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
Gallery. Show. Artsy-fartsy—shit! Abby dropped her earring in the sink for the third time and this time; of course, the thing went into the drain. Three being a magical number and all of that type of irritating thing. Why had she let Elizabeth talk her into this?

Oh, that’s right. Because you don’t really refuse when one of the very few female friends you have calls up out of the blue and asks you to spend an evening doing something socially acceptable for women of your age and stature. Besides, this was Elizabeth here. It was bound to be more interesting than just a stuffy showing with a herd of art snobs milling about. They’d be there of course, but they’d also be mocked, gossiped about and generally be an unsuspecting part of the show.

Screw the earrings. Abby looked fine without them.

Dressed in a smart (for her) pants suit and somewhat passable heels, Abby grabbed her purse and headed for the door. If she lingered any longer, she might be tempted to do something insane, like put on lipstick.
Tags: ,
Current Location: Someplace Spiffy
Current Mood: artistic
Dr. Abby Lockhart
After making sure Rory was feeling at least a bit more optimistic about his girlfriend’s state of recovery, Abby and Ruairi had gone through the routine harried dance that goes hand in hand with last minute travel plans. Plane tickets, packing a bag, handling work absences and then the maddening adventure of dealing with airport security at JFK and the crowds at O’Hare left very little time for Abby to dwell on why they were back in Chicago.

They’d checked into a hotel not far from where she used to live, they used to live, Abby reminded herself. Those last few months, the silver-haired man had all but moved in with her. She spent most of that first evening calming and caring for Ruairi, he really did not enjoy the human method of long-distance travel. Abby felt bad that he’d suffered on her behalf, but not so bad that she’d wished he’d stayed home. No, she was selfish enough to want him there despite how miserable he felt.

Throughout the funeral service she’d held his hand, stayed by his side. Afterward, when she’d been asked by her former colleagues to take the ride back to County with them in the black limo, she’d hesitated. She felt like an outsider now. She hadn’t been there that day, hadn’t gone through the same struggle and loss the rest of them had. Did she really have the right?

Abby was still standing there, debating, maybe waiting for one of them to make the decision to leave without her…
Tags: , ,
Current Location: Chicago
Current Mood: sad
Dr. Abby Lockhart
Coffee dates with friends--this was something of a novel concept for Abby. Still, it was a much needed break from the sudden personal clusterfuck that had descended on her New York family. And Elizabeth, severe and dictatorial as she may be, was often a good influence on Abby. A calming influence. Soothing. She refused to think about the hows and whys of that as she walked into the corner coffee shop not far from Cait's Manhattan condo.

The brunette physician scoped out the area, decided she'd rather snag an outdoor table than sit inside and opted to wait for Liz before ordering. As she sat at the small table, Abby wondered how much she could get away with unloading on her friend. She also tried to figure out the most concise way of catching her up on the life of Abby Lockhart since they last saw each other.

There probably wasn't a way to do that, she realized. Too many things have happened.
Tags: ,
Current Mood: anxious
Dr. Abby Lockhart
28 April 2008 @ 01:45 am
Abby's been up for a while now, sneaking out of the Murphy's guest cottage had taken some doing. Untangling herself from a sleep-heavy púca was never easy, especially when the goal was to not wake him up in the process. Once out of the bed and actually dressed, she wasted no time leaving the quaint little house and making her way across the property to where her car had been parked alongside the Murphy's vehicles.

She's on a mission and rather amused with herself as she returns from the nearby town. She stopped at the first bakery she could find, placed an order and decided to make a few other stops before returning 'home' with her prize. She's given up trying to figure out what to get Ruairí for his birthday, after all he's only had more of them than anyone she can possibly fathom. What do you get someone who is more than
sixteen hundred
years old, anyway?

No, the cupcakes and fresh flowers will have to do. And herself of course. She laughs at herself as she lets herself back into the dwelling she and her silver-haired lover have been calling theirs for the last week. He's still in bed. Good.

She leaves the bakery box on a small table and rummages through the shopping bag she also has with her. It doesn't take her long to pull the paper backing off of a large gift bow and affix it to the collar of her t-shirt, let her hair down from the ponytail she's had it pulled back in or to place a single candle in one of the cupcakes. Carrying it and her lighter with her, Abby makes her way into the bedroom, grinning.

She waits until she's sitting on the edge of the bed, as close to Ruairí as she can be without actually touching him, before lighting the candle. Leaning over she brushes her lips across his jawline. "Wake up, sleepyhead..."

Another kiss, this time to his bare shoulder. "Ruairí..."

"Birthday boy..." She smiles as she kisses his ear, murmurs softly, "Don't make me sing..."
Tags: ,
Current Location: New York
Current Mood: amused
Dr. Abby Lockhart
Abby smirks as she empties the paper bag from the corner market. Several pints of Ben and Jerry’s (sadly none in Patrick Swayze flavor), the six-pack of diet coke, and a box of microwave popcorn. Pizza will be ordered later. She and Cordy are going to enjoy themselves tonight or go into a junk food coma in the attempt.

