Abby's life has been different since she transferred from her surgical position at the hospital to help oversee the family health clinic. There's now more paperwork and administrative duties, but also fewer twenty-four hour shifts and instances where she has to explain to people that their loved one bled to death under her skilled, but still very human hands. And at the time she had elected to make the transition, fewer hours spent in surgery and on call had afforded her more time to be at home with a devastated young Clarke as they both coped with the loss of her father.

Now the remaining people in her life have all seen career and life changes. Clarke's in her second year of college, studying art and photography. She's living on campus and has been commendably dedicated to her studies, so Abby only sees her once in a blue moon, usually during school breaks. Sometimes the house seems unbearably quiet without music emanating from Clarke's room or the regular stream of Clarke's chatty friends dropping by. And Abby hasn't quite yet mastered the art of cooking for one. The sight of a refrigerator constantly stocked with leftovers should be a welcome one, but all it does is remind Abby how empty the rest of the house feels.

Callie's on her second divorce, once from a guy they knew in college, and once from a woman she met while running the mayor's election campaign. "I've got a matching set!" she likes to joke. She's taking a break from any further relationships to focus on her own political aspirations. Indra recently gave up her civil rights law practice to run the local women's shelter.

No matter where their lives have taken them, work and other obligations keep them busy, and Abby's lucky if she occasionally manages to meet up with Callie and Indra to catch up over a quick cup of coffee.

It's a rare luxury when the three of them all have a free Saturday night together, so it would be a pity to waste the opportunity merely chit-chatting over wine at one of their homes.

They deck themselves out in attire that hasn't seen the outside of a closet in far too long – Callie in a navy skirt and matching blouse, Indra in slacks and a stunning, open-backed green top, and Abby in a black V-neck dress . The bustling crowds of the lively downtown district, the pleasant warmth of a late summer evening, and the bright lights blinking into being as the sun wanes have Abby feeling awake and alive for the first time in ages. Tonight she doesn't have to be a doctor, or an assistant director, or an empty-nest mom – she just gets to enjoy the company of her two best friends while they all remember what it feels like to actually live a little.

The first bar they try out ends up being kind of a dump. It reeks of stale beer and old cigarette smoke, and the interior is dark and morose, lit mainly by cheap strings of Christmas lights. The strands hang limply across the wall trim, some bulbs burned out, others blinking in sync with the tired music playing from the jukebox. It's a bleak scene – the kind of place where a sad drunk sings karaoke to an empty room. It's the last time Abby follows a recommendation from one of Clarke's friends on where the "cool" spots in town are.

The bar's one saving grace is the rather attractive, rather young brunette bartender, who is being particularly attentive towards Abby's group. They've parked themselves at a table in a far corner, but the woman comes to check on them far more often than any of the other tables. They've been ordering mixed drinks, but the brunette is pouring them strong – it's partially why they've stayed at this crummy bar for so long. And Abby's fairly certain she saw the bartender reaching for top-shelf bottles to make their cocktails, even though they had only ordered well drinks.

"You must have to be a pretty lady in a tight dress to get decent service around here," another customer grumbles, which earns him a scowl and a "Fuck off, Murphy," from the bartender. The man must be a regular, and not a particularly well-liked one at that.

Two cherries keep winding up in Abby's drinks, as opposed to the one in both Callie and Indra's beverages. The bartender keeps their table well-stocked with bar peanuts, but when Abby idly comments that she prefers carbs when she's out drinking, the next bowl the young brunette brings is full of pretzels. Even though Abby guesses she's about twice the bartender's age, in the spirit of the evening she embraces the attention, and is certainly not going to berate herself if her eyes happen to wander over the young brunette's fit form.

Callie and Indra are in the restroom and the bartender is clearing some empty glasses from their table when Abby's first unsolicited suitor of the evening strolls her way. The bartender notices Abby's exasperated, uninterested look and glares at the approaching man so hard that he turns heel before even reaching the table.

