------------------------------------
Chapter Twenty-Two: Someday, Somehow
------------------------------------
How the hell'd we wind up like this?
And why weren't we able
To see the signs that we missed?
And try to turn the tables
-------------------------------
The coffee table had never really held anything before. It was always
bare, except for when people ate in front of the television, which was
more often than not, especially now that John was gone. Then, it would
be filled with glasses and plates and utensils and napkins. But when
nobody ate there, and when nobody was drinking while watching
television, it was usually bare. Sometimes Kermit napped on it, but
currently he was busy chasing around a new toy he'd gotten earlier in
the week. So the table was empty. Except for one orange bottle that
loomed over the entire room despite it's very small size.
Dave reached for it, his fingers nearly touching the smooth plastic
before he pulled back abruptly, almost like the bottle itself were hot
to the touch. Several more times, before he leaned back against the
couch with a loud sigh of frustration. Those pills had been all he
wanted all the way home from the goddamned hospital, but now, for the
life of him, he couldn't muster up the will to even touch the bottle,
let alone open the cap and take a few. What the hell was wrong with
him, he wondered angrily. It wasn't like he was a virgin to this whole
scene!
He needed some courage. And he knew exactly where he could find it.
Only a couple blocks away was that liquor store he'd always frequented
before his addiction, the same one he'd almost bought vodka from a
couple months ago until Abby had convinced him not to. Now, he went
there again, relieved not to see the same boy in fear the kid might
remember him and say something. Or worse, just look at him, pitying
him, feeling sorry for him. Look at the poor, washed-out doctor that
needs to buy courage instead of just having it.
You couldn't help your character flaws, he mused, placing the vodka on
the countertop. He narrowed his eyes, glancing at the brightly
illuminated freezers behind him. It suddenly occurred to him that
character flaws were permanent. He was going to need more than just
this little bottle of vodka.
Two six-packs, whiskey, and another couple bottles of vodka later,
Dave exited the store, his arms heavy with paper bags. He'd nearly
dropped one on the way into his apartment, which would've really
ruined his night since balancing his half of the rent (John still paid
the other half), food, and whatever else he needed without help really
put a dent in his wallet. He'd nearly had to resort to his savings a
couple times, but a few moonlight shifts at the Doc-in-the-Box had
managed to divert that.
Now, he put a bottle of vodka in the freezer, the other two in the
cabinet, and kept the whiskey on the kitchen table. The beers went
into the refrigerator, save the couple he was going to drink. Hell, he
thought, pulling out a third. He'd been such a good boy for the past
few months, tonight was his night to splurge. And after everything, he
was pretty sure he deserved it.
"Here's to you, Malucci," he said to himself, right before he took a
sip.
***
The pounce on his chest woke him with a start the next day, Kermit
meowing loudly right in his face, knocking his head against Dave's.
"...The fuck??" he exclaimed, sitting upright with a jolt and
immediately regretting the decision when the room began to spin.
"Jesus Christ, my head..."
He glanced at the cat, who meowed loudly another few times, no doubt
greeting him with a few expletives of his own before scampering to his
empty food bowl. Dave stood on unsteady legs, stumbling into the
kitchen to feed his cat, apologizing for not doing so the night
before. The smell of the Whiskas had never before made him queasy but
it did then, and he promptly vomited into the sink.
"Damn, I hate whiskey," he muttered, before glancing at the clock. He
turned to his cat after noting the time. "Thanks for getting me up,
furface. Every condemned man should be on time for his execution."
He was, of course, talking about his meeting with Dr. Weaver today,
the one where she would decide just what to do with him and tell him
the specifics of his suspension and/or termination. Termination. He
hated that damn word, it sounded so...permanent. So final. As if not
only would he be fired but he would also cease to exist. He might as
well, he figured. He'd be useless if he couldn't be a doctor. He just
wasn't good at anything else, except maybe being a drunk and an
addict, he thought as his head pounded and stomach rolled.
His mood just continued to go downhill from there as he took a shower,
hoping to wash away the stink of booze and the buzz of the pills he
could only hazily remember taking. One six-pack and nearly a half of
the bottle of whiskey later, he'd finally opened up that pill bottle,
thanking God it hadn't been childproof because he would've never been
able to open it with his numb, heavy hands. Two pills, maybe
three...he couldn't really remember. But he remembered popping the
damn things and washing them down with some more whiskey. After
that...blissful nothingness until furface got him up this morning.
-------------------------------
I wish you'd unclench your fists
And unpack your suitcase
Lately, there's been too much of this
But don't think it's too late
-------------------------------
Two more pills and a train ride later, he was standing outside of the
ambulance bay, looking at the building. Studying it as if the meaning
of life (or at least his) was etched into the brick in patterns and
symbols he didn't understand. A voice startled him out of his silent
reverie, reminding him that he had an appointment to keep.
"Are you going in," Luka asked, smiling gently, "or are you just going
to stand here all day?"
"I'm going in," Dave stated, turning back to look at the hospital.
"Although I was thinking about just standing out here."
There was a pause before Luka spoke once more. "For what it's worth,
Dave, I'm sorry. I intend to defend you in front of Dr. Weaver today."
"What??" Dave asked, looking at Luka again with puzzlement. "What do
you mean? You're going to be there??"
"I'm an ER Attending."
"Yeah so?"
"I supervise you, so I will be there," Luka explained. "Dr. Weaver
didn't tell you that?"
"No. Why would she?" Dave hissed. "She loves having an edge over her
victims. Who else will be there?"
"Dr. Anspaugh, Dr. Romano, Abby since she's the head of the nurse's
department in the ER, and..."
"Don't say it," Dave groaned. "Please don't say it."
"...Carter."
"Fuck," he hissed, shaking his head. "He's going to crucify me."
"You think so?" Luka asked. "I know he's mad, but would he try to make
you look bad?"
"Well, you fucked me over royally and we never lived together," Dave
spat, more harshly than he'd intended. "What do you think??" He
sighed, his shoulders dropping as if he was deflating. "I'm sorry. I
don't mean to take this out on you."
"It's fine," Luka assured him, touching his arm gently. The gesture
didn't ease Dave's anxiety, though, but he still appreciated it,
especially after everything they'd been through together. "Let's go
inside, uh?"
He nodded sullenly, reluctantly following Luka inside of the ER and
then upstairs into the boardroom. They were the first ones there, and
he plopped himself down heavily into a seat, Luka settling in the
chair beside him. Already showing that he really was on his side, if
he was willing to sit next to him. Nervously, he waited, jittery in
his chair as he waited for everyone to come. Dr. Anspaugh arrived
first, greeting them with a warm smile that managed to calm Dave
slightly. Then came Dr. Weaver, who didn't even glance at him before
sitting next to Dr. Anspaugh, on the other side of the table. Abby
came next, sitting on the other side of Dave, touching his hand and
giving it a gentle squeeze. Dr. Romano entered last, and loudly (as
usual). And John Carter was nowhere to be seen.
"All right," Dr. Romano said, sitting down in the chair at the head of
the table. "If everyone's here, then we can get started."
"Everyone isn't here," Dr. Weaver stated. "Dr. Carter, our Chief
Resident and one of Dave's superiors, isn't present."
"Well, he'd better get 'present' fast," Dr. Romano said, "because
we're starting without him."
"But you said - "
"I don't remember half the crap I say," he told her, waving off her
comment with his hand. "Now, Malatucci - "
Dave didn't bother to correct him, knowing the mistake was
intentional, but Luka spoke up on his behalf. "It's Malucci."
"Whoever you are," Dr. Romano said, "why are you here? And more
importantly, why am I taking time out of my busy day to deal with your
mess?"
"I made a list," Dr. Weaver offered, pulling out several copies to
pass around the table, and Dave didn't fight the urge to roll his eyes
and shake his head as she handed them a sheet of paper. He took his
but didn't look at it. He could see in Weaver's eyes that she wanted
him to. She wanted to get under his skin and drag him into an
argument. That was her game and he knew it. He also knew that if he
let her lead him there, he was finished, and no way was he going to
let her win.
"Wonderful," Dr. Romano said, and while his tone always suggested
sarcasm, Dave could sense more of it now. The Chief of Staff's eyes
barely skimmed over the paper before he was looking up at Dr. Weaver
with an exaggerated stare. "You can't really expect me to believe this
kid did all of these things on the day he was suspended, can you??"
"If you carefully read the explanations listed - "
There was a short knock at the door before it opened, and John Carter
sheepishly made his way inside, apologizing quietly for being late.
Dave followed him with his eyes as he sat down right next to Kerry
Weaver. The lines had obviously been drawn, and now Dave knew exactly
which side John was on. He clenched his jaw, felt Abby place her hand
on his arm, sensing his mood.
"Malucci," Dr. Romano suddenly said, ignoring the interruption.
He sat up. "Yes?"
"Why are you here?"
"Uh..." He wasn't really expecting to be asked a question like *that*,
and he stammered slightly for a minute, daring to steal a glance at
Dr. Weaver, who was nearly shooting death rays at him with her fiery
eyes. "Well, Dr. Weaver wanted me to see this woman, but I had other
patients first. And I called the OR about the suspected appendicitis,
but nobody came down and she crashed."
"And you were suspended."
"Yeah. But I - "
Dr. Romano raised one hand, silencing Dave as his eyes scanned over
the sheet of paper Dr. Weaver had given him more thoroughly this time,
pausing as they landed on something he obviously felt was important.
His eyes met Dave's. "And this woman, what was her name?"
And he knew it. He knew he was sunk the minute Dr. Romano asked, the
minute he realized Dr. Romano knew exactly who his patient had been.
Absurdly, he felt as if he might cry, but he swallowed the lump in his
throat, averting his eyes.
Dr. Romano barked, "Her name, Dr. Malucci."
"Is that really important?" Luka cut in, sitting forward to catch Dr.
Romano's eye. "I think what's really important here is - "
"What's important here is what I *say* is important here," Dr. Romano
retorted, sitting forward himself, his face contorted with anger. "Her
*name*, Malucci."
He raised his chin, looked directly at Dr. Weaver, and then to Dr.
Romano. Because he refused to be ashamed. He refused to let them walk
all over him. And even if this defiance was small, it was still
defiance, still a victory. As steadily as he could manage, he said,
"Her name was Mrs. Parsons."
"And do you have the slightest clue who Mrs. Parsons is?" he asked.
"Does her name ring a bell?? It should, she's a main benefactor to the
hospital. Or *was*, who knows at this point??"
"Why is that important??" Dave exclaimed, frustrated that his career -
hell, his *life - depended on this woman's money. "I didn't know her
name at the time, I didn't know who she was, just like I don't know
anybody else I treat. I don't care if she's rich, she's not more
important than a welfare mother or even your mother."
"Watch it, Malucci," Dr. Romano warned, but he didn't.
"She was a patient," he continued, "that's all she was. I treat them
all the same. And sometimes I screw up, I'm still learning, I'm just a
Resident. But I don't think my future as a doctor, I don't think my
life should come down to sucking up to rich people. They're not better
than anybody else, they just think they are. This whole thing is
ridiculous!"
"Dr. Malucci, I suggest you keep your tone down," Dr. Romano warned.
"Robert, I think he's got a point," Dr. Anspaugh interjected calmly.
"This meeting should be about whether or not Dr. Malucci is the
negligent factor in Mrs. Parsons' case, and what the repercussions
should be if he is."
