Part VI.
6.45 pm; 15 minutes to the end of his shift and nothing on the board. And then, like the work of some malevolent sprite, 14 wedding guests whose capacity for strong drink vastly outstripped their capacity for rational thought were brought in in varying states of cuts and bruising. Swearing and gesticulating they strained to get at each other until one of them succeeded in catching Chen with a right cross to the jaw and sent her sprawling. Luka lost it. "Call Security" he told Haleh before taking hold of the two main antagonists who he gathered were the bride's father and groom's brother by the scruff of the neck and all but lifted them from their feet, one in either hand. "Enough!" he shouted at the top of his voice. The bickering stopped instantly. "Bride's family!" he continued as the two men struggled in his grasp. "Step forward!" Six by now rather sheepish looking individuals did so, and one of the men he was holding said "Me!". Luka let him go. "Yosh; trauma 1 and keep them there." They followed Yosh meekly without a murmur. "Groom's family." He felt like a wedding photographer. "Sit in those chairs and fill out these forms." His other captive followed his relatives. Luka turned to Chen.
"You OK?"
"Yes, fine. Bit of a mis-hit." she laughed, rubbing her jaw.
"We should get an X-ray and head CT."
"No, it's not necessary, really. I just need an ice pack for my jaw. And my butt."
Luka nodded. OK, go."
"What's the problem?" asked the security guard, looking round at the now peaceful admit area.
"You're a little late. Keep an eye on chairs and don't let any of them near trauma 1." He turned to find Haleh regarding him levelly.
"You missed your vocation, Dr. Kovac," she said., eyebrows raised. Luka smiled ruefully.
"Maybe." "No maybe about it. Reminds me of sorting out my kids ." She stopped, realising what she had said.
"Transferrable skills" he said, keenly aware of her discomfort. "You might want to supervise the form filling. I don't hold out much hope of them being legible." Turning away from the desk he saw a single remaining guest. "Bride or groom?"
"Neither."
"What?" A pause.
"Gatecrasher." the man said and promptly threw up all over Luka's shoes. The silence that followed found Haleh holding her breath, "Call housekeeping" said Luka quietly and headed for the mens room.
Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Why do I do this? Luka asked himself as he cleaned the last of the foul smelling mess from his shoes. He kept a spare pair in his locker - everyone did - but really. He didn't need this, not today. Especially not today. What is it with me and vomit, he wondered, remembering Abby. At least she'd made it to the bathroom he thought sourly. What was she doing now? Having changed his shoes he returned to admit in time to see Carter arriving for his shift. He looked ghastly and Luka took a grim sort of satisfaction in the knowledge that he had obviously had no more sleep than he had himself. Damn. He'd forgotten that he'd be handing over to him, now an Attending. Carter emerged from the lounge and waited, not looking at Luka.
"Wedding party from hell, 14 in all, mostly cuts and bruises, but they seem to have been throwing punches so you might want to look out for injuries to the hand. They're separated at the moment in chairs and Trauma1. I think you should keep it that way."
"Fine."
"And keep an eye on Chen.. She took a blow to the jaw."
"She OK?" Carter asked, clearly concerned.
"No loc and she's turned down X-ray and head CT but I think it would be a good idea to pursue it."
"Fine." Again.
"And that's it. Enjoy." Luka moved away but heard Carter say "You got a minute?"
"I'm off"
"I know. I need to talk to you."
"Aren't you going to be kind of busy?"
"Chen's here." Luka raised his eyebrows "And Susan. Give me half an hour to look the board over properly and I'll find you across the road." Against his better judgment Luka consented. This was all he needed.
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It was almost unbearably hot in Doc Magoos. He was beginning to hate this place. He felt slightly panicked at the remembrance of his earlier conversation here with Abby. Had she spoken to Carter, told him of it? He hoped to God that she hadn't. His attention was drawn by a cup of coffee being set down on the table and he turned to see Carter.
"Everything under control?"
Carter looked at him sharply, suspecting a double meaning. "Yes. Susan's got it tied down." Luka nodded. Waited. Nothing.
"So." He prompted. "Abby. She call you?"
"No. Not yet."
"You call her?"
"No." Carter's innards were churning. He needed to know what Kovac's reaction would be to knowing that she had spoken his name, but would rather have died than divulge the information. "She's been sober. She has. I worked with her."
"So what happened?"
