Spoilers: Well, post ep for Tell Me Where it Hurts, so there are spoilers in there somewhere. Nothing beyond that though.

Disclaimer: Not mine, yadda, yadda, yadda, just having a little fun with 'em. I put them back, all clean. Except for Carter. That chocolate sauce came outta nowhere….

Gushing unlimited amounts of gratitude: To Charli, my ever faithful and illiterate (where's the 'e'??) beta, for making my fic roadworthy, and to It's Always Something, for being generally great and inspirational. Well. A little inspirational. And for letting me borrow Carter and his inner thoughts. You can definitely have him back. Once he got going, he just wouldn't shut up…

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The street lamp casts a flickering, yellowy glow across the pavement, which my eye focuses upon for a moment. It's strange how such a simple thing can be so mesmerising. Perhaps I just want to be mesmerised to avoid concentrating on what is more prominent in my thoughts, the hand that's wrapped little fingers round my stomach, and has been pulling at it all day. Tired footsteps trail past the lamp, shadows diminishing the glow for a second, until they move on, intent upon finishing their mission.

It's the loud cry of the car horn that finally shakes me back into reality; I realise I'm in the middle of the road, and I've wandered past my destination clumsily, too wrapped up in feelings of guilt, of sympathy, and overwhelmingly of something different, an emotion I can't quite place, because I've never really felt it before.

Holding up my hand in apology to the angry driver, who merely dismisses me and continues past, I reach the other side of the street and trail back up it; her devastated, terrified face playing in my mind like a scene in a movie. A glance at my watch tells me I've been too long already, and I quicken my steps.

The entrance to the restaurant is welcoming, upon seeing the hazy orange lights the windows emit, and the happy laughter seeming to endlessly brim from it, the warmth apparent from three buildings down. The heat hits my face first, then rushes through my fingers, as if trying to melt the frost that had been enveloping them since I left the hospital.

The door relents easily under my force, and swings inward to release more laughter, a homely smell of crackling fat, and interested faces, surveying me. I feel as though I should smile, and I try hard to do so, but fail to even convince myself, and firmly tread over to the counter, having to shout out an order to be heard.

"Hey!" It takes a few moments before I realise the greeting was aimed at me, and I turn to face a short, stout man, with a thick moustache and little hair. He's grinning broadly.

"You're that doctor, right?"

I nod automatically; scanning my brain for an indication I've seen him before.

He tries his best to help me, "Sammy – with the finger? I saw you Tuesday…" he continues, holding up a bandaged stump attached to a blackened hand, slightly more proudly than he should do.

"Yeah, Sammy," I smile, but apparently not convincingly enough, because he looks disappointed that I don't remember, and slopes back to his seat.

A bored looking waitress on counter detail stoically chews her gum, before shoving a package my way, and telling me the price, tapping perfectly honed talons along the desk. Pushing a note across to her, and telling her to keep the change, I head back to the door, pausing to catch Sammy's eye.

"Stuck in the printing machine?" I ask more chirpily, pointing to his finger.

He grins again. "Yeah. Thanks, for saving my hand," he adds. "They only had to cut one finger off after all."

"You're welcome," I nod a couple of times, smiling back. "Sammy," I repeat under my breath, bracing myself as the coldness returns to my aching limbs. And for a moment, I remember how good it feels to be able to help someone.

The way home was slightly more optimistic, but punctuated with action replays of my day, conversations I should have had differently. The further I walk, the more my head gives way to the negative feelings eating at it. I remember Eric blabbering his way through the ER, talking about everything and anything, and wonder what I could have done.

Anything.

Nothing?

I'm not sure, I just know that today has changed things, made everything unsure, and as guilty as it makes me feel, I can't help but wish Eric had just been normal. For Abby, the dutiful sister.  For John and Abby the couple.

It's hard for me to even try and imagine what Eric's going through, what Abby's going through, but as far as I push the self pity to the back of my mind, it eats back at me, telling me it'll affect me too, telling me that this is where we both fall.

At the second hurdle.

I dismissed her fears as paranoia and I watched helplessly as he was arrested.  So I'm not quite sure what makes me think I can help anymore now. I seem to be failing her, no matter how hard I try, because I don't want to fix her or change her, but just need to be near her.

To make her better.

Because that's all I really know how to do.

The masochistic part of me needs, wants to try. Because…because it's Abby.

I look up from the dark pavement, and across the street. There's a couple in front of me, weaving their way along the pavement together, perfectly in sync. Her fingers muddle with his as she giggles, him stopping to nuzzle her ear. I smile half heartedly, the scene triggering a better memory of last week.

********

"Fishsticks."

"Lasagne."

