TITLE: Contemplation (Part 2 of `Here With Me`)
AUTHOR: Ceri
EMAIL: ceriellis@yahoo.com
CATEGORY: AL/JC
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: If there were, I forget which ones. Oh, and in my world, Rena never existed. Cruel, but necessary.
ARCHIVE: Sure, just ask
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the original ER characters, just the ones I make up, and, naturally, the twisted little plots that are products
of my addled mind.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is the sequel to `In Spite Of Me`; it's probably going to be written half Abby's POV, and half Carter's. Just to be confusing. And thanks for all the wonderful reviews, everyone!
SUMMARY: Carter comes to a realization.

Contemplation

The sun pushed through the thick clouds, a light breeze accompanying the shafts of light to the warm earth. His long fingers tapped out a rhythm, his eyes searching for something – anything – to distract him.

Whilst his talk with Abby had undoubtedly cleared his mind, he was still caught up, driven to distraction by the very thought of the
woman. The six months they had been apart had felt like a lifetime; every day dragged on for weeks, every hour for days. And whilst he loved her more than anyone or anything he had ever come in to contact with, he couldn't help but realize that it was over.

Such a simple word.

But it was something that had to be done. He couldn't live his life with the constant shadow anymore. He had enough demons without more added on, and with the relationship being over, there was no point in clinging on to it. He didn't want to let go – it was the last thing he wanted to do. But he had to do it. It was one of those irritating things in life which were sensible and normal, and yet achingly
painful.

Maybe that was what Abby had tried to do - `move on`. He was all for `moving on` - just not moving away. Maybe it would sstill be pure torture seeing her every day. But he knew that torture would be a lot better than what he would feel if he never saw her again. It was just something he wasn't ready to face – not yet.

His life was, admittedly, getting better. He hadn't relapsed in a year, and whilst he was undeniably still an addict, at least now he
had an element of control. His time back in rehab had helped him more than he cared to think about, and now pain – emotional or physical – didn't push him to the pill bottle. He could prescribe meds without feeling jealous or needy or desperate for the high. He was faced with narcotics every day of his life, and every day he fought them. And now, every day, he won. It was really something he could get used to –being clean…being happy.

It was just a shame about the rest of his life.

In a bizarre twist of fate, Deb had become best friends with Abby, and rarely spoke to Carter about anything more intimate than a
patient's BP. It could've been the sex that had spoiled their friendship…at least, that's what Carter blamed. It wasn't his own fault…life just gave him a raw deal. To put it mildly.

So, really, he had no one. He would get up, go to work, go home, and sleep. It was his daily pattern, and if he messed with it, he would be pissy and moody and…well, he would be in a foul temper. It suited him now that he had no friends to speak of; it suited him that no one called or visited. That way he could remain in a reasonably good mood at work, not scare away the patients or piss off his co-workers. He didn't feel sorry for himself. Not at all. Self-pity just wasn't him. That was his life, and love it or hate it, it was better than being dead.

He had taken to being optimistic lately – there really was no point in moping around, mourning for hi past life when he was wasting away the present. And therein lay the desire to `move on`.

And he could move on – he *would* move on – all in good time.

*****

"…Of course, it all started with the prawn mayonnaise, didn't it Merv? *Terrible* stomach ache…"

Carter had to admit, he was only half listening. He had tuned out somewhere during the meal at a seafood restaurant, floating back in
to consciousness for the dirty crockery and then again somewhere during appetizers.

It wasn't that he was bored – well…not much, anyway – but after ten hours of working, and only two to go, Flo and Merv's gastroentiritis wasn't the foremost thing on his mind.

"…Damn surly waiter, probably spat in the soup…"

The idea of `moving on` had been playing on his fatigue-addled mind. The notion was, in theory, very appealing. But in practice…well, it was a lot more complicated. How should he `move on`? What should one do to `move on`? Was there some kind of common practice for it?

"Of course, Merv has always had an aversion to tuna…"

If he employed Abby's method of `moving on`, he could start looking for a new job. No. That didn't appeal to him at all – he liked
working at County, he had a good job, and whilst the fact that he had slept with a few of his co-workers and hated some of them too was relevant, he still wanted to work there. Or he could make new friends. He almost snorted – what was he, five? `Hi, I'm John, can
you be my friend?` It didn't appeal to him at all. Or, finally, he could befriend an ex.

Well, he certainly had enough of them floating around. Should he call on Harper, or Abby Keaton? Roxanne, or Elaine? All as blonde as the next, he realized. How was that for a coincidence?

"…so cod seemed the natural choice – but the sauce…"

In fact, now he came to think on it, Abby and Deb were his only brunette conquests since…well, high school. And even then, he
could've sworn she was really a red head.

So maybe it was time to find another brunette – who wasn't a co-worker or a friend – and settle down. Hmm. It was harder than he had thought. It wasn't like he ever saw anyone but people at the hospital…or, at a push, on the El. So, he was torn between people he worked with, patients, or commuters on the El train…it was a hard choice. Of course, co-workers had been the tried and tested group. Why not stick to what you know?

"Okay, we'll get you some compazine."

Flo looked up at him, surprised and obviously offended by the interruption when she hadn't even reached dessert yet. "Oh…thank you,
doctor…very kind – "

"You're welcome, Mrs. Wells," he interrupted again, getting to his feet tiredly and flashing the pensioner what he hoped was a
reassuring smile. "I'll be back soon."

He was almost ecstatic with relief as he stepped out of the room, and the woman's shrill voice faded in to the distance. He entered another exam room, chart in hand, ready to wake up and listen to his patients again, when he stopped.

If this wasn't a sign to move on, he didn't know what was. A beautiful, heavenly sign, sent from above.

"Dr Carter, I presume?"

He could hardly tear his eyes away from the woman in front of him. Jet black hair was scraped away from her face in to a tidy bun, and
piercing blue eyes commanded his attention. A lab coat, pants and top clung to her sculptured figure, accentuating every curve. A beautiful smile played on her full lips, which were stained with a faint shimmering pink. She spoke again, her soft gravely tones washing over him.

What a wake up call.

"You did page for a consult, right?"

Carter snapped back to reality. "Which patient?"

The goddess glanced down at the child on the gurney. "This little guy…Max Simmons. I'm from pedes oncology."

He paused, then looked at the child. Pedes oncology. Max Simmons. Cancer. Right. It was all coming back to him, albeit slowly. Maybe it was his memory. Or maybe it was the effect this woman was having on him.

"Right. Thanks for coming Dr…Dr…"

"Crawford," she finished for him with a flash of her pearly-white teeth. "Ellen Crawford. And you're welcome. Anything to help young
Max here…"

She continued, turning to discuss treatment and admission with Max and his mother. Carter found himself staring at her, his eyes not
drifting even for a second. The last time he had had stirrings like these…well, it had been in his pre-addiction, pre-Abby days. There
was something about this Dr Crawford -–something he found hard to resist.

He had found his `moving on` muse.

*****