*          *          *

"...and give him 10 CCs of Haldol," Susan said, flipping through the chart on her hand as she walked toward the front desk. "Also, could you call security have them post a guard outside his door? I think he's a runner."

"Okay." Abby took the chart. "Want me to page you when Psych comes down for a consult?"

"Please." Susan erased her name from the board. "Oh, and did you start an IV on the woman in curtain three yet?"

"Doing that now."

"Looks like things have slowed down," Susan remarked, staring at the board. "Hey Carter, did you do the suture in curtain one?"

Carter looked up, the phone on his ear. "What?"

"Curtain one. Did you suture?"

"The taxidermist? I think Deb got him." Looking otherwise occupied, he dropped his voice and returned to the phone.

"Who's on the phone?" Susan said, looking interested.

"Huh?" He looked up again, then quickly answered, "Nobody."

"Must be a pretty important nobody."

"Dr. Phyllis Weston from Northwestern," Randi supplied.

"Phyllis Weston?" Susan arched her eyebrows. "Didn't you go to med school with her?"

Carter covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "How did you—"

"Susan," Abby propped her elbows on the front desk, "Your guy's gone."

"What?"

"The runner. He's gone."

"Damn," Susan sighed. "Call security—I'm going to go look for him."

Sliding her elbows off the counter, Abby nodded and turned to leave.

"So I'll pick you up at eight?"

Slowly, she turned back around.

"Okay, let me know then. Great. Yeah. See you tonight." Looking mildly pleased, Carter hung up the phone. "Hey, Randi? If Dr. Weston calls again, page me."

Feeling oddly misplaced, Abby cleared her throat. "Hot date?"

"Abby?" Carter spun around. "I didn't know...uh...I didn't know you were standing there."

"I work here," she reminded him, keeping her voice light.

For a long, uncomfortable half-moment, he watched her walk away.

"Wait," he blurted, rushing after her. "It's not a date."

"Don't worry about it," Abby interrupted. "You don't have to explain it to me."

"But I want to."

"But you don't have to." Without meaning to, she laughed, the words oddly familiar to her ears. "It's none of my business."

"Abby," he began helplessly.

"I've got to go look for a patient."

"It's not what you think."

"Would you let go of my arm?"

Reluctantly, Carter let her go. He watched as she disappeared down the hallway.

*          *          *

Night flamed over the city in a smoldering black fire; burning sapphire, then navy, then finally obsidian as the ashes from its blaze smudged the sky with smoke-colored clouds. The stars gleamed white and needle-thin, a handful of salt spilled across a heavy black cloth, and in the space between the stars a fragile crescent carved a sliver of light out of the night-burnt sky. Though it was only autumn, the breeze that flapped Abby's curtains and ruffled her mussed hair carried a sharp chill that spoke of ice and knives, cold crisp winters and Christmastime.

Abby shivered. Behind her, the room darkened to a near lightless spill, the air mixed with the musty odor of wet leaves and the heavy, sweet fragrance of gardenia blooms. Breathing in this pungent scent, she drew the blanket on her shoulders more tightly around her and continued watching the lights of the city twinkle.

Her eyes groped the darkness; though to be sure, she did not know whether she was looking for something she had lost, or simply reaffirming the presence of something already there. If it was the former, she had no idea what she was looking for—she had lost many things in her young life. Once she was a daughter, once a wife, once even a mother; and now, none of those things, not anymore, and it grieved her.

But if it was the latter, she had a pretty good idea of what she had, and it made her smile.

Issuing a little sigh, she tapped the face of her watch with one slender fingertip. She had two more hours until her first meeting. Idly, she wondered if she should eat something, or whether she'd just throw it up anyway from sheer nervousness.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Half-reluctantly, she rose from her seat by the window and wrapped the comforter around her slight shoulders. The blanket dragging in a long train behind her, she padded over in her socked feet and pressed her ear to the door.

"Who is it?"

"It's me."

Abby blinked. "Carter?"

"Yeah."

Tiptoeing, she peered through the small lens. Of course it was Carter, from the messy cowlicks to the suspenders to the large, expressive eyes—the color of wet wood in the dark. There was a rumpled look to him that she correctly identified as that post-twelve-hour-shift feel.

Closing the blanket more tightly around herself, she undid the locks and opened the door.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she said back.

There was a long silence.

Finally, Carter cleared his throat. "So I here there's an AA meeting tonight."

"Yeah." Cautiously, Abby looked at him. "How'd you know?"

"I talked to Susan." Another awkward pause. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah. Sorry." She moved aside, one hand flitting carelessly in the air. "I wasn't expecting anyone."

Ignoring the pointed comment, he spoke. "When's the meeting start?"

