----------------------------------
Chapter Twenty-One: Gray and Blue
----------------------------------
Take me down in a tidal wave
Take me down when I'm wired
The hardest thing you ever gave away
Is the hardest thing to keep
--------------------------------
The left side of the bed was cold. It'd been that way for weeks now,
ever since John and Dave had stopped sleeping in the same bed. Dave
could remember the first night he'd woken up alone, rolling over to
find the other side of the bed empty. He'd soon discovered John on the
living room couch. He'd accidentally fallen asleep there, he'd said,
his back to Dave. But even then he didn't move, just continued to lay
there, unwilling to look at Dave. Unwilling because Dave knew, in
John's eyes, he was now a liar and a cheat, a disgusting whore who got
on his knees for another man but even now wouldn't do that for his own
lover if asked.
Maybe he would. Maybe he'd do it in a second, if it meant John would
love him again. Because he could see it in John's eyes, every time
Dave dared to look at him, that whatever had been there before...it
was gone. The passion, the kindness - the *love* - it was gone. And he
knew, even if he got down on his knees, even if he gave John
everything he wanted and more, he could never get it back again. He
could never get John to love him again. Not after what he'd done.
He wanted desperately to talk to Abby. He just needed someone to
confide in, someone to maybe give him some advice and help him out,
someone to tell him how to fix this. He didn't know how to fix this,
not when everything he seemed to say and do was the wrong thing. John
kept snapping at him, kept avoiding him, kept busy and kept leaving
the room whenever he'd enter it. That was what hurt the most, he was
pretty sure. That John couldn't even stand to be in the same room as
him anymore.
But he didn't talk to Abby. He didn't want to admit what he'd done,
what he was capable of. His fear of her judging him and subsequently
losing her as well was far to great to admit anything. It was just to
keep this to himself (for as long as he could, at least). And in order
to do that, he completely *kept* to himself as well. He didn't talk to
anyone, let alone Abby. He avoided his friends and coworkers as much
as he could, working and working and working until he could collapse.
He was pulling doubles left and right, taking anyone's shift who
called out or needed a favor. He took refuge in the patients, in the
cases, because he could fix that. He could fix that...
It was when he started making mistakes that Dr. Weaver made him go
home. First, he prescribed the wrong medication to a patient; luckily
he'd caught it before it was too late. Then, in his exhaustion, he'd
forgotten he even had a patient and left them in waiting for seven
hours. Finally, when he mixed up two charts and a patient almost died
of anaphylactic shock, Dr. Weaver pulled him aside to lecture him on
working too much and too hard, and sent him home.
Home. It was a word that used to evoke warmth and excitement within
him. A word that used to mean his lover, waiting up for him no matter
what time of the night. A word that didn't have any meaning anymore.
And so he walked in the snow all the way to the apartment across the
city, and about an hour later he arrived on his doorstep, his hands
almost as frozen as his heart.
Sometimes he'd wished he kept working that day, that he'd somehow
reassured Dr. Weaver he was fine and could stay on. Rationally, he
knew it still would've happened, but maybe for those few hours he
could've at least pretended there was still hope, however little there
might've been. Because every now and then he would meet John's eye,
and he could swear he saw a spark of what used to be. And if he just
did...*something*, then maybe he could watch that spark flicker and
grow, and maybe John would love him again.
But that night...that night he realized that John really didn't love
him anymore. Because when he stepped into the apartment, cold and wet,
he'd already felt it. Something was wrong, very wrong, and it took him
only an instant to realize what it was.
Picture frames were missing from the walls and furniture; that lamp
Dave hated was absent from the end table; books were gone from the
shelves, CDs from the rack...
All of John's things were gone.
He moved slowly through the apartment, taking in everything that was
wrong. The bedroom door was closed, and he only hesitated briefly
before pushing it open. More things were missing, one half of the
closet was bare...he reached out almost absently, touching one of the
hangers...
John was gone.
He heard movement behind him and turned quickly. John, standing in the
doorway, looking surprised. Not gone. Not yet, anyway. "Dave."
"John," he said, wanting to go to him but staying where he was.
"I thought you were off at twelve." He had to have checked because
Dave hadn't told him. Jesus, he must've had this whole thing planned!
Dave nodded silently, not trusting his voice or the lump in his
throat. "I was going to tell you, uh...before. You know my Gamma's
sick - "
"I don't, actually," he interrupted quietly. They'd barely spoken in
weeks, how could he have possibly known anything?
"Well, she is," John continued, almost casually, but Dave could see
the guilt building in his eyes. He had to look away, couldn't bear to
watch, could hardly bear to listen. "And she, uh, she needs me, so I'm
going to move back in for a little while."
"Right." He glanced up once more, feeling the stinging in his eyes,
the bitterness in his heart. "You could at least tell me the truth,
John. I think I at least deserve that."
"Just like how you told me the truth??"
"I see," Dave spat bitterly, his anger flaring from both the intense
pain of his heart breaking and his exhaustion. "Giving me a taste of
my own medicine. Glad to see you're not above bad behavior, Mr. High
and Mighty. You pretend -- ..." Suddenly he stopped, trailing off.
What was the point if John's mind had already been made up about him,
about their relationship, about everything? So he cast his eyes to the
floor, steadying himself. Waiting.
And John watched carefully, wanting to have hurt Dave just as Dave had
hurt him, but he still felt bad for taking such a cheap shot. He
apologized, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that like it sounded."
