STARSFAULTED

To his relief, the following half-hour played out sans incident. He received his much-needed ice, and while holding the gel pack to his cheek, he regaled Jing-Mei with various work antics — including the time Jerry had his stethoscope put into an entire cake; presumably for a prank, but Carter suspected it was more so he could order a cake, period — and after they’d agreed to relocate to the patio lounge, Carter stretched out on the settee and lifted his legs to perch atop the outdoor coffee table. To his surprise, Jing-Mei seated herself alongside him, scooching in closer until the heat of her thigh was pressed into his own.

“Is this okay?”

Her sheer innocence made Carter smile, the expression turning a touch lopsided as he replied, “Well, so far you haven’t found a way to mortally injure me, so I think we’re off to a good start.”

Jing-Mei managed a small smile of her own. “I promise I won’t clock you in the other eye.”

Carter chuckled in spite of himself. “Yeah? Well, there’s no need to make promises you don’t know if you can keep,” he replied.

A silence fell then — one that was difficult to tell if it was awkward, or natural — and slowly, Carter draped his arm around the back of the settee and curled it around Jing-Mei’s shoulders, squeezing her in against his side.

“You know, weirdly enough, I’m not so nervous anymore.”

The outdoor bonfire is roaring (courtesy of Inga), the warmth emanating and casting a soft glow across her husband’s features. Really, he’s a rather handsome man if one can look past his childish hijinks. They’re good friends, but admittedly, Jing Mei has never attempted to emotionally connect with Carter before. But like he said, he’s amenable. That much is reassuring.

Maybe getting to know each other on a deeper, more personal level is the precursor to physical intimacy. They already have so much in common in terms of background. Surely that’s a decent start to things? Perhaps there’s a way to make it playful.

Resting her head on his shoulder, Jing Mei settles on a starting point, one that might be due to the half bottle of liquid courage in her system.

Her playful little, “Old man,” earned her a, “Watch it,” in return, his lips quirking as he tried his best not to smile. “You didn’t seem to have any complaints before…”

Neither did he. Despite their rocky start, this was the best he’d felt in years, possibly even his whole life, and the thought unnerved him. Did he even deserve to feel this good?

Pulling him out of his tragic thoughts, Emma giggled and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose, both of his cheeks, and then his chin before bouncing upward in order to grab a fork.

“You have way too much energy,” he remarked, though without any true bite. In fact, his eyes were twinkling as he watched her head over to dutifully start on the dishes. Their whole arrangement was oddly domestic…something he’d always yearned for in a relationship, but never received. It bothered him that he was finding it now, in someone young enough to be his daughter.

Shaking the thought from his head, he finally lifted the proffered fork and speared a hunk of eggs.

“I was wondering…”

He stiffened at that, pausing mid-chew.

“Did you keep the dreamcatcher I made you?”

It was an innocent question, yet it brought back unwanted memories of this past Valentine’s Day — of how he’d screamed at her and raved like a lunatic.

Swallowing his bite, Carter shakily set down his fork with a clatter. “Yeah,” he rasped, reaching for his orange juice. “I, uh…I did. I guess I never said anything, because…in my own stupid, fucked up way, I was worried that bringing attention to your feelings might change them. That’s usually the pattern for me.”

Grimacing, he took a large swallow of juice, if only to alleviate the dryness in his mouth. “You were, are special, and I think it angered me that you cared. Nobody had ever tried to scale those walls I’ve erected, and I was happy that way. Or at least…I thought I was. Before you.” Gnawing on his lip, he shrugged, unable to lift his gaze. “So yeah. I did keep it…it’s tucked away in a drawer in my dresser, just like I tuck away everything that matters to me. I didn’t want to share it with anyone else.”

Not that he received many visitors. All of his friends had given up on reaching beyond his impenetrable fortress long, long ago.

For a moment, she’s sorry there’s a counter between them because she wants to kiss him again, to pull him into her arms, let him know that she’s right here and has no intention of going anywhere.

Had Lucy ever wanted to do the same? Emma can’t help but wonder, feeling oddly connected to a woman she’s never met.

When Carter thanks her, she smiles widely, unable to mask the affection she feels. Her tone is soft and honest as she replies, “I’ll never give up on you. John.”

Not ever.

From that moment on, the gravitational pull increases, and when she’s sure he’s finished grazing, Emma slides his plate out of the way, settling back into his lap where she can more easily study every part of his features. She likes the dark shade of his eyes, the way they crinkle when he smiles, splaying out across his skin like the roots of a sturdy elm.

This close, she can see he has freckles, too. Little marks where the sun has left evidence of its loving kiss.

Then there’s his facial hair, scraggly and coarse from sleep. She recalls the way it tickles her inner thigh when he’s between her legs. Desiring the sensation now, she brushes her lips over his, her touch tender and lingering.

