A small, note, small, spiel from the author: Yes, there most definitely is more to this story. But what I can't believe… is the very kind reviews people have been good enough to give me :) I'd never expected half of the like! Thankyou, very very much… I really appreciate all the feedback.

You kindness makes me blush!

A disclaimer, also from the author: Again, I repeat, I disclaim all… I own nothing here bar the random patients appearing, and I have no money, so unless you wish to sell me into slavery I beg you do not sue.

Chapter 2 – A Rude Awakening

"No, you don't have to do this… you don't have to do this!"

Abby stood in the woods, shivering uncontrollably. Was it cold? It certainly felt like it should be. The darkness around her felt as though it was coldness. And there was so much darkness… yet she could see everything.

The trees were moving. She could have sworn they were closing in on her, pressing nearer. And it was so bone-chillingly cold. It must have been. Her hands were freezing.

She tried to yell, tried to call out… tried to call for help. If someone was nearby, they might just hear her. They might come and get her! The thought filled her with hope, yet desperation. She just wanted to get out, to get away, any way she could.

She just wanted to go home.

She opened her mouth, in effort to call out. If someone was standing nearby, they must hear her. It was the only way. It was her only hope.

She gathered her willpower, and screamed. Nothing came out. She tried again – still, nothing. Why couldn't she scream? What was wrong with her? She couldn't even lift an arm to signal, It was like they were shackled. Glimpsing down at her wrists, she saw they were indeed shackled. Huge, rusted chains lashed her arms together, tying her down, powerless. She looked up helplessly, searching the darkness… hoping to see a person's face, hoping to see someone, anyone she knew at all. Hell, she'd even be ecstatic to see her mother.

But it wasn't Maggie standing there.

Two figures watched her, shadowed, but imposing. She knew their names. How could she not? They'd be engraved in her mind forever. And so would the next thing she was about to see.

On the ground beside them, completely motionless, lay a body…

If she could have, Abby would have screamed. She would have done anything to take away the horror she felt. She would have covered her face with her hands. She would have, if they weren't shackled, or if they weren't… covered in blood. Staring down in horror, she saw the thick, crimson, liquid staining her palms, and smearing the scrubs she wore. Instantly, she felt weak.

It was her fault.

The two who were left behind, the two who were alive, they stared silently at her… silently blaming her for the death. She felt like screaming hysterically, only she couldn't. Their eyes were so sad…so sad and so angry it frightened her.

And each of them held a gun.

"Please," she begged, She could hear herself crying, sobbing. "You don't have to do this, you don't have to do this!"

"We got business to take care of." Was all they said. Their voices were cold, too. So cold…

They moved closer…and flashed the light of a torch straight in her eyes. If the darkness was bad, the light was even worse. It illuminated her for exactly what she was, and she couldn't see anything properly… only fragments, snatches.

Helpless.

But she couldn't run, she couldn't hide, she couldn't even scream for help. Was anyone near? Why weren't they coming to get her! Didn't they know she was in danger? She glanced wildly around her.

"Please!" she begged, she pleaded, trying desperately to free herself from her shackles. Why was she shackled anyway?

Was that her fault, too?

She looked up into those cold, black eyes. They were watching her, and her every movement. They could see her very fear, she knew it.

Slowly, they raised their guns. She could see them, blindingly. The torch was still flashing, flashing in her eyes, it wouldn't stop, it wouldn't go away.

Her eyes widened in fear. They were closing in on her, and she couldn't get away. Couldn't even scream, and couldn't get away from that terrifying sadness in their eyes.

"Please!" she whimpered.

"Bitch."

They fired.

Abby woke with a jolt.