We spoke instantaneously, and she giggled slightly, but recovered quickly to roll her eyes and look at the jar, then to me quizzically. "Lasagne?" she asked playfully, raising an eyebrow, challenging me to respond. She had the upper hand already; she knows I find her irresistible when she's mad.

"Fishsticks?" I countered indignantly, holding her gaze and defiantly keeping hold of the ready-made sauce in my hand.

"I like 'em."

"I don't."

"They're easy to cook."

"Are fishsticks even classed as food?"

"They're a food group of their own," she smirked defensively, and took a pack from the shelf in front of her. Behind us, a small woman tapped her foot impatiently; breaking the deadlock and making us step to the side to allow her through, shooting her an apologetic glance. On her way past she noted the packet of fishsticks, and pulled a slightly disgusted face, before continuing forwards with her cart.

"Stop smirking, John," she warned before even looking up. My grin spread across my face now, before giving way to a mock serious expression.

"I'm sure to some people they are a whole food group, Abby," I teased her, before dropping the sauce into our cart victoriously. I like it when I win.

"You're not coming grocery shopping with me again," she muttered under her breath and slowly pushing forwards. "And we're not having lasagne," she added, reaching for the jar. My hand stopped hers, and I swept my fingers through her own, interlacing them. Aware that I was trying to distract her, she moved to pull away, but my thumb firmly ran along the inside of her palm and she gave in to this persistence, attempting to ignore the happy glow that was threatening to radiate across her face. I caught it though, and she knew that.

"I wasn't going to make just fishsticks," she tried to reason slightly poutily. "I was going to do potatoes, vegetables, yam…"

"With fishsticks?"

She attempted to keep her mouth locked into a frown, but with every inch I felt my smile grow, her own began to mirror it, and she laughed, squeezing my hand. "What is your problem with fishsticks?"

"Haven't got one."

"You obviously have," she persisted, shooting her eyes across to meet my own.

I chuckled slightly, gently shaking my head, and glanced across the store, searching, whilst Abby seemed lost in her thoughts and a silly little grin. "What?" I whispered, making her aware that she'd been grinning stupidly.

"Nothing." She tilted her head up to me all too innocently, and I watched her warily, this was a common trick she used to win our arguments, and I usually caved. She raised her free hand to just below my chin and tilted it, allowing her to reach up and brush a soft kiss against my mouth, which still tingled every time she did this. I smiled, and returned to scanning the shelves of the store. I found what I was searching for, and my grip on her hand intensified a little as I dragged her across to the opposite aisle, pleased with myself. "You can have garlic bread with lasagne," I smiled, tossing it into the cart, along with an accompanying packet of pasta sheets.

"You don't give up, do you?" she marvelled.

"Not when I know I can win."

************

We shared these little 'moments' in public, but by mutual consent decided to keep public making out to a minimum. Making out is for teenagers. Funny how I feel like one when she's around. The sudden deep breath I inhale lets me know I've reached home before my eyes do.

Home?

Abby's apartment. She seems less worried about keeping it hers anymore. I have a drawer, a coffee mug and a side of the bed, and she's never said she likes it that way, but I know that she does. She's easier to read than she likes to think.

Two steps become twelve, and I reach the outside door quickly, balancing the still warm bag in one hand whilst turning open the door with the other, hoping she's ok.

Hoping she still needs me.

My heart breaks silently with the scene that greets me when I enter, gently closing the door. She's curled on the couch, staring into space, but a little sign of relief crosses her face as she sees me. Relief and maybe a smile. She matter-of-factly tells me she hasn't reached him. The selfish thoughts that have plagued me since the fish shop evaporate, and my heart sinks another notch for her.

"Might have to wait until morning," I offer, brandishing the bag from Brennan's and continuing into the kitchen. I try not to noticeably pause upon seeing the bottle, but maybe I'm easier to read than I think, because she is quickly on her feet, moving towards me and issuing a hurried explanation, her face pained.

The wine doesn't matter, but she continues guiltily, explaining her struggle and forcefully clamping the cork back into the open bottle, until I take it from her and pull her towards me gently, arms forming a protective wall around her, trying desperately to close the demons out. Though I might sometimes say the wrong thing, and I might fail in so many other ways, I know I can do this right; I can love her.

She sniffles against my chest a little; nose buried there, and slides her arms around my torso, trying to fit like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle.

A jigsaw that has taken too long to make just to give up.

"I'm so glad you're home." Home. That word again. People have talked to me about their homes since before first grade, but I don't think I've ever had one to know what it was. Now my heart's letting me think that maybe I do. For a fraction of a second, my hand stops running along her back, but I resume, and I feel us jumping that elusive second hurdle.

"I'm sorry.  I wanted you to be wrong. For both of you." She's very still for a moment, and I worry I've said the wrong thing, but she squeezes a little tighter, and releases me gently, kissing a favourable part of my chest and cursing her family. I know how she feels and I tell her so, planning a hypothetical family gathering out loud which makes her laugh a little. A reassuring laugh.

