TITLE: Through the Door (8/10)
AUTHOR: C. Midori
EMAIL: socksless@hotmail.com
CATEGORY: JC/AL Angst
RATING: R for adult themes and language
SPOILERS: All of Season 8, except "Lockdown."
ARCHIVE: Please ask first for permission.
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations owned by Not Me. These Other People may include, but are not limited to: NBC, Warner Bros., Michael Crichton, etc. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks to everyone who reviewed Chapter Six: Dana, JD, Cat, Ceri, CorruptCarbyChickie, Cristallo, Em, Songbird, Jennie, and Charlotte. I know I keep saying this, but I mean it when I say that your reviews are so very appreciated—you guys rock my socks! Speaking of socks and rocking them, thanks also to Neoxer for being a splenderific host. As an aside, I now have a fanfic journal at www.livejournal.com/~cmidori if you're interested in things like outtakes, teasers, and my various thoughts on the story. Finally, I've waited a long, long time to get to this point in the story. ^_^ So I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I did writing it, and I would love to hear your thoughts on the piece.
SUMMARY: An unexpected moment followed by an unexpected revelation; a.k.a. The One In Which the Shit Hits the Fan. (As a gentle reminder, this fic is rated R for strong language.)
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Darkest Hour
what a beautiful piece of heartache this has all turned out to be
* * *
ABBY OPENED HER EYES, lids laden with sleep, and peeked out from behind the messy ringlets that fell over her face like a shade. The moon cast weightless shadows upon the canvas of her skin, liquid rivers of night spilling like water into the curves and valleys of her body, and from someplace beyond the darkness she could dimly perceive a muffled thudding, incessant and insistent.
Her body groaned in resistance. But the thudding continued—louder this time and steady as a metronome—and roused her out of her half-sleep. Reluctantly, she shook off the last vestiges of her slumber and sat up, the room suddenly tilting like a see-saw.
Awkward hands quested the firm curve of the sofa. Something far more solid, and plastic, greeted her fingertips instead. Her hand closed around the object and with a jerk, she tugged it free from its place between the couch cushions.
She stared at it, bleary-eyed.
The knocking continued.
Shit, Abby sighed to herself, her groggy head putting two and two together.
"I'm coming," she called over her shoulder as she proceeded to shove a glass and its accompanying bottle out of sight. The person at the door knocked harder. "I'm coming," she repeated, more forcefully, running frantic fingers through her hair and sliding the strap of her camisole back in place.
Still, the knocking grew louder.
"I said I'm coming," she yelled, throwing the door open.
Carter froze, his fist in the air. "Uh," he squawked. "Hi."
Abby mumbled something incoherent in return.
He glanced at her rumpled form. "I didn't wake you, did I?"
"No, not really." She stifled a yawn. "I was just napping."
"I brought food." He lifted the bag he was carrying. "It's not coffee and pie, but I thought you'd want something more substantial."
"And nothing says substantial like take-out Chinese," she quipped, gazing appreciatively at the bag and moving aside to let him in. "I'm sorry I called so late."
"It's not a problem. I was awake."
"I'm glad," Abby said, without thinking. She looked at him, holding her gaze far longer than she intended, a funny smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
Carter stared back. "What?"
"Nothing." She shook her head and let her gaze drop, her back leaning against the closed door and her hand playing with the doorknob.
He searched her face questioningly. "You sure?"
"Positive."
Carter looked amused. "Because you were staring at me."
"I was not," Abby scoffed.
"No, you definitely were."
"I was looking at you."
"There's a difference?"
"Trust me, Carter, you'd know if I was staring at you."
"You're right," he conceded.
"Thank you."
"I would know."
"Oh, for the love of…"
"And you were definitely staring at me."
"Jesus Christ." She rolled her eyes.
"Careful, or you'll give me a messiah complex."
"Like you don't have one already."
"Hey now," Carter said mildly. Scratching the back of his neck, he gave her a lopsided smile.
