Luka paced the room, watched the clock. He had waited for so long for Abby to come home, waited to not be alone again. But now he was alone again, maybe he'd always been alone. A wall between them, and a door. Would Abby ever open the door, let him into her heart? He couldn't force it, he knew. She had to open the door.
He'd wanted her before. He'd always wanted her, from the first time they'd gone out. But now it was different. Now he needed her. He had nearly died, and now that he had his life back, he wasn't ready to give up on it, or on love. He needed to be loved again. Could Abby ever love him? Could she ever enter the door that he'd opened for her?
An hour. Luka started for the bedroom door. He would go in, make some excuse for being there. It was his bedroom, he had every right to be there. But as he reached for the doorknob he heard the sound of muffled sobbing coming through the door. A hesitation, then Luka sighed and returned to the couch. He picked up the remote that Abby had dropped, and found something to watch on tv. Anything to distract him from his worries.
The telephone made him jump. Who would be calling him? The only calls he ever got anymore were from Abby, and she was in the bedroom. Abby was his only friend. Abby was his only lover.
"Hello?"
"Hi Luka; it's John. Is Abby there?"
What to say? 'Yeah, but she's in my room crying her eyes out?' or maybe 'Yeah, but she's sleeping off a bender right now?' Fortunately he didn't have to get beyond, "Yeah, she is," when Carter interrupted.
"Good, I was worried. We all were. She was so upset ... I sent her home early. I just wanted to be sure she made it home ok."
"What happened?" Luka asked softly. "She's still ... upset, but she won't tell me what's wrong." And he wouldn't tell Carter that she'd been drinking. Silence on the other end of the phone. "Carter, tell me!" Luka couldn't keep the tension, the fearout of his voice. "Did something happen? Did someone hurt her?"
Another brief silence then Carter said slowly, "She had a patient, three actually. It was hard on all of us, a really rough case, but for Abby it was ... must've been horrible." Another brief silence, and Luka waited until Carter was ready to continue. "Nine year old girl, sexually abused by her father ... raped. As near as we could tell, from what she said, Mom walked in on them, Dad shot her, then himself. "
"Oh God ..." Luka whispered. "Any survivors?"
"The girl. Dad died in the ambulance, Mom in the OR. The girl's fine ... physically anyway."
"And she was Abby's patient." Not a question.
"Right. If we'd known when they came in what it was all about, I would never have assigned her the girl. But it looked like an easy one for her. I got the joy of working on the father." Luka heard the sigh through the phone.
"Thanks for telling me," he said, when it was clear that Carter was done with his story.
"How is she doing?"
"Considering what she just went through ... ok, I guess."
"How are you doing these days? When you will be back to work?"
"Not soon enough. But aren't you the one who told me not to rush it?"
"I did. We miss you though."
"So I hear." It was nice to hear, but he wasn't sure he believed Carter. Did they really miss him, or were they just getting annoyed at being short an attending?
Luka hung up the phone and looked towards the bedroom. Had she heard the conversation? Should he go in now? At least he would have something useful to say, he knew what was wrong. He could help her now. But no, he knew he still had to wait for her. And she couldn't stay in there forever.
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The sound of water running in the bathroom, and then the door opened and Abby came out. She'd been in there for four hours. Her face was pale, her eyes still red.
"Feeling better?" Luka asked.
"I'm sober ... more or less." She managed a small smile. "I'm sorry, Luka. I don't know what came over me ..."
"I know ... what happened."
Abby's eyes widened. "How?"
"Carter called. He wanted to make sure you'd made it home ok."
"Carter should mind his own business."
"He cares about you, and so do I. You could have told me, Abby. You should have told me."
"Why? So you could feel sorry for me?" She shook her head. "You have enough to worry about ... you don't need to be fretting about me."
"What should I be worrying about? I'm getting better, Abby. I don't have to worry about myself, and you don't have to worry about me. But I do worry about you. I love you, remember? Do you think I don't have reason to worry when the woman I love comes home drunk?"
"Drunk?" A short laugh. "I wasn't drunk. Wish I had been. A good old-fashioned blackout would have just about hit the spot." She had carefully ignored that word. The one he kept saying to her, but she still couldn't say to him.
"Maybe you aren't ready to be back at work yet."
"This is hardly a daily occurrence, Luka. I'll be fine. It was just ... a shock." She sighed, and her voice became more cheerful. "So, how was your morning?"
"It was quiet. Abby, you need to talk about this."
"No, I don't." She got up and went to the kitchen. "Should I warm up that Chinese food for dinner? Or did you eat it all?"