Sweat gathered in small beads upon her face, and her breath was coming in short, drawn gasps. So dark, so cold… Frantically she put a hand over her heart. It was beating. She was shivering… only… she wasn't cold, she was warm. Boiling hot, in fact. But their eyes. They were so sad, so cold. She was sure if she looked into the darkness they would still be there, waiting for her… Abby glanced furtively around her, trying to take in all her surroundings in the same instant. That turned out to be a big mistake. All she saw was a shadowed blur, and her head started a dull throbbing. With a moan, Abby dropped her head backwards and pressed a palm to her temple.

Where the hell was she?

Gradually, her body released its tension, and the throbbing died down. When she concentrated on slowing her breathing, her heartbeat started to calm, too.

Slowly, her surroundings started to bring themselves into focus. It was dark, but gradually her eyes became adjusted, and she could begin to make out shapes. Strangely familiar shapes.

She wasn't in the woods anymore, there were no trees around her, but she could see shapes of… equipment. Hospital equipment. There was a bench close by, and on it she could make out a large degree of clutter, the form of a large lamp lying still and switched off, and behind that, an x-ray screen.

Peering down at her body, she noticed crumpled sheets. So she was in a bed. How exactly had she gotten into a bed? She couldn't seem to remember… it was like a bad hangover, waking up the next morning and not being able to recall just how you had managed to find your way home or elsewhere in one piece. Only Abby didn't have a hangover… and she wasn't exactly home. She couldn't seem to describe what she had, only that it didn't feel clinical.

Carefully, she untangling her limbs from the twisted linen. She winced slightly, as sharp pains shot mercilessly through her arms and legs, beginning somewhere near her joints. Must be from being out in the cold so long, then sleeping at an awkward angle, logical Abby supplied her mind. Oh shut up, will you? Irrational Abby snapped.

Abby rubbed her shoulder and pondered… wasn't talking to yourself the first sign of madness? And answering back the second? Oh well…

At length, she managed to disentangle her legs. It was then she noticed her scrubs were gone.

Gone! Where exactly had they gone! What the… She stared blankly at a clean, boring hospital gown. On one hand, it was good to be rid of them, meaning also being rid of the bloodstains. On the other hand, she wondered who exactly had removed them. Did she even want to know? If her vision served her correctly and she was indeed lying in an exam room at County General, then she felt oddly exposed.

Exactly like that moment she had stepped into the light in the ambulance bay. It was a feeling of… not shame, not guilt, but she imagined it was something like how a patient felt as she was doing a rape kit. Not just having what little dignity you're clinging to taken away, but having to let another person be so invasively intimate with you right after perhaps the worst possible experience of your life… and a person you barely knew. One who would be closer to you than most family members, and perhaps never see you again.

It was a feeling of violation, of unwanted attention and of brokenness, while at the same time remembering that it was all in the name of medicine. Those four awful words: to fix you up. How could you ever 'fix up' a person by merely doing a rape kit? How could someone be given the power to try and tell you what was wrong with yourself? Abby's mind wandered to the night Brian had hit her. She'd had to trust Susan that night, only it was different. She knew Susan. They saw each other almost every day. There were things that couldn't go away by being ignored or left unspoken.

Something of that night a few years back had given Abby a little understanding of what it was like to be the patient. And she had a feeling that this night would further it.

Abby's lips formed a bitter smile. Did the world, or karma, or whatever it was, have some way of finding out how to get even with her? So that she had to experience everything in order to understand?"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetheart, did I wake you?"

Abby jumped. Eyes wide, in the second it took her to unclasp her hands and be vaguely surprised she'd clasped them while ruminating, she jerked her head to face the sound.

"Honey?"

Across the floor, in the next bed, sat a large black woman dressed in a gown, gazing at her questioningly.

Abby abruptly closed her mouth, realising she'd just been asked a question.

"I'm sorry?" She began dazedly, unwilling to initiate much at all. But if the old lady sensed her apprehension, she still went right on anyway.

"I was just reachin' across for that bottle o' water, when I accidentally knocked that dish clean off the shelf. And what a colossal sound it made! Hope I didn't wake you, honey?"

The old woman smiled, big black eyes staring kindly across at her through the darkness.

