Title: "The Broken Tower"
Fandom: Blade: Trinity
Pairing: Abby Whistler/Sommerfield
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters mentioned in this fic. Not mine, just borrowing.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Post-movie. Whistler thinks back on some better times.

And so it was I entered the broken world
To trace the visionary company of love, its voice
An instant in the wind (I know not whither hurled)
But not for long to hold each desperate choice.
-Hart Crane

Abby ran a hand through her wet hair, releasing a pent up breath of air, her shoulders slumping slightly as she finally managed to loosen up a little bit. She could still feel tension and adrenaline surging through her veins, but it was less intense than it had been an hour before and she was starting to feel like a regular human being again. Still, when she heard a movement off to her side, her head automatically whipped around as her muscles tensed, ready to fight before she caught sight of Hannibal and forced herself to relax again. Hannibal lifted up his hands in a comical sign of surrender before allowing his eyes to roam up and down her robe clad body, before forming a perfect 'O' with his mouth and placing a few fingers daintily over it. He then wiggled his eyebrows and whistled suggestively.

Abby rolled her eyes at him and turned around to continue in the direction she had been heading before he distracted her. "Oh, King?" she called over her shoulder before beginning to walk once more. "You need some new material." As she began walking again she just caught sight of him pouting and pretending to stab himself in the heart. She allowed a small smile to come to her face once she was around the corner and out of his sight, he WAS funny she had to admit that.

Passing by Zoe's room, Abby glanced in as she walked by. Sommerfield was sitting on the corner of her daughter's bed, her fingers tracing something in her lap as her raspy voice recited the rousing adventures of what were as best Abby could tell from her brief act of voyeurism, a bunny and cat. A gentle smile touched her lips, the last of the tension in her body fading away as she watched the precious scene in the bedroom, her body unconsciously leaning against the frame of the door as she settled down to hear some more of the story.

Moments after she leaned against the doorframe however, she heard Sommerfield's voice stumble and saw her head turn slightly towards the door. Abby knew that Sommerfield must have sensed her, well a presence, at the door. She waited a moment for Zoe to announce her arrival, but looking towards the bed she realized that the little girl was just on the verge of falling asleep.

"It's me," she said softly, her eyes still on Zoe, her voice soft enough that she hoped it wouldn't jar Zoe into wakefulness, but loud enough that Sommerfield could hear her. "Didn't mean to interrupt," she continued as Sommerfield smiled softly at the sound of her voice.

"You're always welcome," Sommerfield responded before turning her head to the side, her hand reaching out and tracing the edge of Zoe's night side table for a moment, before she reached over and placed the book she had been reading on it.

"What story was that? I liked it," Abby said as Sommerfield began to stand. She pushed off of the doorframe so that she was standing fully upright again, but stayed where she was.

"You couldn't have heard much of it," Sommerfield commented as she picked up her stick.

"You're right, I didn't," Abby replied as Sommerfield reached over and drew the blanket covering Zoe up further until it was just under the girls chin. "Maybe you could finish reading it to me tonight. Tuck me in," she continued her voice dropping slightly as Sommerfield straightened up.

"Aren't you a bit old for bedtime stories, Whistler?" Sommerfield asked, her voice the model of curiosity though her lips curved upward slightly.

"Maybe," Abby replied, her own lips forming a naughty smile. "But I'm just the right age to be tucked in," she continued, a strong, slightly calloused hand reaching out to brush Sommerfield's cheek gently.

"You're shaking," Sommerfield said a moment later when she detected a little tremor running through Abigail's hand. "What happened tonight? You didn't leave anything out did you?" she continued her voice becoming worried instead of playful like it had been moments before.

"No," Abby responded, her thumb stroking the smooth skin of Sommerfield's cheek. "I'm fine. Just cold," she continued realizing that the blonde would want an explain for her uncharacteristic shivers. "I just got out of the shower."

