"If this keeps up, I'm going to start collecting gopher wood!", John Carter
threw his broken umbrella in the trash and dripped his way to the staff
lounge.

"What?" Malucci was pouring his third cup of coffee for the morning.

"I already saw some animals lined up in twos..."

"I think Dr. Carter is referring to an ark, sixty cubits by sixty." Yoshi
smiled at Malucci's blank stare.

"Yeah." Carter grinned and hung up his rain gear.

"Whatever you say." Malucci shuffled out.

"What's with Dr. Dave?"

"He's half way through a double shift. Pay him no mind." Yoshi explained. "So
what do you and Luka have planned for your second anniversary?"

"Hey, you remembered." John was somewhat surprised.

"It's hard to forget. That was quite a wedding."

"Thanks. Nothing special. We're both working tomorrow. The day after
however..." Carter grinned.

"I see." Yoshi got the point. Laughing, both men headed out to the admit desk.

The rain contributed to a quiet shift. Well, it would have been quiet had it
not been for Malucci's snores blasting down the hall from Curtain One. Carter
smiled, he'd finally met his match in the nocturnal noises department.
Despite the caffeine, Dave sounded like the end of the world was imminent.
Luckily, poor visibility and slick streets did not result in any incoming
traumas. Malucci could snore all he wanted.

Kerry Weaver frowned at the thunderous sounds coming from the area of Curtain
One. Damn. Paperwork was bad enough without having to keep the charts from
bouncing off the table. Just as she was going to bludgeon Sleeping Beauty
into a permanent narcoleptic state, John came in to the room where she was
working. "Here are the supply inventories, the meds roster, and the staff
leave schedules.", he grinned at her exasperated look. "Don't worry. I left
out the best word: 'completed'. They're all done, Dr. Weaver, all you have to
do is sign."

"Bless you. So, what do you want in return?"

"Am I that transparent?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, I was wondering, if Luka and I could get someone to cover for us on
the morning of the 17th... say for four hours or so... could we have the
morning off?"

"I take it you've already lined up two victims."

"Yes. Dr. Chen and Dr. Greene. We've been very sparing of our colleagues
lately."

"Fine. However, I don't want you two to make a habit out of late mornings."

"Scout's honor. Your present of matching shifts is greatly appreciated. I
promise we won't let it go to our heads. Carter grinned at Kerry's blush. Do
you want any help with those charts?"

"Pull up a chair..."

When Luka and John splashed their way to work on the afternoon of November
15th both men were surprised as a chorus of "Happy Anniversary" greeted them.
Randi and her helpers had been busy; balloons and streamers festooned the
admit desk. Someone had found the CD containing the music that accompanied
Luka and John's wedding dance.

"Come on, Dr. Kovac, dance with him!" Malik was grinning from ear to ear. He
didn't have to ask twice. Luka threw off his raincoat with a flourish and
placed his hands on John's shoulders as the raucous music began.

"I hope I remember the steps." John muttered through his teeth.

"Fake it. They'll never know the difference." Luka smiled at John's panicked
look.

As the music continued, Luka twirled John and laughing, both men commenced
the intricate footwork that symbolized two adjoining rings. Thanks to Luka's
powerful lead, John never put a foot wrong. The dance finished with the
entire staff clapping in time to the dissonant, joyous music.

"Happy anniversary, Janaskja." Luka kissed John on the cheek.

John didn't let him get away with it. Putting his arms around Luka's neck,
he kissed him full on the mouth; a long slow, open-mouthed scorcher that had
everyone cheering as Luka swayed on his feet. "Happy anniversary, husband."
John murmured when he could breathe again.

"I can't wait until we're off duty." Luka whispered.

"Been eating your oysters?"

"And cucumber salad..."

"Good. Because I ordered in a king-size Chicago sausage. As a matter of fact
if you don't let go of me, I'll probably have to go through my shift with
white sauce all over my pants." John grinned.

"Heaven forbid, then everybody will want some." Luka released John and they
made their way over to the punch bowl.

The continuing bad weather made for another quiet shift. Apart from some
whiplash cases resulting from rear-enders, there were hardly any patients.
Even the criminal elements were staying put. Twelve hours later, John and
Luka raced for the garage and Carter's jeep. Despite the rain, John got them
home in record time.

They'd moved into a new apartment shortly after their wedding. When John
opened the door, he gaped in astonishment. Bowls of pink rosebuds were
everywhere and small white Christmas lights lined the hallway leading to the
master bedroom. Luka smiled at John's surprise.

"It's wonderful. When did you do all this?"

"On my dinner break."

"I love you, Luka."

"I love you too." Arm in arm they went to the bedroom. More of Luka's lights
were suspended over the bed. John kissed his husband as they began feverishly
undressing each other. Naked, they headed for the bathroom. Luka turned on
the water in the large shower stall as John did his best to lick the skin
from his chest. Luka swept John off of his feet and lifted him into the
streams of warm water. Placing his husband on the tile covered bench, Luka
went on his knees, and began to wash John's feet, ankles, shins. Slowly, he
worked his way upwards, using his lather-covered hands to caress and stroke
John's throbbing erection.

John stood, and began to return the attentions he'd just received. He started
with Luka's broad shoulders, chest, and lightly muscled sides. Then, working
his way down, he resumed his seat and took Luka's penis into his mouth.
They'd dispensed with using condoms six months ago. It had been over three
years since John's surgery, and he and Luka were tested regularly at work.
John sucked rhythmically as Luka began to move his hips in response to the
exquisite sensations that were radiating outward from his groin.

"Ahh Janaskja, you get better at this every time..."

John's head bobbed as if in reply, however, he'd been taught never to talk
when his mouth was full. He did start humming "Happy anniversary to you" as

Luka threw his head back laughing. John never missed a beat, his lips a tight
ring sliding up and down the silky organ, his tongue cradling its sensitive
underside. When he tasted the salty pre-cum, he ceased humming and began to
inhale deeply through his nose as he took Luka's penis to its base. Not long
afterwards Luka came explosively, clutching his husband's shoulders. John
gulped some air as he cleaned the still quivering organ lapping up the
remaining traces of semen. Sighing he leaned back, a slack smile on his lips.

Luka sat next to him on the small bench and began placing soft kisses on
John's cheek, neck and shoulder. "You look as if you enjoyed that."

"Ohhh I did. You taste marvellous. It's a shame your secret sauce is in
limited supply. We could franchise..."

"Oh we could, could we?"

"Yep. 'Is your diet missing that essential source of protein? Have you been
feeling limp lately? Then try Luka's Luscious Liquid: it'll put the lift back
in your every move.'" John said in a smarmy announcer's voice.

"You are truly crazy, you know that?"

"Crazy for you. Crazy in love. That's me."

Luka slithered to his knees in front of John and began to lick the prominent
organ before him. Long passes of his tongue from tip to base had John
squirming, his fingers twining in Luka's hair. When he felt himself pulled
into Luka's mouth, he rested his head against the wall of the shower and
yielded to the magnificent sensory banquet. Although his technique was
different, Luka's attentions were vigorous in the extreme. John's groans
began just as Luka tasted pre-ejaculate. Doubling his efforts, Luka did his
best to consume all of John, not just the slender penis, but all of him. The
powerful suction did its work. John's climax almost resulted in a fractured
skull as he jerked convulsively while Luka drained him.

Leaning forward he kissed Luka, savoring the flavor of his own seed. They sat
for awhile letting the warm water flow over them, basking in the afterglow.
Luka finally got to his feet and without warning, turned off the hot water.
Icy needles brought John to his feet with a yelp. "Never mind me, *you're*
the lunatic!"

"Wakey-wakey. A cold shower is guaranteed to refresh the spirit and restore
the soul." Luka said through chattering teeth as they stepped out of the
frigid water.

"Maybe in a monastery... But since I didn't take a vow of chastity, I fail to
see the benefit."

"Well, it *will* make it necessary for me to make you hard again." Luka
murmured in John's ear as he rubbed a towel over John's quivering torso.

