Deconstructing Luka
Part Five
By Miesque
miesque@looksmart.com

RATING: PG-13 (sexual situations and profanity under duress)

SYNOPSIS: The continuing saga of a doctor with the rockin' pneumonia and the boogie-woogie flu, and the flashy blonde who's drivin' him crazy. This penultimate portion deals with sex, dreams, the road home, and the eternal question: oatmeal or pancakes for breakfast?

DISCLAIMER B: The character of Luka Kovac is the sole property of NBC, Warner Bros., Amblin Entertainment and Constant C.

SONGS: "Golden Slumbers", by The Beatles; "Crazy Little Thing Called Love", written by Freddy Mercury, sung by Dwight Yoakam.

THANKS TO: Ellen for the synopsis and editing; I never could come up with a good one; and to Canada for further editing.

"Isn't it beautiful, Luka?" Daisy asked.

"Yeah. Gorgeous," he answered sourly. They were staring down at the Colorado River, spectacular cliff walls rising up from the water. If it weren't for the interesting odor of their trail guide and Luka's increasingly unhappy stomach, it would have been quite breathtaking for him. But his ass was hurting, he had a terrible headache, and he hadn't had a cigarette in six hours, and all that together diminished his enjoyment of this trip. Even worse, despite the long day and despite being tired, she still looked as fresh as a...well...daisy. God, why did she have to be so fetching?

"Truly lovely. So much so that Robert Browning would have to run down to Roget's takeout to get an order of new adjectives." But he wasn't talking about the river.

"Oh, come on," she said, laughing. "Let's go down to the riverside. I'd really love to put my feet in it."

"What are you saying?!" Luka snapped. "You could slip, fall in the water, bump your head, and drown."

"Oh, it's so nice to know you care about me, darling."

He glared at her a moment, dug in his pocket for his pack of Marlboros, and was appalled to find that he had none left. Great. Now I can have a nervous fit on top of everything else, he thought.

He pulled off his sunglasses and watched Daisy walk down the little deerpath toward the water. He actually watched the way she walked; Lord, she had an amazing body, and she had a walk like a woman and a little girl all rolled into one. He could feel his temperature rising, his pulse quickening, even now. It had been nine years since he'd felt actual lust for a woman. Now, it took all his strength to keep his hands off Daisy. And she knew what buttons to push, that was for sure. She was so forward about her sexuality, so completely confident when it came to that. Yet...there was also this sweet naiveté about her. He couldn't figure out where that came from, but it was there and it made it even harder for him to keep from just grabbing her and bedding her. The nights were the worst, when he could almost feel her in his arms, underneath him, could feel her kiss and her touch....

His nerves were getting jangled, dreading the idea of her falling into the river, being pulled under by the current...being pulled away from him. It would be too much for him, really, to see that. He had lost plenty in his life; he didn't need to lose more. He doubted he could take that-it would be just enough to make him crumble. He was teetering close to the edge, about to be pulled back into an abyss of terror and loneliness.

Luka shivered a little, despite the warm breeze. He sometimes got ominous feelings, when something bad was about to happen, and he was getting one now-a cold ball of fear in his stomach (along with that ill feeling he'd been having since this morning). It was a trait that ran in his mother's family-clairvoyance. But it didn't always work for Luka-if that second sight ability had been more consistent, he would never have moved his family to Vukovar.

"Daisy?" he yelled, suddenly unable to see her any more. His stomach did a backflip and he started running.

Then he heard the splash. "Oh, shit," he said. "Please, let that have been a really big rock..."

But it wasn't. Scrambling down the deerpath, he saw Daisy clinging desperately to a rock. She could barely hold on, though, in the strong current. He turned around and bellowed, "Hank! Hank...or whatever the hell your name is, get your ass down here NOW!"

Hank the trailguide came lumbering down the incline, saw the situation, grabbed his lariat... and promptly roped Luka.

"Oh, well, that's just perfect, Hopalong!" Luka screamed, pulling the rope from around his shoulders. "Thank you! Think maybe you could try roping the GIRL?!"

Spluttering and looking embarrassed, Hank tried again. He didn't exactly get the rope around Daisy, but she reached for it, catching it in her hands and hanging on for dear life. Luka grabbed the rope from Hank and began hauling her in, yelling at her to hold on.

"Like I'd let go?!" she screeched. But she couldn't get a good footing. Luka glared up at Hank, seeing that the guide wasn't going to be of much use. He pulled his shirt off, scrambled quickly down the deerpath, and, after getting hold of the rope, splashed into the icy water.

"Good God," he gasped.

It was cold, but he kept his mind on the business at hand. He grabbed Daisy's outstretched arm, pulled her to him, wrapped his arm around her, and yelled at Hank to start pulling. Thankfully, Hank had brought Clinton the mule down the narrow path and was tying the rope to the saddlehorn. The mule instinctively began backing up, without being told, and pulled Luka and Daisy out of the water in no time. Lying on the ground, his arms still around her, both of them out of breath, Luka made a mental note to order an extra ration of oats for that wonderful animal.

