He was awakened by Kerry scrambling out of bed and hauling ass to
the bathroom with that curious three-legged
gait she had - the sound of her being very, very sick was what really
got his attention, since they'd been a little
haphazard about contraception recently. Funny, that that should be the
case, he thought dazedly as he lurched out
of bed and stumbled to the bathroom to check on her, you'd think
doctors would be even more careful than the
average crackhead or dim-witted teenager. But then, ask Carol Hathaway
how "careful" doctors could be.
He wasn't sure whether or not he should be relieved when he reached
her side and found that she felt very warm and
hoarsely yelped when he tried to rub her shoulders. She spat into the
toilet, and turned to him, red-eyed and snuffly.
"Can you get me my nightgown, please? I'm a little chilly." Slight
fever, hoarseness, muscle aches... sick, then, not
pregnant. He tried to convince himself that he *was* relieved not to be
facing fatherhood again, just yet, but found he
wasn't having much luck - he kidded her sometimes about kids and
grandkids, but he *was* genuinely interested in being
the father of her children one day - he sometimes dreamed of children
with the dark hair of their parents. When - or even
*if*! - it happened, though, he wanted it to have been Kerry's choice:
her choice to conceive them, and her choice to bear
them.
"Yep." He made a face as he returned to the bedroom - that flannel
nightgown was one of his *least* favorite of all of her garments:
it was plain, drab, shapeless... everything she still seemed to think
she was, despite his continuing efforts to convince her otherwise.
But nightgown was what she wanted, so nightgown was what she was going
to get. *Ugh.* At least it was soft and warm, and would
be gentle against her skin until he could slide her into the shower. He
usually didn't help her put it on - he preferred taking off
*anything* she tried to wear to bed, in fact - but this time he managed
to overcome his distaste for it long enough to ease it over her
head and cuddle her, until she stopped shivering.
He got her under the covers to warm up a little, then went
downstairs and heated some water for tea, and brought her a cup of her
favorite herbal blend with a few spoonfuls of honey. He watched
anxiously as she cradled the warm mug in her hands and sipped
the tea slowly. "You'll be all right by yourself today?"
"What?"
"You *are* going to call in sick, and take it easy today, right?"
"No!" The vehemence of her answer, though, set off a long coughing
spell, and Luka held her during it... wincing at the horrible sounds
she was making. "Just-- I'll take some medicine, I'll get a shower, and
then I'll be fine to go to work." He raised his eyebrows at her.
"Where you can infect the few people in Chicago who aren't *already* sick? Stay home, you have plenty of sick days, don't you?"
"Tha!a!at's," she coughed, "not the *point*! I have a du!ty to my *job*--"
"You have a duty to your own health, first," he insisted. "You won't
be of any use to anybody if you make yourself even sicker than you
already are."
"I need a shower, and I'll be fine," was her only reply to that. He
made an abrupt gesture, and began pacing and muttering in Croatian -
she suspected she was glad she couldn't understand what he was saying -
but finally gave her a hand out of bed and onto her feet.
"Come on." He helped her into the shower and, on impulse, climbed in
after her - the flu seemed to have her feeling tired and weak.
Besides, it was just fun to shower with her: while he hadn't yet
figured out the ideal way for them to take advantage of the shower, he
could still grope her a little under the spray. He wound up holding on
to her, supporting her as she bathed, and washed her back for her
as she leaned against him with her forehead resting against his chest.
She protested, though, when he eased her away from him and leaned in
for a kiss. "I don't want to give you this bug - it's no good if *both*
of us are sick." He kissed her anyway, slyly parting her lips with his
tongue at the last minute, and then tried to kiss his way down her
body. She grabbed his head, though, when he'd only reached her chest.
"We've - mmm - been sleeping together for pretty much the entire
incubation period," he reminded her as he gave one breast a good hard
suck, which dragged a little moan out of her. That, in turn, caused him
to smile: he enjoyed making her feel good. "If you were going to
give me anything, I already have it. But I don't think I'm going to get
sick - knock on wood," he playfully tapped his own head. "I haven't
even had a cold in..." he counted quickly and silently, "probably
twenty years."
"I don't want to hear you complaining, then, if you start sneezing
and being sick all over the place," she warned him, her voice squeaky
and
faltering a little as he idly played with her nipples, but he shrugged.
