TITLE: Hearts that Hold: Desperately Lonely, Part 1/4

AUTHOR: Alyssa

DATE: November 14th, 2001

CATEGORY: Abby angst (as usual :)

SPOILERS: Well...very, very mild spoiler for episode six of season 8...nothing that will ruin your ER enjoyment if you haven't seen the episode already. And spoilers for the end of season seven.

Please review!

With prayers for Jack, Jeremy, and their families. We miss you.

Hearts That Hold: Desperately Lonely

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The tears came to her eyes, and she struggled to keep her voice from cracking. "You don't have to settle for anything, Carter," she said flatly, putting the slightest bit of emphasis on settle, just as he had.

He didn't follow her. She didn't expect him to. And by his not doing so, she knew he had meant what he said, as Luka had, as Richard had. He didn't want her. He'd never wanted her. No one had ever wanted her.

It was chilly, but she continued walking, towards the apartment she'd worked so hard to make into a home. She hadn't succeeded. In fact, she resented it, resented living there. Every time she walked into the brightly lit, painstakingly decorated condominium, she was overwhelmed by suffocating blankets of loneliness.

A normal person would cry, but the tears wouldn't fall now that she'd held them back. And it was because, she realized, she didn't love Carter. She didn't have a crush on him, she didn't want a relationship with him: she never had. The truth was, she was just desperately lonely. And desperately afraid of being alone.

Carter was right, as usual. There was too much history. She had too much history. Too much baggage. And it was becoming too heavy for her to carry.

And, of course, Luka was right, too. She needed help. She just couldn't accept it. Couldn't ask for it.

She'd stood by that river, staring at Carter, and repeated the pattern, repeated what she'd always done. And while she knew her pattern well, knew it led to heartbreak and pain, she couldn't seem to avoid it. In truth, heartbreak and pain was all she knew-she wouldn't know what to make of happiness, because she'd just never seen it.

She opened the door to her apartment-it stuck again-and felt herself being wrapped in loneliness like a dark cloak. She nearly backed out the way she'd come in-but that wouldn't solve anything. She'd still be alone. She'd still be unhappy.

The ultrasound picture was where it had always been, tucked in the drawer beside her bed, buried under a pile of pens, long-ago letters, and small trinkets. She sank onto the bed, holding the picture in her hand. It was unlabeled, in case someone found it, and looking at it nearly always made the feelings of grief and fear flood back tenfold. But she couldn't bear to part with it-it was her only link to what could have been.

"I'm sorry," she said for the umpteenth time to the small black and white print-out. She'd had many long and emotional conversations with this little photograph, this person who could not even be made out as a person- just a small white blip on a shiny black background.

Abby Lockhart clutched the photograph to her heart, and looked up to heaven. "I need help," she whispered to the baby she'd given up long ago. "Please help me."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"No soul is desolate as long as there is a human being for whom it can feel trust and reverence. What loneliness is more lonely than distrust?" -- George Eliot

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Hello?" Abby stuck the phone between her ear and shoulder and moved back to the open refrigerator.

"Hi, Abby," a familiar voice said. Abby froze. "It's Mom."

"I know," she said, sinking down to the tile floor. "Hi."

"How are you?" Maggie said conversationally. Her voice sounded weird, far away. Abby wondered if she was still on her meds. Oh, please, God.

"I'm okay," Abby sighed, twisting the phone cord around her finger and clutching an ice-cold glass of water in her other hand. She didn't mention her break-up with Luka, or the ruination of her friendship with Carter. She didn't need her mother knowing the intimate details of her life.

"Abby," her mother said nervously. "I, um, I haven't been feeling well lately." Abby frowned, wondering where this was going. "I went to the doctor a couple days ago because I've just-well, I've been feeling really sick, and I thought there might be a problem with my meds or something." She had to stay on the meds. No matter what, no matter how sick they made her, she had to stay on those damn medications. "They ran some tests and." She paused for a long second, and Abby held her breath. "Abby, I have pancreatic cancer."

