TITLE: Where Is Aruba?
AUTHOR: Miesque
RATING: PG-15 (mild language, sexual situations)
SETTING: Season Seven (aka "Season of the Pod People") into Season
Eight.  Luka has long since broken up with Droopy McHangdog (a.k.a.,
Abby Lockhart) and is Alone Again (naturally...)
CATEGORY: Luka Kovac/cast.  Romantic/comedy/drama, vague spoof of
'Bridget Jones's Diary'...may be rather humorous, may be angsty, may
end with a nuclear bomb wiping out all of Chicago...who knows?
ARCHIVE: If you must, but please inform author. :)
SPOILERS: For Season Seven and Wishful Thinking for Season Eight
SONG: 'I'll Always Come Back', by K.T. Oslin; poem 'The Woodpecker
[LXIII]', by Emily Dickinson

PREVIOUS INSTALLMENTS: Starter Pistols and Sex Diaries; Fishin' for
the Runnin'; Heat Stroke; Grocery Store Cowboy; Cheesecake and Whine;
Times Of Your Life; I Want A Cave Man, I Want A Brave Man!; A Bigger
Mousetrap; Bless Me, Father; For I Am About to Sin; Out On A Ledge;
Have An Egg Instead; Charity; The Devil Cuts Loose; Toads and
Falsehoods; Ready to Go; Saying Goodbye; Crazy From the Heart; Danger;
Forty Black Balloons; Partied Out; Young Men Coming Aus; Price Check;
Going Once...; Check, Please; Eighteen Patients and a Dozen Roses;
Life Is Good; A Handful of Pebbles; The Horror...the Horror; Gumballs
and Gurneys; It's Not the Flu; Thud; Hvratska and Cymru Celebrate
Christmas; Snow Business; New Year's Dissolutions; Into Sisters;
Sometimes You're the Windshield; Kovac Pride; Nuptuality; The Trouble
With Harold; The Mummy-in-Law Returns; What's In A Name?; Show Me The
Way
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to Ellen Hursh for editing and several 2AM
brain-storming sessions.



"Introducing Mr. and Mrs....uh...Dr. and Mrs...Dr. and Mrs. Dr...oh,
what*ever*, Luka and Alexandra Kovac!"  Malik shook his head,
shrugged, and sat down, relieved to be finished with that part of his
emceeing duties.

The bride and groom entered the reception hall to approving hoots and
applause, both looking a little tired.  The wedding had gone
remarkably well, and they were both eager to sit down and rest for a
few minutes.  Luka's hand was on Alexandra's elbow, holding her up a
bit, and he kept giving her concerned-and loving-glances.  She was a
radiant bride, dressed in a cream-colored silk outfit.  Luka looked
uncomfortable in his suit, and had already loosened his tie.  "Ready
to sit, beba?" he asked her.

She smiled at him.  "Yes.  My feet are killing me!"

"Well, then come on," he said, guiding her gently toward the main
table, where the other members of the wedding party were already
seated.  Alexandra's parents, brother and sister, cousin Helen,
Jing-Mei (maid of honor), Mark, Peter and a handful of small Morgan
children, were already playing with the paper plates and party favors.
 Everyone was intrigued by the gifts: shoelaces.  Alexandra had
confused Luka by stating that they were used as fertility symbols in
various parts of northern Finland.  "Oh...so no wonder you kept your
shoes on while we were conceiving the twins."

"Alexandra, you looked beautiful during the wedding," Jing-Mei said.
"I swear, you're glowing."

"That may have been the heat.  Or gas.  But the church was bloody hot!
 Really quite unnecessary, considering how many guests we had,"
Alexandra laughed, then sighed wearily.  She picked up a paper plate
and began fanning herself.  Luka snickered and eyed the wedding cake.
Jing-Mei, Chuny and Haleh had made it themselves, somehow managing to
get all three tiers to balance perfectly on those plastic pillars.
Several times he had made motions toward it, causing all three women
to shriek in horror and threaten his life.  He could barely wait to
see how it'd hold up to being cut.  At least Alexandra had had no part
in making it, so it was safe to eat.

"I told you we had too many guests.  And we should have cut the
ceremony shorter," Luka said, rubbing his cheek.  "You were looking
tired before the priest even got to the part about 'love, honor and
obey'."

"Be careful, or I'll forget to obey, Dr. Kovac," Alexandra smiled.
"And I feel just fine.  The babies were sleeping through the whole
ceremony, but now one of them has hiccups!"

"Oh, can I feel?  Please?" Helen Morgan-Williams (Alexandra's cousin)
asked, leaning in to touch Alexandra's bulging belly.

"Uh...sure."

Luka peered around Alexandra for a moment, wishing people would leave
his wife's stomach alone.

He grinned.  His wife.  He took a sip of his sparkling white grape
juice and mused on the day.  He was amazed at how smoothly everything
had gone.  No disasters, no rain, no tornadoes, no screaming, crying,
lost shoes, angry relatives...just quiet, and a calm, sedate ceremony,
even though there had been a heart-stopping delay of five minutes
because Alexandra was *late*.  His feet hurt from wearing new shoes
and he hadn't been able to find a way of sitting that didn't aggravate
his ten-year old leg injury.  But it had been a good day.

