Going Home
Part Four
By Cathy Roberts
huntersglenn@yahoo.com

A John Carter/Luka Kovac/Dave Malucci Story. Rated PG. Contains
spoilers for Season Six. Last episode seen was "Be Still My Heart".

"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. However this
story may not be used, distributed or archived without the
permission of the author.

As always, I wish to say a big "Thank you" to Melissa, who
edits what I write and makes sure that it all makes sense.



While Luka was gone, Dave kept bathing John's face and neck, hoping
that this immersion was working. As a friend, he didn't like
seeing John this ill. As a doctor, he knew that John was seriously
ill. He needed to be in a hospital and not stranded in a motel
during a blizzard. He tried to talk to John, but John was still
delirious, so the conversations weren't making a lot of sense to
Dave. He had no idea who some of the people were that John kept
talking about -- and to. Although the frequency in which he kept
mentioning Bobby and Dennis led Dave to believe that they were
important to John. He was becoming convinced that the "Anna" that
John kept talking to, was Anna Del Amico, and he wondered just
what had been between the two of them when she had worked at
County General. And if she was the Anna he kept asking for,
then it must have been so very difficult for John to have to
stay in the same room with her husband. And to think that just
a few minutes ago he had thought that John was lucky. Once
more he ran through the possible symptoms of the drug interaction
between the cold medicine and the Nardil. Agitation, confusion,
sweating, dangerously high blood pressure, a high fever, rapid
heart beat, rapid breathing, altered mental status, seizures.
And the worst, a cardiorespiratory depression, then coma and
eventually death. What had they done to him? Why hadn't he
told them why he didn't want, and couldn't take the cold medicine?
Suddenly, a lot that had happened over the past few weeks made
sense to Dave. John wouldn't eat pizza, was only drinking decaf
coffee and sodas with no caffeine. Wouldn't go out with him to
grab a beer anymore. And Dave had joked with him about it, saying
that Cleo and her obsession with health was getting to him. John
had merely smiled back and told him that having a healthy lifestyle
wasn't a joking matter, then walked away. Well, John was far from
healthy right now, wasn't he?

John's body was still being wracked by coughing fits, and this
scared Dave. He didn't want John to develop pneumonia, but he was
afraid that it was happening. As another fit shook John's body and
made waves in the tub, soaking Dave's shirt sleeve once more, he
noticed that the water was cooling, and he wondered what was taking
Luka so long? It was definitely time to get John out of the water,
before he became chilled. He pulled the plug, then stretched as
much as he could -- which wasn't easy since one arm was still
cradling John's head -- and grabbed the pile of towels, pulling
them over to the tub.

He was beginning to lift John out of the tub when he heard the door
of the room open and then Luka was there to help him. As they
bundled John up in the fluffy towels, Luka told Dave what the plans
were.

"The manager doesn't have a cell phone, but one of the other guests
is a trucker and he went on his radio to call for help. The roads
are still bad, but the rescue squad is on the way. They will be
following behind a snowplow to get here. They'll be able to
follow the snowplow to the hospital. It will be slow, but John
will get there."

They carried John to the bed. "I guess that's better than
nothing," Dave said. Do you think this worked?"

"I hope so. You had him in there for about twenty minutes,
which should have been a decent amount of time. What do you
think?"

Luka was asking his opinion? This was a first. "I think that
sounds right. I've never had a patient with a fever this
resistant to treatment. But then again, I've never had a
patient whose fever was the result of mixing two drugs that
should never be mixed."

"Me either. Although I have had several patients with unusually
high fevers. But, they were the results of infections and not
influenza or drug interactions."

"Really?"

Luka nodded. "Back in Croatia."

That said everything. Dave had often wanted to ask Luka about
Croatia. Wanted to know if he had been in the army or if things
had really been as bad as the news had reported. But, he had kept
quiet on the subject, and now he was glad he had. The tone of
Luka's voice just now told Dave more than anything else ever could.

"Don't leave me," John whispered.

Dave looked down to see that John was staring up at him. "We
won't leave you, John. We're both staying right here with you."

"Everyone leaves me."

"We're here," Luka added.

"I'm scared," John said.

"Don't be. You'll be all right. We won't let anything happen to
you," Luka said.

