Title: The Burn
Rating: PG-13 for just a little strong language.
Disclaimer: The ER characters are not my property.
Summary: In the midst of changeable weather, Abby offers Luka comfort and coffee. An additional scene for Drive, (10.22)
Spoilers: Spoilers for Drive, the season ten finale, as I know there are some who still haven't seen it yet.
Reviews: Please R&R, I appreciate the comments. Thanks.
Some days, the rain comes as if it is sent from hell. Sheets of ice-cold, driving, needling water must be the work of the devil, or perhaps even thrown from Poseidon's trident with no more than a casual shrug. This was one of those days, yet the rain was often disrupted with clean, sharp blades of sunlight, the weather having difficulty making its mind up if it was going to be miserable or sublime. So it remained undecided, taunting, playing, jesting.
Abby wished she hadn't chosen this moment for a celebratory cigarette, as the air was horrid, sluggish and saturated with dampness. She glanced up for a moment and even though there was so much in front of her eyes, everything seemed to be dominated by sound. Water was tripping off gutters, smashing into windows, dropping sadly onto the ground. What a fucked-up day to mark a turning point in your life, she thought, eyeing the godly tip of what she swore would be her last cigarette. So she took her sweet time, exhaling slowly as if every drag was a thought and not just a mere reflection. Finally, she looked up properly to allow herself a break from the nervous mass of noise coagulating around her. The crystal-cut raindrops a symphony on the rooftops, the occasional thunder a growl of a snare drum in the sky.
Languidly, Luka appeared in her line of vision, his dominant, tall figure strangely compacted, his arms folded around himself, hugging smooth leather slick with rain to his frame. His face was pale, almost ghostly, he passed a damp hand through his wet hair as if he were passing it through an insignificant shadow. Eyes set to the ground, as if he were tracing the cracks in the pavement like an apprehensive child. Finally he looked up, tearing his gaze from the grey ground, but he knew that not even a familiar face would do little to dissipate these clouds of anger and confusion building slowly within. He had asked himself so many questions over the past few hours, now they had just turned to unreason and base emotion.
Abby felt a pang of concern as he moved closer, eyes tired and redundant, colour slightly drained from his face. Yet still, of course, looking strangely attractive with the mask of melancholy drawn across his features. Although he did not look nearly as bad as he had done when ill, she found her words accordingly.
"I didn't think there were mosquitoes in Chicago."
Not even the relative strangeness of the sentence piqued his interest. He made no comment, refusing any kind of communication. What use were words? She almost let him pass by, but instinct was telling her that something was awry.
"Luka. What's going on? You look like shit."
Thank God for Abby's frankness, he thought to himself, knowing she was probably right, utterly surprised to find himself fighting back a sneaky little smile.
Instead, Luka managed a mirthless laugh. "Sam...she's gone." His tone conveyed the perceived, immediate permanence of the situation. The hint of happiness was soon gone, washed away like footprints in the sand.
"Where?"
"No idea."
She swiftly remembered her earlier conversation with Carter about Sam's troubles, not that that made it right.
"Running away's the easy part. She'll be back. Who wouldn't want to return to this funfair?" She exhaled a sad coil of smoke, watching the expressions on his face with keen interest. His demeanour had not changed, a mist of secrecy, hurt and anger building a wall that she was anxious to break down.
"Sorry, I'm not helping, am I?" Abby asked quietly, changing tact. "What are you doing here, anyway?" "You're not working tonight."
"I thought it might give me something else to think about," he said quietly, hearing the rain begin to slow, the droplets hanging in the air with a contemplative despondency. Of course, work was probably the worst kind of distraction, but anything was better than allowing his mind to turn over the "What-ifs?" in his head. Luka moved to walk past, the warm bright lights seeming to beckon, but with a swift bout of strength and confidence, Abby blocked him off, gently taking hold of an icy-wet, leather-clad arm. Then applying slight pressure, slight comfort. Finally making minimal eye contact, she shook her head in a light dismissal.
