Disclaimer: This is based off the ER season 13 episode number 14. The character's thoughts are mine, but they themselves are not (damn NBC), neither is this technically my storyline/actions.

A/N: Still, I have a right to flesh this out however I want to, right? heh heh. I have been a fan of ER for quite awhile, with Abby being my favorite, but I've never had an idea for a good ER fanfic before this (as you all know, I'm more into the SVU fics, lol). Please let me know if I should continue, I'm trying to stay very true to the words/blocking from the episode, so I don't know if anybody would really want me to keep going or not (thought I probably will for my own entertainment, lol. I heart Abby so much!). xoxo

TangoSVU

What a crazy day, I thought. But there was something strange about saying that, because I'd only left an hour ago, and yet I couldn't remember any one specific thing that had happened to make it that kind of day. Things in the ER have a tendency to blend together into a single giant mush and trying to untangle them just confuses me. It was the things outside of the ER that just made everything worse. Kerry leaving – after God, how many years?, my father – no, this man trying to be my father – asking for things he had no right to ask, and Luka and I fighting over said man before I even knew he was my father… Too much.

I took the cab to pick up Joe and then grabbed the L. The business of it all never used to bother him but today nothing I did could settle him down. I even tried singing him his favorite song into his ear. Why couldn't he just fall asleep in the car and stuff, like a normal kid? The thought stops me in my tracks. As far as we know right now he has no genetic abnormalities, but the traits in my family that I'm no doubt carrying probably won't show themselves until he's in college. I thought I'd dealt with this fear, but it hits me at times I can't anticipate. He cried all the way home.

I'm scared the neighbors will fuss as I lug the carrier up the stairs and fumble for my keys. "Alright, one second and I'll get you out of here. One second, I'm sorry. Ssssh ssssh ssssh. Okay, okay." I croon, closing the door behind me and turning the bolt. "Okay, here we go. We're home." I set the car seat on top of the counter and begin shredding the diaper backpack. "Hey, hey, one sec okay? One sec. Here we go." The phone receiver beeps into my hand before I put it to my ear.

"Come on Luka, pick up." I plead, pulling my jacket off now. But it only rings, quickly going to voicemail. "Hey, it's me, um… uh, I'm home, I just got Joe from Ellen's. Listen," I'm rambling, one word rushing into the other. "Can you call me as soon as you get this? It's kind of uh, kind of urgent." Inhale. "Thanks."

Joe starts crying again as soon as I click the phone off and I turn to unbuckle him. "Oh, here we go." I pull of his cap, the adorable little striped one with the balls on the end that Maggie gave him. "I know, I'm sorry. Okay, I know, I know. Ssssh ssssh." He tosses his little hand right into the hair behind my ears as soon as I pick him up. It's something he's done since he got out of the NICU, as if us holding him isn't enough, as if he needs to be grabbing onto something solid too, just to make sure it's all still there. I wonder if he'll break the habit at the same time that I never want him to stop.

I rub his back and turn towards the window in the living room where the only lamp we never turn off is shining. "It's okay, it's okay. You're okay, you're okay."

I plant a kiss beneath his bangs, enjoying this tender moment, when suddenly the floors drops right out from underneath me. – Gasp – Instincts take over and my hand flings up to the back of Joe's precious head. I pull him so close to me it's a wonder he doesn't scream.

There's a man in my house. That man from the park. What did Luka say his name was? Something flickers in his hands. A gun. My brain goes back to the last time I saw one that close, and I can feel the grit of the floor, the chill of leather seats. But there is no blood on my hands this time; no one is dead, yet. Even so, the feeling is the same, the tightness in my chest, my throat. And even though this one isn't pointed directly at me, the stakes are higher now. It's not me I care about, but I'm holding my son here in my arms, my only child, and he's too young to escape without me.

"Call your husband," He says simply. There's something wrong with his eyes. Not the lazy eye, goodness knows I've seen plenty of those in my life, but that look. It's… it's… empty.

I blink in my shock. "I, I just did, he's not picking up." I jiggle Joe in my arms but he's crying once more.

"Call him again." He's unyielding, domineering and yet he hasn't even moved from the chair. My chair. Luka's chair. Our chair. I can't breathe. My shoulder is wet from Joe's tears as I cling to him. If he keeps this up much longer he's going to make himself sick.

"Just try again." He tosses a picture frame onto the coffee table with his good arm. It's the one that I took of Luka when I found him putting together the crib before Joe was born. He was so frustrated that the diagrams didn't make sense I just had to laugh at him. I thought, here's a doctor who can keep just about anyone from dying in a trauma room and yet he can't find a stupid screw to connect two little pieces of wood. I told him that and instead of getting angry like most men would he laughed too, dropping the pieces to reach for me. That's when I snapped the picture, with his arms outstretched. But he's not here now. I don't know where he is. It's not fair, I know, because if this were any other night, any other situation it wouldn't matter. I'd put Joe to bed and meet Luka at the door with a kiss, talking long into the night. But right now he's not here.

