Greetings, from the author: G'day! How's your billy boiling? Ahem. Now that's out of my system, I want to thankyou, for all the kindness you've shown in your reviews… and thanks very for also telling me things that you specifically liked! It helps a lot, when writing. Feedback is a wonderful thing.

Also, some people have been saying that I should update faster… and as much as I would like to, unfortunately, I am in my last year of school and things tend to get more than a little busy. So I'll try to get in updates at least once a week, but I'm not going to be any speed demon. I apologise, but there's not much else I can do.

I also apologise for a couple typos in the last chapter… largely due to the fact that when I read over my work, my mind injects what I think should be there, not always what is there. So I apologise in advance for any more you come across.

Disclaimer: ER plus ME equals: I DO NOT OWN.

Need I be more specific?

Chapter 4 – "Dark Hour"

"Ahh… Aster?"

"Yeah, like the flower. They're my mom's favourite. You know which ones they are?"

A tall, curvaceous, fair skinned girl with clear blue eyes sat stiffly on the gurney and smiled bashfully. Her dark blonde hair seemed to match her eyebrows exactly, also the funny, pale brown colour of her t-shirt, Neela noticed.

"Uh, yes. I think so."

Neela smiled back, embarrassed. She'd found, ever since she'd started the practical part of medicine that it hadn't agreed with her quite so much. She often missed the comfort of a little dorm room, when she'd been surrounded by books, the desk lamp burning over her shoulder and the hours ticking slowly away. She'd felt secure, then. She'd even go so far as to say comfortable, or happy. Everything was predictable, and could be learned by flicking to the correct page. Or you could ask your professor the next day. And her grades were predictable. Always soaring. Soaring…

It was when she was here, under the bright hospital lights, putting into practise all she'd read about, that she started to feel unsure about herself. She couldn't control whatever was going to happen next. It wasn't written in any textbook, and no one could tell her how to handle it. It was going to be by experience alone. There wasn't going to be any flicking to the next page, and finding the answer written in small, orderly, black print.

Neela hated that. And she hated herself for being embarrassed. She hated herself for not having the right instinctive touch, not with the old man and his cancer, not with the pregnant teenager, not with the man whose wife she couldn't remember, not even with Abby. She hated the fact that about three-quarters the way through a twelve hour shift, she was sitting beside a bed in exam three, facing another emotionally taxing case. She was sure Doctor Kovac and Doctor Lewis were out to get her, trying to drain her emotions completely… what she had left of them, when she was working, anyway.

And, apparently, her patient satisfaction scores had majorly sucked. Damn numbers. How could they suddenly describe, all at once, the way she went about her job? She hated that.

She'd found she seemed to be hating a lot of things, lately. Was there still something that she liked? Hmmm… medical procedures, she liked those. The kind where you knew exactly what you were going to do next. Luka's words echoed in her mind… "You're gifted technically, Neela. You just need to find a way to bring that confidence over to the other side of your game…"

It was harder then it looked, though. And it wasn't a game… not the sort you played for fun, anyhow. At least, with a procedure, you could be prepared. They were written out in lovely, tidy black type, for you to go and look up. Nice, neat, perfect. Tidy words, no stupid little numbers that told you exactly what you did wrong, or unexpected changes. Oh, and coffee, she liked coffee. She could do with another one right now. Her last one had been mopped up only a few hours ago. She'd barely even gotten a mouthful.

Neela stifled the urge to yawn. Now, of all times? Why did she have to be tired on top of uneasy, and why did Aster's eyes have to be so steady, and staring, and… and… blue? A vague memory flashed across Neela's mind of driving across the English countryside, the sun shining down in a picture postcard kind of way, and clusters of Asters by the roadside… all their petals a clear, pure blue.

Neela had something very important to say to this girl. Things that were going to change this girl's life. Things she didn't want to say, but was forced to. And she hated it.

"Right, Aster."

Aster smiled again. She smiles an awful lot, Neela mused tensely. You never would have thought she felt any pain at all.

It was poignant, really. Neela liked that word, 'poignant'. So much description in such a small word, really. She was big on package deals, economising, and disliked wasting space… and that word wasn't a space waster. She especially like the look of it when it was written out. But she hated feeling it.

Sitting… in lounge…with coffee… Neela glanced behind her shoulder, wishing desperately that she might close her eyes, and that when she opened them she would be somehow magically sitting in the lounge, a steaming cup warming her hands. It had been a draining shift, full of… well… failures. And now, Neela was afraid she was going to fail again.

"So, Aster, you said you stopped sport over a year ago. That was because of the pain, right?"

Aster's smile faded slightly. It became more wistful, if anything.