Abby watched as it dissolved from his face, the bags of takeout dropping to the floor.
"What?" she laughed, self-consciously. "What is it?"
He stepped towards her, his eyes lancing hers with their pure piercing stare. She held her breath and watched as his pupils snapped into focus, light reflecting from his eyes like a gem all the colors of a dark dawn sky. His hand went to her face.
"Ow! Hey, watch it." She shot him a dirty look.
"Sorry." With quick, deft fingers, he presented his treasure: a small bottle cap. "It was caught in your hair."
"I, uh, thanks." Abby snatched it from his hand.
"You've been drinking."
"No?" she offered.
"Don't lie to me."
He grabbed the food and headed for the couch. Cursing silently to herself, she joined him.
"I haven't had a drink in a week," she tried bravely. "Give me a break."
He glowered at her. Shaking his head, he began opening the bags of food. "Chow mein? Dumplings? Fortune cookies?"
Abby reached for the fortune cookie, her hand brushing against his as she missed.
"Let me," he sighed, helping her right herself as she stumbled against him. He forced his voice to remain level. "How much did you drink?"
"Just one beer."
"Really."
She narrowed her eyes, cat-like, and cocked her head. "What?"
"Nothing."
"You don't believe me."
He exhaled sharply. "Does it matter?"
"I guess not," she said under her breath. "So what's your fortune?"
Cracking the small cookie open, Carter unfurled the crumpled paper and smoothed it over with his fingers, eyes scanning the one line quickly.
"Well?" Abby arched an eyebrow. "What does it say?"
"Good things come to those who wait," he read aloud, with no small amount of irony.
"In bed."
"What?"
"Good things come to those who wait in bed," she repeated.
"I heard you the first time."
"Well, usually when people ask 'what,' it implies that they haven't heard—"
Carter ignored her, poking her in the side with a pair of chopsticks.
"Hey," she protested, laughing.
"I heard what you said the first time," he said curtly.
"So…?"
Grudgingly, he cleared his throat. "In bed?"
"Don't tell me you haven't done that before." She fished for the soy sauce in the wilted plastic bag, grimacing as the grease stained her fingers.
"Done something in bed?"
"No." Abby rolled her eyes, a little laugh slipping from her lips. "Read your fortune, and tacked on 'in bed' at the end of it."
"Can't say that I have."
"Oh, you're missing out."
"I'll live."
"You're no fun."
"A regular black hole of fun."
Abby munched on her food in silence.
"Don't everybody rush to disagree," Carter muttered, jabbing his chopsticks ruthlessly into the grease-soaked box.
"What?" she asked, her dark eyes wide and innocent.
"As my friend," he said between bites, "You are contractually obligated to disagree with any disparaging remarks I make about myself."
"Yeah, right. I don't remember signing any contract."
"You did." He popped a mushroom into his mouth. "Here, try some of these egg rolls."
"I did no such thing," she protested as he took the opportunity to stuff an egg roll into her open mouth. "Mmmrph."
"What's that? You signed a contract obliging you to disagree with any disparaging remarks I make about myself?" Carter paused, considering. "And I look great in a turtleneck?"
Abby swallowed her bite and glared at him in mock anger. "Not true."
"That's not what I just heard."
"Except for the turtleneck part," she tacked on under her breath, taking a huge bite of her egg roll.
"Wait, what?"
"Mrrmrmrph?"
"Repeat that again?"
"Mrrmrmrph?"
"No, not that. The other part. The turtleneck."
Abby gestured confusedly, motioning at the food in her mouth.
"Oh, you are so dead," Carter exclaimed, flinging a noodle at her.
She squealed, his fingers smearing grease on her cheeks.
"Okay," she laughed, "You. Turtleneck. Good. Now will you stop being angry at me?"
"I'm not angry at you," he said automatically.
She looked at him appraisingly. "Not anymore."
