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------------------------------------- Chapter Fourteen: Break Her Fall -------------------------------------

Rain

Coming to cleanse

Will she fall?

Stares

Into the wind

And she cries

-------------------------------------

What the hell had he been thinking?

John Carter had been asking himself that same question over and over again since he'd so *stupidly* confronted Dave in the bathroom just hours earlier. John could remember his own intervention at the ER, when his coworkers and friends had approached him about his drug addiction. They'd been considerably patient with him during the whole thing, and John had walked out on them, what made him think Dave wouldn't do the same, especially with the way John had approached him? He'd just had this idea implanted in his mind that Dave would crack and ask John to save him, but of course Dave wouldn't do that! Dave was...well, he was just Dave! The younger man could barely ask for help about a patient in the ER, let alone asking for help for himself!

He knew how Dave could get, but yet he hadn't even tried to reason with the younger man before badgering him with questions and sarcastic remarks. God, he thought again, for the billionth time that night. What the hell had he been *thinking* when he'd found those pills? He probably hadn't even been thinking at all. He'd just walked back into the living room, rejoining Dave on the couch, and then began asking him all those questions. He'd angered Dave enough after that, but instead of leaving it alone or trying to talk to Dave after the younger man had calmed down, he'd decided that the night wasn't over just yet after hearing the younger man searching for his pills in the medicine cabinet.

"Looking for these?" he'd asked oh-so haughtily, even giving the pills a little shake.

Dave had turned, surprised, visibly paled and wide-eyed. "Uh...I just...my ribs were bothering me. I was just going to take a painkiller before I go to bed."

"Really? Hmmm, which one?" John then asked, as Dave reached for the bottle, but the older man only backed up, keeping them out of his reach. "No, I'll get it for you. What do you want? Demerol? Percocets? Or maybe the Vicodin that Weaver gave you? Or maybe you want something to mellow you out after that argument we just had...how about a Xanax or a Klonopin? Or perhaps you want a pick-me-up, so we can lose ourselves in great sex. Isn't that what the Dexedrine is for? Give me a clue here, Dave, which pill do you want?? Maybe you want a few of each. What do you say, Dave? How about a cocktail??"

"I..." Dave tried, reaching feebly for the pills again, though John just took another step back. He could see that Dave was trying to search for an excuse, though the younger man just replied with: "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't know what I'm talking about? You don't know what I'm *talking about*??" John yelled, twisting off the cap roughly and spilling some of the pills out onto his palm, holding them out for Dave to see. "I'm talking about this, Dave!" He threw the pills into Dave's chest, whose expression showed his horror. "I'm talking about *this*!!"

"John, stop it!" Dave said, desperation laced in his voice. "It's not what you think!"

"Then what is it?" John asked, his words beseeching, his eyes begging Dave to prove him wrong, though he knew the younger man could not do that. His voice was almost a whisper as he repeated: "Dave, please, tell me, what is it??"

"I just..." He opened his mouth but no words came for several moments. Then, finally, his shoulders sagging with defeat: "Sometimes, I just...need to...you know, just...take something to...to get through a shift, that's all. I just...I need it, I...I..."

"You need it," John repeated, remembering himself saying those words to his coworkers - to his friends - not so long ago. And as desperately as he wanted to believe Dave, his rationality and fear for Dave's being could not do that.

"Yeah," Dave replied, reaching for the pills once more, but John took yet another step back. This time, Dave did not relent, reaching for the pills once more, missing and grabbing John's wrist instead. "John, I need those pills. Please, give them to me."

"I can't do that, Dave," John said, maneuvering himself and Dave at the same time back towards the toilet. If he could flush them down the toilet, then it would be one less thing to worry about; he knew he'd have a hard time getting Dave to the hospital, he didn't need to worry about the younger man getting to the pills in the meantime. But he wouldn't be able to get the pills in the toilet unless Dave let go of his wrist - the younger man easily overpowered him. "Dave, let go."

"No, not until you give me the bottle," Dave said, as he reached for it with his free hand, but John grabbed the pill bottle with his own free hand and quickly it towards the open toilet. "No!"

"Dave, let go!"

They were wrestling now, John's other wrist clasped in Dave's hand as well, one arm twisted up in the air. Dave let go of John's empty hand, making a move for the pills again, but John used his now free hand to push the younger man away. He fell into the sink, the counter painfully hitting the base of his back, but he had still been holding onto John's wrist, so the older man went with him.

"*You* let go!"

"No, I can't do that, Dave. You need help..."

"Help?!"

"Yes! You need help," John repeated desperately, staring Dave straight in the eyes. "You're an addict, Dave."

Then they switched places, John against the counter and Dave standing flush to him, John holding onto Dave's free hand, the Junior Resident's other hand grasped firmly around John's, which was holding the bottle of pills. John could see the look of desperation in Dave's eyes, a look he had seen in his own reflection a few weeks before his trip to rehab in Atlanta.

"What?" Dave said, and John could almost see the word running around through Dave's head. "I'm not...I'm not an addict. I just..."

"Then prove it, Dave," John suddenly challenge, interrupting him. "Prove it, and let me go." Dave stopped his struggle suddenly, but he wouldn't look at John. "Prove it, Dave...come on, prove me wrong, I want you to. Please, prove me wrong."

Dave's breathing was heavy and erratic, sweat pouring off of him as his gaze shifted from John's hand to John's eyes. Slowly, he released his viselike grip from John's wrist and took a step back, looking as if he wanted to say so much, but all he ended up saying was: "See?"

John let out a breath that must've started at his toes, saying, "Good...now let's go talk about what we need to do."

"What?" Dave asked, his expression showing his puzzlement. "What we need to do? What do you mean?"

"Dave, you need help," John said, his tone suggesting his urgency. "You're abusing addictive medications...several medications. We need to work out how we're going to deal with this."

Dave's posture stiffened slightly, and John immediately knew that it wasn't going to be that easy. "Hey! Don't project your fucking problems on me! *You're* the addict! Hell, I just proved to you that I was okay," Dave said, his voice shaking with anger. "So just give me the fucking bottle and shut up!"

"Okay...fine," John said calmly, holding up his hands in surrender. "But...if you're okay then you don't mind if I dump the pills, right?"

"No!" Dave said, as if the notion were incredulous. "You said all I had to do was let go, and I did! So - I - just - give me the fucking pills!" Dave yelled, his face contorted with anger as he grabbed John, who was terrified now, because he wasn't sure what Dave might do if he didn't get the pills.

That's when he found out.

