Residuum

Summary: Doug deals with the aftermath of his reckless actions.

The show ER, and all characters and situations borrowed from it, are property of Constant-C, NBC, Warner Brothers, etc. This fanfiction is for entertainment only, and no money is made from it. The story contains graphic scenes and words which may offend some readers, and as such, it is not appropriate for children under 18. This story is not to be archived or distributed without the permission of the author.

Stories in the series:
A Clean Break; Stages of Ending; Retribution; Covenant; Tap-dance; Free Falling; Blink of an Eye; Vivisection; Keepsakes; In the Steam; Through the Night; Cornerstone; Domesticity; The Caretaker; To CH; The Empty Space; Tenderhearted; Intoxicated; The Present; Summit; The Harbor, Part I; The Harbor, Part II; Expectations; Joint Venture, Kiss of Life; Residuum

Author's note: Now it gets interesting. Hang on and we'll stay true to the story line, going along with the creators as long as we can, unless we're forced to bail. Then, we'll bail if we must.

For Elizabeth

Residuum
by Jordan
jturner36@juno.com

Everything had happened so quickly it was difficult for him to digest it at first. He'd felt it coming, knew it was upon him, and then when it engulfed him, he simply relinquished everything without a fight.

He sensed that if Carol looked back, she would see that it had indeed been brewing for a while but she had refused to acknowledge it. That first conversation right after Christmas when he told her about the job offer now took on importance that he knew she had refused to admit existed then.

He was leaning against the counter in the kitchen peeling an orange when she walked in. "So, Carol," he began, "listen to this. As wacky as Amanda, or whoever she is, was, there really is an HMO in Portland that's looking for someone to take the job opening up Pedes ERs across the country."

"Really," she smiled. "Who'd have thought there'd be any truth to her at all? How'd you find out?"

"I got a message on my voice mail from this guy who found out about my job at County. Said he wanted someone who'd done this kind of thing from the ground up, who could evaluate the need and get them going nationwide."

"Kind of like that guy, Max?" She took an orange section and ate it.

"Yeah, but different. Max was an independent, this position would be in-house. As they added more facilities, I guess it would grow."

"Too bad you've got a job," she chimed in.

"Yeah. I just found it funny that they called at all."

He knew she had put it out of her mind, not giving it a second thought. For him, though, as the road narrowed, it took on great importance.

It was all he had left to cling to.

*****

Doug felt lost. He tracked down Mark and invited him to go for a walk, to have a beer. Neither one of them said anything of substance until Doug told Mark what he'd told Carol earlier: He was leaving. Mark was quiet and left room for Doug to talk, but Doug had little else to say. They ended up shooting hoops and after a while, shook hands and parted.

He'd left Mark and taken the El home. Part of him hoped Carol would be there, the other just needed to absorb what had happened alone. He deliberately did not seek her out, did not want to know if she was home, so he showered and shaved and then slept in the upstairs bedroom for a few hours.

The pain of his sutures woke him and as he went downstairs to find some medication, he fingered the Rolodex on the counter. It was then that he made the decision to return one last time to his past.

It had been difficult for him to run to her, in actuality. He was afraid it would dredge up too much pain from the past. But he knew she was the only one he could count on, then, this woman who knew him so well. As he debated taking the risk of calling her, the same thoughts keep recurring in his mind:

Maybe I was in love with a fantasy, something I created in my mind.  Maybe it wasn't real at all. Maybe I'll never have it again with another person the rest of my life. Maybe I never want to.

And then, he questioned again if anyone would ever love him or if he was going to end up just as he had feared he would: Empty and alone.

So, he took a deep breath and he looked up her number, dog-eared in his Rolodex from the many calls he had made to her in the past. This time, though, he wasn't sure how she would respond, hearing from him after so long. He cradled the phone between his chin and shoulder. Just as he was about to hang up, she answered.

"Hey, it's Doug Ross."

"Doug? Nice surprise. Calling to say hi?"

"Yeah. Well, no. Well, yeah, hi."

"What's up?"

"I was wondering if we could, you know, get together sometime. Talk."

"Hmm, just like that? What's up?

"Well, I might be moving...."

"Moving? New job?"

"Uh, yeah, maybe, it's a...great opportunity."

"Good, glad to hear things are going well. Is she coming with you?"  She paused, waiting, but he was silent. "Carol? Is she joining you?"

"Carol. Uh, no, that's not...likely."

"Oh. Do you want to come over now? Talk? Whatever?"