"Fine, Donald," Dr. Romano seethed, and Dave steeled himself as the
Chief of Staff turned to him. "Dr. Malucci, after reviewing the chart
Drs. Anspaugh, Weaver, and I all believe that you're the negligent
factor in Mrs. Parsons' case. You should have ordered more tests,
checked on her status, and nagged surgery until they came down to get
her. Moreover, you seem to have a habit of making up your mind on a
diagnosis without all the facts - lose that habit or next time you're
gone. And being busy, Dr. Malucci, is never an excuse. We're all busy,
unless you think you're the only one who works around here. You have
thirty days to learn your lesson."
"Wait, you're suspending me?" Dave exclaimed, gaping. "For thirty
days, you're suspending me?? Come on, I - !"
"Without pay."
"What?!?" Dave shouted, standing with a flourish, so hard he nearly
knocked his chair over. This couldn't be happening. This just could
not be happening. "Dr. Romano, I can't afford that!!"
"Then I suggest you start looking into other investments."
"Dr. Romano - !"
"Sit down, Dr. Malucci, unless you'd like start looking into a new job
as well!" he yelled over Dave, who sat down reluctantly, staring off
in anger and absolute incredulity. "Dr. Malucci, you will not return
to this hospital until the fifteenth of June - "
"That's longer than thirty days," he pointed out.
"Want to make it sixty??" he snapped. "Then shut up. June fifteenth
you report to my office, and Dr. Weaver and myself will make the
guidelines for your return. This meeting is over."
"Dr. Romano," Luka immediately spoke up, before Dr. Romano could get
up from his seat. "I don't think that's fair."
"Life isn't fair."
"There's no grounds for a month's suspension," Abby piped up. "Dave's
behavior is fine, better than half the doctors in the ER. All the
nurses get along with him and like working with him, he's never
disrespectful to patients, we think - "
"Since when do the nurses opinions matter?" Romano snapped, and Abby
visibly bristled at the comment.
"Then why am I here??" Abby retorted.
"You're nice to look at."
A hand on her arm stopped her from replying, Dave's hand calming *her*
down, when she should be doing the same to him. She looked at him,
surprised, meeting his eye and realizing that he'd absolutely given
up. Her expression softened, suddenly wishing she could take him into
her arms and protect him from cruel assholes like Dr. Romano and Kerry
Weaver, and cowards like John Carter.
"Dave, I'm sorry," Luka said, once the room was empty and the three of
them sat at the table alone. "It wasn't fair what he did. This wasn't
even about that woman, it was about her money. It isn't fair."
"Maybe we should report him," Abby mused.
"To who?" Luka inquired.
"I don't know," she said, shrugging. "Even Dr. Romano has bosses.
Right?"
"Like who?" Luka asked. "Satan?"
"Did you see him?" Dave suddenly asked, staring at his hands, his
clenched fists shaking. He looked up, but not at either of them. "Did
you see him?? Sitting there, not saying a fucking word. Coming in late
like he's too fucking good for this meeting. Can you believe that??"
Gently, Abby reached out to touch his back, but when she did he
flinched hard, startling her. She could see Luka startle as well,
exchanged a worried glance with the Croatian. "Dave," she began, but
he suddenly stood. "Where are you going?"
"Anywhere," he stated, pushing out his chair hastily and heading to
the exit. "Doesn't matter. I just gotta get outta here."
"Dave," Abby called, but he ignored her as he left the boardroom,
ignored Luka as well, and was glad that he didn't have to ignore
anyone else since the hall was practically deserted save a few suits
and also some of the doctors from the meeting waiting at the elevator
alcove. John was among them, standing there, smiling as he spoke with
Dr. Weaver. Fucking smiling as he spoke with the woman who had done
Dave in countless times before, including this time.
He changed his course, and instead of heading to the elevators -
because no way was he going to get on an elevator with *them* - he
pushed open the door to the men's room, slamming it behind him with a
loud crack. Into a stall, closing the door behind him and locking it
firmly, leaning against it as well, just in case. He slipped his hand
into one of the pockets of his jeans, pulling out the bottle of pills
he had taken with him before leaving his apartment. Another two pills
into his system and he was already calming. A few deep breaths with
closed eyes and the drugs were already taking over, even if it was
impossible for them to work that quick...but just the thought...
He stood at the sink although he couldn't really remember leaving the
stall and walking there, but the water was running over his hands,
which he cupped underneath to take a few sips. Standing upright, he
caught his own reflection in the mirror, wondering when he'd started
losing weight. But that wasn't the only thing different about himself
that he noticed. He looked so irrevocably...damaged. Lost. Empty.
Completely alone.
-------------------------------
Nothing's wrong
Just as long
As you know that someday I will...
-------------------------------
The door pushed open, and the last person on Earth he ever expected to
walk into the bathroom did. Well, maybe the second to last, because
Kerry Weaver would've been the first. He met John Carter's eye,
rolling his own before shutting off the sink and heading toward the
door in a hasty retreat.
"Dave," John said, reaching out to touch his arm, but Dave jerked his
body away to avoid contact. "I wanted to talk to you."
"I think you said enough in that meeting," Dave scoffed. "Wouldn't
want you to talk yourself to death."
"Did you really expect me to defend you?" John asked, as if the answer
was obvious.
To Dave, it was. "I expected you to defend my skills as a doctor. I'm
a damn good one, and you know it."
"I wasn't there, I didn't have the right to say anything," John stated
almost indifferently, holding up his hands in defense. "I don't know
what happened that night."
"Neither did Luka and Abby."
"Abby was defending you as a friend, and Luka was defending you as
a..."
"As a coworker, John!" Dave snapped. "A coworker! And so what if you
weren't there that night?? You should've defended my skills as a
doctor, and you didn't. If the tables were turned I would've defended
you. I would've been professional enough - I would've been *grown up*
enough to put the personal shit behind us and do what was right.
You're a great doctor and I would've told them that. I expected you to
do the same."
"Look, this isn't why I came in here," John said, changing the
subject. Dave remained quiet, his jaw clenched as he allowed John to
continue. "I just came in here to see how you were."
"Oh, save it," Dave said, incredulous. By now, John should know he
couldn't lie to Dave; he knew John too well to allow a lie to pass
without noticing it. "What do you really want??"
"I'm sorry for what happened in there - "
"Yeah, I'll bet."
He ignored the comment. "A month's suspension without pay is harsh,
and I know you don't have that kind of money..."
"Wait a second," Dave said, when John trailed off. He gaped at the
older man in disgust. "Are you offering me money?? What am I, your
kept boy?"
"Dave, that's not what I'm implying and you know it."
"What are you implying??" Dave asked, but before John could answer he
held up his hands, stopping him. "You know what? I don't need your
charity. Ease your conscience some other way. Fuck you."
Storming out, he pulled open the bathroom door with such a flourish it
slammed into the wall, denting the plaster. He slammed into Abby as he
stepped out of the bathroom, grabbing her so she wouldn't fall over
after knocking into her. Sensing his anger, a different kind than the
one in the meeting room, she asked, "What's wrong?"
"Well, fuck you too, Dave!" John exclaimed, exiting the bathroom right
after him, walking past him and heading back to the elevator alcove.
"Excuse me for caring."
"Oh, when did you start giving a shit??" Dave asked. "Save it for your
next fuckboy."
"Go to hell!!"
"You first!"
"Dave!" Abby exclaimed, trying to get his attention. "What's going
on?"
"I'll tell you what's going on," John stated, anger contorting his
face as he paused to face them. "I try being nice and I get kicked in
the teeth. Screw you, Dave, I'm sick of it."
"Yeah, whatever," Dave said, as John turned and began walking away
again. "That's right, princess. Go pout, asshole!!"
"Dave, stop it," Abby chided, grabbing his arm and forcing him to face
her. "What happened?"
"He offered me money," Dave replied, scoffing. "Can you believe that?
He dumps me and then he offers me money like he's paying for services
rendered. I still have my goddamned pride. Fucking asshole thinks he
can embarrass me because I'm going to be strapped for money. I could -
"
"Dave, just calm down," Abby interrupted him, rubbing his arm. She was
relieved to see him relax visibly. "Forget him, he isn't worth it.
Just forget it. You don't need him or his money. You're better than
that."
"It's just..." He sighed. "He always thought he was better than me
because he had money. And he still does. It just...it..."
"Sucks."
"Yeah." He smiled down at her as she reached out to smooth back his
hair, something she often did when in Mother Hen mode. She was
standing close to him, the smell of cigarettes emanating from her
clothes, but there was also something else, something vaguely familiar
that he couldn't immediately recognize. And then he knew it: alcohol.
It was alcohol, and it wasn't coming from him. "So, uh...how you
feeling, Abs?"
"I'm okay," she stated, nodding, her eyes averted almost guiltily.
"You?"
"I'm okay," he told her, averting *his* gaze, as well. And suddenly he
didn't have the will to question her about how she *really* was,
because did he really have a right? He smiled sardonically. "I really
enjoyed the meeting."
"Me too."
"I liked the part where Romano told me I get no pay for a month."
"My favorite was the list Weaver made."
"Oh, yeah! I forgot about that. That was definitely my favorite part
too."
They broke into grins, falling into familiar routine. But Abby asked,
rather seriously, "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Hey, I'm not fired at least, right?" He shrugged, looking up at her,
meeting her eye for a brief second. Simultaneously, they both looked
away. Jeeze, Dave *really* needed to get out of here and just go home,
before he said something or did something he'd regret. He just needed
to be alone, because he was all he had right now. Even Abby couldn't
be relied upon now that she was drinking again, and he knew it with a
heavy heart. For the first time in a long time, he was really alone.
"Listen, I'm going to go home, I've got some stuff to do."
"Want company?" she asked. "I just finished my shift and I'm not on
again until tomorrow night."
"No," he replied, shaking his head as he began to take a few steps
back, towards the elevator alcove. "I'll be all right. I mean, you
know. I'm just going to go home, watch television or something."
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
He made it all the way down the hall to the elevator before he heard
Abby behind him. "Hey, Dave?"
He turned back to her as the doors *pinged* open. "Yeah?"
"If you need anything, just call me."
"I will," he said, boarding the elevator.
"Love you."
"You too," he replied, watching the doors slide close before him. He
called out, before it was too late, "Bye, Abby."
He wasn't sure if she replied. He was already gone.
--------------------------------
Someday, somehow
I'm gonna make it all right
But not right now
I know you're wondering when
--------------------------------
John Carter was going to be the last to admit that he missed Dave.
Seeing him at that meeting had been nearly unbearable, sure, but it
wasn't because he missed him. It was only because they had history,
and it was hard to be a superior when his ex-boyfriend had messed up.
That's why he'd been late, because he hadn't been intending on going
at all before his conscience took over. And even after showing up, he
hadn't said a word. It'd just been too hard.
But it *wasn't* because he missed him. He'd be the last to admit it,
and he stuck to that mantra. Even now, as he lay here in his bed at
the mansion, feeling the emptiness beside him, he wasn't about to
think it, let alone mutter the words out loud. So he clenched his
jaws, irritatingly fluffing the pillow beneath him as he attempted to
get comfortable. But he swore he was going to punch that pillow so
hard it'd be obliterated into nothing but feathers pretty soon.
A glance at the clock let him know it was still early evening. He'd
gotten off of his half-shift and had gone straight to the meeting,
afterwards arriving home and positive that he'd be so exhausted as
soon as he'd hit the bed he'd fall asleep. But there was something
missing, something that wouldn't let him get comfortable. And he knew
what it was - or who, more accurately. But he wasn't going to admit
it.
Maybe he just missed the warm body next to his, he considered, or the
arms around him nearly every night. He missed the attention, the
romance, the affection, and, yes, the sex. (He even rubbed his ass
against the mattress, feeling the empty ache.) But he didn't, in no
way, under any circumstances, miss Dave Malucci.
