Carter's Duty - 1. Chapter 1

June 13th

Mental illness, anxiety, stress. It causes confident people to crack. The pressure that doesn't stop, building as it does till finally it bursts. Grown men that were reduced to hollow shells of who they once were. A breakdown strikes a person when they are weakest, crushing them mercilessly under the weight of things they fail to explain, of things that tear out a soul.

Will Carter was broken.

So much for life. Open defiance seemed his only recourse after being backstabbed professionally so many times he could no longer feel the pain. Will lifted the cup of coffee, almost forgotten in his hand, and toasted the world. He downed the cup in a single fluid motion and felt the warm liquid slide down his throat to warm his insides. He would go on, as always; survival was the one thing he excelled at.

He'd survived hell once before, as a child from a shattered childhood. He could survive this, but that would take some kind of rationality... he had to find a way back to that. Could he find a way back?

Will was on automatic, feet that didn't feel his own, turning his back on the city; he said a silent goodbye as he re-entered his home, and within minutes his bags were packed and he was ready to leave. And as he held them he took a final glance around the bedroom and all the memories it held. How do you find the words to explain what was going on inside his head? All he heard was noise, all he felt was numb.

He climbed down the stairs and walked into the basement of his friend Brody's house, his only sanctum during the storm, taking the time to stare with hatred at the papers that littered about his desk. All the time, all the work he had invested just to... what, it wasn't success, it wasn't survival, none of this was.

He felt a sudden stab of rage and swore as he gathered the papers together, swept them into the small wood-stove and tossed the match in afterwards. One last act of defiance against the company that he had given so much to and that had stripped him of so much more. Anger felt good, as he sat for awhile and watched the flames flare up over the paper, the steady rhythm of the clock over the mantle counted down the time until he was due to leave.

He picked up the phone and made a quick call to his assistant Alicia, to ask her for a drive to the airport: he couldn't face anyone that morning, and he knew that Alicia would gladly accept a chance to say goodbye to the one boss she actually enjoyed working for.

Will's eyes burned, as his head span, he needed to talk to Andrew... he should talk to Andrew. Why wasn't he calling Andrew? He was screaming at himself inside his own head, and yet he wouldn't act on it. Couldn't act on it. Everything was spinning out of control... he was not in control. He felt sick and shuddered as he took a ragged breath continuing down a path he couldn't stop.

He stopped a moment in the hall and looked around him. What the hell was he doing again? Airport, tickets, go... he propelled himself forward his mind forgetting fundamental things. He was loved, he wasn't alone, he wasn't... what was he thinking again.

He was lucky, Brody's house, so he didn't have to sell anything... everything could just be left behind; it was one less burden for Will to deal with. And he shivered involuntarily; there was no point to remain there and, with a stranger's heart, stepped out of his house for the last time. His hand reached out to pull the door shut behind him.

What the hell was he doing? A voice screamed into the void.

The drive to the airport passed in silence. And, once he could check his luggage they were able to sit awhile in the airport bar. He turned the tasteless non-alcoholic drink around in his nerveless fingers as if he were saying goodbye to a life that wasn't his own.

"Look, Will," Alicia said as she watched him roll the glass between his thumb and forefinger, "it's not like you to just give up."

He didn't reply, he just stared. Was this shell shock? Was this somehow real... why was he doing this? Come on, he cried to himself. What the hell are you doing?

He set the glass down and glanced at the hands on his watch as they neared the last hour before his time in exile was to begin and he realized that the life that had been chosen for him was about to begin. A new home, leaving everything he knew behind him. His life was being gambled on by other people and he hated it. He didn't want it, going halfway around the world meant nothing. Staying... stay... please stay.

"I have a job to do," he replied as he picked up the glass again taking a slow drink; he felt old at that moment, ground beneath the weight of his thoughts.

Alicia sat across the table and tried to make conversation, to help to ease the moment with the kind of friendly support she was trying to provide, she didn't know what else to do. Maybe if she knew more, maybe if she'd understood. But the intensity of the last week that had led to that lone ticket back to London tucked into his passport had at last reached a climax, and they both accepted that this was probably their final time together. Strangely there was an inevitability about the situation.

