Title: Hotter Than July
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.
Reviews: Please continue to give me your thoughts :) Thanks!!
Author's note: Writing this is always a joy for me, but I had real fun with this and I hope you like it too :) I have a few dedications and thankyous as well. Natasha: this part contains so many things that make me think of you..part of my creative backbone as per usual. Thanks. Claire: Thanks as always for yesterday, watching ER with ya is always a pleasure and the songs are so inspirational, thanks :) Sass: Many thanks for reading as always :) Rowena: Truly grateful for all the email this week, I really needed to vent some of that angst LOL. :) And formerlynoname: thanks for your support at TWoP..I am a member, just not a very active one!! I really appreciate your praise of my work. Of course, thanks to EVERYONE and I mean everyone who continues to R and R. I'm not done yet, I'm just full of thanks this week LOL. :) OK, I'm done rambling..here's 21!!
"And melt into the city's strife and sound; like a dewdrop in an ocean." (Charles Dickens, Bleak House)
Is it better to let your surroundings elude you or have them falling all around you in some sort of Armageddon? Was there beauty in chaos, in order, or in both? As it had been of late, Luka was ignorant of the city and the city was oblivious of him. All the irate commuters, the bustling children, the slow, smiling pensioners passed by in a mutiplicitous blur. He scarcely felt the rising afternoon heat prickling his skin. Nor did he hear the traffic, the voices, the screams of life, thanks to the headphones looped uncomfortably in his ears. He was listening to Mo's music, as the digital music revolution had turned them both into more than opportunistic tricksters, ever willing to swap identical I-Pods without the other knowing and surprising each other with new sounds. This was definitely Mo's player. Who else would listen to OutKast and Aretha Franklin alongside Chopin and Wagner? He pulled out the tiny white earphones slowly when he got to work, deciding that it would be best not to go about life-saving while humming the melody to "You Make Me Feel Like A Natural Woman." You're here to help people, not scare them away, he thought.
If Chicago had escaped him, then County did not, as the air-conditioning wisped an almost arctic rush in his face. Then there was the shrilling purr of telephones, jabbering voices, the familiar rhythm of treatment procedures. Jesus, the Roman amphitheatres were quieter than this! Luka mused for a moment, wondering if an amoured Russell Crowe would come rushing around the corner any minute. Shaking his head, to dispel his suddenly overactive imagination, he smiled and came face to face with a weary Susan.
"Am I glad to see you." Someone else was here to carry the burden of this hellhole on their back for the next twelve hours.
"The feeling's always mutual," he replied, stretching out the smile.
Is he flirting with me? She wondered for a moment, allowing one eye to steal a peek at the open part of his shirt.
"Your friend Elvis is back," Susan said, focusing her mind firmly back on the job.
"Wearing a pair of horns and a cape?" Luka asked while moving to stand beside her, quickly assessing the horrendous massacre of paperwork sprayed all over the admit desk.
Susan paused. "Oh I get it. Devil In Disguise. Very nice." "Is Elvis big back home?"
"Elvis is big everywhere." "What's wrong with him this time?"
"He had a musical disagreement with John Lennon over there." Susan gestured to chairs, where a miserable man sat, hair scruffy, trademark round glasses askewed on his face, stitches on his forehead, an unlit cigarette hanging sadly from his mouth.
"And no, before you say it, George, Paul and Ringo are not waiting outside in a cab."
He smiled. Not everybody was willing to just be friendly in the work environment. "What else do you have for me?"
"Mr Norman in four. His wife accidentally brained him with a nine pound frozen salmon." Susan's candour was half-way between serious and comedic.
"It's enough to make your head swim." He didn't know where these lines were coming from, but he was having fun.
"You're quite the comedian, aren't you? You shouldn't be laughing, we're criminally short on nurses, so you might have to pick the defrosting scales out of his false teeth."
"All in a day's work." Luka didn't care what was thrown at him today as he finally rearranged some of the scattered papers into some sort of order.
"Who works five till five anyway? Scared of the dark?"
