He'd done his best to figure out where they were going tonight - he'd tried looking in the newspaper, right off the bat, but who
knew there were so many different movies with midnight showings? He'd tried to tickle it out of Kerry, but they'd wound up
making love instead... not that there was ever anything wrong with *that*, as far as he was concerned.

He hadn't gone to her that first night expecting their relationship to change so drastically, but then, nothing seemed to go as expected
with her. Strange, that this should be the case with her, when she was usually such a stickler for rules. At least he would never be
bored, as long as she was in his life.

The funny thing was, he had *agreed* with Kerry and Adele, that Dillon *wasn't* handling things. Even with that "super" job that
Lucy had arranged, despite his cocky attitude, the kid would still be stretched pretty thin, and need all the help he could get in taking
care of his brother. But that scene - Jake screaming and crying, being dragged to the van by men in uniform, Dillon screaming and
cursing - all the bad memories had surged back up and he'd stalked back inside, still seething with rage, to lie in wait for Kerry.

He hadn't told her the entire story, of course, just the part that was relevant to the situation; not the part where he turned around just in
time to see the shell hit his apartment building, not the frantic digging through rubble until he found them, not the transporting them to
the hospital in the back of a truck, clutching at his wife's hand with fingers bloodied from tearing at the debris. He hadn't even gone into
any details with what he did tell her, just a blunt "taken... then killed", his delivery fueled by sheer adrenalin.

Once he'd had time to cool off, of course, he'd been horrified by the way he'd spoken to her, ashamed that he'd almost *enjoyed* her
stricken expression. And so he'd casually quizzed Carter....

* * *

Kerry waited nervously, smoothing her skirt and turning up Grace a fraction on the stereo. She stopped herself, though, from actually
going to the window to look outside - he was barely even due to get off work. And he'd call if he was going to be delayed at the
hospital... wouldn't he? He's *not* Steve Hayes, or Robbie Duncan, or any of those other jerks from high school or college, Kerry,
she reminded herself sternly. He wasn't even Doug Ross, despite the comparisons she'd heard people at County make (sometimes in
whispers, sometimes... a little more overtly).

She hadn't been on anything resembling a "real" date in two years - that had been her brief association with Ellis. More like three and
a half years, if dinner and a movie - David hadn't been up for "Caligula", after all - with a despondent ER Chief counted as a "date"--
The props bag! Did she have everything? She laughed at herself, as she looked through it, almost compulsively... she had to have
checked it ten times already this evening. *Yes*, everything was there.

* * *

Luka drove past a flower cart, and impulsively pulled over to buy a bunch for Kerry. He'd rather pick the flowers himself, of course,
but damn... how many years had it been since he'd had a garden? It had been a houseboat, or some crummy little apartment, for a long
time, with no patch of dirt to grow *anything*. Their place in Vukovar had allowed gardens, in a communal area, but the residents had
tended to grow food in them, rather than flowers. Not that vegetables couldn't be pretty, too, it just wasn't the *same*. He glanced at the
flowers that were riding in the passenger seat, next to him, and chuckled at the thought of presenting one's date with a bouquet of potatoes.
"Here ya go, honey!"  *That* was only romantic if one was dating Julia Child.

He sat in the car for a minute after he'd parked in front of her house, just gathering up his nerve to get out of the car and go to her door -
he was getting into something new, and that terrified, as much as excited, him. A few deep breaths... and he was ready. He wasn't quite
so ready, though, after he knocked on the door and was greeted by a white-faced, heavily made-up creature with shoulder-length frizzy
hair, wearing black seamed stockings and what appeared to be an old-fashioned maid's uniform. The only hint of the woman's true identity
was the crutch in her right hand... and the little grin on her face, as she registered his moment of shocked confusion. He recovered quickly,
though - handed Kerry the flowers, then greeted her with a kiss.

"Hi. I wasn't sure you'd, uh, make it." She headed for the kitchen, to put the flowers in some water.

"I'll admit, it's, uh, pretty disconcerting to have the door answered by--" he indicated her costume. "But... I said I'd go with you, and I'm
*very* curious now. I think." He tilted his head, and stared at her legs as she returned. "You're *sure* you want to go out? You wouldn't
rather just stay in?" She read the look on his face correctly, and smiled coquettishly at him.

"We can do that *after* the movie. Oh, can you hold on to this? I just have to get my coat." She handed him a plastic shopping bag, and he
peered inside at the contents: a pair of colorful squirt guns (both full!), some sections of newspaper, two lighters and two party noisemakers,
some baggies with... hm... dry rice and a few slices of blackened toast? He held up one of the squirt guns enquiringly as she reappeared,
about to put on her coat. "Oh, right. Do you want the green one or the blue one? It doesn't matter to me."

"Uh, the blue one, I guess. This is water?" Kerry nodded absently, so was taken completely by surprise when the stream of water hit her bare
arm... had she *really* filled the squirt guns with such cold water? "Just making sure it works," he protested, feigning innocence, but his
mischievous little smile gave him away. She tried to scramble for the bag, to grab the other squirt gun, but he held it behind him, and backed
away from her, laughing, until she stumbled while trying to reach around him. He immediately stopped laughing, dropped the bag and grabbed
her around the waist to steady her. He was human; he couldn't resist copping a feel while he was at it. He kissed her again, on the lips, very
gently, and released her. "Now, tell me where we're going, that you're dressed like that and--" he bent over to pick up the bag "you have this.
What *is* this, anyway?"

