Sharp Relief, Part Two

The show ER and all characters and situations borrowed from it are property of Constant-C, NBC, Warner Bros., etc. This fanfiction is for entertainment only and no profit is derived from it. Warning: This story contains language and explicit, heterosexual sex scenes which may be offensive to some and are inappropriate for those under 18.

Author's Note: This fanfic stays true to the storyline of "Sharp Relief" from ER's Season Four. It is the second part of two and it relates Carol's feelings, thoughts and actions during that episode. The companion story (same episode from Doug's perspective) was released on Jan. 31, 1999 and is archived on Ruth's fantastic ER nFanfic site at:

http://www.oocities.org/TelevisionCity/Studio/5437/elizabeth.htm

My love and appreciation go to Claire for editing and sharing her thoughts on this episode with me; and to Jordan, for editing and also for  being a "very perceptive chick" - not to mention an understanding and generous one. Thank you.

Sharp Relief, Part Two
The Roof

By Elizabeth
Eliz1296@aol.com

___________________________________________

Please don't say, 'I love you,'
Those words touch me much too deeply
And they make my core tremble.
Don't think you realize the effect you have over me.
And please don't look at me like that
It just makes me want to make you near me always.

Jewel, "Near You Always"
_____________________________________________

"Brrrr..."

Carol stepped on the mat that opened the automatic doors into the ER and she strained to absorb the warmth that enveloped her a moment later.

It was bitter cold out. Just her luck to be on a paramedic ride along. She'd be out in this weather all day.

She turned quickly and pushed her way into the lounge. Doug was there at his locker, gathering up his things and putting on his heavy overcoat.

No, just a light coat and gloves. The guy was nuts. Bound to catch a bad cold in this weather.

"Hey - I hope that's not all you're wearing," she said, stepping beside him to open her own locker and take off her hat, shaking out the hair she'd twisted up inside it before she left the house.

She bent over and then quickly stood upright, tossing the dark mass back over her shoulders and looking at him. Doug was staring at her, chuckling.

"What?"

"How do you hide all that hair in that hat? Must be the eighth wonder of the world."

Oh, man. Always teasing her about her hair. And anything else he could possibly think of.

Two could play at that: "Yeah, well you laugh away, Elvis."

He laughed again, and as she put away her backpack and took off her coat, he started talking about his plans for the day, rubbing it in that he would be at home, relaxing, while she'd have to endure a grueling day on a medic rig. They had settled into a comfortable domesticity since their engagement a few weeks earlier, and she could tell he was enjoying it immensely.

"Get outta here," she said, smiling at him and leaning over to give him a quick kiss good-bye.

"Okay, Dearborn and Clark, 5 o'clock?"

Oh god. Doug's big surprise. Carol had been trying not to think about it. She felt uneasy every time he mentioned it, mostly because she hated being left in the dark and then caught off-guard. But Doug was insistent. He had asked her to meet him downtown after work and he wouldn't tell her why. He must have reminded her about it half a dozen times since he'd told her a week ago that he was planning something special.

"I wrote it down."

"Okay." Doug started to walk out, probably going to grab breakfast at Doc Magoo's, she thought. She'd tried several times to get him to tell her what this meeting was all about and so far it hadn't worked. But she decided to give it another shot.

"You know, I really hate surprises. I'd like for you to tell me what it is," she said, walking after him, hands on her hips.

He smiled. "Yeah, well, I can't because I really ... love surprises."

Carol sighed inwardly. Things always had to go his way, she thought. He had his plans and his projects and his wild ideas and she usually bent to his will.

"All right, then. Dearborn and Clark at 5 o'clock," she said.

She looked back up at him and saw him gazing at her oddly. Waiting. She'd seen this look in his eyes a lot recently. It felt like he was watching her - analyzing her reactions, not entirely sure of her. It wasn't such a bad thing, she thought, keeping him slightly off guard.

"Hey," he looked around, checking to make sure they were alone.

"Hmmm?"

"Say it," he requested slyly.

She glanced around too, conspiratorial, not sure what he meant.

"Say what?" she whispered.

"Y'know, what I ... what I always say first: You say it."

She smiled. He had complained recently, in a joking way, about always having to go first when they offered up words of love.

"I *love* you," she complied sweetly, then reached up to kiss his mouth and slip her arms around his neck.

"Ummmm. Sounds good to me."

They shared a longer kiss and a quick hug and Carol could feel his body quiver in her arms, nervous and tense with pent-up energy. As he left, Carol wondered again, for what seemed like the twentieth time in the last 24 hours, what he was planning.

It had her worried. He'd been so dead-set on wanting to buy rings and pick a wedding date. In fact, since he'd proposed marriage to her in front of the entire ER, he'd been just like a kid with a new toy - hardly able to talk about anything else.

But it was really the last thing Carol wanted to discuss.
_____________________________________________

Please don't kiss me so sweet
It makes me crave a thousand kisses to follow
And please don't touch me like that
Makes every other embrace seem pale and shallow
And please don't come so close
It just makes me want to make you near me, always.
_____________________________________________

Carol's day started out slowly. She clocked in, had coffee, went over her roster of nurses to make sure no one had called in sick, and generally assured herself that everything would run smoothly while she spent the day with the paramedics.

"Hey, good morning Carol." It was Doris, coming in from the ambulance bay. "You're riding with me today. Unit 57. Get your coat, it's damned cold."

"Okay, Doris. Just give me a minute," Carol said, stacking up some charts she'd been looking over and heading for her locker.

This was good. She'd known Doris for years and liked her. It was always nice to ride with a female medic. Sometimes the guys got a little crazy, trying to outdo each other with macho posturing when a nurse was in the rig, Carol thought. Shep's face floated through her mind briefly, and she grinned to herself.

Carol put on her coat and hat and met Doris coming out of the ER with an armload of supplies for the ambulance. It was snowing again. She climbed into the unit, noting that Doris was riding with a new partner. Carol had only met him once or twice.

"Greg Powell, right?" she asked, glancing at him.

He looked over his shoulder and smiled. "Good memory, Nurse Hathaway."