Abby glanced downwards. Sure enough, lying where it had fallen, was a small, metallic, medical dish. If she hadn't been so jumpy, Abby could have laughed at herself for imagining that a dish had been a gunshot-

"You were sleeping so lovely and peaceful and-"

"No! No, It's fine," Abby interjected forcefully, slightly shocked at the vehemence in her own voice.

So was the old lady, apparently, who shrunk back a little into her numerous pillows.

"Alright, If you say so, sweetie."

Abby almost felt sorry for the poor woman… poor and unsuspecting of the wrath of Abigail Lockhart, she thought wryly. So she tried to offer a small smile in the effort to apologise, hoping it appeared genuine. Aside, though, she couldn't help but feel odd, at the idea of being called honey, and sweetheart. They sounded like names she might have called a young patient.

An uncomfortable silence followed, Abby resolving to stare at the ceiling. The woman was the first to summon the courage and break it.

"Listen, sweetie, my back ain't what it used to be… time catches up with us all, don't it?"

She gave a little chuckle, but trailed off when she noticed Abby didn't laugh.

"I understand, if you ain't quite up to it," she went on, "but I am awful thirsty and I can't reach that bottle on my own. I bought it myself, from that wonderful machine on the way in. I never did feel thirsty, though, 'till now. I know you just woke up and all, but what would be wonderful, would be if you could…"

Abby shifted her gaze towards the woman. What did she have to lose? She nodded her head. Besides… she couldn't think what else she possibly had to do. She wasn't in agonising physical pain… was the woman? Whatever the case, at least, if nothing else, she could do something for a patient. Perhaps it would make her feel less like a patient herself.

Slowly, Abby sat upwards and swung her legs over the bed. Testing her feet, she figured they could hold her well enough, even if her hip joints did have that annoying deep, dull ache. She tucked her hair behind her ears, rubbed her temples with the flats of her fingers more from habit than anything else, and stood up.

The floor felt cold on her bare feet. Within a few short steps, she'd reached the shelf and picked up the bottle of water. It was one of those plastic kinds, the kind you might get for a dollar from the fridges at the jumbo mart, with the push-top lid and everything. Nothing special. How had the lady brought it with her into the exam room? Meh, what the heck, Abby thought. I'm not really the doctor here anymore.

The plastic was cold in her hand, and the little beads of moisture were heaven to her warm palm. Abby was suddenly possessed by the urge to put the bottle up to her head, like a mock ice-pack. For a crazy moment she was even tempted to drink the lot. Maybe it would get rid of that feeling in the pit of her stomach. Or was it in her head now? She couldn't tell.

Wordlessly, she handed the drink to the old woman.

"Oh, thankyou sweetheart! God bless you."

Abby nodded, smiled weakly and hastily retreated back to her bed. She swung her legs gingerly over the side, biting back a curse when she felt her hip-joint crack. She'd never really enjoyed the sound of cracking bones in their sockets… but at least it pretty much fixed that dull ache. Slowly she rested her head back on the pillows, lying prone and staring up at the ceiling.

There was an ugly stain on the roof. At least she though it was a stain – it was hard to tell in the darkness. She'd never noticed it before. Then again, she didn't often view the ceiling of the ER from this angle. It was very different, seeing things from the patient's perspective. Slightly unsettling. She concentrated harder on the stain. If she squinted, and shut one eye, it looked almost like… a rabbit.

"Might I ask, honey, what're you here for? Pretty girl like you…"

Abby bit her lip and stared hard at the ceiling. That lady would feel the need to keep on talking. Doesn't she realise I'm not safe to converse with? Abby moaned inwardly. The old woman meant well and everything, but honestly, Abby sometimes felt that she had to wear a sign of flashing, bright neon lights, saying when she was in a dangerous state. Perhaps it would solve a few issues. Perhaps every female should be issued one. Yes, that would save a lot of trouble around certain times of the month.

