TITLE: Hearts that Hold: The Color of Roses (Part 2/4)

AUTHOR: Alyssa

DATE: November 25th, 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: The Color of Roses

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

Abby paced outside the door of the Starbucks at O'Hare International Airport. She checked her watch again-7:42. Where the hell was he?

Okay. Three minutes late. Give him till 7:44 at least.

Abby had always been a nervous flier, and the recent terrorist hijackings had only served to compound her fear. She watched people stride past her, dragging luggage and boxes. "Mom!" a little girl called. Whined. She carried a purple and pink backpack with her name stitched on it: Gabriella. "I can't carry it!" she cried, bursting into tears. "You're going too fast."

The girl had brown hair, brown eyes, and an angry face. She could have been my daughter, Abby thought, her mind drifting back to the ultrasound photo. Was this what that tiny dot would have grown to look like, if only she'd given it a chance?

"Gabby," the girl's mother sighed. "I'm sorry, but we're going to miss the plane if we don't hurry. You do want to see Grandma and Grandpa, right?"

Would her daughter have wanted to see Grandma? Would her daughter have asked where Grandpa was? Would her daughter have wondered what was wrong with Grandma when she came bouncing into her life one day, bearing gifts and brimming with ideas, and bounced out the next day in a fit of anger and misery? Would her daughter have wondered why Abby cried?

The little family moved on, but Abby let her eyes linger on them.

They disappeared from sight, and she sighed, and leaned her head back against the wall. Quick check of the watch-where the hell was Eric?

7:51. He should be here by now. She was just about to track down a television monitor to find out whether the plane was on time when she heard her name. "Abby!"

She turned around. Thank God. He was standing there, dressed in civilian clothes and holding a blue Air Force bag. "Eric!" She ran into his arms.

"You look tired," he said, holding her away from him.

"I'm okay," she said, averting her eyes slightly. He smiled sadly at this. "Do you, uh, have any other bags?"

"No," he said, slinging an arm around her shoulders as they walked down the crowded hallway. "I'm just staying two nights, remember?"

"Right," Abby said softly. She didn't want to remember.

"How's Mom?" Eric asked.

"She's doing okay," Abby told him, nodding as if to convince herself. She leaned her head against her little brother's side, trying to remember when she'd been taller than him. Had she ever

been taller than him? "She'll be happy to see you."

"Did you tell her I was coming?"

"I haven't been home yet," Abby said. "I figured you could surprise her."

They reached Abby's car quickly. "I'll drive," Eric volunteered. She was about to protest, but he looked too determined. "Relax."

Abby nodded, and managed a small smile. "Okay."

He fastened his seatbelt and turned to look at her. "God," he sighed. "You look like hell."

"Stop, Eric," Abby protested, too emotionally drained to think of a comeback.

"Do you have anyone helping you?" he pressed, adjusting the mirror. "That boyfriend of yours?"

"We broke up," Abby said matter-of-factly, her eyes never leaving the windshield. She could feel Eric turn to look at her, could feel the shock on his face. "A couple months ago."

"Why?"

She shrugged. She should have just sent out a memo to all her family members: Luka and Abby have broken up. Abby doesn't want to talk about it. Abby is okay. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" They were pulling out of the airport parking lot, paying the toll at the exit.

"We just-the relationship just wasn't working," she said numbly, eyes focused out the window. "You know? We just grew apart."

"Um-hmmm," Eric said.

She knew he didn't believe her. "It's just-I-I don't know, I just--" It would be nice if she could talk without tripping over her words. "We didn't.communicate very well."

He didn't push her. "Oh," he said softly. He took his hand off the wheel and patted her arm comfortingly.

He understood. He was the only one who ever had. But she'd never told him certain things-the abortion, namely-and she wondered if he had secrets, too.

They pulled up at her building, and she led him upstairs to the apartment. "Abby," Eric said, stopping her as she went to unlock the door. "Does she- is she." He bit his lip. "Is there anything I should expect?"

Abby rubbed her forehead. "She looks okay," she said honestly. "She's- she's tired a lot, and she doesn't eat much. She's also in a lot of pain, but, otherwise." She smiled wearily. "She looks fine. It's okay."

"Has she said anything about me?" he asked. Abby frowned. "I mean, we haven't spoken since she ran back here last year."

"She's not gonna be mad at you," Abby assured him. "It's not going to matter."

Eric nodded. "Okay."

She turned the key. "Mom!" she called pushing open the door. "I'm home!"

