Post by andrejia on Jan 22, 2008 8:42:21 GMT 10
First of all, this is for Zelda, who convinced me to post it here as well.
Disclaimer: I do not own E.R, Luka, Abby & Co.
A.N.: A bit of insight on what I think these two might feel about what happened this season. It's going to take a while. Moments,feelings, memories, some Luka/Abby history plus some bits of what happened in the two weeks they spent in Croatia, together.
Timeline: Abby's been in rehab for a month so this takes place almost nine months after the wedding.
1.Breathe.
Eight years.
“Abby Lockhart, third year”
Nine months.
“I wish we could all go.”
Two weeks.
“My flight leaves tomorrow morning.”
One night.
“I had a slip.”
A few hours.
“They said you left. Early, in fact.”
Today.
Belief.
Just breathe...He was asleep. It felt like she was watching him forever but still, she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. What did he know? Did he know anything at all? Did he feel something was wrong? Some children sense whenever something’s wrong with their parents. Some remember for the rest of their lives stuff that happened when they were one or two. Without actually knowing. Maybe just images, sounds…He couldn’t…he won’t…and even if he will…there’s no way he would know what was going on. Maybe one day he’ll find out. Maybe one day she’ll actually tell him. Tell him what? And why? So he can hate her? Or maybe he’ll understand…
She was watching him and it felt like this is what her life is all about. He has no worries, no fears. Content and happy. Beautiful and full of energy. She smiled, picturing him going to school, high school, college…falling in love. He was perfect. How could two people so far from being perfect have such a perfect child? In the midst of it all, she must’ve done something right to deserve this.
Their hands were clasped and she felt him caressing hers, stroking her fingers, warm and full of hope. Words were still something they couldn’t handle very well but now they weren’t so afraid to touch each other. Small gestures, shy ones that spoke volumes. It was enough for now, it was all they needed. She tuned her head to look at him and felt lost in his eyes again. He was still hiding a bit but the walls of his fortress were getting smaller everyday. They smiled softly at each other for a moment; the hard part was over. They were on their way back…home. For a new start.
He tightened his hand around hers and closed his eyes. It was a long trip. The trip back home. She watched him for a second or two then closed her eyes as well. She could see the future in his eyes but the past could still be sensed in hers.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Sorry. I was in the shower. Been waiting long?”
“That’s ok,” he grinned as he leaned down to kiss her hello.
Small drops of water were falling from her hair, lingering. She took the towel she threw on the couch on her way to answer the door and started to dry some soaked strands.
”Why didn’t you use your key?”
“Because”, Luka started while he closed the door behind him, “you were home…and it wouldn’t have been nice for me to walk in on you…just like that.”
“Oh…I’m glad, though. It gave Mr. Fredrickson time to go down the fire escape”, she teased.
“Mr. Fredrickson? Your old neighbor? He still lives?”
She chuckled.
“There. I meant there”, he corrected himself. “If he still lives there. Of course he’s still alive. I just thought…he might’ve moved…since…the last time we …dated”.
She abandoned the towel again and pulled closer to him, starting to play with his tie, taking it off slowly…
“So,” she smiled, “we’re dating now?”
“Umm…I don’t think we ever…dated. We skipped a few…traditional steps…”
“Maybe we should fix that.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Now Luka was asleep too, peaceful. Silent and peaceful. His hand still holding hers tightly. It was a long flight back home and she wished she could fall asleep. But couldn’t. Was he dreaming? His eyelids were fluttering from time to time. Maybe he was dreaming about last night. Or maybe about their last night at home. Her memories where somewhat foggy, a big blur. She couldn’t remember the exact words but she could remember his face, his voice…his eyes…her feelings…Her eyes, burning red, all dried out. She had no tears left and it felt like she had been crying for an eternity. At the end, she looked like a perfect, petite wax statue with messy hair and trembling lips. And the small movements of her lips were the only reminder of her human nature. Otherwise, she could’ve easily been mistaken with a doll, with pale skin, like porcelain. She opened her mouth and for a moment she thought she was talking; she could hear her own voice in her head and almost picture the words in her mind. But all that time she stood there paralyzed, she didn’t utter a sound. What was there left to say? Too late to apologize; couldn’t turn back the hands of time. She never saw him crying before; and it felt like putting salt on her wounds. How long had they been standing there? Minutes? Hours? Days? An eternity… ? Deep breath...