The glass slipped out of Abby's hand and shattered on the ground. "Abby?" Maggie said nervously. "Are you okay?"

"Y-you have pancreatic cancer?" Abby managed, her heart stopping.

"Yeah," Maggie said sadly, quietly.

Abby struggled to breathe. "What did the doctor say?" she managed, closing her eyes tightly. She could feel a headache forming.

"He said the disease is very advanced," Maggie said slowly. "I," she choked. "Abby, he said I have only a couple months to live."

Abby leaned her head against the refrigerator. "But what about treatment?" she said desperately. "What about-what about chemo? Or radiation, or surgery? Isn't there anything they can do?"

"Abby," Maggie said bravely. "I'm dying. There's nothing they can do."

"But-but, Mom, they could give you a few more months. You could-you could."

"Abby." The tears welled in her eyes as her mother said her name gently. "Abby, there's nothing they can do."

"Oh, Mom," Abby whispered.

"I know."

"Come home, Mom. Please."

"You mean-go back to Chicago?" Maggie said uncertainly.

"Please," Abby managed. "Please. Come back here. Come home."

"I don't know, Abby."

"I just-I." She was losing the battle against break down. "I need you, Mom. I want to talk to you. I want you to come home. And I-" Game, set, and match, hysteria. "I don't want you to die alone," she gasped.

"Oh, baby," Maggie said. Wept. "Okay. Okay."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Abby!" Carter called as she walked swiftly out of the hospital. "Abby! Wait up!" She didn't turn around, didn't stop and wait, but he caught her fairly easily. Damn short legs. "Hey," he said, falling into step beside her.

"Hey," she said vaguely, hugging herself against the mid-November chill. She didn't look at him.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. She wasn't making this easy. "Do you want to go for coffee or something?"

"No."

"Look, Abby." He put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. She complied, but hung her head, and refused to make eye contact. "We need to talk."

"No, we don't."

"Obviously we do."

"I don't have time," she said, and tried to walk away, but he stopped her.

"Abby, I'm sorry," he said. Her eyes focused on the concrete beneath her. "I wish you'd let me explain."

"This has nothing to do with you, Carter," she said. For a second, her eyes met him, and she saw hurt in his eyes. She took a deep breath, turned and strode toward the El, and this time, he didn't prevent her from leaving.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Abby unlocked the door to her apartment. "Mom," she called softly, in case her mother was sleeping. Maggie had been living with her for a week now, and she looked awful. Between the cancer that was ravaging her body and the Depakote she doggedly continued taking, she didn't have the energy for much more than eating and sleeping.

"Hi!" Maggie called from the living room. Abby walked in there and smiled at finding her sitting up on the couch, reading a book.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better," Maggie said, closing the book. "I-my headache's gone, and my stomach feels a little better."

"That's good," Abby said, sinking onto the chair across from her mother. "Are you hungry?"

Maggie thought for a second, and then nodded. "Yeah, kind of, actually."

"Do you want to go out for dinner?" Abby suggested, unbuttoning her jacket. "We could go to that Italian place you like on Claremont."

"Abby, you don't have to spend all your time with me," Maggie said gently.

"I want to."

"Why don't you go out with Luka tonight," she said kindly.

Because Luka thought she was a spineless, conniving, bitchy, ugly whore. Abby stared at her hands. "Um, Luka and I broke up," she muttered.

She could feel Maggie frowning at her. "When?"

Before they'd ever gotten together, really. "A couple months ago," Abby said vaguely, eyes still tracing the lifelines of her palms.

"Why?"

Because she was incapable of communication and-well-happiness. Abby shrugged, then stood up. "I don't really want to talk about it, okay?"

Maggie looked disappointed, but nodded. "All right. Okay." There was a long pause. "So, that Italian place?"

Abby nodded, and pasted the smile back on her face. "Just let me get changed," she said.

