A KW/LKo Series, Part 13
Rebuilding
By Miesque
miesque48@hotmail.com

RATING: PG
THANKS TO: My Canadian mentor, for editing and insightful suggestions.

PREVIOUS INSTALLMENTS: Birthday Surprise; A Friend in Need; Once More Into The Breach; Running Interference; Laughing At Joe's; Taking Note; Waiting On A Friend; The Last Goodbye; Anything You Want, Sir; Never Say Never; Blue Heart to Red; Aesop's Foibles

Sanja was glad she hadn't started smoking. Luka would have killed her of course-he had smoked, off and on, until Monika got pregnant with Jasna-but tobacco had not really appealed to her anyway. She didn't drink much, either. It took her all night to drink one glass of wine, and it only made her sleepy.  

She was thinking about alcohol-or, perhaps, only smelling it-while watching the ER staff grapple with a large drunk man. Malik, the friendly male nurse who had insisted she sit behind the front desk instead of in chairs, was having a hard time with the guy. Despite his own considerable size and strength, Malik just couldn't get him into the restraints. Sanja glanced around at Dr. Greene, who was also struggling to get control of the drunk, but having little effect. In fact, he was only adding to the melee of confusion and shouting. 

"Damn it, take him down!" Mark yelled. He got whacked-hard-in the stomach by the man and almost went to his knees, the wind knocked out of him "Seems necessary, eh?" Sanja muttered under her breath. Two biggish security guards finally hove into view and assisted Malik in subduing the patient. He must not be in terribly bad shape, she thought. If your patient is stronger than you, perhaps it's best to send him home with a clean bill of health and hope for the best. 

Sanja glimpsed John coming down the hall. His limp was more pronounced than ever-it reminded her, painfully, of Luka's limp before he left Zagreb for the last time. He had been forced to use a crutch like Dr. Weaver's. Sanja remembered seeing her brother's scars, his haunted expression-John had that same look. He was pale and tired, and at first he didn't notice her sitting there. Lily had to nudge him-gently-and point her out. 

"Hey...Sanja," he said, his voice dull. 

"Hi!" She stood up and smiled at him. "Can we go outside a minute?" 

"Sure." 

He followed her out into the cool spring afternoon. She turned around and looked at him, still smiling. "Remember when I told you I was going to stay all summer?"  

She was surprised to see fear flash in his eyes. "You're...you're going back to Paris now? You've changed your mind?"  

"No, silly! I'm actually thinking about staying here permanently. I like this place. I like being near my brother...and there's other reasons, of course." Her warm smile told him that he was the main reason. 

Relief washed through John. He had come to depend heavily on Sanja. She was a tonic to him, making him feel so much better every time he was around her. Theirs was no longer a friendly, flirtatious relationship. He was honest enough with himself-at least regarding that-to realize that he was falling in love with her. And why not? She was sweet, gentle, kind, and light-hearted...three things he needed badly in his life. He was thinking, in fact, of introducing her to his grandparents, to see how she took. If his Gamma approved, then there was no real obstacle in the path. Except, of course, for John himself.  

Amazing, how fragile a heart can be, he thought. You think you've got it all under control. You have all the bases covered, and you can keep people away. Then someone like Sanja comes around and all your defenses crumble. Didn't Kovac say she was a tornado one day? Yeah, that's about it. A tornado. 

"I'm glad to hear that," he said. "Really glad." 

She laughed, and kissed him. John could only sigh with relief and pleasure as he pulled her closer, kissing her back. If Sanja was going to stay, he could give thought to actually getting back on his feet again. He was already starting to feel better. His back still hurt, and the wounds were not completely healed, but as he looked into her eyes, he knew that there was really something to look forward to.  

"Where are you going to live?" he asked. 

"I'm not sure. I was hoping you'd help me look for an apartment. Luka has so much on his mind now, I don't want to drag him into it." 

"I'd be happy to help, Sanja." He kissed her again, warmly, before heading back into the hospital. At the admit desk, he saw Luka, looking worn down as usual. He was talking to Amira, clearly annoyed. 

