Part 2/3 of a request for Theshoegirl

Eliot was fetching his keys and jacket to leave when the doorbell to his apartment rang; that was wrong. Their apartment had some of the best security in town and for someone to just waltz up, was bad news.

He grabbed the baseball bat he kept next to the door and, gripping it firmly, swung the door wide open. His strong grip released on the weapon when he saw Bonnano standing next to a clearly un-sober Abigail; the detective looked exhausted.

"What?" he questioned angrily as Abby pushed her way past her uncle and made her way into the living room. "Happened?" Eliot finished.

"Don't know," the detective replied. "They weren't extremely talkative in the car."

"They?" Fury was mounting inside of Eliot.

"Yeah; her and Kyle."

"How?" It was the only word he could stumble out of his mouth.

"Heard an address over the police radio as where Kyle was tonight; the party was out of control but uniforms were already there cleaning up. I grabbed Kyle and Abby before her name, and yours, could be flagged," the detective explained.

"Thanks," the hitter said as he looked back at his niece.

"I should go," Bonnano declared. "I have a teenage son to deal with."

"How did you get up here?" Eliot questioned as the detective began to walk away.

"Flashed my badge at security, why?"

"No reason," Eliot replied, shaking his head, though truthfully, the hitter and soldier inside of him wanted to know all of the holes in security so he could fix them. But that was something for another time.

He closed the door and turned his attention back to Abigail, who was fiddling with the media dock kept in the dining area. Her hair was a mess, her eye makeup was smudged and her dress was askew. Eliot wasn't sure he wanted to ask what happened at the party.

"What are you doing?" Eliot questioned, his voice low and steady with disappointment.

"Trying to get music," Abby explained, her words slurred. "I want to dance!" There was a click as the radio switched on. "Ha!" the teenager exclaimed in success.

Her success, however, was short lived as Eliot walked over and switched it off.

"Hey, I was listesesesenening to that," she garbled.

"What were you thinking Abby?" he finally yelled.

"It's not a big deal," she replied as she pulled off her shoes and left them slain across the living room floor.

"How much did you drink?" he pressed.

"Not, not, not, not much, just… eleven drinks," she confessed. "All of my fingers plus two," she added perkily as she held three fingers up high in the sky.

"Abby!" he scolded. The teenager ignored him and stumbled over towards the kitchen. "What are you doing?" he asked as she flicked through cupboards and drawers.

"I'm hungry," she exclaimed then paused and clutched her stomach; the queasiness on her face was hard to miss. "I think I'm gonna…" she began, but ran off to the bathroom before she could finish.

Eliot stood for a moment before he followed and held her long her back as she emptied her stomach contents into the bowl. When she had finally finished, she slumped exhausted onto the bathroom floor as Eliot took a wash cloth from the basin and handed it to her to clean around her mouth; she did so drearily then tossed the cloth onto the floor.

Then, Eliot picked her up, scooping her in his arms like the child she had so clearly shown she was tonight, and carried her to her bed.

"Are you gonna yell at me now?" the teenager mumbled as he tucked her under the covers.

"Nah, I'll do that tomorrow, when you're sober enough to process what I'm saying," he replied, then began to exit the room.

"Why doesn't he care enough to go after me?" he heard the girl sob from her bed and, silently he wondered whether it was Kyle or her father she was referring to.

Eliot turned back to comfort and question her but she was already passed out cold, so he turned back to exit, rubbing his face unsurely. This was way out of his area of expertise.

Way, way out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Abby awoke the next morning her head was pounding, the ache amplified by an uncomfortable ringing in her right ear.

That and the sound of Eliot's weights clanging at perfectly timed intervals down the hall. Normally he waited until she was awake to undertake any noisy activities but, she suspected, that this was all going to be part of her punishment.

She moaned and considered getting out of bed, out of her worn clothes and into a nice hot shower, but the energy to do so just wasn't there.

Instead, she laid uncomfortably on her bed, her mind playing through the stupid mistakes she'd made the night before.

"It'll be fun Abby," Kyle had declared excitedly, without any hesitation in his voice or his actions as he had reached for two nearby shots of goodness knows what.

Abby, unlike her friend, had hesitated. She had licked her lips in uncertainty and shifted her weight uncomfortably. Then she had looked at the room around her, her friend beside her and, in a moment of self-loathing, rebellious teenagery, she grabbed the shot out of his hand.

"To…" she had begun, raising the plastic cup to toast, but trailed off, unsure of exactly what to celebrate.

"To being adventurous," Kyle had inputted, smiling and tapping his glass to hers. Then, in one simultaneous and fluid movement, both had skulled back the burning liquid in one big gulp.

In her bed, Abby rolled over from her back onto her side, moving her pillow with her for comfort, in some sort of attempt to not think about last night. As though moving positions would somehow also move her mind from its current preoccupation.

Four or five drinks in, she had begun to realise the stupidity of her decision. Mostly it came from the realisation that Eliot would be picking her up and would see her in this state, partially because she'd gone back on her word and partially because this wasn't her at all.

So, to counteract the feelings of grief and guilt, she had done what Nate often did and drunk more. And more, until she was dancing with Kyle in what was meant to be the living room of the house but had now been turned into a dance floor, her hands draped comfortably on his shoulders.

"Hi," she had greeted comfortably, her speaking faculties not yet impaired.

"Hey," he had smiled back, his hands placed tentatively on her waist. "You know the other week, when you skipped out on class?" he had asked, yelling over the music.

"Yeah!"

"Where did you go?" His curiosity had been honest.

"Oh, I went to see my father," she had replied, yelling into his ear. Under any normal (or sober) circumstance, she wouldn't have told him but, although her speech mightn't've been impaired, her filter was.

"Your father? I thought-"

"Yeah, he crashed into my car and is embezzling money from his company's charity," she had laughed awkwardly, the alcohol now messing with her emotions. "Oh, and, its apparent by him not calling, and not changing anything, that he doesn't care about anyone, not even his own kid."

"That sucks," Kyle had declared, grabbing another shot and chasing it with another beer.

"It does suck!" Abby had agreed. "And the worst part is, I don't even know why he doesn't want me!"

"You should call him," Kyle had slurred; he'd drunk almost twice as much as Abby had.

Frustrated with herself, Abby quickly sat up and ran her hands through her hair before taking a big, long breath. Gosh, she had been so stupid.

They had been dancing together for a while now, their bodies drawing closer and closer with each song, and they had moved to the back garden. Kyle meanwhile had either been growing more confident or (more likely) increasingly drunk, and he had slipped his hands lower down Abby's back.

She had pulled away.

"Are you ever going to ask me out?" she had asked, putting her hands out to steady her unbalancing body.

Kyle had shrugged. "This doesn't count?" He had asked, trying to pull her back towards him.

"What do you think?" she had asked in disbelief before pushing him away and running quickly back inside to devour more alcohol.

Bonnano had arrived an hour later, but, other than those three small snippets, the night had been a blur. Part of her was happy that that was the case.

In frustration with herself she dramatically pulled off her covers just as Eliot knocked on her door; the sound made her head hurt worse.

"We're leaving in twenty minutes," he declared and, even though his voice was muffled, his disappointment and anger was still transparently apparent.

Abby did as she was instructed, grabbing some fresh clothes out of her wardrobe and jumping into her shower, hoping that the hot water would ease her headache, wash away the smell of liquor still lingering on her body and clothes and, with it, the stupidity of the night before.

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