A Death in the Family AUTHOR: Kacey Linden EMAIL: entenebris@yahoo.com CATEGORY: JC/ensemble RATING: PG-13 SPOILERS: All in the Family DISCLAIMER: The characters don't belong to me. I'm playing without them without permission, and I don't even leave them the way I found them. I know, bad me. AUTHOR'S NOTES: Final warning for those who don't read prefatory notes: This is a death story. Huge thanks to Debbie Mraz for her help and encouragement. SUMMARY: : A "what-if" scenario for "All in the Family". What if Lucy had not been the only fatality on Valentine's Day? Peter Benton was tired, exhausted in the way that only failure can make a person feel. Okay, so perhaps he hadn't failed: no one had died today, at least not on his table. He cringed slightly as he thought of someone who had died Benton ran a hand over his face, and blocked Lucy Knight out of his mind. A small part of his mind was angry at himself for thinking that he was glad it wasn't Carter, that if someone had to die that day, at least it wasn't Carter. Always Carter, never John. They had never been friends. Peter wouldn't allow it, no matter how pleading or earnest Carter was in his attempts. The boy was just too much of everything - too feeling, too nice, too sincere, too rich and too lucky. It wasn't just the last two things, which bothered Benton, it was all of them. So he would have been hard pressed to explain the wave of fear which had crashed over him when he was paged to the ER earlier that evening. "Carter and Lucy have been stabbed. Get down here now!" Haleh had screamed down the phone at him, then hung up before he could ask any questions. Peter had stared blankly at the phone in bewilderment for only a moment. Then realization hit and he was running down the corridor before he was aware of it. In part he could have explained it as the student-teacher bond. Those who knew him, though, probably would have laughed. Carter may have learned from Benton, but they were hardly the prototype of a symbiotic learning experience. Peter was no "wise one", and Carter wasn't allowed to play the "grasshopper". What Carter learned, he learned from being thrown in the deep end. Peter had to admit, he didn't think the young med student would last, but his survival instincts proved the older man wrong twenty times over. And for that, Benton had to give him a fair amount of credit, grudging though it may have been. And that accounted for a portion of his fear also. When Dennis Gant had died under suspicious circumstances, Peter had sworn to himself that he would never let his students be mistaken about their abilities. He had been hard on Gant, far too hard. And he told himself it would never happen again. But as he raced down the stairs from the surgical unit to the ER, Benton could not remember the last time he had praised Carter for anything. It wasn't that he believed in praising students - if they wanted to be doctors, they should know their stuff, they should make the correct diagnosis, they should take the right course of action, otherwise they didn't belong in medicine. Telling them "good job" for something they were supposed to do was like congratulating a waitress for not messing up an order. It was their job. But there were exceptions. Next time, thought Peter. The next time Carter did something extraordinary (and he was fairly certain Carter would do something that qualified) Peter would make sure the young man knew how well-regarded he was. He stood just outside Carter's room, resting his forehead briefly against the frame. "Dr Benton?" John asked hoarsely. "Hey, Carter." Peter strolled into the room, none of his previous thoughts registering on his face. Carter looked, well, he looked like a man who had nearly died - pale and pained. He still looked a damned sight better than he had a few hours ago. "You look terrible," the younger man said, squinting slightly at his former teacher. "When's the last time you got some sleep?" Benton gave him a slight smile. "A while ago." "Well, don't stay up on my account," Carter managed to smile back. Benton was glad to see it. He had left the man mulling over Lucy's death only a couple hours ago, enough time to do an emergency appendectomy. "What makes you think I'm up because of you?" Benton asked, joking. Carter shrugged, enough to make the gesture apparent, but not enough to pull on his sutures. He didn't smile again. "The others were up before," he said softly. "Kerry and Mark and Deb. I almost expected to see Lucy there too." Benton shifted uneasily on his feet, not knowing what to say. Oh, to have Carter's empathetic tongue right now. "Look, Carter - " "You're tired," Carter interrupted him. Benton was unsure if the distraction was for his benefit, or for Carter's own equilibrium. "You should get going. I don't know about you, but I've had a hell of a long day." Benton nodded slowly. He wasn't really the person to speak with about emotions anyway: Carter of