Topping and Tailing
Part Six
By Clotho & Cathy
clothomoerae@hotmail.com and huntersglenn@yahoo.com

Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John Carter/Dave Malucci
Date: May 18, 2001
Archive: Not without permission. The story and its prequel, "Bottoms Up", can be found at Clotho's fanfic site http://home.talkcity.com/antennaav/fatespinner/) and at the Carterfics site (http://www.geocities.com/Paris/Boutique/7087/).
Disclaimer: "ER" and all its characters belong to Warner Bros. No infringement of their copyright is intended. This story was written for the enjoyment of "ER" fans everywhere, and may be downloaded for your own pleasure. We owe a huge "Thank you" to Alice and Melissa, our wonderful editors. We couldn't have done it without the two of you!



Previously:

John felt an anger start to grow as soon as he heard
Dave say 'Whatever'. He was really beginning to hate
that word. John felt as if he had said everything he
could, either Dave didn't want to listen to him or was
just too dense to understand. Either way, John was
tired of talking. Tired of having to explain
everything he did. Everything that made Dave say
'whatever'. John just happened to be by the sink by
then and the pan was the nearest thing. He grabbed the
handle and hurled the pan across the room, taking some
satisfaction in hearing the crash of metal as it slid
across the cooking island and hitting the other pans
there, sending a lot of them into the floor. Tossing
the pan helped to alleviate John's frustration over his
bodily aches and pains. "Whatever," John firmly said,
then he turned around and walked out of the kitchen,
not caring if Dave showed up in the bedroom.


As John went up the stairs, he was still angry. Why
did Dave have to make everything so damn hard? All
John had wanted was to get some relief from his back.
A little understanding from Dave while he was doing it
would have been nice. But did he get that from Dave?
John shook his head. No. All he got was, don't go to
the whirlpool, go to the bedroom. And then when John
said he was going upstairs to his room, he got that
damn 'whatever' -- John was at his wits' end at what to
do or think around Dave.


Dave watched in disbelief as the pans cascaded to the
floor. One rolled over to him, and landed on his
foot. When the last tinkle of metal against imported
Italian ceramic tile had died down Dave looked up.
Carter was gone.

Gone.

Dave looked at the food in front of him, and his
stomach turned.

He stood up and walked back to the pool-room. He
wasn't going to stay anywhere where things were thrown
at him. It wasn't worth the grief. Not at all. There
weren't many clearer ways of saying 'get out' than
throwing a pan-full of food at someone, and Carter had
just done that. So Dave would get.

Dave found his way back to the pool-room easily. He
didn't usually have a bad sense of direction - but it
was a large house, and it had been dark night when he
arrived. His clothes were over by the lounge chair
from last night, he hurried toward them - he'd get
dressed and leave. Then found himself flying though
the air and landing heavily on one side.

Shit.

Oil and water and marble were a potent combination.

From where he had landed he could see his muscle
shirt. Soaking wet, and half on the edge of the
whirlpool. He couldn't put it on again. It would be
freezing outside in it - and besides it would smell of
Carter.

Dave scrambled up, and made his way to the rest of this
clothes. It was a meagre pile. Jeans and boxers and
sneakers. That was it. And he'd dripped water over
them all in his earlier haste to get to the muscle
shirt.

It didn't take more than thirty seconds to get
dressed. There was no point trying to ring a cab - he
didn't know where he was, and anyway nothing could get
in that gate. He'd walk, maybe hail one from the
street.

Dave wasn't too sure if he could find his way to the
door they'd entered the house through last night. But
it didn't matter. There was a door from this room
leading to what must be the outdoor pool area. He
undid the floor and ceiling bolts then left, shutting
the door behind him.



As the hot water started to work on relaxing his
spasming back muscles, John's temper started to
dwindle. He really had behaved badly by throwing that
pan. But that pan had symbolized just how he had felt
-- a failure. A complete and total failure. His Gamma
would have been horrified to have seen him do that.
And in front of a guest, no less.

