Title: Better to Burn
Spoilers: Very general, more toward the end of S8 now. Consider this my AU version of an "Orion in the Sky" type thing.
Disclaimer: As usual, not that pretty, not that special.
Reviews: Echhh… I feel bad even asking for them after this long. But they would make my day just that much brighter.
A/N: Well, it's frivolous and it's rushed, but it's done. The sad thing is it took me 2 months to procrastinate on this and a little over 2 hours to sit down and write the stupid thing. Sorry, *blush* I took a little sabbatical from fandomland. I plagiarized certain parts of this from other chapters; it was intentional.
Ch. 6: Shoot the Moon
Luka shivered.
Harsh light streamed into his face, and he attempted to construct his surroundings without opening his eyes. He was lying on something that was not his bed; his neck was stiff, his legs cramped. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so comfortable.
The events of the previous night returned in a single rush, hitting him with a palpable force that both startled and excited him. He dragged his eyes open to find himself curled up on his living room sofa, his head resting heavily on Abby's lap.
Abby.
As Luka shifted and sat up, her hand slid from where it had been resting lightly on the side of his neck and landed at her side. He cringed at the position in which he found her- neck bent sideways at a painful-looking angle, head resting precariously between the back of the sofa and her shoulder, lips slightly parted. She barely stirred as he removed her coat and lowered her to the cushions, rearranging her sprawled limbs into a satisfactory huddle.
He almost didn't notice the soft bulkiness under her sleeve, but as he folded her arm neatly in front of her, the small white patch protruding at her wrist contrasted harshly with the black of her shirt, and Luka didn't think before reaching for her again. His eyebrows knitted at the first dark stain that mottled the badly applied dressing, and he pushed more impatiently at the black fabric that covered it.
Blood. Abby was bleeding.
The first wave of panic that gripped him was irrational, and it subsided as Luka acknowledged it as such. Still, his hands shook as he lifted the gauze and winced. She was still, too still for his comfort now. And silent. He found himself desperately wanting her to wake up and talk to him—and desperately fearing that she would.
The almost imperceptible tensing of her body startled him so much that he recoiled with a sharp jerk of his head. It was too late. She stared at him evenly, chin set with defiance but expression obstinately unreadable.
Luka's heart sank. So this is how it would be. "What happened?"
Abby sat up abruptly and looked around her as if surprised and mildly perturbed at finding herself in the same place where she had fallen asleep the previous night. "What time is it?"
"Abby--" His tone was harsh; hers was harsher.
"Nothing, Luka. Just don't worry about it, ok?"
He stared at her, indignant, but finally relented. "It's 8:30."
Abby nodded, standing up resolutely and making for the door. "I gotta go—get to work," she explained hastily before pausing at the threshold to look back at him, taking a quick breath as if to speak, then stopping herself and offering only a rueful smile. "Bye, Luka."
The door swung shut behind her.
*******
The spinning in Abby's head became a steady pounding as she felt the distance between them solidify. Waking up in his living room—with him—it hadn't been a homecoming.
Or rather, it had felt so much like one that she had immediately wished instead to feel unwelcome. So she had. She'd been lying; She wasn't scheduled to work until later that afternoon, and she knew he knew that.
Abby didn't like early Spring. Sure, she bitched about the cold—all winter long, in fact. But when it came down to it, the grey coldness of Chicago's winters was a comforting discomfort. Like an old sympathetic friend, she thought, just as jaded as you are and too pessimistic to counter any of your complaints. The first wave of clear, mild weather every year therefore seemed cast a hint of mocking on her and left her with a vague feeling of being exposed for scrutiny.
Today, the sky pale with sunlight and the faint smell of Spring in the dewy morning air filled her with such a profound sense of emptiness and regret that she almost didn't resist the longing to turn around and curl up once again on Luka's living room couch. By the time she was halfway to wherever it was she was going, however, she had amended that notion with a harsh reminder to herself of the trite puerility of such fantasies. She had quickened her pace bit by bit and was now marching with furious determination toward—she stopped abruptly as she realized that she had no idea where she was. Scanning her surroundings for a clue, Abby realized with no small annoyance that she was not, in fact, headed home, but to the hospital.
