Title: Instinct
Description: A post-ep add-on for 14.09, Skye's the Limit.
Rating: T. Fairly angst-ridden, I would say.
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me.
A/N: Well, it has been a long time, please forgive my rustiness! Many thanks to Pandorama for looking this over for me, to all those who keep me writing (you know who you are) and to my colleague, who inadvertently led me to write this. I only have this one chapter and a tiny bit more in reserve, so I shall see where it leads me. No promises, though!
In an instant, the dark around her turned to molasses. Thick, unrelenting and suffocating, every time she tried to push it away it flooded back in earnest. Even the solid floor now seemed to be some kind of quicksand, loaded with the threat of a dense and terrifying abyss. Yet through the hazy mist of tears, anger and alcohol: Abby knew she had to fight against it all. The anger that she did not regret had dissipated into sadness and shock, those few short words from his mouth rendering her still. The despair in his voice had been like acid, quickly stripping away almost every layer of feeling. All the mess, the pain, the betrayal, the sudden guilt, every bit of it momentarily eroded away. It left her with only one conclusion. She still felt his pain as deeply as he felt hers.
She quickly ran her fingers through her hair, trying to find an ounce of composure, but only feeling a renewed tremor arch its way up to her fingertips, electric and agonising. She inhaled sharply, forcing air into her lungs, the sting of vodka still caustic in the back of her throat. Somehow driven on by the utter defeat in his voice, she paced slowly upstairs. She felt her pulse increase, fear and confusion beginning to solidify in her veins, mere adrenaline pushing her on. It seemed even darker on the way up, the green walls a jade black, this home just an alien in front of her red-raw eyes. She slipped silently through the unwelcoming shadows into the room where their son was sleeping. He was curled up comfortably, the soothing glow of the night light illuminating the peace all over his small features. At least something in this house was untroubled, she thought rather sadly, giving in to a quick smile before leaving him alone with his dreams.
Soon enough she had summoned enough courage to enter the bedroom. The blinds were opened, all the street lights seemingly pouring in their sulphurous glow, not permitting any thought of rest. The silence would have been painful if not for the hard thunder of running water crashing in the background, everything in these late hours tainted by light and noise. Abby took another deep breath and followed the sound into the bathroom, where the bright lights burned harshly in the ceiling, illuminating the agony that unfolded before her. In any other situation, they might have just laughed, Luka's position on floor was so absurd. He was ashen-faced, barely blending into the cold, redundant porcelain of the sink he was resting against, his back straight against the pedestal, long legs outstretched and wide, hands over his face, pressing the tears back into his eyes. Just as his features were masked, when she glanced into the mirror, wondering if her slim façade of calm had finally cracked, the steam from the pounding hot water had fogged the reflective glass. She knelt in the seemingly vast space between his legs and swallowed hard, before reaching to tenderly prise each fingertip cautiously away from his face, each one glossy with hot tears. It ached for her to sit like that, the wooden floor cutting into her knees, arms craning forward to reach for him.
Another shiver wracked her body when she saw his eyes and knew they were much like her own. His gaze glazed with confusion, hurt and anger, eyes bloodshot and weary. Unconsciously she rested her hands on his cheeks, the heat from his skin burning into her palms, every molecule of his being radiating despair. Somehow she thought of the day Joe was born, remembering even after all the turmoil, in the midst of the day that felt like the longest of days, the way he had kissed her before leaving her room that night. It was a kiss abundant with steel. Solid, certain and affirmative. Neither had any steel to give the other now.
Exhausted and utterly lost, she slowly turned on her side, sliding her hands meekly to his shoulders, trying to forge a position of some comfort. Curled up and only able to draw on the sheer instinct that had allowed her to find Luka there alone and stifled with grief, she encircled him gently with her arms, pressing her head lightly into his chest. Feeling his faint sobs subside into slow, peaceful breaths, she stoked his back, her fingers making random circles that mirrored the incoherent thoughts racing in her mind. Only one certainty stirred in her churning blood as he instinctively placed a light kiss into her hair – she hoped to God instinct wasn't all they had left.