John turned off the shower and reached for a towel. He
would go and apologize to Dave. Hopefully, Dave would
forgive him for acting like a child. John pulled on
some casual clothes and headed down to the kitchen.



Outside it was cold. Very cold.

Very cold, and this side of the house was in the
shade. Dave quickly walked around the corner to
outside the flower room - that had been sunny.

It was a relief to get into the sun - but a short lived
one. It was still cold. Still very cold.

Still, if he followed around here eventually he'd find
his way to the car-park, and the road off the estate.
Dave walked fast, keeping his eyes on the path - he
didn't want to fall down again like he had in the pool
room. Fast was also warmer.



Dave wasn't in the kitchen, but a mess was. John
cleaned up the burned French toast from the floor and
picked up a few of the pans. Dave had either tried to
find his way upstairs or gone to the pool room again.
John smiled as he remembered what he and Dave had done
earlier in the pool room. It had been good. Very
good. How had things gone so wrong so quickly?

A shadow passed by the kitchen door and John walked
over to it. None of the staff was expected back yet.
Looking out, John saw someone walking away from the
house. Someone dressed in jeans, with no shirt. Dave.

Shit. What in the Hell was Dave doing walking outside
half dressed?

John unlocked the door as quickly as he could, then
stepped outside.
"Dave?" he called out. "Dave!"



He suddenly heard someone calling his name, and turned
around. Carter. Carter holding a fry-pan.

Well, Dave didn't need to have two fry-pans thrown at
him in one morning to get the message.

After a few steps his body began to ache. Where he'd
fallen just now. His asshole. The punches from last
night. The places Carter had bitten him. They all
ached. But he kept running.

Down the drive.

Away from the house.

Away from Carter.



John stared; his mouth open as Dave looked at him and
then turned around and started to run. Why was Dave
running? Running away from him? John knew he could
never catch up to Dave on foot, so he grabbed his keys
from the counter where he had tossed them last night,
tossed the pan in the general direction of the counter,
not caring where it landed, and headed for his Jeep.
He could catch up to Dave. Find out what was wrong
now! Jesus, he wasn't this upset about him throwing
a tantrum, was he?

John started the Jeep and took off down the drive,
easily gaining on Dave. He pulled alongside of him and
rolled down his window so he would talk to him. Get
him to stop and get into the Jeep.



Dave heard the Jeep coming up behind him. He
lengthened his stride - ignoring all the muscle aches.
It didn't do any good, of course.

The driveway bent through some trees and Dave ran off
it trying for a shortcut through them.

The snow was in deep drifts here. Waist high. Chest
high. He stumbled through it, best as he could. He
was so cold. The joints in his toes ached. The
injured muscles ached.

Dave looked around to try and assess where Carter was.



John cursed under his breath when Dave ran off the
driveway. Well, sooner or later Dave would end up at
the gate. It was the only way off the estate. The
walls around the property were topped with barbed wire
and glass was embedded in top of them. Dave could
never get over that. At least John hoped that Dave
wouldn't try to climb over that. John still had scars
on his arms -- faint scars, but scars nonetheless --
from trying to climb over them when he was a kid. Chase
had dared him to do it and John had to prove he could.
He almost made it, too, and was nearly over the side
when his grandfather plucked him off the wall. That's
when he got most of his cuts -- from trying to hold on.

John pulled to a stop in front of the gate, and opened
the door of the Jeep. He hadn't even put on shoes, so
he couldn't wait on the driveway for Dave, but he could
at least look as if he was receptive to anything Dave
had to say. With a sigh, John settled back to wait.



Chest high snow was just stupid. Dave's toes were
going numb - had gone numb strictly speaking. He might
be cold but he wasn't stupid - or not very stupid
anyway. Dave had no intention of dying of hypothermia
- it would be a waste of a perfectly good life.

Dave began to back-track to the driveway. One good
thing about the ice was it had frozen his aches - he
couldn't feel anymore where Carter had bitten him, or
the multitude of other injuries. The back tracking
seemed to take longer than the ploughing through the
drifts had to begin with, and he fell a couple of times
- couldn't feel his feet.

