24 Steps
Part One
By Carolina
super_carolina1@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me.

Author's Notes: You know, if I keep starting stories while still working on others, I'll get a brain aneurysm. But I can't help myself :) Hope you like this, it was an I idea I did in another one of my fics, but it wasn't explored in depth, so here I am diggin.

You: Hey, Carol, can I archive this story?
Carol: Sure you can, Timmy. Just let me know where :)

Spoilers: Season 7, beyond "The Visit" (mild spoilers added)



Everything had come at once, and at once, everything fell. Nothing was chronological anymore, but life had taken the identity and conformity of a cheap kite, waiting for a good raft of wind to take it up and then with the same force, crash into the ground.

Abby pushed the door to the roof open, gasping for a little air and half stumbling towards the ledge of the building. Once there, she held on to the wall of cement and it supported her as her body made its way down, and finally resting heavily on the dirty ground. Her shaking fingers reached into the pocket of her scrubs, and they came out with a new pack of cigarettes. But that was not enough comfort. Cigarettes hadn't had that soothing effect on her in a long time. Her body was so used to the nicotine, that she could cross her heart and hoped to die through her veins, only brown liquid ran.

She lit it anyway. It wasn't the smoke filling her lungs, the burning sensation on the back of her throat or the soft fabric between her fingers that drew her to smoking. She smoked because no matter what happened, cigarettes would always be there for her. They didn't burden her with "How was your day?" or, "Why are you crying?" not even a "We need to talk" None of that shit. They came out of their pack, fulfilled their destiny as stress relievers and died on the pavement in the middle of the city. Not questions asked, no answers given.

Still, they didn't have the needed effect. Not for a long time now. Not that ticket to another world she had once found in alcohol.

It hadn't been a big surprise, when who ever were up there lifted her up, let her down and screwed her over again. Actually, if she was observant enough, she could even find a pattern. How long before happiness escaped? Five years? Four and a half? It didn't matter, because it always did. She had considered herself no different from cancer patients in remission. Weren't they also expecting it to come back and haunt them again? Didn't they have to watch their back every second of the day to avoid the inevitable?

This time the checkered tumbling flag had been her tuition payment. After that, everything came flowing, one problem after the other. One giving the preceding the green light, and so it goes. It was Carter's addiction, it was Luka's grief, it was her mother's state of mind, it was her tuition all over again, and it was the hectic pace of the ER. Lately the only words coming out of her mouth had been "How are you?" or "Do you need to talk?" Her activities had consisted in supportive phone calls, her shoulders as loans, miles to walk with, coffee's to sit over and talk. She was, in fact, a pack of cigarettes. People kept reaching in and taking without her having the balls to say no.

The day had started like any other. Didn't they all start the same way? The sun came out; her alarm went off, her breakfast served by her hands. Then work. Haleh Adams' speech for being late again, understanding yet reprimanding. Then patients. Asking for doctors, pushing to be allowed to go in first, lying to receive faster care, ignoring her instructions because she didn't have an M.D. after her name. Nurses suddenly weren't good enough to be wanted or needed anymore.

Then the tip of the iceberg. She had reached up a shelf of the supply room for some Haldol, only the small bottle stumbled upon her klutzy fingers and came down, catapulting scattered crystal and liquid everywhere. Then came her hysteria, her unexpected over reaction.

Kerry had reassured her it was ok. "It's just some Haldol, Abby, it's all right," the motherly voice still echoed in her head. "It's not all right" had been the wanted answer, but instead, she just went directly to the roof, ignoring Kerry's voice calling her out.

And that's the end of that story.

She put her head between her thighs, which were cemented to her chest, her right hand holding the burning cigarette and the left holding the pack and the lighter at the same time. The door opened again. Fuck whoever was behind it. She had no intention of looking up for anyone, even if it was that jackass Romano. Whoever it was, knew her better than that though, because she felt someone sit down next to her. Still, silence filled the air. It was a comfortable and familiar silence, so it didn't take her long to figure out whom it was.

"Kerry told me what happened," the Croat mumbled, looking at her buried head between her legs. He flinched his face when he saw the cigarettes in her hands. He hated that she smoked, and had tried everything to get her to stop. He bought her that patch, hid her packs, tried pep talks, tried to scold her, bought her a book, and had even tried that gum. Nothing had worked though. The burning cigarette, he noticed, hadn't been puffed in a while, because the fire had burned the skin and the ashes still hung on to it, as long as the initial length. Hesitantly, he reached over and removed both the cigarette and the pack from her hands, and after throwing the lit one far away from her, put the pack and the lighter into his pocket. But Abby didn't move a muscle, and her hair was tumbling only because the Chicago wind was playing its tricks again.

