TITLE: The Dreams You Keep

AUTHOR: Ceri

EMAIL: ceriellis@yahoo.com

CATEGORY: JC

RATING: Universal

SPOILERS: Season 7 through The Greatest Of Gifts - but with a slightly different ending. Yes, that's right - I am re-writing the show.

ARCHIVE: Sure, just ask

DISCLAIMER: Uh, yeah…so I may or may not have Noah Wyle in my attic…he's just so cute! Like a little toy! Oh…um…I mean, nope, I don't own them. Never have, never will. I'll be leaving now.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is the prequel to `Welcome To Paradise`. And I apologize for calling Carby-dom the dark side. But really. It kinda is.

SUMMARY: It's the evening before the morning after…(confused?)

The Dreams You Keep

Rain, drop after drop, pelted down on to the sidewalk. His breath fogged the window as he stared out in to the cold, dark world. The only light in his apartment came from the small red dot, blinking on his answering machine. He knew who the message was from. He had heard it, in his head, a thousand times. And he was dreading making it a reality.

His mom had left countless messages at work, begging him to call her, to just pick up the phone and talk with her. And he might have, any other day. But today…today wasn't so good. Two patients had died on him, and Weaver had rung him out in front of everyone at the admit desk. Suffice to say, he wasn't in the best of moods.

His eyes skirted the room nervously, almost as if he was afraid to move. His gaze drank in the evidence of his life...a takeout box, a stack of charts and an unheard voicemail.

He stared blankly at the machine, willing himself to walk away from the window, away from his safe portal to the outside world, and over to the disappointment, the pity, the feigned interest that his parents no doubt had to offer.

Before he knew what he was doing he was up, stumbling through the darkness, pressing the button, listening intently.

*Beep*

"John? Are you there? It's your mother. We just talked to Millicent - she told us, she told us everything. And I'm sorry you couldn't tell us yourself...especially after so long...honestly John, suspended?! I - "

There was a muffled sound, and a deeper voice continued.

"Your mother is just worried about you....we all are...just - just call us whenever you can. We're in Toronto...Gamma has the number...goodbye."

Carter paused, staring in silent disbelief at the machine. Then he reached out, hitting another button forcefully.

"Your message has been deleted."

Shaking, he retracted his hand, eyes moving away from the machine and over to the window.

So they knew.

He would've told them eventually...and it wasn't as if he was still suspended, six months later. But maybe his life was. Deb had given birth. He had swallowed, then vomited up, two pills. He told Abby, who in turn told Weaver. She hadn't liked that much...something about hearing it from someone else. Carter hadn't had the energy to argue with her, and got himself suspended.

Suddenly he had the energy, and he expended it on Abby. Screaming, shouting, calling names. He had never hated one person so much in his whole life, and he made sure to tell her that. Repeatedly. That was when she stopped talking to him. And six months on, she was still silent.

So now.... now he had no one. No friends, no family - or as good as no family, anyway. Of course, he didn't blame them. Who wanted to be around a drug addict? He sure as hell didn't...but he didn't get a choice. He was stuck with himself, with his thoughts, with his temptations and cravings and longings all day, every day.

And the temptations were there, even now. Christ, it had been a long time since he was stabbed, but the pain, her face, her eyes staring in to his own...it stayed fresh in his mind, feeding on his insecurities until all that was left of him was a bundle of memories and a desperate craving for relief.

Relief came in pill or needle form.

He turned, carefully, meticulously; as if it had all been planned and thought through. One step towards the chest of drawers. Not that he hadn't thought about it every waking second. Two steps. He just didn't know how to tune it out anymore. Three steps. They were all expecting it of him - why let them down now? Four steps. At least give them justification for their actions. Five steps. Maybe this was all he had ever needed to do. Six steps. Because he needed them. Seven steps. If they were going to label him a drug addict, he may as well live up to their expectations.

The world stopped spinning, the edges of the room blurring together, colours mixing, images contorting, willpower ending.

One little pill wouldn't make a difference. Just to tide him over. Take the edge off the pain - a little light relief. He wasn't an addict.

Two pills...two wouldn't be so bad. Enough to shut out the hurt. But he wasn't an addict. Three pills…he wasn't an addict. Four…five pills…he was an addict.

Suddenly the silence screamed at him, so many voices, over and over, telling him he was wrong. Abby was there, his mom too...Kerry was there, Benton was there, Gamma was there...Bobby was there, Chase was there, Lucy was there...

His face crumpled as he slid to the ground, shoulders wracked with silent sobs. "Why won't you just leave me alone?" he whispered, "Can't I just get on with my life?"

