CONTINENTAL DRIFT
An Epic Overseas Carby Exploration

(Post-"Now What?")

Chapter Two: Cold Heat

Rating: PG-13 with very strong cautioning for romantic situations.

Summary: Carter and Abby found each other in Paris but they felt an ocean apart. How did they get to this awful place in their relationship and what will it take to find their way back? Even the strongest love can show a crack. The test is the strength of the bond.

Disclaimer: Of course, I claim no rights to the ER characters etc.

Author's Note: Did I mention how nice it is to hear your lovely comments? Second of nine chapters is below. I hope you get lost in it the way I did.

FOR HOURS DURING the flight from Chicago to Paris, Abby pictured this moment: Carter would see her, be so moved by her gesture, take her in his arms, apologize for walking away from her—not once but twice—and beg her forgiveness. Then, she would know finally that he didn't mean to leave, that he cared about her, and this nagging feeling that she had ruined everything would disappear in the warmth of his arms.

Instead, he looked at her and said, "What are you doing here?"

He didn't even reach for her, and so she put up her defenses.

"I listened to your message," she said as she folded her arms across her chest and leaned her weight on one hip. "What happened to the flight to Rome?"

"I missed it. I walked around a while, and then I called you back."

"I know."

"So what are you doing here? Is this about Luka? I told you I'll find him."

"I wanted to find you . . . to tell you that the Alliance called, and they said will claim Luka . . . you know . . . his body. It's not safe to go there. "

For a moment, Carter thought she might say that she came after him because she loved him and was sorry she asked for her key back and gave his stuff back. If she would only say she missed him these past few weeks and couldn't let him go again. If only she'd come one step closer and look up at him with pouty lips, he'd put a kiss on them. But she didn't.

"You came all this way just to tell me that?"

His eyes grew cold, and she shrank from them.

"I didn't want you to go to the Congo if you didn't have to."

They may as well have been an ocean apart.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere tonight. I traded my ticket to this flight for the one to Rome, and now this one is booked solid. I have to wait until the next flight to Kinshasa in the morning."

"Too bad," she said, deliberately allowing him to interpret her meaning as either sarcastic or sympathetic.

"Where are you staying?" he asked.

"Where am I staying?" Abby hadn't thought of that. She pictured finding him in the airport and convincing him to go back with her. She thought they'd be back in her apartment in time to order a pizza and crawl into her bed.

"I don't have a place yet."

"Well my flight's at the crack of dawn. I guess I'll just get a hotel room close by. I think there's a Hilton on the highway right outside the airport."

Carter headed toward the exit, and Abby stood flabbergasted. She didn't understand. She flew all this way, and he was so matter of fact—as if it were every day that he ran into her in the Paris airport.

He stopped and looked back at her. "Look, I'm sorry. I've been awake for almost 48 hours, I'm not thinking straight. Come with me and let's go get some sleep, okay?"

They jumped in a taxi and headed toward a small hotel just on the outskirts of the airport.

"Paris is beautiful," she mumbled to break the silence.

"If you call this Paris . . . we're on a highway," he mumbled back.

"So?"

"So it looks like a highway anywhere—we could be in Oklahoma."


CARTER ASKED KATIE, his travel agent, to find two one-way tickets to Tulsa, being that Luka was not going to accompany Abby to retrieve her mother, who "bottomed out" in an Oklahoma motel. Luka offered to "make some calls," but Abby needed to go to her. With Carter's help, they retrieved Maggie in a sorry state and made their way back to Chicago in a rental car. Only just as she said good night to him they discovered Maggie unconscious, most of the life drifting out of her from an overdose of over-the-counter drugs she picked up along the way. Carter raced her to the hospital, and he and Luka worked on her with needles and tubes—and daggers for each other in those days—as Abby cried. Once resuscitated, Maggie was locked in the psych ward on suicide watch. Luka came to see Abby then. She told him he was right, that Maggie needed more help than she was able to provide. They went back to Luka's hotel. He patted her on the shoulder and told her it would be okay, and went to sleep. But Abby knew better. She lay on top of the covers staring at the ceiling, wondering if sleep would ever overtake her again.

Back at the hospital, Carter retreated into the lounge with his cell phone, sat on the couch, and dialed Abby's home number. When there was no answer, he tried the alternative.

The vibrate mode on her cell phone jarred her, and she reached down into her bag on the floor next to the bed.

