storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2014-08-17 03:54 pm
storypaint) wrote2014-08-17 03:54 pm
[Elementary] remorse is memory awake (Joan/Carrie)
Title: remorse is memory awake
Fandom: Elementary
Length: 3007 words
Prompt:![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
femslashex: Joan/Carrie
Pairing: Joan/Carrie
Other: At the AO3.
Excerpt: Joan remembers her relationship with Carrie when she runs into her again during the events of 1x05, Lesser Evils. Sherlock made a joke about lesbians, and Joan was glad that she didn't have to smile.
The truth was, Joan had never really expected to see Carrie again. Running into her at the hospital sent a lightning strike down Joan's spine, a fact she did her best to conceal. She knew Sherlock would notice, and she wasn't ready to share Carrie with him. She wasn't ready to share any of her old life with him, but especially not this part. She wouldn't even let herself think about it most of the time.
She couldn't separate her life with Carrie from her life as a surgeon. The loss of both ached like an abscessed tooth.
Sherlock made a joke about lesbians, and Joan was glad that she didn't have to smile.
*
Joan met Carrie on the first day of medical school. They were the first two people to show up to class, arriving at nearly the same time from different directions. Joan sized her up carefully and saw only a rival there. She was determined to be valedictorian, no matter what it took.
At first, it was easy. Carrie was bright, outspoken, constantly asking the questions that Joan wanted to ask. When Joan came to class with shadows under her eyes, wearing her most comfortable sweats, Carrie always seemed put together. She wore heels every day, and they accented her beautiful legs. Those Joan couldn't help but notice.
It seemed that Carrie noticed her too. The week before midterms, she knocked on Joan's door. Joan hadn't even known that Carrie knew where she lived. But there she was, lipstick perfect, wearing a sleepy smile. Joan liked that she seemed tired. Otherwise she wouldn't seem real.
"Let's get out of here," she said to Joan.
Joan lifted her eyebrows, rested a hand on her hip. She'd gotten two hours of sleep last night. That had to be why she couldn't understand what Carrie was talking about.
"Me?" she asked.
"Definitely you," Carrie said. "Who else is going to keep up?"
Joan pulled the ponytail holder off of her wrist and begin to put her hair up. Carrie's smile widened just a little.
*
Carrie had given Joan her current phone number. Joan would have been happy enough to save it in her phone and never call; she had quite a few numbers that she transferred from phone to phone, keeping them just in case. She was never sure what she thought would happen that she'd need them.
But she had to do whatever was necessary to help Sherlock solve these murders. A couple of awkward conversations with Carrie might help them find a suspect, and if they could find the Angel of Death soon enough, maybe no one else would lose their lives before their proper time. So she called Carrie and asked if they could meet up. She didn't think that she imagined the tone of surprise in Carrie's voice when she answered the phone, but she had agreed readily enough.
The day was warm and sunny and Carrie glowed in the bright light. She still had the kind of smile Joan couldn't look away from. Joan had to smile back. They strolled together down the sidewalk, Carrie filling Joan in the events of the past few years. As usual, Carrie looked gorgeous.
"But what about you?" Carrie asked finally. "I don't understand why you've given up practicing. It's got to be more lucrative than... whatever it is you're doing with that charming British man." She rolled her eyes.
"It's complicated," Joan said, trying to be firm about it. She didn't want to talk about this with Carrie. Carrie had lost patients before, sure. Every surgeon did, even the very best ones. But she hadn't gone through what Joan had, and she'd never be able to understand it. Being a surgeon was so much a part of her being, just as it had been for Joan, once. And she'd never felt a need to change that.
"Anyway, Carrie, we could use your help," Joan said, and she explained what was going on. Carrie was distracted by the story, which Joan appreciated. She didn't bring up Joan's job change again, busily considering the strangest of her coworkers and providing Joan with commentary. She was always good at making Joan laugh with her impressions. That hadn't changed either.
*
It didn't surprise anyone when they started dating, a month after their first study date. As hard as the medical students competed with each other, emotions ran high. Relationships began and ended over a cup of coffee or a misplaced phrase.