* * *
Stabbing his chopsticks into a hill of leftover noodles, Carter leaned back in his seat, his shoulders gratefully falling against the softness of the couch. He patted his stomach and watched with amusement as Abby proceeded to methodically do away with the rest of the chow mein, ingredient by ingredient—first the chicken, then the vegetables, and then the noodles. With a little laugh, he thought to himself that he would never tire of looking at her, of admiring her dark, nocturnal beauty: the rumpled midnight hair, the moon-pale skin, the clean line of her profile.
Taking in the pretty sight before him, he couldn't help but flinch at the sudden ache that flowered in his chest, its petals unfurling to reveal a deep, blood-red center. He brought his hand to his ribcage and rubbed at it absently, feeling the ache throb: for the realities and the possibilities, for what he wanted and what he had, and for what he longed for and what he settled for, if he could call it settling. Her friendship was more than good enough for him, but he couldn't help but feel as if they had missed something better somewhere along the way; although looking back he could see no other alternatives available. There were always other people and other considerations, it was always the wrong time and the wrong place, and there was no other path but the one before them. It was just the way things were for them—and the way, he imagined, things would always be.
But that didn't mean he had to like it. He sighed, and threw a balled napkin onto the table.
"Heartburn?"
"No," Carter heard himself say, "I'm fine."
Abby cocked her head. "You sure?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Because," she said, savoring each word on her tongue with great enthusiasm, "You were staring at me."
"I was not."
"You definitely were."
He threw his hands up in mock exasperation. "So what if I was?"
Something like a shade passed over her eyes, her gaze flickering like candlelight before resuming its steady vigil.
"I want to know why."
The darkness and the silence poured in from all the windows like a torrent, and it was as if she was trapped in the center of some black crystal held up to starlight. Trapped, she held her ground against his wavering gaze, watching as the answer took shape in his eyes until she knew with utter certainty what he would say before he said it.
For the first time, she felt the weight of his words in her hand and did not fear it.
"Why?" he echoed.
"Yes, why?"
"You're beautiful," Carter shrugged.
There was a long, pregnant pause.
"Careful," she found her voice, "Or you'll give me a messiah complex."
"Like you don't have one already," he cracked.
"Out of original material already?"
"Hey—imitation is the sincerest form of flattery."
"Well, that answers my question."
"You started it."
Abby couldn't help herself; she laughed.
"Thanks." She plunked the takeout box onto the table. "I needed that."
"You're welcome. Why?"
"I had a pretty crappy day."
"Was it because of that girl, Nancy?"
She shook her head slowly, looking contemplative.
"It was more than Nancy. It was a lot of things; a lot of different things."
"Like…?" Carter prodded.
"Dr. Weaver nailed me for missing my shift."
"That's funny. She didn't say anything to me."
Abby gave him a withering glance. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"Sorry."
"Luka spent the entire day harassing me."
"You're the one who slept with the guy," he said neutrally.
"I don't need the reminder, thanks."
Unrepentantly, "What did he want?"
"He wanted to talk."
"And?"
"And what?"
Carter rolled his eyes. "Did you talk to him?"
"No."
"Why not?"
She gave him an exasperated sigh. "I don't know. I didn't feel like it."
"Maybe you should talk to him."
Abby looked at him in surprise, her eyes round. "Excuse me?"
He cleared his throat. "Maybe you should talk to him?"
Speechless, her eyes widened. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"
"Yours, of course," Carter said patiently. "But you can't avoid the guy forever."
"Why not?"
"You kind of work with him."
She waved her hand dismissively. "Details."
They sat there in relative silence, half-eaten boxes of Chinese takeout littering the landscape in front of them, their feet propped up on the table.
"Hmm," Abby mused.
"What?"
"I must not have gotten the memo."
"What memo?"
"The one that says you and Luka are officially bosom buddies."
"We are not," Carter said indignantly, "Bosom buddies."
"Then why the sudden change of heart?"
He grinned impishly. "Would you believe me if I told you I found religion?"
She snorted with amusement.
"Okay, so Luka's being a stalker and Weaver had you for lunch. Doesn't sound like a terrible day."