On the coffee table is a stack of DVDs, the special edition re-release of Dirty Dancing being on top. Just in case they get tired of watching that one (as if that’s going to happen in this lifetime) there is also Road House, Ghost and Point Break. There may also be bottles of nail polish, cotton balls and other necessities for doing one’s nails. Abby smirks as she heads into her bedroom to change out of her work clothes.

As she pulls on her pajama pants and matching button down shirt, she sighs. This is one of the few things she’ll miss about living in Chicago. No Neela and no Cordy to hang out with and be low-key and silly. Who knows if her new roommate to be would enjoy a Swayze night of singing into ice cream coated spoons and dancing around the living room. Would Cait even find the phrase “I carried a watermelon” hilarious?

Abby shrugs, doesn’t matter. Tonight is going to be fun.
Tags: ,
Current Mood: cheerful
Current Location: Chigao apartment
Current Music: Dirty Dancing Soundtrack
Dr. Abby Lockhart
29 February 2008 @ 02:42 am
“Half-babies no good. Phooka babies no good.”

Abby could hear its creepy, grating voice even now. It unnerved her at the time, it terrified her in her dreams and even in the light of day it made her pull her sweater around her body more securely. Half-babies. Half…part one thing and part another. Human, púca, faery…horse. Who the hell knew? She certainly didn’t.

Ruairí had tried to reassure her that the little creature was harmless, if distasteful and to ignore it, but how do you ignore something like that? How do you ignore the implications of its simple, almost child-like logic. No good. Half-babies.

Abby closed her eyes and groaned as she leaned against the closed bathroom door. She spent most of the morning telling herself she was being stupid. Paranoid. Neurotic. Crazy. There was absolutely no reason to be in such a panic about things. About utter nonsense. None of her self-badgering managed to convince her, she still went down to the corner drug store and picked up a test.

She’d thought about grabbing test strips from the hospital but the last thing she wanted were nosy coworkers asking questions if she got caught. The rumor mill at County could be vicious. No one there really even knew she was seeing anyone. Another groan at the imagined rumors people would spread. No, the do it yourself, over the counter variety worked just the same.

Not that she even had a reason, or a rational one at any rate, to take the thing. She needed to reassure herself. Confirm what logic dictated. She wasn’t pregnant. She hadn’t been late last month, she has always been careful with her birth control and her body seemed to run like clockwork. Predictable.

Oh but the nagging doubt. Alcohol had no effect on him. Most drugs she’d suggested for various things were met with a dubious ‘who knows if or how’d they’d work’ sort of attitude. Sure, the pill had worked for her ever since she began relying on it years ago, but who was to say if it was effective against his púca genetics?

She sighed.

These were not the sort of relationship questions a woman should have to ponder.

So she’d take the test. Prove to herself that things were fine and that there were no babies, half- púca or otherwise, in the picture. Then she’d make sure there never would be. If the thought of having a child scared her, and it did, the thought of adding so many more unknowns to the equation terrified her.

She wasn’t meant to be a mother, probably wasn’t even fit to be one. She didn’t want children. He didn’t want any more children. If he were human, Ruairí would be the perfect man for her in that way. But he’s not and maybe he isn’t.
And oh, God, please let me not be pregnant.

She took the test, watched the stick as she chewed on her bottom lip and thought about all of these things some more. Abby couldn’t get the bizarre images from her dream, nightmare really, out of her head. That grating voice and it’s decree of no good.

Ruairí trying to reassure her.

Ruairí saying she was more than good enough to have his children, if that was what they wanted.

Ruairí confirming it wasn’t what they wanted.

Ruairí, Ruairí, Ruairí.

The test was negative. She tossed it in the trash and looked at the box. There was a second wand in there. No harm in making sure, right? Abby ignored the little voice in her head telling her she was being neurotic in the extreme. Tests like these could give false readings, after all.

Double confirmation would be better.

Anything to reassure her that the nightmare which brought her out of sleep covered in sweat and screaming this morning wasn’t possible. Wouldn’t, couldn’t happen.

She drank a glass of water and puttered around the bathroom for a while. Unwisely ran herself a hot bath and undressed. Not a smart move because she couldn’t resist the urge to look at herself in the bathroom mirror, run a hand over her flat abdomen and remember the scenes from her midnight terror:

Impossibly pregnant. Belly large and rounded. Waddling as she walked, hand braced on the underside of her swollen abdomen as if to offer support. Balance even.

Then she was in a hospital room. Scratchy paper gown. Talking to a technician who was waving a sonosite wand. But it was his eyes she kept staring at. They were dark. Impossibly dark and the irises so large they obscured the whites of his eyes.

He, it, spoke with that same scratchy, irritating voice of the creature she’d encountered. And what he said made the blood in her veins turn to ice.

“Congratulations, you’re having a Clydesdale. You sure you don’t want that epidural now?”