"Sure, you did," Dave replied, glancing up, and John was startled by
the absolute emptiness in them. "I deserved it. But...I am sorry,
John. Whether or not you believe me, I...I didn't remember what
happened for a long time, not until he told me, I didn't -- "
"Dave," John stopped him. They'd had this conversation before, when
John had confronted him in the apartment to ask him what had gone on
at Luka's. He'd told him he hadn't remembered until Luka had told him,
and even then he could only remember pieces of it. Even now. And when
things had calmed down that night and John was no longer packing up
his things, he'd asked Dave to please stop talking about it, at least
for now. He had to go back to work, and once his shift was over he'd
come home and go to sleep, and after that they could talk about it.
Except they never did. And this was the result: their bitter downfall.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Dave said now, in an attempt to delay
the inevitable. "I was going to, but..."
"But you didn't trust me," John snapped.
"I didn't want to lose you," he said, his voice barely above a choked
whisper.
The scoff was nearly inaudible, but Dave still heard it and he winced
in reply. The angry words that followed were expected but they still
hurt more than he could ever remember any of his father's blows
hurting. Even the ones that had left permanent damage. "It's the same
thing, Dave. That's what you don't get! You didn't tell me because you
assumed you would lose me because you don't trust me enough to stand
by you. You didn't trust that I would understand. You didn't trust
me...you didn't trust *in* me! Yeah, I'd have been pissed but maybe I
would've understood. It all comes down to the same damn thing, Dave.
You don't trust me, and you never will. So you do what you always do."
His words hurt himself as much as he knew they were affecting Dave,
jabbing at John and reminding him of things he'd tried so hard to fix.
He'd tried to mend that trust that Dave's father had broken so
irrevocably, but yet he'd still failed. And he was angry at Dave, at
his futile attempts to make things better, to avoid...this. And so he
grabbed the first thing he saw, a dressage trophy out of the last box
he'd left behind, throwing it at the younger man in a burst of rage.
"You fucking hide and you fucking lie!! Because that's what you are,
Dave - a coward and a liar!" he screamed, as the trophy narrowly
missed Dave and dented the wall. They stood there, breathing heavy for
a moment, and John could see that he'd visibly startled Dave. He was
surprised that the young man hadn't reacted to the short violence, and
he could see that Dave actually thought he deserved it. It seemed as
if he were actually waiting for more. It was pitiful, and pathetic,
and it made John even angrier. And he had to look away. Calmly, he
admitted, "Dave...for the first time since I've known you...I can't
even look at you."
Dave looked up, startled by the words, and John's image blurred before
him as he saw the older man's eyes cast to the wall. "I said I was
sorry!" he cried, his voice shaking. "I'm sorry, John. I didn't...I'm
sorry. It meant nothing! Luka means nothing! I love *you*!!"
"This isn't about that," John stated, except Dave knew it was, it was
about that and so much more. It was about John wanting to hurt Dave
after Dave had hurt him, and the younger man couldn't blame him. He
probably deserved this, as much as he hated every minute of it.
Suddenly, "I have to go."
"Where are you going?" he asked quietly, surprised at the turn in
conversation.
"My Gamma's," John reminded him, as if he were too stupid to remember.
"She's going to die, I - "
"Then I guess you should go."
"Yeah," he replied, nodding. "I'll, uh...I'll call you."
The empty promise was met with a scoff, and Dave turned to the window
beside the bed, closing his eyes and shutting out the visions, the
sounds...everything. And it worked, for a few minutes, until he heard
John's Jeep start up outside, until he watched the man drive away
without a single glance back. He closed his eyes again, blocked
everything out. But even if he couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't
feel...he still knew he was alone.
--------------------------------
I am everything you wanted
I am everything you wanted
I am everything you need
--------------------------------
Abby Lockhart was pretty sure that she was being avoided. As much as
both Dave and John had been working lately, neither man would even
give her the time of day. As soon as they saw her coming, they'd
scamper off in a completely different direction. She was pretty sure
she hadn't had a single case with either of them in weeks, not even a
trauma. And that was a pretty difficult task in itself, because when
it got hectic you could be paired with anybody. She must've done
something to make them go through so much trouble to steer clear of
her, but she just couldn't figure out what.
"Malucci!" Dr. Weaver nearly barked, startling her into looking up
from the chart she'd been pretending to be focused on. She saw Dave
pause in his brisk walk across Admit, turning to look at his boss. "I
asked you four hours ago to take care of Mrs. Parson's in four! She's
got abdominal pain and it might be a ruptured appendix!"
"She also donates a ton of money to the hospital," Dave snapped, his
face contorted with anger and annoyance. "But that doesn't have to do
anything with it, does it?"
"Of course not!" she exclaimed, but of course it did, and everybody
knew it. Dave was the only one bold - or perhaps arrogant enough - to
admit it. "But she's been waiting for *four* *hours*."
"And I have other patients who have been waiting for five that are
more urgent!" he stated, and Abby began to make her way around the
desk, knowing a fight when she saw one. Especially when Dave put his
hands on his waist and began to look as if he were about to punch
someone out. And that someone definitely didn't need to be Dr. Weaver.
"She's gotta wait in line like everybody else."
"Do *you* want to be the one to explain to her family how she died
from simple appendicitis??"
"I have other patients!" he yelled. "Why don't *you* take her, if
you're so concerned??"
"Dave," Abby said, taking hold of his sleeve and pulling him slightly
back. "Why don't we just call down a surgical consult and let Dr.
Benton decide, all right?"
He was still staring down Dr. Weaver, but finally he let out a deep
breath and nodded. "Fine. But then *you* explain to Mr. Forester in
Two why he has to wait another hour before he can get his fucking hand
stitched up."
