Disclaimer: I forgot the disclaimer on Chapter 2. But yes, I don't own any of them.

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The chilly air stung Carter as if with a thousand needles. After having gotten used to the sweltering temperatures in the Congo, and wearing only a thin jacket over his short-sleeved shirt, the first taste of Brussels's November weather on the tarmac felt like a head-on encounter with an iceberg.

He cast a glance at Luka, who was only covered by a pair of thin airplane blankets and a sheet marked with the "Property of Kinshasa General Hospital" stamp. Gillian was standing beside the gurney, with only a t- shirt on. Her teeth were already chattering. They'd better hurry over to the ambulance. Within the vehicle they would, at least, be sheltered from the sharp wind. With quiet efficiency, the two paramedics lifted Luka's gurney into the ambulance while Gillian briefed them about the patient. She and one of the two men climbed on the back and Carter attempted to join them. The other paramedic held him by the shoulder and said something to him.

"What?"

The guy repeated his statement, but whatever he said it was lost to Carter since it was in French. With a movement that had already become a natural reflex for him, he looked at Gillian. She screamed something, but her words were drowned out by the roaring of the turbines of the airplane. The paramedic that had climbed to the back had already closed one of the ambulance doors.

"What?" The paramedic that stood beside him grabbed him by the arm and pointed frantically to the front of the ambulance, while he screamed the few words of English he knew.

"You come up with me!"

Carter nodded and got to the front of the ambulance, feeling relieved that he was out of the roaring wind. The paramedic closed the door for him, went round the ambulance and climbed into the driver's seat. He hurried to turn on the air conditioning and put it to the maximum when he noticed Carter was trembling.

Carter turned around and tried to see what was going on with Gillian and Luka while the paramedic started the ambulance and began the short drive to the terminal building.

"How are you doing back there?"

"We're fine, Carter."

A hand placed on his shoulder made him turn around.

"Seat belt, please."

Carter fastened his seat belt and then tried a question.

"Where are you taking us, then? The infirmary?"

The paramedic nodded. Carter rubbed his eyes with a hand. Good. He and Gillian could leave Luka at the care of the two paramedics and then they would set off to the Red Cross office, in the airport. Debbie had arranged an appointment with one of the Red Cross officials in charge of air transport.

Debbie had been an angel. After endless faxes and days spent talking on the phone, she had managed to arrange their flight to Brussels. She hadn't been able to find a flight to Chicago, but had recommended them to another Red Cross official, and had assured them Jeanne Rebeyrol would find transportation for them.

Who knew? Maybe while Mrs. Rebeyrol arranged their flight, he and Gillian could go shopping in the airport. They both needed warm jackets, and they would also have to buy a comforter for Luka. The weather in Chicago at that time of the year was even colder than in Brussels, and they couldn't risk Luka catching pneumonia or something like that.

Carter smiled when he pictured himself and Gillian having hot chocolate in one of the airport cafeterias. Hot chocolate with lots of whipped cream on top of it. and a pastry. He would definitely have a Danish.

Carter sighed, relieved. After a constant and often seemingly hopeless battle with the bureaucracy of the Congo, of the U.S. embassy, of the immigration office in Chicago, of County General, of the International Red Cross, it seemed he was having some success in getting Luka back home. It didn't matter what Kerry had said over the phone about Chicago not being Luka's home and Carter having to contact Luka's family in Croatia instead. Carter knew that, by then, Chicago was Luka's home as much as it was his own.

Or at least, that had been what he had kept on repeating to himself the whole time. In fact, Kerry's opinion had sunk in deep within him and had made him wonder whether he was doing the right thing. But as much as he had tried to figure out what would be best for Luka, he hadn't come with a better solution. He couldn't just stay in Kinshasa waiting for Luka to regain consciousness. That could take months, even years. And the task of getting Luka out of a foreign country like the Congo had been almost overwhelming. Carter couldn't even imagine what would take him to fly him to Croatia, instead of Chicago. If there was a country even more foreign to him than the Congo, then it was Croatia.

Carter didn't have the slightest idea as of the state of the medical system in Croatia at the time, or what would it take to get Luka admitted into a hospital there, or who would take care of him once he and Gillian went back to America.

True, in the sexual harassment seminar Luka had said he and his father were close to each other, but who could assure Carter that Luka's father was not too old or too burdened to take care of him? Luka had also talked about a brother, but Carter guessed Luka's family in Croatia was not too well off. With what means would they provide for Luka's care?

