~~~~

"Carter, what are you doing?"

John slammed a book over the copied chart and turned quickly. Benton
stood at the ER lounge door, his hands on his hips, his blue scrubs
marred with faint streaks of blood. There was a larger splatter of
gore on his white Nikes. John had thought he'd heard the sirens pull
up, but he'd been too distracted by the chart to go investigate. And,
besides, he wasn't covering ER today. He'd done ER coverage for the
last three days.

"Ah, nothing, nothing, not doing anything." John ran his fingers
through his hair; his hand shook a little. "You, uh, just come from a
trauma?"

"Yeah, but he was dead before he hit the doors. They were looking for
you."

"They didn't page me." Had they? John reached into his jacket pocket
and felt for his beeper. It was there; it wasn't vibrating from any
unanswered message, though.

"Well, they should have. I'm supposed to be scrubbing in with
Anspaugh." Benton tilted his head, frowning; he seemed to be looking
beyond John to the table behind him--to the chart behind him. John
shifted to the side, centering himself in front of the chart. Not
that Benton could see it with the book over it, but John wasn't going
to take any chances. Sometimes it seemed like all Benton had to do
was look cockeyed at him to read his mind.

"Are you checking surgical charts down here?"

John's pulse pounded. "Huh? Oh, no, no--just reviewing an interesting
case I did. Gotta keep an eye out for those possible papers, right?"

Benton nodded. "Yeah, sure. What've got?"

Before John could gather any words to stop him, Benton had cross to
the lounge table, pushed the book aside and shoved open the manila
folder.

John cursed under his breath.

"Carter?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"This is my appy."

"Uh, yeah."

Benton looked up at him. "You're reviewing my appendectomy as an
interesting case?"

John's mouth went stone dry. "Well, you know, it was emergent and--
and--" And on his mind. A lot. Three times a day, maybe more. Oh, he
could tune it out when he scrubbed up and gowned and went in for some
other procedure, or when a heavy trauma came rolling through the ER
doors, but otherwise...

"I guess I was just making sure I did everything right. It was
important, you know."

Benton stared at him for a moment--certainly a moment longer than
John preferred--before he sighed and nodded and slowly closed the
folder, his gaze cast downwards.

"Yeah, I can see you thinking like that. You know, Carter, I never
did really thank you. Dr. Hicks said you did a nice job. My incision
is good. I really--thank you." He looked up. He wasn't quite smiling--
not by most people's standards--but for Benton, it was a
smile. "Thank you."

John beamed. "Hey, my pleasure--I mean, not pleasure, but--"

Benton shook his head; he rolled his eyes a little, too.

"--yeah," John said; his face had warmed, "you're welcome."

"Go back to work, Carter."

Benton clapped John on his shoulder and that was pretty much what
John expected. But his hand lingering, the soft squeeze as he passed
by, and his fingers sliding up into the curve of John's neck and
sending pinpricks of gooseflesh up John's arms was not expected. Nor
was the rush of heat and confusion--he didn't expect that either.

John stood still, staring sightless at the row of lockers, the
swinging whoosh of the lounge door echoed louder than he'd ever heard
it. Why? Just because Benton had exited through it? Just because he
never seemed to stop thinking about Benton and that touch, that hint
of kindness, didn't help?

John cursed again, aloud this time. What the hell was happening to
him? It was just hero-worship, wasn't it? Of course, it was. He'd had
to live and think and breathe Benton for two whole semesters. Of
course he'd be distracted by the man, even though he wasn't on his
rotation anymore. Even though they couldn't always have a civil
conversation.

Of course. That was it: hero-worship.

John shook his head, mumbling, "Go back to work, Carter." He gathered
up the chart and the book and shoved them in his locker. A Polaroid
tumbled off the shelf. It was the picture of him standing over Benton
on the operating table, Benton's face half covered with an ET tube
and mouth guard. The nurse had taken the pictures as a joke and most
of them were posted in the OR locker room.

Except this one.

John laid it on top of the chart and closed his locker door, sighing.
The lounge door swung open again, Jerry's large bulk filling the
frame.

"Hey, they need you in Trauma One. Benton said he had a surgery and
to call you."

John nodded. "Yeah, I'll be right there." Jerry gave him a thumbs-up
and disappeared.

John took a deep breath, alone in the lounge again. Hero-worship.
That's all it was.

It was all he could ever let it be.

He took off for the ER corridor, digging his goggles from his pocket
and sliding them into place. Alarms were ringing when he strode into
Trauma One, Doug Ross bent over a man with a bloodied chest, his
stethoscope to his right upper chest. He looked up as John walked in.

John gave him a nod. "All right, give me the bullet."


The End