Maybe it was best not to feel anything.

He got back to the driveway eventually, then set on
following it through the woods. At least the surface
here was smooth, and he could see it. He'd have to get
a cab fast - soon as he got outside. It was cold.

Carter would be long gone. Maybe he'd left the gate
open for him - that would be nice. Or there might be a
pedestrian gate, or he could climb the wall.

He wondered where Carter had gone - back to the
druggie? He rubbed his arms and made his teeth chatter
as he walked, he was so cold. Anything to warm up. All
his body hair was standing upright - doing its best to
conserve what little heat there was.

Dave turned a corner and saw the gateway, and the
Jeep. It was sitting there, bang in front of the
gateway. A closed gateway, and a Jeep with an open
door. He could set off along the wall, find another
gate. Or climb the wall, but his fingers were cold and
responded only slowly to his commands.

There was only one even vaguely sane thing to do. He
approached the Jeep. There was heat pouring out of the
open doorway - like there was some worm-hole connecting
it directly with Hawaii. So warm. He walked closer
than he'd intended to before he spoke. "Are you going
to let me out, or d'ya want to throw something else at
me first?"

John had been watching the woods for a sign of Dave and
was taken by surprise when he heard Dave's voice from
just behind the Jeep. Looking carefully at Dave, John
could see that the man was nearly blue from the cold.
He needed to get Dave warmed up -- and fast. And then
Dave's words hit John -- what did he mean by throwing
something at him? He had not done that. He had thrown
the pan, but not at Dave. But, before he could
question Dave about that, the first order of business
was getting him warm. "You're not going anywhere half
dressed and blue. Get in and we'll go back to the
house."

Going anywhere warm sounded pretty good to Dave. Even
outside the open door, he could feel the warmth coming
from the Jeep's heater - it was good. But he stood by
his principle - doing his best to speak the words
clearly. "Gonna throw anything at me?"

John shook his head. "No. I'm not going to throw
anything at you." Maybe the cold was affecting Dave's
mind, John wondered. "Please get in the Jeep. If you
still want to leave once you're warm, then I'll call a
cab for you, okay?"

Dave nodded and walked to the other side of the Jeep,
half-tripping. He fumbled at the door handle. But he
couldn't get his fingers to work right. They kept on
slipping off the metal grip.

"I'll get it." John hopped out of the vehicle, the
cold of the asphalt feeling like pinpricks on the soles
of his bare feet. But his discomfort was nothing to
what Dave had to be feeling. John opened the door and
stood by to help Dave get into the Jeep if it was
necessary.

Dave clambered upwards. He'd jumped into this easily
yesterday, but now it was tricky. His feet slipped
from the running board once, but he got in and huddled
over the hot air vent.

The drive back to the house was a quiet one, with John
mainly watching Dave as the other man huddled near the
heater, which was on full blast. When he parked, John
made sure he was as close to the kitchen door as he
could get, so that Dave wouldn't have to walk far. "We
should go on up to the bedroom. The fastest way to get
you warm is for us to get under the covers together.
With no clothes in the way."

Dave didn't want to move from the heater. He knew that
the great, warm house was only a few yards away, but
the heater was here and now. He sighed when the heater
was turned off. It seemed so unnecessary. But Carter
did things like that. Turn off. Walk away.

John didn't wait for any comments from Dave. He just
got out of the Jeep and went to open the kitchen door.
He hoped that by now Dave would be able to handle the
grip on the door.

Dave sat dully in the seat until he saw Carter had the
door to the house open. The heater just wasn't going
to go on again. He knew he had to move, get warm. And
the heater here was off. He stretched his fingers
moving them, and by dint of concentrating hard got the
door open.

The cold outdoors hit Dave square in the face. It
blasted him through the wet clothes that had just been
beginning to warm up. He struggled toward the door.
The house was warm - he knew that. Carter couldn't
have turned all the heating in there off already.

