"The Curse of Beethoven (1/2)"

Spoilers: None for season 7. References to Such Sweet Sorrow. Carter had a drug problem? What? When? He's fine in my fic. Simply for the purposes of my fic.

Disclaimers: No Dr David Malucci's were harmed during the making of this fic. A stunt double was duly used although Malucci swears that he was up to the job. Romano however was offered no such body double. I forgot to tell him. Bad me.

Author's Notes: Ok. I'm secure enough with myself and my sexuality to admit that this, here, is FLUFF. Tummy fluff, cotton candy and pony rides fluff. I'm not seriously serious. Days are never this god awful. Although I've had a few mornings that have been pretty damn close.

But stretching reality is what fan fictions all about right?

And this isn't what I normally find myself writing. No grit or evil step mother's and ugly sisters. Just Dave. Totally and uncensored. And then maybe some Abby. 'Cos my challenge said so.

Anybody got any more challenges, just bring 'em right on down to [email protected] and I shall tackle them with a smile and a song in my heart:)

Elements included at the end.

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It wasn't a rainy Monday morning in London, but maybe it should have been.

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The alarm was too loud.

Dave dealt with this small problem in the way he knew best. The clock cracked a disapproval at this method as Dave's fist made solid contact.

He groaned into his pillow. He'd fallen asleep at one am. That was only four hours ago. His brain was fuzzy with this awkward amount of sleep, and his body ached all over with the lack of it.

He made a final groan of frustration as he pulled into a sitting position, and then stumbled out of bed and into reality. Reality was too cold he decided and then, with all the grace of a cat that had sat through a double spin cycle, made for the toilet.

He didn't need the mirror to tell him that he looked like hell.

As he picked up his toothbrush, and began to swirl all the mintiness around in his mouth, he was teased with surreal memories of some strange dream that he had had that night.

He remembered Weaver, screwing her face up in anger at him, and then he was standing in the admin area, lots of faces peering up at him expectantly, and then Abby was grabbing his hands, and they were dancing.

He wondered what the significance of doing the Hokey Pokey in your dreams was.

Dave wasn't allowed to contemplate this for too long as his thoughts were shattered by the sound of a door being repeatedly struck. His door. He pulled a face at his reflection. Typical. Five in the morning and some one was already pissed off with him.

It was probably the old lady who lived alone next to him. He had probably been brushing his teeth at unacceptable noise levels. She would have it all on tape and then send it off to some fancy lawyer friend with fancy initials and his career and any chance of happiness would lie in tatters at the end of some multimillion-dollar lawsuit.

"I heard him, your honor. No respect for authority, your honor. The death penalty, your honor."

With a smile he stopped his over active imagination.

He was tired.

Too tired.

He opened the door, to find the ever-friendly face of his favourite landlord.

He looked angry.

He blinked twice, and then tuned into what he was saying.

"...best to just get your things now. Find some other place to stay."

Dave's eyes grew wide. "What?! I paid my rent, and you told me that the parties were OK so long as I passed it through you first, why the hell are you kicking me out? After not getting any hot water for weeks -and I'm going to fight this, you can't expect me to just find some other place to live in one day, I have work and obligations and just who the hell do you think you are, what kind of jerk-"

"We're fumigating."

Dave sighed and then smiled. "Oh."

"Apparently several residents found cockroaches and for health and safety we're going over the rest of the place." He paused to eye Dave warily. He looked down to remember his distinct lack of clothing. His superman boxers smiled back up at him.

He gave an embarrassed chuckle. "Grandma's idea. I mean -she bought them for me. Christmas present. Have to wear them to keep her happy."

The landlord looked at Dave, with both eyebrows raised, unconvinced. "How does she know if you wear 'em or not?"

Dave laughed again. He scratched at the back of his head. "Cockroaches you say?"

The landlord nodded, "As big as rats. Just be out by eight. Find a motel, or stay at one of your girlfriend's places."

"*One* of my girlfriends?"

"Well yeah just one. It's pretty much only physically possible to stay with one." He began to move across the hallway to spread the word. "Look, you can come back in 48 hours. Apologies for any inconvenience..."