The surprising part was that they lasted more than a few weeks. They fought sometimes; during bad weeks, more often than not. They drilled each other, they did squats until their thighs ached, they got up early and went jogging, and then they crawled back into bed together and worked off their frustrations.
"We should get a dog," Joan said, her head pillowed on Carrie's stomach. She traced a finger lazily across Carrie's thigh.
"Mm. You can't even keep your plants alive," Carrie pointed out, stomach muscles tensing with a laugh. Joan liked the way that felt beneath her, a whole body movement.
"I didn't mean now," Joan said, as Carrie stroked her hair. "You can't have pets in the dorms. Anyway, those plants weren't very healthy when I got them."
"You didn't have to take them when Vera left," Carrie pointed out, scratching Joan's scalp with blunt fingernails. Joan curled into the movement.
"No one else was going to."
"You're a rescuer, Joan," Carrie said, voice contemplative. "You should learn when to let things go."
Joan didn't say anything more about it. They were probably too busy for a dog, anyway. Probably always would be.
*
Hospitals had a certain smell to them, a mix of worry and bleach. It used to be a comfortable scent for Joan, but now it just made her anxious. She found herself slipping back into old patterns without trying. She liked Carrie's patient; she'd played soccer herself when she was in high school, although never on an organized team.
The marks on the girl's toe worried her. At first she hadn't thought that being a detective was much like being a surgeon, but the disciplines informed each other. It wasn't a scrap of paper or a secret code or anything that Sherlock would be familiar with, but it was a clue all the same. And it worried her.
Carrie agreed to run the test, but Joan knew that it wasn't because Carrie believed her. Joan didn't know why she was surprised.
*
"It's about confidence," Carrie said, leaning over the sink, her hips bumping against Joan's. There really wasn't enough room in Joan's small bathroom for them to share the mirror, but they squeezed in there anyway. Carrie did her eyeliner with a practiced flick of the wrist.
"Confidence?" Joan repeated. She was brushing her hair.
"If I look my best, then I'll do my best," Carrie said. "No one's going to second-guess me. It shouldn't matter, but it does. You know that."
Joan did, but she had a hard time caring about it right now. She hated these early mornings. She yawned and reached around Carrie for her toothbrush.
"You look prettier without it," she said, and almost didn't catch the hurt look in Carrie's eyes. She didn't know how to respond.
*
They were leaving the hospital when Joan's phone buzzed a message.
EKG normal. Nothing to worry about :-), Carrie had sent her. Joan felt relieved, for a moment, but she couldn't get the image of Morgan's toe out of her mind. It was such a small symptom, pointing toward a disease that someone her age would almost never have.
But what if Carrie went ahead, and the girl died on the table? What if she had to go through the same thing that Joan had, the barrage of questions, the self-doubt, the loss of identity? She couldn't wish that on her worst enemy, much less someone whom she had cared about so much. And still cared about, really.
Sherlock agreed with her, not that he was a doctor. She wondered what she could say to convince Carrie that she was right. There had to be something she could do. What was one more test compared to Morgan's life and Carrie's career? Even if she did turn out to be wrong, even if her first instinct wasn't as correct as Sherlock assumed. It would still be worth it.
Joan would think about it and text Carrie back later, when she'd formed a good argument.
*
The first time they kissed was two days after that first coffee date, which had gone on until the Starbucks closed. They were lying next to each other on Carrie's bed on their stomachs, sharing a textbook and studying the circulatory system. Their legs were comfortably tangled. Now that they'd started talking to each other, it was so easy, like they'd known each other forever.
"You know," Carrie said, "when I was a kid in church, they used to say that there was a vein that ran all the way from your ring finger to the heart. And that's why we put our wedding rings on that finger."
"It's a nice story at least. Even if it's completely untrue," Joan said, her heart thumping. Carrie would not be the first woman she had kissed. Not even the first woman she had seriously kissed, although she and Nikki had only dated for two heady weeks one summer.
Before she could lose her nerve, she put a finger under Carrie's chin and turned their faces together. It was a wonderful kiss, so wonderful that they didn't get much more studying done that evening.
*
In the end, Joan couldn't think of anything convincing that could be conveyed in text. The next time Sherlock buried himself in hospital records, Joan went to find Carrie.