"Excuse me?  Dr. Kovac?  I don't think we met after the wedding."

Luka glanced up into the face of a man of about fifty.  Not quite dark
enough to be called swarthy, but too dark to be called fair...that is,
not olive-brown like himself but more typically Welsh, like
Alexandra's lovely Catherine Zeta-Jones coloring, with a look of
"English Aristocrat" about him.  All he needed was a monocle and a top
hat and the picture would be complete.  But his accent wasn't
*English*, and he exuded friendliness.  Plus, when Luka shook his hand
he noticed that man's palms were callused.  This was no lay-about
dandy.

"Oh?  I'm sorry..."

"Griffith!" Alexandra said excitedly.  "I thought you'd missed the
wedding!"

"I very nearly did," the man laughed.  "I'm not very familiar with
Chicago, I'm afraid, and unfortunately the directions got misplaced,
so I was several minutes late.  I hope no one heard my arrival.
Bloody awful of me, being late for your wedding, young lady."

"Oh, well, since being late is a long-standing Morgan family
tradition, I don't think you were doing anything unheard of.
Griffith, you probably figured out that this is my husband, Luka
Kovac.  Luka, this is my cousin, Sir Griffith ap Daffyd Morgan, sixth
Baronet, former MP from Tredegar, poet, Welsh nationalist and
political dissident."

All these 'aps', Luka thought, not sure if he should stand up.  I
wonder if I can learn Welsh.  It might come in handy.  Griffith made a
gesture that indicated Luka should remain seated.

"Don't hold my being a politician against me," Griffith said,
laughing.  "I gave it up years ago, in much the same way as I gave up
smoking." He paused for a moment, looking around for a moment until
his eyes settled on something-or someone-on the other side of the
room.  "By the way, Alexandra, I was wondering...uh..."

"Yes?"

"Well, I got into a bit of a row with a redheaded woman.  Very pretty
little thing.  I nearly knocked her over at the church door and she
lost her cane for a moment..."

Luka's eyes narrowed.  "You knocked Kerry over?"

"Is that her name?"

"Yes.  Kerry.  Kerry Weaver.  You knocked her over?"

"Well, not quite...she dropped her cane because of me and that's why
she fell, so I guess that I did in fact *technically* cause her to
tumble, but I did my best to apologize very profusely.  But she became
very aggravated and belligerent and I'm trying to figure out how to
make amends."

"Oh.  Well.  Kerry's...right behind you," Luka said sharply.  "I would
commence begging now."

Griffith turned around and stared down in Kerry's flushed face.  "Oh,
Miss Weaver..."

"*Doctor* Weaver," Kerry interjected.

"Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am.  That was very presumptuous of me.  And I'm
very sorry for knocking you down today."

"Right."

Luka peered around Griffith and caught Kerry's eye.  "Kerry, this is
Alexandra's cousin, Sir Merv Griffin."

"No, that's Griffith Morgan," Griffith smiled at Kerry, ignoring
Luka's thinly veiled insult.  She didn't return the smile. Instead,
she glared at Morgan with blazing eyes.  Then she turned and limped
away, shaking her head.

"She doesn't like you," Luka said.

"I would argue that point," Alexandra sniffed.

"A rather intriguing woman," Griffith said, still staring after Kerry.
 "And very pretty."

Luka narrowed his eyes.  "She's...uh...ouch, what?" he gasped, rubbing
his leg where Alexandra had kicked him.

"Keep your mouth shut.  Griffith is a very nice man!"

"Who knocked Kerry over!"

"Oh, I'm sure he did it on purpose!" Alexandra hissed.  "Stop acting
like an over-protective big brother."

"I can't help it!" Luka hissed back.

Morgan turned back to the newlyweds and smiled.  "I take it she's
single?"

"Griffith!" Alexandra gasped, astonished.  "Please.  I mean...yes, she
is, but she's...uh..."

"She is single?"

"She's a widow," Luka said quickly. 

"Oh.  How terrible."

I'll bet, Luka thought grouchily.  Penniless English aristocrat goes
after well-off American widow.  Sounds like a bad Merchant-Ivory
movie.  He wasn't sure if he was feeling a twinge of jealousy or not.
But he barely knew this guy and would kill anyone who dared to hurt
Kerry in any way.  It had been bad enough when he'd hurt her himself,
but he'd be damned if he'd see her so wounded *again*.

Morgan looked at them again.  "She's single...and a tad cranky today.
I wonder why she's so cranky?"

"Maybe because you knocked her down?" Luka asked, feigning sweetness.

"No.  She seemed very cross even before I knocked her down.  But then,
I wonder how she looks when she's smiling?"

"Well, she doesn't like weddings," Alexandra said.  "It...uh...brings
up bad memories, I suppose."

"Ah."

"Griffith, perhaps you could ask her to dance?" Alexandra said
suddenly, looking excited.  "You could turn on the old Morgan charm
and..."

"What are you doing?" Luka asked, grabbing her arm. 

"Putting my own mind at ease, I hope."

Luka stared at Alexandra in astonishment.  "You're gonna play
matchmaker?!"