Dave nodded and smiled, zoning out of the conversation again. Stumbling backwards into his apartment and slamming the door shut when the landlord managed to piss yet another sleeping neighbor off.

Great. This morning was just great.

Shave. Clothes. Shoes. Comb. Pick up keys. Wallet. Bag. Coat. Stuff bag with clean underwear and socks and then pick up little black book and mobile. Phone girlfriend(s). Find clean place to stay.

In that order.

Coffee. He also needed coffee.

Coffee. Shave. Clothes. Clean underwear. Comb hair. Brush teeth...

No wait. Already did that one.

Coffee...

The kettle was on the boil as he began to lather up his face. Singing along to a Beethoven symphony on the radio, he lifted razor to face.

"Fuckshit!"

The blood splattered across the basin, coloring his boxers and drooling down his leg.

He now had one big fuck-off scratch along his cheek and chin. He didn't know why but he was sure Beethoven had had something to do with this. He looked like he'd just severely pissed off a one-clawed cat.

He groaned, frantically running around for something to stop the bleeding.

He returned to the mirror fifteen minutes later. It wasn't so bad. The Power Ranger's band-aid that covered one side of his face –his good side, disagreed.

He looked down at his watch.

Quarter to six.

What the hell just happened to those forty-five minutes?!

Crap. Crap.

He swore, and more frantic running around ensued. Dave groaned and hurled abuse at the world and his razor to the sounds of Mozart's Requiem.

And then he was running out of his apartment, his shirt unbuttoned, his jeans being pulled on in the process. He shut the door, locked it, turned and began to run. His hands fumbling with his zipper.

He heard a gasp.

He turned to see his neighbor. Her hands rose to her mouth in horror, milk bottle making a warp speed path to the ground.

Dave looked down at his fumbling hands. "This isn't, I mean, god, this looks bad, it isn't -this isn't bad, I'm just, I was late and I was shaving, -fumigation and then Beethoven and I, -I was shaving."

The milk glass shattering against cold reality filled the space between them.

He looked back down at his watch.

"Lives. I'm saving lives."

"The land lord's going to hear about this and about all that bad language I could hear coming from your apartment this morning. This is disgusting. It's pornographic. Pull up your goddam jeans before I get my shotgun out. Pull them up! Don't think I'm going to forget this, I don't forget, I'm going to have a word with him, I will, and..."

Dave's jeans made a tearing sound as they sealed shut.

He didn't have time to analyze this further as he continued with his running, flying through several flights of stairs, seconds at a time.

It was raining as he began at lightning speed to the train platform. Dodging between the thick of wet people, moody wet people, who decided that letting a distressed man pass through them was possibly the worse thing in the world that they could do.

Dave made sincere half-a-second apologies as he flew up the stairs and then ran like he'd never run before.

"Hold up!! Wait! Don't! JUST WAIT UP!"

The train doors slammed shut in his face.

On his fingers.

Half the world seemed to stand still, to the sound of his pained screaming. Pigeons flew from their lofts, satellites picked up his high frequency signal. Cats wailed and babies cried.

And the train conductor didn't hear a damn thing.

Tears stung his eyes as he began to move with the train, all the time screaming, the passengers staring at him as though he was the one with the problem.

If they were so much as seconds late it was his head.

And his fingers.

"God MY FUCKING FINGERS!"

The train shuddered, the doors released their vice like grip and Dave was set free.

He jumped in, all the while holding back stifled sobs of pain, his fingers a raw angry red.

He quietly took a seat next to several very scared passengers who clutched at their bags fearfully.

Wet Dave, with the power rangers band-aid and the red fingers and the revealing hole in the back of his jeans, underwear and socks dangling out of his bag proudly, Dave with the tears in his eyes, who held his hand soothingly and bit down hard on his tongue to stop the crying was now the source of terror of every passenger on the six-fifteen El train southwards.

They shifted away from him, as though his black cloud was contagious. Brushing any stray bits of Dave away from their jackets and shoes.

