Author's Note: Sorry it's been so long for those of you who read this, but I've been busy with school and rl stuff.

She blinked first, unable to believe her eyes. Luka was here. Alone. Not with Michelle. Abby closed her eyes, hoping she had imagined it - he wasn't really there, he was not really looking miserable, worried, and relieved at her entrance. Luka did not care about her; he had not come looking for her; he was not there.

Perhaps, like so many other times in her life, she could spin lies into truth - if she fought hard enough, perhaps her mind could make him leave. Opening her eyes hesitantly, she was disappointed: he had not moved an inch.

Rarely had anything in her life changed her as much as the first time she read MacBeth. "Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day," she would often whisper to herself. MacBeth's short soliloquy epitomized her outlook. It was all about the feelings of futility; the abject suffering that transcended all life. When she read those lines as a sophomore in high school, she fixated on them. Tragedy was to be her companion on many a road since.

As Abby took him in, standing in her living room, obviously emotional, she could not help but return yet again to that single fatalistic stanza - this was all suffering, and this was all for nothing.

"Abby," the hope in his eyes as he whispered her name was torture.

She was frozen. She could not speak; she could not tell him what she was thinking - she could not tell him anything at all.

There was so much that needed to be said between them, but the timing always seemed a bit off. The time was never right, though. It seemed as though her whole life had passed waiting for the right time to talk about hard subjects and she never seemed to find it. Or the opportunity presented itself and she just ran away.

He tried again, extending a hesitant arm toward her. She recoiled from the gesture as though stung, despite the fact that he was nearly the length of the room away from actually touching her. Despite the movement of her lips, there was no sound; she wanted to tell him to leave, to let her be alone and miserable. Instead, she was incapable of even a whisper.

The pain in his eyes was her responsibility. Speak, she screamed at herself. Get over this self-perpetuating cycle and talk to him. At least tell him why. He deserves so much better than you.

"I'm so sorry," she choked, suddenly realizing she was visibly trembling. "It's just too hard. it shouldn't have to be this hard."

Before she could fight him, he crossed the room and swept her up into an embrace. "The harder it is, the more it means," he managed in a voice heavy with accent. Confusion set in, though - he was not sure if she was apologizing for not being able to talk to him now, in her apartment; for running away earlier; or for some yet unidentified transgression. "Please, Abby.. Do not run from me."

"I just can't keep doing this..," she managed, still trying to push him away.

Luka pushed her back until he could look her full in the eyes. "I'm done with this," his stoney eyes added to the gravity of his voice. "I know what I want from you; and I thought you were ready to face what is between us. I can't keep living this unreality with you, Abby. I need you to forgive me for the mistakes that I have made and choose either to let it go and open yourself up to us - to this - again, or tell me if you will not so that I can get on with my life, whatever that means." He blinked in surprise - he had not really intended to say that much.

Perhaps that excited utterance, though, would finally put him at peace.

How could she just forget about something she lived in constant fear of? And how could she reconcile all of the bad blood that had passed between them? Every time he glanced at another woman, his criticism rang deafeningly. Not that pretty. Not that special.

It was petty, she knew; but she did not know how to let things go - she never had. With her mother, allowing herself to let go opened the floodgates of hurt for the next inevitable fall. What could she do? Emotional resolution was definetly not her specialty; perhaps if she was better at it she would not be branded "alcoholic." Maybe she would not have to pour her heart out to the occasional shrink (although those visits had become nonexistent since her divorce was finalized).

"Don't do this again," he whispered into her neck, his fingers desperate as they tangled themselves in her hair. "Please," the shaking voice almost made the frozen, blank stare on her face waver.

The expression, however, was maintained as she mechanically patted his back. Her mind swam with thoughts, but they all seemed so far away. The world was filled with soft curves rather than edges, and nothing was close by. It must have appeared almost comical, a man so big as Luka almost being cradled by her.

With effort, again, she felt her mind pull away from the reality of what Luka must be feeling. Why did she try so hard to maintain this distance? It served no one, it only managed to make he and everyone else more miserable. And here was Luka - who she had longed over, pined over - practically groveling before her and she could not even bring herself to respond?

Abby felt moisture suddenly against her neck, and realized he must have been crying. Drawing back from his embrace only with great difficulty, she pulled up his chin to look into his eyes. Abruptly, she found the strength gone from her body; the sadness in his gaze drained her.

"Why do you want to be here? Why did you come? I've never done anything but hurt you and push you away," the small utterance was as timid as a child's.

"You cannot keep thinking like that. Those thought are what push me away - can't you see?"

"Why did you come," she repeated, hoarse.

A long silence followed, so thick it seemed to coat the room like a heavy fog. "Because.. Because here, with you, is the only time I feel."

Her eyes burned. "Feel."

"Feel anything," his tears were heavy. They weighed down her entire arm as they ran down his cheek and plopped upon the hand she used to push him back. "That's how I know this is where I need to be."

Five tiny fingers shook as they pressed against his chest. Taking the motion as a cue, Luka closed his hand over hers. Heavy lids shaded her eyes slowly; the darkness became a world of warmth as she focused on the feel of her hand enveloped in his. "This is so frighteningly real," she breathed after a long silence. "I never let anything become this real."

Through the change in the air, she knew he was nodding in reply. The squeeze she felt from him was silent encouragement for her to continue. Did his patience with her have any end?

Blue blinds over her windows were beginning to visibly lighten. "Just. just please don't leave," the words barely managed to escape her. His grip on her hand tightened; he knew what an effort that small statement had been for Abby.

Tentatively, he pulled her back against him again, and they sank in union. They were an even darker splash on the sea of the hard wood floor, clinging only to one another to keep from being lost.