She was shivering something awful. Luka covered her body with his for a moment, rubbing her arms, then pulled her up, cradling her, massaging her back, her shoulders, pulling her hands up so he could breathe on them. She put her head on his chest, sighed and closed her eyes, leaning heavily against him, feeling his bare skin for the first time. He checked her pulse, but wasn't pleased. It wasn't like there was a medical center nearby, and he had no means of checking her vitals...

"Should have left my shirt on...damn it's cold!"

Hank scrambled down to them, throwing blankets on them. Luka wrapped both blankets around her, but she objected. "You're shivering, too."

"I'll be all right. Come on. Get up."

He managed to get to his feet, wincing when his knee argued with him about that. But he got up, pulled her up into his arms, and carried her to Clinton.

"Just be grateful," he said to the mule, "That she isn't a pudgy brunette with bad taste in hats...and men. Good mule! Stand still!"

Luka debated with himself whether they should go back up the trail or if they should continue down to the Phantom Canyon Ranch. Finally, he decided that the ranch was closer and would be a good place for Daisy to rest and recover. She had a few cuts and bruises, but all in all she was okay. He wasn't going to take any chances. However, by the time they got to the ranch, he was starting to feel less and less well. Light-headed and feverish, in fact.

As Hank went inside, Luka pulled Daisy off of Hank's horse (the guide had switched over to Maryland, who was still her old bitchy self) and held her in his arms. Daisy sighed again and snuggled closer to him. "Daisy, this isn't the time or the place," he muttered. She ignored him, and kept caressing his chest.

He went inside, got a cabin after a few moments of being appalled about the price ("What is this, the Grand Canyon Ritz Carlton?"), and sat on the front porch of the dining cabin, feeling a little too queasy to go back inside. Daisy, awake now and pretty alert, sat beside him, watching him with interest.

"Luka, are you okay?"

"M'fine," he answered dully. Hell, when was the last time anybody asked you if you were okay? he wondered. Nine years? That's about it. Not even Carol Hathaway had asked him if he was doing well, even during his weirder moments. But then, Carol only gave a damn about herself. The rest of the world was just expected to bow at her feet and ask her what she wanted.

Bitter much? he thought, laughing at himself ruefully.

Daisy watched him curiously, wondering what was going on in his head. He had such a beautiful, expressive face, but he was also capable of hiding his emotions fairly well. His body language, however, was pretty loud and clear. He was starting to shiver-his hands were shaking. He was a wreck, as far as she could tell. And it wasn't really because she had fallen in the river. Something else was wrong.

Daisy put her hand to his forehead, and was not offended when he jerked away.

"Good Lord, Luka! You're burning up!" she gasped.

It was then that his stomach decided to have its own way with him. He staggered to his feet, dashed over to some bushes and threw up. Daisy followed him, pulled out a bandana, wiped his face and led him back to the step. "You're sick."

"Great job there, Sherlock," he grouched, leaning forward. He felt light-headed and his stomach was still screaming at him. He could practically hear it. 'You brought me to Arizona and put me on a mule and then you have the gall to hit me with ice-cold water and warm beer and now you expect me to just take it?!'.

"Come on, let's get to the cabin. You need to lie down."

"I'm tired," he said.

"Yes, I know."

"I'm sick," he confessed.

"I know."

He closed his eyes, and nearly stumbled over his own feet. Daisy propped him up and looked at him a moment. Even when sick and feverish, he made the best-looking male models Versace could afford look like trash.

"Need a bed...so tired..."

"I know, baby. Come on. It's just a few yards to the cabin."

"Want a lot of blankets...feel cold."

"Uh-hum..."

"And a hot water bottle."

"We'll see if I can find one."

"Daisy?"

"Yes, Luka?"

"Can I have a pony?"

She giggled, adoring that sweet little boy look in his eyes. She gave him a light kiss on the cheek. "No, honey, you can't have a pony."

"Damn."

He couldn't hold anything down. Daisy tried to fill him up with water, but he kept throwing that up, too. He was feverish, nauseated, bleary-eyed, exhausted...his fever was spiking at 104.5 F, and he was having brief fits of delirium, calling for his wife.

That was the hardest for Daisy. She didn't feel jealous of Marina, but it still pained her when Luka didn't recognize her. In the next few hours, he called her Marina several times, then went back into early childhood, calling for his mother. Daisy just held the cool cloth to his forehead, whispering to him, sitting beside him on the bed, trying to keep him calm. He said things that made no sense at all. Sometimes he yelled out medical orders, as if he were taking care of a trauma in the ER. Sometimes his voice became cold and bitter when speaking of someone named Carol. At other times, he shouted in Croatian. Daisy heard 'Vukovar' a few times, and knew...God, he was pleading for the lives of his children. It brought tears to her eyes-the poor man was in so much pain, even after all these years.

She sighed. His heart had apparently been broken more than once. Why would anyone want to hurt Luka? It would certainly take a cold, heartless person to do that. It was as if the world looked at his beauty and his kindness and just spat at him, mocked him and then tore everything away from him, leaving him alone and shattered.

