Scattered
By
sHaYcH
Continuety, Continuety, wherefor art thou, Continuety?
This
story falls after "Shattered"
in my strange little series...
Here’s the tough part. I am an ER watcher, but, not very avid. I sort of don’t know a lot of the history of each character, and, with a character like Kerry Weaver, whose past is pretty mysterious; it’s easy to miss clues the canon writers have given us. Bearing that in mind, if you spot something you know is wrong, please don’t hesitate to let me know. Otherwise, here is my somewhat revisionist views. Hope you enjoy : )
Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome at: shaych3@yahoo.com
“You know, I thought I was such a
schmuck for doing what I did
earlier,” Kim says to me softly as we climb the stairs to my bedroom.
“Oh?” I reply, my voice shaky. Lying in front of the
fire, the two of us a tangled in a
half-naked heap after a night of uninhibited passion is one thing,
actually
making the trip to my bedroom, is something else.
I am feeling quite nervous.
In fact, I feel a little nauseous.
“Yes,” she answers, laughing a little. “I was actually a little
concerned that you
might report me to Romano.” Kim
does
not notice my discomfort – or if she does, she does not comment on it.
“I wouldn’t tell Dr. Romano one iota
of information about
you,” I say sharply, realizing not for the first time just how much I
despised
the trollish little man was so good at bossing the rest of us doctors
around. Leave it to
Romano to take my
mind off of my stomach. Good
things do
come in odd packages.
“I take it you don’t like the good
doctor?” Kim asks lightly
as we walk into my room.
Oh God, I think,
absolutely mortified at what I
see. I have
forgotten to make the
bed. In all the
confusion of getting
ready earlier, I didn’t straighten the covers and now it looked as
though rats
have been nesting in it. Quickly,
I
race to the bed to start straighten the sheets.
“I’m so sorry, this will take just a minute. I guess I just forgot
about it earlier when
I…” I babble, twitching the sheets furtively.
“It’s okay,” Kim whispers as she
comes up behind me,
wrapping her arms around my waist and softly kissing my neck.
“Oh,” I say breathlessly as she turns
me in her arms and
kisses me deeply, stripping away all thoughts of messy beds. Her fingers are nimble. I discover that mine are
too. Shortly, we
are bra-less.
What an absolutely, indescribably
amazing feeling. Her
skin is so soft and warm against
mine. Tentatively,
I reach out a hand
and stroke the slope of her breast.
A
thousand times and more I have examined the Human female anatomy, but
she is
infinitely more intriguing. Her
breath
comes in heaving gasps and I discover that I need oxygen. I take a deep breath while
my fingers
continue to touch her soft skin.
“Kerry, we should sleep,” she says
softly, covering my
exploring hand with her own.
I nod, but my attention is still on
my hand, which is
covered by hers. Below
our palms, her
nipple is beginning to harden in the chill and I realize that there are
parts
of me reacting in ways that they haven’t in many years.
She kisses my face, my neck, and my lips
when I tip my head up slightly to look into her glazed blue eyes.
“Kerry,” she says gently, pulling
away slightly. I
lick my lips. She
wants to take it slow.
She wants tomorrow, not just tonight.
A tiny piece of my heart wants to give her a thousand
tomorrows, but
there is more than enough caution within me to hold back. Suddenly, touching her
isn’t as magical.
“Huh?
Oh, right,
sleep. You’ll need
something,” I say
absently, stepping away from her.
A
quick shuffle through my drawers turns up an old dress shirt of my
ex-husband’s. It’s
huge and soft and
should cover Kim to her knees.
When she turns around, I finally
understand why Kenneth
loved letting me wear it. The
soft,
worn blue fabric of the shirt clings delicately to the curves of Kim’s
body. The corners
just brush her
kneecaps and she has left the top three buttons undone.
Her hair is down, the blonde curls fanning
over her shoulders and I know that sleeping next to this woman will be
difficult at best.
While she dressed, I put on my usual
sleepwear - an old
County General tee shirt and a pair of ragged blue sweats. A little rummaging in the
closet turns up
another pillow, which I toss onto the bed.
“Aren’t you a little overdressed?”
Kim asks, eyeing the
sweats. She helps
me to fluff the
pillows and turn down the covers.
Her
eyebrow arches, and this incredibly sexy smile forms on her lips. I consider having a sudden
attack of the
munchies. I
consider fainting. I
need something to distract the good Dr.
Legaspi, because as sure as the sun rises, I do not want her to see my
leg.