Instead of listening, Carrie shut her down. Joan couldn't do anything to change her mind. When Carrie got into one of these moods, she wouldn't give in for anything. Joan had seen it happen before. It made her a fierce debate partner and terrible to argue with. When they'd been dating, it had frustrated Joan to no end. But it was one thing when they couldn't decide who had washed the dishes last. It was another thing entirely right now. Joan couldn't just give in.
So Carrie went off to her next patient and Joan thought about it for a long moment. Then she grabbed a lab coat hanging up near the nurse's station. She knew where they would keep the order forms for procedures; she'd gotten Morgan's last name from the girl's chart when she'd met her the first time. She knew that everyone in the hospital was tired and overworked; if she neglected to sign the order, they'd chase down Carrie after the fact, so that the documents matched what they'd already done. No big deal.
That wasn't true. Maybe she was saving a life. Maybe two.
*
They broke up halfway through school, amicably. They had been spending less time together, drifting apart. Joan met someone, and although she turned down his advances, it made her remember what it was like to be single. And Carrie wanted more time for herself. Joan moved out of their tiny apartment and in with a friend. They stayed in touch, went on with their schooling, went on with their lives. Joan met Ty, and almost married him.
Then she met Liam, and made her mistake, and lost touch with all of her old friends.
*
"I wanted to let you know you were right," Carrie said. Her coat was thick, her lips were pursed. She'd come from work; Joan could smell that antiseptic on her, since her perfume had worn off over the day. She had a hard time meeting Joan's eyes.
Joan didn't feel triumphant. She hadn't done this to win. She didn't like how uncomfortable Carrie seemed, how she carefully maintained her personal space. The gap yawned between them. Carrie was still a doctor. Joan would never be again. And maybe Carrie was grateful for Joan's help, but she wasn't happy that she had to take it. There was nothing Joan could do to put her at ease.
So she gave her the only advice she had: be careful. Don't make assumptions. Check the smallest details. Don't spend a year and a half of your life regretting one small thing that became one very large one.
"You were a good friend, Joanie," Carrie said, "but you were a better doctor."
Joan let her go. She watched Carrie hurry down the front walk and hail a taxi. She swallowed the lump in her throat, and when she could speak again, she turned around. It felt like a final conversation. She knew that if she called or texted Carrie again, Carrie wouldn't answer. Or she'd make excuses instead of plans for coffee. Joan had burned another bridge. She felt a mixture of pride and sadness. Her instincts had been right, but Carrie was right too. She'd been a terrible friend after she lost her license. She'd stopped talking to anyone she'd met during medical school or afterwards. She'd deleted her Facebook and ignored calls and voicemails. Most people had stopped calling.
Carrie had kept trying. It was the stubbornness, it was their history. She'd emailed Joan three weeks before she'd taken this job with Sherlock. Joan had deleted the message without reading it.
*
Carrie was the first person Joan had called when she found out about the malpractice suit. Her hand was shaking. It took her three tries to dial the phone.
"Oh, Joanie," Carrie had said. "Oh, Joanie, it will be alright, don't worry. You'll get an attorney, he'll get things sorted out."
"Carrie, I think they're right. It's my fault," Joan answered in a moan. She had been headed out to work, but she couldn't go now. She pressed her back against the apartment door, the hard doorknob pressing into her back. It hurt, but she didn't move. She could hardly hear what Carrie was saying. Her brain was replaying the surgery, replaying her choices, replaying the mistake.
"I'm coming over," Carrie said, and the words managed to penetrate Joan's daze. "I'll call you in, and then I'll bring over some beer."
It was nine-thirty in the morning but Joan wasn't going to protest. Perhaps she should have called Ty instead of Carrie. But Ty would have wanted to start fixing things right away. He would have wanted to call her malpractice insurance and to get the forms. And he'd want her to go over it again and again. She was glad he wasn't a malpractice lawyer; otherwise he would insist on defending her, even though the insurance would provide someone.
"I'll see you in ten minutes," Carrie said. Joan nodded before she realized Carrie couldn't hear it. She felt like nothing would come around right ever again.
"Thank you, Carrie," Joan said into the phone, voice breathy, and she let herself sink to the floor. She was still there when Carrie rang the doorbell a few minutes later.
