Title: Late For The Sky

Description: Post-ep for "When Night Meets Day." Fourteenth chapter in "The Long Way," a series of Season 9 post-eps beginning with "First Snowfall." Carter's POV.

Author: KenzieGal (a/k/a It's Always Something)

Disclaimer: Carter and Abby do not belong to me – they are the property of the wise and wealthy minds of TPTB at Warner Brothers. No copyright infringement intended.

Spoilers: Everything during Season 9 up to and including "When Night Meets Day." (#9-21)

Summary: As Carter arrives at O'Hare for the first leg of his Congo adventure, an unexpected visitor is on hand to wish him bon voyage.

Author's Notes: This is the next-to-last installment in a series of crossover post-eps with Sunni's (a/k/a Lanie) Abby-centric "Reflections" series, the one that raised the bar for an entire genre that followed. Look for her to pick up the story thread in "No Room for Goodbye" (Chapter 19), her post-ep to "When Night Meets Day." As mentioned in prior chapters…well those who find themselves here, surely know the drill by now.

The lyrics cued up at the outset of each vignette are from Jackson Browne's classic angst-ridden ballad, "Late for the Sky." I know many readers tend to skip over the words for post-ep songs, but if you'd just take a minute to let them sink in, I think you'll find an eerie parallel with Carter's frame of mind as you picture him leaving for the airport and an uncertain destination. In this case, even more so than with past post-eps, I can actually hear this tune playing in the background. I hope you can too.

Another one down, one more to go…although an alternate universe primed epilogue, continuing the crossover with "Reflections" to its logical conclusion, is in the works. Once again, my apologies for the tardiness of this entry – real life intrusions of the most annoying variety felt the need to tango with inspiration and wordsmithing once again. As Lanie, to whom credit and kudos go for penning the airport crossover scene, opined in her author's notes for Chapter 19, this isn't nearly as much fun as it used to be; four sweeps episode fired in rapid succession at even the most primed carby lovers, can only wreak havoc on our schedules, never mind our abilities to churn out timely, insightful, jaw-dropping post-eps. Thanks ever so much for your patience and unflagging support – we appreciate it more than words can say (and how often do you suppose we are rendered speechless?).

Special thanks to Taylor Wise for her unflagging encouragement, wit and wisdom as well as the most faithful band of reviewers this gal could ask for: Lesbias Sparrow, flutiedutiedute, MeganStar, Ana Di, Spooky Anne, Mbraveheart, Mbooker, Lilyhead, Anna, Starbright, Ali, and Ceri. And welcome to the carby party, Midnighter92.

As always, reviews are like chocolate. They don't call it "fat and happy" for nothing… :o)

* * * * *

The words had all been spoken

And somehow the feeling still wasn't right

And still we continued on through the night

Tracing our steps from the beginning

Until they vanished into the air

Trying to understand how our lives had led us there

* * * * *

I step out into the early morning stillness, dropping my duffel bag and backpack on the bottom step. Leaning against the railing, I turn around and peer up at the brightening sky, sleepily recovering from its brush with moonlit destiny.

I flick my wrist up and check the time. Oh-eight-hundred. The dispatcher at the cab company had promised a taxi in ten minutes.

To take me away.

Far, far away.

Across the ocean and across the sky.

To the throes of the African jungles.

Anywhere but here.

My gaze lingers on the hands of my watch, wondering how many machinations it would undergo in the coming weeks as I slipped in and out of time zones.

It had been a split second decision actually, a stunningly eerie confluence of interlocking puzzle pieces that had sent my world reeling in the two weeks since I had returned my paperwork to the Alliance de Medecins Internationale. And yesterday, as day prepared to converge with night and I had been bowled over by a palpable hollowness, of mind, heart, mission and spirit, the likes of which I had never known, the timing gods had ever more dubious tricks for me up their sleeves.

A flurry of patients seemingly sent from doomsday hell.

A Buddhist nun with end-stage breast cancer.

A gangbanger's brother hell bent on revenge.

A little girl fallen overboard.

A heart attack waiting to happen.

For the better part of my shift, I had steeled myself in a suit of protective armor, determined to tough it out at any cost, buoyed by the prospect of meeting my father in Rio de Janeiro for a quick, sun-drenched getaway.

Time to think.

And time to regroup.

But amidst the daytime chaos, he had phoned, asking for a rain check, explaining in vague, subdued tones that he needed a few extra days to close a mysterious business deal.

