A KW/LKo Series, Part 2
A Friend In Need
By Miesque
miesque48@hotmail.com

Kerry was running late, and it annoyed her to find herself mediating an argument between Chen and Malucci when she really wanted to get out of County and across the street to Doc Magoo's.

"Listen, I don't want to listen to this crap anymore," she snapped. "If the two of you can't get along, then play in separate sandboxes, all right?"

Chastised, Chen nodded. Malucci only sulked. Kerry glared at them, glancing over Dr. Chen’s shoulder at the clock, which told her it was 8:10. "Damn!" she snapped, and crutched away.

"I guess she's got a date with whoever sent her those flowers," Dave said to Chen.

"Wish we could find out who it was," Deb said, before moving away.

Kerry wasn't sure if Luka would even wait that long for her. He certainly had little reason to do so. It seemed like all she could do was screw up regarding him. She would say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing...but at least she hadn't asked him stupid questions about Croatia. Kerry was a lot of things, she knew, but she wasn't totally insensitive. And as polite as he was toward everyone, it was obvious that at times he got irritated with people when they said something clueless to him. It was only his remarkable self-restraint and dignity that kept him from smacking people, she laughed to herself. Kerry wasn't too sure she'd be so long-suffering with anyone.

Just as Kerry was crutching out of the lounge, her coat over her arm, Mark hove into view. "Oh, God," she thought. "Not more whining from Dr. Mark 'It's-Not-Easy-Being' Greene."

"Kerry, we're kind of stacked up here," he said. "I was wondering who I should page."

She shrugged. "I don't know, Mark. You're in charge of the board tonight, it's your call."

"Well, I was thinking Kovac."

"Why? He was here last night. All night."

Mark shifted uncomfortably, then got that all-too-familiar pissy look on his face. Kerry knew Mark didn't like Luka, but she couldn't understand why, since everyone else on the staff practically adored Dr. Kovac. She had heard the nurses talking about him on several occasions. Certainly they talked about his looks, but they all had commented on his very genuine dignity, his kindness, and the sadness in his eyes.

So far, Luka had been very polite and courteous toward Mark, only to receive a cold shoulder in return. It irked Kerry to see that; in fact, it made her angry every time she saw Mark being rude to him. Luka, however, had said nothing about it.

"Well, he got off at eight o'clock this morning, surely he could come on for the night shift again...at least for a few hours."

"Do not page him," Kerry snapped. "He's already been through enough, he doesn't need your smart-ass behavior, too."

With that, she turned and limped away, Mark watching her with an expression of anger and confusion on his face. Carol came up to him, looking curious.

"What was that all about?"

"Luka," Mark said. He turned to look at Carol. "Doesn't it seem like Kovac is too perfect?"

"Luka, perfect? No...not really. He's just a nice guy, that's all. What's wrong with being nice?"

"And what has he 'been through'?" Mark asked, not really hearing Carol. "People like Kovac don't need to worry about much, you know. They have good looks, good clothes, probably lots of money..."

"Mark, you sound about twelve years old. Why don't you ask him to meet you after school for a fight?"

He looked at Carol, startled, but she walked away before he could argue with her. And as for fighting with Luka Kovac...Mark shook his head. He wasn't that dumb.



Luka was sitting at a booth, leaning against the wall, arm resting on the back of the seat. He was nursing a glass of Jack Daniels, hoping it might ease him into a good night's sleep for once. He saw Kerry come in, but made no gesture to her, just raised his head slightly. She crutched to him, and stood for a moment, unsure.

The waitress came over. "Would you like anything, ma'am?"

"Uh...double mocha cappuccino with cinnamon and cream."

"And anything else for you, sir?" The waitress turned toward Luka, and Kerry noticed that the girl's expression softened as she stared down at Kovac.

"Coffee. Black."

The girl nodded and walked away. Luka looked Kerry up and down, lingering for a moment on her crutch. "Sit down. You look tired."

"I am tired," she said, sliding into the seat. He took the crutch from her, which surprised her, and studied it for a moment. Then he handed it back to her.

She found herself blushing and tongue-tied. It was just something in the way he handed it back to her; it was like a benediction or something. He was always so respectful, keeping a distance, never asking intrusive questions. And here she was, knowing she was going to ask him about everything...

