Work Text:
John Carter is very warm.
That's all Lucy can think as he keeps her tucked in his side, arm around her shoulders. She didn't expect much when he found her on the roof ten minutes ago. Actually, she expected a lecture and maybe another tongue lashing about the importance of not letting deadbeat dads out of your sight.
Lucy's never been very good at that, but she supposes she ought to know where to start. Waiting by the phone for hours after her mother went to bed, hoping to hear his voice on the other end promising to pick her up from school tomorrow and take her to downtown Disney like he did that one time for her ninth birthday. It didn't matter that Lucy had been to Disney World every year for her school trips—she'd go again and again if it meant a moment with him.
But he never called, and Lucy stopped going to Disney in tenth grade.
She wonders if Carter has ever been.
“Do you think we have time to shower before the next shift?” Lucy asks.
She feels Carter laugh. “Is that a not-so-subtle hint that I reek?”
“No.” Lucy picks her head up off Carter’s shoulder. He lets her, hand sliding down her shoulder blades, her back, until it rests between them on the cold concrete. “Well, no more than you would after a day at the hospital.”
“Gee, thanks. I'll have to up the cologne.”
Actually, Lucy doesn't think Carter’s ever smelled bad. Even now, after falling into an abandoned cockfight pit and spending at least twelve hours scouring downtown Chicago with her. Sure, he's a little sweaty, a little dirty, but she can still detect traces of his typical sandalwood and citrusy scent. She can smell it when she turns her head and presses her nose into his neck. It smells expensive, like the high-end counters at Macy's. Lucy finds the image of Carter going to Macy's and waiting while the perfume ladies spray colognes on test papers hysterical.
“You smell nice, like you always do.” Lucy stands. “So? Shower?”
Carter takes a beat to answer. “Yeah, uh, I talked to Dr. Greene and he managed to swap our shifts with Doyle and her student, so we get to sleep off today.”
Lucy perks up. “Really?” Carter told her earlier that they’d be on in an hour, and she’s been miserable ever since.
“Really, really.” He lifts his chin proudly. “Dr. Greene likes me, so he cut us a break.”
He gets up to follow her down the stairs and back into the hospital. Carter opens the roof access door for her, his hand brushing her arm. He's always touching her, and it drives her a little up the wall sometimes, because one second, he'll be chewing her out for something she didn't do, or at least, didn't mean to do, and the next, he's touching her back or her arm or pulling her by the hand. Lucy's pretty sure it’s not normal for your resident to be a neurotic sheepdog.
And it irks her because Carter will pull rank or, worse, height on her, as if the fact that she's half a foot shorter means he can tug her around and talk to her any way he pleases. She snapped at him last week that she's not a doll, and he can't treat her like one, and it stunned Carter silent. He didn't talk to or touch her for the rest of the shift.
But tonight, she welcomes his warm palm on her back. If she took off her coat, she'd feel the cool sliver of his pinkie ring through her scrubs. It's something to focus on beyond the ringing failure in her ears, the fact that Corinna Nelson may very well die despite Lucy doing everything she could.
It's not your fault, Lucy, but it is, isn't it? She let him go. She should've been smarter, more careful. She's always telling Carter she can handle what he gives her, and yet, when it was time for her to step up, she dropped the ball.
“Are you taking a cab home?”
Carter disappears from Lucy's sight for a moment as he opens his locker door in the lounge. She walks around to see him better. He manages his scarf okay, but the attempt with his coat is pitiful. Lucy's in front of him before either of them can think about it, and holds his sleeve so he can push his good arm through. She buttons it up so his injured arm will still be warm.
“Thanks,” he says, looking down at her. “No, uh, I spent all my cab fare for probably the next month, so I'm roughing it on the El.”
“We can ride together,” she says, then thinks stupid idiot because why does she sound so goddamn eager about it?
But Carter doesn't hook onto that if he notices, and he smiles a little, clearly exhausted. “Sure we can.”
“Are you going to be okay on your own?”
He raises a brow. “Why wouldn't I?”
Lucy chews her lip. This is right around where their conversation would devolve into a fight. She doesn't want to fight. She fought all day—with Carter, with Chicago, with the universe. She wants something easier, sweeter. Lucy's good at fighting, and she always will be, but it doesn't mean she likes it.