"Oh," Sommerfield breathed out, the hand that wasn't holding her stick reaching out to come to rest on Abby's waist, her fingers playing with the terry cloth she encountered for a moment. "I see," she continued, the throaty words sending a sensual burn coursing through Abby's body. "We should get you out of this and onto something warmer," she continued pressing closer to Abby's body, her head coming to rest on the taller woman's chest for a moment before she turned her head slightly, allowing her lips to graze across a bare patch of smooth flesh peeking out through Abby's robe.

At the touch of Sommerfield's lips against her skin, Abby instinctually moaned softly and wrapped her arms around the small blonde's waist. "That's a plan I could … get behind," Abby whispered softly, her hot breath tickling Sommerfield's ear, the answering shudder that ran through the blonde's body, warming her up instantly.


She ran her fingers along the bowstring, pulling it tighter and tighter. Her muscles burned and twitched with the effort as beads of sweat ran down her face and neck. She blinked against the burning in her eyes as some of her sweat dripped into them, shaking her head side to side as if that would help shake loose the tiny, stinging, drops of liquid.

Ignoring the pain, she picked up the bow, held it out in front of her, her arm straight and taunt as she stared down the length of it for a moment. She reached out for the string with her free hand and pulled it back, holding it for a long moment before releasing it. She watched the vibration of the string as it settled itself back into motionlessness. It only took a few seconds.

She could get it tighter.


She felt a warm mouth cover her hard nipple and sucked in a deep breath, releasing it in a hiss as the mouth that covered the sensitive tip bit down on it and then began roughly sucking on her. Her hips jerked roughly, seeking contact with the body on top of her, with anything really. She pushed the back of her head into the pillow forcefully and arched her chest.

"Oh god," she moaned as Sommerfield covered her other breast with her free hand, massaging it roughly for a few seconds before narrowing her focus to Abby's nipple, which she pinched and than began to roll between her fingers. "Oh, fuck yeeesssss," Abby groaned. "Jesus, oh god … harder," she continued as her hand came up to rest on Sommerfield's neck, just below her hairline. Her hips jerked again, and her free hand twitched and then slowly moved to wrap around Sommerfield's waist, before drawing the blonde closer to her. She then allowed her hand to rub at Sommerfield's back, before moving down to squeeze her ass, and then further down to rub her thighs before she shifted the blonde's leg, and brought it between her own.

Abby whimpered as her hot, wet sex first made contact with Sommerfield's thigh. God, that felt good, it felt so fucking good. Her eyes fluttered, and the hand on Sommerfield's neck tightened slightly, as she began to rub herself against the blonde's thigh, her hips bucking as she felt Sommerfield shiver against her, before her mouth and hands continued to ravage Abby's breasts.

She felt a hand on her hip, a long 'mmmmm' making its way out of her throat as she felt a thumb scrapping along the smooth skin of her hip, dipping down occasionally to rub at the top the of her thigh, so close, so very close to where she wanted those talented hands.

The hand that was on her hip, then pressed down, holding her hips down on the bed as Sommerfield moved her thigh back just far enough that if Abby bucked her hips again she was would encounter nothing but air. "Stop," Sommerfield rasped, looking down at Abby though she couldn't see her lover taunt and waiting beneath her. She could smell her though, and taste her, and feel the small shivers running through her body, she could feel her hips twitching beneath her hands, struggling not to buck though they so desperately wanted to.

"No, don't stop," Abby managed to chock out. "I'm not on board with that," she continued drawing Sommerfield's head down towards her lips, kissing her hotly and deeply as her other hand fondled the blonde's ass, before pressing down, drawing the blonde's pelvic region down, closer to her own.

Sommerfield laughed softly against her lips, the sound deep and hoarse. At the sound of it a bolt of liquid heat shot through Abigail and exploded in her sex. She could feel the moisture releasing from her body and bucked her hips instinctively seeking relief, but Sommerfield held out, holding herself just far enough away from Abby that she couldn't make contact with her skin though she could feel the heat from it.