"I fainted in trauma."
"Wasn't that bad."
"It was embarrassing," Abby laughed.
"I've done worse."
"You've never fainted in trauma."
"Yeah, but I've puked my guts out," Carter pointed out.
She smiled half-heartedly. "Nancy's baby died in the Peds ICU."
He paused. "I'm sorry."
"Me too."
"I know you said she reminded you of yourself."
"She did." Ruefully, Abby looked down, picking an imaginary piece of lint off her pajama bottoms. "I lost a child once."
Astonished, he turned to look at her.
"I had an abortion."
Carter nodded numbly, his head spinning.
"Richard was in school, and I was busy working to support us…" She trailed off. "I didn't think it was the right time."
He hesitated. "What did Richard say about it?"
"He doesn't know."
"…I'm sorry."
"It was a long time ago." Abby cleared her throat, drumming her fingers against the flat plane of her stomach. "I guess…I guess I saw a little of myself in her. In Nancy. And I wanted it to be different for her. She was just fourteen. She deserved some kind of happily ever after."
Carter exhaled softly. "Sometimes happily ever after isn't possible."
"No." She hesitated. "I don't think it exists."
Silence followed her words, its sting smarting keenly against her eyelids. She closed her eyes against it and rubbed at her eyelids with her fingertips, distinctly aware of the curve of the hour, letting herself fall, a little bit, into the long, luscious pause of drowsiness.
"I thought about my mom all day."
A hush fell upon them like the somnolent pause of a lullaby.
"I miss her so much," she whispered.
His hand slipped warmly around hers.
"God, I wish I was drunk," she suddenly laughed, using her free hand to wipe away the wetness smearing her cheeks. "Wouldn't hurt so much."
He squeezed her hand. "It would."
Through a blurry lens of tears, Abby looked down at their hands. Their fingers were plaited together like vines, her hand so small in his. She felt him squeeze her fingers gently.
"I had a hangover," she blurted. "All day."
Carter frowned. "I thought you said you didn't drink all week."
Abby sunk lower in her seat, her cheeks burning.
"I know. I lied."
He inhaled sharply.
"Promise me something," he said finally.
"Depends on the promise."
"Then promise me you won't lie to me anymore."
"I don't lie to you, Carter."
"Yeah, well, you just did."
Abby said nothing for awhile.
"It was easier," she said, unhappily. "Carter…"
"Yeah?"
"You know how hard it is."
"Sometimes people make it easier." He squeezed her hand.
She exhaled.
"I promise." She looked at him, her gaze clear and even. "I promise I won't lie to you anymore."
"I want you to pinky promise."
"What?" she laughed.
"I'm serious," he replied, his face grave.
She gazed at him. "I can't do that."
Looking hurt, he blinked. "Why not?"
Abby dropped her voice to a hush. "You're holding my hand."
"Oh." Carter smiled, and let it go.
She raised her right hand and met his upturned pinky with hers, hooking them together and shaking firmly. "I promise. No more lying."
"Good," he declared.
"You too."
"Scout's honor."
"You're not a Boy Scout."
"Close enough."
"I'm glad you came."
He took her hand again.
"I'm glad you called."
* * *
"Wake up." Abby shook him gently.
Carter kept his eyes closed, a groan rumbling low in his throat. "I wasn't asleep."
"Yet," she poked him. "Wake up. I didn't get to read my fortune."
He glanced at her sideways then closed his eyes again.
"Bastard," she muttered good-naturedly as she rose out of her seat, nearly tripping over herself in the process. She fell across his knees, her fingers scraping against the cookie.
"I got it," he murmured, shoving her off gently. Yawning, he picked up the cookie and cracked it open.
"What's it say?"
Carter examined the small type.
"You're not going to believe me."
"Try me."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
A long pause. "Nah, forget it."
"If you're not going to read it, at least give it to me so I can read it."
Carter tilted his head, considering. "Nah."