And then the call had come from Luka.

Can you hear me? Hello?

Yeah, barely. What's going on?

One of our doctors was hurt here and had to be evacuated to Burundi.

Hurt how?

We're expecting a fourth but they're having trouble with her visa.

Luka, you've got to speak up.

Do you know a contact at the State Department to push her visa through?

What contact?

I thought you knew someone there.

Yeah, my family had a friend who was ambassador to Uruguay, but –

Call him.

I don't know him. Can't the Alliance fix it?

Not enough –

What?

We're trying to travel to Matenda but the main road is blocked. There's a cholera epidemic in the refugee population, but we can't even get the rehydration –

You want someone to come and pitch in for a couple of weeks?

What?

I've already had my shots, my visa.

I thought you changed your mind –

Yeah, but you know, if you're stretched –

OK, I gotta go. Can you come now?

Yeah, OK.

Get on a plane. Call the Alliance.

Hello?

I gingerly squat down and perch my weary body on the next to bottom step, resting my elbows on my knees and running my hand across my jaw. The last twelve hours had been a whirlwind, though once I had made up my mind, the details had fallen into place with surprising alacrity. Katie Witcher, my always on-call whiz bang of a travel agent, had put in yeoman service, patching me through to the Dark Continent from O'Hare with just two three-hour layovers: one in New York City and another in London. She had even managed to get me a refund on my unused ticket to Rio. And after perusing the packing list provided by the Alliance I had opted to make do with items available at my fingertips, including many of the clothing items I had originally packed for my aborted sojourn to Rio. I only hoped I wouldn't look too much like a poster child for Banana Republic.

Head bent down, staring at the uneven pavement, two bright pink sneakers skip into view. My head jerks up as a doe-eyed girl with brown pigtails, weighted down with a Barbie backpack, clutches her father's hand as he walks her to school. She has a cherubic singsong voice.

Step on a crack, break your mother's back.

Her father shushes her as they saunter by, but not before her brown eyes catch mine and she flashes me a loopy gap-toothed grin.

I respond with a quick wink and then am forced to look away as something catches in the back of my throat.

It was official.

My heart was breaking.

Would it ever be right again here?

Would it ever seem like home?

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the yellow Flash Cab taxi sidle up to the curb. As the driver pops the trunk, I stand up and give my building a final once over. After placing my bags inside, I slam the trunk shut and turn around to cast one last look upward.

It had always been easy to see her face etched across the Chicago sky. It had become something of a game, really, like the way some devotees turned toward Allah. Soft tendrils of brown hair and sparkling eyes to match framing delicate cheekbones, pursed lips, alternately punctuated by looks of bemusement, quiet thoughtfulness, and simple beauty.

A sight for sore eyes.

But today, my eyes squeezed shut tightly against the brilliant morning rays, nothing.

Just a sea of white, shapeless puffy clouds.

She was gone.

* * * * * *

Looking hard into your eyes

There was nobody I'd ever known

Such an empty surprise to feel so alone

* * * * *

I slink out into the shadows of the darkened corridor, shoulders hunched, the weight of the world resting on them. Or at the very least the indelible image of two pairs of brown eyes that had gazed up at me in wide-eyed wonder as I haltingly described their father's last moments on earth, pilfering a permanent piece of my soul.

Trying my best to shake the image, I hurriedly contemplate a mental checklist of things to do: call Katie to switch my flight, repack my suitcase to reflect my change in destinations, bone up on the background material the Alliance had provided. But somehow the boy and girl's faces won't go gently into the good night.

And I know there'll be no forgiveness, no closure any time soon.

How long would I find myself caught in this torpor of overwhelming melancholy?

Stop the world. I want to get off.

So much sadness.

Only through our own acceptance do we realize our purpose.

The words of the two Buddhist nuns suddenly loop through my head like bookends.

Is that what I hoped to find there?

As I step out into the ambulance bay and pull out my fare card, I'm lulled out of my reverie by the jolt of electricity that scorches my insides at the sight of her strutting determinedly into my footpath. She comes to a sudden breathless stop.

"Hey."

"Hey." I put the El pass in my pants pocket.

"Did you see the eclipse?" The words are winded, tumbling out in a rush of suppressed emotions, her face muscles working overtime to convey the concern that percolates just beneath the surface.

I'd never seen her this frightened.

Welcome to the club.

