Chapter Text
Carter’s temperature finishes its slow climb back to normal range at around 8am. 98.6. After waking up three times in the night, mostly confused, Carter has fallen into a heavy, exhausted sleep. The young doctor doesn’t stir as Carol and Haleh dismantle the Bair Hugger.
Throughout the night, doctors and nurses took turns keeping watch over Carter. Making sure he wasn’t alone. After several threats from Mark, Benton finally agreed to catch some sleep around 4am. He slept for about three hours before he felt himself being pulled back to Carter’s private room in the ICU. He watches silently as the Bair Hugger is deflated, the machine turned off, the sheet folded up. He moves forward to do a cursory check of his stitches from the lavage. They are clean, no signs of infection. He gives Carter’s arm a gentle, sympathetic squeeze as the sleeping man’s shivers intensify, responding to the loss of the heating device.
Carol gently nudges him out of the way, her arms full of blankets. They don’t look like the standard hospital blankets. The hodgepodge of colorful fabrics look thick and cozy and worn. Peter realizes, a lump in his throat, that these must be blankets that various staff members from the ER brought from home. Brought for Carter.
Carol talks to John softly as she wraps him up in these blankets, shoulders to feet, thick layer after thick layer. Haleh’s got a pair of woollen socks. She peels off the old, hospital-issued ones they’d put on Carter the day before, replacing them with these fresh ones.
Finally, when the young man is bundled up to their satisfaction, the nurses leave, Carol planting a gentle kiss on Carter’s forehead as she goes. The room is quiet, now. Just the sound of Carter’s heart monitor. The oxygen mask was gone too, now, as his pulse ox readings had stabilized at normal levels early that morning.
Peter sighs, giving Carter’s shoulder another squeeze. Part of him is still in shock. Shock that this had happened at all. Shock that Carter had managed to survive it. That his heart hadn’t given out. It would certainly be a long road to recovery. A week in the hospital, at least. Another before they would begin to think about letting him come back to work.
Deep in sleep, Carter shifts, curling in on himself, mumbling something indistinguishable against the soft of the pillow. Peter sinks into the chair next to Carter’s bed. He remembers how positively Carter responded to touch before, with Lucy. Comfort certainly was not Peter’s area of expertise. But now, he finds himself reaching for Carter’s hand. John’s fingers unconsciously tighten around Peter’s. Deep in sleep, the boy lets out a contented sigh. Peter gently rubs his thumb back and forth over the soft skin of Carter’s hand. Without meaning for it to happen, Peter’s eyes are falling shut, and he is gently lulled to sleep by the faint sounds of Carter’s heart monitor.
An hour later, Kerry Weaver arrives at the hospital for her regularly scheduled shift. Jerry is the first one to tell her what has happened. Gobsmacked, she hurries upstairs to the ICU, mind filled with all kinds of possible horrors for what she might find there.
But as she enters through the door, she is met with a most unexpected sight. Peter Benton, fast asleep in a chair. His arm rests on the bed in front of him, his hand firmly in the grasp of his former student.
At her entrance, Peter does not stir. But John’s head flops towards her, eyes bleary and blinking slowly. A small smile ghosts his lips at the sight of her.
“Carter, you’re awake! I just heard, what on earth happened-”
“Sssshhhhhh,” Carter croaks. “He’sss, he’s sleepin,” he nods at Doctor Benton.
Kerry raises her eyebrows, slowly making her way over to the other side of John’s bed.
“I can see that,” she tells John gently, quietly. “How are you feeling?”
“ ‘M cold,” John slurs. “ ‘m’bones hurt.”
Kerry’s eyebrows knit together as she flips through John’s chart. 80.2 degrees when they found him. Dear god. How… how is he alive?
She scrutinizes him now, skin pale and pasty and damp, shivering slightly under the weight of what looks like twenty blankets.
“John, do you remember what happened to you?”
Carter shrugs weakly. On his other side, Peter begins to stir.
