TITLE: His Hands, Her Face, My Heart (Part 5 of the `In Spite Of Me` series)

AUTHOR: Ceri

EMAIL: ceriellis@yahoo.com

CATEGORY: JC

RATING: Universal

SPOILERS: Probably…

ARCHIVE: Sure, just ask

DISCLAIMER: Don't own them. Never will. No need to rub it in.

SUMMARY: "Why does my heart cry…feelings I can't hide…"

His Hands, Her Face, My Heart

He watched her, her face illuminated in the dim candlelight. Their shadows were cast across the walls, engaged in a never-ending dance, back and forth.

"This is great," she told him, her voice low as she met his eyes across the table. The fingers of one hand were clamped possessively around her fork, whilst their mirror images on the other hand rested gently on his hand.

"It's just casserole," he dismissed, blushing slightly, "It's nothing special."

"Everything with you involved is special," she replied with a teasing smile, "Don't I tell you that enough?"

He chuckled. "Not nearly enough, actually."

"Hmm," she pondered, taking another bite of her food and chewing thoughtfully. "Well, we’ll have to change that."

He raised his eyebrows, intrigued. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she smiled, dropping her fork with a clatter against her plate and leaning haphazardly across the table. "I love you, John Carter…" she whispered as she brought her lips to his.

He smiled softly, kissing her back, pausing for breath.

"I feel so special…"

"You have to cook me more if you want to feel more special," she teased him softly, pulling back from him and returning to her seat.

Carter laughed, and got to his feet. "Lucky then that I made dessert," he commented, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a dish. "It's called Pure Indulgence."

"Sounds like a bad porn film," she giggled, eyeing the dish with interest, "What's in it?"

"Chocolate, cream, ice cream, and strawberries," he replied proudly, placing the messy dessert in the centre of the table.

She peered at it curiously. "Sure it’s not just…a big pile of cream?"

He sat down, handing her a spoon. "I'm sure," he told her confidently, "It was in a recipe book I found. But if you don't want any, then fine. I'll eat it..."

"Hey," she protested, "Who said I wouldn't eat it?" She paused, a glint in her eye. "I'm just thinking how much better it would be without cutlery…"

**********

Fleck after fleck of perfect white snow fell around him, carpeting the ground, making it look like some kind of winter wonderland. A harsh breeze whipped through the trees, stirring up the snowflakes from where they had fallen back up towards the dull grey sky.

His footsteps crunched against the ice, the only sound accompanying his walk. On that cold morning, the world lay still. Not a single other person was on the sidewalk as Carter made his steady trek towards the ER…maybe they were all sensible, staying out of the sub-zero temperatures. But Carter was happy to be outside, to be heading for his place of work. After a few weeks off, Weaver had deemed it all clear for him to return to his job. Despite the almost constant presence of the woman he loved, he had become…restless. Needing to work, needing to do something other than talk about his problems.

There were just too many to talk about.

The building that had previously been looming ominously in the distance was suddenly in front of him. Finally, evidence of human life. He could just about make out, through the miniature whirlwinds of snow, Dr Greene and Chuny entering with a gurney. An EMT offered him an embarrassed `welcome back` as he walked in to the ER, and he smiled weakly in reply.

He was back.

Instantly, he was hit with the warmth radiating from the emergency room. People bustled by, most not noticing him, standing in the middle of the hallway, looking around as if it was his first day. In some ways, he wished it was. He would have a clean slate, nothing hanging over him, no expectations from anyone…

"Dr Carter!"

He turned expectantly to be greeted by a warm smile from Weaver. He returned the smile.

"Hi, Dr Weaver," he replied, looking anxiously at the clock, "Sorry I'm late, the El was slow 'cause of the snow - "

"It's not a problem, John," she told him softly, "Now go, get yourself ready for work. Come find me if you need anything - help, a break, anything."

"Thanks…" he called after her as she hobbled away down the corridor, already accosted by a nurse with a chart. He turned, eyes skimming over the few figures at the admit desk…she wasn't there. Never mind. They were bound to bump in to each other eventually. He made his way to the lounge, pushing open the door, then stopped abruptly.

Abby and Luka stopped laughing and turned to look at him.

"Carter!" Luka said with carefully guarded surprise, "Welcome back…"

Carter nodded, opening his locker and shooting the pair a glance. "Thanks," he replied simply, eyes lingering on Abby's briefly then studying the contents of his locker. Lab coat, stethoscope, random photographs…nothing different. But it sure as hell worked in distracting him from the ex's reunion that was taking place on the other side of the lounge.

"Well, Carter, it's good to have you back," Luka's voice piped up behind him, "Let me know if you need anything - "

From Kerry, it had seemed sweet, kind, generous. From Luka, it was patronizing, superior, irritating.

" - I'll be fine," he interrupted the Croatian, not bothering to turn around. "Thanks anyway."

There was an awkward silence, then he heard the door open and close, footsteps echoing down the hallway outside. Abby appeared at his elbow, a look of concern marring her beautiful face.

"Are you okay, John?" she asked him softly, her eyes searching his for any unspoken answers they might have. "Are you sure you're ready to come back?"

Carter stared right back, the niggling feeling of doubt and jealously still playing at the back of his mind. Sure, she had told him she loved him. Sure, she hadn't been to her apartment for a few weeks. Sure, she was kissing him good night, not Luka. But that didn't take away the doubt. He didn't know what could - maybe the sudden shipping of Kovac baack to his home country for the foreseeable future? - but he knew what couldn't remove the doubt. Seeing them laugh together. Seeing them talk together. He didn't want much…just for her not to talk to her ex. Was that so unreasonable?

"I'm fine," he replied at last, "And I'm sure."

**********

A soft murmur, familiar yet strangely different, interrupted his dreams. His eyes opened reluctantly, craving the much-needed sleep that he seemed to be missing, and he sat up. Who was that? Didn't they have any respect for the nappers of the hospital?!

"…didn't think you liked casserole…"

Carter frowned, the random words that had reached him confusing him in his half-awake state. Casserole? Was this part of his dream?

"…I don't," a familiar voice retorted, followed by a faint giggle. "But I'm not one to kick up a fuss."

Carter paused, all thoughts of sleep forgotten as he strained to hear the whole conversation.

"…must like him…" Carter cringed at the distinct, thick accent that became more clear. "…I never cooked you casserole…"

Another soft giggle floated in. "You can't cook, Luka, and you know it."

There was a wry chuckle, and a pause. "That's why we broke up, isn't it?" the deep voice asked at last, obviously amused by something, "Because I cannot cook."

"Got it in one," her gentle voice replied, "I like my men kitchen trained."

Carter couldn't take it anymore. Ex or not, this was flirting. You don't just flirt with people you work with. Well, not unless you're in love with them.

*Shit*.

He pulled open the door, his doubt fuelled by the guilty looks on Abby and Luka's faces as they caught sight of him. Without giving them a second glance, he started down the hallway, taking deep, cleansing breaths. In, and out. In, and out. Easy.

He felt quite light-headed all of a sudden, and pushed his way in to the lounge. Without a second though, he pulled on his coat, grabbed his bag and hurried out of there, not pausing to call over his shoulder to the desk, "Sorry…I gotta go…"

Out in to the cold he walked, as fast as he could manage, away from the hospital, away from the ER, away from *them*. Words echoed incessantly through his head, as if he needed reminding of the conversation he had just overheard. It was like they were recorded, stuck on repeat for the entire journey home - complete with his torrid imagination, working on full blast at coming up with heart-breaking and depressing pictures to complete the scene.

Over-reaction? He didn't think so.

**********