"Why don't you invite John along then?" Maggie suggested cheerfully. "I haven't seen him in quite a while."

Because John was just as messy as Luka. Abby bit her lip, mind racing. "He's, uh, he's working tonight," she said by way of an excuse. "Maybe we'll see him another time though."

"You're not dating him now, are you?" Maggie asked wryly.

Why was Maggie so perceptive? And why had Abby failed to inherit that trait? She laughed stiffly. "No," she said. "Why?"

"Just seemed he was next in line," Maggie clarified, eyes twinkling.

For a mentally disabled woman, she was very, very smart.

Abby stared at her incredulously for a second, then finally laughed, a genuine laugh, for the first time in what seemed like months. "Mom!"

Maggie stood up, grinning. "Go change!" she said. "I'm hungry!"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"So, how was your day?" Maggie asked conversationally as the two women reached simultaneously for the bread basket that had been placed between them.

It sucked. "Pretty good," Abby said, methodically buttering the warm roll. She considered elaborating on that statement, then decided against it. "Pretty good," she repeated.

"Save any lives?" Maggie asked, slicing open her own roll.

"No."

"Can't save 'em all," Maggie offered, not without a touch of irony.

"I never save lives," Abby said thinly.

"That's not true," her mother countered. "I've seen you save lives before."

"I'm not a doctor," she mumbled, stuffing a chunk of bread into her mouth.

"I know you don't have to be a doctor to save lives," Maggie said pointedly, her dark brown eyes focusing on her daughter's impassive face. "And, Abby, you are just as good as a doctor. How many more years of medical school do you have left?"

Abby rubbed her forehead and took a deep breath. "One," she said softly, looking directly at her mother.

Maggie smiled in encouragement. "Why don't you go back then?"

"Well, I don't really have time now, do I?" Abby replied, rummaging through her purse. She needed Advil. Immediately. "I mean, I'd still need to do nursing shifts to make money, and I'd never be home to see you."

"I could help you with the money," Maggie offered firmly.

Abby looked at her judgmentally. "How are you going to do that, Mom? Huh? You don't have money. And you can't go back to work."

"Abby, if you really wanted to do it, we could work something out. If you want to be a doctor-and I know you do-than you'll find a way to make it happen."

"I couldn't go back till September, anyway," Abby muttered. She took a big gulp of water and stuffed the painkillers in her mouth.

"So you have plenty of time to think about it," Maggie said, with an air of finality.

Abby nodded. "I'll think about it," she promised. She didn't feel like fighting. Not now.

Their food came, and they made small talk over plates of pasta and vegetables. Abby played with her food, getting more and more nauseous as she regarded the seemingly-growing pile of linguini.

"Not hungry?" Maggie wondered, taking a bite of a steamed carrot.

Abby looked up guiltily. "I'm sorry."

"Doesn't matter," Maggie said, shaking her head. "You feel okay?"

"Yeah," Abby said, setting down her fork. "Oh, yeah, I'm just.I'm just tired. And I had too much bread."

"I warned you about that," Maggie laughed in a motherly tone.

Abby nodded. "I know."

The soft glow of candles on a chocolate cheesecake passed their table, trailed by the sounds of tone-deaf voices: "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you."

Mother and daughter watched the passel of waiters go by. "Remember your ninth birthday?" Maggie asked with a smile.

Abby frowned, thinking, then grinned. "Yeah," she said. "We went to Bertolini's."

Maggie nodded. "Eric asked the waiters not to sing. He thought they were embarrassing you."

Abby chuckled. "And then I got up and told him that on his birthday he could do whatever he wanted, but on my birthday, I wanted them to sing to me." She smiled happily. "He was six," she added dreamily. "He had chocolate cake all over his face."

"He cried cause he didn't get birthday presents," Maggie chimed in.

"You got me a diary," Abby remembered. "With those colored pens. And make- up. You got me my first make-up set."

"And do you remember going to the lake after?" Maggie asked earnestly. "Going ice-skating?"