"Dave," Abby warned, but was cut off sharply.
"Watch yourself, Dr. Malucci!" Weaver snapped. "You're skating on
*very* thin ice."
"Yeah, I always am," he muttered to himself, following Abby to
Sutures, a room she knew was empty. She waited while he called the OR
and spoke with Dr. Benton, and once he hung up she cornered him and
wouldn't let him leave the room, swearing to use brute force if she
had to. "Abby, please? I really don't have time for this."
"Dave, just talk to me for a second, okay??" she pleaded. "You and
Carter have been avoiding me for a week now. Did I do something
wrong??"
"No," he replied, shaking his head as he tried to get past her.
"So what's going on?" she persisted. "If you don't tell me then I'll
just ask Carter."
"Then ask him."
"Dave!" she said, exasperated as she grabbed his hands, kept them held
in hers. "Please, just talk to me. What's going on?"
He rolled his eyes and let out a deep breath, focusing on the wall,
and she knew she'd won. But he didn't speak right away, just kept
pursing his lips as if trying to figure out what to say. Then,
finally, "John and I...we...we aren't...seeing each other...anymore."
"What??" she nearly shouted, as he slipped his hands out of hers and
turned away from her. And now it was her turn to try to figure out
what to say, because she was completely and utterly speechless.
"How...I mean, what...who...?" She felt almost stupid, standing there
and stammering, and she shook her head to clear her thoughts, trying
to wrap her mind around what he'd said. "What happened?"
"We broke up."
"It's really that simple?" she asked, appalled. He shrugged in
response, his back still to her as his fingers slipped between the
blinds and he gazed out the window to the ambulance bay. "You...Dave,
you two...who broke up with who? It was amicable?"
"I guess as it ever can be..."
"Dave," she sighed, wishing he would look at her.
"He broke up with me, all right??"
"Why?"
"I don't know. What does it matter? Easy come, easy go."
"Easy come, easy go my ass! There has to be a reason," she stated,
stepping closer to him. He shrugged again, and finally she took his
arm and forced him to face her. "Would you stop...?" The words died on
her lips as she saw the look in his eyes, the look of a broken man. He
wasn't as passive as he'd seemed, but she'd already known that...she
just hadn't known how much. Softly, she asked, "Dave...what happened?"
"Do you remember...when I overdosed?"
"How could I forget?" she asked almost absently, her brow furrowing in
slight confusion at his words and his behavior.
"Do you remember when I was gone for a while?" he asked, and she was
trying to get him to look at her but his eyes were averted to nearly
everything else in the room except her. "When John was looking for me
but he couldn't find me?"
"Yeah..."
"I was at Luka's," he stated quietly, and a blush crept into his
cheeks.
"And...?" she asked softly, but she already knew.
"And I cheated on him," he replied with an unsteady voice, and she
suddenly realized he was ashamed. It made her anger flare as she
watched him speak. "I cheated on John, and I lied to him about it, and
he broke up with me."
"You were overdosing," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing
in the world. Except it was, and John should've seen that. "You were
overdosing, Dave."
"I heard you."
"Dave!" she exclaimed. "You were overdosing!! You had no control over
your actions or what was going on! Why the hell would he break up with
you??"
"That's not the point," he said, but she could hear the hesitancy in
his words.
"What is??" she asked, as she glanced off in incredulity. "That you
fooled around with your ex-boyfriend and his worst enemy while you
were *overdosing*?!"
"I hurt him, okay??" he exclaimed, the guilt apparent in his
expression. "I did that, and I didn't...I didn't tell him, and it hurt
him. He can't be with someone he doesn't trust. And how can he trust a
fucking liar??"
"Screw him! You were overdosing!! It doesn't make sense! My God, is he
that arrogant, he can't even -- "
"Abby, stop," he interrupted her mid-rant. "Look, I know that you and
John have problems but this is my fault, don't go being mad at him. I
fucked this up just like I always do; I didn't tell him the truth and
when he found out it hurt him."
"Wait a minute, back up," she said, confused. "If you didn't tell him,
then who did?"
He hesitated. "I guess...Luka...might've."
"Why would he do that!"
"Because he's hurting too, Abby, I don't know. I guess I just fucked
everything up. Look, it...it doesn't matter now," he said, meeting her
eye for practically the first time since they'd started this
conversation. She could see the finality there, the sadness. The fact
that he'd given up. "John hates me, and it's over, and...that's it.
Now I'm going to finish my shift, and go home, and just...forget this
whole mess."
She jarred. "Forget?"
He looked at her, as if realizing what he'd said too, but he didn't
offer a comment.
"Dave," she nearly warned, watching him carefully. "Promise me you
won't do anything stupid."
"Me?" he asked, smiling half-heartedly. "Do something stupid?"
"I mean it, Dave!" she said, grasping his shirt in her fists. It
wasn't a threatening gesture, rather it was one that suggested her
desperation. "Please, Dave? Promise me. Please..."
"I promise," he replied softly, nodding. She pulled him close,
wrapping her arms around him, and felt him do the same. She kissed his
neck gently, tasting his warm skin, and they stood like that in
silence before the door was pushed open and their moment was broken.
They stepped away from each other hastily, and she saw Dave rub almost
tiredly at his eyes but she had to wonder if he'd been crying. "Sorry.
I gotta go take care of some patients."
"Right," she said, and together they turned to see Yosh standing in
the doorway, pushing a wheelchair-bound patient inside of sutures.
"Yosh."
"Abby," he said, smiling knowingly. "Dr. Malucci."