Dave made a fumbled attempt at an apology.

He excused himself for being a dirty disgusting pervert. It was because of his job. God, that sounded bad didn't it? He meant that he was a doctor and he had to be on time and he was just having a bad day, they had bad days didn't they? He was shaving. Beethoven. Beethoven had lots to do with this.

He was sorry. Man. He was humbly sorry. Bottom of his heart sorry.

He was saving lives. Saving lives.

The passengers' sympathy was marked by petrified glances at one another. Mobile phones out and ready. They were armed with off-peak dialing codes.

They could have him singing prison movie songs by lunchtime.

If he dared to so much as touch them.

Dave sunk back into his seat, defeated.

Half an hour came and went, and his stop didn't wait for him.

"Excuse me."

Dave felt a hand shaking at him. Violently.

He groaned, and opened his eyes.

He smiled at the man who was eyeing him with a mixture of fear and concern.

"Are. You. OK? Shall. I. Get. Some-one?"

Dave eyed the territorial drool that lined his fellow passengers collar. He should apologize.

"Um. I'm saving lives."

The man smiled at him, patting his shoulder delicately. "Yes. I. Know. I. Know." He cooed. "It's. OK. Every-thing's. OK."

The train shuddered to a stop and Dave peered out of the window to see what station it was.

Two after his.

"Oh FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

He jumped up, and zipped off the train, and more chasing and dodging and excusing and running followed as he burnt a pathway to County in the rain.

Nineteen minutes, seventeen seconds and half a dozen apologies later he was stumbling into County.

Randy's head jerked up at this sound.

Her lips parted and a smile that threatened to break her face in two tugged at her lips.

"Dave?"

Dave looked down. He tried to explain himself. Tried to make sense of the last two hours of his life.

He finally spoke.

"I was shaving and..." he stopped. "Beethoven. It had lots to do with Beethoven."

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"Just where the hell is Dr Malucci?"

Abby turned to face Carter. Carter turned to face Abby.

They both shrugged.

Weaver stood at the entrance to the locker room, staring at both of her co-workers in turn and then back down at her watch. Twenty minutes late and counting.

Carter smiled, shrugging his lab coat on one arm and turning to look at Abby. "Didn't he say something about a pedicure appointment?"

She watched Carter and then looked back at Weaver, stethoscope in one hand. "I'm sure it was a Colonic irrigation appointment."

Carter pursed his lips and then nodded, stone faced. "Y'know I think you're right."

Weaver watched them both through narrowed eyes. Attempting to work out whether or not they were being serious. "Well, when he gets back tell him that I want to have a word with him."

Abby and Carter turned to grin at each other as the door closed behind her. 

Abby bid him a farewell as she swung the stethoscope around her neck and turned to leave. She opened the door, only to find a wet Dave on the other side, looking more than a little sorry for himself.

She grinned at them both and left.

Dave glared at the sudden toothy smile that flashed across Carter's face. "Dave...?"

"You don't want to know."

Carter nodded as he watched the resident throw his bag against his locker, moodily slamming it open. He was right, maybe he didn't want to know.

Carter was about to turn to leave him when he stopped. "Oh and Dave Weaver's looking for you."

Dave frowned at him. "What did you tell her?"

Carter grinned slyly. "Oh y'know, I might have mentioned something about a Colonic irrigation thing that you had scheduled."

Dave stopped fiddling about with his locker and turned to give him an icy glare. "A what?"

"Oh it's when you..."

Dave shook his head, succumbing to a smile. "I know what it is." He grinned, shaking his head. "Colonic irrigation? Don't be giving her any funny ideas Carter."

Carter offered one more cheeky grin before leaving Dave alone to recover from his morning.

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"Dave what on earth happened to you?"

"Beethoven."

"Beethoven happened to you?"

"Repeatedly."

"..."

"Jing Mei you can stop laughing and finish stitching my fingers up now."

"I'm sorry Dave, it's just-"

"It's really not that funny."

"It's just-"

"I'm going to spend the next week doing scut work because of this."