The man he'd devoted so much of the past six or so months of his life
to had cheated on him. He hated him, as much as he might've loved him
at the same time, but once John's trust had been broken, especially
like this, it couldn't be repaired. Yes, perhaps the exact person he'd
cheated on him with might've had something to do with it. But it only
served to show how much Dave had wanted to hurt him.
And he *was* hurting. He felt it deep within his heart, to know that
he wasn't good enough for Dave. Especially at a time like that, when
Dave had needed him the most...he'd gone to Luka to save him. So he
might've been overdosing, but there had to be something behind it, no
matter how screwed up he'd been at the time. He didn't trust John to
do the right thing?
Maybe he hadn't wanted John to do the right thing. Maybe that's why
he'd gone to Luka, because he knew Luka would do whatever Dave wanted.
For a price. Dave hadn't been sure whether or not he'd been taken
advantage of. Maybe Dave had done what Luka wanted to take advantage
of *him*. Had Dave wanted to die that night? Maybe he had. Maybe he
hadn't wanted John to do the right thing because he'd gotten so low he
wanted to die. He shuddered thinking about life without Dave.
And then he started laughing, bitterly, because there he was, lying in
bed and very alone, without Dave. It was his own fault, and he knew
it, but his stubborn streak convinced him that it was for the best.
Dave deserved to be hurt, just like he'd hurt John. But he'd get over
Dave, and somebody else would come along. Maybe that person would be
the one he spent the rest of his life with. Hell, John thought,
curling up and pulling the covers over his head. Maybe he was just
meant to be alone. Maybe both of them were.
--------------------------------
Well, I'd hope that since we're here anyway
We could end up saying
Things we'd always needed to say
So we could end up staying
--------------------------------
At around five o'clock in the evening, three days after she'd promised
to stay over Dave's and only a few hours since asking him in the
hospital (and also only a few hours after that little voice in her
head screamed at her all day that something was wrong), Abby stepped
off of the elevator and onto his floor, balancing a pizza in one hand
and a bag of DVDs in the other. She'd grabbed several movies from
Blockbuster, carefully avoiding romance and drama, or anything else
remotely depressing at the moment. Instead, horror movies and action
films where people suffered and died were on the agenda for tonight,
and she considered that it was pretty appropriate.
She rang the doorbell twice in a row (a longtime habit), and waited
patiently for him to answer. After a minute or so she tried the door
but it was locked, so she rang the bell twice again, listening
intently to see if she could hear anything beyond the door. In another
minute, she knocked, calling, "Dave? Are you home? I got the movies
and pizza! Come on, open up."
She stood there, her brow furrowing as worry started seeping into her
brain. And she cursed the day she'd left her keys to the apartment
here after she'd moved out, thinking she should've listened to Dave
when he told her to keep them. She banged loudly on the door. "Dave!
Come on, open the door or I'll get the landlord! Please?? Dave..."
A small crash came from within the apartment, and then three breath's
pause before she heard the door unlocking and the chain sliding
across, and soon it was pulled open, but only just enough for Abby to
see Dave's face. She could immediately tell something was wrong just
by his appearance: his hair was unwashed and mussed, he looked as if
he hadn't slept in days (or if he had, in the wrinkled clothes he was
wearing), and he was breathing as if he was feeling ill. And, with an
unsteady voice, he asked, "What is it?"
"Since you haven't been returning my calls and avoiding me like the
Plague," she told him, "I decided to chance coming over."
"For what?" he asked, blinking hard, squinting against the hall light.
"I just saw you today at the hospital."
"I know, but that was for work, this is for pizza and movies," she
replied, indicating the items in her hands. "I'm spending the night.
My stuff's in the car, but I didn't have enough hands."
"No, Abby, come on," he began to protest, but she cut him off quickly.
"Dave, we made plans three days ago," she stated, almost urgently.
"I've called a million times and I've stopped by more than once, but
you never call me back or you're never home. The only time I saw you
was at the hospital today, and that was only for a few minutes."
"I'm really tired," he said, looking at her beseechingly with that
pout he had that would've worked on her any other time. "I feel really
sick, too."
"You'll feel better after you eat something," she assured him,
offering a smile that he didn't return. She knew what it was like to
lose someone you love, how it took a while to get over it, and she
hoped a night of movies would help him feel better. "Let me in, Dave.
We'll just sit and watch some movies, you don't even have to talk to
me. Besides, I already got the pizza."
He sighed, rubbing tiredly at his eyes as he stood aside, pushing the
door open in the other direction. She stepped inside, immediately
noticing how dark it was; the sun had set and only the kitchen light
illuminated the entire apartment. She set the pizza down on the coffee
table and turned, saying, "Jeeze, Dave, shed some light in here, it's
like a black hole..." But she trailed off when she saw him visibly
sway as he closed the door. Now, with narrowed eyes, she asked, "Are
you okay?"
"Yeah," he replied, nodding as he once more rubbed his eyes. "I was
just sleeping."
"Oh," she said, as she moved into the kitchen. She flashed a grin as
she began to pull open the refrigerator door. "You'll need your sleep
for later, I grabbed enough movies to last until dawn - "
"What're you looking for? Drinks?" he asked, suddenly beside her to
grab the door. "I'll get it. You get the napkins and stuff. You
brought everything, the least I can do is get you a drink."
"Okay..." she said, eyeing him curiously as she grabbed a handful of
napkins from the holder and brought them into the living room. She
took a minute to really look at the place, noticing what a mess it
was, and was about to make a flippant comment about it when her
stomach growled loudly, reminding her she hadn't eaten in a while.
"Hurry up, Dave, or I'll start eating without you. I'll probably
finish it too."
"Hold your horses," he quipped, his back to her over the bar counter
that separated the living room from the kitchen. Abruptly he stepped
back and she heard the soda bottle he'd been holding bounce on the
floor. "Shit! I can't believe I just did that!"
"Don't worry about it," she stated, quickly moving into the kitchen as
he quickly picked up the bottle before too much of the soda spilt onto
the linoleum. He placed it into the sink to dry off as she grabbed
paper towels. "I'll help you wipe it up."
"Thanks," he replied, and soon they were both crouched on the floor
and cleaning up the mess. He cracked a grin at her, indicating the
full glasses of soda on the counter. "At least I got some of it in the
glasses."
She smiled in response as she stood, grabbing the wet towels and
crossing the kitchen to the garbage. "Why don't you grab them and I'll
throw these away."
"Yeah, okay," he said, picking the glasses up off of the counter
before he went into the living room with them. "So what'd you rent
anyway? No chick flicks, I hope. Maybe a porno?"
"Dave," she said, feigning exasperation as she stepped on the
garbage's pedal to flip the lid open. She dropped the trash in, her
eyes only catching sight of a gleam against the light as it snapped
shut. She glanced at Dave, but he was busy with the remote and
complaining about the lack of porn in the stack of DVDs, so she
quietly opened the lid, peering inside. The glare was still there, and
she moved the paper towels, her curiosity getting the best of her. It
was glass. Green glass. She stepped back as the familiar objects
registered, the lid banging shut as she did so.
The crash she'd heard in the hall had been the sound of Dave hastily
throwing beer bottles into the trash.
"Ready?" She snapped out of her reverie and looked at him, but he was
still focused on the remote control. He glanced up when she didn't
respond. "Abby?"
"Dave..." she said quietly, her heart hammering in her chest. "Have
you been drinking?"
"What?"
"Are you drunk??"
"No!" he exclaimed, but she knew he was, should've known as soon as
she'd seen him. "I'm not drunk. I haven't been drinking."
"Then what's this??" she asked, opening the trash and pulling out one,
two, three bottles of Heineken, but only because that was all she
could hold. She could see more, too - lot's more. And not just beer
bottles but vodka and whisky as well. "Then explain this!" He didn't;
he just stood there, watching her. "Dave," she breathed, her shoulders
slumping. "How long? How long have you been drinking?"
He hesitated. She could tell he was considering his answer as
carefully as he could in his stupor. "I just...yesterday I just went
out and..."
"Last night??" she nearly shouted, startling him. "You drank all of
these in one night??"
"No! I mean..." he trailed off, before continuing quietly, "I mean,
since three days ago. Since Thursday. I had some this afternoon too,
it's not like I had it all in one night, I - "
"Dave!" she exclaimed, dropping the bottles into the trash. She
suddenly glanced at the fridge...that's why he hadn't wanted her to
look in it. "How much more do you have??" She pulled open the door
without a word, seeing another six-pack. She moved to the cabinet and
saw another bottle of vodka. "My God. Dave...you can't..." She picked
it up off of the shelf, enraged, and threw it into the sink, the
bottle smashing loudly and draining of its contents.
"Abby!"
"Don't 'Abby' me, Dave!" she yelled. "You could've came to me, and we
could've gone to a meeting. We could've gotten past this - "
"This isn't about you!" he retorted.
"No!" she agreed. "This is about *you* throwing your entire recovery
out the window!! Do you have any idea how dangerous this is!"
"It's just a couple drinks!" he exclaimed. "It's not like I'm using.
I'm not the drunk around here!"
She was shocked by the words, and she knew he could tell - that was
the intent, after all. But she'd heard them before, when he'd been
convinced John had left him for a lecture in California, the same
night he'd confessed to traumatic violence committed by his father.
And she'd known that he'd said the words to hurt her. It hadn't worked
then, and she'd be damned before she let it work now. Almost roughly,
she grabbed his wrist. "Dave, we're going to a meeting."
"I'm not going anywhere!" he snapped, yanking his wrist away.
"Yes, you are! I'm your sponsor, and it's my responsibility to - "
"My sponsor?!! You're a drunk!" he hissed. "You're a fucking drunk! I
bet I'm not the only one drinking, am I??"
She was shocked into silence. How could he know that she'd been
drinking for so long now, she'd been so careful to hide it from him -
from everyone. Christ, he couldn't know her *that* well, could he? But
before she could even reply, he was stepping closer to her, into her
personal space. "Am I, Abby??"
"I'm not drinking."
"Then why can't you look me in the eye when you say that?" he asked
her, trying to get her to meet his stare. "Look me in the eye then.
Look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong."
She looked up, looked him right in the eye. And then she averted her
gaze.
"I knew it!!" he exclaimed, almost smug with himself. "I knew you were
drinking. You think I didn't smell it on you today, Abby? I did, I
did. Once a drunk, always a drunk, right Abby??"
"This...this isn't about me, Dave," she reminded him, her voice
shaking, her heart broken by his words. She knew she should ignore
them, that he wasn't himself, but they'd still hurt her. "This is
about you. You're the one out of control here. You're drinking, and
it's - "
"Oh, so you drink and you can explain it away," he retorted angrily,
"but when I drink I'm 'out of control.' Yeah, okay, you hypocritical
bitch."
"We can fight about me later! I'm not what this is about!" she quickly
yelled, taking a step back and finding herself against the
refrigerator. She couldn't seem to regain control of the conversation,
although she wondered if she'd ever been in control in the first
place. "This is about you, remember?"
"Fine!" he exclaimed, irate. "Fine!! You want to talk about me?? Yes,
I'm drinking! I'm drinking and I'm having a great fucking time! You
want a drink, Abby?? You want to have a great fucking time??" He was
suddenly moving, pushing her forcibly away from the refrigerator so
hard she almost fell, and from the freezer he pulled out a bottle of
vodka. Now, to the cabinet, where he grabbed two glasses, pouring
vodka into each one and placing them down on the kitchen table. He
picked one up, almost as if to toast to her. "Come on, Abby. Why don't
you have a drink with me? You know I've never had a drink with you. I
think I'd like to drink with my best friend. What do you say??"