People are such crap, she told herself. It makes you want to become a hermit, to get away from them. They don't value life, they don't value beauty and courage. They don't value anything but their own selfish motives and desires. Sometimes, I just hate people, she thought. They're either cruel or stupid...or both.

He was talking again. Talking to someone named Carter. "I don't understand...painkillers...I wanted to just give up, too...go away and be alone...not let anyone help me. Glad you got help...I wish I could get some help...wish somebody would help me...I'm so scared...I'm so lonely..."

Daisy stroked his hair and whispered to him, cradling his head to her bosom. "Shhh...baby, it's okay. You don't have to be scared now. I'm gonna take care of you."

He looked up at her, fevered eyes clear for just a moment. "Daisy..."

"Yeah," she smiled. "It's me. Just close your eyes, sweetie, and go to sleep. You've got a high fever and you're..."

"So cold." He shivered. "I feel so cold. Everybody's gone...left me...why did they kill them?...my babies..."

"I don't know, Luka," she whispered, in tears.

"My babies..." His teeth were chattering. "My son was just three years old... just three..." He was shaking so violently Daisy could barely hold him. "Jasna was five... my wife... twenty-five... why did they..." His trembling reached a paroxysm then. "Shoot my babies... my poor... babies..."

He was sobbing silently now, unable to hold back any longer. He was still shaking, teeth chattering. Daisy climbed in beside him, taking him gently into her arms, moving close to him, holding him tight. He continued to sob against her, unable to stop. She just stroked his hair, doing her best to comfort him.

"Was my fault," he gasped. "All my fault...."

"No, baby, it wasn't. There was nothing you could have done. Now close your eyes. Come on...."

"My fault...."

Daisy touched his face, looking up at him. He was still shivering, tears still flowing unchecked. She had never seen anyone in so much pain before. His eyes said it all. He was broken down, defeated, so exhausted that he just couldn't fight anymore. She sighed, cradling him, trying to convince him that he wasn't to blame.

Gently, she kissed his tears away, touching his lips with her fingertips. "You're going to be okay, Luka. I won't let them hurt you again. I promise."

"Nobody gave a damn..." he whispered. "Turned their backs on us..."

"Shhh..." She gave him a light kiss on the mouth. "I give a damn. Now close your eyes."

He looked at her briefly, eyes still full of tears. She wondered if he had really wept for his wife and his little ones before; if he had allowed himself to grieve for them physically. His dark clothes and his quiet demeanor certainly signaled a more psychic mourning, but for Daisy, active mourning was always very cathartic. It was always best to get the tears and the anger out, to let the soul bleed a little before healing could begin.

"It's okay, baby. It's gonna be okay."

She let him cry as long as he needed to. She cradled his head to her breasts, holding him as tight as she could, warming him with her own body. After a while, his sobs stopped and his breathing slowed. He was still feverish, but he was calmer. Before long, he was asleep, arms around her, pulling her closer, murmuring softly in Croatian, having fitful dreams. Daisy relaxed and kissed his forehead. "It's going to be okay, honey. I promise. It will. I know you'll be okay."

Softly, she starting humming to him, then sang a song her father had sung to her when she was little.

Once there was a way to get back homeward
Once there was a way to get back home
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby

Golden slumbers fill your eyes
Smiles awake you when you rise
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby

Once there was a way to get back homeward
Once there was a way to get back home
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby

Daisy woke up and felt the bright sunlight on her face. She sat up very gingerly, looking down at Luka. His eyes were closed tight, apparently finding the light too bright. Carefully, she got up and went to the window. Looking outside, she sighed sadly. It was a bright, sunny day, cloudless, and Luka was too sick to get out there and enjoy it.

Quietly, she pulled down the shades, then went back to him. He was stirring, but a gentle caress to his forehead made him relax a little. He wasn't as feverish now, but she wasn't convinced that he was better. This virus had hit him hard, draining all his strength, and he had gotten up several times during the night to vomit. His olive skin was deathly pale, and he was bleary-eyed and dizzy when conscious.

He was still wearing his jeans and T-shirt from yesterday-she hadn't had a chance to get him undressed. Gently, she shook him awake.

"Luka, wake up, we have to get you undressed."

His eyes opened, and he sat up and looked at her for a moment, utterly confused. "What?"

"We need to get your clothes off. I'm gonna get some more blankets."

"No..." He fell back on the pillows, closing his eyes. "I'm cold."

"I know, honey, but I'll cover you up real good and you won't be so sweaty. Come on...let's get up."

He offered no further objections. Daisy, her hands remarkably steady, pulled his shirt off, then undid his jeans. How many times have I fantasized about this? she asked herself. Only, in my fantasy, he's coherent and knows what's going on. Right now, he doesn't know which end is up and doesn't have the wherewithal to hold up a gas station, much less make love to me.