*
Sherlock's eyes were shining in the reflection of the television. He looked smug, and Joan supposed he had the right, catching two skilled murderers. She was trying not to think very hard about Dr.Baldwin. She understood his desperation, even if she would never dream of using his methods. He'd forgotten that his job was to help people to the best of his ability. Surgeons weren't gods, although she'd had plenty of colleagues who had been arrogant enough to think they were just as good. None of them had managed to fall that far.
Joan had enjoyed the challenge of surgery, of course. But she liked to think that she valued the patient interaction more. She liked to meet people and make them feel better. It was the most satisfying thing she'd ever done. She was glad that she could still do it, just in a different way.
She made her way up to bed and pulled out her tablet, intending to check her email before bed and maybe read the news. Instead, she pulled up her photos. She'd thrown all of the ones from her old life in a folder a while back so she didn't run into them by surprise. Settling back into the sheets, she paged through them. There were people she hadn't thought about in years, friends from her internship, some who'd moved to other hospitals, and some who'd probably be there for the rest of their careers. There was Eric, who was always telling terrible jokes, and Kim, who had a personal life as complicated as a soap opera. And of course there were pictures of her with Carrie, plenty of those. Carrie with her arms around Joan, Carrie with a hand possessive on Joan's arm, one where they were looking at each other, not touching, but not needing to: the look they were sharing, eyes crinkled with humor, showed their closeness. To Joan, it all felt like such a long time ago. Not just her past, but another life entirely. She hardly recognized the women in her photos.
Joan sighed. She pulled up the menu and clicked delete. Then she hesitated. She wasn't sure she had backups of these files. They might be on an old flash drive in her apartment, but she couldn't say for sure. If she deleted these, she might never see them again.
She pushed the button. It was time to stop looking back. Meeting up with Carrie had just reinforced it. She knew that she wasn't going to be a surgeon again. It was time to really accept that. She couldn't separate her former relationships from her former career, and that poisoned those relationships. She had hoped to reconcile with everyone eventually, but perhaps it was better this way, to make one final clean break.
She put the tablet away and turned off the light. Curling into the covers, she sighed a little. She'd always have the memories.
Fandom: Elementary
Length: 3007 words
Prompt:
femslashex: Joan/CarriePairing: Joan/Carrie
Other: At the AO3.
Excerpt: Joan remembers her relationship with Carrie when she runs into her again during the events of 1x05, Lesser Evils. Sherlock made a joke about lesbians, and Joan was glad that she didn't have to smile.
The truth was, Joan had never really expected to see Carrie again. Running into her at the hospital sent a lightning strike down Joan's spine, a fact she did her best to conceal. She knew Sherlock would notice, and she wasn't ready to share Carrie with him. She wasn't ready to share any of her old life with him, but especially not this part. She wouldn't even let herself think about it most of the time.
She couldn't separate her life with Carrie from her life as a surgeon. The loss of both ached like an abscessed tooth.
Sherlock made a joke about lesbians, and Joan was glad that she didn't have to smile.
*
Joan met Carrie on the first day of medical school. They were the first two people to show up to class, arriving at nearly the same time from different directions. Joan sized her up carefully and saw only a rival there. She was determined to be valedictorian, no matter what it took.
At first, it was easy. Carrie was bright, outspoken, constantly asking the questions that Joan wanted to ask. When Joan came to class with shadows under her eyes, wearing her most comfortable sweats, Carrie always seemed put together. She wore heels every day, and they accented her beautiful legs. Those Joan couldn't help but notice.
It seemed that Carrie noticed her too. The week before midterms, she knocked on Joan's door. Joan hadn't even known that Carrie knew where she lived. But there she was, lipstick perfect, wearing a sleepy smile. Joan liked that she seemed tired. Otherwise she wouldn't seem real.
"Let's get out of here," she said to Joan.
Joan lifted her eyebrows, rested a hand on her hip. She'd gotten two hours of sleep last night. That had to be why she couldn't understand what Carrie was talking about.
"Me?" she asked.
"Definitely you," Carrie said. "Who else is going to keep up?"