“Well, your arm, and you're on pain medication, and you've been awake for twenty-five hours, and I just thought…” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “I thought maybe you could use a little help.”
Carter closes his locker. He's not gearing up to argue, but he doesn't look happy. “I'm fine, Lucy. I've broken my arm before. I can manage a dislocation.”
“Right, I know, but I'm just saying it would be easier. I know you live with Weaver, but—”
“Yeah, so she can help if anything goes wrong.” Carter’s smile is flat. He thinks Lucy's suggesting he can't do anything for himself, and that's the whole problem, isn't it? Carter has a chip on his shoulder the size of Canada and Lucy takes the fallout of it every time. She doesn't know why or where it came from—Carter is a good doctor, and a decent guy when he wants to be. By all accords, he should act like someone who's realized that, but he doesn't. In fact, he reminds Lucy of a shelter dog sometimes. Biting before the next blow comes.
“I wasn't saying you can't handle it alone, I just meant that I could help. I was offering. That's it.”
“Uh-huh, well, don't. I don't need your help, Lucy. I'm here to help you, not the other way around.”
And then he's taking off in long strides, leaving Lucy to hurry alongside him like she usually does. He was better about matching her pace earlier today, but now he's pouting, and she's sure he knows what a pain it is for her to jog to keep up. She's never complained before, but there's no way Carter doesn't know. He notices everything.
Well, almost everything.
She won’t run after him tonight. She's been on her feet for over twelve hours.
“Why can't you walk at my pace?” Lucy yells after him in the ambulance bay, hands curling into fists. She's exhausted and she just wants to be kind. All Lucy does is try to be kind and all she gets is spit in her face. What the hell is wrong with him?
Carter stops and looks at her, clearly irritated. His cheeks are red with cold. “What?”
It bubbles out of her before she can stop it. This stuff doesn't usually bother her so much, but tonight went well, besides Corinna. They were understanding each other, and now Carter’s doing what he always does. Why can't he let things be good?
“You said we could ride together, and now you're racing ahead of me when you know I can't walk as fast,” Lucy says, breath fogging. “Why do you have to do that? I just want to walk with you, and I'm tired, and I wish I had saved Corinna, and I'm so damn mad at myself for not keeping her dad here and, and—”
Oh Christ, she's crying. Lucy wipes at her cheek, and yep, those are tears. This is mortifying. God, now she's wishing she'd just let Carter walk ahead of her and leave her behind. This is worse.
Carter looks surprised, panicked, maybe a little uncomfortable. He hesitantly approaches her, like she's the shelter dog. There’s about five feet between them. Lucy’s a little closer to his height, standing on the curb.
“I'm sorry,” he says, eyes big and a little afraid. Lucy can't imagine why—this can't possibly be the first time Carter's seen a woman cry. He's a little out of breath as he says, “I'm sorry. I'll walk slower. Please don't cry.”
“I don't—fuck, I didn't mean to cry. I didn't come out here to cry at you, John.” She slides her thumbs underneath her lashes so her mascara won't run.
Carter just looks at her, at a loss of words for once. And hey, Lucy's aware that the sight of her crying tends to get sympathy faster than anything from most people. It's her eyes, she thinks. She used to do it a lot more, when she was a bad kid and liked getting away with it because she has the kind of face that everyone expects to burst into tears. Her mother was the only person who could distinguish between real tears and fake.
But she needs Carter to know that she doesn't do that now, not even for sympathy, because it never works, not in a meaningful way. She doesn't cry in front of people anymore. She doesn’t want people to think of her as a crier even though, yes, she cried two weeks ago when Carter ignored her for the whole shift, and she cried a week before that in the hospital bathroom because a mother and her two-year-old died in a car accident, and Lucy does cry. She cries a lot. She has the face for it. It’s not her fault. But she doesn't cry for anyone. And she certainly doesn't cry in front of her resident.
“I'm not crying for your sympathy,” she says angrily.
“Okay,” Carter says, instead of arguing. He can be so gentle. He's talking to her like she's a patient. She sort of hates it, and she sort of doesn't. “I didn't think you were.”
“You're looking at me like I'm bleeding out,” Lucy says, even angrier. “Stop it.”
