Dr. Abby Lockhart
22 December 2008 @ 05:53 pm
Abby was working all of Christmas week and loathing most of it. It was depressing to be in the ER during a major holiday for so many reasons. It sucked to be the doctor telling someone that Grandpa wasn’t going to make it to Mass with the family, that Junior was getting a bone marrow transplant for Christmas (if he were lucky) and not a new bike and it really, really blew chunks when someone asked her if she planned to see her family during the holidays.

No. Of course she wasn’t. Maggie and Eric might get a phone call if she could find the time (and the courage) but she wouldn’t be spending time with them. She was frozen in New York, they would moderately chilled in Florida. She was working herself ragged and they were decorating a tree with popcorn chains and drinking the spiced rum eggnog she couldn’t have. They were a family unit she didn’t feel like she was a part of any longer. Some of it was her own inability to adapt to the knowledge that her baby brother was all grown up and the refusal to accept that he didn’t need her to take care of him any more. A larger part of the problem was fear. Fear of the bipolar disorder both Maggie and Eric suffered from and it was a shared terror. Maggie and Eric were afraid that Abby didn’t understand them, didn’t know what it was like to be inside the disease and Abby, for all she tried not to, she could never let go of her need to control and doctor the situation. Not being able to save them scared her.

What about Ruairí and his children, weren’t they her family? Abby was still undecided on that front most days. She knew it took more than blood and DNA to make a family, though she had at least a thread of that in common with Caitlin and her brothers, too. She lived with them. She…cared about them all and usually she realized that they cared for her in return. But did that make them family? Did she want it to? Did they? Not that it mattered much at the moment. She wouldn’t be seeing much of them either with the few short hours she wasn’t working being largely devoting to sleeping or commuting back and forth from hospital to home.

That was the other thing that she hated. The commute: the subway, the walking, and the smelly cabs. They left her with all of this time to think about things like family and that her fingertips were so cold she could no longer feel them(this made not spilling coffee down the front of you difficult). And presents. She had no time to shop and even less of a budget to work with. She had begged off the Secret Santa at work but that still left her with at least Cait and Ruairí to worry about…well, Cait. She had a gift for Ruairí even if it was corny and lame.

And still not wrapped. Dammit!

All right, Lockhart. Improvise. You’re an ER doc. A trauma physician. The specialty evolved out of wartime medicine practiced on the battlefield. Thinking fast under pressure is something you are trained to do. This rolled around in her head as she approached the building she called home, let herself in and finally found herself riding the elevator to the upper floor. She had the gift on her. In her pocket, actually. And she was supposed to give it to him tonight.

They were celebrating on Christmas Even since Abby had somehow managed to have the night shift off though it meant she was on home call and also had to drag herself back to the hospital first thing in the morning. She had roughly two minutes to figure out what she would do and as she gave it a final consideration, the brunette tipped her nearly empty coffee cup back and drained it. She looked at the Styrofoam cup thoughtfully.

Well…it would fit.

Out in the hallway, before fumbling for her keys, Abby popped the lid off the cup and used one wool glove to soak up the coffee remnants then dug through her pockets until she found what she was after. She doubted anyone other than Ruairí would understand the significance of the silver-plated metal buckle. Actually, even if he recognized the girth buckle from a horse’s saddle, she was still going to have to explain why she was giving it to him in a coffee cup (the lid was back on) for Christmas.

His keen hearing must have alerted the púca to her presence because the door opened before she got her key into the lock. Smiling up at the silver-haired man, Abby thrust the cup into his hand. “Merry Christmas. Sorry about the ‘gift wrap’.”

Abby Lockhart//ER//818
Current Mood: anxious
Current Location: home
Dr. Abby Lockhart
22 October 2008 @ 05:54 pm
Peace and quiet. Alone time. Personal space. Abby has learned to value these things more and more in recent months. It’s not that she doesn’t like the people she lives with, some days she might even admit to loving them, but the transition of living on one’s own to sharing an apartment—no matter how spacious—with two other people, well it is an adjustment. For the next little while, the place was hers. Ruairi and Cait had been charged with the dubious task of procuring candy for the fleet of Trick-or-Treaters that would drop by on Halloween. Abby’s only request had been candy corn, the good kind, loose and sold in the one pound bags, not the preportioned and individually packaged garbage that was so stale it wasn’t worth opening the cellophane bags for.

