Thanks for the encouraging reviews! Sorry it has taken so long to get this section done, but real life got in the way! I'm now making it three chapters, not two. I forgot to say last time that I don't own Luka, Sam, Alex or any of the other ER staff.

Sam woke to the sound of her alarm. Luka, however, merely groaned and buried his face deeper in the pillow. When he finally opened his eyes, she saw the tiredness still in them. He didn't seem to have had a good night's sleep – and she remembered his tossing and turning, and his mumbling that started softly but then got louder and more agitated. She had finally nudged him and he'd jolted awake but appeared confused and had stuttered something in Croatian – she assumed – before turning over.

After she got up and pulled on her gown, she peered through a gap in the curtains. What a contrast to yesterday with its warm spring sunshine! Outside it was drizzly and she could feel a chill in the air. As dawn broke, it was grey.

The day seemed to fit Luka's mood. Yesterday he had appeared so happy, out on the lake, teaching Alex to fish, stealing kisses from her when Alex was preoccupied with skimming stones on the water's surface. Now he was quiet, withdrawn, even a little tetchy. She let him be.

Half way through a hectic morning, she managed to snatch a coffee break in the lounge, where she chatted to Neela. She'd been feeling a twinge of guilt for some time over the "coffee club" incident. Neela was a sweet person – though she needed to stand up for herself a bit more. Luckily, Neela wasn't the sort of woman to harbour a grudge and when she poured Sam a coffee, Sam was sure there was a mischievous glint in the med student's eye.

Neela had been reading a British newspaper when Sam had walked in ("I know I can read them on line – but when do I get the bloody time? Actually, I like turning the pages, and I can do the crossword on the el."" She'd left it behind when she'd responded to a call from Pratt to assist him ("Yeah, Dr Pratt, you'd sure like to assist Neela in something, like getting her panties off," thought Sam). It was open at the foreign news section, and a word in one of the headlines caught her eye – and caught in her throat. Vukovar.

"Six stand trial for Vukovar massacre" it said. Sam knew that Luka had lived in Vukovar and that was where his wife and children had died – and where they were buried. He'd worked at Vukovar Medical Centre, but when, a few weeks ago, she'd asked about what happened after their deaths and how he got to America, he'd brushed her off, not rudely or abruptly but in a "it's such a long time ago and anyway there's not much to tell" sort of way.

But here were the details of a truly horrific tale. Of how nearly 200 Croat men had been taken from the hospital to a nearby pig farm, where 192 of them had been lined up along a freshly dug ditch and shot, their bodies later buried by bulldozer.

She shivered and her blood ran cold. She felt sick. What had happened to Luka? How had he survived and not become one of the 192? What awful memories lay in the corners of his mind, to come to light when reminded by headlines such as this?

As she and Luka were driving home after their shift, she decided to broach the subject. She mentioned she'd seen the headline. "Wasn't that where you were?" She thought she saw Luka pale slightly.

"Um, yeah... Idiot!" he shouted as a driver suddenly turned in front of him without indicating. "Do they give these people lobotomies before they give 'em driving licences?" He leaned over and turned the music up, tapping his fingers to the beat on the steering wheel.

"Luka..."

He sighed. "Look, you don't want to know, Sam. Believe me – for years nobody did want to know. Bet you'd never given Croatia, Serbia, Bosnia, Yugoslavia a thought before you met me. I'm not getting at you – most Americans, even highly educated ones, don't know about it. Heck, even most other Europeans – they just roll their eyes and say, 'uhuh, trouble in the Balkans again – guess World War Three must be on the way.'"

"Luka, I just want to understand what you've..."

"No, Sam. There's nothing for you to understand except there was a war, my family died. End of story. I'm here now. I'm with you, with Alex. Just forget it."

But as she lay awake that night, she couldn't forget it. Trouble was – how was she going to get Luka to talk about it? For she was pretty sure that if they were to move forward, she needed to know – and he needed to tell.