"I don't give a damn if you're tired. We're all tired. I've been up since ten in the morning...yesterday. So tell the supply office to send more forms down here. That's their job." 

Amira sneered at Luka when he turned his back on her, and Carter gave her a chilly glare. Luka turned to face Carter, who took a step back at the sight of the older man. Kovac looked horrible. 

"Hey, your sister's outside." 

Luka nodded curtly, his mind elsewhere. The television was on in chairs, playing some CNN footage of the Elian Gonzalez fiasco. Luka didn't know what to think about that situation; he would want the boy to be with his father, but certainly not in Cuba. He shook his head; the world was so damned complicated, and always politicized. Lately, he didn't know what to think about anything any more. He didn't even know for sure about Kerry, except that he wished she was around right now. A little of her warmth and comfort would be nice. 

"Dr. Kovac?" Carter asked, trying to keep in step with his colleague as Luka headed down the hall. He turned and looked at him, and John shuddered. There was something really frightening in Luka's eyes. It made his blood run cold. 

"Yeah?" 

"I said your sister is outside. I think she wants to talk to you. She told me she's moving to Chicago...permanently."

"Great." Luka nodded. "I guess that's good for you, too." 

"Yeah." 

Luka glimpsed Kerry coming toward them, and nodded to her. She stopped behind Carter, who turned to look at her. Luka, however, gently signalled for her to move on. She nodded, understanding, and continued down the hall.  

"What's up?" Carter asked, looking back and forth at them. 

"You'll be off at...nine, right?" Luka asked. 

"Yes...is something wrong?" 

"Let me talk to Sanja first, and then I need to talk to you about something." 

Carter paused a moment, unsure, but nodded. "Okay." 

"I'd really like it if you'd talk to Carter, Luka," Kerry said. They were in the lounge-Luka was pulling his coat on before going out to talk to Sanja.  

Kerry was looking at charts, but paying little attention to them. "I'm worried about him." 

"I've noticed he's having trouble concentrating on things," Luka answered slowly. He was staring at that picture on his locker door-a photo of the windswept coast of Croatia. It was home, and yet now it was no longer home for him. He actually had nightmares sometimes about being forced to go back.  

"If you talked to him, Luka...if you talked to him, maybe it would help you. It would be kind of therapeutic, you know?" 

He looked at her for a moment, then looked out the window. "You know, it's been ten years since I've stood near a window?" he said. "Ten years. Is that a phobia or what?" 

"I would say it's...uh...a phobia?" she answered, watching him intently. 

"Snipers. After Vukovar, I lived in Sarajevo and other places all over Bosnia. Snipers were everywhere. I still feel like they're around sometimes. Late at night. I get up to get a drink of water and I find myself ducking whenever I pass the window." He looked at her. "I've noticed that Carter never goes into exam three. Never." 

Kerry nodded. "I...I have trouble going in there myself. But we still have to, don't we?" 

He nodded. "I'll talk to him. I've got to talk to Sanja, too. Why don't we eat a late dinner tonight, after I talk to John? Joe's Crabhouse, maybe?" 

She grinned. "Sure." 

"I'm worried about John, Luka," Sanja said quietly, keeping her voice down. Lots of people were milling around in the ambulance bay. Mark and Cleo were playing basketball, and several other staff members were outside, enjoying the cool spring night, smoking, laughing. Luka couldn't go far right now-he was on call and had to be nearby in case he was needed. 

"I'm concerned about him, too," Luka answered slowly, watching Mark miss a lay-up. He shivered in the slightly chilled air. "He's...what's the word? Crumbling?" 

"That sounds about right. I care a lot about him, Luka. Not like any guy I've known before. And you're always saying I should avoid the artsy-fartsy guys and try the professional types-doctors, lawyers..." 

