Title: The Burn

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: No, I haven't forgotten about this, real life has just intervened somewhat! Apologies, I hope someone's still reading out there! The quote opening this chapter comes from my good friend Natasha's poem, "The Muses' Darling" and was used with her permission :) Please let me know what you think, thanks.

"I sit stifled in a room choked with silence."

Thin, green light brightly defined numbers on the alarm clock. An autumnal breeze tugged slowly at the blinds, cool air spilling in from outside. Black darkness fell indiscriminately, coating everything it touched with uncertainty and loneliness. Not even a single star dared to open a twinkling eye.

Luka turned to examine the time, reading it as 4:15 am. At most, another two hours before any sort of daylight breached the dark. He had no idea why he was so awake. It had been almost two weeks now since Sam had left and a sort of emptiness still lingered about him. He had still heard nothing, still wondering if she would ever come back. It was not easy to erase the feelings that had built over time.

He was used to erratic sleep patterns, however; shift work conditioned your body that way. At least he was not drunk. He had promised himself not to make a return to drinking away his sorrows, not to fall once again into an unrelenting spiral of misery. Restless, he flicked on the lamp, white light at first too instant and harsh for his tired eyes. Blinking rapidly, he turned his attention to the phone. Fumbling about sleepily, he located his address book, then slowly dialled an unfamiliar number.

The dimly-lit porch seemed comforting in a way, pearly light falling slowly in amongst the changeable colours of the early hours. After a few hollow, resounding taps against the door, it was opened with a click. Despite the earlier phone call, Carter's eyes remained puzzled, silence passed as he opened the door wide and let Luka in. Not that anything needed to be said, each aware of the other's purpose. Hands pushed into the pockets of his jeans, Luka felt small, constricted, a little apprehensive as he followed along the long hallway.

"Drink?"

"Whatever's nearest." Now was not a time to resist the offers. A twist of the dimmer switch brought a little light into the living room, the filaments alive with a sudden, subtle glow.

"How did you know I would be awake?" Carter asked, while offering a glass with a few inches of whisky inside. He was still a little puzzled by the situation, but grateful for the company. For the silent understanding of someone who really knew what he was going through.

"The early mornings are the worst." The time when you expect your child to be waking you in a time of need for food or comfort. They both drank then, surrendering to the aching silence in the room. In the whole house.

"Any suggestions?" Carter knew his question was futile but found himself asking nonetheless.

"You could always leave the country," Luka replied dryly, creating some dark humour. A flicker of a smile passed both their expressions for the very briefest of moments. More whisky was poured rapidly into both glasses, the steady flow of alcohol somehow necessary to try and forge a conversation.

"You're on your own?" Luka had no idea why he was asking the question. This particular piece of gossip had been circulating the County rumour mill for at least a week now. It was seemingly never misinformed.

"Kem's gone back to Africa. We can't talk about it." His voice seemed bleak and redundant. What was there to say? Who was there to blame? Luka had played out many situations in his head, and more than once had found himself considering what may have happened if Danijela had survived. Would they have blamed each other for the death of their children? When you were alone, there was nobody to blame but yourself.

"Give it some time. At least you have a choice. You don't have to cope with it on your own." Something told him it was scant consolation, but hopeful nevertheless. It was not easy to share grief of this magnitude but it was probably worth trying to. Something in Luka's voice had an urgency and purpose that was hard to ignore, something almost desperate and hopeless that seemed to pierce Carter's wall of silence.

"Maybe." Certainty was not an option in the upside-down world of mourning.

Luka almost felt as if he was giving Carter a warning, telling him that he didn't have to follow the same path, carrying around the ghosts of your loved ones for so long, feeling the weight of their legacies like a yoke over your shoulders.

Without either of them being aware, time had shifted on, first light making the spirit's cinnamon glow against the crystal glasses more prominent, dawn's eager fists banging on the window, rushing the light forward.

"She feels the pain as much as you do."

"I just don't know what to say." Desperation slithered through his tone.

"We're not meant to understand these things. Just because we deal with death every day doesn't make it easier when it's personal. It won't go away, but it gets easier. Trust me." Luka knew he wasn't the best example of coping with the agony, but he knew how time, places, people and new memories faded the pain.

Carter felt the final caustic sting of alcohol tighten his throat as he finished the drink and found himself watching the impending dawn, bleak grey suddenly saturated with yellow and orange, the promise of a beautiful morning playing out before his eyes. Luka followed his eyeline, then spoke quietly.

"Every new day is a second chance." He didn't know where the philosophy came from, knowing that he had not lived by it, but also knowing that somebody else could. He got up then, suddenly eager for sleep again.

"You can probably get a flight to Paris in a few hours' time." Luka lingered in the doorway as he threw this final optimistic comment into this sad arena. Carter felt like this was not just speculation, but almost a command.

He nodded slowly, acknowledging the thought.

"Thank you." Luka just nodded and slipped away into the quiet of the new day, shielding his eyes slightly from the sun, beginning to set the shapes of the city aglow, bathing them in light. The new day was the new chance, as even the ugliest caterpillar may grow into a butterfly in time.