Joan pulled the ponytail holder off of her wrist and begin to put her hair up. Carrie's smile widened just a little.
*
Carrie had given Joan her current phone number. Joan would have been happy enough to save it in her phone and never call; she had quite a few numbers that she transferred from phone to phone, keeping them just in case. She was never sure what she thought would happen that she'd need them.
But she had to do whatever was necessary to help Sherlock solve these murders. A couple of awkward conversations with Carrie might help them find a suspect, and if they could find the Angel of Death soon enough, maybe no one else would lose their lives before their proper time. So she called Carrie and asked if they could meet up. She didn't think that she imagined the tone of surprise in Carrie's voice when she answered the phone, but she had agreed readily enough.
The day was warm and sunny and Carrie glowed in the bright light. She still had the kind of smile Joan couldn't look away from. Joan had to smile back. They strolled together down the sidewalk, Carrie filling Joan in the events of the past few years. As usual, Carrie looked gorgeous.
"But what about you?" Carrie asked finally. "I don't understand why you've given up practicing. It's got to be more lucrative than... whatever it is you're doing with that charming British man." She rolled her eyes.
"It's complicated," Joan said, trying to be firm about it. She didn't want to talk about this with Carrie. Carrie had lost patients before, sure. Every surgeon did, even the very best ones. But she hadn't gone through what Joan had, and she'd never be able to understand it. Being a surgeon was so much a part of her being, just as it had been for Joan, once. And she'd never felt a need to change that.
"Anyway, Carrie, we could use your help," Joan said, and she explained what was going on. Carrie was distracted by the story, which Joan appreciated. She didn't bring up Joan's job change again, busily considering the strangest of her coworkers and providing Joan with commentary. She was always good at making Joan laugh with her impressions. That hadn't changed either.
*
It didn't surprise anyone when they started dating, a month after their first study date. As hard as the medical students competed with each other, emotions ran high. Relationships began and ended over a cup of coffee or a misplaced phrase.
The surprising part was that they lasted more than a few weeks. They fought sometimes; during bad weeks, more often than not. They drilled each other, they did squats until their thighs ached, they got up early and went jogging, and then they crawled back into bed together and worked off their frustrations.
"We should get a dog," Joan said, her head pillowed on Carrie's stomach. She traced a finger lazily across Carrie's thigh.
"Mm. You can't even keep your plants alive," Carrie pointed out, stomach muscles tensing with a laugh. Joan liked the way that felt beneath her, a whole body movement.
"I didn't mean now," Joan said, as Carrie stroked her hair. "You can't have pets in the dorms. Anyway, those plants weren't very healthy when I got them."
"You didn't have to take them when Vera left," Carrie pointed out, scratching Joan's scalp with blunt fingernails. Joan curled into the movement.
"No one else was going to."
"You're a rescuer, Joan," Carrie said, voice contemplative. "You should learn when to let things go."
Joan didn't say anything more about it. They were probably too busy for a dog, anyway. Probably always would be.
*
Hospitals had a certain smell to them, a mix of worry and bleach. It used to be a comfortable scent for Joan, but now it just made her anxious. She found herself slipping back into old patterns without trying. She liked Carrie's patient; she'd played soccer herself when she was in high school, although never on an organized team.
The marks on the girl's toe worried her. At first she hadn't thought that being a detective was much like being a surgeon, but the disciplines informed each other. It wasn't a scrap of paper or a secret code or anything that Sherlock would be familiar with, but it was a clue all the same. And it worried her.
Carrie agreed to run the test, but Joan knew that it wasn't because Carrie believed her. Joan didn't know why she was surprised.
*
"It's about confidence," Carrie said, leaning over the sink, her hips bumping against Joan's. There really wasn't enough room in Joan's small bathroom for them to share the mirror, but they squeezed in there anyway. Carrie did her eyeliner with a practiced flick of the wrist.
"Confidence?" Joan repeated. She was brushing her hair.
"If I look my best, then I'll do my best," Carrie said. "No one's going to second-guess me. It shouldn't matter, but it does. You know that."
Joan did, but she had a hard time caring about it right now. She hated these early mornings. She yawned and reached around Carrie for her toothbrush.