"Well, I'd rather you keep away from lawyers," Luka shrugged, smiling vaguely. He approved of the idea of his sister with Carter. He hadn't liked any of the men she had dated in the past. They had all been self-absorbed jerks, and most had, in small ways, hurt Sanja. So far, fortunately, she had never had her heart broken. He hoped with all his might that it wouldn't happen to his sister.  

"I hope you'll talk to him, Luka. He should talk to someone who's been through something...unpleasant, too." 

He looked at his sister, eyes narrowing slightly. "You mean, talk about Vukovar? With Carter?" 

"Yes. He needs to understand...he needs to know that he's going to get better, like you. That he can heal." 

Luka looked away, unsure. He wasn't too sure he was healing very well yet. There were days when he felt like every old wound was being torn open. Not by Kerry or by his co-workers, but by the struggle of just getting up and moving forward. Even now, he was feeling a little down, and suddenly he knew that Sanja was right. He should talk about it, and really, there was no better candidate for that conversation than Carter. John was looking just as haunted, just as traumatized, as Luka had felt nine years ago. Still felt, in fact. 

"Sanja says she's worried about you, Carter," Luka said. Well, he thought. I never was good at segue. Didn't Monika say I was the King of Blunt once? 

They were seated on barstools, glasses of beer in front of them. The bar was quiet and dark. It was, in fact, the same bar Luka and Kerry had wandered into a few weeks before.  

"Yeah," John shrugged. "She's a worrier, I think." 

"Yes, she is. She'd worry if she didn't have something to worry about." 

Carter managed a smile but said nothing. Luka glanced at him, then leaned against the bar, wondering where he should start. 

"Did you ever read the story of Job...in the Bible?" Luka asked. 

John stared at Luka, startled. "Uh...yeah...I think so..." 

"Do you remember anything about it?" 

"He lost everything. His kids were killed, right? Raiders took all his animals. He got sick...boils, I think, right?" 

"Yeah. Boils. He sat in a heap of ashes, scraping his skin with a sharp stone. That was all you could do about that, in those days, I think." Luka took a sip of his beer. "He lost his family...he lost his property, and then he lost his health. His wife told him to curse God and die. Big help she was. But even then he said something like 'The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord'. That must have taken quite a bit of faith." 

Carter nodded, wondering where Luka was heading with this analogy. He had trouble figuring Dr. Kovac out-he was so quiet, so dead serious, and yet every now and then he showed a flash of sharp wit and real humor. Carter had only heard a few rumors about Luka-that he had suffered some kind of terrible loss in Croatia, but so far, no one knew the whole story. Besides that, everyone was a little afraid to broach the subject with Luka-it seemed disrespectful.  

"Anyway, the really sad part of the story, I always thought, was when his friends came to see him. At first, they were a comfort because they didn't say anything for a long time. They just sat." Luka remembered, again, the comfort of his sister's presence, and that priest. They had said nothing-they had just let him grieve and only offered compassion and kindness. "But then...they started talking. They accused Job of having committed some kind of horrible sin, because only a really wicked person could suffer all this tragedy, you know?" 

Carter nodded, looking away. Luka took a deep breath, and continued. "Have you ever heard of Vukovar, Carter?" 

John studied Luka carefully, not sure. He knew he had heard the word somewhere, but it wasn't registering. 

"It was...I mean, it is...a city on the Danube, in Croatia. In August of 1991, it was attacked. For three months, the city held out against them, with almost no means of defense." 

Carter nodded, now remembering. He had read some of the medical testimony. He stared at Luka, eyes widening. Had Dr. Kovac been there? 

"I was there," Luka answered Carter's wordless question. "Our apartment building was hit by an artillery shell in early September. My wife was very badly injured, but my kids..." He paused a moment, taking a deep breath. "They were okay. A few cuts and bruises. Anyway..." He cleared his throat, forcing himself to continue, even though he was feeling that same pain in his chest. It actually hurt physically to tell the story. "I took them to the hospital to see her. She was in bad shape. I remember telling them what to expect: that she would have tubes in her chest and in her mouth. Jasna was five, Marco was just three. But I wanted them to see, to understand, to know. There is nothing worse than keeping a child in the dark, you know?" 