In an instant, John was shoved roughly into the wall and hit seemingly at the same time, though he wasn't sure how that was possible. He slid to the floor, his eyes closed and his now empty hands shielding himself in case of another blow. When none came and all he heard was complete silence, John opened his eyes and could see Dave picking up the pills that John had thrown at him moments earlier. In shock, unable to move or speak, John just sat there on the floor, leaning against the wall behind him, watching his lover crawl across the floor, mumbling to himself words that were unintelligible or inaudible to John. He watched as Dave slowly stood, stumbling slightly as he reached into the now full bottle and pulled out several pills, only hesitating slightly before he popped them into his mouth before closing his eyes and dropping his head forward. Suddenly, Dave's eyes opened, and he turned to face his lover, the younger man's expression showing his horror at what he had just done.

"Oh my God," he whispered, tears forming at his eyes as he looked away.

"Dave..." John started, but the younger man suddenly bolted out of the bathroom. "Dave!!" John scrambled to his feet and fled from the bathroom as well, but Dave was fast and was already out the door by the time John got into the living room. The door slammed shut, and then John heard the key turning in the door. "No, no, no, no, no!!" John yelled, knowing that the bottom lock on the door was a regular one, but the one above it was one that you had to have a key to open from either the outside *or* the inside. "Shit!" he yelled, after reaching the door and finding it already too late.

By the time he had gotten his keys from his dresser, all the way in the bedroom, Dave was already gone. John could not see him on the sidewalks near their apartment building, nor could he find him when he got into his Jeep and drove around the block. After several moments of this, he decided to call Abby, who was working that night.

"He hasn't come here," she'd reported, the curiosity in her tone apparent. "Is something wrong?"

"I don't know," he'd replied. "Just...call me if he comes by, okay?"

He'd almost hung up immediately afterwards, just staying on long enough to exchange goodbyes. Where the hell could Dave have gone, he'd wondered at the time. He'd checked the local bars and even The Game Room, Dave's favorite, but even in Dave's current state of mind, he knew the younger man wouldn't be dumb enough to go there, since it was the first place John would look. After going to several bars, he'd finally found one that Dave had been to - too bad he had just missed him by about twenty minutes, the bartender had stated, deflating John's hope instantaneously.

"Was he drinking?" John asked urgently.

"Shit, yeah!" the bartender answered. "I don't think this was the first bar he visited either, because that guy was fucked up."

John left the bar feeling totally helpless; Dave was drinking, and had taken a handful of pills. God only knew was state he was in. Now, sitting in his car in the bar's parking lot, John had tried to think of where Dave would go to next. He didn't have many friends here, just hockey buddies - but it wasn't as if he would be hanging around them anymore, since the attack. Then it hit him, like a ton of bricks or some other bad metaphor...Dave could be heading for Luka's. And as much as he hated that idea, when he'd gotten there, he was surprisingly unalleviated to find out that Dave hadn't been there. At least if he had, John would've found him and would've been able to get him to a hospital.

He didn't realize how bad his timing had been. Only moments later, that phone call from Luka reporting that Dave was there now, and then, just as suddenly, he was gone. Gone. Just like that. And John was currently stuck in his car, glad that it had stopped raining so at least he could see better as he was driving back home, hoping that maybe Dave was there now, even if he wasn't picking up the phone. He kept calling, though, leaving messages, practically begging for Dave to pick up the phone. When he'd reached the apartment and stepped inside, he'd given up by then, deciding that maybe just waiting there for a while might be the best thing. Dave would come back, he had to. John didn't know what else to hope for.

He began to stick his key in the door when the slight contact pushed it open. Why would his door be unlocked and left ajar? Maybe Dave *was* home! With newfound optimism, John pushed open the door with a flourish, turning on the light beside it and stepping inside the apartment, calling out his lover's name.

"Oh my God..."

He forgot to breathe. His heart forgot to beat. Time forgot to carry on. Because there, lying on the floor of the living room, curled up in a fetal position, lay Dave Malucci, soaking wet and not moving - not breathing. God...oh, God...

What the *fuck* had he been thinking?

-------------------------------------

Her tears mark every time

That I swept the pain aside

Too much to withstand

-------------------------------------

"He was fine today," Abby Lockhart said, her voice thick with emotion. "We went out to lunch at Doc's. We talked and joked around, like always. He smiled, he laughed, he was happy...at least I thought he was happy..."

Cook County General had received the call-in from the paramedics about seven minutes ago. They were bringing in an overdose, and at first, Abby Lockhart - who had been the one to take the call at admin - hadn't thought anything of it. But then they'd told her who exactly *was* overdosing: Dave. Her friend Dave. Dave, who she'd gone to lunch with today. Dave, who had hit on her several times today, jokingly, of course, because he was hopelessly in love with John. Dave, who had laughed today. Dave, who had smiled today. Dave, who was fine today, but obviously wasn't, because he was overdosing - dying - and the paramedics were bringing him in.

The young nurse had immediately run to Dr. Weaver, who had been taking her break in the Lounge. The only thing she could do at first was tell the older woman that the paramedics were bringing in an overdose, ETA ten minutes. But her tone had suggested that it was much more complicated than that.

"What's wrong?" Kerry had asked, searching Abby's eyes, which were brimming with tears. The younger woman opened her mouth to say something, but no words came, only heavy breathing coupled with a terrified frozen expression. The Chief of the ED approached the nurse tentatively then, asking quietly: "Abby, what's wrong?"

"It's...it's..." She seemed as if she were about to burst into tears, and Kerry was already afraid before she even knew what was really going on. But she knew whatever news the younger woman was about to deliver she wasn't going to like at all. Then, finally: "It's Dave. They're bringing in Dave."

There was a long pause, wherein neither of them made a move. Kerry seemed as if she were frozen in place, but Abby could see the fear building in her eyes, a fear that was reflected in her own. The nurse was about to say something - anything - to snap the woman out of her trance when the Chief looked away, taking in a deep breath, backing up a bit, leaning heavily on her crutch, one hand moving to her forehead and rubbing it slightly.

"Okay," was the first thing Kerry said, and Abby wasn't sure if it was only because she didn't' know what else to say. "Um...then...okay. Let's go prep a trauma room, and..." She looked up, trying to get her thoughts to process coherently. "Who else knows?"

"I don't know," Abby replied. "I took the call."

"Then...let's not let anyone know who doesn't have to," Kerry replied, her thought processes slower than usual. Instantaneously, she felt everything from the Valentine's Day attack two years ago come rushing back, and while the injuries were different, the outcome could still be the same. And she prayed that Dave survived, and didn't meet the same fate as Lucy Knight. "Let's keep the rumors to a minimum," Kerry had then said, if only to break herself from her thoughts. "I don't want to make things worse."

It had been too late, they'd soon discovered after hearing the buzz of the Rumor Mill in full action. Apparently, someone else had overheard the call, and it was all over the ER within moments. The mood afterwards had been surprisingly solemn - despite some mixed feelings about Dave, it seemed that the staff mostly favored him, even if they did give him a hard time occasionally. Many doctors and nurses inside were standing around in shocked silence, waiting to see for themselves if this was really true about their own Junior Resident, or if a horrible mistake had been made.