"Just being unconventional." Or maybe it was more of a case of coming in with the sunshine and going home with the sunrise. The sun reminded him of home, of miles of unspoilt coastline, Mediterranean summers. If only all the memories were such a paradise. But the merest hint of a painful thought was erased with the swift analgesia of the last twenty-four hours.
"Well, I hate to ruin your criminal enthusiasm, but you're in charge of this shabby crew and answerable to the one-armed bandit for the next twelve hours. That's enough to rain on anybody's parade."
"I'll just carry an umbrella," he replied, with very little seriousness.
"Luka, tell me what it is you've been stealing from the drugs cabinet so I can have a few doses myself, I sure could use it." She suspected there was little chemical or artificial about his energy, but was happy to keep the conversation light. After three shootings, a premature delivery and only three cups of coffee, she needed some relief. Susan considered for a moment, remembering the Christmas before last and the tumultuous chain of turbulent events that seemed to have haunted Luka. Car crashes and God knows what else. She recalled so vividly his reminiscences of Christmases past with his family, and she had seen the cold, clear despair in his eyes. Was she standing next to the same man right now?
"Nothing." His voice was a perfect plateau of innocence as he grabbed his first chart of the day. "For you to have some of what I've got would involve a serious lifestyle change." They exchanged a quirky, knowing glance before Susan finally found herself getting ready to leave.
"I get the picture. Have a nice afternoon, Romeo."
As Susan finally made her way from the cool chaos of inside to the welcoming humidity of the outside, she wished that she was a betting woman. Because she knew who was the odds-on favourite for Juliet in her book.
In fact, more and more of her speculations were turning into actuality, as she had predicted, a contented Luka was soon disrupted from his flow by that small menace of a man, Romano.
"Well, if it isn't the Transylvanian terror. I'll be sending some half-wit of a med student to check your patients for bite marks." As deadpan, cynical and politically incorrect as ever. Wonderful.
"I'm sure all of your students are very willing to give you a hand," he replied, not making eye-contact, knowing that this joke was as probably as outdated as the surgeon's geographically-unsound insults, but feeling that sometimes, a little fight-back was justified. With that parting shot, he walked away with confident strides, off to find out if Mr Norman's head was swimming and to ascertain just what mischief, Mr King; the Elvis impersonator, had been up to. The best job in the whole damn world.
*****
Twenty four-hours could often masquerade as a lifetime in emergency medicine, hours became blurred, time was contorted and shifted with the grace of an acrobat, tiredness yapped like a pesky little dog. Somewhere in the middle of this vacuum of uncertainty was Abby, juggling charts, the pen in her mouth not doing much to stop her from grinning like an idiot. Always acutely aware of what was going on around her, she stopped in the hallway to remove the pen from her mouth, before she ended up with black ink all over her face, and was surprised by the oncoming Susan, the eager detective once again.
"You're looking very pleased with yourself." She announced, already chipping away for some sort of confession.
"I've got two guys with chlamydia and a woman with gonorrhoea. What can I say? STDs just rock my tiny little world." Play it safe, Abby was thinking.
"I see. Nothing to do with a very-pleased Luka?"
Abby smiled, knowing she was giving herself away. But she had seen enough of Luka's misery to be delighted that he was happy, whether she had anything to do with it or not. Before she even had a chance to open her mouth, Susan had rapidly ushered her into the nearby Ladies' room, keen to make the next conversation a private one.
"So, are you guys batting in your second innings?"
"Something like that. It's early days." Abby turned away, assessing herself in the large mirror, watching Sherlock Susan's zealous behaviour with some amusement.
"Are you sure that's what you want?" The almost sombre tone of Susan's voice seemed to echo back off the tiled walls. Abby turned back, folding her arms slowly, squeezing her body together as if she was trying to hide away from the cold.
"Not so long ago..he was...up to things..with strangers..in closets." Abby knew that Susan was showing genuine concern and not just hankering for some gossip, but her broken dialogue only forced resilience.
