Duplicity

by Leyla Harrison

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I'm not that lucky.

Rating: mild R for adult situations/themes and a little bad language

Timeline: This story takes place after the events of May Day, and has
general references to that episode. There are also some vague references
to the episode Viable Options in this story. This is the seventh in a
series of Weaver/Carter stories I'm writing. You should read the first
six in order to understand this one. 

Summary: Back at work, Kerry attempts to distance herself from Carter,
and an unexpected incident in the ER only makes things worse.

Note: Sorry this one took so long. I got back from vacation and went
right back to school and had some trouble finding the time to write. But
that's all worked out now. Thanks to Shannon editor extraordinaire, for
actually having the time and patience to edit this and make some
valuable suggestions even though she was moving this past week.

***

"I was thinking of going to look for an apartment today," Carter says,
right off the bat, as soon as he comes into the kitchen later that morning.

I look up and raise an eyebrow, not knowing what to say to that. There
would have been a time when I would have welcomed him back here, into
the basement. But I can't do that now.

"I've been living with Gamma since I left here, but I'm starting to
think a place of my own wouldn't be such a bad idea," he continues.

I nod my head and take a swallow of the coffee I've made. It's hot and
strong and slides down my throat like fire. I welcome the pain.

"Are you alright?" he asks. "You're pretty quiet."

"Just tired."

"We didn't get much sleep," he says, the look on his face reminding me
of the passion we shared in the middle of the night and again early in
the morning. "I was surprised you were already awake when I got up." He
puts a piece of bread into the chrome toaster.

I don't want to tell him that the reason why I was up, showered and
dressed was because I was agonizing over the bottle of Vicodin I found
in his pocket earlier in the morning and the missing pill from the bottle

I take another sip of the scalding coffee, trying to keep my face
neutral. "Thanks for cleaning up the kitchen," I tell him, in an attempt
to change the subject.

"Lots of small shards of glass," he responds. "I didn't want either of
us to get cut."

I pause, trying to choose my words carefully. "The Vicodin – I don't
know what happened to it. Did you see it when you were cleaning up?"

The toast pops up from the toaster and he slides it onto a plate with no
butter or jam, just like he always used to eat it. "Yep. I was going to
get rid of it for you." He catches my eye. "Assuming, of course, that
you want me to. Maybe I should have left that decision up to you."

"No," I tell him, as casually as possible. "I think it's a good idea to
get rid of it."

A smile crosses his face, and he takes a bite of toast. "I'm glad. I
just thought, you know, no need to keep them around, in case temptation
strikes again."

"What about you?" I ask, regretting the question as soon as it's out of
my mouth.

"What do you mean?" he asks, too quickly.

"I don't want you to be tempted either," I tell him, a pointed look on
my face.

Just admit it, I plead with him silently. Tell me you took the pill.
Don't lie to me.

He leans against the counter, his plate in his hand. "I'm not tempted,"
he answers firmly. "I already know what that could do to me. I don't
want to slip." Sudden guilt colors his face and for a moment I think
he's going to confess. I wind my hands around the mug, the heat searing
the skin of my fingers. But he doesn't. "I'm sorry -- I didn't mean that
you had fallen back into the habit – "

I shake my head. "It's fine, Carter."

What I really want to say is this: tell me, Carter, are you really going
to get rid of them, or are you going to save them for a rainy day?

Instead I say nothing.

"What are we going to do?" he asks, and I look up, startled.

"About what?"

"Work. You're going back the day after tomorrow and so am I."

I tense; I hadn't thought about this, not yet. "There's nothing we have
to do."

"So we're going to keep this – " he hesitates – " between us?"

"Yes," I answer firmly. "It would look incredibly bad if anyone found
out. With me being Chief in the ER and your superior."

He nods. "You know, as much as I hate it, I know you're right. I don't
want either one of us in trouble. And who knows, it might be fun.
Keeping the secret, that is. I can keep a secret."

A lump forms in my throat. Oh yes, Carter, you can keep a secret. You
certainly can. I can barely look at him.

"Did you want to – I don't know, come with me apartment hunting? I know
it's not the most exciting thing to do with a day off, but I thought – "

"Actually, I have a pile of paperwork I have to work on," I lie. "Budget
reports for Romano."

He nods his head and finishes off his toast. "Can I stop by later?"

