Disclaimer- Don't own Luka Kovac, Sam Taggart, Alex Taggart, deadbeat dad of Alex Taggart, Susan Lewis, Chloe Lewis, little Suzie, Joe, Kerry Weaver, Sandy Lopez, Henry, Robert Romano, or his dog. I don't own ER. I am simply borrowing all of the above. Please don't sue me; I'm not making any money off of this.
A/N- First, an enormous thank you to Brynn for everything in general, you know the reasons I think, yes? Also, thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far, an outsider's perspective is always a great help. These are a bit different from the first two chapters stylistically, maybe better, maybe not. Chronology... Sam's dreaming of an alternate present, Susan of an alternate past, Kerry of an alternate future. As for the last one, I'm not sure if dogs can grasp the concepts of past, present, future, or reality. I'm honestly not quite sure if their thoughts are that coherent either, but I couldn't figure out a better way of getting my point across.
He'd checked his own blood sugar for once. Without complaining. Without being told. And hadn't grumbled when she gave him the insulin injection. That was a first. Maybe Alex was finally growing up. Not likely, but then again maybe... Maybe Luka was a civilizing influence on the kid. Maybe he had decided to stop blaming her for everything, stop being mad about his father. Maybe she was getting ahead of herself. Phone call. Police, oh, right. Oh, Christ. Damn. No new information. Worried sick. Oh God. Literally. Please. Damn it. It'd been thirty six hours and no new information. Damn it. Where was he?
Little Suzie was taking her first steps in those garish red shoes Chloe had sent from Arizona. It was for the best, really, that the kid stays in Chicago. Eventually her sister and brand new brother in law had seen that, decided to let it be. Cute kid. She loved that little girl's laugh, couldn't wait to hear her speak. It had been a tough few months, the battle over custody, but all's well that ends well. And who would have thought a couple of months ago, that she'd be dating Mark Greene? Okay, he wasn't the most handsome of men, but he was a catch in his own way. A little dopey looking, but he had a good heart, and a good smile, and a good laugh when he chose to use it, and he could make her laugh and smile. It was great. Everything was great. Her alarm went off. She was about to hit the snooze button when she realized she had to get up. Poor Elizabeth, poor Ella. Mark's funeral was today.
Closet sun worshiper. Chicago had a way of draining any trace of melanin from one's skin. For the first week, she'd had to be very careful about sun block, not wanting to burn to a crisp, but she'd gradually acquired enough of a tan that she wouldn't burn. At least not easily. Ironically, Sandy, who claimed she never burned, was an interesting shade of red, closely resembling a boiled lobster. Aloe vera, cocoa butter, and SPF 45 for the rest of the trip. Doctor's orders. June and Henry had been slathered in sun block every few hours, but both had picked up a tinge of color. And sun streaks in their hair. Cute. But weren't they always? One splashing in the kiddie pool under the watch of a concerned lifeguard, the other currently napping in Sandy's lap. Sandy who was also napping, her sunburned face under a magazine. Well actually, 'Nature' was probably technically a science journal, but it wasn't her fault someone had forgotten to pack 'People' and 'The Advocate.' And gameboy. Why was there Japanese drumming playing nearby? On a Greek island no less. Taiko. Damn timer. Why had she set the stereo to... Oh right. Court date. She was about to check on Henry, make sure June was awake, and give Sandy a ring at the station to make sure everything was all right, when she realized why she had said court date. And June, well, that just hadn't quite worked out in the end. No time for tears, be strong damn it! Time to face the world.
Baldy throws a stick to me with his good arm. Didn't he used to just have two normal ones once? Oh well. Baldy's bald. Like Baldy. Jump. Catch. Chew. Run. Drop it at his feet. "Good girl," he rubs my ears. Baldy is nice. Baldy. Food. Baldy. Fetch. Maybe his name isn't Baldy. What was mine? Guh... Greh... Gretel? Gretchen? Gurty? Guh something. Catch. Fetch. Shake. Long walks. Baldy is the nice man who feeds me. Fluffy pillows by his bed. Baldy's sleeping. Sun's out. Lick his face. Wait. Concrete. No bed. No pillows. No Baldy. No room. No walks. No catch. Where's Baldy? I miss the nice man. Baldy, walk me? I'll be a good girl. I'll fetch. Please. Baldy. Sorry. Didn't mean to be bad. Sorry. Please. Sorry. Don't understand.
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