Homeless Once More, Part Four
By Cathy Roberts
glroberts@bigfoot.com
A John Carter story, rated PG13.
Spoiler reference to "Stuck On You" from Season Five.

"ER" and all its characters belong to Warner Bros. No
infringement of their copyright is intended. This story
was written for the enjoyment of "ER" fans everywhere, and
may be downloaded for your own pleasure. However this
story may not be used, distributed or archived without the
permission of the author.

A special thanks to my editor, Melissa, for putting up with
all my punctuation errors.



The limo ride to the Aquarium was a short one, which was a
good thing, because Carter didn't really want to have to
talk to his mother. As if she could sense his reticence,
Jenny Carter didn't attempt to engage him in a
conversation. The flight from Europe had been a tiring
one, but after Roland had told her that John's friends were
also worried about him, she knew that she had to return to
Chicago. She knew he was hurting over Roland's hiring of
Roxanne to spy on him. The look that had been on his face
had haunted her for days. It had made her very angry when
Roland refused to reschedule his Paris meeting so they
could remain in Chicago and make things right with John.
It didn't assuage her guilt any to see that the hurt was
still in her son's eyes.

The driver rolled down the dividing window as he came to a
stop in front of the Aquarium.

"Shall I wait for you, Mrs. Carter?", he asked.

"That won't be necessary. I'll call you when we're ready
to leave."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied.

John opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk
before the driver could get out. He hated
showing up in a limo, it always seemed so...conspicuous.
No one else in the family seemed to share that view. He
helped his mother get out and they purchased their tickets
and entered the building.

"Now that we're finally here, can we talk?", she asked him.

"I really don't know what we have to talk about, Mom."

"Can you please tell me why you continue to hang up every
time your father calls you?", she was trying to keep her
tone conversational instead of confrontational.

"I have nothing to say to Dad, either."

"Your father feels very bad about what happened. Why
won't you give him a chance to tell you that?"

He laughed, "I'm sure that Dad feels very bad about the
fact that I found out about his little scheme. I doubt if
he feels any guilt over doing it in the first place, Mom."

"He was concerned about you."

John stopped and stared at his mother. She never, ever
accepted any responsibility for anything. It was always
his father, or his grandfather. It was never her. Never.

Jenny belatedly realized that she was walking alone.

Frowning, she went back to where John stood, "You could
have told me to stop."

"Can you answer me a question?"

"I can certainly try."

"Why do you always blame Dad? If you had told him
"no" the minute he first suggested hiring someone to "spy" on
me, then he never would have done it. So, why do you blame
him?"

Jenny shook her head, "It's not as easy to tell your father
"no" as you seem to think it is!" She walked over to a
vacant bench and sat down. John joined her.

"There are a lot of things that I knew the first time I met
your father. The first was that he was a very determined
individual. He made that perfectly clear. Just as he made
it clear he would live his life on his own terms and not by
the terms dictated by his father. It was the 1960's and
rebellion was the thing to do, but for Roland, it was much
more than rebellion. He locked horns with his father for
his own reasons. He avoided drugs, but he was an idealist.
He wanted to be a lawyer so that he could help those who
couldn't afford to help themselves. We were all idealistic
back then. He resented the fact that college and his
family's money had kept him from being sent to Vietnam. I
half expected to wake up one morning and discover that he
had enlisted. He kept threatening to. Of course, that
didn't make him too popular with a lot of my friends. I
wasn't a rebel, but I was wild, John. Being half-Cherokee
was a big plus for me in college because empathy with the
plight of the redman was the correct thing to feel. No one
seemed to notice or care that I was only a half Cherokee
from North Carolina. My ancestors did not walk the Trail
of Tears or face years of starvation on the Oklahoma
reservation. My ancestors hid in the Smokey Mountains,
then pretended to be white so that the soldiers would leave
them alone. I had Indian blood and that was more than
enough to impress my new-found friends. Once I hooked up
with Roland, my ancestry was enough to make my friends
tolerate your father. Once they got to know him, they
respected him for who he was. Your father has always been
a charismatic person. I think that your grandparents had
dreams that one day he would run for office, maybe even the
Presidency. Those weren't a part of Roland's dreams
though. He knew what he wanted to do and he was determined
to achieve his desires. Once he met me, a marriage and a
family became a part of his plan. Against his parents
wishes, we married. By the time we were in law school, we
had Bobby.", she smiled, "Ah, those were some rough days!
We were living in an apartment that was small for two
people, and we were having to fit a baby in there as well.
Our friends were there to help us, and that meant a lot.
Two years later we had a house in a nice neighborhood and
we had you. Your father had taken a position with a
moderately successful firm in Chicago. Things were great.
Life was everything the both of us wanted. I didn't mind
staying home to take care of my children. I knew that once
the three of you were in school, I could begin my law
career. Your father was making a name for himself and your
grandfather had stopped pushing him to join the family
business. Roland and I made decisions together. The only
one I really lost was the one that brought him back to
Chicago. I wanted to move back south. But, Chicago was
okay. Your grandparents learned to accept me and they
loved you, Bobby and Barbara."