So he remembered her, too. A lot of the single nurses would be jealous when they heard that she got to do her ride along with Powell, Carol thought, smiling to herself again. Most of them had been hoping to get to know him better. With looks like this guy had, she could hardly blame them.

They went out on a few routine calls: chest pain, a slip and fall in the bathtub, a baby who'd been vomiting most of the night and was weak and limp. They ferried a couple people to the ER, then went back to the station house for a break when things slowed down.

"Maybe we'll get a chance to relax for a while," Powell said, following Carol inside. He had a slight Texas accent, she noticed, and he was walking very closely behind her, his coat brushing against her arm a couple of times. She had caught him looking at her in the ambulance and directing comments her way, too.

Before long, he'd be asking her out for a drink after their shift, she thought, and she'd have to tell him about her boyfriend. Her fiance.

"Yeah, I hope we get a little break so we can warm up," Carol said, shivering. "Which way's the restroom?"

"Right down the hall there, and to the left," he said, gesturing and smiling at her.

"Uh, thanks. I'll ... I'll be back in a minute."

Powell just stood there, not moving, and Carol waited a moment, too, then turned awkwardly and walked down the hall, looking over her shoulder when she reached the coed bathroom to see him still there, watching her.

The guy was really going all out.

Carol went inside the bathroom and locked the door behind her, shaking her head. She noted with amusement the stack of men's magazines piled up blatantly on top of the toilet tank, the kind of thing she used to find in Doug's bathroom, years ago. She wondered how Doris and the other female medics managed it, living here for days at a time so outnumbered by men.

She undid her pants and sat down, peeking at one of the magazines idly, amazed at the bodies featured inside. The narrow hips and waists and enormous chests had to be the result of extensive plastic surgery and airbrushing, she decided, leafing through it. She'd seen enough naked bodies in her career to know that women just weren't generally built like that.

Doug hadn't brought anything like this into her house, but Carol sometimes wondered if she was enough to keep him satisfied. He had so much more experience than she did, sexually. She paged through the magazine, noticing the full breasts and seductive lingerie on the models and thinking about her own small chest and the tank tops and T-shirts she wore to bed. How long would she really be able to hold Doug's interest? He said he loved her, but could he really be faithful - if they got married?

She wondered, sometimes, although his enthusiasm for sex and lust for her body certainly hadn't diminished at all since they had been living together. And Carol had to admit that she felt equally enthusiastic about him. It was almost embarrassing, how the man had succeeded in turning her into a ..... a sex maniac, she thought. She looked down at the magazine again and blushed, hastily folding it up and putting it away.

She craved him constantly. Found herself reliving their passionate encounters, recalling the feel of his weight on her, the way he insinuated himself possessively between her legs, the way her body enveloped him. Since he'd been working nights and she'd been on days, they hadn't slept together in more than a week and the separation was getting to her.

This was the way men were supposed to be - thinking about sex all the time, obsessed with it. Carol's mother had taught her and her sisters that sex was something that selfish, untrustworthy men enjoyed and women endured, if they wanted children.

Carol still had trouble with the trusting part, but Doug had long ago proved that her mother was wrong about sex not being enjoyable. Carol blushed again, remembering how she had pleasured herself in a frenzy of frustrated desire the night before, engulfed in memories of the last time they had made love.
_____________________________________________

Please don't bring me flowers
they only whisper the sweet things you'd say
And don't try to understand me
your hands already know too much anyway
It just makes me want to make you near me always.
_____________________________________________

They had had a rare day off together and as usual Doug had gotten up early, thrown on shorts and a T-shirt, pulled on his sweats, shoved his baseball cap on backwards and retrieved his basketball from the hall closet.

She woke up to the sound of him bouncing it down the steps and dribbling up the street, and she smiled. He was a regular at a local pickup game during the winter, when he couldn't play golf.

Sometimes, after Carol had coffee and read the newspaper, she would walk the two blocks to the gymnasium to watch the end of the game. It was nice to get out when the weather wasn't miserable, she told Doug.

But what she kept to herself was the pure physical pleasure she took in leaning against the gym wall and watching him darting around the court, dripping with sweat, sometimes shirtless, guarding and blocking, jumping, all aggressive and intense.

So much of this competitive, driven side of him had been muted, brought under control in recent months, since he'd been in therapy. Flashes of it still surfaced, occasionally, but only rarely now. It thrilled her, somehow, to see his intensity on the court, his muscles hard, his jaw clenched in determination, eyes blazing.

When he won, she'd come to find, he would high-five every guy on his team and slap a few backsides. He'd usually collect some money from the losers and then - only then, when everyone was dispersing - he would notice her standing in the shadows and flash her a brilliant smile, running to her side triumphantly.

On the way home, he would practically fly - laughing and reciting a play-by-play of all his best shots, jogging up and back, dribbling circles around her, grabbing her scarf away and making her leap to get it before he relented and wrapped it sweetly around her neck again.

If he'd lost, on the other hand, he would walk slowly off the court, holding the ball, head down, immersed in his own world - hardly looking up at her. He would shake his head and mutter under his breath, reliving every moment of the game and taking himself to task for each missed opportunity, every bad pass, every shot that hit the rim.

When he won, he would bound up the porch steps at home and practically drag her into the shower with him, making love to her right there, clutching her body close to his under the spray.

If he lost, he would shower alone and sometimes his bad mood would linger into early afternoon.

But on this particular morning, their first day off together in weeks, Carol did not go to the gym. She had a long list of chores and shopping she'd been putting off and she was determined to get an early start. Groceries first, then she needed to pick out some shoes and a new purse. If there was time, she hoped she and Doug could spend the afternoon and evening finishing up a couple of the remodeling projects they had started months earlier.

She was down in the basement, starting the laundry, when she heard him come in. She stopped and looked up at the ceiling over her head, listening. The ball was bouncing and his step was light and quick. Her eyes followed his progress as he paced through the house, and she smiled, realizing that he must have won and he was looking for her.

She heard the bathroom door shut and the shower go on. The water heater on the other side of the basement fired up. Carol sorted their clothes and measured out the soap, waiting a few minutes until the shower went off before she started the first load, making sure that Doug wouldn't get a blast of cold water.

She walked upstairs, planning to grab her coat and her purse, give Doug some instructions about the laundry and then head right to the market.