This gave her a moment to really look at him. He had a lean, masculine build, but without very strong muscles. He had nice abs, very narrow hips, long legs, not an ounce of extra fat anywhere-in fact, he was distressingly thin-but it was obvious to her that he didn't work out much, probably got very little exercise beyond the long hours he put in at work. She realized that he didn't take good care of himself-that he probably did work too hard, didn't eat well, and rarely slept...that he abused himself. Besides that, he smoked a great deal. His olive skin was a little on the pale side. Still, he was as sleek and elegant, withal, as a Thoroughbred.

She remembered some of the horses one of her uncles had trained up in Oklahoma. All were broken-down old platers, yet there were a few among them that had retained their nobility and elegance; all were still Thoroughbreds, all 'princes of the blood', as he had called them. Her uncle's kindness and care had turned each of them into winners, and some into stakes-winners. Luka was like that-limping, tired out, overworked, but still possessing that quiet, gentle strength, that sharp sense of humor, and (just to sweeten the pot) he was almost too good-looking for his own good.

Daisy had learned that highly intelligent people always fought back when pushed too far, and rebelled against being controlled too tightly, their fragile nerves being frayed. It was only with kindness and compassion that they would learn to relax and respond-that they could be persuaded to co-operate. Well, as far as Daisy could tell, Luka was the most intelligent person she had ever met, but also the most fragile. And as for being controlled-he controlled himself quite well, thank you. He didn't need someone doing it for him. But he did respond to her when she was kind to him, and it was so obvious that he needed some warmth and tenderness. She doubted that anyone had taken care of him-babied him, even-since his wife died.

Daisy knew that he needed his space, even if she didn't fully understand why. He had been alone for nine years, and she knew she couldn't grasp what he had been through. Her life had been such a cakewalk compared to his; some bad things had happened to her, but no member of her family had been carried away in a truck, shot, and buried in a ditch. She couldn't even begin to compare her unhappy moments to his. He had lived in hell, after all. She had lived in El Paso. Big difference.

She paused a moment before pulling his jeans off. His hands were resting on her shoulders, and he was leaning forward a little, putting some of his weight on her. It was only now that her hands started shaking. "Okay," she muttered to herself. "He's sick. Just remember...he's sick."

Black bikini-cut briefs: typically European. She took a slow, deep breath, then forced herself to look up at him. God, he was just so beautiful-the contrast of black to olive, his beautiful hands on her shoulders, his eyes...what color were his eyes? Right now, in his barely conscious, exhausted state, they were almost colorless, but with a vague touch of green. He was still pale, still sweaty, his hair a mess, and yet...he was simply breathtaking.

Her eyes wandered back to his body, to the scars that she had noticed when she first started undressing him. They disturbed her a little. There was one down the middle of his belly, possibly from a surgery. But there were others. One above his right nipple. Another along the line of his left shoulderblade. Turning him toward the bed, she saw more scars on his back. Had he been beaten...tortured...in Croatia or Serbia? God, what had happened to him?

She was almost tempted to take all his clothes off, to seduce him in his weakened state, to give him all the comfort there was, but that would have been...well, wrong. And not necessary to the situation. Once he was down to just his briefs, Daisy led him back to the bed and got him to lie down. Luka's eyes closed and he drifted off to sleep again, apparently exhausted from that bit of exertion.

"It's not fair," she said to herself. But that only lasted a moment. She shook her head. "You need care, that's all. Someone to look after you."

She settled down beside him for a moment, reapplying the damp cloth to his forehead, then gently washing his neck, his shoulders and his chest, cooling him a little, wiping the sweat and the tears away.

He was still feverish, still a little delusional. He reached for her, and she readily submitted to his desperate embrace, wrapping her arms around him, snuggling into him and putting her head on his shoulder. His skin was soft up there, near his neck, and she couldn't resist stroking his hair a little, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes opened slightly and he murmured something in Croatian.

"He's dreaming about Marina," she said to herself. But when his hand moved down to her breast, she gasped a little. She felt his breath on her neck and allowed herself to be part of his dream, even if it did wound her ego a little. He was nuzzling her, tasting her skin, fumbling with the buttons of her blouse. She offered no resistance as he pushed the material away, touching her through the silk and lace of her bra. There was nothing innocent in that touch; she could tell he was aroused, but he was drifting in and out of a haze. She was sure he had no idea what he was doing.

"Daisy..." he whispered. Luka could feel her, wanted her so badly. But he was so exhausted. His fever was spiking back up-his mind was burning, and he couldn't think. Ghosts were all around him; he could hear voices, then he felt Daisy's hands on his back again, felt her mouth brushing against his neck, along the line of his shoulders; felt her silky hair against his own skin, could feel her breasts...wanted so much to touch her, to be inside her...her scent was making his head swim, her skin was making him burn. But it was an illusion again, and he got lost in his fever, and she vanished briefly, then reappeared. In his right mind for a moment, Luka quickly undid her bra and slid his hands forward, cupping her breasts, listening to her moan. He didn't feel cold now, that was for sure. He wanted her. She was so soft, so completely willing...but his conscious mind slipped away again, and he lost the dream.

She heard him curse, and knew the spell was broken.

