Author's comments: Hey, look at this! It only took a few days! And it's ten pages shorter than usual, but that's a whole other story… Well, maybe it could be a nice change.

Thanks so much for the reviews! I realize now that the end of the last chapter might have seemed like it was the end of the whole story, but, to quote Churchill – this is not the end , it's not the beginning– but it's the end of the beginning… I'm afraid this story will be very, very long… =)

A-K: En osaa sanoa miten paljon kommentoisi merkitsi minulle! Todella hauska nähdä että täällä on suomalalaisiakin! Olen kyllä ruotsinkielinen, en vaan ole maaliman paras kääntäjä… =) Kirjoitatko itse, olisi kiva lukea? En puhuu niin hyvä suomea, mutta osan kyllä lukea (näet varmasti etten kirjoittaa niin paljon suomeksi, mutta yritetään nyt…)
Kiitos taas!

CHAPTER SIX : HOMECOMING [part one]

Early morning 7th December, Sarajevo /Bosnia and Herzegovina

Hopefully people at Sarajevo's international airport were used to see zombies walking around in the baggage claim hall.
Judging from the looks they gave him, they weren't.

Looks? Stares, more likely. He heard whispers around him as he leaned against the wall, damning the teenagers that were occupying the chairs.
He met Dubravko's eyes and sighed. His brother was standing across the hall next to the carousel with the bags on it, waiting for their baggage and checking up on him every second minute. It was terribly annoying to feel his eyes on one's back all the time, guarding every step. The most annoying thing was that Dubravko's concerns weren't just the big-brother-syndrome, but that he needed them to stay on his feet. He was so sick of having to be this dependent on others and especially on Dubravko. All his grown up life, first as a husband and father and then as an attending at various hospitals he had gotten used to if not being in charge, then at least being listened to and respected. Sure he wouldn't miss 20-year-olds always addressing him "Dr" and making him feel twenty years older, but he wouldn't be able to stand being the youngest one, the baby of the family, all over again.

One of the teenage girls rose up and he sat down quickly so that no one would steal the seat from him. But he sat down too fast and the hall started to spin around a thousand times faster than the baggage moved on the carousel. He groaned quietly and closed his eyes. He felt like crap. Or, actually, he felt like he had done most of the past weeks, so it was starting to feel like his normal condition.
When he opened his eyes he saw Dubravko coming up to him, carrying a bag Luka recognized as his own.
"Come," he said, stopping in front of the chair with the bag thrown over his shoulder.
"Why?" Luka sighed. He had just managed to get a seat after limping around in the hall for the past fifteen minutes, why did Dubravko have to drag him away from here now?
"We're in the wrong part of the place," Dubravko said patiently, his lack of temper during the whole trip surprising Luka. It was clear that being a father had extended Dubravko's sometimes so bad patience.
"Wrong part of the place?" Luka asked.
"We are in arrivals, supposed to be in departures."
"No…" Luka groaned. From what he remembered of Sarajevo's airport it was a paradise of corridors, as most airports were.
One had to walk in corridors. He couldn't walk.
"Yes," Dubravko replied.
Another of the teenagers rose up and Dubravko sat down at the free seat.
"You OK?" he asked.
"No," Luka said, tired of lying. "No, I'm not."
"I shouldn't have dragged you here, should I?" Dubravko asked with brotherly concern in his voice.
"No, you shouldn't have," Luka sighed.
"I just…- Well, I guess I didn't realize just how bad you were feeling."
"I tried to tell you."
"I know," Dubravko sighed and looked down at his hands in a way Luka knew he did himself too when he felt guilty for something.
"I know."