"I've never been as happy as I was when we lived in Glen
Ellyn."

She looked over at him and slowly nodded, "Me, either,
John. That seems as if it was a million years ago, doesn't
it? When Bobby was diagnosed with leukemia, your father
did everything he could to help him. But, the firm's
insurance only covered but so much and our savings were
quickly depleted. We were on the verge of losing not only
Bobby, but the house as well. That's when your grandfather
made his move. He paid off the mortgage. He handed over
enough cash for us to seek any and all treatments that
could help your brother. Your father never hesitated to
accept that help. Deep down he was afraid that there were
strings attached, but his desire to save his son was so strong
that he ignored those fears."

She clenched her fists as she struggled to find the words
to tell what happened next, "After we buried Bobby, we went
back to your grandparents' house. Do you remember that?"

"Yeah. There were a lot of people hanging around. Gamma
sent all of the kids outside to play."

"That's because she didn't want the children to hear your
father and grandfather shouting. That's when he gave your
father the bill for all his help. Roland had one year to pay
him back in full. If he was unable to do that, then he would
come to work for him and take his place as the "heir apparent"
so to speak. Roland was determined that would not happen, not
after all the hard work he had put into his career. The
firm he worked for was planning to expand to Europe and
your father jumped at the chance to head that expansion.
We knew that at first he would need my help and we also
knew that we wouldn't be able to have you and Barbara with
us. John, I really didn't care about any of it. I was
numb with grief. I couldn't even decide on what to put on
when I woke up, so how could I help your father make this
decision? He chose a boarding school, he enrolled the two
of you in it, he made all the arrangements. The next thing
I knew, we were in Paris." She was silently crying as she
remembered how empty she had felt at that time.

John looked away from her and watched the children walk by.
School children out on a field trip. Happy to be out of
school and totally absorbed in the exhibits. They didn't
pay any attention to them. "I felt abandoned, Mom. The
two of you just left and you didn't care that Barb and I
were hurting."

"We cared. I cared. It was hard enough for me to just get
through each day, John. I didn't have any energy left over
to fight with your father. I should have. He should have
seen how I felt. He should have seen that I needed to have
my remaining children with me. But, he was so wrapped up
in his own grief and his struggle to pay back the money,
that he didn't see much of anything."

"I can understand that, a little. I can understand that
Barb and I couldn't be with you. But, I don't understand
why you didn't come home. You didn't come home for
Thanksgiving, but you managed to sell everything. Hell,
you even gave away our pets! You weren't there for
Christmas. You didn't come home for Easter. Why?", he
looked at her, his eyes watering.

Jenny sniffled, "I couldn't come home, John. God, we
should have told you this years ago."

"Told me what?"

"I told you that I needed my children with me in Paris.
With Bobby gone forever, and you and your sister here in
the States, well, I had no reason to live, John. I became
so despondent that your father put me in a hospital. It
didn't help. I tried to kill myself. More than once.
Like a yo-yo, I was in and out of the hospital. All the
doctors agreed that I was depressed, but, they had no way
to cure me. Roland had to sell the house to pay the
hospital bills. Finally, he broke down and called my
mother. She told him to bring me home to her. We were on
the next plane. Once home in North Carolina, I began to
recover enough so that he felt it was safe for him to
return to Paris alone. It was there that I began to snap
out of it. Momma told me over and over that I had plenty
of reasons to live. Two of the main ones were named John
and Barbara. She was right about that. You see, Momma had
also lost a child, so she knew my pain. She also confided
to me that she was dying. I stayed with her and gave her
my new-found strength. Together, we faced the final days
of her life on Earth. When she died, I remained there and
settled her estate; what little of it there was. I
continued to draw strength from the mountains and from the
knowledge that my ancestors expected strength from me.
They had withstood the greed of the white man. They had
fled in order to remain in their homes. They had done what
they had to do in order to survive. And so would I. It
was a journey of discovery for me and one that I had to
take alone. You will never understand how hard it was for
me to face myself and to come to grips with my loss."