Never mind the arguments that there is no such thing as good candy corn, the important thing here was that Abby could curl up on the couch, alone with her book (borrowed from Robin some time ago) and a cup of hot tea. She wiggled her toes and laughed as she turned a few pages of the old and doubtlessly valuable tome. The subject matter was what prompted her to take the book out of The Puck’s personal library after all: A Guide to Irish Faeries. It would figure, she chases two of them out of their home only to read up on them instead.

“…the pooka is an adroit shape changer, capable of assuming a variety of terrifying forms.” She snorted and set the book aside. “Sure if being drop-dead gorgeous is terrifying.”

Abby was quickly coming to the conclusion that there was very little in these dusty old books that actually applied to the people in her life and it made her wonder just what these tired old scholars had been writing about instead. As she considered the useless book in her lap, her eyes drifted and wandered around the apartment. These terrifying and tricky ‘pooka’ did things like arrange flowers artfully on the dining room table and place family photos along the fireplace mantle. A particularly old ‘pooka’ left his cell phone and jacket on the other end of the couch. He had also given her the thin and delicately braided bracelet she was wearing around her right wrist. Romantic gestures…terrifying.

Getting up and intending to toss the book back into a bag of things to be dumped back at Robin’s, Abby glanced down and noticed something sticking out of the pages at an odd angle. A piece of paper, maybe a bent page in the otherwise pristine novel, whatever it was had her thumbing to that section of the reading material. Hah, it was a loose sheet of note paper, unlined and yellowed but covered in still (mostly) legible script. After studying it for a moment, Abby closed the book and laughed.

This could not be real. Whoever wrote this, Robin maybe, had a good sense of humor though. She sat the book down but kept the note. Maybe she should slap it up on the fridge with a magnet and see how long it took for Cait to notice it. Or…

“What the hell?” Abby thought. She was home alone and bored now that the book had proved far less interesting than she had hoped. If nothing else, this was bound to be worth a laugh. She tucked the note, well…the ‘spell’ into her pocket and went about gathering the listed tools and ingredients—that’s how she thought of them anyhow. A couple of candles, a book of matches, glass of water…and yes, she was actually taking the mirror down from the entranceway wall.

She set everything out on the coffee table, lit the candles and turned off the reading lamp just to set the tone. It was the week before Halloween, may as well have some fun with the hoodoo garbage that had so thoroughly inundated her life. The burnt smell of sulfur dioxide and the flicker of candlelight gave the normally airy room a claustrophobic feel and compelled Abby to keep her voice to a hushed murmur as she read from the scribblings.

With the same sort of mocking attitude one might close themselves in a dark bathroom and chant for Bloody Mary to appear, Abby placed the lit candles at the four ‘corners’ of the oval mirror and laughed at her own illuminated imaged as the tiny flames were doubled and distorted in the polished glass. Her laughter grew as she poured the water onto the mirrored surface, her reflection rippling and taking on eerie features.

As she waved her hand over the water, the light, the warped images, Abby scoffed. This was stupid. You can’t contact the living, the dead or anything in between by making a mess in your living room. She certainly wasn’t calling forth and waking anything of interest, the only thing she’d achieved was soaking the sleeve of her shirt as it slipped down her arm and, dammit, getting the woven bracelet from Ruairi damp as well. It was made of horsehair, his own, and now…ugh. Damp animal never smelled pleasant.

Abby’s fun and games were effectively ruined by her own clumsy behavior, besides Cait and Ruairi would be back soon and she’d hate to have to explain her foolishness to them. She pulled the circlet from her wrist and left it on the table to dry, lifted the candles one by one and extinguished them. Then she grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the table to mop up the water. By the time she’d rehung the mirror and put everything else away, she’d forgotten the slip of paper and its warning to close any portal opened, not that she took any of it seriously in the first place. It wasn’t real. It was all an elaborate joke, a ruse, an illusion.