"Yosh." He nodded before excusing himself from the room and making a
quick retreat back into the chaos of the ER.
"So..." the young nurse said to her, cocking an eyebrow. "You and Dr.
Malucci make up?"
"Yeah," she replied. "Something like that."
She stood there for a moment, feeling...something. It was small, but
it was definitely there, and the more she focused on it the quicker it
grew. It spread from her stomach to her heart, speeding up its pace,
and soon it was traveling through her bloodstream and up to her brain,
clouding her thoughts. It set her jaw and clenched her fists, and
created a fire in her eyes that let everybody know to steer clear of
the bitch in warpath.
It was rage.
--------------------------------
Take me back to the other place
Take me back when I'm alone
I can see all the little things
That once could make me whole
--------------------------------
It was her turn to quickly excuse herself, and she slipped out the
door and immediately went to the front desk to check if John was on
shift. He was running late, a constant theme with him lately. And, of
course, Dr. Weaver had been cutting him slack since it was her golden
boy Carter, and also because his grandmother was very ill (not to
mention a major benefactor to the hospital). While Abby stood at the
desk checking rosters and slowly imploding, she spotted Luka talking
easily with Susan.
"Luka!" she barked, louder than she'd intended and drawing entirely
too much attention to the two of them. "We need to talk."
"Can it wait?"
"I'm sure Susan will excuse us, this is urgent."
"Sure," Susan replied, knowing when Abby meant business. "We can talk
later."
Abby waited until Dr. Lewis was out of earshot, fighting the urge to
grab Luka's arm and drag him into a more private spot. Instead, she
insisted, "Let's go outside."
"This sounds promising," Luka surmised, his brow cocking, and she
could see he knew this couldn't be good the instant she spun around on
her heels and stood very close to him, glaring.
"Luka, I would *not* screw around with me right now if I were you."
"Maybe you'd like to tell me what this is all about," he stated, as
soon as they were outside in the ambulance bay near the bike rack,
away from the chaos of the emergency room.
"I think you know what this is about," she snapped in reply. "This is
about you telling Carter what happened between you and Dave while he
was completely loaded."
Immediately he held up his hands, backing up as he began to shake his
head. "I didn't -- "
"Don't lie to me!" she yelled, glad that they were off to the side so
she wouldn't have to keep her voice down. "Luka, I...cared about you.
And I thought you were a better person than that. But I guess I was
wrong."
"Abby, I didn't...mean it to be the way it is."
"Then how did you 'mean it to be'?"
"Abby, I thought I loved Dave," he stated, his eyes focused on an
ambulance shooting out of the parking lot, lights blazing and siren
screeching. "I thought when he came to me that night, telling me
those...things, that maybe he realized he loved me too. I thought he
was just drunk, and I wanted to call Carter, I swear I did. But he
kept talking and...he wanted me, Abby. And I wanted him to want me. I
don't know if I'm making sense."
"You...are," she admitted quietly, nodding. "But then why would you do
that to him, if you 'loved' him?"
"It isn't what you think," he stated, almost as if he desperately
wanted her to believe him. "Carter came to me and accused me of being
the one causing Dave's problems. And maybe he was partially right, but
I knew he had to talk to Dave about it. I tried to stay out of it but
he...threatened me."
"What??" she asked, nearly appalled. "How does Carter threaten a guy
like you?"
She saw a genuine smile tug at his lips at her phrase, as if he were
amused that she could find him so tough. "He said he would out me. It
isn't like you think."
"You keep saying that."
"It isn't," he insisted. "He was just doing it because he cared about
Dave, and he wanted to know what was wrong. And...I wanted to tell
him, I wanted to ruin their relationship. I really did, and I thought
telling him would be...different than how it turned out."
"So you told him everything to get back at him?"
"I didn't tell him everything!" Luka exclaimed quickly. "I only
implied what had happened and he figured out the rest. I'm sorry for
what has happened. But it was equally everyone's fault, not only mine.
I'm not the only bad guy here. But that bastard Carter thinks he can
pin everything on me. I swear, I -- "
"It's okay," Abby suddenly said, seeing the pure sincerity in Luka's
eyes. "I believe you."
"You do?"
"Yeah," she replied, nodding. He suddenly stepped forward as if to
touch her but she pulled away, holding up her hands. "I said I
believed you, I didn't say I wasn't mad at you anymore."
"I will have to make it up to you then?" he suggested, and she could
swear she heard a hint of flirtation in his voice.
"I'll think about it," she replied, smiling up at him, and she could
swear she heard a hint of flirtation in her own voice. "Now I just
have to find Carter, because I swear to God when I get my hands on
him..."
"Abby, perhaps you should not get involved in this," he stated, as
they moved back into the ER. "It might get worse if you do."
"I think it'll get worse no matter what I do," she murmured. "But I
have to try."
--------------------------------
I am everything you wanted
I am everything you wanted
I am everything you need
--------------------------------
It only took her minutes to find John after she parted ways with Luka.
He was in the Lounge, at his locker and getting ready to start his
shift. She walked right up to him, so fast her momentum must've
stirred things up in her wake, and she didn't hesitate a beat before
she began to speak.
"You broke up with him?!" she yelled, startling him so much he slammed
his hand against the metal shelf as he putting his coat in the locker.
"You broke up with him??!"
"Keep it down!" he hissed, immediately glancing around to see if
anyone had overheard, but they were alone.
"No!" she shouted, irate. "I will *not* keep it down!"
"Then I'm not having this conversation."
"Oh, grow up, Carter!" she exclaimed, fighting the urge to smack some
sense into him.