"Where have you been?" her mother's voice called. She walked into the living room. "I thought you'd be home at-oh, God."

"Hi, Mom," Eric said nervously.

Her face melted into a tragic smile. "Oh, Eric."

Abby watched them embrace, oddly numb. She felt as if she should be crying, but she couldn't. It just didn't feel real.

Her mother couldn't die. She just couldn't.

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

"Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside of us while we live." --Norman Cousins

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

Life gives us magic and life gives us tragedy, everyone suffers sometimes.

Abby stirred the rice simmering in the pot on her stove, hoping she hadn't added too much water. She'd never quite mastered cooking, at least not the kind she was attempting right now, so `gourmet' meals were usually trial and error with her.

Still we have faith in it, childlike hope: there's a reason that outweighs the cost.

She hummed the tune, reaching for the crushed red pepper and adding a liberal amount-a very liberal amount-to her Thai noodle dish, jumping back as the oil splattered slightly.

But gravity throws all these rules in our way, and sometimes the spirit refuses to play.

The music became softer, and Abby glanced irritatedly toward the stereo. Eric. Of course. She made a face at him. "Leave it!"

"Depressing, much?"

"I like it."

Only the ones who believe ever see what they dream, ever dream what comes true.

"What are you cooking?" he asked, idling over to stand behind her.

"Flat rice noodles with tofu and chili and basil sauce," Abby said, carefully adjusting the flame on the stove. She surveyed her creation and smiled. "Twenty minutes, it'll be ready."

"You didn't have to do all this."

"I wanted to." She pulled the apron over her head. "How's Mom?"

Oh, Love.Turn me around in your arms, and in this dream we share, let us not miss one kiss.

"She's okay," Eric assured her. "A little tired. She says she's hungry though."

Abby chuckled. "She better be! I have enough food to feed an army."

"I'll eat it, don't worry," he promised. He reached his finger toward the pot of noodles, obviously hoping to get a quick taste, but Abby smacked his hand away. "Last good meal for a while."

Abby's smile faded quickly. "Are you nervous?" she asked, turning to look at him.

"Of course," he sighed. "But I knew this could happen when I joined up. This is what I've trained for, prepared for." He caught Abby's fretful face. "I'll be okay, don't worry about me." He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "Are you going to be okay?"

No. "Yeah," she lied, pasting a smile on her face. He frowned, eyes searching her. "I'll be fine, really."

And add my regrets to the tears in the rain.That's what the color of roses contain.

There was silence as the last notes of the song died away. "You don't have to worry about me, Eric," Abby said, echoing his words. "I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

He nodded. "You know, you can ask for help, Abby," he said intensely. "Talk to Luka, talk to your friend Carter."

"Luka and I aren't together anymore," she reminded him, cutting him off abruptly.

There was that deep, searching look again. "Do you love him?"

She glared at him, but he didn't budge. Her eyes broke contact with his. "I don't know," she whispered.

"Maybe give it another chance?"

Yeah, good luck to her and the Boston Red Sox. "Maybe," she said, with an air of finality. She turned back to her pot of noodles. "Why don't you call Mom?" she suggested. "This'll be ready

in a minute."

He patted her hair and nodded. "No problem."

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

They spent all of dinner trying to ignore it. Through salads, soup (with homemade wontons), main course (the rice was burnt, but not too badly), ice cream, and coffee, they kept the conversation pleasant, avoiding the inevitable. Abby's cooking was praised. Eric's deployment to Afghanistan was discussed. No one mentioned what they were all thinking-this was their last meal together.

Abby thought of the day before she'd left for college. Maggie had been on her meds, and had cooked them a wonderful dinner. Eric, who was entering his sophomore year of high school, had been angry and sad at the prospect of her leaving. They'd shared childhood memories-happy ones, which made for a relatively short conversation-and discussed the prospects for the future: Abby majoring in nursing. Eric's chances of making the varsity soccer team. Then as now, they

hadn't discussed why the meal had a sad undertone to it.

"Do you need help?" Eric offered, as Abby cleared the plates from the table and carried them to the sink. Maggie remained in her chair, sipping her coffee, watching her children.

"I'm okay," Abby promised, tenuously balancing a plate on her forearm. She'd always known those years of waitressing would pay off.

Eric followed her into the kitchen. "Really," he said. "I can help. I'm all packed, and everything. I don't mind."