"I wouldn't dare. You're merciless enough to residents who
complain." He smiled as he said that, though, and was quickly on his
knees in
front of her, with his arms wrapped around her thighs to hold her up.
He had to tighten his grip on her after he started humming - the
exercise
hadn't just helped Danijela when she was in labor with Jasna, it had
helped them pass the time until she was medically cleared for regular
intercourse - and the noises she was making *really* gave him cause to
smile. .
* * * * * *
He continued to take charge of her after he lifted her out of the
shower, towel-drying her very gently and smiling as she leaned against
him.
"You can't doubt that I love you, Kerry," he observed. "That I can see
you looking this way, and *still* think you are supremely beautiful?"
Beautiful? She saw herself as looking like a drowned rat (a red-headed
rat, at that) with the sniffles, but she was never too sick to take an
attitude with him.
"Prettier than Carol?" He rolled his eyes good-naturedly.
"Much. Besides, you're easier to carry around," he joked, and
laughed when she punched his shoulder weakly. "Please. Go back to bed."
He tried again to steer her in that direction, but she wiggled free and
stuck her arm into the cuff of her crutch. "C'mon. You're not going to
be much good to anyone, the way you are now." He followed her into the
bedroom, drying himself as she collected items of clothing to
wear today, and sighed a little regretfully when she began to get
dressed: she had such a cute little bottom, and breasts that just fit
his hand.
He began pulling on clothes, too, although he wasn't due in for several
hours - he'd sufficiently recovered from what they'd done in the
shower to become self-conscious about his scars again.
"I can at least keep the place functioning. Malucci's undoubtedly
going to be whining about how sick he is..." She took the towel back
from
him and rubbed at her hair as they went downstairs.
"'Back to work, Dave', I know the drill. You're just going to make
yourself sicker." His arguments were, they both knew, only to make
himself feel better - he'd lost his case several minutes ago. "At least
let me heat up some broth for you. You need to eat something."
"I'm not hungry." Her stomach begged to differ, but they both ignored the rumble.
"Maybe not, but you still need to eat something. Some calories, at least, some fat and 'lytes, so you don't pass out in the middle of a trauma."
"Oh, all right. If it'll stop you nagging..." He grinned.
"If I thought all I had to do was nag, draga moja, I'd still be
harping on you staying home." He opened the refrigerator and hauled out
the
big soup pot. She thought that was one of the more pleasant changes
he'd made around her house: on the down side, she couldn't just go to
the bathroom in the middle of the night and assume that the seat would
be down (he really tried to remember every time, but he *was* a
man, after all), but one of the pluses was that he always had some kind
of soup going - it was nice, on a cold morning, to be able to have a
good hot mug at a moment's notice - and this time it was good old
chicken. He ladled some broth into a dish, and put it in the microwave.
"I love this thing," he called to her over the sound of its humming.
"You've seen microwaves before."
"Uh-huh. I just love them. No substitute for *real* cooking, of
course," he mused, resting against the counter, "but it beats having to
get a
clean pot just to warm something up." He turned to face her. "And you
get free entertainment, watching the food go for a little ride," he
deadpanned, twirling his finger in a circle. Kerry cracked up, as he'd
intended - he liked hearing her laugh. What he *didn't* like was that
rasp he heard in her laugh... he wanted to get his stethoscope and have
a listen, but had few doubts about what she would want to *do*
with that stethoscope.
He put the soup pot away - he wasn't in the mood for it, himself -
and snagged an apple from the fruitbowl on the counter, watching her
take
little breathy sips of her broth. "Oh... do you mind that I'm giving
Carol a ride to work today?" He *wanted* her to mind, to tell him that
she
didn't want him going anywhere *near* Carol or any other woman, but to
his disappointment she simply shrugged as she put on her coat and
slipped on her shoes.
"Do what you need to do, Luka." Did she *mind*? Damn right, she
minded, Kerry thought irritably. How could he even *have* to ask if she
*minded*? He frowned as she slammed the door behind her - was this
another of her "quirks", or did she really *not* care?
* * *
Luka pulled up in front of Carol's house and was pleased to see that
she was already outside waiting... both because he was in a little bit
of
a hurry and because he knew that if he'd had to go to the door, she
would have had *something* that needed fixing. It wasn't exactly that he
*minded* helping her, he supposed it was better than her paying
somebody to do something that he was able to do himself. "Good
morning,"
he called through the open window to her as she trotted down the walk.