Another night she wished she could wash away from her memory. Just erase it. Make it better.
Just breathe…inhale, exhale, inhale…deep breath…
He was sleeping…He got more sleep in these past few days than he did in months. Were they strangers? It sure felt like that. Ate together, walked together, talked…slept in the same bed. Maybe not always at the same time. For her, it was a natural reaction; everything was backwards. Days were nights and nights were days. She had to sleep when it was dark outside but her body thought it was still broad daylight. She got used to it after a while. But while she tossed and turned in bed, trying to get some sleep, he was remembering his life. And for her, some things were still pieces of a puzzle. She knew he couldn’t sleep. She didn’t try to make him sleep, either. She was going to wait for him, whenever he felt ready. And not just once she’d found him in the middle of the night, rearranging photographs, assembling boxes…lost in his dreams.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“What’s that?” she asked, with eyes staring at something from one of the boxes.
He took the rolled canvasin his hands and unwrapped it. An unframed painting, a bit dusty.
“Wow…that’s…that’s amazing”. Honest admiration could easily be sensed in her voice. “But I thought he did only abstracts”. She cuddled on the couch surrounded by memories of times long gone. Boxes with clothes, framed pictures, his whole life, his legacy…what made him who he is.
Envelopes with more images, more photographs. Black and white, some already turned brown, that marked the passing of time, decades and a childhood remembered. Weddings. Family photos. His grandparents with their two sons. The next generation with their own two, each. Only boys. Niko and his boys..and one with just Joe, given by Luka to his father not very long ago.
Another small box was lying opened next to her. Even more pictures, more moments…more faces…most of them already dead.
“He did abstracts, mostly,” he sighed. “At first, my father tried his hand with some landscapes, but soon decided it wasn’t his thing.”
She smiled while her eyes were trying to catch every reaction. She wanted to touch him, to ease some of his emotions, as he seemed flooded. Maybe just a small squeeze of his hand, let him know she’s there…or maybe a hand on his shoulder…or a gentle touch on the back of his neck. To make her presence acknowledged. But she didn’t have enough courage…yet.
He held the painting on his knees, while stroking the imagine with one of his hands….like a desire to be there again, to watch the Sun setting on his childhood’s street, the red sky turning dark, slowly.
“We were always struggling”, he started, eyes fixed on the painting, “but one time…when I was about 11…12 maybe…we had a rough couple of months. He didn’t ….umm…paint much them. Between his job and us…there wasn’t much time. He had only about three or four pieces…this was one of them and the others weren’t very different. Sometimes, he was gone for a few days, when he had to go all the way to Zagreb. So he gave my mother the paintings and asked her to find someone who would buy them”.
Luka smiled. Memories were taking over him, some sad…some happy…they were all vivid now. He could feel the smell of his mother’s home made treats, his father’s tobacco…see the ocean before his eyes and feel the hot sand underneath his bare feet. “She was always…nagging him. In a very loving way, though. To be more responsible, not to dream so much. And every time he promised he’d be more serious, make some changes…It was their routine. When my father returned from work one day, all the paintings were gone and my mother had money. Not much, but enough to get us through. Even though he was relieved, he somehow hoped she wouldn’t find a buyer. But the joy of being able to give us what we needed was bigger than his sorrow.”
Touch him now. Hold him. Show him. Please…But she couldn’t make her body do what her heart and mind desired. She didn’t earn it yet…she had still many miles to go. She bit her lip and took the painting from his hands. She began touching it, more maybe to feel the surface his hands were on…A part of him was still there, the corners still warm from his fingers. The only part of him she felt she could touch.
He lifted both his feet on the couch, as he continued. “For his next birthday, my father got his paintings back”.
“She bought them back?”Abby said with curiosity.
“No”, he shook his head, “she never sold them. She couldn’t. She borrowed money from a friend and hid them in the attic.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Joe fussed in his sleep and disrupted her thoughts. Was he comfortable enough? The seat in the airplane wasn’t so much “rest material”. Luka couldn’t even stretch his legs and he was sound asleep. Soon… soon they’ll be home. Just breathe…She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. Just breathe…
Disclaimer: I do not own E.R, Luka, Abby & Co.