"I don't know.  Perhaps it's already written in the stars.  You have
to understand, Luka.  When Griffith's wife...Heilwen...died, he fell
apart.  He became a recluse.  Did nothing but sleep and brood about.
He was so angry for a while, too...so bitter at the world and even at
God.  We all thought he'd do himself some kind of harm, really, until
Helen insisted he get up and start getting back into life...but I
don't think he dates anybody.  So he dove into his poetry and
politics-he was a real thorn in the side of the Labour Party.  Still
is, really.  He writes a weekly paper blasting the Blair government
even though he refuses to run for office any more.  He's a
respectable, well-liked country squire these days...everybody likes
him...except members of the Labour Party, that is.  Keeps chickens,
rides to hounds while it's still legal, runs a very successful
marketing firm, and goes to church every Sunday.  He has two
sons-Gwillim and Rhys-and Helen here is his daughter...they're very
nice people, aren't they?  A good reflection of their father.  I can
assure you, Luka, he is the kindest and best of men, after you.  He
would no sooner harm a fly than he'd hurt Kerry."

That made Luka pause for a moment.  He had been angry at God, too,
when his family died... furious, in fact.  Railing against everything,
making saving the world his personal crusade, making evildoers pay for
their deeds.  He had dove into his work, ignoring everything else
around him, shutting himself off from the world.  He could certainly
understand Griffith's anger.  But that didn't mean he was going to
just throw Kerry into Griffith's path with a happy cry.  Not until he
was sure of this man's motives.

"I'm just not so sure, beba.  Call me an overprotective loon if you
will..."

"You're an overprotective loon, but I still love you.  In fact, that's
one of the reasons why I love you.  But don't be silly," Alexandra
laughed.  "Let's just see what happens.  Come on.  It's time for the
bride and groom to dance."

"If somebody starts singing 'Volare', I'm leaving," Luka said,
pretending to be grumpy.  Alexandra slapped his arm and he stood up,
helping her back to her feet.  "We won't dance long.  You still look
tired."

"I am tired.  What a long day!  Oh, you should have seen us this
morning, Luka.  Alice and Mum and Helen looking pie-eyed from lack of
sleep and too much sherry, and me feeling like a giant  haggis,
staggering about and whining about how foolish I looked in my wedding
clothes.  I do look like a confectioner's nightmare, don't I?"  She
picked up the skirt of her dress a little and made a little curtsey as
he took her hand and led her to the dance floor.

"You look perfect," Luka said firmly.  "Though I did have few anxious
moments when you were *late*."

"And I'm so sorry for that," she whispered back as he took her into
his arms and began moving to the music.  Haleh was singing, and the
lights were turned down low, and pretty soon everyone was dancing,
too.  But Luka and Alexandra were lost in each other, to the point of
forgetting that anyone else was there.  It amazed Luka, how easy it
had been to fall in love with her.  If anyone had told him, a year
ago, that he'd be here, dancing with his new bride, he'd have laughed
in their face.  Especially considering that at the time, he had been
dating Abby Lockhart and had been so miserable he'd wanted to die.


There's a nursery rhyme, it's a favorite of mine
'Bout a little girl and some sheep that she could not find
They told her not to worry, they'd come back
Darlin' you're my shepherd, I'm your little lamb
You ain't always gonna know where I am
But don't you worry, I'll come back
 
I'll always come back baby to you
I'll always run back straight to you
I'll never get too far away from you
I'll never get too lost that I can't be found
And I'll never swim too far out out I might drown
And I'll always come back, come back baby to you

There's a wooden wonder from way down under
They call it boomerang
If you handle it right, it'll come back
Darlin' you must have had one when you were a boy
'Cause you've got the touch that turns me into a toy
And like a boomerang I'll come back

I'll always come back baby to you
I'll always run back straight to you
I'll never get too far away from you
I'll never get too lost that I can't be found
And I'll never swim too far out out I might drown
And I'll always come back, come back baby to you


"I love you," he said softly.  "I hope you know that."

"You say it every day," she whispered back.

"I probably don't say it enough.  Or show it enough."

"You've never given me any reason to worry," Alexandra grinned up at
him.  "Well, there was that date with Biloxi..."

"*Savannah*."

She started giggling.  "I should chide you for remembering, but this
is your wedding day so I'll be nice.  But tomorrow, watch for flying
pots and pans!"

He laughed and hugged her, and he could feel their babies kicking.  He
put his hands on her belly, bent down and kissed her stomach-twice.
The wedding guests all said, "Aw!" and began applauding.  Luka glanced
at them, startled out of his reveries.  He was a married man, and he
had so many responsibilities.  Duties and obligations that he welcomed
eagerly.  His first duty, of course, was to get his wife off her feet.
 But Thomas Morgan was standing behind Luka, tapping him on his
shoulder.

Luka turned and glanced at his father-in-law, who wanted to dance with
his daughter.  Luka nodded to the older man, who grinned at him.  He
and Thomas had had an interesting conversation the night before the
wedding.  Mainly, Thomas had regaled Luka with tales of his daughter's
remarkable intelligence, how incredibly advanced she was as a baby and
toddler ("She was reading at just two years of age, y'know!") and how
beautiful she'd always been, and how much he would always love his
baby girl.  The two men had shared a quiet beer at a local pub,
talking.  Or rather, Thomas did most of the talking and Luka just
listened.  He had found Thomas to be a gentle, unassuming and kind man
who loved his family above anything else.  Luka could see it in
Thomas's eyes...he clearly adored Alexandra.  Who didn't?  Luka didn't
know anyone who didn't practically worship her.