Carter swallowed, not sure if he wanted to hear this story. He wasn't sure if he could deal with it. But he nodded, in spite of himself, urging Luka to continue.  

"On November the thirteenth, the city fell. We had no supplies, no food, no water, no heat...it was so cold, and we were all so tired. On the seventeeth, they took over the hospital. On the nineteenth, they took all the medical personnel out." Luka paused again, closing his eyes, fighting back his tears. "They took the patients out, too. Including my wife. They took my children, too. Took them out to the woods..." 

Carter stared at Luka, unable to speak.  

"And shot them. Buried them in mass graves. I remember hearing the gunshots, and knowing...knowing my wife was dead and my babies were dead. I'll never be able to get that sound out of my head. I have...flashbacks of it. I have nightmares about it. Sometimes, I'm afraid to go to sleep at night because it comes back to me."

"Me, too," Carter said softly. 

"Yes. I guessed that." Luka took a slow, trembling breath. "I was shot and more or less left for dead...I fought them too much, I guess, begged for their lives..." He paused again, not sure if he could continue. "I'm not saying that my situation is worse than yours, Carter. It's not. You were stabbed in the back by a psychotic patient. There's no 'tragedy poker' game here, you know? It's not a fair match, really." 

Carter could feel himself breaking down. "Every since the accident, I've been...I've been having flashbacks...I hear Lucy in my head..." he gasped. "I can't get it out of my head. I went to DeRaad, but it didn't help. I read Sobriki's records, I talked to his wife..." 

"Accident?" Luka stared at Carter, brow furrowed. "It wasn't an accident, Carter. Crazy or not, Paul Sobriki stabbed you. On purpose."

"But I shouldn't have performed that spinal tap. He was combative, he was resisting treatment...I should have listened to Lucy..."

"That's going to happen with a lot of spinal taps," Luka said, taking another drink. "And Lucy didn't know...she should have picked up on it, but she was human. She was also learning her trade. People make...mistakes. Errors in judgement...and you have to live with them. I'm not saying it's easy or that I can tell you what to do to get better. I'm hardly an example of 'getting better' myself. I'm still having...problems...nine years after."

Carter stared at Luka for a moment. "I should have seen it, Luka. I should have picked up on it. I blew her off, ignored her. I was supposed to be supervising her...I was responsible for her." 

"I was supposed to have been supervising you. Sobriki was just a name on the board to me. I should have asked you about the patient, should have done rounds myself. But I didn't. We all failed in our ways. But..." He paused a moment, looking away. "I still feel like I failed my family. That there surely was something I could have done..." 

Carter wished he knew what to say to Luka. "A stabbing is nothing compared to..." 

"Don't say that," Luka interjected sharply. "You were viciously attacked. But things happen, Carter. So you get up, you start over, you rebuild. That's what they've done in Croatia. They're trying to get past it all. To move forward, to rebuild." Luka rubbed his eyes. "It's not going to be easy, I can assure you. For either one of us. But it can be done. Just remember that there are a lot of people at County who care. We're all worried about you." 

Carter nodded.  

"I don't see many people talking to you, Luka. Except Kerry," he said. Carter had noticed that Luka and Kerry were often found talking to each other, but until now he didn't really recognize what that was all about. "Are you two...?" 

"None of your business, Carter," Luka said, grinning.  

Carter cackled, grinning wickedly at his colleague. Well, not his colleague any more. His friend. He clapped Luka on the back. It was strange how easily he had been able to talk to Luka about it. Kovac, he knew, wouldn't spread the story around that he was having flashbacks, that he was still in pain, that he was still so scared. Yet, now, he felt better...calmer. He felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Well, not all the weight. But the load was a little easier now. 

"You're right, you know?" He nodded to the bartender, indicating that he wanted another beer. "I mean, I feel better some days. But I still hear the voices in my head...I still have nightmares. Can't sleep..." 

