Hey everybody. I guess I haven't written a fanfic in a while – did ya miss
me???? Heh heh, don't answer that. Well I've just got this thing, not
really very good but oh well. This is set just as Carter comes back from
his first ever time in the Congo and this time he didn't leave Luka behind.
Enjoy and review it cos it'll make me happy. Wahey! LJ xXx
Carter tried to keep the smile on his face as he sat on the side of her bed, but the smile began to fade and grow stale when she didn't return it and reached for her cigarettes instead. He watched her all the time while she slid one out of its packet, put it in her mouth and lit it. Then she faced him, smoke trailing from her down-turned lips with a hardened look of defiance, as though daring him to object. He didn't. She half-wished he would, though; the small talk was beginning to wear down. It felt forced and painful, talking so casually when she knew she had planned whole different arguments, scenarios and sharp, bitter comments to throw at him when he came back. She couldn't do it, though. The Carter she had expected to saunter through the door hadn't come. Maybe he didn't exist. Because here was one she couldn't hate, though she knew she had to.
"Can I have my key back, please?" she asked casually, yet she couldn't meet his eyes to see his reaction. He took it out and hung it from his fingers to show her, though he couldn't bring himself to speak. It was impossible to even try to put into words how he felt. He dropped the keys on her dresser. Then he turned to walk out.
"Abby - ?" he began, wondering where to go from there. She didn't reply – there wasn't much to say to that. He turned back and looked at her, digging his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
"Is this - ?" he didn't want to say 'over'. It was too heavy a word – it ended everything. "I mean, what do you want me to do so we'll be okay again?"
"You want me to tell you what I want you to do?" she repeated, incredulously.
"Well not exactly. Just – sort of – say what you want to hear and I'll say it." He shrugged.
"Christ, John. If I keep having to tell you how to fix our life then I might as well just date myself." She replied, sighing.
"I'm sorry." He said, simply. Abby buried her head in the sheets for a while before looking up at him, exasperated.
"Do you even know what for?" she asked him, eventually. He stood in thought for a moment and she sighed again. "No, I didn't think you would."
"Well how am I meant to know if you won't tell me?" he demanded, getting slightly annoyed. Maybe it was the jetlag. Maybe it was Abby's cruel rejection. Maybe it was just him.
"Do you want me to tell you everything?"
"It would help."
"Come on, John. Can't you figure anything out by yourself?" she got up out of bed, not wanting to argue looking up at him. She stood, wrapped in her duvet for warmth and she stared reproachfully at him. He looked back at her; the sight of her wrapped up in her duvet looked so cute he just wanted to laugh and kiss her – then she'd smile and everything would be okay. But it wouldn't work.
"Not about you. You keep everything so locked up – you don't let me know anything."
"Is that what you think? That I don't tell you anything? Then what is the point to all this if you don't know me at all?" she asked.
"We can work things out. Just tell me – what's wrong?" his eyes stared, pleadingly. Abby wrapped herself tighter in the duvet and sat back down on the bed.
"I don't want to fight with you, John."
"Who's fighting? I'm not fighting. What have I done wrong, Abby?" She looked around at him, shoulders slumped and tired eyes.
"Perhaps you shouldn't be asking me these questions." She spoke calmly and quietly and it seemed to silence everything.
"Well, then who should I ask, Abby?" he snapped.
"Yourself," she answered simply. Carter stared for a moment and looked away.
Then he left.
The door to her apartment didn't exactly slam shut, but the sound seemed so much louder now. Before, every noise she made in her empty apartment was muffled by the constant anger and bitterness pounding in her ears. But now he had come back and gone again she realised that it was all just loneliness. She lay back down in her bed and gazed at the ceiling with blank eyes. She didn't sleep that night.
* * *
Somehow, Carter thought as he wandered around his own equally empty apartment, somehow he had failed to pick up on something along the way. He stood still, staring into thick darkness and he asked himself the questions. What did he do wrong? How could he let it fall apart like this? He didn't need anybody to tell him how much he loved her; she had always been the person his mind remembered whenever he needed a little comfort or a little happiness in the bleak and desolate Congolese atmosphere. What he needed to do was to find out what went wrong. He had to retrace his footsteps, like when you lose something and go back to look for it. He had to go back to look for what he's lost, what he'd let pass him by. He had to go back to Kisangani.