"That's the only place I can find you these days. I'm getting relationship advice from the woman who got married on a weekend?" If there was such a game as verbal tennis then Susan had just been aced with a serve that Andy Roddick would have been envious of.
Abby unfolded her arms, leaning back against the sink, trying not to look too pleased with her spectacular come-back, while Susan readily gave in.
"Ah forget it. If it makes you happy then go for it. We can make a pact. Less Sex and the City and more sex in the city. We can compare notes."
"You'll have to buy me a bigger notepad."
"Spend enough time in those storage closets, you might even find one."
"You're the expert."
This time it was a ringing peal of laughter that resounded in the otherwise empty bathroom. Even this cold, miserable place now seemed a little brighter. Susan quickly joined Abby and they both turned back to the mirror, both smiling back at their own reflections in some sort of ritual of mutual gratification. Both were women who had been used to seeing their gloomy, sad, tired, defeated, deflated stares glaring back at them. Four shining eyes and two not so secretive smiles were a refreshing change.
"Hey, not a word to anyone about this." Her voice was edged with caution and severity.
"Why, have you got something to be ashamed of?" A little salaciousness peppered its way through Susan's inquisition.
"No, I'm just sick of everybody else knowing my business. This place has the kind of grapevine that Marvin Gaye gets excited about."
"Abby, Marvin Gaye's been dead for twenty years."
"Exactly." She smiled, combing her fingers through her hair, aggravating the streaks of colour into an even more confused blend.
Susan laughed again, a puzzled smile corked on her face.
Abby turned to face her. "What?"
"Why are we always having these conversations in the bathroom?"
"Ah, we're just that high class."
Soon enough, they were back in the reality of the madness, confusion, sadness, hope and despair of the ER. But not so affected that they did not occasionally stop, pause and smile when they had the chance to reflect on their lives outside of these sacred walls. Even when they left, perhaps the mirrors still were etched with the radiance of their contentment, like an engraver leaves their mark on a trophy or an artist's signature on their masterpiece.
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.
Reviews: Please continue to give me your thoughts :) Thanks!!
Author's note: Writing this is always a joy for me, but I had real fun with this and I hope you like it too :) I have a few dedications and thankyous as well. Natasha: this part contains so many things that make me think of you..part of my creative backbone as per usual. Thanks. Claire: Thanks as always for yesterday, watching ER with ya is always a pleasure and the songs are so inspirational, thanks :) Sass: Many thanks for reading as always :) Rowena: Truly grateful for all the email this week, I really needed to vent some of that angst LOL. :) And formerlynoname: thanks for your support at TWoP..I am a member, just not a very active one!! I really appreciate your praise of my work. Of course, thanks to EVERYONE and I mean everyone who continues to R and R. I'm not done yet, I'm just full of thanks this week LOL. :) OK, I'm done rambling..here's 21!!
"And melt into the city's strife and sound; like a dewdrop in an ocean." (Charles Dickens, Bleak House)
Is it better to let your surroundings elude you or have them falling all around you in some sort of Armageddon? Was there beauty in chaos, in order, or in both? As it had been of late, Luka was ignorant of the city and the city was oblivious of him. All the irate commuters, the bustling children, the slow, smiling pensioners passed by in a mutiplicitous blur. He scarcely felt the rising afternoon heat prickling his skin. Nor did he hear the traffic, the voices, the screams of life, thanks to the headphones looped uncomfortably in his ears. He was listening to Mo's music, as the digital music revolution had turned them both into more than opportunistic tricksters, ever willing to swap identical I-Pods without the other knowing and surprising each other with new sounds. This was definitely Mo's player. Who else would listen to OutKast and Aretha Franklin alongside Chopin and Wagner? He pulled out the tiny white earphones slowly when he got to work, deciding that it would be best not to go about life-saving while humming the melody to "You Make Me Feel Like A Natural Woman." You're here to help people, not scare them away, he thought.
