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It starts with a simple question in the lounge.
“Dr Greene? Could I… could I ask for a favor?”
And somehow, a week later, Mark is standing with his hands in his pockets, trying and failing to suppress a grin as a very woozy Carter is parked in front of him by a nurse with kind eyes.
“Hi there- you must be… Dr Greene?”
Mark cocks his head, amused. “Did he…?”
“Oh, he’s been chatting away to us about you. And a Dr Benton. Not sure what the consensus is on him, we were getting mixed messages.”
A short burst of laughter escapes Mark’s lips, and he nods. “That sounds about right… How is he?”
He gestures towards Carter, who has remained half-slumped in the wheelchair throughout the conversation, cheeks puffy, eyelids intermittently drooping. The nurse chuckles gently and rubs Carter on the shoulder with clear affection.
“Oh, he’s been fantastic. Such a sweetheart.”
Mark’s chest warms with an almost fatherly pride. “Yeah?”
“Yep. We don't like to judge patients based on how they are after sedation, of course, but if John’s anything like this in his everyday life, he must be a pleasure to have around. Very chatty and kind.”
John. Carter's first name sounds almost discordant to Mark’s ears, distracting. It's a reminder that, yes, this medical student is far more than the last name that Benton barks at him so often.
Though judging by what the nurse is telling him, Carter is one of those sorts of people who don't hide their true selves beneath tens of layers. He's just… Carter. Sweet, caring Carter.
“He’s a good egg.” Mark says, smiling. “Aren't you, bud?”
“Hm?” Carter glances upwards, eyes slightly glazed over and heavy-lidded, even this small movement clumsy. Before Mark can repeat his comment, Carter nods thickly, as if there's a delay between hearing the information and it reaching his brain. “Oh… poached, maybe? Th'nk you."
His words are slurred and muffled by the gauze in his cheeks, but they're spoken with the utmost gravity. Like he has absolutely no idea why what he's said is ridiculous.
The nurse laughs. “He’s going to be fairly out of it for a while still, because of the sedatives, but they'll wear off in a few hours. After that he's got some pain meds to take which will probably knock him out for the night.”
“Right.”
“I’ve got the aftercare sheet here”- she pulls out a folded sheet of paper from a pocket on the back of the wheelchair and offers it to Mark- “which just goes over the main things. It's all pretty standard: liquids and soft foods for a few days, nothing too hot or too cold, no straws, that sort of thing.”
Mark takes the sheet and gives it a cursory glance before folding it up and placing it in the front pocket of his satchel. “Of course. I’m taking him back to the ER where we work for a couple of hours, so he'll be in good hands.”
The nurse smiles warmly. “Perfect. I'll let you get to it, then.” She crosses to the front of the wheelchair and places her hand on Carter's shoulder again.
"John?”
He swings his head to meet her gaze.
“You can get up now, sweetheart. Dr Greene’s driving you home.”
(Home? Well, with the time they all spend there, it may as well be).
Carter frowns, expression adorably exaggerated, genuine disappointment written all over his face. “Y’re leaving?”
The nurse squeezes his shoulder. “You can always come back and see us, baby. But I've got to go now- Dr Greene’s looking after you.”
She points in Mark’s direction and Carter’s gaze swings round again. His eyes alight on Mark as though it's his first time noticing him, and a dopey grin spreads across his face.
“Do'tor Greene! Y’re here!”
Mark smiles, sighing. It's evidently going to be a long few hours.
“Oh my god, what did you do to him?” Susan squeals, laughing like a giddy child.
Carter has just been guided into another wheelchair at admit (“haven’ got m’sea legs yet”) when she arrives, and it's clear that she's not the only one to notice him. Jerry frowns bemusedly at him from behind the desk. Carol, walking past, does a double take and slows to a halt next to Susan.
“Taken to drugging the med students, Mark?” She asks dryly.
Mark rolls his eyes. “He's fine. He just asked me to pick him up from getting his wisdom teeth removed and he's a little… delicate.”
Susan titters. “I suppose you could say that.” She crouches down, hand landing on Carter's shoulder like the nurse’s had. “Hey, Carter. How’re you doing?”