"You're right. I'm sorry."

"I could have been left fingerless. I was this close to never being able to tie my shoelaces again. I could have been disfigured for life."

"You're right Dave."

"This close Jing Mei."

"Jesus Dave what on earth happened to you?"

"Beethoven, Malik."

"Beethoven?"

Jing Mei and Dave both turned to look at him.

"Repeatedly."

He made an oh of understanding. A smile that threatened to break his face in two, tugging at his lips.

"It might be happening again."

"What?"

"Beethoven."

"Where?!"

"Weaver at six o'clock."

Dave's head whipped around to see her. She was talking on the phone. No. Screaming on the phone.

In seconds Dave was burning a path of fire all the way to the lounge.

"Tell her about, tell her about-"

"Beethoven?"

"Yeah. Tell her about Beethoven."

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David Malucci had seen his fair share of angry women in his time.

He had learnt, from plentiful experience, that it was best to just keep quiet when confronted by one. Sudden movements and eye contact was best to be avoided at all times, and if you were scared or alarmed by them you didn't show it. Angry women preyed on male fear.

The door was still trembling from the aftermath as Abby cut her way into the lounge and across to the coffee counter. Each footstep another solid thump interspaced with distempered sighing and the harsh sound of an innocent coffee machine being slammed against the table surface.

Dave had been nestled comfortably against his seat. Recovering from his morning with more than enough coffee. He was deeply immersed in a 1989 copy of Young Bride that he had found in chairs. He looked up sharply as she came in. It was an involuntary response, an inbuilt safety mechanism that was activated by the sound of large doors being slammed shut.

As he watched all this unfold he was reminded of his mother. He'd have done something very fifteen year old boy-like and phone calls would be made and punishments arranged, and then she would just storm into his room and without saying one word, he would already be a mess of tears and apologies.

She would just have this look on her face.

The look of someone who could kill.

Abby had that look.

He idly flipped through the pages, one eye trained onto her as she continued to slam a mug down, and then angrily hunt down a viable spoon. Her hair was flayed and her clothes were the same mismatch of stains and slept in creases.

He cleared his throat. Not one hair on her head seemed to notice.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

"Is everything OK Abby?... Abby, what's wrong? Did something happen Abby? Abby what happened? Was it me, Abby? Did I do something? Did someone die? Someone died, didn't they Abby?"

She turned to face him, the fire in her eyes scolding him, held up a spoon and spoke, her words acidic. "This –this spoon is proof of the existence of the Devil. Apparently everyone around here can perform sutures 'till their eyes pop, but washing spoons, no that would be asking for just *too* much, right?"

He watched the path the spoon cut as it catapulted across the room at warp speed, and landed with a clatter into the sink. He looked back at her, his magazine hesitantly coming down.

No sudden movements.

Abby was one hell of an angry woman. Experience had taught him not to even attempt normal communication. Experience had taught him to fend for himself. Experience had taught him to just shut the hell up in these situations -unless gratuitous acts of groveling were called for.

"Um, Abby?"

He was throwing all caution to the high seas of stupidity.

She threw him another look, and he was surprised to catch the hint of tears in her eyes.

Apparently she wasn't an angry woman.

He gently folded his read away, quietly placing it on the table in front of him. Both eyes warily watching her.

She was standing in front of the steaming cup of coffee, both hands gripping the edge of the table in front of her, her breathing deep and rhythmic as though trying to keep from hyperventilating. She instantly jumped at the feel of a hand on her shoulder. Dave was startled by this and took a few steps back, wincing as his head came into contact with something solid, and then his balance was lost and he stumbled, becoming just another mess on the lounge floor.

The epiphany arrived several seconds later. Angry women were not a force to be reckoned with. And startling angry women was just plain suicide.

He now had the battle wounds to prove it.

He cursed under his breath, a sudden dull ache cutting against the back of his head, his world a blur of twinkling stars. He muttered several more obscenities, condemning whoever had left the high cupboard open to a gonorrhea filled place in hell.