The conversation moves to the table, but I reach gently for her back again, resuming the rubbing. She pours herself an opening, floodgates releasing more tears, and heart releasing more than I think she's released for a long time. And in a weird sort of way I'm happy. It hurts me that she's in pain, but I'm so happy it's me, glad that she trusts me enough to tell me all this. Her eyes avert themselves from mine, but I keep a steady but comfortable gaze, allowing her to feel me there. I will her to look at me, to believe I'm here to stay, knowing she'll get there eventually, but not tonight. I will her to see what I want to tell her, but can't put into coherent sentences.

"He was the only one I could count on."

Sensing my chance, I lean forward, eyes eager and alive. Sincere. "That's not true anymore." My heart pounds a little faster when she doesn't respond immediately, panicking that I've moved a step farther than I was meant to. But I don't want to take it back. Come on Abby. Look at me.

She raises tired brown pools up to meet mine.

"Promise."

Always.

She looks so vulnerable chewing on her fingertips, more than I've seen her, and I know she's afraid to hear this, but as scared as she is, she needs to. I need her to. So I tell her.

"I'm not going anywhere."

She stares back for a few moments, allowing this information to sink in, the slightest hint of a smile flickering upon weary lips, and then almost dives at me, catching my mouth in a kiss I wouldn't believe was there if my hands weren't cupping her face. It's barely there, but I feel it, and I guide her onto her feet, pulling her into my lap gently, where I place a reciprocal kiss on her nose, which she scrunches in response.

"Thank you," she whispers, voice breaking, and nestling her head back into the crook of my neck. I think if it wouldn't be such an inconvenience, I'd be glad to house her head there for the rest of our lives, but my thoughts give way to the warm sticky tears pooling on my sweater, and I kiss along her shoulder, drawing her nearer to me.

"Don't thank me," I whisper, punctuating my words with another kiss, hand running along her hair, loosening it so it falls down to her shoulders. It looks prettiest that way. "You have nothing to thank." Her face finally rises from my neck, dropping a final kiss on it in the process. She looks confused, and I trace the side of her face idly, brushing back the locks of hair concealing the world-weary face I know so intimately, trying to reword what I feel so keenly in my heart.

"You're not a burden," I whisper to her furrowing brow. "You're a gift."

Her smile is the first genuine smile of the day, I think, and she seems to want to believe me, although I know she doesn't. It doesn't matter. I have the rest of my life to convince her I mean it. Eternity's a long enough time. I chuckle inwardly, making a mental note to stop making myself cringe.

She bites her lip, bringing me back to reality, gaze flicking back to the wine glass. A gentle finger reaches out from my hand, tilting her head back to face me pointedly. She nods in understanding.

"I know why I didn't drink it," she finally mouths, looking pensive. I look to her to continue, and she falters, but takes a deep breath.

"It doesn't make me feel right. You make me feel right now."

Unable to do anything but smile, I gently lift her from my knee, stroking her hair once more.

"Tired?" I ask, somewhat hopefully, because I don't know whether I can even sit anymore without my eyelids flickering closed, and she nods in response, taking my hand, and returning to my arms, cradled between soft hands and a warm chest. Now I definitely think she should stay there.

"Thank you," she whispers again, a small sob weeping out onto my chest.

I sigh, pulling her the final distance, until there is no space between us, bodies interlinking. If it were up to me, I'd scour the floor for the seven pieces of her broken heart, and slot them back together with glue, but all I can do for the moment is damage control, and it's frustrating; but upon seeing how vulnerable she is in this moment, and how much trust she is bestowing on me, I begin to realise that the tiny footsteps forward, the slow dance between us we're learning to perfect, the gradual crumbling of long established walls; they're all worth it.

I realise this is love, and I smile into her shoulder a little.

I should berate myself, considering the circumstances surrounding this realisation, but she's here, clinging to me for fear of letting go, and she's letting me help her, hold her, she might even bury into me if she could, and this is so ultimately overwhelming, that I just have to smile.

Her arms tighten round me in a death grip, but I forget to choke, instead enveloping her further, my left hand running through tangled hair, and lips forming a gentle kiss on the shoulder of a tear stained sweater. And it's amazing how fulfilled I feel doing this, how in awe I am that I'm finally allowed to 'help' her, to be everything I've wanted to be since a time I can't even remember.

Yeah. This is something different.

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Authors Note: So, I've never tried a post ep before, and I thought it'd be a good idea, but this'll be my first (and last!) because it's a lot harder than I thought! Hope you liked it, if you did, review, it'll make me happy for the day. And you'll go to heaven. If you didn't, review, I'd like to hear all the same. Constructive criticism very much loved…