He's looking at her like she needs a gurney, and she can't stand it. She still has tears coming out. She can't stop them. Sometimes she gets like this, when she's tired and so, so angry at herself, at the world. Her eyes keep stinging and burning, like an allergic reaction to life. She can't help it.
“It'll stop soon,” she says, hoping it really will. “Let’s just walk.”
Carter doesn't move. “Lucy, if you need a minute, I won't leave without you.”
“No, I'm fine. It does this sometimes. I'm just tired. It'll go away.”
Lucy starts walking before Carter can hound her about it. She's out of the bay and approaching Doc Magoo's by the time he catches up. And true to apology, Carter matches her pace. He doesn't leave her behind.
Lucy focuses on the sidewalk in front of her, the shiny, slick pavement from the evening rain. Her hands are shoved in her coat pockets, and she's rolling a loose thread between her thumb and pointer.
“Are you cold?” Carter asks. “Want my scarf?”
“I'm fine, Carter.”
“Okay.”
He's like a ghost at her side. His arm doesn't brush hers, he doesn't guide her any which way with his body. It's like she's spooked the resident out of him, and now Lucy knows that Carter's just a man who turns tender like a wound when a woman cries. She hates it. It feels like they argued about something intimate, and he's trying to prove he can still be a good boyfriend, still worth keeping around.
The thought is so jarring, she almost trips on the curb crossing the street. But she catches herself, and she doesn't look at Carter once as they climb the steps to the train. He stays behind her until they get to the platform and then he points out an empty bench where they can wait.
They sit. Lucy crosses her legs and leans into the bench arm, cold metal digging into her ribs through her coat. She really needs a new coat. She thought she could brave it, but she's a Florida girl through and through, and Chicago winters are merciless.
She glances at Carter over her upturned coat collar. He's dosing. She's never seen him sleep except the first day they met and Dr. Greene pulled back the sheet to reveal Carter with his long, sharp nose and wild beard.
He's shaved now, but Lucy still thinks about how he looked her first month at the hospital. Not older exactly, but maybe like someone trying to look older. Someone who wanted to make it seem like he knows more than he does.
Now Lucy knows that Carter knows approximately five percent more than she does. He might have the muscle memory down for starting IVs or catheter insertion or intubation, but what he knows? Not much. Not enough to warrant the way he treated her.
And Lucy's found that she likes being taught by someone who really doesn't know all that much. It sort of feels like she's learning with a friend, and medicine can't be that scary if her friend is doing it with her.
But Carter isn't her friend. She doesn't know what he is, but he's certainly no friend.
The El pulls into the station. Lucy taps his arm maybe a little harder than she needs to. Carter jolts awake.
“Train's here,” she says, and stands, entering and finding a seat without waiting.
Carter sits next to her even though there are plenty of empty seats in the car. Lucy doesn't say anything, just props her chin in her hand and stares at her reflection against nighttime Chicago.
She'll call her mom when she's home, she thinks. She hasn't called in a while. She's been so busy and stressed and maybe enjoying dorm life a little more than she should. Her mom wouldn't fault her for it, of course not, but Lucy still feels guilty. It's not her fault, but still it's her responsibility to call her mother, to love her in that way.
Lucy turns her head as she feels a weight rest on her shoulder. She sees the top of Carter's head, his hair chestnut under the harsh train light. She can see individual strands this close, and she smells his orange blossom hair gel and a mild tang of sweat and dirt from the day. Most of the product has fallen out of his hair, leaving it soft and a little limp.
Lucy wants to touch. Lucy should not.
“John,” she says quietly. He doesn't stir. She leaves him alone.
On the stop before Carter’s, Lucy makes a decision. She is going to walk him home. It's not like Carter to fall asleep so easily. He doesn't do that even when he's been on thirty-six hours straight. She surmises that it must be because of the painkillers. Dr. Greene gave Carter double the dose because his arm had been put under immense strain when Lucy tried and failed to reduce it. Another wrong thing.
But this is right. This, she can do.
Lucy gently shakes Carter awake. He wakes again with a start, but it's slower, the medication delaying his reaction time.
“Next one is your stop,” she says.
“Oh. Thanks.” Carter rubs his eyes and pinches the inside of his wrist. To keep himself awake, Lucy guesses, though a lot of good that will do.
The train slows. Carter stands, leaning against the pole. His smile is small but real.
