TITLE: The Other Side (part 6 of `In Spite Of Me`)

AUTHOR: Ceri

EMAIL: ceriellis@yahoo.com

CATEGORY: JC

RATING: Universal

SPOILERS: Probably…

ARCHIVE: Sure, just ask

DISCLAIMER: Damn, if I owned Noah Wyle, would I be sitting here writing? No, I didn't think so either.

SUMMARY: Carter finds himself forced in to the role of carer.

The Other Side

Rain pelted down, washing away the remnants of snow on the ground. The icy chill was still evident in the air, sending shivers down his spine, goosebumps on his exposed flesh. Turning away from the window, he rifled through a drawer, finding his favourite sweater, and pulled it roughly over his head. He needed the warmth, the comfort, without the pain, the suffering.

But these things seemed to go hand in hand.

He turned back to the window, and a figure, hurrying along the sidewalk, caught his eye. Her dark hair was plastered to her head by the driving rain, her clothes clinging awkwardly to her petite frame. And her face…

She looked…blank. Just staring ahead of her as she approached his apartment building. She stopped suddenly, and Carter squinted to see what was going on. She rifled through her bag, and pulled out her ringing cell phone. He couldn't hear her words, but he recognized the mouth shape…of course, it could've been his paranoia kicking in once more…but still…

`Luka?`

Carter frowned, and stepped back from the window. Even if she wasn't talking to him, it didn't erase the flirting. The very association of the word flirting with the word Luka made his blood boil. Bastard. He lost his chance with her - why was he trying to ruin Carter's chances?!

There was a loud noise - his door slamming - and a pause. "John?"

Carter sat on the end of his bed, staring at the closed bedroom door, just waiting for her to appear. Sure enough, the door opened and Abby's face peered round the edge, meeting his eyes cautiously. She stepped in fully, closing the door behind her, and watched him. The silence was unbearable; the millions of things that needed to be said but couldn't be forced out. At last, they had to come out.

"So you don't like casserole?" he asked coldly - immature, definitely, but where else was he supposed to start?

Her lips twisted in to a smile, but it disappeared quickly as she took in his expression, the tone of his voice.

"No," she replied, looking slightly confused, "I don't. But John, what difference does it make?"

"It makes all the difference," he replied stubbornly, getting to his feet and making his way through to the kitchen, "You lie about it, then laugh at me behind my back with Kovac. How do you think that makes me feel?"

Abby let out a short laugh from behind him, stepping in his path. "It's fucking *food*, John," she told him, "It's not like I'm secretly sleeping around the hospital behind your back or anything."

"If you don't care about food then why aren't you with Luka?" he asked her snidely, "That's why you broke up after all."

She paused, frowning. "John, we were just joking around - "

"And I'm very happy for you," he interrupted, "I'm sure Luka's happy in the knowledge that at least he knew what food you liked."

"You've blown this way out of proportion!" she told him hotly, "Am I not allowed to talk to my friends now? Am I only allowed to talk to you?"

"He's not your friend!" Carter yelled, forgetting any self-control and just letting the white-hot anger that grew in his stomach take over. "He's your *ex*! Don't you get it? You used to go out with the guy, he's still in love with you, and you go and flirt with him! You don't see me flirting with my ex's do you?!"

Abby fixed him with a cool stare. "It wasn't flirting, and I wouldn't care," she retorted, "You know why? Because I trust you."

Carter rolled his eyes and pushed past her to the lounge, picking his coat off the couch. "Thanks for the vote of confidence - for all I know whilst you're trusting me, you're sticking your tongue down the Croatian's throat - "

"He has a name!" Abby snapped loudly, "For fuck's sake, Carter, get over yourself for one second and think about what you're accusing me of. You *really* think I would do that to you after all we've been through?"

Carter paused at the door, and turned to look at her. Millions of reasons to stop the argument right there entered his mind, but he pushed them away. All he could think about now, all he wanted to think about, was how he loved her, so much it hurt to breathe without her there. And she was off with her ex. Some things never changed.

"You screwed me over before," he spoke up at last, his eyes full of a venom that he didn't realize he possessed, "What's to stop you now?"

Abby didn't reply, just staring at him, her big blue eyes filling with tears. Neither one made a move to close the distance between them, or to say something…anything to make it go away. Finally, Carter yanked open the door and walked out, slamming it shut behind him. As he walked down the hallway, he ignored the sound of sobbing through the thin walls.

He had to get out.

**********

Carter stumbled up the stairs to his apartment, the effect of the couple of beers he had consumed kicking in with full vengeance. Okay, not so much a couple of beers…but he didn't need to count. When you lose the love of your life to some Croatian guy, it's in the rules that you can drink as much as you like.

Gotta love those rules.