"Yeah, sort of." My voice is flat, subdued. I look up to the sky for direction, but there is none, only the starless remnants of its afternoon rendezvous with destiny.

"Pretty freaky, huh?" She hooks her thumb skyward, her eyes riveted to my face, looking, I could only imagine, for some faint glimmer of whatever she used to find behind them.

Searching for a sign that they loved her like they used to.

Only problem was, no one was home. Not anymore.

"Yeah, I guess." I look up again, then rub my thumb across my eyes, blinded by the dizzying thump that shoots through my left right temple.

The quizzical look morphs into overt concern as she moves towards me. "You have a rough shift?" Her voice is halting, imploring. Damnit Carter, talk to me.

"Yeah, there was this guy…" I throw up my hands. "This MI, he asked me for a pen and some paper to write a note to his kids…and I couldn't save him, but I could have…" I'm having trouble meeting her gaze.

"What?" She tries her best to look right through me, her eyes still searching my face. She blinks hard then raises her eyebrows. I notice she's wearing make-up. It suits her well in the blue black light.

"Nothing." I can't bear to look at her, to have her see me like this. All I can do is stare up at the sky. "Nothing's right here." I start to walk away.

She's not done with me, not yet. She ambles after me.

"Hey. I haven't seen you in a week. That's it?"

I offer a silent nod.

"Luka called me…"

My face darkens. Ah, time for a little emotional manipulation. When in doubt, play your trump card. I hang my head and stare at my shoelaces.

"…looking for you. He was under the impression I might know where to find you."

I nod in tacit acquiescence, dreading the place where the conversation was headed.

"You're going right – to Africa?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

The fateful words came back to haunt me, sounding a bruising cacophony against my eardrums.

How many places had I been since then?

Nebraska.

Boston.

Belize.

Rio. Almost.

In the split second after the words leave her lips, it all becomes real to me.

And I knew I was going.

To Africa.

"It's not Rio, but it's not here."

Though I try to seal the quip with the best smile I can muster, I know she isn't fooled so easily. And I can't bring myself to say goodbye.

She contemplates my pronouncement as it rolls around in the chilly night air.

With a brave nod, she turns on her heels and walks through the double glass doors.

And out of my life.

For now.

Walking toward the El platform, a fire engine rushes by. My eyes follow it to its intended destination; Doc Magoo's is ablaze, its towering flames illuminating the night sky.

This can't be happening.

Doc's burning in effigy, a metaphor for my tattered life.

The place where it had all began.

You. Me. Us.

I look back toward the ambulance bay, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, hoping to gauge her reaction.

But she's already gone inside.

What to do now?

I feel the tug of a thousand different directions.

"If I were you, I'd run for my life and never look back."

"Run away, Carter. Run as fast as you can."

Faced with the prospect of staring down my demons under the klieg lights of my current discontent, or taking my chances on an uncertain adventure deep in the wilds of Africa, the choice now is easy.

And so I walk faster toward the El and whatever awaits me on the other side of the world.

But I'd be back someday.

To build it all back up.

* * * * * *

Now for me some words come easy

But I know that they don't mean that much

Compared with the things that are said

When lovers touch

* * * * *

I gaze out the window at the vast industrial tableau of Interstate 90 as the cabbie speeds toward O'Hare, my mind still a blur from the domino effect of the decisions made over the past 24 hours, my stomach a tightly round rubber band ball of excitement, apprehension, fear and dread.

I know I should probably call her. Someone deserved to know the details of my whereabouts, my abrupt change in plans. I had left a hastily scribbled note for Weaver, mentioning only that I'd be gone a few more days than the ten I had requested off to go to Rio.

I check my watch – 8:30 a.m. If her shift ended at 7, she might be home by now. Zipping open my backpack, I extract my cell phone and punch in the familiar number.

A groggy voice answers on the fifth ring. "Hello?"

"Hey."

No response.

"Did I wake you?"

Still, no answer.

"You alone?"

"Who is this?"

"It's me. I'm in a cab on my way to the airport."

"Carter?"

"You sure you're alone?"

"Moi? The gay divorcee?"

I chuckle despite the sinking feeling still weighing down my heart like lead.

"So, did you see the eclipse?"

I can hear her get out of bed and pad through her apartment.