Then again, she considered how lonely the woman must feel, waiting for eternity and beyond in a room that wasn't your own with people who didn't love you. And this lady had struck a terrible roommate, Abby thought morosely.

Abby opened her mouth to say something, but couldn't for the life of her think what. She didn't feel very pretty just now. She knew she certainly couldn't look very pretty in her dishevelled state, the woman was probably just trying to be kind. Even with the bloodied scrubs gone, she still felt strangely dirty. But the thought was beginning to hound her. How many patients did she ask that exact same question of, almost every day? 'What are you here for?' It suddenly sounded so different when you found yourself at the receiving end. And it meant having to admit that something was wrong.

Abby hated to admit things.

"I… I'm sorry, I'm tired," She ventured into the darkness, defeated by her own question.

"That's ok, dear. I understand. You get back to sleep, now."

No, no, you don't understand… Abby felt like blurting out. You can't understand. I don't even understand.

Instead, she shut her mouth tightly and rolled over to face the wall. Outside the room, she could vaguely hear people moving, talking, some talking louder than others, some even laughing… voices she thought she recognised, but couldn't have been quite sure. Was that Ray's voice cajoling a nurse to do something for him? Was that Frank's voice bleating that someone had a call through line two? Bleat… could people bleat? Abby's mind supplied the scenes she imagined were taking place outside her little room. The chart rack was probably piled high, the board filled with names, and someone was probably complaining about having to cover for the rest of her shift… I should be out there, she thought to herself. Working, fixing people, helping people, saving their lives…finding out what's wrong with them. What's wrong with me?

In Exam Room Two of Cook County General Hospital, sometime past midnight, a tear escaped and rolled down a certain Doctor's cheek.

Right now, she was thankful for the darkness.

No one could see you.

---

Doctor Carter circled the admit desk, reluctant to grab another chart. It had been a long night… too long. One too many vomiting children. There must have been a virus going around, infecting every child within a five mile radius of the hospital. Good thing he'd had his flu shot, he'd probably escape it… but he was really starting to feel for the cleaning staff, yet at the same time feel sheepishly thankful that he didn't have to clean up all that mess. The thought was enough to make him shudder inwardly.

And what was the deal with Abby leaving mid-shift? She, of all people, should have known there were patients that needed taking care of. She needed to take her share of vomiting children too. Her leaving seemed too… insensitive, to the rest of the staff. What had been going through her mind? Absently, he wondered what Weaver would have to say. What a scene that would be.

He yawned and rubbed the back of his neck tiredly, arching and leaning it slightly forward as a tall person does in a crowd. He just wasn't sure, and he didn't quite understand. That was the way it was, he thought with a sigh. Some things about Abby he just didn't understand. Had that been their shortcoming? Neither of them understood?

No, that wasn't right. Of course they'd understood each other, to an extent… as much as two people could have, considering their past, hadn't they?

Carter swatted the thoughts away as fast as they came. Now was not the time to be thinking about his or her shortcomings… and certainly not past events. Thinking about the past only hurt someone or got you in trouble, as he was quickly deciding these days.

Glancing over towards curtain three, he spied Morris bellowing ear-splittingly loudly at a patient. The Doctor's arms waved high in the air as his voice grew louder and louder, his face grew redder, and more and more patients turned to gawk. Carter sighed. It had been a long night, and it was getting longer.

Quickly he skirted behind the board without so much as a glance, and walked past a realm of charts. There was a good many, and he looked around to see if anyone else was closing in on them… apparently not. Where did all the Interns go when you needed them? Apart from Morris? Shifting his stethoscope slightly around his neck, Carter shrugged and whipped a chart from its place like second nature, quickly scanning across the information supplied. Elderly woman, complaints of back pain… good. Well, not specifically good, but nothing out of the ordinary, and definitely not too messy. He didn't quite feel up to a big surprise. Or another vomiting child.