He's obviously starting to get perplexed by my lack of enthusiasm. I
don't know what to do – if I tell him no, he'll be suspicious and wonder
why I'm trying so hard to push him away, and that will very likely make
him try to get closer. But I can't tell him yes – I can't pretend that
everything is fine when it's definitely not. Or can I?

"Sure," I tell him, trying to force myself to look and sound. "Just call
me when you're done."

He turns around and rinses off the plate in the sink, placing it in the
drain to dry. He turns back to me, a thoughtful look on his face. "I may
have pushed you too hard last night, Kerry. Telling you how I felt –
forcing you to try to admit to me that you feel the same way. I'm sorry
for that. I want you to take your time, make sure you're comfortable
with it. I do love you, but I won't push you again. I'm sorry."

He looks so sincere that I feel an ache in my chest.

I wish, desperately, for this to be simple. I shake my head slightly.
"Don't worry about it."

"All right," he tells me, and crosses the room. He leans down to kiss me
and I allow him to. I can't bring myself can't kiss him back. He draws
away, his eyes concerned. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I told you, I'm fine. Just a little distracted. It's always like this
when I take time off work and have to start thinking about going back."
My words are smooth, like honey, like poison.

"I'll call you later, then," he tells me, and touches my arm gently as
he leaves the room. I wait, listening for the sound of the front door,
and then for the sound of his Jeep starting up. I can still feel the
touch of his hand through the clothes I'm wearing. I stay at the table
for long after he's gone, numb, wondering what to do next.

***

I finally figure out what to do. I have very few choices, of course.

When he calls, and he does, I let the answering machine pick up. I have
already anticipated how his voice will tempt me, so I've turned the
volume down so that all I can hear is the clicking of the machine as it
records, rewinds, stops. Eventually I find that I have to turn the
ringer of the phone off too, since he calls again and again throughout
the evening. The blinking red light burns my eyes as the messages pile
up on the tape.

When Carter comes over late that night, I already have all the lights
off in the house. He rings the bell twice. Then knocks, loudly.

"Kerry!" he calls through the heavy wooden door.

He knocks again, harder this time, more insistent, calling my name once
more.

Don't give in, I tell myself, and so I stay where I am, on the couch, in
the dark in my own house, my arms curled around me, trying to insulate
myself from his knocking, from his voice.

"Damn it," I hear him swear. I want to open the door to him, to let him
in, to clear this all up, but I can't. I need to be strong, I need to
get my head together before I head back to work, and this is the only
way I can do it. Another confrontation with him will only make things
harder.

He gives one last frustrated thump on my door before he leaves. The
motor of his Jeep is loud in the quiet neighborhood.

Finally, I get up from the couch, and I make my way through the darkened
house slowly, heading for bed.

***

"Good morning, Dr. Weaver," Randi says to me as I come in. I come behind
the desk and check the board.

"We're quiet?" I ask her, and she nods.

"Drunk driver MVA earlier, but it's all under control now."

Luka walks up, looking weary. "Hi, Kerry."

"Hi," I tell him, starting for the lounge. "Rough night?"

He follows me into the lounge and nods. "There was a pile up on the
expressway. Amazing how one drunk man can be responsible for so much
damage." I get my stethoscope and ID from my locker. "We lost one, three
went up to surgery, and the driver was treated and released into police
custody."

"He didn't have any injuries?" I ask, disbelievingly.

"A few cuts and scrapes. It's terrible justice."

I'm about to respond to him when the door to the lounge opens and Carter
comes in. I look at him quickly and then look away.

"You should go home and get some sleep, Luka," I advise him, and head
out of the lounge, brushing past Carter as he fumbles in his locker.

He catches up with me in the hallway. "Where were you last night? I
called – I came over."

"I had a terrible headache," I lie to him. "Unplugged the phone and fell
asleep early."

"Hey, welcome back, Carter," we both hear, before the conversation can
continue any further. I look up at Mark Greene. Carter looks slightly
embarrassed at the attention, and ducks his head slightly.

"Thanks," he says.

"You're feeling okay to work, I take it?" he asks carefully, not
mentioning anything about drugs or addiction or rehab here in the hallway.

"I feel great," Carter tells him, and he sounds confident. "I appreciate
the second chance."

"You're a part of the ER, Carter. We depend on you down here. And I know
everyone is glad to have you back."