“Good night, Lucy,” he says. “Sleep well.”
She nods, eyes sharp. The doors open. Carter steps out. And at the last second, Lucy bolts out too, nearly colliding with him.
He sputters. “Wh—Lucy, what the hell are you doing?”
“I'm walking you home,” she says, lifting her chin, daring him to argue.
And argue he does.
“No, you're not. I told you I'm fine. Now we have to wait for the next train!”
“You can, but I'm not getting on.”
Carter’s nostrils flare, eyes slitting. “What?”
“I told you I'm walking you home. You're exhausted and on heavy painkillers. They shouldn't have even let you leave. You fell asleep on me.” She points at him. “That's proof enough.”
“Unbelievable,” Carter begins, voice rising. “You are unbelievable, Lucy. Of all the—”
“You can yell at me all night, Carter, but the sooner we walk back to your place and I make sure you're not going to die in the shower or in your sleep, the sooner I'll get out of your hair.”
“Do you have an allergy to following directions or something?” he snaps, throwing his hands up. “Or is it just me? It must be just me, because everyone else thinks you’re a damn delight. Weaver called you a breath of fresh air. If only she knew what a pain in the neck you are!”
Lucy doesn't roll her eyes because that'll definitely drag this out, and she's cold and her stomach is growling and she's kind of hoping Carter will order a pizza or something when he calms down and they get to his place.
…That said, she really can't go without saying something. No wonder Dr. Greene said he couldn't fix whatever was going on between them.
“Oh, I'm a pain in your neck, huh? Why is it that no one gives a shit about you going home alone but me? No one even called you a cab. Not even Benton, and he knows you dislocated your shoulder.”
It's absolutely the wrong thing to say, and for once, Lucy knows that. That doesn't make the outcome any better, but at least she's on the uptake.
“I am twenty-nine years old, Lucy.” Carter has that deadly calm condescension he uses when he's about to tear into her. “I can handle going home after a couple of painkillers. Benton didn't babysit me because unlike you, I can go without supervision. You screw up nearly everything you get your hands on. So no, no one called me a cab, because I can handle myself. You haven't shown much proof of that these past few months, and I wonder if you'll make it to your residency at the rate you're going.”
Lucy doesn't want to cry again. But the night hasn't ended, and she's still so angry at herself, so she can't help the burning pressure behind her eyes again. She knows she started it this time, that she doesn't deserve to cry, but it comes anyway. She just needs to get away from Carter fast enough so he doesn't realize what's happening.
“Okay. Sure.” Lucy nods jerkily, turning around. “Fine. Go home, then. I'll wait for the train.”
Her throat aches. If she were in her dorm, she'd melt into her pillow and let the day pour out of her in tears.
“Lucy…”
She folds her arms tightly, staring at the platform that seems to go on forever. “Go away, Carter. I get the message.”
“Lucy, hang on.” He walks around to face her, and she pulls her skin hard, wiping away her budding tears. Carter's looking at her like she’s a shelter dog again.
“I told you to go. I get it, you don't need help. It's good we had this conversation. I was starting to like you. I'm so glad you reminded me why that would be a bad idea.”
The wind blows in her face, which helps dry the tears, until Carter stands directly in front of her and blocks it.
He watches the train pass on the opposite platform as he says, “We'll walk to my place, and then I'll call you a cab. C'mon.”
Lucy scowls. “I thought you didn't have cab money.”
Carter sighs, looking up at the sky. “Yeah, well, we'll make it work. We did today.”
“I can take the train. You don't want me to go with you. Just go, Carter, I'm fine.”
“No, you're right. The painkillers are having an effect. You were just being nice and I was a jerk for no reason. I shouldn't have said that stuff. You mentioned Benton, and I…” He shakes his head. “Doesn't matter. Just come on. Please? I don't want to leave you in the dark and I'm cold as shit out here.”
Lucy chews her lip. She's cold as shit too, and she thinks maybe she can still get a slice of pizza out of this. Or something. Carter already bought her a burger tonight, but she feels lucky.
“I'm sorry I brought up Benton.” She still isn't quite sure what their deal is, but it feels like the right thing to say. “You're not alone. They do care about you.”
