A/N: So it turns out, wheedling me to write DOES actually work, if it involves enough flattery. Actually, I've been working on this for something like six months and finally managed to get past the first paragraph only very recently. It should be about four chapters, unless, say, the cast of ER shows up at my apartment and volunteers to act out the scenes.

Thanks to Essy for betaing. The Very Quiet Cricket belongs to Eric Carle, "Walk On" belongs to U2, and "1000 Oceans" belongs to Tori Amos, not Tokio Hotel. ER belongs to people with more money and power than yours truly.

"1000 Oceans"

There's a very distinct set of otherwise useless skills you pick up, working in an emergency room for a decade. How to find a place to put a patient when there are no open beds; how to construct an IV drip without any of the required materials; how to remove a shark from someone's leg without killing the shark.

How to tell someone that a person they love has died.

You can do it with your eyes closed at a certain point. Convey the right balance of compassion and reason so that they know you're truly sorry it's happened but also leave no room for uncertainty. Except when it's someone that you, yourself, love.

Greg's been dead almost an hour before I make the call. His organs are already in the care of UNOS; Chaz and Bettina are already making calls to funeral homes; Morris has spoken to Anspaugh. I'm not even certain where Luka and I are: he said that he'd pick Joe up after work and meet me at home. At this point, I don't even know if he's planning to stay the night.

My hands shake. It rings twice and for a minute I panic because I suddenly feel like if I don't hear his voice, I'll implode. And then – he answers. "Abby?"

"Hi." I can hear my voice crack, and I know he can, too.

"What's wrong? Have you been crying?"

"Luka…" Oh, god. "There was an accident. You need – "

"Are you all right?" I can hear the panic.

"Mostly. I – my wrist is broken. And I sprained my ankle. It's fine. It doesn't matter." I wish I could tell him in person instead. This seems almost cruel, but then, so does forcing him to wait for the truth. Which I have experience with. "It's Pratt. He – he died, Luka." He doesn't say anything for a few moments. "I'm so sorry."

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

I manage some degree of composure up until the moment I see him come through the doors, and then I start crying and he's running toward me, hands on my face, stroking my hair, and then pulling me closer, arms tight around me. I leak snot onto his shirt and I can feel him shaking. He pulls back and inspects my wrist.

"What happened?"

I wipe my nose and my eyes with the sleeve of my good hand. "I was coming back from the lake…there was an ambulance, coming from County. The patient…Pratt was in there with him…" I don't even know if I'm making sense at this point. "It was rigged. And exploded. Pratt – he made it back to the hospital – there was a hematoma – a jaw fragment – his brain – " I stop. Luka gets it, and I'm useless again, stroking his hair and crying. "I'm sorry, Luka. I'm sorry."

He holds me again, nodding, and I feel his fingers dig into me a little. His best man. And his friend – one of the few he has, and it aches, how much I wish I could take it back. "Shh." He kisses my forehead, and it's warm for a second and I actually feel safe.

I go to wipe my face and hit myself in the eye with plaster. Right. His lips twitch the tiniest fraction of an inch and he takes out a handkerchief and does it for me. "Luka." It's next to impossible to keep my voice from shaking, but I try, the best I can. "I'm so sorry. We tried everything we could. Morris, Neela, Sam, Gates – we all tried."

He closes his eyes for a few moments, and I reach up with one hand and stroke his face because I can't not touch him. He brings his hand up and lays it over mine, and then leans his head into our palms. "I know you did."

"I'm sorry I didn't call sooner. It happened fast, and –"

"Stop apologizing. It's not your fault." He shakes his head slightly. "I don't blame you for any of this. I'm just – I know he couldn't have been in better hands."

Hands. It's almost funny. I glance down at my wrist and Luka catches on. "Bad choice of words."

"Yeah."

"Are you…off?"

"Two hours ago, yeah. I should see if they need me to cover…" I can't finish. "I'll check with Morris."

He nods. It takes me a few minutes, but I find Morris slumped against the counter in the trauma room Greg was in. "Hey." I crouch next to him.

"Hey."

"I…do you need me to cover?"

He shakes his head. "No. You should go home. Be with Joe."

I clear my throat. "Luka's here."

He looks at me a long moment and I can see the loss looming deep in his eyes. A small smile forms. "Good. Go – I can handle it. Tell Luka I said…" He sighs. "Life is short. And he should hang onto you."

"Thanks, Morris."

"Greg had faith in you two. Looked up to Luka. He'd be happy for you."

"I know." I reach for the counter. Damn cast again. Morris gets up and reaches out a hand to pull me to my feet. "Call me if you need to."

"Nah." He scuffs a foot on the floor. "Go make up with your man. You both deserve it."

I hug him and wonder if he's right. I still feel queasy from the guilt, but maybe it's true, that it's not worth getting hung up on when neither of us knows what tomorrow will bring. If I lost Luka…I push it out of my mind. "Archie." He looks up at me, back on the floor. "He had faith in you, too."

Luka drives me home. I still don't know what the plan is for later – if he'll stay, if he wants to move back in, all that – but we both know we need to be with Joe, so it's not much of a question of where we're both going. We don't talk much in the car, but he holds my hand, my good hand, and keeps stroking it with his thumb and the feeling of touching him is wonderful, so I just sit there, loving the feel of him. We go inside and he hangs back a minute, greeting the nanny, thanking her for staying late, while I go straight to Joe and pick him up out of his pile of blocks and hug him to me. "Mama!" He snuggles into me and wraps his arms around my neck and I kiss his head and think for a moment how his hair smells the same as Luka's even though Luka doesn't use baby shampoo.