He didn't reply, simply kept searching in his locker for something,
finding it much more interesting than their conversation. It made her
angrier, so much so that she slammed it shut nearly on his fingers. He
turned to her in surprise. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Abby??"
"What the fuck is wrong with *me*??" she asked, and she could tell
immediately he knew it'd been the wrong thing to say. "What the fuck
is wrong with *you* John?? He was overdosing, and you know it. He
almost fucking died! Or did you forget that little fact?? Did you
forget how many drugs were in his system that night? How much
*alcohol*?? He had no idea what was going on, and you still broke up
with him. Is your ego that big??"
"It wasn't about that," he stated, seemingly forgetting whatever it'd
been he'd been searching for. "He lied to me about it, Abby. He didn't
even tell me about it, I found out from Luka."
"Oh, so now Luka's word is Gospel??" she asked, incredulous.
"Dave admitted to it!" he exclaimed. "He admitted to it. And he kept
it from me."
"So that's what this is about?" she asked. "Dave - "
"*Yes*, that's what it's about!"
" - Not telling you he fooled around - "
"It was more than just - !"
" - While he was *overdosing*!?" she shouted. "Do you have any idea
how ridiculous that is??"
"It is not ridiculous!" he yelled, his voice breaking, and he quickly
quieted. "It is not ridiculous, Abby. He did something wrong, and now
he has to pay for it."
She leaned back against the lockers, disgusted as she crossed her arms
over her chest and slightly banged the back of her head against the
cool metal. "Fine. Believe what you want, John. But let me tell you,
you are making one huge mistake, and once you get over your pride
you're going to be kicking yourself. Hard."
"I'm not the one who made the mistake."
"Yeah, yeah," she said, shaking her head. "And now he's paying for it,
blah, blah, blah... But you know what the really sad thing is?"
"What?" he asked quietly, even though she could see he didn't want to
know.
"He was actually defending you." She scoffed bitterly. "Can you
believe that? You'd just better hope that when you come to your
senses, he still loves you as much as he does right now. Because if
you ask me, right now you really don't deserve him." She pushed away
from the lockers and began towards the door, but paused before opening
it, and instead looked back to him. "By the way, Carter, if you ever
out Luka, I'll out you. And not just here. So don't ever threaten him
again. *Or* Dave, or anyone I care about." She paused, glared. "Don't
fuck with the people I love."
--------------------------------
But I can feel it again
I can feel again
I am everything you wanted
I am everything you need
--------------------------------
It was an ongoing joke that the new Intern, Dr. Gregory Pratt, had a
crush on Dr. Dave. He followed the Junior Resident everywhere,
catching on to his idioms and even attempting to imitate his methods
of practicing medicine. Dave didn't mind him that much, although Pratt
was a little too brusque for his liking, and maybe he ogled women a
little too much (especially Jing-Mei). But for the most part, he was
an okay guy.
And he was really okay when Dave needed a favor, such as right now. He
found the young man flirting with a nurse, of course, and even he
appreciated Pratt's form as he heard a line Dave had used before.
"Hey, Pratt," he called. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"
"Sure thing, Dr. Dave," he said, excusing himself rather gallantly
before flashing a grin. "What's up?"
"I need a favor," he stated, and held up a slip of paper between his
fingers. "I'm off my shift in about five minutes and I really just
want to get out of here. Can you fill a prescription of Demerol for
Colonel Harris in Three? He's playing the tough guy so I don't think
he will, and I just want to get it to him before he leaves."
"You got it, bro," he said, before taking the prescription from his
hand and offering Dave a low five. "Now you get outta here before
Festus - "
"Dave!" the Chief of the ER screeched, as if on cue. The two men
turned, watching her as she walked briskly with a gurney towards the
trauma rooms. "Take Trauma Two with Carter and Kovac. Pratt, your with
me and Chen!"
"What?" he asked, startling with surprise. "No, I'll pair up with you
and Pratt can take Trauma Two."
"I don't think so, Dr. Dave," the Intern said, slapping him on the
shoulder playfully as he made a show of eyeing Jing-Mei. "You can't
win 'em all. Hey, ya got Abby in there, at least."
"Wait," he called, but the only response he got was the trauma room
doors swinging closed. He glanced at Trauma Two, considering bailing
out, even though he could already see the two doctors struggling and
Abby attempting to do the job of a third. He sighed as he turned away,
making a quick retreat, but he found himself pausing in his steps...
"Shit."
--------------------------------
Give me the colors of a different light
Give me the colors gray and blue
Everything you ever hoped to be
Is when the colors bleed
--------------------------------
"I need someone at the chest!" Luka shouted, adrenaline pumping
through his veins as he attempted to slip an endotracheal tube past
this man's vocal chords. "He's not going to be able to breathe at all
if we can't get his lungs to open up."
"I'm kinda busy here," John snapped, his hand buried in the leg,
trying to find a ruptured artery by mere touch. "He won't have to
worry about breathing if he bleeds to death."
"What makes you think I was talking to you??" Luka snapped back.
"Guys!" Abby exclaimed, irritated beyond belief at getting stuck with
these two and then having to deal with their constant bickering on top
of that. "Just do what you have to do until you're finished or until
we get another doctor in here. Until then, just - "
"Uh...need some help in here?" It was as if time completely stood
still in that exam room as the three of them saw Dave, standing near
the end of the gurney. He seemed to sense it too, and he quickly spoke
up even if he was half-backing up to the door. "I can do the chest
thing. Unless you can handle it."
