TITLE:  Random Activity
AUTHOR: Ellen Hursh
EMAIL ADDRESS: ekhursh@bdexx.com
RATING: "TV-PG (V)" (it was good enough for the original episode, after all :-)
KEYWORDS: Angst, violence.
TIMELINE: "Random Acts"
DISCLAIMER: ER and all its characters belong to Warner Bros.  No infringement of their copyright is
intended.  This story was written for the enjoyment of "ER" fans everywhere, and may be downloaded
for your own pleasure.
SUMMARY/SPOILERS: A twist to Mark getting the cream cheese beaten out of him in that bathroom, in
Season 3.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm not saying that I seriously believe *any* of this, not even for a femtosecond
(femto = 10 ^ -15). Just seemed like an interesting thought - a bit of synchronicity, or something -
when "Random Acts" came around in syndication at the time I wrote it. And no, a reason really *isn't* given, is it? :-)



I'd spent all day in the ER of County General, picking out my next victim. It was a tough choice; they were
pretty much *all* typically spoiled Americans, but something would eventually suggest itself. It always
did. Today was busy, so I'd never be remembered, and never be noticed as a potential patient... but just in case,
I sat near the doors in case I needed to escape quickly. I huddled in the chair - anyone who *did* remember me
would never note my height.

As I waited, I caught the name of one of the doctors.... Mark Greene. That seemed as good as anything. Hearing
that name, as different as it was, still hurt so much, even after 5 1/2 years.

I went into the nearest men's bathroom - this Mark Greene would have to go in there eventually - and waited in one
of the stalls... being careful to pick one that wasn't reflected by the mirror. No sense prematurely alerting
the guy to my presence, when I *did* come out at him. While I waited in there, I raised the hood of my sweatshirt,
so that it covered my head and partially concealed my face, and adjusted the thin black gloves that would hide my
fingerprints.

After a while, I heard the desk clerk come in and do his business, then begin washing his hands... while the clerk
was still doing this, the bathroom door opened again. Whoever had entered began talking to the clerk, who
answered. My attention was drawn when the clerk said "Dr. Greene, can I ask you something?" - so the person
I'd been waiting for had finally come in here! Leave, leave, I silently urged the clerk. I needed privacy for what
I was about to do, and that clerk was much larger than me. Now if only I could manage a moment of privacy with
Greene, without anybody else walking in-- they continued to prattle on about some idiot book. Finally - I was
beginning to think it might never happen - the clerk left, leaving Greene all alone in the bathroom... with me.

I surged out of the stall and slammed Greene's head down, into the sink, then grabbed him and pulled him to the side
until his head hit the large mirror on the wall. I hit him several times... three, four, five... and threw him against
the wall. I watched him sink slowly to the floor, brushing against the light switch on the way down; the bathroom
darkened abruptly. That was okay with me, there was still more than enough light for me to see. Greene backed
away slowly, staring up at me with blind fear. My lip curled in disgust. You don't really know fear, I thought,
as I watched him... then kicked him, so that he went flying into one of the stalls.

I nearly left, but paused by the door, waiting... sure enough, the fool got up. I could hear him, groaning and coughing, as
he headed for where I was, and I suddenly rushed him. He practically bounced off the wall, like a rubber ball, and I
stepped aside at the last minute to let him fall. I stepped in and kicked him in the ribs with my right foot - the foot that
had once scored many goals for my town's football team... before the bombings and the shootings and the troubles had
begun. Many of my former team-mates were dead or injured, or had fled overseas, like me.

I remembered, at the last minute, to pretend to pat him down, as though he were being mugged, then stomped on
his hand and smiled grimly at his squeal of pain. I left him lying on the tile, and quickly (but calmly) walked out of the
bathroom. I didn't bother to take down the hood - there was no point calling attention to myself, and I'd seen several
people around here with hoods. My gloved hands were securely hidden in the front pouch of the sweatshirt, and
I walked quickly and purposefully out the door. It might have been... interesting to stay and wait for Greene to be 
discovered, but it was also too risky.

I checked my watch: my timing had been excellent. I could go grab some lunch, *and* get to work with several minutes
to spare. I went to my favorite restaurant, several blocks from the hospital; the staff knew me by name - though not
by habit! - and greeted me with calls of "Hey, Kovac!" "Afternoon, you old son of a bitch!" "What's it today,
Luka, huh?"