"Dave, please don't do this," she said, and was almost surprised to
find that more than anything would she love to get completely smashed
with him. She'd always thought it would be better to fall back into
her addiction with another addict by her side, but like Dave had said,
like she had said, this wasn't about her. This was about Dave, about
being his sponsor and his friend, and about keeping him safe.
"No??" he asked, sitting down at the table, kicking out the chair
opposite him with his foot, offering it to her. "You don't want to
drink with your best friend?"
"No!" she shouted. "I won't drink with you!"
"Why?" he asked. "You know you want it. Don't you?"
"I want to go to a meeting with you," she said, her voice thick,
scared to death of what he was saying, of what he was doing, of what
she might do if she couldn't get him to listen to her. "Dave, I need a
meeting, will you please take me to a meeting?"
"Don't you try that shit with me!" he screamed, slamming his glass
against the table and standing up so fast his chair fell backward.
"Don't use that psychology shit like I don't know what you're doing.
I'm not that fucking stupid!"
"Just put it away, okay??" she yelled back. "Just put the Goddamn
alcohol away, Dave! Is that straightforward enough for you?? Put it
away!!"
He smiled at her, the meanest, most vicious smile she'd ever seen, and
for that instant he didn't look like Dave. He looked like someone she
didn't know at all, and her heart rammed in her chest as this stranger
picked up his glass and drank the vodka right in front of her,
draining the tall glass in one long drink. When he was finished he
slammed the glass down so hard this time it cracked. He picked hers
up, bringing it to her and putting it right in her face.
"Drink it," he said, and he didn't even *sound* like Dave. "Drink it.
You know you want it."
"I don't!"
"Drink it!!"
"No!!"
"Drink it!!!"
"I don't want it!!" she screamed, her voice cracking.
"*Drink it!!!*" he screamed, practically shoving it to her lips.
She grabbed the glass from his hand, clutching it tightly in hers as
she stared down at the clear liquid. She breathed hard, licking her
lips without even realizing it, wanting it so badly she *ached* for
it. "I don't want it!!" she yelled, throwing it across the room,
smashing it to pieces against the wall. "Fuck you, Dave," she said,
her voice so thick she didn't sound like herself either, and she
turned to stare him in the eye - and that's when she noticed it for
the first time. His pupils were pinpoint, barely visible against the
dark brown of his eyes, and she realized he wasn't only drunk, he was
high. He was further gone than she'd so stupidly assumed, and she was
afraid to consider just how far.
"I need a meeting, Dave," she told him then with a quaking voice. "I
need a meeting, and I want you to take me. Please take me to a
meeting, Dave. I love you so much and I know you love me too, and I
want you to take me to a meeting. Will you take me to a meeting?"
"Oh, fuck you with the 'I love you' shit!" he yelled, turning away
from her in disgust. "It makes me sick. You don't love me, you just
want to change me, just like everybody else! Just like Luka, just like
John, just like my old man!!"
"I just want you to come to a meeting!" she pleaded, taking a deep
breath to calm herself down. She needed to be levelheaded, she needed
to be firm. She needed him to know she meant business, even if he
could pummel her into the wall with one quick fist. Because she
wouldn't let him wash his life down the drain like that, not after
nearly letting him do it before. "Dave, I'm not telling you again."
"And I'm not telling you again that I'm not leaving!" he shouted,
suddenly in her face and so close to her he was touching her. She
staggered back, alarmed, but her back hit the counter behind her as
she realized he was more than just drunk and high - he was dangerous.
"Dave, what are you on?" she asked so quietly she barely heard her own
voice.
"Nothing!" he snapped, closing the space she'd created between, his
face contorted with anger. "First I'm drinking, now I'm using??"
"Dave," she said, staring up at him. "I'm a nurse, for God's sake. I
know when someone's using. Just tell me what you're on."
"I'm not on anything!" he shouted, poking a finger into her chest.
"Don't touch me," she warned, slapping his hand away.
"I'll touch you all I want!" he retorted, startling her, even more so
when he pushed her, digging the counter into her back.
"Stop it, Dave!"
Another push. "Stop telling me what to do!"
"Dave!"
"Fuck you!"
She reached out, slapping him hard across the face, hoping to snap him
out of it, shake him out of his violent tantrum. She hit him harder
than she knew she could, his head snapping to the side, and for a
minute she'd figured out how to freeze time because everything just
stopped. But then he looked at her, eyes blazing a fiery brown with
anger, large hands grabbing the front of her shirt in clenched fists,
pulling her flush to him.
Abby closed her eyes tightly, waiting for the blow. "Dave!" she
shrieked, suddenly crying, unable to be strong anymore, to fight back
her tears. "Don't! Please, don't..." she sobbed. "Please don't hurt
me."
He didn't hit her, but he didn't let her go either. Cautiously, she
opened her eyes...he was just standing there, staring at her, and she
could almost see her words fluttering around in his head, registering
in his brain. And then he was stepping back, letting her go and facing
away from her, visibly breathing hard but silently, and he seemed to
be waiting for something but Abby didn't dare move first. Soon, he
did, his gesture startling her but not too surprising: most addicts,
whether it be alcohol or narcotics, turned to smoking sooner or later.
She had, she shouldn't have expected less from Dave.
But, as he cracked open one of the windows despite the freezing
temperatures outside, lighting up, she had to wonder how low and how
fast he was sinking. Dave had always been the one persistently trying
to get her to quit, adamant about her not smoking in the apartment to
get his point across. And now, here he was, expertly handling a
cigarette with an ease that suggested this wasn't his first time.
"I didn't know you smoked," she said, frantically wiping at her tears,
hardly able to think of anything else to say at a time like this.
"I don't. I'm just having a cigarette."
"You sound like me when I'm trying to quit." Her joke fell flat
against both their ears, mostly because she was still crying.
"Do you want one?"
"No." She took a deep, shaky breath. Glanced around the apartment; she
didn't know why. "When did you first start?"
"When I was seventeen," he stated, his gaze focused on something
beyond the window. "When...after I moved to Chicago, I mean." After
his father had raped him and nearly killed him, she thought, silently
filling in the blanks. Then, quietly: "Abby...could you please do me a
favor?"
Just as quietly: "What?"
"Please leave," he said, his voice quavering. "Please? I don't...I
just want to be alone."
"I love you, Dave." He shook his head, as if the implication was
ridiculous. "I do. Nothing's changed."
"Everything's changed, Abby," he said, his own voice thick with
emotion.
"But nothing's changed that," she promised.
"Abby, please go," he pleaded. "I just...I just want to..."
"Forget?"
"Yeah."
It scared her, more than anything, that he didn't try to hide it. And
if she didn't think it before, she knew she was in entirely over her
head now, knew that she needed to get help. So she nodded silently,
picking up her purse from the couch and crossing the room to the door.
She glanced back at him, watching him standing by the window, visibly
shaking, and she blinked back tears as she pulled open the door and
closed it behind her.
--------------------------------
Now the story's played out like this
Just like a paperback novel
Let's rewrite an ending that fits
Instead of a Hollywood horror
--------------------------------
It seemed as if the instant he'd fallen asleep, his private line was
ringing and echoing throughout his entire room. He ignored it
stubbornly, waiting for the machine to pick up and turning over in bed
as he did so, wrapping the covers tightly around him. Damn! he
thought, groaning into the pillow and clutching it tightly in his
fists. He'd left the machine at Dave's. But sooner or later, he mused,
whoever was calling would hang up, and he could drift away into sweet
blackness once more.
Later rather than sooner seemed to be more likely as the phone kept
ringing over and over. He muttered a string of obscenities as he
reached over and picked up the receiver, before slamming it right back
down. He smiled in the blissful silence, settling back into his
comfortable bed.
Sleep was approaching at the edges of his brain, ready to engulf his
mind, so close...
Yet so far as the phone burst through his peace. Angrily he lifted the
phone once more, hastily slamming it down again but missing, allowing
it to drop off the side of the nightstand and onto the floor. He could
distantly hear someone on the other side but soon there was silence,
and that was all that filled the room until he fell asleep.
--------------------------------
Nothing's wrong
Just as long
As you know that someday I will...
--------------------------------
He was standing next to a blonde woman that appeared to be only a few
years younger than himself. She could see from the way he was standing
- one hand braced against the wall, allowing him to lean dangerously
close to her - that he was flirting. And from the way she was coyly
smiling, her fingers playing with her necklace as a blush rose in her
cleavage, it was clear that she didn't mind at all.
Abby sighed as she approached Luka and the nameless blonde,
desperately trying to get his attention but he kept brushing her off
with a hard stare or a gesture. Finally, knowing there was hardly any
time to spare, she grabbed his sleeve and began pulling him away from
the woman. "I'm sorry, I just need to borrow him for a second."
"Abby, what is it??" he asked, annoyed. "Can't it wait?"
"No," she told him, and continued without hesitation. "It's about
Dave. I need your help."
Her words were met with a blink of surprise, but he soon recovered and
didn't even excuse himself from the woman he'd previously been so
engrossed with. "What's going on?"
"He's drinking, and he's using again," she blurted out, ready to admit
anything just to get *somebody* to listen to her. "I tried calling
John he keeps hanging up without even answering and now it's off the
hook. I even tried Dave's mother but I got the machine. Luka, I need
your help. I need - "
"What do you want me to do?" The question wasn't sarcastic or bitter,
angry or annoyed, and the sincerity in his voice made *her* blink in
surprise. "Abby, what can I do??"
"Come with me. And hurry...Luka, I can't lose my best friend."
--------------------------------
Someday, somehow
I'm gonna make it all right
But not right now
I know you're wondering when
--------------------------------
"I just. Want. To sleep!!" John cried, throwing back the covers as he
heard a series of knocks on his door. In boxers and an undershirt, he
groggily made his way to the door, flinging it open so hard it slammed
against the wall. "What is it??"
"I'm sorry to bother you, Dr. John," he heard timidly from his maid,
feeling a little bad for startling her but not enough to apologize.
"There's two guests downstairs who wish to speak with you. They say
it's urgent."
"Who?" he asked, perplexed as to whom would come to his home with
urgent news. "Patients?"
"No," she replied, shaking her head. "They said they work with you.
Abby Lockhart and Luka..."
"Kovac?" he asked, when she trailed off unable to recall the foreign
name. Now, even more confused: "What do they want that's so urgent?"
"I don't know," she stated, and he could tell she was beginning to get
annoyed with the interrogation. "They said it was about a friend.
That's all I - "
"A friend??" he asked, cutting her off. Because the only connection to
each of them he could make was one person, and he felt fear clutch at
his heart in a grip so tight he feared it had literally been
constricted from beating. "Dave? Something's happened to Dave??"
"I don't know!" she exclaimed. "But if you'd like to find out, Dr.
John, I suggest you ask *them*."
He didn't even bother to throw on a robe as he pushed past Corrine in
boxers and an undershirt, rushing down the hall to nearly trip down
the stairs in his haste. His mind was clouded with what could've
possibly happened to Dave: An accident? Was he hit by a car? Did a
patient assault him? Maybe even Brian coming back for revenge? And how
hurt was he? Was he - was he dead? Oh, God, Dave was dead and he'd
never see those deep eyes that he used to get lost in, or that
disarming smile that could brighten even his worst days, or...
So panic-stricken he thought he was going to be sick, his thoughts
came to a crashing halt as he saw Luka and Abby standing in the foyer,
their fidgeting movements and desperate eyes letting him know they
needed to do something and it needed to be done *fast*. So, quickly as
to waste no time, he asked, "What's going on?"
"Dave's drinking," Luka began, and Abby continued, "And we think he's
using again."
"What do you mean, you think?" he asked, half-incredulous. "You're not
sure? What exactly happened??"
