I'm technically proficient

...despite certain attitude issues

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I need help [RP for Lee] (spoilers for tonight's ER)
standing in the elevator
After a strangely jarring conversation with the new hospital chaplain, Abby finds herself taking the elevator upstairs, to the surgical department. Making her way to her husband's office, she waffles outside the door, pacing, stalling.

It's not until she sees one of the surgical nurses casting a curious look in her direction that she knocks softly on the door, then pushes it open. She takes a deep breath, running her fingers through her hair, and lets the door close behind her as she steps into Lee's office.

She begins to speak but has to clear her throat before she tries again.
Hey...how's the leg feeling? She approaches her husband slowly, gesturing to his injured leg.

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He nods, looking down as he clenches and unclenches his hands around the crutches. I don't think anyone ever *wants* it, Abby.

She blinks, not sure what he's implying. I guess not.

He looks up at her then. I know you didn't set out to sabotage yourself, okay?

Or us. Our family. It's important to her that he knows that; it's more important now than herself, alone.

He wants to believe her but can't reconcile the fact that she never wants his help with anything and the words she's saying now. I'm sorry if I did anything to cause this.

You didn't. She assures him quickly; she knows this is her fault and hers alone.

I must have done something if you couldn't talk to me about things. He persists. Why didn't you just tell me things were bad instead of drinking? I don't understand that.

The elevator door opens and she looks at him and shakes her head slightly, not wanting to discuss this while they're walking through the ER.

He understands that their conversation is put on hold for now as he follows her through the ER and out of the hospital.

She relaxes slightly when they walk outside, glad to be away from their coworkers, though she'll wait until they're in the car to continue their conversation.

He's a little slower getting to the car now that he has to deal with the uneven ground outside.

She stays close to him, recognizing his more careful movements, keeping an eye on the patches of ice.

He reaches out to grab her arm once, not wanting to slip.Sorry. Sometimes I really wish I hadn't moved someplace with even worse winters.

She holds onto his arm after he grabs her, and shakes her head. You haven't gotten used to it yet?

He'd shrug but that's hard to do on crutches. I'm used to it, I just don't enjoy it. Not when I'm hobbling around like a gimp.

She nods as they reach the car. Need help here?

If you can get the door? He asks, fairly confident he can handle things from there.

She uses her keys to unlock the car, then opens the passenger side door for him, waiting by the door for him to get in.

He sits sideways in the seat as he places the crutches behind him it he back seat of the car, hopeful that after a day or two he won't need them. Turning around and pulling on his seat belt, Lee looks at her. Thanks.

She nods and makes sure he's settled before closing his door and rounding the car to the driver's side. She slips in and fastens her own seatbelt before pulling out of the parking space. She's conscious of the fact that they'd left a conversation hanging in the elevator, but she's not sure how to bring the subject up again, or even if she should.

He'd like to continue their conversation, would really like to understand why she never comes to him when she needs help, but he doesn't know if he should push her right now. Instead he studies the passing scenery as they head home.

She takes her cue from him, keeping her eyes on the road, her mind on the tasks she'll have when they arrive home. The radio had been playing when she started the car, and she flips through the stations at random, distractedly.

He finally reaches over and puts his hand on hers, stilling the channel surfing. Is it me that you don't think you can rely on, or everyone in general?

She returns her hand to the steering wheel, gripping tightly. What?

You don't need me, or want to need me, whatever. Amounts to the same thing, doesn't it? He can't look at her as he speaks, afraid of how she's going to reply. You never come to me when things are hard, you want to do it on your own. I don't understand why. Why you didn't want me there when your father was dying. Why you wouldn't tell me you wanting a drink...do you think I'm incapable of being any help?

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