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The bar is tucked between a laundromat and a tattoo shop. It’s cramped and absolutely average, but it’s been a mainstay for County General occupants for years.
Doug has dragged Carol away from the clinic, roping Mark along who needed little convincing.
Anna came because she needed a respite from charts, traumas and the undercurrent of healthcare politics.
And Carter?
He probably came because Anna did.
Carol is warm and content, lounging in a booth and working on some greasy fries.
Carter plops down across from her with a sigh that’s not quite elegant, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, tie loose and off centre. His dress shirt is clinging in patches against his skin.
“Since when do you smoke?”
He takes the thing from his mouth and holds it. It’s awkward in his hand. He studies it for a beat then mumbles, “vending machine. Thought I’d give it a try.” He watches the smoke curl in front of his face.
“You not having a good time?”
He flicks the cigarette into the ash tray on the table and slumps back into the seat. “I was, but they won’t make me another Long Island.”
She can’t help but snort, “oh, Carter.”
His eyes are hazy and soft now, but he’s not looking at Carol. She follows his line of sight to the pool table that the group has claimed.
To Anna.
She’s laughing at something Doug or Mark said, leaning on her cue with her whole face lit up.
When Carol glances back at Carter, he’s donning a crooked, boyish smile.
Oh jeez.
Carol’s getting a real kick out of the whole thing as she mentally files it away to use as ammunition against him later. His eyes are glazed with alcohol induced infatuation, but beneath them, she notes the dark circles that have been present for weeks now.
“You doing okay?” She asks casually.
“Mhm,” he hums, not taking his eyes off Anna, and not picking up on Carol’s tone.
She knows better not to push him, especially in his current state. Instead, she grabs her jacket and steps out of the booth. “Come on, I’ll drop you home.”
He finally looks at her and slumps his shoulders melodramatically.
“Up,” she says. Carol uses the same delivery that she uses on her patients; on Doug Ross, and most definitely on Carter during his most stubborn moments.
She announces to the group that she’s driving Carter home.
Doug quits spectating Mark’s shot and looks up. He’s about to mouth off before he sees Carter trailing unsteadily behind her, over-coat swinging from the crook of his elbow. Carter waves lazily at the group.
His smile is curated just for Anna, who doesn’t notice as she gives Carol an appreciative nod.
Outside, Carol hurries into her jacket, trying to trap the heat in from the bar. Carter strides alongside her but instead of heading towards the car, he suddenly veers left at the sidewalk.
“Hey,” Carol calls, but her feet remain firmly planted. “Car’s this way.”
Carter pauses to squint up at the street signs. He nods to himself and marches back towards Carol- then right past her.
“Where the hell are you going?” She tries for his shirt but Carter dances away from her grip; looking as pleased with himself as he would diagnosing an aortic dissection.
“China Club, you been?” He doesn’t look like he’s joking, but the night is a game.
He’s strutting backwards now with his hands shoved into his pockets. Carol stretches an arm out towards him, pure reflex really. She’s prepared for him to slip and crack the back of his head open on the concrete.
She’s watched him trip through air and over his own oxfords sober.
“What do you think, Carter?”
“Well come on, The Loop’s this way.”
“No come on, we’re going home.”
“You’re going home, I’m checking out China Club.” He spins his back to her and nearly wipes out on an icy stretch of pavement.
She knows he’s not all there, she also knows how stubborn he can be when his mind is made up.
“Not quite your scene I would think?” She tries.
“Maybe not, but Chase thinks it’s the crown jewel! Wanted to take me back in December, like I could just bail on my shift,” it’s casual, but there’s a subtle edge.
She wonders then if he’s reaching for a link between Chase and himself. Landing on an idea lit by alcohol and sparked by guilt.
Maybe she’s the one who’s reaching.
“You really think they’re gonna let you in, hammered and strapped for cash?” She calls, pulling her collar up higher against her neck.
Now is absolutely not the time to remind him of his familial dramas and the trust fund he no longer has to fall back on.
Carol is kicking herself, but Carter just loudly boasts. “Oh Hathaway, I may no longer carry the check-book but I still carry the Carter title!”
He animatedly points a finger upwards and wags it. Carol would chase after him then and there, just to give him a well deserved kick in the ass, but she’s lost sensation in her toes.
”Carter!” She’s had enough.
The distance between them is widening.
”Christ, I don’t need you to mother me, alright?” He throws his head back like it will finally shake her off.
“I don’t need you to tuck me in, I’m not your patient.” A beat. Just to be cruel, he adds, “or your boyfriend.”
A heat is coiling in Carol’s chest now, rising upwards to challenge the chill at her neck.
She could head back inside the bar maybe, pass the situation off to Mark.
His junior, his problem.
Would the humiliation be enough to cut through to him?
Would he listen to Anna?
Really, what’s it all to Carol anyway?
She thinks of cutting her losses and just leaving.
Instead she chases a lanky, drunken intern down a dimly lit street of Chicago in the middle of a January cold snap. When she finally catches up, she plants her feet firmly in-front of him and grips him by his shirtsleeves.
Between tunnel vision and one too many Long Islands, he loses his footing and almost barrels her over. But Carol is anchored and steadfast.
She can see him now.
His chin trembles and he looks abashed. “Sorry,” he offers with a hitched breath.
To Carol or to Chase?
She just sighs not unkindly, takes Carters coat from his elbow and shucks it over his shoulders.
Carol wonders if she’s crossed the invisible defence line that he’s drawn around himself for weeks. But Carter finally looks down at her and gives her a sniffle and a curt nod.
Half an hour later they are lazing on Carol’s couch, cartons of lo mein and egg rolls resting in their laps; a Cubs game humming in the background.
Carter has thawed a little in the warmth of food and soft light. Dry eyed, lax.
He hadn’t said another word about Chase, or much of anything really, as he fell two paces behind Carol on the sidewalk. She hadn’t spoken either.
Only guided.
It was the habitual dance that Carol lead.
He would hold things so close to his chest that they would pull him under; the great weight of titles, grief, misplaced guilt.
She would reach out an arm towards him, pure reflex.
Remind him that there are ways to pass it on, sometimes wordless but always light; and never a burden.
Either he would stone-wall or follow her back up and out.
By the time the ninth inning rolls around, Carter is asleep with his head lolled back against the couch, mouth slightly open.
The El train passes over their heads, the window panes shutter. Carter’s head shoots up. He cracks one eye open, surveying the room, and clearly he’s misplaced himself in space and time.
Carol just uncoils her legs from underneath her and pushes herself up from the couch.
“Go back to sleep,” she heads down the hallway.
“But if you’re gonna hurl, do it in the bathroom, the floor boards need resealing,” she sings out.
Carter’s already sprawled out on his stomach, face half buried underneath an embroidered cushion, by the time she returns with a blanket. One shoe off, the other forgotten. He doesn’t look exactly comfortable, nor does he entirely fit. But he’s dead to the world.
Just as she’s draping the blanket over him, the key rattles in the front door. Doug stumbles in, hair tousled, and smiles stupidly when he sees her.
His eyes land on Carter, unconscious and splayed out on Carol’s couch. He frowns for a moment and she expects a question or a wise crack.
But Doug just plucks an egg roll from the coffee table, takes a bite, and gives Carol a greasy beer-breathed peck. He tilts downwards towards Carter with a shake of his head.
“Light-weight,” a harsh whisper, as he stumbles off towards Carol’s bedroom.