He was lost in delirium again, and Daisy was only part of the fever, making him confused. He collapsed against her, and in a few moments was asleep again, the dream burning away in his fevered mind, vanishing in a thick fog. He said her name in his sleep, seeing her face, feeling her touch, but he couldn't hold on to it. He was so exhausted, his mind playing tricks on him.

Daisy felt his forehead and looked at him with concern. The fever was back, but higher. She got up, pulled her blouse and bra back together again, and touched his face, feeling his cheeks, his forehead, and his neck. He groaned and shook his head, muttering again in Croatian. She got the cool cloth, pressed it to his burning brow again and lay back beside him, warming his body as best she could, while doing her best to break the fever.

It was a long day for Daisy. He was more or less unconscious, but moving around a lot. She didn't know what to do, however, when he opened his eyes and starting speaking Croatian again. He didn't recognize her. In fact, he seemed angry with whoever he was talking to. He lashed out at her when she tried to touch him, to soothe him, and that was when she got scared. He was becoming... almost violent. No matter what she said or did, he wouldn't let her touch him.

Finally, she found his wallet and began looking for phone numbers. In amongst the credit cards, she found a picture of a beautiful young woman and a sweet-faced little girl. Silently, Daisy stared at the photograph and tears came to her eyes. Marina and Jasna. But what about Marko? Why weren't there any pictures of him?

Who could she call? There were no relatives, of course. Just the main number to the hospital in Chicago, where he worked. What would happen if she called up there? Would they freak out and accuse her of not helping him? She had, after all, caused much of his exhausted state. If it hadn't been for her, he would never have ended up in the Colorado River, would never have caught this virus, wouldn't be so weak. She decided against making the call now, and carefully replaced the photograph and folded up the wallet.

Daisy turned on the radio that evening, as a means of keeping herself awake in case Luka had a nightmare. He was sleeping well enough, but sometimes he'd wake up shouting. It took all her strength and patience to get him back down again. He was so weak, of course, that he couldn't really fight her. It was kind of odd for her to be able to wrestle him down, since he outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds. But he really was as weak as a kitten. Finally, at around midnight, he had curled up in the fetal position and was sleeping like a rock, barely moving.

She searched for a while until she found a radio station she liked. Country music wasn't altogether her thing, but she did like Dwight Yoakam (didn't everybody?). She sat in the little room, drinking milk and trying to eat the contents of a lunchpack from the dining cabin, listening to a familiar song to which her beloved Dwight had given a new, country-funk twist. She needed something to get her out of her blues anyway.

This thing called love
I just can't handle it
This thing called love
I must get 'round to it
I ain't ready
Crazy little thing called love

This thing (this thing) called love (called love)
It cries (like a baby) in a cradle all night
It swings, it jives
It shakes all over like a jellyfish
I kinda like it
Crazy little thing called love

There goes my baby
She knows how to rock and roll
She drives me crazy
She give me hot and cold fever
Then she leaves me in a cool, cool sweat

I gotta be cool, relax
Get hip, get on my tracks
Take a back seat, hitch-hike
And take a long ride on my motor bike
Until I'm ready
Crazy little thing called love

I gotta be cool, relax
Get hip, get on my tracks
Take a back seat, hitch--hike
Take a little long ride on my motor bike
Until I'm ready
Crazy little thing called love

This thing called love
I just can't handle it
This thing called love
I must get round to it
I ain't ready
Crazy little thing called love
Crazy little thing called love
Crazy little thing called love
Crazy little thing called love
Crazy little thing called love
Crazy little thing called love

She finished her sandwich and went to check on Luka. He was still out cold, looking so innocent and so exhausted at once. She pulled the blankets back to check his fever, and he sat up, startled.

"Where am I?!" he demanded.

"It's okay, honey. Just lie down. I'm gonna check your temperature."

"Where am I?" he asked again, staring at her warily, cringing from her attempt to touch him.

"Phantom Canyon Ranch, in the Grand Canyon. Now lie down, Luka. Come on, it's okay."

He shook his head. He began speaking Croatian, rapidly firing questions at her, trying to get out of the bed. But she wouldn't have that; he was so weak that he'd only fall over if he tried to walk. But she held back, waiting until he tired himself out. He had been like this an hour ago, fighting against her but finally collapsing into exhausted sleep again. She very gently pushed against his chest, and he fell back onto the pillows. "Tired," he said.

"Yes, I know," she said. "But it's okay. Do you feel any better?"

He shook his head. "Lousy. Feel lousy. Like somebody's been kicking me."

She smiled. "I'm gonna need to go down to the canteen and get some supplies. But right now we're gonna check your temperature, okay?"

He nodded meekly, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop her. She put the thermometer in his mouth, instructing him for the hundredth time to hold it under his tongue. "I'm a doctor, Dais'," he said. "I know that."

She smiled at him. She loved babying him, and she could tell he was grudgingly enjoying it. The fever was still high-102-but at least it was coming down by degrees. His face was still flushed, and he was wobbly even when he tried to rise up on his elbows, but he was a little better. Not much, though.

"You stay here in the bed while I go to the canteen, okay?"

"Yeah."

"Good baby," she said, smiling, stroking his hair. He growled at her, and she laughed. "Stop that growling. You sound like an old bear."