"Hello." She practically whispered, her head hanging low off the bed so as not to wake Luka.

"Hey, it's me, Car—"

"Hi, John," she said before he finished identifying himself. She swung her legs off the bed and tiptoed into the bathroom and closed the door quietly. "Where are you?" she asked.

"Working. I had a shift tonight."

She sat on the bathroom floor and leaned her shoulders again the cool porcelain of the bathtub. "You did? I'm sorry. I didn't realize. You must be exhausted."

"No, I'm fine. I got plenty of sleep last night." He lied. He stayed awake in the adjoining motel room in the event Abby needed him. "I checked on Maggie a little while ago. Her vitals are good, and she's sleeping now. She should be okay."

"Until the next time."

He felt so sorry for her.

"What's going to happen now?"

"Probably a locked ward—Legaspi said she'll evaluate her again in the morning. I guess I'll find out more tomorrow."

Chuny startled Carter when she peeked into the lounge. "Carter, LOL with a hip fracture on the way. ETA in five."

"I'll be there."

"Ambulance?" Abby asked. She hoped not. His voice was beginning to relax her.

"Yeah."

"I guess you'd better get back to work." She hoped he wouldn't.

"I guess I'd better. Well, I was just thinking about you . . . you and your mom, I mean. And . . . uhh . . . I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Thanks, Carter . . . for everything." Her throat started to tighten.

"No problem." He didn't want to hang up so fast.

"Abby?"

"Yeah?"

He spoke softly in her ear, "You know, if you need anything . . ."

She realized what she needed was for him to stay on the phone with her and keep her company. She was alone locked in Luka's bathroom. He slept soundly on the other side of the door despite the fact that her mother lay close to death hours earlier. She bit her quivering lower lip and stared up at the ceiling struggling to keep tears from overflowing her lids.

"Abby?"

She didn't answer, and he grew concerned when he thought he heard a sniffle.

"Abby?" He touched the mouthpiece of his cell phone with his fingertips.

She swallowed hard so she could speak. "I know," she said, but it was only a choked whisper soaked in tears.

He wanted—no needed—to help her.

"Look, Abby, I could—"

She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. "I'll be fine, thanks."

He'd have to take her word for it. What else could he do? He didn't dare ask, but he knew she was with Luka. Though if that were the case, why did she sound so . . . alone?

"I'll talk to you tomorrow?" It should have been a statement, but he asked it as a question, needing to hear as much for his sake as for hers that they'd connect the following day.

"Sure . . . tomorrow." It was easier to control her voice if she spoke one word at a time.

They said good-bye, and he folded his cell phone gently and stroked the aluminum housing with his fingertip. Without realizing it, he rested it on his chest in the vicinity of his heart. And 7 miles, 800 yards, 2 feet, 3 inches away from him in the bathroom of Luka's hotel room, she did the same.

"I'D LIKE TO see Europe one day," she said just to break the silence of the cab ride. "I came to London with Richard for his sister's wedding. I took a week's vacation so we could do some sightseeing. When we got there on Saturday, he told me he had class on Monday. So we came right back. His class turned out to be date with a flight attendant he met on the way." She grew silent and turned away and watched out the open taxi window.

He stared at her profile as she gazed out and watched as the warm Parisian breeze blew her silky hair in long streamers behind her. Her eyes were half-closed to shield them from the force of the breeze, and it accentuated her lashes.

"MONSIEUR, ONE ROOM or two?" asked the registrar when Carter and Abby approached the desk of the small hotel near the airport.

He looked at her, and it stung. He wished he hadn't.

"One."

She held her tongue until they entered the room, and then she could no longer.

"That's it? I came all this way, and I get, Abby what are you doing here?"

"What? What do you want me to say?"

"You know, you always blame me for being negative, but you gave up first."

"I gave up? You asked for your key and left my stuff in a plastic bag in the lounge for everyone to see. Remember that?"

"After you disappeared with no notice. Was I supposed to wait around and wonder if you were ever coming back?"

"Why wouldn't I come back? I just wanted to go to Africa to feel like I was really doing something. I just needed to get away—"

"From me? You were trying to get away from me?"

"No, from my life!"

"Well stupid me, I thought I was part of your life."

Her remark brought things to a halt.

"You made your feelings plain, Abby."