"I never thought of that." John grinned rubbing his own towel over Luka's
backside. Rolling the material, he snapped it at Luka's butt as his husband
hastily retreated into the bedroom. John took a flying leap onto the mattress
landing next to Luka, cold water flying from his hair. He wrapped himself
around his mate kissing every inch he could reach. Before long, they'd warmed
themselves.

"Ding! And it's Round Two in the Cyril Madison Square Garden of Earthly
Delight!" John announced. "In this corner we have the Curvaceous Croatian,
Lucky Luka 'Doc' Kovac. His partner tonight is Jumping Johnny 'Cocksman'
Carter. It's anybody's match folks, let the games begin." John leaned over to
reach the tube of lubricant as Luka guffawed. His mirthful outburst was cut
short as John began to generously apply lubricant to Luka's anal opening, his
fingers pushing the gel deep inside.

"Do you need any help?" Luka husked

"I'd thought you'd never ask."

Luka sensually applied lubricant to John's stiffening penis. Then he lay back
as John got into position. John entered carefully, allowing the feel of
Luka's tight orifice to bring him fully erect. Nodding to himself, John began
to thrust rapidly then slowed, then began again with his rapid jabs. His sex
research continued to delight and surprise his spouse. Luka started to moan
as the fast-slow combinations went on and on. His last concious thought was
to make John take more cold showers. His husband had the stamina of a
marathon runner.

John softly stroked Luka's erection in time to the motions of his hips. A
thin line of saliva flowed from a corner of his husband's mouth. Luka had to
be deeply aroused for that to happen. Smiling, John began to push in earnest.
A continuous moaning sound now issued from Luka's lips then hoarsely shouted
Croatian phrases. A fountain of semen followed. Panting, John allowed himself
to reach his own climax. Through the red haze enveloping what was left of his
mind, Luka felt the warmth from John's seed filling him. When he could open
his eyes, he saw John seated on his heels, his chest heaving.

"You're wonderful. Thank you for marrying me. Thank you for loving me." John
smiled and Luka's heart turned over inside him. This tender, oddly shy smile
belonged to Luka alone. No one else ever saw this side of John Truman Carter
except the man he loved. "Come up here." John silently complied pulling the
comforter along with him. They fell asleep wrapped around each other.

* * * * *

Roland and Millicent were invited to an anniversary dinner the following
evening. Laura and Honoria Barbara Carter had phoned earlier that morning
from London to wish the couple well. John and Luka spent their day off
between the bedroom and the kitchen. Thanks to lessons from Kerry, John was
becoming an adept, if unorthodox cook. As various portions of the meal were
prepared then placed in the refrigerator to chill or the oven to bake, they
would get in a "quickie". "This sure beats the living hell out of a kitchen
timer." John observed, after Luka took him up against the door of the
refrigerator while egg whites for the mousse set themselves inside.

The meal was delicious. After desert, Millicent offered the happy couple
their anniversary gift. John placed the beautifully wrapped package on the
table. He glanced at Luka, who nodded grinning. John pulled off the scarlet
ribbon then ripped open the gold paper. When he lifted the lid, he saw what
appeared to be two white waiter's jackets. Lifting them up, he revealed them
to be two custom-tailored lab coats. John and Luka's names were embroidered
on the pockets: John Truman Kovac-Carter and Luka Aleksandr Carter-Kovac.

Almost tripping over his chair, John hugged his grandmother. "They're
wonderful. Thank you, Gamma."

"The paperwork for your union is also in there. All you have to do is sign
them, and you will be as married as the state of Illinois allows."

Luka pulled open the large manilla envelope. Inside were blue-lined
legal-sized papers making them each other's physician of record and insurance
beneficiaries, papers needed to legally change their surnames, papers
providing each man with power of attorney for the other, as well as draft
copies of two wills. "Thank you, grandmamma." Luka smiled.

"You're most welcome, grandson." Millicent replied gravely, her eyes
twinkling. "But don't rush to thank me just yet. Neither of you have told
Richard what you want done with John's inheritance."

"We're still discussing it. We'll call him by the end of the week." Luka and
John had been talking about this subject off and on for nearly a year.

"So long as you attend to it. Your father and I won't live forever."

"Speak for yourself, Mother. I don't intend to die until these two make me a
grandfather the hard way.", he nearly choked on his wine laughing, as John's
mouth fell open. Roland had overheard John teasing Luka one day and now
revealed his inside knowledge of their running joke. "I've already picked out
my suit for the Jerry Springer show." John blushed furiously while Luka
laughed at his husband's crimson cheeks.

"It's a deal." Luka choked out; if John could only see the expression on his
face. Still laughing, the family went into the living room.

"If he ever mentions 'Luka's Luscious Liquid,' you're a dead man." John
muttured under his breath as he followed Luka into the living room with the
coffee service.

Luka's grandmother used to say, "Although we must celebrate everyday
God sends to us, every day can't be a celebration." Relationships
change over time. Fortunately, to John and Luka, it seemed theirs had
changed for the better. They loved each other as much as they did in
the beginning. Their commitment to each other, steady and strong,
remained as solid as ever but their outward expression of this
commitment, became part of a more balanced whole.

At work, professionalism shaped their public demeanor. A quick peck
on the cheek as a greeting or farewell gesture and the
occasional "love you" were their only overt demonstrations of
affection. However, like an iceberg, these outward signs were only
the visible tip of feelings that had deepened over time. Oddly
enough, Luka, who'd always been so serious, now indulged in a hidden
prediliction for practical jokes. By now, Luka had accepted the ways
and habits of his new country. His approach to medicine lightened
somewhat as a result of inner happiness and his realization that
although this was a violent culture in many aspects, it was not the
same as living in a war zone.

Meanwhile, John had sobered up in more ways than one. His addiction
to pain killers had scared him badly, so although he'd been taken off
Prozac, he still abstained from alcohol, realizing that it was a
chemical depressant. The odd glass of wine with a celebratory meal
and weekly sips at communion constituted all the drinking he
permitted himself. John's love of his work also intensified and he
would be the first to admit that the gangly, awkward "Carter" who
first came to County did not exist anymore. Patients still looked
somewhat askance at his youthful appearance; but once he began
working with them, even the most skeptical could recognize a mature
and dedicated practitioner.

Their days largely consisted of work and lots of it. The pre-
Christmas rush was on in full swing. Despite the best wishes of
merchants and greeting card companies, there were numerous people who
felt at odds with commerce-driven artificial gaiety. They presented
themselves to Cooke County General in the form of attempted suicides
and as victims of muggings and domestic violence. The party animals
also checked in by drinking and driving, getting caught up in bar
fights, and over-indulging in chemical cheer.

When their shifts permitted, John and Luka would usually stagger home
together and fall into bed. A few minutes of pillow talk, a couple of
kisses and both men would be asleep. Nightmares which had plagued
them a year ago had become a rarity. As the holidays came and went,
John observed to Jing-Mei that they were just like any other hard-
working married couple. What he didn't say was although they made
love less often, the sex was better than ever. Shortly after Twelfth
Night, all of this idyllic boredom came to a disturbing halt. Like
most cataclysmic storms, this one began with light flurries: a series
of odd anonymous letters.

* * * * *
"Did you get the mail?" Luka yawned.

"It's on the dining room table." John's voice called out from the
kitchen where he was preparing their nightcaps: a glass of wine for
Luka and some herbal tea for himself.

Luka looked through the assortment of advertisments, bills, and
medical journals. He almost missed the small white envelope that had
slipped inside of a magazine. Noting its type-written address, Luka
opened it and stared at a threatening message. "Justice will come,
even unto to the killers of the innocent. Prepare yourself."
Frowning, Luka examined the address once more. The letter was his
alright.

"Anything interesting?" John handed Luka his drink. He'd put on his
caftan which had seen better days. Although Luka offered to replace
the much-worn garment, John would have none of it.