"I don't sleep well sometimes," Luka said. "I have nightmares. But then again..." He looked away then, not sure if he wanted to reveal this to Carter, or to anyone. "I see them. I see my wife and my kids. They come to me to comfort me, in my dreams. I see them a lot. Lately, I've been seeing them every day. Sometimes I even see them in a patient, especially if it's a child, but usually in my dreams. At least..." His voice broke slightly, but he regained his composure. Carter didn't look at him, out of respect. "At least, they'll always be young. Monika will always be young and beautiful. My kids will always be innocent. It's real, you know? It's real and maybe it's God being kind to me. Giving me some comfort. They will not come back to me, but one day I'll see them again. I believe that. I really do. Maybe it's stupid or foolish, but it's still real to me and it helps." 

Luka continued. "Before all this happened, John...I believed in God, but I didn't always believe him, you know? But now, it's like I'm walking around, begging Him to just get me through the day. I find myself talking to Him all the time. Before, I wasn't always sure if I believed in Him at all. Now...I do. Absolutely. I'll defy anyone to tell me there's no God. I mean, if this is all there is, then it's hardly a comfort, is it? After Vukovar, I had trouble believing in Him, for a while. But now, I have no doubt. It seems like that...that part of me is stronger. I have to believe, you know? I have to, or I know I really would go crazy." 

Carter managed a half-smile. "Well, I'm sure some people would give you a run for your money on that." He ordered another beer. I'm not too sure if I believe in God myself, Carter thought. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. 

Luka watched Carter for a moment, assessing his reactions carefully. "People talk all the time about 'the patience of Job'," he said carefully. "He wasn't too patient, actually. He did a bit of complaining, and that's human, I guess. People live in pain, but it's the tough ones who survive. I survived, and I am determined to live for a long, long time. I used to think I wouldn't, but now...I'm gonna die fighting all the way." He took another drink of his beer. "It's hard to get past stuff like that, I know. But in the end, Job ended up with twice as much as he ever had. And he had more kids. He passed the test. I'm sure you will, too, John." 

Carter took a final swig of his beer and glanced up, seeing Sanja coming in. She smiled at John as she made her way over.

"Hey," he said, grinning. "What's up?" 

"Hopefully, your spirits," she said, laughing. "Luka, I saw Kerry before I left the hospital. She said to meet her at Joe's Crabhouse." 

Carter looked from Sanja to Luka, eyes widening. "Business dinner?" he said, choking back laughter.  

Sanja giggled, glancing at John. She was relieved to see that he looked a little better. There was a ways to go, she figured. But she had no doubt that he had benefited from hearing Luka's story. And besides-she was going to stick around, to see what happened. Between learning more about John and seeing Luka's relationship with Kerry progress, Sanja knew she was in for a very interesting summer. 

"Very funny," Luka grouched. He didn't appreciate Carter's cackle of laughter, or Sanja's knowing smile. He paid for his beer and made his way out.  

"Hey, Luka, have fun stormin' the castle!" Carter yelled.  

Luka chuckled to himself and stepped out into the late spring evening. He felt strangely calm. Maybe getting that story off his chest was cathartic. He had refused, for a long time, to believe in such things. But now, he had to admit that it had helped. He felt like things were brightening a little in his life. He had a circle of friends now, and he had Kerry... 

Kerry. Thank God for her, he thought as he walked to his car. I'm not sure if I would have been able to talk to Carter if it wasn't for her. 

"Don't ever make me eat crabcakes again," Luka said, groaning. "Horrible." 

Kerry laughed and gave him a playful nudge. He was giving her a ride home again, even though her car was finally out of the shop. They had enjoyed their late dinner together, but both were tired after a long day at work. Kerry had noticed, too, that Luka looked drained after his talk with Carter. She didn't want to make Luka talk about that twice on the same day, so she did all she could to lighten his mood. He seemed to notice her efforts, and she could tell he was feeling better as they drove toward her house. 

