Rewrite of Chapter 14

Author's Note: So; my original Chapter 14 sucked swamp-water. I'm trying to recapture my passion for this story... this is my "mea culpa" for posting such complete hogswallop.

Cruel, Cruel Summer

He looked up at the clock and wiped the drip of sweat from just over his brow where it clung teasingly, threatening to fall into his eye, yet never quite performing the painful dive.

Bent over the bench at such an odd angle, his back began its dull litany of complaints. About this time his mind started in on him, you need some meds; just a tylenol for crying out loud; okay, how 'bout a drink? a drink will be okay; you can allow yourself a drink.... And on and on. He had gotten to the point that he almost ignored the hollow voice; he'd actually made a game of it, of late. Pushed outlandish thoughts forcefully toward that beguiling voice...

'A man not to be trifled with,' he thought as he slowly lowered the drill to the bench, 'a builder of fine things,' his chuckle echoed in the empty garage, almost startling him. "Some builder," he said out loud to no one, "'Finishing the Hat' is more like it...."

"Doctor Lockhart, I need you in the lounge as soon as possible, Doctor." Susan's eyes twinkled with mischief. She had been emphasizing the word 'doctor' all day, and while Abby protested modestly, she had to admit, she liked the sound of that word applied to her name.

"I'll be right there, Doctor..." Abby sassed back. Signing the chart with a flourish, Abby dropped it loudly -okay, too loudly, but just this once, who cares?- into the rack. Turning toward the computer screen she caught just the briefest glimpse of someone rushing in the back doors, slinging a well-abused leather case over his shoulder. Carter.

Of course. Just when she would begin to feel the slightest bit of comfort, he'd parade into her peripheral vision... Well, okay, he wasn't parading -he was just as uncomfortable in her presence as she was in his, she knew this... It was just that... feelings bore just the slightest tinge of savage when applied to him, even now. After all this time.

They hadn't so much as said two words since it happened. Well, now, that wasn't exactly true, was it? He'd been the only one to see her, while she was reading the letter. The letter of all letters -the letter that supplanted the unfettered feelings of that other letter in her mausoleum of remembrances...

But other than a wistful, "I never had a doubt in my mind," nothing. It seemed to her, when she spared any feeling for the thought at all, it seemed to her that he was choosing not to look at her. Choosing to stay on the outermost fringes of her existence. Choosing to be absent from her landscape as much as was humanly possible. A ghost in the machine, only.

God. What she missed most? The ease of conversation. They'd shared a shorthand, sort of. Each able to finish the other's -never mind sentences- THOUGHTS, really. Bizarre that they worked in the same hospital, and yet never, not even briefly, seemed to connect at all, anymore.

She blamed herself. It wasn't that she harbored any ill will toward him; quite the contrary. She'd been able to get past the hurt -no, REALLY- and see that she was culpable in the deconstruction of their relationship. Truly. No. It was the feeling that no matter what she approached him with -not an offer for coffee, even- made the slightest dent in that wall that had seemingly been erected over night...

She'd hoped. God. This was hard to admit -and she wouldn't, not to any breathing soul, but to herself? In the quiet moments -moments dangling in some time-suspension, apart from the ticking of the tangible clock- she could admit, that she'd harbored a flickering tea-light candle of hope that they could be friends again.

No use. He walked into the ambulance bay -onto her private moment of victory- and too late. She couldn't take back the exultant smile. She'd fought too hard for that moment. But she dearly wished he'd not been the one to walk out into her celebration. Not after what he -and Kem, can't forget ...Kem- had just endured.

And since then? Nothing. Nothing more than the briefest eye-flicker of recognition. And, of course, the professional curt politeness... but then, he was her supervising Attending.

But he didn't seem able to truly attend. To anything. Not any more.

He couldn't remember when he started this project. Last month? The month before that? It was shortly before she came back... to see the house, and all the preparations he'd made. The house that would be their home. Well, sometimes home. When they were in town. He'd hoped to finish it before she arrived. He didn't. He'd only tried his hand at a few wood working projects- a life time ago, it seemed- and so the work was slow going. He'd picked a hard project, as well. And when she arrived, well, there just seemed so much to do. He'd put the project aside, until... until a few weeks... after she left.

When the minutes turned into hours, and the hours disintegrated into days... Weeks gone by and he -still sleepwalking through the days, drifting in and out of consciousness through the nights- realized that she wouldn't be coming back...

And oddly, the baby's unfinished bookcase bedeviled his mind. I should finish the bookcase. It's the right thing to do. Don't want any unfinished business...

Only, that is what his life felt like right now. Unfinished business.

"Hey," she approached tentatively. Didn't want to scare him away.

"Hi... uh, hey," he'd countered, absentmindedly. He was closing on the sad, dead little boy. Trauma case they'd worked, from earlier.

"You, uh, are you ..okay?" God, that was lame.

"Hanging in there... You?"

And, here it was, the reason she didn't open her mouth -even if she should. Before she could put the breaks on it, and stop the loaded gun, "Personally or professionally..." came stumbling out of her mouth. No, no, no. That isn't what she wanted to come out, well, maybe yes, someday, but not this way, not right now! She wanted to be supportive. She wanted to be the shoulder. She wanted to show him... that she could be counted on... But she'd gotten so rutted in leaning on him... that flexing the almost atrophied support muscles didn't come so easily any more.

As quickly as the window opened -the minuscule window in the large gate of the big, insurmountable brick wall- it shut down again.

"Carter, I need you to sign off on some charts..." It was just as well Pratt interrupted what little conversation may, in reality, have never taken place...

Lesser of two disappointments.