"Carter, what's this really about? Look, put this place and everything you've been through the past few weeks out of your mind. Go to Rio, lie on the beach, catch some rays, go body surfing, spend some quality time with you dad. If you feel the need to meditate, climb that hill where that big statute of Christ overlooks the entire city." She pauses for a minute and then adds softly, "I'll keep an eye out on Abby."

Vintage Susan. Always the matchmaker. Never the match.

I let her advice hang in the air for a moment recalling our conversation in the ambulance bay yesterday morning when I had mentioned my now-aborted vacation itinerary.

"I'm not going to Rio."

"What?"

"My father bailed on me. Some last-minute business deal fell through."

"Then why are you still headed to the airport?"

"Luka called me."

"From the Congo?"

"Yeah. They're shorthanded…and all of my paperwork is on file, I've had my shots…I'm catching a 10:30 flight to JFK. And then it's on to London and Johannesburg from there."

"I thought you changed your mind about going…"

"I did…but it was just one of those split second decisions. Hearing the frustration and desperation on Luka's end. And thinking about where I am. I still can't get my arms around the idea that Gamma's gone, I'm trying to juggle all of these Foundation duties, I was having a lousy shift…"

I can almost hear her mentally process my sudden revelations.  "Does Abby know?"

"Yeah. Sort of." My voice was barely audible.

"Carter, she told me she hasn't spoken to you in a week. Is she one of the things you're running from?"

"Nothing's right here."

"Is that what you told her?"

"Pretty much."

"You told her you were off to play Jungle Doc?"

I paused and rubbed my eyes, remembering the haunted look on her face when she spit the words out at me. "You're going, right…to Africa?"

"I didn't say I wasn't."

"So that explains it."

"Explains what?"

"Why she was so full of piss and vinegar last night. Pratt swore he saw her spitting nails."

For a fleeting moment, my heart ached at the thought of the toll the events of the past few weeks must have taken on her. Had taken on both of us. Two halves no longer whole.

"You'll help pull her through this?"

"I think that's something only you can do, John." Like most people, she only used my first name for added inflection. So I knew she was serious.

"It's not just me – it's Eric and Maggie and all the baggage they bring to her table. She's given up smoking, trying to reconnect with AA…"

"Trust me, it's you. Look, I'm not sure how much of this I'm supposed to tell you without breaking every rule of feminista solidarity, but you have her right where you want her. She's hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with you. Or at least as much as she'll ever allow herself to be." I can hear her running tap water and pouring it into the coffeemaker.

"But she thinks she's lost you. And what's even sadder, she thinks she deserves it. Because she can never be the person you want her to be."

Stung by her words, I watch as the cabbie pulls up in front of the American Airlines terminal and presses the meter to total the fare.

"Look, I can't deal with any of this right now. I'll figure it out when I get back. I gotta go. We just pulled into O'Hare."

There's a pregnant pause on the other end and then a rush of words, just above a whisper.

"Take care of yourself, Carter. Safe travels…"

* * * * *

You never knew what I loved in you

I don't know what you loved in me

Maybe the picture of somebody you were hoping

I might be

Awake again, I can't pretend, and I know I'm alone

And close to the end of the feeling we've known

* * * * *

I turn away from the airport kiosk, depositing my purchases – enough reading material and junk food to ply me straight through to Johannesburg – in my backpack. I gaze up at the bank of screens dedicated to flight departures, checking the one for American Airlines Flight 734 to New York.

11:05 a.m.

Delayed a half hour.

I check my watch.

9:55 a.m.

Might as well go sit by the gate.

I pull my ticket from the inside pocket of my denim jacket and head for the security checkpoint. True to her word, Katie had taken care of everything, even managing to snag me a window seat for the flight to Kennedy, though I'd be roughing it in coach.

As I steadily make my way toward the snaking line in front of the metal detectors, I hear my name called in the distance.

"John?"

My eyes dart around a sea of unfamiliar faces in assorted stages of leave-taking.

Must be someone else.

"Carter!"

There was no mistaking this time.

Had to be.

Her.

I stop in mid-stride, pausing momentarily before slowly turning around. To the casual observer, competing expressions clamor for attention across my face. Annoyance. Confusion. Surprise.

I shake my head and blink rapidly several times. "Abby?"

She laughs a little and rolls her eyes, taking a few steps towards me. "Forget what I look like already?"

I frown, closing the distance between us. "What are you doing here?"

Her smile fades. She glances around the crowded terminal and back up at me.

"Isn't it obvious?"