Where she wasn't supposed to be for another three hours.
Where she had told Luka she was going.
Abby's stomach sank. Had she been living out her own lies for so long that she was actually starting to believe them?
She stood for a minute, incapacitated by the rage and indignation that was building inside her.
"GODDAMNIT!"
A sound kick to the building beside her broke her inertia, and she stalked away in the direction of her apartment, fuming at herself, at Luka, at work, at the foul taste in her mouth and her wrinkled second-day clothing, at that stupid brick building and her now throbbing toe. Every last damned thing seemed to mock her and her entire screwed-up existence, and petulance constricted her throat when a part of her admitted that she probably deserved it.
She needed a shower and something to eat. She needed a cigarette.
She absolutely, under no circumstances, most certainly did not need a drink.
Abby clenched her fists as if to bind herself to the decision and quickened her pace once again.
*******
It was almost impossible to avoid Luka at work. Those occasional friendly exchanges in exam rooms and casual brushes in the hallway which had become more and more natural in the past months with their newly-found amity morphed into uncomfortable pauses and desperate dashes of avoidance in their newly-lost… what? Abby stubbornly ignored the fact that in fact she didn't know exactly why she was avoiding him; only determined that it was imperative that she did so. Try as she might, however, she found it impossible to dodge the seemingly endless momentary encounters. How the man managed to be anywhere she was at any given moment was beyond her, and Abby was highly unimpressed.
Which was why she found herself volunteering to take over Haleh's paperwork for the week—and demurely gaining permission to use Dr. Ansbaugh's currently unoccupied office for some peace and quiet while she did so.
For over an hour, Abby basked in the monotony of her paperwork and in the absence of patients, Weaver, Luka, and all other forms of disruption and inconvenience.
She was startled when a quick rap on the office door barely preceded the turning of the knob, and a tentative head poked itself into the room. A tentative, familiar head.
"Oh, uh… Abby." Mark Greene stood looking surprised and faintly embarrassed in the doorway. "I guess… Ansbaugh's not in?"
Abby shook her head. "We brought up a triple-A about two hours ago."
Dr. Greene nodded, began to make an uncertain exit, then thought better of it and took a step closer to the desk, offering an amiable smile. Gesturing to the papers that surrounded her, he questioned, "Weaver got herself a new nurse manager?"
Abby scoffed. "Couldn't pay me enough," she quipped, then added, "I'm just helping out Haleh."
A twinkle formed in Mark's eye and he nodded exaggeratedly. "I see. What're you hiding from?"
Abby's head shot up; she met his playful gaze nervously and half-chuckled, shaking her head "Nah, not hiding… the silence is nice though," she admitted and lowered her eyes again to the chart in front of her. "What brings you here?"
"Just, ah, arranging some medical leave." His response was muted, and Abby checked herself. "Oh." She kept her head bowed to hide the flush of embarrassment she could now feel in her cheeks. The pause that followed was slightly awkward until Mark broke it, his tone casual and cheerful.
"You know, I was actually about to grab a bite to eat across the street then head home. You ready for a break and some coffee?"
Abby raised an eyebrow in surprise, then warily eyed the papers that were strewn around her.
"My treat," Mark coaxed. "You can't hide up here forever."
Abby stood up and grinned. "I wasn't hiding," she assured him as she gathered up the mess she had made and allowed him to lead the way out of the office.
*******
"So, how have you been doing?" Dr. Greene's question came after the waitress had brought them each a coffee and he had ordered a chocolate milkshake and a double cheeseburger.
"I'm fine, just a little tired. How are you?" Abby's answer was distracted as she stirred cream into her dink.
"Fine, just a little tired."
The irony of his response was not lost to her, and she cringed inwardly, but his expression held a gentle, reassuring humour. Abby cursed herself. He hadn't asked for much; only meaningful human contact during some of the last days of his life. Would it hurt me that much, she thought, to cut the bullshit for once? I doubt that's what he took me here for.
