Angel

by Maggie

Sometimes comfort is all you need to let go. Takes place after "Be Patient".

Disclaimer: Luka Kovac, Carol Hathaway, and all the other characters and plots are owned by NBC. No money was made from this.

You spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For the break that will make it okay
There's always some reason
To feel not good enough
And it's hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
Oh, beautiful release
And memories seep from my veins
Let me empty, oh weightless and maybe
I'll find some peace tonight

In the arms of an angel
Fly away from here
From this dark, cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
In the arms of an angel
May you find some comfort here

So tired of the straight line
And everywhere you turn
There's vultures and thieves at your back
The storm keeps on twisting
You keep on building the lies
That you make up for all that you lack
It don't make no difference
Escape it one last time
It's easier to believe
In this sweet madness, oh this glorious sadness
That brings me to my knees

In the arms of an angel
Fly away from here
From this cold, dark hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
In the arms of an angel
May you find some comfort here

In the arms of your angel
May you find some comfort here
- Sarah McLachlan

"Angel"
by Maggie

There was only so much a mind could take before collapsing from disuse, weary from exhaustive thought. It was a point brought on by too much senseless worry and guilt, the kind that plagued you and was too hard, too relentless, to ignore. It was a chain reaction of sorts, the fatigue of the mind spreading to a body pushed by only will, nothing more. Limbs sucked of the energy-pulsing adrenaline limp, dull pain lacing nerves over-stimulated and worn by sleepless hours. The pain of the mind made the aches of the abused body all that much more intense and noticeable, and the will the sort through the maelstrom of thoughts pounding through the brain was waning.
Luka Kovac blinked rapidly, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes. They felt dry, like a thousand grains of sand lay underneath the sensitive flesh of his eyelids, as he rubbed them. He then braced his chin onto his hands and his elbows on his knees, leaning into them with all his weight. He could feel the stubble lining his chin, absentmindedly fingering it as he tried to keep himself awake. He was running on empty, he knew, but was too worn to care. His stomach felt like an empty pit, pulling his body down as it twisted and sank with hunger and pain. Every muscle ached and cried out with every minute movement. A pounding headache had struck him not too long ago, after the initial adrenaline of the emergency had dissipated, and it had settled in his forehead, pulsing in his eyes as the bright fluorescent lights above showered their blinding and hateful glare down upon him. He hadn't ate in a day, hadn't slept in twenty-four hours, though it had seemed to be an eternity.
Luka sighed gently, distant eyes focussed on the floor. Relentless guilt pounded him, eating away at his insides like a hungry disease. It had been… how long had it been, anyway? Sometime ago, Luka could not remember when, he had forced his hurting eyes to focus on the steadily ticking hands of the clock fixed to the wall of the waiting room in the ICU. It was pointless trying to remember what the time had been; even the attempt pierced his lethargic mind with pain. The young girl, Laura, had come out of surgery well, according to Dr. Benton. Luka had remembered feeling extremely grateful, all the tension for the moment exiting his body in a great sigh that slumped his form into the uncomfortable chair. He had felt as though he might just slip into peaceful slumber right then, but he had forced his aching legs to support him as he charged down the hall after the retreating back of Benton. Catching the surgeon's attention, he stammered out an apology for his behavior before. He had had no right to demand to scrub in, to stand in Benton's OR, to be a distraction or a useless doctor in the way… But Benton had assuaged his fears of offense. That being said, the true source of Luka's guilt slithered into the conversation. He had nicked her artery. It was his decision that had forced them to crack open her chest in the ER, caused the girl to almost go into arrest, her chest filling with blood from the wound he had inflicted. The memory of the moment caused him to wince now, squeezing his eyes shut. He had nearly killed her. But Benton had intervened once again, out of friendly professionalism. If he had waiting for the ambulance she could have died. It was small consolation and did decidedly little to loosen the black vice of anger squeezing his heart. Nonetheless, Luka was grateful for Benton's care.
That had been quite some time ago, and he hadn't moved since, plopping weakly into a plastic blue chair of the ICU. As if reality suddenly smacked him, Luka rose, his body protesting in little waves of pain. He grunted softly, shaking his head. He could feel it coming, and his heart clenched in anger and dismay. Getting sick was the last thing he needed now, not when he had to work. Silently, he prayed that it would be mild or somehow remedy itself. He really didn't have the time to be battling a cold.
Luka wandered tiredly back down to the ER, his feet moving much without the control of his mind. It was as hectic as usual there, with orderlies and nurses running back and forth, patients being rushed through, doctors demanding this and that. The noise was almost unbearable, people crying and shouting and screaming, the phones ringing shrilly. Luka tried to avoid all of this, quietly slipping through the mess to the lounge. Inside it was dark, empty, and relatively quiet, the clamor outside muffled by the thick steel door. Maybe a little nap would rejuvenate him a bit, enough to be able to work later. No more thoughts filled his pounding head as he stumbled towards the couch in the shadow laden corner and fell upon it, asleep in moments.