all people knew that. He could talk to any of the ER staff; they were pretty adept at emotions. Maybe he'd have a quick word with Mark before he went home, ask him to have a chat with Carter. "Get some rest," he said, clasping the younger man's shoulder briefly. "I'll see you tomorrow." He checked his watch. "Later today," he amended. "Yeah, good night." Carter's smile this time was so fake, it seemed like a travesty. "And Dr Benton?" Peter paused in the doorway. "Thanks again." "Anytime." The word was out before he realized what it meant. "I mean, don't let this happen again, you hear me?" "I’ll do my best." A more genuine smile flitted across Carter's face. "Night, Carter." **** The mood across the street had quieted considerably, but no one had thought of leaving. Only Deb had left, and that was in order to check on Carter, a direct request from Dr Greene. They knew she would be back with a full report. They were willing her to return. They all felt the need for something good to happen. A vigil for the dead. Most of them had performed it in some way, for varying lengths of time. Sitting with a dead body, offering one last apology, running over the options one last time... And then moving on. Chuny took Deb's vacated place beside Dr Kovac. None of them had cried. They sat together, though each was in his own prison of memories. The chatter of before was replaced by a silence that seemed sanctified. Not even Dave would consider breaking it. Cups of coffee were consumed and replenished with a calming sense of repetition. Some people had the waves at the beach; they had endless coffee refills. It was Luka who finally noticed the time. "Deb's been gone almost an hour," he said, glancing down at his watch, a frown appearing in lines across his forehead. "Shouldn't she..." He shifted his gaze out the window; they all did. Just in time to see Deb stumble out of the ER doors. Her facial expression was unreadable from that distance, but they were keenly aware of her actions, the way she grabbed onto the cement door frame with one hand, the other arm clamped around her waist. They had all performed that act at least once during their time at County. "Oh shit." Dave voiced what they were all thinking. To anyone else it would have been astonishing that they didn't bump into each other. They rose en masse, exited in a hurry, a flurry of coats and hats and scarves. To their surprise, Jerry pounded out the doors, obviously on Deb's trail, reaching her well before they could, placing tentative arms around her trembling form. "What?" he asked, his voice unusually gentle. "What happened?" She reacted to the embrace, hiding her face in his chest so that everyone had to lean forward to catch her words. "He..." She drew in a deep, shuddering breath and choked, her words almost inaudible. "His renal artery ruptured. He died right there! Right in front of me! They couldn't do anything..." Jerry's hug tightened, so that he was the only one aware that she said anything else. "I couldn't do anything..." **** The hounds of hell could not have made more noise than his damn beeper. He had only made it through the door and collapsed on the couch. The bedroom was a nice, but too distant dream. And now, twenty minutes after he had dragged his fatigued body across the threshold, he was being summoned back. Surely his colleagues, all doctors in their own right, knew the adverse effects of sleep deprivation. Peter fumbled with the small device, his hands made clumsy through tiredness. With the shades down, it was still relatively dark in his living room and he didn't have the energy to reach for the light. So he blinked blearily at the message. It took a good few minutes before any words became apparent. When they did, it took another few minutes for Benton to register what they meant. It took him one minute to get off his couch and outside into his car. **** Kerry sat with a stack of files before her, hoping to somehow numb the feeling of Lucy's dying heart under her hands through paperwork. Never a big believer in denial, she was almost certain it wasn't going to work. But she had to try something. Mark, she knew, was handling every single emergency that came through the double doors. The others she supposed were milling around, waiting for some sign of leadership that neither she nor Mark had yet given. She knew it was time to step forward and say the generic words: "I know it's been a shock but we have to go on." Perhaps even add a bit about how Lucy would have expected it from them. She liked Lucy, there was no doubt about that. But there was also no doubt that she had lost more important people in her life. So why was this bothering her so much? It wasn't as though every day wasn't steeped in deaths, in blood, in cracked chests and stabbings... Perhaps it was because she had found them. Kerry had never in her life experienced a moment like that. Walking into a room and finding two people, two