"Doug ..." she stopped in the bedroom doorway when she caught sight of him, moving an armchair from the corner and positioning it in front of the antique pedestal mirror she'd purchased at a yard sale over the summer.

"Hey, Carol." Doug straightened up. He was wearing only a pair of boxer shorts and his hair was still wet. "I couldn't find you before."

"I was downstairs, putting in some laundry. I hoped that maybe you'd finish it for me, while I go..."

But Doug had caught her eye and he fixed her with a look that absolutely sent chills up her spine. Head down, his dark brown eyes looked up at her intently, a mischievous grin playing at the corners of his mouth. The look on his face held out a world of promise.

Carol's throat went dry and tingles spread through her lower body. "What ... what are you doing?" she asked.

"Just thinking about what we could do today."

His voice was sexy and demanding and it slayed her instantly: "Come over here a minute, Carol."

"Doug .... I've got tons of things I absolutely have to do today. I've got to go to the grocery store right now."

"The store isn't going anywhere, Carol. We haven't been alone in days. Come on over here."

She hesitated but knew immediately that resisting was a lost cause. He had completely eroded her willpower, turned her into an irresponsible person, the kind of person who would spend all day in bed when there were important things to do. The kind of person who wasn't in control anymore.

Despite how determined she'd been, at the beginning of the summer, not to let him get the upper hand again in this relationship, Doug had slowly but surely succeeded in destroying her resistance to him and there was no mistaking it.

"Doug, we don't have any food in the house," she said, a weak final protest.

"So, I'll go shopping later," he said, and grinned mischievously again, irresistible, holding out his hand. "Carol...."

She sighed and smiled, despite herself. "Why don't you come over here?" she asked.

"Because .... I love the way you move. I like watching you come to me," he said.

"Oh..." she said, her breath quickening, unable to look away from him. Carol wondered, with a thrill of anticipation, what he was planning. She put her purse down and took her coat off, then walked across the bedroom slowly, reaching up to unbutton her blouse. When she reached him, he caught her wrists and stilled her fingers.

"Don't. Let me do that."

He stood her in front of the mirror and undressed her slowly from behind, his brown arms slipping around her waist, hands reaching up to undo her blouse and slide it off her shoulders, trailing his fingers down her bare arms. Then he unfastened her jeans and pushed them down around her hips, kneeling to draw them off her ankles, watching intently as her body was slowly revealed in the glass, touching her only lightly. When she was stripped down to her bra and panties, he sat in the chair and pulled her down sideways across his lap like a child, his arms cradled around her, her head snuggled up against his chest.

He quickly put his hands into her hair and tilted her head back gently so he could kiss and lick her neck. She drew his mouth up to hers and kissed him, reaching her tongue out to meet his own.

He stroked a fingertip over her breasts through the thin elastic of her sports bra, stimulating each nipple with a featherlight touch, then stopping, watching it respond.

"Take my bra off," she requested, her voice choked with emotion.

"Not yet," he said. "I like to see them get hard, like this, under the fabric."

"Oh..." she moaned while he continued teasing her, touching lightly and then backing off, and she arched her back, laying her body out across his lap. Finally, he pulled the elastic out of the way, freeing her breasts,  and put his hands on her soft skin while he kissed her, making her come alive with sighs and shivers.

"Ummm..." Carol's head was turning from side to side, her hair whipping around, and he growled deep in his throat, loving the way he could heat her up, turn her on, unleash the passion she hid underneath her practical, demure exterior. Her sensuality was a secret she saved just for him, and he felt like it was a fresh challenge, rediscovering it again and again. He never got tired of it - especially when he could take her from reluctance to pleading in a matter of a few minutes.

When he kissed down her throat to her chest, Carol thrust her breasts upward and, grasping his right wrist, she pulled his hand down between  her legs.

He chuckled sensuously, his face buried between her breasts, amused at her brazen insistence.

"Greedy little girl."

She looked up at him and smiled, shifting once again so that her breast made contact with his lips, wanting so badly to feel his warm mouth suckle her nipple.

"You spoil me," she murmured.

"Yeah, well, that's the general idea," he replied, chuckling again. "So ... is this more fun than grocery shopping?" he teased, finally reaching his tongue out to lick over her.

"Ummm ...," she nodded, wriggling against his hand until his middle finger slipped inside her, finding her lubrication, then thrusting her hips back and forth so the wetness spread all around. "Oh yeah," she whispered.

Doug laughed again at her loss of composure, sitting her upright. He pulled the bra over her head, then removed her panties and wiggled out of his shorts.

"Will you do something for me?" he murmured, kissing her neck again, his hands roaming freely over her.

"Yes," she said without hesitation, her voice husky with desire.

"Kneel up here, like this, so I can see you," he said, and he sat back in the chair and helped her kneel astride him, facing away from him - her back to his chest - spreading her legs out on either side of his own. She perched on her knees in front of him, at the edge of the chair, his hands steadying her hips, and she could see her body displayed fully in the mirror, his face visible behind her and his erection straining between her legs.

It was an enticing sight. She reached both hands down to touch him.

"Here," he said, picking up a bottle of fragrant massage oil from the floor next to the chair.

Carol cupped her hands together and he drizzled a good amount of the rich, orange liquid over her fingers. She rubbed her palms together slowly, then slid them over him, starting from the sensitive area behind his balls and stroking upward firmly, finally circling one finger softly around the tip.

"Ohhhh," he groaned, closing his eyes briefly. Her touch was heaven to him and he settled back to enjoy it while she played with him, watching in the mirror as she rubbed both hands up and down, using her fingers to tease him, then she leaned back against his chest and brought his hardness in contact with her soft wetness, drawing him back and forth across her clitoris until she was close to coming.

He stopped her then, pushing her forward until her hips were jutting slightly out and her ass was exposed to him, and held her there while he rubbed himself in the hollow between her cheeks, his body thrusting up out of the chair.

Carol sighed shakily, on the verge of orgasm, enjoying the pressure and his stroking motion, then reached up and began petting herself, running her wet hands up her thighs and across her stomach, stroking her breasts and circling her nipples, then up to the back of her neck where she lifted her hair until it fell forward over her face. The sensual image in the mirror made both of them moan helplessly.

