A/N: The Show Must Go On

Yes. Indeed. I am a terrible person. It is a VERY long time since I last updated this story. But in my defence I've been off learning about real medicine and have had exams and things. It's been so long in fact that now I'm on my OBGYN rotation just like Abby was when I left her. This chapter has actually been sitting on my hard drive for a very long time but was in desperate need of editing. Well, I finally got around to it. And the next chapter is part way done. I've received very kind reviews so thank you to all of you who wrote them and to those who begged for more I hope it was worth it. In case you've forgotten what was going on (heck I had to go re-read it)...

Previously on ER:

Abby runs into Doc Magoo's crying after the loss of baby Jake in the NICU (NB this is set during season ten... so Abby never shacked back up with Luka and became pregnant herself... and in my story I guarantee you that will never happen). Carter happens upon her and as the lights go out they kiss. VeryPregnantKem appears as the light go up leaving a guilt ridden Abby to slink back to the hospital. A few days later Carter goes round to Abby's to help her study anatomy... and he does... Abby awakens the next morning wracked with guilt and runs away before he can wake up. When she returns later to an empty apartment she finally wakes up and smells the coffee and realizes that she's been in love with him all along. Next shift Abby bumps into the two people she leasts wants to see and Kem, blind to the tension between them, insists that Abby accompany Carter to a charity event that evening. Abby is so stunned that she can't invent an excuse quickly enough and she accepts.

On with the show...

Abby

Eight o'clock rolls around and I make the finishing touches to my hair whilst waiting for Carter. Deja vu anoints the air and my mind is transported back to our "dinosaurs and dancing" evening many moons ago. Back then things were simpler. I was seeing Luka and, despite the butterflies in my stomach that night, Carter was just a friend. Things change. Now the ball is in his court. And that ball is pretty and pregnant and perfect. I hate this dance we do. I don't know the steps. I've never known the steps.

Humming tunelessly along to the radio I carefully dab at my lipstick before scrutinizing my appearance in the mirror. I look like an imposter in my own home. The fabric of the dress feels foreign. It's a strapless black and white number which has hung, forgotten, in the back of the closet for over a year. I bought it on sale in preparation for the next meeting of the Carter clan but a week later Carter's grandmother passed away and we fell apart at the seams.

Sighing I perch on the edge of the couch. Why did I agree to this charade? Why was I incapable of concocting a suitable excuse? Was it because I can't lie to Kem's face, only behind her back? Or perhaps, more worryingly, I'm pleased of the excuse to spend time alone with him, to dig myself in deeper than I already am? God help me; I'm a masochist.

He arrives right on time and bumbles a greeting. We make no attempt at eye contact. Neither of us know the correct thing to say. After all, the last time he was inside my apartment, he woke alone. I'm not sure that there is a right thing to say. But there appears to be a mutual understanding between us that we won't mention the events of his last visit and the tension disperses as we head to the car.

The Art Institute seems larger than I remember. The bronze lions stand as proud sentinels guarding the entrance from would-be gatecrashers. The usually ubiquitous photographer appears to have been foregone and I entertain the hope that tonight really won't be "that big of a deal".

Once inside the building, I glance around for a familiar face and quickly meet the eyes of Jack Carter. His astonishment upon seeing me is evident and he walks over to us smiling.

"Abby, what a pleasant surprise!"

He leans over and kisses my cheek gently. I note the rapid-fire exchange of glances between his son and his self seeking explanation for my presence.

"Kem couldn't make it tonight," John explains delicately, "so Abby obligingly agreed to join me." With this comment he glances at me appreciatively and his eyes meet mine for the first time this evening.

Jack seems almost disappointed at this statement. Perhaps he was hoping to become better acquainted with his son's girlfriend tonight.

"How is Kem?" he asks with a disinterested tone.

Perhaps not.

"She's doing well," John replies but makes no attempt to further the conversation. This topic is clearly not their favourite line of discussion.

"Good," Jack replies shortly before turning his attention back to me.

"It really is lovely to see you again Abby. I hope you have a wonderful evening." And with that he nods his leave and disappears into the crowd.

With John's father's comforting silhouette retreating into the distance I realize that Carter and I are now alone in a crowded room. Fearing the earlier awkwardness will whitewash us once more I make a suggestion.

"Shall we dance?"

Moments later a slightly bemused Carter is leading me to the floor. I hate dancing. Okay so that's strictly not true,but it's my story and I'm sticking to it. Before formal functions I always used to make John promise not to make me dance. It's no wonder my apparent new-found enthusiasm for the art is perplexing him.

Soon we're twirling through the madness of the bustling room. Our eyes lock as we waltz around the floor. His right hand is enlaced with mine whilst his left caresses the small of my back. My cheek begins to flush.

The music plays on: the tango, rumba, foxtrot; my feet fall in time with his. John taught me well. With every new melody we hold each other a little more tightly, dance a little more closely, move a little more intimately. The cha cha cadences for the musicians to break between sets leaving us held in a warm embrace. Recovering, I hastily suggest that we head towards the bar. I have to get off this dance floor.

Five minutes later we've spirited ourselves away to a secluded corner to sip at our club sodas. We ran into Jack at the bar who complimented our steps with a twinkle in his eye but now he's been swallowed by the shadows and we are alone once more. We drink rapidly parched from the exertion and anxious to fill any uncomfortable silence. Soon the beverages can be milked no longer and we are forced to resort to small talk.

"When did you become such a good dancer?" he teases gently.

I smile coyly. "I had a great teacher."

"True. How could I forget?" He puffs up his chest self-importantly which elicits a chuckle from me.

This is good. The earlier tension has dispelled. I find myself feeling more relaxed than I have in a long time. I look down and am startled to find that our fingers have interwoven themselves.

The musicians have refilled their glasses and the next set begins. A young male singer steps forward and begins a familiar tune. Carter spins me gently before pulling his free arm around me and we dance slowly in this shy spot far from the publicity of the dance floor. I gravitate closer to his warmth relaxing in his enveloping arms. His hands link at the bottom of my back.

Intoxicated by intimacy our dancing has slowed almost to a stop. Our eyes lock and our breath intermingles as the lyric lines wash over us. Spellbound I stand up on tiptoes inching closer to him. And in a heartbeat he catches my lips with his own. I melt against him whilst he kisses me as if it's the first time we've kissed each other. As if might be the last. His hands caress my bare shoulders exciting every nerve ending and we dance on with our mouths.

When we eventually surface he looks down at me, wet eyes glistening in the low-light, and breathes seductively, "I'll go call for a cab."