Abby slowly got back into bed. 'They call it labor for a reason.' How often had she told her patients just that, back in her OB nursing days? Labor in every sense of the word. It was hard, exhausting work, pushing out a baby – even a 2 pound preemie. She would rest now for a while.

They had finally allowed her to get out of bed for a trip down the hall to the NICU to see Baby Boy Kovac, try to pump some milk and hear, yet again, that he was 'doing really well for a 28 weeker.' And to look into the Isolette and try to figure out what she was supposed to be feeling.

Because, unlike Baby Boy Kovac, she wasn't doing so well. Not only was she more tired than she could ever have imagined, she couldn't figure out her life could have changed so completely in such a short time. 24 hours ago she had been pregnant, griping about her back, keeping up with a dozen patients, and looking forward to Luka's homecoming. And now … she was a mother, but still didn't feel like one; didn't know what a mother was supposed to feel like. A mother with a baby she still couldn't hold. A mother with a baby who still didn't have a name. A mother who was alone with the feelings she didn't know how to feel. He disappeared … nobody knows …. Luka knew how to be a father. When he came home he would teach her how to be a mother.

This wasn't what she had expected. Not at all. Maybe it was time to call Maggie … or not. If she called Maggie, she'd have to tell Maggie that Luka wasn't here … and why. And then Maggie would come rushing down – and that was something she definitely didn't need right now. She needed someone, but not Maggie. She needed Luka.

A tap on the door. "Come in." It was Neela, walking slowly, and looking tired. "Things quiet in the OR?" Abby asked. It was hard to believe that Dubenko would have let her visit again so soon if things weren't quiet. Or maybe he'd taken pity on her after a long, difficult surgery and let her take a break. She was glad enough for the company, but she knew she really should be resting. Maybe they both should be. Neela did look tired.

"Not exactly," Neela said slowly, and the look on her face made Abby's heart skip a beat. This obviously wasn't another social visit. The baby … but no, why would Neela be bringing news about the baby?

Neela had sat down on the edge of the bed, and she continued, even more slowly, hands clasped in her lap. "The Alliance called again, Abby. They have more news." A breath. "It appears that John and Luka left the camp Friday evening to find, and bring back some injured refugees from the desert. They were ambushed about 10 miles from the camp. Abby … Luka was killed. Luka is dead."

Abby heard the words. She knew what they meant. Each word individually and together. Clear, simple sentences. This was how doctors were taught to break news to families. Clear and simple; gentle and firm; no euphemisms. Neela thought she broke bad news to families badly – but she really did it very well.

But Abby … Abby just heard words, and she felt nothing at all. Maybe because she wasn't family. Not really. She wasn't the one who should be hearing this. Neela seemed to be waiting for her to say something, but she couldn't think of anything to say.

"I'm sorry, Abby," Neela said. She reached for Abby's hands, but Abby jerked them back. She didn't need comfort or condolences. She needed for this to not be true.

"No …." And the word seemed to break the spell, because Abby did feel something now, and she couldn't bear it. "You're wrong, Neela. They are wrong "

"Abby …."

"They are wrong. It's a mistake. The Alliance … they can't keep anything straight. They told us once before that he was dead, and they were wrong. You were there Neela, you took that call …. I remember it." If she just kept talking Neela wouldn't be able to keep telling her these things she couldn't bear to hear. But no, Neela wasn't going to stop talking.

"Abby." The interruption was firm but gentle, and Neela looked into her eyes. Abby could see that she was fighting tears now. "There is no mistake this time. John was there too, and he was able to identify the body. And in a few days, once John is well enough to travel, and they are able to make the … necessary arrangements … he will be bringing Luka home."

"No. No. No. No." If she just kept saying it …. "He would have never left the camp. It … it's someone else. If Carter was hurt … he could have been confused. Luka promised he wouldn't do anything dangerous … he promised!"