"Something wrong?" he asked, leaning back again.

"No...uh. No. I'm sorry I'm late."

"Not a problem. I was late, too." He fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers for a moment, showing signs of unease as well. "I rode the El and it was delayed a little."

She nodded. "Luka, I was wondering...about Dillon and Jake. Were you able to find a job for Dillon?"

He nodded. "Yes. But Jake is still at the 'holding center'," he said this with a slight grimace. The term had an unsettling image to it. It made him think of death camps. He knew that wasn't the purpose of the DCFS holding center, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't erase the image from his mind.

"With DCFS, Luka, you must understand that they do know more about these situations than we do, and we do have to bow to their expertise..."

"Kerry, DCFS is a government agency, not Solomon. But after thinking about it...I do realize that you had a point,” he said in that quiet, smoky voice of his. It always grabbed Kerry’s full attention, and she listened to him, watching his face, allowing herself a moment to observe those beautiful, expressive eyes once more before looking away again. "If something had happened to Dillon, Jake would have been alone, on the streets...helpless. I’ve known lots of people who ended up like that.”

She looked down, cheeks still hot, and was relieved when the waitress came with their coffee. Luka drank down the last of his whiskey and took a sip of the coffee. He had never been a serious coffee drinker, but this American stuff...it was too thin for his taste. He watched as she drank her cappuccino. Luka had no sweet tooth at all... in fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten a piece of candy. That sweet coffee-like substance Kerry was drinking only made his stomach do flips. He had inherited a horrible stomach from his father's side of the family, and a volatile temper from his mother. Or, at least, he used to have a volatile temper. Now...it seemed like nothing fazed Luka much any more.

"And I really don't see how they could think that Jake was somehow being neglected. He was being fed, clothed, and had shelter. That's what all humans require. When I lived in Vukovar we didn't have electricity or running water. I shudder to think what DCFS would have done there. But then again, I doubt DCFS would have ordered Jake to be killed."

"You...you lived in Vukovar?"

"Yes."

She swallowed. "In Vukovar?"

He stared into the black depths of his coffee, flinching slightly at painful memories flooding all around him. He really didn't want to talk about it. But he felt he had to. He had to clear the air with Kerry.

"Yeah. In Vukovar. And other...places. Sarajevo, later in Split, then Italy and then London..."

"Is that...where your...family was killed? At Vukovar?" she asked, point blank. There was no more getting around it. She had to know. She just had to know.

He only nodded this time, keeping his eyes downcast. She shook her head in disbelief. How could something like this happen in an allegedly civilized world? Kerry had watched the news of the war on CNN, and had never really felt any major reaction to it besides sorrow and disgust. Now, to see a victim of that war right in front of her, it was painful. And criminal. It had all finally hit home with her, and every time she saw something about Yugoslavia on TV, she would record it and try to figure out what was happening...what had happened, and why. But she still didn't understand it. She doubted anyone really understood that war. Luka's arrival in her world had made her painfully aware of how little she understood it.

"How...were they killed?" she asked, keeping her voice very low.

He looked out the window, gathering his strength, forming the words very carefully. He didn't want to reveal too much; didn't want to go into it.

"You know the story, don't you? Vukovar was first attacked in August of ninety-one, and the city fell in November...our apartment house was hit by a shell in September...we stayed in the hospital, and when the city fell, it was attacked too...a lot of the patients were taken out and killed..." he paused, taking a deep breath, exhaling, purging some of the pain. "I remember watching as my wife and kids were loaded on to a truck. Then they shot me...three times...left me for dead. That's why I limp." He looked briefly at her crutch. "I used to have a crutch like that." There was a wary expression on his face, and Kerry noticed it. He wasn't telling the whole story, but she left it at that. Why push it?

Kerry covered her mouth with her hand. It had all been a painful flashback for Luka, obviously, to watch as Jake was loaded into the van, screaming and crying. She could almost see the scene Luka had endured... she could almost hear his children screaming for help. He was a father...what father wouldn't do everything in his power to protect his babies? Yet Luka had been powerless...and that must have been even worse. He was strong, healthy, intelligent, and yet utterly powerless to protect the wife and children he so obviously loved and mourned.