Abby huffs out a short laugh and smiles graciously, adding a little extra charm in for good measure. "That was very effective. Thank you."

"My pleasure," the young woman replies with a playful, chivalrous head tilt. The roguish smile she brandishes floods Abby with warmth and has her thankful for the darkness of the bar because she's certain she just turned three different shades of pink. The bartender heads back to the bar and Abby shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to get her reaction under control before her friends return from the bathroom.

"You ok?" Callie's voice suddenly rings out from her left, startling her. "You look a little flushed."

"Yeah, yes, I'm fine. Must be the strong drinks," Abby tries to cover, laughing weakly.

Indra quirks one eyebrow and glances over towards the bar, where the young brunette abruptly diverts her gaze away from their table and busies herself by wiping down the countertop. "Mm-hmm," Indra remarks, obviously unconvinced.

"Hey, we were talking," Callie jumps in, saving Abby from any further explanation, "and this bar is pretty dead." She grimaces in disgust before continuing. "And my heels keep sticking to the floor. We're ready to go somewhere else."

"She's right, Abby," Indra concurs. "This place is not what I had in mind for my one night off in weeks." She peeks back over at the bar. "Although, if you're not quite ready to go yet..." she trails off suggestively.

"What are you talking about?" Abby replies, feigning ignorance.

"Oh come on, you and that sweet young thing have been flirting all night."

Abby scoffs. "Indra, she can't be much older than Clarke."

"So what?" Indra shrugs. "You look hot, she clearly appreciates it, and we all got strong drinks out of the deal. I'm taking it as an excellent sign for the rest of our evening."

Abby laughs and her lips twitch into an amused smile. "She is very hot. And the attention is very nice."

"That's my girl," Indra cheers. She downs the remainder of her rum and coke and sets the glass back down on the table. "But now I think we should split, go find somewhere we can dance."

"Yes, I agree." Callie holds up her glass, tinkling the remaining ice around in it to show that it, too, is empty of liquor.

Abby sighs in resignation. She is certainly enjoying the treatment from the alluring young bartender, but this evening is really about being out with her friends. "Fine, we can go."

They begin to gather their purses and the bartender must notice because she returns to their table.

"You ladies ready to head out?"

"Sadly, yes," Indra answers, "but before we do, uh…" She points a finger, indicating the younger woman, and the bartender picks up on her unspoken question.

"Raven," she supplies, her eyes darting over to briefly meet Abby's as she speaks.

Abby's heart thumps in her chest – the pointed glance coupled with the knowledge of the young woman's name is enough to send a thrilling pulse through her veins.

"Raven," Indra continues, "not to put down your fine establishment here, but where might three older, yet classy, but also very overworked ladies find a place with a little dancing and a general lack of sleazy people?"

Raven lets out a small laugh. "No, it's cool. This place is a total shithole. I heard Club Mecha's pretty fun, but chill enough that you won't be fending off douchebags all night. It's like five blocks down and then left two more on Washington."

"Perfect! Thank you."

"I'll have your bill in just a second," Raven explains and retreats back to the bar.

The other two women reach for their purses to pay for their respective drinks, but Abby holds out a hand.

"Wait, I've got this one," she proposes, as she digs into her purse.

She's had the occasional date since her husband died, but they've generally been contacts through work, or set-ups from well-meaning friends – relatively attractive people that she has a lot in common with on paper, but who'd kindled no underlying spark. It's a true anomaly that she finds this young stranger in a bar more captivating than the seemingly ideal people she's previously been fixed up with. She doubts that Raven would have any interest in actually dating someone her age – the most Abby might get out of this is more flirtation or a brief, wild tryst – but she's not willing to let this opportunity pass.

As she pulls some cash out of her wallet, she also grabs a pen and one of her business cards, and scrawls her personal cell number on the back of the card. In the spirit of the evening, she tells herself – certainly not because she's already imagining what Raven's lithe form might look like in a more private setting.

