A different day in May - part 7
(An alternative universe fic featuring Dave
and Carter)
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Previously on ER
Carter finished his shower and wearing Dave's bathrobe, wandered
back into the living area only to find Dave searching his jacket.
Dave explained that he was trying to find Carter's stash of booze
and revealed that he suspected Carter to be an alcoholic. Carter
denied this, claiming that the 'confrontation' Kerry had referred
to had been about his reluctance to seek treatment for PTSD.
Still unconvinced, Dave had persuaded Carter to stay with him and
go without drink for twenty-four hours. Although realizing that
this would mean he'd be unable to take any morphine for his pain,
Carter agreed.
After a good meal and a few hours of watching TV, Carter was
craving a cigarette. Dave reluctantly agreed to let him smoke one.
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Dave held the jacket out of Carter's reach. "I'll get it...not
that I don't trust you," he said with a grin as he plunged
his hand into one of the more bulging pockets. "But..."
The words died on his lips and the grin faded as he felt a
familiar shape in the pocket.
Pulling out his hand, he stared at the bottle of morphine and the
syringe.
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"Oh shit," thought Carter as he saw the expression on
Dave's face change.
"What the hell are you doing with this?" asked Dave
accusingly as he held up the morphine.
"It...it's for my back...for the pain," said Carter,
quickly. "Actually, I was going to take some soon...my
back's been aching for a while now."
"You're taking morphine...you're *injecting* morphine,"
said Dave in a neutral tone.
"Yeah," said Carter, frowning slightly. "I know
that most patients aren't given it...but I'm a doctor...I'm
perfectly able to handle it." Carter was unsure what Dave
was thinking...which was unusual in itself...normally Dave's face
was an open book...but now...there was a calmness in his
expression that Carter found quite unnerving. He had expected
Dave to react the same way as everyone else...hurling accusations
at him.
"You were prescribed this?" asked Dave, trying to keep
his tone neutral as his mind struggled to absorb the implications
of what he had just found. Drugs and a syringe...Dave could think
of only one reason why Carter would be carrying this stuff around
with him...he hoped he was wrong...he prayed that there was a
logical explanation for this...and not the one that had
immediately jumped into his mind. How could he have been so
stupid as to imagine that Carter had a drinking problem? It was
all so obvious now...
"What? You think I just lifted it from the drug lock-up?"
asked Carter indignantly. "What the hell do you take me for?
Of course it was prescribed...I'm not a junkie or anything...I
just need a strong prescription for my back pain...that's all."
Carter was indignant with good reason...the morphine had been
obtained by prescription...granted his name had been down as the
attending physician, and not the patient...it was still a
legitimate prescription. Not that he'd have had to resort to such
measures if his doctor had given him enough Vicodin in the first
place...he'd *had* to write prescriptions himself to ensure that
he didn't go short.
"You can't need something this strong," said Dave.
"Shit, if your back was that screwed up then you shouldn't
be able to work...hell, you shouldn't be able to walk..."
"What are you saying?" asked Carter, with a trace of
anger on his face. "You think I'm lying to you?"
"I think you've been lying to everyone...Dr. Weaver wasn't
talking to you about any PTSD stuff, was she? And she doesn't
think you're an alcoholic either...she thinks you're on drugs...and
by the looks of things I'd say she was right."
"Of course I'm on drugs," snapped Carter. "But
they're just pain medication...I'm not an addict for Christ's
sake. I just have some residual pain from my back. In case you
didn't hear, some psycho stuck a butcher knife into me...twice...and
it hurt like hell. It still hurts...but you know what hurts even
more? The fact that people take one look at a syringe and
automatically scream 'drug addict'. Dammit Dave, do you think I *like*
sticking myself with a needle? Well, I don't...I do it because I
have to...because there's no other way for me to work...and I
have to be able to work."
Dave looked at the morphine again, weighing it in his hand. What
Carter was saying sounded plausible enough...but Dave had heard
it all before...the denials...the justifications...but this was
Carter, he reminded himself...not some bum off the street...Carter
would know better than to overmedicate himself...wouldn't he? On
a sudden impulse, Dave dropped the morphine and syringe on the
couch and started rummaging through the rest of the jacket
pockets. A pack of cigarettes...keys...a wallet...all found their
way onto the couch.
"What...what are you doing?" asked Carter a little
nervously. He didn't like the cold, determined expression on
Dave's face.
"Something I should have done earlier," snapped Dave,
as his fingers closed over the shape of a pill bottle. Pulling it
out, he held it up to Carter accusingly.
"I knew it...pills *and* morphine...Goddammit Carter, what
the hell are you playing at? Don't you know it's twice as easy to
OD when you're using two lots of meds? And don't tell me your
doctor prescribed morphine *and*..."
Dave turned the bottle around to see the label properly. His eyes
widened and a look of anger came over his face as he read the
patient name. "B. Knight? You son of a bitch...you used
Lucy's name to get drugs..." Angrily he flung the bottle
against the wall. "You sick bastard."