Carter sags, like he's finally letting the weight of the day take over. “Come on, Lucy.” He's quiet, but the wind has died down, so they're the loudest things out here.
Lucy goes.
It isn't a far walk to Kerry Weaver's house. Neither of them speak. Lucy doesn't even say anything when Carter fumbles with his keys for a solid ten seconds, and she could have plenty to say about that. But she doesn't.
Carter drops his keys in the bowl by the door. He closes it behind Lucy. She takes in the house while they both toe off their shoes.
“It's nice,” she says.
She'd like a house like this one day. There are pieces of Dr. Weaver everywhere, and Lucy's always liked that in a home.
Her mom did her best to do that in their apartment, even though their decorating budget was low. She'd make paper stars and moons and hang them from the ceiling. She'd buy fake flowers from the dollar store and arrange them prettily in plastic vases. Lucy never forgot where they were, but she didn't resent it either. She liked their home. She had to leave, but she liked it.
“Yeah, right? She has good taste.” Carter looks dead on his feet, wobbling with his tie knot half-loosened. He raises his eyebrows, sniffing hard. “Okay, um…”
“Why don't you shower and I'll make us something to eat?” Lucy says. A pizza would take too long. She still thinks Carter should make it up to her, but she can wait.
“No, I can just call a—”
“Carter.” Lucy takes a deep breath. No fights. “You can call me a cab after you've showered and eaten. It won't take long, and I'm sure you won't want to do anything after I leave. And I can help you with your sling.”
He exhales. Another night, another time, they'd get back into the ring for a sixteenth round. Maybe it's Carter’s shoulder, or the painkillers, or their adventure today—she'll never know—but Carter doesn't argue.
“Okay,” he says, nodding. “You're right. But don't burn down Weaver's house, I'm serious.”
“Don't be silly. I'm an excellent cook. Let's take off the sling first.”
They go to the basement door. Lucy carefully slides his cast off, and Carter takes it. Then she removes his tie and drapes it over his arm. She releases his suspender straps next. He doesn't look at her the entire time, and Lucy's grateful, because it’s right around the suspenders where she remembers feeling like they'd argued over something intimate.
She unbuttons his shirt next, admiring the planes of his chest, his waist. She's always admired how straight-lined some men are. Lucy likes her style well enough, even if some people call her barrettes childish, but sometimes she wishes clothes laid differently on her. Flatter. Looser.
It's probably never been a thought for Carter. Maybe he even wished he could fill out more. She's envious all the same.
Their eyes meet. Lucy reaches for his belt, then stops, heat flooding her cheeks.
“I can take it from here,” Carter says, voice hoarse. He clears his throat. “Thanks.”
“Right. Of course.” She steps back, nodding to herself. “Okay. Do you like grilled cheese?”
“Uh…”
“I make a really good grilled cheese,” she says. “I swear. I won't burn it or anything. I know I can be a total klutz, but I'm solid in the kitchen.”
Carter sighs. “Okay. The fire extinguisher is in the garage, first-aid under the sink…”
“Carter. It'll be fine, I promise.” She smiles. “Go shower, okay? We'll eat and then I'll go.”
“Fine. Holler if you need anything. My food is in the bottom two drawers and on the third shelf.”
He disappears down the stairs to the basement. Lucy turns to the kitchen, focused. Make a grilled cheese. This, she can do.
“Okay, John Carter,” she mumbles to herself. “What kind of cheese do you eat?”
Fifteen minutes later, Carter jogs up the steps to the first floor, hair dripping water on his shirt. He wrangled his arm into the sling with minimal pain but he gave up on the drawstring of his sweatpants. He hopes they won't fall down, though that would really be the whipped cream on tonight's mud pie.
The kitchen is, to his relief, intact. There's one sandwich on the kitchen island, at the end place setting. Lucy's humming as she flips the second sandwich. Carter listens. If he focuses… he thinks he can make out Wannabe by Spice Girls. He smiles.
“Having fun?”
Lucy spins around, startled. Her eyes are wide, but she relaxes when she sees him.
“I didn't know if you like tomatoes,” she says. “So I didn't add it to yours.”
“I do, but that's okay,” Carter says, settling at the island.
Lucy plates her sandwich and joins him. She sits diagonal to him, closer than he expected.
