Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me.

Author's Notes: Well, here's part deux. Thanks for all your kind comments on
the first part, hope you like this one the same. Remember the flashbacks.

Archive: Let me know.



  Fire and Rain, Part 2: "Rain Falls Hard" by Carolina


  The outside was beautiful, the naked trees coated in a light mantel of snow.
There was a bird singing somewhere, but he couldn't figure out where. As he
looked around he realized everything looked even more familiar during the day,
and after a good night sleep. It was cold. Not that he wasn't used to that now,
but the wind made it worse here than anywhere else. There were young men
running down the sidewalk; women walking down the streets with their babies
practically covered to their noses with small coats and Winter hats.

  He started walking. It was something he had been doing now for almost 15
years and it was a habit he couldn't get rid off. His coat was wrapped around
him even tighter as the wind blew a little more forcefully, clearing little
spots off of hair on his head. He knew where he was going even without
thinking.

  Hunger was beginning to make its presence be heard in his stomach, so he made
a mental note to stop somewhere on the way back to the hotel. The river was
still flowing in the same direction, there were still little benches for people
to sit in and homeless men were still walking around despite the almost
unbearable coldness in the air. The old railing was still there, and as he
leaned into it and looked into the water he let out a sigh.

  Suddenly, too suddenly, everything felt as if he had never left. Suddenly he
was still living in Chicago and there was no Lakeside, no Tom, no Irene. There
was only a river and morning walks, bagels and too much coffee. There were 12
hour shifts that ended as if in a dream. There was a cozy apartment, and
women's clothes. There was a cat...


... "Luka, what's going on?"

  "Shh, just keep your eyes closed," Luka softly cooed to her ear.

  "Is this another one of those, 'Look, I cleaned the apartment' stunts?"

  Luka laughed, "No. I did clean, though."

  "Ok. Can I open them now?"

  "Just a second," he said as he set everything in front of the tree. He
hurried back to stand behind her and rested his chin on her head. "Ok, you can
open them now."

  "What's this?"

  "It's a cat," Luka said as if it was obvious, which it was.

  "You bought a cat?"

  "No, I bought us a cat," Luka said, kneeling on the other side and
reiterating the word us, watching as the cat played with her small fingers.

 "Us a cat?"

  "You're not gonna make me take him back, are you?" he teased, waiting for her
response as unclear emotions ran through her face and she finally looked up to
him with a smile. "What are you gonna name him?" Luka asked.

  "I don't know any cat names."

  "Come on," Luka said a little exasperatedly.

  "Ok, ok... Oreo."

  Luka chuckled, looking at the bag of cookies on the table. "Ok, Oreo."...


  If there were thousands of Star Buck's before, there were probably millions
now. You couldn't even step out without practically walking into one and as he
looked around, he just gave up on the idea of finding a nice place to get some
breakfast. You know how sometimes you get so hungry that you can't eat at all?

  When he walked out of the hotel again, all dressed up and shaven, it was
raining. Not light rain, or rain which fell like hundreds of miniature cotton
balls, it was frozen rain, falling down hard like hail. The rental car was
waiting for him outside, and as he got in he took a deep breath, closing his
eyes tight and opening them for a long ride.

  The sound of the rain smacking the windshield took him back to days of pop
corn and movies; days of cold winters but warm apartments with blankets and
pillows on the couch over a movie.

  "Hey, watch out, jackass!"

  He was brought out of his reverie but not in time to stop at the red light,
which he had not seen. Looking around to make sure there wasn't a cop near, he
kept going, hearing the angry drivers honk their horns and cussing at him from
afar.

  "Kiss my ass," he muttered under his breath as he continued to stare straight
ahead, listening to a song on the radio he was sure he had heard years ago
somewhere in New York.

  The old convention center's parking lot was empty, and a glance at his watch
gave an explanation. He ran in, covering his head with his coat, which was
quickly drenched.

  "Can I help you?" someone asked as soon as he walked in.

  Luka looked at the busy woman as he shook his coat, sending drops of water
everywhere. She looked busy, hovering over some papers behind a table.
 
  "Uh, I'm here for the conference," he said.

  The woman took her glasses off and looked at him from toes to head. "You're
early."

  Luka looked at his watch again to convey the idea that he didn't know he was
two hours ahead of schedule, but that didn't seem to diminish the woman's
frustration.

  She let out a small sigh, "Name?"

  "Luka Kovac," he said quickly, looking at all the name tags spread across the
table.

  "Wear this at all times, and you can go ahead and sit down. There's coffee
and donuts on the tables, if you're hungry. Here," she handed him a pamphlet.
"So you don't get bored."

  Luka took the papers on his hands and gave her an appreciative smile, "Thank
you."

  She didn't seem to hear him.

