TITLE: Something in the Way

AUTHOR: Ellen Hursh

RATING: PG-13

KEYWORDS: KW/LKo romance; medical stuff (sorta); sexual situations (again, sorta)

TIMELINE: Around the time of "Abby Road"

CROATIAN: 6'4". Why d'you ask? Seriously. Nothin' new, this go 'round.

DISCLAIMER: "ER" and all its characters belong to Warner Bros. No infringement of their copyright is intended. This story was written for the enjoyment of "ER" fans everywhere, and may be downloaded for your own pleasure.

SUMMARY/SPOILERS: Flu and a new med student hit the ER

SONG: "Something" - written by George Harrison, performed by the Beatles... off the album (say it with me) Abbey Road.

PREVIOUS INSTALLMENT: Relative Safety; Off to a Rocky Start; Troubled Water; Comin' Home

AUTHOR'S NOTES: The title of this story, "Something in the Way", should NOT be confused with the Nirvana song of the same name. :-)

PREVIOUSLY, ON MY ER: Luka, at Kerry's insistence (though he didn't need *THAT* much convincing :-), moved out of his sleazy apartment and in with her, they celebrated with a toast of Croatian hooch.

He was awakened by Kerry scrambling out of bed and hauling ass to the bathroom with that curious three-legged gait she had - the sound of her being very, very sick was what really got his attention, since they'd been a little haphazard about contraception recently. Funny, that that should be the case, he thought dazedly as he lurched out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom to check on her, you'd think doctors would be even *more* careful than the average crackhead or dim-witted teenager. But then, ask Carol Hathaway how "careful" doctors could be.

He wasn't sure whether or not he should be relieved when he reached her side and found that she felt very warm and hoarsely yelped when he tried to rub her shoulders. She spat into the toilet, and turned to him, red-eyed and snuffly. "Can you get me my nightgown, please? I'm a little chilly." Slight fever, hoarseness, muscle aches... sick, then, not pregnant. He tried to convince himself that he *was* relieved not to be facing fatherhood again, just yet, but found he wasn't having much luck - he kidded her sometimes about kids and grandkids, but he *was* genuinely interested in being the father of her children one day - he sometimes dreamed of children with the orange and black hair of their parents. When - or even *if*! - it happened, though, he wanted it to have been Kerry's choice: her choice to conceive them, and her choice to bear them.

"Yep." He made a face as he returned to the bedroom - that flannel nightgown was one of his *least* favorite of all of her garments: it was plain, drab, shapeless... everything she still seemed to think she was, despite his continuing efforts to convince her otherwise. But nightgown was what she wanted, so nightgown was what she was going to get. *Ugh.* At least it was soft and warm, and would be gentle against her skin until he could slide her into the shower. He usually didn't help her put it on - he preferred taking off *anything* she tried to wear to bed, in fact - but this time he managed to overcome his distaste for it long enough to ease it over her head and cuddle her, until she stopped shivering.

He got her under the covers to warm up a little, then went downstairs and heated some water for tea, and brought her a cup of her favorite herbal blend with a few spoonfuls of honey. He watched anxiously as she cradled the warm mug in her hands and sipped the tea slowly. "You'll be all right by yourself today?"

"What?"

"You *are* going to call in sick, and take it easy today, right?"

"No!" The vehemence of her answer, though, set off a long coughing spell, and Luka held her during it... wincing at the horrible sounds she was making. "Just-- I'll take some medicine, I'll get a shower, and then I'll be fine to go to work." He raised his eyebrows at her.

"Where you can infect the few people in Chicago who aren't *already* sick? Stay home, you have plenty of sick days, don't you?"

"Tha!a!at's," she coughed, "not the *point*! I have a du!ty to my *job*--"

"You have a duty to your own health, first," he insisted. "You won't be of any use to anybody if you make yourself even sicker than you already are."

"I need a shower, and I'll be fine," was her only reply to that. He made an abrupt gesture, and began pacing and muttering in Croatian - she suspected she was glad she couldn't understand what he was saying - but finally gave her a hand out of bed and onto her feet.

"Come on." He helped her into the shower and, on impulse, climbed in after her - the flu seemed to have her feeling tired and weak. Besides, it was just fun to shower with her: while he hadn't yet figured out the ideal way for them to take advantage of the shower, he could still grope her a little under the spray. He wound up holding on to her, supporting her as she bathed, and washed her back for her as she leaned against him with her forehead resting against his chest.