“Little bit.”
Kerry frowns. The police will need to be involved, certainly. Although this probably isn’t the best time to talk to Carter about that, being so out of it.
“Kerry?” Benton is blinking awake, his hand withdrawing from Carter’s like he’s been electrified.
Kerry pretends she doesn’t notice. “Doctor Benton, I just heard. Why did no one call me?”
Peter shrugs, scrubbing his eyes with his hands wearily. “I don’t know, Kerry. We were all pretty busy.”
Kerry feels a flare of irritation. She wasn’t even doing anything last night. Just sitting at home. She could have been here. She could have helped.
“Carter, you awake, man?” Benton’s attention has turned to his former student.
“Yeahh,” Carter slurs, looking like he’s working hard to keep his eyes open.
Kerry watches a smile pass over the face of the older man. “You know where you are, now? You know what happened to you?”
He turns to Kerry. “He’s been pretty confused all the other times he’s woken up,” he says lowly.
But Carter nods. “At C-county. Got l-locked in the st-stupid fridge.”
Benton huffs. “Yeah. Yeah, you did. We don’t have to talk about that right now.”
Carter hums. “Gon kill Dale,” he slurs, his eyes falling closed.
“Only if you’re able to get to him before I do,” he tells Carter seriously, although in his eyes, Kerry sees a glint of amusement. “Don’t worry about that now, man. Just sleep.”
John doesn’t respond, his breaths evening out as he passes out once again.
Benton turns to Kerry. “That’s the most cogent he’s been so far,” Peter tells her.
Kerry smiles. “That’s great, Peter. It seems… it seems like he’s going to make a full recovery.”
Peter nods, stifling a yawn.
“You should go home, Peter,” Kerry says gently. “Go see your son. Get some sleep. I’ll make sure John isn’t alone.”
Peter feels a clench of hesitation. However, he also knows he needs to leave at some point. Shower. Get some rest. “Alright,” he says reluctantly, hauling himself to his feet. “But you’ll call me if anything changes?”
Kerry nods, taking Peter’s place in the chair at Carter’s bedside. “Don’t worry, Peter. I’ve got this.”
One Day Later
John Carter has spent the majority of the past 24 hours in deep sleep. Peter knows this because he checks in with the ICU nurses every chance he gets. Works on his charts at Carter’s bedside. Pokes his head in between surgeries. The kid wakes up every few hours before quickly passing out again, and with each waking period grows a little bit stronger, a little more coherent. Far, far from healthy. But better all the same.
So, Peter works his shift. As if everything is normal. A crush injury from a car crash in the trauma rooms. An appendectomy. It’s a routine day, all things considered. Until Ross pages Benton to the ICU with a single message – urgent. Peter sprints through the halls, bursting through the doors to find Ross and Carol crowded around Carter’s bed, eyes panicked as their charge sobs and heaves for breath.
“Panic attack,” Carol tells Peter the second he enters the dimly lit room.
Peter is at his side in an instant, talking urgently over the blaring sounds of Carter’s skyrocketing heart monitor. “Carter. Listen to me. Focus on my voice. You’re okay. You’re safe. Deep breaths.”
John wheezes, eyes screwed tightly shut as he gasps for air, as tears leak down his face. After a moment’s hesitation, Peter reaches out, squeezing Carter’s hand gently, trying not to disturb his bandaged fingers. “Just breathe, man,” Peter says, fighting to keep the fear and desperation out of his voice. To keep it firm and controlled. “Breathe with me. One, two, three.” Carter squeezes back, weakly. Peter counts again, and then again. Slowly, John’s breathing evens out a little bit, his massive gasps turning to small pants. His eyes stay squeezed shut, though, and his heart rate remains elevated.
“Talk to me, Carter,” Peter orders. “What’s wrong.”
Another tear leaks from John’s closed eyes.
“D-d-d-dark,” he stutters finally, shivering.
Peter frowns. He glances up at Carol and Doug, who frown right back at him.