"You're right. I never will understand that. I guess not
having children underfoot made it a little easier on you
though."

"That's where you're wrong, John. It was the hardest thing
I ever had to do. Harder than watching Bobby die in my
arms. Harder than watching my own Momma die in my arms.
You see, I had to find out who Jenny Adair Carter was. In
order to do that, I had to stop hiding behind Roland
Carter. I had to stop hiding behind my children. I
couldn't use being a wife and a mother as excuses not to
face myself. I left the Smokey Mountains a much stronger
woman. I was going to have my family reunited. What I
didn't know was that your father was going through his own
transformation in Paris. When we met up again, he was
unable or unwilling to see the changes in me. He had
blamed himself for my depression and he was determined that
would never happen again. Roland was like a man possessed.
He would preserve his marriage at any cost, even at the
cost of his family. So, when we saw you in Martha's
Vineyard, he made the decision that a longer visit would be
detrimental to me. He was driven as never before. By the
end of that summer, he had formed his own firm, taking with
him the international clients. He felt that he needed to
have so much money that he would never have to rely on his
father for help again."

"He succeeded."

"Oh, yes, he succeeded all right. But, at what cost?
John, the strength I gained in North Carolina has had to
serve me over these years. Everything is a fight with
Roland. In his effort to break away from his father,
Roland became his father. A controller who thinks he knows
what's best for all those around him. The only person that
your grandfather can't control is your grandmother. Of
course, a lot of that has to do with the fact that the
money that started his empire came from the Truman family
on the day she married him."

"I've heard Dad mention that before. He likes to brag how
he's a self-made man but Grandfather isn't."

"He loves it.", she said, shaking her head. "I can't make
him understand how he's hurting you. Barbara just lets it
all roll off of her. She gave up caring about what your
father or I think a long time ago. You never have. John,
you might not know this, but I have noticed how hard you've
tried to make us proud. And you have."

She reached over and stroked his cheek, a smile on her
face, "I am so very proud of you. My son, the doctor. I
don't care that you're not a surgeon. I don't care that
you aren't making a lot of money. I only want you happy."

"I'm not very happy right now, Mom."

"I know. And yes, you are right. I do blame your father
for a lot of things that are also my fault. I should have
found a way to stop him. But, deep down, I wanted to know
how you were doing. You never tell us much on the
telephone, so it's almost impossible to get a sense of
what's going on with you. Your grandparents have a
tendency to exaggerate things."

"I know. But, there was one way you could have gotten all
the answers you wanted."

"How?"

"All you had to do was come home and ask me."

"You have a point there. We could have. It seems that
when we do make it back to Chicago, we never have enough
time to spend with you. Either we're busy, or you're
working or something. It's been two years in a row now
that you haven't been to your grandparents on Christmas
Eve. Hell, you didn't even bother showing up at your own
graduation from medical school."

"I had something more important to do that day."

"I know. You already told me about that little girl. Did
she ever get her transplant?"

"Yes. The last I heard, she's still doing fine."

"I'm glad. Children shouldn't have to die."

"No, they shouldn't."

"So, where do we go from here?"

"The coastal exhibit." He stood and walked away from her.

Jenny bit her lower lip, wondering why she had ever stood
by and let her son get away from her. When he had been a
little boy, John had never hesitated to confide in her, to
share his secrets and hopes with her. Now, he was
becoming a stranger. Yes, it was partly her own doing.
Well, there was one thing certain; it was now time to get
him back. She vowed that even if she had to go through
Hell again, she would not lose John. An old saying jumped
out at her - the longest journey begins with a single step.
Fine. She would take that first step. She wiped her face
dry and followed the path he took, catching up to him in
the next exhibit.



Dan Litvak knocked on Anspaugh's door, relieved to find that
the Chief of Staff was finally out of surgery and back in
his office.

"Dr. Litvak, please come in and have a seat! I was just about
to have you paged."

They shook hands and Litvak sat down, "Why is that?"

"Well, the hospital board would like to re-define your position."

"I was hired to replace Dr. Morgenstern. How would they like to
re-define that?"

