If All Could Be Told.
A/N: This story might appear a little outdated, but then it was started ages ago! Probably around season 9ish, it will satisfy any Carby cravings that have been subdued because of morerecent events on the show. It takes an extremely A/U direction as it is the fruit of my imagination and after all it is fiction! Any feedback is much appreciated:)
Summary: Carby. Abby has a painful secret. Will this hidden truth have the potential to break their relationship apart. Plenty of angst, a smattering of romance, an abundance of friendship and a revelation
Prologue: Hiding and Seeking.
A flickering shaft of light breaks through where the door has been left ajar, my fitful sleep now broken by the cold sheets of the suddenly empty side of the bed. Going to investigate, I peer out of the bedroom through the fuzzy curtains of sleep to find what I expected already. Darkness. A pitch black permeates the room, broken only by the T.V: its volume is turned down low and garish colours flicker from the screen, performing a dance upon her face. The darkness only reveals the beautiful silhouette of her head and shoulders peeking over the back of the sofa. I can't see her face and yet I know that it will be tear-stained; her delicate features stained by wet salt trails streaking down soft beautiful skin, these tears that desperately try to drain away the pain and fear behind her soulful eyes. Those eyes have experienced and feel so much. Right now, they are experiencing and feeling all alone.
All I want to do is to remove this pain, its part of my job as a boyfriend, at least if she'd let it be. I know that she knows this too – she doesn't share, it is hard for her I can understand, it has been this way for all the time I've known her. The thing is she has shared so much with me already. Why not this? I wish she'd let me help her. Help her with whatever compels her to sit out here alone at night. I love her; I can only hope that she knows that enough, feeling guilty that I might not tell her as often as I should.
I stand for a while staring at the back of the sofa that she is sitting, her long dark hair tumbles in a cascade amongst the pool of cushions and blankets. I hear the whimpers that accompany each body-wracking spasm of sobs. They wrench my insides tightly as I can only look on helplessly. If I go over there now and wrap my arms around her as I want to, I know what it will provoke. Denial. It's how we get by now and I wonder how we ever even got like this.
Once again I've managed to talk myself out of trying to resolve these midnight occurrences, simply remembering what happens when I do.
Last time I tried to talk to her about this it turned into a big mistake. Once upon a time I promised that I wouldn't try to fix her. God, she's the most beautiful person that I have never met, despite all her baggage, she's just Abby. My Abby. There's nothing at all about her that I want to 'fix'. I just get concerned about things, and I want to help her. I don't think that I'm being unreasonable, just caring.
Abby is so fiercely independent sometimes, even I think that maybe when I react the way that I tend to, that it is – like she often claims- an overblown reaction.
The first time I spotted her out here, I did pretty much as I do now, I waited it out. I know Abby, she's stubborn, wilful but most of all scared to let anybody in. I knew that if she wanted to talk, she would, as I still know now.
Our first major fight revolved around this issue, exacerbated and instigated by her going out drinking. She waived my concern, combated it. I was the one, this time who backed down, walked away when things got rough and left her at the EL station. Eventually we managed to talk; the words that we exchanged that day forever reverberate around in my mind. I was elated that day, we'd overcome our first major hurdle and made a leaping progress,
"How far are we gonna go if we keep hiding from each other." I had asked tentatively, fixing her dark eyes with my own. She stepped towards me closing the distance between us. So close and yet acres apart, I wanted her to answer me before I gave into my addictive cravings to touch her and take her in my arms.
When she replied, I heard the words as if they'd been amplified a hundred times, "I won't hide anymore" when these sweet words left her lips, I naively thought they bore the marker of truth. Now, they just have a bittersweet ring because I know she's still hiding, hiding from me.
Last time, it felt like I nearly lost her. I'm not letting that happen again, it's too much of a scary prospect so, for now, I can live with what we have. I can't comprehend the pain if we were ever to be apart, it would be like entering a colossal black hole, and yet another failure, one that I'm not sure I would recover from. At least now, I can be here for her if she is ever ready to talk. When I catch her like this, then – crying in the night - I go back to bed. Yep, callous as it sounds, that's what I do. Despite this, I'll be forever consumed with guilt on nights like these until she asks for help. Until then it is going to be like this.
Once more I turn around before going back into the bedroom, it's for the best. I know her, she'll talk to me when she is ready and not before. My insides feel a familiar contortion as I leave her once more, teary and in the darkness, not knowing that I am always here for her, right now as I stand outside this room, and always. I enter the bedroom into my own darkness, knowing she is out there alone and willing some sort of fitful slumber to chase away my worry induced insomnia and to bring me to sleep again.