"What about you, Dr. Weaver?" Carter asks, and Mark glances at me. "Are
you glad to have me back too?"

Don't do this, I will him with my eyes. I swallow the lump in my throat,
the nervousness that is creeping up on me. "Yes, Carter, I'm glad," I
manage to get out.

"Dr. Greene, you've got a phone call," Randi calls from the desk.

"I'll be right there," he calls back, and pats Carter on the shoulder.
"You look a little tired, Carter."

"Haven't slept much the last few nights," Carter replies, his tone
slightly suggestive as he glances at me. I shoot him a warning look. "I
guess I was just a little nervous about coming back."

"If you need anything – "

"I'll be sure to let you or Dr. Weaver know. Thanks," he finishes, and
Mark nods, then heads back to the desk.

"You're treading in dangerous waters, Carter," I caution him.

He looks at me, innocently. "I didn't say anything incriminating." He
pauses, then adds a little emphasis to his next words. "Dr. Weaver."

"Just be sure you don't," I tell him, low.

"You were trying to avoid me last night," he says, the volume of his
voice matching mine exactly.

"This isn't the place, Carter – " I start, but he cuts me off.

He eyes me, conspiratorially. "Oh, right. We'll talk later," he says,
and I shake my head slightly.

"I have some work to do," I tell him, and head off to the lounge, aware
of his eyes watching me.

***

Inside the lounge, I look over the schedule. There's only one way to do
this, and it has to be done swiftly. If I hesitate, I'll never be able
to do it.

I adjust my own shifts so that I am off every time Carter is working and
vice versa. I sigh heavily as I put down the pen, knowing that at the
least, he will want an explanation, that at the most, he will be angry.
But I have to do this. I have to maintain my distance.

"Kerry."

I look up to see the scowl on Robert Romano's face. God, this is the
last thing I need today.

"Hello, Robert."

"I noticed you were on vacation last week?"

"Yes," I say evenly.

"Do you enjoy keeping secrets, Kerry?" he asks, and I tense up,
instantly worried about what he knows. "I believe there's something you
neglected to mention to me."

I raise an eyebrow, trying to look innocent. "And what would that be?"

"John Carter's little trip to Atlanta. I believe that you told me that
he was on a medical leave of absence. I didn't realize it was a month in
a padded room far away from the drug lockup."

My shoulders slump. I should have known. It was impossible to keep it
from him forever.

"He underwent drug rehabiliation, Robert," I correct him, an edge in my
voice. "Padded rooms went out in the 1970s."

"Whatever," he shrugs dismissively, walking over to the counter and
pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Who footed the bill for this little
vacation of his?"

I take a breath, then release it. Easy, I tell myself. Don't get angry
with him. Don't goad him. "Carter's stay in Atlanta was paid for by his
family. County didn't take financial responsibility for it." It's mostly
true. We did pull some strings to get him into the center, and we did
pay for the plane ticket, or rather, I did – but no one knows that. As
far as Mark Greene and Anspaugh know, the money for that plane ticket
came from the ER budget.

"Various members of the ER staff were involved in keeping this from me,"
he says. "In fact, I believe there was a deliberate decision made to
keep me in the dark. By you, if I'm not mistaken."

"I don't think anything was done deliberately, Robert," I lie smoothly,
trying to placate his rising anger. "I didn't feel that it was necessary – "

"It most certainly was necessary, Kerry. I am the Chief of Staff," he snaps.

"And I am the chief of Emergency Services," I retort, not letting him
finish. "And since I do hold that position, I feel that it allows me to
make certain decisions regarding staff here in the ER. In Carter's case,
I made the decision I thought was best at the time."

He makes a disgusted face. "We've been down this road before, Kerry, and
you know, I'm not altogether confident in the decisions you've made
recently."

I think back to Angie, the red-headed girl I started a central line on –
in direct opposition to his "opinion" – and I feel a flare of anger.

"You are certainly entitled to your opinions, Robert. But I stand by the
decisions I've made." I keep my voice calm. "All of them."

He stares me down, and I'm not sure if he's trying to decide what to say
next or if he's just run out of things to say. Finally he rolls his eyes
slightly and takes a sip from his mug.

"So is our friend Carter all better now?" he asks.