"Well, as you are aware, Dr. Morgenstern was also our Chief of
Surgery and not just Chief of Emergency Medical Services. The board
of directors feels that each department would be better served by
having two different people fill those positions. They would like
to offer you your choice of positions at the same salary as you were
offered to do both jobs."

"My choice?"

"Your reputation as a surgeon is well-known and respected. Of course,
if you should opt to be Chief of Emergency Medical Services, you can
still work as a surgeon here. We need all the good surgeons we can
get."

"All hospitals do. When do you need my answer?"

"As soon as possible, so that we can advertise for the other position.

Litvak nodded, "I think I can let you know by tomorrow morning."

"That's great. Now, what did you want to see me about?"

"I was wondering what the hospital's position is regarding personal
relationships between residents and their supervisors?"

"There is no official position. To my knowledge, it has never been a
problem."

"There may be one now."

"Oh? So you have someone particular in mind?", Anspaugh leaned back
in his chair.

"I'm afraid so. Were you aware that John Carter and Kerry Weaver are
having an affair?"

"That's utter nonsense, Dr. Litvak. Whatever gave you that idea?"

"I overheard them talking this afternoon. He promised to meet her back
at her place later today. Dr. Anspaugh, I feel that..."

Anspaugh leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk, "Dr. Litvak,
it's obvious that you haven't been fully informed regarding the events
that happened yesterday."

"I know that Dr. Carter did not return to work after lunch. If I were
his supervisor, he would be disciplined for that. That's what I mean
by it being a problem."

"Dr. Carter was discovered on the roof of the hospital a few hours
after he should have come back to work. His emotional and physical
states were not good. After it was revealed that he had no place to
live, Dr. Weaver took him to her apartment. No one involved in the
situation thought it wise to leave Dr. Carter alone."

"No one mentioned this to me."

"I can only assume that Dr.'s Greene and Weaver felt awkward with
the idea of discussing it with you. Dr. Greene did inform me of
what was happening. Later, Dr. Weaver phoned me to give me an
update on his condition. I doubt they were trying to intentionally
leave you out of the loop on this."

"I don't. They don't like me very much downstairs. I have no idea
why, except for the fact that I was offered the position of Chief
and Dr. Weaver was not." He felt angry that he had been kept in
the dark about John Carter's condition.

"A change in personnel is always difficult for people to handle.
I'm sure they'll warm up to you soon."

"I don't know about that. Since Dr. Carter was here today, I assume
that he's fine?"

"I have no idea. He was here because he had an appointment with one
of the staff psychiatrists. I hope that everything is now okay with
him. Dr. Carter is a fine man and a damn good doctor. I would hate
to see our profession lose him. I think he's had a rough time ever
since the accident."

"He was in an accident?" Litvak hadn't heard anything about that!

Anspaugh shook his head, "Not him. It was a fellow intern, Dennis
Gant. They were both assigned to Dr. Benton and they became good
friends. It was quite a shock when Dr. Gant was killed by one of
the El trains. At first, it was believed that he had jumped, but
the police ruled it an accidental death. I don't think that Dr.
Carter has ever believed that ruling. As I mentioned, he and Dr.
Gant were good friends. They even shared an apartment. It was a
shame."

"I was already aware that Dr. Carter was a surgical intern. Why did
you allow him to leave surgery? That's not usually okayed. Or, have
I heard wrong? Did he actually wash out of surgery?" That had been
hinted at during the conversation he had with Dr. Edson, but he had
also picked up on the fact that Dr. Edson didn't particularly like
John Carter.

Anspaugh sighed, "John Carter was one of the most promising young
surgeons I had seen in a long time. But, he has two problems: he
cares too much about his patients and he doesn't think like a
surgeon. We had a few run-ins. More than a few. At first, I
was reluctant to allow him to switch, but he persisted in his
efforts to get into trauma and I finally relented. He had to
serve another year as an intern, with no pay, I might add. He
made it through that with flying colors. I've heard nothing but
praise for him from his superiors downstairs."

"I see. Well, I just wanted to know. I've taken up enough of your
time. I'll have an answer for you in the morning."

"Thank you."