"Something odd." Luka gave the letter to John who read it and
shrugged.

"Some crank. It's probably nothing. Are you hungry?"

"Perhaps. What are you offering?" Luka smiled.

"That depends on what you want to eat." John grinned back.

"You."

"Well, the kitchen is closed for the night, but I think I can manage
to serve one more customer." John indulged himself with a long kiss.
The letter was tossed in the trash and forgotten as John knelt and
began to attend to his "patron". Just when things were getting very
interesting indeed, John stood, winked and went into the bedroom.
Luka, his penis protruding from his trousers hastily followed.

"Are you going to finish what you started?"

"Perhaps... I've been feeling a little empty lately. You know, that
run-down feeling."John tried his best to keep from smiling.
Nevertheless, his eyes telegraphed his amusement.

"Oh you have, have you?"

"Yes, Doctor. I think a thorough rectal exam would be just the
ticket."

"Coming right up."

"Ohhh I hope so."

Luka pushed John onto the bed and ran his hands up under the red silk
making his husband shiver as he did so. Pausing only to remove his
clothes and fetch the lubricant, Luka applied the cool gel to himself
and to John. "Lift your hips, please." John complied. Luka entered
his husband slowly, promising himself to make this last as long as
possible. After a couple of minutes elapsed, John opened his eyes.

"Is something wrong?"

"Nope. I'm trying to figure out the best way to treat your symptoms."

"Quickly.", was the short reply.

"Who's the doctor here?" Luka grinned as John rolled his eyes. He
began to thrust forward gently but inexorably.

"Any deeper my love, and you'll poke a hole in the mattress." John
growled.

"Any more words from you and you'll finish this alone."

John grinned and pulled an imaginary zipper across his lips as Luka
slowly withdrew then re-entered. John bit his lower lip to keep
silent as this delightful torture continued. Luka never took his eyes
off his husband whose face had reddened then paled then grew flush
again. Gasps and sighs were the only sounds he made as Luka moved in
slow motion. Just when John thought he could keep silent no longer,
Luka began to thrust rapidly, holding John's hips in place.

When his husband's eyes rolled up and his eyelids fluttered closed,
Luka ceased his movements. The brown eyes flew open again and Luka
resumed his slow lunges. Twice more, John's eyes closed and twice
more Luka stopped what he was doing. John got the message. He focused
on his husband as he picked up the pace for the last time. With a
shout, Luka climaxed explosively. John thought he'd never seen
anything more breath-taking than his husband's face as he came.

"Ja ljubav te.", John whispered as Luka collapsed on top of him. "Ja
ljubav te."

* * * * *

Over the following weeks, more letters came. All of them typewritten
and all of them containing variations on the threat contained in the
first one. Luka began to dread getting the mail. John shared his
concern.

"Maybe it's my grandfather. He's always got something stashed up his
sleeve. I wouldn't put it past the old bastard to have bribed his
keepers." John said quietly.

"I thought that too, at first. But look at this one..."

John took the letter. "You cannot escape the vengeance of
God. 'Butcher of L*****e,' you will be led like a lamb to the
slaughter." *

"What's this word?" John pointed to the place name.

"It's a small village about sixty kilometers from where I grew up.
The only reason I know it is due to my father. He was a conductor on
the railway. His regular run included a stop at that village on
market days. I doubt seriously if your grandfather has ever heard of
this place, or ever run into anyone who has."

"So it's someone from the old country who's also a crank." John
offered hopefully.

"Perhaps, but I doubt it."

"Do you want to tell the police about these?"

"I can't possibly see what good that will do. If I have no clues to
the reason behind this, how could they come up with anything?"

"I suppose... but they could trace them maybe."

"How?"

"The postmark. Maybe the typewriter. I don't know."

"And maybe they'll reach the same conclusions I did. The threats are
vague. The postmark belongs to the central Post Office. I checked.
And as for searching for one typewriter out of thousands in the
greater Chicago area; assuming the letters and envelopes are typed
here as well as mailed here..."

"I see what you mean. Nevertheless, I'd feel better if you told the
police. Sometimes letter writers don't remain content with the postal
system. Suppose they want to deliver a message to you in person?"

"You really think that might happen?"

"Did you think my grandfather would have me kidnapped?"

"Point." Luka was alarmed now. Although he had no undue worry about
himself. The possibility that John could be in danger was something
else entirely. "I'll call them from work tomorrow. I promise."

"Thanks, husband of mine. I'd hate for the author of these notes to
run off with the only supplier of Croatian sausage who delivers."
John tried to smile. He was more worried than he let on.

Luka called Lydia's husband, Al, from work the following morning.
Admitting that he knew there was really nothing to be done about the
situation, he asked Al to submit a report anyway. Months later, he
thanked John for making him do so. However, at the time, it seemed a
wasted effort. John later insisted that February was his least
favorite month. Apart from being stabbed, he realized that many of
the crises in his life either began in that darkest of winter months,
or came to a boiling point.

Randi had the honors of launching the next phase of events. A week
after Valentine's Day, she called Luka to the desk to see an agent
from the Immigration and Naturalization Service. Completely confused,
Luka ushered the man into the lounge. He'd been a citizen for over
three years and had no idea why the INS would show up now.

"Dr. Kovac? I am sorry to have to tell you, but our office has
received reports naming you as a perpetrator of war crimes. Three
individuals have come forward stating they can identify you as the
man responsible for the deaths of over 150 men, women and children in
the village of L*****e. You are hereby summoned to appear before them
on Monday. If they do identify you, our office will then turn the
matter over to the Justice Department's Division of War Crimes for
adjudication or processing." The portly man handed over an official
envelope.

"Excuse me, but I have no idea what you are talking about." Luka
finally managed to say. Yes, I come from what is now Bosnia-
Herzegovinia. I've even ridden through this village when I was about
nine years old. But I don't know how three or thirty-three witnesses
could identify me. Are you sure you have the right Kovac? It's a
pretty common name back home."

"Yes. Luka Aleksandr Kovac. And if I were you, I wouldn't say
anything else without talking to a lawyer. You do realize you just
admitted to me that you'd been to this place?"

"Why wouldn't I? I told you, I was a child at the time. My father
worked for the railway. He used to take me and my little brother with
him sometimes on his runs. I never got off the train. Since it wasn't
market day, the train didn't even stop there. We rode through to the
end of the line and back again."

"Well, I still wouldn't say anything. All of the accusations are
outlined in your copy of the summons. Get a lawyer. That's the only
advice I'm allowed to give you." The man put on his hat and left Luka
standing holding the envelope. Sighing, he put the summons in his
pocket and went to find Kerry Weaver. It looked as if he and John
would need part of Monday off. It went without saying that his
husband would want to be there.

That evening, Luka told John everything. The younger man was silent
for a few minutes thinking. "Now, those anonymous letters make sense.
I hoped you saved them."

"Yes I did. But I don't see what they have to do with this latest
turn of events."

"Luka, it's obvious somebody knew the INS was receiving reports about
the perpetrator of this massacre. We know *you* didn't have anything
to do with it, but they don't. If the investigation was leaked, how
do we know your name wasn't planted with the authorities from the
beginning? This is either an unfortunate case of grossly mistaken
identity or, somebody wants to get back at you for something and the
fate of this poor village is the means whereby they are going to get
their revenge." John explained.

"You're probably right. But if this is part of some plot, I don't see
how I can clear my name. If the witnesses are lying, they'll identify
me on Monday, and that will be the end of it. Citizen or no, I'll be
deported."

"Whoa, Sascha. First of all it's *our* name. I'm legally John T.
Kovac-Carter, remember?" John smiled. "Second, the date of the
massacre is in the summons. All we have to do is prove you were
somewhere else."

"Do you know how difficult that will be? A war was going on. People
moved, died, were taken away..."

"I didn't say it would be easy, but it should be possible. Would you
like me to call our family lawyer? He could recommend someone to help
us."

