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c. 1967
Abe sat on the river bank, his knees pulled up to his chest, and his arms wrapped tightly around them. A rumpled pile of clothes lay on the ground beside him where he had dropped them, but they were forgotten. He stared out across the dark water, constantly searching for something. A cold night breeze blew in from the river, and he shivered, curling tighter and glancing up at the sky, seeing the stars that had just begun to peek out.
He had been there since morning, ever since someone had called to say that his father had died, had been crushed when a building collapsed on him. Rocking slightly, Abe rested his forehead on his knees, refusing to acknowledge any of the doubt persistently calling for his attention. Instead, he let himself wonder what his father was doing that would put him in such a position. Did he know that the building was unstable? Did he enter to help someone; perhaps he knew the building was collapsing and went inside hoping to save someone? Did he mean to be inside at all?
Abe abruptly straightened, shoving himself off the ground. Pacing in a circuit several feet along the river, he hunched in on himself, wrapping his arms around his torso. His father had died this morning – nearly twelve hours ago! He shook his head, almost angrily brushing the tears away.
"No. No! He'll be back – he'll be okay." His voice was desperate, and he clenched his teeth shut upon hearing it.
He came to a stop, shuddering as he searched the water's surface again. Still seeing no one, he slumped, covering his face with his hands. For several minutes, he stood there, rocking, and arguing with himself inside his mind.
"Excuse me? Sir? Are you alright?"
Startled, he turned towards the voice. "Um – yeah. Yes, I'm alright, thanks." He turned away from the stranger, trying to dismiss him.
"Sir, you don't seem alright..."
"Really, I'm fine – perhaps you have some other business...?" Abe sighed and shook his head, turning back to the stranger. "My apologies. There is a lot on my mind right now, but that's no reason to snap at you."
He waved Abe's apology away. "It's fine. But why don't you go home? It's late; a good night's sleep will do wonders, and put everything in perspective."
Abe smiled wryly, his sarcastic mental voice retorting in his head. "Perhaps I should, although I doubt that it'll change much."
The stranger said goodnight, and Abe returned to the edge of the water. Looking out one last time, he gather up the forgotten and unused pile of clothes. As he turned and began to head home, he struggled to hold in his tears; knowing that if he gave in, he would never make it back.
Abe carefully unpacked the suitcases that he had prepared before going down to the river. He knew that several people had seen his father die, and that the doctor would want to leave; so he had set everything up. A small smile lifted his mouth for a moment before disappearing, swallowed in grief. He had never packed any of his father's books or journals, knowing that there was a system of bringing them.
He ran a hand over the photo album inside, gently picking it up and opening it. Sinking down onto the ground, he leaned against the bed and looked through the pictures, smiling at the moments captured there. His mother was in most of them, alongside himself. His father was in a few, but he had often shied away from having pictures take, preferring to take them himself.
It had been several days since he had gotten the call informing him of his father's death, and since he had spent the day beside the river. He had somehow gotten himself home and shut the door behind him before collapsing in shock and exhaustion. He had spent the next few days avoiding the suitcases and anything else that reminded him of his father, spending most of his days either beside the river or in his bed – but usually beside the river, still searching for his father's reappearance which had never come.
He had finally given in today, unable to think of any other reasons why his father hadn't either reappeared, or come home. He had to face the fact that his father wasn't coming back – that he was alone now.
His finger faltered in it's track through the pictures, and the dam around Abe's emotions and heart broke, leaving him in wracking tears. Pulling his knees up to his chest and clutching the album close to him, he let himself cry, let himself despair.
Was it only a few months ago that they were having snowball battles in their pyjamas, or smuggling a live Christmas tree into their apartment? Was it only a few weeks ago that they had discussed what Abe wanted to do in his life, how their family would continue to go on? Was it only a few days ago that Abe had cooked lunch for his father and filled the house with smoke, earning a scolding and a reminder that 'the occupation of being a pyromaniac was unlikely to afford him any true opportunities in life'?
Through his tears, Abe smiled at the memory, remembering his father's cheerful attitude; for once being unburdened by his lot in life. He choked on his tears, reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief. Was it really all gone? Forever?
He shook his head in denial, refusing to accept the possibility – refusing to even consider a future with his father beside him. He could still remember the horrible afternoon when he first saw his father die, when he was first confronted with mortality. He could remember the following week, how he was convinced it was a hallucination – that his father was still dead, lying on the pavement in front of the bus that hit him. He could still remember when his father climbed into his room and held him, helping him see that he was real and alive – and all Abe wanted was for him to be sitting beside him now. Or if not that, if there was no way that his father could ever come back into his life, then Abe wanted to say good bye – just one last word, just to tell him he loved him.
Abe slowly blinked his way back to consciousness. Groaning, he winced, the headache pounding behind his eyes loudly informing him that he had cried himself to sleep. He shut his eyes again, hugging the album closer, and trying to forget what had happened.
It was true. The horrible events of the last several days – they weren't a dream. They were inescapable.