Abby growled in frustration and then groaned, her muscles pulling tight as she threw her head back against the pillows and turned it to the side, her body straining uselessly.

Sommerfield's hand dipped down between her legs, two fingers firmly running the length of her sex. "YES, yeeeeeeeees," Abby hissed, a wolfish smile coming to her face as she moved her hips, seeking to increase contact with Sommerfield's fingers as they moved against her.

Sommerfield lowered her body, so that the majority of her weight was resting on top of Abigail, delighting in the contented sigh that emanated from the brunette as their stomachs and breasts brushed against each other. "You're so wet Whistler," she murmured softly, before moving her lips to brush against Abby's jaw. "You feel so good, and so wet. You're going to drown me."

Abby made an unintelligible noise in her throat, almost a mewling as Sommerfield's words washed over her. The rumbling sounds coming from her chest, turning into a ragged exhalation as she felt Sommerfield's lips nipping, licking and kissing their way down her chest, and across her stomach. She then began to whimper as Sommerfield's tongue flicked inside of her bellybutton, her breath coming in short gasps as the blonde began a series of firm, quick thrusts, fucking her bellybutton with her tongue.

And when Sommerfield's mouth finally descended on the moist heat at the apex of Abigail's thighs, her tongue picking up the rhyme it had set against Abby's stomach, her mouth simply opened wide, no sound coming out as her eyes flickered shut and the molten, coiling heat in the pit of her stomach began to expand outwards, until it exploded in an earth-shattering climax that left her shaking in Sommerfield's arms.


She stood on the dock, still as a statue as the wind blew past her, blowing her hair about her face as her eyes focused forward. The dock was lit by nothing but the moonlight, and a pair of streetlights burning fifty yards away.

She raised the bow that had been hanging limply in her left hand up. Hazel eyes focused on the mannequins ten yards away, and then locked on the red squares positioned where their hearts would have been were they real men.

Softly growled words reverberated in her head, Blade's voice telling her to "use it", use the pain, use the anger, use the hate.

She blinked as she saw the bowstring in front of her vibrate for a brief moment, and then blinked once more before focusing forward once again. She reached out quieting the bow with a partially gloved hand. In front of her were ten bulls eyes and ten very dead mannequins.


Abby slowed brushed an arrant strand of hair away from Sommerfield's face as the blonde's eyes began to flutter open, signaling her slow, reluctant journey to wakefulness.

Abby smiled softly. She didn't often get to see Sommerfield first thing in the morning, waking up. Sometimes they would fall asleep together, but despite that usually woke up alone, one of them sneaking off in the night or early morning depending on whose bedroom they had ended up in. It was usually hers, since it was far enough away from Zoe's that no sound would bleed through, though occasionally they couldn't take the time to wait the extra minute it would take to get to her room to start ripping each other clothes off, and they ended up in Sommerfield's bedroom.

Watching as Sommerfield turned around in her arms somewhat militantly, trying to shake off the wakefulness teasing her senses so that she could settle back down to sleep Abby smiled wider, and leaned down pressing a soft kiss to the blonde's cheek.

"Zoe'll be up soon," Abby whispered in Sommerfield's ear, knowing that the other woman was now mostly awake though she was stubbornly trying to fall back asleep. "She's going to come looking for you."

Sommerfield rolled in her arms again so that they were lying face to face after Abby had finished speaking. She groaned softly and buried her face in Abby's neck. Abigail laughed lightly, amused once again by how averse to mornings Sommerfield was.

"I could get her ready for school if you want to sleep," Abby said finally, hugging the smaller woman to her. Usually Zoe would bust into Sommerfield's room in the morning, jumping on her bed until her mother got up, and having seen the ritual quite a few times Abby had to admit that it seemed to be a very effective way of getting Sommerfield up in the morning. She was far less effective at convincing the other woman to get up and face the day however. Though, truth be told on the rare occasion when they did wake up together, she didn't really want to get out of bed herself.