"You don't need to know that." He paused. "What I want to say is that I want you to stay away from her. I don't want you meddling with this. She doesn't need you around her. You're not good for her. She's with me now, and you need to get that into your head. I understand her. I know what she's going through. I don't want you . complicating things. You're part of what got her here, and I'm telling you to back off."
The arrogance of Carter's little speech took Luka's breath away.
"Well, I'm glad we're all clear about what you feel."
"What?"
"I thought you wanted to talk about Abby." Carter flinched a little at that. Kovac didn't know what he felt; didn't know his fear.
"You can't fix her, Carter."
"I don't need you to tell me that." Luka wanted to slap him then, wanted badly to tell him what she'd said last night and was starting to wish he'd taken her up on it. He cut off that line of thought promptly.
"But apparently you do. You can't do this for her."
Carter stared unseeingly out of the window. He had a sudden insane desire to spill his guts to Kovac. Knew he couldn't. Knew that if this were to make sense to the other man he would have to. Still knew he couldn't and secretly suspected that Kovac already knew. Hated him the more for it.
"And fixing her won't fix you" Luka continued. This was too much.
"You know nothing about - " he had been about to say "me" but said instead "it." Luka was tired of this and finished the last of his coffee.
"OK. Have it your way. But just remember," he said, standing up, "she didn't drink while she was with me. Something back then stopped her." And he knew what it was too, knew that his ignorance had in a perverse way empowered her. Carter's suffering was acute, he could see that, and he relented a little. "Just do right by her." Carter laughed.
"Like you?"
"No. Like you." He turned to go,
"Kovac." Luka turned back to him. "I love her."
"I know."
"She needs me."
"Then you'll be just fine, won't you?" Carter was silent for a moment.
"Stay out of it." Luka left without answering.
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For the third time that day Luka left the diner in a state of acute agitation. He'd handled that badly he told himself and Abby was no better off as a result of it. Perhaps Carter had understood some of what he had said. He felt that in fact he had. But he shouldn't have squared up to Carter like that; this wasn't a competition. "The hell it isn't" he said, surprised that he had spoken aloud. He hardly trusted himself to drive but couldn't endure the press of people on the El and drove anyway, wishing he could just put his foot down and keep going.
He should eat, he thought. His finger hovered over the CD rack. Schubert, in tune with his mood. He wished his father were there. Sometimes the yearning to speak his own language was almost painful in its intensity, the need to speak English every day exhausting. There were times when he conducted entire conversations with Danijella just for the relief of it.
"What do you think, sweetheart; what should I do?" There was no answer; there never was. It had been so easy with her. She had been made for him. Tiny; she had been tiny, as small as Abby, but so full of love for him that sometimes he had laughed aloud with the joy of it all. Not that they hadn't fought. He knew himself, knew that when he loved he loved with everything he had and knew too that that wasn't always easy to live with; it needed strength to deal with that. But she had matched him, and when the babies were born he knew that there was no greater perfection to which he could aspire. He had no need for anything but them then, no need for his God even. And God had grown jealous and vengeful and had taught him a lesson more bitter than he could have imagined.
He barely remembered the time after their deaths and before he left Croatia. He'd seen fearful things, things no-one should have to see, known hunger and pain and danger. It didn't matter, any of it. They were gone and his life had ceased to make any sense to him. He'd been a fool to think he could run from it of course. It followed him but least once he had left there had been fewer reminders. He'd had his work and took a curious kind of comfort in the death of his desire for anything else. Until Carol. She'd awoken long forgotten yearnings for family, a home, and had made him wonder if he might once more have them. But she'd gone, leaving him high and dry and wondering again what the point of it all was. Maybe he'd had his share of happiness. Danijella, Jasna, Marko, love that few enough people ever had. Why should he imagine that he'd be granted that more than once? Abby had caught him unawares. OK, if he couldn't have love like that again might he at least have an approximation of it? She had seemed sweet, funny, clever, a little sad and he was flattered by her unexpected advances. He had felt his way through their night out together, had kissed her experimentally and his spirits had been high. See where it goes, Luka, take it easy, don't expect too much, just have a little fun. And a pleasant evening had ended with him holding her hand, easy banter, the idea of more hovering just on the fringes of his thoughts.
And death. He should have known. His defences were down, and there were other feelings waiting to be released too. The rage and vengefulness had surfaced and transformed him, and as he'd struck their attacker's head against the ground over and over again he'd seen in his face the faces of the men who had taken his life and broken it into pieces.