John watched Dave struggle to just walk and decided to
throw caution to the wind. If Dave got angry with him
again, upset even, then so be it. But John couldn't
just watch Dave struggle. He walked over to Dave and
put his arm around him, holding Dave close and
supporting him. "We need to get you out of the wind.
Come on." As John helped Dave into the house, he
quickly assessed Dave's physical condition. Dave was
definitely suffering from hypothermia but John just
wasn't sure how serious Dave's condition was at the
moment.

Dave felt the warmth from Carter's body encircle him,
cut through him. He was hot. Where Carter touched
there was no cold air. He followed Carter to the
house.

Once inside, John used his foot to shut the door, not
caring if it was locked or not. He helped Dave up the
stairs and into his room, sitting him down on the bed.
John knelt to remove Dave's shoes. "You'll be warmed
up soon, Dave." John said, not liking the fact that
much of Dave's skin still had a bluish tint to it.
Please don't let him have frostbite or severe
hypothermia, John prayed.

Dave noticed dully that he was leaving a wet spot on
the comforter. It was spreading slowly out from his
jeans, darkening the fabric. He looked at the toes of
his right foot and told them to wiggle - after a moment
they responded to the request. They seemed to be part
of another body - one very, very far away. It was
easier to just sit there and do nothing except let the
heat in the house assault him, than actually think. He
wiggled his toes again, and watched them move.

John saw Dave's toes move -- that was a good sign. "We
need to get these pants off you." John undid the
buttons of the fly, expecting Dave to either stand or
lie down -- anything to help out with this. But Dave
didn't move. "Dave? I've got to get these pants off
of you. They're wet and leaching body heat away from
you. Lie down, okay?"

Dave felt a hand pushing him backwards - and lay down
obedient to it. His eyes fixed on one of the posts at
the side of the bed. He rolled over to look at it.
The wood was dark and ornately carved. It went in and
out all the way up to the top. In and out.

John had difficulty getting the pants over Dave's
hips. The jeans had been tight enough when they were
dry, but wet they were impossible to move. John kept
an extra pair of surgical scissors in his nightstand
drawer, and he got them out. "Sorry about this," he
said as he started at the waist and began to cut the
jeans off of Dave's body. After freeing one leg, John
managed to get Dave to turn over so he could free the
other leg. He was then able to pull the material out
from under Dave.

John didn't see any signs of serious frostbite, which
was good -- he had not been looking forward to having
to ignore one ailment while tending to another, and the
hypothermia would have taken priority.

John rolled Dave over until he was on the fitted sheet
before he covered him up with the dry top sheet. The
comforter was damp, so John pulled it off the bed and
went to the guestroom and grabbed one off that bed. He
draped it over Dave, then headed down to the kitchen to
make tea. Warm, not hot, with plenty of sugar in it.
While the water was boiling, John gathered up high
carbohydrate foods for Dave: cupcakes, chocolate candy,
cheese and bread. John grabbed a tray and placed all
the food and a mug on it, then threw a tea bag into the
boiling water. He knew it wasn't the proper way to
brew tea, but it was the quickest. The tea went into
the largest teapot John could find, then was slightly
diluted to bring the temperature of the water down to
warm. Lots of sugar went into the pot and John stirred
it thoroughly. When all was ready, he headed back
upstairs.

Carter was gone again. He'd just walked out of the
room and left. Again. This was just silly. Dave
didn't know anther word for it. Just silly. If Carter
was going to leave again, why'd he brought him back
here? It didn't make any sense. Silly. Dave stared
blindly ahead, wrapping the comforter, that did nothing
to keep the cold out, around himself.

Putting the tray on the nightstand, John roused Dave.
"You need to sit up for a bit, Dave. I've got
something warm for you to drink." John poured the tea
into the mug and took a sip. His face scrunched up
over how sweet it was, but he knew it was just what
Dave needed. And it wasn't too hot. John held the mug
up to Dave's mouth, helping him to drink the liquid.
"Here, eat some of this." John slipped a piece of a
chocolate bar into Dave's mouth. He knew he should
take Dave's temperature, but right now he was more
concerned with getting the liquid into Dave's body.
Besides, he knew Dave wouldn't be too thrilled with
having his temperature taken rectally, and that was the
best way to take it right now. Dave was groggy enough
from the hypothermia for John to be able to take it in
a few minutes and probably not have Dave even what was
happening.