He leaned across and unlocked the door as she stepped off the curb
and came around the front of his car. He waited patiently as she got in
and fastened her seat belt, then pulled away from the curb.
Traffic was just heavy enough that he was too busy concentrating on
the road to talk much, so Carol turned on the radio. He could do without
her playing with the dial, though - a familiar guitar intro came on,
and he absently swatted her hands away from the controls. "Wait -- I
like
this one."
"You listen to the *Beatles*?"
"Yes, I do." If she asks me if we have The Beatles in Croatia, he
thought, I swear I will push her out of the car right here, and make
her *walk*
the rest of the way to work! She didn't comment, though, merely
responded with a very small "Oh."
Something in the way she moves
Attracts me like no other lover
Something in the way she woos me
I don't want to leave her now
You know I believe her now
Somewhere in her smile she knows
That I don't need no other lover
Something in her style that shows me
Don't want to leave her now
You know I believe her now
You're asking me will my love grow
I don't know, I don't know
You stick around now it may show
I don't know, I don't know
Something in the way she knows
And all I have to do is think of her
Something in the things she shows me
Don't want to leave her now
You know I believe her now
Carol glanced over at him, and noticed the little smile on his face
as he listened to the song; she preened slightly. At least *somebody*
seemed to find her attractive... she sure didn't feel pretty these
days. Not with a C-section scar grinning its way across her abdomen, and
two babies who were conspiring to drive her nuts with their
unwillingness to sleep at the same time. The song closed out in a
flurry of
slide guitar and violins, and his attention slowly drifted back to his
passenger; he solemnly listened to her complain about having had to
heat water on the stove to wash her hair, and idly wondered how she
would have liked having to brave sniper fire in order to get that water
in the first place... but that really wasn't fair of him.
He followed her into the lounge as they continued their
conversation, and discovered that he'd somehow volunteered to check out
her water
heater for her. He sighed as he left to see patients, and would have
been *really* unhappy, if he'd heard Carol over-explaining her
association with him to Mark.
* * *
Kerry ducked behind the plexiglass window of the admit area as the
man sneezed at her. Oh, *god*, why had she been so stubborn with
Luka this morning? And Malucci was whining every bit as much as she'd
expected, to the point that it was all she could do to keep from
slapping him. Whew, easy does it, Kerry, *patience*, she reminded
herself... then snarled at a random patient.
"I'm going home," she croaked, ignoring Dave's protests that *he*
was sick, too, and cattily suggested that he get some Imodium and a
mask -
on second thought, sometimes the man was just too damned whiny to live.
Luka casually followed her into the lounge, on the pretext of
needing her signature on some forms.
"So you're going home, Kerry?" he asked her - they had an audience,
in the form of a couple of interns shotgunning espressos - and tried on
concentrate on something other than how much he'd like to continue what
they'd begun this morning in the shower.
"Yeah. I hope I haven't passed it on to anyone *else* here," she told him meaningfully, as she read and signed the forms he gave her.
"Hm. I hope so, too." She signed the last form, then handed everything back to him.
"Was there anything else you needed, before I go home?" She
immediately regretted asking the question, when she saw the familiar
gleam
in his eyes, but he shook his head.
"Nothing that can't wait. Go home, get better." He opened the door for her, then followed her out.
"If you even *whisper* an 'I told you so'..." she muttered. He patted her on the back, and held back a smile.
"Go home, Kerry." He watched her limp to the door, and shook his
head... what a stubborn woman. Her mule-headedness was just one of
the things he loved about her, though. What fun would it be, if he was
with a woman who agreed with him all the time, no matter what? He
preferred a woman who, rather than following him, was by his side...
maybe sometimes even taking the lead a little. Danijela had been...
well... she'd been different from Kerry, of course, but still a little
pushy. Keeping up with her - mentally *and* physically - had been nearly
as much of a full-time pursuit as his medical career. Life with
Danijela had never been boring, that was for sure.
* * *
A kid came in who'd had a mishap while sledding, at the cost of
several of his baby teeth, and he asked the doctor - a young woman he
didn't recognize, and assumed was another resident who'd joined the
program mid-year - what she wanted to do; the doctor rattled off a
series of tests, x-rays and her recommendation for an antibiotic. He
was surprised, therefore, when the "new resident" - one Abby
Lockhart - turned out to be only a third-year student - well, that was
a good sign, that she was confident in her abilities!