"You look prettier without it," she said, and almost didn't catch the hurt look in Carrie's eyes. She didn't know how to respond.
*
They were leaving the hospital when Joan's phone buzzed a message.
EKG normal. Nothing to worry about :-), Carrie had sent her. Joan felt relieved, for a moment, but she couldn't get the image of Morgan's toe out of her mind. It was such a small symptom, pointing toward a disease that someone her age would almost never have.
But what if Carrie went ahead, and the girl died on the table? What if she had to go through the same thing that Joan had, the barrage of questions, the self-doubt, the loss of identity? She couldn't wish that on her worst enemy, much less someone whom she had cared about so much. And still cared about, really.
Sherlock agreed with her, not that he was a doctor. She wondered what she could say to convince Carrie that she was right. There had to be something she could do. What was one more test compared to Morgan's life and Carrie's career? Even if she did turn out to be wrong, even if her first instinct wasn't as correct as Sherlock assumed. It would still be worth it.
Joan would think about it and text Carrie back later, when she'd formed a good argument.
*
The first time they kissed was two days after that first coffee date, which had gone on until the Starbucks closed. They were lying next to each other on Carrie's bed on their stomachs, sharing a textbook and studying the circulatory system. Their legs were comfortably tangled. Now that they'd started talking to each other, it was so easy, like they'd known each other forever.
"You know," Carrie said, "when I was a kid in church, they used to say that there was a vein that ran all the way from your ring finger to the heart. And that's why we put our wedding rings on that finger."
"It's a nice story at least. Even if it's completely untrue," Joan said, her heart thumping. Carrie would not be the first woman she had kissed. Not even the first woman she had seriously kissed, although she and Nikki had only dated for two heady weeks one summer.
Before she could lose her nerve, she put a finger under Carrie's chin and turned their faces together. It was a wonderful kiss, so wonderful that they didn't get much more studying done that evening.
*
In the end, Joan couldn't think of anything convincing that could be conveyed in text. The next time Sherlock buried himself in hospital records, Joan went to find Carrie.
Instead of listening, Carrie shut her down. Joan couldn't do anything to change her mind. When Carrie got into one of these moods, she wouldn't give in for anything. Joan had seen it happen before. It made her a fierce debate partner and terrible to argue with. When they'd been dating, it had frustrated Joan to no end. But it was one thing when they couldn't decide who had washed the dishes last. It was another thing entirely right now. Joan couldn't just give in.
So Carrie went off to her next patient and Joan thought about it for a long moment. Then she grabbed a lab coat hanging up near the nurse's station. She knew where they would keep the order forms for procedures; she'd gotten Morgan's last name from the girl's chart when she'd met her the first time. She knew that everyone in the hospital was tired and overworked; if she neglected to sign the order, they'd chase down Carrie after the fact, so that the documents matched what they'd already done. No big deal.
That wasn't true. Maybe she was saving a life. Maybe two.
*
They broke up halfway through school, amicably. They had been spending less time together, drifting apart. Joan met someone, and although she turned down his advances, it made her remember what it was like to be single. And Carrie wanted more time for herself. Joan moved out of their tiny apartment and in with a friend. They stayed in touch, went on with their schooling, went on with their lives. Joan met Ty, and almost married him.
Then she met Liam, and made her mistake, and lost touch with all of her old friends.
*
"I wanted to let you know you were right," Carrie said. Her coat was thick, her lips were pursed. She'd come from work; Joan could smell that antiseptic on her, since her perfume had worn off over the day. She had a hard time meeting Joan's eyes.
Joan didn't feel triumphant. She hadn't done this to win. She didn't like how uncomfortable Carrie seemed, how she carefully maintained her personal space. The gap yawned between them. Carrie was still a doctor. Joan would never be again. And maybe Carrie was grateful for Joan's help, but she wasn't happy that she had to take it. There was nothing Joan could do to put her at ease.
So she gave her the only advice she had: be careful. Don't make assumptions. Check the smallest details. Don't spend a year and a half of your life regretting one small thing that became one very large one.
"You were a good friend, Joanie," Carrie said, "but you were a better doctor."