"Did you just – " Indra raises one eyebrow, incredulous, but impressed.

Abby turns to them both and flashes a lopsided grin. "I'll meet you guys outside in a minute."

Callie and Indra exchange a look and both smile at the same time.

"Oooh, looks like we've got fun Abby tonight!" Callie declares.

"Hey! I can be fun," Abby retorts, and makes her way to the bar.

Raven's at the cash register with her back to her, and when she turns around and sees that it's Abby, she beams broadly at her. "Sad to see you all go. I have a feeling you'll be the best thing about my shift tonight." Abby doesn't miss the little twinkle in her eye as she speaks.

When Raven hands over the bill, Abby's suspicions about the top-shelf liquor are confirmed. Her brow furrows and she frowns slightly. "Are you sure I don't owe you more than this?"

"Nah, it's all good," Raven says, shaking her head in dismissal of Abby's concern.

"Well," Abby starts, and pulls some cash out of her wallet, making sure to add in enough for a generous tip, "I certainly appreciated your exceptional service," she finishes, intentionally not saying we.

Raven must catch her deliberate wording because her nostrils flare slightly and she runs the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. "Any time," she counters.

Abby places the bill and bundle of cash on the bar, the card with her phone number on it tucked underneath. She turns to go join her friends, but she can't resist firing back one last glance towards the bar. If the cheeky smirk directed her way is any indication, Raven's discovered her phone number, and most certainly seems interested.

"I can definitely be fun," Abby muses to herself, and as their evening progresses she finds it difficult to think of anything else but that delightful smirk.

It turns out that the bartending gig is just a night job to help finance the classic car garage Raven has recently set up, and it also turns out that Abby can now scratch off "getting eaten out on the hood of a 1958 Chevy Impala" from her bucket list.

Somehow meeting for an introductory coffee quickly evolved into blatant, mutual flirtation – then into "checking out the garage," kissing, and finally a night in which Dr. Abigail Griffin, M.D., of the WASPy, New England Griffins (she'd kept her maiden name), receives the best oral sex of her life from a car mechanic who is a year or two older at best than Abby's own daughter.

Abby's simple-but-chic taupe dress is rucked up around her hips, her ankles thrown over Raven's shoulders where the other woman kneels at the foot of the car's hood. She's got one hand extended behind her head, gripping the top edge of the hood, while the other rhythmically tugs at Raven's velvety brown hair. As she comes – god, so much harder than all those lonely nights pleasuring herself at home – she realizes she hasn't even gotten Raven's last name yet.

Raven glances up from between Abby's legs, swipes a thumb across the wetness on her lips, and starts to stand and oh – there's that smirk again, brash and confident, yet somehow without a hint of conceit.

Abby props herself up on her elbows and pulls at the hem of her dress, returning it to a more modest state. She glances up at Raven, in faded jeans and a worn red jacket, framed by a background of hanging car parts and tools displayed along the back wall. Raven holds out one hand to help her off the hood of the car, and when Abby is upright once more, Raven holds out the other with Abby's panties draped over one finger.

"Well, Doc, you sure are fun," Raven drawls out, shamelessly running her gaze over Abby's body once more.

Abby had been totally prepared for this to be a one-time thing, a well-earned release of tension with someone who still has both the stamina and non-committal nature of youth on their side. But one last look up at Raven's twinkling umber eyes and that goddamned smirk, and ohhh – Abby could get used to this.

Abby sometimes meets Callie and Indra at a coffee shop that's in a fairly convenient location for them all. The drinks seem like they get more and more overpriced every year, but the view is unmatched as far as local coffee shops go. Most of the tables are lined up along large picture windows that overlook a grassy, open park right by the bay. The people-watching is fantastic, and the get-together gives them a chance to catch up.