"I went to his place and I found a bunch of empty bottles - beer,
vodka, whisky," she replied, almost desperately. "He was out of
control, he was violent. I looked into his eyes, Carter, he was on
something. I know he was, I could tell. And one of the last things he
said to me before I left was the he was going to 'forget.'"
"Forget," John repeated, the word leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.
"And you just left him??"
"Were you listening??" Luka asked, his tone displaying slight
annoyance. "She said he was *violent*. You can't expect her to handle
him herself, especially a tough, strong guy like Dave."
"I had no idea what he'd do to try to get what he wanted," she
confirmed. "John, I was scared."
"He would never hurt you!" John scoffed, incredulous. "You shouldn't
have left him like that!"
"You weren't there, John!" she insisted, shaking her head. She seemed
as if she was suddenly fighting back tears. "He didn't even *look*
like himself. He was so mean, he was so angry...he tried to hit me. He
scared the hell out of me. I needed help."
"You have help," he said, indicating Luka. "You obviously went to him
first."
"This isn't about you," Luka spat, disgusted.
"I tried you a dozen times!" Abby retorted as well. He remembered his
phone ringing insistently, remembered how he'd ignored it like a
selfish ass. "And Luka's right, this isn't about you, Carter," she
reminded him. What was he saying about being a selfish ass? "Now let's
go, there isn't time for this!"
"All right, let me just grab some clothes," he said, quickly turning
and darting up the stairs. Suddenly, he turned. "He still...lives at
the apartment?"
"Yeah," Abby told him. "He has no other place to go."
--------------------------------
You're the only one who knows that...
--------------------------------
Literally minutes later (a result of traveling at obscenely illegal
speeds), they stood outside of Dave's apartment, crowded in front of
the door as Abby knocked gently but urgently.
"Dave?" she called, her quick breathing audible. "Are you in there?"
Their beating hearts seemed to echo in the silence.
"Dave!" she called again, her voice quavering with worry. "Please,
open the door. Please??"
"Dave, if you do not open the door," Luka threatened, leaning closer
to the door, "I will break it."
"Relax," John said, slightly appalled at the suggestion; of course
Luka would resort to brute force. "I still have my keys."
Drawing their attention away from one another, the door opened but
only as far as the chain lock would allow. Dave stood there, looking
like an absolute wreck. John had never seen him like this, not even
after pulling a double without so much as a break and coffee. He
looked unwashed and unshaven and as if he hadn't eaten or slept in
weeks. His eyes were moving almost lazily over the three of them.
Obviously intoxicated too - on exactly what was the question. He
looked at Abby, blinking slowly. "You brought the reinforcements."
"They wanted to talk to you too," she replied.
"Sure," he scoffed, glancing off briefly. And in an instant the door
slammed closed, effectively startling them into a shocked silence.
"Dave!" Abby was the first to yell, her fist banging on the door.
"Open the door!"
"Leave me the fuck alone!!" they heard from within. "The hell do you
care what I do??"
"Dave, you know I care!" she exclaimed, the desperation ringing clear
in her voice. "You know I love you, more than anything."
"And those two are just here for show?" he asked bitterly. "You think
I'll let you in with temptation hanging off your arms??"
"Dave," John blurted out, before he even could consider what he wanted
to say. He still cared, he still loved Dave as much as Abby, loved him
on a completely different level. He wanted to say that, he decided,
and he wanted to apologize for being stubborn and stupid and an
asshole...but he couldn't take it all back. Not now, not like this.
And so the words caught in his throat, unwilling to roll past his
tongue, and he cursed softly as the ever-perceptible Dave picked up
his hesitation.
"Fuck you!" he yelled. "Fuck you, John. Fuck. You."
"Dave, let us in." That, from Luka. "Let us in or I swear I'll break
the door."
There was a pause before they heard the chain slip past, and then Dave
pulled open the door with a flourish, standing on unsteady feet and
gripping the doorknob for support. "It's down, Luka. Break the door
*down*. Now what do you want??"
"We just want to come in for a minute," Abby replied first, and
slinked past Dave before he could protest. The men followed her in, if
with hesitance, and John immediately allowed his eyes to travel over
the apartment. It looked just as he remembered it, except...different.
All of his things were still gone, nothing had replaced the empty
spaces. Had Dave been hoping for his return? Or was he just too
heartbroken to make this apartment solely his own? And he realized it
then, that Dave had given him his heart, and he'd broken it.
This was all his fault...
"Dave," he said, quietly, and the word was met with a glare. But he
didn't know what to say after that, so instead he simply asked, "What
are you doing?"
"The hell do you give a damn for?" he snapped right back. "You're not
a part of my life anymore."
"We just want to help," he stated, but he didn't know how or where to
begin. Because Dave was right: John wasn't a part of his life anymore.
He'd made sure of that the minute he'd packed up his things and left,
barely without a word. "We...Dave, I...even if..." He paused,
frustrated, trying to find the right words and failing miserably. "I
still...care."
"Yeah, right," was the harsh reply. "Yeah, sure. You still care. Of
course you do! And I bet Luka here still does too. Yeah, sure!"
"Dave," Luka began, stepping forward slightly.
"No!" he shouted, his breathing heavy as his fingers brushed a bead of
sweat away from his brow. "No! All this was ever about was who had the
bigger balls! You two never cared about me. I was never your friend,
even when I tried to be! You wouldn't even be my friend."
He stopped, suddenly, backing off, pacing the room. Rubbing at his
skin and running his fingers through his hair, tugging at the ends.
Constantly moving. His three companions exchanged nervous glances.
"Dave, that's not true," Luka said calmly. "You know you could come to
us about anything."
"Bullshit!!" he yelled, pointing, but even then he still paced. "Abby
was the only one who ever gave a damn about me. She was my friend
because she cared - " His voice broke and he had to stop, but in an
instant he'd recovered, continuing as calmly as he was capable of
right now. "She was my friend because she cared. Not because I would
fuck her or because she could use me. Because she cared." He looked at
her with tears threatening to fall. "She's a good person...she
understands, she always understands. She doesn't use people...not like
we do..."
"We care!" John nearly shouted, taking a step forward, but Dave took a
quick step back. "Dave, I swear to God I care."
"Oh, please!" he retorted. "Yeah, your word's always fucking Gospel.
Just like you'd love me 'no matter what'??" A rebel sob escaped his
throat, and he turned away, pacing more as he visibly fought to
maintain his rapidly dissolving composure. "You love me as long as I'm
perfect. As long as I don't disappoint you! The second it got too
hard, the second you couldn't handle it, you left! You always left!!
That's not love! You never loved me!! You were ashamed of me, always."
"No! I was never shamed of you, I - "
"Liar!!" he screamed, turning back to them, his face contorted with
fury. "You're such a fucking liar! I heard you, when your mother saw
us! I heard what you said! You didn't think I did, and I never let you
know I did, but I did, I did. You said that you loved me and she said
I was scum! Scum!! And do you remember what you said, John?? Do you
remember what you said?!!"
He shook his head, feeling a stinging in his eyes. "No." But he did
know; he remembered his cowardice and hated himself for it.
"You said, 'He's not that bad,'" he stated, his voice thick as his jaw
quivered, as tears brimmed his eyes. "'He's not that bad.' What's one
level above scum, John? Trash? Dirt?? Shit?! Which is it??"
"Dave - "
"Don't 'Dave' me!" He pursed his lips, as if he wanted to say more,
but soon he stopped and began moving again. Red marks formed on his
skin as his nails moved roughly across his flesh.
John's brow furrowed as he remembered the night Dave had scared him
shitless in the bathroom. He'd been on drugs then, itchy skin a side
effect. One he hadn't picked up on then. Now, he asked, "Dave, why are
you scratching?"
"John, why are you asking??" he retorted bitterly, his hands
immediately falling to his sides. But they were clenched tight,
fighting the urge to scratch, scratch, scratch. "You don't care about
Chicago scum! Just leave me alone!! All of you!"
"Dave," Abby tried, but he cut her off before she could get out
another word.
"No! I want you to leave!" he shouted. "All of you! Get out!!"
"Even me?" Abby asked.
"What, do you think you're special?" he snapped. "Because you're not.
You're not that pretty, and you're not that special. Remember, Abby??
Luka was right after all!"
She winced at his words, remembering sharing her breakup with Luka to
Dave, Dave doing the same in turn. And now he was throwing it in her
face, trying to twist the knife, and even if she refused to believe he
was really himself and really wanted to help him, his words still cut
through her. But she ignored them, stating firmly, "Dave. We're not
leaving."
"Abby's right," Luka stated evenly. "We aren't leaving. And don't talk
to her like that, she's only trying to help you."
"But you can talk to her like that?" Dave asked. "You said it first,
not me. Save the innocent act, Luka, it isn't working."
"None of us here are innocent," Luka replied oh so gallantly.
"Of course not," Dave retorted, holding up his hands in mock
surrender. "Of course not. You're only here because of your dirty
little secret, right? So's John, that's all I ever was to you two, the
dirty little secret no one can know about. I wonder what your wife
would think, knowing you fucked somebody like me."
"Dave - " Abby warned, but Luka cut her off.
"Leave my wife out of this," Luka said as calmly as he could, but Dave
was satisfied to see a flush of anger rise in his cheeks. "This is
about you, Dave."
"Maybe it shouldn't be," he said. "Maybe it should be about you. Maybe
it should be about John. Ever wondered which one of you was better in
bed?"
He was smirking. He was smug. It was sickening, but it wasn't Dave.
And John realized just how far gone he had to be to end up
like...this. Mean. Angry. Scary. "Dave," he said quietly. "Stop this
now. Stop trying to push us away, it's not working. We aren't leaving
so just stop it."
"Why??" he asked, almost in exasperation. "You guys are *really*
killing my buzz, you know that? Fine, if you want - stay. You can get
fucked up with me! You guys do know Abby's drinking again, right?"
She could see them look at her out of her peripheral vision, but she
stayed focused on Dave. "This isn't about me, Dave."
"No, I guess we can do your intervention tomorrow," he stated, smiling
as if he were amused by the whole situation. He indicated the kitchen.
"But right now, I'm going to pop some more pills, and wash them down
with a whole fucking lot of alcohol." Suddenly he was serious. "So get
the fuck out of my apartment."
"I think you've done enough for one night," Luka stated, the first one
to be able to find his voice.
"Christ, save it for somebody who gives a shit!" Dave exclaimed,
disgusted. "This is my life and I can do what I want!! Just get out!!"
"We're not leaving," Abby yelled over him.
"The hell you aren't! This is my apartment, and I want you to leave!!"
"I still pay most of the rent," John blurted out, in an attempt to
force Dave to allow them to stay. But the words seemed to infuriate
the younger man more than he'd thought they would.
"I knew it!" he exclaimed. "I knew you were going to throw that in my
face! You think I'm less than you just because you're rich, just
because you grew up in some huge fucking mansion."
"That has nothing to do with anything," John told him. "I'm just
saying this is still half my apartment."
"You don't even live here anymore!!"
"I still pay more than half of the rent!" John said firmly. "So if I
want to stay, I can stay. And Luka and Abby can stay too, if I say
so."
"Fine!" Dave yelled, suddenly in motion and moving to the hall closet,
pulling out his coat. "Then *I'll* leave, and you can - "
"Enough!!" Luka's voice exploded throughout the apartment enough to
leave a slight echo in its wake, startling all in surprise and
probably some neighbors too. Swiftly, he strode to Dave, grabbing his
arm roughly and pulling him toward the door. "We're taking you to the
hospital."
"Fuck you!" he yelled, trying to pull out of Luka's grasp but it was
strong enough to bruise. "Let go of me! Don't touch me! Don't fucking
touch me!"
