Goodbye, Hello by Leyla Harrison Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from ER -- they are the property of Warner Bros., NBC, John Wells, Constant C, Amblin Entertainment and likely a few hundred other people I don't know about. But they come to life thanks to all of the talented actors who portray them, so the credit should go there, too. Rating: PG-13 Timeline: This story takes after the events of May Day. There are no spoilers in this chapter. This is the twelfth in a series of Weaver/Carter stories I’m writing. You should read the first eleven in order to understand this one. Summary: Kerry and Carter take stock, and move on. Note: This is the last chapter!! Thank you all so much for your support and kind words while I have written this series. I certainly didn't imagine this would end up being so long, and you all are to thank for that. Thanks for reading, and I hope you've enjoyed reading these stories as much as I've enjoyed writing them. Thank you, as always, to Shannon. Each story would have fallen flat if it hadn't been for her help, support, ideas, and input. I'm lucky to have such a great editor, but I'm luckier to have such a great friend. *** When I open my eyes it's as if I have been asleep for only a few minutes. The sky is still a dark inky blue, and it casts odd shadows across the bedroom walls. I check the luminescent hands of my watch and find that there are still two more hours left before the sun rises. I turn over and look at Carter, sleeping peacefully, and I watch his chest rise and fall. His face is calm and relaxed. The sight of him makes me comforts me, but I also feel an indescribable weight of sadness resting on my shoulders. Carter stirs and opens his eyes, groggy at first. His gaze narrows; I know he is focusing his attention on my face, my expression, my unspoken words. He reaches for me and brushes his fingertips across my cheek, my lips. Still silent. Still watching. "This is goodbye, isn't it?" he murmurs, dully. I can't answer him with words and I don't need to. He sees it on my face, he knows and a part of him understands. There is a part of him, though, that does not understand, and his lips have curled into frown. "It doesn't have to be this way," he tells me, and I shake my head. "It does, Carter. You know that as well as I do." My answer is quiet. He looks away from me, and I feel an ache deep in my chest. "Please," I tell him gently. "Don't leave it like this -- with anger." "No," he responds. "Just regret." "Can we just lie here and hold each other?" I ask him. "John?" He silently pulls me close to him, my skin warm against his. His embrace is tight, as if he will never let me go. A few tears escape from the corners of my eyes. I brush them away with my fingertips, not wanting him to see. But he does, and he sits up partially, on his elbow, to place a gentle kiss on each of my eyes before he lies back down and holds me close against him again. We lie in silence, molded together like that, for a long time. Finally his grip loosens and his arm around me relaxes, and we both fall back asleep. *** Sometime later, I am vaguely aware of Carter's lips on mine, soft and lingering. I kiss him back, but am too tired to open my eyes. He brushes my hair away from my forehead with warm fingers, kisses my brow, and then I fall back asleep. *** When I wake up for good the sky is already light; there's a rosy glow coming in from the windows that illuminates the bedroom. I turn over and Carter is gone. I'm not surprised. I knew he would be. But it doesn't make it any easier. Getting out of bed is hard. I am not looking forward to going to work and I don't want to face my own image in a mirror. My leg is still sore, leftover from yesterday's mysterious pain crisis and the activities that kept Carter and I up late into the night. No, I tell myself firmly. Don’t think about that. Not now. I drag myself out of bed, slowly, and stop short in front of the dresser. Carter's navy silk tie is folded neatly there, the tip of it dangling over the edge of the dresser. He must have forgotten it, I think, he must have forgotten to take it with him when he left. The tie is too neatly folded to be forgotten. And I remember setting it on the armchair last night. I pick it up and trace my fingers over the silk, the smooth dark blue color matching my mood. I press the material to my face and it's all Carter, in one sensory rush, and I know he has left it for me. The trembling in my hands is so bad that I have to set the tie back down on the dresser, carefully, as if it's a hand grenade with the pin pulled. I make my way into the bathroom. I prop my crutch up against the wall while I run the water in the shower, waiting for it to get hot. I pull back the shower curtain and get in, letting the water fall over me like scalding rain. My emotions are all over the place. I want to call him and tell him I made a mistake, and yet I know I can't. What Carter needs more than anything is to get well. And he has to do it alone. He will have all the support he needs, but he has to make those first small steps on his own. Deviation from that could be devastating for him, could cause a relapse, and I know I would never be able to live with the knowledge that I could cause that. Don't think about him right now, I tell myself. Don't. Just block it out of your mind. I can still feel his body from just a few hours before, and it makes me want to cry with frustration. In this, as in all things, the body remembers, even when the mind doesn't want to. I brace one arm against the tile wall and my head drops. I let myself cry, and the tears mix with the water from the shower. **** I hesitate before entering the ER. Focus, I