"Props. It's an interactive movie, Luka. Only use the squirt gun during scenes with rain, otherwise you'll get screamed at by the other people in
the audience. Follow my lead with the other props." He looked less than enthusiastic - downright apprehensive, in fact - at the thought of what
might be coming, but let her lead him outside, to his car. He opened her door for her, and handed her the bag of... props. Props, to go to see a
movie, he thought, shaking his head bemusedly as he went around to his side. And *costumes*?!? He glanced across at her as he slid behind
the wheel.

"Have you eaten? I was going to stop somewhere, and get some dinner before the movie - do you want something?"

"Please. I was too nervous to eat earlier."

"Because you thought I might, uh, stand you..." She made a tiny gesture to cue him on the slang term, and he shook his head. "Up. Stand you up.
You know, one day I'll get you to believe in me, Kerry." He reached for her hand, and squeezed it briefly before he turned his attention to driving.

* * *

The restaurant was a local place, a low-grade rip-off of Taco Bell, but a few of the ER staff had been there, and liked it. Chuny hadn't been
overly impressed by the cuisine ("It's not even *good* fake Tex-Mex!" had been her scornful assessment), but *had* flirted with several of
the employees. Luka had heard a rumor that she'd taken the manager home that night, but he was never quite sure what to believe about her,
and what to dismiss as mere gossip.

*He* had the poor luck to get a person working on the drive-through who was even worse at understanding his accent than people usually
were; he was, though, determined that he was *not* gonna lose it. Not in front of Kerry. He was totally inexperienced when it came to dating,
but he was pretty sure that screaming at some underpaid teenager was *not* a good way to impress a woman.

She noticed his frustration with the kid, though - Luka had given his order twice, and both times got back a confused, garbled version of what
he had requested. She put her hand on his shoulder to get his attention. "Let me try," she whispered. "If *I* can't get the message across, we'll
go inside to order. And then I'll beat the kid silly with my crutch." A tiny gasp of laughter escaped him when she said that: he couldn't remember
the last time somebody had volunteered to take his side like that. He found he *liked* being the one protected for a change, even over something
so trivial. And that, in turn, alarmed him: wasn't *he*, as a man, supposed to be the one looking out for others? Not that he was always very
good at doing even that....

"You're not embarrassed to be seen with me?" he whispered back, stroking the front of her maid's costume and trying to cover his confused
reaction to her offer.

"I'm not embarrassed!" she insisted, then leaned across him and switched to a normal voice to address the microphone with their order. This
time, the kid got it right. For all they knew, Luka thought, the kid had somehow overheard Kerry's whispered threat. They picked up their food
at the next window, then parked in the lot and sat in the car eating; Kerry watched Luka pour hot sauce on his burrito. "Fire sauce? I never
would've figured you for the sort to like spicy food "

"And *I* never would have figured you for the sort to go within fifty yards of a place like this," he promptly retorted, and swiped a chip from
her taco salad, smiling at her. Oh, yes, there was plenty to fear here, he knew. He was risking a lot by opening himself up like this again after
all this time, letting himself care about her. The question was... could she handle what he hadn't been able to tell her yet? And could *he*
handle what *she* undoubtedly hadn't been able to tell him about herself? (There was always *something*, he'd found, some nasty little secret
that everybody had.)

They didn't talk much as they ate, but it was a comfortable silence. He *liked* that Kerry wasn't someone who had to say something -
*anything* - to fill up dead air. He'd really rather be sitting at an actual table (even one of those uncomfortable plastic affairs that fast
food restaurants, like this one, used) instead of sitting in his car, eating with one hand and holding a protective napkin under his chin with
the other, but he could put up with a lot to be with Kerry.

He sighed contentedly as he polished off the last of his burrito, and wiped a few crumbs and a trace of sauce off his mouth. Kerry was just
finishing her salad. "Not great, but not awful, eh?" Kerry nodded.

"No, not bad at all. We'll have to come here again some time - run into each other here 'by accident', if necessary." Luka shrugged.

"Or we could just show up here together," he told her with a nonchalance he certainly didn't feel. "Instead of sneaking around, huh?"

"Luka... can we talk about that later?"  'Later'... he wondered when that would be, and made a quick, hopeful pass toward the hem of her
skirt, not really surprised when she intercepted his hand. Oh well.

"You're dead-set on going to this movie, aren't you?" He sighed. "Okay, okay, let's go."

* * *

He followed her directions, and soon pulled into the parking lot of a small theater. "Let's leave our coats in the car," she suggested. "It's
not *that* cold, as close to the door as we're parked, and this way we won't have to keep track of them once we get inside." He agreed
immediately.

"From the looks of your 'props', it's going to be very messy in there. I don't want to be picking any of *that* out of my coat." He checked
his watch; it was only 11:14. "Are you sure we want to go over there already? What time did you say the show starts?"

"The *movie* starts at midnight, but the audience *is* the show. It can get a little crazy sometimes, even in line." He smiled lazily at her.

"Worse than the ER on a full moon, Saturday night?"

"I've never seen any GSWs at a show - yet - but yes... it's right up there for chaos. You've got the props?" He nodded, and they got out of
the car; she ignored (but noticed) his little growl when he would have come around to open her door for her - her semi-self-imposed
isolation had made her unaccustomed to accepting simple little courtesies.