John shook his head, "I don't want to be alone. I'm so scared
I'll end up alone. Everyone I love leaves me. Everyone. And
those who don't leave me push me away. Elaine. Kerry. Anna pushed
me away and left me. Why? What's wrong with me? I try to be a
good person and do the right things. Why?"

"I don't know, John. Women are strange like that. Hell, I get
dumped on a regular basis," Dave assured him. "Hurts like Hell,
too. But, it doesn't stop me from asking the next pretty woman
out on a date."

"So hot," John softly said.

"Luka, would you get the thermometer?"

"Sure." Luka found the thermometer and put it in John's mouth.
"Why didn't he say something about being on meds?"

Dave shrugged. "I guess he didn't want people to know that he
was suffering from depression."

"That is stupid. Depression is an illness and it can be treated,"
Luka said. It angered him to think that some people treated those
who suffered from depression as if they were insane.

"I agree with you, Luka, calm down. I doubt if Kerry Weaver
knows about it though. She would have said something to you,
right?"

"I hope so. What are you doing?" Luka asked as he watched Dave
open his suitcase to take out a sweatshirt.

"I'm changing my shirt. It got wet while John was in the tub and
it's uncomfortable. I hope that the bath worked. I'd hate to
think that I got wet for nothing." Dave didn't want to think about
what would happen if it didn't work. Or if the rescue squad didn't
get there in time to help John.

"Is that all you can think about? The fact that your shirt got
wet?" Luka asked, not even trying to keep his anger in check.
He had known for a while now that Dave Malucci was full of
himself, but this topped it all. How could he be so callous
as to worry about getting his shirt wet when John was so ill?

Dave pulled off his wet sweatshirt and shook his head. "Relax,
Kovac. I was joking. Some people do that when they're...well,
when they find themselves faced with something bad or sad.
It's a coping mechanism, okay?"

Luka shook his head. "No, I don't think it's okay. What if
John overhears you saying something like that? How do you
think he would feel?"

Dave pulled on the dry shirt and jerked the waistband into place.
"The only way he's going to overhear what I said is if you keep
shouting in his ear. He's delirious and he doesn't know who he's
talking to..." if he was going to say anything else, it had to wait
because the thermometer chose that moment to beep and John decided
to have a coughing fit that surpassed the others he had endured.

Luka looked at the thermometer. "His temperature has gone down a
few points. Not enough." Luka quickly set the thermometer on the
nightstand, then reached down to pull John into a sitting position.
That seemed to help because his coughing began to stop. Dave
hurried over with his stethoscope and he listened to John's lungs.

"Well?"

Dave shook his head. "Not good. Lay him back down." Dave wanted
to see if that would make a difference to John's respiration.
It obviously did, because the coughing resumed, and between the
coughs John was now wheezing.

"Grab those pillows from the other bed," Dave said as he pulled
John upright. Luka retrieved the pillows and placed them behind
John's back. Those two pillows, added to the ones already on
the bed, managed to keep John elevated enough to relieve the
difficulty he was having breathing.

"Did they say how long it would take for the rescue squad to get
here?" Dave asked.

Luka shook his head. "Not exactly. It will be a while though."

"Shit."

Dave sat on the side of the bed watching John struggle to breathe.
Luka disappeared into the bathroom, returning with the damp
washcloth. He began to bathe John's face and neck again, knowing
that he should do everything he could to make John comfortable.

"Luka? Can I ask you a personal question?"

Luka raised his eyebrows. Dave was known for his nosy questions --
and for the fact that he rarely hesitated to ask them. "Sure."

"Have you ever lost a patient? I don't mean someone that came to
the hospital from a trauma, but someone ill and you couldn't save
them."

Luka shook his head. "No. With the war, most of my patients were
victims of one kind or another. What about you?"

Dave nodded. "Yeah. One. It was a student in Grenada. He had
eaten a fruit that wasn't ripe enough and he died from it."

"Ah, Jamaican Vomiting Sickness."

Dave looked up sharply. "You've heard of it?"

Luka shook his head. "I heard of it from John. He told me about
the patient you diagnosed. Your suspicions saved her life. At
least that's what John said."