When she left, he was suddenly gripped with fear. He was so used to her presence, by his side, that it scared the hell out of him to suddenly be alone again. Nine years....

He sat up, looking around the room for something to do, to take his mind off his misery and his fear. Just a newspaper. He grabbed it, and tried to read week-old headlines. But his mind wasn't working very well and he got lost and confused in a few minutes. By that time, she came in, smiling, and insisted he take some anti-nausea medicine. "Maybe in a few hours you can try to eat something, hmmm?"

"Eh," he muttered, lying back down. He glanced up at her, his mind suddenly very clear. She looked beautiful, and he felt another surge of desire for her. Damn that I'm so weak, he thought. She would have to do everything....

Daisy saw that look in his eyes, and blushed. He needed to rest, and he'd get no rest at all if she got in bed with him now.

She grinned at him, and just when he wasn't prepared, she bent down and kissed him-a good, hard, deep kiss. Just enough to make him a little crazy again. Then she pulled away, still smiling.

"Seems I have all the power now." She sat down beside him, making sure he got the idea.

He was no fool. He was weak and tired, but at this moment, his mind was as clear as a bell. He grabbed her, kissing her again, pulling her down until she was on her back. "You know you're not well enough for this, Luka," she reminded him.

He wasn't. In fact, just that small bit of exertion had drained him. But she received his kiss just the same, running her fingers through his hair, stroking him gently, sighing softly as he kissed her neck, her shoulders, moving down a little further, wanting to explore her more. But she stopped him, very gently, and pushed him onto his back. Another sweet kiss and she got up, straightening her clothes.

"Time to go to sleep," she said. He rolled his eyes, but obediently closed them when she put her hands on her hips.

When she was sure he had drifted back into a deep sleep, Daisy kissed him on the forehead, noting how warm he still felt. She had never seen a fever hold like this before, and it frightened her. He had moments of lucidity, then he was in delirious fits again, not recognizing her, not knowing where he was. Those moments really scared her, and she was starting to wonder if maybe she should call that hospital in Chicago, to see if he had a past history of this kind of thing.

"Just got a mystery call from some woman in Arizona," Carter said, slapping a chart on the table in the lounge.

"Really?" Mark Greene asked, munching on a day-old doughnut. "What about?"

"She asked about Luka."

"Every woman who comes in here asks about Luka," Mark said sourly. "Ever since he took off for God knows where, every female patient I've treated has asked where that 'cute Croatian doctor' went."

Carter grinned. "Well, of course, I couldn't tell her anything about him. She didn't seem too forthcoming about how she knew him, either. She asked if he had a history of 'altered mental state due to fever'."

"Huh...must be getting it on with some Arizona babe," Malucci said, leaning forward to grab another doughnut.

"What'd you tell her?"

"I told her I honestly didn't know. I don't know. Nobody knows Luka very well."

Malucci shrugged. "He's a nice guy. Not somebody you'd want to piss off, though."

"Nooo..." Carter shook his head. "Not even Kerry dares to argue with him too much."

Mark glared at them. He had felt envious of Luka since the day he'd met him. The guy was tall, good-looking, with that thick mop of black hair and an easy charm and a command about him that Mark would never possess. It just wasn't fair.

"Well, I'm sure we'll find out what happened when he gets back," Mark said.

"Yeah, right. Kovac never talks to anybody," Carter interjected.

"Except Carol. And she left," Malucci said.

Another point against Luka, as far as Mark was concerned. Kovac had been horning in on Doug's woman.

"Enough talking about Kovac. Anybody see last night's Bulls game?"

Daisy hung up angrily, feeling that she had gotten nowhere with that Dr. Carter fellow. "I'd like to get a piece of your hide, Doctor," she snapped.

She knew he couldn't very well give her-a total stranger-private medical information about Luka. But she was sitting in this bedroom, watching him toss and turn, plagued with nightmares and fever, and she didn't know what kind of medication he could take.

Luka sat up suddenly, calling out Marina's name again. She went to his side, gently talking him into lying down again. His fever was back up again, to 103, and he was complaining of being cold. Almost in tears now, fearing that he might never get well, Daisy lay down beside him, wrapping her arms around him. Luka shuddered, muttering again in English, then in Croatian, and slipped into deeper sleep.

She woke up during the night, and quickly touched his forehead. He was cool. The fever was finally gone.

Sitting up, Daisy got the cloth, dipped it in the water she kept in a bowl by the bed, and began washing him down, wiping away the sweat. He continued to sleep, hardly even stirring.

After drying him very thoroughly, she got up and neatly folded the cloth, putting it on the cabinet by the washbasin. Then she went back to him, sat on the edge of the bed, and watching him sleep, finally broke down and cried. It had been a draining, exhausting experience, yet it had bound them together.

But the worst was yet to come for Daisy. In a few more days, he had to start toward home.

"Be honest," Daisy said, feigning cheerfulness. "You know you're not strong enough to drive back to Chicago alone."

"I can handle it," Luka answered.