"Yeah. It just hurt too much. And I… I couldn't keep letting my team down."

"I'm sure you wouldn't have let your team down at all."

"Thanks," Aster smiled self-consciously, and tucked an odd coloured strand of hair behind her ear.

Neela told herself that that was good. It was good that she'd made the patient smile. It was written in all the textbooks… make positive statements, make the patient feel at ease and try to develop connection, and trust. It was written in all the textbooks, nicely, plainly, neatly.

Aster suddenly looked up, and interrupted Neela's thoughts.

"I… I also stopped playing piano recently. I couldn't move my fingers fast enough."

Neela's heartbeat seemed to speed to twice its normal rate. It was never easy, telling a patient what sort of nasty disease they had, but why did it have to be the good ones that got cut down? Why did it have to be the ones who were active, alert and enjoying life? Why couldn't it have been some lazy kid who never got off the couch anyway? It wasn't fair.

"You didn't say that before." Neela reprimanded quietly.

"Yeah, I know." Aster began fiddling with the belt loop of her jeans, and Neela noticed how stiffly her fingers worked their way around the blue strap. It was a miracle, really, that she'd kept on playing an instrument as long as she had. Neela wiggled her own fingers. She could probably still use them for the viola… it had been awhile, though, before they'd touched any instrument besides a surgical one. She took a deep breath, and continued.

"I want you to know that I ordered an RF on your blood sample. Now an RF is a special test, it actually stands for 'Rheumatoid Factor'."

Aster nodded without looking up. She continued to slowly loop her stiff fingers through the small strap in her jeans. In and out, curling around, slowly uncurling, twisting painfully… Neela straightened her own fingers abruptly, as if afraid they might stiffen up just by watching. She forced herself to look at the girl's down turned head.

"What an RF does, is test for certain things in your blood…"

The girl went right on fiddling with that belt loop. Neela hesitated for a moment. The urge was strong to run away, fast, and call social work… let them deal with a teenage girl who was going to have half her life wrenched away. It took a lot of willpower for Neela to grit her teeth, and force herself to finish. Then all at once, she found herself releasing every word in one breath.

"…I think you may test positive for a disease called Rheumatoid Arthritis, which means you may need medication and could perhaps be eligible for surgery later on in your life, depending on wether or not you want-"

"I can't play piano again, can I?"

Aster stopped fiddling with her belt loop and looked up.

Neela stared straight back. She's blunt. And she already guesses it…oh this is harder than I want. Please let it be over. Neela wasn't one to beat around the bush herself, and she hated people who constantly made up excuses… so she forced herself to answer back. At a time like this, excuses were meaningless.

"No, you might not."

Her patient looked down, and wordlessly resumed twisting her stiff fingers around the belt loop. The knuckles were still swollen, even after the time since Neela had done the exam.

Neela glanced cautiously around the room, wondering if anyone else was watching, but was met with the boring print of a curtain… that's right, she remembered drawing it when she'd walked in. Hmm… that would explain it. She gazed back at Aster, and all of a sudden, she was possessed with the urge to cry.

You are a teenage girl with arthritis, Neela spoke inside her head, hoping that she might somehow be blessed with the sudden gift of telepathy, and you can't play piano again. My fingers are perfect, and I haven't played the viola in years.

Time seemed to pass excruciatingly slowly, Neela not daring to speak and Aster twisting and untwisting her fingers. Please say something. Ask a question, anything, Neela pleaded silently. I can deal with questions. It's the silence I can't stand.

After what felt to Neela to be a painstaking eternity, the girl suddenly lifted her head to look her straight in the eye. Neela wanted to runaway from that staring, blue gaze. Again she fought the urge to up and call the social work 'lifeline'… and in her mind, she saw the flowers in the country side, reaching out earnestly to the sun with their lovely, clear blue petals…

"Arthritis?"

"Yes." Neela released a breath she didn't realise she'd been holding. "While it's not curable, it is treatable, and with medication you can lead a fairly normal life."

"I thought older people got arthritis."

Aster stared at Neela, straight and unblinkingly.

"No, actually, rheumatoid arthritis can show up in a small child. Sometimes without any family history. It's a very different type to the elderly onset version."

Neela blurted strings of words from textbooks that had told her about rheumatoid arthritis. Perhaps it would have worked, were she turned the other way and watching the boring print of the curtain, but looking into those eyes, the aster coloured eyes, made every explanation feel deathly insufficient. Completely meaningless.

"Can I call your Mom or Dad?" Neela asked, half standing already.

"No… they're away for the weekend. I've been sleeping at my friend's. I… I don't want to see her just yet."

