Peter approached the apartment building warily, his eyes constantly checking for signs that anything was amiss. All of the windows were dark; Peter wondered if the tenants had evacuated themselves out of fear, or if the police had told them to vacate the building for the night. The police themselves were nowhere to be seen, and Peter shrugged. Either the investigation had been suspended for the night, or they'd already found everything they needed. He lifted the bright yellow crime scene tape and bent at the waist, stepping under it quickly.

The front door was ajar.

Peter stared up at it from the steps for a moment. Would the police have left the door to a crime scene open? Certainly not. Maybe one of the tenants had not closed it completely in a rush to leave. Again, no, because the police would surely have still been there to make sure the scene was secure.

That could really only mean one thing.

Dave had come back once that day; he'd done it again.

Peter finished climbing the stairs without a sound, and pushed the door open quietly. One look at the splintered wood on the doors confirmed his original speculation, and he looked up the stairs with dark, narrow eyes. The son of a bitch was there.

Peter ascended to the second floor, his eyes never wavering from the wide-open door to Carter and Abby's apartment. Dave had tried to kill Carter not once, but twice. Both times he had attacked Carter in the places he should feel the most safe: at home and at the hospital. He had returned to the scene of his original crime two separate times, and Peter wondered for a second what had happened to make Dave turn on his friend so suddenly and violently. He'd had his differences with Malucci, and he'd never claim to have really liked the man. But he'd never seemed particularly unstable or psychotic. Maybe there was something really wrong with him; maybe Malucci was a truly sick man in need of help. Maybe Peter should show some compassion and understanding and try to see to it that Dave got better.

Maybe Peter just needed to get his hands around the man's neck.

The moon shone through the windows, casting on eerie light on the silent apartment. Peter could see the faint leavings of the fingerprinting dust everywhere: on the walls, the floors, the furniture. He noticed a tiny beam of light shining from around the bathroom door, and he felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. Slowly, carefully, his senses heightened to detect anything unexpected, he crossed the floor and pushed the door open.

Not much had changed. The police hadn't even bothered to clean up the blood, though he doubted that was part of their job to begin with. The syringe was gone, as was the razorblade. He saw his cell phone still lying on the floor under the sink, and he bent to retrieve it. It beeped as he picked it up, and he jumped involuntarily. He forced his heart to slow down as he realized that it was just the phone alerting him to a message. Glancing around once more to make certain he was alone, he entered the code to retrieve the message and pressed the phone to his ear.

The voice that spoke to him through the phone made his blood run cold.

"Nighty night, Dr. Pete."

"What the hell..." Peter began, spinning back toward the door as he suddenly sensed someone standing behind him.

He didn't even see what hit him.

Dave stood over Peter's unconscious form, a short length of pipe in his hand. As a small trickle of blood began to run from Peter's scalp to his forehead, Dave grinned.

"Nighty night."

Abby sat alone on the bench in the ambulance bay, a forgotten cigarette burning between her fingers as she gazed up at the stars above. To describe the day's events as overwhelming would have been an understatement. To describe them as shocking would have been simplistic. To say they were unexpected would have been ludicrous. How could she describe what it felt like to have someone repeatedly try to kill John? How could she even begin to explain how it felt to almost lose him so quickly after she'd finally found him to begin with? So wrapped in her own thoughts was she that she didn't realize Susan had come outside to sit beside her until the other woman nudged her in the ribs.

"Hey... you okay?"

Abby sighed and leaned back, looking down at the fading glow of embers before tossing the cigarette on the ground. "Should I be?"

Susan rubbed her legs against the cold and looked at her friend. "I don't know."

"I thought he did it, Susan," Abby began, the words rushing out before she even realized she was thinking them. "I thought... I mean, I honestly believed that he'd... how could I think that he would..."

"Hey, we all did," Susan interrupted. "And I'll tell you, after what I saw in that trauma room, I think we were supposed to."

"Yeah, but I shouldn't have, you know? Things are going great...well, as great as they can anyway. He's happy. And he doesn't just seem happy. He actually is. And it's his birthday..."

"I thought his birthday was in June."

Abby smiled softly. "His NA birthday. Two years today he's been clean. We were going to do something tonight, go see a show or something, to celebrate."

"Oh, wow," Susan said quietly. "I had no idea."

Abby just nodded, returning her gaze to the clear dark sky as Susan shoved her own hands deeper into her pockets.

"It's getting cold out here," Susan observed.

"Is it?" Abby sounded surprised.

"It's ten o'clock at night, in December, in Chicago. Of course it's cold."

"Yeah, I guess it is."

Susan stood, looking down at Abby as she did so. "Come inside." Abby made no move to do so, and Susan continued. "He's all right now, Abby."

"I hope so," Abby whispered.

Susan gave no indication if she had heard the wish, but placed her hand on her friend's back. "He'll be waking up soon. And I don't even want to be the first face he sees this time. He's going to be mad enough at me as it is."

Abby sighed and stood, following Susan toward the doors. Suddenly Abby stopped, staring through the doors without really seeing what was behind them.

"Abby?" Susan asked, her voice full of concern.

Abby turned and locked eyes with her friend, and the events of the day replayed in her mind. Things she'd felt, things she'd done, things she'd said...

