Title: The Burn

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: The ER characters or any products mentioned do not belong to me.

Author's Note: Sorry for the huge delay, a few edits were needed to get this how I wanted it! I'm very unspoiled for season eleven, so I just decided for the purposes of this that Chen and Pratt survived their shooting ordeal. Oh, and just in case it isn't as international as I think it is (or indeed hope!), Absolut is a Swedish vodka which also comes in flavours, like vanilla and mandarin. I've also never been to Chicago, so I hope my research was correct! Thanks for all the input so far and please continue to let me know what you think, the feedback keeps me going! Thanks.

Still, clear water lay undisturbed in a glass. Seconds later, the calm was disrupted as two tablets were dropped in. Violent fizzes crackled through the air, sublime reactions turning the liquid miserably pale, white particles decaying in a misty, effervescent battle. A delicate finger toyed with the sickening substance, stirring cautiously, almost aimlessly, before wet fingertips offered the unwanted mixture. Bubbles jumped excitedly in the air just above the surface and a faint lemony aroma teased the atmosphere.

At that moment Luka's eyes seemed derisive, causing Abby to seriously wonder why she was there. It was still reasonably early, last night's tempestuous weather forgotten and erased by a golden, hopeful sun bobbing in amongst the patches of puffy, dark grey cloud. Rain threatening from the East. Then again, she thought, aware of the irony, she knew all about the best hangover cures. None of the evidence of drinking had been hidden either, the rounded, stout bottle of Absolut Vanilla seeming to glow on the table, half-empty, its silver lid still loose.

"How are you?" She asked, sitting down, instinctively tightening the bottle's cap, knowing how easy it was to believe that drinking yourself numb was a good idea.

"I'm fine, Abby. Nobody died." Luka's reply was sharp, but not as vitriolic as the taste of bitter, medicinal citrus on his tongue. Besides, a caustic comment was the only response he could construct. He could not define his emotions. Maybe he was feeling a little numb, slightly empty, but no overwhelming feeling had gripped him yet. Just little aggravations. Building slowly within.

"And I didn't need that," he continued, emphasising his words by putting the glass down fiercely, the remnants slopping around in the bottom. Somehow seeing the concern in her eyes left him strangely aggravated. Inside, she felt a reasonable triumph at the fact that he had actually drunk the potion she had so confidently concocted, but also a little hurt by his harsh words.

"So your girlfriend left you yesterday and now you're just jumping over the moon?" Biting sarcasm shot through her tone causing him to feel even more aggrieved; anger and confusion rising within like mercury in a thermometer.

"Since when were you the expert on my emotions?"

"Since I give a damn about you." Abby's voice a little louder, calculated, edged with reason, peppered with an aggravation that she hoped would alleviate his hopeless mood. Luka finally dared to look at her, seeing the furtive frustration fixed in her gaze, one palm flat against the table as if she were marking it with her immediate concern.

"I'm sorry..I'm being.."

"A pain in the ass?" A flicker of a smile flourished for both of them as she interrupted.

"I was going to say difficult," he assured, finally joining her at the table.

"You're more eloquent. Must be the second language thing."

"So how was last night?" Luka knew he was changing the subject, but the frosted glass bottle that sat between them, its curved edges distorting their reflections, was the silent narrative of the past twelve hours he had endured. So he wanted to know what had happened to her since she left him there, looking at the remains of his coffee, dark and ugly like despair.

"Eventful." "Chen and Pratt got shot at."

His eyes widened, with concern and disbelief, but not with the faintest expression of shock. "Are they OK?"

"They'll be fine. We always take care of our own." They both heard the significance, the tone of someone who knew all too well what it was like watching your colleagues suffer, then trying to put them back together both physically and emotionally.

"Then I went to Susan's thinking it was possible that I might have to deliver her child on the kitchen floor." One traumatic event was nearly always the catalyst for another.

"And did you?" Luka was now more than intrigued, glad for any distraction, toying with the salt pot as he spoke.

"She wishes." Abby smiled, folding her arms casually, leaning back, almost rocking in the chair. "She's practically crawling up the wall."

"Then you must be too tired for video games, then," he said slowly, remembering last night's conversation. Flashing images and colours would not be kind to his bleary eyes either.

"Trying to get rid of me?" She raised a speculative eyebrow, teasing.