"Carol, I want ... I want to be inside you. I want to fuck you," Doug choked out, breathless.

She immediately shifted herself back towards him and took him in her hands again, positioning her body so that he would penetrate her as she sank down. Then she lowered herself onto him and both of them watched, mesmerized, as he was swallowed up inside of her.

As she raised back up, they could see him reemerge, red and hard and slick with her moisture. She pressed back down again and he disappeared once more. Up and down, in and out, they moved together in the chair, unaware of anything around them, lost in their own pleasure, as Carol touched her body erotically.

"I love you, Carol, oh god, I love you so much," he said, his voice ragged, and he reached around to massage her breasts himself, his  thumbs rubbing back and forth over her slick nipples. Carol's head fell back onto his shoulder and she came hard, groaning, her thighs clenching spasmodically.

Doug held her down tightly, stilling her movements until he was buried fully, filling her up, and he pumped his climax into her, throbbing inside her as her muscles squeezed all around him.
_____________________________________________

And when you look in my eyes
please know my heart is in your hands
It's nothing that I understand
but with your arms
you have complete power over me
_____________________________________________

"Carol? Are you okay? Lunch is gonna be ready soon." Doris' voice, accompanied by soft knocking, jolted Carol rudely from her recollections.

"I'm ... I'm fine. I'll be out in just a minute." Carol grabbed a handful of tissue and swiped it between her legs, finding that her far-reaching thoughts had left her slippery wet.

God. How embarrassing. How long had she been sitting here? Had Powell sent Doris to check on her?

Carol's cheeks were red as she washed her hands hastily, dried them  and made her way back to the living room of the station house.

It was odd to find herself so obsessed. She'd been celibate for months after she and Shep had broken up, dating casually but not becoming intimate with anyone, and she had certainly missed sex but hadn't felt consumed by it. With Doug, it was like he had some kind of hold over her, both sexually and emotionally. Being with him was an addiction that Carol feared would be very difficult to break.

Oh man. Even the thought of that possibility, of him leaving her now, when she had let herself become so vulnerable and so dependent on him again, when she'd fallen in love with him all over again, scared her to death. Whenever it rose up, she tried to push it out of her mind. But she could not seem to forget how he had used her weakness for him to his advantage before.

And look what happened back then.

She agreed to play fish with Doris, chatting casually with the guys and trying her best to put the thoughts of Doug out of her mind.

As she played, she was surprised again to catch Powell's eyes on her several times when she looked up. He seemed to go out of his way to include her in the conversation.

Carol smiled inside, amused. It was kind of nice. Flattering, in fact, thinking that all the time she was obsessing about Doug, someone else was thinking about her. It had been a long time since anyone had flirted with her - anyone at all, let alone someone so attractive.

Powell was relatively new - probably one of the few people who worked in or around the ER who didn't know that she and Doug were together. She couldn't be angry at him for flirting. He didn't realize she was getting married.

Married. Carol's stomach churned as she abruptly recalled the meeting that Doug had planned for later in the day. Did marriage have something to do with it? The corner he'd mentioned was across from the El's Civic Center stop, only couple of blocks from where she and Tag had gone to fill out paperwork at the marriage license bureau, years ago.

Was that what Doug had in mind? Surely he wouldn't surprise her with an *elopement* at the City Clerk's office. Or would he?

The fire house alarm went off loudly then and Carol pushed her fears from her mind, putting her cards down and following Doris and Powell out to the ambulance.

After the quiet and relative calm of the morning, Carol's afternoon was hellish. One serious medical emergency after another, culminating with a call on another elderly rape victim. When they got to her apartment, Powell freaked out, falling apart as they worked on the woman and her daughter screamed and sobbed in the background. He reminded her of Shep, losing control during a trauma, acting completely unprofessional.

He became sullen and morose, not saying a word after they finally got a pulse and took the woman, Louise Dickinson, to the ER. About half an hour later, word came down from the trauma room that she had not survived, and they restocked the ambulance together in silence, their shifts just about over.

Carol thought about Powell, how funny and friendly he'd been earlier in the day, and worried about him. She was a good listener and she wished  he would talk to her, but he rebuffed her attempts to find out what was wrong. She was reminded again of Shep, and even of Doug, sometimes. It was difficult to know why someone was hurting when they wouldn't open up and talk about it.

She also worried about Mrs. Dickinson's cat. With the woman dead and her daughter distraught and distracted with the morbid details of autopsies and police investigations, Carol feared the animal would be forgotten. She had a soft spot for pets - cats especially - and the thought nagged at her.

"Someone should go up there and see if it's okay," she said to Powell as they finished restocking.

"You're really that worried about a cat?" he asked, looking at her.

"Well ... yeah, I am. If I knew, at least, that a neighbor was looking out for it, feeding it, it wouldn't be so bad. But I hate to think about her cat all alone in that apartment, or outside in this cold," Carol said.

Powell looked at her seriously for a few minutes. "If you want to go back there, I'll go with you right now," he offered. "We're off the clock in a couple minutes and I've got my car at the station house. We can drop the 57 off and I'll drive."

Carol glanced at her watch. It was already after 4 p.m. and she knew she'd be pushing it, trying to get back to the woman's apartment and still meet Doug downtown in an hour. She considered a moment, then shrugged her worries off. The El was running frequently and, assuming they located the cat quickly and Powell would drop her at the station, she could still get to Dearborn and Clark with a few minutes to spare.

"That ... that'd be great of you. Thanks a lot, Greg," she said, climbing into the seat beside him as he backed the ambulance away from the hospital.

She was tense on the way back to the station house, thinking about meeting Doug and finding out what he had planned. If she was a couple of minutes late, so what? In fact, she was dreading 5 p.m. She'd been dreading it all day, feeling pressured by what she suspected Doug had in mind. Why couldn't he see that she wasn't interested in getting married right away? Why couldn't he just leave well enough alone?

They parked the ambulance and Carol and Powell headed to Mrs. Dickinson's apartment, his mood seeming to lift slowly as they made  small talk on the way over. When they got inside, they found the detectives just wrapping up their investigation.

