"Luka, how did you get this scar?" The question had been an innocent one, asked as he and Abby had shared the intimacy of post coital drowsiness. She'd been curled alongside him at the time, trailing her fingers along his skin as if she were trying to memorize every detail with her touch. When she had reached the dimpled imperfection in his thigh she had paused, and he knew he would never forget the furrowing of her brow as she rose up on her arm so she could see with her eyes what her fingers had first discovered.
"It looks like a bullet wound." Even as she identified it she'd dared him to prove her wrong.
"It is...don't." He'd pushed her hand away then, and something in his tone had warned her against asking more about it. She hadn't heeded the warning though, and despite his words she had persisted.
"How did it happen? Luka, please, tell me." She lowered herself back to rest on his chest, thinking to make it easier for him to talk if he were not forced to face her directly.
"Did it happen during the war? The question came even more quietly, as if she somehow thought that alone might make it easier for him to explain.
"Yes." Luka's voice held a finality to it as he offered the confirmation, and she found herself wondering if he wouldn't have fled the bed if it weren't for the fact that her weight still held him there.
"Will you tell me about it?" She wasn't sure why she didn't let it go, though his sigh clearly revealed his patience was almost at it's end.
"There's nothing to tell, Abby, I was fleeing Vukovar, I was shot. Now let it go." Sliding out from under her he made his way to the bathroom without saying anything more, as the door clicked closed behind him she realized too late that she'd pushed him too hard. One day she would learn, one day.