Luka let out a sigh, not taking his eyes off her for a moment. "Abby what's wrong?" he asked, the concern evident in the choice the tone of his voice. It was a question he was always scared of asking. Not generally, but to her. Not to Abby Lockhart. Not the woman who chased him out of the hospital to offer her shoulder. The woman who had taken him for all he had. The woman who ever so stubbornly came into his hotel room to force him to rely on her. The woman who didn't even passed judgment or looked down on him when he killed a man. Not his Abby.

But now here he was asking it, and his body revolted at his own words. Yet he wasn't even getting an answer from her. He reached over with his hand and entangled his fingers into her hair, massaging the tense muscles of her neck, trying to elicit at least a blink out of her. "Abby, please talk to me," he pleaded desperately, using the same words she used with him once, but which had no effect on his self-pity.

Finally, under all that silence and struggle to remain strong, there was a sniff. It was so soft and weak, Luka wouldn't have heard it if it wasn't for his amazing hearing ability. His hand traveled down her back and once around her waist, his arm pulled her towards him, allowing her to rest her head on his chest. He figured the sniff was due to the chilly temperature, because she wasn't crying at all.

She let out a sigh of what he hoped was relief and not further sinking. They always had this unconventional way of communicating without words. It had worked out better than Luka could have ever imagined. With one look, each one could give the ok to sit down and talk, or to send the other away to have some time alone. Abby always opted for the talking; it was Luka who often found himself wordless in front of her. He had yet to figure out if it was all those years of solving his own problems, or the knowledge that Abby understood.

She had always been subtle but quick in her approach. Hell, if it weren't for her, he would still be trying to work up the courage to ask her out. She was unpredictable and persistent, and never hesitated once to tell him about her alcohol problems or her past. It was that gentle straightforwardness that drew him to her so desperately. He needed her, depended on her like a heavenly drug. He was ashamed of admitting it, but Abby was the horse, and he was the hopeless carriage. He found himself running to her for the meaningless things, a hard case, and another confrontation with Kerry, even a headache. Yet not once did she turn him down or rolled her eyes.

Their relationship had started in a way that had led him to believe they wouldn't last a second. Somehow, though, they pulled it off. Things took a wrong turn when he found himself jealous of Carter. Luka was more than bothered by Carter's constant phone calls to Abby. Why did he have to go to her and only her when he had a problem or even needed his back scratched? She almost threw Luka out during those days, and he found himself having to get used to the idea that she was Carter's sponsor, and that if he didn't like that, he could walk out of her life and go find someone who would put on a show just for him, her exact words. So he drew back, and settled with the idea of having to share her attention with another man.

Yet she was just as giving to him as she ever was before. Luka had craved to be there for her also, to have her need him as much as he needed her. But Abby was much more reserved than he had ever been. The extent of her complains were mostly everyday milestones like headaches, stress, and of course, Kerry Weaver. With one swift crack, she had opened him up. Luka kept hitting and hitting and he still hadn't gotten anything out of her. Lately though, he had noticed the change in her mood. Her protests had quiet down, and despite the constant smile on her face, he could tell there was something deeper, eating her inside.

Right now, he had no idea what was wrong with her. Breaking a bottle of Haldol is not enough to induce something like this. Was it her mother? Or was she just having a really bad day? Did she have another encounter with her ex husband? Who had failed to present the money for her tuition yet again? Or was she just trashed by another patient? Many reasons entered his mind, but only one was too painful to be considered. Was it because of him?

Only after touching her hand he realized he was wearing his coat and a thin layer of cheap cotton and polyester only covered her. So he stroked her arm so that the friction would provide her some warmth. "Let's go back inside, ok? You're going to freeze," he said as though he was talking to a little girl.

She still didn't say anything, but he used his hand to lift her head and look her in the eyes. What he saw there scared him, because he saw nothing. He leaned in and kissed her gently, and after that, he used his legs to stand up and his arms to bring her up with him, immediately putting them around her to shield the cold, or at least try.

Before opening the door to the roof, he turned to her and put his hands on each of her shoulders so that he could have her entire attention. "Come by my room after your shift, ok? We'll talk," he said calmly, but stressing every word so that she wouldn't forget.