Carter doesn’t need the dreamcatcher she’d made him. He has her, now. Emma will chase away all the bad dreams that lay in waiting where he rests his head. Nothing he endures will pry him away from her. Never again.

Nuzzling him, her next words are whispered like a prayer.

He couldn't, wouldn't let that happen again.

When Carter rocketed up onto the rooftop, he was surprised to find a handful of people already present. The patient -- his own, he fearfully realized -- appeared completely indifferent as she stood there, gazing with a sense of peace out at the traffic below.

"Helaena," he greeted, attempting calm. "Hey... What are you doing up here?"

“You shouldn’t stand so close, Dr. Carter. You might fall,” Helaena warned, puzzling him to the point he had to take a step back.

Most of the staff here make her feel apprehensive to some degree, but Dr. Carter is different. There’s an innocence about his compassion that puts her at ease. With as often as she’s sent here, she’s glad he’s here more often than not to see to her care personally. Even if he finds her to be mentally unstable — just as the rest do — he doesn’t treat her differently because of it. He’s kind. Gentle, even.

And yet, when he steps closer, she’s afraid he’ll force her to come down from her peaceful perch, so she abruptly straightens, gripping tight to the railing behind her as she hops sideways by a foot or two in order to remain just out of his reach.

“I don’t want to,” she answers honestly, her eyes shifting back to the small gathered crowd, then back to him with mounting self consciousness. “It’s too loud down there.”

Not like here, where it’s peaceful and there’s enough air to breathe.

Crippled by the dread of returning, her body visibly braces as she twists to the side with aversion and shakes her head.

“Please, don’t make me go back.”

Please.

Their eyes met and repelled in repeated succession, until Jing-Mei broke the silence and strode forward, an almost unrecognizable sheen sparkling within her gaze as she lifted on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. The brief contact sent a jolt throughout his limbs, and startled, Carter blinked down at her in flustered silence, wondering why something as simple as a cheek kiss could enact so much embarrassed heat beneath his collar. Perhaps it was because it was Jing-Mei, herself — his wife — who, by all means, seemed wholly awkward and uncomfortable with the idea of marriage, and had more or less admitted to being inexperienced in every sense of the word. And yet here she was, wiping the lipstick smear from his skin, and suddenly exuding confidence?

“Shall we?”

“Oh…” Carter blinked down at her, then offered a stilted bob of the head. “Yeah, sure…of course. Yes.”

Following Jing-Mei outdoors onto the patio, he tried to keep his eyes in gentlemanly places once he realized her dress was backless — okay, so maybe her stylist was actually trying to kill him, and then she and Jing-Mei would both split the inheritance both ways — and clearing his throat, he moved to stand in place from her across the table, watching as she took the gifted wine and set to work on the cork.

“Oh, uh…” He pointed to the bottle opener set helpfully out on the table. “If it’s stuck, you can always use-”

Pop!

Fizz overflowed from the bottle, and then an explosion of pain followed once the cork nailed him right beneath the eye. Amidst Jing-Mei’s panicked shouts and the ringing in his ears, Carter could already feel a sharp, stinging sensation, and knew the mark left behind was starting to swell.

Clutching at his right cheek, he cursed and sucked a breath through his teeth, jerking back a step when Jing-Mei reached for his face. “No, no, no, I’m fine, it’s fine,” he denied, holding up a hand to keep her at bay. “I don’t need you accidentally finishing the job with one of your nails.”

Though the barb was good-natured, he was admittedly a touch sincere.

“At least you didn’t aim for the crown jewels,” Carter added, stamping his foot to help distract from the pain. “Jesus, you really got me good… I might have to wear protective eyewear before this is all over.”

With a sympathetic wince, she keeps her distance as requested. His instinct that she’ll likely make things worse is likely spot on. Like a child frowned upon for poor behavior, Jing Mei clasps her hands at her sides where they can’t create any more unwanted mischief. Carter still seems amenable to their plans, but Jing Mei knows all hope of maintaining a sensually attractive bravado are foiled.

His attempt at jest only makes her feel worse, and suddenly the tightness of her dress and pinned up hair are becoming increasingly more apparent as she retrieves the bottle and sets to work on pouring two glasses, sans additional dangerous incident.

“Should I have Inga or Stella get some ice for you?” She carefully treads. “Might help with the swelling.”

So far, the universe has collecting an ample amount of humiliating anecdotal proof that she isn’t cut out for this sort of thing: dating, relationships, marriage. She’ll sooner commit an accidental mariticide than be a suitable wife.

Conversational is casual over dinner. After all, she’s sure he must be starving after a long shift with little time for more than a bite of something far from a substantial meal. Her queries are the norm. How was work? Any interesting cases? How are Greene, Benton, and the others? And so on.

Once their plates have been set aside, however, Jing Mei wonders if she should make another attempt at being spontaneous and romantic. How else can Carter be expected to garner any sort of attraction to her? She has to at least try, doesn’t she? Fortunately, they’ve an agreeable measure of wine in their systems, albeit not enough to be drunk. She dreads to think what blunders may occur, were that the case.