tell myself. Focus, stay in control. I am here because it is my job; I am here to save lives. Every day, I remind myself of that. I know that things often serve as distractions, but they never get in the way of what I am here to do. When I am distracted, I snap at people; I know I can be harsh. Some days I am drowning in paperwork and management. This is not what I intended to be doing when I envisioned becoming a doctor, but my own personal drive was strong; where I am now was inevitable. An ambulance pulls up while I am standing, foolishly, outside the door. Pickman opens the door to the back. "Nice to have a welcoming committee," she says, spotting me. I've always enjoyed her dry sense of humor. "What have we got?" "Twenty four year old woman, suffering from acute pelvic pain, vitals are stable, BP is 110/70, pulse 108. Started a line in the field. She says she's been treated for endometriosis before, but the pain keeps coming back." The young woman is moaning as they bring the gurney down. "Please," she sobs. "I can't stand it. It hurts so much." Her eyes are wild, her face pale and streaked with tears. "It's going to be all right," I tell her, touching her hand. I turn to Pickman. "Let's get her inside." "Exam Three is open," Randi calls from the desk. I walk alongside the gurney, dropping my purse at the desk as we pass. We roll into the room and the gurney coasts to a stop beside the bed. "Can you slide over?" I ask her. She grimaces but nods. "I'll try," she says, and succeeds, but moans again. "I'm scheduled for surgery to remove more of the endo on Thursday," she tells me. "But the pain was worse this morning. It was so bad and it wouldn't stop. I took codeine -- my doctor gave it to me, but it didn't help." She starts to cry. Chuny comes into the room with a chart. "Shh, shh. It's going to be all right. What's your name?" "Melissa Weiss." I do a quick physical exam and carefully palpate her pelvis. She cries out in pain. "Vitals are stable," Chuny tells me. "I'm sorry, Melissa. I know it hurts. All right, let's get a CBC and Chem 7. I don't feel any masses but let's get a pelvic ultrasound in here just to be on the safe side," I tell Chuny, who nods. "And Type and Cross for 2 in case they want to take her up to surgery now. Melissa, who's the doctor who's going to do your surgery?" "Dr. Templeton," she gasps. "Oh God!" She clutches her lower abdomen and squeezes her eyes shut. "All right, Chuny, page Dr. Templeton, and in the meantime let's give her 10 of morphine IV. It's all right, Melissa. I'll be right back, okay? We're going to get you something for the pain." "Please!" she cries. "Please, it hurts!" "I know," I tell her. "Chuny's going to get you some morphine. In a few minutes you won't be in as much pain." She opens her eyes and I see panic there. "You don't think anything else is wrong, right?" "It's probably just the endo, but I want to make sure there's nothing else going on, like a ruptured ovarian cyst. So you hang in there, all right, Melissa?" She promises me she will. **** The rest of my day is filled with patients in pain; all of them crying or wailing. We all share something; my pain is hidden, theirs is out in the open. I call out orders, examine patients, insert chest tubes, get blood gases. No matter what I am doing, the sounds of their pain echo in my ears as I work, and I barely hear anything else. Inside, I feel numb. No pain, no sadness, just emptiness where there used to be a spark. "Kerry, can I talk to you for a minute?" Mark's voice startles me. I look up from the labs in my hand. "Sure." "Let's go outside," he suggests, and I set the labs down. "Jerry, call transport again and ask them what's taking so long. Mr. Wilson was supposed to go for a CAT scan thirty minutes ago," I tell Jerry as I make my way around the desk and follow Mark to the ambulance bay. The air outside is moist and humid; another typical summer day in Chicago. "Are you all right?" Mark asks, without preamble. "You seem a little off today." "I'm fine, Mark," I tell him. He hesitates, just for a moment. "Everything all right with you and Carter?" He seems genuinely concerned, but slightly uncomfortable asking. "Everything's all right," I echo. Mark doesn't say anything; instead he watches me carefully. Under his scrutiny, I can feel the walls I've constructed for the day crumble. I look away. "I'm only asking because you've seemed a little distracted all day, and from what I've seen of Carter, he's been the same." At the mention of Carter's name, I look up. I hadn't realized he was on today; I haven't changed the schedule back but I was sure he wasn't working until this evening. I haven't seen him all day, but then again, I have been busy, running from one patient to the next. "I'm all right," I tell Mark. Mark sighs. "Carter needs to focus on his recovery," I say, by way of explanation. I shrug, and turn to the side, so my face is obscured from Mark's view. "Things don't always work they way we want them to in life, Mark. You know how that goes." I'm trying to inject a casual tone into my voice but I hear what I've said and how I've said it: empty words in a flat monotone. I can't control it. Mark touches my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Kerry." I look up at him. "It's all right, really. I'm fine. Nothing to worry about." And with that, the walls go back up, and I straighten my shoulders. "I have to get back." I leave Mark standing there, and I head inside, into the bathroom, where I can be alone. Despite the summer heat, I'm freezing cold and I'm shaking, and I wonder to myself if I will ever be warm again. **** When the day finally ends, I gather up my things and head for the door. No