And there wasn’t anyone watching her or the apartment from the other side of that glass, was there?
Current Mood: amused
Current Location: manhattan
Dr. Abby Lockhart
26 September 2008 @ 12:39 am
Spoilers for current season beneath the cut...

Read more... )
Current Mood: depressed
Dr. Abby Lockhart
05 August 2008 @ 12:26 am
ooc: canon event from season 12 being tweaked to fit Abby's AU canon, and this prompt.

She was only ten years old.

And he had her for months and I just can’t stop thinking about what she must have gone through and I can’t stop thinking about how afraid she must have been and I can’t stop thinking about why we couldn’t save her and I just...

I... )
Current Mood: crushed
Dr. Abby Lockhart
03 August 2008 @ 07:13 pm
What would you do if you found a magic wand?

Pull a rabbit out of your hat.
Current Mood: amused
Dr. Abby Lockhart
07 July 2008 @ 07:50 pm
Abby had signed for the box, rolled her eyes when she saw it was from Maggie. God only knew what the woman sent her. It wasn’t until she had the box opened and was reading the note enclosed with the contents that she realized it wasn’t meant for her at all. The note was addressed to Ruairí.

No, Abby groaned. It was actually addressed to
…of all the absurd mix-ups in this crazy—

She stopped herself mid-mental rant and stared at the contents of the package. Bundles of letters neatly tied with ribbon. Three stacks of obviously aged paper, handwritten words scrawled in ink…gingerly flipping through them she could see the distinctive penmanship of more than one author. The neat block print being particularly familiar. Ruairi’s.

These were letters to his daughter. Niece. Aine. Her great-grandmother. Abby was torn between curiosity and feeling like an intruder as she looked at the surreal and very concrete proof of what Maggie had been excitedly telling her on the phone several weeks ago. When she had finally screwed up the courage to tell her mother about the man she was dating. Living with. Deeply loved.

Maggie’s reaction had surprised her. All it took was hearing the name Ruairí MacEibhir to get the older woman to start prattling on about fairytales and childhood stories her grandmother used to tell her. An Irishman with a great, kind heart and a brilliant smile. Magic eyes. The horse man. And his three sons. Maggie knew their names: Anrai, Ruairi and Tadhg. Of course, most of her stories had been about Anraí and Aine, a perfectly ordinary human girl.

Abby had sat there, phone cradled between her ear and shoulder, looking absolutely stunned. Telling Ruairi and Caitlin about the conversation only added to the number of stunned expressions in the New York condo. It wasn’t every day that you realized your roommate was your cousin, several generations removed. Or that your great grandmother had been raised by the man you now called lover.

But these letters Abby was now holding, Maggie had managed to keep them all these years and through many different moves. Letters from Ruairí and Anraí, letters from Máire…all to the human girl they had called daughter, sister, once she moved to the States. Some of them were less interesting for the content and more because of who wrote them. Máire’s letters were long and detailed, full of news from Connemara and the family. Ruairi’s were sometimes very short and concise, but still always signed with affection. Anraí’s…somehow Abby couldn’t find it in herself to read those. Brother and sister corresponding, she wouldn’t want people to know the things she and Eric shared with each other.

That stack of letters she set aside. She’d have Ruairí or Cait take them when they went to visit Anraí in Montana soon. He’d probably like to have them back. The rest? Well, she’d give them to Ruairi when he came home even if her first thought was to keep the ones penned by his late wife. What sort of nostalgia would those stir up for him? Did she even want to know?

Right now she needed to call Maggie and set her straight on a very important detail. She was dating Ruairí the senior, not his son. Handsome as the singer-songwriter was, he was not the MacEibhir that caught her eye or captured her heart.
Current Mood: crazy
Dr. Abby Lockhart
04 April 2008 @ 01:36 am
that scare me--Locked From All )

Ways I Handle Pain--Locked From All )

Secret Messages )

Songs That Describe My Life )
Current Music: Where Is Everybody-NIN
Current Location: chicago
Current Mood: contemplative
Dr. Abby Lockhart
18 March 2008 @ 05:41 pm
An exchange via email:

Abby and Eric discuss Maggie )
Current Music: keyboard mashing and swearing
Current Location: chicago
Current Mood: angry