“Kerry?” Kim comes around to my side
of the bed. “Are
you all right? You
look a little pale.”
“No, I-I’m fine, Kim,” I say, my
voice breaking a
little. “I guess
I’m just used to
sleeping this way,” I gesture at my attire.
She takes my hand in hers, twines our
fingers together then
pulls them up to her lips, and kisses my knuckles softly. “Are you sure? I’m something of a heat
generator when I’m sleeping. I’d
hate for you to be uncomfortable.”
Her voice is low and sexy and my knees begin
to tremble. How
easily she can disarm
me!
“I-I-I-I-I-I don’t normally stutter
like this!” I say
explosively, irritated with myself.
She
mistakes the intent of my ire and drops my hand, backing away.
“I can go.” She
offers hesitantly, reaching for the tails of the shirt.
“It wouldn’t be that much of a problem for
me to drive home…”
Goddamn it Doc!
Stop being such an ass! That little voice in the
back of my mind
yells at me. She’s
going to walk
right out of here if you don’t get your butt in gear and do a little
truth
telling, it adds, pricking me where I bleed the thickest. Nothing is dearer to me
than the truth. Honesty
is always the best policy when it
comes to relationships. I
am hoist by
my own petard, whatever the hell petard is.
“Kim. No.
I’m sorry, and I’m
being a bitch. You
don’t deserve to feel the sharp side of
my tongue,” I say, doing my best to show her how regretful I am. I walk toward her,
reaching out to her. Relief
floods me when she takes my hand.
“It’s not the sharp side of your
tongue I’m worried about,
Kerry,” Kim says, as she pulls me down on the bed next to her. “I don’t want us to feel
like we have to
play games with each other. If
there’s
some reason you’re more comfortable sleeping dressed as you are, that’s
fine,
just say so and I’ll accept it.”
I feel bad, and I feel even worse
when she reaches a hand up
and starts to lightly massage my neck.
I sigh heavily.
“It’s…it’s a really long story, Kim,”
I start to say, and
look away. My leg,
as if understanding
that it is the subject of conversation, begins to throb. Damn.
It hurts, and so does my skull where I cracked it against
the cupboard
earlier. Why can’t
real life be like
the movies, where the hero doesn’t feel the bullet wound and can make
love to
the beautiful heroine all night long?
“Okay, Kerry, that’s all you had to
say.” She yawns and
tips her head toward the
pillows. “Let’s get
some shut-eye?”
I can’t believe that she’s just going
to let it go! How
did I get so lucky? I
blink, trying to change gears. “Sleep.
Yes. I
am tired.” I yawn,
feeling the hours I’ve been up add
themselves to my age and get flying sheep.
Kim smiles sweetly and scoots over to
one side of the bed,
patting the other. “Come
on, sleepy
head.”
She looks so inviting, but I hate
sharing a bed. I
have since … well, since Africa, really,
but I cannot deny that to be near her is exactly what I want. Slowly, I crawl in next to
her, careful not
to jar my leg. We
pull the covers up
over us and she wraps me in her arms.
Amazingly, I do not feel entrapped as I did with Ellis or
my husband,
just comforted, like I’m being cradled by a giant teddy bear.
“Whenever you’re ready to talk about
it, thought, I’ll be
ready to listen,” she whispers, then gently kisses my neck.
Her words unleash a flood.
“When I was seventeen, I joined the Peace Corps.” I begin, my voice
surprisingly steady.
“Mmhmm,” she mumbles, nuzzling the
back of my head. She
rubs my stomach and the action comforts
me.
“I went to Africa, like a lot of
other bright-eyed,
well-meaning kids in the sixties.
It
was there that I met Charles. He
was handsome
and gentle, and he made me feel like I was the most beautiful woman in
the
world. It was heady
stuff, for a gawky
teen. Because it
was the sixties, I thought
free love was the be-all-end-all for me. We
didn’t marry, but instead, moved in together.
Our home was a tiny little farm on the edge
of my father’s reserve. It
was so
beautiful, and quiet – you could hear the elephants sing to their young
late at
night.”
“Sounds idyllic,” Kim says, as she
sits up slightly and
brushes a bit of hair from my face.
“I’m guessing it didn’t stay that way.”