He was surprised to hear something other than his own self-pitying mutterings. He smirked when he saw her face, lit up by this sound. She offered him a hand, and he accepted, as she continued to find amusement in his obvious pain.

She peered at the side of his head that his hand was busy comforting. "God, I'm so sorry. You hurt, Dave?"

He shook his head, smiling, "Nah, you just gave me a bit of a shock there."

She nodded through her laughter. "I'm sorry. I really am, I just, I didn't see you there, are you sure you're OK? It's looking a little sore. This really isn't your day... is it?"

Dave shrugged it off manly, his pride still lying in tatters across the floor. "It was nothing."

She was still grinning impishly at him. She pointed to the coffee machine, "You, uh, you wanted to use this?"

He shook his head, one hand rubbing at the base of his head where he could visualize a gigantic cartoon shaped lump forming. It would look great with his razor scar and his gauzed and sutured and splintered fingers. "Um, no. No, I just wanted to see if you were OK." He paused to grin at her grin, "But apparently you are, so," he motioned towards his seat and his magazine.

She squinted at him with concern. "Are you sure you don't maybe want some ice for that?"

She looked sincere, so Dave shrugged, succumbing to this offer.

Within minutes she was standing behind him, ice bag clutched in one hand as she slowly reached out to dab him gently with it. He winced audibly. "Sorry," she muttered.

He could still hear the hint of laughter in her voice, and was mildly comforted by the fact that, if anything, he had managed to cheer her up.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he spoke. "Is there anything wrong Abby? Because when you came in here, I could have sworn that something was up." He quickly jumped to a pretty sound conclusion. "Did I do something? Is it about that patient the other day, because if it was I'm sorry, and I really didn't mean to get you in trouble and-"

She still had that soft edge of laughter in her voice. "No Dave it wasn't you. It's just...it's just nothing really."

He wasn't convinced. "I really am sorry Abby. I'll be your scut slave for a week, I'll-"

"It wasn't you Dave."

He accepted this truth with some hesitance, but went with it anyway. "You want to talk about it?"

Abby was slightly taken back by the sincerity in his voice, "Um, it's just, well, -I'm officially divorced today."

The words were simple and direct but Dave could sense the complexity sitting between each one. He let her dab at his head quietly for a few moments. "So Lockhart, that his name or yours?"

She gave a dry smile. "His. I'm Abby Wyzinsky."

"Gazuntheit."

She continued. "Yeah, Lockhart's pretty much the only good thing of his that I get to keep for free."

"So... you didn't *want* to get divorced?"

Abby jumped in instantly. "No I did. I just expected that my last day as his wife was destined to end in as big a disaster as our marriage."

He was faintly surprised by this admission. Five minutes ago his knowledge of Abby consisted of her being his med student and her having brown hair and a vague idea of her breast size, and now she was different. She was a Wyzinsky. "Well, if you want, give me his address, and I can have fifty of the most expensive tasteless pizzas delivered to him on the hour every hour."

He could hear her smile. "Thanks Dave, but it's really OK." She sighed, and gently grabbed one of his hands and placed it over the ice bag against his head. "Just hold it here for about fifteen minutes to keep the swelling down."

"I know Abby." He continued matter-of-factly. "I *am* a doctor."

Abby pulled a face as she reached for the cooling cup of coffee. "You could have fooled me."

"So this *is* about me?"

She shook her head with a small diffusing smile. "Well, maybe just a little."

He thought about this as she gingerly sipped on the hot coffee. "Maybe I can do something to make up for it? How about I buy you lunch?"

She seemed to consider this. Weighing down his idea of a good lunch against common sense. "Uh..."

"I'm buying." He stated with a smile that said, 'fifteen ice creams, smoothies and unlimited fries and I promise not to say a word about stomach crunches.'

They turned as Chunni's head poked through the door. "Hey you two, MVA coming in. ETA's ten minutes, we need all the help we can get."

Abby turned back to look at him as she followed Chunni out into halls. "Sure Dave. Lunch. Doc McGoos?"

He was grinning, despite the dull thudding in his head. "Cool Abby, break in an hour? -Oh and think about that pizza thing."