A.N.: A bit of insight on what I think these two might feel about what happened this season. It's going to take a while. Moments,feelings, memories, some Luka/Abby history plus some bits of what happened in the two weeks they spent in Croatia, together.
Timeline: Abby's been in rehab for a month so this takes place almost nine months after the wedding.
1.Breathe.
Eight years.
“Abby Lockhart, third year”
Nine months.
“I wish we could all go.”
Two weeks.
“My flight leaves tomorrow morning.”
One night.
“I had a slip.”
A few hours.
“They said you left. Early, in fact.”
Today.
Belief.
Just breathe...He was asleep. It felt like she was watching him forever but still, she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. What did he know? Did he know anything at all? Did he feel something was wrong? Some children sense whenever something’s wrong with their parents. Some remember for the rest of their lives stuff that happened when they were one or two. Without actually knowing. Maybe just images, sounds…He couldn’t…he won’t…and even if he will…there’s no way he would know what was going on. Maybe one day he’ll find out. Maybe one day she’ll actually tell him. Tell him what? And why? So he can hate her? Or maybe he’ll understand…
She was watching him and it felt like this is what her life is all about. He has no worries, no fears. Content and happy. Beautiful and full of energy. She smiled, picturing him going to school, high school, college…falling in love. He was perfect. How could two people so far from being perfect have such a perfect child? In the midst of it all, she must’ve done something right to deserve this.
Their hands were clasped and she felt him caressing hers, stroking her fingers, warm and full of hope. Words were still something they couldn’t handle very well but now they weren’t so afraid to touch each other. Small gestures, shy ones that spoke volumes. It was enough for now, it was all they needed. She tuned her head to look at him and felt lost in his eyes again. He was still hiding a bit but the walls of his fortress were getting smaller everyday. They smiled softly at each other for a moment; the hard part was over. They were on their way back…home. For a new start.
He tightened his hand around hers and closed his eyes. It was a long trip. The trip back home. She watched him for a second or two then closed her eyes as well. She could see the future in his eyes but the past could still be sensed in hers.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Sorry. I was in the shower. Been waiting long?”
“That’s ok,” he grinned as he leaned down to kiss her hello.
Small drops of water were falling from her hair, lingering. She took the towel she threw on the couch on her way to answer the door and started to dry some soaked strands.
”Why didn’t you use your key?”
“Because”, Luka started while he closed the door behind him, “you were home…and it wouldn’t have been nice for me to walk in on you…just like that.”
“Oh…I’m glad, though. It gave Mr. Fredrickson time to go down the fire escape”, she teased.
“Mr. Fredrickson? Your old neighbor? He still lives?”
She chuckled.
“There. I meant there”, he corrected himself. “If he still lives there. Of course he’s still alive. I just thought…he might’ve moved…since…the last time we …dated”.
She abandoned the towel again and pulled closer to him, starting to play with his tie, taking it off slowly…
“So,” she smiled, “we’re dating now?”
“Umm…I don’t think we ever…dated. We skipped a few…traditional steps…”
“Maybe we should fix that.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Now Luka was asleep too, peaceful. Silent and peaceful. His hand still holding hers tightly. It was a long flight back home and she wished she could fall asleep. But couldn’t. Was he dreaming? His eyelids were fluttering from time to time. Maybe he was dreaming about last night. Or maybe about their last night at home. Her memories where somewhat foggy, a big blur. She couldn’t remember the exact words but she could remember his face, his voice…his eyes…her feelings…Her eyes, burning red, all dried out. She had no tears left and it felt like she had been crying for an eternity. At the end, she looked like a perfect, petite wax statue with messy hair and trembling lips. And the small movements of her lips were the only reminder of her human nature. Otherwise, she could’ve easily been mistaken with a doll, with pale skin, like porcelain. She opened her mouth and for a moment she thought she was talking; she could hear her own voice in her head and almost picture the words in her mind. But all that time she stood there paralyzed, she didn’t utter a sound. What was there left to say? Too late to apologize; couldn’t turn back the hands of time. She never saw him crying before; and it felt like putting salt on her wounds. How long had they been standing there? Minutes? Hours? Days? An eternity… ? Deep breath...