With Kerry out sick, he was even busier than usual and found himself
examining a small boy with chalasia - the poor child was so young,
and had gone through so many surgeries, his little abdomen was
criss-crossed with scars. Abby watched this time, until Carol came in
and
"borrowed" her for something else.
He noticed that it almost seemed that Carol didn't like him being
around Abby, but decided that his ego was just a little over-inflated
today,
for him to be thinking that she'd pulled Abby away out of *jealousy* -
they were, after all, badly short-staffed today. By the end of his
shift,
he'd completely forgotten about the incident
He hadn't wanted to believe Carol's suspicions - mothers were
supposed to *protect* their children at all cost, not have painful,
unnecessary
procedures inflicted upon them - but the woman's obvious disappointment
when he'd declined to order an endoscopy, and then the doctored
saline he'd pulled out of the boy's stomach... sometimes he felt as
though he was working in a madhouse. He stood outside in the ambulance
bay, drinking coffee and getting a little fresh air... watching Cleo
completely humiliate Mark at basketball.
Carol's reappearance, when she poked her head outside, startled him.
"Luka, weren't you going to come by and look at my water heater?"
Damn, he had promised.
"I'm sorry, Carol. Something else came up today. Uhhh, sure, I guess
I can take a quick look at it." He wanted to get home and
check on
Kerry - he'd managed to snatch a few minutes to take a break and call
her, and make sure she got home safely, but he was by nature a "mother
hen", worrying about his loved ones. It was a trait that those loved
ones often found both endearing and annoying.
* * *
When he finally escaped - she'd had several 'just one more little
thing, since I have you here' things for him to fix - he was more than
ready to get home and be with Kerry. He stopped at the store en route,
and bought a roast, a few carrots to go with it, and a couple of
eggrolls from the store's deli section: there hadn't been time to go
get lunch or dinner, and he was hungry now...
the eggrolls didn't make
it even as far as the car, and he was still licking his fingers when he
finally parked. The next door neighbor, Mrs Byrne, was walking her
dog when he got out of the car, and he made a point of greeting her.
She mumbled something, and kept walking past him. He laughed, and
carried the bag inside.
Kerry was sound asleep on the couch - if he had to guess, he'd say
that she was so tired that she lay down "just for a minute" after
talking
to him earlier - and he scooped her up in his arms to take her
upstairs. "Well, I guess you needed your sleep, draga," he whispered -
she
was really out, even to the point of not waking up when he undressed
her and tucked her in. With luck, she'd be willing to stay home for
the next couple of days and work on recuperating... but he wasn't about
to put a lot of money on that happening. He made sure to
tap the
switch on the nightlight that was plugged into the hallway wall socket,
for later.
He headed back downstairs to deal with the meat... glad that Kerry
didn't have any animals around the place. His brother had had a little
dog that was barely bigger than that roast, but the stupid thing would
have made a game try at eating it. He cleaned and chopped up the
carrots, throwing the pieces into a roasting pan with the meat, and
then added a couple of potatoes after dicing them. Now, a little red
wine... and just a little ulje od bundeve... and it was ready for the
oven - he really should have turned it on earlier to preheat it, but he
knew how to adjust for that time.
In the meantime, he moved to the living room with a glass of the
same wine, and picked out a CD of quiet, mellow jazz... and sat on the
couch in a fatigued near-stupor as the music played, occasionally
taking a small sip of wine. Soon, the CD had ended and he dragged
himself to his feet to check the roast... oh, yes, that was a beauty.
He turned off the oven, sliced off a couple of ounces onto a plate for
himself, and put the pan back in the oven in case Kerry happened to
come downstairs in the mood for something to eat. As he ate, he looked
up every once in a while at the ceiling, as if that would magically
make her appear. But she stayed where she was.
Okay, he thought, as he put his dish in the dishwasher and eased the
entire roasting pan into the refrigerator (he really should transfer the
meat and vegetables to a platter, but he was just too tired to want to
bother), I guess I'll -- he yawned -- go to her. A quick check of the
downstairs verified that everything was all right, and he turned off
the light and hurried up the stairs.