All were hoping for the latter.

Now, Abby Lockhart and Kerry Weaver were outside in the ambulance bay, the cold biting at their skin but both not really noticing. The former was babbling, something she often did when she was nervous and scared. The latter was listening, staying silent, something *she* often did when she was nervous and scared.

"Sometimes these things just happen," Dr. Weaver tried to explain, tried to reassure, but she knew that nothing could do that in this situation.

"But *how* did it happen?" Abby persisted, as they began to hear the siren of the approaching ambulance. "How did we miss this? How did *I* miss this?? All the signs were there, Dr. Weaver. He had mood swings, and he was edgy and hypersensitive, and...God, how did I *miss* this?? Dave is my best friend, and I missed this."

Dr. Weaver didn't know how to reply to that, and it was only because she herself was asking those same questions. She'd promised herself after John had become addicted to painkillers last year that she would never allow something like that to happen again. But here she was, awaiting an ambulance that one of her own doctors was dying in, maybe already dead - God, she didn't even want to think of that, though she knew it was a possibility, only proven so by the crash cart charging in the trauma room.

Moments later, the ambulance pulled into the lot. Abby could feel her heart beating in her chest, as if it were trying to get free, and she took a deep breath to settle her nerves as the rig backed up carefully near the ambulance bay doors. The two ER staffers moved to the back of the ambulance, Abby knocking impatiently on the doors before they opened, and a rush of chaos hit her all at once like a strong gust of wind.

John glanced up from Dave, who he was bagging at the moment, and he looked terrified to say the least. He seemed as if he wanted to say something, but no words came from him, only a look in his eyes that told Abby nothing and everything all at the same time. Then, finally, he managed to say: "It was him...he's the one that's been stealing the pills...it was him...it was him..."

The paramedic jumped in at that moment, after realizing that this usually competent doctor was not going to help with the bullet. "Twenty-eight-year-old male, found in his apartment unconscious and not breathing. We tried to intubate, but couldn't get an airway, even when we tried an NG tube, so we're still just bagging."

"Was he conscious at any time?" Dr. Weaver asked, desperately trying to stay in doctor-mode, though she was having a difficult time doing so every time she looked at Dave's face, the ambu bag over his mouth, his nose bloodied from the attempted NG tube. The younger man was soaking wet, his hair plastered to his head and his clothes clinging to his body. "And let's get him out of these wet clothes! He doesn't need hypothermia too."

"He regained consciousness in the rig about five minutes ago," the paramedic reported as they rushed hurriedly from the cold outside and into the warm ER, Kerry immediately having to bark at the staff to stop gaping and get back to work. "But then he threw up and just went out again."

"Damn it," Kerry said, knowing their chances of a more successful trauma were better when the patient was conscious and alert, but at least Dave had gotten some of whatever he'd taken out of his system. "I want a tox screen and two units warm saline, wide-open. And get a foley in, too. Let's move him on my count. One, two - "

"Wait!" the paramedic said suddenly, moving to Dave's wrists. "Get the restraints off him first, or you'll take the whole gurney with him."

"Why the hell is he restrained??" Abby asked incredulously, glancing up with surprise.

"I told them not to, but they wouldn't listen to me," John said, who was trying to help but he couldn't seem to make himself do what he wanted to. He kept fumbling and shaking, unable to get anything right, and he was beginning to get frustrated. Dave was dying, and the only thing he could do without getting in the way was bag him.

"He was combative," the paramedic challenged. "We had to, he knocked out his IV and he even tried to hit me."

John remembered inside of the ambulance after they had taken Dave on the gurney. About five minutes into the ride, the younger man had opened his eyes, his expression showing his terror. John had immediately tried to reassure him, grasping his hand and telling him that he was going to be okay, but Dave wasn't listening and couldn't breathe, and his brain wasn't getting enough oxygen. He'd began to become combative, his arms flailing as his body tried to "fight" to get oxygen, and it had taken John and another EMT to get him to stay still. Afterwards, the EMT had begun to put restraints on his wrists, insisting that it was the only way. John, however, seeing the pure childlike fear in Dave's eyes, had begged them not to, had begged Dave to calm down, but they wouldn't listen, no one would listen...

"Abby, cut off these clothes," Kerry ordered, after they got Dave out of the restraints and onto the exam bed, the younger man's wrists visibly bruised as he'd obviously tried to break free when he was conscious. Abby immediately leapt into action, cutting away at Dave's shirt first. John watched, knowing that it had to be done and unable to stop it this time. God, they'd see everything, see all of Dave's scars and secrets. "John," Kerry said softly, breaking him from his thoughts. He glanced up at her, seeing the look in her eyes, knowing that she knew the same thing he was thinking. She suddenly broke eye contact then, saying: "Stop bagging so quickly."

"Oh my God..." Abby said, pushing away Dave's clothes, her eyes traveling over the several prominent scars. She glanced up at John instinctively, knowing that he must've seen them by now, but he only offered her a desperate look, silently asking her not to ask him. Glancing at Dr. Weaver next, Abby could see that she too, had somehow known about this, so she diverted her eyes from both of them, concentrating on getting Dave's wet jeans off and keeping her eyes away from the scars.

"Move, Carter," Kerry said then, rolling the intubation tray with her to the head of the gurney. John stepped aside, resuming the compressions that Kerry had previously been administering. Within moments, Dave was intubated and hooked to the ventilator, John setting the controls just to keep himself from going crazy. God knew how long the younger man had been passed out on the floor of their living room, and He also only knew what irrevocable damage could've been done because of it. "Tox screen's back," Kerry reported, glancing at the sheet a lab tech had just delivered. "Oh my God..."

"What?" Abby was the first to ask.

"He tested positive for almost everything we have in that supply closet," Kerry said shakily, noting the different drugs: antidepressants, depressants, and even some painkillers. God...it had been worse than she thought, worse than she could ever imagine. Suddenly, as if on cue, monitors began to blare, and Dave began to seize, startling all three ER staffers into action. "God *damn* it! Carter, protect his airway!"

The Chief Resident removed the ventilator, holding the ET tube so that it wouldn't get dislodged as Kerry administered Ativan to control the convulsions. He studied his lover's face, closed eyes he might never see open again, lips slightly blue from the lack of oxygen he might never see smile again. He couldn't imagine his life without Dave by his side, living it with him. He couldn't imagine never hearing Dave's voice again, never feeling another passing kiss, never seeing another stolen glance, never holding Dave ever again. He just couldn't imagine Dave...gone. God...dear God...

He never knew tears could sting so much.

-------------------------------------

When the rain is coming

She will face it all

It's all on me, all over

And when it's overflowing

Can she break her fall?