"You did WHAT?" Callie shrieks, sputtering out some of her caramel vanilla latte. She sets her mug down roughly and it thunks against the table, some of the foam sloshing over the side. Grabbing a napkin to dab at her lips, then at the mess on the table, she continues to grill Abby with rapid-fire questions. "With the bartender from that first bar? The very, very, very young bartender? On the first date?!"

Abby's cheeks go scarlet, but she just shrugs one shoulder and goes back to sipping her coffee.

Indra just tosses her head back and cackles.

Abby realizes she's never going to hear the end of this from them – especially when they find out that she's seeing the very, very, very young Raven again on Friday night.

Abby and Raven use more coffee dates or "dropping by the shop" as pretense for rushed, up-against-the-wall, hands-down-the-pants sex, but neither one of them has seen the other totally naked yet. After an actual, going out to dinner attempt at a date, they relocate to Abby's house, and they barely make it inside the front door before their lips connect.

Raven's a remarkably adept kisser, knowing just when to be soft, when to be hard, when to add in the light caress of her tongue or the sharp flash of her teeth. She's able to leave Abby a quivering mess without a piece of clothing ever being removed, and kissing her has rapidly become one of Abby's favorite things to do.

Abby gingerly climbs backwards up the stairs, tugging Raven towards her bedroom as they start to shed their clothes. Their kissing pauses only long enough for them to chuckle against each other's lips at their occasional stumbles and missteps.

They make it to the edge of the bed, Abby now in just her bra and panties, Raven shirtless but still in jeans, and Abby's working on unbuckling Raven's belt. And Raven's acting not shy, exactly, but there's just the barest hint of skittishness to her that has Abby perplexed. Raven's eyes keep darting around the room, never focusing on Abby's for more than a few seconds at a time, and her breathing seems too quick and shallow. The jeans finally drop to the floor, and as Abby steps in closer to Raven, her unclothed knee bumps against hard metal and oh, now she gets it.

Raven had told her about her injury and subsequent partial amputation when they had first started meeting up – "Motorcycle accident when I was eighteen. Sometimes it sucks, but, you know, whatever," was all Raven had offered up as explanation – but it hadn't really come up since.

Abby glances down – the prosthetic lower limb is secured just below the point of Raven's left knee, while the sock liner continues partially onto her thigh. She looks back up at Raven, trying to read the emotion in her eyes. Once she thinks she's got a handle on it – Raven couldn't give a fuck about what she thinks, but if Abby were to be an ass about this Raven wouldn't hesitate to leave and never look back – she wraps her arms around Raven's waist and pulls her towards her. She tries not to flatter herself into thinking that the other thought she can see ghosting across those eyes is that Raven really, really doesn't want to have any reason to walk out her door.

"Bio-Cadence is a great brand," Abby says, unperturbed. She'd noticed the label stamped into the metal and had seen enough vendors at medical conferences to know that the company was one of the best in the prosthetics industry. She begins lightly raking her fingernails up and down the small of Raven's back, occasionally dipping below the waistband of Raven's underwear. The movement is meant to be enticing, but also comforting – an attempt to alleviate any residual fears Raven may have about Abby being anything less than enthusiastic about this new step in their affair.

Her words and touch have the desired effect, and Raven's body relaxes almost imperceptibly. Abby briefly wonders how many people she's had to walk out on.

"Yeah, it is. It was fuckin' expensive, though," Raven complains, but she's smiling, her gaze drifting down to the swell of cleavage displayed by Abby's bra.

"I'll bet," Abby replies, chuckling at where Raven's attention has been directed. But then she remembers that Raven's been on her own since she was sixteen – early emancipation, Raven had divulged – and Abby realizes the night-time bartending gig may not have been just to help pay off the car shop.

She's a medical doctor, and an ex-trauma surgeon – she knows exactly the physical ordeal Raven must have gone through, and can only imagine the emotional toll such an injury must have taken. They haven't known each other for that long, but Abby already understands that if anyone could handle such a curve-ball, it's the formidable young woman standing before her. She files the thought away under the ever-growing list of Things That Are Endlessly Compelling About Raven Reyes, and gets back to worshipping Raven's body in all the ways it deserves.