Praying she doesn’t screw up royally for the second time tonight, she suggests they adjourn to the patio lounging area so their maids can clear the table. There, she opts to sit directly beside Carter on the settee, their thighs pressed together. Close proximity is more intimate, right?

God, she hopes she’s doing this correctly.

“Is this okay?” She asks with a small smile, though she figures the question isn’t very sexy, what, with it lacking an ounce of confidence. “I promise I won’t clock you in the other eye.”

Carter wasn’t a quitter, and the thought of failing at being a husband wasn’t the slightest bit acceptable in his eyes. Perhaps that was why he’d gone to his father after work. Jack was a far cry from emotional support, and yet he’d been surprisingly gracious in offering advice — even if said advice was perhaps a bit dated — and even gave the awkward couple a vintage wine to enjoy for their evening.

Upon his return, Carter locked himself in his bedroom and fussed with his appearance. Firstly, he had to scrub the day’s grime from his body. Some days felt more insurmountable than others in that regard, but by some stroke of luck, he was in and out relatively quickly, and found himself presented with the daunting task of choosing an outfit. Although Jing-Mei was hardly concerned with the materialistic aspect of life, Carter still wanted to look nice; or rather, he wanted to prove that he was taking this, them, seriously in every way possible.

After squeezing himself into a soil-colored suit — his mother had once claimed he looked handsome in it, and fool though he was, he clung to any (rare) compliments Eleanor Carter relinquished — he carefully exited his bedroom and headed out into the hall, absently adjusting his cuff links. That was when Jing-Mei stumbled upon the scene.

She began talking all at once, but he found he could do little else but stare. He’d always known she was pretty, but there was usually a gawkiness to her, too — or rather, a hint of something that kept her from truly unfurling into accepting her own beauty — so to see her lips painted, and her eyes accentuated, and her figure…well…actually on display momentarily brought any quips or words to a halt.

“I, uh, had Inga make your favorite,” she said.

“What, she made you?” he teased, only to instantly regret his joke. Wincing, he amended, “I-I mean, you just…you look very nice. Beautiful.”

Jing-Mei indicated the dining room and the patio, and chewing his lip, Carter decided, “Patio. I feel like a dining room is a little too ‘stuffed shirt’ for us, you know? It’s harder to feel close if we’ve got a giant table keeping us apart.”

Send 😳 to walk in on my muse getting changed! / @starsfaulted

Carter was in a hurry. Checking his watch, he cursed once he realized he had fifteen minutes to get to his latest family function. Right at the last damn second, he'd been under fire from a slew of blood and fluids, and at present, his once pristine shirt and tie were paying the ultimate price.

Fortunately, he always kept a spare set of clothes for this exact reason, and barreling through the back halls, he clumsily set to work on shrugging out of his spattered shirt while juggling his bag and other garments. While normally he'd do all of this in the breakroom, he felt it far more prudent to do everything on the way to the parking garage.

Or at least, he did until he ran smack-dab into a woman rolling a cart full of food.

Carter careened headlong into the nearest tray on the top rack, and in a valiant effort at catching his full weight, he and the cart did a clumsy waltz while the wheels screeched and his feet slipped, and goddammit, he managed to splatter hospital food all over his spare shirt, too.

Great.

"Sorry, sorry," Carter said to the woman, wobbling as he pulled himself up to his proper height. "I didn't see you there."

“Oh, shoot!” She huffs, grimacing with embarrassment as she drops to her knees and makes a futile attempt to clean up the resulting collateral damage. Apologizing in tandem with her poor, unassuming victim, “That was completely my fault. Should’ve been playing closer attention.”

For someone covered in cafeteria slop, the injured party — a doctor, by the looks of it — is taking it rather well. He could’ve reacted poorly, telling her to watch where she’s going, calling her clumsy or other more colorful adjectives, and be completely justified in doing so. Instead, he winces and rhetorically asks for a spare shirt, his own a complete goner. Jenna can only cringe with regret.

“Ooh. Th-that’ll come out with some lemon juice and vinegar. Works every time.” Laundering advice is really the least she can offer.

Though she wouldn’t exactly call it fortunate, Jenna is actually off the clock now. She only volunteered to bring the food trays from the cafeteria as a favor to Dawn. It was on her way out, anyway. Evidently, that’d been a terrible mistake, because now the site of heavy traffic was suffering a monumental fender bender worth quite a bit in damages with no survivors. However, this also means that Jenna has the opportunity to make amends.

“If you have a minute, I can take care of that for you back in the kitchen.”

What is she thinking? A doctor doesn’t have time for nonsense like this. Her head has been somewhere else all day, consumed by undoable mistakes.

Sisi (2021) + Costumes

Tv Show "The Game Of Thrones "

S03 E08

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