"No. But seriously, you must have something better to do." Fluctuating emotions wavered through him. As much as he wanted her to stay, he also wanted to remove her from his melancholy. She did not deserve to be dragged into the uncertainty and chaos which scratched under his skin. Dark tiredness was scarred under his eyes like the smudged mascara of a weeping woman. His head heavy with too much alcohol and too many thoughts.

"No." "Anyway, change of plan. Get your coat. We're going out." Abby's demeanour was so assertive he knew he was unable to resist. However, Luka cast a speculative gaze towards the window, watching the clouds merging up above.

"We might get caught in the rain," he said flatly, regarding her seriously.

Blinking away his doubts, she stood up, carefully removing her coat from the back of the chair, then pulling it on hastily.

Abby confidently flicked her hair from underneath the collar, then straightened it out in a graceful manner. "Easy on the optimism Luka, you'll wear it out."

They stood, contemplative, like tourists scanning Mona Lisa's smile or admiring the Sphinx's gigantic paws. Unconsciously mirroring each other, shoulders set, eyes forward, hands dug deep into the pockets of their leather coats. Their subject was the centrepiece of Chicago's Millennium Park, Cloud Gate, a metallic sculpture, seeming to resemble mercury being dropped out of the sky. Faint sunlight enhanced its curvaceous edges, making it shine robustly as if it were the centre of the very universe.

"You think it's worth eleven and a half million dollars?"

Luka shrugged, the movement of his shoulders creasing and squeaking against his jacket. "Imagine what that money could do for County."

"Have more doctors thinking about their wage bills?" A humorous defiance wrapped around her words as he turned to face her.

"You won't be complaining in a couple of years."

"Not about the money. Maybe about the caffeine, nicotine, stress and late nights robbing away my youthful beauty." Something in her mockery always seemed to strike a chord with him, there was something so fresh, eager and enchanting about it.

"You seem to be coping so far," he replied slowly, a little intensity circling in his eyes.

Abby knew there was a veiled compliment in there somewhere.

"I'm a master of disguise," she replied enigmatically, before her attention was caught by a scruffy youth on a skateboard, wheels churning, cigarette poking from his mouth, the end sending out an enticing glow.

"God, I want a cigarette," she announced, meaning to just think it, tightening her fists inside her pockets to alleviate the craving.

"My cheery demeanour getting to you already?" Luka asked, moving away to go and sit down on a nearby bench, coat flapping slightly in the breeze.

Abby chuckled softly, following, sitting down, sliding her hands from her pockets and putting them over her knees.

"You hear anything last night?" Her tone slight, somehow reminding them both why they were there.

"No. I'm not even sure if I want Sam to come back...yet." She noted the significance of the pause: a contemplative space which Luka had easily fallen into. As he wondered if he should have seen it coming, if it was already fading away, what with Steve and both of them practically trying to avoid each other.

"Maybe it was already over," he said aloud, finally some kind of cohesive thought out in the open. Yet why had he asked her to stay?

"A third person in the mix doesn't help." Her statement was blunt with the sharpness of experience, relevant to them both, as their gazes locked for a moment.

"How's Carter?" It was not an unconscious leap. In another place, at another time, they may have been amused.

"You should talk to him," Abby urged.

Luka nodded solemnly. Somehow he could already visualise a conversation in an empty room, still with grief and silence. Knowing that no words could ever compensate for the hole that grief tore so violently and so callously.

This time he was pulled from his reverie by the caress of a single raindrop.

They both eyeballed the sky instantly, as instinct often drives one to when the heavens open.

"I told you it was going to rain," he said calmly, as the rhythm of the falling water began to increase.

"I'm going to call you Mr. Optimistic from now on," she suggested, with half a grin.

"Anything's better than being called a pain in the ass," he replied, sitting back, folding his arms.

Abby laughed, suspecting that in time, things would look up for him.

"Are we gonna just sit here?" The rainfall was not violent, but unpleasant all the same.

"A little rain never hurt anybody." Home was dry, but it was also four empty, lonely walls.

"Tell that to the guy with the Ark, locked up with every beast known to man."

Jokes aside, she did not want to leave him sitting alone with his thoughts, as she had done twice over the past twenty-four hours. So they sat, shoulder to shoulder, watching the fine hazy rain fall along the sides of the metal sculpture like silent, hopeful tears.