"Janaskja, I don't want you to have to run to your family on my
behalf. I know how you hate taking anything from them."

"This would not be on *my* behalf. It's on *our* behalf, husband.
I'll call Richard in the morning. Now, why don't you come to bed. I
think I can manage to take your mind of this for a while." John gave
Luka a quick kiss and headed to the bedroom. "It's time you
fertilized my rosebud." John called out.

Shaking his head but smiling nonetheless, Luka got up to follow.
Despite John's hopeful suggestions, he was prepared for the worst. At
least a rigorous bedtime workout had the benefit of producing deep
sleep.

* * * * *

Kerry agreed with John's assessment of the accusations and granted
them the necessary leave to appear at the hearing. Richard ffolliot,
the Carter family lawyer had suggested one of his partners, a young
woman named Phillipa Taylor, act on Luka's behalf. After one meeting,
both men accepted her services.

Monday afternoon arrived all too soon. They were escorted to a medium-
sized conference room. The usual trappings associated with legal
proceedings were noticeably absent. John, Luka, and Phillipa took
seats at the oblong table. Phillipa pulled out a yellow pad and
smiled reassuringly at both men.

"This is a preliminary procedure at which it will be determined if
the witnesses' identification of the accused is solid enough to
necessitate actual legal proceedings. When the time comes, Luka will
be taken to a waiting room containing other men of similar age and
coloring. Most will be employees in this building, some will have
been selected at random from off the street. Once Luka has entered
the room and sat down, the three witnesses will be allowed to observe
the group of men through a one-way window.

"If they fail to identify Luka. We all go home. If they do make an
identification, this matter will be turned over to the Justice
Department. Are you guys with me so far?" John and Luka
nodded. "Great. The Justice Department must then assemble or gather
sufficient evidence before scheduling a hearing. If the evidence
warrants further action, this hearing will allow the witnesses to
confront the accused with their accounts of the events in question.
The accused will also be able to present evidence in support of his
or her innocence. A panel consisting of three Federal judges will
render a decision based on the evidence." Phillipa paused.

"These judges can make one of four rulings. One: the evidence is
insufficient and no further investigation is warranted; and the
accused is free to go but is not officially cleared. Two: the
evidence is insufficient yet indicates that further investigation
would prove helpful; and the accused is free to go pending the
scheduling of a second hearing. Three: the evidence is insufficient
to support a formal indictment and the accused is free to go with his
or her name cleared. Four: the evidence is sufficient to warrant the
issuance of a formal Federal indictment and the accused is deported
to face the charges in the country where the alleged events occured."
Phillipa finished explaining. My job is to prepare for the fourth
possibility *now* so that it will not happen." **

"Dr. Kovac?" The man who'd delivered the summons to Luka at County
was at the door. "If you would come with me please."

Luka squeezed John's shoulder, got up and left the room. In the
hallway he saw about thirty other men; all with dark hair and eyes
standing in two lines. Taking a place in the middle of the second
line, Luka went with them to another room. Its sole furnishings were
a "mirror" on the wall facing about fifty plastic chairs arranged in
five rows. The portly official seated the men at random; told them
they were free to talk and left. At first everyone was silent, then
by fits and starts, snippets of conversation began. Some of the
participants wondered what this was all about. Most of them talked
about last night's game between the Bulls and the Pacers. The
remaining men sat quietly listening.

After about half an hour, the official came back. "Thank you for your
service to our government. Gentlemen, you may leave." Everyone stood
and headed for the door. By previous arrangement, Luka waited in the
hall outside the conference room until the official returned. The two
men re-entered the room. "Dr. Kovac, I'm sorry. All three witnesses
identified you easily. There was no hesitation from any of them. The
Justice Department will arrange to interview you. I would advise you
to make yourself available to them. If you have no further questions,
you may also leave."

"One request, Mr. Symonds." Phillipa spoke up briskly. The summons
provided only a precis of the alleged events in question. I will need
copies of all the statements made by these, and any other witnesses
you have talked with. I fully accept that these statements will not
contain any means whereby my client can make identification of these
witnesses."

"I anticipated this, Ms. Taylor. The documents you need will be faxed
to your office this afternoon." Symonds left.

"I'm sorry, guys. I always prepare for the worst, but I also hope for
the best. It looks as if someone has an axe to grind. Luka, I fully
intend to make sure that your neck is not the one they use it on. As
soon as I have studied the statements, I'll arrange for us to get
together and map out our strategy. Don't worry too much. My
grandparents were survivors of concentration camps. If I had any
doubts whatsoever about your innocence, I wouldn't be here. Trust me.
This will all come to nothing."

"Thank you, Phillipa. We'll be waiting for your call." John and Luka
headed for the elevators.

"I'm sorry, also, Sascha." John said quietly. He too, had been hoping
for the best.

Author's Note:
* In the time honored tradition of lazy authors and those desirous of
avoiding lawsuits, most foreign place names used in this story are
not fully revealed. This saves me from having to look them up (ugh)
or make them up and get it completely wrong (double ugh).

** Yeah, I know. The actual legal process for the adjudication and
deportation of war criminals is labyrinthine in its complexity and
can take *decades* to reach a conclusion. For the purposes of this
story, I am assuming that everything works correctly the first time.
Our show of shows is always altering legal realities to fit the story
line. Can I do any worse? KPP

John and Luka finished their Monday shifts and went home. Only Kerry
was made privy to the threat hanging over their heads. Both men told
her they'd work overtime, knowing they would need additional time off
in the future. None of them wanted to think about the need to take
extended leave, let alone, leave County.

Travelling home on the 'El, John and Luka said nothing, each occupied
with his own thoughts. John went to the kitchen to prepare their
evening drinks while Luka went to the bathroom.

"Alright, Sascha. I know you're worried about something, and I know
it's serious. You've spent most of today with your arms wrapped
around yourself, chewing your thumbnail to the quick." They were in
bed. The lights were off. A soft glow from the street lamps
illuminated the room.

Luka smiled sadly. "For this to work, I've got to tell the truth.
Tell everything to Phillipa so she can make thorough preparations,
no?" John nodded. Luka's use of the spoken question mark now only
happened when he was nervous or really worried about something. "This
accusation is false, but I *have* killed people."

"Do you want to talk about it?" John put his arms around his husband
and his head on Luka's shoulder.

"No, but I'm going to anyway. Some months after I came to County, I
started hanging out with Abby."

"I remember. I was jealous as hell." John smiled wryly.

"Well, nothing happened." *

"I know that too. It's the only reason she's still got all of her
limbs."

"Early one morning, I was walking her home and this guy tried to grab
her purse. I think I had a flashback or something, because the next
thing I remember, she was pulling me off the man. I'd been beating
his head into the sidewalk. He was taken to County, they worked on
him for a while then he died. The police questioned me, and we both
lied about the danger we were in and the ferocity of his attack.
That's when I started seeing a therapist. I'm sorry I never told you
before, Janaskja."

"But no formal charges were made."

"At the time. But now, I'm going to have to tell the whole story to
Phillipa. There is a police file on the case, with my name in it. I
have to assume the Justice Department will see it and want to
investigate."

"I was luckier." John said in a low voice. There was no way he could
let Luka believe himself to be alone in carrying this kind of
guilt. "There was no police report about the man I murdered." John
said quietly. He'd been dreading this moment.

"*You've* killed someone? I don't believe it. I mean, we all lose
patients..." Luka sat up and looked at John who slowly shook his head.

"It was a patient, but it wasn't an accident. That's what made it so
terrible. I broke my oath. I used my power as a physician to
deliberately kill someone."

"In God's name, what happened?"

"He'd been shot, while attempting to rape an elderly woman. The
police believed he'd done this at least three times before. The
security guard who shot him was killed by the alleged rapist. Dr. del
Amico and I treated the suspect. While we were attempting to ease the
pressure from his P-cT, I realized that with one slip of the scalpel he'd be gone. I
nicked his heart and he bled all over the floor. We were down to our
last three units of blood. So I auto-transfused, rather than use
blood which could have saved an innocent person for someone I
believed didn't deserve to live. Needless to say, his blood volume
was not not high enough and he died on the operating table. I often
thought what happened to Lucy and me was God's punishment for my pre-
empting His judgement."