"Eric," Abby cut him off. "Your taxi's going to be here in a half hour." He nodded. "Talk to her. Just sit and talk to her." She swallowed hard. "Say good-bye."

He bit his lip. "Okay," he whispered, and squeezed her hand.

Abby hunched over the sink, scrubbing at rice caked pots and trying not to listen to the conversation wafting in from the room behind her. She heard the essentials: tales of childhood. Tense laughter.

She checked her watch. Eric's cab would be here in five minutes. She'd offered to drive him to the airport, but he'd refused to let her. Said he didn't want her driving home by herself in the middle of the night. She walked slowly into the dining room.

Maggie and Eric were sitting across the table from each other, a sad silence between them. Abby watched for a moment, her heart aching. "Eric," she said softly. He jumped, and turned to look at her. "Your taxi's going to be here in a couple minutes."

He nodded, then looked back at his mother. "Guess this is it."

Maggie smiled weakly. "I guess it is."

Both stood up and walked toward each other awkwardly. Eric wrapped his arms around Maggie, holding her to him tightly. "I love you," he whispered. "No matter what has happened before-I love you."

Abby backed up, leaning against a wall, feeling slightly uncomfortable. Her heart caught in her throat as she thought of her own good-bye to her mother-it wasn't too far off.

"I'm sorry for everything," Maggie cried into his chest. "I never meant to hurt you."

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Eric promised, rubbing her back gently. "You did your best. And we're okay. Everything turned out okay."

Abby rubbed her wet eyes, knowing that neither Maggie or Eric truly believed that. None of them were okay, none of them had ever been okay. But right now, that didn't matter.

"Please don't hate me," Maggie wept, her voice muffled. "I don't want you to hate me. I know you have every right to, but.I just hope you won't be angry when you remember me."

"I won't," he assured her, his voice shaking. Abby hugged herself tightly, watching them. I don't want you to remember only the bad. "I love you, Mom." He pulled Maggie away from him, and kissed her on the forehead.

Abby sidled quietly out of the room, and took Eric's bag out of her bedroom, where he'd left it. "I love you so much," Maggie sobbed. "And I've always been so proud of you."

"I love you," Eric repeated. He choked hard. "Good-bye."

Maggie watched as he walked out of the apartment, crying softly. "I'm going to walk him down to the front, Mom," Abby said, fighting to keep her voice steady. "I'll be right back."

Abby caught up to him on the landing. "Eric," she called.

He stopped and turned around. "Did you ever think it would happen this way?" he whispered. "I mean, did you ever think this would be the way it ended?"

She rubbed her eyes again, and shook her head. "No," she said quietly. She hadn't thought either of them would cry when their mother died.

Eric took some deep, hard breaths, composing himself. "Are you going to be okay?" he asked, taking his bag off her shoulder.

"You've already asked me that," she reminded him, tucking her hair behind her ear.

He nodded. "Right." He met her eyes, offering a tight smile. "It's just- this is hard."

Understatement of the millennium. "I know," she said, then laughed slightly. "I know."

There was a loud honk from outside. "That's my taxi," Eric said. He leaned over and hugged Abby hard. "Take care of yourself," he whispered.

"You, too," she said.

He pecked her on the cheek, and was gone. Abby slumped against the railing, reality hitting her like a sledgehammer. Her brother was going to war, and might never return.

Shoulders slumped, she walked back into her apartment, where her mother was slowly dying.

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

It was raining-a normal, Chicago rain, pounding and unrelenting, sending everyone in its path in search of shelter. Abby sat at the desk in the staff lounge, a cup of rapidly cooling coffee in her

hands, watching the window.

Her mind wandered to her mother, resting at home. She'd gotten significantly worse in the days since Eric had left, and Abby had convinced her to begin taking the morphine prescribed by her doctor in an effort to relieve the pain that was eating away at her.

She glanced down at the chart in front of her. The patient's birthdate caught her eye: January 8th, 1945. Three days before her mother's. Her heart sank, realizing how far away January 11th was-Maggie probably wouldn't make it to her 57th birthday.

Abby reached over and picked up the phone, dialing the number to her apartment. "Hello?" her mother's voice, tired and weak, answered. Abby instantly regretted calling, wondering if Maggie had been asleep. For some inexplicable reason, she'd just really wanted to talk to someone.

"Hi, Mom," she said, trying to sound upbeat. "Did I wake you?"

Talk to `someone.' There were a million people in this hospital-friends, coworkers, patients.psychiatrists.

"No," Maggie assured her. "I was just going through some of my old stuff."