He was staring into his coffee cup again, struggling with his emotions, fighting back the pain.

Even after nine years he had not found a way to cope with it. The nights were the hardest for him, even when he was at work. All he wanted at night was the feeling of safety and home. But that wasn't possible any more, he was sure. He was a man without a country now, without a home or friends.

He thought that if he didn't find someone to talk to, he would go mad. Luka had always needed to communicate with others, though he wasn't much of a talker even before his loss, though he had certainly been more light-hearted. He had always needed to have people he could confide in. But after nine years, he still didn't trust anyone enough. At least, until he met Kerry. He didn't know why he trusted her, but he had sensed her loneliness, too. Maybe he was just taking advantage of her, but he needed to hear another voice; someone who wouldn't judge him, or tell everyone else his story.

As nice as Carol was to him, he didn't trust her with his secrets. He just figured she needed someone to help her, and though he knew it was kind of selfish, he found it comforting to be around babies again. Even screaming Kate. It filled a hole in him, but he knew he wasn't right for Carol, nor was she right for him.

"Did you...find them?" she asked softly.

"It took two months," he answered. "The UN helped as best they could, but it was hard. Foreign journalists...found the graves. They were in a mass grave...women and children. There were...hundreds of them. And it was cold, too. Wintertime, so everyone was pretty well preserved...I knew it was them. If I had even a doubt...if I thought they were alive, Kerry..."

"You would still be looking for them." She finished his thought for him.

He nodded.

"I can't go back to Croatia, Kerry. I can't go back there at all. Never."

That was an odd statement, she thought. "Why?"

"I have no one left. I mean...I have a sister. She lives in Paris... a fashion model, of all things. But I sent her to Paris when the war started. Our parents are dead. All our relatives are dead. The worst thing about her living in Paris is that she might become a damned Socialist." Luka blanched slightly. He could have sent his wife and kids out of the country, too. But Monika had insisted on staying with him. His sister had been a child then, of course, with no real say in the matter. It had been for the best...

Kerry couldn't help but laugh at his statement, and he looked up, startled. "Did I say something funny?"

"Yes...sort of," she smiled. "What is your sister's name?"

"Susanja."

"Have I ever seen her? You know, like, on the cover of "Vogue"?"

"Three times," Luka said tiredly. "She was the village beauty. Another reason for sending her out of Croatia. I used to be a teenaged boy. I knew what they were thinking."

"She must be really beautiful. Is she...dark, like you?"

"Yeah."

Kerry tried for a moment to imagine a female version of Luka, but for some reason she couldn't. Susanja Kovac was probably tall, slender, with a pantherlike beauty. Black hair, dark eyes, olive skin, that same touch of the Mediterranean to her...but for some reason, a face wasn't coming up.

Luka's pager went off suddenly, and he groaned. It was the ER.

"I'm being paged to come in," he said, reading the message.

Kerry scowled. She made a mental note to rake Mark Greene over the coals tomorrow. But Mark was in charge, like it or not. And as vindictive and ridiculous as Greene was toward Luka, he would only really call him in if it was absolutely necessary.

Luka got up, grabbing his big pea coat. She watched him, wishing she could think of something to say.

"Happy birthday, Kerry," he said suddenly.

She looked up at him, and blushed bright crimson. "You sent the flowers!"

"Yeah...I figured you needed at least one birthday present."

"They were really beautiful. Thank you, Luka."

He nodded modestly. But she went on. "But the rosemary and the rue...what was that?"

Luka shrugged. "I just remembered the lines from Shakespeare. Rosemary for remembrance, rue for grace. I keep a piece of rosemary in my pocket, all the time. Stupid, but it helps me remember the good times, especially when things are going really bad. And the rue...well, that keeps me from punching people in the face. You seem to have the same bit of grace to you."

Kerry laughed out loud. "With this limp?"

"Grace has nothing to do with how you walk, Kerry," he told her simply. He nodded, pulled his coat on, and left.

Kerry sat there for a long time, going over his words, his pain, again and again in her head. She was glad for one thing, though: she had found a real friend in Luka Kovac. And she was determined to maintain that friendship no matter what.

To be continued....