"So did you when you came back from Africa and sat there on my bed—"

"What's wrong with that? I came directly to your apartment to see you."

"Why?"

"Because I missed you."

"Because you missed me or because it had been weeks since you'd been with a woman?"

He glared at her with unblinking eyes and spoke slowly through clenched teeth struggling hard to control his anger.

"You think I showed up at your apartment for sex! "

She wished she hadn't said it, but she was committed now. They were fighting, and she didn't know how to get out of it.

"I don't know. You weren't interested in me at all before you left. You barely told me you were leaving, and then suddenly you show up at my apartment in the middle of the night! What was I supposed to think?"

"You were supposed to think—"

His nostrils flared with temper.

"Never mind!" he said. He unzipped his bag and threw it on the floor. He pulled a few items out, scattering most of them. Then he stormed past her into the bathroom and slammed the door.

"I didn't mean that." She stood waiting for him outside the bathroom when he emerged bare-chested, wearing only a pair of jersey drawstring pants—the way she'd seen him sleep dozens of time. They hung low on his waist, and drew her eyes to the thin line of dark, distinctly male hair beginning at his abdomen and continuing below the drawstring.

She held her hands out to block his way out of the bathroom.

"Did you hear me?"

He walked around her. She turned to follow.

"I didn't mean what I said about why you came to my apartment, okay?"

He didn't answer.

"Okay?"

She couldn't stand the cold shoulder. Maggie would do that.

"Carter?"

"Okay," he answered without looking at her. But it wasn't okay. "It's been a long day for both of us. Let's get some rest," he mumbled.

"Yeah, I'm exhausted," she agreed.

She went into the bathroom and a short while later she came out still in her jeans and knit pullover.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"I thought you were tired?"

"I am."

"They why don't you get ready for bed?"

She looked down and scratched at the inside of her elbow and mumbled, "I . . . I didn't bring anything to sleep in." She seemed so childlike, and in that moment he felt bad for her.

He reached into his bag and took out a clean white T-shirt.

"Here. It's been to the Congo and back, but it's clean."

"Thanks." She took it from him and retreated to the bathroom.

Carter looked out the window and saw nothing but concrete and asphalt. Off in the distance, the Arch de Triomphe, the Eiffel Tower, and all the beauty of Paris were just out of reach.

When Abby first came to the ER as a med student, it was her eagerness to learn that caught his eye. But before he could discover who was behind the sweet face and smart demeanor, a stranger stole his soul by plunging a knife in his back and letting his courage and self-esteem seep out onto the floor. His body survived, but his mind had a secret—a weakness—that she discovered before he did. And when she did, he accused her of betraying him, though in truth she saved his life.

She remained the one person who could see inside him. And as they spent time together and grew to be friends, he started to need her. But by then she was with Luka. Nevertheless, when he discovered the sadness she carried inside her, he tried to take away her pain as she had done for him. He wanted nothing more—except maybe to go for pizza every once in a while and perhaps a movie. Oh, and if she would let him kiss her that would be nice, too. And if they suddenly found themselves naked and she invited him to touch her body, he wouldn't mind that either. But then he'd shake himself into reality and remind himself once more that Abby was with Luka, a handsome and talented physician beloved by the staff—especially the women.

He opened the window fully and sat on the sill serenaded by the sounds of highway traffic as she got ready for bed in the bathroom. It was not the first time he'd waited for her to change.

WHEN HE ARRIVED at her apartment the night she agreed to accompany him to the charity ball she was dressed in black pants and was distressed to see he'd donned a tuxedo. She stormed into her bedroom to scrounge for something more formal to wear and closed the door with such force that it slowly rebounded and crept open again—enough for him to glimpse the black lace bra she wore beneath. She emerged in a pink satin bridesmaid's gown and printed shawl—huffing and puffing at the spectacle she made. He knew then that he wanted her—the girl in the puffy pink dress. But he thought she looked beautiful, and all that evening she felt so good in his arms.

Afterward in the limo they agreed they had a good time despite running into her ex-husband Richard, who recognized the dress from his sister's wedding. In a few quick turns, they were in front of her apartment again. He stepped out of the car and held onto the sleeve of her cloth coat to help her out. She slipped a little and her arm came out of her coat, and she spun around and the other came out, too.

"Whoa. Haven't you had enough dancing for one night?" he joked.