"It's fine. Whatever." He didn't miss Abby's eyes looking, a bit longingly perhaps, at the cupboard where he kept the liquor. And he was thankful that he'd poured it alldown the sink hours earlier. He couldn't keep her from drinking if she set her mind to it, but he didn't have to make it easy for her.
They didn't talk over dinner. They didn't eat much over dinner either. Luka wasn't hungry, and he watched as Abby just picked at her meal as well. Maybe tomorrow, he thought. Maybe she'd feel more able to talk tomorrow, after a good night's sleep. Maybe he could convince her to stay home tomorrow. She wasn't ready to go back to work, to deal with other people's traumas and pain.
Finally Abby got up to clear away the plates. "You done?" she asked.
"Yeah." The first words they'd exchanged in the past 20 minutes. "I'm pretty tired. I think I'm going to go to bed now." He wasn't really. He didn't do anything anymore to get tired from. It was still very early, barely 8 o:clock, but Luka didn't think he could stand the silence much longer.
Being alone was hard, but he was used to it. He'd been alone for so many years. Being alone while in the room with another person was worse. And being alone while in the same room with Abby was agony.
"I'll be along soon too," Abby said. "I have an early shift tomorrow."
Luka had just gotten into bed and picked up his book to read for a while when he heard Abby go into the bathroom. Water running as she washed up and brushed her teeth. She looked surprised when she came into the bedroom.
"I thought you were going to sleep," she said.
"I was just reading for a while. But if you're tired ..." He'd have to let her put out the light. He couldn't escape into the other room again.
Abby didn't reply. She quickly undressed, turned out the light, and got into bed beside him. And Luka wasn't sure what to do. Of course she wouldn't want to make love tonight. She was too upset, the wounds too freshly opened. It would be a while before she was ready again. But a good-night kiss? Would she want that? Expect it? They hadn't touched all day ... except for the brief moment when they'd fought over the glass. If only he could know what she wanted? How could he love someone so much, while understanding her so little?
His thoughts were interrupted by the rustle of the blankets as Abby slid closer to him. He turned to look at her, and she kissed him. Not the brief, perfunctory good-night kiss that he'd been debating offering her, but a deep, lingering one. When her lips finally left his, it was only so they could kiss his neck, his shoulder.
"Abby ... I don't think ..." But her kisses stopped his words again, and her hands and mouth roaming over his body made it all too clear that he had thought wrong. Most women wouldn't have wanted sex after a day like this ... but Abby wasn't most women. That much he knew. And, while he didn't understand her, he loved her. He wanted her. Whatever she was willing to offer him, he would take. He didn't yet have her heart, her soul ... but she was giving him her body. Could he refuse it? Could he risk hurting her by refusing the one part of her she did offer so freely?
This wasn't right. Even as he began to return her kisses, her caresses, he knew somewhere deep in his heart that it wasn't right. This wasn't what they needed, it shouldn't be what she needed. But it was what she wanted, and what she seemed to think she needed. She couldn't find comfort in his heart, his soul. They couldn't communicate in words, but their bodies could always connect. Tonight she was the one using sex to forget her pain, or at least mask it for a little while. A feeling he understood all too well. It wasn't what he wanted tonight, but if it was enough for her, it would have to be enough for him.
They didn't talk. They almost never talked while making love. And it was ok. The silences that were so uncomfortable at other times spoke volumes while they were in bed. Here he could show her how much he loved her, and he could imagine, at least, that she loved him too. Once he had begun to respond to her Abby had relaxed, become less insistant. She was soft and warm in his arms, responsive to his touch, his kisses. She let him make love to her. And for the moment, it was enough for him.
When they were done, they lay together comfortably, still not talking. Luka was drowsy, relaxed; just starting to drift off to sleep when he felt something wet on his shoulder. Was she kissing him again? No. It was a tear. Abby was crying. Silently, without trembling or moving.
"Abby?" Luka asked softly.
"You know what she said?" Barely a whisper.
"Who?"
"Misty. The girl. She said, 'Daddy loves me. Every day ... he told me he loved me ... who will love me now?'"
Luka swallowed the lump in his throat. "That wasn't love, Abby." She didn't answer, and he couldn't think of anything else to say. He could tell her again that he loved her, but it wouldn't make any difference. Not right now.
Abby sat up, moved away from him. He heard the crackle of cellophane as she took a cigarette out of the pack, but she didn't light it. She just sat on the far edge of the bed, her back to him. Luka watched her for a few minutes. He could see the white skin of her bare back, the tousled hair over her shoulders. Even if she turned, he knew he wouldn't be able to really see her face. It was too dark.
"Come back into bed," he said after a while. "You'll get cold."
"I'm not cold."
"Abby ...."
"I said I'm fine!"
As Luka finally drifted off to sleep, she was still sitting there. And when he woke in the morning, the bed was empty.