From her shoulder, to the tips of her fingers, there were over forty-five muscles. Abby remembered it from her anatomy courses, studying the deltoids and flexors and abductors. Once in a while, when he would wrap his arms around her and pull her in, she would consider those lessons and think about which muscles it had taken for him to make those movements. It was accidental, involuntary. They had made a joke of it once, when she had inadvertently voiced those thoughts. To her, it was funny to think it was all they were. Everything she loved- him- nothing but tendons, ligaments, fibers. And one day there would be nothing left, he would be gone. Just a body. Eventually, just dust. He had believed in something more than just flesh and blood. Once or twice, they had talked about it. In the NICU she had heard him praying, not understanding a word, but feeling guilty as her anger over the fact that he could take comfort in such a thing grew stronger. It was pointless. The only comfort for her would be to see her son get well. To touch him, hold him. To watch him as he slept, counting each breath by watching his chest rise and fall, not reading the number of respirations from a monitor.

It would take only a few of those forty-something muscles to lift her hand and knock on the door, but none of them seemed to be working at all. The key. She had never given it back, and afterwards, never bothered to take it off of her key chain. It had been forgotten, except for a few fleeting moments right after she had left, when she considered returning. As she stood there at the door, one hand in the pocket of her jacket, she ran her fingertips over the edge of the key, wondering if it would still fit into the lock. No. Any right she had to use it, to walk into that apartment, had been lost long ago. It was his home. They hadn't even spoken in ages. He probably wouldn't even be glad to see her.

It was building up in her, that fear of something she couldn't identify, making her stomach turn and her heart feel like it was twisting into knots. It was the possibility that he would slam the door in her face- she knew it, whether she wanted to admit it or not. It would hurt too much. What had ever come of it, showing up at his door? Him. Their baby. She had been so afraid. Afraid to keep it, afraid of how she would feel if she had given it up. Her choice. Luka had always said that it was her choice, but she knew. It would have been an end for them. They would have tried, and he would have always resented her for it. If she had never knocked, they would never have been together again. Never would have been as happy as they were. Never would have had to go through all of the pain and the fear. The heartache. She questioned if it had been worth it. Finally lifting her hand, she knocked anyway. By the sounds coming from inside the apartment, she knew exactly what he had been doing. Abby had never known anyone that well before him. First, the loud clatter. He had tossed the remote control back onto the coffee table, probably having just flipped through the channels without ever making a decision. The two thumps against the mahogany. He was lying on the couch, and he'd swung his legs over the edge of it, standing, bare feet pressed against the cold hardwood floor. Then the silence. He was walking over to the door. She never could understand how her footsteps had always been so loud yet he, being much taller and much heavier, hardly made a sound. Perhaps it was the shoes, her heels, she thought, but what an inappropriate time to consider things like that. As the silence grew longer, her heart began to pound so quickly that she was convinced she could hear it. Or maybe it had stopped. She couldn't tell. It had stopped. It must have. No. No, a heart didn't just stop beating so suddenly, so inexplicably, she knew that. There was no reason for it to happen to her. Yet a hand shot to her neck, fingers pressed hard against her skin, checking her pulse as if she were one of her patients. As if she could calm it. The door opened, and her hand dropped.

"Luka. Hi."

The words came out slowly. As if she didn't recognize him at first. As if she didn't expect to see him standing there. It was the only thing he could seem to do though, just stand there as if he couldn't move at all. Those weeks and weeks spent wondering, it was all he had wanted. Or so he had thought. To see her, to know that she was okay. To set things right again, the way they used to be. Things could never be that way again and he knew that. It didn't stop him from wishing, at first. Yet there she was at his door, and more than anything else, he wished that she wasn't. It was back, that pain that he thought only one thing would ever cause. At least, he reasoned, it had died down considerably: from the feeling that it might consume him completely, to a dull ache. It was easier that way. She was finally there. The decision was too big. He knew why she was there, what she wanted, but he knew he would ask nevertheless.

"Abby." he finally managed to speak, unaware that his words were barely above a whisper. "What are you doing here?"

"I was in the neighborhood?" she offered tentatively, but shook her head and couldn't help frowning. "That's not funny. I'm sorry. I just, uh, wanted to..."