Carter was back again, and making him sit up. Dave hit
out - he didn't want to move. He didn't want the
comforter taken from him. He didn't want to be forced
out of the bed and hit with whichever kitchen implement
Carter was now holding. A mug, teapot nearby. Stupid
thing to be hit with. Silly.

John deftly moved out of the way of the blow so the mug
wouldn't go flying. He knew that Dave was probably not
thinking straight at the moment and he had to be aware
of that as he dealt with Dave.

"More tea, Dave." John held the mug up again, helping
Dave. "Good. Drink it all down. Can you feel it
working?"

Dave felt himself warming up. His limbs stopped
hunching together with the cold. Sometime - he
couldn't tell when - he fell asleep.

After Dave was snuggled once more under the dry
comforter, John made sure that even Dave's head was
covered before he readied a rectal thermometer. He
moved the comforter aside and a few minutes later he
had a reading. And while he wasn't happy with it, he
wasn't all that upset either. It could have been
worse. At least with that temperature, John didn't have
to get Dave to the hospital for advanced and
concentrated help.

John roamed the house and gathered a few hot water
bottles, filling them and then wrapping them in towels
before placing them strategically along Dave's body.
Then he stripped and crawled into bed beside Dave,
molding his body to Dave's so the younger man could
gain some of his body heat.

He had to get Dave warm. He had to find out why Dave
left like that, with no warning. No goodbye. Hadn't
Dave said he wanted to stay? Hadn't Dave said that he
belonged to him? He pulled Dave even closer to his
body, half afraid to find out the answers to his
questions.

Dave lay. There was softness beneath him, and above
him. And Carter's warmth beside him. He was still so
cold though. He'd been warm this morning. Dave rolled
onto his side, facing away from Carter - he'd intended
to wiggle backwards, have it be like this morning, but
even that rolling had required a titanic effort. He
shut his eyes and lay there, wishing that Carter would
snuggle up behind him.

When Dave rolled away, John at first thought that Dave
was still trying to get away from him. Then he
mentally kicked himself. Dave was probably not
thinking right, or was just trying to get comfortable.
At least that's what John hoped as he moved to keep his
body behind Dave's. It was important to keep skin to
skin contact. And not just because Dave needed the
warmth. But because this way John could pretend that
Dave had never left the house. Hell, he could pretend
that they were not yet out of bed. That none of the
arguing had ever happened and that he had not thrown a
tantrum like a child, even if his counselors in Atlanta
had recommended that John do that from time to time.
Anything to keep from bottling his feelings inside.

John draped his leg over Dave's, covering the man even
more than before. "Feeling warmer yet?" John asked.

Dave shivered into Carter's back. He must be getting
warmer if he was shivering naturally rather than
forcing himself to do it. It was good being warm
again, he didn't want to have to think or talk. He
gave a non-committal grunt, and lay looking into the
dark redness of behind his eyelids.

John took the grunt to be a 'yes'. Dave's body was
shivering now, a sign that he was beginning to warm
up. Earlier he hadn't been shivering at all. Nestling
his face in Dave's hair, John lay there behind the
other man, regretting most of what had happened that
morning.

John's back, which had already been acting up earlier
due to the extra physical exertions of sex with Dave,
was now screaming at him, partially due to the fact
that he had been up and down the stairs constantly,
getting more tea and chocolate for Dave. John had also
been in and out of the bathroom, making sure that only
warm to hot water stayed in the water bottles. He
wanted nothing more than to lie on his back and give it
a rest, but Dave still needed him. Dave was already
feeling warmer, but he was not yet back to having a
normal body temperature. It wouldn't be much longer
though, John thought. His eyes grew heavy and he
drifted off to sleep.


Onto 7