"Luka?"
The voice, so soft and feminine, filled his ears and then filtered into a sleepy mind. It slowly permeated him, bringing back memories of things gone, taken, destroyed. Her gentle hands wrapped around his chest as they laid in bed together, the blankets pulled warmly up around them, a protective shield from the cold of the outside world. Her lips were close to his ear, her breath warm and sweet, as she murmured his name. It sounded like the wind against the long reed of a field, spreading all the light of the sun. He smiled.
"Luka, wake up."
A push at him. Then another. The movement shattered his delirious dream. Another call of his name. It wasn't her voice. The thought sliced through his tired mind, and his eyes opened. He shuddered in pain as they did, sensitive even to the shadows around. Blurry, they settled on the person before him, the figure having one hand extended and clasping his shoulder gently. For a moment, his eyes deceived him and he thought that it was her, her long, dark hair a mass about her slim shoulders, her slender fingers gently stroking away all his aches. But it wasn't, and it never would be again.
Luka grunted and gave a small cough as he pulled numb hands from beneath him, sitting up slowly. His head was spinning in dizziness, the world making horrid circles around him. Intense pain from the abusive posture he had slept in sifted through him for a moment, then subsided to a dull ache.
Carol Hathaway smiled smally as he began to rouse. Luka ran a hand through his disarrayed, thick hair, squinting at her. "What are you doing here, Luka?" she asked softly.
He shook his head and swung his long legs over the couch. "Resting," he responded, his voice thick.
She leaned back up, and Luka glanced up at her to meet her eyes. They were bright, even in the shadows, dancing with friendly concern. She folded her arms across her chest. "I think resting at home would be a bit more comfortable."
Had he been feeling better, he might have smiled at that. In stead, he only frowned as he massaged his brow, hoping to ease away some of the headache. It did unsurprisingly little to soothe him. "What time is it?" The words were slurred, sounding alien to his ears.
Carol glanced at her watch. "A little after eight."
Luka's head shot up. "Damn it, why didn't you wake me sooner?!" he angrily demanded of her. He started to stand, his legs wobbling beneath him. The room pitched, and he felt himself about to fall, but Carol easily grabbed his arm, steadying him.
"Easy. Keri let you off the hook tonight, Luka. You can't be expected to work when you didn't get any sleep," she explained. "Go home. You need to get some real rest."
Luka looked away from her, part of his body craving sleep almost violently. But the prospect of returning home to that empty apartment, lonely, was not very appealing. "They need me here, without Carter…"
Carol shook her head, watching his averted face almost suspiciously. "No, they don't. Look, you've had a rough day with the hit and run. Everything's under control. You're not the only doctor we have on staff here, you know…" She regarded him with an intense look in her eyes. "Are you okay? You look a little flushed…"
"I'm fine," Luka retorted quickly, not wanting to take any more of her time and definitely wary of her attention. He pulled away from her, a little unsteady, but recovering quickly. He headed to the door, glancing back at her. "Thank you, Carol. I'll see you later."
The door opened and shut. Carol stood there in the darkness, befuddled at his actions for a moment, before heading back out into the ER.