"Dave, Luka's right," Abby cut in. "You need - "
"I don't need anything!" he shouted, pushing Luka away from him and
backing up a few steps. "I don't need a doctor, I don't need a drunk
telling me what to do, and I don't need you two touching me and
pushing me around like I'm some kind of trophy you won!!"
"No one is pushing you around," Luka stated. "We're only trying to
help you. Don't talk about us like that, especially Abby. You know she
loves you, show her some respect."
"Save it, Luka," Dave spat. "I'll say whatever I want in my own
fucking home!"
"Screw you!" he exclaimed. "I don't need your help. I lived without
all of you before, and I can do it again! This is your fault, all of
your faults, I was fine before any of you came into my life!"
"So you admit you aren't fine now," Abby stated, desperately. "If you
need help, Dave - "
"I said I didn't need help!" he said. "I don't need anything. Stop
twisting my words. Just get out! Don't come near me, Luka! Don't touch
me!"
"Dave, you need to go to the hospital," he said, stepping closer to
the younger man, but it was apparent Dave was feeling more and more
like a caged animal ready to bite the hand of whomever dared to stick
it inside his small prison. And, daringly (and perhaps stupidly), Luka
reached out with one hand, ready to grab him in an instant's notice.
But Dave was faster, and suddenly Luka was reeling back, the right
hook to his cheek so swift he only saw it coming when it was too late.
Abby shrieked as he stumbled into the end table and knocked over the
lamp, the soft carpet muting the crash as it shattered on the floor.
Dave quickly moved around him, trying to get out the door but Abby was
standing before it.
"Move!" he yelled, and while her terror was strong, her friendship was
stronger, and she didn't budge and inch. "I said move!!" Roughly he
grabbed her by her shirt, audibly tearing the fabric and pulling her
away from the door, pushing her towards John, who only barely stopped
her from falling as he caught her.
"Dave!" he exclaimed, hastily moving Abby aside and grabbing the
younger man's sleeve. "You're not leaving!"
"You can't stop me!!"
"Yes, I can!" he replied, willing to do anything to keep Dave from
walking out that door. Who knew where he would end up, or whom he
would end up with, or what he would end up doing. He was walking a
fine line, and in his inebriated - and high - state, he was without a
shadow of a doubt unable to continue walking that line without losing
his balance. And when he fell, he would fall hard, maybe hard enough
to not be able to get back up ever again. John would be damned before
he let that happen.
He knew he'd been asking for it, and so he wasn't surprised when Dave
came at him full force, so hard they tumbled to the floor in a heap.
John felt his head slam against the wood beneath the carpet, knocking
him senseless for an instant, long enough for Dave to straddle him and
punch him hard across the jaw. He cried out with a short yelp of pain,
before another blow came, this time to his stomach, the air escaping
his lungs and leaving him desperately short of breath.
"Dave!" Abby yelled, placing both hands on one of his shoulders to
pull him away from John, but he raised one arm and backhanded her
hard, deterring further efforts she might've had planned. Luka moved
quickly to her, but John couldn't see what he was doing. Probably
helping her, he thought sourly, while he was the one over here getting
pounded on. Thankfully, Abby soon exclaimed: "Help Carter!"
"Dave, stop it!" John cried, as another punch came at his chest. His
arms were raised in an attempt to stop the rain of blows, or at least
to cushion the intensity of them. But it wasn't working, and he knew
something needed to be done fast. And then Luka was there, wrapping
his arms around Dave, but the young man almost effortlessly elbowed
Luka right in the nose, blood spurting onto Dave's fist, Luka's shirt,
John's face. The Croatian fell back, clutching at his nose with a yelp
of pain. Dave barely hesitated before he was hitting John again, who
wasn't sure how much more he could take. Blindly, he reached out,
found Dave's neck. Briefly he considered how easy it would be to wrap
his hands around it, constrict his airway, force him away and possibly
into unconsciousness. But instead he trailed his fingers up, until he
was cradling Dave's face in his hands, holding him there and forcing
Dave to look at him. "Dave, please! Stop it! I just want to help you!
You're hurting me, please!!"
His fist paused in midair, and he seemed equally shocked and horrified
at what he had done, his eyes wide and his breathing heavy. His
fingers uncoiled as if, if they remained in a fist, he would be too
tempted to inflict more violence upon the man beneath him, the man
that had once been his lover, his friend. He gasped, audibly, another
rebel sob escaping his throat, this one of agony, and John idly wiped
away the foreign tear that had landed on his own cheek.
Quickly, Dave moved away, pushing himself back on the floor until his
back hit the wall. Even then, it was almost as if he tried to move
into the wall, as if he were trying to become one with it, to become
invisible against the cream-colored walls. He buried his face in his
hands, his knees pulled up against his chest. His pathetic sobs almost
echoed throughout the apartment.
Silently, John recovered, sitting up and regaining his bearings,
shaking off the brief beating with a few flicks of his head. He
glanced at his companions: Abby leaning against the back of the couch
and holding her face, silent tears making their way down her cheeks;
Luka on the floor, his hand still to his furiously bleeding nose; and,
finally, Dave...
John didn't hesitate to move to his side, kneeling before him, feeling
the stinging of his skin as he moved but ignoring the impending
bruises. And even though Dave had just nearly been about to beat him
to a bloody pulp, John wasn't afraid of him, wouldn't allow himself to
be. Because this was Dave, the same man who he'd cuddled up with on
that couch to watch television, the same man who had taken hour-long
baths with him, the same man that had so gently made love to him in a
previous life. This was *his* man. And he was going to be there for
him, no matter what, just like he'd promised so long ago.
"Dave?" he asked, reaching out a tentative hand to his shaking form.
Gently, he touched his neck, his face still buried in his hands.
"Dave, it's all right now."
"I'm so sorry," he said, moving the hand away from his face so that he
could grip John's wrist, almost as if he were afraid he'd let go and
be gone forever. But John wasn't going to leave him, not this time.
Not ever again. "I'm so sorry, John," he continued, his body
trembling, his chest heaving with sobs, a mess of the man he used to
be. "I didn't...I just...I'm sorry. My, God, I'm so...I'm so fucked
up. I just...I felt like I was going crazy, I couldn't...I just had
enough...I took enough, I can't...John, I took too much."
The words were garbled, tripping over one another, but suddenly his
rambling took on a new meaning. Alarmed, he asked, "What do you mean?
Dave, what did you take??"
"Too much."
Abby whispered, "Oh, my God..." just as Luka quickly pulled his
cellular phone out of his pocket.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Dave cried, tears falling down his cheeks
and trailing to his jaw, where they dropped to his clothes, creating
abstract patterns as erratic as the beating of John's heart. Suddenly
Dave was hysterical, collapsing into John's arms, who held on to him
tight. And in one breath he realized that the young man wasn't only
crying - he was struggling to breathe. "I'm so sorry, John. I never -
I never wanted this. I wanted it to be perfect...I...but Weaver yelled
at me and I keep - hurting everyone, and you...you left and I - I
couldn't...I'm so sorry, John, I'm so - sorry. I never...I...John,
I..."
He trailed off into silence as he stilled against John, and for one
instant he thought Dave had died. And in that instant, he realized how
much he had lost and could never get back again. Dave was dead and the
life they'd only just begun to build together was gone, forever. And
he began to cry, hysterical now too as he checked Dave's pulse. When
he finally found it, it was weak and erratic but it was there, much
like his love for Dave. Now, he cried but for a different reason,
because his Dave was still alive and he still had a chance to fix what
he'd undone.
"John..." Abby's voice, broken by tears. "Is he...?"
"He's okay now, but we need to find out what he took. Abby, try to
find what he took. He used to hide pills in the cabinet behind the
mirror. Go!" he ordered, looking up at her, seeing Luka at her side,
cell phone off but still in hand. "He'll be okay. Help...help me,
Luka. Help me get him up. We have to get him to the hospital."
"I called an ambulance," Luka told him, his voice awfully nasal as he
leaned down and hooked his arms under Dave's. "It should be arriving
soon."
"No, no ambulance," John stated firmly, shaking his head. "Dave
doesn't like ambulances. Call back and cancel the run, just...get
Kerry on the phone and tell her what's happening, and tell her to get
a private room. I don't want anyone to know about this."
"I found it!" they heard Abby yell from the bathroom, before she raced
into the living room. "It's Demerol. He took Demerol."
"How much?"
She shook the bottle. No sound emitted from within it, and she looked
up at them, horrified.
"How much did he take?" John persisted. "Abby, how much??"
"There were thirty pills in the bottle," she stated, devastated.
"Thirty pills in three days."
"Three days at most," Luka said. "Who knows how much he took at a
time? How much he took tonight??"
"Enough," John repeated, kissing Dave's damp forehead before looking
back up at his companions. "Abby, get wet towels, we need to try to
wake him and keep him conscious." He looked back to his lover, gently
shaking him. "Dave? Dave, wake up, I need you to wake up for me. Do
you hear me? Wake up, babe. Wake up."
Abby was back with wet towels, gently running them over the hot skin
on Dave's face as Luka knelt beside Dave and roughly rubbed his fist
against his sternum. Dave groaned, brushing away Luka's hand as he
shifted in John's arms. "Hurts..."
"Dave?" John asked. "Dave, I need you here, okay? I need you to stay
with us. Can you tell me how many pills you took? How many Demerols
did you take?"
"I don't know..." he said, his words stretching out into a whine.
"Just leave me alone..."
"Dave, it's very important," he insisted. "How many did you take??"
"Half..." he mumbled, his eyes closed, his brow furrowed. "Half
the...half the bottle..."
"Fifteen," Abby blurted out. "He took about fifteen. Jesus Christ."
"Shit," John breathed, before looking up at Luka, who was holding one
of the towels to his nose, a spreading red stain forming on it. "Luka,
help me get him into the Jeep. We need to get him to the hospital
*now*."
"All right," Luka replied, and was soon calling the hospital once
more, asking for Kerry to personally cancel the call and then
explaining to her what was going on as carefully as she was probably
listening. Together, they carried Dave down the stairs, gladly without
any neighbors seeing them. Lord only knew how much of a bigger mess
they'd have on their hands if they had to explain why they were nearly
dragging a half-conscious Dave down the stairs and to Abby's sedan.
She climbed in the back with him, John at the wheel and Luka in the
passenger's side, nursing his swollen and bloody nose.
Dave groaned in the backseat, clutching at his stomach and curling up
into as much of a ball as he could in the confinement of the car.
"Dave, honey, are you okay?" Abby asked him, knowing he was far from
fine but not knowing what else to say. She brushed back the hair from
his head, which was in her lap. "It's okay, Dave. You'll be okay."
He groaned again. "Hurts so bad."
"I know it does, sweetie," she said to him, exchanging a worried
glance with John in the rearview mirror. "We're getting you help."
Suddenly he was sobbing, startling her. "I didn't mean to. I did but I
didn't want to. I don't want to anymore, Abby, I don't want to."
"It's okay, you don't have to," she soothed, even if she didn't know
what he didn't want to do. "You don't have to do anything."
"Please, I don't want to die."
Realization dawned on her as Luka looked to the backseat and John
exchanged another glance with her, and surely they must've realized
the same thing. Softly, she asked, "Dave, did you do this on purpose?"
"I'm so sorry," he cried, and then moaned, closing his eyes tightly as
he clutched his stomach. "I don't want to die anymore. God, it
hurts...I think I'm..."
"Dave, it's okay, just hold on, okay?" Abby said, just as his eyes
began to flutter closed. She rubbed his back almost roughly with her
hand. "Just stay awake, okay? Stay awake, Dave."