He struggled to catch his breath, not caring if he spent the rest of his life mourning – it would never be enough. There would be no one else who would truly mourn his father. Oh, there were those who would mourn the doctor, others the soldier, others the medic, perhaps some others the father – but would there be anyone who would mourn the man? The complicated, dynamic, broken, healing, man who was ever willing to be a child? Was there anyone else who would mourn the man who should never have died, should never have permanently left his life?
No, of course not – for who else knew? Only he (had) held the secret...
Hours seemed to drag by, and he drifted in and out of sleep. He debated getting up, but could see no point – he would get up later. He knew he wouldn't lie here forever; but at the moment, he was willing to pretend that life didn't exist, to put off dealing with the world by himself. The cuckoo clock chimed during the times he was awake; but he paid it no heed, simply remembering all he could of his father, making sure that he could remember every moment. The day passed by, and night fell – another day come and gone, and still Abe refused to move.
There was the sudden, unexpected sound of the door opening and shutting, and Abe stiffened. The last thing he wanted to do was to face someone, to interact with another, living person – all he wanted was to be left alone.
The footsteps vibrated through the floorboards, and he turned his face to the ground, refusing to look up at whoever had invaded his home and his refuge. When the steps entered the room he was in, they faltered, and he heard the person gasp above him.
"...Abe?"
Abe sucked in air and jerked his head up to look at the man standing above him. "Dad?"
His father was standing in the doorway of the sitting room, harried and pale. His clothes were mismatched, and his hair still damp – but he was there. Abe could hardly dare to believe it – couldn't believe it: if his dad was going to come back, he would have come back before this; would have contacted him before this.
"Dad, you're not...you're can't be -" He broke off, still unable to voice the truth, to say what happened.
The doctor frowned in worry, stepping forward and kneeling beside his son. "Abraham, what happened? What's wrong?"
Abe struggled to sit up, still clutching the photo album. If this was his chance, the last time he would ever be able to see and hear his father – even if it was only in a dream or hallucination – he was going to make the most of it.
"Dad..." He took a deep breath, attempting to speak smoothly and stop the faint hiccups that still plagued him after crying. "Dad, no matter what happens, I'll always love you – you know that, right?"
Henry nodded, confusion now evident on his face. "Of course, Abraham."
"And even if I'm not there to tell you if you leave, I just want you to know."
"Abraham..."
"No, Dad, stop. I don't want reassurances – not right now. Everyone's mortal, and everyone's luck eventually runs out..."
His voice trailed off, and some understanding began to seep into Henry's eyes.
"Abe. Am I here?"
Never one to lie to his father when he spoke in that tone, Abe mutely shook his head.
"Oh, Abraham..." Henry sighed, taking the boy's hands. "I am so sorry – if I could have told you somehow, I would have."
Abe looked up, fresh tears in his eyes. "Told me what, Dad? That you wouldn't be coming back? That you've left me now too? That you broke your promise? What would you have told me?"
Henry pulled back, shocked. "Broke my – Abraham! What has happened?" He demanded, worried.
"Someone saw you go into the building before it collapsed and killed you. I've been waiting almost a week and you haven't reappeared – you're not coming back this time..."
At a loss for what to do, having never expected to encounter this situation again, Henry stared at his son for a moment before pulling him into a hug for both their sakes. Abe let him, but didn't reciprocate; simply let himself enjoy this moment for the last time. Sitting there, he could hear his father talking, could hear him explaining.
"...trapped, not dead. When the building collapsed, I was buried in a pocket of air, pinned to the ground. I couldn't pull free, couldn't kill myself, no one heard my cries, and I didn't run out of air. There wasn't any water – and that is what freed me. Abraham, I wasn't killed instantly – I was trapped. I wasn't dead. I only died an hour ago, at the most – Abe, I wasn't dead. You were waiting at the river for someone who was still alive. I'm right here, Abe, and I'm not going anywhere."
Abe blinked, hope coming back to life within him. He had never even considered the possibility that his father might be trapped – perfectly unharmed – within the rubble, trusting the witnesses that said no one could have survived.
"...Dehydration?"
He could feel his father relax beside him as he nodded; and Abe finally dropped the album, bringing his hands up to wrap around his father.
"Don't...ever do...that...again." He whispered. When his father answered, he could hear the fond smile in his voice.
"I will certainly try to at least inform you before I decide to die of dehydration again. In consideration of your health, of course."
Abe grinned, his father always knowing what to say to cheer him up again. "Next time?"
"Oh, well, if you'd rather, I could just try not to take an abnormally long time to die..."
"Is not dying at all permissible?"
His father pretended to think about it, shifting to sit on the floor beside Abe. "Hmmm... I suppose so – 'twould certainly be less costly..." He bent his head a little to look into Abe's eyes. "Abraham, are you truly alright? I am so sorry..."
Abe shook his head against his father's chest. "No, don't apologise, Dad. Just...I'm fine. Now that you're here, I'm fine. And Dad?" He paused a moment before continuing. "I love you, no matter what."
Henry leaned back against the bed. "I know, Abe – I love you too."
AN: Set shortly after Abigail's exit from their lives - just enough that Henry isn't as morose, yet Abe is still young and not as sarcastic. Thank you for taking the time to read this - gramercy, and God bless you!