In Chicago, instead, Carter knew Luka would have a bed at County straightaway and then, when he had recovered enough to get out of the hospital, Carter would see that he got home care as long as he needed it. He had also been considering the names of several psychiatrists that could treat him, so taking Luka to Chicago really seemed to be the best option. Once in Chicago, Carter thought, he would try to phone Luka's family. And yet, Kerry's voice still plagued him in the back of his mind.

Carter shook his head, annoyed. He had to focus on more immediate matters, like getting Luka to the infirmary, giving instructions to the paramedics, getting to his appointment with Jeanne Rebeyrol on time - otherwise he would drive himself mad.

The ambulance stopped and the paramedic and Carter got out of it. Carter helped push the gurney through the sliding doors of the airport terminal, while Gillian held Luka's IV bag. It was warm within the terminal, but still, compared to the high temperatures in Kinshasa, it seemed chilly. There was a group of men at the end of the corridor. Two of them were police officers in uniform. The other two were dressed with dark suits, with plastic ID cards hanging from the lapels of their jackets. Carter guessed they were immigration officers.

"Passports, please," said one of them.

Carter took his out from his pocket while Gillian rummaged a little in her handbag. She handed the officers her passport and a bunch of documents from the American embassy, covered with multiple official Congolese stamps and seals.

The officer had a brief look at both Gillian's and Carter's passport, and then he asked where Luka's passport was. Although Carter didn't understand the actual question, he deduced it from the word "passeport" and the man's nodding gesture towards Luka. Gillian began a long explanation. Knowing the whole story, Carter could more or less follow her argument. The words "Alliance de Medicines International", "Mai-Mai", "Matenda", "Kinshasa", "Croatie", "Chicago", served as landmarks.

In the meantime, the officer went through the documents. When Gillian was finished, the two officials talked to each other for a while. At the end the one that held their documents said something to Gillian. His words were curt, impersonal. Gillian seemed annoyed. She started arguing with the man. Carter wanted to ask Gillian what was going on, but he had a vague intuition about what it could be, and he didn't like it. He thought it best to let Gillian handle things by herself, instead of making her translate for him. When Gillian was finished, the man shook his head, and replied in the same official manner.

"What is he saying, Gillian?" Carter couldn't help himself any more.

"He says Luka's documents do not allow him to go in transit through Brussels. We'll have to wait in a police office until they can check his ID. They also want to verify our story. He'll contact the Alliance de Medicines International to check out our contracts, and the Red Cross officials to ensure we have a flight to Chicago," Gillian said with a despondent sigh.

Carter gaped at Gillian, then at the immigration officers. This was outrageous.

"Tell him that Luka is very ill, that he can't be held in an office, that we need the paramedics here to help us with medical supplies."

"I've told him that already."

"Tell him again."

Gillian translated for Carter. The officer shook his head.

"He says he's very sorry, but we should have thought about this before we traveled."

"What?!" cried Carter. A wave of anger washed over him. He felt the irrational impulse to hit the man, and it took all his force of will to fight it back. He clenched his fists until he felt his own nails digging into his palms.

"Look," he began when he had finally mastered his outrage. "Tell him we have an appointment with Mrs. Jeanne Rebeyrol of the International Red Cross in." he glanced at the watch he had bought in Kinshasa. "In fifteen minutes. He can escort us to her office, here at the airport. Then he'll be able to check on our story and make sure we get a flight to Chicago. In the meantime, the paramedics can take care of Luka. It's not likely he will get anywhere by himself."

He saw how Gillian shrank away at the sarcasm of his last words, but he was too annoyed to take that into account. She translated for him and she listened patiently to what the officer had to say. Then she replied in a firmer tone. The man said something to her, scorn reflecting in his eyes. Gillian's eyes burned with indignation and she said something. Her voice went up two or three degrees in intensity. The officer just crossed his arms across his chest.

Then one of the paramedics intervened. He made quite a lengthy speech, accompanied by ample gestures. The other officer replied to the paramedic, and the four of them were soon engaged in a heated argument while the police officers and Carter watched them. Suddenly the first paramedic grabbed the gurney and pushed it forward. The officers and policemen blocked him the way. They struggled while they yelled at each other.

"Hey, Hey!" Screamed Carter, coming in between them. "Stop! Stop it!"

His intervention was surprising enough to shut them all up. They stared at him, and then the paramedic started talking to Carter.