Dark? Peter’s eyes flick around the room. The lights are off, but it’s not dark. Evening light from the gray Chicago sky comes in through the windows. The bright fluorescent light from the hallway further illuminates the room.
Peter is confused.
“Dark?” Peter repeats. “You’re… it’s… too dark?”
John lets out a tiny whimper as he nods his head. Okay.
Peter can’t help but be alarmed by Carter’s emotionality. He knows that it’s a common symptom exhibited by hypothermia victims – crying, panic, fear. It can last for days, even weeks afterward. But seeing Carter go through it, so bare, so vulnerable… it disturbs Peter. He doesn’t like it. He hates it. Hates that his former student has been driven to tears, to a full-blown panic attack, by… by the dark?
“Okay,” Peter says, trying to make his voice gentle. “Okay. We can turn the lights on? Would that help?”
More tears leak out. “P-please,” John whispers, his voice hardly more than a rasp.
Carol is already moving, flicking the switch by the door. The room lights up.
Peter gives John’s hand another gentle squeeze. “Okay. Lights are on. Can you open your eyes for me?”
Carter takes a deep, shuttering breath. His eyes cautiously blink open. Red-rimmed irises lock onto Peter. Peter watches some of the tension leave John’s body.
“Hey. You back with us?”
John sniffs. A slight flush of color is creeping up his neck. John extracts his hand from Peter’s, hastily wiping away the wetness on his cheeks with trembling fingers.
“S-sorry,” the kid mutters.
Peter says nothing at first, focused on Carter’s heart monitor as it slowly returns to normal rhythm. He glances over at Doug and Carol, still standing quietly a few feet away, faces tight with concern. Carol lifts an eyebrow at Peter. You good? she mouths silently. Peter nods.
“C’mon, Doug,” she says quietly, grabbing Ross’s wrist and tugging him out of the room. The door clicks shut behind them as Benton and Carter are left alone.
“Fuck,” John breathes, shaking hands clasped together.
Peter doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t understand what caused this panic attack. Doesn’t know how to help.
“Sorry,” John says again, cheeks red.
“Don’t apologize,” Peter tells him awkwardly. “This… this kind of thing is normal. With hypothermia victims.”
John says nothing. The silence stretches on. Then: “Help… help me sit up?”
Peter raises his eyebrows, surprised. “Are you sure? You’re not tired?”
“Don’t wanna sleep,” Carter mumbles.
Peter sighs. Carter’s been prone since… since Peter found him in the freezer.
But he’s getting better. Sitting up is not a big deal. It’s progress.
“Alright. Alright. Just… let me…” Peter looks down at John, who, without further ado, starts trying to prop himself up on quivering elbows. Peter lurches forward to grab Carter under the armpits before he collapses. “Jesus, slow down man, just…”
Peter heaves John up into a near-sitting position – not quite dead weight, but close. John whines a little, undoubtedly from muscle soreness and general discomfort. “Okay,” Peter says. “Just relax… there. There you go,” he coaches as John tilts forward, letting his body slump into Peter’s, head falling against Peter’s neck. “Good. Good boy,” he praises softly into John’s ear. Peter fumbles for the buttons along the side of the bed, pressing the “up” one repeatedly until the bed is close to a 90-degree angle. “Good job, Carter,” he says as he gently lowers his kid against the pillows on the newly adjusted bed. “Good job.”
Carter says nothing. Just breathes heavily, loudly.
“Hey, you good? Carter?”
“ ‘m okay,” he mumbles. “A little dizzy. Just… just give me a second.”
Peter waits as Carter’s breaths even out once again. The kid’s eyes blink open.
“Thanks, Doctor Benton,” he says quietly, shivering.
Peter looks and sees that that Carter’s blankets have fallen into a heap on his lap. He reaches over, picking them up, carefully tucking them around Carter’s shoulders. John blushes.
“So,” Peter says finally. “The dark. What’s that about, then?”