"I can't," he told her, breathing heavily. "I'm so tired. I just want
to sleep, Abby..."
"You can't," John blurted out, turning to look at him in the backseat,
his expression showing his absolute desperation. "Dave, you have to
stay awake. Please, stay awake."
"Can't..."
His eyes slid closed, despite Abby shaking him hard.
"Dave, please..."
"I can't wake him up!" Abby exclaimed. "Dave, come on.
"Wake him up, Abby!" John yelled, his voice trembling.
"I'm trying!" she yelled back, slapping Dave's face softly at first,
then just as hard as she had in his kitchen earlier tonight. Still, he
didn't respond. Luka reached back, rubbing Dave's chest with his fist
harder than he had before, but again there was no response. "Nothing,"
Abby said. "He's still breathing, but...Goddamn it, are we almost
there??"
"Almost," Luka replied. "Just a few more turns."
"Please, hold on, Dave," John whispered to himself, as he sped
judiciously to the hospital, where fate awaited them as surely as the
building itself.
--------------------------------
How the hell'd we wind up like this?
And why weren't we able
To see the signs that we missed?
And try to turn the tables
--------------------------------
He laid unconscious on a hospital bed up in General Medicine, a
supposed John Doe on the nurse's board but a David Malucci in reality.
IVs ran from his arm and to the machine, along with leads and other
various lines monitoring him and making sure he remained stable. All
was silent, and Dave very well could've been dead, but the reassuring
*blips* of monitors told them otherwise.
Them being Abby and John, who now remained inside room 420 West, the
twentieth room on the fourth floor in the west wing of the hospital.
Luka had left long ago to finish up his double-shift, along with Kerry
Weaver (who had, graciously, promised to remain quiet about the
situation at least for now). So together they sat in visitors chairs
at Dave's bedside, silent. Waiting.
"We..." John began softly, clearing his throat slightly before
continuing. "We could've lost him tonight. He should be dead. If it
wasn't for you, he would be."
"Yeah," Abby agreed, gently squeezing Dave's hand.
"He could've died."
"Yeah."
"He could've died drunk, and high, and alone," he continued almost
idly. "And I probably would've done the same."
She turned to him curiously. "What do you mean?"
"I still love him," he admitted so quietly Abby barely heard him. "I
love him, and I can't live without him."
She refrained from bitterly reminding him that he was already living
without Dave, that John had already lost him. But she bit her tongue,
and instead asked, "So what are you going to do?"
"I don't know," he replied. "In the movies, the hero always wins him
back, right?"
"Yeah."
He only nodded in the silence of the night.
--------------------------------
Now the story's played out like this
Just like a paperback novel
Let's rewrite an ending that fits
Instead of a Hollywood horror
--------------------------------
He felt...fuzzy. Not in the furry animal kind of way, but almost as if
he were made out of static. He could nearly imagine himself as the
disjointed picture of a television image with bad reception, the
buzzing in his ears his own white noise. Briefly, he wondered if he
was dead. Was this what it was like? There was no divine intervention,
no face of God, just...loose, noisy, fuzzy molecules floating through
space.
Abruptly, he was overcome with a sense of panic. Surely he couldn't
have gone through everything in his twenty-eight years just to
inevitably be reduced to the same thing that stuck your socks together
after the laundry was done.
Maybe, he considered, this was Hell.
Startling with a short cry, Dave opened his eyes and immediately
checked himself. With bursts of air exploding from his lungs, he
discovered that he was very much solid (except maybe for his head,
which was still full of buzzing cotton).
Assured that his body wasn't going to pull apart into nothingness any
time soon, he then turned his attention to his surroundings. A white
room. No windows. One bed. Fortunately, nothing was padded, although,
admittedly, he wouldn't have been surprised to find himself in a
straightjacket due to his recent, erratic behavior.
Wait.
Recent behavior. Especially last night. Drinking all that alcohol.
Taking all those pills. Then...nothing.
A white room. White walls. One bed - a hospital bed.
County. He was at County.
Oh, God, what had he done??
"Dave?"
"Abby," he nearly exclaimed, turning fast to see her enter with
another nurse. There was a bruise on the side of her face, but he
didn't dare consider where it was from just yet as she told the other
nurse to get Dr. Weaver. She crossed the room to him, immediately
taking his hand in hers. He asked her, "How did I get here? What
happened??" Now, he indicated her face, gently reaching up to touch
the marred skin but quickly pulling away, almost as if he would
inflict more pain upon her through simple touch. Softly, "What did I
do?"
Her brow furrowed. "You don't...remember?"
He began to shake his head but paused, his own brow knotting. He
glanced off, vaguely remembering Luka in his apartment. Yelling.
Crying. Luka grabbing him. Collapsing in his arms. No - John's arms.
John had been there too. John...suddenly his eyes widened and he
looked to her with horror. "I hurt him. I hurt John. I...I remember. I
hurt him. Is he - ?"
"He's fine," she cut in, but it didn't quell his trepidation one bit.
"He'll come by soon, I'm sure, and then you can see for yourself."
"I hurt all of you," he said then, his lashes falling as he pulled his
hand out of hers, his face flushing with shame, tears falling from his
eyes that he almost angrily wiped away. "I hit you."
"It's okay."
"No, it isn't," he told her, his voice edged with disgust at his own
actions, hardly able to believe the memories flashing before him had
been seen through his own eyes. A sob passed his lips, his body
shaking as he fought to control them, but he couldn't stop crying. "I
hurt...you. I hurt all of you. I keep..."
"You keep what?" she asked, when he trailed off. Finally, he was able
to control his emotions, and managed to shrug deceptively in that way
he did, and while it always frustrated Abby she wondered what it
would've been like to never be frustrated again, because he would've
been dead. Somehow, she couldn't imagine not getting annoyed with her
best friend ever again. "Dave, you were..."
"Fucked up?" he continued for her, when she couldn't find the word.
"God, I...I even *said* things that were...I'm sorry. God, how...how
could I do that! I'm so sorry, Abby, I'm so sorry."
"Don't be," she assured him, the firmness in her voice causing him to
look up at her. "You were only telling the truth. You said things we
all needed to hear."
"I still feel like an asshole," he stated, looking back to his hands.
"I feel like...for the first time, I really...feel like...my old man."
"Dave, don't," she told him, leaning close and forcing him to meet her
eye. "Dave, you had no control over what you did or said. I...Dave,
*I'm* sorry."
"For what??" he asked, wondering what she could possibly have felt
sorry for. "I mean, unless your face broke one of my knuckles or
something," he added. "Then maybe I could understand why."
"I'm sorry for leaving you when I shouldn't have," she replied,
ignoring his sarcasm. "I could've convinced you to go to a meeting. To
just come over my place, to...I don't know, anything than what
happened."
"Abby..." he said, feeling guilty for, once again, dragging her down
into the mess he was too fucked up to take care of. "This isn't your
fault. I would've never gone with you, never, and you know that. If
you stayed I would've hurt you. Shit, I *did*."
"I swear, Dave, when you passed out..." she trailed off, before
looking at him with wet eyes. "I thought you'd died." She covered her
mouth as she began to cry, before quickly composing herself. "We all
did. And we...I knew there'd been something more I could've done to
stop it from happening. But I brushed off the warning signs and I..."
"Stop," he said softly. "Abby, it wasn't your fault. I made my own
choices. Not you, or John, or anybody - *me*."
She reached out and touched the side of his face with gentle
fingertips, leaning close to rest her forehead against his. Very, very
sweetly she kissed him, before whispering thickly, "Don't you ever do
that again. I love you, Dave...I love you too much. Please, promise
me."
"I won't, I swear to God," he told her. "But now you gotta promise me
something."
"Anything."
"Can we...talk about you?" he asked, hesitantly. "I mean...your
drinking? Not now, but, you know...some time. Maybe go to a meeting or
something. You know...if you want."
She looked at him, smiling through tears. "You are such a great guy. I
could fall in love with you."
"It happens to everybody at one time or another," he joked with a
shrug, smiling with her. "But don't change the subject. Promise me."
"I promise."
"*Ahem*!" Hastily they pulled away from one another, turning to see
Dr. Weaver standing in the doorway, looking slightly abashed for
intruding. "Sorry. We just heard you were awake."
We. The word registered the moment he saw Luka and John enter the room
right behind her, Luka's nose visibly swollen even with a bandage
covering it, a cut on John's cheek and another black-and-blue mark on
his lip, which was also swollen. His heart dropped as he saw the
violence he'd inflicted upon his best of friends, his only friends,
and he considered just how lucky he was that they were still around.
At least he hoped so, the two men that had just entered had yet to
give him a verdict on that one.
"Dr. Malucci."
He focused on Kerry fast. "Dr. Weaver," he replied, half-wincing at
what was to come. Quickly, he began to ramble, his words tripping over
one another in his haste. "Look, I know there's no relapsing allowed,
and I'm really sorry, and I know I breached the contract between you
and me and Dr. Greene, but if you give me another chance - again - I
swear I won't screw up, and - "
"Dave." He stopped, holding his breath without realizing it, waiting
for her to tell him the inevitable: That he was as lousy as a person
as he was a doctor, and deserved no more chances than the ones he'd
already gotten. He'd gone too far this time, had slipped up one too
many times. He was at the end of his rope, and at that end was a
tailor-made noose with which he could now conveniently hang himself.
But, instead, she said, "I'm sorry."
For a moment, he wondered if he was at an AA meeting. Everybody was
suddenly so very sorry. He glanced at Abby, who offered a very
Dave-like deceptive shrug.
"What do you mean?" he dared to ask. "You're sorry because
I'm...fired?" Jeeze, he could barely say it!
"No, I'm sorry because I missed this, because I was so determined to
dislike you," she stated. Only Dr. Weaver, he thought, had the balls
to admit something like that. Directness and bluntness were not only
words that could be used to describe himself, although he wasn't
nearly as graceful about it.
"I thought all this time you were just hiding your secret lust for
me," he said, in an attempt to hide his secret nervousness.
"Dave."
"Sorry," he apologized quickly, studying his hands. "And I'm sorry for
taking the drugs...and if...you know...you don't want me to work here
anymore...if I have to resign, or if you just want to fire me...I'll
understand."
"You won't have to resign, and nobody's getting fired." He glanced up
at her in surprise, startled for a moment before he saw a bright spark
in her eyes. "As far as I'm concerned, this will never go to the
review committee as long as you do what I say: Now that you've detoxed
here, you will go to a thirty day inpatient treatment program to be
followed by starting all over with your meetings, which you will go to
every single day for the next ninety days. Oh, and, by the way, your
suspension is now a vacation with which you will get back pay for."
She pursed her lips, hesitating briefly before turning, and then she
turned back, looking at him with caring eyes full of so much concern
he had to look away. "Dave...use the time in the treatment program to
find real recovery. You're better than this."
"I..." He didn't know what to say to such genuine kindness and
consideration, especially with the way he had treated her ever since
arriving to County two years ago. He managed to find his voice,
however, sputtering, "I will, I promise. Thank you. I don't...I mean.
Thanks."
"You can leave when you're ready. Get a good night's rest at home, and
we'll talk about your treatment tomorrow at ten A.M." She smiled
warmly. "Now I have work to get back to. Excuse me."
He watched her leave, and the instant she was gone he let out a sigh
of relief that must've started at his small intestines, deflating
himself against the hospital bed. "Wow," he said, awestruck. "I don't
think I deserved that." Sheepishly, he looked to Luka and John, his
eyes straying to their bruises. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said
or what I...did. I never...I just...I'm really sorry. I didn't want to
hurt any of you. I didn't mean to."