"Thief," Abby declared, making a grab for the slip of paper.
"Sticks and stones, Abby." Carter couldn't help himself as he laughed, all traces of drowsiness vanishing. He dangled the fortune away from her as she reached over him and swiped wildly at his far arm.
"Carter!"
"I said no," he insisted teasingly, waving it away from her.
"You're a dead man," she grunted, getting up and struggling over him.
Suddenly, she lost her balance and fell against him.
"Whoa," he laughed again, his hand reaching up reflexively to steady her arms as she sat down hard upon his legs and straddled his knees. "Are you okay?"
There was an awkward pause. Like a bright light reflecting off the curvature of a glass, it glared at them, blinding them and accentuating the moment and its sharp edges. And in that instant, all the world seemed to be contained in that small room.
"I'm fine," she mumbled, his legs warm against the insides of her thighs. "I—" Abruptly, she cut herself off, and did something she had never done before.
She leaned forward and kissed him.
* * *
Light exploded star-like in front of his eyes.
Carter froze, the sensation of her soft mouth against his triggering tremors up and down his body, and alarm bells in his head. Almost immediately he smashed the alarms and ignored all the warnings of sense and sensibility, that he might be selfish for one moment.
Just for one perfect moment.
That his hands might cling to the curves of her face like water and like light, that he might open his eyes and look at her with the reckless possessiveness of lovers—this, he knew, he could not give up. He could not let it go; knowing that such a moment might not come to pass again.
So he kissed her back.
* * *
At first they kissed each other slowly, patiently, with all the tentativeness and thoroughness of new lovers. She parted her lips, his mouth opening almost reflexively under hers, and kissed him, the soft collision of tongues and teeth more than enough to send violent quakes up and down the landscape of her body.
But it wasn't enough. Almost simultaneously, their mouths began moving together with a sort of reckless abandon, desperate and feverish and urgent. She gasped, nothing but the sound of blood roaring in her head, and clutched at him. She felt as if she was drowning without dying, living without breathing, surrounded by nothing and no one but him, and always him, and only him.
And she smiled.
The smile disappeared from her face, contentedness replaced by a more primal urge, as the need to feel his bare skin pressed against hers burned like a physical pain in her chest. Frantically, her hands dropped from his face, fingers scrambling against the soft cotton of his tee, and she drew back only momentarily so to yank his shirt over his head.
A muted, strangled groan low in his throat escaped his lips.
With shaking, desperate hands he touched her. He ran his hands over the wings of her shoulder blades, along the exposed curve of her neck. His fingers flew over the smooth plane of her skin like piano keys. And with a delicious slowness he ran his hands down the contours of her back, slipping them under the hem of her camisole and feeling nothing but burning skin underneath.
Kissing her was like coming home, but for the first time. She tasted like dark chocolate, strong and bitter, and something else—something heady and unyielding, something he could not yet identify. He tried to focus on that something but could not, the feeling of her palms sliding over his bare chest incinerating any semblance of rational thought. Involuntarily, he jumped, his heel knocking against—
Something solid.
Something glass.
Instantly, he knew what that something was.
Breathless, Carter grabbed her arms and pushed her away.
"Carter?" Abby stared at him, her eyes huge in her flushed face. "What? What is it?"
"We can't do this," he exhaled, resisting the compulsion to pull her to him again. He felt disoriented and he reached out for something—other than Abby—to grasp. With some small relief, he found a pillow and dropped it rather awkwardly between them.
"We can't do this?" She shook her head, incredulous. "Why the hell not?"
Gently, he eased her off his lap, his hair standing wildly on end. He searched for his t-shirt and avoided her gaze as she held it out to him. Pulling it on, he reached down, his hands groping underneath the couch for—
An empty glass. He reached down again and found its companion, a half-empty bottle.
"You were drinking before I got here," he said thinly, his voice faint and his expression lost. "You shouldn't have kissed me."
She touched his face, forcing him to look at her.
"I didn't kiss you because I was drunk," Abby said, her voice low and firm.