friends, laying face down in twin pools of blood... She hoped to God that she would never experience it again. Her dreams in a few torturous hours of sleep last night had proven that hope futile. Maybe if she went up later and spoke to Carter, these feelings would ease a little. Kerry looked down at her watch. Maybe if she went up now... She started to stand up. The door to the lounge opened quietly. Mark didn't say anything. He didn't have to. Kerry sat down again. She supposed she should have asked for details, for the whys and the how's. She didn't care. She started to rephrase her speech. "Lucy and John would not have wanted us to allow our grief to affect our work." She knew she should go and deliver it now, now when she was still numb and she would sound like her usual self. She was gathering her notes in a pile when they struck, memories of John. The sweetly apologetic, self-conscious grin he'd adopted when she caught him using her stereo without permission, the look of concentration he got when slicing vegetables for dinner, the rumpled hair in the mornings... Mark stepped aside wordlessly as she staggered blindly past him. He expected her to head either for the bathroom or for the exit, but she went directly to the elevators. He watched as she disappeared into one, staring straight ahead as the doors closed before her. **** "What happened?" Dr Anspaugh looked up from his cup of coffee, a little startled to see the rather reckless, angry visage of Peter Benton. "A rupture in the renal artery, Peter. I'm sorry," he added softly, with genuine regret. "He was a fine doctor." "How could this happen?" demanded Benton, in no mood for platitudes. The others could eulogize if they wanted; he wanted answers. "You know how it happens, Peter. You know there's no way to ensure it won't happen." "But how? We did - " "Everything we could," interjected Dr Anspaugh, still holding his volume low. "No!" With a very few exceptions, Benton had never wanted to throw something so much in his life. He could still hear Carter's quiet thanks from earlier that morning, could still hear Carter saying he was glad it was Peter doing the operation. "No." Dr Anspaugh began to rise from his chair. It looked as though the surgically cold Peter Benton was melting in front of him, and that disturbed him. "Peter..." Anything he might have said was lost in the sound of his office door slamming shut. Dr Anspaugh stared at the door silently for a moment, then returned to his seat and his coffee. It had taken him this long to obtain this level of peace after this morning's frantic and ultimately fruitless activity, and one visit from a barely controlled surgeon was not going to set him off. He wouldn't let it. He raised the cup in a private farewell gesture, then firmly placed his mind on the administrative duties before him. **** Elizabeth Corday nearly dropped the phone; she did drop her mug of tea. It smashed on the kitchen floor, and brought her mother running from the shower. "What?" she asked weakly, waving away her mother's concern. Annoyance radiated off the older woman at the blatant dismissal, but Elizabeth didn’t care. In some ways she was resentful of her mother’s presence in her flat this morning, when everything at the hospital - her life in so many ways - was going so desperately wrong. Mark had gone through the long medical explanation already, and didn't feel up to repeating it. He knew what she was really asking. It could be answered in two painful words. "He's dead." "No..." she breathed, hand over her mouth. "I know." Something in his tone told her that he did know, that he felt the loss more than she could. "How's everyone? How are you?" "I'm not even sure who knows. Deb told me. She was there when it happened. I think she was going to tell the others. I don't know. She’s not so good. But some of the staff seem to be handling it all right." Carol and Malik were the only ones in direct sight. "And how are you?" Elizabeth repeated. "You've worked with Carter for a long time." "I..." There was a long pause. Too long. "I'm coming in," Elizabeth said after a moment. "No, don't do that. You should try to get some rest." He sounded unconvincing, even to himself. "I want to come in. I'll be there in twenty minutes." He didn't say anything, so she took it as acquiescence. Not that she would have allowed him to deter her. "I love you." "I love you too." **** In some detached part of his mind, Benton wondered what it was about breaking things that made people feel better, that released tension; in some detached part of his mind he knew that breaking anything was pointless and probably costly. For the most part, though, he was simply looking for something to break. It was a hospital; there had to be something, something big and probably expensive and that would make a lot of noise. He stalked past the room Carter had occupied for one night, carefully not looking in its direction. Charging