He sighed, so confused. It was the ache. An ache he thought he'd never have again, in the pit of his stomach, threatening to grow and consume him. "I don't know. Not now, I don't think so."

But she knew him so well, and she waited.

"Uh...when would be a...good time for me to come over?" he quietly asked.

*****

She'd been surprised to hear from him, but she welcomed him, feeling like they had only stopped seeing each other weeks ago instead of years ago. It was easier between them this time: The jockeying for position, the false pretenses were gone, because they had so little time left together.

Doug hadn't intended to ever see her again. Hadn't intended to seek her out at all, but he did, despite his own reluctance, because he knew she wouldn't turn him down. So they sat there on that gray day in February, his lean body draped comfortably over the sofa, shoes off, and she relaxed in a nearby chair, both of them drinking coffee, at ease in each others' company, speaking freely.

"So," Mary ventured, "Why are you here?"

He pondered that, looking around the once-familiar office, remembering the nights they'd spent talking, working, delving into his psyche, repairing what years of abuse had damaged. The question was simple, really. It was the answer that would overwhelm him. Work, friends, that was tough to lose, difficult to leave, but he could survive that.

What he couldn't bear was the possibility that he might lose Carol. He had feared, finally, what other, wiser people had speculated for centuries. Conventional wisdom had it that in affairs of the heart, one party is the lover, the other is the beloved. Simply stated, one loves more than the other. He was convinced that he had loved Carol more than she'd loved him; couldn't believe she'd refused him. Mostly, he needed a place to put all the hurt.

"She used to tell me that I broke her heart, and I didn't understand it at the time. I really didn't know what she meant. And now...she's the only woman I've ever fallen in love with. I risked everything, my whole self, for her. And, you know, in a way, I wish I never knew what it was like, being in love with her...loving her like this. Maybe I had it right before. Maybe the best thing is sex, no strings attached."

Mary shook her head in disbelief. "You don't really believe that."

"I don't know. I don't know. You go through life, go through women, take what you want, leave everything else behind. Give none of yourself. Maybe that's really the way. 'Cause then your...heart, you know, if you have to say goodbye, it won't break. It doesn't hurt because it never mattered. It's not like this. Not like this."

It was the first time he'd put everything into words. The first time he himself had heard it all.

He continued talking, sharing private dreams, their personal plans.

"You know, when you love someone so much, you just want that...closeness. For us, I guess, that meant having a baby together. I guess, maybe...in a way, I might have thought, too, that it would somehow...."

"You two are expecting a baby?"

"No," he shook his head, correcting her.

"You were trying to conceive?"

"Yeah. I thought...." He stopped, wondering if he could explain himself.

"Go on," she encouraged him.

"I dunno...what I thought."

"Doug, no more slamming doors, not now. We -- you -- don't have time to pull this now."

He nodded. "It would...bind us together, you know? Give us something tangible, in a way."

"Wouldn't marriage have been tangible?"

He emitted a quick, bitter laugh. "Would have been, yeah."

"Then why didn't you marry her?"

"It got to the point, I guess, where we felt like we were married. Now, the difference is...marriages can dissolve, too, but it's harder to do it, I think." He looked up at her briefly, then his eyes focused on the floor. "Now, I wish I'd pushed for it harder, I wish we had."

"Your actions with this patient, this little boy: Did you feel what you did was clearly right, that your actions were warranted?"

"No. Nothing was clear. I felt so fuc...sorry...screwed up, it was like I was walking in slow motion, things were hazy, unclear, but I knew that getting involved with him was going to lead to disaster. So, I had a few choices to make about the path I chose. As usual, I chose the wrong one."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because...I did what I did without thinking of the long-term consequences. I should have refused to get involved after my first mistake, which was prescribing the experimental drug."

She leaned forward. "But, you didn't."

"I didn't know how to get out of it, how to stop it. So, I kept going, one mistake made the next worse."

"You talked about consequences. What were they?"

"I've implicated innocent people, I lost my credibility, my name is ruined. I screwed my friend, Mark. I felt forced to leave a job that I had fought hard to get. I may lose Carol." Doug leaned back and exhaled. "I may lose everything."

She cut to the chase. "What do you want, ultimately?"

"What do I want? I want to work where I can make a difference in the lives of kids who are defenseless and hurt and need someone to be their medical advocate. I want Carol, by my side, with me, every day. I want to marry her, I want to take care of her. I want to have children with her. I want everything. Everything with her." He stared out the window. "She's everything. And I am so scared I'll end up with nothing. Mary, the thing is, I've had this...this nagging...fear since the day I first laid eyes on her, since I first knew that I wanted her."