Litvak left and returned to his office. Being offered the same
Amount of money to do only one job instead of two was a definite
boon. He was a great surgeon, and he knew he could run the
surgical department with ease. But, John Carter wasn't in
the surgical department. He was in the Emergency Services
Department. If he had any hope of getting close to him then
he would have to remain in the same department. Then again,
Weaver, Greene and Ross were suspicious of him and his motives.
Perhaps if he was in another department, they wouldn't notice
his efforts to snare the handsome resident. He smiled as he
heard Rocket Romano harangue a resident in the hallway outside
his office. It would feel pretty damn good to be in a position
to take that little shit down a peg or two. He would have
to give careful consideration to the pros and cons of both positions.



There was a sinking feeling in Carter's stomach as he watched the limo
pull up to the curb. His mother turned to him, a smile on her lips,
"Ready to go?"

He opened the door for her, "I think I'll take a walk before I head
home."

She looked as if she wanted to argue with him about that, but instead
she leaned over and hugged him. "Think about what I said, John."

"I will. When are you going back to Paris?"

"I don't know. I'll be at our house if you want to talk or need me
for anything."

He nodded, then waited until she was settled on the seat before closing
the door. An emptiness opened up inside of him as he watched the limo
pull into the traffic on Lake Shore Drive. It was a familiar emptiness,
one that been growing for a long time now. He started walking, not
really anxious to get back to Dr. Weaver's place. Not really anxious
to be anywhere. Without paying attention to his surroundings, he
walked aimlessly. He really wasn't too surprised to find himself
back at the hospital.

He headed to the parking garage and got in his Jeep, knowing now
exactly where it was he wanted to be. As he pulled out of the
garage, he turned the radio up loud, drowning out his own thoughts.
He was tired of thinking. Tired of being asked to understand how
others felt. Why couldn't they just once try to understand how he
felt? That question though always led to the one he had the most
trouble answering lately - just how do I feel? He changed channels
until he found a song he knew and he sang along with all his might,
chasing all questions from his mind.

The cemetery was cold. The flags that some veterans group had
planted were whipped by the wind. It
was always windy out here. No buildings to break the wind. Just
headstones pushing their way up through the earth. Carter knew that
he could close his eyes and still find his brother's grave. He had
been here so often. Sometimes he talked to Bobby, sometimes he just
sat, taking in the quiet serenity of the place. He knelt down in
front of the headstone and ran his fingers over the etched wording:
Robert Adair Carter, "Cherished son, beloved brother". Such a short
time span between the date of birth and the date of death. Too short.
There had been so much that Bobby had wanted to do. A funeral
procession in the next section over caught his attention. By the
length of the casket, it was obviously a child. Why did God allow
children to be born if he was just going to turn around and take them
at such young ages? Why did he allow them to suffer? He watched as
the distraught mother slipped. Her friends were instantly there,
helping her regain her balance and at that moment Carter saw her
face and recognized her from the hospital. It was the mother of a
young leukemia patient that he had attempted to treat. He had found
a way to admit the boy so that he could get treatment that might save
his life. The mother refused, afraid that her insurance company would
find out the ruse and cancel the policy. Now the boy was dead. Tears
in his eyes and a rage in his heart, Carter looked around at the other
tombstones, how many of these people died because some insurance
company didn't approve the treatment that could have saved them? How
many died because they couldn't even afford insurance? He wasn't so
much of an egoist that he believed he could have saved the young man,
God did figure into it in the long run. But, the boy might have had a
better chance if he had been admitted. Why wasn't that
particular treatment around when Bobby needed a fighting chance?
He looked up to the sky, squinting his eyes against the bright
afternoon sun. Why?, he silently asked. Then he remembered that
God never answered him. He just set him up and knocked him down,
over and over. He swiped his sleeve across his eyes, wiping away
the tears, then headed back to his Jeep.



The next day was steadily busy in the Emergency Room, which suited
Carter just fine. He had left the apartment before Kerry was up,
not wanting to have to talk to her or feel as if he had to explain
to her why he didn't get home until midnight. Thank God she hadn't
been waiting up for him. That would have been embarrassing. He
signed off on one chart and reached for the next one, opening it to
see what medical emergency he had to deal with. Jerry and Lydia
were talking and it was hard to ignore them.

"I heard that Litvak accepted the position of Chief of Surgery,"
Jerry said.

"Then that means we'll be getting rid of Dr. Weaver," Lydia replied.

"How do you figure that?"

"Weaver was the second choice for Chief of Emergency Medical Services.
I wonder what type of doctor we'll get in here to replace her as
attending."

"You know what they say Lydia, never count your chickens before they're
hatched!"

"I think you're thinking of the other saying, Jerry," Carter smiled,
"Don't put the cart before the horse."