I feel the corners of my mouth turn
down and a great sadness
fills me. “No,” I
whisper, blinking at
the sharp pain in my eyes. “It
didn’t. We had a
baby,” my voice gets harsh and I
cough to clear my throat. “A
son. Jonathan was
so beautiful – golden fire,
Charles called him. For
his hair, he
had the most beautiful hair, curly and soft…” A sob fights to escape,
but I
hold it down. “He
was just two, and
running around like wildfire…Charles had gone into town for supplies
and I was
weeding in the garden. Johnny
climbed
out of his crib and,” I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t tell the story one more time.
I couldn’t put my failure to words, not for Kim, not for
anyone. After all
these years, it still
hurt. It was too
soon.
It seemed like only yesterday when I
held his broken,
bleeding body and vainly tried to save him.
Never mind that I was only nineteen.
Never mind that I had never taken one first aid class. Never mind that my son’s
legs had been
nearly chewed off by a rabid lion. I
should have tried harder.
I failed.
My son
died in my arms, and I could do nothing to save him.
I never even noticed my own injuries, only the darkness
that
crept over me like a warm, comforting blanket.
I welcomed that darkness, ran toward it gratefully.
“I woke up in a hospital.
Charles was kneeling beside my bed, praying with my
father.” Tears
streak my face and I realize that I
have been talking aloud. Kim
is stroking
my hair, whispering nonsensical, yet comforting words.
I turn and bury my head in her chest, and
she holds me close. I
feel something
warm and wet strike my face and I realize that Kim is crying silently. She cries with me,
I think, somehow
even more comforted by it.
“Beautiful,” Kim whispers fervently,
“like you.” Her lips
are everywhere, caressing me, calling to me, asking me to trust, to
open myself
to whatever fortune a future with this woman will bring. Tiny, scattered bits of a
long tattered soul
come to life under Kim’s loving touch.
My heart rebels, wanting nothing to
do with fonder
emotions. Horrible
imagery assaults my
memories. I feel
his lifeless body in
my arms and watch helplessly as blood pumps furiously from the femoral
artery,
neatly severed by the lion’s sharp teeth.
I hear his weakened cries of “Mama.”
I see his tiny fingers, covered in blood and dirt,
unclench and I look
into his eyes and watch as he begs me to help him.
This time, I feel the agonizing pain in my own leg and it
is now
that I remember looking down at the shattered ruins of my leg and
thinking that
it was a small price to pay for the life of my son.
“Johnny,” I whisper in my haze,
“don’t die, baby, please
don’t die. Mommy’s
here.” I sob,
clutching air to my chest and rocking
uncontrollably.
Small but strong arms tighten around
me and I am drawn into
the present. Shame
is a bitter acid in
my stomach. I rip
myself from Kim’s
embrace and race to the bathroom, almost vomiting in my disgust at my
actions.
How could I have let myself go so far? How can I have let this
woman breach the painstakingly
constructed walls around my soul?
Not
even Kenneth could do that. When
he
tried, the price was our marriage.
I turn to exit the bathroom,
composure regained, armor on
and the sword of my tongue poised to strike once again.
But Kim is there, and her eyes are gray with
sadness and understanding. Her
gentleness is my undoing. I
feel the
armor fall away and puddle around my feet like dirty scrubs.
“Talk to me,” she says calmly.
“I can’t,” I whisper, grabbing the
wall for support.
She takes a step toward me, not a big
one, but just enough
to let me know that she is willing to meet me halfway.
All I have to do is ask.
God, I want to, but can I give to her as
freely as she has given to me? Can
I
allow another person inside my soul?
“Don’t ask yourself the hard
questions today, Kerry.” Kim
calls out softly, taking another tiny step
toward me. “Just
come to bed.”
I know... I know that I can do
exactly as she says. I
can walk out of this bathroom and climb
into bed and we will sleep. Maybe,
perhaps,
we will make love later. I
also know
that if I don’t make some hard decisions now, our relationship will be
as
doomed as the one I had with Ellis.
I
have to wonder if I am cruel enough to do that to another person.
This isn’t brain surgery,
Doc, get your butt in bed and
sleep on it. The
little voice is
loud, but I block it out.
“Kim.” I
start to
say, but she gives me that look, the one that says, ‘don’t make me play
psychiatrist with you, Kerry Weaver’ and then nods at the bed.
This is her price.
My surrender is conditional, but surrender I must, if I am
to keep this
woman who has shattered my life so.
What to do, what to do?
My mind is a-whirl with thought. My
heart aches. Memories
are thick and hungry, demanding that I remember how the brightness in
my son’s
eyes went out, and how the love between Charles and I ended the day we
laid our
son to rest underneath the tree where he died.