"No. Go home, have a shower, go to bed. Doctor's orders."
"You passed." A slight smile this time, not a hint of questioning or doubt.
"I knew you would," he continued, permitting himself to feel a little better.
"Is everyone around here psychic?" She wondered, remembering Carter's earlier confidence in her abilities.
"What?" Confusion crept into his expression.
"Never mind," Abby replied, rolling her eyes, flicking off ash casually and then glancing back up at him. "Seriously. Get some rest. You'll feel better in the morning." Her eyes seemed to transmit the certainty of her statement, dark, concentrated, sympathetic; fusing some certain emotion as their gazes met. Luka wanted to believe her, but he knew this feeling too well. The numb, startled emptiness that did not get better overnight, sometimes it divided and decayed you like radiation. Maybe it would be easier than he thought, not sure that he had had the time to properly define his feelings. She rubbed his arm slowly, a delicate rhythm, the material and water slick against her palm.
"You want to get some coffee?" She threw the butt of her cigarette into the mournful, twisting wind, and then the alight end was quickly quenched by the dark pools of water on the pavement. "A last cigarette is never complete without coffee." Abby searched for his eyes, but Luka was gazing at the ground again. He had been momentarily troubled by the way the scalding cigarette had been voided with a violent fizzle as the cold conquered the heat. Something powerful to nothing in an instant. The way of his world.
"That must be your thousandth 'last cigarette,'" he replied, avoiding her question, but permitting the slightest curve of a smile as she stood there in front of him, changing, and for the better. Maybe she was setting an example to follow.
"I may have a medical degree now, but I don't quite believe I'm perfect just yet."
This time he laughed softly, defiance and humour wrapped in her tone.
"I should go back home," Luka said slowly, not sure if he wanted to unburden, not sure if his company would be any use at all. Almost certain that the answer lied in the bottom of a vodka bottle somewhere, the relief transparent and temporary.
"C'mon, we can talk about it, or something else if you want." "It's all part of the upgraded-to-doctor service." "All for free."
He managed another smile, reading the subtext in her words and replying suitably, "Which means that I'm paying." He knew that it would do no harm to try and make some sense of it, to take some comfort from a friend. So he gave in. Wasn't it better to try and work through these difficult moments?
"Absolutely. Until I earn your salary, which will approximately be when hell freezes over." Her voice was as playful as the weather, the grey and black clouds swapping positions like ice dancers in the sky.
"I always liked the winter." Melancholy and a deft touch of humour lingered in his words. Luka slid his hands deep into his pockets, finally disconnecting from the solace of her touch.
"Are you going to try and convince me that I'm not going to be totally coloured by this experience?" Even though she sensed something harsh and sad in his words, she also felt as if he was playing a very familiar game.
"I think you mean jaded." She paused thoughtfully. "Green really isn't your colour." Luka submitted to a wry grin, feeling her humour chipping away at his hurt. Abby shrugged her shoulders, restless. "C'mon, I need my caffeine."
"Nicotine isn't enough?"
"I'm being high-maintenance for today," she said, folding her arms, not feeling guilty at radiating a satisfied grin.
"Maybe I should warn your patients, then," he said quietly, his heart not fully in the joke, but at least he was trying. Before she could construct a reply, he turned around so that he was facing in the same direction, slightly mesmerised by the water dripping from the roof. Despite the dancing droplets, the rain had actually stopped, the greying clouds glinting at the edges with just a hint of sunlight.
The air was still misty, cold and unrelenting; his eyes followed the lights, wondering where they were going, and who was following them. Wondering about what could have been. He exhaled sharply, the ice in the air trying to paralyse him with a comfortable numbness. Grey was soon intersected with another little trip of sunlight, and they began to walk away. Slowly, Abby reached out and gently placed her palm in the small of his back. As Luka sensed the burn of her palm stir a slow comfort into his veins, he knew that he had felt it resting there before, and somehow knew that he would feel it again. Slowly, the sun began to scorch its way through the heavy, aching clouds, eventually replacing the shadows with light.
