Instant Attraction, Part 11b
Paint In Black
By Miesque
miesque48@hotmail.com

Set some time between “All in the Family” and “Be Patient”

STORY SYNOPSIS: Luka finally seeks help of a psychiatric sort. Luka and Kerry discuss her past a little.

SONG: ‘Paint It Black’ by The Rolling Stones

DISCLAIMER: The characters of Luka Kovac and Kerry Weaver are the sole property of   NBC, Warner Brothers, Amblin, and Constant C.  

PREVIOUS INSTALLMENTS: Instant Attraction; Room For Rent; Fired; Blackout; On The Line; Point of Refuge; Heart to Heart; Double-Take; Broken Valentine; In Memory...



Luka drove home, barely even noticing the fact that it was snowing heavily. He saw that Kerry’s car was in it’s space, and parked behind her. For a while, he sat still, listening to the radio play a song that made him shudder.


I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colors anymore I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes

I see a line of cars and they're all painted black
With flowers and my love both never to come back
I see people turn their heads and quickly look away
Like a new born baby it just happens ev'ry day
I look inside myself and see my heart is black

I see my red door and it has been painted black
Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts
It's not easy facin' up when your whole world is black

No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue
I could not foresee this thing happening to you
If I look hard enough into the settin' sun
My love will laugh with me before the mornin' comes

I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colors anymore I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes
Hmm, hmm, hmm,...

I wanna see it painted, painted black
Black as night, black as coal
I wanna see the sun blotted out from the sky
I wanna see it painted, painted, painted, painted black


Well, there’s a happy tune, he thought, finally getting out. It’s not much better than the stuff we listened to at Vukovar. He slammed his car door shut, and noticed how much louder everything seemed to be when it was cold. Walking up the sidewalk toward Kerry’s house, he heard an argument going on in the neighbor’s house.

“You never listen! I don’t even know why I bother!”

A door banged, then ten loud footsteps. A shout. “Shut the damned door!”

Ten loud steps again, the sound of the door being slammed shut. Luka paused to listen, wondering if the next sound would be a gunshot.  People often snap in this kind of weather. But no such sound came. Instead, a lanky teenager came down the steps of the house next door to Kerry’s. He glanced at Luka as he passed, saying nothing. It made Luka think of his childhood home in Sibenik. Everyone knew everyone then, and almost everyone was related by blood or marriage. Or both, he snickered to himself. Sibenik seemed to be occupied by a huge extended family, along with several friendly, closely related dogs. He had known virtually everyone in town, until the war started.

Going inside, Luka was greeted by blaring music. He had grown accustomed to that. Kerry never played music quietly. Of course, she was respectful enough of him to never play it when he was trying to sleep.

She was in the kitchen. Again, that was typical. The woman loved to cook. It seemed like every time he was around her, in the house, she was in the process of preparing some gourmet meal. Luka never dared to attempt to cook anything with her in the house. The one time he had tried to prepare a simple steak on her oven-top grill, she had peered around him the whole time, making suggestions about spices and how well-done it should be and so forth. With anyone else, Luka would have quickly applied a frying pan to their head, but he kept quiet and endured her ministrations patiently, actually becoming amused. Not only that, she admitted that the steak was good. “Beautiful grilling job,” she had admitted.

Kerry was broiling some kind of fish. He smelled lemon and other spices, but it did nothing to whet his appetite. He wasn’t hungry, but he was sure she’d make him try to eat. For a minute, he stood, listening to the music blaring. The Three Tenors. Domingo, Pavarotti and the other guy. Luka couldn’t remember his name.

“Hey!” he shouted over the noise.

She turned and looked at him, and he was startled to see that she was crying. He immediately felt terrible. She picked up the CD player’s remote control and turned it off. He was even more startled when she collapsed against him, sobbing.

For a while, he just held her in his arms, stroking her hair, murmuring to her as he would a child. Davor had done that for him that morning, and it felt good for Luka to do that for someone else.

Gently, he guided her to a chair and made her sit down. He turned the range top burner off and turned back to look at her. She was wiping her eyes, blowing her nose into a Kleenex.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he said.

She shook her head. “It’s all right. I was... I was just... I’m so tired. It’s just been so...”

“Terrible.”

“Yes.”

They stared at each for a moment, until she looked away again. “Luka,” she said, very quietly. “I wanted to apologize to you. For blaming you for what happened.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Kerry. I should be...apologizing. But ‘apology’ isn’t the right word, huh? I was just as upset as you but I had no right to get so angry with you...” He looked down, unable to continue.

“She was just a kid,” Kerry whispered. “She tried so hard. I never knew anyone who tried harder.”