She protested, though, when he eased her away from him and leaned in for a kiss. "I don't want to give you this bug - it's no good if *both* of us are sick." He kissed her anyway, slyly parting her lips with his tongue at the last minute, and then tried to kiss his way down her body. She grabbed his head, though, when he'd only reached her chest.

"We've - mmm - been sleeping together for pretty much the entire incubation period," he reminded her, and he gave one breast a good hard suck, which dragged a little moan out of her. That, in turn, caused him to smile: he enjoyed making her feel good. "If you were going to give me anything, I already have it. But I don't think I'm going to get sick - knock on wood," he playfully tapped his own head. "I haven't even had a cold in..." he counted quickly and silently, "probably twenty years."

"I don't want to hear you complaining, then, if you start sneezing and being sick all over the place," she warned him, her voice squeaky and faltering a little as he idly played with her nipples, but he shrugged.

"I wouldn't dare. You're merciless enough to residents who complain." He smiled as he said that, though, and was quickly on his knees in front of her, with his arms wrapped around her thighs to hold her up. He had to tighten his grip on her after he started humming - the exercise hadn't just helped Daniela when she was in labor with Jasna, it had helped them pass the time until she was medically cleared for regular intercourse - and the noises she was making *really* gave him cause to smile. .

* * * * * *

He continued to take charge of her after he lifted her out of the shower, towel-drying her very gently and smiling as she leaned against him. "You can't doubt that I love you, Kerry," he observed. "That I can see you looking this way, and *still* think you are supremely beautiful?" Beautiful? She saw herself as looking like a drowned rat (a red-headed rat, at that) with the sniffles, but she was never too sick to take an attitude with him.

"Prettier than Carol?" He rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

"Much. Besides, you're easier to carry around," he joked, and laughed when she punched his shoulder weakly. "Please. Go back to bed." He tried again to steer her in that direction, but she wiggled free and stuck her arm into the cuff of her crutch. "C'mon. You're not going to be much good to anyone, the way you are now." He followed her into the bedroom, drying himself as she collected items of clothing to wear today, and sighed a little regretfully when she began to get dressed: she had such a cute little bottom, and breasts that just fit his hand. He began pulling on clothes, too, although he wasn't due in for several hours - he'd sufficiently recovered from what they'd done in the shower to become self-conscious about his scars again.

"I can at least keep the place functioning. Malucci's undoubtedly going to be whining about how sick he is..." She took the towel back from him and rubbed at her hair as they went downstairs.

"'Back to work, Dave', I know the drill. You're just going to make yourself sicker." His arguments were, they both knew, only to make himself feel better - he'd lost his case several minutes ago. "At least let me heat up some broth for you. You need to eat something."

"I'm not hungry." Her stomach begged to differ, but they both ignored the rumble.

"Maybe not, but you still need to eat something. Some calories, at least, some fat and 'lytes, so you don't pass out in the middle of a trauma."

"Oh, all right. If it'll stop you nagging..." He grinned.

"If I thought all I had to do was nag, draga moja, I'd still be harping on you staying home." He opened the refrigerator and hauled out the big soup pot. She thought that was one of the more pleasant changes he'd made around her house: on the down side, she couldn't just go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and assume that the seat would be down (he really tried to remember every time, but he *was* a man, after all), but one of the pluses was that he always had some kind of soup going - it was nice, on a cold morning, to be able to have a good hot mug at a moment's notice - and this time it was good old chicken. He ladled some broth into a dish, and put it in the microwave. "I love this thing," he called to her over the sound of its humming.

"You've seen microwaves before."

"Uh-huh. I just love them. No substitute for *real* cooking, of course," he mused, resting against the counter, "but it beats having to get a clean pot just to warm something up." He turned to face her. "And you get free entertainment, watching the food go for a little ride," he deadpanned, twirling his finger in a circle. Kerry cracked up, as he'd intended - he liked hearing her laugh. What he *didn't* like was that rasp he heard in her laugh... he wanted to get his stethoscope and have a listen, but had few doubts about what she would want to *do* with that stethoscope.