If I were having this conversation with someone I trusted, my answer
might be different. But there are so few people left in my life that I
can trust right now, and Robert Romano is certainly not one of them.
"He's fine."

"In the future, Kerry, I think it would be wise that you keep me abreast
of any situations that occur down here with the ER staff."

"Is that an order, Robert?" I ask him, sharply. I don't take orders from
anyone, least of all this little weasel.

"You can interpret it any way you want to," he says, and starts to leave
the lounge, bumping into Carter on the way in. "Ah, Dr. Carter. All
clean and sober now that you're back from Atlanta?"

Carter looks from Romano to me, then back at Romano, his face full of
uncertainty. Romano chuckles, and before Carter can answer, pats him on
the back a little too hard and leaves.

"That bastard," I mutter, under my breath.

"I didn't think he knew," Carter says.

"I didn't either."

Carter sits down at the table across from me. "What are you doing?" he
asks, and slides the schedule from my hands and into his own. He looks
it over, then looks up at me. "What the hell are you doing?" he asks
again, this time visibly upset.

Malik pokes his head in. "EMTs are bringing in a gunshot victim." He's
already gowning up.

"When?" I ask.

"They're rolling up now."

"Trauma One," I tell Malik, and take the schedule back from Carter.

"Kerry – " Carter says, half angry, half scared as to the meaning of my
actions.

"We'll talk about this later," I tell him, and leave the room. The truth
is, I don't want to talk about this. Not now. Not even later.

***

The rest of the afternoon I am successfully able to avoid Carter. It's a
busy day, and I make sure he always has a patient to deal with, no free
time on his hands, and I do the same for myself. Late in the day, I take
a moment to grab a cup of coffee from the lounge and inwardly curse the
awful taste.

Haleh comes in, looking pissed.

"Coffee?" I ask her, and she nods. I pour her a cup.

"That girl is driving me crazy," she comments.

"Who?"

"Abby Lockhart. She's not my favorite person in the world, but today, I
swear, she's on my last nerve. She's been muttering to herself all
afternoon."

Abby herself comes into the lounge at that moment, looking guilty as she
glances at Haleh and then to me. I don't know who she's more jumpy
around – Haleh or me. She obviously knows, though, that she's gotten on
Haleh's bad side. Which is somewhere that even I wouldn't want to be.

"Excuse me," Haleh says brusquely, brushing past Abby and out of the lounge.

"Is everything all right?" I ask Abby.

She shakes her head nervously, but I can tell she's unsure. "Have you
seen Dr. Greene around anywhere? I needed to talk to him about something."

"Exam Three, I think," I tell her. She nods gratefully, and with her
head slightly down, skitters like a mouse out of the room, leaving me alone.

It's the first moment I've had in hours to breathe, let alone think. My
leg aches; I head over to my locker and get out a few Tylenol, which I
swallow down with the dregs of my coffee. Work quickly, I pray. Please.
I lean against the counter for support, easing the weight off my leg for
a minute.

I swallow what's left of the coffee. One of these days we're going to
get a new coffee machine, a good one, I tell myself.

Carter comes in. I brace myself for another round of questions. I only
have to get through today, I remind myself. After that, the scheduling
will keep us apart, keep me away from his questions, from his gaze.

"I've been looking for you," he declares.

"I've got patients, Carter. It's been a really busy day."

"We have to talk."

"Not here."

He takes a step closer to me, and I can see that he looks tired, almost
groggy. "You've been deliberately avoiding me all day, Kerry, and I want
to know why."

"We talked about it already, Carter. I don't want to bring this," I
gesture at him and I, "to work."

"I thought we were going to keep it a secret. I didn't realize you were
going to pretend I didn't exist." He takes another step nearer, and I
can smell him. It makes me suddenly dizzy with wanting him, and somehow
I manage to stand my ground, even though he is too close, too close in a
public setting like this. Anyone could walk in. Anyone, at any moment.

"I've missed you," he murmurs, quietly. "I miss touching you."

I'm already in trouble, and the longing in his voice makes it worse;
sending a ripple of excitement down my spine. I inhale deeply, trying to
keep my breathing even.

"Carter – "

"Is it the Vicodin? Is that what you're upset about?"

The excitement switches to cold dread in a moment. "What do you mean?"

"Are you upset that I took the Vicodin, to get rid of it for you? Are
you upset because I stepped over the line in some way?"