"Hey, hey, hey." said Carter trying to appease him. "Slow down, I know you want to help, but I don't understand a word you're saying."

The paramedic looked at Gillian and she translated. The paramedic talked more slowly this time.

"He says these people have no idea of what Luka needs, that they don't use their brains and that he's taking Luka to the infirmary, that he doesn't mind if."

Whatever the paramedic said, pissed the officers off. They started arguing again. Gillian rubbed her forehead tiredly and exchanged a helpless glance with Carter. If they didn't stop this argument, the good faith of the paramedic would only get them into more trouble. Carter had coped with enough bureaucrats during the last couple of weeks to understand their logic, or rather, their lack of logic, and he knew that whatever they said, none of them would get out of the restricted area. Carter decided to step in once again.

"Stop it!" He shouted at the top of his lungs.

Luckily, those words seemed to be international. He held up his hands to ensure they would let him speak.

"Okay, okay," he said, addressing the officers. "I understand. We're willing to cooperate with you. We'll wait until you have checked everything out."

Gillian stared at him, but after a second translated his words. They had become so accustomed to communicating and discussing with other people in this way that they had developed a certain sixth sense of how to work together to carry out their argument in the best way. By then, she sensed that Carter, somehow, had a point. When Gillian finished translating Carter's words, the paramedic gawked at him in astonishment. He started shaking his head and saying something Carter interpreted correctly as: "You're out of your mind, man". Carter held up an admonishing finger to quiet him.

"But we need your help, please."

The man looked at him fixedly. He had understood.

"Comment?"

"We need medical supplies."

Gillian translated and the man nodded.

"Mais bien sûr."

Carter smiled. He had understood that.

"And we'd need you to get to our appointment in our place. Will you do that?"

The man nodded again after Gillian had spoken. Carter smiled.

"Merci," he said, and smiled when he caught the paramedic's amused expression. He knew he usually butchered the French words, just like most of the Frenchmen deformed their English.

One of the officers started speaking again, in their characteristic impersonal mode, and the policemen led them into an empty office, further down the hall. It was furnished with a table and four plastic chairs. A huge mirror covered one of the walls. It was not difficult to guess it was a surveyed room. One of the policemen stayed in the room while the officers left.

The paramedics put Luka's gurney in a corner and Carter checked his vitals while Gillian hung the IV bag from a hook on the wall. She glanced at her watch.

"It's already half past four, Carter. Have you got Jeanne Rebeyrol's office number?" she asked.

"Yeah."

Carter searched his pockets and handed her a piece of paper. They were already five minutes late for their appointment. Gillian asked one of the officers for a phone but the man shook his head. Carter tried to keep his head cool while he prayed Gillian would do that too. What were these men thinking? That they could simply disconnect them from the outside world?

Then, their kind paramedic took the piece of paper from her hands, saying something. He was evidently offering to make the phone call. Carter sighed in relief. At least that was going to be taken care of. He mouthed another "Merci" to the man as he left. He regretted not having asked him his name.

Gillian came close to Carter, and they both started to take care of Luka. The other paramedic handed them what he had in his kit, and then Gillian went over the medicines they would need if they were going to stay for some hours in that office. They also needed jelly or something light for Luka to eat, and blankets. Carter was a bit concerned. Luka was trembling slightly. Probably he was only feeling cold, like he and Gillian were. He took off his jacket and draped it across Luka's shoulders.

They were halfway through their list when one of the officers came into the office again, with some official forms in his hands. He sat by the table, but was polite enough to wait until they finished and the other paramedic was off to get them the supplies. Then he addressed them.

Gillian sighed in exasperation.

"He wants to ask us some questions."

"Yeah, I kind of managed to figure that out," commented Carter. "It somehow fits the bureaucratic logic."

Gillian flashed him a smile of complicity. The officer watched them sternly and then motioned them to sit with a gesture as he started speaking in an almost flawless English.

"Please, sit down. This may take a while."

Gillian and Carter froze for a moment, and the officer watched them, savoring their bewilderment. They sat down.

After forty-five minutes, they had gone through their whole story. They had quickly passed over the customary questions about their identity, their occupation and the reasons why they had been in Africa. It had taken longer to tell the story as of how they had found Luka. The deeper they got into it, the most mistrustful the officer seemed. He repeated some of his questions, made one shut up while the other answered, and went over trivial details several times. Carter started to feel an uncomfortable sensation in the pit of his stomach. He somehow felt that the mistrust of this officer was as deep as the one of the Congo police. He cringed when he heard the next question.