As they headed for the end of the line, somebody waved at them. "Hey, great costumes, you guys!" He frowned as he and Kerry took
their positions - what costume? He *always* wore dark colors.

They were standing directly behind a heavyset man wearing jeans, cowboy boots and a t-shirt, with a leather vest and utility belt. A
long white scarf was slung around his neck, and he had what looked, at first glance, like a bad head lac (but the smell of ketchup -
nasty stuff, in Luka's opinion - was too strong for the "wound" to be convincing). He was accompanied by a woman in a sequined
outfit - top hat, jacket with tails, a large bow tie and a bustier... all of her clothing was gleaming with reflected light-- oh. *Not* a
woman. And that heavyset "man" wasn't a man at all. Luka watched the couple for a minute, fascinated, then turned back to Kerry. Even
with that horrible makeup, and the weird hair, she was stunning... and yet, she seemed reluctant to believe that. Well, convincing her of
this would be an enjoyable process, and he was willing to take as much time as necessary to accomplish those ends.

He helped Kerry sit down while they waited for the box office to open - it would be another twenty minutes or so, and her leg seemed to
be bothering her again. He could definitely sympathize with *that*.

When they finally got up to the ticket booth, they bickered amicably about who would pay for the tickets; she finally ended the issue when
she slapped a Hamilton up on the counter first, against his protests. "You bought dinner, and the movie was my idea, so I'm paying for this,"
she told him firmly, and almost dragged him inside. He didn't really struggle against her grip, though:  he *liked* holding her hand (among
*other* parts of Kerry Weaver). He also kind of liked her aggressive side, although he'd never admit it to anyone.

Some teenagers - wannabe gangsters, judging from the aura around them that practically screamed "Suburban!" despite the baggy jeans and
baseball caps (Luka reckoned they'd probably shit if they ever encountered any of the *really* tough characters that came in and out of the
County ER every day... or even some of the people back home, who'd have these little mice on their knees, stripped naked and begging for
their lives, within five minutes) - ran by them in the lobby, shooting enormous... water... *rifles*? at each other. Kerry banged her crutch
against the big metal water fountain, barking out, in her best Boss-Lady tones, "Hey...*hey*! It doesn't rain indoors, *virgins*!" He was
amused to see that they stopped dead in their tracks, and meekly apologized to her. He watched the teenagers slink away in the direction of
the theater, and smiled slightly when one of them apprehensively looked over his shoulder at Kerry. He leaned down a little to whisper in
her ear.

"What's a 'virgin'? *Not* what I think it means, in this case, right?"

"Right. It just means you've never been here before." Luka nodded slowly. He had, after all, just been thinking earlier tonight that life with
Kerry would be anything but boring, hadn't he?

Kerry paused to chat with a man wearing a black sequined corset and elaborately heavy makeup... he was pretty, in that strange way that
some transvestites had. Drag queens, at least, were nothing new for Luka; he responded politely when Kerry included him in the conversation,
and tried not to be obvious that he was anxious to find a seat... anxious to sit down, get off his feet, see the damned movie, already.

They entered the theater itself and he wondered why she seemed so intent on sitting on the aisle, but decided that it was probably one of Kerry's
little quirks - he *might* have a handle on them all after being with her for... oh... about fifty years or so. He took her hand and kissed her fingers,
and she gave him an answering squeeze. Their hands stayed linked - he didn't want to let go, and she didn't seem to be in any hurry to retrieve her
hand.

Somehow, he managed to keep from coming unhinged when the house lights went down; he was thankful that Kerry's attention was focused on
the screen (she and most of the rest of the theater were shouting "Lips! Lips! Lips!") because he hated the thought of revealing his weakness. It
was so stupid! He was a grown man, he should not have such a paralyzing fear of darkness.

As the opening credits ran, Kerry was gleefully screaming at the screen, right along with the rest of the audience. "Asshole!" she shrieked,
as Barry Bostwick's name came up in big red drippy letters (the audience had just heralded Susan Sarandon's credit with cries of "Slut!").
He chuckled softly.

"And you kiss me with that mouth?" She did precisely that, and reached over to squeeze his thigh.

"It's part of the routine." He shook his head, grinning. "Like I said, follow my lead." She waved bye-bye at the screen as the lips receded into
the distance, then dug in the props bag for the rice and handed one of the baggies to him. "Wedding scene coming up," she whispered quickly,
which gave him enough time to open the bag; as he threw the rice with the on-screen flying rice, he was pelted with stray grains from what
other people had thrown. Then the moment was over, and Kerry was brushing rice off of him and flicking bits of it out of his hair. He returned
the favor, lingering a little in some of the more interesting spots... most of which had been nowhere near any rice.

She quickly passed him the blue squirt gun that he'd chosen earlier, and a section of newspaper (he copied her, when she tented it over her
head) and they fired into the air. He made a face as water pattered onto the newspaper - imitation rain, how *fantastic*.

The half-bald man (who, Kerry told him in a quick aside, was "Riff-Raff") appeared on the screen, and Luka sank down in his seat, aware he
was blushing heavily - so *that* was what those people in the line had meant by his "costume". He didn't think, though, that he would ever
have to worry about his hairline becoming like that man's; Kovac men had full, thick heads of hair. Granted, those full, thick heads of black
hair usually started turning grey at a pretty early age (although his experiences had accelerated the process), but he couldn't think of a single
bald relative. He wondered if Kerry had any bald relatives.