Carol shuddered, revisiting this place, seeing the efficient, sterile team taking it all apart, realizing that less than 24 hours ago it had been an old lady's home, her haven.

Now, there was no sign of warmth, or comfort, or familiarity. And no sign of the cat.

Powell found a back door off the pantry. "Here's some stairs, maybe it got to the roof," he suggested. Carol was only too eager to get away from the depressing confines of the apartment, and walked quickly to the stairs as Powell held the door for her.

As they ascended the narrow steps, Carol felt his body immediately behind her, following her closely again. His coat brushed the back of her leg and suddenly she was acutely aware, as they emerged onto the dark, still roof, that they were alone - and that Powell was again giving off signals that he was attracted to her. She still hadn't told him about Doug, and coming here with him was probably giving him the wrong message, she thought uneasily.

But she put the can of food down for the cat, who darted behind a fence as soon as it caught sight of them, and sat in the cold with him, looking over the sparkling lights of the city.

"Hey, you're right. What happened back there? It ... it got to me," Powell said.

Carol listened intently as Powell began to talk, finally, telling her things about himself, his pain, his mother's death.

Suicide. Losing a parent at an early age. A child, confused and angry at the devastation of abandonment. Carol leaned against a chimney, Powell's words striking deep chords within her, all the time aware that the minutes were slipping away past 5, getting later and later, and feeling oddly numb. Not caring, somehow.

"What a sick boy I am, huh?" he smiled at her, a pained smile. So open and vulnerable.

"I thought about everybody *but* me when I tried to kill myself," she said. "I just got wrapped up in everybody else's expectations of me. I forgot who *I* was, you know?"

Carol knew, as soon as she said it, that this was why she had dreaded meeting Doug today, why she'd been so uncomfortable with the thought of marrying him: She was having the same feeling she'd had when Tag was pressuring her into marriage, years ago, before her suicide attempt. Like she had to live up to his expectations or risk losing him.

"And now?" Powell asked.

How was she now? No longer clinically depressed, she'd had therapy, recovered, found herself and reconfirmed her calling, learned to stand alone, take care of herself. She was okay, she told him. More than okay, in fact.

A little spark of defiance and anger that had been smoldering inside Carol for days ignited then, as she talked about med school and her clinic. Doug might be able to crumple her resistance in the bedroom with one of his sexy looks, but she was still her own person - with an important career and accomplishments and a home - things she was proud of.

She did not have to let Doug crowd her or force her into making a commitment she wasn't ready for, she thought. Tag had done it and his  mother had done it. And her own mother. And Shep had tried it, too, in his sweet, ineffective way.

She'd relied on Doug - commitment-phobic, gun-shy Doug - never to put her in this box. But now he was doing the same thing the others had. And she didn't like it.

"But what about you?" Powell was asking, moving the conversation one step further, making it personal. Immediate.

"*Me*?"

"What are you thinkin' about right now?"

He stared at her, his dark eyes intense. They scared her, all of a sudden, and an answer to his question ran through her head: "I'm thinking I shouldn't be here - with you - right now."

But instead of verbalizing it, she sighed and looked away, laughing: "I'm thinking that it's freezing up here and I wish that damn cat would come out."

Powell backed off a little, probably realizing that she was uncomfortable. He was very perceptive, she thought, picking up on her mood swings so quickly. Unusual for a guy.

"Yeah, I know it's gettin' late..." he said.

"Yeah."

"If you've got ... somewhere to be..."

Dearborn and Clark. Carol looked at her watch: 6:12. She was already so late that Doug must be furious with her. She pictured him, waiting on that corner, pacing back and forth, angry that she had not met his expectations.

The little flicker of rebellion she'd felt earlier flared into full flame and Carol made a quick decision.

"No, I'm ... fine," she lied.

*Screw* Doug's expectations. She wasn't going to live up to them and he would just have to decide if he could live with that or not. This time, when and where she got married would be decided on *her* terms - and no one else's.

She looked over at Powell and saw that he was looking away, probably trying to find a way to get out of this gracefully before he overstepped his bounds. Well, Doug certainly wouldn't expect her to be here, with Greg Powell, right now - would he?

"What are *you* thinking about?" she asked, turning the conversation personal again, deliberately giving Powell the opening that she knew he'd been looking for.

He looked over at her quickly, picking up on her willingness, interested all over again.

"I'm thinking I'm not feeling the cold."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And I'm thinking that cat will come out when she's good and ready."

"Yeah, probably so." Carol saw him smile at her and she could feel the tension building between them.

"And I'm thinking if I look at you one more second, I'm gonna have to
kiss you."

Carol's heart thudded suddenly. She felt scared - and excited - remembering how easy she'd thought it would be, to start a relationship with someone like Powell, someone who had no preconceived notions of her. Someone who had no painful history with her.

He just looked at her, a gentleman, giving her a moment to stop him. A voice inside her head told her that she *should* stop him. She should look away, stand up, tell him no. She should tell him about Doug.

But somehow, Carol just didn't. She just waited, anticipating him, watched him lean toward her. Wondering. Just wondering. What would it be like?

He sought her mouth and Carol tilted her chin slightly up and parted her lips, waiting for him, closing her eyes.

He was close to her and she could smell his skin, a pleasant mixture of shaving cream and cold, damp air and the slightly smoky haze that lingered on his turnout coat. It reminded her, once again, of Shep.

His lips touched hers, she felt their gentle pressure and decided it was nice. Then she relaxed, waiting for something to happen.

But an instant passed, and then another ... and ... nothing. She pulled her mouth away and felt him nuzzle her gently, his forehead touching hers. She opened her eyes, looking at him curiously.

They stared at each other for a moment and she realized that he had kissed her and she had kissed him and she had felt ... absolutely nothing.

No spark of desire, no stirring of arousal, no electricity. Carol was so surprised. Even the tiniest peck from Doug, even a brief moment in his arms, had the potency to make her body respond. This had been nothing like that.

Carol looked away and sucked her upper lip into her mouth, finding no taste there, confirming again that this kiss, Powell's kiss, had left absolutely no imprint. Except for the guilt that was settling in on her fast and heavy - oh, *Doug* - it was like it didn't happen.

She looked back at Powell then, no longer scared or excited, and smiled gently. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that," she said.