"Yeah," Abby laughed, tears welling in her eyes as she recalled Eric falling to the ice and indignantly announcing that he was a good athlete, he just couldn't ice skate! "Eric waddled around the lake." She brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "I'd forgotten about that," she admitted. She met her mother's eyes, and knew what Maggie was thinking. "You're right," she sighed.

"Right about what?"

"That I dwell on the bad memories."

"It wasn't all bad," Maggie said gently. "We did have some good times."

Abby nodded, her face falling. The good times were over. They'd been over for a long time.

"It's hard to think of the good times," Maggie admitted. "I know it is. I know there were a lot of bad times. And it's human nature to remember the bad over the good."

Abby stared at her. When had her mother become so wise?

"I don't want you to remember only the bad, Abby," Maggie continued firmly. "When I'm gone." Abby opened her mouth to interrupt, but her mother held up a hand. "We can't pretend it's not happening, sweetheart. We can't pretend I'm going to be here forever." She smiled sadly. "I know it wasn't easy, and I don't expect you to forgive me, or forget everything that happened. But I hope that's not all you remember." Abby rubbed her temples. Was it too soon to take another Advil? "We survived. We're okay." Well, she'd gotten the survival part right. "Do you think you will, Abby?" her mother said earnestly. "Remember any of the good stuff?"

Abby managed a weak smile. "Yeah," she said, her voice shaking. "Of course."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"A retentive memory may be a good thing, but the ability to forget is the true token of greatness." --Elbert Hubbard

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Abby stood outside the ambulance bay doors, dragging hard on her cigarette. The wind played with her hair and chilled her through the thin scrub jacket, but she didn't move. Her mind was focusing on her mother, and what she'd asked of her the previous night. "Please try to remember the good, Abby," she'd begged as they left the restaurant. "That's what I want you to remember about me."

The truth was, Abby had forgotten the good a long time ago. There was so little of it-and the few happy times Abby could remember were usually tainted by something terrible and painful, like the pancake breakfast she'd shared with her father that had culminated in his telling her that he loved her very much, but he had to leave.

Many of Abby's worst memories were her own fault, or at least, not her mother's-the abortion, alcoholism, her marriage to Richard. If she were perfectly honest with herself-a thing she liked to be, whenever possible- she'd admit that her mother wasn't to blame for everything. She'd decided of her own free will to drink. She'd made up her own mind to marry Richard. And as for the abortion-well, it wasn't really something she liked to think about.

She took another gulp of nicotine, relaxing as it filled her lungs. Don't think about it, she reminded herself. She'd gone five years without thinking about it. No reason to start now.

Of course, that was another lie. She thought about it every minute, every day. Every time she saw a baby, or a pregnant woman, or a mother. Every time she saw the ultrasound picture. Every time she saw Richard.

Every time she saw Luka.

So much for being honest with herself.

"Abby?" Luka's soft Croatian voice interrupted her thoughts. "Are you okay?"

She jumped and turned to look at him, hoping she didn't appear as torn up as she felt. "Yeah. Fine."

He gazed at her for a long moment, and she turned uncomfortably. "You sure?"

"Yeah. Of course."

"What's with you lately?" he asked gently. Abby looked back and frowned, but his face wasn't prying or sarcastic. It was-well, worried, actually.

"What do you mean?" she asked guardedly.

He shrugged. "You've just seemed a little out of it. Not talking, avoiding everyone." He gestured to her cigarette. "Smoking a lot."

She considered telling him about her mother's illness, but decided against it. The last thing she wanted was everybody knowing, and the inevitable concern that came with it. She didn't need Luka asking if she was okay, asking how her mother was feeling. "Yeah, well," she said vaguely.

She could feel Luka's eyes studying her face. "How's your mother?"

Her cheeks paled. How did he know? She searched his expression, but he looked completely innocent. "She's still on her meds," she offered. At least that part was true.

Luka nodded. "Have you seen her lately?"