He'd known then that it was hopeless, that he was poison. Abby hadn't understood, had pursued him because she had not seen the mark of the Beast which he now knew to have been set upon him. And he'd been weak, seeking to forget himself in her warmth. It had been so long . He'd done wrong, he knew. Saw the hurt and confusion in her face as he'd withdrawn into himself, hoping against hope that she'd go, hoping against hope that she'd stay. His rediscovery of the oblivion which was to be had from a womans body had stunned him. And she'd been so warm, so soft, so desirous.
But he didn't know her, didn't recognise her neediness, not until it was too late and they had assiduously built up their walls, wary of one another, their only real connection in the dark of the night. Oh, but that had been sweet, and every time, he had allowed himself to believe that they could do this, could learn to know each other. And every time, when the morning came they were as distant as ever. He should have ended it, let her go, but he hadn't and in the end they had both paid the price, in bitterness and recrimination and shame.
"Making love with me makes you think of a priest with Lupus?" she'd laughed in the dark of the morning. Ah, no. Making love with her had made him think of what life might have to give as he watched her. The life that the Bishop was slowly letting go. Bishop Stewart had opened up his wounds, wounds that he carried like stigmata, wounds that he cherished, and he had dared him to look at himself. In the end he'd unburdened himself to the dying man, aware that he'd acted as his confessor only a short while before. He'd made him conceive of death and beauty in the same instant, to know that they existed side by side, that there could not be one without the other. This was the human condition and his losses should make him more keenly aware of grasping what was offered to him. Danijella, Jasna, Marko; what had their deaths, their lives meant if he chose spiritual and emotional death himself. And now there was Abby.
It had come too late of course. She'd long since ceased to look to him for comfort. And in his heart he'd known. When her mother exploded in spectacular techicolour into their midst she'd pushed him away. For a brief moment, after her mother's committal hearing he had thought that there was hope, thought that perhaps they had crossed their Rubicon, but the moment had passed and it never presented itself again. After that she'd shared his bed but not her thoughts, not her heart. She'd never again trusted him with herself.
Schubert. It matched his mood. "Death And The Maiden."
It was almost funny.
6.45 pm; 15 minutes to the end of his shift and nothing on the board. And then, like the work of some malevolent sprite, 14 wedding guests whose capacity for strong drink vastly outstripped their capacity for rational thought were brought in in varying states of cuts and bruising. Swearing and gesticulating they strained to get at each other until one of them succeeded in catching Chen with a right cross to the jaw and sent her sprawling. Luka lost it. "Call Security" he told Haleh before taking hold of the two main antagonists who he gathered were the bride's father and groom's brother by the scruff of the neck and all but lifted them from their feet, one in either hand. "Enough!" he shouted at the top of his voice. The bickering stopped instantly. "Bride's family!" he continued as the two men struggled in his grasp. "Step forward!" Six by now rather sheepish looking individuals did so, and one of the men he was holding said "Me!". Luka let him go. "Yosh; trauma 1 and keep them there." They followed Yosh meekly without a murmur. "Groom's family." He felt like a wedding photographer. "Sit in those chairs and fill out these forms." His other captive followed his relatives. Luka turned to Chen.
"You OK?"
"Yes, fine. Bit of a mis-hit." she laughed, rubbing her jaw.
"We should get an X-ray and head CT."
"No, it's not necessary, really. I just need an ice pack for my jaw. And my butt."
Luka nodded. OK, go."
"What's the problem?" asked the security guard, looking round at the now peaceful admit area.
"You're a little late. Keep an eye on chairs and don't let any of them near trauma 1." He turned to find Haleh regarding him levelly.
"You missed your vocation, Dr. Kovac," she said., eyebrows raised. Luka smiled ruefully.
"Maybe." "No maybe about it. Reminds me of sorting out my kids ." She stopped, realising what she had said.
"Transferrable skills" he said, keenly aware of her discomfort. "You might want to supervise the form filling. I don't hold out much hope of them being legible." Turning away from the desk he saw a single remaining guest. "Bride or groom?"
"Neither."
"What?" A pause.
"Gatecrasher." the man said and promptly threw up all over Luka's shoes. The silence that followed found Haleh holding her breath, "Call housekeeping" said Luka quietly and headed for the mens room.
Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Why do I do this? Luka asked himself as he cleaned the last of the foul smelling mess from his shoes. He kept a spare pair in his locker - everyone did - but really. He didn't need this, not today. Especially not today. What is it with me and vomit, he wondered, remembering Abby. At least she'd made it to the bathroom he thought sourly. What was she doing now? Having changed his shoes he returned to admit in time to see Carter arriving for his shift. He looked ghastly and Luka took a grim sort of satisfaction in the knowledge that he had obviously had no more sleep than he had himself. Damn. He'd forgotten that he'd be handing over to him, now an Attending. Carter emerged from the lounge and waited, not looking at Luka.
"Wedding party from hell, 14 in all, mostly cuts and bruises, but they seem to have been throwing punches so you might want to look out for injuries to the hand. They're separated at the moment in chairs and Trauma1. I think you should keep it that way."
"Fine."
"And keep an eye on Chen.. She took a blow to the jaw."
"She OK?" Carter asked, clearly concerned.
"No loc and she's turned down X-ray and head CT but I think it would be a good idea to pursue it."
"Fine." Again.
"And that's it. Enjoy." Luka moved away but heard Carter say "You got a minute?"
"I'm off"
"I know. I need to talk to you."
"Aren't you going to be kind of busy?"
"Chen's here." Luka raised his eyebrows "And Susan. Give me half an hour to look the board over properly and I'll find you across the road." Against his better judgment Luka consented. This was all he needed.
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It was almost unbearably hot in Doc Magoos. He was beginning to hate this place. He felt slightly panicked at the remembrance of his earlier conversation here with Abby. Had she spoken to Carter, told him of it? He hoped to God that she hadn't. His attention was drawn by a cup of coffee being set down on the table and he turned to see Carter.
"Everything under control?"
Carter looked at him sharply, suspecting a double meaning. "Yes. Susan's got it tied down." Luka nodded. Waited. Nothing.
"So." He prompted. "Abby. She call you?"
"No. Not yet."
"You call her?"
"No." Carter's innards were churning. He needed to know what Kovac's reaction would be to knowing that she had spoken his name, but would rather have died than divulge the information. "She's been sober. She has. I worked with her."
"So what happened?"
"You don't need to know that." He paused. "What I want to say is that I want you to stay away from her. I don't want you meddling with this. She doesn't need you around her. You're not good for her. She's with me now, and you need to get that into your head. I understand her. I know what she's going through. I don't want you . complicating things. You're part of what got her here, and I'm telling you to back off."
The arrogance of Carter's little speech took Luka's breath away.
"Well, I'm glad we're all clear about what you feel."
"What?"
"I thought you wanted to talk about Abby." Carter flinched a little at that. Kovac didn't know what he felt; didn't know his fear.
"You can't fix her, Carter."
"I don't need you to tell me that." Luka wanted to slap him then, wanted badly to tell him what she'd said last night and was starting to wish he'd taken her up on it. He cut off that line of thought promptly.
"But apparently you do. You can't do this for her."
Carter stared unseeingly out of the window. He had a sudden insane desire to spill his guts to Kovac. Knew he couldn't. Knew that if this were to make sense to the other man he would have to. Still knew he couldn't and secretly suspected that Kovac already knew. Hated him the more for it.
"And fixing her won't fix you" Luka continued. This was too much.
"You know nothing about - " he had been about to say "me" but said instead "it." Luka was tired of this and finished the last of his coffee.
"OK. Have it your way. But just remember," he said, standing up, "she didn't drink while she was with me. Something back then stopped her." And he knew what it was too, knew that his ignorance had in a perverse way empowered her. Carter's suffering was acute, he could see that, and he relented a little. "Just do right by her." Carter laughed.
"Like you?"
"No. Like you." He turned to go,
"Kovac." Luka turned back to him. "I love her."
"I know."
"She needs me."
"Then you'll be just fine, won't you?" Carter was silent for a moment.
"Stay out of it." Luka left without answering.
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For the third time that day Luka left the diner in a state of acute agitation. He'd handled that badly he told himself and Abby was no better off as a result of it. Perhaps Carter had understood some of what he had said. He felt that in fact he had. But he shouldn't have squared up to Carter like that; this wasn't a competition. "The hell it isn't" he said, surprised that he had spoken aloud. He hardly trusted himself to drive but couldn't endure the press of people on the El and drove anyway, wishing he could just put his foot down and keep going.