"No, I'm sorry. I ... I shouldn't have ..." he stammered, and she saw he was blushing. Perceptive once again, he realized that his touch had left her cold.

"I ... I'm involved with someone. My ... boyfriend is a doctor who works in the ER," Carol said. "Doug Ross."

"Oh god, Carol. I'm so sorry," he said, looking away. "I didn't know. You should have said something."

"No. Don't be. It's ... it's okay. I think we ... we both were pretty shook up tonight, Greg. Sometimes ... you need somebody to talk to when you feel like that. I shouldn't ... I shouldn't have let it go any farther. It's my
fault. I guess I have some ... some things I need to work out, with my boyfriend."

Powell just looked at her, then glanced away, quiet for a moment. The silence between them was awkward until Powell broke it a moment later: "Well, will you look at that?"

A striped gray tabby had emerged from under the fence and it was wolfing down the cat food, licking the sides of the can greedily.

Powell walked slowly over to the cat and reached down to pet its head. It meowed loudly, then rubbed against his hand and started to purr.

Carol laughed. "Looks like you've got a new friend," she said, watching him scoop the tabby into his arms and cradle it.

He smiled at her, gently. "Yeah. I hope so."

She smiled back. "Me too," she said simply.

Powell followed Carol downstairs, keeping his distance this time, and they left the cat, half a dozen cans of cat food and the phone number for
Mrs. Dickinson's daughter with a neighbor. Then they got into Greg's car.

"I don't know if you've got something planned tonight, I mean with your boyfriend or anything, but I'm starving," Powell said. "If you're not busy, would you like to get some dinner? Just - just between friends?"

Carol looked at her watch. It was after 7. She'd definitely screwed things up with Doug tonight. She wasn't sure she could even face him.

"Well, I'm not really hungry, but I would love to get inside and warm up, have a cup of coffee," Carol said.

"I know a great diner about three blocks from here. Nothing fancy, but they make a mean cheeseburger and the coffee's not too bad. That sound okay?" he asked.

"Sure," Carol said. She could call Doug from there, explain that she'd been held up on her ride along, tell him that she'd meet him at home later.

They drove to the diner in silence and when they got there Carol excused herself and headed straight for the pay phone. She decided against paging Doug, not wanting to leave the pay telephone number for him to call back. She might as well call her house, she decided, he'd probably gone back there by now.

She dialed the number with shaky fingers, her stomach churning again, thinking about Doug, wondering if he was worried about her. She felt so guilty - about standing him up, and the kiss, and being here with Powell right now. Would he be angry? Of course he would be. They both had hot tempers, they'd probably wind up arguing and shouting at each other. What would she say? How much should she tell him?

Relief flooded her as the phone rang twice, three times, four ... and the answering machine came on. She heard her own voice and then the beep. And then she froze. The hasty apology she had planned, the explanation about working late, flew out of her head. She hated lying, but what could she say? "Doug, I went up to the roof with a paramedic and kissed him and, by the way, I won't be able to meet you tonight. I won't be able to marry you, if that's what you had in mind."

Carol listened to the empty silence for a few seconds, then slowly placed the receiver back on the hook and turned to walk back to the table.
_____________________________________________

So be gentle if you please
your hands are in my hair but my heart is in your teeth, baby
And it makes me want to make you near me always
_____________________________________________

"Hey, you okay?" Greg looked concerned when he saw her pale face and odd expression. "I just ordered you coffee, I hope you didn't decide you wanted dinner too."

Carol was shaking, but tried not to let it show. "Um, I'm okay, yeah, coffee's fine for me," she said, taking off her coat and sitting down.

"Something's wrong, isn't it Carol?" Powell asked, staring at her. "I mean, I ... I don't want to pry, but you look like you could use somebody to talk to right now. Is it ... are you worried about your boyfriend? I mean, because of what happened tonight, between us?"

Carol sighed and looked down at the table, embarrassed. "Yes, I guess so. It's just, I mean, it isn't just what happened between us, Greg. I .... I stood him up tonight. I was supposed to meet him after work, he had something planned, and ... I guess I just didn't want to face him, somehow," she admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper.

Powell looked at her intently. "Maybe you're ... not really sure how you feel about him?" he asked, and Carol looked up in time to see a tentative, hopeful look on his face.

"No, that's not it, Greg," she said, shaking her head slightly and laughing a little. She paused a moment, looking down at the table again and tucking her hair behind her ears.

When she looked up at him, her gaze was clear and her voice was steady: "I love him. I've loved Doug Ross ... as long as I've known him. For years. It feels like forever. I can hardly remember what my life was like before I fell in love with him."

Powell's face crumpled with disappointment and he looked down. Carol felt a little hurt for him.

"I'm sorry," she said, her face compassionate and her voice quiet.

"Well, you know what they say: The good ones are always taken," he said, shrugging and smiling up at her.

She smiled back, grateful to him for understanding, and they sat in companionable silence for a few minutes until the waitress appeared with their coffee.

"You ought to talk to him, or talk to somebody, you know? Seems like you could use a friend about now," Powell said, stirring sugar into his coffee.

Carol looked up, amazed again by how perceptive he was. "You're right. I ... I guess I don't have very many people I can talk to, y'know? I mean, I have friends from high school, from nursing school, that I still keep up with, but I work so much that I only see them a couple times a year. And - it's hard to talk to the people you work with, especially when your boyfriend works there, too," she said, stirring a little cream into her own cup. "I guess the person I usually talk to is Doug. He's ... he's really been my best friend for years."

"You've been together a long time, then?"

"Yeah. Well ... no, not really, just about eight months, but we've ... we were involved before, a few years ago..." Carol's voice trailed off.

There was a brief silence while Powell absorbed this. "Before you ... I mean, before it happened?" he asked gently.

Carol looked at him over her coffee cup, raising her eyebrows a little.

"Hey, if I'm gettin' too personal, please tell me. I know I don't really have any right ... I shouldn't be asking you that," he said, looking apologetic all of a sudden.

"No, it's ... it's okay. I don't mind telling you. Actually, it's ... kind of good to talk about it. I guess I've kept it all bottled up for so long because I haven't wanted to think about it. I mean, I talked it all out in ... in therapy, years ago, and I guess I thought it was over and done with. But underneath it's ... it's been bothering me," she said.