Until I deal, I can't move on

-------------------------------------

"Excuse me," Randi heard, and glanced up from the computer to see a pretty woman probably in her fifties looking back at her with the sort of desperation in her clear brown eyes that the young desk clerk saw a lot in the ER. "I'm looking for Dr. Carter."

"Uh...he's not on right now," Randi replied, glancing back down at the computer, knowing that Carter was, in fact, here - as did everyone else on the nightshift tonight. And she knew exactly what had gone on about an hour ago, though the reasons for it varied, depending on whom you talked to. Randi, personally, figured that Dave had probably cracked - it had only been a matter of time really. "Come back at ten, I think that's when his shift starts."

"No, he worked on my son today," the woman persisted, her voice shaking.

"Yeah," Randi snapped, getting a little peeved right now. She was trying to figure out where Dr. Finch's films had been sent, because they'd been misplaced a while ago, and the young doctor had been harping on her since, as if the whole thing was *her* fault. Um, did she *look* like the radiologist?? "Look," she continued. "Dr. Carter isn't on right now, I don't know what else to tell you."

"They said he was here," she declared, her voice taking on an even more urgent tone than before. She glanced around the ER, as if that alone would help her find who she was looking for. "He was working on my son! They...the nurse on the phone said that my son had overdosed."

"Wait..." Randi said quietly, glancing up from the computer once more with narrowed eyes, really taking a look at the woman for the first time since she'd arrived. "What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't," the woman replied. "But it's Rhonda. Rhonda Malucci."

-------------------------------------

Rain

Coming to vent

All she hides

Unable to move

Though we try

-------------------------------------

Her shift had ended a half hour ago, but Abby remained in the ambulance bay, sitting on a nearby bench, her coat wrapped tightly around her, one hand stuffed in her pocket, the other holding a cigarette between her forefingers. She took another long drag off of it before flicking away the excess ash, watching it burn out on the wet pavement beneath her feet. She sniffled, using the back of her hand to wipe away any evidence of previous tears, taking in a shaky breath once she was finished. She began to move the cigarette to her lips to take another drag when she stopped, pausing briefly before throwing it to the ground; tonight's events had taken the comfort out of smoking totally, so much so that she was pretty sure if she wanted to, she would never smoke another one again.

"Hey," she heard then, glancing up to see Luka standing before her, wearing sweats and a tee shirt underneath an open, long coat. "Mind if I join you?"

"No, go ahead," she said, shaking her head as he sat down next to her on the bench, close but not too close. She studied the quiet ambulance bay for a moment, trying to think of something to say, though she wasn't sure what. "I...I know you and Dave aren't close anymore, but I figured just...let you know...what happened...I hope you don't mind that I called you, and...I...I hope I didn't disturb you too much, I know it's late..."

"No, no, you didn't bother me. I'm glad you called," Luka said quietly, hardly able to conceive that when Dave had arrived on his doorstep just hours earlier, it would end like this. If only he'd gotten some sort of warning, if only he'd been perceptive enough to *see* some sort of warning. But he *had* seen the warning signs of an overdose, he'd just chosen to ignore them in the heat of the moment - a moment he could now see was false in its entirety. A sniffle broke him from his thoughts, and he turned to his companion to see her softly crying. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Abby said, wiping her eyes with her hands. She glanced up to the heavens, desperately trying to contain her emotions, though Luka could see that it was not working. She looked at him with a sheepish smile, waving away his concern. "I'm sorry...I just..." And now a choked sob as she lost her composure, the hot tears running down her cheeks freely. "God, I'm sorry, I just...how did this happen, Luka? How could we let this happen??"

"Shh..." Luka said as he wrapped an arm around her, bringing her close to him. He held her small, shaking body for a few moments as she cried openly into his chest, both wondering the same question that she couldn't seem to stop asking over and over again as she sobbed. Soon, she was quiet, but he still held her, and she still grasped at his tee shirt, and neither made an attempt to move. "Do you have a ride home?" he asked softly.

"I took the El today," Abby reported, after sniffling.

"Here, let me take you home," Luka said, standing and offering his hand to her. She began to protest, insisting that her house was across town and was out of Luka's way, but he immediately stopped her: "Don't worry about it, Abby. It's fine."

"Thank you, Luka," she said, giving in as they headed for his car arm in arm, a comforting feeling that she hadn't experienced in a while. She missed this, she suddenly realized, wondering if perhaps she might've even missed Luka a little too. For a while, she'd been sure the one she wanted was John, but since she'd found out that he was unavailable and pretty happy with Dave, she was beginning to wonder if maybe the one she *needed* had been right in front of her all along.

-------------------------------------

Her feet off of the ground

My will can bring them down

If I'd open my eyes

-------------------------------------

He had always expected someone who dressed in bright colors and eccentric styles, someone with short bleached hair and heavy makeup, someone just as crazy as her son. So when John Carter saw Rhonda Malucci for the first time, he was a little taken aback. She was pretty, petite and thin, dressed in a thick red sweater and blue jeans, wearing no makeup, and had dark hair with subtle blonde highlights tied back in a ponytail. And when he looked into her clear brown eyes, John could see Dave's own eyes reflected there and had to look away.

"How did this happen?" she suddenly asked, smoothing Dave's slightly damp hair off of his forehead, being careful not to touch and bother the ventilator. John wasn't sure whether or not she had been talking to him or herself, so he stayed silent before she looked up at him. "Do you know how this happened?" The only thing he could do was shake his head as he stood awkwardly next to Dave's ICU bed, Rhonda sitting in the visitor's chair. "I should've known what was going on..."

"No, Mrs. Malucci, this isn't your fault," John immediately said, but she cut him off before he could go any further.

"No! I should've known! Dave is my son," she said, her voice thick with emotion as tears brimmed at her eyes. "He calls me every Sunday, and we always talk, sometimes for hours. I should've seen this coming...but nothing seemed wrong, he sounded happy, as if his life was finally, *finally* making sense..."

"Mrs. Malucci, no one saw this coming," he said softly, trying to comfort her as best as he could. "Not even me, and I'm...and Dave's...I mean..."

"I know," she said, as silent tears began to stream down her face and drop onto the hospital bed. John remained quiet as he tried to figure out what she might mean, until she looked up at him, her eyes telling him everything without her having to say a word. "Dave talks about you all the time, John. He really loves you..."

"I'm so sorry," John said, his vision clouding through the tears that he desperately fought not to shed. Someone had to be strong here, because he knew if he broke down, Rhonda would too, and the last thing he wanted to do was make Dave's mother cry. "I'm so sorry I let this happen..."

She was quiet for a moment, before she grasped Dave's hand tightly in her own, and said: "You know...Dave always said that being a doctor was the only thing he was ever good at, but that isn't true...he's a good son...he's a good person...he was always such a good person, no matter how much he didn't think so...God, Dave, I'm so sorry..." She sat there for a moment, regaining her composure, wiping away the stolen tears as she watched her son. "When...when is he going to wake up?"