"Merciful Savior." Luka breathed.

"Exactly. I guess God *has* forgiven me a little, because he sent you
to me. I'm still working on forgiving myself." John sighed. "You
know, not a day goes by when I don't think about what I did. I've
talked to my therapist and confessed to my priest. I received penance
and I've been absolved. I know I'll never do anything like that ever
again, but nothing can undo what I did."

"What penance?" Luka was finding this hard to believe.

"The Novena: twice daily for the rest of my life. The only days I've
missed were right after I was stabbed. They didn't let me have a
rosary in ICU so I prayed from memory. It's also why I've been so
reluctant to take money from my family." John explained in a low
voice.

"But I've never seen you..." Luka objected.

"I'm not proud of what I did. I didn't *want* you to see me. I
usually get the first one in while you're asleep. I pray the second
one at work on my meal break, most times in the Chapel. I've tried to
work up the courage to tell you what I did, but I loved you too much
and, more honestly... I valued your opinion of me too highly. You
told me I could never disappoint you and, God help me, I lied to keep
your love. I told you I wasn't harboring anymore secrets. That wasn't
true. What you did to that would-be mugger was bad, but it resulted
from your past. I have no such excuse. Nothing that my grandfather
did, or my family didn't do, can ever justify my killing that man. I
was arrogant and proud and he paid the price for my sins." John was
crying silently.

Luka took John into his arms and held him gently. "What I said then,
is *still* true. I am not disappointed in you, Janaskja. I love as
much, if not more than ever. You *told* me you were human. If every
physician who has played God as you did were to publicly confess,
most of us would be behind bars. Please, forgive yourself, beloved.
You made a terrible mistake and you are a better person for it. Don't
cry anymore. I love you too much to see you in pain like this."

"Don't say that unless you really mean it, Luka. You're too good a
person to have done what I did. I hate that foolish immature idiot
who took the law into his own hands. You should have seen how Dr. del
Amico looked at me when I did it... *She* knew it wasn't an accident.
Believe me, I'll understand if you are angry and disappointed with me
for lying to you. I'll also understand if your feelings toward me
change."

"Janaskja, I haven't been blinded by my love for you. I was watching
as you worked so hard to be a better person and now I understand what
was driving you. The young man who succumbed to temptation is gone.
Although I could have loved him very much, I love the man he's become
even more. If we have to wait until we are perfect before we can
deserve the love of others, we'd all be spending our lives alone. The
God who loves us, is a god of second chances, even thirds. We were
commanded to forgive seventy times seven, don't you think our perfect
God forgives even more?" Luka pointed out as he stroked John's hair.

"For most of your life, you were told you *were* a disappointment, a
failure. That you found it hard to tell me something bad about
yourself is only natural. That evil old man may not have scarred your
body, but he certainly wounded your soul. I'm not excusing what you
did. I can't; anymore than I can excuse what *I* did. But I *do*
understand why you didn't tell me and I'm telling you it's okay."

"You don't hate me?" John whispered.

"No. I *couldn't.* Not now. Not ever. I never believed you were
perfect, only that you were perfect for me." Luka's eyes were wet
now. "If I live to be a million years old, I could never love you
more than I do at this moment. You could have let me confess and said
nothing. Don't you think I realize how much courage it took for you
to tell me about this?" He kissed John on the forehead then held him
closely.

"Thank you, Luka. You can't know how scared I was to tell you.
Nothing Hell has to offer could be worse than losing your love." John
said in a broken voice.

"From now on, I'll join you in your penance. For better or for worse,
remember?"

"Yes." John lay back against his pillows. "You said you'd
killed 'people', I take it that means you've killed more than once?"

"Yes. There was one other man, in Croatia. It was an accident, but
he's dead just the same." Luka said flatly. He prayed that no matter
what happened, he could somehow convince John once and for all that
he deserved to be loved.

* * * * *

Although Kerry Weaver was the only one who knew the specifics of the
impending proceedings, everyone had heard that the INS had paid a
call on Luka. Rumors were flying; ranging from the mundane to the
preposterous. John and Luka said nothing when asked what was going
on. Their joint silence added fuel to the gossip machine. Kerry
called a meeting with County's Administrator, its lawyer, Philippa
Taylor, Dr. Romano, John, and Luka. Something had to be done before
the press got wind of what was going on.

A week later, the parties assembled in a conference room. Philippa
briefly outlined the problem and stated for the record her complete
confidence in her client's innocence. For the first time, she
revealed what Luka had been able to remember about the relevant time.
On the days leading up to, during, and following the massacre, Luka
had been flat on his back in a hospital over 100 kilometers away from
L*****e. She told them that he remembered very little of his time
there because he'd been extremely ill. Philippa brought her short
presentation to a close by saying the search for corroborative
witnesses to Luka's true whereabouts was underway.

The hospital attorney nodded. "If asked, can we release the alibi to
the press?"

"I'd prefer that you didn't." Philippa replied. "But, I know you are
equally eager to make sure your institution is not accused of
harboring a war criminal. If you feel there is no other way to make
this clear to reporters, you may mention the alibi. I have prepared a
draft statement you can use in a press release should it come to
that. It emphasizes that Dr. Kovac is cooperating fully with the
Justice Department and is confident that his name will be cleared."
She handed over a folder containing the draft.

"Thank you for taking the time to brief us on this matter, Ms.
Taylor." Dr. Romano was unusually well-mannered. As Chief of Staff, I
would like to be kept current with all developments. This hospital
will stand by its employee while making it possible for him to
continue cooperating with you and the Justice Department."

Kerry blinked her eyes. At best, she'd been expecting the short-
tempered surgeon to be making sarcastic witticisms at Luka's expense.
At worst, she was fully prepared to protest Luka's being placed on
administrative leave pending a resolution of his case. What she
didn't know was that at John's suggestion, Luka had gone to see
Romano at his home and told him everything he could remember of the
events following the death of his family up until he reached the
United States. By the simple means of looking up Romano's family
in "Who's Who", John had discovered their Chief came from a military
background.**

"He should be better able than most to understand what it was like,
Sascha. This is going to be bad enough without Rocket putting his
withering two cents worth into the mix at every given opportunity. Co-
opt, the guy. Tell him everything you told me. I think he'll
appreciate the advance warning." John's suggestion had been a good
one. While Luka explained things to the Chief of Staff, John had
amused himself by playing with Gretel. Although he didn't know it at
the time, Gretel's reaction to the couple put Romano on their side.
Her owner had even suggested names of US military commanders who
could help Philippa organize her search for witnesses.

John smiled at Kerry's look of surprise and felt Luka squeeze his
hand under the table.

"What about the other matter?", the Administrator asked.

"Excuse me?" Philippa was confused. "To what matter are you
referring?"

"Two years ago, this hospital was inundated with press inquiries
about Dr. Kovac and Dr. Carter's relationship. If this latest problem
gets into the media, we should be prepared to cope with it."

"How did you deal with it before?" Philippa asked.

"We didn't." Kerry spoke up. Cooke County law recognizes the right of
gays, lesbians, transgendered, and bisexual individuals to be
employed by its government and adjunct institutions. Our own HR
department policies mirror this. It's a non-issue." ***

"Nevertheless, a continuing string of 'No comments' will begin to
look as if we are ..."

"... protecting the privacy of two valued employees." The hospital's
attorney broke in. "If prurient interest on the part of the press
begins to annoy you Jonathan, refer all of the little weasels to me.
I'm sure I can make it plain to them that we are simply upholding
County law by not catering to their gutter imaginations."

The Administrator nodded. He was uncomfortable with this issue and
would be more than willing to have someone else take the heat.

"Dr. Weaver? What are you going to tell your staff?" Romano wanted to
know.