"I'm sorry," she laughed, her cheeks burning with embarrassment and the rumbles of uncontrollable giggles coming on. "I'm sorry," she said again, laughing harder. He joined her, their cackles approaching canine decibels.

"Come on, it's freezing. I'll walk you upstairs."

She grabbed her coat and held it in front of her rolled up in a ball and entered the vestibule of her building.

At the base of her stairs, he bowed deeply and swooped his arm indicating she should ascend the stairs ahead of him. She headed up, and he followed right behind her.

Rrrrrrrrriiiiippppp.

They stopped.

"What was that?" Abby asked.

"Uhhh, nothing," Carter said, as he lifted his shoe off the train of her pink satin dress.

"I heard something."

"No, nothing." He began to laugh. "Keep going," he said as he surveyed the damage his shoe caused.

"Carter!"

"I stepped on your dress."

"You stepped on my dress?" She tried to sound upset, but instead she laughed.

"I'm sorry." His shoulders shuddered with giggles as he saw he had torn away the skirt of her dress from the bodice, broadly revealing the back of her sheer pantyhose through which her pink bikini underwear could be seen.

"Did it rip?" Abby said while straining to look over her shoulder.

"Not much," said Carter, struggling to suppress his laughter while staring at the huge hole in her dress.

Just then, the outer door to the building opened, and Mr. Flanagan, Abby's 80-year-old downstairs neighbor, shuffled in from the outside. The open door sent of rush of cold air up Abby exposed bottom. She stiffened in horror as realized what a gaping hole there must be. Carter jumped in front of her exposed rear end to shield her from the old man's view.

Abby tried her best to change her tone from hysterical laughter to quiet dignity: "Good evening, Mr. Flanagan."

"Sir." Carter nodded out of respect, careful not to move from his precarious position.

The old man looked skeptically at the two of them and shuffled toward his apartment. When Mr. Flanagan closed his door, Carter and Abby exploded in giggles.

"Oh my God, I have to move," she squealed.

"No you don't," he laughed.

"Yes, I have to move and change my name . . . "

"Don't worry he didn't see anything." Carter chuckled louder knowing that wasn't true.

" . . . I have to move and change my name and leave the country—I definitely have to leave the country."

Their faces were red, and they could hardly breathe from giggling so much.

"Stop laughing," she said, unable to control her own hysterics.

"I'm not laughing."

"This is serious. I can't live here anymore—"

And just then they heard a noise below them. They realized it was the sound of a key in the lock once more.

"Run!" they said in unison in a whispered shout.

He turned and grabbed Abby's fallen train, and they bolted up the stairs.

She quickly put her key in her door and ran into her apartment not realizing he was holding the back of her skirt. Down she went in her doorway, taking him with her.

They landed on the floor, their faces red, tears falling down their cheeks, unable to catch their breath to speak in anything but little squeaks.

Finally, their laughter subsided as he realized he was on top of her, his weight on his arms. She lay beneath him, out of breath from laughter, her chest rising and falling as her lungs filled with much-needed air. And as their breathing slowed he looked down at her soft brown eyes, curvy lips, and delicate neck. The urge to kiss her overwhelmed him and caught him off guard. He flung himself backward off of her and landed hard on the floor, hitting his head against the doorframe. She lifted herself up on her elbows.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes . . . uhhh . . . fine," he said, his pulse still racing, "How 'bout you?"

"I'm fine," though her cheeks felt warm.

He stood and reached down and to help her up. She was careful not to turn her back to him.

"I'm sorry. I'd really like to pay for the dress," Carter said, his pulse finally returning to normal.

"It's not necessary," she said, suddenly feeling a little awkward. "I told you, it was a bridesmaid's dress. I'm lucky I ever got to wear it again."

"Well, the next wedding you're in, I'm buying you the dress—I insist."

"Okay, next wedding, the dress is on you."

EVER SINCE THAT night, he hoped one day to hear her say "I love you, John" and to see the excitement in her face when he walked in the room. Almost three years later, the hope was still there, but that's all it was—hope. It was finally sinking in that she didn't need him.

She emerged from the bathroom and crawled swiftly onto the bed. He turned out the light and followed. They lay side by side silently staring toward the ceiling in the darkness as a warm summer breeze blew the sheer curtains into the room.

She broke the stillness.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Uh, huh."

"When you called my machine back, what were you going to say?"

"What do you mean?"

"You called me back from the airport and said, 'I just want you to know . . .' Know what?"