He put the soup pot away - he wasn't in the mood for it, himself - and snagged an apple from the fruitbowl on the counter, watching her take little breathy sips of her broth. "Oh... do you mind that I'm giving Carol a ride to work today?" He *wanted* her to mind, to tell him that she didn't want him going anywhere *near* Carol or any other woman, but to his disappointment she simply shrugged as she put on her coat and slipped on her shoes.

"Do what you need to do, Luka." Did she *mind*? Damn right, she minded, Kerry thought irritably. How could he even *have* to ask if she *minded*? He frowned as she slammed the door behind her - was this another of her "quirks", or did she really *not* care?

* * *

Luka pulled up in front of Carol's house and was pleased to see that she was already outside waiting... both because he was in a little bit of a hurry and because he knew that if he'd had to go to the door, she would have had *something* that needed fixing. It wasn't exactly that he *minded* helping her, he supposed it was better than her paying somebody to do something that he was able to do himself. "Good morning," he called through the open window to her as she trotted down the walk. He leaned across and unlocked the door as she stepped off the curb and came around the front of his car. He waited patiently as she got in and fastened her seat belt, then pulled away from the curb.

Traffic was just heavy enough that he was too busy concentrating on the road to talk much, so Carol turned on the radio. He could do without her playing with the dial, though - a familiar guitar intro came on, and he absently swatted her hands away from the controls. "Wait -- I like this one."

"You listen to the *Beatles*?"

"Yes, I do." If she asks me if we have The Beatles in Croatia, he thought, I swear I will push her out of the car right here, and make her *walk* the rest of the way to work! She didn't comment, though, merely responded with a very small "Oh."

Something in the way she moves

Attracts me like no other lover

Something in the way she woos me

I don't want to leave her now

You know I believe her now

Somewhere in her smile she knows

That I don't need no other lover

Something in her style that shows me

Don't want to leave her now

You know I believe her now

You're asking me will my love grow

I don't know, I don't know

You stick around now it may show

I don't know, I don't know

Something in the way she knows

And all I have to do is think of her

Something in the things she shows me

Don't want to leave her now

You know I believe her now

Carol glanced over at him, and noticed the little smile on his face as he listened to the song; she preened slightly. At least *somebody* seemed to find her attractive... she sure didn't feel pretty these days. Not with a C-section scar grinning its way across her abdomen, and two babies who were conspiring to drive her nuts with their unwillingness to sleep at the same time. The song closed out in a flurry of slide guitar and violins, and his attention slowly drifted back to his passenger; he solemnly listened to her complain about having had to heat water on the stove to wash her hair, and idly wondered how she would have liked having to brave sniper fire in order to get that water in the first place... but that really wasn't fair of him.

He followed her into the lounge as they continued their conversation, and discovered that he'd somehow volunteered to check out her water heater for her. He sighed as he left to see patients, and would have been *really* unhappy, if he'd heard Carol over-explaining her association with him to Mark.

* * *

Kerry ducked behind the plexiglass window of the admit area as the man sneezed at her. Oh, *god*, why had she been so stubborn with Luka this morning? And Malucci was whining every bit as much as she'd expected, to the point that it was all she could do to keep from slapping him. Whew, easy does it, Kerry, *patience*, she reminded herself... then snarled at a random patient.

"I'm going home," she croaked, ignoring Dave's protests that *he* was sick, too, and cattily suggested that he get some Imodium and a mask - on second thought, sometimes the man was just too damned whiny to live. Luka casually followed her into the lounge, on the pretext of needing her signature on some forms.

"So you're going home, Kerry?" he asked her - they had an audience, in the form of a couple of interns shotgunning espressos - and tried on concentrate on something other than how much he'd like to continue what they'd begun this morning in the shower.

"Yeah. I hope I haven't passed it on to anyone *else* here," she told him meaningfully, as she read and signed the forms he gave her.

"Hm. I hope so, too." She signed the last form, then handed everything back to him.

"Was there anything else you needed, before I go home?" She immediately regretted asking the question, when she saw the familiar gleam in his eyes, but he shook his head.

"Nothing that can't wait. Go home, get better." He opened the door for her, then followed her out.

"If you even *whisper* an 'I told you so'..." she muttered. He patted her on the back, and held back a smile.