Rating: PG-13 for just a little strong language.
Disclaimer: The ER characters are not my property.
Summary: In the midst of changeable weather, Abby offers Luka comfort and coffee. An additional scene for Drive, (10.22)
Spoilers: Spoilers for Drive, the season ten finale, as I know there are some who still haven't seen it yet.
Reviews: Please R&R, I appreciate the comments. Thanks.
Some days, the rain comes as if it is sent from hell. Sheets of ice-cold, driving, needling water must be the work of the devil, or perhaps even thrown from Poseidon's trident with no more than a casual shrug. This was one of those days, yet the rain was often disrupted with clean, sharp blades of sunlight, the weather having difficulty making its mind up if it was going to be miserable or sublime. So it remained undecided, taunting, playing, jesting.
Abby wished she hadn't chosen this moment for a celebratory cigarette, as the air was horrid, sluggish and saturated with dampness. She glanced up for a moment and even though there was so much in front of her eyes, everything seemed to be dominated by sound. Water was tripping off gutters, smashing into windows, dropping sadly onto the ground. What a fucked-up day to mark a turning point in your life, she thought, eyeing the godly tip of what she swore would be her last cigarette. So she took her sweet time, exhaling slowly as if every drag was a thought and not just a mere reflection. Finally, she looked up properly to allow herself a break from the nervous mass of noise coagulating around her. The crystal-cut raindrops a symphony on the rooftops, the occasional thunder a growl of a snare drum in the sky.
Languidly, Luka appeared in her line of vision, his dominant, tall figure strangely compacted, his arms folded around himself, hugging smooth leather slick with rain to his frame. His face was pale, almost ghostly, he passed a damp hand through his wet hair as if he were passing it through an insignificant shadow. Eyes set to the ground, as if he were tracing the cracks in the pavement like an apprehensive child. Finally he looked up, tearing his gaze from the grey ground, but he knew that not even a familiar face would do little to dissipate these clouds of anger and confusion building slowly within. He had asked himself so many questions over the past few hours, now they had just turned to unreason and base emotion.
Abby felt a pang of concern as he moved closer, eyes tired and redundant, colour slightly drained from his face. Yet still, of course, looking strangely attractive with the mask of melancholy drawn across his features. Although he did not look nearly as bad as he had done when ill, she found her words accordingly.
"I didn't think there were mosquitoes in Chicago."
Not even the relative strangeness of the sentence piqued his interest. He made no comment, refusing any kind of communication. What use were words? She almost let him pass by, but instinct was telling her that something was awry.
"Luka. What's going on? You look like shit."
Thank God for Abby's frankness, he thought to himself, knowing she was probably right, utterly surprised to find himself fighting back a sneaky little smile.
Instead, Luka managed a mirthless laugh. "Sam...she's gone." His tone conveyed the perceived, immediate permanence of the situation. The hint of happiness was soon gone, washed away like footprints in the sand.
"Where?"
"No idea."
She swiftly remembered her earlier conversation with Carter about Sam's troubles, not that that made it right.
"Running away's the easy part. She'll be back. Who wouldn't want to return to this funfair?" She exhaled a sad coil of smoke, watching the expressions on his face with keen interest. His demeanour had not changed, a mist of secrecy, hurt and anger building a wall that she was anxious to break down.
"Sorry, I'm not helping, am I?" Abby asked quietly, changing tact. "What are you doing here, anyway?" "You're not working tonight."
"I thought it might give me something else to think about," he said quietly, hearing the rain begin to slow, the droplets hanging in the air with a contemplative despondency. Of course, work was probably the worst kind of distraction, but anything was better than allowing his mind to turn over the "What-ifs?" in his head. Luka moved to walk past, the warm bright lights seeming to beckon, but with a swift bout of strength and confidence, Abby blocked him off, gently taking hold of an icy-wet, leather-clad arm. Then applying slight pressure, slight comfort. Finally making minimal eye contact, she shook her head in a light dismissal.