Quietly, he moved back to the table and sat down.  Mark thumped Luka
on the shoulder, grinning goofily.  "This is a great reception, Luka.
Pot-luck is definitely the way to go.  I'm going for thirds now.  You
want anything?"

"Yeah.  A glass of punch...uh...wait a minute.  Malucci didn't spike
it, did he?"

"No.  Peter's watching him like a hawk, and Cleo's watching Peter,
Elizabeth's watching me, Romano's watching Elizabeth, Shirley's
watching Romano...this is like "Casino-The Wedding".  Hey, there's
Carter and Abby."

"Yeah.  Glad they could come.  But I'd rather not watch them."  Luka
stood up and headed over to a nurse-laden table to compliment the
ladies on their cooking skills and to ask Jing-Mei to dance.

Mark gave Luka a curious glance, then nodded.  "Yeah."  He watched the
couple dancing, and shook his head.  They looked happy and comfortable
together-as if they'd been together for years.  Things were as they
should be.  But it still amazed Mark that Luka could be so polite to
Carter despite the younger man often being downright *rude*.  Even
more, Luka was remarkably kind to Abby, but generally just ignored
her.  Of course, now that Mark thought about it, Abby was one of those
people you tend to forget to notice anyway.

Luka led Jing-Mei onto the dance floor and playfully tickled his
friend, who screamed with laughter and gave him a hearty hug.  "I'm so
happy for you, Luka.  Oh...and when you get back from the honeymoon, I
have someone I want to introduce you to."  He gave her a narrow look,
but was soon distracted when he glimpsed Kerry dancing...with
Griffith!  How had he managed to pull *that* off?  Probably wheedling
or a pistol.  Or something in between.  But he had to admit-he saw
real chemistry between them.  They were talking as they danced,
Kerry's face turned up to look at Griffith, who was holding her up
carefully, keeping her perfectly balanced on her good leg.  Well, at
least he's a gentleman, Luka thought.  I'll give him that.



Kerry was glad to finally get outside, even though it was *cold*. 

Somehow, she had managed to endure the past few weeks and the wedding
without breaking down.  But maybe she was exaggerating.  In the past
few days, she had found herself not thinking about Luka for long
periods of time.  She would wake up in the mornings not thinking about
him.  In fact, just yesterday morning she had sat up in bed and looked
out the window and for the first time in months thought, "Wow!  It
looks beautiful out there!"  Maybe, she thought, I'm getting over him.
 Not that I'll stop loving him.  But maybe I'm moving on.  Maybe it's
time.

She tapped her crutch against the cement sidewalk for a moment,
musing.  It was strange.  Here she was, forty years old.  Her husband
had died years ago and she had been sure she'd never love anyone
again.  A few times, she had almost fallen in love...Mlungisi, Ellis
West. But they had been driven away by her own fears.  Then there had
been Luka, who didn't notice her but was still so damned *nice* to
her. Then there had been Kim, who had proven herself to be
manipulative and false.  Kerry knew she had failed in *that*
relationship, too, but Kim hadn't taken long to find someone else.
Evidently, Kerry hadn't meant much to her and in the end, Kerry knew
she was better off without her.

It was all so *strange*.  People thought Kerry was a lesbian, and she
let them think it.  She was too proud to defend herself against the
gossip.  At least Luka had stood up for her on several occasions.  She
had heard, through the grapevine, that he had warned the staff to keep
their mouths shut and to mind their own damned business, and she was
grateful to him for that, even though his efforts hadn't come to much.
 There was still gossip, there were still knowing looks from her
colleagues.  It hurt.  But it was useless to argue.  She *had* had an
affair with a woman.  But one experience does not define a person
forever.  If that were the case, then the only definition of Kerry's
personality and character was the congenital disease that had ruined
her leg forever.  It would make Luka *only* a survivor of a horrific
war and unimaginable loss.

And now, he was in there with his new bride, happy and alive.  And
Kerry was happy for him.  He was going to be okay, and when it came
down to it, that was what she wanted for him.  She could go on loving
him, but maybe one day she could find some form of happiness for
herself...

"Dr. Weaver?  You look awfully cold."

She jumped and turned around.  Griffith Morgan was standing outside
the door, holding it open, gesturing for her to come back inside.

"Yes.  I am cold.  But...I just wanted to get some air."

"Ah."

She had to admit, he was good-looking.  Very distinguished and
elegant-looking.  She tried to think of who he looked like.  Maybe
David Niven?  No...no, that didn't work.  Oh, yes.  Cary Grant.  A
Welsh Cary Grant, perhaps a little lighter in coloring.  His dark hair
had streaks of grey, his eyes were blue-grey, and he carried himself
with natural dignity.  But he *had* knocked her down, which meant that
perhaps he wasn't as elegant and coordinated as the average
aristocrat.