Abby nodded understandingly, and opened the door herself, ushering them both back into the ER.



The dial of her locker was turned to the right, left, and right, and it came open without much force. She reached in to put her coat on, and take her bag with her. She decided to just go home with her scrubs on. Home. Something hit her like a dagger. Luka was probably looking at his watch, waiting for her to knock on her door. He could be so overprotective sometimes, but she figured it was something he carried away from his family's death, so she wouldn't question his exaggerated preoccupation over where she was when she wasn't with him.

Before opening the door, it came open before her, almost hitting her in the nose.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Abby," Carter said, looking down at her. "You ok?" he asked her.

"Yeah," Abby said as she pressed her lips together, trying to form a smile.

Carter put his hands on his pockets, "Are you going home?"

"Yeah, why?" Abby asked, looking up at him, her bag hanging form her back.

"I, uh, wanted to talk to you about something," he said.

Abby morphed into sponsor mode, "Is everything ok?"

"Yeah, fine," Carter said as he leaned on the small portion of wall next to the door. He had heard through the grapevine about Abby's sudden burst that afternoon, and something inside told him he should do something about that. "Well, I just wanted to tell you that I found another sponsor," he said in a tone that tested the water before jumping in.

Abby just stared at him with a blank expression on her face, "Why?" was all she wanted to say.

Carte tried to smile, "You said this was only temporary, right? Until I found an official sponsor," he said simply.

"Oh," Abby said casually.

"It's Phil, you know? That guy who always sits behind us?" he asked with a smile.

"Oh, yeah," Abby said and smiled, "He's a great guy."

"Yeah," Carter said, looking down at her.

There was an awkward pause, until Abby broke it, "Well, I better go," she said, pointing at the door.

Carter smiled and put a hand on her arm, "Ok. Good night, Abby," he said and walked to his locker.

Abby turned around to see his back to her, "See ya," she said distantly and walked out of the room.



Luka lay on his bed, looking at a television show he couldn't even understand. He hated those situational comedies, but he had to admit that every once in a while, they produced a laugh out of him. He looked at his watch again. Where the hell was Abby? He reached the phone to call the hospital, but retrieved when he realized he was over acting again. No sooner he put his hand on his stomach, than the phone rang.

He reached it up hurriedly. "Hello?"

"Luka? It's me," the voice of Abby echoed on his line.

"Abby? Where are you?" Luka asked, sitting up on his bed, and hearing a mess of people talking behind her voice.

"I'm in the hospital," she said. "Listen, I'm really tired, so I'm just gonna go home, is that ok?"

Luka stood up, "I'll meet you there then," he said.

"No, don't worry about that, I'm just going to go straight to bed," she said.

Luka closed his eyes, "Abby, I wish you could just tell me what's wrong with you," he pleaded.

"There's nothing wrong, ok? I'm just having a really bad day and I wanna go to bed, is that too much to ask?" she suddenly snapped.

Luka rubbed his forehead, and immediately drew back, "Ok, um, I-I'll pick you up tomorrow morning, ok?" he asked.

"Sure," was all Abby said before hanging up the phone. She turned around on the stool of the bar and gave the phone back to the bartender.

He hung it up and came back to her, drying a glass with a towel. "Anything else I can serve you?" he asked with an air of familiarity.

Abby looked at him, and felt her lip tremble involuntarily for a moment. She closed her eyes, and let out a sigh, "Can I have a glass of Vodka?" her voice trembled.

"Just Vodka?" the man asked in disbelief.

"You heard what I said," Abby replied fast before she changed her mind, getting even angrier.

"You look too small to take on a glass of Vodka by yourself..."

"Just do your damn job and give me the fucking drink!" she yelled at him.

The bartender threw his hands in the air in defeat, "Ok, ok," he said and poured the drink into the glass.

"More," Abby said, not being able to take her eyes of the liquid.

The man did as told, and gave her the glass, watching as she drank the alcohol with one gulp.



Luka held the phone in his hand long after Abby had hung up. He patted it against the palm of his hands a couple of times, and then just put it back on its stand. He let out a sigh and sat on the edge of his bed, his mind racing. He felt the urge to go over to Abby's apartment, or call the ER to ask someone to walk her home. He didn't like her walking through Chicago in the middle of the night, never had. But her words came back in a flash back, and again he realized he was being too over protective. So he shook his head and turned off his lamp. Abby was a big girl and could take care of herself. Easing his head on the pillow, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, only something prevented him from drifting off.



To be continued...