Powell's dinner arrived. The waitress set his cheeseburger and fries down and walked away. Powell poured an obscene amount of ketchup onto his plate and looked back up at Carol.

"Doug ... uh, we broke up a little while before ... before I took the pills," she said. "I was involved with a couple of people, after that. But even though I thought I loved them, and I did - in a way, I guess - underneath, I always  knew I was still in love with Doug."

"Wow," Greg said.

"Yeah, wow. What a mess, huh?" Carol laughed sardonically.

"No, no, that's not what I meant, Carol. I meant, wow, this Doug guy is really, really lucky to have a woman like you so crazy in love with him," he said.

Carol took a deep breath and looked sideways, staring out the window, her face shadowed by guilt. "Oh, I don't know about that. I don't think he's going to feel very lucky after tonight," she said.

Carol took another sip of her coffee and continued staring away, worrying about Doug. He must be frantic by now. She should call again, let him know she was all right. But somehow, it was easier to stay here and talk.

"So, enough about me. Tell me what happened to you - after your mom died, I mean," she said.

Powell talked for a while then, about how his grandmother had raised him, how he'd done well, gotten through school okay. But how he'd never forgotten, even for a day, the pain and shock and horror of finding his mother hanging from a rope she'd looped over an exposed hot water pipe in the laundry room. How the devastation came back to him at the weirdest moments, at the slightest reminders. Like today.

"Oh god, Greg. That must've been awful. I ... well, I was going to say I can't even imagine it, but I guess I can, a little," Carol said.

"Really?" he looked up at her sharply. "How do you mean?"

She took a deep breath. "My dad, he ... uh ... he died when I was seven." Carol smiled a little. "I was the youngest and I guess I always thought of myself as his baby, his favorite. He was quiet, kind of like me, and we ... I guess we just bonded, in a way. I adored him. I related to him better than I did to my mother."

Powell waited but Carol didn't say anything else.

"So, you know what I went through, a little. The anger, feeling like it was your fault, somehow. I guess maybe suicide's the worst, though, because when they choose to leave you, you start to believe you did something wrong. When you're a kid, you think you drove them away because you did something bad, or you were too much trouble, or something..." his voice trailed off and he stared down at the table.

"Yeah, I know. I mean ... my dad was sick and he ... he took an overdose. My mom, she told everybody it was an accident. Said he got confused about which pills he was taking, didn't realize how many were there. But ... I still wonder, sometimes. I mean - I learned about clinical depression, when I was in therapy for it - and I think there were signs of it in him, then, too."

"Hmmm. Have you ... talked to your mom about it?" Powell asked, quietly.

"No, I ... I guess I've always been sort of afraid to find out, afraid to think too much about it," she said. "My therapist said I had ... 'abandonment issues.'"

Carol had been staring into her coffee cup, absently. She looked up to see Powell watching her.

"Oh man, I'm probably boring you to death. I'm sorry. I ... I don't usually talk about myself like this. I don't know what's gotten into me tonight," she said, feeling horribly embarrassed, suddenly.

Powell reached over and took her hand, a friendly gesture this time.

"You needed someone to talk to and, hey - I was here. One thing I am? It's a good listener," he said, smiling.

"Yeah. You are. You're a very good listener, Greg Powell. Thanks," Carol said, smiling up at him and squeezing his hand.

"I bet Doug is a good listener, too. Isn't he?" Powell asked, releasing her hand and finishing off his cheeseburger.

"Yeah, yeah, he is really. I just ..." Carol stopped, lost in thought.

"What? You just what, Carol?"

"I guess I ... I've never told him a lot of this. I'm never sure he can ... handle it, y'know?" she looked over at him and saw a puzzled look on his face. "That must sound really stupid, huh? I mean, being with somebody and not telling him things that I'm sitting here telling someone I don't even know?"

"No, it's not stupid. It happens, sometimes, you meet someone and you just click, you can tell them things. But I think you ought to tell Doug the things you've been telling me, Carol. I mean, if he loves you as much as you love him, he'll be able to handle it. He'll want to know how you feel."

Carol looked dubious. "Yeah, yeah, I guess ... it's just - I mean, when we were together before, I said things to him, I told him things ... and it - it scared him away."

"Umm-hmmm. And you still had all those 'abandonment issues' going on, right?"

Carol was surprised all over again at his insight. "Yeah, I guess I did. And what made it worse was that he ... he had a hard time being close to me, emotionally, you know?"

Powell waited a moment, until he had finished the last of his fries. "No, I can't say that I do. I mean, being close to a woman like you - most guys would jump at that chance. It wouldn't ... scare me, at all. Maybe you haven't given him a chance?"

Carol pondered this. Doug had changed, been through therapy, opened up about so much of his past, told her so many of his own fears and insecurities. Maybe he *could* handle her emotions and the intensity of her feelings now. Maybe Powell was right - she hadn't talked to Doug about her suicide attempt, and the betrayal she'd felt, because of her father and then because of him. But maybe she should.

"Well ... you might be right. I guess I should at least give Doug a chance to hear all this. To really know what I'm thinking," she said.

Suddenly, Carol wanted to tell him. She needed to talk to Doug, let him in on her thoughts and fears just like she'd let Powell in tonight.

"There sure were a lot of things I wished I could have told my mom, but it was too late," he said.

Carol nodded, understanding, remembering all the words her childish heart had wanted to share with her father after he was gone.

The bill came and Powell insisted on paying. Carol let him - she'd only had coffee, after all - and thanked him. He really was a good listener, and she told him she hoped they could become better friends.

He offered to drive her home, but Carol declined. There was an El station only a block away and she decided she wanted to be alone for a while, to think things out before she confronted Doug.

As she walked to the station, hugging her coat around her, fighting the cold, Carol thought about Doug's insistence that they get married right away.

What was that all about? Another one of Doug's snap decisions, something he'd decided on a whim, a gamble he was convinced would pay off? Something he wanted intensely now but would be bored with when it finally happened?

She knew him too well, knew this tendency he had to play hunches and jump into something without thinking. She, on the other hand, liked to take things slowly, think and rethink before she made a big decision.