“Is there going to be a memorial service?”

“Yes. Mrs. Knight is taking Lucy back home tomorrow, but we’re going to have a service in the hospital chapel tomorrow afternoon. I’ve already sent out a memo to everyone in the department.”

Luka wondered why she would have to do that. Surely everyone would be there, memo or no memo. “I’ll be there. When is it?”

“Ten in the morning.”

Luka nodded, then took a seat at the end of the table, keeping a respectful distance from Kerry. “Remember when I told you about my childhood?” he asked her.

“Yes.”

“I was just thinking, Kerry, that you’ve never told me anything about yourself.”

She paled and stared at him. “What do you want to know?”

“Well... where were you born?”

“St. Paul, Minnesota.”

“Were you raised there?”

“No.” She wiped her eyes and found herself eager to talk to him. A means of distracting herself from her grief. So long as it didn’t get too personal, of course.

“Where, then?”

“Around  My parents were medical missionaries. I spent time in Egypt, Africa, India, Venezuela...”

“Really?” He was immediately intrigued. “What were your parents like?”

Kerry swallowed and looked away. “They were good people. My father died when I was sixeen, so we moved back to America. First New York City, then here.”

“So you had a happy childhood.”

“Not... not really. I mean, you move around a lot and you’re bound to be the odd girl out in school. Then there was my leg and my accent and...  needless to say, it wasn’t always easy.”

“I don’t guess I can relate,” Luka said, smiling. “I lived in the same town until I was sixteen. Then I went to France. Then I went back home. Besides France and trips around Europe, I never lived anywhere but in Sibenik, Zagreb and... and Vukovar.”

Kerry sighed. “I can’t believe it’s only four-thirty,” she said. “It feels like it should be midnight.”

“Maybe you should try to sleep a little. You look even more tired than me.”

She looked up at him, noting how worn down he looked. It was strange-last night he had looked so much younger. Before the stabbings, that is. It seemed he had aged years since then. They all had.

“It’s strange Kerry. You know a lot about me, but I don’t know anything about you.”

“I was born in St. Paul. I’m an Independent. I like Grace Jones. I donate money to the Red Cross. I drink...”

“Too much?” he asked quietly.

“I hope not.”

“We all do too much of something. I work too much and I don’t sleep enough. I don’t eat enough, as you know very well.” He could see she was getting defensive, but he felt he had a right to know something of her life, after all he’d told her.

She tried to deflect his attempt to draw her out with some humor. “I still don’t know about that ‘mooning incident’ in Zagreb...” she said, trying to smile.

“I was eighteen years old, in my cups, so to speak, and did it on a dare. Mooned some government official while he was giving a speech about the wonderful benefits of Communism. It’s a wonder I wasn’t arrested, to be quite honest...” He smiled. “What about you? Have you ever mooned anyone?”

“No,” she shook her head.

“You were never eighteen and drunk, with a five-hundred dollar bet on the line?”

“I have been eighteen and I have been drunk, but I have never given much thought to baring my...”

“Assets?”

She put her head down, trying to cover her laughter. “I’ve never mooned anyone, Luka,” she finally answered.

He smiled for a moment. “What else can you tell me? Or is it all still classified information?”

Kerry swallowed. She had no doubt that whatever she told Luka would remain with him-that he would never tell another soul. But she had to wonder why she felt that way. What was it about this man? What made him so completely trustworthy? There was such maturity and confidence in him, yet there was that vulnerability and gentleness. He was, Kerry realized, the most honest person she’d ever met. She had never felt as at ease like this before. It was as if some kind of bond had been formed between them. But she was still afraid to tell him anything. Afraid he would turn away from her.

“It’s classified,” she whispered.

She was surprised at his reaction. He leaned forward a little, looking right into her eyes. “I’ve told you things about my life... my past... that were extremely personal and very painful, but you won’t at least give me the same kind of trust? In fact, I trusted you enough to see the psychologist you recommended.”

Kerry swallowed nervously. “What do you want to know...specifically?”

“I don’t know, Kerry. Tell me anything. You should know by now that I’m a pretty good listener.”

“All right...” She searched her mind for something easy and painless to tell him. Something that didn’t bring up unhappy memories. “I worked in a hospital in Kenya.”

“And?”

“Isn’t that enough?” she asked. Her voice had that same squeaky sound to it as this morning. Luka shook his head.

“Not quite. Is that where you did your residency?”

“No. I attended Northwestern, and did two years’ worth at the university hospital.”

“Then it was Kenya?”

“Yes.  Have you ever been there?”

“No, but I’ve always wanted to go.”