She gave him one last smile before they both slipped into the trauma room and prepared for the adrenaline rush that was soon to arrive.

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Dave tilted his head a little to the left.

Then a little to the right.

He squinted a little. Raised hand to chin and winked.

He frowned.

His reflection frowned back.

No. He was definitely right the first time. He looked like an idiot. An idiot that had no sense of direction. An idiot that couldn't handle a shaver.

Some would have referred to him as a Man.

"Hey Dave? Dr Dave?"

Dave's neck almost snapped in two as he turned to face the owner of the voice. He quickly shot a look back at the mirror, and pulled at the corner of one eye. Searching for an invisible eyelash. "What Carter?"

"Um..." he could hear the amusement in his voice, and eyed Carter's reflection from the men's toilet mirror. "Um, Dave. Someone...there's someone here to see you. At admin." He paused, before leaving, eternally boyish grin on his face. "I think you _really_ should come out here."

Dave sighed, a pretend exasperated sigh, a sigh of how hard this being a Doctor thing was, of just what it was doing to his complexion. Giving up on the invisible eyelash, he turned and followed Carter out into halls.

Taking slow purposeful steps he approached the admin area. He looked up at Frank with confusion, "Um, Carter said something about someone wanting to see me...?"

Frank lifted an amused finger in a direction just behind him.

He frowned and followed it.

Carter was standing with a familiar looking blonde girl, patiently explaining something to her, shooting the occasional amused look at Randy and the rest of their audience.

"Just take a seat and *Dr* Malucci will be with you in a second. No, no, I can't have him leave a trauma just for you. Why? Because it's hard enough to get him into one as it is. What? -Just take a seat."

Carter looked up to see him, and grinned again. Dave looked at him dryly, and then sighed, forcing an ERiq winning smile at the familiar blonde.

"*Dr* Malucci?"

She shot Carter a look that spoke of the things that her overly filed nails were capable of and then turned to face the Doctor.

"Hey Meliza."

The girl didn't take a beat. She strode straight up to him and pushed at his chest with two small perfectly manicured fists. "Don't Meliza me, you-you- you jerk. You lying jerk!"

Dave took several steps back. "Meliza —what??"

The pretty blonde with brown roots shot him an injured look, screwing her face up. She looked as though she was about to burst into floods of tears. She pushed at him again, and Dave raised his hands, in unnecessary self-defense. "Meliza." It was mostly a question than anything else.

"She told me. That –that –that **thing** that you're going to marry and have lots of babies with. She told me all about the kiss you had. I know everything." Now she _was_ crying, blue mascara trailing across her face. Which she wasn't so bothered about; it matched with her socks.

Dave smiled again. This time hopefully. "I'm marrying who?"

Meliza pouted, and pushed him harder this time. "I thought you said you loved me."

Dave shot an irate glance at Carter who was grinning, like someone who could die happy at that very second, should the situation arise. Dave visioned lots of possible ways in which it could arise.

There was another shove against his chest.

"I can't believe you! I, I hate you!! And I never want to see you again! Ever! Never ever again!" She said with some finality, the whole ER left in a stunned silence, save for a few unrestrained smirks from the lucky few who happened to know Dave.

She turned to leave, Dave's mouth left hanging open.

The sound of an almost blonde part of Dave's life walking out in a pair of clunky heels reverberated across the silent admin area.

Dave dragged a hand through his hair and gave a shrug at his audience. And picking up a chart, he made a beeline for the biggest rock he could find to crawl under.

Abby leant in towards Carter, having just managed to catch the last few fascinating seconds of this outburst. "Who _was_ that?"

Carter turned to grin at her, "Oh, you mean she didn't introduce herself? That, ladies and gentlemen, was Melissa with a 'z'. Recent lover of *DR* Dave with a 'v'."

Abby grinned, and nodded, picking up another chart. "Oh. Right. Of course. Melissa with a _'z'_."

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Elements used thus far:

1) Abby and Dave doing the Hokey Pokey in the ER