If Chicago had escaped him, then County did not, as the air-conditioning wisped an almost arctic rush in his face. Then there was the shrilling purr of telephones, jabbering voices, the familiar rhythm of treatment procedures. Jesus, the Roman amphitheatres were quieter than this! Luka mused for a moment, wondering if an amoured Russell Crowe would come rushing around the corner any minute. Shaking his head, to dispel his suddenly overactive imagination, he smiled and came face to face with a weary Susan.
"Am I glad to see you." Someone else was here to carry the burden of this hellhole on their back for the next twelve hours.
"The feeling's always mutual," he replied, stretching out the smile.
Is he flirting with me? She wondered for a moment, allowing one eye to steal a peek at the open part of his shirt.
"Your friend Elvis is back," Susan said, focusing her mind firmly back on the job.
"Wearing a pair of horns and a cape?" Luka asked while moving to stand beside her, quickly assessing the horrendous massacre of paperwork sprayed all over the admit desk.
Susan paused. "Oh I get it. Devil In Disguise. Very nice." "Is Elvis big back home?"
"Elvis is big everywhere." "What's wrong with him this time?"
"He had a musical disagreement with John Lennon over there." Susan gestured to chairs, where a miserable man sat, hair scruffy, trademark round glasses askewed on his face, stitches on his forehead, an unlit cigarette hanging sadly from his mouth.
"And no, before you say it, George, Paul and Ringo are not waiting outside in a cab."
He smiled. Not everybody was willing to just be friendly in the work environment. "What else do you have for me?"
"Mr Norman in four. His wife accidentally brained him with a nine pound frozen salmon." Susan's candour was half-way between serious and comedic.
"It's enough to make your head swim." He didn't know where these lines were coming from, but he was having fun.
"You're quite the comedian, aren't you? You shouldn't be laughing, we're criminally short on nurses, so you might have to pick the defrosting scales out of his false teeth."
"All in a day's work." Luka didn't care what was thrown at him today as he finally rearranged some of the scattered papers into some sort of order.
"Who works five till five anyway? Scared of the dark?"
"Just being unconventional." Or maybe it was more of a case of coming in with the sunshine and going home with the sunrise. The sun reminded him of home, of miles of unspoilt coastline, Mediterranean summers. If only all the memories were such a paradise. But the merest hint of a painful thought was erased with the swift analgesia of the last twenty-four hours.
"Well, I hate to ruin your criminal enthusiasm, but you're in charge of this shabby crew and answerable to the one-armed bandit for the next twelve hours. That's enough to rain on anybody's parade."
"I'll just carry an umbrella," he replied, with very little seriousness.
"Luka, tell me what it is you've been stealing from the drugs cabinet so I can have a few doses myself, I sure could use it." She suspected there was little chemical or artificial about his energy, but was happy to keep the conversation light. After three shootings, a premature delivery and only three cups of coffee, she needed some relief. Susan considered for a moment, remembering the Christmas before last and the tumultuous chain of turbulent events that seemed to have haunted Luka. Car crashes and God knows what else. She recalled so vividly his reminiscences of Christmases past with his family, and she had seen the cold, clear despair in his eyes. Was she standing next to the same man right now?
"Nothing." His voice was a perfect plateau of innocence as he grabbed his first chart of the day. "For you to have some of what I've got would involve a serious lifestyle change." They exchanged a quirky, knowing glance before Susan finally found herself getting ready to leave.
"I get the picture. Have a nice afternoon, Romeo."
As Susan finally made her way from the cool chaos of inside to the welcoming humidity of the outside, she wished that she was a betting woman. Because she knew who was the odds-on favourite for Juliet in her book.
In fact, more and more of her speculations were turning into actuality, as she had predicted, a contented Luka was soon disrupted from his flow by that small menace of a man, Romano.
"Well, if it isn't the Transylvanian terror. I'll be sending some half-wit of a med student to check your patients for bite marks." As deadpan, cynical and politically incorrect as ever. Wonderful.