Carter averts his gaze. “Do we… do we have to talk about it?”
Peter thinks about this. “We don’t have to,” he says after a moment. “But if you’re going to have more panic attacks… maybe you should.” Peter pauses. This is not his area of expertise. He is a surgeon. “I… I could get you a psych consult. It could help.”
Carter stiffens. “I don’t need a psych consult,” he says sharply. “There won’t be any more…” he trails off. “Any more panic attacks,” he finishes, like it’s a dirty word.
Peter just looks at him.
John stares at the wall above Peter’s head, his fingers kneading at the blankets. “Just… just keep the lights on, okay?” he mumbles.
God, Carter looks young, Peter thinks. Tiny in this hospital bed, bundled up in blankets, red-faced and trembling.
Peter nods slowly. “Okay,” he agrees. “The lights stay on. I’ll make sure everyone knows.”
“Thanks,” Carter whispers.
They lapse into silence. John shifts around under the blankets, trying to get comfortable while navigating the monitors stuck to his chest and the tubes coming out of the cannula sticking out of his arm.
Peter flicks aimlessly through John’s chart, not really reading it. Just waiting. Waiting. Until…
John speaks, finally. His voice is low, barely audible. “It was dark in the freezer,” he says. Peter schools his expression, keeping it neutral as his own heart begins to beat faster. This is the first time John has spoken about what happened to him. “The lights. They turned off after a couple minutes. They must… they must have been on a timer.” John’s eyes fill with tears. “It was so dark,” he whispers.
Peter processes this information. Oh… oh god. It seems obvious now. Of course the lights in the freezer would have turned off. Peter is horrified. He feels sick. He can’t… he can’t even begin to imagine how terrified John must have been, trapped in a freezing box in complete darkness. All alone. God.
Fuck. Peter doesn’t know what to say. He never knows what to say.
A tear escapes John’s swimming eyes, and without even thinking about it, Peter is reaching out, wiping it away with his thumb, just like he would with Reese.
John stills. He looks up at Benton cautiously, something shining in his eyes. It reminds Peter of those long-ago days when John was his student. It’s something… something like devotion.
Peter does not feel worthy. Not even a little.
“Hey,” Peter says, giving John’s shoulder a squeeze. “You’re gonna be fine, Carter. You hear me? You’re gonna be fine.”
John nods, eyes filled with trust. “Yeah?”
Peter nods, stepping back. “Yeah, man. I promise.”
Four Days Later
It’s 6pm on Monday, five days after what has become known throughout the hospital as The Freezer Incident. Most people don’t know the full details of what happened – just that a resident almost died after being trapped in the morgue walk-in. Most people don’t know it was John Carter. Very few people know that he was locked in by another resident.
That’s at John’s request. I need more time, he told Greene and Weaver yesterday, brain still a little foggy. But sure about this one thing. I don’t know if I want to press charges yet.
He’s still wrapped up in blankets, still feeling cold to his very core, even though his temperature is normal. Doctor Benton has reassured him that this was completely normal. That many hypothermia victims can stay feeling cold for days and even weeks after they’ve recovered. This doesn’t make John feel all that much better. Sat up in bed, he burrows deeper into his blankets.
“Just put the hat on, Carter,” Lucy rolls her eyes at him from the edge of his bed where she sits eating from a takeout container.
“I don’t want to wear your stupid hat,” John grumbles, eying the offensive green-knit hat with a fuzzy pink pom-pom.
Lucy’s been hanging out for hours every night after her shifts in the ER. If anyone at the hospital finds it strange, the querulous student-teacher duo suddenly becoming pals, no one says anything. Lucy’s constant presence is like a salve on John’s fried nerves. Something about her presence makes John forget all about the incident. She makes him feel normal.
“Don’t call my hat stupid,” Lucy narrows her eyes at him. “I knit it myself!”
John feels a grin spreading across his face, his eyebrows moving way up his forehead. “Yeah, Luce. That I can tell.”