"Well, do the family of your friend know where you are?"

"Yeah. They dropped me off here."

"Alright, then, as long as they know. I'll have to call you parents, though, anyway-"

"They don't have a cell phone."

"They don't?"

"They'll be heading back in an hour or so. They'll be home by morning. You can try then, if you like."

"Ok."

Neela nodded, and turned to go. For a moment, she lingered. She had that awful feeling, the one she got whenever she knew there was so much more she could have said or done… but a few more steps, she tried not to appear too eager to leave nor too hesitant, and then she was out of the curtain. Away from the boring print, and those staring blue eyes.

Swinging open the door and walking back into the mass of people and reality, Neela was suddenly struck by something.

The girl had never even cried.

---

"Mrs Arbett?"

"Oh, you're back again!"

"Yes, dear. Now, where were we?"

"The pain in my back."

"Ah, yes. Have you… ever felt any unexplained pains in your back, your neck, or other joints before this time? Any headaches, at all?"

"Well no, not really. My bones have always been good for my age, you know? It was just then, when I bent down to pick up my grandson. Ooh, what a colossal pain it was!"

Carter nodded and smiled warmly, as the large black woman gestured expressively with her hands. She had a certain way of speaking. It was slow, slightly drawn out, and never in a hurry. It was good to hear a voice every now and again that wasn't in a hurry… a rare occurrence, in the ER. Sometimes, it felt like all they ever did was shout at each other for a couple more units of O-neg… well, perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration. They shouted at each other various other replacement bodily fluids, too…

Carter loved those rare moments when he ran into another doctor in the lounge or in the hallway and they weren't so busy as to pass each other by without a smile, or a hello. Perhaps he was old fashioned, but if he was, he didn't care. He'd take a few peaceful, unhurried, old-fashioned moments over another litre of saline any day. It reminded him that they were all still human.

"Dear, are you alright?"

"Oh – Mrs Arbett, I'm sorry… where were you?"

Damn. He called himself a Doctor. He'd called himself one for years, and now he was trailing off in the middle of a patient's well-meant speech… twice, to make matters worse. To the same patient.

True, she'd been making more friendly small talk than anything else, but he had to confess, his mind wasn't as on the job as it should have been.

"Only when I picked up my grandkid, this afternoon. That's when I felt the pain."

"Ah… I see." Carter quickly grounded himself. Time to switch on the Doctor button again. He went on.

"If you'll just sit up and lean forward, dear, I'll have a look at your back. That's perfect, yes… ok, does it hurt here? No? How about here? And here?"

Carter released his fingers as the old lady tensed and sprouted a little 'ouch'.

"Oookay, Mrs Arbett. You can sit back, now. But I'd like to ask you: have you tried using proper lifting techniques when picking up your grandchildren? Or any sort of lifting, really?"

"Oh… proper lifting techniques?" Mrs Arbett inquired blankly.

Carter had thought as much. Still, couldn't hurt to be sure there wasn't anything else going on, especially with her age.

"Ok, then. I think it's probably just a strain, but we'll do a few quick tests to make sure, and you should be right to go. But not before we give you a few proper lifting techniques, Mrs Arbett, making sure you bend at the knees. Your grandchildren will thank you for it, I'm sure."

Mrs Arbett beamed thankfully up at him.

"Thankyou, honey, God bless you."

"Mhmm. You too."

Carter tapped the rail of her bed with his clipboard affectionately, and turned around to leave.

Absently, the Doctor rubbed the back of his neck and yawned as he made his way through the hallway… You never made your way down the hallway in the ER, it was always through… like swimming through a sea, only a sea of people. Everyone was going every which way at once, and if you weren't on your guard… you'd most likely be on the receiving end of an orderly's, another doctor's or worse, a nurse's wrath.

Speaking as such, he suddenly spotted Neela traipsing slowly down the hallway. She looked as if she was lost… which was odd, she should have known the hospital like the back of her hand by now. It never took that long.

He shifted his stethoscope and sped into a little jog to reach her faster, dodging a passing trolley in the nick of time.

"Hey, Neela?" he began, catching her attention through the mass of people and coming to rest in front of her, "You look lost. Need a few directions?"

"Uh…" Neela's dark eyes darted uncertainly about. "Is it… exam two, for Abby?"

"Yep, sure is."

"Ok," she flashed a nervous little grin. "Thankyou, Doctor Carter."

"No problem!" He called after her escaping, white coated back.

Carter stood and fiddled absently with the metal clasp on his clipboard. For a second, he was tempted to follow Neela… he was as anxious as the next person to hear what the story was going to be, also concerned for the wellbeing of a person he would call a friend. But he decided to go against feeling and let the girls have their time together, first.