"Why don't you come back inside?" he asked her.

"I'd rather not."

He stepped out, letting the door close behind him.  "Let me go get
your coat, then.  It's really not a good idea for you to stand out
here in this weather.  You could catch a cold."

"I'll be all right."

"No, no.  I insist.  Perhaps...uh...I could buy you a drink?  I only
know of the bar at my hotel, but it's relatively nice and very quiet.
Please...wait here and I'll get your coat and have my limo come 'round
and pick us up.  Would that be all right?"

"Promise not to knock me down again?"

"Sure!"

She laughed to herself and he gave her a smart salute, grinning, and
went back inside in search of her coat.



23 February 2002

7:45PM  V. little time to write in journal, as Luka is waiting for me
and growing v. impatient.  Strange to be going on honeymoon, since we
are at the stage now where sexual activity is generally limited to
fondling.

Beautiful wedding.  No glitches.  No crying (except Mum, who is able
to cry on cue, I think).  V. happy.  Luka so handsome in his suit, and
so sexy when he undid the bloody tie.  Since I am unable to do
anything but slow dance, Luka and Jing-Mei entertained the audience
with an imitation of John Travolta and Uma Thurman's dance in 'Pulp
Fiction'.

Everyone v. nice.  Even Carter was polite and respectful.  Saw him
nuzzling Abby Lockhart near the coat room.

Kerry met Griffith.  Hooray!  My evil plan is now in action.  Shall
not *actively* involve myself, but will be watching and reporting
future developments.

Luka yelling at me to come out of the bloody ladies room, the car is
waiting and everyone is freezing.  Have to toss the bouquet.
 
8:35PM  At airport, waiting to fly away to...umm...where are we going
again?

Luka (looking through Hare Krishna pamphlet): "*Aruba*.  [long pause]
Where is Aruba?"

Carter's wedding present was a honeymoon trip to Aruba, wherever that
is (the Caribbean?  The Philippine Islands?  Mars?).  All is forgiven,
he's with Abby, and he's quite happy.  I've heard that she's grown up
and he's not nearly as snotty toward Luka as he used to be, though
there is still room for improvement.

Dr. Weaver and Griffith were both gone, which was v. odd.  Jing-Mei
caught the bouquet, which was nice.  She has a new boyfriend.  I met
him a few nights ago while Luka was working (piling on extra hours so
he could take a full week off for our honeymoon).  Nice, funny man
named Michael, an *accountant* of all things.  But good-looking and
charming and solid.  Wonder what Luka will do to him? He regards
Jing-Mei as a sister and will break the leg of anyone who hurts
someone he cares about.  Such a lovely, sweet man.  So bloody lucky.
Am 30 years old.  Married.  Pregnant.  We're hoping to start looking
for a house when we get back.  I will be Suburban Yuppie Mom, living
in Chicago with my 40-year old husband who suffers from PTSD and bouts
of depression and can't seem to grasp concept of 'put the bloody
toilet seat down' but who otherwise is the v. best person I know
and...oh, it's time to board.  Off to Aruba.  Wherever that is.



Kerry had to admit, she was having a good time with Griffith Morgan.
He was remarkably funny...or maybe it was just the champagne she was
drinking.  He wasn't drinking anything, which at first had intrigued
her.  "You aren't going to drink?"

"No.  I don't drink."

"Really?  Why not?"

He shrugged.  "I just don't.  I'm probably the only Welshman that
doesn't drink...though, frankly, I'm stereotyping my own countrymen."

"I suppose you were insulted a little while ago when I called you an
Englishman."

"It's a common faux pas," he shrugged.  "My neice was born in
*England* but regards herself as Welsh-American.  If someone asks me,
I tell them I'm a Welshman first, and a Briton second."

"And a Baronet."

"Well, I rarely tell anyone that unless pressed," he grinned.
"Besides, it means explaining the entire British peerage system and
that becomes rather tedious."

"Explain it anyway," Kerry smiled.  "What's it like, having a title?"

"Bloody boring," he sniffed.  "I mean, think about it...you go through
your life trying to live up to something an ancestor did for King
Charles II of England.  Plus there's the trouble of making sure you
have those bloody robes always ready for a coronation, and the upkeep
of the family tiara for daughters to wear at the weddings and wives to
wear to balls..."

Kerry latched on to his first statement, intrigued.  "Really?  What
did he do?"

"Well...if the story is be believed, Sir Thomas ap Llewellyn Morgan
refused to allow the King's mistress-I think it was Nell Gwyn-to stay
at his house in Tredegar.  Instead of being enraged, Charles was
actually quite impressed with Thomas' morals and made him a Baronet.
Charles apparently liked people who did what they believed was right."

"Oh.  So...no Morgan ever had a mistress?" Kerry grinned.

"It would certainly be bad for publicity, wouldn't it?" Griffith
laughed.  "But that was just one individual.  I don't know about the
others."

"You never had one?"

Griffith coughed nervously.  "No.  I have not."

"Oh.  I'm sorry.  That was a terrible thing to ask you..."

"It's all right."

"You're very forgiving."

"I try to be.  It's a basic tenet of Christianity, isn't it?  To
forgive, I mean?"

