He turned the key stealthily in the lock. Ever so quietly, he pushed the door with his knee; seemingly the only appendage left not holding something. "Whisp," the door sweep quietly announced his entry and he placed his bags gently on the carpet. He stood for a moment, temporarily lost. "Only two weeks passed and I've already forgotten my way around..." he muttered. Simultaneously drawn to and dreading the bedroom, where she slept, he slowly made his way. Hesitating just a little, he stopped in her (their?) doorway, to let his eyes adjust to the dusky room. He felt heavy, as if he stood there just a little longer he would root to the spot. Summoning his battered will, he propelled himself forward; like a thirsty man to a mirage. He knew this to be imagination. This hoped for reunion. She would be wounded, he felt that, deep in his gut. But he had the benefit of perspective; perspective wrought by truly harsh circumstance. And try, he must. Coming so close to death sharpened his focus. Made him see clearly for the first time in months, hell, years.
Pushing away thoughts of Kisangani, he sat quietly on the bed. He looked down at her sleeping form, so peaceful. The contented look of deep slumber belied the turmoil he knew resided, always, just below the surface. Resisting the urge to bend and take a kiss while sleep rendered her helpless, he settled for pulling the errant sheet over her bare shoulder. "I've seen so much fear and brutality, Abby..." he whispered. "I left here... I left you, full of confusion and anger...I was so angry. At your brother, my mother, God... but mostly at you. I wanted to make someone hurt, as much as I was hurting." Intently he gazed into her face for some sign of wakefulness. Even and barely audible, her soft puffs of breath told him she remained undisturbed. "Now I know; I know that I have lived my life pleasantly unaware, Abby." He thought of the boy he tried to save and Luka's benevolent indulgence of his inconsequential machinations. The woman, dead of Aids, her head resting on her husband's shoulder, haunted him. Haunted his dreams, much as Abby used to haunt his every waking thought. And try as he might, he couldn't shake the feeling of cold steel pressed into his forehead. "I had to go to hell to come back to life, Abby, and I can't... I won't forget..." Words fled from his mind; before he could form a thought, it was gone. "There is something I want to tell you, something I wish I could pass on to you, about what I, what I feel, in my chest, but I can't. Soft sobs shook his frame, taking him by surprise. Not wanting to lose his tenuous hold on this idea, this...something...he was trying to say, he continued speaking, his tone confessional, though the tightness in his throat strained his whisper. Lost in his thoughts, intent on undoing the knots that had jumbled his former life, Carter didn't notice Abby's breathing change. Didn't notice the slight movements signaling she was awake. Lying awake, holding her breath and listening.
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"How long has he been here?" The thought came suddenly, almost physically jolting her. She came to herself almost as suddenly. Just in time to forcefully regulate her breathing. Like blocks tumbling, the flood of competing thoughts came fast, "thank god, he's alive. The bastard! Thinks he can just show up... How did he get in here... Oh, god, he's not hurt... He used his key! Why did he come here? I am going to... thank god he's okay..."
"...I want to start fresh. Everything in my life, every aspect of it, was tearing me apart inside, Abby," his voice sounded tired, strained, to her, "including my relationship with y-"
"Carter," her voice came out a croak, not the quiet whisper she was aiming for, "when'd you get back?"
"Abby, you, uh... you startled me... I... I got back about an hour ago. I came straight here."
"You mean, you, um, you just got back. From Africa?" She caught the slight glint in his eye, "I mean, you didn't go to your... you didn't stop by your house first?" She emphasized "your house" in an unmistakable way.
"I... well, uh, yeah, came straight off the plane. I used my key. I wanted to see you..." Looking directly at him, she noticed the weariness in the droop of his shoulders, his posture, his words. She felt the faintest stirring of compassion, overriding her anger.
"I'm glad you're okay... you didn't, when I didn't hear from you, I thought, I don't know -maybe I thought the worst..." Not knowing quite how to proceed, she let her words fade.
"Abby. Hey, look at me." His voice sounded gentle, soothing. "I was in a war-torn country, not really any way to contact the outside world..." She inched closer to the edge of the bed, dropped her legs over the side. The skin on her legs tightened with rebellion at the cold.
"Carter, I know, it's just -you left, we were barely speaking, I didn't know what to think."
Standing, she brushed past him to reach her robe. He caught her in his arms and, before her mind could process the information, bent his lips gently to hers. The room was so cold, his lips so warm. The warmth spread to her cheeks, down her spine, igniting her thighs, sending shivers through her belly. She had kissed him plenty of times before. This was altogether different. This was embarking on dangerous. And she didn't want to be out of control. As his kiss grew more urgent, more purposeful, a thought began leading her senses back to the cold room.