"I love him." Silent tears rolled down Abby's cheeks as she fully realized just exactly what those words meant. "God, Susan, I love him so much."

Susan simply smiled, and wrapped her arm around Abby's shoulder. "I know."

"What?" Abby asked, looking at her in surprise.

"I've known for months, Abby. Hell... I've been wondering why it was taking you so long to figure it out."

Abby let out a small laugh and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "I think I've known for a long time, actually. Years. I just... I just never thought to say it."

"Well," Susan began, smiling as she and Abby made their way through the doors. "I might be wrong about this, but I think you're telling the wrong person."

"I already told him," Abby answered softly. "I just don't know if he heard me or not."

"Then maybe you should tell him again."

They walked down the hallway in silence until they reached the door to Trauma Two, and then both stood just looking in.

"Go on," Susan urged, pushing the door open slightly. "Go tell him again."

Abby smiled and nodded as she walked into the darkened room. "Thank you, Susan."

"You're welcome."

A few moments later, satisfied that both Carter and Abby were going to be all right, Susan smiled and walked away.

Luka pulled up in front of the apartment building and looked out his window. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, except for the bright yellow police tape that circled the building. There were no cars on the street, no one was around, and the door was closed. The only thing that seemed different was that all of the windows were dark, but he figured that everyone that lived in the building had just decided to sleep somewhere else that night. He took a deep breath and turned the ignition off, climbing out of the rented car and walking toward the building slowly.

The door swung open easily when he pushed on it, and he noticed for the first time the splintered wood and the pry marks that marred the area around the latches on both doors. Luka glanced up and around him, looking for any sign that someone was in the building with him. Seeing and hearing nothing, he began to climb the stairs to the apartment Carter now shared with Abby.

He stopped at the top of the landing and stared at the open door. So little had changed in the past year that he found himself momentarily slipping back in time to a time when he had been the one using a key to open this apartment. He had been the one who would act as the man of the house, though he had never actually lived there. Abby would open her door, and her bedroom, to him. They would watch television, or not, as the mood struck them. They had been so close to being a family then, he and Abby.

Now it was all Carter.

Dave had tried to take everything away from them. He had tried twice to kill Carter that day, and Luka couldn't help but wonder how things would have changed had he been successful. Abby would have been devastated, most certainly. And Luka wondered if she'd have turned to him for comfort.

He'd had a chance to find out, he knew. He could have simply turned the blood pressure monitor off and walked back out of the room, leaving Carter to die on the gurney. Saving him had been an instinct, an immediate reaction. He hadn't thought about it, or contemplated not intervening. And to be honest, Abby hadn't entered his mind at all at the time. Carter had been in serious trouble, and Luka had stepped in to help him. He thought it might even be possible that somewhere, deep down, he might actually like Carter.

Luka shook his head and forced the thoughts from his mind. Now was not the time to be analyzing his relationship with Carter and Abby. He had more important things to do.

He had to find Dave.

He walked into the apartment and looked around the familiar rooms, uncertain as to what he was actually looking for. He saw the shaft of light from the bathroom cutting through the darkness of the apartment, and he walked toward it. He tried to push the door open, but felt resistance on the other side. He pulled back slightly, and rammed his shoulder in to the door, shoving it open a few inches more. He repeated the action until he heard a muffled curse shouted weakly on the other side. The door was open far enough for him to look into the bathroom and see what was in the way.

"Peter!"

Peter moaned and rolled away from the door, giving Luka the space he needed to enter the room.

"Peter, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were there..."

Peter waved him off and tried to sit up, swaying a bit as he did so. Luka placed a hand against his back to help steady the surgeon.

"Peter, what happened?"

"Dave," Peter answered, touching his head carefully where it throbbed.

Luka inspected the area on Peter's head quickly, easily finding the large bump and the oozing blood. "You're going to need stitches on that," he observed. "Most certainly a concussion, if not a fracture. We need to get you back to..."

Peter blinked a few times, and pulled away from Luka's hand. "No, no, I'm all right. I just need a... just give me a minute."

"You were unconscious, you're bleeding, you're..."

"How's Carter?"

Luka sighed, momentarily giving up on winning the argument. "When I left, he was stabilizing. His blood pressure was going back down. The CT confirmed a mild stroke, but I think we got his BP back down in time to avoid any serious long-term damage."

Peter turned to look up at him, squinting against the harsh lights. "Why are you here? Why aren't you still there with him?"

"Someone has to find Dave."

"You know, I thought the same thing when I came here. Now, I'm thinking maybe we should just let the police find him." Peter held his head as he pushed himself to his feet, grateful when Luka took him by the arms and helped him to stand.

"Yes, well... we have a small problem there."

"What? With the police?"

"Yes."

"What kind of problem?"

"Well...they think I did it."

Peter stared at him, dumbfounded. "You're kidding."

Luka shook his head and pursed his lips. "I wish I were."

Peter rubbed his head again as he began walking shakily out of the bathroom. "So who exactly is looking for Dave?"

Luka looked at Peter, locking eyes with him and not saying a word.

"Right," Peter acknowledged, stumbling a bit in the door. Luka grabbed him quickly to keep him from falling to the floor. "I think I'll reconsider going to the ER for the moment, though."

"I think that's probably for the best, Peter. There's a guard on Carter's room, and he should be safe where he is. Dave would have to be crazy to go back there again."