“I am really good at grilled cheese,” she says. “Just saying. You might think I'm tooting my horn, and I am, but I swear it's for good reason.”
“Hmm, well, this better knock my socks off. Take me to heaven.”
Lucy nods, watching him intently. It's the same way she watches him when he's demonstrating a procedure for her, hanging onto every word like it's Bible. It gives him a thrill every time, his med student listening, trusting, believing.
Carter takes a bite.
It's… very good. Extremely so.
“Wow,” he says, mouth full. He covers his mouth, instantly hearing Gamma's voice telling him to chew like a gentleman.
“Do you like it?” Lucy asks, leaning on her seat.
“Mmhm.” Carter finishes chewing and swallows. “Really good. Where'd you learn to make such an exceptional grilled cheese? Did you train at Le Cordon Bleu before schlepping up here?”
Lucy beams. She really is so beautiful when she smiles. She's got a mouth like a heart. Her cheeks get round and her eyes squint. Carter made her smile like that only one other time, during the first week, when he still thought she could do IVs. When he believed he wasn't a complete failure of a teacher.
“No, um, my mom. She would get blocks of Velveeta in bulk when she went to the… at the grocery store.” Lucy shakes her head, like she's interrupting her own train of thought. “Anyway, she taught me how to fancy it up, you know? We had a neighbor who grew tomatoes and he let us pick a few every week.”
“Huh.” Carter tries to imagine little Lucy cutting tomatoes and frying sandwiches with her mom. For most of his life, he never gave it a second thought that he didn't cook or bake or anything with his mother. He didn't do much with his father either, but he thought that’s how everyone's parents were. You live in their house, and they teach you to stay in your room after a nightmare and to avoid questions about finances and sick children, but they don’t involve themselves in your life.
Then Carter learned the truth, learned that he of all people had missed out. He'll spend the rest of his life playing catch up. The worst part is he doesn't know what he doesn't have. He only learns about it after the fact, like right now, while he's sitting in Kerry Weaver's kitchen, eating a grilled cheese sandwich with the person he's supposed to mold into a doctor.
He doesn't say any of that, obviously. Instead, he asks, “What's Velveeta?”
“It's a shelf-stable cheese. It comes in a block, and you can keep it for months. People donated—um, my mom bought it a lot. You have to eat it soon when you open it, but it was easy to keep, you know?”
Carter nods, not knowing at all, but not wanting a repeat of what happened with Anna. “Oh. Gotcha.”
He wonders if Lucy's already heard who Carter’s family is. Surely, Carol would've mentioned it, right? Lucy knows about the clinic. It's not a reach that she'd learn about the Carter Foundation.
Then again, Lucy wouldn't be subtle about it at all. She certainly wouldn't assume that Carter knows what Velveeta is.
“Yep.” She pops the p. “It's good for melting. But obviously, real cheese is better. So do you have a favorite childhood meal?”
“No, nothing comes to mind.”
Several meals come to mind, actually, but if he says pork tenderloin with fig sauce, Lucy will absolutely suspect something's up.
And, well. Carter knows it's silly, but he doesn't want to give her more reason to hate him. He knows he's already been an asshole, and he won't say Lucy hasn't frustrated him, but he understands her better now. He got in his own way, let Benton get into his head again, and screwed everything up. He's lucky Lucy hasn't put in for a transfer. Mark told him he'd grant it if she asked. Fix it, Carter. Get your head out of your ass.
He's trying. He wants to find his way. Wants Lucy to find her way too. Maybe it's without him. He hopes not.
“Come on, there has to be something. Like, when my uncle was in high school, he was obsessed with fried peanut butter, banana, and bacon sandwiches. Like Elvis, you know?”
Carter’s definitely making a face. “Bacon? Elvis?”
“Yeah! That was his favorite sandwich or something. I dunno, maybe people were more into Elvis back home than here in Chicago. He filmed one of his movies there.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“I moved to Florida in fifth grade. Just outside of Gainesville.”
“You don't sound southern,” Carter says.
Lucy laughs, the sound like a bell. “If you heard me talk to my cousins, you'd hear a twang. I didn't get a strong accent, but I've sort of been conscious about it while here. I didn't want anyone making fun of me.”
He frowns. “If they made fun of you for that, they're idiots.”
Lucy shrugs. “Yeah, well. People are idiots. No better place to learn that than in the ER.”
