#e.r.

"EMT incoming, 26 year old woman, got hit in the leg by a marble statue down at the Chicago History Museum. Vitals stable."

Mark Greene snapped on a pair of gloves and turned to face Jerry. "When are they coming in?"

"Dispatch said five minutes."

The ER had been kind of slow that day, though nobody had been stupid enough to say that out loud. It was a cool spring day, not yet warm enough for outside activities with high injury potential, but not so cold that it was icy out, so traffic was low at County General. Carter was taking full advantage of the slow day and was napping in exam room 6 when doctor Greene threw the door open.

"Up and at them, Carter. We've got an incoming in three minutes." Greene turned around and left.

"Right." Murmured Carter. He turned around to go back to sleep.

A minute later Carol barged in. "Carter! Get up. Incoming in two, Mark is calling for you."

"Right, right!" Carter sat up and rubbed his eyes. He looked at his watch. 10:30 AM. That means he'd been sleeping for a good hour, which, he thought to himself, just about cancelled out the 28 hours of sleep he'd missed in the past couple of weeks.

He left the room, stumbling over his own feet while he tried to put on his gloves. He'd been here for 48 hours now, having taken over some shifts from his colleagues and not realising he was on call right after that shift. Mercifully the nurses had let him sleep and doctor Greene had taken most cases.

He was rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand when the EMT came in.

"Twenty six year old female, leg got trapped underneath a statue down at the museum. Complained of pain in the trapped leg, good radial pulse in the foot. Vitals are stable, but she passed out about 7 minutes ago. Presumably from the pain."

"From the pain? Didn't you guys give her some morphine?" Mark asked, wheeling the gurney towards trauma 1.

"Nope, she said she has an opioid allergy, told us we could treat with fentanyl but we don't have any in the rig 'cause people kept stealing it. She passed out before we could ask about other options and we didn't wanna risk it."

Carter stopped for a second. His grandmother was in the Chicago History Museum that morning, preparing for some fundraiser that afternoon.

For a second his heart jumped with worry, but his grandmother could not be mistaken for a 26 year old, nog matter how lively she was. She'd asked him several times the past month if he'd be able to join her in preparing for the fundraiser, but he had the excuse of working the ER. She'd been persistent, telling him to swap shifts with someone so he could join her.

Now he could see why she'd been so adamant about it.

His heart stopped a little when he saw you lying on the gurney, face pale, eyes closed.

He couldn't really process what was in front of him. He hadn't seen you in seven years. You'd changed, grown older, become a woman instead of a girl, but to him you were as beautiful as the day you'd left.

The day you'd left. Carter could feel himself getting angry when he thought about it.

He snapped out of it when doctor Greene called for him. "Carter! Come on, take a look at the leg." He turned to the EMT's, "Did she say if she has a true opioid allergy or if it's a pseudoallergy?"

"No, sorry doc, didn't think to ask."

"That's alright. Let's treat it as a true allergy until she can tell us what it is. Come on Carter, what are you so slow for? What do you wanna do about pain management?"

Carter swallowed and peeled his focus from your face. "It's a true allergy." He murmured.

"What? Speak up Carter, these machines are loud."

"It's a true allergy. She's allergic to morphinans, but she can take benzos or fentanils."

Mark looked up at the intern. "Do you know her?"

Carter finally felt his body move toward the bed, his training kicking in. "Yeah, we used to- used to be friends."

"Right. Friends." Mark raised his brows at his intern and Carol hid a smile. "Any other allergies we should know off? Medical history?"

"No other allergies, she broke her ribs 10 years ago but that's all I know. I haven't seen her in seven years."

"Okay, let's get to work then, you can reacquaint yourselves later."

You woke up in a yellow room, a little disoriented by the amount of people around you and the unfamiliar sounds. A lady with dark curls was standing near your head, giving you a soft smile as you took in your surroundings.

"Patient's waking up, I guess the fentanyl is working." She said to the doctor at the end of your bed.

There were two men in green scrubs there, one looked awfully familiar. You tried to remember him when the other doctor with the glasses started talking to you.

"Ma'am, you've broken your leg pretty badly. You're in County General Hospital and we're going to make sure you're alright. We're going to set your leg to stabilise it, it's going to hurt a little. You might need surgery later today but we're going to do some more test to determine the next steps."

You hissed as he grabbed your leg, two nurses stabilising it while he pulled the bone back where it should be. A scream left your mouth before you realised it. It was more the shock of feeling your leg move that way than any actual pain, considering the fentanyl in your system.

Brown eyes flashed towards your face immediately, and you could finally place John's presence. As soon as you made eye contact, Carter left the room. Greene called after him, but he stormed off.

"Was that John? John Carter?" You croaked. Greene nodded at you and checked your IV.

"Yeah, that's Carter. He told me you were friends but I have a feeling there's something more there?"

"We used to be, but he's ignored me for the past seven years. I moved to New York to study history, things didn't end so well."