They were sitting on the front porch of the cabin, looking out over a spectacular view. He was staring straight ahead, taking in the vista for a few moments. He was afraid to look at her, afraid to talk. He didn't remember weeping in her arms, didn't remember his incoherent ravings, but he had a feeling she knew everything, and that scared the hell out of him. He wasn't sure if he wanted anyone to know his whole story.

"No, you can't," she said emphatically. "I had to help you walk outside. Do you honestly think you have enough strength to drive all the way to Chicago...alone?"

He was already a little jittery again. Daisy had refused to buy him any cigarettes, there was no beer left in the back of the Caddy, and now she was threatening to do the driving. Three things that were doing little good for his nerves.

"You'd fall asleep at the wheel," Daisy reminded him gently. "You're getting sleepy now, Luka."

He was. Just getting up and walking outside had worn him out. His eyelids were so heavy, and he felt so tired. Daisy rubbed his shoulders and smiled at him. "Come on, let's get up. Back to bed."

"You'll need to get a good map," he said.

"I know. I can get one at the canteen, I think. Come on, sweetie. Up the steps."

He stumbled along beside her, trying not to put his weight on her, but he was terribly wobbly. They made it to the couch, and Daisy sat beside him, resting a moment. He fell to the side, dropping his head in her lap. She smiled down at him, and stroked his hair back from his face. "You need a shower," she said.

"And a shave," he said tiredly.

"I'm sure I can take care of both," she grinned at him wickedly. He narrowed his eyes at her, then yawned and stretched. He couldn't stay awake, not with her stroking his face, whispering to him like that. He gave up and drifted off, enjoying her warmth.

At noon, she woke him up for lunch. He was able to hold chicken noodle soup down pretty well, but he often got terribly nauseated. The anti-nausea medicine worked wonders, though, and his fever was gone completely-he was coherent and 'back to his usual grouchy, smart-ass self', as she had cheerfully put it. That meant she no longer had to sleep with him. Yet the devious part of Daisy's nature kept her from telling him that.

"Don't you still feel cold, Luka?" she asked him as she set a bowl of soup in front of him.

He shrugged. "Not lately. I think the fever has gone."

She looked away, pretending to be distracted by a cardinal bouncing around on the porch, pecking at sunflower seeds she had thrown out a while ago.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

She sighed and started eating a bologna sandwich. He watched her, wondering what was wrong. Had he said something to upset her? Lately, he had been so wrapped up in his own misery that he had forgotten about what kind of strain it was putting her under. One thing Luka hated was selfishness, and he especially hated it in himself.

"Are you okay, Daisy?" he asked.

"Yes." She smiled. "I'm doing fine. Just...a little tired. That's all. Hey, if you're strong enough this evening, why don't we go down to the dining cabin? You can just sit and have a beer, relax a little...?"

"I can have a beer?" he said, startled. "You'll let me have a beer?"

She cuffed his arm and smiled. "Yes, you can have a beer, Luka. One beer."

One beer it was.

This sure is an international bar, he thought. He could hear German and French accents, as well as some kind of nasal accent he figured was either Chicago or Minnesota. Everybody was telling hiking stories-hiking trails in California, Asia, the Alps...New Jersey. Luka wasn't impressed, though. He didn't enjoy hiking very much. Just riding a mule had been exhausting enough.

"I hitch-hiked across Europe back when I was in college...well, actually, during my summer vacation between my junior and senior years," Daisy informed him. He took another swig of his beer and shook his head.

"I never understood you Americans and your proclivity for finding yourself while hitch-hiking across Europe. Don't you know that you can just as easily find yourself in your backyard at home?"

"It was fun!" Daisy objected. "I met all kinds of interesting people...got goosed in Venice, went to the Louvre in Paris..."

"I went there, too," Luka said. "Saw the Mona Lisa. Or, at least, I think I saw the Mona Lisa. Most of what I saw was the back of a bunch of peoples' heads as they were trying to see the Mona Lisa."

"But did you really see it?"

"Yeah. Finally, I did. I remember thinking, 'This is the Mona Lisa? I've got dish towels bigger than this.'"

She laughed, delighted to see his old, slightly black, sense of humor back in full force. It meant he was getting a little stronger. But it also meant that he was disentangling himself from her, moving on.

Daisy became very quiet, and Luka couldn't figure out what was bothering her. She said very little for the rest of the evening.

He was frustrated with himself as they walked back to the cabin. He was still fairly weak, still not quite up to anything beyond a very short walk. He wasn't sure what disease or virus he had caught, but he was sure of one thing: Daisy was right. He didn't have the strength to drive back to Chicago alone.

Luka collapsed on the bed, and Daisy gave him some more medicine and started tucking him in, cooing to him as if he were a small, sick child. He growled at her, then surprised her by pulling her into his arms. "I'm cold," he said tiredly.

"You are?"

"Yeah."

She checked his forehead, and was relieved that he didn't have a fever again. But if he said he was cold, then she was happy to believe him. She snuggled into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. She had spent every night-four nights in a row-in his arms, keeping him warm, and didn't want to give this up now.