She searched his face trying to read what was going on, what was behind Will's haunted look, his palid features, the sheen of sweat on his pale face. He looked ill, he looked... empty. She was worried but what could she do? Will was her boss.

"Well at least in London people will be polite when they hang up on you..." Alicia joked at the expense of the company both had been exploited by, and the memories of a shared camaraderie, tempered by the closeness they had enjoyed, lightened her mood a little. Maybe it would lighten him.

Will looked up and around him, the comfortable airport bar afforded a view of the different people who arrived and departed from the airport that was a gateway to different cultures. And Will remembered back to when he had been a stranger who had stood upon Canadian soil for the first time, a child being led by his tyrant of a father. Now when he sat there, made wise by experience and no longer a stranger, he felt nothing no excitement, no thrill of the new... no regret. Shouldn't there be regret?

"I should go to the departure lounge," he said after a minute or two of silence passed between them.

She looked sadly up at the clock, "I'm going to miss you Will..."

There was no smile, "My friends just call me Carter. " He answered as if it were an afterthought.

As he extended his hand to her she took it she drew him close into a tight embrace, "Take care of yourself Carter."

The time for departures had arrived and they walked together towards the gate. A final look, the solemn promise to stay in touch, one last goodbye, and Will stepped into the departure lounge. It was a shedding of skin, like he was ridding himself of something. Perhaps he had existed the last seven years with the hope of that moment. The realization of the immensity of what was unfolding hammered on the stoic walls that his mind was throwing up to protect him... from himself. He felt strange, again the floor lurched beneath him, as if his steps betrayed his wooden and jolting movements. What happened to being in control of his own destiny? Was he losing himself to something? What could he do... A moment a breath of lucidity peeked into the cold and empty parts of his soul. What had happened to the freedom he had fought so hard to gain. What was the cost of these actions?

Again the mind broke that small glimmer of rationality. He couldn't process, he wasn't able to.

The nearly deserted flight lounge offered a chance for relaxation after all the stress of leaving what he had become behind. Here he could lower his guard, the fear that had hunted him so ruthlessly would shortly fade into memory.

Will glanced at his watch. He traced the passage of time as the hands drew ever closer to the final minutes there. There, in between identities, between lives, he couldn't let that guard down. If he did what would happen, would he stop himself, COULD he stop himself? He tried to reflect on how much time had changed the man he was. The hard shell he had locked his emotions behind opened briefly and he allowed the knowledge that his life was about to change set in.

His mind was divided, he soul warred with itself. He had come so far since he'd been a little boy. He'd rebuilt a life for himself out of the ashed of a broken family. He'd found love, he was loved... he had to... What? A false sense of duty, a mistake of his own doing as he failed fundamentally at almost every aspect of his life? He was responsible for others, he was letting them down... or was he trying his best to do the right thing. He had choice, right?

He had come so far in such a short time; there he stood on the edge of the future, wasn't he free of all the constraints and imposed limits that had bound him so tightly. He stood on the edge of his world and stared out across the void to what lay beyond. Where was that bright beacon of hope shone in the darkness, that glimmer of himself that shone its light upon the passage that led him onwards to his own destiny. He wanted to take solace in it; he had been betrayed, but at least he could take comfort in the knowledge that he would do his duty. He had to... why?

The boarding call went out, and the passengers rose and walked towards the plane. On the watch face, the hands met and his time in exile was over. As Will got up to board the plane the tensions of those long, past weeks faded, and he felt reassured with the sense of hope that was his guide. The rapid events that had led him up to that moment had perhaps passed too quickly. Being swept along in the tide of events he had no control over...He passed through the doors and handed his boarding pass across to the stewardess and dispelled that first seed of doubt; no, it was not the time for doubts.

"Don't go!" Andrew's voice cut through the noise in his head like a crack of thunder.