"He should be waking up soon."

"Should?"

"He will," John corrected firmly, hoping to God to let that be true. He didn't dare tell Rhonda that her son may wake up a very different person than before all of this. "He'll wake up soon. In the meantime, why don't you and I go across the street and get some coffee? It's very early in the morning, and I'm sure both of us could use it."

"I don't want to leave Dave..." she said softly, brushing her knuckles over her son's cheek.

"I'll have the ICU nurse page me the minute he wakes up," John said, hoping that maybe the both of them could calm down if they got away from this place for at least a few minutes. Perhaps once they came back, they would have a different outlook on the whole situation, a more hopeful one. "Come on, he'll be fine. Dave's strong, I think we both know that."

"Okay..." she reluctantly agreed, gently kissing her son on the forehead before standing. She took in a deep shaky breath, turning away before she began crying again, and left the room with John, someone she'd been hoping to meet for a while, but never ever like this. She'd been intending to stay the weekend at her son's new apartment for Christmas, and now she found herself praying to God she would still get that chance.

-------------------------------------

When the rain is coming

She will face it all

It's all on me, all over

And when it's overflowing

Can she break her fall?

Until I deal, I can't move on

-------------------------------------

His eyelids were heavy, but he forced himself to open them, and after a few tries, he could see that he was in a hospital room, though something was obstructing his view. He began to contemplate the fact that he might've fallen asleep in an exam room during his shift when he realized that the object hindering his view was a ventilator - he was on a ventilator. His eyes widened in fear and his heart quickened as he raised his hands to touch the tube jutting out of his throat, his wrists throbbing with the movement though he wasn't sure why, and within a few moments he discovered that he was in a gown and hooked up to a catheter too.

Oh, God. What the fuck had he done?

He frantically felt around the bed for the device that had that button on it, so he could press it and call the nurse, and when he finally located it, he wrapped his hand around it and pressed the red button several times in a row, hoping to get a faster response that way. In what felt like hours but had to be only a few minutes, the door opened, though he was afraid to move to see who it was. Soon, however, Dr. Kerry Weaver stood beside his bed, her expression showing her concern, her eyes watching him circumspectly.

"Dave," she said, his name curling into a question on her lips. "Dave, do you know what happened?" She could see the terror in his eyes, and she could see the tears there too, as he silently begged her to prove wrong what he knew had happened, but she could also see that he knew what he had done and what had almost happened. "Dave...you overdosed tonight..." Even though his eyes were now closed tightly, she could see tears slipping down his face and landing on the pillow beneath his head. She began to explain what had happened more specifically, because she had never seen Dave cry, and didn't know what else to do. "Carter found you this morning, you were unconscious and not breathing on the living room floor. An ambulance brought you in, and then Carter, Abby and I worked on you for about an hour. You were transferred up to the ICU as soon as we were finished..."

He suddenly began to tug at his ET tube, and she briefly wondered if it was to change the subject before she brushed his hands away from it, saying: "Dave, stop it. Let me check your lungs first before you hurt yourself. You should know how this goes by now." She unhooked him from the vent, doing the necessary procedures before concluding that he could breathe well enough on his own now. "Take a deep breath. Okay, now blow out hard."

The tube was snaked out of his throat, and he wasn't aware of how painful it would be until it happened, and all he was left with was a raw throat as he retched into an emesis basin, Kerry rubbing comforting circles on his back, asking him if he wanted some water though he declined. He glanced up at her once he was calmed down, wanting to say something or ask something, though he wasn't sure what.

"Is John here?" he finally decided on, his voice hoarse as he spoke.

"Yes," Kerry replied, though he wasn't sure how relieved that made him feel. "He's at Doc Magoo's with your mother."

He closed his eyes, an almost pained expression crossing his face. "You called my mother."

"John said you two were close," Kerry stated softly, watching her Junior Resident carefully, wondering why she hadn't been watching him carefully enough to stop this from happening. "He said that we should."

Dave nodded. "Is she upset?"

"We're all pretty upset," Kerry reported, and he glanced up at her in surprise, his brown eyes expressing his sorrow at the whole situation. He looked away quickly, playing with the edge of the bed sheet, taking a shaky breath, and she placed a hand on his arm, squeezing it comfortingly. "Dave, how did this happen? *Why* did this happen?"

He desperately tried not to cry again, willed himself not to, but the tears streamed down his face anyway, though he wiped away at them furiously. Finally, he gave up, placing his hands in his lap as he allowed himself to drop the fa�ade, looking up at Kerry with the saddest- and oldest-looking eyes she had ever seen.

"I hate my life," he finally said, smiling bitterly, shrugging as if that was all there was to it. "I mean, sure, I love my job, and my family and friends, but...I hate who I am. I mean...I know everyone here thinks I'm a fuck up, and I am...I think tonight proved that...but I do care and I do have feelings. I feel things...a lot of things, and most of them aren't pleasant. Do you know what it's like to hate who you are? It's...it's..." He didn't pursue the thought. "But when I took those pills, I could forget that one little fact, and everything was fine...but everything wasn't fine, because I've hurt so many people...Abby and Luka and...and John..." A choked sob escaped his lips, as he continued. "I'm sorry...I just wanted to forget, I never thought it would go this far...I never meant for it to get this far..."

He buried his head in his hands, his body shaking with sobs as he realized now what he had done to get this far: he'd hurt everyone he loved, including John, who he remembered hitting just tonight. God, John would never forgive him for that, he would leave him, and Dave would be alone. Face it, he thought to himself. You'll always be alone, because you're scarred and broken and no one wants damaged goods. He startled slightly as he felt his boss wrap her arms around him, and he found himself clutching at her lab coat as she smoothed his hair back, whispering soothing words to him as he cried.

"Dave, it's okay..." Dr. Weaver said, feeling tears stinging at her own eyes, and she was thankful that Dave could not see them since she was leaning close to him. She needed to be strong, for she was afraid if he saw her crying then he would only worsen. She smoothed his hair back again, cradling him comfortingly in her arms like a child. "Dave, shhhh, it's okay, it's okay. You'll be okay...I'll make sure you'll be okay...shhhh..."

Finally, he forced himself to calm down as he disengaged himself from her, scrubbing his face with his hands as he sat back against the hospital bed with a shaky breath, trying not to seem too embarrassed, though he certainly was. Who wouldn't be, after crying their eyes out in their boss's chest?

"Uh...don't...tell anyone that I lost it, and blubbered like a baby," Dave said with a small smile that didn't reach his eyes before continuing softly, "it's bad enough they think I'm a no good junkie who almost killed himself..."