"Well, she was the second choice," Lydia argued.

"I'll be in Exam One." Carter walked away, smiling and shaking his
head as he heard the two of them continue their debate. He thought
about all that Dr. Weaver had said about not having a life and wondered
if she was still interested in the position. "Lucy, come on in here
with me." He motioned his student over and they went to check on their
patient.

Lucy kept a close eye on her teacher. He seemed to be in better
spirits than he had been in yesterday, but she wasn't sure if he was
really all right. It had not escaped her notice that Weaver, Greene
and Ross were watching him as well. At least today, he was being
constant with her, there was no see-sawing between being a compassionate
teacher and a bastard. Today, he was the compassionate teacher, and
that was the one that Lucy liked best. His compassionate mode though,
made it more difficult for her to concentrate on doing her best. It
distracted her. She wanted him to look at her and give her that warm
smile that came so easily to him when he was dealing with a patient.

"Lucy? Are you paying attention?"

She came back to earth as she heard the annoyance in his voice, "I'm
sorry, Dr. Carter. I was thinking about someone."

"Well, you need to be thinking about Mrs. Griffith." He stared at
Lucy, then looked back to their patient, that smile instantly upon
his face, "Mrs. Griffith, can you please tell us about the pain you're
having in your stomach?"

An hour later, Carter sighed with relief as he leaned back on the
sofa in the lounge. The steady flow of patients had slackened and
he was now grateful for the breathing room. The lab was backed up
and he had sent Lucy upstairs to see if they could hurry with Mrs.
Griffith's work-up. He closed his eyes to rest for a minute and never
heard the door open.

"Dr. Carter, do you know what time it is?" a very irritable voice
asked.

Carter opened his eyes, "Oh, it's you," he said to Dr. McIntyre.
Then he realized that he had had an appointment with the man. Past
tense. He glanced up at the clock, seeing that it was now almost two.

"I'm sorry, Dr. McIntyre. We've been busy all day and I just forgot
about our appointment."

"That much is obvious. I waited, hoping you would at least call."

"I simply forgot. I'll call up to reschedule it."

"I've already done that for you," he stuffed an appointment card in
the pocket of Carter's lab coat. "I fully expect to see you tomorrow.
As a matter of fact, I will have you paged ten minutes prior to your
appointment just to make sure you get there on time."

"You're making a big deal out of nothing here. I honestly forgot about
it. Hell, it's not as if this is a matter of life or death."

"I happen to feel that your mental and emotional health is a very
important matter, Dr. Carter. I also happen to know that Dr. Anspaugh
agrees with me in that regard. If you will not keep your appointments,
then I will not be able to assure him that you are fit to work in the
Emergency Room and you will be assigned to another department."

Carter sat up, stunned. "You can't do that!"

"Oh, yes I can. Need I remind you that you tried to kill yourself?"

"Not really! I told you exactly what happened. I couldn't do it.
It's not like I really did try and was injured or something. They
let Carol Hathaway come back after she overdosed!"

"I don't know Carol Hathaway, so I can't comment on her situation.
However, I can assure you that she underwent some type of counseling
or she never would have been allowed back to work."

"This really sucks," Carter muttered.

"You're probably right. But, those are the rules, Dr. Carter. I
expect to see you tomorrow."

"I'll be there."

"Good. I'll see you then." Dr. McIntyre left.

Carter took out the appointment card and saw that his appointment
was for 8:00 a.m. McIntyre obviously didn't want to take any chances
on an emergency making him late. He wondered if it was really true
that he could be reassigned to another department unless McIntyre felt
he was stable enough to remain in the E.R.? The only lawyers he knew
were family, and he wasn't going anywhere near them to ask. His
superiors in the E.R. were too involved with his personal life and
he wasn't really sure he trusted them right now. He could ask Dr.
Anspaugh straight out if it was true. He went to the telephone and
called Anspaugh's office, but he was informed that he had gone home
early. He thanked the secretary and hung up, wondering what to do
next. Lucy chose that moment to walk in.

"I have the labs for Mrs. Griffith." She waved the papers around.

"Great. Read them off to me." His personal life would just have
to wait.



When he returned to Kerry's that night, he was surprised to find her
curled up on her couch, a drink in her hand. There was only one light
on in the apartment and that was the one over the stove in the kitchen.

"Is everything all right?" he asked as he put his coat in the closet.