Daisy looked up at him, and sighed when she saw he was already asleep. Just the tiniest bit of exertion seemed to drain him completely. There was no telling what kind of illness he had contracted, but it sure had done a lot to his system. But now, she could lie there, watching him. It seemed like he had more grey hair, and he was much thinner than when she had first met him. Yet, despite this awful illness, and his weakened state, he was still as dignified as a prince.

She had noticed his manners in the bar: how he so easily outclassed everyone, even the guy from France who was trying to 'find himself' (he had, unfortunately, 'found himself' in a nasty argument with the German hikers instead). It was as if he were sitting in a drawing room at Buckingham Palace, hobnobbing with royalty, instead of drinking beer in a Grand Canyon bar. And why not? Luka Kovac would even make Prince Charles look cheap and ill-bred. Yet, despite those superb manners and cool, elegant way of carrying himself, he never acted as though he was superior to anyone. He spoke with as much respect and good humor to the bartender as he would to a king. He was even, despite all the mistakes she had made, kind to Daisy.

"Aye, every inch a king," she murmured to herself. Luka stirred slightly, but didn't wake up. He pulled her closer, muttering in Croatian, and they remained wrapped up in each other's arms until morning.

The ride out of the canyon was rough on Luka, and Daisy insisted they stay at a local hotel until he had recovered a little from the strain. She chose a quiet place with separate cabins, and they ended up staying two nights. He slept almost continuously, zonked out on the medicine a local doctor prescribed for him. He read the label, rolled his eyes, and asked her if the guy had got it in Mexico. "This stuff'll knock the illness out, but it'll knock me out, too."

It did indeed. He was still loopy on Monday morning, when she woke him up. "Time to get started," she said, her voice distressingly cheerful.

Luka didn't like having to sit and watch as Daisy loaded the Cadillac for the trip northward. But she would hear none of his protests, and he finally gave up. He had nothing to do with his hands now that Daisy wouldn't let him within twenty yards of a cigarette, so he tried to work a crossword puzzle. It gave him a headache, so he just sat on the cabin porch, watching her pack the back seat and the trunk. It gave him time to admire her figure, and do a little thinking.

She was a tall girl, fully five feet ten. Beautiful, silky hair. Dark blue eyes, a smooth, creamy complexion, full lips. Lovely breasts...he had to admit that. A nice, slender waist, curving hips, impossibly long legs. Everything was put together perfectly. She certainly was a contrast to his dark-haired, ivory-skinned and small-statured wife. Marina had been about as high as his heart, very petite. Daisy was more voluptuous than Marina, and was certainly a lot more open about her sexuality. Not that Marina hadn't learned to be a sex kitten in bed, but it had taken a few...days, and she had remained a little shy about expressing herself that way in public. Not that Marina was never affectionate or demonstrative-quite the opposite, in fact. It was just that she was a nice Catholic girl from Šibenik. Daisy...well, she was a nice girl, too. But she was no product of a convent school.

He wondered if it was wrong of him not to miss Marina so badly these days. He thought about his wife often, and dreamed about her a great deal, but...he had to admit, Daisy was occupying his thoughts a lot, too. Invading his dreams, making him overcome the past bit by bit. He had vague memories of touching Daisy's body during his fever, of wanting her, lusting after her. He was lusting after her even more now. He couldn't help it. He was only human, after all. Here she was, a beautiful, sexy, desirable woman who had made it very clear that she was willing to go to bed with him at any time, and he was still resisting.

For the hundredth time, Luka called himself a complete ass. What the hell is wrong with me, anyway? he asked himself.

"Dais', you could at least let me carry the pillows out to the car," he called.

She smiled and shook her head. "No way. Just sit and rest. I'm nearly done. Would you like some breakfast?"

He shook his head, but she stared down at him, waiting.

"Oatmeal or something, maybe?" he said hopefully.

"No. Something more substantial than that, to tide you over 'til lunch."

"Not hungry," he grouched. "I'm not a breakfast person anyway."

"Luka Kovac, you are going to eat breakfast. How 'bout some pancakes? Blueberry...or maybe strawberry, and a big glass of orange juice?"

He shrugged, surrendering. It was useless to argue with her-it took all his energy and then he'd just lose anyway. So what was the point?

After breakfast, they sat on the hood of the Caddy, looking out across the Grand Canyon. One last look, then a long trip northeastward. Daisy watched Luka for a moment, wondering. He was already looking pale again, and sleepy. It was amazing-this illness, whatever it had been-had done a lot of damage. His strength was gone, and he could barely keep his eyes open most of the time. He barely had the energy to argue with her about breakfast. She had forced him to eat two pancakes, some bacon and to drink two full glasses of orange juice. He growled like an old bear through the entire meal, showing that he still had his stubborn will intact.

"I'll need to get some maps," she said. "Then it's northeastwards, toward Chicago."

He nodded. Daisy sounded awfully cheerful about taking him home. He was sure she'd just let him out, maybe rest a while, then turn around and head home. He didn't like that idea at all. He didn't want to lose her. Not now. Not ever.

To be continued...