"I'm sure all of your students are very willing to give you a hand," he replied, not making eye-contact, knowing that this joke was as probably as outdated as the surgeon's geographically-unsound insults, but feeling that sometimes, a little fight-back was justified. With that parting shot, he walked away with confident strides, off to find out if Mr Norman's head was swimming and to ascertain just what mischief, Mr King; the Elvis impersonator, had been up to. The best job in the whole damn world.
*****
Twenty four-hours could often masquerade as a lifetime in emergency medicine, hours became blurred, time was contorted and shifted with the grace of an acrobat, tiredness yapped like a pesky little dog. Somewhere in the middle of this vacuum of uncertainty was Abby, juggling charts, the pen in her mouth not doing much to stop her from grinning like an idiot. Always acutely aware of what was going on around her, she stopped in the hallway to remove the pen from her mouth, before she ended up with black ink all over her face, and was surprised by the oncoming Susan, the eager detective once again.
"You're looking very pleased with yourself." She announced, already chipping away for some sort of confession.
"I've got two guys with chlamydia and a woman with gonorrhoea. What can I say? STDs just rock my tiny little world." Play it safe, Abby was thinking.
"I see. Nothing to do with a very-pleased Luka?"
Abby smiled, knowing she was giving herself away. But she had seen enough of Luka's misery to be delighted that he was happy, whether she had anything to do with it or not. Before she even had a chance to open her mouth, Susan had rapidly ushered her into the nearby Ladies' room, keen to make the next conversation a private one.
"So, are you guys batting in your second innings?"
"Something like that. It's early days." Abby turned away, assessing herself in the large mirror, watching Sherlock Susan's zealous behaviour with some amusement.
"Are you sure that's what you want?" The almost sombre tone of Susan's voice seemed to echo back off the tiled walls. Abby turned back, folding her arms slowly, squeezing her body together as if she was trying to hide away from the cold.
"Not so long ago..he was...up to things..with strangers..in closets." Abby knew that Susan was showing genuine concern and not just hankering for some gossip, but her broken dialogue only forced resilience.
"That's the only place I can find you these days. I'm getting relationship advice from the woman who got married on a weekend?" If there was such a game as verbal tennis then Susan had just been aced with a serve that Andy Roddick would have been envious of.
Abby unfolded her arms, leaning back against the sink, trying not to look too pleased with her spectacular come-back, while Susan readily gave in.
"Ah forget it. If it makes you happy then go for it. We can make a pact. Less Sex and the City and more sex in the city. We can compare notes."
"You'll have to buy me a bigger notepad."
"Spend enough time in those storage closets, you might even find one."
"You're the expert."
This time it was a ringing peal of laughter that resounded in the otherwise empty bathroom. Even this cold, miserable place now seemed a little brighter. Susan quickly joined Abby and they both turned back to the mirror, both smiling back at their own reflections in some sort of ritual of mutual gratification. Both were women who had been used to seeing their gloomy, sad, tired, defeated, deflated stares glaring back at them. Four shining eyes and two not so secretive smiles were a refreshing change.
"Hey, not a word to anyone about this." Her voice was edged with caution and severity.
"Why, have you got something to be ashamed of?" A little salaciousness peppered its way through Susan's inquisition.
"No, I'm just sick of everybody else knowing my business. This place has the kind of grapevine that Marvin Gaye gets excited about."
"Abby, Marvin Gaye's been dead for twenty years."
"Exactly." She smiled, combing her fingers through her hair, aggravating the streaks of colour into an even more confused blend.
Susan laughed again, a puzzled smile corked on her face.
Abby turned to face her. "What?"
"Why are we always having these conversations in the bathroom?"
"Ah, we're just that high class."
Soon enough, they were back in the reality of the madness, confusion, sadness, hope and despair of the ER. But not so affected that they did not occasionally stop, pause and smile when they had the chance to reflect on their lives outside of these sacred walls. Even when they left, perhaps the mirrors still were etched with the radiance of their contentment, like an engraver leaves their mark on a trophy or an artist's signature on their masterpiece.