"Dave, you're not a no good junkie and no one thinks that." He looked at her, his eyes still glistening, beseeching her for his request. "I won't tell anyone." There was a short silence where neither of them knew what to do or say before Kerry continued. "Do you want me to send in your mother now?" Kerry asked after a brief pause, and Dave nodded but didn't look at her. Then, quietly: "What about John?" He looked up at her in surprise, his eyes se arching hers, though she wasn't sure what he was looking for. He glanced back down after a moment, shaking his head, and she could tell he was trying not to cry again. "Okay," she said, giving his arm another gentle squeeze before turning to leave.

"Hey, Chief?" he said, and she turned back towards him expectantly. "Uh..." He managed a small smile then, though she could see how sad it was. "Thanks."

-------------------------------------

Can the sun break through the clouds?

To reveal what we've found?

-------------------------------------

They were rushing towards Dave's ICU room, being careful not to make too much noise as they walked briskly down the hallway of the quiet ward. John had gotten the page about five minutes ago in Doc Magoo's, barely taking thirty seconds to pay the bill before bolting out the door and into the ER, making sincere half-apologies as he carelessly made his way with Rhonda.

They were nearing Dave's hospital room now, and John caught sight of Kerry Weaver, who also caught sight of him - and stopped him before he could go any further. "John, wait..."

"I got a page," he said, trying to read her ever-impassive expression.

"Is something wrong?" Rhonda asked, worry creeping into her voice as she exchanged glances with both doctors. Her eyes suddenly worried as she clutched her purse closer to her. "Did something happen??"

"No, no," Kerry said reassuringly, shaking her head. She touched Rhonda's arm, leading her towards Dave's room, and John followed close behind, glancing inside the large window that supplied a complete view of the room since the blinds were open. Dave was lying on the hospital bed, and John could see that he was extubated, which had to be a good sign, though he wasn't sure why Kerry wanted him to wait. "You can go right inside, Rhonda."

"What's wrong?" John asked, once Dave's mother was out of earshot. Kerry glanced up at him silently, with dark eyes, and realization suddenly dawned as his face fell and lost all hope, his shoulders sagging with defeat. "Dave doesn't want to see me, does he?"

"John, it's understandable, after all that's happened," Kerry said, and John only nodded, turning to glance back into the exam room, where he could see Dave and his mother hugging tightly. He looked down and away, before glancing back up at Kerry, who was watching him with clear concern in her eyes. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, quickly regaining his composure, hopefully before she could think about why he desperately wanted to see Dave. He offered a calm smile, watching her watch him. "You're right. He probably wants to spend time with his family, not his coworkers. I'm just glad he's all right."

"Me too," Kerry said, nodding slightly. "But we both know that you're more than a coworker," she said, and John blinked in surprise. "You're his roommate and his friend," she clarified, and he had to fight the urge to let out the breath he had been holding. She reached out and touched his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze before leaving silently, heading back to the ER, where she always seemed to be working. She suddenly turned back to him, with a genuine smile, saying: "You did a good job tonight, Carter."

"You too," he said, before she walked off. He glanced inside of the exam room window once more to see mother and son still clutching each other tightly, and he almost immediately turned away, feeling as if he would be invading their privacy should he watch. He sat down in a chair in the hallway, resting his elbows on his knees and running his fingers through his hair before hanging his head.

Rhonda Malucci was a very nice woman. She had a sardonic sense of humor not unlike Dave's, which she displayed several times as she and John had shared a cup of coffee at Doc's while waiting for her son to regain consciousness. She'd told him several things about Dave that John hadn't known, such as some childhood experiences, where he went to college, what exactly he got on his MCATS - something John had been bugging Dave about since Thanksgiving a few years ago, after he'd discovered the younger man had gone to medical school in Grenada, and contrary to what Dave had alluded to they weren't that bad. Sure, they weren't great, but they weren't that bad, either. As usual, Dave was being really hard on himself.

He'd found out some things about her as well, like she had divorced Dave's father when Dave was very young, though she kept the last name because her own was simply horrid (one which she wouldn't tell him upon any circumstances). He'd learned that she was a physical therapist, part of the reason why Dave had wanted to become a doctor, and he'd also learned that she was the reason Dave had come to Chicago - he'd lived with his father until he was 16 years old. Earlier, John had asked why Dave had lived with his father and not her when they'd gotten divorced, and she'd replied that Dave had had many friends and family members in New York, and her new job in Chicago offered no one they knew nearby. When John had asked why Dave had finally decided to move, she'd only shrugged with one of the saddest smiles he'd ever seen, and had said: "It was just time."

He'd let that answer roll around in his head for a minute, but had decided not to give it too much thought. Perhaps one day he would find out just what she meant. Sighing now, he wished he could be open with his own mother about Dave and their relationship, but he doubted he would ever be able to do that. Dave's mother was understanding and loved Dave for who he was, no matter what that may be. John's mother, on the other hand, had always tried to shape John to who she wanted him to be, which was who she envisioned Bobby would have grown up to be had he lived. But after several failed attempts with John, he was almost sure she'd given up on him. Maybe she had.

-------------------------------------

When the rain is coming

She will face it all

It's all on me, all over

And when it's overflowing

Can she break her fall?

Until I deal, I can't move on

-------------------------------------

"You don't have to stay," Dave said to his mother, who was sitting down in the visitor's chair next to him, in his dimly lit ICU room. It'd taken him a while to calm her down and reassure her that he was okay - not to mention reassure her that it wasn't her fault, which was the last thing he wanted her to think. That had taken a lot of convincing words and maybe even some white lies, though he still wasn't sure just how she felt. If there was one thing his mother was, it was stubborn; she almost kept up as much of a fa�ade as he did.

"I know," she simply replied, nodding. Her eyes were still puffy from crying, and he felt guilty for letting it get this far. He felt as if he should apologize again, though every time he had she told him not to. He'd finally stopped after she'd told him quite bluntly to shut up, in that not-serious-but-serious way of hers. Silence stretched out between them once more, and it almost grew uncomfortable until she said: "John is a very nice man."

"Yeah, he is," Dave said quietly, unable to meet her gaze. He felt tears stinging at his eyes, and he abashedly wiped them away before they could fall. "It's too bad I ruined everything..."

"Dave, you didn't ruin anything..."

"Yes, I did, Ma..." Dave said, barely able to repress a sob. "I ruined it like I ruin everything..."

"Honey, John really cares about you," she stated, trying to calm him, knowing Dave thought he had ruined everything when he'd hit John for the pills. Finally, he nodded, biting his lip in an attempt to stop crying. "Dave, he told me what happened. He knows it isn't your fault, you just have to talk to him." He shook his head then, still unwilling or unable to look at her. "Dave - " She tried to take his hand in hers, but he pulled away, and Rhonda sighed heavily, standing. "Well, if you're going to act like that, I'm going to take a bathroom break."