I remember coming home on the plane,
riding in first class,
because Father would have it so. I
was
in terrible pain the whole way, yet I refused any pain medication
because it
let me feel something besides the deadness that filled my soul.
Mother tried to cheer me - to inspire
me, but nothing pushed
me out of the funk. I
might have
followed my son, were it not for one person.
Timothy Robbins, age 3, victim of a severe dog bite.
I was in the park, torturing myself
by watching other
mothers with their children when I heard a shriek that seemed ripped
right from
my own mind. A
child, crying out in
horrible pain, came toddling up to me, holding up his mangled hand. A dog, I forget the breed,
followed closely,
growling and snapping at the infant’s diapers.
Without thinking, I slammed the end
of my crutch into the
dog’s face, and sent it away, yelping in pain.
The next thing I knew, I was holding my jacket to the
boy’s hand, trying
my best to staunch the bleeding.
The paramedics assured me that my
quick thinking saved the
boy’s life. I had
saved him. Me.
The one who had failed her own son so miserably, had been
given the
chance to save someone else’s boy, and I did it.
“You did everything you could,” Kim
says, and once again, I
realize I have been speaking aloud.
“I can’t keep anything from you.” I joke weakly, resting my
head against the doorframe.
Kim smiles crookedly.
“That’s a good thing, trust me.”
“No, no it’s not.
How can I be the same person to you now?
How can you see me?” I ask plaintively, knowing that the
day is
lost. There will be
no waking up in
Kim’s warm embrace today, possibly not ever.
I have, in my own way, jinxed another relationship. I have been told that some
men are drawn to
women like me; women who cannot connect, but I do not want to be like I
am. I cannot help
but be like I am. My
eyes ache, yet no more tears fall because
I am cried out. I
have not wept this
way since I was a child.
Cool hands cup my heated cheeks and
warm lips trace
blessings on my forehead. “Because
no
matter what, it’s all a part of you.
Kerry, I like you – am attracted to you because of your
complexity, not
because you’re the stone cold bitch who runs the ER.”
Unbidden, a chuckle bubbles up from
my chest. I wipe my
eyes and look up at her. “Is
that what they call me?” I ask, knowing
the answer, but wanting to hear it from Kim.
She shrugs.
“Some
do, some think you’re the best thing to happen to County ER.”
“And what do you think?” I ask in a
whisper, looking into
her eyes for any hint of untruth.
Her eyes are locked to mine. “I think that I want to
take you to bed, hold you in my arms, and
sleep. I think I
want to wake up next
to you, share breakfast with you, and I think that you are whatever you
want to
be, Kerry Weaver.” Her
mouth is so
sweet against mine. I
fall into her
arms gratefully. What
would they think,
the men who dated me and found me cold?
I melt so easily into Kim, it’s hard to remember that she
wants more of
me than I have ever given to anyone.
Even Charles never asked for my soul, but I know that
anything less will
be cheapening the bond I can feel growing between Kim and I.
“What if I don’t know what I want?” I
whisper, when she
pulls away. Her
face clouds and I
immediately add, “Besides you.”
She chuckles.
“Kerry, you don’t have to solve all your problems in one
day. Isn’t it
enough that you recognize that
there is one?”
“Yes.
No. I
don’t know,” I say, rubbing my eyes.
Sleep is becoming imperative, especially if
I am to function tonight.
“Come to bed, Kerry,” Kim says, her
voice dropping an
octave. She takes
my hand and pulls me
toward her. “Come
on,” she tips her
head toward the inviting covers.
“Everything will be here when we wake up.”
She draws me close, kissing me softly.
“I’ll be here,” she reaffirms and I almost start crying
again.
Just before she pulls me into the
bed, I stop her. I
have to make this decision, even if it is
such a small one. Slowly,
with my eyes
locked on hers, I reach for my waistband and quickly shuck the sweats. Her eyes never leave mine
as we crawl into
bed.
She pulls the covers up and wraps her
arms around me. I
have never been “spooned” before and it
feels wonderful. I
can feel her knees
slide against mine. Her
warm flesh
caresses mine. She
does not cringe from
the thickened scar tissue that decorates most of my thigh, instead, her
hand
slips down and she runs delicate fingers over them.
“Beautiful,” she whispers sleepily. “Like you.”
As I drift off, I feel the scattered
bits of my soul begin
to mend.
fin
Revised 09/25/02