"Go home, Kerry." He watched her limp to the door, and shook his head... what a stubborn woman. Her mule-headedness was just one of the things he loved about her, though. What fun would it be, if he was with a woman who agreed with him all the time, no matter what? He preferred a woman who, rather than following him, was by his side... maybe sometimes even taking the lead a little. Daniela had been... well... she'd been different from Kerry, of course, but still a little pushy. Keeping up with her - mentally *and* physically - had been nearly as much of a full-time pursuit as his medical career. Life with Daniela had never been boring, that was for sure.

* * *

A kid came in who'd had a mishap while sledding, at the cost of several of his baby teeth, and he asked the doctor - a young woman he didn't recognize, and assumed was another resident who'd joined the program mid-year - what she wanted to do; the doctor rattled off a series of tests, x-rays and her recommendation for an antibiotic. He was surprised, therefore, when the "new resident" - one Abby Lockhart - turned out to be only a third-year student - well, that was a good sign, that she was confident in her abilities!

With Kerry out sick, he was even busier than usual and found himself examining a small boy with chalasia - the poor child was so young, and had gone through so many surgeries, his little abdomen was criss-crossed with scars. Abby watched this time, until Carol came in and "borrowed" her for something else.

He noticed that it almost seemed that Carol didn't like him being around Abby, but decided that his ego was just a little over-inflated today, for him to be thinking that she'd pulled Abby away out of *jealousy* - they were, after all, badly short-staffed today. By the end of his shift, he'd completely forgotten about the incident.

He hadn't wanted to believe Carol's suspicions - mothers were supposed to *protect* their children at all cost, not have painful, unnecessary procedures inflicted upon them - but the woman's obvious disappointment when he'd declined to order an endoscopy, and then the doctored saline he'd pulled out of the boy's stomach... sometimes he felt as though he was working in a madhouse. He stood outside in the ambulance bay, drinking coffee and getting a little fresh air... watching Cleo completely humiliate Mark at basketball.

Carol's reappearance, when she poked her head outside, startled him. "Luka, weren't you going to come by and look at my water heater?" Damn, he *had* promised.

"I'm sorry, Carol. Something else came up today. Uhhh, sure, I guess I can take a *quick* look at it." He wanted to get home and check on Kerry - he'd managed to snatch a few minutes to take a break and call her, and make sure she got home safely, but he was by nature a "mother hen", worrying about his loved ones. It was a trait that those loved ones often found both endearing and annoying.

* * *

When he finally escaped - she'd had several 'just one more little thing, since I have you here' things for him to fix - he was more than ready to get home and be with Kerry. He stopped at the store en route, and bought a roast, a few carrots to go with it, and a couple of eggrolls from the store's deli section: there hadn't been time to go get lunch *or* dinner, and he was hungry *now*... the eggrolls didn't make it even as far as the car, and he was still licking his fingers when he finally parked. The next door neighbor, Mrs Byrne, was walking her dog when he got out of the car, and he made a point of greeting her. She mumbled something, and kept walking past him. He laughed, and carried the bag inside.

Kerry was sound asleep on the couch - if he had to guess, he'd say that she was so tired that she lay down "just for a minute" after talking to him earlier - and he scooped her up in his arms to take her upstairs. "Well, I guess you needed your sleep, draga," he whispered - she was really out, even to the point of not waking up when he undressed her and tucked her in. With luck, she'd be willing to stay home for the next couple of days and work on recuperating... but he wasn't about to put a lot of money on *that* happening. He made sure to tap the switch on the nightlight that was plugged into the hallway wall socket, for later.

He headed back downstairs to deal with the meat... glad that Kerry didn't have any animals around the place. His brother had had a little dog that was barely bigger than that roast, but the stupid thing would have made a game try at eating it. He cleaned and chopped up the carrots, throwing the pieces into a roasting pan with the meat, and then added a couple of potatoes after dicing them. Now, a little red wine... and just a little ulje od bundeve... and it was ready for the oven - he really should have turned it on earlier to preheat it, but he knew how to adjust for that time.

In the meantime, he moved to the living room with a glass of the same wine, and picked out a CD of quiet, mellow jazz... and sat on the couch in a fatigued near-stupor as the music played, occasionally taking a small sip of wine. Soon, the CD had ended and he dragged himself to his feet to check the roast... oh, yes, that was a beauty. He turned off the oven, sliced off a couple of ounces onto a plate for himself, and put the pan back in the oven in case Kerry happened to come downstairs in the mood for something to eat. As he ate, he looked up every once in a while at the ceiling, as if that would magically make her appear. But she stayed where she was.