  The auditorium was warm, and he quickly poured himself a cup of coffee as he
looked over at the stage. Various chairs were sitting behind a long table, a
podium in the middle. After grabbing a glazed donut, he walked over and chose a
chair on the back.

  Silence again.

  Silence seemed to follow him everywhere he went. It was his loyal companion,
one that would never leave him, never judged him, was always waiting for him
after a long day. Silence was his best friend. He had grown used to it and it
had grown used to him. He would never be over powered by solitude because
silence would always be there. Luka Kovac was Don Quijote, and silence was
Sancho Panza. They traveled together around the world fighting mills of false
dreams and giants of disappointment.

  He took a sip of his coffee and looked at the papers on his hands. Just the
schedule for the conference. He was feeling a little wild, so he decided to put
it away, he wanted to be surprised. Ironic that they served donuts for
breakfast at a medical conference. But the American Medical Association never
ceased to amaze him.

  He closed his eyes, and dropped his head back. He could still hear the rain
as it hit the windows  of the convention center. It was soothing, as if, after
years of trying, he had finally stopped time. Now if he could find a way to
turn it back...


  ..."Kerry?"

  "Luka... you were supposed to be here two hours ago, where have you been?"

  He let out a sigh, "I, um, I had an interview. Someone offered me an
attending position somewhere else... I took it."

  "What?"

  "I'm leaving in two days."...

 
  "Hey buddy."

  Luka opened his eyes to the realization that the auditorium was full.

  "Conference is about to start," a man sitting next to him said.

  Luka shook his head and sat straight, wondering where his coffee went, and
hoping he hadn't drooled. "Sorry."

  The man looked at Luka and smiled, "If you're already falling asleep you
might as well stay home for the next few days."

  Luka chuckled and extended his hand, "I'm Dr. Kovac."

  "Dr. Jensen," the man said and shook Luka's hand. "Hey, if you wanna go back
to sleep, I can take notes for you," he joked.
 
  Luka chuckled again, "Sounds good."

  "Hello?" a man at the microphone said. "Testing, can you hear me?

  Various yes were heard from the audience.

  "Well, welcome to this year's AMA conference, I hope you're all enjoying the
nice Chicago weather outside," he started sarcastically and everyone chuckled.
"If you looked at your schedule then you already know what we have in store for
you. This year we are discussing hospital departments and ways in which we can
all perform a better job and offer the patient a more enjoyable experience.
You'll be hearing about how some of our hospitals and departments have already
achieved that goal and what many of you can do to..."

  Luka looked around, letting out a sigh. The man in the podium hadn't started
talking for 1 minute and he already couldn't concentrate. He looked around the
sea of white coats. There has to be a joke somewhere about how many doctors
does it take to screw in a light bulb. He guessed one screws it in and the
other one sends you the bill. But at least he didn't have to give a talk. All
he had to do was record the conference, then make a few notes at night.

  He let out another sigh.

  "Wanna sneak out?" Dr. Jensen said.

  Luka shook his head. "I have to report back."

  "Me too," Dr. Jensen said. "Reminds me of grade school. My buddies and I used
to pay the bookworm of the class and then he'd give us the notes. Meanwhile we
were in the gym shooting hoops and watching the cheerleaders rehearse."

  Luka shook his head. He liked this guy. "Where are you coming from?" he
asked.

  "Denver. How about you?" Dr. Jensen asked.

  "San Diego," Luka said, looking straight ahead.

  "Nice. I hear the weather is always perfect there," Dr. Jensen whispered
back.

  "It is," Luka said, but someone from behind shushed them. He decided to
really listen to what the man was saying, but his attention span was not
working very nicely today. Actually, it hadn't been working at all ever since
he came back. But he knew that would happen.

-------------

  "Ok, so, go out, eat something, we'll be back here at 1," the man at the
podium said.

  Luka stood up from his seat, grabbing his coat with him.

  "I hope they don't think I'll be paying for my own lunch," Dr. Jensen said.

  Luka just shrugged his shoulders.

  It was still raining outside, and he watched as little drops of ice hit the
pavement, some rebounding, some breaking, some adding up to the puddles of
water. He wrapped his coat around him and looked up at the sky. It was a little
warmer, but still cold. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the cold sandwiches they
were giving away, but the donut he had earlier had been enough.

  Is there something wrong when you actually miss bad weather? Not that he
minded the sun and the cool breeze, but he missed Winters. Snow. As weird as it
sounded, it was true. He shook his head, trying to prevent into falling down
that precipice that is playing the If game.

  He walked back in, looking around the place. As he leaned against a wall, he
opened the booklet he had earlier. A list of speakers laid on the 5th page and
out of boredom, his eyes wondered about. He smiled. 'Kerry Weaver- A Hospital
Within the Emergency Department'. He wouldn't be missing that one.