He should eat, he thought. His finger hovered over the CD rack. Schubert, in tune with his mood. He wished his father were there. Sometimes the yearning to speak his own language was almost painful in its intensity, the need to speak English every day exhausting. There were times when he conducted entire conversations with Danijella just for the relief of it.
"What do you think, sweetheart; what should I do?" There was no answer; there never was. It had been so easy with her. She had been made for him. Tiny; she had been tiny, as small as Abby, but so full of love for him that sometimes he had laughed aloud with the joy of it all. Not that they hadn't fought. He knew himself, knew that when he loved he loved with everything he had and knew too that that wasn't always easy to live with; it needed strength to deal with that. But she had matched him, and when the babies were born he knew that there was no greater perfection to which he could aspire. He had no need for anything but them then, no need for his God even. And God had grown jealous and vengeful and had taught him a lesson more bitter than he could have imagined.
He barely remembered the time after their deaths and before he left Croatia. He'd seen fearful things, things no-one should have to see, known hunger and pain and danger. It didn't matter, any of it. They were gone and his life had ceased to make any sense to him. He'd been a fool to think he could run from it of course. It followed him but least once he had left there had been fewer reminders. He'd had his work and took a curious kind of comfort in the death of his desire for anything else. Until Carol. She'd awoken long forgotten yearnings for family, a home, and had made him wonder if he might once more have them. But she'd gone, leaving him high and dry and wondering again what the point of it all was. Maybe he'd had his share of happiness. Danijella, Jasna, Marko, love that few enough people ever had. Why should he imagine that he'd be granted that more than once? Abby had caught him unawares. OK, if he couldn't have love like that again might he at least have an approximation of it? She had seemed sweet, funny, clever, a little sad and he was flattered by her unexpected advances. He had felt his way through their night out together, had kissed her experimentally and his spirits had been high. See where it goes, Luka, take it easy, don't expect too much, just have a little fun. And a pleasant evening had ended with him holding her hand, easy banter, the idea of more hovering just on the fringes of his thoughts.
And death. He should have known. His defences were down, and there were other feelings waiting to be released too. The rage and vengefulness had surfaced and transformed him, and as he'd struck their attacker's head against the ground over and over again he'd seen in his face the faces of the men who had taken his life and broken it into pieces.
He'd known then that it was hopeless, that he was poison. Abby hadn't understood, had pursued him because she had not seen the mark of the Beast which he now knew to have been set upon him. And he'd been weak, seeking to forget himself in her warmth. It had been so long . He'd done wrong, he knew. Saw the hurt and confusion in her face as he'd withdrawn into himself, hoping against hope that she'd go, hoping against hope that she'd stay. His rediscovery of the oblivion which was to be had from a womans body had stunned him. And she'd been so warm, so soft, so desirous.
But he didn't know her, didn't recognise her neediness, not until it was too late and they had assiduously built up their walls, wary of one another, their only real connection in the dark of the night. Oh, but that had been sweet, and every time, he had allowed himself to believe that they could do this, could learn to know each other. And every time, when the morning came they were as distant as ever. He should have ended it, let her go, but he hadn't and in the end they had both paid the price, in bitterness and recrimination and shame.
"Making love with me makes you think of a priest with Lupus?" she'd laughed in the dark of the morning. Ah, no. Making love with her had made him think of what life might have to give as he watched her. The life that the Bishop was slowly letting go. Bishop Stewart had opened up his wounds, wounds that he carried like stigmata, wounds that he cherished, and he had dared him to look at himself. In the end he'd unburdened himself to the dying man, aware that he'd acted as his confessor only a short while before. He'd made him conceive of death and beauty in the same instant, to know that they existed side by side, that there could not be one without the other. This was the human condition and his losses should make him more keenly aware of grasping what was offered to him. Danijella, Jasna, Marko; what had their deaths, their lives meant if he chose spiritual and emotional death himself. And now there was Abby.
It had come too late of course. She'd long since ceased to look to him for comfort. And in his heart he'd known. When her mother exploded in spectacular techicolour into their midst she'd pushed him away. For a brief moment, after her mother's committal hearing he had thought that there was hope, thought that perhaps they had crossed their Rubicon, but the moment had passed and it never presented itself again. After that she'd shared his bed but not her thoughts, not her heart. She'd never again trusted him with herself.
Schubert. It matched his mood. "Death And The Maiden."
It was almost funny.