He jabbed repeatedly at his front door with the key until finally it fit, and swung open quite violently. Carter blinked in surprise. It didn't use to open like that.

He took one step, then another, and stopped. The lounge looked almost identical to how he had left it when he had stormed out earlier…except for the broken remote control. And a stamped-on video of Dirty Dancing. And a half-full wine glass.

Wine?

The realization that hit him had more of a sobering effect than two hundred cups of coffee ever could. If he hadn't been drinking the wine, then someone else had. And the only other someone likely to be in his apartment was Abby.

Abby. Abby the alcoholic. Abby the 5-years-sober alcoholic.

This was the kind of situation that merited a string of loud swear words to exit his half-open mouth - but he had no words. He just stared. Stared, and felt guilty. Guilty for yelling, guilty for accusing. Guilty for pushing her over the brink and guilty for pushing her off the wagon.

What kind of boyfriend was he anyway?

"John?" a weakened voice called out from his bedroom. "Is that you?"

This time he did swear. The word `fuck` left his mouth softly as he caught sight of Abby, pale, eyes blood-shot, and sitting in the middle of the floor in her underwear. She stared up at him, eyes wide, pleading, and yet totally blank at the same time. She was drunk.

"John?" she repeated.

"I'm here," he told her quickly, kneeling by her side and wrapping his arms around her. He could feel her breathing, shallow and shaky, her skin icy cold. Closing his eyes to the sight, he held on to her tightly, slowly rocking back and forth, the rhythmic motions seeming to calm her down.

"I don't like casserole," she said, her voice muffled against his chest, "I'm sorry John."

Carter shushed her, kissing her head, and opening his eyes. What was he supposed to do now? He was so used to being saved - he wasn't the one doing the saving. Surely he wasn't strong enough…strong enough for the both of them?…

"C'mon Abby," he murmured, struggling to his feet and picking her up easily, only pausing to loosen her iron grip around his neck. "Let's get you in to bed…"

He lowered her gently on to his bed, the proceeded to undress her - something that was more complicated than it had ever seemed in the movies. He tossed her stained and wrinkled clothes in the corner, and carefully pulled an old, but clean t-shirt of his own over her head. As the words `Disneyworld Florida` glared up at him in many different colours, he pulled it down so it covered her upper body and up to halfway down her thighs. She mumbled incoherently, eyes fluttering open and closed every few seconds, hands groping weakly at his arms. He paused in his actions, watching her. It startled him to see the woman he had thought was so strong that nothing could break her so weak, so out of control. If anyone was made of steel, it was Abby. She was invincible, she was in control, and most of all, she never let herself be weak in front of others. Even in the intense relationship they had shared, Abby had never let Carter see her other side.

And now, he was seeing it all.

She had started to cry, empty, soulless tears, which turned to wracking sobs, echoing around the room. Carter watched in muted horror, feeling like his heart had been ripped out of his chest. Each sob tore in to his soul, ripped and ravaged until he felt as empty as she did. Then he sat next to her, and pulled her to him, holding her shaking body against his, shutting his eyes tightly as she cried softly.

"I love you Abby," he whispered, a tear slipping down his cheek, "It's okay. I love you."

**********

Hours passed, tears dried, souls replenished. Abby lay in his arms, her breathing steady once more, the smell of liquor fading from intensely strong to a vague, faint scent. If he hadn't seen her puke most of it up, he wouldn't be sure she'd had that much to drink.

He didn't know how he had managed to sit there with her, cradling her in his arms, for so long. He wasn't sure how he had held back her hair as she had vomited in to the toilet. He didn't know how he had kept such a tight grip on her when all his instincts told him to get out of this place, of this situation.

Maybe it was love.

He knew he loved her. He was all of a sudden very aware of how painful it was to watch the one person you love more than anything destroy themselves - now he knew how she must've felt those few months ago, those few years ago. But this wasn't about him. He was the cause, and only he could correct it. Sure, he could pass it off to Luka, claiming it was his job. But Abby wouldn't want that. And most of all, he wouldn't want that. He hated being wrong, but he was. He had said some unforgivable things to her, things that he wished he could take back. But jealousy was too powerful, too strong. Jealousy drove him mad. He couldn't blame her. If anything was ruined, it was his fault.

He had ruined her.

He needed to cry, wanted to cry, but no tears fell. He felt like screaming, shouting out, asking for help, for someone to do something. He couldn't do this alone. He couldn't save her. He couldn't even save himself. It was things like this that made him want to pour some pills down his throat and forget everything that had happened. But he couldn't face it. He couldn't face the pain, he couldn't face the destruction, and he couldn't do it to her. He had to be strong, not just for himself, but for her. Because it was the only thing binding them together anymore.

He had to be strong.

**********