These Questions
Chapter 20 - Emergency
He glanced towards the clock on the nightstand and saw that it read later than he expected. Or, rather, earlier than he expected. Looking up to the ceiling, he tugged at his face with rough hands. Exhausted.
Two-thirty, A.M.
Insomniac, he said to himself. He looked to his left and saw Abby resting peacefully upon her pillow. Her hair was framing her own face, falling alone on her cheeks and neck. Her body rose and descended with every breath she took.
He'd remembered her late night visit. It was nearly eleven, but he wasn't asleep. She had looked at his face, which he pretended to close eyes with. He felt her hand on his face and opened one eye. She had already disappeared from his slender eyeshot, though, and he found his eyes drift to a close again.
--
Her form had suddenly been felt against his back, though. She was still there. He breathed out, relieved, and waited for silence to carry him into slumber again. But she was still there, and he had to say something. Sleep wasn't working for him tonight.
"Hey," he said without turning. "What's wrong?"
"Sorry," she whispered immediately. "Didn't realize I woke you."
He changed positions and found himself staring into her mess of hair. Her head was bowed against the other pillow. "You didn't. I've been awake for a while."
She looked up and smiled in the dark. He wasn't sure if it was a real smile, but at least he saw some raw emotion. The slice of light sparking through the barely curtained window covered her face and his hand. Her hand, as well, moved into the light with no purpose. She sighed.
"So have I."
He joined her in her stare upward into nothing and breathed out cautiously. "Remember when you were a kid and you got scared of the thunder and lightning? You'd run into your parents' room to have them hold you in your bed? Either way, whether the storm raged on or not, you always got to sleep. Remember that?"
Abby sighed again. "Get real, John," she said with an anxious, emotionless laugh. "My childhood was never like that. You know it."
He laughed as well, in an identical manner. "Mine either."
Once again, they were prisoners of an awkward enemy. Left alone in the bed, parallel to the other, they sat waiting for an absolution. She closed her eyes, he saw, and pressed her lips together. Her hands went to her forehead to pull back her hair, exposing her forehead.
"You aren't alone, you know," he said. "I'm gonna be there for you."
She laughed aloud this time. "Excuse me? Why would you - "
"Abby," he said. "I'm your friend. I want to be with you one hundred percent if you need me to with this. Just give me a call - "
"What are you talking about? I didn't even say anything - "
"Abby," he repeated. "You have to know I'm here."
She hesitated, but nodded in the end. Her eyes were closed, as if she would let out the pain secretly. Carter watched her intently as she spoke. "Thank you."
She frowned and put her arm over her eyes. He took her arm away from her face and whispered, "Don't hide." He lifted himself and turned his back to her as he attempted to fall asleep once more.
--
And he had. For, apparently, only four and a half hours. She was asleep, finally. She had been struggling, he knew. She was constantly shifting and sighing. At one point, he had put his hand behind his back for his own comfort, while only half awake. She touched it without a reason, and finally stopped moving around to settle away. He, too, found himself tucking away into slumber.
Now, it was late. Or early. He shift would start in five hours, hers in six and a half. He groaned and felt it oddly warmer. He took his shirt off of his back, noticing that it was soaked with a light coat of perspiration. He noticed that Abby was sweating as well; her hair was kindly damp against her forehead and near her ears. He reluctantly dragged himself from the bed and to the living room. He searched for the temperature's dial. When he couldn't find it, he, thwarted, found himself lying in the bed again.
"What is it?"
"Are you awake?" he asked, moving over to her. He placed a hand on her head and smoothed down her hair. She was troubled, he could tell, as she sank into his touch. She reached up to touch his wrist, to stop him.
"What time is it?" she asked gently.
He looked over at the clock. "Two-thirty three." He sighed and pulled his hand to cover his own face.
"Why is it so warm in here?" she asked.
He shook his head into a, by now, dampened pillow. "I don't know. I went to look for the, um - "
"It's over here," she said. She slowly recovered from the bed and walked to the living room. He followed her through the shadows of the dark and met her next to the kitchen.
"Right here," she said. "Is it okay if I turn it down?"
He nodded. "Please do."
"Guess there's no reason to ask," she said.
"Huh?" he said dumbly, looking around into the dark. He watched her hand draw away from the wall and tuck itself under her other arm as she crossed them across her chest.
"You're not wearing a shirt," she said as she began back towards the bedroom.
"It got hot," he said, proceeding behind her. His hands ran through his hair again, hoping to recover from the rush of sweat forming on his forehead. It didn't help, really.
There was no instant difference in temperature, but perhaps the reason for settling into the bed was simply to enjoy the comfort, regardless of the heat. He suspected she felt the same at that moment.
So they cuddled into the comfort of the warm bed, sighing in unison as they anticipated the coming of the morning. The arrival of dawn, alone, would be enough relieve to take them from their sleepless night.
He remembered the first time he met her. He'd felt something at that first second. He was almost a new guy, and he didn't know what it was when he felt it.
But a more real first time that they were introduced - that time he lost it. He hated her then. He wanted to walk out on it all, and he almost had. Everything had held him back, though, and everything had pushed him away.
He wanted to tell her right now. She had saved his life. She had, in all sincerity. He had walked out on her, though, and never said anytthing meaningful about it again.
He moved to her, to see if maybe sshe was still awake. She was, and she looked up meakly at him. He smiled, cowardly and returned to his stare at the clock. He'd had enough of this night and hewas ready to fall asleep. But yet another sound, another minor distraction burst into the night.
"What is that?" he said.
"It's your pager," she replied. "From the ER. It's in the living room with your clothes."
He looked at her.
"Go get it," she said. "It might be important."
"Important in what manner?" he asked as he left the room. He turned the sound off, waiting to see what it read. But another faint sound took his eyes across the room.
"Is that mine?" she asked into the still dark.
He didn't answer her. His eyes were focused on the solitary word read on his pager.
Emergency.
[Part 21]