Carter tried to keep the smile on his face as he sat on the side of her bed, but the smile began to fade and grow stale when she didn't return it and reached for her cigarettes instead. He watched her all the time while she slid one out of its packet, put it in her mouth and lit it. Then she faced him, smoke trailing from her down-turned lips with a hardened look of defiance, as though daring him to object. He didn't. She half-wished he would, though; the small talk was beginning to wear down. It felt forced and painful, talking so casually when she knew she had planned whole different arguments, scenarios and sharp, bitter comments to throw at him when he came back. She couldn't do it, though. The Carter she had expected to saunter through the door hadn't come. Maybe he didn't exist. Because here was one she couldn't hate, though she knew she had to.
"Can I have my key back, please?" she asked casually, yet she couldn't meet his eyes to see his reaction. He took it out and hung it from his fingers to show her, though he couldn't bring himself to speak. It was impossible to even try to put into words how he felt. He dropped the keys on her dresser. Then he turned to walk out.
"Abby - ?" he began, wondering where to go from there. She didn't reply – there wasn't much to say to that. He turned back and looked at her, digging his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
"Is this - ?" he didn't want to say 'over'. It was too heavy a word – it ended everything. "I mean, what do you want me to do so we'll be okay again?"
"You want me to tell you what I want you to do?" she repeated, incredulously.
"Well not exactly. Just – sort of – say what you want to hear and I'll say it." He shrugged.
"Christ, John. If I keep having to tell you how to fix our life then I might as well just date myself." She replied, sighing.
"I'm sorry." He said, simply. Abby buried her head in the sheets for a while before looking up at him, exasperated.
"Do you even know what for?" she asked him, eventually. He stood in thought for a moment and she sighed again. "No, I didn't think you would."
"Well how am I meant to know if you won't tell me?" he demanded, getting slightly annoyed. Maybe it was the jetlag. Maybe it was Abby's cruel rejection. Maybe it was just him.
"Do you want me to tell you everything?"
"It would help."
"Come on, John. Can't you figure anything out by yourself?" she got up out of bed, not wanting to argue looking up at him. She stood, wrapped in her duvet for warmth and she stared reproachfully at him. He looked back at her; the sight of her wrapped up in her duvet looked so cute he just wanted to laugh and kiss her – then she'd smile and everything would be okay. But it wouldn't work.
"Not about you. You keep everything so locked up – you don't let me know anything."
"Is that what you think? That I don't tell you anything? Then what is the point to all this if you don't know me at all?" she asked.
"We can work things out. Just tell me – what's wrong?" his eyes stared, pleadingly. Abby wrapped herself tighter in the duvet and sat back down on the bed.
"I don't want to fight with you, John."
"Who's fighting? I'm not fighting. What have I done wrong, Abby?" She looked around at him, shoulders slumped and tired eyes.
"Perhaps you shouldn't be asking me these questions." She spoke calmly and quietly and it seemed to silence everything.
"Well, then who should I ask, Abby?" he snapped.
"Yourself," she answered simply. Carter stared for a moment and looked away.
Then he left.
The door to her apartment didn't exactly slam shut, but the sound seemed so much louder now. Before, every noise she made in her empty apartment was muffled by the constant anger and bitterness pounding in her ears. But now he had come back and gone again she realised that it was all just loneliness. She lay back down in her bed and gazed at the ceiling with blank eyes. She didn't sleep that night.
* * *
Somehow, Carter thought as he wandered around his own equally empty apartment, somehow he had failed to pick up on something along the way. He stood still, staring into thick darkness and he asked himself the questions. What did he do wrong? How could he let it fall apart like this? He didn't need anybody to tell him how much he loved her; she had always been the person his mind remembered whenever he needed a little comfort or a little happiness in the bleak and desolate Congolese atmosphere. What he needed to do was to find out what went wrong. He had to retrace his footsteps, like when you lose something and go back to look for it. He had to go back to look for what he's lost, what he'd let pass him by. He had to go back to Kisangani.