Anyhow, he liked to think that he wore those dark colors just a *little* better than Riff-Raff did... and while he did, because of his height,
tend to slouch a little (despite the best efforts of first his mother, then his wife), he definitely had better posture than this guy.

A woman dressed like Kerry came sliding down the banister. "'You're lucky, he's lucky, I'm lucky, we're *all* lucky!'" Kerry - and a few
other people in the audience - caroled along with the-- with Magenta (Kerry explained), cackling madly.

Riff-Raff dusted a grandfather clock made out of a coffin, and just as the audience prompted, "Show us your father!" it creaked open, revealing
a skeleton, as a guitar riff began. Kerry got up, and Luka desperately reached for her hand. "Where are you going?"

"Don't worry. It's okay, I'll be right back," she told him earnestly before crutching rapidly up to the area right in front of the screen. A few other
people were going up, too, he could see. What the *hell*?
 

    Riff Raff:
It's astounding
Time is fleeting
Madness takes its toll
But listen closely
   Magenta: Not for very much longer
I've got to keep control
I remember doing the time warp
Drinking those moments when
The blackness would hit me
And the void would be calling

    All:
Let's do the time warp again
Let's do the time warp again

{Refrain}
It's just a jump to the left
And then a step to the right
With your hands on your hips
You bring your knees in tight
But it's the pelvic thrust
That starts to drive you insane

Let's do the time warp again
Let's do the time warp again

    Magenta:
It's so dreamy
Oh fantasy free me
So you can't see me
No not at all
In another dimension
With voyeristic intention
Well secluded
I see all
Riff Raff:    With a bit of a mind flip
Magenta: You're there in the time slip
Riff Raff:    And nothing can ever be the same
Magenta: You're spaced out on sensation
Riff Raff:    Like you're under sedation

    All
Let's do the time warp again
Let's do the time warp again

    Columbia:
Well I was walking down the street just having a think
When a snake of a guy gave me an evil wink
He shook-a me up, he took me by surprise
He had a pick-up truck and the devil's eyes
He stared at me and I felt a change
Time meant nothing, never would again

    All
Let's do the time warp again
Let's do the time warp again

{Refrain}

    All
Let's do the time warp again
Let's do the time warp again
 

He didn't pay much attention to the actual scene on the screen - his eyes were fixed on Kerry. He found he didn't like seeing her dancing
with that other man up there... and that she was oddly graceful for someone with a crutch (why not, he supposed, considering how long
she'd probably had it). He could have done without noticing that her skirt seemed a little shorter than it had looked earlier, too. As the
characters on the screen fell over in response to the end of the song, the people who'd gone up to participate fell over, too. Luka carefully
watched Kerry, ready to go up and help her if she looked like she was having trouble, but she somehow righted herself. He couldn't see how
she'd done it, but she was suddenly back on her feet. She scampered back to him, grinning, and slid back into her seat as another song began.

Another character up on the screen, wearing a corset and a cape, announced, in song, that he was a "sweet transvestite from Transsexual,
Transylvania", and Luka sank back down in his seat, succumbing to a brief fit of nervous coughing. Oh, *great*. The staff thought he didn't
know about their speculations, when he'd first started at County as a moonlighter, but these things got around. Kerry asked him, just a little
too sweetly, if he was all right... did he need a cough drop? He glared at her, but said nothing.

He supposed that the only good thing about Kerry firing him when she had was that he'd been spared any vampire-related Halloween pranks
the staff might have decided to play on him. If he was very, very lucky, they would have forgotten all about that "Val the Impaler" crap by the
end of October. If not... well... they weren't the only ones capable of clever pranks. His second year of med school, he'd once immobilized
an entire floor of the dormitory by rigging all the doorknobs with-- okay, so *that* one had been stupid. Immature, even, but it had helped
make him a legend around the place. Granted, a legend who'd had to clean up the mess he'd single-handedly created, but the last time he'd
had contact with anybody there, med student pranks were *still* being compared against the Great Luka Kovac Doorknob Job of '86.

He started when Kerry popped something into his mouth, then realized that she'd passed him one of the noisemakers from the bag when his
startled "huh!" produced a little tweet. He could see, in this scene, where he would need it. Or... he *thought* he could, anyway. To his
surprise, he was right.

Music for another song - with a character who looked a little like the "guy" who'd been in line in front of them - began, and he put out his
hand to restrain Kerry... just in case this was another of these "audience participation" scenes. "I'm not going anywhere, Luka," she whispered
to him.

"God, I hope not," he whispered back. "Don't leave me alone with these lunatics again, *please*." She giggled, and kissed him. He kissed her
back a little more solidly than before, not really caring that she was leaving smudges of white and dark red on his mouth. Somebody in the row
behind them poked his shoulder, and muttered "get a room, virgin".

He grumbled, but reluctantly released Kerry and turned his attention back to the screen. This movie was just... *awful*. It *needed* strangely-
dressed people, objects being hurled in the direction of the screen and shouted lines to turn it from a bad science-fiction musical to a... well...
"interactive" was the word Kerry had used. An interactive experience was, he supposed, a polite enough way to describe it. It was still bad,
but fun; he rolled his eyes when one of the characters called for "a toast!", and slices of toast were duly thrown at the screen, but he laughed
and threw his blackened toast anyway, trying not to think about the horrendous mess all this thrown food and squirted water must be leaving
for the theater staff. He'd done janitorial work a few times in his life, so he had some idea.