10 a.m. 6th December, Chicago

"I want all of you here now, before Dr. Kovac's replacement comes in!"
Kerry's voice filled the ER and Susan sighed.
"Could you be a little more obvious about it?" she muttered where she was standing at the admit desk, leaning on her elbow, cupping her chin in her left hand and holding a pen with which she was playing in the right.
"She's not doing it to tangle you off, hon," Haleh said gently.
Susan turned around, almost gasping.
"Are you defending Weaver?"
"Kinda surprised myself," Haleh smiled.
Susan shook her head and turned her eyes back at the pen in her hands.
"It's just so…-" she began, happy that Haleh was there to listen. But that happiness didn't last long as Kerry who once again was screaming interrupted her.
"OK people, let's make this quick."
She lowered her voice a bit and met up with most of the staff that had gathered inside the ellipse the admit desk made.
"You all know what has happened," she then said in her typical management-voice. "Some of you…-" she looked directly at Susan, Carter and Abby "…- know the details behind, others of you don't. I ask you not to make this the new gossip or a big deal – if anyone asks where Luka is you just say he is going to be away for a while…-"
"But he will come back, won't he?"
Gallant asked the question that everybody had on their minds.
"I don't know," Kerry answered in a much softer voice after thinking for a while.
"I really don't know, and I doubt that even Luka himself knows. We'll just have to wait and see – both Robert and I will be in touch with his family for the following months, then we'll see."
"What about his patients?" Pratt asked from where he was standing next to Jing-Mei.
"Dr. Smith will take them, as will he take over Luka's other duties here…-"

Susan's heart jumped when she heard Kerry say the name of Luka's replacement. She tried to calm herself down, but it was difficult.
There had to be at least a thousand Dr.Smith's in America – it just couldn't be him. If it was… dear God. It couldn't be.

"Dr. Smith is coming here from a New York City hospital. He is originally from Arizona and…- well, here he comes. I'm sure he can tell us himself."

A blonde man of medium length entered the hospital with steps that said that he was very secure on himself. Kerry turned around and smiled at him.
"Welcome to Cook County General, Dr. Smith," she said. "I was just about to tell the others about you, but now you can do it yourself," she added with a sunny smile.
"Will do. I just have to say hello to an old friend."
"You know someone here?" Kerry asked surprised.
"Sure do," he answered in his heavy Arizona accent.
He turned around a little with a grin on his face.

"Hello, Susie."
Susan thought she would faint.

Middle of the day 7th December, Sarajevo/Bosnia and Herzegovina

Dubravko came walking with a face like thunder. He handed the cell phone back to Luka and muttered a few curses while looking for his cigarettes. When he found them he pulled out one and lit it while shaking his head.
"That woman… she drives me crazy," he muttered.
"She is your wife," Luka said with closed eyes and his head leaned back against the chair in the departure lounge, frowning when he smelled the smoke from Dubravko's cigarette. He opened his eyes and saw the 'smoking permitted' sign on the wall.
The lounge was filled with people; businessmen in suits, families with children and grandparents, lonely people holding up books and papers in front of their faces.
He and Dubravko had been sitting there for a while already. Or, he had been sitting there half asleep and Dubravko had called home to say they were on their way – a call that ended up in the argument with Natalia that he was ranting on about now.
"I know," he muttered as a reply to Luka mentioning the fact that Natalia was his wife.
"Sometimes I wonder why."
He blew out some smoke, not realizing that the nicotine cloud was blowing right on Luka who, out of habit, raised a hand and tried to clear the air around him by waving in front of him. He realized the pathetic in his attempt when he saw the percentage of smokers in the room. Home, sweet home…
"You're still doing that?" he asked Dubravko in an annoyed voice.
"Mmm…" his brother responded with a dreamy look on his face.
"You shouldn't," Luka said tiredly, knowing this was the most unnecessary discussion they had had yet.
"Don't give me that doctor crap," Dubravko muttered.
"I'm not," Luka replied, "I just thought you stopped when I did."
"Tried to, couldn't. I need it to stand Talia's temper."
"It's insane that you're smoking to stand your wife."
"I'm not smoking to stand Talia, I am smoking to stand her temper."
"That's the same thing, isn't it," Luka muttered.
"It's not – besides, when I tried to stop I got the worst abstinence… I never understood how you managed to escape it…-" he interrupted himself when he heard himself.
"Sorry."
Luka sighed.
"Doesn't matter," he muttered, his nerves shot to ribbons.