Carter snorts. “No truer words.”
“What about you? Did you live here your whole life?”
“Uh, yeah. Not Chicago, but Illinois. My family grew up in Oak Brook.”
“Oh. Is that a suburb?”
Carter grimaces slightly. “Yeah, you could say that. Pretty spread out.”
“Like farmland?”
“No… just open. I moved to Chicago after I graduated med school.”
“Wow. I hope I can do that.” She sighs. “I'm kind of worried. I'm here on a scholarship and financial aid. I don't know how I'd stay in Chicago after I graduate. Residents don't make much, right?”
“Practically nothing. But it's possible. Anna, the doctor I mentioned before, she did it. I do it.”
While being cut off, he doesn't add.
“Yeah, that's true. I guess lots of people manage. My mom said I could do a residency at home, but I really want to stay here. I like Chicago.”
Lucy has crumbs on her mouth. Carter wants to wipe them away, but those sorts of impulses should be squashed. He's quite familiar with stopping bad habits. When he was ten years old and awful for nail biting, Grandfather put hot sauce on his fingers for months to make him quit. Dirty habits must be squashed, John.
Grandfather did that until Gamma found out and told him to stop, fearful that Carter would end up in the hospital. Carter would bite his cuticles and the hot sauce would soak into the cuts and burn. Grandfather insisted it wasn't a big deal, that they did it in his day all the time. If self-discipline were easy or fun, we wouldn't live the way we do.
Carter still doesn't bite his nails, which is good, he guesses. He's too afraid to taste vinegar and blood.
“It's a good city,” he says. “You should stay.”
Lucy tilts her head like she wasn't expecting that. “Thanks.”
He checks his watch. He promised himself he wouldn't let her stay for long. At first, it was meant to be for the ten minutes it'd take for the cab to arrive. But then she wanted to help him, to stay, and he couldn't argue with her again. He's made her cry twice tonight. Carter’s never seen her so much as flinch, but he knows she blames herself for Corinna, and he's just beating that bruise with a mallet with all the mean things he's said to her.
So he let her in because he couldn't bear to see her cry a third time. He never wants to make Lucy cry again. All night long, the guilt has been white-hot in his gut. Carter can't stop wondering how many times Lucy's cried because of him. Benton never made him cry, but Benton also had a point behind his terror.
Carter's just being mean. He's a mean guy now. He never wanted to be a mean guy.
They've finished eating. Carter checks his watch. It's not like Weaver will come in and see them—she's on till seven. There's really no reason for Carter to worry, but he still feels like he's going to get caught. It already feels wrong, letting Lucy in, eating what she makes, leaning in so she can undo his tie.
He can hear Benton in his head, demanding to know what the hell he's doing. He can hear Mark too in that sad, disappointed tone telling him that he expected better.
“I'm gonna call for the cab now,” he says suddenly, taking their plates. Lucy tries to take over but he doesn't let her, using his height to shield her pawing hands.
She sits back, defeated. “Carter, I don't mind taking the El. It's not a far walk.”
“Doesn't matter. I don't want you waiting by yourself in the dark.”
The question remains. Why don't you wait with her? Carter can't tell her that there's something about train platforms that makes him too honest, too bold. He confronted Benton about Gant that night on the platform, and Anna told him he was good but not good enough to stay for on the platform. And he said horrible things to Lucy there tonight. He must be cursed. He doesn't want to risk it again.
“But a cab to my dorm will cost—”
“Lucy.” Carter takes a deep breath. Don’t make her cry again. She's looking up at him, not a trace of malice in her face.
She lets him try, over and over, and that is perhaps the worst part about their relationship. If Lucy had told Carter off and demanded to switch residents a month ago, maybe Carter would've learned something by now. He knows nothing, really, as much as he pretends.
What the hell is he supposed to teach her? How to mourn a patient? How to remember why you’re here? He doesn't know those things himself. Soon, Lucy Knight will find out that there is nothing John Carter can teach her.
“Yes?” Lucy asks, when Carter doesn't continue.
“Just let me do this, okay?” he says, hoping it'll be enough.
And she's so clever. He sees it in her eyes when she understands.
“Okay, John,” she says, her heart mouth a pillow-soft landing for his name.