into one of the operating rooms, he was brought to a complete halt, physically and mentally. Carter's body lay on a gurney, covered to the waist by a thin white sheet. And Kerry Weaver stood by his head, crying. If Benton had not seen the tears sliding down her cheeks, dropping silently from her chin onto the gurney, he would not have known she was weeping. She stood firm, her shoulders not shaking, her head unbowed, and she made no sound. But the tears continued to fall steadily. Benton wanted to back out of the room, almost ashamed of the riotous entrance he had made on her grief. But she turned towards him before he could move, and he found himself striding towards her, towards them both. Later Benton thought it was strange that he didn't find it awkward or even odd, the way he took her in his arms without a word, and the way she allowed herself to be embraced. At the time, it seemed like the only course of action. She sobbed against his surgical scrubs, long enough and hard enough for Peter to actually feel dampness. He raised one hand to touch her hair gently. Then they both took a step back, breaking away with mute agreement. Dr Weaver ran a hand over her face, through her hair, sniffling slightly. She glanced down at Carter's face again. Only a few hours ago she had done the same to Lucy. For a moment, it seemed as though she was going to touch his cheek. But she turned away, with a small nod. "Cover him before you go," she told Benton, not looking at him as she passed on her way out the door. It was an unnecessary order, one that Peter could have taken offense at, but he merely nodded, a gesture unseen. The door swung closed. **** "We should go inside," Jerry said soothingly to Deb. Most of the shift stood clustered around the entrance to the ER, knowing they could be summoned from their position in a matter of seconds, and unwilling to move. Abby had been taken inside already by Mark to help on a broken leg, but for the most part, the ER was unnaturally quiet. The others were grateful. It was too surreal, seeing both Carter's and Lucy's names still on the board, their charts cluttering the front desk, and knowing that both were gone. So they stood in the cold air, some with arms around each other, others alone. Jerry still had not released Deb, nor had she made any indication that she was ready for him to let go. Something about the sheer size of him was comforting. "I can't go back in there," she muttered. "Not yet." It had been twenty minutes. Jerry shifted on his feet, cold but not willing to push her. She had been there when Carter coded, when he had died... If she needed time to process it, then he would keep her company till his toes fell off. He caught Dr Kovac's compassionate dark gaze, saw the approval in the other man's eyes for his actions. Dave, a stricken look still on his face, also nodded. What did they know? Jerry wondered with a burst of inexplicable and strangely selfish anger. What did either of them know about John Carter? He may not have been the best of buddies with Carter, but Jerry had spent nearly every day of the past six years with the man. He knew how Carter drank his coffee, he could recognize Carter’s handwriting from two feet away, he could almost always correctly guess which tie the young doctor would wear each day, and he had won a fair amount of money on Carter’s dating habits... It occurred to him that he was going to miss John Carter very much. **** Benton looked down at his student's face. They weren't friends, there were no photos of him and Carter standing side by side smiling cheerily in the camera. This would be the last time Benton saw this face. It wasn't the cold, waxy, unreal look that distorted the familiar features; it was more the complete absence of animation, of life. It was that his eyes were shut. Benton was pretty sure Carter had brown eyes, but he couldn't remember now. The face was boyishness with a hint of nobility. Even if Benton couldn't remember exactly what color Carter's eyes were, he remembered the expression in them well enough. Carter was in medicine to save people, to care for people and not just their bodies. Benton supposed it was something he had learned from Mark Greene, or from watching Doug Ross deal with children. Maybe he had brought it with him. Wherever it had come from, it was gone now, shut forever behind those eyelids. "It's too bad, Carter," he said aloud, still staring down at the too peaceful face, "You were a good doctor, you would've helped a lot of people." The door opened behind him. Peter swung around, expecting to see Kerry again, or maybe Mark or Dr Anspaugh. It was Dr Finch. "I just heard," she said, taking in the look on Peter's face and approaching slowly. "I'm so sorry." "Yeah." Benton nodded, turning back to Carter's body. He reached out, taking the edge of the sheet. Her hand clasped over his. "Do you want me to do it?" she asked, knowing how final a gesture it