Archive of Our Own ^beta

Carter was told to stay put in that bed in Curtain 4.

The instructions left no room for misunderstanding. The exact wording was “lie down in that bed and go to sleep and stay there until the end of your shift.” Carter whined, “But what if I have to go to the bathroom?” and so a concession was made allowing him to walk to the bathroom and back on the most direct path possible.

That was it. Toilet or bed. Only two options.

Benton is surprised, then, when he walks into the staff lounge to get his sandwich out of the fridge and is greeted with the sight of one John Truman Carter, huddled on the lumpy old sofa curled up in a blanket and staring straight ahead, eyes glazed over (Half of that surprise was because he walked into the dark room expecting it to be empty and was shocked half to death when he turned on the lights. He did not instinctively jump when he saw him, and he will be sticking to that statement until he’s in the grave).

“Carter.”

“Whuh- huh? Oh, hey, Dr. Benton,” Carter says. From the tone of his voice, he’s trying to sound like nothing is amiss, but his hoarseness sabotages him. "What'd're you doing here?”

“I am getting my lunch. I think I should be asking you that question, seeing as how I told you to get your ass in bed and stay there not even half an hour ago,” Benton responds, peeved.

All morning, Carter had been sniffling his way around the ER, trying to be as chipper and helpful as he could, like that would prevent Benton from noticing how red his nose is, or how he’s taking a beat longer to respond to things than normal, or the frankly disgusting quantity of balled-up tissues poking out of his pockets (his excuse that they were “rumpled but not dirty” and there “just in case a patient needs one” wasn’t convincing). Finally, Peter had had enough. He can’t have his student breathing viruses all over his patients. You go to the hospital to get better from being sick, not to get more germs. Carter should’ve covered that material by the end of the first week of medical school, but either the lesson didn’t stick or Northwestern has fallen in quality in recent years.

Carter started with complaints that escalated into protestations and then shouts that surely hurt his creaky throat, but Benton paid him no heed. Whether he liked it or not, Carter was going to spend the day in a bed until someone could drive him home, and Peter was not accepting comments at this time. He finally seemed to see reason when Benton took his temperature and the thermometer read 102.3 ℉.

“I’m really feeling a lot better, Dr. Benton, I think I can get back to work now–” Peter doesn’t have the energy to argue with him about whether or not he’s fit to treat patients, so in lieu of debating him further, he simply grabs him by the arm and pulls him up, prepared to frog-march him back to bed if he has to.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, it’s your choice.”

Carter tries to worm out of his grip, but being sick has reduced his speed and strength. 

“Hard way it is, then,” Benton says, taking Carter by the shoulders and pushing him along towards Curtain 4. Carter tries to dig his feet into the ground. It’s not much use.

Five minutes later, he’s back in bed, sulking. When Benton turns to leave, Carter calls out.

“Wait! Could you at least tuck me in?” He says it like he’s joking, but there’s a shred of genuine want in his eyes. Fuck it, Peter decides, I might as well.

Carter’s surprised when Benton returns to his bedside, pulls the blankets up to his chin, and firmly tucks them in under his body, tight enough he can hardly move with the practiced hands of a man who is used to putting his nieces and nephews to bed.

He leaves the room, hoping to hell Carter’ll stay put and rest instead of making another jailbreak.

Carter had other plans.

An hour and a half later, Peter goes to the lounge with the goal of doing some charting, only to find Carter seated at the table doing them for him.

Irritated, Benton hoists him over his shoulder like a fireman and carries him back to his bed, without bothering to listen to his whining. He tells Wendy to keep an eye on the curtain and let him know if it’s opened again.

Half an hour later, when Wendy’s on her break, he has to do the same thing again. This time, Carter opted to sit very still and quiet in the corner, like he thought Benton wouldn’t see him if he didn’t move. Unfortunately for Carter, Benton is not a tyrannosaurus rex, and that strategy did not work. Before leaving, he gives Carter two tablets of Motrin and a little paper cup full of water and watches him take the pills.

Only five minutes go by before Carter tries to escape bedrest-jail again. This time, he’s spotted before he manages to get to the lounge, as Peter was standing by the admit desk right next to Curtain 4. Benton moves to stand directly in front of him, arms crossed.

“Carter. Why do you keep getting up?”

“I’m not sick!!! That bed should go to a patient who actually needs it! I’m fine!”

“Carter.” Peter gives him a look that says “stop bullshitting me.”

“I read this new study that found that light ambulation resulted in better patient outcomes for people with mild viral illnesses?”

“Carter.”

Finally, he relents and admits defeat. “I just… I don’t like being stuck over here.”

“Why not?” Benton asks, puzzled. “The bed’s a hell of a lot nicer than the couch in the lounge.”

“Yeah, but…,” he hesitates. “There are people there.”

Now Benton understands. It makes sense to him. Carter doesn’t want to be alone.

He doesn’t know much about Carter’s home life; frankly, it’s none of his business, and he generally tries to stay out of the private lives of his coworkers. He knows his older brother died of leukemia. He knows he’s rich beyond belief. He gets the impression his parents aren’t the touchy-feely, affectionate type. He’s never bothered to learn more. At this moment, though, he can’t help but picture Carter standing alone in some big fancy mansion hallway, Carter home sick and lying bored in bed with no one to talk to or care for him, child-Carter pent up in a luxurious, impeccably-furnished nursery, crying out for his mother but not being heard, or perhaps simply being ignored.

There are always people moving in and out of the staff lounge. You’re never alone for long there, not sequestered away from all the others. There are always the sounds of conversation, people passing through the halls, pages rustling as someone reads, pens scratching notes in charts.

Peter helps Carter get settled on that lumpy old sofa.