Disclaimer: I do not own ER or any of the charactors therein. Hence, this story contains charactors that I do not own.

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone for your reviews. I guarantee you that this fic will have an ending, because, as of the first posting, I had already written it all. This is the second out of three posts. Keep in mind that this section takes place a day or two before the epsiode 'Hindsight'. And now the moment you've all been waiting for, we find out who Corday's mystery man is. . . (scroll down)

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Dr. Kovach," exclaimed Elizabeth. Why on earth is he at my door at this unholy hour?.

"Good morning Dr. Corday," he replied, smiling nervously.

"Why. . .?" she asked incredulously.

"You dropped Ella's mittens," he explained, "and I'd hate to think of her little hands being cold. I just finished my shift, so I decided to come by and drop them in the mailbox."He walked the final few feet to the doorstep and placed a paper bag containing a bundle of mutlicoloured fleece in her hand.

" I didn't mean to wake you," he apologized.

"Don't worry," she said wearily, "I haven't been sleeping much lately."

His eyes met hers, she saw a sort of benevolent understanding in his expression. After pausing for a moment, he turned his gaze downward and suddenly found his shoes very interesting.

"Thank you," she said, breaking the awkward lull, "for the mittens, I mean."

"Your welcome, " he said, "I'll see you around, at work. Happy holidays." Reluctantly he turned around and began trudging back to his car, which was parked in her driveway.

"Wait, " she said in spite of herself, "It's terribly cold outside. Would you like to come in for something warm to drink."

Luka stopped, then turned around.

"I hear the British are famous for there tea," he said, once again using his knowledge of national products to impress a woman, "and that is something I would be glad to experience first hand. Through her many layers of grief and sadness, she found herself returning his radiant grin. As she set the kettle on the stove she caught a glimpse of her reflection in one of the hanging pots and realized why he looked so bemused. She was a mess. Her eyes were red and puffy, and there were wet lines where the tears had streamed down her face. Her hair was an erratic tangle of curls that resembled a large birds' nest. To top it off, the robe she wore over her pyjamas was quite possible the oldest, rattiest article of clothing she owned.

"I'm terribly sorry, I must look a fright," she apologized, blushing slightly. and started go nip upstairs to attempt to make herself presentable, but he gently touched her shoulder to stop her.

"Don't worry," he said warmly, "there are very few people who can beautiful this early in the morning," he lightly stroked one of her wayward curls, "and you are one of them."

Now it was her turn to stare at the floor. For the first time in weeks, she felt genuinely warm. Rather hot, in fact. Probably another symptom of this chronic lack of sleep, said her internal voice.

Just then the kettle whistled indignantly. Elizabeth busied herself with preparing two cups of tea. She turned to Luka to ask him how he took he tea, to find that he had already went to the refrigerator and fetched the milk and sugar. When the tea was fixed, they both looked at the kitchen table. It was still laden with the dishes from breakfast and dinner.

Elizabeth smiled sheepishly.

"Perhaps, we should sit in the living room," she suggested.

He nodded and they proceeded to the next room with their steaming cups. Elizabeth retained her seat on the chesterfield and Luka took the chair across from her. They sipped quietly, each gazing at the other over the rim of his or her teacup.

"It is very good," he complimented.

He glanced down at the photo album open on the table.

"Was this taken in New York?" he asked, pointing to a picture of Mark in front of the city's skyline.

"Yes, " she answered wistfully, "we spent New Year's Eve there, while Mark was having his tumor removed." Merely pronouncing his name made tears start to collect behind her eyes. She hurriedly closed the album and sought a place to put it away. Luka put his hand on hers.

"Excuse, I was just reminiscing, um, before you came..., " she stammered, meeting his eyes again.

"I know," he said softly, " I know very well. I often do the same. My wife, she died also, five years ago."

He saw her eyes become glassy, as she found it increasingly difficult to hold in the tears. He set his cup down on the table and sat down beside her.

"It is alright to cry, " he whispered soothingly, placing an arm around her shoulder. She leaned on his shoulder.

"Does it-will it...," she sobbed, "This feeling, does it every go away?"

Luka wanted with all his heart to tell that in few short years, she would recover from that emotional blow. He wished he say that in by this time next years, her dreams would not longer be haunted by the ghost her husband. Luka wanted to help. But of late, he had realized that he was absolutely useless at helping anybody.

"No, it doesn't," he said ruefully, holding her closer.

"I didn't think so," said she cynically into his shoulder. She looked up and him with tears streaming down her face and laughed bitterly, "Just thought I'd ask, no harm in asking."

She sighed, dejectedly and resuming crying with her head pressed to his chest. Hesitantly, he stroked her damp cheek with his thumb. He found himself dumbfounded as he regarded the women shaking with grief in his arms. He had always viewed Elizabeth as a very strong, non-nonsense type of woman, perhaps even a little callous. Yet, here she was, pouring on to him more emotion that he had ever imagined she possessed.