"It's all right," Luka stated. "We all did what we had to, we were all
surviving in that apartment, the best way we knew how. It was for the
best." The Croatian doctor glanced at John then, before looking back
to Dave. "Not just this, but everything. You've opened our eyes and
we're grateful. And very sorry."
John nodded in agreement but remained silent, contemplating the
significance behind Luka's words. Contemplating the significance
behind Dave's words back in the apartment. He'd been right to yell at
Luka and John for acting like schoolchildren willing to fight over who
owned what part of the playground. John could recall his penchant to
try to outdo Luka, especially in Dave's eyes. He could also remember
trying to outdo Luka, rubbing in whatever victory as much as he could,
no matter how small. And Dave, in some ways, had been a victory. A
trophy. And he knew, in his heart, he'd treated Dave as such. Maybe
only sometimes, but that was still far too frequent.
"I broke your nose," Dave said now to Luka, his expression showing his
guilt. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for everything I did and said..."
"It'll heal," Luka replied. "Everything will heal, Dave."
"What if it doesn't look the way it used to?"
"Then..." Luka began, searching for an answer. "Then I'll look
distinguished."
"I'll pay for the surgery."
Luka nodded, grinning even though it hurt his nose. "That will work
too."
Dave grinned as well, chuckling softly before his face scrunched up.
Quickly he looked away, wiping away frantically at his tears. "I'm
sorry I'm such a mess. I just want to go home." He took a deep breath,
regaining his composure quickly, but his voice was still shaky.
"Uh...so I guess I can get rid of the IVs and stuff, right? If,
uh...if anybody wants to make anything up to me...I could use a ride
home."
He glanced up, smiling slightly at his own joke, but it was met with
awkward silence. He glanced up at Abby hopefully, but she shook her
head. "My car broke down yesterday."
More silence. Dave actually considered the fact that he was going to
be stuck walking all the way home in his still slightly fuzzy state
when Luka piped up: "I'm still on shift, but I'm sure I can ask Kerry
for a few moments to drop you off if - "
"Carter can do it," Abby suggested, interrupting Luka's train of
thought. "He's got his Jeep outside. He'll take you home. Right,
Carter?"
"Uh, yeah," he said, timidly. "Sure."
"Unless it'll be a, uh...problem," Dave said, sensing a sort of
disquiet in the room that he couldn't put his finger on.
"No, no problem," John assured him, smiling. "No problem at all."
When they were gone, Luka turned to Abby, gently reaching out to touch
her bruised jaw. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah," she replied, nodding.
"You know..." Luka began, looking down at the floor, almost as if he
were embarrassed. "Something Dave said, back at his apartment...about
you not being pretty and special."
She glanced up at him, surprised he would mention it. Then she
wondered *why* he would mention it. She said, unable to keep the note
of curiosity out of her voice, "Yeah?"
"He was wrong," he stated, and then looked up at her, meeting her eye.
"*I* was wrong. I didn't mean it, when I said it. I was just angry,
and I wanted to hurt you. I'm sorry that I hurt you."
She shrugged, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks before turning away
and busying herself with her purse. "It's okay."
"It's not," he said, reaching out to place a hand on her arm. "I'm
sorry I hurt you."
She looked up at him. "I forgive you."
He smiled, and only then did she realize she was already doing so. She
cleared her throat, stepping back, and he did as well, running the
hand that had been on her arm through his hair. "Uh...if you need
someone to go with you to pick up your car later," Luka said then,
quickly changing the subject, "I can take you after my shift is over
She smiled up at him, pure mischief in her eyes. "My car's fine,
Luka."
"I thought..." He suddenly broke into a grin. "You're a very smart
woman, Abby."
"Trust me," she said. "I know."
--------------------------------
Nothing's wrong
Just as long
As you know that someday I will...
--------------------------------
The ride back to the apartment was unbearably quiet. After ten minutes
of just listening to the engine and the sound of his own heart beating
in his ears, Dave was pretty sure he was just going to break the
uncomfortable silence with a scream of frustration. Of course, he
remained silent, lest he want to startle John into crashing the Jeep.
And maybe also on account of the fact that he'd probably *really* end
up in a padded room should he prove to be as crazy as he'd been
feeling lately.
Another silent, tense ten minutes later, they pulled up to the
apartment building. Dave could remember the first time they'd ever
arrived here, arguing but still together. Now, they were alone, with
John having being guilted into dropping poor Dave off at home. Hardly
storybook romance, but then again, what in their relationship had
been?
There was a hesitation that felt mutual to Dave, both men sitting in
the car and waiting for the other to make the first move. Dave looked
at John, John looked at him. Dave glanced at that mouth, those perfect
lips, and knew he had to turn away before it was obvious that he was
staring. His gaze landed on his thighs, which he was subconsciously
rubbing with his hands, a nervous habit but he was suddenly afraid it
would be misread as something sexual. He stopped.
"How do you feel?" John asked, the first to break the silence.
"Fuzzy."
"Huh?"
"I'm all right," he assured John softly, nodding. "Do you, uh..." he
paused, the words stuck in his throat. He was beginning to feel
ridiculous. "Do you want to come up?"
Silence. He glanced at John, feeling even more ridiculous for asking
such a thing, saying, "Sorry," just as the older man replied, "Sure."
"If you don't - "
"Just to - " He could feel his face grow hot, eyes cast down as he
paused, waiting for John to continue before he'd consider opening his
mouth again. Soon, the other man took his cue, continuing, "Just to
make sure you get inside okay."
"Yeah, okay...thanks."
He pushed open the passenger's side door, stepping out onto the cold
sidewalk and closing the door behind him. Stuffing his hands into his
coat pockets, he paused until John was beside him before walking to
the lobby of the apartment, acutely aware of how John's arm kept
brushing against his own. And even though layers of material were
between them, he could almost feel John's skin.
Sometimes, at night when lying in bed (or, more accurately, the
couch), if he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could remember what
John's skin felt like against his own. Warm and smooth and incredibly
soft, damp with sweat when they'd made love. Usually, that was when
he'd stop concentrating; he couldn't remember what it felt like to
make love with John, and it was a startling fact that scared him too
much.
When they boarded the elevator, in the silence of that small
enclosure, Dave leaned back against the wall and closed his
eyes...concentrated. He imagined that he and John were just getting
off of a shift maybe, exhausted from the day's work. They would want
to go to bed right away, but, just like always, they would still be
able to find the energy to make love once they got there. He could
almost feel John's hand in his own.
*Ping!*
He opened his eyes at the sound of the elevator doors opening on his
floor, pulling him out of his short reverie. He glanced at John for a
moment before leading the way to his door, thinking rather
irrationally that maybe if he'd just daydreamed a little longer,
fantasy would've become reality. They would go inside and go to bed,
and make love and fall asleep in one another's arms, exhausted but
sated. And tomorrow they'd do it all over again.
The key shook (because surely that couldn't have been his hands
trembling like that), making it hard for him to get it into the lock,
but soon he managed to get the door open. Stepping inside, he left it
that way, wordlessly inviting John in. He kept his back to the door,
knowing John had taken up the offer when the door closed. Well, he
assumed, anyway, that John hadn't just left without a word, but
somehow he could...sense him there.
"Uh...thanks for taking me home," he said tentatively, unsure of what
else he could say. Finally, he turned, glancing at John, surprised at
how close the man was to him. There was probably only two feet between
them. Close enough for Dave to reach out and... Quickly, he stepped
back, enough to inhibit the temptation.
"Sure," John replied, his eyes roaming over the place as if he'd
forgotten what it had looked like since last night, since living here
for months.
"You, uh...want a drink or something?" he asked, and quickly began
moving to the kitchen. "I don't know what I have other than booze, but
- "
"Dave," and at the same time a hand was touching his, stopping him,
stopping his breath and his heart. He dared to look up at John,
suddenly in front of him, standing so close he could feel his body
heat. Was he still daydreaming? he wondered. Maybe he was still
standing in the elevator, hallucinating from the leftover drugs still
in his system. Hell, maybe he'd died last night and this was his
punishment, to live what could've been but really wasn't. And, pretty
soon, the Devil would pop in for a visit, and Dave would next be
overdosing on sulfur as he got the darkest tan of his life.
"Dave," John repeated, almost as if he hadn't heard him the first
time. He felt his hand shaking but he couldn't keep it still no matter
how hard he tried, no matter how cool he tried to be. John's grip
tightened slightly in his, a gentle squeeze, one that arced right
through Dave and rattled the broken pieces of a heart he thought was
gone forever. "I...I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not listening and not
talking, and...for being such an asshole to you when you needed me the
most. I was just angry and upset and...it's not important. But I
just...I'm sorry, and I want you to know that."
"It's okay," he nearly whispered, hardly able to find his voice.
"I...it's okay. And I'm...I'm sorry too. I didn't...I never meant to
hurt you."
"I know," he replied just as quietly, one hand coming up to slip onto
the side of Dave's face, warm skin against warm skin, just like he
remembered. "I never meant to leave you."
"I never meant to let you go. I'm so sorry I screwed everything up."
"Dave..." he paused, his face so close to Dave's, his lips almost
against his own, so close Dave could feel them, could nearly remember
what they felt like...that skin, that warm skin. "I...Dave, I..."
He was leaning closer, but Dave leaned back, even though his hands
were clutching at John's shirt as if he were afraid to let go. "I
can't, John. I can't...you can't...John, I need..." He pursed his
lips, frustrated, never able to find the right words to express how he
felt. "John, if you can't...love me for who I am, then I can't...I
can't do this anymore. I've never...I've never felt like this before,
not even with Steven, and it's driving me crazy that I can't be
whoever it is you want me to be. I just...I don't know what I'm trying
to say."
"Yes, you do," John assured him softly. "You're trying to say that
you're not perfect."
"Yeah."
"That you're far from perfect."
"That might be pushing it."
"You're trying to ask me if I'll love you for who you are."
"So?" Dave asked, after a pause. "What's your answer?"
John didn't bother to reply before his mouth was crashing against
Dave's, and, God, the kiss was like electric fire, the burn only
leaving him wanting more, more, more, until he was nothing but dust
and ashes. Because if there was any way to go it wasn't by a broken
cross or alcohol or pills, it was by kissing the one you loved and him
kissing you back until there was nothing left but absolute Heaven.
Eventually, they eased out of the kiss (more due to necessity of
breathing than anything else), but they remained close, holding one
another in the dim living room of their apartment. The clock ticked
away the seconds, the minutes...but time didn't exist anymore, not
right now. At least it didn't matter, anyway.
"Stay tonight," Dave whispered into John's ear. "We don't have to
share the same bed, just stay...it isn't right without you here. I
mean...if you want."
The words were met with another kiss. And then: "I want to stay. And I
want to share the same bed. I want...Dave, I want you."
Their lips found one another and they kissed hard, urgently, as if
they only had right then and right there. But after everything they'd
been through, alone and together, they felt their mortality, knew the
ease with which they could slip from this life into the next. Never
again would they take advantage of their time together, and now was
the perfect time to start.
Their bodies entwined and so did their hearts, now and forever, fused
together by a love they'd missed and now shared passionately.
They didn't make it to the bedroom. Instead, driven by want and hunger
and need, they fucked slowly right there in the living room, hardly
feeling the floor beneath them. Hardly feeling anything but each
other. And Dave remembered what it was like to make love.
When it was over they lay naked and spent, holding one another. Silent
but no longer uncomfortably so. And while both knew they had a lot to
talk about, they also knew it could wait. After all, they did have the
rest of their lives. But there was one thing that had to be said.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
--------------------------------
You're the only one who knows that
Someday, somehow
I'm gonna make it all right
But not right now
I know you're wondering when
--------------------------------
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