The Hurting Time Has Come

An ER fan fiction by AbCaLuDa

**Standard disclaimers apply. If you don't know the standard disclaimers, you shouldn't be reading fan fiction.

Welcome to the latest installment of my version of Carter angst. This one is likely to be my most angsty yet…It's AU, my own little spin on the Carter and Lucy get stabbed storyline…Just read it, I think you'll like it, especially if you like Carter and Abby angst…

Please use the review option at the bottom of the page…It's there for a reason and I really appreciate all my readers, so speak up and let me know you're out there!


We walk together along the edge of the water, just holding hands and enjoying the evening breeze and each other. We don't need words to say how we feel, because we feel it in our hearts, in our souls.

I know it's just be a matter of time before he proposes. I will say yes, and we will spend the rest of our lives together. I will grow old with him in my arms, and I know I face anything with him by my side.

He turns to me suddenly and pulls me against him. His kisses always feel like fireworks going off inside my head. How does he make me feel like a teenager again, so full of love and lust I can't think about anything but him?

Chapter One

Everything happened so fast there wasn't time to think. I couldn't afford to think. I couldn't let my emotions get in the way of what I had to do. They were counting on me, they needed me to stay calm and focused, even though I wanted to scream and cry and lose my mind.

One minute I was walking away from the admit desk rolling my eyes and trying not to laugh at one of Frank's stupid comments. The next minute I slipped on the floor and looked down to see blood, seeping out from under the men's room door.

I knocked on the door. "Hello? Is someone in there? Do you need help?" No one answered. I knocked again, and still nothing.

I pushed the door open just slightly, trying to respect the privacy of anyone who might be in there. I heard a low moan and poked my head in farther. "Luka!" My heart skipped a beat. Luka lay on the floor in a pool of blood, his eyes open but glassy.

I jerked the door open and yelled for help. Everything else was a blur. I knelt by Luka, checked his pulse. Weak, but steady. "Shhh, don't try to talk."

He closed his eyes and seemed to be trying to gather his strength. Where was everyone? I yelled again for help. I imagined Luka, alone in his apartment in Croatia with his dying wife and children, and no one to help him.


"Your car? Luka? What? I don't…" He wasn't looking at me, but beyond me. Behind me. I turned to follow his line of vision. "Carter! Oh God! Carter!" I went to him, checked his pulse. "Somebody help! Help me!"

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Reality didn't set in until they were both upstairs in surgery. We had done all we could do for them in the ER. Now it was a matter of time, of waiting, hoping, and praying. The rest of the world seemed to respect our need to regroup and draw strength from each other because the phones didn't ring and no urgent traumas came in. Most of us settled in the lounge, seeking comfort in being together.

Any other time, Luka would be in the middle of the room, giving a pep-talk, using that lulling accent of his to try to keep everyone calm. The only reason we seem calm now is because we're all in shock. How could this have happened? Luka and Carter attacked in the men's room…and no one knew who did it. Or why. That's the really scary part. It seems to be a random act, right here in our hospital, which means no one is safe.

I sit on the couch between Susan and Kerry. Susan has her arm around my shoulders, Kerry has her hand on my knee.

I close my eyes and I see Carter here, on this couch, trying to rest a little between patients. How many times had I wandered in here to find him here with his arm flung over his eyes to block the light? The image shifts in my mind, like in the movies where one scene takes over another, the calm peacefulness of an innocent cat nap turned to the bloody war zone of the men's room.

They had been stabbed. Luka had taken five hits, mostly to his back and one side. Carter had been hit seven times. I close my eyes against the memory of them lying there on the blood-soaked bathroom floor. So much blood. Too much.

I shiver, and Susan pulls my head to her chest. She strokes my hair and whispers to me, gentle words of faith and encouragement. I try to remember how handsome Carter looked last night, and how his kisses make my head swim with desire. I hear his voice calling my name, like the soft whisper of the wind. I give in to the pressing need to cry. I want to cry until there are no tears left in me.

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