He gave her one long, agonizing look.
"This is nothing like what happened with Luka."
She watched as he said nothing, his eyes focusing on a point somewhere beyond the darkness.
"It isn't. I'm not even attracted to Luka anymore."
"Really," he snorted.
"Okay, maybe just a little—"
"You're making it worse."
"Sorry." Abby clasped her hands and stared down into her lap.
"It's okay."
She was quiet.
"I thought that this was what you wanted," she hesitated.
He pursed his lips.
"Is it what you want?"
She looked at him helplessly.
"Or is it just easier this way, right now?"
And she found that she could not answer.
Carter gazed into the darkness, the expression on his face inscrutable and the flush nearly gone from his cheeks. Wordlessly, she reached out for his hand and he gave it to her. Exhaustion came over her in waves and she fell against him, her head pillowed in his lap and his hand tucked close to her heart.
The room shifted as if a dream. She didn't trust herself to speak.
* * *
Day was breaking.
A flat, uninteresting, utterly uninspiring shade of gray, the sky was oddly overcast, making for a wholly unremarkable dawn. But the light that slanted through the windows was not: falling upon their shoulders like a soft blanket, it had the color and the shape of a dense fog, and it was beautiful.
Carter watched as this light crept over them, their bodies so close together that he could feel the rhythmic staccato of her heartbeat snuggled against his chest. She lay on top of him; her cheek pillowed on his shoulder, her breathing regular and even, and her body warm and heavy with sleep. Dawn threw random patterns across her face in a pretty adagio of shadow and light, and it illuminated her features in the soft glow of a halo.
His heart thumped painfully. With a rush of tenderness, he was struck by how beautiful she was, in her own dark and unsettling way.
Perhaps he should not have stayed. But she had fallen asleep in that quiet room, her head in his lap, and he could not bear to wake her. So he elected to stay and watch her sleep until his eyes gave way to repose as well. But now he was awake and his head hummed with activity. There were many things to consider: many obligations and many people, all of which acted as threads pulling on them like puppet strings. There were his feelings, and then there were hers. There was her drinking. There was her mother. There was Luka and the unuttered truths he alone needed to tell her.
There were so many reasons why he needed to move forward—from this place in his life, and from her, around whom he had spent the past two years building another world and another life far removed from this one.
But there was one good reason to stay.
She stirred. He gave her one last lingering look, eyes full of simple and unadorned adulation, and carefully shifted his weight, inching out from beneath her.
Abby snored lightly, and clutched at him.
Carter relented. Maybe just a few more minutes.
* * *
There was a soft knock at the door.
Carter turned his head toward the sound, his hand frozen on the handle of her coffee pot. He glanced over at Abby, who remained undisturbed, apparently deep in slumber. Shrugging, he poured himself a mug of the steaming liquid and padded softly to the door, ducking his head and squinting into the peephole.
It was Luka.
Carter groaned softly to himself. The man had an uncanny knack for finding the most inconvenient times to serve his agenda.
"Go away," he hissed.
"Abby?" the familiar voice called through the door. "Is that you?"
With a grimace, he undid the locks and swung the door open.
Luka looked startled. "Carter?"
"Luka," Carter nodded, the mug at his lips. "Good morning."
"Is…uh…is Abby here?"
Carter nodded again, but made no movement to leave the doorway.
"Can I talk to her?"
"She's asleep," he replied. "On the couch."
Luka scratched his head, looking at a loss.
Inwardly, Carter sighed. "Do you want a cup of coffee?"
Without waiting for Luka's response, he disappeared briefly and returned again, two steaming mugs in his hands. He stepped into the hallway and nudged the door closed behind him. A thin wand of light from the doorway was visible in the shadowy corridor.
"Thanks for the coffee," Luka said, the mug at his lips.
"No problem." Carter rummaged through the pockets of his pants and revealed his bounty: sugar packets and dairy creamers. "Sugar? Cream?"
"No, thanks."