Aimless wandering was so much easier when you truly had no place to be. But, he was late, and only prolonging the inevitable show-down with the Cane-wielding Wonder. The bookcase was finished. Finished with a beautiful powdery baby blue finish. High gloss top coat -two, just to make sure it would resist chipping; children could be so hard on furniture.

An ice-cream detour led him to a park, which snared his weary body with an inviting bench- not too stained with bird droppings. Repose which lent itself particularly well to the mind-numbing trappings of people-watching. He sat there, realizing he was going to be late for work, but not caring much; just enjoying the irregular parade of pedestrian ease.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sighted his nightmares and dreams in one vision; a woman, pushing a baby carriage. He rose quickly and darted across the green of the dog run; heading where, he didn't know.

Why did it seem that when you weren't aware of something you almost never caught a fleeting glimpse of it; but as soon as you became aware of it, you were forever seeing it around, everywhere. In noon-time traffic; on park benches; in the little blue and green patterned wall-paper that you never quite finished hanging in your dead son's room.

He'd never escape. Never.

Without even thinking about where he was going his brain gauged vague awareness that he was entering Ike's just around the corner from the ER. Before he could think any further, he was ordering a brew. A brew, huh. Just like some golden frat boy with no worries other than the next party. A nice, dark, frothy beer. More of an ale, really. And it was so good. It went down so smooth that he ordered another. Only this time, he was forming his mouth around a hard, icy, faintly Germanic sounding name.

And after that, he lost count. And track of time. Before he knew it, it was dark outside, he was sloshed inside, and he'd skipped his shift.

"Dr. Carter, would you like me to arrange for a cab for you?" His thoughts were broken by the polite request from Scott, the genial bar tendering favorite at genial old Ike's. The question hung in the air between them for the splittest of split seconds. Heavy, but without real weight.

"You don't have to worry about it, Scott -I'll make sure he gets home, safely." Familiar voice, from a galaxy far, far away. "Carter?" She put a gentle hand on his shoulder, exerting no pressure, just an attempt at solace.

He turned and looked deep into her eyes -eye's so full of the caring he'd wished he'd seen eons earlier, when it wouldn't have been too late, and something cruel twisted the corners of his mouth. "Run away, Abby. Run far away. You don't want any of this." It stung, using her own words against her. He knew right where to land his blow with expert precision. He waited for it, the lock down in her gaze, but -aside from the tiniest flicker of pain- it never came. Just a softening brown glance -muddied by the barest hint of tears.

She sensed he wouldn't want some big show of support, so she discreetly paid his bar tab, and then quietly, yet firmly ushered him to the door. "See ya later, Scotty -I'm being beamed up," Carter shot out as they passed through the door. Abby looked back over her shoulder and flashed a wry smile and a quick eye-roll at the guy, just before the door slammed shut. God, she hoped he'd do the honorable bartender thing and keep this to himself.

"Thanks; you, uh... you didn't have to do that," She'd managed to usher him into his front door, and propped at his dining room table in almost total silence;he finally uttered something more than 'yes' or 'no' to her limited questions, "there are cabs crawling all over this city; I can afford a cab ride." She knew he was peevish; could hear it in his voice.

"You're welcome." she said it simply, with no offended pride or over-emphasis on her part. He was struck, maybe for the first time since he'd been back, by how much she'd changed. Change. Huh. He felt that cruel thing flicker inside his chest for a moment, the woman who didn't believe people could change, went and changed. But it passed. She'd been extraordinarily nice to him, and Carter was nothing if not impeccably well-mannered.

"Well, let me offer you some coffee, then, for your trouble," and he pushed awkwardly away from the table. He was feeling the beer. "Maybe a little later...." his voice trailed off as he sat heavily back down.

"I'll get it; you'll have to help me, though..." just the slightest hesitancy, "I don't know where things are ...here." If it had been his old apartment...

"Sure," he soundest almost sad, "sure, of course -uh, in the drawer to the right of the 'fridge, that's where the scoop is. I ground some beans a couple of days ago -the container is on the bottom of the shelf. Uh, of the fridge," he reached a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, "and the filters are in the cabinet -just above..." the rest inaudible.

Abby finished up the coffee prep; made a mug for Carter, and a mug for herself. She was just about to sit down, when he took the antagonistic tone with her, yet again, "So," he paused, "how's things with you and .. What's his name? Stef?"

This time, though, she wasn't as docile, "Listen. I know you've had a tough time, and if my being here isn't helping, I will leave." It wasn't sharp, what came out of her mouth, just to the point. Still, immediate contrition squeezed her heart. It wasn't fair, really, to be offended; he hadn't been involved in her life anymore, and she didn't doubt that he'd only heard what little gossip there was floating around involving her personal business. For a gossip target at County, she was passe, anymore. Not since his letter made the rounds, had anyone shown the slightest interest in her private business.

And that was just as well. Stef had been a nice distraction. They had an easy time together, but they were really more like family than anything else, and in the end, it just wouldn't have worked out for either of them. However, the scenario, in the hands of a skillful workplace game of Telephone, could be interpreted as "Abby's been dumped again." She didn't think her vanity -what little she possessed- could sustain that hit one more time.

She adjusted her tone, slightly, "He, uh, went back home." Finality; a done deed. And with her simple pronouncement, she knew it really was, and that was okay.

"I'm sorry... if you are." His tone was softer, kind again, and she knew the sentiment was heartfelt. She looked up at him and for the briefest of moments, his features melted into a slight smile.

"Ah. It's okay. Nothing to be sorry over. Really," and she returned his smile -just a little bit.

to be continued...