Immediately, Abby could tell he was trying to find an easy way out,
and before either man could tell him they were fine (which she was
sure they would, no matter how badly they needed another set of
hands), she motioned him over to the chest tube tray. "We can use all
the help we can get. Chest is prepped."
"No, we're fine," John insisted firmly. "We don't need him in here."
"Are you kidding me?" Luka asked, hearing the bite of implication in
the word 'him.'
"We need all the help we can get," Abby added, glancing at Dave
assuredly.
"Right," he said, shooting her a glare that she ignored. He pulled on
a gown and gloves, and then began placing a chest tube, a procedure
that took a good amount of time. He'd be stuck standing there for a
half-hour or more, and Abby could tell he was already dreading it. She
could feel how tense he was standing beside her, his eyes straying to
his ex-lover every now and again. And for a brief moment, she saw
their eyes meet, and damn, the spark there was so unmistakable it
nearly took her breath away. How could John possibly think he didn't
love Dave anymore?
"I can't get in," Luka suddenly said, breaking everyone's attention.
"I need to crike him."
"Not so fast, Luka." John, clamping the artery and ready to sew it up
before he heard Luka's words. "Let me get it, and then we'll take
things from there."
"I've tried, Carter, and he's already lost too much oxygen," he
stated, as he moved away from the gurney to grab a kit. "Let's just
crike him."
"He still has a good minute and a half," he retorted, ready to try,
ready to take the reigns of this entire trauma should he pull it off.
"Forget it," Luka said. "I'm criking him and that's it."
"I'm trying it."
"Your minute and a half is up."
"After you stood here arguing with me about it!"
"It's too risky."
"As if criking him isn't? Just let me - "
"It's too late."
"Too risky, too late, you can't - "
"Would you fucking do something?!" Dave exclaimed, incredulous. "Crike
him or tube him, but do *something*, or he's going to die."
"I'm criking him," Luka said, just as John replied, "I'll tube him."
They looked to Dave, and he was surprised by his sudden role. He
hesitated, but only briefly, knowing his decision was the right one
but also knowing how it would be interpreted. "It's too late. Crike
him, Luka."
"Fine," John spat, stripping off his gloves. "Since I'm obviously not
needed any longer, I've got patients."
Suddenly, the monitors began blaring, erratically beeping and letting
the trauma team know their patient was circling the drain fast. John
didn't hesitate to pull on a fresh pair of gloves as Dave stopped his
procedure to begin compressions. Luka grabbed the paddles while John
took control of the crash cart, leaving Abby to note hastily
everything that happened on the chart. They maintained their positions
for forty-five minutes, shocking their patient and pushing drugs and
trying everything in their power to save him, but sometimes God had
other plans despite the desperate attempts of His men.
"Time of death...nineteen fifty-six," Abby murmured, marking it down
on the chart before she turned off the consistent tone of the heart
monitor. "I hope Dr. Weaver did better."
"If we got him tubed maybe we could've gotten him stable." Carter,
almost immediately picking up the argument where it'd left off.
Sometimes Abby had to wonder if he was so adamant about hating Luka
that he'd do anything to spite him.
"Save it, Carter," the older man spat. "If I couldn't get it, you
couldn't have either."
"Oh, because you're the all-mighty ER doctor??"
"If oxygen was your big problem," Luka continued, "then maybe if you'd
let me crike him before he'd crashed, *then* he would've stabilized!"
"You're the one that wouldn't let me tube him in the first place!"
"You had your job, and I had mine."
"At least I did mine right!"
"Perhaps this whole trauma would've gone better without you!"
"Shut up!!" Both men turned in surprise, looking to Dave, who'd
expelled the words with such disgust he looked as if he might vomit.
"He's dead, all right? It's over, that's it. He's dead. And somebody's
gotta tell the family, but it's not gonna be me, because I'm going
home now. So maybe one of you can get over your egos long enough to do
your jobs."
The room fell quiet, and Abby wordlessly began to prepare the death
kit as John and Luka almost seemed...ashamed. Dave turned, moving out
of the trauma room, and in a sudden burst John followed him out fast.
"Dave!"
Abby and Luka exchanged glances. She said, "This can't be good."
"Perhaps I should say something."
"Are you crazy?" she asked, gaping at him. "If it gets bad, *I'll* go.
You stay here, Luka. Nobody needs to be getting kicked out of the ER
today."
They glanced at the trauma room doors as they swung closed, the two
men beyond it facing one another with such intensity in their eyes
they could've hated one another. And yet, beneath that, was a deep
connection so thick it could be cut with a knife. And a sexual tension
so thin it could be cut with a feather.
Dave asked, "What is it, John??"
"Don't you ever second guess me like that in a trauma again," he
hissed in reply. "*Ever*. I don't know who you think you are, but
don't do it again. I'm the Chief Resident and you are my subordinate -
"
"Fuck you," Dave scoffed, nearly laughing at the incredulity of it
all. "You were wrong and you know it. Your only problem is that you
don't like to hear it."
"What??" John shot back. "Like you know the difference between right
and wrong."
"You know what?" Dave asked, stepping closer to John as if he were
going to get in his face. "Grow up," he instead said, backing off
before walking away to clock out and then head to the Lounge where he
would finally, *finally* grab his things and go home. Except, of
course, there were certain forces that would, of course, not allow him
to do that just yet. Of course.
--------------------------------
I am everything you wanted
I am everything you wanted
I am everything you need
--------------------------------
"Dr. Malucci!" Dr. Weaver screeched, loud and abrupt enough to startle
him. He'd been so close to the Lounge door he could almost feel the
heavy wood underneath his fingertips, and he ground his teeth as he
turned, letting out a deep breath as he faced the shrew. She was
jutting out of a doorway, halfway down the hall. "Mrs. Parsons is
crashing in here!"