"Certainly."

Griffith took a sip of his ginger ale and Kerry watched him.  He
seemed rather naive and unworldly, but there was an air of
sophistication about him.   She guessed that he was well-educated
(Eton? Oxford?), well-travelled, and pretty well experienced with the
opposite sex.  So...why had he seemed so upset by her question
regarding mistresses?  She supposed she was being a little biased in
her view that European aristocrats did that sort of thing...

"Dr. Kovac...told me you are a widow?" Griffith didn't mean to turn
the statement into a question, but it was a matter he wanted to
discuss.

"Yes.  I am."

"I'm sorry."

"So am I."  Kerry sipped her drink and wished the liquid burned a
little more.  "He died ten years ago."

"It never really goes away, though, does it?  The...the pain of losing
someone you love."

Kerry looked up at him.  "No," she said softly.  "I think about Ben
every day.  He was a surgical resident.  He was working toward an
attending position at a hospital in New York when...he was on his way
home from work one night and," she snapped her fingers.  "A drunk
driver took my world away from me."

"I'm sorry, Kerry.  I shouldn't have..."

"It's okay.  This is the first time I've ever told anyone about Ben.
After he died, I was so angry at the world...so damned bitter.  I
blamed God, the world in general...everybody...for his death.  And so
I dedicated myself to becoming a doctor, and the very best doctor I
could be.  So I worked and I became a nasty little bitch so I wouldn't
have to deal with the world.  Pretty pathetic, huh?"

Griffith gave her a wan smile.  "We all cope in different ways.  When
my wife died, I locked myself away from everyone, even my own
children..."

"You have children?"

"Two sons and a daughter."

"Oh."

"Do you have...?"

"No.  We were going to but we never...got around to it.  Now I'm forty
and it doesn't seem likely."

"Don't be so sure."

Kerry blushed, but she stubbornly attributed that to the champagne.
But God help her, she wanted to kiss him.  She actually wanted to kiss
this man!  She barely knew him, for God's sake!  Hell, she didn't just
want to kiss him...

"I became a recluse," he explained.  "I cut off contact with the
world.  I got up, I dressed, I attended meetings...I ate onion
sandwiches for thrills.  Then my daughter came by one day and sat me
down and said, 'Mum would *hate* seeing you like this.  She would want
you to be happy.  So get off your duff and get back into the world.'
She even figures I'll find someone again."

Kerry looked down, nervously wringing her hands.  "I thought I had met
the one," she said softly.  "But..."

"He got married today."

She was surprised.  How had he noticed?

"Why else would you have been so upset after the wedding?  Everyone
else was smiling and laughing, and you looked ready to...burst into
tears."

"I don't cry," she said sharply.

"Everybody cries."

"Not me!"

"Liar."

Kerry fumed, her arms folded across her chest, glaring at him.  Then
she stood up.  "I think I'll be going home now.  I don't need to be
treated like some kind of fool."

"You're not a fool.  You're just human."  Griffith drank the last of
his ginger ale.  "You loved someone that simply didn't feel the same
way.  That happens.  It's happened to us all.  It's not your fault,
it's not his fault.  It was just not meant to be.  So sit down."

Without thinking, she obeyed him.  "You fell in love with someone that
didn't love you?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice steady, but
that was next to impossible.  Her eyes were filling with tears.
Dammit, but she was going to cry.

"Before I met Heilwen, yes.  I did.  And then, not long after she
married the man she loved, I met Heilwen.  Kind of ironic, really.  I
met Heilwen at the woman's wedding."

"And, I suppose, you immediately knew?  How ridiculous!"

"Why is that ridiculous?  Sometimes, you just *know*."

"Well, maybe I'm just not the romantic type."

"Really?  How long was it before you knew you were in love with Ben?
Did you plan it or something?  'Today, I will fall in love with Ben'.
Or perhaps you're in the camp of 'I'll stay with this person for a
long time and see if I ever fall in love with them'.  Both being sad
delusions of starry-eyed teenaged girls, I'm afraid.  But here in the
real world, that doesn't happen.  It's either there or it isn't.  Love
doesn't work on a bloody schedule."

"No, that's not what I meant...and you're making fun of me."

"So when did you know?"

"Stop it!"

Griffith drummed his fingers on the table, waiting, staring right at
her.  Kerry couldn't move.

"All right...all right," she finally gave in.  "It was instantaneous.
Like a...a..."

"Bolt of lightning."

"Yes."

"Same with how you felt about Luka, then?"

"Sort of.  Like you said, you don't plan on it.  It just happened and
I...you don't know how pathetic you feel when you make a fool of
yourself."

"You were never...uh...with him?"

"No."

Griffith nodded and signalled to the waitress that he wanted a refill.
 "I haven't been with a woman in ten years," he said without a trace
of embarrasment.  "I've been waiting for the right one."

"You didn't even experiment with a few of the wrong ones?" she said
nervously.

"No.  Why waste my time with those sorts of entanglements?"

"At least you wouldn't be lonely."