He strode across the floor, dodging patients, doctors and orderlies without even looking up, and pushed open the door to Exam Two. For barely a moment, he paused, to call over his shoulder,

"Morris, loud English is just as hard to understand as normal English. We don't need an epidemic of hearing loss, so please, go and find Chuny."

Then he stepped inside, where it took him a few seconds to register that the room was in complete darkness. He rubbed the back of his neck again and groaned inwardly. Who turned the lights off in a hospital? Lights were practically always on in a hospital. Well, it seemed like they were, anyway. That's what made the ER seem so devoid of time…

He reached a hand towards the wall and fumbled for the switch. Seconds later, bright hospital light flooded the room, reflecting off everything white, which seemed to be a great many things. Carter blinked a few times, focusing on the smiling woman in the bed. His patient. She didn't seem at all perturbed that he'd suddenly invaded her world with light, nor by the fact that she'd been waiting there for… about five hours, apparently.

Carter switched into Doctor mode, walked over to stand by her bed, and smiled gently down.

"Hello, Mrs… Arbett," he greeted, glancing briefly at his chart. "What seems to be the problem tonight?"

"Well, you see dear," Mrs Arbett began with a smile, "I was bendin' over to pick up one o' my grandchildren, cause we were at the park, and he wanted to get onto the swing. But when I lifted im, I felt this pain, right here in my back, all of a sudden, it's like… Dear? You alright?"

Carter wasn't listening. He wasn't even looking at her. During his patient's spiel, he had done the very thing he always told his students never to do: he had trailed off.

And his face was a picture of slow shock and realisation, as he stared with wide eyes at a figure in the very next bed, lying on its side, facing the other wall. He was sure he knew that figure. He'd gazed at it before. He was sure he knew that hair, that couldn't seem to decide wether it was brown or blonde…

"Dear, are you alright?" The old lady repeated, snapping him out of his reverie.

"Uhh…" he began, unsure of what to do. That figure, in the next bed… it couldn't be. He could see on the bench behind her, a pair of dirty scrubs, smeared with dark stains…

"I'm sorry, Mrs Arbett," Carter apologised quickly, "Could I get back to you in just a second?"

He didn't wait for a reply, but turned around and exited the room. Fast.

Once outside, he immediately bumped shoulders with Susan.

"Carter!" she exclaimed, surprised. "I was just going in to-"

"Was that… Abby, in there?"

He asked incredulously, jabbing his thumb at the door behind him.

Susan stared.

"You mean… you haven't heard?"

"Heard? About what? Did something happened to her?" Carter questioned in disbelief. "I mean, what's she doing in there? I thought she… we thought she was-"

"Yes I know what we thought!"

Susan interrupted so fiercely, that Carter was taken aback. He gaped at her, searching her eyes for any sign that might tell him what the hell was going on.

"I know what we all though, Carter," she repeated, but this time with a tinge of guilt seeping into her voice.

Carter stared at her. It must have been his Doctor's instinct that put two and two together, because suddenly, he sensed that Abby hadn't left mid-shift at all. And judging by Susan's frazzled nerves and the uncertainty in her eyes, that whatever was going on, she felt responsible for.

Carter mentally kicked himself. After all the things he'd just been thinking of… how could he have blamed Abby? How could he have thought she'd leave in the middle of a shift? She had her hang-ups, true enough, but she was a Doctor – dedicated to her patients.

But if she hadn't left… were had she gone?

"I'm sorry, Carter," Susan began, rubbing her eyes wearily. "I just assumed the whole floor knew by now."

"It's ok, Susan, but… what happened to her?"

"Well, we thought wrong," she replied softly as they both turned and stood side by side, watching an unmoving Abby. Carter couldn't tell wether Susan was dodging his question, or just being plain mysterious. He decided on the latter.

"I suppose we did."

"You suppose?" Susan questioned with a hint of sarcasm, folding her arms across her chest and tilting her head ever so slightly to the right. The still figure of Abby shifted slightly.