was. "I’ve got it." He simply held the sheet a moment, jaw clenched. "You know, he came to my house once, for Thanksgiving dinner." Benton half-laughed, half-snorted at the memory. Cleo nodded understandingly but he didn’t see it; she had the unfamiliar sensation of being forgotten. "My mother asked him to come. I didn’t think she’d remember later, but she did. She sat him down right next to her at the table..." Benton trailed off, recalling with a split-second clarity the image of Carter and his mother seated side-by-side, enjoying each other’s company in a way which his sense of duty prevented Peter from doing, with either of them. He drew in a sharp breath; the vision splintered, faded. He pulled the sheet over John's head, watching as it billowed slightly before settling. **** Mark had one arm around Elizabeth, his chin rested on the top of her head. They watched the others standing about listlessly. "Who would've thought Jerry'd make such a good grief counselor?" Dr Corday asked, with the barest inflection of humor in her voice. Mark merely shrugged. She felt a little tactless, but she was desperate to hear him talk. Since her arrival, he had pecked her on the cheek and hugged her tightly enough to reduce her oxygen intake considerably, but he hadn't spoken more than ten words. She was starting to worry. A small part of her mind wondered if Peter Benton was taking it any better. Aside from the quiet efficiency of the head nurse, Elizabeth couldn't honestly say she thought any of them were taking it well. "You should call them in here. It won't do any good for them all to catch pneumonia." "I don't know what to say to them," Mark admitted, staring bleakly through the windows. Lucy's death had stunned them; Carter's seemed to shut them down. They were like a bunch of wind up toys cooped in a pen. He wondered if that was how he looked to Elizabeth. In some ways, it was how he felt. It didn't seem to matter that he had seen almost as much death as life in his years at County. It didn't seem to matter that he and every single person out there knew how fragile life was. Two friends were dead - that was what mattered. There was nothing left to be said. Elizabeth played with the fingers he had encircled around her shoulder. "It's a tragedy, Mark. I think that's all they need, for it to be acknowledged, and then they'll go on." Mark nodded, but made no move towards the door. Elizabeth was about to give him a gentle push when Kerry swept past. "It's freezing out here." Her clear voice carried easily through the doors. "I want everybody inside now." Like a group of children at the end of recess, the crowd obeyed her command with shuffling reluctance. They ended up standing before the admissions desk in much the same manner they had been standing outside. "What happened here last night, and this morning was horrific and unthinkable. We've lost two friends, and two very good doctors. I don't expect you to continue on today as though nothing has happened, I wouldn't want you to do that, but I do expect you to be in here, not outside, and I do expect you to be ready for whatever emergencies might come through that door." Kerry visibly suppressed a shudder as she pointed past the door where last night's emergencies had arisen to the double doors. "We'll have a memorial service in a few days; I’ll keep you posted. Now I think we should try to - " She looked pointedly at the board and stopped. Their names were still up. Someone had made one half-hearted swipe; the "k" and "n" of Lucy's last name were blurred but John's name was untouched. Kerry's hardened expression melted, and suddenly she was fighting to keep control. "Could someone please take their names off the board?" She was horrified by the pleading quiver in her voice. Biting down hard on her lip, she walked away, not looking back. It took a moment for them to realize the speech was over. Mark watched Jerry whisper something in Deb's ear and send her towards the lounge with a slight shove. He watched as Dave and Luka, without orders from him or Kerry, silently sorted through the stack of charts, rooting out those that belonged to John and Lucy, dividing them evenly. He watched as Carol rounded up her nurses to take an inventory to the stock room. And Jerry offered him a weak smile as he resumed his seat behind the desk. "Guess you were right," Mark said, somewhat amazed at how quickly things had turned from being the most unreal day he had ever spent on the job, to something resembling normalcy. "So, don't you have something you're supposed to do?" Elizabeth asked him, hoping that productivity would help him as it seemed to be helping the others. She knew that it was a temporary stay, that things could easily go to hell in a few days when the unbending, unalterable truth of the situation dawned on them. But by then they would’ve gotten through the first days, and could tell themselves that those were the hardest. Mark