"So, Mr. Carter. It seems you really have gone to great lengths to take care of Mr. Kovac here. What is your relationship to him?"

Carter looked down at the table. It was the fourth time he answered that question. The interrogation had already been unusually long and Carter had started to wonder if the paramedic was not being held outside with the supplies. He glanced at his watch and considered his options. It wouldn't be of much help if he answered truthfully again that Luka and him were colleagues and friends. Evidently, the fact that somebody would fly back to a war torn country and risk his life to retrieve the body of an acquaintance from the hands of rebels didn't fit bureaucratic logic. He'd have to think of a more forceful argument. And then it came as a flash to him. He looked up and stared directly into the man's eyes.

"We're lovers," he said.

He felt how Gillian tensed beside him and prayed she would keep up a front for him. He then started to wonder if he hadn't gone nuts. Such a lie would get them into even more trouble than what they were into. The officer looked at him for a second.

"Then why did you tell me you were friends?"

"It's part of my private life. And you're here to confirm our identities and to establish whether we can travel further on, not to find out about my personal relationships."

Interestingly enough, that seemed to cut the man off a bit.

"Only if your personal relationships are relevant to my inquiry," he replied after a while, but his tone had become more polite.

Carter almost smiled to himself. Homosexual issues did have a weight here in Europe, as they had in the States. Well, maybe he was not completely whacko and his little story would help them out after all.

"Well, now you know about it."

"Yes, now I do."

The officer tapped on his form with the tip of his pen.

"Well, I think this would be all for now. Thank you for your patience."

Carter was surprised when the man gathered his papers, stood up and held out his hand. He shook it without further comments. He couldn't believe he had got to say the last word.

Fortunately, Gillian seemed to be less astonished than him and able to inquire after their medical supplies.

"Would you please check out if the paramedic is back?"

"Yes, Miss. I will."

"Thank you very much."

The man left, and Gillian glanced at Carter with a look of amusement. Carter couldn't wink to her because he was facing the mirror. He just rubbed his forehead with his hand, and after a brief moment he stood up and went to check on Luka.

* * * *

Gillian smiled as she stirred the coffee in her cup. She was sitting on one of those uncomfortable high chairs typical of airport cafés, dangerously balancing her handbag on her knee while trying to prevent the various shopping bags from turning over with the tip of her shoe. It was early evening and she already felt a little guilty for being there, enjoying coffee and a cigarette while Carter and Luka were still in that damned detention office. But still, she felt she deserved at least five minutes for herself.

She could make believe she was just one more traveler stopping over in Brussels on her way home after. after what? After a short vacation in Europe? No, not at this time of the year. After attending a medical convention? Yeah, that was more likely. Okay. It had been a long, boring, medical convention and she was now heading back to Montreal where she would enjoy a couple of days off before she started work again. She would unpack, wash her clothes, visit her mother and probably go to the movies. She'd maybe contact a couple of friends and go to a bar or a disco. She started to think about which friends she'd call when she noticed a man staring at her from one of the other tables.

She had been smiling to herself while she daydreamed, thus making herself the object of his attention. She cringed when she thought he probably would take their momentary eye contact as a cue to approach her and start a conversation. But the man averted his gaze and looked through the huge airport windows instead.

She sighed in relief and reached for one of her shopping bags. She put it on the counter and started rooting through its contents. The first things she saw were "The New York Times" and "Newsweek". She had no idea as of what Carter liked to read, so she had just bought the most commonplace publications she could think of. Then her hand bumped into the book she had bought for herself, a French translation of a collection of short stories by Italo Calvino. She recalled having read something by Calvino a long time ago, and she had liked the description on the cover of the book. Tiny love stories between strangers seemed like an interesting thing to read during their long wait at the detention office and during the flight to Chicago. But that was not what she was looking for.

In the bottom of the bag lay a smaller box, tightly wrapped in plastic. She retrieved it and looked at the cover before she started unwrapping it. A French-Croatian phrasebook. It was one of those silly manuals for tourists who wanted to spend a week in a foreign country. It wasn't quite the thing she needed, but it was a start. It had a tape and a pronunciation key, so she hoped she would be able to recognize at least a few words from Luka's tapes. She glanced into the pages, and almost let out a grin. Now, seriously, how possible was it that Luka had asked for some more red wine in his ravings? Or how about: "How much does a taxi fare cost to the airport?" She couldn't help shaking her head.