I don't even hear the door close or the nanny leave, because my eyes are closed and I'm just swaying in place with Joe in my arms, loving him like mad, and I feel Luka's palm on my back and him wrapping himself around both of us, kissing Joe, too, and then kissing my head. It's like our own private world for a minute, and if I could just stay in that world forever, I'd be completely happy. But then, Joe is a toddler, and toddlers do not enjoy staying still for very long, so we detangle ourselves and I let Luka take him and swing him in the air a few times before setting him down.

I love Luka's face when he holds Joe. His smile could light a small city.

"Ti si gladan?" Luka raises his eyebrows at Joe. I'm trying to remember whether he's asking if Joe is tired or hungry. The giant, animated nod Joe gives him indicates the latter, since asking if he's tired tends to be met with him shouting "no" and running away from whoever might have the evil notion to make him go to bed. Luka glances at me. "I could make dinner, if you like."

"Yeah, that'd be…"

"Nice?" He smirks a little. The word "nice" for us hasn't been the same since I made the stupid decision to use it in describing our first night together in four and a half years. The flirtation it carries, that Luka is using it now, is almost overwhelming. That we're back there, I mean. Flirting.

"Yes." I blush like a schoolgirl. "It would be nice."

After dinner, Luka takes Joe up to give him a bath, since I obviously can't, and I attempt to load the dishwasher with one hand, which involves a lot of swearing. We still haven't discussed whether he intends to stay over, but so far, he's just sort of kept offering to do things, like cook, or give Joe a bath, and I can't really figure out if it's because he wants to help, because he wants to be with Joe, or because he wants to be with both of us. I can hear Joe giggling from upstairs and Luka speaking to him in Croatian, and part of me wants them to have their private moment, but the part that ends up winning out is the part that desperately doesn't want to be alone and wants to be a part of it.

"Mama!" Joe squeals when I walk in. Luka turns around and smiles at me, and I settle down on the closed toilet seat and run my fingers through Joe's wet spikes of hair. He makes to swat some water at me, but Luka catches his hand and shakes his head.

"No, no splashing water at Mommy." He points at my cast. "Her hand can't get wet."

Joe mulls this over and points at my feet. "Splash feet?"

I can see Luka trying not to laugh. "Maybe let's just wash your hair, for now."

Joe is already yawning when I help Luka wrap him up in a towel and he lays his head on Luka's shoulder and starts sucking his thumb. I rub his back. "Want Tata to put you to bed?" Ever since they were in Croatia, Luka has been "Tata." I kind of like it, how it's a recognition of that element of Luka's life, and how Joe has begun to take on that element, as well.

Joe nods sleepily and Luka smiles. "Want Mommy to come, too?" Joe nods again and shit, I want to cry and kiss both of them at once.

Luka gets Joe into his pajamas and they both settle down on the couch and I look through the bookshelf for Goodnight, Gorilla. "Uh-oh." I look at Luka. "Did you remember the book?"

He closes his eyes and grimaces. "I left it at…" He trails off, and I'm glad he doesn't finish with "my place" because hearing those words is not something I can handle right now. "Sorry."

"It's okay. Joe, how about we read a new book tonight?"

Joe looks at me suspiciously. "Gorilla?"

"Um…how about The Very Quiet Cricket?" I pull a book at random from the shelf. "I think it looks good." I sit down next to them.

Joe inspects the cover and flips a few pages and looks up at Luka like maybe he can fix the problem. "Gorilla?"

"I think we should read this one," Luka tells him. "I like this one."

Joe eventually finds our choice inevitable, if not acceptable, but continues to pout as he leans into Luka and watches with resignation as I open the book and start reading about the travails of a cricket that can't chirp.

"…as the Luna moth disappeared silently into the distance, the cricket saw another cricket. She, too, was a very quiet cricket. Then, he rubbed his wings together, one more time." I flip the next page and the book starts chirping. Joe's eyes, which were nearly closed, get wide and I realize we are now going to be reading this one quite a bit. "He chirped, the most beautiful sound she had ever heard." I close the book.

Joe reaches out and I let him take the book and he starts inspecting it, and after a minute or so figures out how to make the book continue chirping. Great. I pick him up and set him in his crib and go to take the book from him, but he pulls away and keeps a grip on it. "Joe." He shakes his head and continues to make the book chirp. "Joe, it's time to give me back the book."

"No," he says simply, and lays down on his back while still flapping the book open and shut. I look at Luka, who shrugs.

"He'll get tired of it, eventually." He watches Joe. "Or the batteries will die."

I can still hear the book chirping away as Luka and I close the door and stand in the hallway, and suddenly, without Joe there, I feel vulnerable, unsure. I have no idea what to do next. Luka doesn't seem to know, either. I take a breath. "Look, I don't know…we didn't talk about what you want to do, from here, but…tonight, at least…" I look up at him and wonder if I ever have any idea what to do when it comes to him, because my brain keeps shorting out whenever I look in his eyes. "I really don't want to be alone, tonight. You don't have to…I can sleep on the couch, if you want, or even, if you could maybe stay for another few hours and then I could – "

He stops my rambling in my absolute favorite way possible, and I wrap my arms around his neck and he puts his hands on either side of my face and for a minute, it doesn't feel strange, or uncertain, and I feel almost like everything else has been wiped clean and this is just us, how we're supposed to be. He pulls back a little but keeps his hands there. Am I crying? I don't even know. I think it's possible because my eyelashes feel sticky. "If it's okay, I was thinking maybe I could stay forever."

It would sound really corny and like it belonged in a television movie with anyone but Luka, but from him, it's perfect and sincere and one of the many things he's said that will stay with me for a very long time. "That would be…nice."

He kisses me again, and now I'm quite sure I'm crying, and smiling, and this time my hands are on his back, so I can be sure he can't get too far away from me.

Not again.