"Carter, I-" He was guiding her back to the bed, caressing her, silently pleading with his mouth, covering her in speechless prayers.
"Shh, Abby, you don't have to talk..." Soft moans escaped her lips, even as her mind was all rebellion. "Not now," running his lips over her earlobe, "Not tonight," hooking his thumbs in the band of her panties, "Tomorrow, we talk..." gently collapsing on the bed, "Tonight, I need you, Abby... I just need to be with you..."
Pushing away thoughts of Kisangani, he sat quietly on the bed. He looked down at her sleeping form, so peaceful. The contented look of deep slumber belied the turmoil he knew resided, always, just below the surface. Resisting the urge to bend and take a kiss while sleep rendered her helpless, he settled for pulling the errant sheet over her bare shoulder. "I've seen so much fear and brutality, Abby..." he whispered. "I left here... I left you, full of confusion and anger...I was so angry. At your brother, my mother, God... but mostly at you. I wanted to make someone hurt, as much as I was hurting." Intently he gazed into her face for some sign of wakefulness. Even and barely audible, her soft puffs of breath told him she remained undisturbed. "Now I know; I know that I have lived my life pleasantly unaware, Abby." He thought of the boy he tried to save and Luka's benevolent indulgence of his inconsequential machinations. The woman, dead of Aids, her head resting on her husband's shoulder, haunted him. Haunted his dreams, much as Abby used to haunt his every waking thought. And try as he might, he couldn't shake the feeling of cold steel pressed into his forehead. "I had to go to hell to come back to life, Abby, and I can't... I won't forget..." Words fled from his mind; before he could form a thought, it was gone. "There is something I want to tell you, something I wish I could pass on to you, about what I, what I feel, in my chest, but I can't. Soft sobs shook his frame, taking him by surprise. Not wanting to lose his tenuous hold on this idea, this...something...he was trying to say, he continued speaking, his tone confessional, though the tightness in his throat strained his whisper. Lost in his thoughts, intent on undoing the knots that had jumbled his former life, Carter didn't notice Abby's breathing change. Didn't notice the slight movements signaling she was awake. Lying awake, holding her breath and listening.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"How long has he been here?" The thought came suddenly, almost physically jolting her. She came to herself almost as suddenly. Just in time to forcefully regulate her breathing. Like blocks tumbling, the flood of competing thoughts came fast, "thank god, he's alive. The bastard! Thinks he can just show up... How did he get in here... Oh, god, he's not hurt... He used his key! Why did he come here? I am going to... thank god he's okay..."
"...I want to start fresh. Everything in my life, every aspect of it, was tearing me apart inside, Abby," his voice sounded tired, strained, to her, "including my relationship with y-"
"Carter," her voice came out a croak, not the quiet whisper she was aiming for, "when'd you get back?"
"Abby, you, uh... you startled me... I... I got back about an hour ago. I came straight here."
"You mean, you, um, you just got back. From Africa?" She caught the slight glint in his eye, "I mean, you didn't go to your... you didn't stop by your house first?" She emphasized "your house" in an unmistakable way.
"I... well, uh, yeah, came straight off the plane. I used my key. I wanted to see you..." Looking directly at him, she noticed the weariness in the droop of his shoulders, his posture, his words. She felt the faintest stirring of compassion, overriding her anger.
"I'm glad you're okay... you didn't, when I didn't hear from you, I thought, I don't know -maybe I thought the worst..." Not knowing quite how to proceed, she let her words fade.
"Abby. Hey, look at me." His voice sounded gentle, soothing. "I was in a war-torn country, not really any way to contact the outside world..." She inched closer to the edge of the bed, dropped her legs over the side. The skin on her legs tightened with rebellion at the cold.
"Carter, I know, it's just -you left, we were barely speaking, I didn't know what to think."
Standing, she brushed past him to reach her robe. He caught her in his arms and, before her mind could process the information, bent his lips gently to hers. The room was so cold, his lips so warm. The warmth spread to her cheeks, down her spine, igniting her thighs, sending shivers through her belly. She had kissed him plenty of times before. This was altogether different. This was embarking on dangerous. And she didn't want to be out of control. As his kiss grew more urgent, more purposeful, a thought began leading her senses back to the cold room.
"Carter, I-" He was guiding her back to the bed, caressing her, silently pleading with his mouth, covering her in speechless prayers.
"Shh, Abby, you don't have to talk..." Soft moans escaped her lips, even as her mind was all rebellion. "Not now," running his lips over her earlobe, "Not tonight," hooking his thumbs in the band of her panties, "Tomorrow, we talk..." gently collapsing on the bed, "Tonight, I need you, Abby... I just need to be with you..."