Lucy scowls at him, but the corners of her mouth are twitching upwards. “You’re such a jerk.”
Carter pouts. “I don’t see why you won’t give me any of your Chinese,” he grumbles. “I’m sick of broth.”
Lucy rolls her eyes at him. “You know you can’t have solid food yet, Carter.” She smiles at him brightly. “If you’re good, maybe Doctor Greene will let you have some oatmeal tomorrow.”
John groans, leaning back against the bed and shivering. “You’re evil. Oatmeal is disgusting.”
Lucy laughs. “And you were nearly a popsicle. It’s going to take some time for you to get back to normal.”
John huffs, grabbing at the fluffy hat sitting on his bed and pulling it over his head. There are little flaps that go down to cover the ears, and he yanks these down, too. His face stretches into another grin as Lucy starts giggling.
“You look ridiculous,” she laughs. “I can’t believe you actually put it on, I thought there was no way-” her voice trails off, eyes fixed on the door. Her expression falls, her eyes darkening.
John frowns, turning towards where she is looking. At the man staring in at them through the window. John hastily rips the hat off his head.
Dale.
Lucy lets out a sound that comes out a lot like a growl. “Stay there,” Lucy commands, as if John was at all capable in his current state of getting up and moving around. “I’ll get rid of him.”
John raises his eyebrows as she gets to her feet.
“What are you going to do to him?” John asks curiously. “Knee him in the balls?”
Lucy gives him an odd, smirking look that he can’t quite decipher, unaware as he is of the exact details of the events that transpired while he was frozen.
She doesn’t say anything as she marches over to the door. “Lucy, stop,” John calls out. He doesn’t need his student to fight his battles. And for some reason, John feels calm about Dale’s arrival at his hospital room. Something has shifted, has changed. He can feel it. Even though he’s bedridden and recovering from a near death experience, John knows that he indisputably has the upper hand in this weird rivalry between himself and the surgical resident.
“What?” she asks, pausing, her hand on the door handle.
“Let him in,” John says. “I want to talk to him.”
Lucy raises her eyebrows. “You want to talk to him? He tried to kill you!”
John rolls his eyes. “He wasn’t really trying to kill me. At least, I don’t think he was. I guess we can ask him.” John shrugs. “I really think he thought the pathologist was coming right back.”
Don’t think about the freezer, John reminds himself. Don’t think about the dark.
Lucy is looking at him like he’s crazy. Shaking her head, she opens the door wide, gesturing for Dale enter. “Come in, why don’t you,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Make yourself at home.”
Dale just stands there, frozen in the hallway for several seconds. After a moment, he mutters something under his breath, shuffling into the hospital room, avoiding eye contact with everyone present.
“I’m surprised to see you here, Dale,” Lucy says with obvious false cheeriness. “Last I heard, Doctor Benton was talking about putting out a reward for your head on a platter.”
“Yeah, well, he’s in surgery right now, so I knew it was safe,” Dale mutters, moving over to the window and looking out into the dark evening. “I snuck in through the security entrance so no one else saw me.”
“Planning on finishing the job?” John asks lightly, looking at Dale intently. His upper lip is swollen, and there are signs of a scabbing cut. Interesting.
Dale kicks his feet. “You know I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he says quietly, finally looking up at John. His voice cracks a little bit. His eyes are wide and pleading. “I… I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. Not… not like this.”
John’s lips curve. His heart beats a little faster. “Sure. You just wanted to hurt me a little bit. What was it you said, before you left me to die? That I should take some time to remember my manners?”
Dale swallows thickly, saying nothing. Lucy’s eyes have been tracking their exchange like she’s watching a game of ping-pong. An uncomfortable silence settles over the room.
“Hey Luce,” John says finally. “Would you mind going to the cafeteria and getting me some more broth? Beef this time. If I have to drink one more drop of chicken I’m going to kill myself.”