"You know, for such a big, healthy guy you sure do have a fragile stomach." 

"Volatile. It's volatile," he said. "Funny that I didn't need a post-prandial cigarette. Maybe I really am over my slight addiction to nicotine." 

"I'm glad to hear that," she smiled. "It's not good for you anyway." 

He helped her out of her car, and she found herself blushing as he took her hand and helped her up, taking her crutch and then handing it back to her, waiting until she was standing up straight and steady before he started walking with her toward her front porch. His excellent manners, his 'galant' behavior-it made her feel like a woman. There was just something so inately sexy and beautiful about Luka, and the best thing was that he didn't even know it. He really had no idea, and it only added to his appeal. Kerry had always hated men who knew they were cute. Maybe that was why Doug Ross' attitude rubbed her the wrong way. He had known, and it had made him into a head-bobbing, bed-hopping jerk. There was none of that with Luka. He was confident, but there was little self-consciousness about him. He was, as Sanja had so aptly put it, utterly clueless. 

"It's been a strange day," Luka said, once they were on the porch. "Very...uh...therapeutic." 

She smiled at his pronunciation of the word. 'T'erapeutic'. It was adorable. He looked, right now, like a little boy. He had been charming and funny through dinner: almost enthusiastic, but still holding back a little. He had made her laugh, joking and teasing with her.  

"Was...was this a date, Luka?" she asked him suddenly. She was as startled as he at the abrupt question. 

"I'm not sure. Do people our age date?" he asked, smiling quizzically. 

"No...I don't think so. Young people 'date'. Hope you take this in the manner it's given, but neither one of is 'young' any more. We've seen way too much to remain youthful." 

He laughed. "Someone asked my wife once...'how do you keep your youth?', and she said, 'I don't introduce him to anyone.' But I'm not that guy any more. I'm not youthful any more. Not old, not young. Not middle-aged. I don't know what I am, age-wise. So, what do we do, then?" he asked, chuckling. Kerry smiled, blushing. Well, there's lots we could do, she thought. Lots. But she knew his question was innocent.  

Suddenly, it dawned on her that he was not very experienced at courtship. Maybe he wasn't even sexually experienced. He hardly seemed like a skirt-chaser to her. Maybe he was one of those rare men who believed in love and romance before sex, and that sex was only an extension of love, and only appropriate within that boundary. But he had kissed her pretty damned expertly. Maybe he had learned a lot from his wife...didn't Sanja say he was like a wolf: mating for life? A 'one-woman man'. A faithful partner...a rare thing in this day and age. 

"Well, I don't know, Luka," she grinned. "Maybe we just...see each other. Eat meals together, go to movies...that sort of thing." 

He looked away. "I didn't even do that with my wife, before we married. We didn't have a movie theatre in our home town. And the only restaurant was run by my uncle and he wouldn't have left us alone for a minute. We walked for miles, though...all over the countryside. That was about all there was to do, really."  

Kerry laughed. "How long did you date your wife before you...knew?" 

He looked down. "Not...not long," he said. "Uh...well, it's a long story. I'm sorry, but I'm tired of telling long stories...at least for today." 

She nodded. "I understand. That's okay. I'll see you tomorrow?" 

"Yeah, of course. I'm slotted in from one 'til...eternity, I think. Ah, the plight of the ER chief," he said ruefully. "I need to go home and sleep for a while." 

They stared at each other for a moment, yet it was very comfortable. Neither had to speak, and Kerry wasn't sure who leaned in first. They kissed warmly, affectionately, and with growing passion. Then, unwillingly, they parted again. She was glad he had moved down onto the steps, so that he was almost level with her. No need to pull him down by his tie. 

"Good night," she said, smiling. For the first time, she touched him consciously, brushing that errant lock of dark hair from his eyes. He actually blushed, smiling slightly. She had never dared touch his face before, feeling perhaps that it was an invasion of his personal space. But he didn't seem to mind.  

"Good night, Kerry." 