What she had wanted to buy was a good Croatian-French dictionary, together with a Croatian grammar for foreigners, but it was more than what the little bookshop at the airport could offer. Fortunately, it had been part of a large chain, and the clerk had been making some phone calls to other bookstores until he located the dictionary and the grammar for her. She had begged so much he had ended up assuring her he would have them there for her first thing in the morning. She had, however, paid for them in advance, to make sure he'd keep his word and she had not resisted the temptation to get the phrase book. She had thought she could listen to the tape that night, instead of listening to Luka's ravings. But taking into account the kind of phrases that stood in the book, it seemed a stupid move.

She shrugged. Well, she could probably share that with Carter so they could have a laugh about it. The minute she came across the thought, she dismissed it. He'd think she had gone crazy. Besides, trying to understand Luka's ravings was not too ethical. But how about declaring that Luka and he were a couple? Gillian shook her head once again as she remembered Carter's confidence when he had said it. His sudden statement had really pulled the rug from underneath her feet. Fortunately, it had also pulled the rug from underneath the officer's feet, and it had stopped the interrogation.

The paramedic had been allowed into the office and they had been able to wrap Luka in warm blankets, give him his pain medication and change his catheter bag. He'd been much more comfortable afterwards. They had even been able to make him drink a bit of orange juice.

Twenty minutes later, Philippe Chrétien, their kind paramedic, as Carter called him, had arrived with Jeanne Rebeyrol and the two immigration officers. Jeanne had helped to clear up the situation, and had assured them that there was a flight for the three of them the next day. The officers had also checked out Carter's and Gillian's identities, so they told them they were free to go. But they hadn't given in when they had asked them to let them get Luka to the infirmary. They meant he still didn't have any right to go on transit, so he couldn't allow him to get past immigration. They had, nevertheless, been much more polite than before.

Philippe had also been very kind, and had assured them he'd help them to watch over Luka that night, so Carter and Gillian could have some sleep. He had told them he would pass by when his shift was over to take a watch over Luka. He had also said he'd book two rooms for them at one of the airport hotels and had escorted Gillian to the airport lounge.

Carter had insisted she should be the one to go shopping, and wouldn't hear a word about her staying in the office instead, so Gillian had left with a long list of items she had to buy. She had enjoyed buying sweaters and jackets for herself and Carter and a comforter for Luka. She'd also picked up a couple of sandwiches, juice, some snacks, water and Jell-o for all of them -well, of course the juice and jell-o were for Luka. She was pleased with her errands. She had managed to find Luka's favorite Jell-o, and when she got back she would have a laugh with her stupid little phrasebook while Carter hopefully would enjoy reading the newspapers.

Gillian drank the last sip of her coffee. She had to run the last errand before she headed back. She ordered a large cup of chocolate with lots of whipped cream and the most mouth-watering Danish on the counter to go. She paid for them, slung her handbag over her shoulder, gathered all her shopping bags and, carefully holding the paper cup on her free hand, headed back to the detention office.

She managed to open the door with the hand with which she held most of the plastic bags. She had roamed about a little and had at last found one of the immigration officers that had questioned them earlier. The man showed her the way back, but he hadn't been gallant enough so as to help her with her bags. She pushed the door with her back, and started talking when she came in.

"I'm sorry - your chocolate must be a little cold already, Carter. This airport is bigger than what I had thought. I got kind of lost, you know."

She put the cup and the plastic bags down on the table.

"Your Danish must be here somewhere." she added, looking into the plastic shopping bags. "I put it into one of these."

"Gillian?" There was something in Carter's voice that made her look up straightaway.

He was sitting in one of the plastic chairs by the gurney. There was a bright smile on his face.

"Guess who's woken up."

Gillian's eyes wandered to Luka. He was watching her from under half closed eyelids, but he was looking directly at her, his eyes focused, not dimmed by the thick haze that had covered them in the past weeks. And he was smiling. A slight, rather timid smile raised the corners of his mouth up. As if in a dream, Gillian saw Luka's hand rise from the blanket, turn up and open in a friendly gesture.

"Gillian?" His husky voice, now reduced to a harsh whisper, reached her, and suddenly his image got blurred.

Gillian had to wipe the tears off her cheeks before she approached them.

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