Joan let her go. She watched Carrie hurry down the front walk and hail a taxi. She swallowed the lump in her throat, and when she could speak again, she turned around. It felt like a final conversation. She knew that if she called or texted Carrie again, Carrie wouldn't answer. Or she'd make excuses instead of plans for coffee. Joan had burned another bridge. She felt a mixture of pride and sadness. Her instincts had been right, but Carrie was right too. She'd been a terrible friend after she lost her license. She'd stopped talking to anyone she'd met during medical school or afterwards. She'd deleted her Facebook and ignored calls and voicemails. Most people had stopped calling.
Carrie had kept trying. It was the stubbornness, it was their history. She'd emailed Joan three weeks before she'd taken this job with Sherlock. Joan had deleted the message without reading it.
*
Carrie was the first person Joan had called when she found out about the malpractice suit. Her hand was shaking. It took her three tries to dial the phone.
"Oh, Joanie," Carrie had said. "Oh, Joanie, it will be alright, don't worry. You'll get an attorney, he'll get things sorted out."
"Carrie, I think they're right. It's my fault," Joan answered in a moan. She had been headed out to work, but she couldn't go now. She pressed her back against the apartment door, the hard doorknob pressing into her back. It hurt, but she didn't move. She could hardly hear what Carrie was saying. Her brain was replaying the surgery, replaying her choices, replaying the mistake.
"I'm coming over," Carrie said, and the words managed to penetrate Joan's daze. "I'll call you in, and then I'll bring over some beer."
It was nine-thirty in the morning but Joan wasn't going to protest. Perhaps she should have called Ty instead of Carrie. But Ty would have wanted to start fixing things right away. He would have wanted to call her malpractice insurance and to get the forms. And he'd want her to go over it again and again. She was glad he wasn't a malpractice lawyer; otherwise he would insist on defending her, even though the insurance would provide someone.
"I'll see you in ten minutes," Carrie said. Joan nodded before she realized Carrie couldn't hear it. She felt like nothing would come around right ever again.
"Thank you, Carrie," Joan said into the phone, voice breathy, and she let herself sink to the floor. She was still there when Carrie rang the doorbell a few minutes later.
*
Sherlock's eyes were shining in the reflection of the television. He looked smug, and Joan supposed he had the right, catching two skilled murderers. She was trying not to think very hard about Dr.Baldwin. She understood his desperation, even if she would never dream of using his methods. He'd forgotten that his job was to help people to the best of his ability. Surgeons weren't gods, although she'd had plenty of colleagues who had been arrogant enough to think they were just as good. None of them had managed to fall that far.
Joan had enjoyed the challenge of surgery, of course. But she liked to think that she valued the patient interaction more. She liked to meet people and make them feel better. It was the most satisfying thing she'd ever done. She was glad that she could still do it, just in a different way.
She made her way up to bed and pulled out her tablet, intending to check her email before bed and maybe read the news. Instead, she pulled up her photos. She'd thrown all of the ones from her old life in a folder a while back so she didn't run into them by surprise. Settling back into the sheets, she paged through them. There were people she hadn't thought about in years, friends from her internship, some who'd moved to other hospitals, and some who'd probably be there for the rest of their careers. There was Eric, who was always telling terrible jokes, and Kim, who had a personal life as complicated as a soap opera. And of course there were pictures of her with Carrie, plenty of those. Carrie with her arms around Joan, Carrie with a hand possessive on Joan's arm, one where they were looking at each other, not touching, but not needing to: the look they were sharing, eyes crinkled with humor, showed their closeness. To Joan, it all felt like such a long time ago. Not just her past, but another life entirely. She hardly recognized the women in her photos.
Joan sighed. She pulled up the menu and clicked delete. Then she hesitated. She wasn't sure she had backups of these files. They might be on an old flash drive in her apartment, but she couldn't say for sure. If she deleted these, she might never see them again.
She pushed the button. It was time to stop looking back. Meeting up with Carrie had just reinforced it. She knew that she wasn't going to be a surgeon again. It was time to really accept that. She couldn't separate her former relationships from her former career, and that poisoned those relationships. She had hoped to reconcile with everyone eventually, but perhaps it was better this way, to make one final clean break.
She put the tablet away and turned off the light. Curling into the covers, she sighed a little. She'd always have the memories.