She watched him walk away, noting that slight limp. He was tired: perhaps more tired than usual. This day had taken a lot out of him, she was sure. She had been a little worried about sending him out to talk to Carter, knowing it would be painful for him. But she knew Luka would come out okay. He had a core of strength in him that she envied sometimes. 

Once she saw his Saab go by, she went inside. There was a lot to think about regarding Luka. It wasn't like she could forge ahead with something physical with him. There was something still very innocent about him, despite all the trauma he had so obviously experienced. Crutching to her couch, she pulled that psychology textbook out and began reading on a subject she had been afraid to get into.  

Quietly, she began reading out loud to herself. "Post-traumatic stress disorder..." she read. She paused briefly, taking a deep breath. Her clinical mind made her get out a pad and pencil and begin writing, taking notes, making a list of things Luka had said and done since she'd met him. "Clues," she said to herself. "I need more clues." 

"Feelings of doom...hopelessness." She tapped her pencil for a moment, remembering what he'd said that afternoon when he kissed her for the first time. "No...he seems to be past that. He's determined to live a long time." 

"Avoidance of situations or stimuli that might conjure up memories of the trauma." Kerry wasn't sure. Should I experiment there? Show him a newspaper article or story about Vukovar? But wouldn't that be kind of cruel? "I don't know," she wrote.

"Loss of sexual appetite/desire." Possibly, she thought. But he's coming to life lately. Not obviously, but he's coming out of the deep freeze. Right now, he still seems so reticent, never aggressive or forward with her. Maybe he was more comfortable keeping their relationship on a more or less platonic level. At least for now.

But it's going to take a long time for him to fully recover. And Kerry had to be honest with herself about something: he might very well suffer from some form of sexual dysfunction: impotence, for instance-it was a symptom of PTSD, after all. That would be something major to deal with, down the road. How do you deal with something like that? she asked herself. I'm his friend first; I don't want to embarrass him, and despite being a doctor he might share some of the same macho pre-conceptions of a lot of European males, particularly Meditteraneans. But, she reminded herself, I mustn't presume too much right now. We haven't even gotten to that stage yet, and I have a feeling it'll be a long time before we do. 

Kerry sat back in her chair, thinking this over. She had no doubt that his wife's horrific death had thrown a lot of cold water on his libido. And yet...there was still that bold, confident sexiness about him. He was so beautiful, so desirable, so seductive, and yet...for him to suffer from such a condition would be doubly cruel. But it happens, she reminded herself. It wouldn't be his fault at all. Not one iota. It's been seen in countless PTSD sufferers. And it's treatable and curable. 

She tapped her pencil again, mulling this over. "We'll burn that bridge when we cross it," she said to herself. "He may be just fine, for all I know..." She wrote quickly, in bold letters. 'Do not presume'. 

"Dependence on alcohol, drugs in order to get through the day." Well, no, she told herself. I've never seen him drink heavily. And drugs would be out of the question.  

"Avoidance of social situations." She wasn't sure. The only party she had seen him at was that Valentine's party, and he hadn't been participating. 

"Nightmares." Possibly. Very probably, in fact. 

"Anxiety attacks, phobias, irrational fears." Hadn't he told her that he never stood by a window? And she had seen him in anxious, uneasy moments. Withdrawing, picking at the palm of his hand. Not 'tics', necessarily, but it was something that she had picked up on. 

"Chronic insomnia." Definitely. Those bags under his eyes...if that wasn't evidence enough of insomnia, she didn't know what would be.

Kerry closed the book, having written down every symptom of the disorder. She stared at the list, shivering a little. She wanted to help him...she needed to help him. He was her friend, as well as something more than a friend. She wanted to see him healthy and happy one day. She sat up, looking around the room, and knew that she wanted to see him healthy and happy with her, right here, in this house. Kerry Weaver realized, conciously, that she loved him. It was as simple as that. One more thing to add to the list, she chuckled to herself.  

But, she reminded herself, I may never totally solve the puzzle that is Luka Kovac. 

To be continued...