"The truth. Dr. Kovac is cooperating with the Justice Department in
its inquiry into events which took place before he came to the United
States. If this doesn't quash the worst of the gossips, I'll mention
the inquiry is in regard to alleged war crimes and we are confident
that Dr. Kovac's name will be cleared."

"I see. Thank you. Well, if there are no further questions?..."
Rocket glared at the Administrator who pretended not to
notice. "We've all got more important things to do. We're adjourned."
Romano left the room without looking back. The others did not take
too long before following his example.

"Are you guys OK?" Kerry asked as they rode back down to the ER.

"As well as can be expected, Dr. Weaver." Luka replied. "I'll be very
glad when all of this is over."

"Me too." John nodded.

"So it's unanimous. Well, I might as well brief the troops. Why don't
the two of you cover the desk. You've already heard all I plan to
say."

"It will be a pleasure, Doctor."

Author's Note:

* Hey folks, for the purposes of this story, Luka's right. Nothing
did happen. I never really thought they made a good on-screen couple
anyway. Cathy Roberts and Scott J. Welles are doing a much better job
in "The Eternal Quadrangle" (big S-E Grin).

** Hey folks, this factoid came from Invicta's story "Hail to the
Chief".

*** If Cooke County law doesn't, it should. KPP

Luka's accounting of his past to Dr. Romano was thorough enough as
far as it went. He didn't include many details for the latter. What
he told his husband was far more descriptive. After that morning,
John didn't think he'd ever get the terrible images out of his head...

Funerals are luxuries in war time. Massive re-settlements separate
families leaving numerous unclaimed dead. Draconian induction
procedures mean able-bodied men are scarce. Malnutrition practically
guarantees that any energy spent on digging is invested in trying to
grow crops which can be harvested quickly and require a minimum of
maintenance. Unidentified bodies are usually shovelled into large
pits and cremated. Those crushed inside of bombed buildings remain
where they died until they are picked clean. Rats thrive in war zones.

For a grieving husband and father, Luka was fortunate. His two-day
vigil over the bodies of his wife and children ended with the arrival
of human scavengers seeking foodstuffs, bedding, and other re-usable
debris. Their confrontation with the tragic picture of a man whose
entire world had just been destroyed, resulted in the bestowal of
that rarest luxury, compassion. These bipedal jackals became human
beings once more; long enough to help Luka carry Marije, Anja, and
Solje to a nearby park and bury them.

There were no coffins; none of the trappings associated with formal
grieving. Nevertheless, Luka had been left with something few of his
neighbors had: a gravesite to visit. He never found the food rations
that had cost him everything he loved. If he had, there would have
been no way he could have consumed them. It would have been like
cannabalism. A loaf of bread, some powdered milk, and tinned meat had
taken him away from his family when they needed him the most. To eat
that food would have been the same as eating their corpses.

As time passed, Luka began to take grim comfort in their deaths.
Until his town was bombed, the worst of the war had remained at a
distance. Now he was homeless, drifting from one abandoned building
to the next. Hearing stories of rape, mutilation, and torture was one
thing. Seeing it was worse... much worse.

Marije and Luka had been a handsome couple. Their daughters resembled
them. Beautiful little girls that Luka called his jewels. Anja's jet-
black hair curled softly as her mother's did. Baby Solje had reddish
brown hair that was thick and soft like her father's. The two girls
also had been blessed with Luka's eyes. Most people thought they were
brown, but upon more prolonged observation, it could be seen that
their eyes seemed to change color responding to the amount of ambient
light: from a tawny gold, to a deep brown that was almost black.

Had they lived, had they been with him now, he would have been hard-
pressed to protect them from the wolves in military clothing who did
not care if a woman was willing or not. Marauding bands of guerilla-
style militias were even worse. They often killed the unfortunate
women who crossed them or merely crossed their path, but only after
making the victim long for her death.

Luka had only recently completed his medical training. His course-
work and residency were accelerated by war-time conditions. Rather
than leaving him under-prepared, these crash courses in the worst of
trauma medicine made him expert at procedures no peace-time doctor
would perform more than once or twice in a lifetime. Amputations
(with or without anaesthetics), the removal of shrapnel, bullets,
bomb fragments---in addition to treating cholera, dysentery, typhoid,
and typhus put Luka way ahead of his future associates at Cooke
County General.

After two months of living like an animal, Luka returned to his work.
He'd been approached by Mateus Rovic, a former neighbor and fellow
Croatian who had recently put together a militia band. His fledgling
group needed a doctor. Luka would receive generous rations and the
chance for revenge on those who had caused the deaths of his family.
Mateus admitted it would be highly unlikely that the bombadiers who'd
actually done the deed would ever find themselves in the militia's
grasp, but nevertheless, their compatriots could pay handsomely in
their stead.

At first Luka, refused the offer. Scatter-shot vengeance was little
better than murder; making him as bad as those who'd killed his wife
and daughters. However, when he found himself eating from a rubbish
heap and drinking water from the gutters of a bombed-out church, Luka
went to find Mateus and accepted his offer with one proviso.

"I will not carry any weapons other than my wits. I will not be
trained in their use. I will wear a red cross on my person and if I
am needed to treat someone who is not a member of your group, I will
do so. My services are too valuable to be reserved solely for your
associates."

Mateus agreed to this. He would have agreed to anything to get his
hands on a real doctor with the proper training. If he charged fees
for Luka's "moonlighting" behind his back, all the better. A war was
raging. As far as Mateus was concerned, the Hippocratic Oath was
another peacetime luxury that would only be in the way. The two men
shook hands and Luka followed his new commander to a deserted theatre
where the group was headquartered.

It was like a surrealist nightmare. Bullet-pocked roccoco gilt swags
decorated balconies now used to store petrol, grenades, landmines,
ammunition, and rifles. The plush velvet seats had been ripped out of
the floor, their cushions used to form pallets for sleeping and other
horizontal activities. The raked stage stripped of its curtains and
lighting fixtures provided grotesque scenery for two performances
daily: the morning and evening meals. A steel dumpster had been
imbedded in the stage surrounded by sandbags. It served as a cooking
pit and on more than one occasion, heated other items of a more
grisly nature.

The wounded were housed in the cellarage; a network of passages and
chambers once a storage space for scenery and other theatrical
flotsam. The remains of the huge lead crystal chandelier were used
for target practice; its broken pendants were collected and put
inside of home-made bombs. This perversion of the glass-cutter's art
resulted in shrapnel that cut like a hundred scalpels. Victims rarely
survived and the few that did were maimed for life.

Luka slept on the floor of a third-tier balcony. His accommodations
were luxurious in that he had this small space to himself and it was
close to the toilets. There was no running water, so the smell was
horrific, but it was better than relieving oneself in the hallways or
in buckets next to your bed. Luka was given one other luxury. The
theatre's safe, its lock blown off, was chained to a pillar on one
side of his "box". A thick padlock now secured its precious contents:
morphine, antiseptic solutions, a meagre supply of penicillin, and
two hypodermic needles. A raid on an enemy hospital added bandages
and sulphur to this pharmacy. Luka wore the only key on a chain
around his waist, next to his skin. Anyone trying to remove it while
he slept would be forced to wake him. Although he didn't carry a gun,
he kept a knife at hand and was very skilled in its use. It doubled
as his scalpel.

Now, Luka rarely accompanied the guerilla band on their raids. When
he'd first moved in, he had gone with them as they ambushed supply
convoys, hijacking food, or more likely, armaments. Mateus always
described these transports as "enemy" convoys, and they were. He
failed to explain to their new physician that anyone who was not a
member of their group was the enemy. Thus, supplies intended for
Croatians stood an equal chance of being "re-assigned" to the Sons of
Thunder as they called themselves.