"Actually, it's... Luka, I guess. He..." She trailed off and scrutinized her coffee. When she stole a quick glance across the table, however, she was pleased to see that Mark was doing the same, his casual expression practically unchanged by her admission as he awaited more.
She swallowed. "It's not Luka. It's me."
At that he looked up, yet he didn't even raise an eyebrow when, after barely a hesitation, he responded, "You love him?"
Abby's laugh was sharp and nervous. "Well, I don't think--"
"Come on Abby, I'm dying. Humour me."
His grin was so incongruous with his circumstances that it made her want to scream, and yet it was she who felt as if she were missing something. Her breath caught in her throat.
"I think-- maybe I do," she almost whispered. Her eyes burned as she peeked up at him, wincing slightly as if finally divulging some dark, incriminating secret.
"Well, I can't say I'm not surprised," he began after a pause and leaned forward on his elbows.
Abby managed a nervous simper. "That makes two of us."
"But then again, maybe I shouldn't be." He seemed to consider something for a moment. "And he loves you back?"
The question shook her even more than her previous admission already had. "I don't know," she managed. "I-- I think maybe he does."
Mark only nodded. "Good." He went back to his coffee.
Abby wanted to argue with him, wanted to shake him and tell him that it wasn't 'good,' that love was anything BUT 'good.' That love was not only the most intensely painful, but also the most irrelevant, bothersome, and insufficient of all human emotions. That it was never enough—at least Luka understood that, right? Love was simply never, ever enough.
She wanted to explain all of this, but she couldn't. Not now, not to him.
So she asked him about Ella.
Mark's eyes lit up and clouded over simultaneously as he spoke tenderly of his younger daughter, too young still to understand how miserable the world can be, of his elder, too stubborn to appreciate just how beautiful it really is, and of his wife, who had made his world what it was today.
And of how much he loved them.
They exited the diner silently, and Mark turned to leave just before reaching the ambulance bay doors.
"Don't let 'em work you too hard." He winked at her.
"Thanks a lot, Dr. Greene."
"Mark," he corrected her as he waved off her thanks.
"Mark." Abby smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow."
He returned her smile. "Good luck, Abby."
It was the last time she ever saw him.
*******
His eyes burned, there was no more coffee in the lounge, and he was the only Attending on the board for another two hours. Luka pressed a thumb and forefinger to his eyes and leaned against his locker wearily for a moment before opening it to retrieve whatever sort of energy bar he may have stashed in there at some point. Something that was not food fell to the floor as he did so, and Luka barely glanced at it as he picked it up and shoved it back onto the shelf. When he brought his hand away, however, his attention was caught by his name printed in neat, capital letters across the front of the envelope, and he reached for it again, opening it to reveal a big-eared cartoon puppy carrying an oversized, heart-shaped "Get Well Soon" balloon. Inside the card, however, under a rhyming poem of well-wishing, he recognized a more familiar scrawl:
It was all I could find at the gift shop.
Sorry about this morning—had some thinking to do, but I shouldn't have run out like that. Have dinner with me tomorrow? My treat.
I do want to talk to you.
-Abby
He knew she would be standing behind him even before he turned around. When he did, he found her trying hard not to appear too conscious of the fact that they were the only two people in the room. When she spoke, she sounded as hesitant as she looked.
"Sorry?" She offered.
Luka said nothing.
"Listen, I feel bad about leaving like that—"
"You've been avoiding me all day," he broke in.
Abby began to shake her head, then gave up and shrugged. "Yeah, I know."
"Is something wrong?" He persisted. "You've been so unpredictable lately."
"I know," she repeated, and her voice shook slightly. "I've just been thinking… about things, and I want to make it up to you." She swallowed. "You don't have to come if you don't want, but—I think I at least owe it to you to explain myself."
Abby waited expectantly until he answered, his voice soft and his tone ambiguous.
"What time tomorrow?"
"8?"
Luka nodded, and she took an uncertain step towards him, placing a hand lightly on his forearm. "So… still friends?"
He moved his other hand to cover hers, and Abby felt a rush of warm relief when she thought she caught a faint twinkle in his eyes.
"Of course."