Authors Notes: - Sorry folks! I know it's been ages, but being blocked is a bitch. Big shout out to ShadowDiva for all the help, this fic would still be stuck in writer's block hell otherwise.

Secrets and Lies

Chapter 16

His heart was drumming a military tattoo as he stood across the street, looking at the neon sign above the automatic doors. The whole scene would once have been so familiar, felt right, but not now.

Now, Abby was dying within those 4 walls, and here he was again. Back at County, a place whose doors he hadn't crossed since he left four years ago. What was this womans magnetic pull anyway? Why did Abby still influence him so much? He had pondered this thought repeatedly. Maybe he had to make sure this was real. That Abby was actually dying.

Maybe he wouldn't believe it unless he saw it for himself, and that's why he was here.

He shrugged to himself. He'd come this far. And even if not a lot else had changed in the last 5 years, he certainly wasn't a coward anymore.

Sam visibly stiffened when she saw him, as they locked eyes for the first time in over four years through the glass. She narrowed her eyes to mere slits. Her feelings towards him were still crystal clear. What more had he expected? He approached the doors and she reluctantly let him enter.

"Congratulations,"

He greeted tersely, indicating her bump with a sharp incline of his head. She played with her hair nervously, pretending to tie it up, purely to occupy restless hands that he suspected would otherwise have been very tempted to wrap themselves round his neck.

"You made it,"

The words were curt, clipped, her gaze averted.

"She isn't…?"

He asked, fearing for all he'd wound himself up, he'd actually managed to be too late. She shook her head.

"No,"

"Can I see her…?"

Sam angled her head suspiciously.

"It's what you came here for isn't it?"

Her rhetoric hit home hard. She began to walk, gestured to him to follow her, which he did without question.

"Exam 4…"

She said, standing aside and allowing him his first glimpse of Abby in nearly 4 years. Sam merely watched as the horror slipped into his expression, her eyes and demeanour cold. He stood with his hand on the door handle for a full minute before he opened the door. Abby's eyes were immediately on him, and then there was no escape.

"Welcome back,"

Abby's first words set the tone of the conversation perfectly, cold and guarded. He rallied against his urge to turn away and stepped into the room.

"Hey,"

He answered, evenly, exterior perfectly calm, remaining standing so he could turn and run if he needed to.

"You came,"

She said, her voice strangely emotionless. A hand gestured to the stool at the side of her bed.

"Sit down,"

Filled with a strange reluctance, he crossed to the bed and perched uneasily. She regarded him coolly.

"I don't get it, Abby, it's been 4 years…"

"I'm dying,"

She stated bluntly, gaze unswerving in its intensity, seemingly ignorant of the fact he'd been talking. He was being scrutinised for his reaction, a reaction he was trying hard to suppress.

"I know,"

"I wanted to see you,"

The undertone was there, and he picked up on it instantly.

"You wanted to see if I'd come running,"

He surmised cuttingly. Abby acquiesced with a slight tilt of her head, a cruel smile curling at the corners of her lips.

"You did,"

"Yeah, I did,"

He couldn't help that it sounded disbelieving. He still couldn't believe he was here. He was able to take in just then exactly what toll her illness had taken – the yellowed skin and eyes, the arms and hands scarred by old IV's and shunts. Was it sad or just pathetic? He couldn't quite make up his mind.

"Why?"

"Why? Because I cared about you once,"

He answered firmly, careful that his tone remained neutral.

"I cared about you too,"

She admitted, her voice small, defeatist. He knew only too well what game she would be trying to play, but he was wise to her ways now.

"Past tense, Abby, so why drag me back? What is this meant to achieve?"

"Forgive me?"

Her tone changed suddenly, and she sounded almost pitiful. He felt his stomach turn. This couldn't be what this was about.

"Wait? What? Forgive…No, fuck it, Abby, don't do this,"

"I…you…"

She struggled for a response.

"I can't let you play the martyr, Abby, I let you do that too much,"

"Play the martyr? Is that what you think it was?"

Yeah, Abby, that's exactly what it was, he thought bitterly. He had taken the blame on himself, and she'd carried on being the same martyr to lifes hardships she'd always been.

"Isn't it? You fitted the victim role nicely, right Abby? You had done your whole life. Why let anyone know differently?"

A brief look of hurt crossed into her expression then, but he couldn't feel anything for her. There was no sympathy left in him for her. He hadn't been sure what to expect when he saw her again, but this reaction had taken even him by surprise.

"Our baby…"

Abby began to protest, but he cut across her.

"It was your baby apparently. And, yeah, it died. But it was dead anyway. Abby, you were going to kill it anyway,"

"This isn't what…isn't why…"

He couldn't help but enjoy seeing her floundering for words, his expression no more than stone mask. She couldn't read him, and that killed her.

"What? You wanted a nice cosy chat, where I held your hand and forgave you, absolved you, so you could die peaceful and blameless…"

"How can you still be angry?"

"Same way you can still play the victim, Abby. I don't hate you…don't flatter yourself by thinking that…I did for a long time…now, now I just pity you,"

"Is that…? What is that…?"

The smile he felt form was cruel, he knew that, it was strangely detached from the coldness in his eyes. She floundered helplessly, looking to him. What did she want? An apology? She thought she deserved that?

"As good as you're going to get from me,"

"I don't hate you either…"

"Thanks, Abby, that's good to know, really,"

He muttered caustically, catching her eye with his flint like gaze just once, just to press the point home hard. The silence lined the room like lead, a complete dead weight. He had said what needed said. He had seen her before she died.

She made no effort to speak again, made no sound as he rose to leave. Once outside the room, he leaned back against the wall, watched the grind of the ER go on around him. The resurfaced bitterness began to bubble under again inside him. She was determined to die a wronged woman, having gathered around her all those who'd sinned against her just to make them suffer her final agony. He was equally determined that she should not die a victim, that he would not give her that satisfaction.