“It’s a beautiful country,” she said. She hoped that Luka would latch on to a conversation on Africa rather than about her, but there was no such luck. She should have known that she couldn’t play games with Luka Kovac.

“I’m sure it is. Why did you leave?”

“Various reasons.”

“So you’re a refugee, too?”

Kerry glared at Luka, her temper rising. “I am not a refugee, Luka. I came back to America because...because I had better opportunities here. I wanted to be an attending in an ER, gain a reputation, and eventually become chief. That’s what I wanted and that’s what I did.”

“Do you always get what you want, Kerry?” he asked her quietly.

“No, I don’t. But that hardly matters, does it?”

“I wanted a few things once,” Luka said, smiling ruefully. “I never wanted to be an ER chief or anything like that. Too much paperwork, too much kow-towing and ass-kissing...”

“I don’t kiss anyone’s ass, Luka,” Kerry said defensively.

“Don’t lie to me, Kerry. You’re high on the ladder, but you’re still below Romano and the administration. In order to get money, supplies and procedure approval, you have to... to play the game, right? It’s the nature of the beast, eh? You’re in the ER every day, and you know what it’s like. I’ve seen it, in the other hospitals where I’ve worked. The politics of it all...”

Kerry didn’t like his reasoning. She had worked very hard to get where she was, and even though it had meant losing friendships along the way, it had been worth it. Well, she thought. I’ve convinced myself that it was worth it. So until I’m no longer convinced, that’s what I believe.

“I take it you’re not into politics, Luka,” she said dully.

“Politics made my life a living hell,” he answered her, his voice a little sharper than Kerry was accustomed to. “I doubt I’ll ever vote in an election.”

“So you have no opinions?” she smiled.

“I have opinions. I just don’t tell anyone about them. Isn’t that supposed to be personal anyway?”

She shrugged. Kerry supposed that would be one area Luka Kovac would never really talk about. Not that it mattered.

He cleared his throat, licking his lips a little. Kerry had noticed that he did that when anxious or irritated. All right, she told herself. Get your mind off his mouth. “I suppose.”

Luka observed Kerry for a moment. Her arms were crossed-a defensive, or at least protective, expression. She looked withdrawn and uncomfortable. He hadn’t been exactly comfortable while telling her about his past, and he believed it only fair that she tell him something about herself.

“Tell me about your family. Where were your parents from?”

She swallowed. “My father was from Georgia. My mother was from Minnesota.”

“Georgia?”

“Yes. Macon, Georgia. I remember, when I was a little girl, asking them who General Sherman was... I was studying the Civil
War at the time... and my mother was about to say that he was a great hero, but my father interrupted and said he was an arsonist.”

Luka laughed. “Sounds like a house divided against itself.”

Kerry couldn’t keep from laughing. “Well, they got along okay. I... I was adopted.”

“Oh. Really?”

She nodded, watching his face. It seemed like whenever she told anyone she was adopted, they reacted in much the same way: curiosity. Not that they regarded her as some kind of freak-her leg more than did the job there-but it seemed like adopted people have some kind of mystery to them that no one-not even themselves-can explain.

“Yes. Now, have I told you enough?” she asked quietly.

“Have you ever tried to find your biological parents?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice squeaking again. “I tried last year to find my biological mother, but I only came to dead ends.”

Luka nodded. “I suppose it would be hard.”

“Yes.”

He stood up, realizing that she had had enough. But it was fascinating. It was yet another piece of the puzzle that was Kerry Weaver. “Okay. I think I’ll turn in for the day. I was going to ask you... Dr. Reed suggested I take a few days off to rest. Is that possible?”

“I’ll get Mark to cover for you. You’ve taken shifts for nearly everyone on staff. I think he can return the favor a little,” Kerry said, remembering Mark’s attitude at the staff meeting that morning. She had been put off by Greene’s attitude, and here was a good chance to put him in his place for trying to lay all the blame on Luka.

Luka nodded. “Thank you.”

With that, he turned and left the room. Kerry remained seated, blinking back tears as the basement door closed. Even though she hated talking about her past, she would have liked for him to stay up here for a while longer. Absently, she hugged herself and rubbed her arms, remembering how it had felt to be engulfed in his embrace. There was something so soothing about Luka. His very presence had a quieting effect on Kerry, and she couldn’t deny that. Carter had gotten on her nerves so often while he was living in her basement, but it would be impossible for Luka to annoy her.

Yawning, she stood up and crutched upstairs to her bedroom. Collapsing on her bed, Kerry stared up at the ceiling. In a few minutes, she fell into an exhausted sleep.


To be continued...