"You didn't hear? The committee decided that they didn't want me.
They want a "big name" person to run the E.R.", she sipped on her
drink. "I should have known better than to get my hopes up when I
heard that Litvak bowed out of the job."

"Weren't you the one who was telling me about how important it was
to have a real life?" He sat down in the chair across from her.

"Yeah, I suppose I was. I'm a lot better at giving out advice than
I am taking it."

"I think we all have that problem from time to time. How about a
little good news?"

She took another drink, "I could use some."

"Doug and Carol announced their wedding date tonight."

"It's about damn time. So, when is the big day?" she smiled.

"Some Saturday in May. I can't remember the exact date right now."

"I think I can manage to keep May open. Assuming of course, that
they would even want me to be there."

"Of course they would want you there! Why would you think something
like that?"

She grimaced, "I know my reputation, Carter. Kerry Weaver, Chief
Bitch of the E. R. That's me."

"The people who say that don't know you."

"Did you ever say that?"

"No. Why would I? Weren't you there to go to bat for me when I
wanted to switch residencies?"

"And wasn't I the one who totally ignored the wonderful job you
did of running things when that chemical spill put me out of
commission? I knew you had done a damn fine job that night, Carter.
I guess I was just too jealous of your achievement to tell you."

"It wasn't necessary to tell me. I'm not a doctor to get the praise."

"No, you're not," she softly agreed. "Hey, would you like a drink?
I think there's some rum left over."

"Is that what you've got in that glass? Straight rum?"

"No. I'm drinking straight scotch, but that's all gone now. I
think I have some rum though. Maybe some whiskey."

"I never pictured you as a drinking type."

"On occasion, Carter."

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that it's not a good thing to sit
alone in the dark and drink?"

"I'm not alone now."

"Have you eaten anything or are you drinking on an empty stomach?"

"I don't have much of an appetite."

"I can fix you something. I'm not the cook you are, but I can
manage to get something edible on the table."

"There's some leftover soup in the fridge."

"Tomato?"

She nodded, "And some salad."

"I can handle that." He got up and went into the kitchen, turning
on the overhead light. He looked back at her, "Is there anything
else you want?"

A knot formed in Kerry's stomach at that question. The minute he
asked it, an image of the two of them kissing flashed before her
eyes. It was a pleasant image and one she was totally unprepared
for. Didn't she like Carter because he reminded her of her little
brother? She certainly never wanted to kiss Adam like that!

"Dr. Weaver? Are you okay?"

The obvious concern in his voice and eyes touched her heart. He
was so sweet. And handsome. She quickly cut off that train of
thought.

"I'm fine, Carter. Soup and salad will be fine for me. Oh, and
Carter, you don't have to call me Dr. Weaver here. My name is Kerry."

"I'll try to remember that." He opened the refrigerator and took
out the soup and salad.

"What is your preference?" she asked.

"Excuse me?" he looked back at her questioningly.

"I always call you "Carter", but I thought that maybe you would
prefer for me to use your first name."

"Carter's fine. I answer to it."

"It seems cold and impersonal."

He shrugged, "It really doesn't matter much to me. You can call me
"Carter" or you can call me "John". Just don't call me late for
dinner," he joked. The truth was, he much preferred it when
people used his given name, but he didn't want to make Kerry feel
bad about using his last name.

Kerry smiled as she took another sip of scotch. The numbness she
had sought in the bottle of scotch was now giving way to a rosy glow.
Her practical side told her to put the drink down until she had
gotten some food in her system. Her impractical side, the side
that was hurting from the committee's rejection, told her to drink
herself into oblivion. This was one time when she decided to listen
to her impractical side. She downed the remains of the scotch in one
gulp, then leaned against the back of the couch and watched Carter
move around her kitchen.

Carter carefully ladled the soup into bowls, then made sure that
everything was on the table before he told Dr. Weaver, no, he
corrected himself, Kerry, that dinner was ready. Satisfied that
all was in order, he took one step toward the living room.

"Kerry? It's ready."

There was no answer. He walked over to the couch. She was out
cold, a smile on her face.

"Well, I can't let you sleep out here all night." He took the
empty glass from her hand and put it on the table, then scooped her
up in his arms and headed for her bedroom. Luckily, the light switch
was just inside the door and he was able to get the light on without
dropping her. Her bedroom followed the same decorating scheme as
the rest of her apartment, although the little touches told him this
was definitely a woman's room. He walked over to the bed and
realized that he now had a problem. The covers were pulled up and
his arms were full. How was he going to get her under those covers?
He leaned over and grasped the covers with his right hand, then
straightened, moving the covers up and over. Why didn't he think
about getting her bed ready before he carried her in here?