I sigh and run a hand through my hair. "Abby…" I throw her a pleading look. Didn't she know how hard it was already? Why I couldn't bring myself to say goodbye?

"I actually went to your apartment, you know. I wanted to give you this." She holds out a duffel bag. "It's um…It's got t-shirts and socks and stuff. Things you had at my place. I thought you might need them."

I stare at her for a moment before reaching out and taking the bag. "Thanks." I punctuate my appreciation with a smile.

We stand in awkward silence for what seems like an eternity, each pondering the other, weighing our next move. Another flight announcement blares through the terminal and I cast a nervous glance over my shoulder toward the security checkpoint.

"I should, uh…"

"It's been delayed a half-hour." She unleashes the words hastily and I think back to my conversation with Susan.

She's right where you always wanted her to be.

No, not yet.

I turn back towards her. "I know."

"So…"

I raise my eyebrows. "So?"

She bites her lip. "So, can we talk?"

I pause for a moment. "I don't think there's much for us to say."

"Oh."

Not the magic words she wanted to hear. I can see her eyes grow glassy. "Well, um…then I guess I should just…" She turns on her heel and begins to walk in the other direction.

"Wait, Abby!"

She stops dead in her tracks as I catch up with her and place a hand on her shoulder, sending shock waves through my fingertips. "I can't take this."

She draws in a shaky breath and nods. "Neither can I." She turns around and looks up at me. "I get it."

I shake my head as it dawns on me that we're talking about two completely different things. "No, um…this." I hold up the bag. "It doesn't have a tag. I can't take it on the plane."

Her gaze drops to the duffel. "Oh. OK." She reaches up and takes it from me, her hand lingering on top of mine.

"Did you come to convince me to stay?"

She takes a step back and raises her eyes to meet mine. "And if I did? Would it have mattered?"

"Abby…"

"That's what I thought. You've made up your mind, Carter, and there's not much I can do now. I get it. So go. Run away."

My expression hardens. "I'm not running away."

"Really? Because it sure looks like you are."

"Well, if that's what it looks like to you…maybe I'm taking a chapter from the Book of Abby."

Her eyes grow wide, surprised at first blush over how much the truth does sting. "Oh that's rich, Carter." She laughs bitterly. "Real rich."

I look at her in apparent disbelief, my head slowly swaying from side to side.

She rolls her eyes towards the ceiling and draws in a sharp breath, releasing it slowly. She squares her jaw and lowers her gaze.

"I came looking for you this morning. When I went to your apartment and found out you'd left, I thought I'd lost my chance. But something compelled me to keep trying." She shakes her head. "I don't know. Maybe I just wanted to have the last word. Maybe I wanted to apologize. Maybe I just wanted to say good luck. But right now…all I want to do is walk away."

"So why haven't you?"

"Truthfully?" She tips her head and ponders the question for a moment. "I don't know."

I purse my lips together and nod in silent agreement.

"Why haven't you?"

I shake my head sadly and shrug. "I guess we're at an impasse."

She closes her eyes. "I guess we are."

"Abby."

She opens her eyes.

I step closer, hovering just above her and lower my voice. "I'm not going to lie and tell you that you haven't hurt me. And I'm not going to stand her and say that everything is going to be all right. I can't do that anymore."

She dips her head and nods slowly before I can finish. "It's just…I don't want to be here right now."

"I know." She leans forward on her toes and rests her forehead lightly against my chest.

I sigh and pull away.

"Abby, look at me."

She licks her lips and lifts her gaze to meet mine, two soulful brown puddles poised to overflow.

"I have to go."

She spreads her arms wide at her sides, in a gesture of silent surrender. "Then go."

I stare at her for a few moments longer before turning toward my intended destination, my backpack slung over my shoulder, the weight of the world seemingly inside, balled up in a tight cocoon.

Was this how I wanted to leave things between us?

I stop in line and glance back over my shoulder in her direction. My chest constricts as I watch her cover her mouth to muffle a sob.

I didn't mean to leave like that…

I promised myself that night she deserved better next time.

What do I have to do to get through to you?

And then I'd done it all over again.

Time for a three-peat.

She's almost at the escalators by the time I can catch up with her.

I tug on her shoulder. "Abby."

She worms sharply away from my grasp and forges ahead.

I pull again, more firmly this time, spinning her around to face me.