Lucy stiffens. “You want me to leave you alone with him?” she hisses. “Are you crazy??”
John rolls his eyes. “Please, Lucy?”
Lucy stares at him. “Fine,” she says slowly. Backing out of the room, she makes eye contact with Dale. She shakes her head at him, eyes narrowed. Dale stares back at her, his eyes just… sad.
The door closes with a loud thud as she disappears down the hall.
John sighs, leaning back in bed.
“How… how are you feeling?” Dale asks nervously.
“I feel like shit, Dale, thanks. I’m fucking freezing all the time and every muscle in my body fucking aches.” John waves his bandaged hand in the air. “Missing several fingernails, too. Guess at some point while I was freezing to death, I tried to claw my way out of a metal freezer. So thanks for that.”
Dale looks like he’s about to cry. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, John. You can’t know how sorry I am. I… I really thought Doctor Mullins was coming right back. That doesn’t make it okay, I know that. But… I really thought it was only going to be a couple of minutes. This was never supposed to happen.” His voice cracks again.
John knows, he knows he shouldn’t feel sorry for Dale. He hates the guy, for Christ’s sake. But there’s something so pathetic about the man in front of him. It gives John a small amount of satisfaction, of course, to see Dale like this. Laid up in bed as John is, hooked up to tubes and monitors, bundled in all the blankets the ER nurses could find, barely able to move or stay awake for more than a couple hours at a time… Carter feels a certain kind of… kinship, with Dale’s pathetic-ness.
John sighs. “Why are you here, Dale?”
Dale coughs. “Just wanted to see how you were doing,” he mumbles.
John rolls his eyes. “Sure.”
“No, really,” Dale looks at him desperately. His hand flutters in the air, floating towards John, as if reaching for him, before limply falling back at his side. John watches the limb’s journey, perplexed. “I… I was… I was incredibly worried. But Doctor Ross… Doctor Ross said if he saw me back here, he’d have me arrested on the spot. Doctor Benton’s threatened to kill me, multiple times. I’ve been calling in sick the last few days, been bribing all the nurses I know for updates.”
John raises his eyebrows at this admission. “So that’s what you’re worried about? The police?”
Dale looks at him. Runs a hand through his curly hair. John gets a better look at him now. His eyes are red-rimmed and accented by purplish dark circles. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days.
“I don’t know,” Dale says finally. “Should I? Should I even care?” he laughs bitterly. “I probably deserve to go to jail, all things considered. Nearly killed you.”
John hums. “Benton wants me to press charges. I’m not sure. Mark Greene says I should trust my gut, whatever that means. My gut says that you didn’t mean for this to happen. I believe you.”
Dale looks up at him, eyes like saucers. John narrows his eyes, feeling anger rising from within. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not trying to do you a favor. This whole situation has been fucking horrible for me, and I really just want to move on. Want things to just go back to normal. I can’t deal with fucking… police interviews and depositions or whatever the fuck else might be involved with something like this.”
Dale fully reaches out, now, latching onto John’s less-injured hand. “Thank you. Thank you, John. I… I don’t know what to say, how to thank you, I-”
John shakes him off. “Just get out of here, Dale,” he snaps. “I’m tired. Stay away from me. Stay away from Lucy. And we won’t have a problem.”
The door opens. Lucy is back, a cup of steaming broth in her hands. Mark Greene is behind her. Both of their eyes swing between John and Dale.
Dale stumbles to his feet.
“I… I was just leaving,” he mumbles, avoiding the gazes of the two newcomers. He makes his way to the door as Lucy enters the room and Mark steps to the side. He looks back at Carter. “I… I really am sorry, John.”
Carter nods. “I know you are.”
After one final, long look at John, a strange expression on his face, Dale exits the room, disappearing down the hall. The look on Dale’s face lingers in John’s mind, briefly. It looked… it looked a lot like devastation.
“I take it I don’t need to call security?” Mark asks, eyebrows raised.