"No. Go home, have a shower, go to bed. Doctor's orders."
"You passed." A slight smile this time, not a hint of questioning or doubt.
"I knew you would," he continued, permitting himself to feel a little better.
"Is everyone around here psychic?" She wondered, remembering Carter's earlier confidence in her abilities.
"What?" Confusion crept into his expression.
"Never mind," Abby replied, rolling her eyes, flicking off ash casually and then glancing back up at him. "Seriously. Get some rest. You'll feel better in the morning." Her eyes seemed to transmit the certainty of her statement, dark, concentrated, sympathetic; fusing some certain emotion as their gazes met. Luka wanted to believe her, but he knew this feeling too well. The numb, startled emptiness that did not get better overnight, sometimes it divided and decayed you like radiation. Maybe it would be easier than he thought, not sure that he had had the time to properly define his feelings. She rubbed his arm slowly, a delicate rhythm, the material and water slick against her palm.
"You want to get some coffee?" She threw the butt of her cigarette into the mournful, twisting wind, and then the alight end was quickly quenched by the dark pools of water on the pavement. "A last cigarette is never complete without coffee." Abby searched for his eyes, but Luka was gazing at the ground again. He had been momentarily troubled by the way the scalding cigarette had been voided with a violent fizzle as the cold conquered the heat. Something powerful to nothing in an instant. The way of his world.
"That must be your thousandth 'last cigarette,'" he replied, avoiding her question, but permitting the slightest curve of a smile as she stood there in front of him, changing, and for the better. Maybe she was setting an example to follow.
"I may have a medical degree now, but I don't quite believe I'm perfect just yet."
This time he laughed softly, defiance and humour wrapped in her tone.
"I should go back home," Luka said slowly, not sure if he wanted to unburden, not sure if his company would be any use at all. Almost certain that the answer lied in the bottom of a vodka bottle somewhere, the relief transparent and temporary.
"C'mon, we can talk about it, or something else if you want." "It's all part of the upgraded-to-doctor service." "All for free."
He managed another smile, reading the subtext in her words and replying suitably, "Which means that I'm paying." He knew that it would do no harm to try and make some sense of it, to take some comfort from a friend. So he gave in. Wasn't it better to try and work through these difficult moments?
"Absolutely. Until I earn your salary, which will approximately be when hell freezes over." Her voice was as playful as the weather, the grey and black clouds swapping positions like ice dancers in the sky.
"I always liked the winter." Melancholy and a deft touch of humour lingered in his words. Luka slid his hands deep into his pockets, finally disconnecting from the solace of her touch.
"Are you going to try and convince me that I'm not going to be totally coloured by this experience?" Even though she sensed something harsh and sad in his words, she also felt as if he was playing a very familiar game.
"I think you mean jaded." She paused thoughtfully. "Green really isn't your colour." Luka submitted to a wry grin, feeling her humour chipping away at his hurt. Abby shrugged her shoulders, restless. "C'mon, I need my caffeine."
"Nicotine isn't enough?"
"I'm being high-maintenance for today," she said, folding her arms, not feeling guilty at radiating a satisfied grin.
"Maybe I should warn your patients, then," he said quietly, his heart not fully in the joke, but at least he was trying. Before she could construct a reply, he turned around so that he was facing in the same direction, slightly mesmerised by the water dripping from the roof. Despite the dancing droplets, the rain had actually stopped, the greying clouds glinting at the edges with just a hint of sunlight.
The air was still misty, cold and unrelenting; his eyes followed the lights, wondering where they were going, and who was following them. Wondering about what could have been. He exhaled sharply, the ice in the air trying to paralyse him with a comfortable numbness. Grey was soon intersected with another little trip of sunlight, and they began to walk away. Slowly, Abby reached out and gently placed her palm in the small of his back. As Luka sensed the burn of her palm stir a slow comfort into his veins, he knew that he had felt it resting there before, and somehow knew that he would feel it again. Slowly, the sun began to scorch its way through the heavy, aching clouds, eventually replacing the shadows with light.