By the end of the movie, by the time the... *whatever* had blasted off for the home planet (same home planet as some of these people in the
audience?), he supposed that he had enjoyed the experience. Kerry's company, though, had been most of what he'd enjoyed - there was *no*
way he would ever voluntarily come back here on his own. It was a toss-up as to whether he'd even be willing to come back *with* Kerry...
oh, who was he kidding? He'd go almost anywhere, to be with her. The lights came back up almost immediately, he was happy to see, so he
was spared a repeat of his experience at the beginning of the movie.

Her limp was a little worse than it had been just two hours ago, he noticed, and he offered his arm for her to lean on in addition to her crutch.
At least helping her gave him an excuse for moving slowly: his own leg was bothering him a little at the moment, but the pain was still minor
enough that he could ignore it (he wouldn't be running any marathons, but he'd never been much for running anyway... at least, not when bombs
and snipers weren't providing incentive for him to haul ass).

She disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes, and came back looking more like herself. She still wore the wig, and the outlandish
clothing, but she *had* removed the ghastly makeup. Scrubbing had made her cheeks shiny and pink. "I was starting to wonder what had
happened to you," he grouched affectionately. "Ready to go?" She took in his flushed face and grinned.

"What happened while I was in there? Didja get hit on by the 300-pound 'Magenta' drag queen?"

"Try 'I was complimented on my "costume" by everybody who passed this point'. You could have warned me about this, you know."

"I could've," she admitted. "I was curious to see how you'd handle it. It's a good sign that you didn't flee." He sighed gustily and put his arm
around her as they headed for the door.

"I thought about it, Kerry. *Believe* me. But I lo-- I'm too much of a gentleman to strand you." Oh, that had been close... he'd nearly blurted it
out, and he knew that would have scared her away. He had no idea where they were ultimately going, as far as any kind of relationship went, but
he had his hopes. He kept talking, in case she'd noticed his near-slip. "Where shall we go now? Do you want to look for something else to do
while we're on our date, or go in for the night?"

"Can we go to *your* place?" She was curious to see where he lived when he wasn't at the hospital or with her; she'd heard that he was living
in a houseboat last fall, but had sold it. And *that* thought led her to wonder what making love aboard a boat might be like: she'd once "joined
the mile-high club", which had been interesting only for the novelty of it - she preferred having plenty of room to move around, and the freedom
to scream when she needed to do so - she thought of being on a boat with her lover, out in the middle of nowhere, where nobody would see or
hear them but the seagulls and the fish.

"Huh? Sure, of course. I should have thought sooner to offer you hospitality, instead of imposing--"

"'Imposing'? No, I *like* having you over. I was just wondering about where you live, now that you don't have your boat anymore."

"Ah, you heard about that."

"Mm-hm. Do you ever regret selling it?" He shrugged.

"Sometimes I do. Usually when the guy right over me has one of his parties. Always very loud - loud music, loud guests, loud everything."

"Have you tried asking him to turn it down? Asked the landlord to do something about it?" Luka laughed.

"The landlord *goes* to the parties," he observed wryly. "When it gets very loud, I put in earplugs to sleep, set my pager to 'vibrate' and tuck
it into the waistband of my underwear." He pretended to look offended when Kerry began to snicker. "It wouldn't be so bad, you know, if he'd
have his parties while I'm at work, on a graveyard shift." He caught her sidelong glance. "And yes, I suggested that to him. He was not very
polite." They'd reached his car, and he unlocked her side then got in his side. "He's... he's just a *jerk*, huh? Maybe we'll get lucky, and he won't
decide to have a party tonight."

It really wasn't very far, Luka was surprised to realize; they could almost have gone to his apartment first, then walked to the theater. He
wouldn't have, though, with Kerry along: he could take care of himself, but didn't like the idea of risking Kerry's safety into the bargain.

Actually, he wasn't very happy about having her here at all; he hadn't really thought about it too much when he'd first rented the apartment, but
this wasn't a very nice building. *Sleazy*.

He muttered as his key stuck in the lock a little, but the door finally opened and Luka waved her inside, ahead of him. The place was almost
completely dark, except for a small halogen lamp on the kitchen counter that lit the apartment just enough for the two of them to be able to
avoid tripping over anything. "This is it, draga." She turned, a fierce expression on her face, as he shut the door and engaged a deadbolt.

"*What* did you just call me? 'Dragon'?" He raised his hands in a gesture of appeasement - at the moment, he wasn't entirely sure she wasn't
going to hit him with her crutch.

"*No*, I called you 'draga'. Darling... sweetheart... honey? Your first Croatian word, hm?" She calmed down immediately, and he relaxed.

"Oh. I *would* like to learn." She especially wanted to know what he was saying to her when they made love.

"And I am going to teach you. Then I can take you there with me one day - take you *home*. You'd love it, Kerry. The water - the ocean - is...
it's just insanely *blue*, and clear. Like the lake on a sunny day, but better." Great, he thought, as he looked down at the strange expression on
her face. Damn him and his runaway mouth... now he *was* starting to scare her. He turned on the main lights and clicked off the lamp, then
gestured nervously at a coatrack on the back of the door. "Uh, give me your coat, and I'll hang it up." He'd insisted that she put her coat on before
they went inside; the last thing he wanted was for that jerk upstairs to spot Kerry - especially in her "interesting" outfit - and decide that it was
high time to go call on old what's-his-name down in 13-D.

