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A KW/LKo Series, Part 8
The Last Goodbye
By Miesque
miesque48@hotmail.com

SYNOPSIS: Carol leaves. No comment.

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

SONG: just a line from ‘Waiting On A Friend’

THANKS TO: My Canadian friend for inspiration regarding what on earth I should do about Luka and Carol! You had an EXCELLENT idea-far better than any I could have come up with!

SPECIAL NOTE: This was written before ‘Such Sweet Sorrow’, and thus the continuity errors.

PREVIOUS INSTALLMENTS: Birthday Surprise; A Friend In Need; Once More Unto the Breach; Running Interference; Laughing At Joe’s; Taking Note; Waiting On A Friend 

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When Carol Hathaway suddenly announced that she was leaving for Seattle, Luka wasn't really surprised. The nurses had started to fill him in on a few details about Carol-finally-and Luka had burned that bridge between them, subconsciously. He didn't allow his feelings for her to grow in any way beyond friendship. She had been kind to him when he needed a little kindness, and he was grateful to her for that.  

Of course, he wondered why she hadn't gone to him sooner, but that was none of his business. He didn't ask. He knew that if his kids were still alive, he'd be with them, no matter what the circumstances. It would take an entire army to keep Luka Kovac away from his sons. In fact, it pretty much had taken an army...or at least a gun in his ribs.  

Maybe he had been attracted to her. He wasn't entirely sure. Maybe it was the thought of a future with someone. The way he had been able to laugh with her, to be gently teased for his own follies-it had made him think of his life before. He had once had a beautiful wife to talk to, two beautiful children sleeping in the house. How many nights had he stood outside with Monika, talking, drinking beer, laughing, and arguing under the stars, with their children safe and secure in the nursery?  

"Making love and breaking hearts, they are the games of youth." He remembered the line from that song. He had once had love, and it was gone. If he had not learned about Carol's situation with Doug Ross...if that situation had not existed, maybe he would have tried...maybe he would have reached out to her. But she had not felt that way, and looking back now, he could see why. Someone else held her heart, and Luka found that easy to accept. She didn't understand. How could she? How could anyone, really? He didn't think his situation was exactly original-there were plenty of young widows and widowers still reeling from their losses in Sarajevo and Vukovar. His case certainly wasn't special, or even unique. And he sure as hell wasn't going to call himself a 'victim'. He still had his pride, even now. 

He went over his thoughts at the time, being honest with himself about it. He hadn't been able to stop himself from considering it. "You're a wonderful woman...I've been so lonely for a woman, for domesticity, for companionship, for my sons. Maybe I'm ready to be with a woman again, so...how about it?" Her "What's wrong?" in response to how he was looking at her had jerked him back into reality. "No?" Well, okay. Maybe I can start looking someplace else...maybe Sanja's right. It's been nine years, after all. I'm not a monk, and I'm sure as hell not a saint. So, back to small talk and the same comfortable 'flirtation' that wasn't going to go anywhere. She had invited him to come back into the house, but something kept him outside, out of her sphere. Thank God for snow, Luka thought, amused. It had broken the moment up, and kept it broken. He was glad for it, because he didn't know if he could handle getting hurt again. It was better to keep the wall up, for now.  

And that sweater had been way too small. This Doug fellow-Luka apparently had a good six inches and several pounds on him. According to the bits and pieces of the story the nurses had told him, Luka had a lot on him-at least, that's what Haleh had said one afternoon in the suture room. But Luka kept himself from forming any opinion on it. If Carol loved the guy, he must have something to offer. 

He had been able to retreat back into his shell, without revealing anything to her. It was for the best. He wasn't sure if he wanted to put that heavy load on her shoulders-he had enough trouble talking about Sarajevo, Vukovar, and all those other cities of death with his own sister. It was safer, somehow, to stay closed off. Maybe, in a while longer, he could snap out of it and start moving forward. Still, it was strange how Carol reminded him of Monika, yet the two women couldn't have been more different. Monika had been taller, very slim, blonde, blue-eyed, with a pink and white complexion. Not only that, but their personalities were a total contrast-Carol had an abrasiveness to her that Luka didn't always like. Monika had been soft-spoken, gentle, sweet-natured. Not that Carol wasn't kind, but no...the two women were so different. What did he see in Carol that reminded him so much of Monika? Maybe the smile, or the way she offered him her friendship without judgement. He really couldn't tell. Maybe it was all just his imagination. 

Her 'lover' or whatever Doug Ross was, was still alive. Her daughters were still alive. She had everything Luka used to have, and he hoped she appreciated it. He wished her the best of luck.  

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Mark's father was dying on the day Carol left for Seattle-in fact, David Greene would be dead before Luka got back. Since Mark obviously couldn't go, Luka offered to give her a ride to the airport-one last ride, halfway home. He helped her with the babies, unloaded her luggage, and stood with her for a moment at the departure gate.