Another night she wished she could wash away from her memory. Just erase it. Make it better.
Just breathe…inhale, exhale, inhale…deep breath…
He was sleeping…He got more sleep in these past few days than he did in months. Were they strangers? It sure felt like that. Ate together, walked together, talked…slept in the same bed. Maybe not always at the same time. For her, it was a natural reaction; everything was backwards. Days were nights and nights were days. She had to sleep when it was dark outside but her body thought it was still broad daylight. She got used to it after a while. But while she tossed and turned in bed, trying to get some sleep, he was remembering his life. And for her, some things were still pieces of a puzzle. She knew he couldn’t sleep. She didn’t try to make him sleep, either. She was going to wait for him, whenever he felt ready. And not just once she’d found him in the middle of the night, rearranging photographs, assembling boxes…lost in his dreams.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“What’s that?” she asked, with eyes staring at something from one of the boxes.
He took the rolled canvasin his hands and unwrapped it. An unframed painting, a bit dusty.
“Wow…that’s…that’s amazing”. Honest admiration could easily be sensed in her voice. “But I thought he did only abstracts”. She cuddled on the couch surrounded by memories of times long gone. Boxes with clothes, framed pictures, his whole life, his legacy…what made him who he is.
Envelopes with more images, more photographs. Black and white, some already turned brown, that marked the passing of time, decades and a childhood remembered. Weddings. Family photos. His grandparents with their two sons. The next generation with their own two, each. Only boys. Niko and his boys..and one with just Joe, given by Luka to his father not very long ago.
Another small box was lying opened next to her. Even more pictures, more moments…more faces…most of them already dead.
“He did abstracts, mostly,” he sighed. “At first, my father tried his hand with some landscapes, but soon decided it wasn’t his thing.”
She smiled while her eyes were trying to catch every reaction. She wanted to touch him, to ease some of his emotions, as he seemed flooded. Maybe just a small squeeze of his hand, let him know she’s there…or maybe a hand on his shoulder…or a gentle touch on the back of his neck. To make her presence acknowledged. But she didn’t have enough courage…yet.
He held the painting on his knees, while stroking the imagine with one of his hands….like a desire to be there again, to watch the Sun setting on his childhood’s street, the red sky turning dark, slowly.
“We were always struggling”, he started, eyes fixed on the painting, “but one time…when I was about 11…12 maybe…we had a rough couple of months. He didn’t ….umm…paint much them. Between his job and us…there wasn’t much time. He had only about three or four pieces…this was one of them and the others weren’t very different. Sometimes, he was gone for a few days, when he had to go all the way to Zagreb. So he gave my mother the paintings and asked her to find someone who would buy them”.
Luka smiled. Memories were taking over him, some sad…some happy…they were all vivid now. He could feel the smell of his mother’s home made treats, his father’s tobacco…see the ocean before his eyes and feel the hot sand underneath his bare feet. “She was always…nagging him. In a very loving way, though. To be more responsible, not to dream so much. And every time he promised he’d be more serious, make some changes…It was their routine. When my father returned from work one day, all the paintings were gone and my mother had money. Not much, but enough to get us through. Even though he was relieved, he somehow hoped she wouldn’t find a buyer. But the joy of being able to give us what we needed was bigger than his sorrow.”
Touch him now. Hold him. Show him. Please…But she couldn’t make her body do what her heart and mind desired. She didn’t earn it yet…she had still many miles to go. She bit her lip and took the painting from his hands. She began touching it, more maybe to feel the surface his hands were on…A part of him was still there, the corners still warm from his fingers. The only part of him she felt she could touch.
He lifted both his feet on the couch, as he continued. “For his next birthday, my father got his paintings back”.
“She bought them back?”Abby said with curiosity.
“No”, he shook his head, “she never sold them. She couldn’t. She borrowed money from a friend and hid them in the attic.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Joe fussed in his sleep and disrupted her thoughts. Was he comfortable enough? The seat in the airplane wasn’t so much “rest material”. Luka couldn’t even stretch his legs and he was sound asleep. Soon… soon they’ll be home. Just breathe…She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. Just breathe…