  As he put the papers back in his briefcase, he rubbed his nose and looked
around. Outside, there were dozens of smokers talking and scattering ashes to
the wind. Suddenly, though, this wasn't as bad as he thought this would be. He
had already made a friend, and it looked like he'd be seeing Kerry in a while.
He wondered how she was. He wondered how everyone was doing. But he would have
to leave with that question in the air. That was a question he did not want to
hear the answer to. Now did he care to know, or at least he fooled himself into
not caring.

  He dropped his head, as millions of voices whirled around him, some laughing,
some talking seriously, some boring, some exciting. There was a giggle, and
life ceased to exist.

  ..."Maybe you'd like to... go out, sometime."...

  ..."I actually enjoyed losing to you."...

  ..."You watch me when we make love."...

  ..."I miss you."...

  ..."Please don't fall in love with me."...

  ..."It's too late."...

  ..."You wanna... move in with me?"...

  ..."I love you."...

  ..."I love you."...

  ..."Goodbye, Abby."...


  They left him in mid air, flying, hovering over the heads which surrounded
him yet all of a sudden had disappeared. His heart had stopped beating, his
lungs breathing. Her hair was longer, but curled, and she was wearing glasses,
a conservative suit and a tag which read 'Dr. Lockhart' over her left breast as
she talked and laughed with some collegues, oblivious about his presence.
Suddenly it was too overwhelming, and everything around him began to spin, like
a windless tornado.

  He walked out.

  The rain hit him hard like little daggers, digging in his skin and making the
pain almost unbearable. He opened the car door and sat down, resting his head
on the steering wheel, catching his breath. He must have been there forever,
ignoring the conference which had resumed inside, and oblivious to the lack of
air inside the car.

  He looked up.

  Small beads of sweat ran through the sides of his face and all of a sudden
this all seemed like an over reaction. But he couldn't go back in there. Not
after he had worked so hard to put it all behind.

  So he drove.

  Where? He didn't know, but he drove these feelings away, he drove away from
the frustration and he drove until it was dark, until he didn't know where he
was anymore. It took him 2 hours to get back to the hotel.

  As he threw his bag on the bed, he sat down and grabbed a small menu sitting
on the table next to the bed. He wasn't even sure what he ordered, but they
promised to get it up there in 15 minutes.

  He laid back, dreaming of a bath, maybe while he ate. His mind was a
battlefield. Thoughts against thoughts, poles against poles, positive against
negative. He felt like a puppet being operated by the puppeteer that was the
past. The more he tried to get free of those strings, the more they made him
dance against his will.

  If he could just stop thinking about everything, things would go back to
normal, back to the way they were a couple of months ago. But he knew that
wouldn't happen, not while he was here, not while he was walking through the
same streets where he had walked years ago. Outside, there was a hospital that
had changed his life, co-workers that had made him laugh and stomp in
frustration. There was a mean little boss who always reminded him of the
chicken hawk, and there were good times. There were bad times also. Those
seemed to tug at his heart and nearly caused him to cry.

  His life had started a long time ago. He had met thousands of people, too
many to get together in one universe. People always hold on to memories and
they cherish them forever. He had lived ignoring those nice memories and only
holding on to the bad ones. It was one of his vices, and he knew it. It felt
better to be down than up. When you're up, you might fall. When you're down,
you've got nothing to lose. You're invisible, and blind. You're immortal.

  The telephone rang, but it didn't startle him. He kept looking at the ceiling
as he picked it up and put it on his ear. "Hello?"

  "Luka?"

  He creased his eyebrows, "Who is this?"

  "It's me."

  He hated the 'It's me'. He sat on the bed, rubbing his eyes. "Me whom?"

  "It's Irene, don't you recognize my voice?" she said in a teasing tone.

  Luka looked up, "Oh yeah, I'm sorry," he smiled.

  "What's going on over there?" she asked again.

  "Nothing," Luka answered.

  "How's the conference?"

  "Boring," Luka said, laying back on the bed.

  "Well if you're gonna be that descriptive..."

  Luka chuckled, "I'm just tired."

  "Yeah, I just finished a 12 hour shift myself," Irene added.

  Luka just pressed his lips together, but didn't say anything. Suddenly there
was a knock at the door and he sat on the bed. "Listen, I have to go."

  "Oh," Irene said.

  "I'll... I'll see you when I get back," Luka added.

  "Yeah," Irene said, distant. "Listen, um, we need to talk... when you do come
back."

  Luka nodded, and another knock made him look towards the door. "Ok."

  "Ok, see you next week."

  "Bye," Luka said and hung up the phone. With a sigh, he opened the door to
receive food that would remain on the tray all night and eventually turn so
cold, it would be inedible. The metaphor was all too familiar.


To be continued...


"I appear at times merry and in good heart, talk, too, before others quite
reasonably, and it looks as if I feel, too, God knows how well within my skin.
Yet the soul mantains its deathly sleep and the heart bleeds from a thousand
wounds." -Hugo Wolf