CHAPTER TWELVE

MAY DAY
May 2000

"I need to talk to you."

Gracie peered up from her charts to find Mark Greene standing over her, flanked by Kerry Weaver. His expression was rather solemn, as if something was indeed very wrong, and for a brief moment Gracie was deeply concerned. She lowered her pen, eyebrow raised. "Is everything okay?" She asked, and Greene shook his head.

"Not here," he said, motioning for her to follow. She rose from her chair dutifully, following Weaver and Greene towards an empty exam room, tennis shoes squeaking against the floor as they went and shut the door behind them.

Greene sighed and crossed his arms, turning to face her but peering down at the floor as he did so. "Uh, Abby saw… Carter injecting Fentanyl."

Silence.

She blinked, disbelieving, a slow, confused smile spreading on her lips. She glanced from him to Weaver and back again, their expressions far from suggesting a joke. "What?" Gracie lilted, her face slowly falling, "you mean… into himself?"

"Into his wrist," Weaver supplied quietly.

"From what I understand," Greene sighed, "he snuck it from a patient."

Heartbreak was a funny thing. It came on slowly this time, steady and clarifying, the kind one does not want to believe at first. But it was difficult not to. All the signs were there. It explained why Carter had stormed out of the lounge not too long ago, refusing to speak to her, to anyone. It explained everything.

Gracie exhaled roughly. "Did you know?" Weaver asked gently.

She shook her head, wildly blinking away tears of upset and worry. "No," she said, pausing on a second thought. "I mean… he's been struggling, I know he has. A lot more than he lets on. He hasn't been himself, but I just thought… I just—"

"I know," Greene sighed, looking disappointed with himself. "I don't think any of us expected this."

Weaver spoke next, and her tone was firm, yet surprisingly gentle. "Will you stand behind our decision to get him some help?"

Silence. Gracie's chin trembled as she nodded her agreement.

Some time passed before she was pulled from her work and brought back to the same empty exam room. She found Dr. Chen, Dr. Benton and Dr. Anspaugh waiting there, and she was somber as she sat on the edge of a bed to wait. Greene stood nearby, and it was not long before Weaver came in with Carter, who looked annoyed when it suddenly dawned on him what was happening. Gracie found it difficult to even look in his direction.

"Oh God," Carter laughed darkly, attempting to leave. "Give me a break."

"Carter," Greene interrupted, "just listen."

"No," Carter retorted, and he turned around to face the group that had assembled. "I told you, I'm on painkillers for my back, but I'm functioning."

Anspaugh piped up, a firm and authoritative voice, the sound stopping Carter from another escape attempt. "Dr. Carter, you would be wise to be quiet… and listen."

Silence. Carter stayed put, but visibly fumed.

Greene spoke first.

"My van is parked outside," he said, sounding decisive. "—With a ticket to Atlanta. There's a drug rehab—" A pause, as Carter began pacing, turning away and rolling his eyes. "—There's a drug rehab center there, that specializes in doctors with addiction."

"Well, that's great," Carter interrupted, "but I'm on prescribed painkillers, and that doesn't make me an addict, and I think you all know it."

He tried to leave again, and Gracie covered her mouth with her hand, fighting a bubbling upset. "I'm not finished!" Greene declared firmly. Carter turned around and stared at him petulantly. "It's apparent to all of us," Greene continued, "that you have a drug problem. Therefore, we cannot allow you to continue working here… or anywhere else, as a physician. So, you have two choices: get in the van, go to the airport, check yourself in… and when you come back, we will support you in any way that we can."

Silence. Carter blinked, straightened. "Or… I'm fired?"

Dr. Greene nodded simply. "Yeah."

Carter shot a long, dangerous look in Gracie's direction. She shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing. It did not end well. Carter stormed from the room exclaiming his resignation, leaving the rest of them standing around, looking upset. That was when Gracie finally snapped, sinking deep as she cradled her head in her hands and cried, Jing-Mei's gentle, supportive hand on her back as she did so. Benton ran after him, and it took a while of quiet uncertainty hovering before they finally caught wind of Carter's reluctant agreement.

Benton was the one to finally coax her outside. She had not wanted to — nearly kicked and screamed over it — but in the end, she gave in. The staged intervention that had just taken place had torn her soul down to the ground, forced her to face a reality she had not been ready to, and weeping in the on-call room sounded better than doing anything else. She came outside with her feet dragging, only her scrubs and a knitted car coat to protect her from the night air.

Greene and Benton eyed them from the stoop of the ambulance bay as they met in the middle. Greene's van waited in the distance. She folded her arms around herself, the knowledge of being watched unavoidable.

He had been crying. She could tell, even without directly meeting his eye line. She looked everywhere but at him, even when he reached out and touched a hand to her forearm, pulled her close and smell her hair. She felt that to look at him would be to admit it. Admission was not one of her strong suits.

"I'm sorry," Carter said. His voice cracked, and it was enough to bring her back to tears. She tried fighting them, nodded vehemently as he pressed her body closer to him, but in the end she was forced to permit their existence. "I thought…" He wanted to explain. Explain what, he was not sure. Something, anything to make his actions make sense. What he had done. "I thought I could—"

"You don't have to say anything."

"I'm not like him!"

He broke down, and for the first time she looked at him. Pressed her cheek to his, smoothed down his hair and supported his frame when it became weak with upset. He was supposed to be the strong one, stronger than her anyway; the one that held both of them up. She was quickly learning that was not the case.

"John," she said quietly, "you don't have to tell me. I know."

He sniffled, sounding more pitiful than she had ever heard him. Their eyes met, and her words sounded more firm and confident than she felt. She told him, "This is… this is a good thing, John. But you need to go and sort some things out."

"This?"

He knew what she meant. He had always known. This label-less amalgam of a relationship. They were complicated, but they had potential. Greene and Benton were getting antsy in the distance. Their time was short. When she said nothing, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. It was slow and sweet, and coaxed tears to stream down her cheekbones. When he pulled away, he murmured against her mouth, "Will you wait?"

She barely managed a nod, and as he stepped away and Benton went to usher him into the van, all she felt like doing was curling up in a ball on the pavement and screaming for the world to hear. Instead, she allowed herself to be led inside by Mark, who left her in the lounge and told her to take as much time as she needed.