The drive home was a slow one, the streets dark and utterly empty. He had been surprised that he had managed to not get himself into an accident, making it back to his apartment easily enough. As he climbed the stairs of the building, he felt weariness zap his strength more and more with every breath. He found himself winded at the top, and glancing down the well-lit staircase made him nauseous and dizzy. Teeth clattering, eyes sliding shut, he fished around in his coat pocket for the keys to his apartment, leaning heavily on the door. Finally, he produced them with a metallic jingle. Jabbing the right key into the lock, he twisted the knob and pushed open the door.
A blast of chilled air hit him, causing his gooseflesh to rise and shivers to assault him. He silently cursed himself for forgetting to turn the heat on when he left the night before. Luka winced as his flailing fingers found the light switch beside the door and flicked it on. Light flooded the room, chasing away the shadows. His apartment was much the way he left it. It was warmly light, filled with simple furnishings and sparse décor. Extravagance was wasted on a man with so little. The couch was soft and inviting, the brown fabric seemingly calling to him. Dizzy, Luka kicked off his snow-covered, wet shoes at the door. He closed the door behind him, conscious enough to lock and dead-bolt it. Stepping into his apartment, shivering wildly, he walked to the heater and turned it on. It hummed to life, and, after a moment, spewed warm air at him.
Luka gave a heavy cough, his mind numb, as he dropped his keys on the table and his jacket on a chair. Almost sleep-walking, he stepped over to the couch and collapsed, breathing heavily and shivering. Thankfully, the blanket he had used a few nights back was still here, unfolded, laying across the cushions. Quickly he wrapped it around himself, tugging it across his shoulders tightly. He fell against the cushions, pillowing his head against them, and sleep overtook him again.
He dreamed. He dreamed of her, of her soft hair around them, like a waterfall of chocolate. She smelled of flowers and tasted of strawberries. She smiled at him, and he felt ecstasy well up within him, blessed that he be the one she showered with her laughter and kisses. Her eyes were brighter than fire, blue as the ocean under a canopy of clouds, her lips lush and pink and inviting. Skin so soft, silk beneath his fingers, creamy and delicate. She was so beautiful, an angel, a gift sent down from heaven to him, however undeserving he was. He had planned to cherish her forever, to protect her, to care for her. He had wanted to give her everything, his love, his life… and she had given him all she had. He dreamed she was beside him again, in their bed, with the heavy blankets around them to shield them from the cold outside. Her long arms were wrapped about his chest, her hip spooned about his. Safe and secure. He could feel her lips beside his ear, smell the sweetness of her, her breath warm on his neck. And she had murmured his name. Luka. Sleep mixed the sound of her voice with a symphony of heaven. She shook him gently. Luka, there's somebody at the door… Then there was a thunder of knocks, and then the breaking of wood and the fire of guns. Sleep shattered, peace torn. He took her in his arms, bed falling from him. His children crying. Daddy! Thuds and gunfire and screaming. Heavy knocking.
Luka shot up from the couch, breathing heavily, his heart thundering in his chest. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead and dampened his shirt. He swung his legs out off the couch and fell to the floor, nauseous and burning. He thought for a moment he would vomit, feeling bile burn at the back of his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and wrapped his arms around his chest, praying it would pass. After a few moments that seemed last forever, it died, leaving him shaking and breathing heavily. The beating of blood in his ears began to fade, to be replaced with a louder, less rhythmic pounding.
Somebody was at the door.
Luka groaned as he looked up, fear chilling him. It seemed so real… Like it was happening all over again, waking nightmare. "Leave me alone," he weakly whispered in Croatian, trembling in fear. Where was he? Had they finally come after him to finish the job?
Silence. Then another knock, this one a bit more insistent. "Luka? Luka, are you there?" came a muffled, but identifiable, voice through the door.
The haze cleared in Luka's mind momentarily, enough for him to realize that he was in his apartment in America, safe from Serbian militants and monsters. Enough for him to recognize that one of his colleagues was waiting outside his apartment.
Groaning, his head thundering, Luka stiffly rose. He grabbed the blanket on the couch, shivering with chills, and wrapped it around himself as he walked, swaying a bit, to the door. He reached it, unsteady, and with shaking hands unlocked it and removed the dead bolt.
He grasped the knob and opened the door. The light of the outside world filtered into his room, filling his eyes with blinding luminescence. There, again, she stood, her eyes wide and caring, her dark hair framing a soft face. Luka felt his world lurch in pain and delirium as he stood there, staring at her, the bright light enclosing her in a wisp of heaven.
