his mind again, he could think of only one name, only one face, only one person.

"Dear God, please don't let Abby find me."