She glanced back at her son, who seemed so small and fragile in the hospital bed, she could almost imagine him breaking in two. God, she thought as she crossed the small room to the door. How had he gotten this lost? Most of all, how had she missed it? How had she allowed this to happen? She knew Dave had told her this wasn't her fault, had tried his best to convince her, but she just couldn't believe him. She should've been able to see something was wrong, but he put up almost as good of a fa�ade as she did.

Rhonda exited the hospital room, closing the door behind her, silently thanking God for the trillionth time that night that her son was alive and okay. She began to move towards the nurse's station to ask where the ladies room was when she saw John Carter slumped in a chair, his head bowed in his hands. Ignoring her bladder, she sat down next to him, studying him for a moment until he sensed her there and glanced up, slightly startled.

She nodded towards Dave's hospital room. "You should go in there."

Her suggestion seemed to startle John even more. "Dave doesn't want to talk to me."

"He *needs* to talk to you, John," she stated, the desperation flickering in her clear brown eyes. She squeezed his arm reassuringly, before standing. "Please, just go in there. Make him know that everything's going to be all right. Otherwise, I don't think he *will* be all right."

He watched her walk to the nurse's station, probably inquiring where the bathrooms were located, and John sighed before standing as well, crossing the hallway to the ICU room, steeling himself before turning the knob and pushing it open. Here goes everything, he thought, stepping inside the quiet dark room.

"That was quick," Dave said, his voice still slightly hoarse from the ET tube. He turned to face John, seemed embarrassed, and then looked down at his hands, playing with the bed sheet. "Sorry...I thought you were my mother..."

John paused for a moment, trying to figure out what to say, and when Dave looked up at him once more with those brown eyes that John loved, it all came rushing out, his words tripping over one another awkwardly. "I'm so sorry, Dave, that I let this happen...I...I'm sorry. God, you...you scared me when...when I found you on the living room floor...I was more scared than I'd ever been in my whole life, more scared than when I got stabbed and thought I was going to die, so I had to see you, even though I know you don't want to see me...I just had to see if you were all right...I needed to see for myself...I...I'll leave if you want, but I really hope you want me here because I really want to be here...I - I can just sit here, we don't have to talk...I just want to be here...with you."

Dave didn't reply for several moments, but instead seemed to be avoiding all contact with John. And, since he didn't say to leave, John took his silence as an invitation to stay, so he sat down in the visitor's chair, and watched Dave. The younger man's brow was furrowed in deep thought, and he remained silent for several moments more, until then, finally, softly, his voice wrenched with regret, Dave said: "Do you still love me, John?"

At first, John was so shocked he didn't know how to reply, and he sat there in silence, his expression showing his surprise. Upon hearing no reply, Dave looked up at him, his eyes portraying his fear at what the answer could be. And John didn't want Dave to be afraid, or hurt, or anything; he wasn't going to let that happen.

"My God, Dave..." he said, looking straight into the younger man's eyes. "Yes, I do...of course I do."

Dave suddenly winced and looked away. "How could you still love me, after...after I yelled at you and hit you and...hurt you? I hurt you, John...and yet you're still here..."

"Dave," John said. He took the younger man's hand in his, feeling Dave flinch although he ignored it. "Dave, I know what you did tonight wasn't your fault...you need help, and I'm going to get you that help, and I'm going to be there every step of the way, because I love you, and...and I'm not going to let this stop me from being with you."

Dave glanced up, the pure sorrow and desperation in his eyes breaking John's heart. Ever so gently, he reached out and traced the older man's bruised jaw with the tips of his fingers. "My mother loved my father..."

"Your mother divorced your father," John said, and the younger man didn't seem surprised that he knew this bit of information, even though Dave had never said as such. "Your mother knew a lost cause when she saw one."

They made eye contact.

"Do you?" Dave asked, so quietly John almost didn't hear him.

"Yes," he whispered in reply, his voice thick with emotion. "Yes, I do, and you are not a lost cause, Dave. You are *not* your father, no matter how much you think you are. I know you aren't, Dave, because I know *you*...I know you and I love you, and I will love you no matter how many times you yell at me or hit me or hurt me." He leaned down and kissed Dave gently on the lips, but Dave pulled away, trying not to let John see him crying again, fearing if he kissed John it would be obvious. "Hey...come on, Dave, stop crying. Everything's going to be okay."

"Today's a pretty emotional day for me, I think," Dave stated, wiping away his tears, and John was at least reassured to see a small smile on his lips. John moved his hand to cup the side of Dave's face, and the younger man looked up at him with glistening eyes as John leaned down to place a gentle kiss on the Junior Resident's lips. They remained like that for several seconds until Dave suddenly pulled away. "John..."

"What?" John asked, but Dave wasn't looking at him. John turned in his chair, following Dave's line of vision to see what exactly the younger man was looking at: Eleanor Carter, John's own mother, watching through the exam room window, her eyes narrow and her jaw clenched. God, what the hell was she doing here?? "Shit..."

"Tell her it was my fault," Dave immediately said, though John didn't seem to be listening to him as he stood to go speak with his mother. He grabbed John's sleeve, and the older man looked at him with panic. "John, tell her it was my fault," he repeated firmly.

Without answering Dave, he left the room in a hurry, closing the door behind him hastily as he moved to his mother. She turned to face him, her expression cold and hard as she stood there in a fur-collared coat, her arms crossed over her chest, almost daring for him to try to explain. He hoped that he could.

"What are you doing here?" was the first thing he could think of saying, hoping to buy more time to come up with a viable excuse. He contemplated telling her that it *was* Dave's fault, that perhaps he was a close friend who had just overdosed and was very emotional, but for some reason, he found himself unable to do that. He didn't have time to wonder why.

"I've been here all night trying to find you," she stated coldly.

"Mom..." he started, but she promptly cut him off, her voice raising a notch.

"I tried reaching you several times, but you were never home," she continued, her eyes glaring daggers at him, pinning him to the wall. "When I found out that you were here, they told me you were busy."

"I *was* busy..."

"I can see that."

"It's not like that..."

"Is he that man from the party? And the one you moved in with?" she asked, glancing at Dave through the exam room window before looking back to her son. "I knew I recognized him." She then made a sound of disgust. "If you're going to do this, John, you could at least do it with someone of your own...stature, not some Chicago scum that you work with."

"He's not that bad..." John tried to explain, tried to find something to say to make his mother believe in what he was involved with, but the words wouldn't come to him.

"Of course not John," she spat. "He doesn't seem that bad to *you*, because he's manipulating you. You allowed yourself to be pulled into this, but is it the way you really feel?" He was about to reply when she went on, snapping sarcastically: "Oh, don't tell me. What? Do you *love* him?"

"Maybe I do!" he retorted in response, his brow furrowed in anger. "You just have to listen to me - "

"No! You listen to *me*, John," she said, shoving a pointed finger into his chest. "How long do you honestly think this is going to last? I already know the answer to that: until your money runs out or until you stop giving it to him. And when he leaves you, what are you going to do? Run back to your family? Guess what? I won't be there for you. None of us will, we will all be gone."

