A/N: Thanks once again to Matchbox Twenty for their wonderful lyrics- this chapter's song is "Soul". Love and hugs to Gooders and Noodles as ever. A "wifebeater" is a white vest- thought it best to clear that up right now! Enjoy guys- this chapter was hard!



"You've been so composed
We all know there's always something tearing you apart
It's always so much longer than you counted on
And it hits you so much harder than you thought"

Morning rolls around once more and almost before I know it, it's time for Eric to leave. He's back on duty tonight and can't stay in Chicago any longer. I drive him back to Midway and bid him farewell before returning home. As I watch him step away from me, my heart pounds and I wonder how I'd cope it anything happened to him. He's been the one constant in my life; my baby brother. I push the thought to the back of my mind; I've already enough to think about.
The apartment seems cold and lonely again without him there. I've a few hours until my shift starts and wonder how best to occupy that time. That's when I remember that John's shift will be finishing in a little under an hour. If I hurry I should be able to catch up with him.
Grabbing a quick coffee, I run into my bedroom to find some vaguely presentable clothing and a hairbrush. Deftly, I sweep my hair up into a high ponytail and swiftly change into clean jeans and a wifebeater. The weather's been fairly warm of late but I snatch my denim jacket from the back of the door before leaving my apartment… without my car keys.

After dashing back for the aforementioned objects I finally make it to County. Kerry seems mildly surprised to see me there so early but I think given half a chance she'll set me on clearing the huge pile of charts to the right of her. I think it best to make my reasons for being here clear as soon as possible.
"Is Carter around?" I ask her.
She looks at her watch, "isn't he off at ten?" she asks.
"Yes," I confirm, "but has he left yet?"
"I haven't seen him for twenty minutes, try the lounge."
I thank her and head in that direction.
My search is fruitful as John is there, taking his jacket out of his locker.
"Abby?" he exclaims in surprise before his voice takes on a more worried tone. "Is everything okay?"
"I'm fine," I assure him, "I just wondered if you fancied a walk?"

Shortly after, we're down by the river. It really is a beautiful day and there are more people milling around than usual.
"How was your shift?" I ask him casually, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my back, jacket long since abandoned in the trunk of my car.
"A little weird," he replies cryptically.
I raise an eyebrow at him and he continues, "Well, first I treated a ninety-nine year old retired doctor who managed to correct my diagnosis."
I laugh, "Great ego boost there."
He smiles, "Yeah," and pauses before continuing, "Next up was a kid who'd managed to get his mother's wedding ring stuck on his big toe."
"Kids can achieve anything when it comes to foreign objects," I comment.
"But the best part," he adds, "is that the wedding's tomorrow. The parents seemed more bothered about getting the ring back in one piece than the toddler's welfare."
My face drops and I gaze out across the water; that didn't sound as amusing.
"And finally, Carter says, "I get a guy who's convinced he's Jay Leno and goes around introducing me as his next guest!"

A few moments later we've reached the little bench where we sit quite frequently. I look out at a boat on the river and take a sip of my coffee: cream, no sugar, just the way I like it.
We're both quiet for a moment, just enjoying each other's company, before he comments, "you're smoking less."
I look at him quizzically, before realizing he's right. It's a little ironic that I've felt less inclined to smoke over the last few days, but perhaps seeing Maggie in her present state has finally knocked some sense into me regarding the abuse of my own body.
"Always trying to quit I guess," I reply casually.
He smiles, "can only be a good thing."
Which gets me to thinking about a certain bottle on my table at home. And suddenly I want to tell him. I don't owe him an explanation, he's not my sponsor, but he is my friend.
"I bought a bottle of vodka on Monday night." I keep my eyes focussed on the little pot of caffeine held between my hands. I don't want to see his face. If he looks disappointed it will kill me, but I don't want to see a sympathetic expression either.
So, I continue, "I was standing in line at the grocery store and it was just staring at me. I put it in the cart before I even knew what I was doing."
I take another sip of the coffee, still averting my gaze from him.
"It's been sitting on my table all week," I add, "yet I've not had the courage to even open the bottle."
He's been silent for way too long and I can't bear the tension any longer. I chance a glance in his direction and my eyes meet his. To my surprise they're not full of despondency, he actually looks kind of proud.
"What are you so happy about?" I ask abruptly, "I almost fell off the wagon."
"But you didn't," he responds softly.
I sigh and drain the last of my drink. "But it would have been so easy," I mutter. "Almost as easy as the first time."
He's pensive for a moment, before asking tentatively, "Is that why you started drinking? Because things got bad with your mom?"
I shake my head vehemently.
"Then why?" he quizzes.
I toss the empty coffee cup into the trash and take a deep breath.
"Things just became too much for me, my home life was a mess, Richard was always working, I was taking more and more shifts just in case…" I cut myself off. I pause, and then continue with, "We weren't as happy as we'd been at the beginning."
"Abby, do you blame yourself for your marriage not working out?" he asks hesitantly. "Did Richard know how much you were drinking?"
I laugh mirthlessly, "The marriage was failing before I started drinking," I tell him.
Realization crosses his face, "So that was the catalyst?"
I contemplate this, "Part of it," I answer cryptically. I'm going to have to tell him. Tell him the one thing that nobody knows. Inform him of the biggest decision I ever had to make.
"I had a really important choice to make, " I begin, opening up more now, allowing myself to be more vulnerable than I have in a long while, "and I knew I had to make it myself as I couldn't talk to Richard about it. I think that was the beginning of the end for us, we just stopped talking about everything."
My chest shudders a little and I take a moment to get my emotions in check.
"What was the decision?" he asks, in little more than a whisper.
A tear slips down my cheek and I don't wipe it away. It's crunch time. No going back now, I have to let him know.
"I had an abortion."

I'm met with a stunned silence.
"It wasn't planned," I explain, "hell, we barely even saw each other any more. I was trying to come to terms with work and Richard's infidelity. Then, in the midst of this turmoil, I was pregnant. And I didn't know what to do. Part of me was scared, scared of becoming a mother with all the responsibility it brings, scared of balancing the rigours of work with child care and mostly, terrified of bringing a bipolar baby into the world."
I sniffle and wipe my eyes with my sleeve.
"But on the other hand, I really wanted… want… to have a baby. But I knew I didn't want it be his baby. I guess that really made the decision for me."
I pause.
"So I had an abortion and found sanctuary in a bottle of tequila a night."
By this point I'm crying fairly openly. I never cry in front of people, yet this is the second time I've cried in front of John in the space of a week.
He reaches across and covers my hand with his own.
"I'm sorry Abby," he voices.
Again his face isn't the picture I expected. There's no disappointment at my actions. No piteous glances in my direction. Just genuine feeling- the sympathetic smile of a true friend. And there's something else there; admiration. His face radiates warmth, he's proud of me. Proud that I had the courage to make such a decision with no support and that I've shared it with him now.
This expression elicits a small smile from me, our wordless exchange complete.
I stand, signalling the end of our meeting.
"I have to go to work. I'll see you later John."