I shake my head, feeling tears threaten, and I angrily push them back.

"Are you sure that's not what it is? You just were so – upset that
night. And I was worried. I didn't want you to have the pills around
tempting you. I thought I was doing the right thing. I'm sorry if it
wasn't."

I look down, away from his eyes.

The door to the lounge opens and Mark comes in. Carter backs up from me
swiftly.

"Hey, Carter. Would you mind if Kerry and I – "

"Sure, no problem." He glances at me, once, meaningfully, and leaves.

I sink down onto the couch, my mind whirling. Why can't I just talk to
Carter about it? Maybe there's an explanation. Maybe he didn't take the
pill. Maybe –

Mark sits down next to me. "We may have a little problem."

"Romano?" I ask, and Mark looks at me blankly. I fill him in on my
earlier conversation with him and Mark groans.

"I have no idea how he found out. The only other people who knew about
what we were doing for Carter were Benton, Anspaugh and Chen, and I know
that it wasn't Peter. He's never gotten along with Romano. And I can't
imagine it being Anspaugh either."

"So it has to be Deb," I guess.

Mark nods. "I'll talk to her. But that's not what I wanted to talk to
you about. I just spoke with Abby. She's pretty upset."

"So I saw a few minutes ago. What's going on?"

"Apparently there are some narcotics missing from the drug room."

Just like that, my heart drops heavily like a stone into my stomach.
Carter's only been back one day. One day.

Mark catches my expression – we're obviously thinking about the same thing.

"She was thinking about going to Carter directly, but she figures that
he's still pissed at her. And she was hesitant to come to either one of
us, since that was exactly what happened the last time. She doesn't want
him to think that she's going behind his back. But she was worried."

"What's missing?"

"Ten Darvocet tablets."

The silence between us is uncomfortable.

"I wanted to let you know what was going on. I'm going to check it out,
see what I can find," Mark tells me.

I nod my head wearily.

"Listen, Kerry, we don't know that it was Carter. I don't think Carter
would do something like this on his first day back. And he's been clean,
or so he says, right?"

I don't answer him. I wish I could tell him about the Vicodin, why I'm
so afraid. I can't, though -- it would involve too many details that I
don't want him to know. And I can't allow myself to reveal that much to him.

All my fears come crashing down in that moment. I think about the fact
I'm Carter's superior, that we've slept together not just once, but
multiple times. I think about the missing Vicodin, about Carter's face,
how sincere he's sounded. I think about how I want so badly to believe
that he's telling me the truth but that I've jumped to conclusions in a
heartbeat. I think about his eyes from just minutes ago, how they looked
drowsy, almost as if he had been taking some kind of narcotic painkiller
which caused them to be that way.

A few tears slip from the corners of my eyes, and I pull my glasses off
and swipe at them.

"Are you all right?" Mark asks, concerned.

"I'm fine, just tired, Mark. Tired."

"You and Carter both," he comments, and of course that just makes it worse.

Mark looks taken aback at my tears and he pats my arm awkwardly. "Things
can't be that bad," he tells me.

I laugh, bitterly. "You don't know the half of it."

His eyes search my face. He hesitates for a moment. "Want to talk about
it?" he asks finally.

God, it would be so nice – to talk to someone, to let some of this out,
to allow it to free my heart and my mind, even if only for a few moments.

But I shake my head. "It's nothing I can't handle," I tell him, wiping
away the remaining tears and standing up. "Let's get to the bottom of
this whole Darvocet thing."

Mark looks thoughtful. "You know, Kerry – if you do want to talk – " he
pauses, "I'm willing to listen."

I take this in. Mark and I have had our disagreements over the years,
but we've worked together for enough years now to be able to come to a
sort of truce. We both have differences of opinion, of style. We've
realized that we just have to agree to disagree, and work things out.
We've never been close friends; never trusted each other with personal
secrets.

His offer is probably the kindest thing he's ever done for me.

I smile at him, gratefully. While I don't feel better overall, at least
for the moment I feel a little lighter. "Thanks."

Mark and I walk out of the lounge. As the door swings shut behind me, I
glance over at the desk and my eyes fall on Carter, who is only
half-listening to something that Randi is saying. His eyes have met mine
and he looks worried, guilty – even scared. I swallow hard and walk
towards him.

END of Duplicity