He nuzzled his face in her coarse hair. How sweet the scent of a woman was... He wondered to himself, how did I get here? I was just going to drop off the mittens and maybe to the bar. Now, here I am, with woman trembling in my arms. . .All things considered, he realized with delight, this is more or less where I hopped be. Maybe I won't be spending tonight alone after all, Luka thought cunningly.

He rested his cheek against hers, the muted sound of her weeping echoing in his ear. She wrapped her arm around his neck and held on to him as if her Gently, he pressed her back into the luxurious cushions. She didn't resist. Luka smiled to himself. In her grief, she had surrendered herself completely to him. Tenderly, he dug his fingers into her tangled hair, holding her face precious millimeters from his.

She has such wonderful, thick hair, Luka thought to himself idly, just like Danjella. Suddenly all he could see in his mind's eye was an image of his late wife smiling at him. God, he missed her. Trying to return his focus to the woman in his embrace, he looked deep into her eyes. She missed someone as well.

Guiltily, he wonder what would have happen if he had been at home with the kids that fateful night instead Danjella. What if he had died and she had lived? What this was Daniella now, lying on the couch, with a man she barely knew about to kiss her. Luka shuttered at the though of some brute taking his widow while the wound in her heart was still in the process of healing. Though Luka had ceased believing in Heaven years ago, he had the nagging image of Mark looking down at him stuck in his head. He returned to reality, to Elizabeth's breath tickling his face. Numbly he receded from her and sat up. He vowed silently that he would never do such a horrible thing to Elizabeth, or to Mark's memory.

But could he trust himself to keep that vow? The last few mouths had been filled with indulgences that had left his willpower weak. He softy traced the collar of her robe with his fingers. Her eyes followed the movements of his hands. He knew she was scared and her fear made her all the more vulnerable. His Achilles' heel was the female body, he realized with shame. Nevertheless, he proceed in parting the two flaps on the front her robe. Then he chuckled.

"Never pictured you as much of a hockey player," he whispered, withdrawing his hand.

"The jersey is Mark's," she replied hoarsely, "but I like to wear it around the house. It's silly I know, but it's like a little bit of him is still with."

She couldn't believe that she had just revealed another of her slightly- mentally-unstable-widow habits to him. She really needed to get some sleep.

"It's not silly," he told her, "I always carry Danjella's handkerchief in my pocket, so I never forget her." He took out a small, clear plastic bag from his pocket and remove a square of delicate white fabric. He unfolded it to show her the detailed embroidery.

"It's beautiful, " said Elizabeth, "did she do the embroidery herself?"

"Yes," he answered, as his eyes suddenly becoming misty. He had to change the subject quicky before he started bawling as well.

"I knew never that Mark played hockey," he said tactlessly.

"Well, he had quite the vigorous highschool career as a bench warmer, " she said, remembering fondly, "Didn't Mulucci ever tell you about the time he played hockey with Mark?" Luka nodded no.

"Well, you see," she began wistfully, " Mulucci's pick-up hockey team was short one. .." And thus Elizabeth narrated the tale. Of course, that story reminded Luka of the one time he made a rink in his backyard for his kids, and he shared that story with Elizabeth. Before long, they found themselves swapping anecdote after anecdote about their deceased spouses. The clock struck three just as Luka concluded the story of the first time he met his wife's parents. It was a rather humourous narrative, and both Luka and Elizabeth found themselves laughing harder than either had in months. When the laughter had subsided, Elizabeth flicked a tear off Luka's face.

"Dear God, now you're crying too," she said bemusedly, "Look at us, we're just a couple of sobbing lunatics." Luka chuckled, causing more tears to spill down his face. Crying felt good. It had been much too long since he last cried. "Speaking of lunatics,"he sniffled, "Daniella worked a few months as a nurse in the psych ward of the hospital back home. . ."

***************** Sunlight danced across Luka's face, awakening him from his dreamless sleep. Looking around, he found that he was in an unfamiliar setting, with an unfamiliar woman lying next to him. Dear Lord, he cursed mentally, what had he done this time? He recognized the tear-streaked face of Elizabeth Corday rested on his shoulder. Slowly, the events of the nights came back. We was quite proud of himself. He had spent a night on a couch, with a woman, without getting undressed.

Carefully, he stood up without disturbing her. He tiptoed towards the front door. Apparently, he was not entirely awake yet, because he bumped into a small a table and knocked over a pile of books, which landed noisily on the floor. Elizabeth opened one eye. "Dr. Kovach?" she said groggily, "Were are you going?"

"Home,"he replied, " I would not want your daughter to wake up and find a strange man in the house."

"What does she care?" she said with a smile, "She was conceived outside of wedlock. You'll find, Dr. Kovach, that I'm not your typical British prude."

"Please," he said, "call me Luka."

"Okay then, Luka, I'll see you at work," with that she turned over and went back to sleep.