After all, it might not have been something that was easily discussed with a man.

He turned around to head in the opposite direction, and gazed at the masses of moving people.

Why did they call it a hallway, anyway? It wasn't really a 'way', when it got clogged up so easily, was it?

Carter sniffed, and started to find his way through to the other end.

---

"I… went outside, to wait on the MVA."

Abby started at the very beginning. "A very good place to start…" Julie Andrews sang gleefully, somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind that remembered all the movies she'd watched as a kid and seemed to conjure them up at the most inappropriate times. Oh, shut up, irrational Abby snapped spitefully… not that she really had a special spite for The Sound of Music, she just wasn't in the mood to sing.

She was fairly sure she was the beginning… it was hard to tell, when she didn't want her mind to provide images to accompany words she was saying. She didn't want her mind to supply the memories to the facts she was trying to remember… facts over feelings, objective over subjective, that was her motto. That was what had gotten her out of deep and meaningfuls with the school guidance counsellors, that was what had sustained her through the illness of a person she both hated and loved, that was where she wanted to be.

She'd had a phobia of freefalling, even when she was a kid. Climbing trees was fine, reaching out for the sturdy branches and gradually inching your way to the top… but falling was a different story. When you hit the ground, you hit it damn hard. She remembered a few times of going to theme parks, with her friends, in big groups on the weekend… it was pure elation, the smell of popcorn, candy-floss and little-kiddish excitement all merging together and getting in your blood, making you want to do crazy, random things. All the excitement made it downright embarrassing to say to a group of your teenage friends that you didn't want to ride the rollercoaster. It was even more embarrassing when they asked why… when they gazed questioningly at her with wide, naïve eyes, how could she expect them to understand? She hated the feeling of speeding down, down, careening uncontrollably to who knows where. She'd seen her mother fall far too many times. Fall so far into big black pools of raging emotions, it made Abby afraid to fall, ever.

She'd asked her mom a question, once, when she'd been about eight years old. She'd tried asking her teacher already, who had only ruffled her hair and murmured uselessly, "You are a strange one, Abigail." Abby had poked her tongue out when the teacher turned her back… she hating having her hair ruffled, and hated being called Abigail. Maggie had been in one of her motherly moods, the type where she loved Eric and Abby to cuddle close and ask her things, so Abby had went ahead; "Why don't we have an explaining button, Mom? You just press it, and people always know 'zactly what you're trying say without saying it?" "Well, what would be the point in saying it, then?" Had been Maggie's swift response. It wasn't until years later had Abby actually realised what she'd meant.

If you didn't explain something yourself, it might as well have never happened.

Abby found herself wondering what would happen if she called Maggie up, now. Would she be Maggie, or would she be Mom? She imagined herself picking up the phone, punching the numbers, waiting for the dial tone and then blurting out, "Mom? Hi. I was abducted."

Oh wow. She'd said it. Not out loud, but she'd said the word in her head, and it suddenly became real. She'd been abducted. That was that. As factual and as objective as you could get it. Wow. A crazy, surreal feeling suddenly made her feel like she was floating, only floating in darkness, and she heard herself blurt the words into the air.

"Susan? It was abduction."

No, that wasn't it… there was no her in the picture. It sounded like she'd just diagnosed a patient with a terrible disease… but no, this time, it was her who had the disease.

"I was. Abducted."

There. She'd said it. How was that for bravery and trust? But Susan wasn't saying anything. Had she heard? Did she have to shout it to her, for goodness sake?

Abby breathed rapidly, fighting the urge to scream just to break the silence. She didn't know wether Susan heard or not, wether Susan saw her, what Susan was thinking, what the hell was going to happen from here… her head was swimming, her heart was beating so fast she felt like Picasso had drawn up her EKG, her lungs were sucking in the air as quick as they could get it, but she'd said it. The images she'd held off until now were tearing through her consciousness, and It was real, so terribly, dreadfully real.

Was this what it felt like to fall?

She couldn't tell who was screaming more… her irrationality, logicality, or just plain, defenceless, her. The real, unadulterated Abby that didn't go into battle with herself, firearms blazing, defences holding out… the Abby that couldn't do anything to save herself, or to forget. The Abby she'd been in the moments after CJ had died. That was why she couldn't forget.

"Abby!" Susan suddenly breathed in barely more than a whisper. She didn't try to hide her shock.

Why should she? Abby thought recklessly. It's shocking, oh yes, it is.