"Abby, he was a hero. You can be so proud of him. Your son can be so proud of him. He died so that other people could live. And that is what makes someone a hero. "

"I don't want a hero, Neela. I don't need a dead hero. My son doesn't need to be told about a father he'll never even know … but oh yeah, he died a fucking hero. My son needs a father … and I need him … God, Neela, I need him!"

And then Neela held her as sobs, wrenching, tearing sobs and unbearable pain made it impossible for her to talk any more. Barbara Cartland knew nothing about love. This is what love is. Unbearable pain.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Oh your daddy's rich, and your mama's good looking, so hush, little baby …"

She'd better get the lullabies in while she still could, Abby thought. It wouldn't be long before her baby was old enough and discriminating enough to object to her singing voice … or lack thereof. She was sitting by the Isolette, stroking her baby's tiny foot with a finger-tip that was almost larger than that foot. But "he's doing really well for a 28 weeker," they'd told her yet again, in between encouraging her to decide on a name. He still had no name. It was such a big decision. Names were important. She and Luka were going to decide together. She just couldn't make such a big decision on her own. There would be so many decisions she would have to make on her own now … and she just wasn't ready to start.

So for now, Sweetie would have to do. And she had firmly resisted any attempt by the NICU staff to give him a NICU name. She'd see him transferred to Mercy or Northwestern before she'd let anyone call him Batman or Rambo.

Carter's quiet voice behind her. "He's beautiful, Abby."

Abby didn't turn; continued to stroke her baby's foot. "Nice of you to say so, but he isn't. Not really. He looks like any 4 day old, 28 week preemie. But they say he's doing well. And if he's … lucky enough to take after his father, then yeah, in 15 or 20 years he's going to break a lot of hearts."

And Abby finally turned to look at Carter, her breath catching a little. Exposure and a non-life-threatening bullet wound, Neela had told her. Yeah. His face was blistered and peeling and his right arm was in a sling. He was rather thinner than Abby remembered, and looked very, very tired. "Did you come right from the airport?" she asked, rising from her seat.

"Yeah," he said softly, and reached out with his good arm and drew her into an embrace, which she automatically returned. One old friend to another. "I'm sorry, Abby. I'm so … so … sorry."

Abby felt the tears starting again, and she blinked them back impatiently. She'd cried enough over the past three days. And in a few days there would be … God she had barely thought about it; hadn't let herself think about it … a funeral that she would have to plan. There had been one brief phone call directly to the Alliance, one call to the funeral home – and then she hadn't thought about it anymore. She couldn't bear to think about it.

She led Carter into the small side room off the NICU; the room where mothers could pump and have private time with their babies when they were big enough to nurse. Thankfully, the room was empty. Once inside, she turned again to face him, feeling her tears of grief turn into tears of anger, even as they spilled over again. But she wasn't really crying; they were just tears. Her voice was low and steady. Hard.

"He promised. Luka stood in front of me and promised … he swore to me a dozen times that he wouldn't take any chances. He swore that he'd be back before the baby came. He swore that he would come home to me. And he didn't mean in a box!" Carter was silent, just shut his eyes. "Why, Carter?"

Another moment's hesitation, and Carter murmured something that sounded like "I'm sorry, Luka …." Then he looked at her and spoke more firmly. "It wasn't his fault, Abby. I'm the one who wanted to go out there. He didn't want to … he tried to discourage me. But I insisted. I would have gone alone, but Luka wouldn't let me. He came to try and keep me safe, as much as anything else, I think. You can be angry at me, Abby. You can hate me. I would understand if you did. But don't blame Luka."

"The people you went out to rescue. They're ok?"

"No," Carter said softly. "Most were dead by the time we found them. The rest … before they found me … us."

"So it was all for nothing. Luka died for nothing." Abby sank down into the rocking chair. The tears had stopped. She wasn't angry any more. Or even sad. Just empty.

"We tried, Abby. We tried to do the right thing. We did do the right thing.

"And he tried. Luka wanted to keep his promise to you. He knew he was dying, but he didn't want to die. He wanted to come home to you. He fought so hard; tried so hard. If he could have survived, he would have. But there was nothing either of us could do. And I know that his last thoughts were of you." Abby wasn't crying anymore now, but Carter was.