This trip was killing him big time. If they had been travelling straight it would have been one thing, but having to fly from Chicago to Sarajevo, waiting at the Sarajevo airport for five hours before getting on a plane to Zagreb and then finally having to sit in a car for about an hour before they reached the small, poor village they had had the questionable luck of being born in – that was too much. He had been arguing with the security and customs at both O'Hare and at the arrival here, having forgotten that the metal detectors at airports were on another level than the ones at County. He couldn't even go close to them without them screaming loudly. It was the metal piece in the leg of course, and stupid as he was he had no papers proving that it was an injury from the war and not something he would use to blow up the whole plane he had on him, or in him, more likely. Usually his title and black suits made people assume he wasn't a terrorist or endangered America's safety, but the way he was now gave people a whole other picture. His inability to walk normally, how he obviously weighed too little for his height and how the reasons for that obviously were too much alcohol and too little of everything else, how his face was lined and tired – everything made him seem more like something, not even someone, that should be kept far away from other people. Add to this an Eastern-European passport and the fact that he suddenly had gotten trouble finding English words – if not one of the security guards at O'Hare had spoken Italian and had been able to convince his boss that neither Luka nor Dubravko were any danger to the other passengers, he might as well have been there still. In Sarajevo the controllers had been if possible even more hysteric, but at least he didn't need a translator to explain what the problem was.

Now his powers were out and they had almost half of the trip left. One more flight, one more uneatable airplane meal, one more uncomfortable flight seat, one more landing hat made him nauseous, one more security check. Then the car trip home…
Home?

Was the little, poor but so beautiful village outside Zagreb 'home'? Genetically, yes. Was it Chicago? No way. He liked the city itself and there was nothing wrong with America either, but it was just something that didn't work, somehow he didn't fit in.
Could Rome, the eternal city, be home? He could walk around there; his colours and the lack of accent in his Italian making him melt in. He could change his last name and start spelling his first name with 'c' instead of 'k' – no body would know he wasn't Roman.
Why had he ever left Rome? Why on earth had he left the city that had everything – food, culture, and a language he was familiar with. It had been close to home too, if he against all odds wanted to go back.
That day about three years ago when he had left Italy for America, not really knowing where he was going... His knowledge of America hadn't been good, neither had his English. It made no sense, him leaving Italy where he somehow fitted in for Chicago and a hospital with an arrogant boss and messy relationships.
Maybe he could go back. The hospital in Rome had been nice – no Romano, no Weaver, no blizzards that screwed up the whole city and no smallpox viruses. Wonder if Lola still was there? The small nurse with the strong will had been the only one he had known in Rome. She was married and had no less than seven children, but that had never kept her from trying to get him to talk to her. Not that he had ever told her anything, though. He hadn't wanted her pity, hadn't wanted anyone to know. In case people knew it always went like it finally had in Rome – his boss had somehow learned about what had happened and started to act disturbingly nice around him; always tried to keep him from working with kids, always gave him looks of deep sympathy, forcing him to go home if he showed the slightest sign of depression. Maybe he should have been thankful, but it only annoyed him. So when he went west it had been with the hope of not having such a bleeding-hearted boss again.
Well, Weaver had surely never shown any such sides.

Dubravko had gotten started on the second cigarette in twenty minutes and the smoke from it was surrounding him again. To his surprise he didn't get more headache of it as he usually did from cigarette smoke. That the headache would have disappeared by the smell of nicotine was giving Philip Morris and their competitors of smoker's money too much credit, but at least it didn't get worse. It was very surprising, actually. He hadn't smoked a cigarette since he gave it up at the age of 21 or so and had always been annoyed with others smoking, especially people in the health trade, but suddenly all his principles were as thrown out of the window.
Hell, he had more bad habits then he could count by now, what difference would one more make?
He turned to Dubravko.
"Give me one of those, will you?"