"What??" he exclaimed, bursting into a run and quickly getting into
the room, throwing himself into chaos. Dr. Weaver was there, with
Chuny, and Mrs. Parsons lay on the bed intubated and prepped for
defibrillation. "What happened?"
"What happened is that you left your patient without supervision," she
yelled, watching the heart monitor carefully as she lifted the
paddles. "Clear!"
"I didn't even think she'd be down here," he stated, as the old
woman's body seized with the shock of one hundred joules. "I called
Benton two hours ago! I thought she was up in surgery."
"So now this is his fault?"
"I didn't say that."
"What's going on in here?" Dr. Benton, right on cue, looking slightly
agitated. "She's crashing? I thought it was just an appy."
"So did I," Dave began, but Dr. Weaver cut him off sharply, "Obviously
not."
"You should've told me it was urgent," Peter said, shouldering Dave
out of the way to resume compressions. "Somebody get me an
ultrasound!"
"You should've been down here two hours ago, when I first called you!"
"As if I don't have anything better to do than guess whether or not
your patients are critical??" he snapped. "Okay, people, let's move.
Chuny, call the OR and tell them to prep for surgery. That appy you
have is actually a growth, Dr. Malucci, on her intestines, that just
burst. We're stable, let's move, people!"
He followed the gurney, right beside it, glancing down at the fragile
woman lying unconscious upon it, her shock of white hair stained with
vomit. Briefly, he wondered if he'd ignored her just because Dr.
Weaver had wanted her at the top of his priorities list. But he pushed
that thought aside as he kept pace with the doctors and nurses and
critical patient, urgency personified. He didn't realize Dr. Weaver
hadn't followed until she was barking his name from behind him,
standing just outside the exam room.
"Do you have any idea what could happen after this?" she asked,
leaning heavily on her crutch, her other hand rubbing at her temple as
if trying to wrap her mind around his actions. "What could happen to
you? To *me*?"
Of course, this was about her, he thought bitterly, and said, "Let's
not pretend you care about me, Dr. Weaver."
"Watch it, Dr. Malucci!"
He ignored her warning. "You only care about what this could do to
you."
"Yes, but it's not the only factor involved here."
"Sure, there's her money. And that's what this is about."
"No," she snapped harshly in reply. "It's about you, unable to fulfill
your duties as a physician."
"Dr. Weaver, I called surgery!"
"If you'd diagnosed the mass in the first place," she said, and he
desperately wished they would have this conversation somewhere
private, "then this wouldn't have happened! She would've been rushed
to the OR and properly treated before nearly dying."
"Anyone could make the same mistake!"
"Except you made it," she yelled. "*You* made the mistake, Dr.
Malucci, and you alone. Am I the only one in this conversation that
sees how similar this is to what happened last Fall?? Jesus, Dave! You
make these snap diagnoses and set your mind to them, damning the
consequences. How many patients will you have to kill before you
realize that maybe something's wrong here?"
"I didn't..." he began, but words escaped him as he realized there was
nothing he could say in defense. And suddenly Dave was aware of the
several eyes on him, and he glanced off to see his coworkers and his
bosses and his friends. Ex-friends...John, standing right there at
Admin, watching unabashedly. Perhaps it was better if he didn't step
in and try to stop Weaver from publicly berating him, but it still
hurt that he didn't care.
"How many times are you going to screw up before you wake up??" Dr.
Weaver asked again, loud enough to draw the attention of whoever
hadn't been watching. She sighed, as if giving up - giving up on him.
Had she been trying, all this time, to get him to wake up? Somehow he
doubted she cared enough, but on the other hand he wondered if he was
just that bad of a doctor. "Dr. Malucci, I want you to go home. Go
home, and don't - "
"Wait, are you suspending me??" he asked, his heart pounding against
his ribcage almost as if it were trying to get free. "Chief - "
"I said go home, Dr. Malucci," she stated, "and don't come back until
I call you personally!"
"Dr. Weaver, one more suspension and the Residency Review Board is
going to be all over my ass!" he said, hearing the desperation in his
own voice. "You can't suspend me, they could - "
"I can, and I did!!" she shouted. "Now get the hell out of my hospital
before I call security!"
He stood there as she walked away from him, glued to his place in the
middle of the hall, taking in everything she'd said, everything she
didn't but he knew she wanted to. And he realized it then, that maybe
it was best if the Review Board told him to resign, maybe it was best
if he was put out of his own misery. How many more lives, he wondered,
would he take before he...before he woke up? If being a doctor was the
only thing he'd ever been good at, then he really didn't want to know
what he was bad at.
In a sudden burst of emotion he punched the wall, cursing loudly and
turning briskly, walking with wide steps to the Lounge. He could see
John still watching him carefully, looking as if he actually felt
sorry for Dave. With a glare he spat angrily, "What the fuck are you
looking at?" and was satisfied when he saw John startle in surprise.
"Dave, wait!" Abby, always present just when he needed her. Except
right now he didn't really feel like putting up with her reassuring
words and gentle advice. Not right now, and he pushed open the Lounge
door and strode quickly to his locker. He heard her follow him, knew
she would. "Dave, just calm down for a second."
"Just save it, Abby, okay??" he hissed, hardly able to open his locker
with shaking hands. Finally, he succeeded, and pulled out his things.
"I don't need your pity right now."
"Dave..."
"What??!" he turned to her, and she jarred before looking away. The
absolute rage in his eyes scared her. She didn't want to leave him
alone right now.