Carol stepped back a bit, shocked by his appearance. "My God, Luka…" She whispered, analyzing his ashen and sallow face, feverish eyes, and shaking form. "Are you okay?"
Luka shook his head. It wasn't her. Tears filled his eyes. A moment of lucidity cleared his head. "Wh… what are you doing here?" he asked softly, surprised.
"I… You didn't look well when you left. I just wanted to make sure you got home okay. What's wrong, Luka? You look really pale," she stated, concern in her soft tones. She shed one of her black, leather gloves and laid a cool hand across his forehead. "You're running a fever."
Luka pulled back from her involuntarily, feeling dizzy and disoriented. "Carol, you shouldn't be here-" he stammered, closing his eyes and forcing strength into his voice.
"How long have you been like this, Luka?" she asked, stepping inside his apartment. She grabbed his hand. "Your skin is like ice. You need to lie down."
He shook his head but did not struggle as she led him back to the couch, closing the door with her foot as she entered. "You should go back home…" he moaned as she sat him down. "I'll only make you sick and you'll make your girls sick…"
"Nonsense," she said softly as she pushed him down on the couch, kneeling beside him. "I had a flu shot booster the other day; this bug isn't going to touch me." She smiled, and Luka felt warmth spread from his belly at seeing it. "Where's your thermometer?" she asked, pressing two fingers to his neck, taking his pulse.
"Please, you don't need to take care of me. I'll be fine. Your girls need you," he said, forcing his eyes open, forcing bravado into his voice, trying to blot out how much he did want to be taken care of, how afraid he was right then to be alone.
Carol shook her head, taking off her hat and scarf and setting them on the chair near the couch. "Katie and Tess are fine; my mother's watching them. I'm your friend. I'm not going to leave you suffer alone while you're sick. That's the worst to be, alone and sick. Besides, as a nurse, it's my job to care of people too sick or thick-headed to care of themselves. So… where is your thermometer?"
Luka swallowed, obviously beaten, wincing as the pain in his head struck harder. "In the hallway closet… top shelf…" he whispered, trying hard to stay awake.
Carol brushed the bangs back from his forehead, feeling the heat rise from his skin. "Okay. I'll be right back."
It seemed to take an excruciating long time for her to return. Luka turned onto his side, shivering, trying to pull the thin blanket as close to his skin as possible. His mind ran wild with delirium, memories, and fever dreams in the few moments she was gone. He was too weak to try and fight them off or push them away, and all the pain and fear and hate that he had locked up threatened to burst free. Luka felt himself began to slip away into oblivion again. He could see her in his mind, her beautiful face distorted with pain, the dark hair moist with sweat and tears, as she gave birth to their children. Two beautiful girls, their twins. He could clearly see the look of life and love in her placid eyes as she held their daughters. His lips pressed against her cheek, tasting her sweat and tears and love for life.
He opened his eyes and tried to hold onto the memory. It calmed him, soothed his aching hurts and bleeding soul. The moments of happiness in his life were always so quick in resurrection and transient. He stared blankly at the ceiling, struggling to see her face. But that memory, too, was fleeting, as Carol returned with a glass of water, some aspirin, and the thermometer. She nudged him, and he rolled obligingly but not without some pain onto his back again. "Here, sit up a bit," she ordered tenderly, handing him the thermometer. Lethargically, he grabbed it and slid it into his mouth. He had hardly glanced at her before she was gone again, roaming his apartment for what she needed.
This time she was back in a matter of moments, a few other blankets and a pillow in her hands. She once against knelt beside him, unfolding the blankets and spreading them over his shivering body. "Lean forward." When he did, she slid the pillow behind his neck. While tucking him in, she smiled comfortingly. She pulled the thermometer from his mouth not too long after and read the silver mercury. "102. Not bad. I guess you'll be calling in sick tomorrow. Here, take this."
He sat up with her help, and she handed him the two aspirin and the water. "Should help take down the fever," she said, watching him swallow the pills with small sips of water. "Why am I telling a doctor that? You know more about this than I do." She gave a small laugh as he drank a bit more of the water, the cool liquid feeling good against the dryness of his mouth and throat.
He didn't respond to her, lying back down heavily against the pillows, pulling the blankets tight about his shivering, quaking body. She watched him silently for a moment, listening to his heavy, raspy breathing. "I wanted to… congratulate you before with the hit and run." She gauged his face for a reaction, but saw none. "You saved that girl's life."