"You take your coffee black."
"Just like Abby," Luka noted. Faintly embarrassed, he gave Carter a polite smile. "Speaking of Abby, I guess I should probably come back later."
Carter rocked back slightly on his heels, nodding his head in a slow and thoughtful fashion.
"She's still ignoring me," Luka explained. "I left a message on her machine last night, but she didn't call back."
Smirking, Carter raised an eyebrow. "She's difficult, isn't she?"
Luka smiled in acknowledgement of the familiar words. "I decided to make it easier for her by coming to her door."
"I know it's important, but I don't really want to wake her." He rubbed at his jaw with his free hand. "She needs the rest."
"Yeah," Luka blurted quickly. "No problem. Tell Abby I came by."
Swallowing the last of his coffee, he handed the mug back to Carter.
Carter watched the other man retreat down the hallway.
"When are you going to tell her?" he called after his disappearing figure.
Luka halted in his tracks.
Behind him, Carter crossed his arms, the empty mug dangling from the crook of his index finger. "I know she won't listen to you, but you have to make her. She needs to hear what you have to say."
"She will." He turned his head slightly, the line of his profile indistinct in the darkened hallway. "Don't worry about it."
"I have to worry."
"I know."
They stared at each other silently.
Luka gestured vaguely at the door. "Anyway, tell her I stopped by—and not to sleep with her."
"Very funny," Carter smiled slightly.
"You'd think she'd be happy to hear we didn't sleep together—"
"Excuse me?"
Both men jumped, clearly startled.
Abby stepped into the hallway.
"I'm sorry, Luka, what did you just say?"
* * *
"What did you just say?"
"Abby." Luka took several tentative steps toward her, so that between the three of them they formed a rough equilateral triangle of sorts. "Hey."
"Talk," she said flatly, her voice hard as ice. "What did you just say to Carter?"
The men exchanged glances.
"Maybe I should go," Carter hesitated. "You and Luka should—"
"No." Abby glared at them, her arms folded across her chest and her eyes glittering. "Stay."
Carter shifted uneasily in place.
She turned her attention back to Luka. "Well?"
"We, uh…"
"Out with it."
He swallowed hard.
"Luka."
"We didn't sleep together," he said softly.
With a sinking feeling, Carter watched as Abby jerked, shock thinly disguised in the lines of her face.
"And when," she said slowly, struggling to keep the tremors out of her voice, "were you planning to tell me?"
"I tried," Luka began, helpless.
"Oh, right," she scoffed.
"You wouldn't talk to me."
"Well, yeah—I thought I slept with you!"
"And why is that such a terrible thing?" he blurted.
Abby glowered silently, her mouth set in a grim line.
"I'm sorry," Luka muttered. "I should've told you sooner."
"Damn right you should've told me," she said, bitter. "How could you—"
"I didn't know you thought we slept together."
"Luka! I woke up in your bed with half my clothes missing and a huge hangover—what the hell did you think I was thinking?"
"I don't know," Luka repeated, miserable, "I didn't even get to talk with you that morning. You left before I woke up."
Abby looked ready to launch another tirade when she stopped, closing her mouth abruptly. A looking of comprehension dawned on her face.
"Wait," she said slowly. "If you didn't know that I thought we slept together, how did you…?"
"I told him."
Slowly, she swiveled her head.
"I told him," Carter repeated, his face tense and unhappy. "I went to him and I confronted him."
"Why?" she asked, all emotion gone from her voice.
"Abby, you told me you were drunk the night you slept with him. I thought he took advantage of you."
"So, what?" she snapped, her eyes flashing. "You went to Luka—behind my back—to protect my honor? What'd you do, beat him up or something?"
To his credit, Carter looked embarrassed.
"Oh my god," Abby laughed harshly. "What exactly gives you the right to play hero in my life, Carter?"
"I wasn't trying to be a hero," he argued, "I was just trying—"
Shrilly, "You were just trying to protect me, right? Rescue me from the big, bad Luka?"