"Oh," Abby said lightly. "How are you feeling?"

The all-purpose question. The one they asked each other to avoid the tougher questions: are you scared? Why is this happening? And of course, the one that had no question mark, the one that was just a simple statement, a single word. Future.

"I'm okay," Maggie said.

The all-purpose answer. The one they gave each other to avoid hurting each other: I'm terrified. I'm in pain. I don't know how to talk to you. I don't know how to love you.

"Do you still have some pills left?" Abby asked earnestly. "I can refill your prescription at the pharmacy if you want."

"No, it's okay," her mother replied. That word again. Okay. They used it interchangeably with fine. Good. Nice. Cover-up words.

Words that hid the truth. "I have plenty left." There was a long silence, comfortable and familiar. "Are you working?"

"Yeah," Abby sighed, running her hand through her hair. She thought of past years, when work had been an escape from problems with her mother. Now, all she wanted was to be home.

Work had its own problems.

One was walking through the door of the lounge.

Luka froze upon seeing her sitting at the desk. "Hi," he said awkwardly.

"Hi," she said softly.

"Abby, you can go back to work," her mother said in her ear, her voice considerably more energetic than it had been at the beginning of the call.

"No, it's okay," Abby said. "I want to talk to you."

"Go back to work," Maggie ordered. "I'll see you when you get home. What time are you off?"

"Seven," Abby sighed. She glanced at her watch. Only 2:00. "All right," she said, with mock exasperation. "I'll see you later."

"I'll see you tonight," Maggie promised. "Have a good afternoon."

"You, too," she said softly. She snuck a glance at Luka, who was making a fresh pot of coffee and pretending not to listen to her conversation. "I love you," she added quickly, and hung up the phone, staring at it for a long moment.

Taking a deep breath, she stood up with her coffee mug and headed for the sink, pouring the remainder of her cold drink down the drain. She could feel Luka's eyes on her. "What?"

"Nothing," he said, an amused smirk on his face.

She rubbed her forehead, knowing what he was thinking. "That was my mom," she said, in a sudden burst of honesty, reaching for the coffee pot.

He nodded, not believing her.

"Oh, stop it," she snapped, heading toward the refrigerator for cream.

"You're seeing your mom later?" he asked, bemused and skeptical. A little too pushy for her tastes.

"Yes," she said. Shouted. "I am. Got a problem with that?" She slammed the refrigerator door shut.

Luka shook his head. "No. I just thought you didn't talk to her very often since she moved back to Milwaukee."

Abby shrugged pointedly, pouring a generous helping of cream into her mug. "You thought wrong."

Luka pursed his lips in that infuriating way of his. "Okay."

She slammed her cup down, sloshing coffee over the sides. Grief enveloped her heart and mind, projecting itself as anger. "Could you stop being so patronizing?" she demanded bitterly.

"You okay?" Luka asked, his tone of voice changing suddenly.

"What do you care?" she yelled. "What does it matter to you? We're not dating. You're not obligated to care. You don't owe me anything. I don't owe you anything!"

"I'm sorry," Luka said, raising his eyebrows. "I just--"

"Yes, I'm fine!" she cried. "I am fine! Could everyone just stop asking that! Just leave me the hell alone!"

He was looking at her with great concern and pity, and it only made her angrier. "Just leave me the hell alone!" she repeated.

"Abby," Luka said, his voice so gentle and comforting, she almost burst into tears.

The door opened, and Carter walked in, stopping in shock when he caught the scene in front of him His eyes moved from Abby to Luka, and back to Abby. She could have sworn there was a smirk on his face. "What's going on?" he said nervously.

"Great," Abby spat. "My life is now complete."

She ran out the door, slamming it behind her. Hard. She made it to the bathroom, kicked the stall door closed, and collapsed onto the tile floor. For the first time in months, she allowed herself to

really cry.

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

"There is this difference between sorrow and depression-sorrowful, you are in great trouble because something matters so much; depressed, you are miserable because nothing really matters." --J.E. Buckrose

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





Alyssa

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

"I wanted it. I lay awake at night wanting it. Hell a man can lie there and want something so bad, and be so full of wanting it he just plain forgets what it is he wants. Just like when you are a boy and the sap first rises and you think you will go crazy some night wanting something and you want it so bad and get so near sick wanting it you near forget what it is. It's something inside you...But wanting it don't make a thing true. You don't have to live forever to figure that out." --Willie Stark, 'All the King's Men.'