It turns out that the only thing better – automobile sex-wise, that is – than getting eaten out on the hood of a 1958 Chevy Impala is riding Raven's cock in the backseat of a 1967 Pontiac GTO.

The outside of the once midnight black car is pockmarked by dents and rust, but somehow the interior has managed to remain in near-pristine condition. Abby's panties, blouse, and bra have been tossed haphazardly on the floorboards and she's wearing just her skirt, straddling Raven's lap with her bare knees digging into the black leather of the bench seat. Raven's overalls are pulled down low enough to access the strap-on she's wearing, and she's buried inside Abby while they make-out like teenagers who are about to be late for curfew.

"I've been wearing this all day," Raven murmurs against Abby's lips, and she thrusts a little deeper to emphasize what she's talking about. "Just waiting for you."

The thought of Raven spending the whole day thinking of her – of doing this with her – threatens to send Abby over the edge already. She whimpers and digs her nails into Raven's shoulders. She nips at Raven's lower lip, and then soothes the spot with her tongue.

"You're sure this isn't one of your clients' cars?" Abby tries to confirm. Raven's already assured her that it isn't, but she's still worried that they're defiling a complete stranger's property – though she's rapidly approaching a point past caring.

"Yeah, I'm just fixing it up for a friend," Raven grunts out, one corner of her mouth quirking up devilishly. "Finn's gonna be so pissed I got some in this car before he did."

Abby pulls back, gasping in horror. "Oh, don't you dare breathe a word of this to him."

Raven lets out a whine of protest, her mouth forming into a pout. She grips Abby's hips harder as she leans further back into the seat. The move forces Abby to follow her, and changes the angle of the toy, allowing it to hit all sorts of new spots that have Abby slamming her eyes shut against the sudden bliss. She sucks in a lungful of air and clutches her arms around Raven's neck and upper back for leverage, grinding against her more forcefully, the car starting to rock and squeak on its chassis.

She buries her face against Raven's neck and gasps against the skin there. "But don't you dare get this car back to him anytime soon."

Out of the corner of her eye Abby catches the smile return to Raven's face, then sees it morph into an entirely different expression of pleasure as Abby's lips and tongue tease at the spot just below Raven's earlobe.

It's Abby's volunteer day at the free clinic at Indra's shelter, and she takes a moment before she starts her shift to stop into Indra's office. As soon as she steps in, Indra's eyes goes wide.

"Is that a hickey?"

Shit.

Shit.

Raven had been rather enthusiastic the previous evening, but apparently Abby completely missed the evidence of her ardor in the mirror. She can't see the mark but fumbles with her collar anyway, pulling it up in an attempt to hide it.

Indra crosses her arms and leans back in her chair. "Do we need to start referring to you as Mrs. Robinson?"

"Indra, come on," Abby admonishes, her cheeks burning with both embarrassment and frustration. "I can't see patients like this."

Indra sighs and shakes her head. "Monroe in the kitchen is about your shade. She probably has some concealer you could use."

Abby grins sheepishly. "Thanks."

The same thing happens again two weeks later at Abby's clinic, one of the nurses catching her in time to warn her just before she's due at a meeting. It's definitely more than a little mortifying, but she also can't help the small thrill she gets from feeling marked like this – from carrying a reminder of Raven around on her own body. But she can't risk being this unprofessional at work, so she's either going to have to warn Raven to go easier on her, or start carrying some concealer around with her at all times.

On the way home from work she stops off at the drugstore and picks up a package of three that will match her skin tone.

Abby loses a long-time patient who's been living with leukemia for years, and although it happens much less frequently now that she's no longer at the hospital, it's still one of the worst feelings imaginable. It calls into question her faith in medicine, in her abilities as a healer, and, after Jake's passing, always serves as a reminder of her own personal connection to death.