Meanwhile, Kerry looked around: to call the apartment sparsely furnished would have been an understatement - he had a crucifix up on one
wall, and nothing else. The only thing that gave the place "character" was the clutter: clothes were strewn on the floor and a small table was
buried in books and papers. It was some kind of reflex that had her moving to start picking up, but he turned and spotted her actions, and
groaned. "I didn't bring you here to clean up after my messes," he grouched, and quickly crossed the room to snatch a shirt from her hand.
"Go, go, go! Sit down," he grumbled, pointing at the couch in the middle of the room; he proceeded to pick up the clothing himself, and stuff
it into a hamper. "Just because you are *dressed* like a maid, you shouldn't--" he paused, as the pain in his leg went up another notch, but bit
his lip to hold back a groan: he didn't want her to think that he was trying to "one-up" her on pain. He would have to sit down soon, though,
before his leg gave out entirely for the night.

"Is this place *always* like this?" She indicated the apartment with a sweeping gesture worthy of any game show hostess, and he shook his
head.

"Not really. I usually straighten up about once a week. If I'd thought about it, that we might be coming back here after the movie, I would've,
well..." He poked at the clutter on the table, and shook his head... *that* was going to be much more than a 5-minute project. On the other
hand.... She was facing away from him, rubbing her leg (hm, *that* looked like fun!), so she didn't see what he suddenly pulled from one of
the piles on the table.

"Kerry," he said softly, and she turned. There was the click of a shutter, and she realized that he'd taken her picture.

"Why'd you do that?" Kerry had learned a long time ago that she wasn't a woman who people usually wanted to photograph - not without
some ulterior motive. The last time, the would-be photographers had been after a thousand-dollar scavenger-hunt prize. Assholes.

"To show our grandchildren, of course." He seemed to be in a playful mood, so she tried to reciprocate. *Grandchildren*? He couldn't
be serious!

"In that case, we need one of *you*," she told him, and had snatched the camera from his hands before he knew what was happening.

"Hey! Don't do that!" But he was laughing as he tried to hide from the camera, trying to shield his face with one hand, as she tried to get a good
angle to take his picture. "C'mon, Kerry, I don't photograph well. I always wind up looking like I should be holding up a little board with
numbers and letters in front of me. You've seen my ID picture!"

"I think it's a very *nice* picture of you. You're a good-looking man," she told him firmly.

"'Good-looking'? I look like a damned grasshopper!" he insisted incredulously. "Tall and skinny. C'mon, give me the camera."

Kerry pretended to think about it. "You know, Luka, you have to sleep *sometime*--"

"Give. Me. The. Camera," he repeated patiently. She continued to ignore him.

"Who knows, maybe I'll wait until I've worn you out from another night of sweet, sweet loving..." She smiled at the gleam he got in his eyes
when she mentioned that. "Then I'll come along, and do *this*." She casually raised the camera to her eye, and took his picture; he didn't realize
at first what she'd done, then he put his hands on his hips and stared at her indignantly.

"You-- I can't believe you just did that. Give it to me!"

"Come and get it." The camera wound up kicked under the couch in the ensuing scuffle, and forgotten for a while.

* * * * * *

Kerry woke first, this time, and feasted her eyes on the sight of Luka, asleep. Relaxed like this, he looked at least ten years younger than his
actual age, despite the grey hair. Besides, watching him sleep took her mind off this uncomfortable mattress. She hadn't really thought about
it when he was on top of her, and inside her (she never really thought, *period*, under those circumstances), but now that she was awake...
lumps in all the wrong places, and - not that it was a hardship - she would have had to snuggle with him anyway, since there was practically
a minefield of springs to her left. No wonder he looked totally wiped out some days.

She sat up and looked around, noticing, for the first time, that both of the windows were covered by Venetian blinds, which were down and
closed. Maybe the morning sunlight was strong enough that he had to keep them shut? But even before she remembered that his side of the
building faced west, and had no real view of the western sky, she *knew* that sunlight had nothing to do with the blinds being closed.

She remembered the small lamp that had been lit when they came in the door, and that he had suddenly become tense when the theater went
dark (she'd meant to ask him about that, but she'd become... she'd *let* herself become distracted from the question afterwards).

A sudden movement on the bed next to her drew her attention directly back to Luka.

His face twisted, as if from pain, and he began to make an eerie noise that had the hair on the back of her neck standing on end - a tiny, high-
pitched moan. She stroked his hair to try to soothe him, as if he were a child, but he struggled against her and muttered something in Croatian
again and again. The only word she could understand was "ne" - that one was pretty obvious. Now she shook his shoulder and called his
name, to try to wake him, but he continued to resist her... crying out again, louder, "Molim vas... ne napusti me!"

His thrashing around was starting to worry her, if just because of the risk that he might accidentally hit her left leg. She really didn't want to
do this, but she had to snap him out of it. "I'm sorry!" she told him, as she avoided his arm again, and twisted a fold of skin on his chest as
she called his name again.

He grunted, almost in surprise, then lay still. His eyes fluttered open, and she was as amazed as always by the smoky color of his eyes... her
eyes were green, too, but they were closer to grey, while his eyes were more of an earthy, mossy shade. For a few seconds they were also
completely disoriented, almost postictal, then he focused on her. "What the hell?"

"You had a nightmare." He absorbed that, rubbing absently at his chest where she'd pinched him, and sighed.