"Ten." Abby closed the door behind him, glancing at her watch. "It's eight right now"

"Yeah?"

She tried again. "Aren't you supposed to be somewhere?"

Thoughtfully, "No."

"I thought you had a date."

"I told you, it's not a date," Carter said quietly, his face clouded by shadows in the unlit room. "Aren't you cold?"

"A little." Abby shrugged underneath her blanket. "It sounded like a date to me."

"We were just having dinner." He examined her profile studiously as she moved about the room, her slim arms reaching out from beneath the folds of the comforter to close each window. "We're writing an article together."

"An article?" Her voice was muffled as she slammed the last window shut.

"Yeah. A joint study between County and Northwestern."

"So..."

"So...?" Carter prompted her.

"So..." Trailing off, Abby turned to face him. The expression on her face was blank and her voice was colorless. "Why are you here?"

"Tonight's your first meeting."

Wrapping her arms around herself, she nodded.

"Is it an open meeting?"

She nodded again.

"I thought you might need the company."

"I don't."

"Well, I thought you might want it." Carter fiddled with the keys in his hands. "It's no big deal. Phil cancelled on me."

Abby looked skeptical.

"Okay, I cancelled on her."

"You did."

"It wasn't a big deal." He paused. "But your meeting is...and if I'm going to be your sponsor, I want to attend."

"My sponsor?" A short, sharp laugh escaped her lips as she shook her head. "Carter, I never asked you to sponsor me."

His eyes flickered like leaves turned by the wind. "I'm volunteering."

"Okay."

There was a long, drawn-out pause.

"You kept the flowers," Carter said, his voice low.

"I did."

"Do you like them?"

"They're a little alive for my taste." Her face was completely dark, her rumpled form silhouetted against the street lights that poured in through the windows. "But yeah, I like them. Thanks."

In the darkness, he thought he heard her smile.

"Carter." Delicately, Abby paused. "Thanks for the sentiment, but I don't need you to sponsor me."

"It's not a problem," he misinterpreted her statement. "You don't have to ask."

"I'm not." She stood her ground. "I'm not asking. I don't need a sponsor."

"Of course you do."

"Actually," she replied, mildly annoyed, "I don't."

"Abby." Wounded, Carter fought to keep the indignation out of his voice. "You can't do this on your own."

"Do what on my own?"

"Deal with your drinking," he said bluntly. "You need someone to help you through this."

"I know," Abby said, her voice flat. "Which is why I asked Susan."

"Oh." For a moment, Carter looked foolish. "I'm sorry."

"Her sister used to be an addict."

He felt his face burning. "I know."

"And she's my friend."

"Yeah."

"Besides," she continued, after a moment. "It's easier this way."

"Easier?"

"Less complicated."

Before he could stop himself, he felt the words fall on his palate. "What's less complicated?"

"You know," Abby smiled. "You. Me."

"Us."

"Exactly."

Unable to speak, he cleared his throat several times. "Abby, I'm sorry. I thought—"

"Coffee and pie," she interrupted, her face a blank page. "Before the meeting. Your treat. Then maybe I'll think about forgiving you."

There was a dull, consumptive ache in her chest—half pleasure, half pain—as she looked at him with a steady seriousness; never flinching, never wavering, never breaking away. The blanket fell slack around her shoulders, the expression on her face unfolded like a flower, but she held her gaze steady. Though there was darkness behind her and darkness before her, in that moment she felt as if all her world, the good and the bad, was written there on his face, plain as day.

And she could deny what she felt for him no longer, no more than she could deny what he felt for her.

"Coffee and pie's on me," Carter said.

Abby nodded and the moment was gone. She shucked the comforter aside and tossed it onto the couch, grabbing her purse and her keys in one neat motion as she felt his eyes on her. Though she unlocked the door, it was Carter who drew it open for them both, and he tucked his hand securely against the small of her back as they walked through the door and into the night beyond.

*          *          *

CREDITS: There are two recycled lines in this chapter from earlier chapters in the story; see if you can find them. The requisite quotation is from the song "Suzanne" by Leonard Cohen. Abby's admission of her alcoholism to Susan is more or less the admission she made to Carter in "Sand and Water." The last scene in which Carter places his hand against the small of Abby's back is a tiny homage to The X-Files. And, of course, any Carby worth her salt knows from whence the coffee and pie came. ^_^

ENDNOTES: Holy schmuck, I'm done! *puts down pen with a flourish* But the saga of Carter, Abby, and their thirty one flavors of unrequited love continues in the yet-untitled sequel, which hits web browsers near you in October 2002. Until then, feel free to visit the fanfic journal at www.livejournal.com/~cmidori for periodic goodies, or you can even reread Through the Door until your eyes bleed if you're so inclined.