A few months after joining, Luka was with them when they hijacked a
shipment of food and medical supplies that really did belong to the
enemy. Most of the wounded were Serbs and once Luka had determined
that his group's injuries were not serious, he immediately began
treating the fallen foes. His wife had been a Serb, so Luka did not
hold with the prevailing notion that all Serbs were little better
than vermin. He was attempting to staunch a sucking chest wound when
Karloj, Mateus's second-in-command, casually blew the man's head to
pieces with an automatic pistol. Luka was speechless for all of two
seconds then he lunged at the murderer.

"What in God's name did you do that for? I could have saved that man!"

"Bullets are cheaper than bandages. You were taking too long.
Besides, he's an animal just like the bastards who killed our
families. Don't waste your time or our supplies on these
motherfuckers." Karloj sneered. "You're *our* doctor, not theirs."

"He's right Luka." Mateus had joined them. "We haven't the time or
the resources to show mercy to these people. Save your kind heart for
your own kind."

Luka protested, but the sound of an approaching patrol prevented him
from carrying his point. The Sons of Thunder vanished into the
surrounding countryside. Luka, Mateus, and Karloj got into the
hijacked truck and drove off. Having to use country roads that were
little better than cow paths, made them the last to arrive at
headquarters. The supplies were unloaded and the truck was disposed
of. Later, when Luka went to claim the medicines for his pharmacy, he
was surprised at how little remained.

"We have to share our bounty with those less fortunate, Luka." Mateus
said calmly. "There are other groups like ours who are not yet
capable of raiding on this scale. Also, there are other doctors,
beside yourself who are treating our women and children. They come
first." They did indeed and they paid Mateus handsomely for the
privilege. He tactfully omitted this part from his explanation. The
subject of treating the enemy was dropped, but it came up again and
again. Karloj's brutality usually brought a halt to these "debates".
Luka found he hated the man almost as much as he hated being made a
party to his excesses.

So Luka began making excuses to stay at their headquarters. When
forced to accompany Mateus and his crew of brigands, Luka did not
wear his red cross. Enemy snipers had discovered that if you wanted
your bullets to count, killing those who could treat the wounded was
the same as killing them too. If they did not bleed to death where
they fell, fatal infections usually followed. The debates over
treating wounded Serbs escalated. Karloj liked to torture them. Luka
now found himself urging the man to shoot them instead. Karloj
enjoyed taunting Luka even more. He always managed to be on the
opposite side of whatever argument Luka put forward.

Late one night, awakened yet again by the sounds of carousing men and
crying women, Luka realized he'd sold his soul in exchange for
regular meals and the mere semblance of a secure place to lay his
head. It was a bargain he was beginning to deeply regret. Things
could not get any worse. He was wrong.

* * * * *

Luka endured nearly one year in Hell before things between Karloj and
himself were fatally resolved. A woman had recently joined the group,
hoping that her new status as a comrade-in-arms would provide some
means of protection for herself. Luka, sensing her reluctance to
become too close to the others, offered to train her as his nurse.
Sofia lived up to her name. She was intelligent, a former graduate
student whose study of chemistry made her an apt pupil. Luka rarely
had to tell her anything twice.

Sofia managed to lay her hands on some paper and for the first time
since joining the Sons of Thunder, Luka now had the futher luxury of
keeping patient records rather than trusting to his memory. At Luka's
suggestion, Sofia cut her long red hair almost to the scalp. This
brutal hairstyle coupled with her thin build meant that she was often
mistaken for a man. This too, provided a measure of protection in
that those who took males as willing or unwilling bed partners were
in the minority.

Karloj noted Luka's new assistant and bided his time. As
Mateus' "friend", Luka was afforded privileges that rivaled his own
status as second-in-command. Luka's skill with a knife made Karloj
decide to wait for an opportunity to get Sofia alone. Surely no woman
could resist his "charms" and if she did, she died. Sofia however,
had other ideas and unwittingly brought matters to a head.

One night, she went to Luka's box to inform him that a patient of
theirs had died. Luka went to help her remove the body, a source of
infection for the others. They burned the man in his blankets; soiled
with matter from a gangrenous wound. As they sat vigil, waiting for
the flames to die down Sofia looked at her teacher. Regular, though
meagre meals had restored some of his good looks. Nevertheless, it
was his kindness that had made her realize that here was a rarity
indeed---someone who refused to become a beast despite provocations
that would have corrupted a saint.

They had shared stories from their pasts. Sofia too, was grieving the
loss of her family: her parents and brother who'd disappeared one
afternoon while she was in class. No one could tell her what became
of them and she mourned them for dead. Tales of the atrocities
committed in the so-called re-settlement camps were widespread and
she knew better than to hope for a happy reunion.

The smell of burning flesh brought tears to Luka's eyes. Now, it was
the only thing that did. So when Sofia kissed his cheek, he turned to
her startled. "What was that for?"

"You cared for this patient." Sofia offered.

"No. He was little more than a brigand. May God have mercy on his
soul."

"Then why are you crying?"

"The smoke. It stinks, just like everything else around here."

"Oh." His abrupt manner and harsh tone surprised her. Thinking his
reference to "everything" included her, she too began to weep.

Luka turned to look at her, realizing that somehow, he was the cause
for her sorrow. He took her into his arms and held her as he used to
hold Anja when she was upset. "I'm sorry, Sofia. Sometimes all of
this gets to me and I took it out on you. You didn't deserve that."

At the sound of his gentle apology, Sofia cried harder. Without
thinking, Luka kissed her forehead. Mistaking this paternal gesture,
Sofia kissed him on the mouth. When Luka pulled back, she looked at
him, confused.

"I'm so sorry, Sofia. I didn't mean to make you think I could return
your feelings for me. It's not that I couldn't love *you* I don't
think I can love *anyone* ever again. It hurts too much. The day I
buried my family, I buried my heart with them. One day, if we ever
get out of this hell on earth, you'll meet someone who will find it
oh so easy to love you..."

Sofia nodded. "I don't know if I *love* you Luka. It's just that...
You are still a human being. I figured sooner or later, I'd be forced
to give my body to someone. I'd prefer to give it to a man who at
least would respect me. Nevertheless, I understand. I'm just glad I
have some decent feelings left. Friends?" She wiped her eyes with one
hand and extended the other.

"Friends." Luka agreed. Karloj, watching and listening from behind a
pile of rubble grinned.

Author's Note:
As the late Dorothy L. Sayers said in her witty introduction
to "Gaudy Night", this entire story, especially the portions that
follow, are set in "Cloud Cuckoo Land." In other words, although
Croatia and Bosnia-Herzegovinia are real countries and a real war
happened, the events of my story are totally fictitious and take
place in a time and places out of my own mind. The Croatian, and
indeed all of *my* characters' names have been made up. If there are
people with these names I intend no slurs on *their* characters. Any
resemblence between these imaginary villains and real-life
individuals is completely coincidental. The same goes for the heroes.
KPP

Luka wasn't the only one in possession of pharmaceutical supplies.
Mateus kept a small stock of liquor and other mood-altering drugs
with which he rewarded informants and members of his group who
performed "above and beyond". Karloj was a frequent beneficiary of
these gifts. His brutish behavior had ended more than one internal
conflict before it could begin. Beasts are not stupid, especially if
they wish to survive. Although he lacked a conscience, Karloj
possessed cunning. He could wait.

Sofia was now sleeping in Luka's box. Theirs was a platonic
relationship but the other members of the group did not know this.
Only Karloj and Mateus knew that Luka had not "claimed" the woman.
Nevertheless, as Luka's "girl", she was let alone. They'd noted the
respect Mateus afforded their doctor and none of them wanted the man
who might save their lives one day to harbor any ill feeling. If
Mateus allowed Luka to keep a woman to himself, Karloj would
inevitably be called upon to settle any disputes over this female. No
one wanted a confrontation with Karloj for if it happened, Luka's
services to the loser would be moot.

One day, a distraught woman came to Mateus. Her son was very ill. She
begged the leader to let their physician come to where she was
living. She could pay for his services. Luka, when summoned by Karloj
agreed immediately to accompany the desperate mother. "I'll get some
supplies and my nurse and go right away."