She screamed now, in the bathroom, just like she had this morning.

Then she took that second test.

She had to be sure she wasn’t even a little bit pregnant.
Current Mood: scared
Dr. Abby Lockhart
New York

The flight was...a flight. Crowded, noisy, uncomfortable and predictably behind schedule. There was also a small child in the seat behind her that insisted on kicking Abby's backrest for the duration. It only confirmed to her that there was a reason she is childless. Getting a cab and making her way to her hotel was another adventure in aggravation. By the time she let herself into her room (after having to go back to the front desk twice for the correct key), Abby was pretty sure she hated people. All of them.

She took a shower, hung her dress on the back of a door (prayed the wrinkles would fall out before Saturday)and pulled out a map to figure out where she needed to be tomorrow morning. Thankfully it looked like she could walk to the hospital. She'd deal with tackling public transit in New York at a later date. Like maybe never.

After briefly considering just crawling into bed, she changed her mind. The last time she'd gotten any real sleep was the day before yesterday. And she hadn't been alone. The big bed in her room just wasn't as inviting without Ruairí in it. She rubbed a hand over her face and shook her head. Stop it, Abby, it was one night. He even told you to have fun in New York.

Fun. New York. There was always Robin. Robbie Fellowes. She snorted as she thought of him as some sort of power-hungry music mogul. She guessed that was how the vast majority of the world saw him. She thought of him more along the lines of an annoying older brother. Or maybe that bad kid down the street Maggie didn't want her to hang out with, which meant she did. Yeah, that was Robin.

She got dressed, jeans and a sweater, dried her hair and dug through her planner until she found his office address. At least she could have the hotel personnel hail a cab for her this time.


Abby stood in the middle of the plaza looking up at the skyscraper. This was the address she'd been given. Does he do nothing in small scale? Ever? As she pushed her way through the crowds of people in business suits and other, more creative clothing choices, she shook her head. Hopefully they'd actually let her in to see the crazy hobgoblin.

"Robbie Fellowes." She repeated her request to the receptionist sitting at the high, sleek desk, some grotesque work of modern art hanging behind her on the wall. "I'm a personal friend."

"Of course you are. They always are." The woman eyed her critically. "Of course they're usually a lot more..." She arched an eyebrow at Abby's icy glare.

"Just call the asshole away from his game of kill the mailboy and tell him to get his Segway riding ass down here because if he doesn't Dr. Lockhart is going to do more than pull his hair the next time she sees him."
Dr. Abby Lockhart
13 February 2008 @ 04:25 am
from here WARNING: adult content in the comments. Offended? Don't read. Not interested in complaints.

She's still laughing as she tugs him towards the green door of her apartment. "So you don't have a problem with an audience?"
Current Mood: flirty
Dr. Abby Lockhart
09 February 2008 @ 06:03 pm
Abby sighed as she looked at her reflection in the glass doors to the shop. This was not going to be fun. It wasn't the company she'd be keeping, she actually really appreciated any help she could get, it was the actual act of finding a dress that might kill her. A dress. A gown. There'd be lots of changing involved. Probably talk of different underwear. The right bra. Stockings. Garters...dear God what was she doing here?

She opened the door and let herself in, giving the sale person a glare that said 'Do not approach me and be obnoxiously excited'. Chandler Bing better be worth all of this effort.

The thought made her groan. She was getting worked up over a guy. Actually worked up. Her stomach hurt, she was nervous and for fuck's sake, she was going to buy a formal gown (and shoes). She hung her head and took a deep breath. "I hope Elizabeth knows what she's getting herself into..."

Where was her dress expert anyway? Abby looked around trying to locate her.
Dr. Abby Lockhart
06 February 2008 @ 09:14 pm
prompted by this post and this one as well. this too.

She'll do it her way... )

Abby Lockhart//ER//569
Dr. Abby Lockhart
28 January 2008 @ 01:11 am
Prompt 21.8 "Mystery Date" ~ writers_muses

taken from a conversation that happened here...

“But if you ever change your mind, about either the ride or dinner…” Abby flips a now battered business card over repeatedly, bending the corners with her fingertips as she recalls the offer made to her by the gallant man with the silver hair and distinguished accent. She shakes her head, smirks. Did she really just describe someone as gallant and mean it?

She bites her lip as she studies the name and number on the card. Should she? Shouldn’t she? He did offer and it’s not like she has anything else to do with her evening. She never bothers to make plans, her schedule keeping her busy enough that she usually prefers to spend her free time sleeping. “Your last date was with a guy who’s most memorable trait is the motorcycle he rides…how bad can this be?” The brunette doctor asks herself, goads herself into picking up the phone.

Ruairí MacEibhir—She’s glad he said his name a time or two during their chance meeting, otherwise she’d never know how to pronounce it. As it is, she can barely convince herself it actually happened, the business card in her hand the only proof that she isn’t completely out of her mind.

She dials the number and waits as call rings through.