"What's that?"

Doug looked up at her and she could see the hurt in his eyes despite his attempt to hide it with a half smile. "That I could have her...but I wouldn't get to keep her."

Mary waited patiently, knowing that she had never seen Doug this open before.

He continued quietly, "It scares me, you know? Thinking she'll never really be mine."

"Why does it scare you?"

"Because I don't know what I would do...without her. Because I love her more than I've ever loved anyone or anything in my life. I'll never really be happy unless I'm with her."

"Doug, do you ever think that maybe it's not your fault she's so elusive?"

He looked up as if Mary had said the most ridiculous thing. "No. I'm the one that screwed up, not her."

"But if she loves you, why wouldn't she back you up, or at least forgive you?"

Doug looked away, unable to answer the question. Doubting himself  more than ever.

*****

He walked through the door that night not really knowing what to expect.  Things were quiet and tense. They could barely acknowledge what was looming in the future.

The bedroom was dark but for the dim glow of her reading light, a concession she'd made for him to cope with her night-owl ways. He strode to the dresser, dropping his wallet and keys before undressing.  He turned around, vaguely aware of her eyes upon him, then kicked off his pants, pulled his shirt over his shoulders, and sat on the bed, his back to her.

Carol did not know how to respond to him. When he laid back, avoiding her eyes, she was afraid to be the first to open up, afraid to be the one to touch. He sighed into the pillow and then turned to her, his eyes quiet and innocent. And then he reached out his hand and stroked her hair. It was his customary invitation. When she took him into her arms, her body unconsciously braced itself, half-waiting for sex full of rage, anger and frustration, but she needn't have been concerned. On that night, he deluged her with gentleness.

Although the circumstances were different, they had done this before: Made love on the brink of parting, knowing they could never capture it all at once, wanting it to be the sweetest of times; knowing it could never be.

Afraid it would be.

But, for once, it was utterly silent. They both knew words would break the spell of denial they were under, bringing reality to the fore, and reality was everything they were avoiding. This once, no words underscored their lovemaking; to do so would be to again confess how entirely taken with each other they were, with a total bliss most people only dreamed of. And to admit that would be to die inside, knowing it was there and it could be taken from them. If they had spoken, what more could be said? Souls were already enmeshed, lips would know no sweeter kiss, flesh would find no match more perfect. Such fragile hearts could not face even the possibility of defeat after bravely risking everything. To speak would be to accept that they'd reached the pinnacle, and anything that might come afterward would only be a shadow of what they had shared.

How would she live without him there to bolster her? How would he survive without her by his side?

No.

On that night, such thoughts were shunned.

And so he sought the woman he had always sought, she accepted the man she had always accepted. He cradled, as did she. He savored, lingering over her. She encircled, memorizing him. One strangled moan, one tender whimper the only sounds of their otherwise hushed love. Eyes were closed, stayed closed. His body pressed against hers, slowing her, denying his need, delaying the inevitable. Her hands reached out to still him, fighting her desire, not wanting to end. How long could they lay there, so joined, how long could they last? There was no rush, no urgency to reach that pinnacle. For that night, the journey itself was the goal, though they knew the longer the journey, the more painful the conclusion would be. To feel pain, you must feel and not be numb. So to convince yourself you're not numb, you accept pain as an alternative to joy.

Who would be brave? Who would look first? Neither, it seemed. Hold on, hold on, hold out. Don't give in. Feel her shaking, trembling.  Weeping. Tears escaping eyes that would not yet open. Tears hidden from eyes that could not bear to see them.

Something within him then surrendered, something within her acquiesced. Something between them needed to watch, needed to see the other. See the bewilderment. To face it. Each other. To sanctify their love through grief.

Their eyes met.

At once, he regretted it, for what he saw there threatened to undo him, and finally, did.

He broke it, recognizing it, dreading the turning point, as he whispered simply: "Not yet." Then he was over the edge first, straining to take her with him, feeling himself slip away.

"Come with me," he said.

She tried to keep up, tried to join him, but in the end she could not and so gave up her release for his pleasure. And as she was settling, resigning herself, he moved downward, just as he had on their first night, and his mouth once again played upon her; so well did he know her, did he love her and care for her. As one penitent tear slid onto her, as his hands clutched her tightly, so he gently sent her then, over that same edge, watching her go.

ŠJordan Turner, 1999