"I'll get someone to cover me," she said, hearing the desperation in
her own voice. "Let's go get coffee."
"No. I'm going home."
"Dave, come on."
"I just want to go home, Abby."
"It's just one cup of coffee! We'll go right across the street, and --
"
Suddenly he slammed his locker closed, and so fast she didn't have
time to gasp in surprise he turned to her and stood so close she could
feel his body against hers. "I said. *No*."
"Okay, okay," she said, holding up her hands in surrender, her back
arched away from him but she dared not move. "Okay. No coffee."
He seemed to...deflate then, as he stepped back, his shoulders
slumping and his expression turning from anger to absolute...anguish.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...I'm sorry. Just leave me alone, okay? I
don't think...you should be near me right now...I'm sorry...I just..."
"Dave..." she began, trying to get him to meet her eyes but he
wouldn't. He *couldn't*.
"I don't want to hurt you, Abby."
"You could never hurt me," she assured him, even if she wasn't so
sure. But he was her friend, her best friend, and she would stand by
him no matter what.
He paused for a moment, his face partially turned away from her, but
even then she could see his pain. "I love you so much, Abby," he said
quietly, but didn't say anything more. He didn't need to. She knew
what he meant by those words, that he loved her *too* much, too much
to hurt her in a fit of rage, and he knew that was exactly what he
would do if he got too angry.
She nodded. "Okay. It's okay. Just...remember what you promised, Dave.
Don't do anything stupid. Okay?"
"Yeah," he said, nodding. He forced a small smile that he hoped didn't
seem as fake as it felt. "Don't worry. I'll be fine. I promise."
"I'll call you when I get off my shift," she said. "I'm pulling a
double so...we can go out for lunch tomorrow, right?"
"I don't know," he said, as she walked him to the door. "I might be
feeling antisocial."
"Then we'll eat in," she suggested, suddenly excited (or maybe it was
desperation). "I'll get some pizza and soda, and I'll pick up a few
movies, and we can stay in and have a sleepover."
"All right," he agreed, if nothing than to get her off his back. He
stepped out of the Lounge and into the hall, already seeing the eyes
on him, knowing they'd be waiting. Some of them looked surprised, as
if they'd expected him to leave in a fit of rage, knocking out a few
bystanders in path. But he was just so damn tired, all he wanted to do
was go home and curl up in bed. Maybe he'd sleep for his entire
suspension, however long it was. God knew he hadn't been getting much
lately. He'd moved from the bedroom to the guestroom, thinking that
was it, but he was restless even there. Now, he slept on the couch. At
least there he got some rest, even if he woke up with muscle cramps
from the awkwardness.
"So I'll call you, okay?" Abby asked, still by his side. He nodded,
before she stepped forward and hugged him. He was surprised by the
gesture and felt himself stiffen, but soon she was easing out of the
embrace. "I'll see you later then. 'Night, Dave."
"'Night." He watched her walk away from him and disappear down a
hallway, and only once she was gone did he turn to leave. But it
seemed as if he wasn't due to leave just yet, because next thing he
knew someone was calling his name. He nearly ignored them, just
wanting to leave this fucking place, but when he recognized Pratt's
voice he glanced back. "What is it??"
"Sorry, Dr. D.," he said, looking apologetic. "Listen, I couldn't get
that scrip to Harris."
"Who?" he asked, puzzled. "What?"
"The Army dude?" he said, as if it were obvious. He suddenly thrust
forward a small, familiar paper bag, and Dave could hear pills shaking
from within it as he took it. "He left before I could get it to him.
Sorry, D."
"Oh," Dave replied, remembering. "Right. Yeah, that's okay. He
probably wouldn't have taken it anyway."
"Okay. Well, I gotta go. Weaver's smacking everybody's ass tonight."
"Wait, what am I supposed to do with this??" Dave asked, holding out
the bag, but Pratt was already walking away from him.
"Do whatever you want with it!"
Dave stood there, sighing as he began to walk towards the in-hospital
pharmacy, which was on this floor but all the way near pediatrics.
This, he thought, clutching the paper bag tightly in his fist, was the
last thing he needed: to trek all the way through the fucking ER like
some reject for everybody to point and stare at, to whisper and laugh
about. And his pace slowed until he finally stopped, the pharmacy in
sight and the cheery tech behind the counter smiling at him.
"Can I help you?" The words echoed in his head as his grip on the
prescription tightened. "Sir?"
"Uh...no," he said, shaking his head. "I thought there was a mistake
with my prescription, but I was wrong. Sorry."
"That's okay," she stated. "Have a good night!"
"I will." He turned, making sure no one he knew was watching as he
deftly slipped the bag into his coat pocket. And he made his way back
through the ER, oblivious to the eyes on him, or the hushed murmurs
around him. So oblivious he didn't even hear John call his name. He
could only feel the bottle burning a hole through his pocket straight
to his heart. But he must've been a moth drawn to that heat, drawn to
that fire, because he was convinced he was going to have a good night
even if he couldn't imagine the burn. Because he was going to take
Pratt's advice. He was going to do *exactly* what he wanted with those
pills.
He smiled as the ER bay doors closed behind him.
--------------------------------
But I can feel it again
I can feel it again
I am everything you wanted
Everything you wanted
--------------------------------
To be continued...
Copyright Footer', 'This site is not affiliated in any way with "ER", its writers or production company, or NBC, and makes no profit from the show. The ERROS skin is by Brihana. The script is eFiction version 3.4.2© Tammy Keefer, http://efiction.org\r\n