"Oh." It was a small sound; Kerry saw that he still looked a little dazed, and wondered if nightmares might also help account for his apparent
weariness at work sometimes.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He shuddered.

"Not really. I just need to hold you for a while." They cuddled together - now he was caressing her hair - and she felt his body trembling
against hers. "You know," he said suddenly, "I was twenty before I saw red hair for the first time. It fascinated me. Still does."

"Oh, *really*." She pulled back slightly from him, a definite touch of frost in her voice.

"Yep." He was beginning to regain a little of his usual good humor, even though it was obvious that the nightmare had seriously scared him,
and she was irritated to see that he looked a little smug about something.

"What was her name?"

"'Her' name was Erik Norquist. Physics lab partner," he told her, and she indignantly smacked his shoulder. "I couldn't believe it was a
real color at first." He paused, and fluffed her hair. "You're growing it longer?"

"I thought I'd try long hair again," she replied, almost defensively.

"If - if it matters," he told her, a little shyly, "I would like to see that. Do you have any pictures of yourself with long hair?"

"I have a few, at home. How about you?"

"Do I have any pictures of myself with long hair?" He laughed, and hugged her, but there was an odd undertone to his laughter that Kerry
couldn't identify.

"Smart ass. Sorry, I meant pictures of your family."

"Only one. Just my wife and daughter. My... all of the other pictures, including pictures with my son, were destroyed."

"Oh. Could I... do you mind showing it to me?" He watched her closely for a moment, then nodded suddenly and climbed over her. Funny,
this was the first time he'd noticed what a lousy bed this was. He retrieved his pants from the pile where he'd dropped his clothes last night,
and withdrew his wallet from the hip pocket. The picture - a little black and white - was almost hidden behind credit cards and slips of
paper, and Kerry wondered if that was on purpose. He didn't offer her the picture, but held onto it as he showed it to her.

"That's them. My wife Danijela, and my daughter Jasna." The picture showed a sultry brunette holding a cute little girl on her lap; both were
as dark as Luka. He seemed so remote right now, even though he was only inches away from her, that she felt as though she'd touch nothing
if she reached out to him. The barest hint of a smile played across his lips. "I took this at Jasna's fourth birthday party. She, uh, she got so
angry at Marko because he kept trying to open her presents." Kerry put her hand on his shoulder and noticed that he tensed for a moment,
then relaxed under her touch and sighed. "He *would* have been in the picture, actually, but he was... hm... right over *there*," Luka
pointed about eighteen inches to the left of the photograph. "As I recall, he was getting ice cream and cake washed off of him by one of
his aunts."

"Who put it there, Jasna or Marko?" Kerry tried to imitate the trilled "r", with what she knew was limited success.

"It was a joint effort, I think. He was too young to be very coordinated, so eating ice cream was always an outdoor event for him. You know,
so we could easily hose him down afterwards." He laughed softly at the memory of his little boy, who'd always seemed to be at the center of
some kind of mess - just like his daddy at that age, according to Luka's mother - but ice cream had always been his favorite mess. "Then Jasna
decided, uh, that chocolate ice cream of *course* called for a little chocolate cake, and--" he gently mimed smushing a piece of cake into
Kerry's face, causing her to giggle. "Yeah, that's about what he said. It was a horrible mess. The upshot, as I said, is that he was there," he
pointed at the same invisible point, "instead of *there*," he pointed back at the photograph.

"This isn't your only copy, is it? You should get it reproduced." She winced at how her practical side had chosen to comment.

"I know. I just don't like to let it out of my hands long enough for that," he told her as he carefully put it away.

"Luka, it doesn't take that long. I had some old pictures copied recently, all they do is run it through a scanner, maybe clean up the image a little
on a computer if there's some damage, and print off copies on photographic-quality paper. They'd probably let you stay and watch over their
shoulder if you wanted--" He shook his head.

"I appreciate the idea, Kerry, but I don't really have time for it." She felt the same sense of remoteness from him again, although she didn't think
he *meant* to withdraw from her like that. Time to change the subject, she supposed, after a quick look at the small clock on the nightstand.

"I need to go home and change my clothes, anyway. I can't exactly go in wearing *that*," she pointed at her maid's costume, which she'd draped
(more or less neatly) over the arm of the sofa last night, in the last few seconds that she was still able to think. He seized on the new subject
almost eagerly: he'd enjoyed talking about his family, but at the same time it had really *hurt*.

"At the very least, they'd see you in an entirely different light, huh? I don't think I want Malucci to see your beautiful legs, though. It'd give him
ideas--" Kerry gleefully interrupted.

"*Breathing* gives him ideas-- Waugh!" Luka had found a new spot to tickle her, and he followed that up with a quick, hard kiss before he
got up, depositing her gently in the pile of covers and eyeing her naked body with a leer.

"He can have whatever damn ideas he likes, draga, as long as none of them involve *you*."

"Oh, are you going all European and possessive on me already?" she teased. He idly traced patterns on her belly, then suddenly bent down to
blow a raspberry right where he'd been gently stroking her soft skin.

"I *am* European, remember? C'mon, get dressed, let me get a shower, and I'll drive you home." He carried her back to the couch and waited
until she'd begun to put her costume back on, and wondered what the ER staff would think if they knew that Kerry Weaver wore leopard-print
underwear. *He* wasn't going to be the one to say anything, though... he'd rather keep that to himself, and add it to the memories that he kept
stored away in his brain to get him through the long shifts.