nodded slowly. "I have to go find the ER some more doctors." "Would you like me to stay?" she asked, anxious to help out. "Yes." Mark lifted his head from its resting place, cupped the back of her neck and kissed her deeply, aware of Randi's smirking in the background, but not really caring. Another slip of normalcy; he would take what he could. He ended the kiss lingeringly. "Thank you." **** "You should do it." Randi took Jerry's hand decisively and slapped the board eraser into it. "Why me? You should've done it at shift change," he countered, trying unsuccessfully to shove it back into her hands. She promptly crossed her arms, shaking her head. "C'mon, you know this isn't fair." "You weren't there, Jerry, you didn't see them." Her usually confident voice was reduced to a near-whisper. Jerry was not that soft a sell. "I was standing out there with Deb, hearing all about Carter's death, every little detail, okay? She cried all over me." He touched his tear-splotched shirt. "So don't tell me - " Randi was about to interrupt him when Carol returned to the desk. Without a word, she took the eraser from Jerry's hand. With two swift, unhesitating strokes, the names were gone. Jerry's protest stopped mid-sentence. He and Randi stared at the nurse uncomprehendingly. Her calm gaze met their nearly-accusing eyes for a second. "What? It had to be done, you guys," she reminded them gently. They said nothing. She sighed, put the eraser in its place and headed back to the stock room. They watched her silently. Then Jerry turned his attention back to the board. Not a smudge remained of the names that would never go up again. Dr Weaver had been wrong. The blank spaces were harder to look at than the names had been. **** Kerry stood outside the operating room. It was empty now. With unexpected promptness, they had removed John's body to the morgue. She wasn't sure, but she didn't think his parents had returned the phone call yet. She would let Mark deal with that call when it came. She rested her hand against the doorframe. "Hey," Mark's voice cut into her thoughts, quiet though it was. "Yeah?" she asked, lifting her head to meet his gaze. "They were good," he said simply. "Yes, they were," she agreed. They stood silently for a moment. Then Kerry noticed the files in his hands. "Replacements?" she asked, steadily enough for Mark to nod. "Good. We can't have people doubling up shifts for too long." She started down the hallway, casting a look over her shoulder to make sure he was following. Mark stared through the window to the OR a moment longer. He wondered what it was that she was revisiting, and knew he was glad he hadn’t shared in it. He looked up to see her glaring at him impatiently, one hand on her hip. He smiled briefly, with more sadness than amusement, and hurried to catch up. **** Benton hadn't spent much time in the morgue, not since med school. He had forgotten how eerie and isolated it was. The pathologist had given him an odd look, almost a suspicious one, when he walked in but Benton paid him no attention. Eventually, the man had gone back to his work. Dr Anspaugh had informed him that Carter's grandparents were arranging to have his body removed that day and somehow Peter had found himself in the morgue, minutes before the transport was supposed to take place. He had postponed a date with the undeniably attractive Dr Finch for this: to stand here, looking at a cooler. He thought Carter might have appreciated the gesture. The door to the morgue swished softly as the pathologist left. Peter watched him leave with indifferent eyes. Then he turned his attention to where Carter's body lay behind a metal door. "I should've stayed, Carter, I'm sorry," Benton said quietly. "I should've stayed, made sure everything was all right." He scrubbed his face with both hands, eyes stinging but dry. He had spoken to Dr Anspaugh, and to Deb, and could almost envision the renal artertial rupture that had blindsided them all. And he found that the answers he had been so desperate for earlier, the need to know they had done everything they could, actually made no difference. He shook his head. "I'm sorry." Two men came in with a gurney, looking about in a way which signaled their unfamiliarity with the room. "We're here for Carter," one of them called out hesitantly. "It's this one." Benton tapped lightly on the metal. They moved in his direction as he started to leave. "Aren't you going to sign..." the other man began to ask, even as Benton shook his head. "Not my job," he said, unapologetic. He watched them, and momentarily worried that they were unqualified for the task. He considered ordering them to be careful but he had a good idea of what they would say to that instruction. There was nothing more he could do for Carter here, now, or ever again. So he pushed through the morgue doors, leaving them and John Carter behind. The End Alternate ending: The Further Shore Fanfiction Home