He turned away from her, feeling tears well in his eyes. "Did I?" he whispered.
He could feel her nod. "Yes. If you had waited for the paramedics, she wouldn't have made it to the ER," she stated simply. "Your decision saved her."
He turned to face her suddenly, his eyes bright with anger. "I nearly killed her!" he shouted.
She leaned back aback, shocked by his sudden outburst. "Luka-"
"No! Don't… You don't understand! That poor girl almost died in my hands because of what I decided!"
Carol shook her head, seeing the fever and the pain and the hurt in his eyes. Seeing the fear. Much, much more than this hit and run accounted for. "You didn't hurt her. The sick bastard who run her over with his car hurt her."
Luka gave a twisted smile, a small spark of insanity glistening in his eyes. "You can't tell me that cracking open her chest in the ER because of my mistake wasn't hurting her. I try, Carol. I try so hard to do the right thing. To make the right decision. But I never can! I never can!"
She shook her head, watching him, the stoic doctor who always hid behind professionalism and friendliness, come apart, as if the threads holding together a man's mind were tearing. "Luka… the girl's alive. She's going to recover," she assured him softly.
Luka squeezed his eyes shut and leaned up quickly, moving away from Carol, tucking his knees up to his chest. She reached out to him, but he recoiled further, like a frightened child. "No, you don't understand! I promised her I would protect her! She gave me everything and I told her that I would never let anybody hurt her!"
Carol gazed at him with uncertainty, watching his chest heave with wrangled breaths, the fever burning in his eyes, the sweat drenching him. And she understood that he wasn't talking about the girl any longer.
He buried his face into his hands. "I promised her I would protect her forever. She was so beautiful. And they… they destroyed that. They destroyed everything! I couldn't save them both at once! How could anyone save them both?!" His eyes shot up again, and she could see the tears streaming down his pained face. "They were screaming for me to save them! I left her, left her in our bed and went to them… but it was too late! Those…" Luka shook his head. "They shot…" His words were slurred and roughly Croatian; she found them inaudible, mixed with his sobs. He looked up at her. Carol felt tears build in her eyes to see him so broken. "Don't ever let anybody hurt your daughters…" he whispered. She nodded blankly in understanding.
"They killed your children?" she asked gently, fearful of the truth, knowing it but not wanting to accept it.
He squeezed his eyes shut, hot tears spilling from them. "And hit me… I could hear her screaming in the bed room, but I was too weak to even move… I never even tried to help her!"
"Oh, God, Luka…"
"And when I finally woke up, I went to her. Those bastards… she was so beautiful and they destroyed her! They left her naked in our bed, covered in blood, her own blood… I held her in my arms…" Luka spat out a heavy Croatian word, his fury broiling his blood more than the fever, his fists clenched. "I could've saved her…. I could have if I hadn't decided to leave her… She was so beautiful…."
And he stopped, unable to get more words out, shivering and sobbing with all his soul. Carol felt tears run down her cheeks as she watched him, shared his private hell. And she could understand why he always seemed a bit distant, why he had pain in his eyes when he held her daughters, why he was what he was. She felt angry, angry that this had happened to him and angry that she could do nothing to erase his agony.
Gently, she climbed up onto the couch and settled behind his back. She laid her hands upon his shoulders, feeling his tense muscles shake and quiver with his weeping, feeling the fever burn him to his soul. With tender arms, she slowly pulled him into her embrace, blankets and all. He willingly clung to her, needing her support, all his wounds laid bare and bleeding. She was a soothing balm to him then, and no longer could he hide behind walls and façades. He wanted her to understand him and help him. He wanted her to make him feel better, to have somebody help him deal with the pain just once. And she did.
"Shhhh," she whispered as he cried into her shoulder. She stroked his back, trying to warm him and comfort him. Her lips pressed against his forehead. "It's okay, Luka. Let it go. It wasn't your fault." She pulled the blankets up around his body as he began to quiet, crying himself into a deep, fever-induced sleep. "Just let it go. You're safe here. I'll protect you." The words were solace. He cracked open his eyes, swollen with exhaustion and tears, and looked up to her. She smiled, and he dreamed. Her eyes were alive again, and she was caressing away his pain. Her dark hair shrouded over him like the night, and he stared at the stars. She was so beautiful, an angel, and her arms held him, safe and secure. And he slept.

~ ~ ~

For Josh, my own angel
Your smile is all the comfort I will ever need