"Loneliness is a choice.  And I'm not lonely.  I'm just *alone*.  But
I have friends and family, I have my work and my writing to keep me
occupied.  When I feel lonely, I go down to the pub and sit with my
mates and talk and the loneliness goes away, or I call my children or
go kidnap my grandchildren for the day and take them to the zoo.
Don't you have any friends to talk to?"

"Not many...I mean, I..."

"So you've allowed yourself to be lonely. You chose it."

"I did not!  I'm not a very likeable person."

"I like you."

"You don't know me."

"I know enough."

The quick exchange of words had exhausted Kerry, and she couldn't
think of anything else to say.  He seemed to understand her...he had
her pinned perfectly.  She had chosen this solitary life for herself
and now she was paying for it.  But did she *have* to live this way?
Was it necessary?

"Why do you like me?" she asked, before she could stop herself.

"Well, at first, it was because you're so beautiful.  Then I found
your temper to be interesting, then I discovered you were very
intelligent and a good conversationalist, then I learned we had a few
things in common, and after that it was pretty easy to like you."

Kerry looked away, suddenly feeling butterflies in her stomach.  This
was unnerving.  He *liked* her?  Nobody liked Kerry Weaver.  People
feared her or respected her, but she didn't know anyone who actually
liked her.  Well...she was lying to herself.  Luka liked her, but that
hadn't been enough for her.  She took another drink of her champagne.
"This is a nice hotel."

"Yes.  It is."

"How long are you staying in Chicago?" she asked, avoiding looking at
him.

"A few weeks.  I'm actually quite eager to take a trip to the exciting
wilds of western Ohio."

She laughed, and Griffith smiled.  She had a beautiful laugh. 

"Ohio is a very pretty part of the world.  It doesn't get a lot of
publicity...it pales in comparison to...uh...*Wisconsin*."

"Yes.  I've heard that Wisconsin is quite exotic."

"Especially the cheese."

Griffith chuckled.  "I'll have to do some exploring, then," he said.
But he wasn't talking about Ohio or Minnesota.  He was looking at her
mouth.  Looking at her and trying not to think about much more
thrilling discoveries to be made right here in Chicago.

"You know, I saw a movie about Wales once...about...uh...the mountains
of eastern Wales.  That the English never conquered the mountains."
Kerry nervously smoothed her skirt, trying not to look at his mouth.

"Right."

"I suppose the Morgans fought the English, too?"

"The Morgans fought everybody.  Even the Morgans."

"Alexandra mentioned something about you being a poet...?"

"Yes.  I am descended from poets, princes and kings, warriors, lovers,
patriots.  Poetry is natural to a Welshman."

"Is it really?" she smiled. 

Griffith felt his cheeks warming when he looked at her mouth again.
God.  "Really.  I can recite an old poem for you...about an ancestor
of mine, written by one of Wales' most famous poets, Dafydd ap Gwilym.
 The ancestor was named Ifor Hael, by the way..."

"All right.  Go ahead."


"He's of the lineage of a best-bred lord,
With fine retainers, gold helm, liberal, great.
A wealthy, venerable hawk,
His body very firm on a stallion.
Swift, tenacious, expert overthrower in a fight,
An accomplished, wise hawk of comprehensive discourse .... "


"...accomplished, wise hawk of comprehensive discourse," Kerry
grinned.  "I'll give you that one."

"Really?" Griffith blushed a little more.  "My body is also quite firm
on a stallion...well, until last year when my best stallion died of
laminitis.  But I'm quite firm on my little mare Cruiskeen."

Kerry was blushing.  Was that a double-entendre?  Oh, God, if it was,
then...  She had to change the subject somehow.

"Did you know that all of Emily Dickinson's poems can be sung to the
tune of either 'The Yellow Rose of Texas' or the theme song from
'Gilligan's Island'?" she asked, immediately feeling silly.  She had
no soul for poetry.

"Yes.  I did."  He chuckled and sang, to the tune of the 'The Yellow
Rose of Texas',


"His bill an auger is,
His head, a cap and frill
He laboreth at every tree
A worm his utmost goal."


Kerry burst into laughter and covered her face with her hands.

"Don't do that," he said seriously.

"Don't do what?" she giggled.

"Don't cover your face.  A face that pretty should never be covered."

There was a moment of strangely comfortable silence between them, and
then she laughed-softly.  "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"You...you think I have a pretty face?"

"I think you're lovely."

"Are you sure you aren't drinking alcohol?" she asked, nodding at his
half-empty glass of ginger ale.



8:15AM  24 February, 2002

It's raining in Aruba, but a v. nice honeymoon.  Still not quite sure
where Aruba *is*, but it's a lovely island (I think it's an island)
and lots of swaying palm trees and bright blue sea (what little we can
see of it, due to the rain), lovely honeymoon suite with big warm bed
and French doors that open to a porch with tiki torches and view of
beach (which I really can't see due to rain).

Luka and I collapsed into bed the moment we got here and cuddled all
night.  Don't regret pregnancy, but do miss sex ever so much and can't
wait 'til July.  Oh, wait, even after that I won't be able to have sex
for at least a *little* while.  Ugh.