"Thank you, Luka," she said. "For being my friend...I really...needed a friend."

"So did I," he said. The words to that song played in his head again. "I've been waiting on a friend," he quoted.

That seemed to confuse Carol slightly, because she peered up at him over Kate's head. The baby was fussing, as usual. Luka gestured to her to let him hold her. He held her in his arms for a moment, staring down into that little face. Kate stared back up at him, recognizing him and calming down.  

"Is she like her father?" 

"Yes," Carol said softly. "Very much...a troublemaker." 

"I hope you'll appreciate what you have, Carol. I hope Doug Ross can appreciate it, too." 

She nodded, unsure of what she should say now. 

"My father gave me some advise once," Luka said, handing Kate back to her. That baby smell...it made him feel even more blue. "He told me that you have to be brave to live in this world. It's like pouring water into a Coke bottle. If you're in the least bit scared, you can't do it." 

Carol couldn't look up in his eyes now. She had been worried that Luka had been falling for her, and she didn't want to hurt him. She still had no idea of his story, of his past. Now, she realized, that he really hadn't been in love with her. He had just been lonely. And slightly desperate for someone to talk to. She still couldn't figure him out, though. There were still so many questions she wanted to ask, but didn't feel right about asking. For the first time, Carol Hathaway was finding it really difficult to interfere. 

"You're certainly not scared," she said, breaking the silence. "It must have taken some courage to leave your home, and your family..." 

"I don't have a family any more, Carol. They were taken from me and killed. At Vukovar." He gave her no time to react to that-he went on quickly, finding it somehow easier every time he told the story. "It didn't take any courage for me to leave at all. It was cowardice...I couldn't face it. But I'm facing it now. I'm getting better. You're the one with courage-you're taking a chance on a very uncertain future." 

She stared at him, startled, for a moment. And she thought she had a crappy life! It was a damned picnic compared to Luka's. Life with Doug would certainly be uncertain, possibly fraught with all kinds of trouble. She loved him with all her heart, but he was so unreliable, so irresponsible. All she could do was hope...step out into the unknown and trust in God. Maybe it'd work, and maybe it wouldn't. 

She stood on her toes and kissed Luka lightly on the cheek. "I'm gonna miss you, Luka. I've never known a nicer, sweeter man. And I know you'll get better...that the future is bright for you. Nice guys always finish first, as far as I'm concerned. You'll find someone. I know you will. You're such a wonderful man..." She wished she could say something to comfort him, but in a strange way, he looked almost at peace. He looked almost serene now. 

"Eh..." He shrugged. He gave her a light hug, taking care not to disturb Kate, who was still whining. He kissed Kate and Tess on their foreheads, smiled at Carol one last time, gave her his customary bow, turned and walked away.  

"Goodbye," she said, watching him until he disappeared from view. They had parted as friends, and that was how it should be. She looked around the terminal for a moment, wondering if she had forgotten anything. She had said her goodbyes to everyone that morning, saving the last goodbye for Luka, whom she knew she could always count as a friend. Still...if not for Doug, she would certainly have taken a chance on Luka. She was human, wasn't she? 

Carol gathered up her babies, nodded the skycap stacking her luggage on the cart, and headed toward the gate and the future. 

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When he told Sanja about it over lunch that afternoon, she snorted. "I give 'em a year. He'll be shagging every woman he meets, most likely, from what John told me. The guy sounds like a real ass. But I wish 'em luck, too. Maybe they'll stay together and be one big, happy, dysfunctional family." 

Sanja, Luka knew, had no patience with cads. How many times had he seen her slap guys who made unwelcome passes, or had been unfaithful to her? She could leave quite a bruise when she wanted to. 

It was odd, but he really didn't feel bad about it. In fact he scarcely missed Carol, though he would have liked to know the end of the story. It wasn't like she was dead, after all. What did he have to miss? He could pick up a telephone and call her any time-she had said that, and had been very sincere about it, too.  

It had been nice to have someone to talk to, but lately he was talking more and more with John and with Kerry; even with Peter, who was a rather friendly, kind-hearted man once he started talking about his son. Luka didn't feel so lonely any more. The void in his life was being filled, and he was no longer so solitary. He still maintained his privacy, saying little about his past, but the shell was cracking a little at a time. 

Carol's house was put up for sale, of course. She had left most of her furniture there, taking only the most important things with her. Luka wondered about it and decided to ask about it at the real estate office. He was surprised at how low the price was, and decided to go ahead and buy it. Of course, he had to take over the mortgage, but it wasn't much and it would be paid off in another year. Another year. Luka hadn't planned ahead so far since before his marriage.  

Carter, Sanja, and Malucci helped Luka move in (he refused to allow Carter to do any heavy lifting, though). Closing came and went in a matter of hours-Carol had apparently pushed everything forward, making sure that everything went as smoothly and quickly as possible for Luka. He felt like he was being talked down to a little when she called and said that she was worried he "might not understand all the small details".  