"Ah. Did he break your heart?" Doctor Greene looked at you expectantly.

"I'm afraid I broke his."

"Well, for now let's focus on your broken leg. You're lucky. It's a clean break, no crush injury like we were afraid of. I'll get Carter in to give you a cast, we'll monitor you for a couple of hours and then you're good to go home."

The door to your room opened a couple of hours later. The fentanyl had mostly worked off and you were feeling more clear headed. You could feel your heartbeat pick up in anticipation of who'd be coming through the door. Every time someone had come in you'd been hoping it was John, but it was always one of the nurses or doctor Greene checking on you.

John stopped in the doorway for only a second. You hadn't been able to get a good look in the trauma room and seeing him again stirred something in you. He was no longer the boy you'd left behind in Chicago. He'd filled out, his broad shoulders stretching the green of his scrubs. His face had grown more mature, more angular. His eyes looked tired, but they were the same beautiful brown as they'd always been. You'd tried to remember his face the past seven years, but it had been hard. Seeing it again made you relive every memory of him.

"Hi." You whispered. You'd been dreading this moment since the second you had woken up in the trauma room and seen his face. Afraid of his reaction.

Carter said nothing. He walked towards you with the supplies for your cast in his hands.

You knew he'd heard you, it hurt that he was ignoring you. He moved your leg to be able to start the cast and you winced. He looked up at you, but still didn't say anything.

"Gamma said you were in surgery these days, I didn't think you'd be down here."

"Well, she was wrong. And don't call her gamma."

That stung. You'd called her gamma since you were five.

"I'm sorry, John."

Carter was silent for a few minutes, focusing on the cast. You could see the anger brewing in his face, his eyebrows scrunching together until he exploded.

"You can't just barge in here! What were you even thinking, going to help gamma?"

"John! Stop it! I obviously didn't mean to end up in the ER."

"That's the problem with you! You don't plan for things to happen and then they happen anyway and you pretend you had no say in it! That's how you've always be-."

"Carter!" Snapped doctor Greene. He'd heard loud voices coming from the suture room and had gone to investigate.

"Doctor Greene, I was just finishing up here."

"You're of the case, doctor Carter."

"I was just-"

"Step outside Carter, now!"

Carter left and doctor Greene smiled at you. "Sorry, I'll be back in a sec."

Mark found Carter fuming just around the corner. He was tearing up a piece of a chart to do something with his anxiety, his face red with anger.

"Carter, that was a patient you were screaming at. My patient. I don't know what she's done to get you so angry, but right now she's in pain and she needs our help and you screaming at her is inappropriate and unprofessional!"

Carter hung his head.

"Go outside Carter, get some air. And stay away from that patient until you can have a normal conversation. Go help Carol in the clinic, we don't need you here if you're going to behave like a five year old."

Carter was sat outside in the ambulance bay, his head in his hands. He was already regretting screaming at you, but in the moment he hadn't been able to convey his feelings in any other way.

You'd left him behind all those years ago, and it hurt. He thought he'd gotten over it long ago but seeing you there, seeing you being wheeled in by EMT's took him right back to when he was seventeen. He'd locked himself into his bedroom for a week straight when you left, refusing to come out and eat until his grandfather broke the door open.

He leant back against the wall and sighed out, desperate to straighten his thoughts.

"Carter." He heard from his left. He turned his head to see Carol exiting the ER. "Mark's finishing up your patient for you."

Carter hung his head back down. Carol turned around to go back inside when he called out for her.

"Carol? How do you forgive the person that's hurt you most?"

She walked over to him and sat down next to him on the bench. "Your girl inside?" Carter nodded and looked out onto the street.

"You try to put yourself in the shoes they were wearing when they hurt you, you try to gauge if they've changed. Try to figure out if forgiving them will make you happier in the end, if hating them makes you hurt even more."

"And if hating them makes your chest feel like it will explode?"

"Then I suppose forgiveness can only make you feel better. I'm getting back inside, Carter. Mark will be done in a few minutes, I'll wait an hour to discharge her. You better make up your mind by then."

She left Carter behind to weigh his options.

It took him twenty minutes to come to a decision, pondering over the hurt he was carrying in his chest, discovering the happy moments that were buried beneath the pain, moments he had all but forgotten.

Carol gave him a soft smile when he lingered in front of the door to you room, whispered "Go on" and nudged her head at him. He took a breath and openend the door, closing it and seating himself next to you on a chair.

You hadn't said anything since he stepped in the room, to afraid to break the calm.

John looked anywhere but at you, breathing to start talking several times, but breaking off at the last second every time.

He fixed his eyes on yours. "I've got questions."

You tried to smile encouragingly. "I'll answer them. Just don't shout at me again. Please."

He nodded. 'I won't. Are you still up in New York?"

You smiled at the tentative way he was starting this conversation. "Yeah, I've got an apartment in the East Village, only two flatmates and the rent is low, so that's great. I'm doing research at NYU now, it's been amazing."