John sighs, closing his eyes. “Not this time.”
Lucy strolls over, setting the broth down on the bedside table. “I brought you your dinner,” she says.
John opens one eye. “You know I didn’t actually want that, Lucy. I just wanted you out of the room.”
She glares at him. “You need to eat.”
“I want to eat. That’s not food, though. That’s just… hot salty liquid,” he gripes.
Lucy laughs.
“Your student is right, Carter,” Marks says, prodding the cup of broth towards him.
“Tired.” John complains, ignoring the steaming cup.
“I’ll tell you what. If you can finish that broth before you fall asleep, I’ll let you have some oatmeal tomorrow.”
Lucy starts laughing in earnest now. John scowls but starts laughing too. Greene looks between them, bewildered. “What is with you two?” he asks, forehead creasing. “What’s so funny about oatmeal.”
“Nothing,” Lucy says, her eyes twinkling as she picks up the forgotten hat on Carter’s bed and shoves it back over his head, pulling it down over his eyes.
John grins as he readjusts the hat so that he can see. His brown eyes are bright and clear for the first time in days.
“Lucky me,” he says as he reaches for the cup of broth, his hands only shaking a little bit. “Tomorrow I get to have oatmeal.”
A week and a half later
John returns to work on a sleepy Thursday morning. At the admit desk, Jerry and Randi beam at him as he enters through the doors of the ambulance bay.
“Carter, welcome back!” Jerry booms, and suddenly he’s surrounded by nurses and staff, receiving hugs and handshakes and claps on the back.
John flushes bright red at all the attention.
Kerry peers at him through her glasses. “Are you sure you’re up to this, John?” she asks, looking him up and down. “You look a little pale. You know if you wanted to take a few more days off-”
“Doctor Weaver, I’m fine,” John cuts her off. “I just want to get back to work. Please.”
Kerry sighs. “Alright. But no traumas today,” she warns sharply. “Just medicine and sutures.”
He’s walking to the lounge to dump his stuff at his locker when Lucy materializes at his side. “I cannot believe you’re so popular,” she says brightly. “I will never understand why people like you so much.”
John rolls his eyes and grins down at her. “You ready for an exciting day of suturing with me?”
She beams. “I’ve been looking forward to it all week.”
John is completely exhausted by day’s end. The phantom ache in his bones and muscles from the hypothermia is back in full force as he pulls on his coat and prepares to walk to the L.
“Carter.”
John glances back at the nurses’ station. Doctor Benton is standing there. John hadn’t seen the surgeon all day. Or since he’d been discharged from the hospital a week ago.
“Doctor Benton!” John smiles, but his insides squirm. He knows it was his former teacher who’d rescued him from the freezer, even though he couldn’t remember that particular chain of events. What he can remember, however, is the panic attack that Benton witnessed. What John confessed to him. Afraid of the dark. John wonders what Benton must think of him now.
But Benton smiles, an expression that looks almost alien on his face. He walks up to John. “You look better.”
“Thanks,” John says. “I feel a lot better.” He pauses. “I… I never got a chance to really say this before. But… thank you. You know. For everything.”
Peter just nods. His eyes flick towards Carter’s coat, the bag over his shoulder.
“You headed home?”
“Yeah, my shift was over twenty minutes ago.”
Peter pauses. “You taking the L?”
John shifts, unsure what Peter is getting at. “Yeah.”
Peter frowns. “It’s cold outside. Let me drive you.”
John feels his cheeks go pink. “Doctor Benton, that’s really not necessary-”
Benton rolls his eyes. “Shut up, Carter. It wasn’t a suggestion.”
Something flutters in John’s stomach. “Okay,” he mutters. “Thanks, Doctor Benton.”
Peter’s keys jingle in his hand. “Let’s go, then,” he says gruffly, setting out for the doors.
John’s heart is warm as he hurries after Benton, following him out the doors and into the chilly night.
For the first time since the incident, the cold doesn’t feel so bad.