Carter's mouth opened and closed as he tried to think of
something to say...some way of making Dave see reason. "I...I
had to use her name...my doctor...my doctor wouldn't give me
enough pain medication...I needed my meds...I couldn't work
without them..."
"Geez, and did you ever stop to wonder *why* he wouldn't
give you more meds? Cause he was afraid of you turning into a
junkie...and I guess he was right...look at yourself man, can't
you see what's happening to you?"
"Nothings 'happening' to me," snapped Carter. "I
just need a little bit of help to get me through the day...once
my back has healed up properly, I'll be fine...I won't need to
take any drugs."
"So you'll just stop...just like that...no problems, right?"
Carter nodded. Of course he'd be able to stop...he wasn't a
junkie for crying out loud. Once he didn't need his medication
any more, he'd stop taking it...simple as that...he honestly
didn't know what Dave and the others were so worried about.
"I can stop any time I want to," he said, with an air
of smugness.
Dave's heart sank as he heard those words. Shit...once someone
started saying that...and worse yet, believing it like Carter
obviously did, then that was it... Dave was regretting his
earlier impulse to dry out Carter himself...if he'd known that
drugs were involved...shit...alcohol was bad enough, but he had
figured that he'd be able to handle Carter's withdrawal...but
drugs...this was way over his head. The sensible thing to do
would be to call the Chief...tell her where Carter was and then
let her handle it...after all, she was Carter's boss...she'd be
able to make him see sense...but then...she hadn't exactly
succeeded earlier...and Dave was pretty certain that Carter
wouldn't just stand idly by and wait for reinforcements to arrive...somehow
Dave was going to have to persuade Carter to seek the help he so
obviously needed.
"How long since your last fix?" asked Dave, quietly.
"My last 'dose of medication' was a few hours ago,"
said Carter calmly. "And if you're waiting for me to start
'climbing the walls', then you'll be waiting a while...the worst
that'll happen if I don't take any more is that I'll start to
have a really bad back ache...you want to watch me in pain? Fine...you
want me to suffer just to prove to you that I don't have a
problem, then I'll do it... but I thought you were my friend..."
"It's because I'm your friend that I'm doing this,"
said Dave, biting his lip. "Look...all I'm asking is for
twenty four hours...one full day without taking anything...that's
all you'll have to do." With a flash of inspiration, he
added, "And it'll prove everyone wrong...that's what you
want, isn't it? You want people to know that you don't have a
problem...well here's the best way to prove it to them."
Carter had the sinking feeling that he'd just let himself be
maneuvered into something he really didn't want to do. He knew
that he could survive a day without any medication...at least he
was pretty sure that he could...he'd never had to try and cope
without even a couple of Vicodin to get him through the day...of
course there weren't going to be any withdrawal symptoms for Dave
to notice...there was just going to be the pain...the pain that
he had been living in fear of since February...waking up on the
table in Trauma one had been the most agonizing experience of his
life...ever since then he had lived in fear of being in that much
pain again. "It's only for a day," he told himself.
"Just twenty-four hours...less than that cause it's been a
few hours since your last shot...you can do this...you can cope..."
"Okay," said Carter finally. "But after this
you'll stop hassling me about my medications?"
"If you go the full day without any withdrawal symptoms then
I'll write you a script myself," said Dave. Inwardly he was
hoping that Carter wouldn't hold him to it...even if he wasn't
overdoing the meds...mixing them like that couldn't be good for
him...Dave just hoped that Carter would come to his senses about
this before it was too late.
Grabbing the drugs and syringe, Dave stuck them in his pocket
before giving the jacket back to Carter. "I'm gonna make
some coffee," he said, quietly. "You want some? Or I
could heat youze up some milk...it'll help you sleep...that is if
you want to."
"I'm not thirsty," said Carter as he gathered up his
belongings, "but I think I'll try and sleep...what about
you?"
"I'm gonna stay awake," said Dave pointedly. "The
couch folds out into a bed...you'll be more comfortable that ways."
Carter nodded; unsurprised that Dave was going to keep watch over
him...although in a strange way it was sort of comforting,
knowing that he wasn't going to be left alone with his pain.
As Dave left the room to get a blanket, Carter unfolded the bed
from the couch and lay down on it, trying to make himself
comfortable. The mattress had obviously been well used...probably
by one or more of Dave's girlfriends thought Carter sourly as he
felt a spring poke into his leg. Shit...this wasn't going to help
his back at all, he thought as he shifted position. His eyes fell
on the container of Vicodin that Dave had thrown against the wall
in anger. "He must have forgotten about it," Carter
told himself as he wondered if he'd have time to take a pill
before Dave came back. "He can't have forgotten it," a
voice in his mind said. "He's just left it there to see if
you'll try and take some...he doesn't trust you...nobody trusts
you..."
Carter bit his lip as he slowly started to push himself off the
couch. The tablets were only a few yards away...he could easily
take a few and leave the bottle where it was for Dave to retrieve
it when he remembered it...Dave would never realize that there
were less tablets in it than there had been earlier...just a few
tablets...hell, even just one would ease the pain...just one
tablet...
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To be continued