"Don't. Never mind."

She could hurt him again if he didn't close that door. She always could, and he always let her, the same way that she had always let him. Once, she had mentioned it. Apologized for it, even. 'You're married to a ghost'. A cheap shot. Thoughtless. They had never been good at thinking things through. That night, he had wanted to go after her. For what, he wasn't quite sure even then, but he was very sure of how hard it had been to watch her walk away. After Neela and Michael's wedding, when he drove her home and cut their talk short in the car, he had promised himself never to lose her again that way. Promised himself that he wouldn't hurt her again. Wouldn't let her hurt him. He had broken those promises. They had broken every single promise they had ever made to each other in all of those years. Perhaps they could set things right. Or perhaps it would just be the same as last time. The same as every time. But it was Abby, and he would always love her. He would always be in love with her, no matter what she did. Didn't do, more accurately. At the end of the day, it was no more or less complicated than that. He couldn't close the door no matter what he told himself. It stood wide open as he made his way back into the living room. An invitation. A mistake? She shut the door behind her, going no further than the few steps down into the living room.

"Luka, if this is a bad time--"

"Is there ever going to be a better one?" he cut her off sharply, unapologetically. Took up the remote and turned off the television. CNN. She had been right. "I didn't ask you to come. But you're here now, we might as well get it over with."

"The place looks good." She couldn't remember what it had looked like before. What a stupid comment. Nothing seemed like the right thing to say. The silence had been too much. "It must be hard to keep up with, on top of everything else."

"Well, some of us learn how to deal with our responsibilities." he quipped. Cut the shit, Abby. Smalltalk? Honestly? He was fed up already. Wanted to tell her to leave already. "We all have our priorities though, I guess."

"Stop it. Just stop, Luka, I didn't come here to argue with you. I won't." I can't. She took a few more steps in, staring at him. No. Past him. Staring at the floor. Staring at anything but him, the look in his eyes. What was it? Why couldn't she read him, the way she used to? The way he could still read her. "Whatever happened, it's over now. We can't change it. Can I just..."

"You weren't here for him. For either of us. What difference does it make now?" he asked, turning to walk off down the hall before waiting for any reply. "It's too late, Abby."

It wouldn't have hurt so much if he hadn't been right. When she had given up, she had failed them both, along with herself. Every fear she'd had about them, about the baby, about ending up alone, he had promised would never happen. All along, he'd had the same fears. How could he be there for her if he admitted it? How could he reassure her? He had never voiced any of it. And in the end, it was her who had consummated all of it and left him alone. The fear had been too much. It had pushed them apart. Stifled them. Mostly her. Luka had come to accept it all, move past it. He had done it before. But she had just dug the trench even deeper. She watched him disappear down the corridor before following after, setting her purse and jacket down along the way. All the while, he said nothing, knowing that she was following. Not exactly sure whether he wanted to stop her in the first place.

"Hey, you. Look who's awake." he spoke the words gently in Croatian as he leaned down to pick up the baby from the crib. "I didn't even know you were up, you're so quiet today."

"Oh, Luka. God, he's so big." She thought the words might choke her. Suffocate her, as everything had done before. It had been so easy to give up and let them both go, and she could hardly stand to see what she had missed. "I can't believe how much he's grown."

"I don't know what you expected. You were gone for seven months." he said simply, surprised at how calm and even his tone seemed to be. "What do you want, Abby? You can't just come back here and expect to fix things."

"That isn't what I'm trying to do. I mean... Look, all I want right now is to see my son. Please."

"We have a different life now, Abby. Joe and I. And you chose not to be in it, you chose to leave. I'm not changing any of it for you. It wouldn't be fair to him. You'll have to wait."

He left it at that, walking past her once more and over to the changing table with the baby cradled against his chest. The baby, who was hardly that anymore. Ten months old- almost eleven. The perpetual mess of bottles was being slowly replaced with little plastic cups and their tops, the swing exchanged for blocks and colorful books with thick pages, and the latest addition to the apartment was the safety gate on the stairs. The weeks until his first birthday would pass too quickly. Luka couldn't help but wonder if Abby would even bother staying long enough to see it; she had already missed too much.