Carol felt like every time she took a small step forward, with great fear and monumental effort, he took two leaps ahead. Just when she'd decided she trusted him enough to tell everyone at work about their relationship, he was proposing marriage, then telling her mother about them and pushing her to set a date. It was too fast.

She shook her head and looked up, realizing that she'd long since walked past the El station. She paused a minute, getting her bearings, and realized that she could walk home from here. It wasn't too far and Carol was intimately familiar with the city.

Besides, walking always helped her get her thoughts straight.

She put her head down and trudged along, thinking more about Doug and marriage. She would like them to take their time, make absolutely sure that they could be honest with each other. They should live together, full-time for a while, before they committed to each other for life. After all, they'd been seeing each other this time for less than a year and there were still so many issues they hadn't confronted, mostly because of her fears. She was scared of losing him, reluctant to be straight with him for fear of hurting him.

Hurting Doug. Oh god, she'd done that tonight, hadn't she? She thought about the kiss with Powell, knowing she had to tell Doug about it, knowing he would be crushed. He'd have no cause to be jealous, though, not really. That kiss was so cold, so ... empty. She thought back to the summer, to a kiss she and Doug had shared. It was the moment she knew that eventually Doug was going to hold all the cards in this relationship again. The moment she knew that he could break her heart again, if he chose to.
_____________________________________________

Your hands are in my hair
but my heart
is in your teeth, baby
I want to be near you always.
_____________________________________________

It had been a wonderful time, the early days of their reunion last year. No commitments to contemplate, no scary emotions out in the open, no words of love expressed or expected.

They just had fun, rediscovering each other, reconnecting as lovers, enjoying a renewed blossoming of their friendship, becoming closer than ever.

There was a particularly glorious day she remembered, perfect from start to finish. Doug had spent the night with her and they slept late, neither of them having to work, and hung around her house all morning, reading the paper and watching an old movie on TV. After lunch, Doug suggested that they go to Navy Pier, where there was an amusement park and they could do some window shopping.

They rode the Ferris wheel and the roller coaster, played some carnival games, and strolled around enjoying the sunshine, indulging their mutual people-watching pastime. As the afternoon drew to a close, Doug bought Carol a hot pretzel and got himself a chili dog and a beer. They perched on a low curb together and ate silently.

Carol looked over, catching Doug wolfing down the dripping, messy hot dog. "Ugh - *Doug*, that's gross," she said.

He chuckled and raised his eyebrows, then chugged a huge swallow of beer and let out a loud belch.

"Oh god," Carol groaned, starting to get up and walk away from him.

"Hey, hey, don't leave. I'm sorry..." Doug was laughing, holding her arm so she couldn't get away. "Carol, I'll behave myself, really."

Carol gave him a sideways glance, dubious, then relented and sat back down, a few feet away from him.

"So, what do you want to do tonight?" she asked, nibbling again on her
pretzel. "Movie? Go out for dinner later?"

"Umm ... I thought maybe we'd go back to your place, order in some Chinese food," Doug said, looking at her intently.

"Hmmm..." Carol watched him, catching the naughty twinkle in his eye. "Cheap date."

"What?" Doug pretended to be hurt. "You mean just because I dropped less than 20 bucks this afternoon, and I'm ..."

"And you're expecting sex? Yeah, that's what I mean." Carol laughed at the look on his face.

"Hey - did I say anything about sex? I said Chinese food," Doug protested, smiling. He put an arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him, so their hips were touching. "Besides, don't I always make it ... worth your while?" he murmured, looking over her head as he nuzzled his face into her hair.

"Uh ... well...." Carol looked skyward, contemplating this. "I'm not really sure, Doug," she said, "I'll have to think about that."

"Carol. Don't I?" he whispered, turning her face toward him.

And then he kissed her, his mouth slightly open, his lips so soft. Doug kissed her right out in public just like he did when they were alone - his whole body into it, turning his head from side to side, seeking her mouth again and again, one hand gentle on the back of her neck, commanding her to follow him. The heat of his body warmed her and Carol immediately felt herself respond - her ass tingling, her nipples hardening, wetness beginning between her legs.

Doug realized what was happening, but he didn't stop, instead deepening his kisses, putting his tongue in her mouth now, wrapping his arms around her back and pulling her closer. He moaned as her breasts molded against his chest and Carol realized that he could feel her erect nipples pressing through her thin shirt and bra. Carol moaned, too, despite her extreme embarrassment, and she clung to him for support even as the rest of the world seemed to drop away from her.

Finally, he stopped for a moment and pulled his head back, his eyes so close to hers.

"Don't I make it worth your while, Carol?" he asked again, serious now.

"Doug, not ... not here," she managed to whisper, breathless, her eyes darting around quickly to see if anyone was watching them.

"Do I? Make it special for you?" he said, looking as if he was preparing to kiss her again.

"Yes. Yes, you ... you do," she said, hastily, pushing him back and sighing.

Doug sat back, releasing her from his arms, and chuckled at the sight of her: Her lips were red, her hair tousled, she was breathing deeply, the thin material of her shirt clung to her hard nipples and her eyes were closed, her whole body seemed weak.

"So, how about it? Wanna go back to your place and get some Chinese food?" he asked innocently, taking another sip of beer as he watched her try to regain her composure.

She opened her eyes. "Yes. Yes, I do," she said, as she leaned toward him again and nuzzled his neck.

Doug had laughed at that, putting his arm around her. "Hold on, Carol. We've got plenty of time when we get back to your house," he said, standing up and leading her toward the car.

Oh yes, he knew how to kiss her, to love her, take care of her. Carol loved him, too. She knew, after tonight, that she'd never find what she had with Doug in another relationship - she didn't even want to try.

She looked around suddenly and realized that she'd been walking for a long time, not really paying attention to where she was going. It was very late. But she had finally made up her mind.

She turned toward home, where she knew Doug would be waiting, probably out of his mind with worrying about her.

She felt bad. But she also felt better. They had to talk about this. She had to tell him what had happened, immediately, not let it fester inside like she'd done with so many other things for far too long.

And all she could do was hope - and pray - that Doug would understand.

THE END