"So it wasn't … quick."

A hesitation, a slight shake of the head. "No, it wasn't quick." For a moment, Carter seemed to be seeing something that wasn't in the room – something he would rather not see. Another slight shake of the head, perhaps to shake off the memory.

"A few hours, I guess. I'm not sure, exactly. "A deep breath. "He bled to death from a bullet wound in his side. At first, neither of us realized how bad it was; how badly he was bleeding internally. And the worst of it didn't last very long; just a few minutes. By the end he wasn't conscious, or in pain anymore. He died easily." Carter's tears had stopped too, and his words were quiet and steady. Abby got the feeling that he had rehearsed them a thousand times over on the plane. Were they true?

"And you were with him?"

"I was with him. He wasn't alone. And he really was very brave, Abby. He endured what pain there was because he did want … so much … to live long enough to come home to you."

"But not in a box," Abby murmured under her breath. Then, "Where is he now?"

"Still at the airport, I think. The people from the funeral home hadn't arrived yet. I could have waited for them, but I thought that … right now … you needed me more than he did."

Abby nodded. "I guess I'll head over there soon … to the funeral home, I mean." She really should be there when he arrived. Somebody should be there, and it would have to be her.

"Yeah. But Abby …" Carter took her hands and looked into her eyes. "You aren't going to be able … to see him."

"I've seen bodies before."

"I know. But I think this time; you'll want to remember him … as he was." Abby couldn't suppress a shudder as Carter's quiet words sunk in and he continued. "We were out there almost two days. When we got back to the camp, they have no way of … normally they do burials once a day, in mass graves. There is no other way to deal with the hundreds of deaths. Even getting a coffin for him was a challenge. And then it was another three days waiting for the flight. It was dry, which helped some. But still …." Carter shook his head, and went on more firmly. "And anyway, that isn't Luka anymore. Wherever he is … he isn't there."

And Abby shuddered again; made a faint sound in her throat. She knew what happened to bodies after death. Something else she didn't want to think about. But maybe Carter was lying. Maybe this was one more step in an elaborate charade. Maybe it really wasn't Luka. Maybe Luka was somewhere else. Maybe ….

Then Abby shook her head and took a deep breath. No, she'd had enough of the 'what if's' - enough of the maybes. And more than enough of denial. She was great at denial, she'd had a lot of practice at it, but it had never done her the slightest bit of good. It was time to face the truth and the future. Her future, and her son's future. She rose from her seat and offered her arms for another embrace.

"Thank you, Carter."

"What for?"

"Thank you for being there for him … with him. Thank you for being here, now, and for bringing him home. And no … I don't hate you. I could never hate you."

Carter's only reply was a slight tightening of his arm around her before he released her.

Another NICU mom had come in with her baby, and Abby slowly walked back out into the sea of bassinets. "I just wish that he could have known that he had a son; and how amazingly beautiful he is."

"Maybe he does know, Abby. I think he does know."

Abby nodded. "Maybe."

Someday she would get Carter to tell her all about those last hours … and days … and the weeks they had spent together in Darfur, risking their lives so that others might live. But not today. Today she had other things to do; a funeral to arrange, and a baby to love.

He was so brave … Of course he was. If he had been a coward, he wouldn't have been the man you fell in love with.

She sat down again beside her son's Isolette and again touched his foot and his cheek. "Hey there, Luka. Someday, when you're bigger, I'm going to tell you all about your daddy, and how very brave and very wonderful he was. And how I couldn't help but fall in love with him."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Author's note: So – 10 years later, our story ends. Really, when I first starting writing this over 10 years ago, it was going to have a happy ending. Luka was going to survive and come home. But I guess me and happy endings just don't get along. So this was the only way I ever going to finish it.

(And I know it isn't the done thing to ask for reviews ... but people are obviously reading this ... plenty of hits on my traffic stats ... so whether you liked it or hated it, please let me know. Silence is discouraging. And may discourage me from writing more. )