Somehow, her lipstick has hung on all day, or maybe she reapplied without him noticing. He thought it was perfect, but now he sees that it goes a little outside her bottom lip line. He likes it, but he can imagine her ruthlessly digging her thumbnail under her lip to clean it up. He doesn't want her to. Carter doesn't have anything to teach her, but can he ask this of her? Can he watch her make a mistake in the weak light just before dawn, when no one should be allowed to see?
He calls the cab company. He scrapes together thirty-one dollars and brushes Lucy off when she asks about his dwindling funds. Now would be a great time to tell her he's loaded, even if it's not technically true at the moment. At least it would get her off his back. Who gives her the right to care like that, anyway?
But he doesn't tell her. He just says that it's okay, as many times as she asks. He doesn't hesitate or get short with her. She needs to know it's okay, and Carter can give her that.
They go outside to wait for the cab ten minutes later. Carter regrets leaving his hair wet. It's mostly dry, but this is still the kind of March that can get him sick with damp hair.
Then Lucy digs into his coat pocket, pulling out his hat. She puts it on him, tugging it over his ears.
Oh, God. He wants to make a mistake. He wants Lucy to make it with him.
“I know you hardly wear your hat because you don't want to mess up your hair gel, but I think now is as good a time as any to not catch pneumonia.”
Carter hums, looking anywhere but her face. “You're right. What'll they do without me?”
“Not much,” she says, not missing a beat.
He pulls her close for that, arm around her back. He thought he did that earlier to comfort her, but now he's thinking maybe he did it to remind himself he’s alive.
“Hey,” Carter says, and feels Lucy look at him. “You know that today wasn't your fault, right? You know that?”
“So you've said.”
“No, Lucy—” He shakes his head, huffing. “Lucy, this isn't an empty platitude. Don't blame yourself. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't anyone's fault, except maybe Nelson's for being so damn hard to track down.”
“If I had kept him—”
“We had no idea. Sometimes things just happen, and they suck, and they're sad, and you can't do anything. Looking back does no good.”
She's quiet. Carter rubs her back. She's nearly tucked into his chest like this, ear on his heart like she's listening for a secret.
“Corinna might die.” She's not crying.
“Yeah,” he says. “She might.”
“I really hate that. I'm so angry.”
“I know. Me too.”
She shivers. He lets his cheek touch the top of her head.
“Tomorrow's another day, Lucy.”
Carter feels her nod.
The cab turns the corner, headlights right in their faces. Carter lifts his head and lets Lucy go. But she doesn't move.
“One second!” she shouts at the cab. It pulls over.
Carter turns to her. “What're you doing?”
She looks like an angel with the headlights behind her, blocking the brightest glare from Carter’s eyes. The crown of her head is almost white, the sides like spun gold. Carter feels that white-hot guilt again. It's like someone's shining headlights directly into his stomach.
“Next week is my surgical rotation,” she says.
“Yeah, I know.” Carter doesn't want to think about it for several reasons. Mostly, he doesn't want to lose Lucy. He's terrified she'll find a real teacher and never return to the ER.
“You've already submitted my evaluation,” she says.
“I did.”
Her hair is loose, failing over her eyes. She's missing her barrettes. When did she take them out?
“John, come closer. I have to tell you something.”
So Carter goes, and Lucy puts her heart mouth on his. He doesn’t pull away. He makes a mistake, and she lets him, and it’s awful. It’s so easy for Lucy to let him make a mistake, and he can’t let her make just one.
It isn’t your fault. It’s mine. Carter tries to kiss that secret into Lucy’s mouth, in case she’s looking for it. Maybe that’s why she’s kissing him in the first place. She knows Carter has the truth. It’s only a matter of pulling it out of him.
Lucy steps back first. She doesn’t look like she’s made a mistake, but how would she know? It’s Carter’s job to tell her. To stop her.
“It’s really not your fault, Lucy,” he says, voice raspy like he shouted her name for hours. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.”
She tilts her head, and he doesn’t see malice, but something worse. Pity.
“That’s not why I kissed you, John,” she says.
Then she spins on her heel and gets into the cab. Did she lose her barrettes? Wouldn’t Carter have noticed?
Down the road, above them, the El rattles across the tracks. Lucy doesn’t look back as the cab pulls away from the curb.