"As if you ever have," John retorted, feeling his own voice raise a notch.

"Have what?" Eleanor asked, slightly confused.

"Been there for me!" John yelled.

"Oh here we go again." She rolled her eyes, mocking him. "Poor neglected John..."

Knowing that this was neither the time nor the place to have this fight, John quickly changed the subject. "What the hell are you doing here anyway? Since when do you come to visit me at work?"

"I needed your help with a child at the leukemia center," Eleanor said. "He's waiting downstairs for a bed. I was hoping that you could help me find him a private room, but you're obviously still busy," - another distasteful glance at Dave - "so I'll leave you alone with your..."

"Don't," John warned, and his mother only offered a cold, hard smile before she turned and walked away from him, heading towards the elevators. The doors dinged open, but she didn't even look at him before she stepped inside the elevator car. And the only thing he could think about was that if she hadn't already given up on him, she just had right now.

-------------------------------------

And when the rain is coming

When it's overflowing

-------------------------------------

One week had passed since Dave had tried to swallow a drugstore and get away with it. Dr. Weaver had allowed him to be discharged today, against John's will. But she'd reminded the Chief Resident that overdoses *were* usually released within a few days, and he was lucky she'd allowed Dave to stay for seven days. He just wanted to be sure that everything was all right and that Dave was healthy, which she continually assured him that he was. So, now, the two were driving home, in silence. The silence was what unnerved John the most.

He glanced at his lover, who was staring out the window in deep thought; Dave had remained quiet for most of the trip home, and most of his time spent in the hospital since his near-overdose. The only time he'd spoken was when coaxed into conversation by visitors - which mostly consisted of his mother, John and Abby, with the occasional ER doctor dropping by to say hello and get well soon. It was during those visits from the other ER staff, that Dave became noticeably uncomfortable. And although those who didn't know him so well thought that he was being himself, John could tell by the look in Dave's eyes that he died a little more every time one of his coworkers came to see him. It was at this time, the fourth day, he'd asked them to stop coming. It was an order that had been reinforced by Dr. Weaver once he'd insisted on it, and while their coworkers hadn't understood, he didn't care. This was Dave's well being, and where that was concerned, John was less than considerate towards other's egos.

He could understand that Dave was probably a little nervous about going home, about living his life in general - John had felt the same way when he'd left rehab in Atlanta to come back home to Chicago. But he wasn't going to let Dave feel that way, he was going to let Dave know that everything was going to be okay, and no one was going to think any less of him because of his addiction, they'd just be glad that he was alive and healthy. John knew this, he'd lived through it, and he'd survived. Dave was strong, and he would survive too.

"Mrs. Caruso's been asking about you," John said, referring to their elderly Italian neighbor, who loved John and Dave to death since they moved in. "I told her you were in the hospital, and she made you a get well lasagna from scratch. I know I should've waited to try it until you got home, but I couldn't resist, it looked too good. I only had a little though, and it tastes great. I could heat it up for you when you get home, and you could...Dave?"

"Yeah?"

John sighed, wondering if the younger man had been listening to him at all. "Would you like me to heat up the lasagna Mrs. Caruso made for you? You haven't eaten much in a few days..."

"No," Dave said, shaking his head before he leaned it against the window next to him. "I think I'm just going to go to bed if that's okay."

Within minutes they were home, John unlocking the door to their apartment and allowing Dave to step inside first, only seeing then how tired he appeared. The younger man took in a shaky breath before heading towards the bedroom, while John heated up the lasagna in the oven anyway, just in case Dave changed his mind or got hungry later. He decided to nibble on a little, but his appetite seemed to be gone as well; all he could think about was Dave and how sad he was.

Sad. Dave was sad. It killed John to know this, because he wanted Dave to be happy; it was what the younger man deserved, after everything that he'd been through. And, all this time, John had been trying to do that, trying to make Dave happy, or at least as happy as possible. But perhaps what he had to offer wasn't enough...as much as John wanted to be the one to help Dave, he knew when he was in way over his head, and this was one of those situations. Sighing, he decided that the best thing for him to do was to talk to Dave's psychiatrist, the one that Kerry was making him see regularly, his first appointment being in about a week. Hopefully, that would help the younger man. If not, John didn't know what else to do. He hoped that it wouldn't come to that, that Dave wasn't that hopelessly depressed.

His breath suddenly caught and he almost dropped his dish, barely catching it before it slipped out of his hands. What if...what if Dave had done this on purpose? What if Dave's intent was to end his own life? John had seen the scars on Dave's wrists, had seen the way the younger man subconsciously caressed them sometimes. Dave had attempted suicide before, what made John think he wouldn't try it again? He'd lived though and John wasn't even sure that Dave had, in fact, tried to kill himself a week ago, he reminded himself, after feeling the fear gripping at his heart. But Dave was still so sad, what if he tried it again...what if this time he succeeded?

He suddenly needed to see Dave, needed to see him breathing and living and safe. Putting his dish into the sink, John moved into the hallway and soon found himself standing in the doorway of their bedroom, looking at Dave, who was lying fully clothed on the made bed, his shoes kicked off haphazardly on the floor. He couldn't imagine Dave sleeping anywhere else besides that bed, felt fear creeping up on him at the thought that he'd almost lost him, and was glad that he still had Dave. The Junior Resident could've easily died a few days ago, would've been gone, out of John's life forever. Well, John thought as he kicked off his own sneakers and moved into the room. He wasn't about to let that happen again. He would keep Dave safe and make sure that everything would be okay.

"Mind if I join you?" John asked, and Dave shrugged in that casual way that he did. He lay down on the bed, scooting close to Dave but not too close, not knowing exactly how to act with the younger man right now. They lay like that for a few moments, and though Dave was silent, John knew he wasn't sleeping just yet. Then, suddenly, the Junior Resident turned around, facing John and moving close to him, wrapping his arms around the older man and burying his face in his chest, inhaling the scent of his lover. John held him tightly back, a feeling of relief washing over him, though he wasn't sure why. "I think this is what I missed the most," John said, remembered the past few nights, when he had to sleep alone.

"Me too," Dave said softly, his voice slightly muffled while buried in John's chest. The older man kissed him on the forehead, and he heard Dave sigh with content. "I love it when you kiss me."

John smiled, only happy to oblige with another kiss as he held onto Dave with Dave holding on to him, and he hoped to never be anywhere else but here and now, with Dave alive and healthy in his arms, in this bed, together, forever. And while he knew that this was hardly reasonable and possible, he could still dream, and hoped to as he drifted off into peaceful sleep.

-------------------------------------

And when the pain is showing
When the rain is coming
Flowing down

-------------------------------------
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