Kerry watched him disappear into the bathroom, and slipped the dress over her head. For a moment she was tempted to take it back off, and go
join him, but then she got hold of herself: as much as she'd *like* to get in the shower with him, and as much as she thought he wouldn't mind
either, they were running on a schedule at the moment, and the physical side of their relationship couldn't really tell time... if she got in that
shower with him, they would be in there for a very long time, and then she would be very, very late (assuming either of them made it to work
in the first place).

She heard first running water, then the sound of his voice. Singing again. She recognized the song this time - Elvis Presley - and wondered,
irreverently, if Luka had ever done Elvis impersonations; he certainly had the sheer charisma to pull it off. At least he didn't have the sneer.
Kerry liked Elvis Presley's music, but had never been able to tolerate that sneer... it was the same kind of "hey, look at me, I'm baaad" attitude
that she'd detested in Doug. Her hands paused in buttoning as she listened... and then she winced, as he completely blew a note near the end of
"Always on My Mind". A muffled "Dammit!" floated out from the bathroom; at least, Kerry decided, he apparently knew when he'd produced a
sour tone. The water stopped soon after that, and he was out a minute later, wearing a deep blue velour robe that would have been mid-calf
length on a shorter man. "You're done in there?" she asked him, and barely waited for his answer before she charged in, her remaining items
tucked under her arm, and shut the door.

He was startled at first, then had to laugh at himself: he should have let her go first. He shook his head, then pulled clothing out of the closet,
almost at random. He wasn't color-blind, just a little style-challenged - Danijela had once been the one who kept him from putting together
strange, inappropriate outfits for work (she'd always joked that "Jasna has better fashion sense than you do!") but now he avoided the problem
by owning a lot of the same kind of clothes and by asking the opinion of some random female customers in the department when he was buying
his clothes. They were always so happy, he thought, to find a man with more enthusiasm for shopping than their own husbands that he had never
gone wrong with their advice. (It had never occurred to him that they might simply be so delighted to be approached by a tall, dark, handsome
stranger with a very European accent, that they would have happily given him much more than a few fashion tips.)

When she finally emerged, he was securing the knot on his tie. *Not* really one of the better inventions to come out of his country, he thought
distastefully, then turned at the sound of the bathroom door opening. She'd finished dressing except for the wig, which she'd left in his car last
night with her props bag. "Good timing. You're ready, then?"

"I just need my coat." She followed him as he headed in that direction and took a small detour to flip the switch to turn the lamp back on, before
he hauled her coat down for her and reached for the doorknob. She pretended she hadn't seen him turn on the lamp, and moved to turn off the lamp,
expecting his response. Sure enough, he hastily put out a hand to stop her.

"No, don't turn off the light. Please."

"Are you afraid of the dark?" He watched her warily for a moment, before deciding that she wasn't just teasing him... that she wasn't going to mock
him, then nodded reluctantly, staring at the kitchen counter.

"Petrified," he said tensely. "It's a phobia... I've had it since-- for a long time."

"What do you do in a blackout?"

"I close my eyes, and I pray a lot. Ridiculous, huh? *Kids* are supposed to be afraid of the dark, not guys who're nearly 40."

"Have you talked to someone about... about what happened to you in, uh, the war?" He shrugged.

"What's to tell? I made a bad choice, took my family there," she noticed that he didn't actually name where he'd been, "and I got them killed.
Simple as that." She slipped her arms around his waist from behind; it felt good to nestle against his back, and she liked his scent... whatever
it was that he used - aftershave? Cologne?  *Deodorant*? - was very pleasant, and kinda sexy.

"Obviously it *wasn't* simple, then." He ignored her observation, and stepped away from her slightly. Not that he didn't like having her
little body pressed against him like that, but he felt a little raw after what had happened earlier. He'd never been able to remember exactly
what the nightmare was, after waking up, and then he'd slipped back into a pleasant memory while showing Kerry his picture. He treasured
the memories, he had his favorites - Marko's cherubic little face, seemingly always thick and sticky with ice cream, especially when his
grandmama was busy spoiling him, Jasna leaping into bed with him and Danijela after she'd had a bad dream... and of course Danijela, so
pretty on their wedding day and then so murderous when she'd been in labor, wow! - but he still missed the three of them so badly.

"Shall we go?" He didn't *mean* to be so curt with her... he was just feeling pretty stressed out right now.

"Sure." She knew she shouldn't take it personally, that he hadn't spilled his guts to her about every detail of his past. After all, she hadn't
exactly rushed to fill him in on every little thing that had ever happened to *her*. She glanced over her shoulder for a good look at his
apartment, in case - for reasons she didn't want to think about - she was never here again, and then he'd closed the door and was escorting
her to the stairway, urging her along with promises of breakfast and coffee. "Not scrambled eggs," she insisted. "Yours have me spoiled for
anyone else's." He indulgently assured her that she could have whatever she wanted.

"Except for *that*," he added, when she grabbed his ass. They both laughed, and continued to walk downstairs to his car.
 
 
 
 

POST-OPERATIVE NOTES:

• The Great Doorknob Job really happened... but in the interests of avoiding copycats (and, I'm sure, lawsuits :-) I ain't saying what the rig was. It *was* pretty disgusting... and why, yes, it *was* also immature and stupid. And I didn't do it - somebody else had the honor of being threatened by an angry lynch mob.