Carter fell silent.
She laughed again, disbelief and shock shattering the cadences of her voice like cascades of falling ice. "Did it ever occur to you that I didn't need to be rescued?"
"Abby…"
Her voice grew louder. "Did it ever occur to you that you're not responsible for solving my problems for me?"
"I—"
"Did it ever occur to you that Luka would never take advantage of me?"
"I don't know," he broke in harshly, "Did it ever occur to you?"
Speechless, Abby glowered at him. "That's not the point."
"That is exactly the point," Carter snapped. "Wake up, Abby! You drank too much that night. You thought you slept with Luka. You couldn't even remember what else might've happened to you. You can't control how much you drink or what you do when you're drinking."
"Carter," Luka interrupted quietly.
"No." He glared at Abby. "You have a serious problem, and you need to stop pretending like it doesn't exist."
"Spare me the dogma," she spat. "I was your sponsor, remember?"
"And now you need help."
"Oh, give me a fucking break."
"Look, I'm trying to help you and—"
"Help me?" Abby repeated, laughing. "You're not trying to help me; you're trying to lecture me on how to live my life!"
"I'm not lecturing you," Carter burst.
"Get off your fucking high horse, Carter! I'm not some damsel-in-distress and you're not my knight-in-shining-armor. You can't just assume that I need or want rescuing and come riding in, thinking you and your magic sword are going to make things all better."
"Well, maybe I wouldn't feel the need to rescue you all the time if you didn't put yourself in that position," he retorted.
"That's not for you to say!" Abby screamed.
"The hell it isn't!"
"You don't get to decide what's wrong with my life and when I need help—that's something only I get to decide."
"Yeah, well, you're not exactly great at deciding anymore," Carter snapped.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"How can you be, when half the time you're drunk—"
Her eyes widened. "You son of a bitch—"
"—And the other half the time, you're trying to figure out what happened while you were drunk."
"That's bull shit," she exclaimed, her voice full of scorn.
"Is it?" he challenged, incredulous.
"You know it is!"
"Then do you remember almost getting yourself raped?" Carter exploded, flinging the mugs against the wall.
A thunderous shattering filled the hallway
Carter was not aware of the palpable silence that followed his outburst, nor was he aware of the silent prayer that escaped from Luka's lips. Instead, all his world was fixed on Abby in that infinitely long moment, and on the look of devastation that rippled through her face.
"Abby," he began, his voice broken and on the verge of tears, "You were almost raped that night I left your apartment."
She flinched violently.
Tentatively, Luka approached her, drawing as near to her as he dared.
"I found you in a bar," he began in his soft accent, his voice quiet and sad. "Completely by accident. I didn't recognize you right away—you were very drunk and you were with another person. A man I didn't know. He was—"
Luka stopped.
"What?" Abby whispered, her face white.
He looked away.
"He was touching you." With great difficulty, Luka continued. "I tried to get you to leave with me, but you wouldn't. You wouldn't go. That man—he wouldn't let you. I think—I'm sure he put something in your drink."
She forced herself to look at him. "Did he…?"
"No," he cut in. "I hit him. Then I carried you to my apartment."
A ragged sigh escaped her lips. Lost, she turned to Carter.
"You knew about this?"
Carter nodded, his face ashen.
Abby lifted her eyes to his, her gaze shattered and empty. Slowly, she turned around and walked into her apartment, closing the door behind her. She hung each chain and turned each lock into place.
When she was done, she leaned against the door. Dizzily, she brought her hand up to her face.
She fell on her knees and heaved.
And then there was darkness, nothing but darkness. A thousand nights congealed in a pool of black in which she drowned.
* * *
CREDITS: The title of the chapter alludes to a popular idiom: "The darkest hour is just before dawn." Opening quote is snagged from the song "Latter Days" by one of my favorite bands, Over the Rhine (www.overtherhine.com). The last two lines of the chapter are taken verbatim from the Prologue—check out the journal if you want to know why.