"Carter?"

He looked down at her. Her eyes were big and round and her skin
had an unhealthy shade of green to it. She was about to be sick.

"Hold on." He carried her into the bathroom and had just gotten
her above the toilet when she began to get violently sick.

"Oh, dear God!", she moaned.

"I told you that it was a bad idea to drink on an empty stomach."
He left her side and got a fresh washcloth, then soaked it and
returned to bathe her face with it.

"Do you feel any better?"

"No," she grimaced, "I think I'm going to throw up again."

Carter patiently tended to her while she spewed her guts up in
the commode. He was used to having people throw up on him, so
he didn't worry about the mess. He could clean up later. Finally,
she slumped in his arms, her stomach totally empty.

"You need to get some clean clothes on, Kerry."

She slowly nodded, then tried to stand. Trying to salvage what
was left of her pride, she was determined to return to her bedroom
on her own. Carter helped her to her feet, then stood back as she
pushed his hands away.

"I'm not helpless, Carter!"

"I never thought you were, Kerry. But, you are drunk and you need
some help."

"I'm fine." She took a step forward, then silently cursed as her
leg gave out on her. 'Damn my weakness,' she inwardly raged as
Carter scooped her up in his arms again.

"Hey, don't cry. It's okay, Kerry. We'll just get you to bed
now and everything will be better come the morning."

"I'm not crying!", she mumbled through her tears, "I never cry."

"If you say so."

He carried her back to her bedroom and sat her down on the bed,
then went to her dresser and began to open drawers, looking for
her pajamas or a nightgown. He finally found a set of flannel
pajamas adorned with Teddy Bears.

"Okay, let's get you changed."

"I can handle this."

"I'm not leaving you alone in here." He began to unbutton her
shirt, but she slapped his hands away.

"I said that I can handle this. Turn around."

He did as she asked, "Kerry, just think of me as your doctor or
something. It's not as if it's something I've never seen before."

"You've seen me without clothing on? When?"

"The chemical spill."

"Shit.", she said, mostly because the room was beginning to spin
rather than the idea that he had seen her undressed.

When no other comment came from Kerry, Carter slowly turned his head
to see if she was doing okay. She was passed out on the bed, her
shirt half open. He unbuttoned it the rest of the way, then paused
as he realized that her full breasts were overflowing her bra. He
had never really noticed that she had breasts. "Ignore them," he
said as he lifted her up and removed her shirt and unhooked her bra,
sliding the straps down her arms. He found himself looking only at
those breasts, so enticingly close. They weren't large, but they
were full and he knew that one of them would fit his hand perfectly.
Shit, where was that idea coming from? It wasn't as if he had gone
a long time without sex. Not like the long interval between Abby
and Roxanne. So, why in Hell was his boss getting him worked up?
He quickly put her pajama top on and buttoned it up, proud of how
he was able to restrain himself from touching that porcelain skin.
Now, he had to get her pants off. "Don't even think of her as a
Woman," he told himself. "She's just a drunk who needs clean
clothes. Yeah, that's it. She's just someone who needs help."
He kept repeating that to himself as he removed her pants and
then got her pajama bottoms on her.

With a sigh of relief that he had managed to dress her without
incident, he pulled back the covers, then picked her up and put
her into bed properly, tucking the blankets around her. "You are
going to have such a bad headache when you wake up," he whispered.

He picked up her soiled clothing, then turned off her light. He
dropped her clothing on the floor outside his bedroom door and went
in to change his own clothes. Then he threw everything into the
washing machine and went to clean up the bathroom. By the time it
was all clean and the washer was going, he remembered that dinner
was on the table. After all that, he didn't feel very hungry. He
also wasn't very sleepy. Ignoring the bottle of pills that Dr.
McIntyre had prescribed for him, he sat on the couch and channel
surfed, looking for something, anything, to keep him from thinking
about what his mother had revealed to him the day before. He
didn't know what she expected from him. Did she want him to
forgive her? Did she want him to get angry with her? Why
couldn't she just come right out and tell him exactly what she
wanted? He sat in front of the television with the sound turned
down low until he finally fell asleep on the couch.


End of Part Four