"I have no idea where he is, I don't even know what he's doing right now. I just don't,"

But he cuts me off with a wave of his right hand and I feel my face scrunch up. I'm fighting the emotions with all I've got because there's already too many tears. "Try again." Licking my lips, I keep wiggling my son. Suddenly it hits me.

"Mr. Ames," I say, as forceful as I can manage. "Why don't you just… Go." I make sure it's a statement, not a suggestion. "Okay? Just please, go." But now I've ruined it. I can't make Joe stop crying and that on top of everything else is destroying my nerves. "I'm sure Luka will be happy to talk to you about whatever it is you want some other time, okay?" Joe is watching him. I don't want this man affecting my son, ever. Then I think back to the park. He's already talked to Joe, touched his frog, made him smile. It's too late. I've failed my son and I didn't even know it. If I can just get him out now… maybe I can make up for it.

Ames isn't convinced. "What I want?" He asks, incredulous.

I stutter, try to correct my mistakes. If I can just… "Whatever the reason it is that you, you're here just…" I close my eyes, my hand outstretched. Get. Out. "Just go! Okay? Please go and there won't be any trouble. I promise."

Now he's upset. No, no, no. He's standing up. He's approaching us, coming closer. "Trouble! Trouble?" It happens like that. Exclamation first, question second. "You don't know what trouble is!"

He's waving the gun. He's waving the gun toward my son. I cup my hand back around Joe's head as if that would be enough of a barrier, as if bones were actually a thick enough protection regardless of all my medical knowledge. "Oh, God." It's the only sound I can think to make in my stupor. And I say a sound because it passes between my lips soft as a breath only I know I'm not breathing. This can't be happening.

"Abby!" For all the times I've been so damn persnickety about people calling me Abby and not Abbigail – yes, my mother's brilliant spelling. I wonder if that's an unknown side-effect of the bipolar… – now I'm beginning to hate it. "Abby? You call Luka, now!"

And I don't know what else to do.

"Hey uh, sorry I couldn't pick up before, I'm at the police station." He's finally picked up. I've tried the number five more times and only now does he pick up. But I can't even hear him. His voice is the only thing I want to hear and yet it's all muddled.

"Luka!" I need him to focus. I need to focus.

He catches it – that tone in my voice just like he always has. "You okay?"

No! No I'm not! We're not! There's a man here pointing a gun at us, at your son! And you let him! You didn't stop him! NO I'M NOT OKAY! I want to scream it from the top of my lungs; I'm ready to burst into tears. But I can't. I can't. I roll my eyes instead. I need to stay calm. Somehow I need to stay calm. Ames has the other receiver. He's listening. He'll know and that'll just make things worse. "Can you come home now?" But I've said it wrong again. I sound angry. And I am! I am angry! But I'm not. That's not what I meant.

"Nah," he answers flippantly. "It's probably going to be a couple more hours. Pratt's been arrested."

Okay, now I am mad. I don't give a damn about Pratt. I don't care about the fucking ER. I care about Joe. I care about us. I care about right fucking now. I can hear Ames breathe through the phone. Can't Luka? Why doesn't he say anything about it?!

"You need to come home. Now." It's biting, tart. It burns my tongue.

He pauses, as sensitive as ever, more observant to voice cues than any other man I've ever met. "What's wrong?" I don't even have to see him to know that he's lolled his head down and to the side, raised his eyebrow.

"Nothing. I just… " I can't believe this. I can't believe. I don't even know what to say. How does a person describe this kind of circumstance? "It's just, something happened and… and we need to," I search for the word, the right one that will convey everything to Luka and nothing to Ames. "discuss it."

But it couldn't have been the right word because his brain takes him down another path. "Is Joe okay?"

"He's fine. Just," I'm so frustrated. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. "Come home."

"Okay. Tell me what's the matter." He's caught on to the frustration. Sometimes I think it's more contagious than tuberculosis.

"I need to see you." Now there's desperation in my voice too. I can't hide it.

He hears it too. "Okay." There's no more fighting. "I'll," it's not a hesitation. Not really. He's confused. He's trying to go back through the day and catch what could have possibly made me this upset. "I'll be right there."

Please hurry. We need you. I beg, but he's already gone. He can't hear me anymore. So I lower the receiver, and – with closed eyes and a deep breath – turn around to meet my fate.