"Yeah." A few hours ago. "She's--" dying-"Doing okay."

"Why don't you come back inside?" he said. "I need your help with a patient."

Abby took one last puff of smoke, then stamped out her cigarette. "Okay."

They walked through the ambulance bay doors together, in awkward silence. Abby's mind raced. Why couldn't she tell Luka? Why did it matter?

She didn't have a reason, except that maybe, just this time, she wanted to stand on her own two feet. She didn't want help, and she didn't want pity. For once, she needed to help her mother without someone standing behind her, ready to catch her if she fell. She had only a few weeks left, and somehow, she had to make up for thirty years.

Once again, a voice interrupted her thoughts, but this time, it was a far less welcome one. "Luka," Nicole's perky French accent called. "I wanted to ask you something."

Luka looked apologetically at Abby. "It's okay," she said weakly. "I'll go start the IV."

"Curtain two," he said. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

She walked toward curtain two, stopping to look back over her shoulder. Luka was still watching her.

She looked away quickly and headed directly for the exam room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Abby's cell phone rang as she stood in the ambulance bay, smoking yet another cigarette. She was on her second pack of the day, but the smoke filling her lungs did not have its usual calming effect.

"Hello?" she said wearily, pulling up the antenna on the small device.

"Hey, Abby," a familiar voice said. Her face relaxed into a grin. "What's up?"

"Eric," she said gratefully. "Hi."

"Thought I'd forgotten about you, didn't you?" he joked.

"I figured you've been busy." She dropped the cigarette, crushing it with her heel. "I understood."

"Hang on just a sec." She heard him shouting to someone in the background. "Yeah, tonight.no, Tuesday.morning, but I'll be back Monday night. Can I.? Okay.Sorry, Abby."

"That's okay. Where are you?"

"At the base. But.how are you?"

Abby's knees shook a little. "I'm okay."

"You don't sound okay," Eric said doubtfully. Her little brother was the only one who never fell for even her smallest lies. They knew each other too well, had seen each other through too much pain and agony.

"There's a lot going on," she said, her voice weary.

There was a long silence. "Abby, I'm flying in to O'Hare tonight."

She'd never been so happy. "You can get leave? Oh, Eric, that's great. Mom'll be so happy to see you! And I can-oh, how long can you stay?"

"Abby," he said, his voice serious. "I'm shipping out on Tuesday."

Abby's face went numb. She'd feared this, dreaded this, had nightmares about this, ever since he joined the Air Force. "Sh-shipping out where?" she stuttered.

"Afghanistan," he said, and laughed ruefully. "Somewhere around there. Get those bastards."

Her heart seemed to stop. "Oh, Eric."

"I'm coming to say good-bye," he said softly. "I don't-I don't know when I'm going to be back. But it." He paused and took a deep, shuddery breath. "It might not be for a while. She's not.she's not going to.is she?"

"No," Abby whispered. "She doesn't have much longer."

He cleared his throat. "Can you pick me up from the airport? I'm supposed to arrive at--" she heard papers shuffling-"7:39, your time."

She cleared her throat and pressed her palms against her eyes. "Yeah, uh," she managed, sniffling hard. "I'll, uh, I'll be there."

"Okay," he said. "I'll see you then."

"Yeah," she said. "See you then."

Slowly, shakily, she pressed the 'OFF' button on her phone, pushed the antenna down. She leaned her head against the brick wall of the hospital, and ran a hand through her hair. "Abby!" Carter yelled from the ambulance bay doors. She turned to look at him, quickly composing her face. "MVA, van versus motorcycle, we need you."

Abby stuffed her cell phone in her pocket and ran for the doors. Carter gave her a funny look as she walked past him. "You okay?"

"Fine," she said for what must have been the millionth time, reaching for gloves at the admit desk. "I'm fine."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Adversity is like a strong wind. It tears away from us all but the things that cannot be torn, so that we see ourselves as we really are." --Arthur Golden

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