Abby felt her mind snapping back, before she had a chance to stop it. She'd seen patients do it before. When she'd been on her Psyche Ward rotation, she'd dubbed it "Dark Hour"… it was when they relived a horrible experience, and there was no use in medicating them unless they lashed out in self or other forms of harm. It was painful to watch, torture to listen, but feeling it… it compared to nothing else. She'd relived some dark moments, but nothing so vivid. She'd never imagined anything like it.

Abby had never intended to torture Susan, but she'd have to take a few liberties instantly or she was going to explode.

A flash of headlights, a black car screeching into the Ambulance bay.

Without warning, Abby suddenly heard herself speak.

"They came out of nowhere, asking if I was a Doctor. I told them I was, asked them what the problem was, but it wasn't… it wasn't… what I thought."

Rough hands, pulling and pushing her into the darkness, the feel of cold, hard leather against her skin. Her own voice shouting crazy strings of words, screeching for someone to come, anyone…

"I couldn't stop them. They forced me, wouldn't let me go."

The car, lurching them all forward, music blaring and tires screaming in resistance… or was it her?

"I… I tried to get out. I wasn't stupid, but… but… yes, yes, I was stupid. I was so stupid. I should have known, I mean, all those stupid safety talks that tell you never to get in one of those stupid cars, 'cause you never know what…"

Abby felt her stomach lurch, and the pitch of her voice ramble dangerously up and down, all over the shop.

"…what's going to happen." She finished.

A cold, hard barrel pressed against her temple.

Abby controlled her voice as best she could. It came out strange… hesitant, stiltled.

"They. Had. A. Gun."

Did Susan gasp, or was that her imagination?

Blood, everywhere. Her nice, clean white coat, soaked crimson red. It wasn't fair.

"They wanted me to fix him. This guy, in the back of the car, he was bleeding all over the place, the bullet went straight through and right out the other side."

"We need to get him to a hospital. He's gonna die!"

"We needed to get him to a hospital. He was gonna die. He was…"

Abby shivered violently. The darkness was pressing closer. It was suffocating.

His screams filled the night, the hard, metallic needle etching a line in her fingers as she forced it to do its work.

"I sewed him up, with a needle and thread. I mean, a needle and thread! It was so stupid…"

"This is stupid, this is so stupid…"

"…just so stupid."

A pathetic sob escaped Abby's lips. She couldn't keep going… she couldn't relive what was coming next. Just couldn't…

"What else, Abby?" Susan spoke softly.

Stifling the urge to cry harder, Abby hastily wiped her eyes on the shoulder of her gown.

Standing in the woods, trees everywhere, a torch light flashing in her eyes…and trying desperately to undo her scrubs. The ultimate in humiliation, their dark eyes watching her, mercilessly.

"They took me out into the woods, they… they…"

"They what?" Susan spoke in barely more than a whisper.

"They didn't touch me. I thought maybe they would… they didn't."

Abby wiped the stupid tears away.

Pain shot through her arms, tearing through her muscles like nothing she'd ever known. Was this what it was like to die? She had no breath left in her body… still, she counted, endlessly…

"He went down. I started compressions…"

1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 1… 2… 3… 4… 5…

"It went on, and on and on, until…"

He was dead. She would never forget. He was dead, dead, dead… tears on her face, sobs wracking her body, he was dead. The fire burning somewhere in the distance, the cold, black steel, a dark voice haunting her somewhere… she was dead, too…

Abby blurted fitfully.

"I lost him, and it was my fault… it was all my fault."

"No it wasn't."

"Yes, it was my fault…"

Abby choked on a sob and rubbed at her eyes furiously. Susan whispered gently, through the darkness,

"What else, Abby?"

The tops of buildings fading into the night, speeding by through the car window. Upside down, just like her entire world… she was upside down. And cold, so cold…

"We kept on driving. Just driving and driving."

"Get out. This is it."

"And then…"

Light emanating from the sign above the doors, and the car driving into the night, gone… but not gone from her mind. She was home… or was she?

"…we were here."

Abby snivelled, gazing into the darkness.

There, she'd lived it… it had lived in her mind, so terrifyingly real as when it had happened… she was in dark hour. And it was cold.

She searching the darkness for Susan, but couldn't see a thing… not even that bit of white coat. And neither of them spoke. I must have scared her away, thought Abby. This is what it feels like to fall… It feels dark, and lonely.

Abby unexpectedly heard the bed creak, and felt the mattress sag down a little further in the middle. A shoulder pressed against hers, then an arm slipped quietly around them.

"You're here, and you're safe." Susan, suddenly beside her, whispered as if it were a known fact.

Abby wiped her eyes on her sleeve and nodded her head, resting it quietly against Susan's shoulder.

It was dark, but not as lonely as she'd thought.