She opens her mouth, poised to protest, but I shush her with a gentle finger to the lips. I shake my head and take her tear-streaked face between my hands, kissing her softly. She closes her eyes and brings her arms up around my shoulders, dropping the duffel bag behind me. Her hands find their way to the back of my head and she inches up on her toes, drawing us further into the kiss. My thumbs massage gentle circles on her cheeks, mingling with errant tears. She whimpers when I pull back a moment later, my hands moving down to her shoulders. I lean forward once more, resting my lips on her forehead.

"Wait for me."

Right where you are.

* * * * *

How long have I been sleeping

How long have I been drifting alone through the night

How long have I been dreaming I could make it right

If I closed my eyes and tried with all my might

To be the one you need

Awake again, I can't pretend, and I know I'm alone

And close to the end of the feeling we've known

* * * * *

I gaze across the sleepy sunrise as the plane begins its descent into Heathrow. The first leg of my journey had been pleasantly uneventful, allowing for some time to get caught up on my sleep, my junk food quotient, and current events.

A chance to put everything else out of my mind except the medical challenges that awaited me in the far flung African jungle.

My eyes fall upon the familiar notebook that rests open on the seat tray in front of me, both sides of the page filled with my tired scrawl.

Who was I kidding?

Even at 35,000 feet there was no escaping her.

Pivotal Moment #7: Sitting on the loading dock outside The Lava Lounge

May 5, 2003

Abby –

The other night, the night of the eclipse, outside in the ambulance bay, I told you about my MI patient who didn't make it and how I had failed him in his last request for pen and paper to write a note to his kids as he lay dying.

Since then, all I can think about is what words I would choose if faced with a similar situation

What would I say to you on my deathbed?.

And then I look down at this tattered notebook and think how lucky I am to already been given a chance to tell part of my story.

Our story.

When I selected these journals, I didn't notice the quote that appeared on the front until the sales clerk at Border's pointed it out to me.

"Grow old along with me. The best is yet to be."

At the time, I thought it was prophetic.

Now, I'm not so sure anymore.

Whether our best days are really ahead of us.

Or only behind us.

You're probably wondering why I skipped so many other pivotal moments in jumping from my grandfather's funeral to the night we reminisced about Mark Greene and a life cut short.

Our fateful conversation by the river when I thought you were still hung up on Luka, not ready to make the kind of commitment I wanted from you.

The day you caught me kissing Susan in the lounge. The same day you tried to foil my inevitable encounter with Paul Sobricki and I turned down your offer of coffee and pie.

The snowy day we spent inside a classroom at a sexual harassment seminar.

The morning I came to your apartment with dried flowers in hand and saw the evidence of your slip off the wagon.

Part of me still isn't sure why I've tried to gloss over these moments

Maybe it's because that night on the loading dock was when I started to believe again that we had a future.

That someday there could be an "us".

Funny isn't it how it took a tragedy like Mark's death to offer a sobering lesson in the preciousness of life.

Much as I wanted to toast Mark as the irreplaceable friend and colleague that he was to so many, I mostly went to the Lava Lounge to hunt you down, all the while dreading what I might find there.

Standing in the doorway, coming up behind you, watching you smoking that cigarette, you confirmed my worst fears, determined to send six years of sobriety to hell in a hand basket.

It would have been so easy to slip into the soft folds of your sexual advances as we exchanged steamy banter and your hand touched my face.

But deep down, I knew that wasn't how I wanted our first time to be. And I had more important things on my mind. Like getting you to a meeting and trying to help you get things back on track.

The addict in me knew that you had to do it – had to want it – for yourself.

But the guy in me who's always been so desperately in love with you couldn't help himself.

Sitting at Doc Magoo's, lingering over our hot fudge sundaes, watching the sun come up, having you open up about your relapse and seeing your reluctance ease at the prospect of attending a meeting, I really thought we turned a corner that night.

I know how hard the road has been since then and how palpable the lure of the bottle's magical elixir has been with all we've been through these past few months.

Stay strong, Abby. Even when I'm not there to lean on.

Do it for you.

I'm not sure I'll be in a better place when I return.

I'm not sure what there'll be for me to come home to.

Or what that will mean for us.

Still, I meant what I said.

Wait for me.

And we'll see where the next step takes us.

Yours,

John

* * * * *

How long have I been sleeping

How long have I been drifting alone through the night

How long have I been running for that morning flight

Through the whispered promises and the changing light

Of the bed where we both lie

Late for the sky

* * * * * *