"Really? He never said anything to me about it."

"He didn't want to feed your ego. There's only so much room in
the E.R., so if you're head keeps getting bigger then some of us
are going to have to find another place to work."

"I'm not that bad." Dave protested. When Luka didn't laugh, Dave
frowned. "Am I?"

"You are. You're always neglecting your patients."

"I do not neglect my patients," Dave angrily replied. "I treat
them to the best of my abilities."

"No. You take a quick look at them, then leave it up to the
students or the nurses to treat them. You're always on the prowl
for a more interesting case. Why? Why is it so important to you
to be the one to handle a bad trauma?"

"You probably know by now that I went to medical school in Grenada."

"You just said that a minute ago. What does that have to do with
anything? I didn't go to medical school here, either."

"I didn't see a lot of trauma cases. Not like what the students
see at County. Not by a long shot. Tourists with heat exhaustion
or occasional boating accidents. That's about it."

Luka thought he could see what Dave was getting at. "So you feel
that by going to medical school in Grenada, you missed out on the
experiences that your fellow physicians had. That they may be
better than you because of that."

"Yeah. Something like that."

"Well, then why did you go to school there in the first place?
Why not go to a medical school where you could get that kind of
training?"

Dave laughed, but it wasn't a laugh of humor. "I wanted to do
that. I really did. But, there wasn't a single medical school
in the good old U. S. of A. that would take me. When I went to
college, I acted like it was one big party. My grades were barely
passable, I spent most of my weekends drunk. In my senior year,
I finally woke up and realized that I had wasted those years. I
also knew then that I wanted to be a doctor. But, there wasn't
enough time to pull my grades up high enough to get into medical
school. At least not one in the states."

"What about your test scores? What are they called again?"

"MCAT's. Those were pretty lousy as well. If I could have aced
that test, or scored high, then that might have made a difference.
But, I didn't. So, I ended up in Grenada. At least it was close
to the states, so I didn't feel as if I was that far from home.
But being there made me miss out on a lot, and now I'm having to
play catch up so I can be equal to the others. Like you and John.
God, you guys are so far above me," Dave shook his head, "it's
not even funny."

"Well, I can't speak for John, but my experiences were born in a
war. I've had to work hard to learn how to treat patients that
aren't suffering from gun shot or shrapnel wounds. I'm familiar
with complaints that are war related -- malnutrition and pneumonia
from inadequate food and living conditions."

"Is that why you were working as a temp over here? Were you
trying to broaden your experience?"

"In a way. Being at different hospitals has exposed me to a wide
range of cases." Luka noticed that the cloth was drying, so he
went back to the bathroom to dampen it once more. He hoped that
Dave had not noticed the tears in his eyes just now. He wasn't
sure why talking about his travels would make him cry. Usually
he could talk about his past without letting his emotions get the
better of him. He was probably just tired. He wrung out the
cloth, then went back to John's side.

"So what was the other reason?" Dave asked.

"Other reason for what?" Luka kept his attention on John, hoping
that Dave would tire of the subject.

"Your other reason for all the travelling you did? That must have
been pretty cool, living on a boat."

"It was cool in the winter," Luka replied evenly. He couldn't
resist glancing over at Dave to see his reaction. Would he think
he was serious or joking? Sometimes the Americans didn't know
what to say when he made a joke. They were never sure if he was
being serious. John could always tell though.

Dave grinned, "I guess that's why you always headed south for the
winter."

"Right."

"So?"

"Florida is warm at this time of year, and so is the Gulf Coast."

"I wasn't asking about the weather. I was asking why you traveled
like that. Why not stay in one place?"

"Too many memories. Bad memories."

Dave was silent for a minute and Luka hoped that he was thinking
of another topic of discussion.

"You can't run from them, you know? They're always with you, no
matter where you go."

"Like your Jamaican Vomiting Sickness patient?"

"Yeah, like him. So," Dave grinned, "what's up with you and
Carol Hathaway? You've certainly been sniffing around her."

"Sniffing around her? I don't understand what you mean by that."

"Acting like you're interested in her. You know, in dating her
or something."

Luka smiled as he saw what Dave meant. "I think she's a wonderful
person. She's caring and witty. She's a brave woman for going
through her pregnancy alone. And her little girls are adorable.
She's a good friend and nothing more."