He lifts his head again and mumbles incoherently through the gauze. Susan just pats him on the head, grinning widely.
“Sure, sure…”
“I’m gonna get him somewhere private.” Mark says pointedly, raising his eyebrows. “Where he's not going to be mobbed.”
Carter slurs something that sounds vaguely like ‘where’s the pirate’ and Susan guffaws. Mark shoos her away, pushing the wheelchair round the corner towards the doctor’s lounge. Carol waves after him.
“Bye, Carter!”
He lifts a hand and waves back without turning his head, incredibly uncoordinated.
“Buh-bye, Car’l.”
Carter is surprisingly acquiescent as Mark sets him up in the lounge, getting him comfortable on the couch with a blanket and a McDonald’s milkshake they picked up on the journey over (straw tactfully removed, of course). He says please and thank you, even when otherwise quiet. He tells Mark repeatedly that he's a good friend. He tells Mark that he's never had such a good friend in his life.
He tells Mark that he really didn't want to go back to his parents’ place, because they wouldn't be comfortable seeing him like this.
It comes out far more garbled, muffled, and slow, of course, but it hits like a sucker punch all the same. Mark sits on the couch beside Carter, voice dipping into the gentle, supportive tone he uses for patients.
“Why wouldn't they be comfortable, Carter?”
The student shrugs, limbs still loose, movements still exaggerated. “No’ sure. They jus’... like things t’be proper.” He laughs after a second, chuckling giddily, and sweeps a hand over himself as if gesturing at all his current situation. “N I mos’ definitely am not ‘proper’ righ’ now.”
This seems to be it, at least it does for a minute or so. When the silence has started to stretch on, though, and his intermittent giggles fade out, he suddenly turns to look at Mark, expression imploring. It should be amusing given his current resemblance to a foraging chipmunk, but somehow the desperation in his eyes is so raw it drains the scene of all humour.
“I don’ wanna go home tonigh".” He mumbles quietly. “D’you think I coul’ stay here, maybe?”
Mark’s insides feel cold. He tries to imagine himself as a young man, with easy access to his parents- particularly to his mother- and even when their relationship was strained, he knows he would have wanted to be with them in this situation. He would've nestled against his mother’s side on the couch, cheeks swollen, feeling sorry for himself, and she would've wrapped an arm around him and watched over him all night.
What sort of relationship does Carter have with his parents that he doesn't wish to be near them even when he's like this, overly affectionate and vulnerable? What sort of home life awaits him if he'd much rather spend his night in the noisy chaos of the ER rather than tucked up in his own bed?
But Mark doesn't ask these questions tonight. He just nods.
“Of course, bud. I’ll find you a nice bed and-”
“Couch‘s fine.” Carter interrupts, cheeks heating. “Good, really. Like the… fridge noises, ‘n… y'know…”
Mark blinks, because no, he doesn't know at all, but then Carol slips in to make a cup of coffee, giving Carter a little smile as she enters, and everything clicks.
There are people here. There are always people.
They flit in and out, poke their heads in, stand by the coffee machine making small talk and clinking their spoons against their mugs, and it's… soothing. Oddly domestic.
He looks back at Carter, lips already parted to express his agreement, but finds that the student has already fallen asleep, chin tipping against his chest, blanket rumpled on his lap. He's still just about holding the McDonald’s cup, though it's tilting at an angle which suggests there's going to be a sticky mess of milkshake all over the carpet if he’s not careful (vanilla with chocolate sauce. He'd insisted on it, and had nearly cried when Mark gently suggested he just order a chocolate one to make things easier).
Mark slowly extricates the cup from his grasp and sets it on the coffee table. Shifts closer and carefully urges Carter into a more comfortable position, so he's laying down on his side against the cushions. Shakes out the blanket and pulls it up and over him.
Carol wanders past, stirring her coffee. She sees Carter sleeping and her lip quirks up, cocking her head and watching him with a kind of fascination.
“He crashing here for the night?”
Mark nods. His throat feels vaguely dry when he speaks. “He wanted to stay.”
Carol’s brow furrows just as his surely did, then softens. She nods.
“Alright. We’ll... keep an eye on him.”
And Mark knows that this will remain true far beyond the quiet hours of the night.