God, he's just so bloody gorgeous.  Happy to be alone with him for a
whole week, with no one calling us or asking Luka to come in for
multiple traumas or suchlike.  Shall order room service and keep eye
out for giant tropical spiders.  Luka mumbling something in his sleep
and reaching for me. There must be *some* way we can have wildly
hedonistic honeymoon despite twin pregnancy and my general resemblance
to Pillsbury Doughboy.  Even if honeymoon doesn't involve sex, it
might involve hedonistic eating of too much food, casual burping,
lounging about and being lazy.  Nice to see Luka *lazy* for once.  He
is forever in motion.  That's how I got pregnant, after all. <rimshot>

Signing off, shall not write another word 'til we're back from the
honeymoon.



Kerry woke first, and for a moment wondered where she was.  Then she
remembered.  She remembered everything.

Did he regret doing this?  She wouldn't blame him if he did.  But he
had made all the first moves-he had initiated everything.  Perhaps it
had been the poetry or the champagne or maybe it was just some kind of
primitive need, but last night she had been willing and eager to go to
bed with Griffith Morgan.  And now, he was lying beside her,  turned
toward her, his arm still tucked underneath her and around her waist,
his hip settled easily into the curve of her thigh.  She could feel
his arousal...

Nervously she glanced up at him.  He was watching her.  "Good
morning."

"Hi," she answered. 

He brushed her hair back and smiled at her.  "You take my breath
away."

"I do?"

"Yes."

"Griffith, I've never done this before...I'm not usually so..."

"Passionate?"

"That's not what I meant.  What I meant was...uh...I don't usually
sleep with a guy just hours after I met him."

"I don't think either of us did a lot of sleeping, Kerry," he said,
and she could hear the warm smile in his voice.  "But I've never done
this before.  But I just couldn't help myself.  I had to seduce
you...or did you seduce me?"  They had indeed stayed awake all night,
exploring each other, delighting in every discovery.  He had amazed
her-he was a tender, passionate, giving lover.  He had made her feel
so feminine...and so loved.

And that terrified Kerry. 

"Kerry, yesterday I told you I haven't been with a woman for ten
years.  That I was waiting for the right one."

Her breath caught in her throat.  "Please don't say that, Griffith.  I
may not be..."

"You are."

"How can you know that?  You and I have both lost people we loved
and..."

Griffith touched her cheek, brushing his thumb gently across her lower
lip.  "Shh..."  He kissed her, pulling her closer.  "I'm willing to
take the risk, Kerry.  I'm tired of being alone."

"You said you weren't lonely," she whispered, wrapping her arms around
his neck and kissing him back, loving the feel of his body against
hers.

"There's a difference between being alone and being lonely.  Like I
said..."  He dipped his head down to her neck as his hand moved to her
breast, where he gently rubbed her nipple until it hardened.  Kerry
gasped when he moved down and took it into his mouth and began
suckling.  That wonderful ache started between her legs and spread
through her whole body.  She wanted him.  More than she'd ever wanted
anyone.  "Like I said, people choose to be lonely.  And I have a very
strong feeling..."  He moved between her legs and Kerry sighed with
pleasure as he entered her.  "That neither of us will have to worry
about being lonely *or* alone again."

Kerry couldn't think.  All she knew was that Griffith was moving
inside her, and that he was hers.  It was impossible. It was almost
ridiculous.  But this kind of thing is rarely sensible or rational.
She didn't want to be sensible or rational any more.  She just wanted
to be his.



"So where do we go from here?" Kerry asked.  They were standing in the
hotel lobby.  Like it or not, she had to be at work at noon.  But she
had hated getting dressed.  Hated walking down the hall.  The only
good part had been when he'd caught her at the elevator and kissed her
as they went down to the main floor.

"Where do you want to go?" he asked her. 

"Is it okay that I'm a little scared?" She looked up at him, and he
smiled at her.  He took her hand in his, turned her palm up and kissed
it.

"I'm scared, too, Kerry.  But that's the wonderful thing about it,
isn't it?  Besides being scary, it's rather thrilling, isn't it?  Like
exploring a new world."

She laughed.  "You really are a poet!"

"I can't help it.  I'm Welsh."

Kerry kissed him again, not caring that people were watching.  "You'll
call me?" she asked hopefully, nervously, half believing she'd never
hear from him again.

"I don't want to call you, Kerry."

"What?!" she asked, incredulous.

"What time do you get off?"

"Uh...nine, I think."

"Can we have a late dinner, then?"

"Oh, so you want to ply me with liquor again and then have your wicked
way with me?" she giggled.

"Well, that's the general idea, yes."

"I'd be delighted, then," she grinned.  "Do you like Indian?"

"No.  But Chinese would be good."

"Okay.  Chinese it is, then.  Come pick me up at the hospital tonight
and I'll show you the way."

"Like you did last night?" he winked.

"Griffith!"  She pretended to be shocked.  "Is that another Welsh
trait?  Being a scoundrel?"

"Didn't you read the instruction book?" he smiled.  "We are a wild,
romantic and horny lot."

Kerry giggled and submitted happily to his goodbye kiss, then turned
and hurried out to her cab.  She glanced back and saw Griffith still
standing there, grinning at her.  Kerry was almost afraid to believe
this was happening to her.  But it was happening.  It was unstoppable
now, and all she could do now was relax and enjoy the ride.

To be continued...