He thought for a long while, and then he said: "I don't remember."

The room fell silent again. She never felt as far away from him as she did at that moment. She broke the silence once again but this time with a tiny sniffle that her teary eye caused. It softened him.

"Look, I know it was a big deal for you to come all this way," he said softly.

"I didn't like how we left it. I . . . I thought you would come back to Chicago with me."

There, I said it, she thought.

His interest was piqued: "You did? Why?"

Why? Isn't it enough that I hopped on a plane to stop him from leaving? And she grew defensive again.

"Well, for one thing, Kerry's really shorthanded—what with you running off and Luka . . . gone," Abby answered.

That's why? She's worried who'll cover my shift? She always seemed to disappoint him. He took a deep breath.

"Well, I can't just let Luka . . . rot there."

"Carter—"

"Abby I've got to go. I'll be back soon."

"John—"

"Let's get some sleep."

He leaned over to her, and they kissed quickly—more out of habit than affection. They were each afraid of not kissing, of what it would say about their relationship, of the finality of it. But Abby put her hand on his cheek and nudged his face back toward her. She looked in his eyes, trying to create a spark, almost daring him to kiss her again. But he was a thousand miles away. The pain started to build in her stomach and showed up as a tear in the corner of her eye.

Her damp eyes brought him back to the moment. He was frustrated, but he did not want to cause her pain. She had enough people in her life to do that for her—and she created plenty of her own. But Carter's fuse was short this evening, and his mind was yelling for escape. Nevertheless, when she slipped her hand down from his cheek and let it rest on his bare chest, he decided to kiss her again. It was always easy for his body to respond to hers.

His kiss was hard, a little angry she thought. His lips were tight and his hands, which he moved to her waist, were rough. But she clutched him, not wanting to pass up the opportunity to be close to him for the first time since before his grandmother died. He moved his lips to her neck. His face was scratchy with growth from the night before.

It was less than 36 hours ago that he was delayed at the airport in London on the way home to Chicago—to her. He took advantage of the time to wash and shave in anticipation of seeing her again. How naïve of him to think he could walk back into her life after the way he left for Africa. He knew he was wrong. He even thought he should try harder to make it up to her. But it was all the trying that made him tired.

But here she was in the cramped Paris airport hotel, the City of Lights out their window. A T-shirt of his and a pair of white underpants was all she wore as she waited for him to kiss her some more. He did. And quickly the T-shirt she had just donned came off and then all their clothes were gone. And without much ceremony, they fell against each other.

It had been weeks since they'd shared a bed—maybe months when you add it all up. However, this time was different from any other time. She could feel his anger. He seemed quiet, brooding, perhaps cold might even be the word—so unlike their usual lovemaking, in which his body was strong but his touches were tender and punctuated by loud sounds she grew to understand as his language of pleasure. But he spoke none of it tonight. She kept her eyes closed, afraid of what she might see in his face.

She can't even look at me, Carter thought. Normally, when they were this close to each other, he'd meet her eyes and try as hard as he could to make her see how much he loved her. And when she'd look back at him in those peak moments, her arms clutching him closer, he was almost sure she loved him just as much—almost. Hours later, under the cover of darkness, with the complete abandon that only deep sleep affords, Abby would slide her naked body along the cool sheets over to where he lay. Once he felt her soft skin against his, he'd gather her close and fall back to sleep with his lips tucked into her hair.

For the first time since she'd been intimate with him Abby could not relax enough to experience any satisfaction and just waited as if she were alone. She wanted to tell him how much she needed to feel close to him right now, but she couldn't—she never could. Usually under the cover of darkness when she needed to feel close to him, she'd pretend she was asleep and slide her naked body along the cool sheets over to where he lay . . .

He loved her—so much he could feel her on his skin even when she wasn't there. And he'd wake each day hopeful it would be the one when the wall around her would come tumbling down. But hope didn't flow from him anymore; it froze like ice and cracked into little pieces, and he brushed them away. It was resentment that filled him tonight—and pain and futility. And she could feel it. He made her feel it.

After, he recoiled from her like a distant stranger. Abby reached down and grasped a corner of the blanket that barely covered her nakedness and rolled away from him to hide her face. She stared at the wall opposite the bed. And, softly, she began to cry.

Next—

Chapter Three: Hop, Skip, Jump

The action begins . . .