"About the war of 1812?" You felt your heart flutter that he would remember what you had been talking to him about 8 years ago.

"Yes, we're trying to draw parallels in British strategy during the Chesapeake Campaign with some battle happening in the Napoleonic war in France in the same year."

"So, you're living the life you've always dreamt of." His voice turned raspier, the earlier anger threatening to break through again. "All by yourself."

The mood in the room had shifted, so you only answered with a nod, picking at the plaster on your leg to calm your nerves.

"Why the fuck are you even in Chicago. I thought you promised never to come back, to stay in New York forever." Carter had raised his voice again, he didn't look you in the eye anymore.

"Your grandma asked me to help with a fundraiser. She needed an historian and she thought of me." You tried to calm him down by answering truthfully.

"It's that easy to break your promises then? Gamma asks you something and you just drop everything? I thought you promised never to see me again. You know, you break promises all the time. I remember you promised you loved me?"

"Jesus, John. It's not that simple."

"Why did you run off to New York, separate yourself from all of us then, huh? If you were just going to come running back when my grandma called." He spat the words at you.

"John! You know how much your grandma means to me. How much she did for me. She's been begging me to come up here and help with a fundraiser for years! I couldn't keep saying no because of the off chance I'd run into you! You don't have holy reign over the entirety of Chicago!" You were getting frustrated by John spinning the truth, barking back at him now.

"So you keep in contact with Gamma? You all but ignored me for the past 7 years."

Now he'd really done it. A sulky Carter you could handle, but he was lying to you and himself about what happened.

"I tried to keep in contact with you, but you refused. I wrote you letters, you sent them straight back to me. I called you! I tried! Don't blame this on me!" You were screaming at him.

"You broke up with me!" He shouted back at you.

His hand flew up, messing up his hair in anger and frustration. You stayed quiet.

"You broke up with me, because you wanted to get away from it all, wanted nothing do with our families anymore, even when I told you I loved you and I wanted to come with you. You fucking left me."

Carter had grown calm, broken.

"John," You started softly. "I- I'm sorry. I was hurting back then. Not because of you, but because of my parents, the love I felt I was missing. I wanted to get out of there, needed to get out of there."

Carter sat down on the edge of your bed. "I loved you." He looked at you with tears in his eyes. You could feel yourself tearing up as well.

"I know, John. I know. I'm sorry. It wasn't enough."

His voice was barely a whisper. "I loved you more than anything. How was it not enough?"

"I know. I'm sorry. I had to- I had to change. Had to love myself first. Had to become sure of who I was, despite everything, because of everything. You were just- you were always so sure. I couldn't keep up with that. I always felt like I loved you less than you loved me, like I loved you less than you deserved. I was stuck, John, I needed to get out."

"I would have come with you." His voice was a little stronger now.

You had to swallow before you could answer. Getting the words out felt hard, even though you'd had this conversations millions of times in your head the past few years. "I know. And I love you for it. I just had to figure out who I was without anyone beside me. I needed to become me, to learn to love myself when I wasn't with you. I didn't feel capable of loving you the way I should have. And you wanted to stay here, I know that too. You were so excited about medical school."

Carter cleared his throat. "I would have given it up for you."

"I know. That's why I had to leave. I would never do something like that for you. It wasn't fair for me to stay when I didn't love you like you loved me. I love you enough that I could see it wasn't fair."

You both sat in silence, letting the words float through you.

Carter cleared his throat, eyes on the floor. "You said loved, but that's not right."

You looked at him, confused.

"I still love you. I thought I didn't anymore, I thought I just hated you, but then you were wheeled in here on a gurney and my heart stopped and the only thing I could think of was how much of an idiot I'd been for never reaching out to you."

You were stunned. John looked up at you.

"I'm sorry for shouting at you. I couldn't figure out what I was feeling, where my heart was at, and my response was to hurt you back like I felt you'd hurt me. I shouldn't have, I'm sorry."

He shuffled a little closer to the bed, taking your hand in his. "You shouldn't pick at your cask. Doctor Greene will kill me if we have to redo it."

"John." You whispered, "Stop steering the conversation away, you just told me you still love me."

His cheeks flushed. "I did."

"Do you mean it?"

"Yes." The word left him like a sigh of relief.

You tried to swallow the feeling in your chest, tried to swallow the feelings you'd harboured for this man all that time, feelings you tried to convince yourself would never have use anymore.

"I love you too." The words were out before you had the chance to overthink them. John squeezed your hand, relief flooding his face.

"I thought I'd forget you in New York. I picked the busiest city so my maybe mind would stop going back to you, but it never did. Everything just reminded me of you, of what we've done together, of what we were together."

John raised your hand to his lips, pressing them against your fingers. "I've missed you." He whispered against them.

You reached your other hand towards his face as well, cupping his jaw. "My god, John, I've missed you too."

His hand reached out for your face, bringing the two of you closer together until your foreheads were touching. His lips were nearly on yours when he whispered to you.

"May I kiss you?"