"Would you?" Sommerfield asked sleepily, yawning against Abby's shoulder.

"Sure, it's no problem. I have to get up to anyway, I'm suppose to spare with King at 7:30. And if I'm not there, HE'LL come looking for me," she continued smirking at Sommerfield, loving the soft smile that came to blonde's face in response. At first it had surprised her, when Sommerfield had responded to cues she would have thought of as being visual, but she soon realized that the blonde was very good at picking up on verbal cues, and the variations in people's tones and speech patterns as indications of actions and emotion.

"Nobody should be that happy before eight in the morning," Sommerfield responded to Abby's insinuation that Hannibal might come calling. Their relationship was an open secret around headquarters, everyone (except Zoe they hoped) knew how they occasionally spent their nights, but nobody talked about it. Such was the nature of their relationships to each other, and their jobs. They all needed their own forms of comfort and solace, something that was theirs. Dex had his model trains that he spent hours, painting and assembling, Hannibal had "The Cheetah", "Stars and Stripes" and a number of other establishments that he favored, and she had Sommerfield. Not that Sommerfield was equivalent to a model train or a strip club, but like nobody bothered Hannibal about his clubs because they were his, and nobody bothered Dex about his trains because they were his, nobody bother her or Sommerfield about each other because they belonged to each other.

"Should I go dump her in the shower?" Abby asked watching as Sommerfield rubbed at unseeing, blue-gray eyes sleepily, resisting the urge to cup her jaw and trace her features lovingly. Her features turned serious for a moment as she thought about why she couldn't … wouldn't touch her, about why they pretended that it wasn't what it was. She … they were in … or at least she was … with each other. She was like a second mother to Zoe, worried about her, loved her, took care of her like she was her own. And despite the non-verbalization of it, and the early morning trips to separate bedrooms, she and Sommerfield were like an old married couple. They were like a family, they were in … and yet she couldn't … wouldn't say it. Because … saying it, would make it real and then, when the inevitable happened, when she didn't come back from a hunt, it would make it that much worse. Wouldn't it? If they said it, it would hurt more, so they didn't.

"Hey," Abigail felt small fingers brushing against her cheeks. "Are you okay?"

"Umm," Abigail responded right away even though she was still thinking about how to answer the question. She knew that it was at times like that that it was hardest on Sommerfield, waiting in the dark for someone to turn a light on, not being able to read her friends, her daughter's, her lovers face. "Just thinking," she continued a moment later, leaning forward and brushing her lips against Sommerfield's softly, lovingly … even though she wouldn't say it.

"Good thoughts?" Sommerfield asked sounding a bit dubious.

Abigail smiled. "About you. Always," she replied. They both knew it was an evasion, but it was one they could both live with.

"Okay," Sommerfield said as if steeling herself for a fight with a Panda. "I'm gonna get up now," she continued stretching, the blanket falling off of her and pooling around her waist much to Abby's delight. "Feel free to ogle me."

"I'd rather do other things to you," Abby replied nonetheless ogling away.

"You're the one that made the sparing session," Sommerfield pointed out, reaching out to pick up her stick from where she had carefully placed it the night before. "Have fun rolling around with King," she continued pulling her no doubt rumbled t-shirt over her head.

Abby groaned and buried her head into her pillow, as Sommerfield laughed softly and then headed for the door.


Abigail watched as Drake moved around the rubble that Blade had fallen into, circling him before finally coming to a stop by his feet. She removed her bow quietly and grabbed the retrofitted arrow, loading it into the bow carefully and taking aim.

Eyes focused on the monster below her she pulled back the string with a steady, vengeful arm.

She should have said it. That way Sommerfield would have known without a doubt that she loved her, that she was in love with her, and would always love her. Not saying it hadn't made it hurt less; it had made it hurt more. She should have said it. She should have said. She should have said, and Drake had taken away any chance that she had to rectify the situation.

She released the string, watching with grim satisfaction as if flew towards its target, fast, and hard.

She should have said it.

The End