"Yeah, right," Dave scoffed.

"She is. She reminds me of my mother, and a little like my wife."

"Wife? You're married? No shit?"

"I'm married. Was married. That's one of the memories that I
run from. And my children's memories."

"Are they dead?"

Luka slowly nodded. "They were taken one night. I was working
at the hospital and when I came home, they were gone. Some of
the neighbors had managed to escape and when they returned they
told me that the soldiers took everyone on our street. It took
a few months before I found out they had been killed. I had been
so committed to helping my country, but after that, I couldn't
stand to be there anymore. I worked my way to Austria and then
made my way over here. But, I never managed to shake their
memories. Of course, living in apartment buildings with loud
and loving families didn't help me. They only reminded me of
what I had lost. So, one morning I woke up, took out an ad in
the newspaper and sold my car. On a whim, I bought a boat. Two
weeks after that I quit my job at the hospital and set sail.
And I haven't been still since then. Until now."

"And you realized that you couldn't keep running away?"

Luka nodded. "I did. It also felt right at County. I can't
really explain it."

"The people there are great," Dave smiled.

Luka nodded. "Yes, they are. And I think that at County, I
finally found a place where I could make a difference."

"I know what you mean. I feel like that, too." Dave glanced
down at John. "I think he's forgetting that though."

"February wasn't an easy month for him."

"From what I've heard, the past few years haven't been easy for
him. But, he's never tried to run away from his problems." Then
Dave remembered that John was now taking an anti-depressant. John
might not have run away from his problems, but he hadn't found a
way to deal with them either. Until now.

"Neither have you," Luka reminded him.

Dave shook his head. "Not true. That's what the first three and
a half years of college were all about. Running away from my life."

"And have you stopped running?"

Dave nodded. "Yeah, I have. I know that you don't like me, and
I probably can't blame you for that. I know that I can get
arrogant at times. Pushy." Dave glanced sideways at Luka. "You
can jump in here at any time to stop me."

Luka grinned. "Why? You seem to be doing fine all on your own."

"Gee, thanks."

"Don't mention it. Dave, you're right that I didn't have a high
opinion of you. You are arrogant and pushy and at times I think
you're reckless with your patients. But, I also think that I'm
beginning to understand you now and can see why you behave that
way."

"Since when did you become a psychiatrist?"

"I decided to double board," Luka deadpanned back.

Dave laughed. "I never expected you to have a sense of humor,
Luka."

"I have a wonderful sense of humor, Dave. The problem is that
only a few people are able to appreciate it."

"Like John?"

Luka nodded. "Yeah. Like John." Luka went to dampen the wash
cloth again and when he came back, Dave held out his hand for it.

"I think it's my turn now."

"Thanks." Luka gave him the cloth and washed as Dave gently bathed
John's face and neck. "Do you think we should try another alcohol
rub? The alcohol from before must have washed out in the tub."

"It wouldn't hurt."

"I'll take care of it." Luka grabbed the bottle of alcohol and
started the process again.

"I wish the rescue squad would get here soon," Dave muttered. He
was so afraid that John was going to die, despite their efforts.
He wasn't really sure that he could handle that. It was bad
enough to lose a patient, but to have that patient be a friend as
well...it wasn't something he had never wanted to think about. Yet
it was what he feared the most right now. Again. And from the
look on Luka's face, he could tell that it was the foremost thing
on his mind as well. It also didn't help matters any that he and
Luka were the ones responsible for John's deteriorating condition.



Benton backed away from the exam table, stripping off his gloves.
"Time of death is..."

"No! You can't give up." John looked up from where he was still
performing CPR on his friend. "You have to try harder."

"Carter, Gant is dead. There isn't anything we can do for him
now. Time of death is 7:52." Benton headed for the doorway, barely
pausing long enough to toss his gloves and trauma gear in the
biohazard bin. And then he was gone.

John looked down at Dennis' face, his tears blurring his vision.
Dennis couldn't be dead. This body couldn't be Dennis. It had
to be a mistake. Someone had mugged Dennis and stolen his pager,
that was why this man had the pager. This wasn't Dennis. Dennis
wasn't dead.