one says goodbye or goodnight; things are busy, and no one has the time. I don't take it personally. I never have. Tonight, I think to myself, is a night for a good bottle of wine, a homemade meal, and a deeply engrossing book. Another exciting evening in the life of Kerry Weaver. "Kerry?" I am already past the late afternoon haze and into the parking structure. I turn around to see Carter standing there. He looks like I feel; lost and alone and tired. "I was just headed home, Carter." He runs a hand through his hair, his eyes skittering all over, bouncing off of everything in his line of sight except for me. "Heard you had a busy day." "Yes," I say simply. He looks down at the ground. "I don't want to do this, Kerry." "Give it some time, Carter," I tell him. "Remember what we talked about last night." "We said a lot of things last night," he responds, and pain blossoms in my chest. "You need to work things out. And it's the right thing to do, Carter. You need to do these things without a new relationship getting in the way and distracting you from your recovery." "Oh, that," he says. We stand quietly, neither of us speaking, the sounds of the cars pulling out of their parking spaces on other levels the only background noise. "Look, I don't want to do this either," I tell him. "If it makes you feel any better." "So why are we doing it? Why are we giving up?" "I haven't given up," I answer quickly. And I know I haven't. There's a part of me that's holding out for the remote possibility that in six months, or maybe a year, when Carter is more stable emotionally, when he has dealt with things a little more, that he will show up at my door one day. I'm holding out for the smile he'll give me when I open the door. I'm hoping for something that in all likelihood will not happen. In all likelihood, someone else will come into Carter's life and he will fall in love. Things will change. The world, for both Carter and I, will move on. "I haven't given up completely, anyhow," I amend, even though I know that holding out hope will not change what is likely to happen. The strap of his bag slips from his shoulder and he hitches it up a bit. "Then let's not give up. Let's try this, Kerry." "Carter -- " His face is troubled. "I hated this morning. I hated getting up and leaving while you were still asleep, knowing that it was the end. You have no idea how hard it was for me to leave. You know, if I had stayed until you woke up, I wouldn't have been able to walk out the door." And I might have changed my mind and let you stay, I think to myself, but I hold the thought back. "This isn't some kind of punishment, Carter," I tell him. "This is for you -- for your well being. For your recovery." And then, because I don't know what else to say to him, I turn and walk away. **** I've finished dinner. I've had a half a bottle of good wine. And I'm about to curl up with a good book with another glass of the Merlot when the first bolt of lightening hits. The flash illuminates every corner of the house and within seconds there is an incredibly loud boom. The power flickers off, and the living room is plunged into darkness. "Goddamn it," I mutter, feeling my way around the darkened room for a flashlight. A candle. Something. The sound of rain on the windows starts even before I can get to the kitchen, where I find a flashlight. It's a regular downpour out there. I poke around from room to room, lighting candles as I go. Another bolt of lightening hits with a crack and for a millisecond the bedroom is bright as day, then goes pitch dark again. Again, the thunder follows almost immediately, so strong that it feels like the house is shaking. The rain continues to pelt down. The air conditioning is on an electrical thermostat, so the cool air forced through the vents has stopped, and I open a few windows to let the breeze in. It smells like fresh earth. I'm about to sit down on the couch with my book, my wine and a few candles on the end table when I hear the knocking on the front door. I'm lucky to have heard it; the rain is almost deafening. Getting to the door with the candle in my hand is easy; opening it with the candle and the crutch is a little more awkward, but I manage. Carter is standing there in the dark, illuminated only by the light of the candle I'm holding. He is soaked, his hair plastered to his face, droplets falling from his forehead, his chin and the tip of his nose. "Hi," he says. "Carter -- " "Just wait," he says. "Don't say anything for a minute. Let me talk." I wait. There is a long pause before he speaks. "Let's start over," he says. "From the beginning." I give him a questioning look. "You must be Kerry Weaver. Nice to meet you. I'm John Carter." "Carter -- " I try to cut him off again, but he shakes his head, raindrops scattering everywhere. "You know, I would really like it -- I mean, I've been through some rough times lately. I could really use a friend. And I don't know about you, but maybe you could use one too. That's all I'm asking for. Just -- that maybe we could find a way to be friends. So -- what do you say?" I can't help it; a smile plays at the corners of my mouth. "Yes, I'd like that," I answer. He smiles back, and it's a real smile, a smile I haven't seen much of since before Valentine's Day. It lifts my heart. "You're soaked. The power's out, but why don't you come in -- at least I've got the gas stove. I can make some instant coffee and you can get dried off." "I'd like that," he says. A gust of wind comes up and the candle flickers wildly and goes out, leaving us there in the darkness. "Well, come on in then," I tell him, and he does, and I shut the door behind him. END That's it folks! Hope you enjoyed the ride!