Of course, they couldn't answer. Carter wasn't stupid - he knew they weren't really there. But when it felt so real, when their words hit home...that was when he felt guilty.

He stood up as quickly as he had sat down, pushing through his apartment to the kitchen. Looking around the dank, dirty room, he spotted his other vice, and extended a shaky hand to grip the cold neck of the bottle. He took a sip, shuddering as the strong alcohol burned its way down his throat.

"One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor," he mumbled, taking another sip, then another, then another, washing two more innocent-looking white pills down with it. His whole body convulsed violently, a mix of the nervous shakes that normally took over when he was alone and the effects of the liquor on his weakened body. Shards of glass and liquid accompanied a crash as the bottle slipped from his cold, clammy hands, spreading itself over the hard tile flooring. Carter stared down at it, the shaking subsiding. Everything had become clear.

Walking purposefully, not even noticing the tiny flecks of glass embedded in his bare feet, he made his way back in to his bedroom and over to the hated machine. He picked up the phone, dialing a number that was imprinted on his brain, that had been memorized a long time ago and that he had never wanted to forget. He waited, impatient, for the voice he had longed to hear for six long, lonely months...

"Hello?"

Carter closed his eyes, squeezing out a tear of relief, wiping it away with his ragged shirtsleeve. That voice. That heavenly voice.

"Hello? Who is this?"

Finally, Carter spoke up. "It's me. It's John."

Abby's reply was nothing he had hoped for. "Do you now what time it is Carter? For Chrissakes, I was sleeping!"

Carter's eyes drifted to the window, the curtains opened wide, a dim shine coming in from the streetlight, highlighting the pills vial left open on his unmade bed. "I needed to talk to you," he said slowly, "It's important."

"Nothing is important at four thirty in the morning," she responded harshly.

There was a long silence as he considered this statement. She must really hate him. He had to prove himself...to get her forgiveness...then he could move on...

"I'm in love with you."

There was a short, sharp burst of laughter. "I'm sorry?"

He frowned, suddenly feeling quite woozy. "I always have, I didn't mean it when I said I hated you...I'm sorry...but I love you."

"John," she started softly, "Have you been drinking?"

"That's all this is to you, isn't it?" he asked angrily, "Carter the drug addict, let's laugh at him when he tells us how he feels - "

"You don't think it's a little out of the blue?" she interrupted, "The most we've said to each other in six months is `get a tox screen`."

"Well we're talking now, aren't we?" he asked quietly, lowering himself on to the bed as his bedroom started to spin again. His head was aching, his throat was dry, but he knew what he had to do. God, he had missed talking to her. Missed listening to her. "I mean it, Abby. I miss you, as a friend, and...and...I needed to tell you how beautiful you are, how special you are, and how much I lo - "

There was a quiet click, and a whirring.

"Abby? Abby?!"

She was gone. Again.

*********

He couldn't go on living this way. It was destroying him, eating him alive, taking him down bit by bit. He just wasn't strong enough to fight the demons anymore. He didn't know what it would take to fight them, to get his life back…and he wasn't sure he wanted to. It was all too hard.

His brown eyes were bloodshot as he stared out the window once more. The rain had subsided to a dull trickle, the pale grey sky beginning to show signs of the dawn fast approaching. Soon the sun would break through those clouds, invading his world with unwanted beams of light, only serving to show him his shortcomings in their true colours.

Hands that once were steady were now shaking - what seemed to be a permanent factor in his life now. Ever since he was attacked, he had changed. What he wouldn't give to turn back time, to protect himself, to protect Lucy, from the knife-wielding maniac that ended her short life, and in some ways, ended his too. Because this wasn't living. Breathing; moving; going through the motions of existence. But he wasn't alive. Something inside of him had been killed that day. By now, there was little hope of reviving it.

Every day, he prayed. He prayed to be set free, to be taken away from it all, to just be at peace. He envied Lucy in that respect. In dying, she was relieved of the never-ending tears, the constant pain, the everlasting fear that filled him every hour of every day. But there was no doubt in his mind that if Lucy had survived, she wouldn't have sat back and watched her life seep away through the cracks. That's what he did. He watched, and waited for it all to come tumbling down around him.

A cruel draft slipped in under the door, sending shivers down his spine. Sleep. That's what he needed. At least in his dreams, he was in control. He could relax, he could be himself, and he didn't need to worry about getting high or getting drunk.

'Cause Abby was there with him. Protecting him, comforting him, loving him.