Title:A River Runs Through It
Summary: An additional scene for Shifts Happen, (10.04). "You're going to get me into trouble."Abby takes Luka's advice and ignores her pager.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The ER characters are not my property.
Author's Note: Just a little something that I've been working on for far too long!
Dedications: As always to Natasha, Sunny, Rowena and Claire, formerlynoname, everyone who has reviewed me in the past, and all at the FanForum board :) I appreciate all the support :)
While the peculiar dark indigo sky edged the stars with a lilac glow, even the river had changed. It was no longer that oozing mass of sticky tar slowly sliding towards the sea, but just a perfect flat mirror for the heavens. No longer such a miserable sign of decay, no more gloom seeming to rise from its misty, mysterious demeanour. They both watched the river silently, collecting their thoughts, unable to shift the flow of disbelief, wonder, and maybe even desire drifting between them as she had silenced the steady bleep of her pager with two fingers.
"You're going to get me into trouble." Abby admonished, with a slight smile, then a mischievous glance in Luka's direction. She was both surprised by her own misbehaviour and pleased by his playfulness, a small sign that he was improving from the trauma and strife of the last few weeks, albeit maybe only on the surface. She did not dare imagine the things he had seen or how he had suffered. Such things were almost alien, so indeterminably painful.
"Sure you're okay?" Blunt, intimate concern was evident in her tone. Hearing this, he dismissed his discomfort with an affirmative voice, keen to dispel her fears.
"Just a little cold." It was however, warmer than it should have been, the unusually balmy air rising between them sluggishly. He leant forward casually, pressing his forearms into the cold, redundant metal of the railing. The swift, sudden warmth of her fingertips against his wrist was an odd contrast, as if she was trying to confirm his temperature. No sooner than the blood- warm heat had flushed from her fingers, it was gone; she withdrew them as casually and as fluidly as they had linked around his wrist.
Attempting to distract himself, Luka momentarily wondered how many rivers had witnessed the plight of the unfortunate human. Maybe sickness was leaning him towards more contemplation. Surely too many tears and too much blood had been emptied into the Danube? Had he seen bereaved women weeping on the banks of the dusty Congo? Probably. The river did not care who you were, what you did or what you had lost; it just kept flowing, just as time kept passing.
"Are you sure you're okay too?" He did not know why he was pressing; her earlier assurances should have been enough.
A wry smile formed on her lips with ease. "Let's face it; it got to the point where Carter was more interested in your body than he was in mine."
"I'm strangely glad to hear you say that."
"Yeah, me too." Laughter. Laughter to hide the seriousness, the acknowledgement of the frail wire between life and death. Decisions made or not made.
Again, their gazes seemed to mesh, seemed to linger, seemed to burn memories in the mind in an instant, while somehow at the same time, create fresh moments.
This time, she did not look away from the dangerous wall of emotion to the safety of the view, noticing him shiver slightly, the faintest discomfort passing quickly through.
"I think you'd better take me home." His tone was light, but inside, tiredness was building rapidly.
"That sounds like an indecent proposal to me," she joked, meeting his eyes again.
"Well, I'm a sick man." They laughed together again, the sacred, joyous noise piercing the strange atmosphere, making it alive, vigorous.
Slowly, they began to depart, pacing away into the slightly hazy air, following the path of the river for a few moments before heading back into the welcoming arms of the protective city. Ten thirty was not late, yet everywhere seemed relatively empty, but for a few scattered souls drifting their way home. The many colours of the streets like jewelled rows of Christmas lights, vivid and comforting. They talked a little on the way back, but mostly sight and sound passed in a blur, both of them lost in thought.
The piercing, uncomfortable sound of his keys grating in the lock finally brought them out of the escapism of reverie. Now they were barely shadows as they stood opposite each other in the doorway, Abby pressing one shoulder against the doorframe, Luka leaning back against the opposite wall. Tense shards of moody light illuminated the golden glow of his keys as he juggled them and the colour in her hair as she toyed with a wayward strand.
"You look a little bit tired," he observed quietly, his voice almost a whisper in the empty twilight.
"Must be all these secrets I'm keeping," she replied enigmatically, this time slowly pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, half a smile creeping across her face.
"I'd better get home before Weaver sends out her spies," Abby continued, gradually easing her hands into her pockets, adopting a more casual stance.
"How can you be sure I'm not one of them?" Luka speculated with just a hint of a wayward glance, fluidly running a finger along the serrated edge of his key.
"She wouldn't send the pretty boys to do her dirty work," she replied quickly, the scarce light highlighting the tiniest glint in her eyes, the hopeful, humoured sadness in her voice echoing off the walls. He caught her gaze again, seeing the dark energy fusing in her pupils, even in the relative dimness.
"So, are you feeling any better?"
"Yeah. Thanks." There was a deep sincerity in his voice, only stirring her emotions a little more, making her feel almost that she was responsible for easing a little of his discomfort. Exhaling, Abby stood up properly now, preparing to move away.
"Take care."
Luka nodded seriously again, feeling the warmth of her concern, seeing it fixed in her slightly melancholy stare.
"Good night," he replied, reaching inside and flicking on the light, a sharp burst of pale ochre cutting into the blackness.
"Night," she said, voice tinged with a frail uncertainty.
Light gradually disappeared, filling the lonely corridor with a protective, dusky haze. Inside, he leant back against the closed door, shutting his eyes, expelling a sigh, some kind of regret tingling in the end of his spine. Outside, she leant back against the cold wall, closing her eyes, not daring to see herself alone in the dark. Yet even with their eyes closed, behind the eyelids, the fervour of their gazes still burnt on, just as the river still wound itself slowly, achingly toward the sea.