"Carter, come on," Maggie Doyle gently said as she put her hand
on his arm and tried to lead him away from the body of their
friend.

"I can't give up, Maggie," he protested.

"Benton's right. There's nothing more that can be done. You
can't bring a dead body back to life, John."

And that echoed in his brain as he looked down at the still form
of his cousin. He ignored the words of the paramedics. It didn't
matter how long Chase had been down, his heart was beating and he
wasn't dead. He couldn't be dead. If he was dead, then he couldn't
save him. Wouldn't be able to do it. Just like Maggie had said --
a person couldn't bring a dead body back to life. But, Chase
wasn't dead. Couldn't be dead. He wouldn't let him be dead.

"You let me die, John. You let Benton walk away when there was
so much more that could be done to save me. You left me alone,
betrayed me. Killed me." The bloody face of Dennis Gant swam
before his eyes. "Why? I thought you were my friend. Why
did you kill me?"

"I didn't kill you. I'm sorry, Dennis. I did all I could.
I'm so sorry."

"And what about me, Scooter? Why didn't you just let me die?
You're a doctor, you had to have known that I would be brain
damaged from the lack of oxygen. Why did you bring me back?
I'm a vegetable now. I don't want to be alive. Why did you
force this on me? Why?"

"I'm sorry, Chase. I didn't want to lose you, too. I couldn't
let you die."

And then Chase's face faded away, only to replaced by that of
an angelic little boy. A little boy who only had a face -- the
rest of his head had been blown away by a bullet.

"Why couldn't you save me? There's so much I never got to do."

"Carter?" Lucy cried out. He turned and saw her reaching out
toward him, fear in her eyes. "Help me."

John stepped toward her, but a searing pain brought him up short.
He looked at Lucy and saw blood pouring from her body and
trickling toward him. She appeared to be floating away on the
stream of blood and he couldn't grab her hand. He couldn't save
her.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he sobbed as she drifted out of
sight.

"Sorry isn't good enough, son," Roland Carter told him. "A
doctor doesn't have the room to be sorry. You're either a good
doctor or a bad doctor. A good doctor doesn't make mistakes.
He doesn't kill his patients or bring back those who should be
dead. A good doctor is faultless. You are not a good doctor.
You might as well give it up now, while there's still time for
you to make a name for yourself in another career. I believe
that father has a job opening for you. A nice, safe job, where
you can never hurt anyone again. Never kill anyone."

"No. I'm a good doctor. I want to be a doctor."

"You're a failure John. You have always been a failure and you
will always be a failure."

"No."

His father was joined by a host of others, most of whom he
recognized -- former patients and friends. All who had been
touched in some way by him. All of whom were dead or as good
as dead.

"Yes. Give up, John, before you kill someone else," they
chorused.

"No." But he felt his resolve wavering. It would be so easy
to give up right now. To quit fighting and just rest.

"John? Can you hear me? You've got to fight this, John. You
can't give up. Not now. We're almost to the hospital, and
everything will be fine," Luka said.

Dave positioned John's head and watched as the EMT deftly
inserted the tube, then hooked John up to the oxygen. John
moaned and his head moved from side to side, but he didn't try
to remove the tube.

"Hang in there, pal. You'll be in a nice soft bed before you know
it. You need to get back to Chicago so Chen will have someone to
argue with. God knows I don't want to deal with her. Remember
when I said that I was going after her? Well, forget it. You
can have her, pal. She's a little too pushy for my tastes." Dave
said.

They had been in the ambulance for nearly two hours, and the
EMT's were now assuring them that the hospital wasn't much
further down the road. They certainly wouldn't get there soon
enough, Luka thought. John's conditioning was slowly deteriorating
and he needed more care than what they could provide for him
in the rig.

"Don't give up, John. Stay with us." Luka grasped John's hand
and squeezed hard, hoping that the man could feel the pressure
and know that he wasn't alone. Luka looked over at Dave, knowing
that they shared the same concerns. He knew that he did not
want to be the one to have to call Kerry Weaver and tell her
that John was dead. Tell her they had killed him out of ignorance.
Please God, don't let it come to that. Whatever else may happen,
don't let John die.


End of Part 4