"Well, I mean," Carter started guiltily, "Do you know what's going on?"

"No, I don't, Carter," Susan replied matter-of-factly, "But do you see those scrubs over there?"

Oh yes. He had.

"Yeah. She wasn't… wearing those, was she?" He asked suspiciously, thinking of the dark stains.

"Yes, she was."

"You don't think that she could she have been-"

"I don't know!" Susan burst fretfully as she shook her head and hugged her arms all the more tightly.

"Anything's possible!" She went on, before Carter could get a word in edgewise. "I mean, I was just going in to check if she'd woken up yet, to see if I could get any sense out of her…"

Susan's voice gradually rose in pitch.

"…Cause when I found her, my God, you should have seen her. Wearing that blood, I held her and she was crying so hard, I've never seen her like that before, and It was so… so…" Susan searched for a word… without success.

"…it was all my fault!"

Susan trailed off as Carter stared hard at Abby. Beside him, he could hear quiet sniffles, and he began to understand. He was seeing a different side to the Susan he knew. Her job really was taking it's toll. It wasn't an easy thing to manage hospital staff, let alone manage your friends… and to see a friend, whom you had been calling most of the night to leave unsavoury messages on their answering machine, to see your friend like that… must have been just about, well, too much.

Carter reached an arm around Susan's shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze.

"Susan, whatever it was, wasn't your fault."

"But it was… oh it was. I shouldn't have been so vindictive. Or controlling… I mean, reviewing three months of charts? God, what was I thinking-"

"Susan, it's not your fault. Alright? And somehow I don't think it'll be Abby's fault either. So you're going to have to tell her that. Ok? Susan?"

Carter felt Susan tighten against arm, but finally she nodded her head, and whispered, "Ok."

Wordlessly, he fished in his coat pocket and handed her what looked like a clean handkerchief.

"Thankyou Carter," she sniffled, giving a small chuckle.

Carter gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze. And Susan, despite herself, was amused.

"Who carries around pocket handkerchiefs now, anyway?"

Carter laughed.

"Well, you know what they say. Old habits…"

"…they die hard."

"Yes, they do."

"Well, what arewe going to do with you, then?"

"I have no idea." Carter chuckled, rubbing his brow with the back of his hand.

Susan nudged him playfully. Then, after a moment's silence, she nodded her head in the direction of Abby.

"Hey, I think she's awake…"

The pair watched in silence as Abby slowly lifted a hand to tuck and smooth her crumpled hair.

"Unless she just does that in her sleep…"

"Carter, please."

"Sorry. Listen, Susan… do you need me to do the exam?"

"No. Thanks, anyway, but I think should do it. She probably doesn't even know how she got there in the first place… I've never seen someone out of it so fast."

Carter nodded silently. His mind was beginning to consider possibilities. Glancing at her face, he could see Susan's was too. Still there was one more thing left to be said… and neither of them felt like saying it. Finally, Carter released his breath and forced himself.

"Do you want a rape kit?"

"No, not yet." Susan murmured. "I don't know if she's actually physically hurt. I didn't see anything on the surface, if you know what I mean… But we won't really know until we talk to her. She seems a lot more settled now, so I'll give it a shot. But if I need anything…"

"Just come and get me, ok?"

"Ok, thanks."

Susan glanced up at Carter, and gave him a quick smile, before worming her way out of his grip. He smiled comfortingly, and turned to go back to the admit desk and grab a new chart.

Chart? Chart! That reminded him.

"Oh, Susan! My patient? Mrs Arbett…"

Susan paused, hands against the door.

"Could you give us awhile? I'll tell her you're on official Doctor's business. Either that or I'll see If we can get her moved. By the looks of it, anyway, she's fairly patient."

"Guess that's why they call 'em patients."

"Yeah… thanks."

"Hey, no problem."

Susan took a deep breath, and pushed open the doorway.