He certainly did understand 'the details'. He had owned his own home in Zagreb, and later in Sarajevo-he was actually very good at haggling prices, making a hard deal, or even applying the right amount of pressure when necessary. People may have thought Luka was a naif-just got off the boat, so to speak-but beneath that calm, cool exterior was a shrewd business mind and a quick intelligence to match any Wall Street trader. He already owned a little land in Georgia, for his retirement (another of his father's bits of advice-"Buy land and never sell"), and he had made some canny investments in the stock market; he had a keen eye for that kind of thing. He had plenty of money in the bank, and his financial future was bright, at least.  

It was another unconscious testament of his determination to survive and move forward. He had bought it-ten acres of good, cleared land-more or less on a lark, or so he thought. Maybe, even then, just a year after everything had gone wrong, he was starting to heal a little. Baby steps, perhaps, but they were steps nonetheless. Progress had been made, but at the time he hadn't really recognized it as such.  

It had a large, old house that needed some repair, with a large barn, and he could imagine living there one day. He had liked Georgia. Besides, how many recent immigrants to America could say they already owned two houses and a plot of land? "Heh," he muttered to himself, as he carried a box into his new house in Chicago. "Maybe I'll raise police horses on that land. I'll have window boxes blooming year-round." 

He chuckled as he sat at his kitchen table that night, watching as Kerry went over the legal documents about the house. She had come over shortly before the others left, causing them all to raise their eyebrows. Sanja, however, looked pleased.  

"Everything seems to be in order," she said, trying to keep brisk and businesslike. "But I would still ask the hospital legal department to double- check. Just to be one-hundred percent sure. Carol is very honest, but there's no guarantee her lawyer is that honest." 

He nodded. Carter and Sanja had left for a date-Malucci looking a little miffed about that-and now he was alone in his new kitchen with Kerry. There were boxes everywhere, and he had no dishes out. Just styrofoam cups and paper plates. They had ordered pizza, and two pieces remained. Luka, as usual, hadn't touched it, sticking to bread, cheese and unsalted Saltine crackers, which Kerry mused about. "Shouldn't they just call them 'Eenes'?" 

He chuckled at her joke and got up, groaning. His muscles were aching from carrying so many boxes-he mused that he was getting a little out of shape lately. Winter did that to him-made him more apt to stay indoors. Most of his more valuable things had been in storage for a long time, and even Dave had whistled when he saw the quality of Luka's clothes. "Armani...Versace...wow. How can you afford stuff like this?" 

"I'm a professional gigolo," Luka had deadpanned, causing Carter to giggle so much he nearly dropped a box of books on Sanja's foot. "Now put the clothes in the damned closet." 

"Would you like some coffee?" he asked Kerry. He wished she'd take off her glasses. She looked better without them, even though the new pair was nice looking.

"Well, no..." she grinned. "You make terrible coffee, Luka. It's so thick I swear I could cut it with a knife!" 

"It's Croatian coffee," he laughed. "If you think my coffee is bad, try drinking the stuff Sanja makes. It'll kill you for sure-or keep you awake for weeks." 

He made himself a cup, though, and finally found a bottle of beer. He was surprised that Kerry would drink it-she poured the liquid into a cup-but said nothing. She didn't seem like a beer drinker to him. 

"You made a good choice, Luka," Kerry said. "I'm glad you bought this place. You seem like you're...at home." She watched his expression for some signal, but there was none. In fact, he seemed quiet and withdrawn now. A little distant, thinking of things past, no doubt. But she liked the fact that he had put down roots, settled down, and was going to stay. Kerry couldn't deny for a moment that she would be devastated if he left. She would miss him more than she could say. 

He nodded. It did feel like home. But later, after she left, he felt lonely again. A part of him wished she had stayed. It had really felt like home, with her sitting there at his kitchen table, drinking beer and talking about real estate and bad coffee. A part of him wanted to reach out to her, in some way.  

But all in all, Luka did feel like he had made it back. He was finally home. 

A painful memory flashed throug his mind, though, not long after Kerry left. He remembered going back to Zagreb, after Monika's death. Going into his house and looking around, hearing nothing but silence where happy chaos had once been. He had sat down at the front door, and finally admitted it out loud: "She's not coming home." He had finally broken down then, weeping unashamedly for hours, until he fell asleep on the floor, curled up in the fetal position, cheek against the worn flagstones, exhausted by his grief.  

The pain, then, had been so unbearable that he had, for a moment-just for a moment-wanted to end it all. To just slip away. But now, he was glad he hadn't given up hope. He had woken up to the sound of his own heartbeat, and had known, somewhere deep inside, that he would find a home again. Finally, in Chicago, he had found it.

He was going to stay and see how the story ended.

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To be continued...