Normally she'd call Callie or Indra to help her process such a tragedy, but this time around she's feeling like she doesn't want platitudes or medical discussion or therapy-grade rationalizing – she just wants to sit with her grief and be quiet and still for a while.

But she also doesn't want to be alone.

She wants to call Raven but she's not quite sure if they're at that stage in this whatever-it-is they're doing with each other – they've only ever met up when sex was in the cards, and Abby's definitely not in the mood tonight.

She sits on her couch with her knees drawn up, her arms hooked around them, and stares at the phone in her hand. Repeatedly opening and closing the contacts page on her phone, her finger hovers over Raven's name each time.

She draws in a deep, steadying breath, then finally taps Raven's name and hits the call button.

"Hey, sexy," Raven answers on the fourth ring.

"Hi," Abby greets, and laughs lightly. "I, uh, was wondering if you wanted to come over tonight? Maybe to just, um, watch a movie or something?" Abby grimaces and shakes her head at how hesitant she sounds.

"Just watch a movie?" Raven asks suggestively, and Abby can imagine the eyebrow wagging she's doing on the other end of the line.

"Yeah, actually," Abby replies, chuckling nervously. She clears her throat before explaining. "Um, I lost a patient today, and I just…could use some company, I guess."

There's a few seconds of uncomfortable silence and Abby starts chewing at her lip.

"Shoot, I'm sorry to hear that, but I can't," Raven explains, and Abby's heart sinks. "I'm stuck at the garage. Two people called in sick today and I've gotta get this car done tonight…"

The flirtatious tone is completely gone, and Abby worries that she's being blown off.

"Oh, no, it's fine. It's no problem," she responds, hoping she sounds less crushed than she feels.

"…but if you want," Raven continues, "you can come over here and hang out while I finish up."

Abby closes her eyes and exhales hard, angling the phone away just in time for Raven to be unable to hear her relief. She scrubs a hand over her face, then smiles broadly and nods, even though there's no one there to see it. "I'd like that. Thank you."

When Abby arrives, Raven has had Thai food delivered and she's stashed some beers in a mini fridge in the corner.

Abby perches on top of a workbench, her legs dangling in the air, crossed at the ankles. She eats straight out of the take-out container and watches Raven work. It's not exactly the quiet she was hoping for, but it's still soothing and hypnotic, Raven's movements efficient and self-assured. Raven, every exposed scrap of skin streaked with grease, occasionally wanders Abby's way and takes a few bites of food and sips from her own beer. Not once does she return to the car without resting her hand on Abby's thigh, stroking comforting circles over it with her fingertips and palm, and even though she keeps leaving grease stains on her pants, this is all somehow just what Abby needed.

Raven's moved into the small apartment right above the garage in order to cut down on commuting, and after she's finished working on the car she and Abby venture upstairs. Raven takes a quick shower then brings out more beers. They settle on the couch, Raven flipping through channels on the TV. When the screen comes to rest on The Princess Bride, Abby's hand shoots forward and lands on top of Raven's on the remote. Clarke had loved this movie when she was little, but Abby doesn't think she herself has watched it the whole way through. Tonight is the perfect opportunity to rectify that.

As they watch the film, Abby's body steadily gravitates closer to Raven's. She shifts over until her hip is pressed against Raven's, then tucks herself against her side. When she nuzzles her cheek into Raven's shoulder, Raven stretches an arm along the back of the couch, then wraps it around Abby's shoulders, drawing her even closer. She misses some crucial dialogue because she takes a few seconds to just revel in the sensation of Raven holding her.

By the latter half of the film Abby's sprawled out on the couch, her head resting in Raven's lap. Raven ever-so-gently runs her fingers through her hair and massages her scalp, and neither of them are really even watching the movie anymore.

Afterwards it becomes a thing that whenever Abby makes a particularly bossy request, Raven rolls her eyes then dons a really dopey, lovesick expression on her face and answers, "As you wish."