"No. Sofia must stay here. If something happens to you, she is the
only one who can help my men. I'm sorry Luka, but I must look out for
their welfare as best I can." Mateus objected reasonably. "Get your
medicines, my friend and go help this poor woman." The leader had
agreed to "give" Sofia to Karloj but insisted his rendezvous take
place when Luka was not in the camp. Luka had no choice but to agree
to Sofia's remaining. He quickly stocked his medical bag and went to
treat this civilian patient.

The child was extremely sick and it was hours before Luka returned to
Mateus's camp. As he climbed over a pile of rubble, he heard a woman
screaming. It was Sofia. He scrabbled over the broken bricks and
chunks of concrete. Sofia, her clothes half torn away, was trying to
fight off an attacker. The man had put down his rifle in order to
subdue his victim. Without hesitating Luka picked it up, intending to
fire a volley over the heads of the struggling pair. He squeezed the
trigger just as his feet slipped on the crumbling remains of a wall.
He fell firing the automatic weapon. The bullets traced a path up the
spine of the rapist and who fell dead.

Luka managed to drop the rifle and scramble over to Sofia who was
shivering from the cold and from terror. He put his coat around her
and turned to the man he'd shot. It was Karloj. Before he or Sofia
could think to hide the body, Mateus and several others arrived.

"What's going on here? We heard shots fired."

"It's Karloj! He's been killed! Someone yelled out.

"What happened, Luka?" Mateus asked quietly.

"He was trying to rape my nurse. I didn't mean to kill him. My feet
slipped. I was trying to shoot over his head. I didn't mean to kill
anyone." Luka explained as calmly as he could.

"I see." Mateus said flatly. His lieutenant was dead and with him
went half of Mateus's power. "You!", he pointed to Sofia. "Get your
things and go. I should never have brought a woman into this group.
It makes for bad feelings."

"Wait! Why should *she* be punished? She didn't do anything!" Luka
grabbed Sofia's arm.

"She exists, Luka. How long before someone else decides they want
her? And besides, it's not as if you are enjoying her body. Your
selfishness is responsible for this disaster. Train someone else.
She's out, Luka." Mateus said in a tone of voice that meant his
decision was irrevocable. "Let go of her and come with me."

"No! If she must leave for doing *nothing*, then I must leave also.
*I* was the one who shot that bastard."

"*You* will stay. We need your services too much." Mateus attempted
to soften his tone.

"You mean you need the king's ransom you've been getting for my
services. You're nothing better than a pimp." Luka said bluntly. The
sick boy's mother had tried to give Luka some money of his own and
he'd discovered that she'd already paid a small fortune to obtain his
help. "You're no better than he was!" Luka spat on the corpse. If you
think I'm going to remain in this shit pit one moment longer, you've
lost what's left of your reason! Come with me, Sofia." Still holding
her arm, Luka turned on his heel and walked away. He was finally free.

"You can't let him go." One of the men said. "He'll tell everyone
about this place. We'll spend all of our time fighting off the
motherfuckers who want what we have."

"Calm down, Aleksei. He won't get far. You", Mateus pointed to
another man; their reconnaissance expert. "Follow him and the woman.
Find out where he goes and where he settles. Then, report to me.
We'll deal with the two of them once and for all." Mateus smiled
grimly.

"Alright, Boss." The rat-like little man scurried off into the
gathering darkness. As far as Mateus was concerned. Luka's days on
earth were numbered.

* * * * *

For three days, Luka and Sofia were shadowed. Each night as they
slept, the spy made his report. When he informed Mateus that Sofia
had been taken in by some nuns in a convent, Mateus shook his head.
She'd made her escape. Even he had some remaning scruples. Nuns and
other Catholic religious were off limits. Messing with them created
too much ill feeling and he had more than enough to cope with as it
was.

Luka's truthful outburst had opened a few eyes. He was not the only
one Mateus lied to. Some of the men muttured for awhile then accepted
their lot; still enslaved to regular rations. Others voted with their
feet. During the night, despite the sentries, they slipped off.
Mateus couldn't have all of them followed. The Sons of Thunder ceased
to be. However, one of the escaping men had gone to the real military
police. When they learned of the armaments and petrol stockpiled in
the old theatre, they decided to have it for themselves.

One night, as the few remaining "Sons" slumbered, the true militia
stormed the building. To hold sway over his men and recruit others,
Mateus had been dispensing liquor with a free hand. However, he no
longer slept there citing potential danger from the deserters. So
when he returned to his fortress in the morning, he was confronted
with a smoking ruin. Ducking into an alley, he narrowly avoided being
captured by the military police who were waiting for him.

He rendezvoused with his spy two nights later and learned that Luka
had refused several offers of shelter from people he'd treated. That
meant he knew the group would be coming after him. Mateus thanked the
spy and paid him for his information. He would settle this score
himself. The spy went off into the night once more. By sheer chance,
he'd been present when Luka left his new hiding place to treat a
patient. By a stroke of unimaginable luck, the patient turned out to
be a dear friend of the spy. Now, the little man was having second
thoughts.

Mateus had not kept all of his supplies in the theatre. After giving
his informant a bottle of vodka and some tobacco, he travelled by a
circuitous route to his other den. Here, he assembled a bomb complete
with some of the crystal shrapnel. Luka's hiding place was too
exposed for him to approach his enemy directly, so Mateus bided his
time.

A few days later, Luka woke to find a note on the rags he was using
for bedclothes. Opening the dirty scrap of paper he looked around.
Only one man could have been so stealthy. "He's coming for you, leave
while you can." Luka didn't waste any time. Grabbing the knapsack he
used as a medical bag, he crawled from the ruined building. The sun
had risen and temporarily blinded, Luka did not notice an old car
abandoned nearby. Squinting, he started to walk away when the vehicle
exploded. A roaring; a pain like ten thousand knives, then nothing.

* * * * *

The smell of unwashed bodies, blood, and bodily wastes was barely
covered by the faint aroma of disinfectant. Luka opened his eyes
wincing at the light from a lantern suspended nearby. He didn't need
to ask where he was, he recognized the smells immediately. Somehow
he'd ended up back in the makeshift infirmary at the abandoned
theatre. He began screaming.

"Doctor? I think he's coming to.", a woman's voice, but it wasn't
Sofia.

"Thank you, Sister.", a man's voice also unknown.

Luka finally forced his eyes open. He'd been dreaming. It wasn't a
lantern. It was a mechanic's work light. This place had electricity
or at least its own generator. Now, he asked the question reserved
for all those who regain consciousness after serious injury.

"Where am I?"

"In hospital, near D********c. Some people brought you here.", the
man was dressed in what was once a white lab coat. Frequent attempts
to keep it sterile had turned it pale grey. Luka squinted trying to
adjust to the light.

"How are you feeling?"

"Headache, accompanied by nausea. Fever, muscular aches. I'm assuming
I have the usual contusions and abrasions. My right side hurts like
hell, cracked or broken ribs." Luka wiggled his toes then moved his
legs. Although my back aches, I don't seem to have any serious
cerebro-spinal damage." Luka automatically catalogued his symptoms.

"I take it you've had medical experience.", the man smiled for the
first time.

"Yes, I'm a doctor."

"Excellent. All the more reason to get you well. We're short handed
around here and I could use all the help I can get."

"I've heard that before. How much will *you* charge the patients for
my help?"

"Calm down, my boy. This isn't a militia group. We're what's left of
the hospital founded by the Order of the Sisters of Mercy. Patients
who can spare it, usually leave us some grain, eggs, or chickens
which the sick make short work of. We treat any and all who come to
us, free of any charge."

Luka sighed in relief. "What happened to me?"

"How much do you remember?"

"Not a whole lot. I got a note warning me about danger. I went
outside there was an explosion and I woke up here. Was there another
air raid?"

"No, my boy..."

"My name's Luka. Luka Kovac."

"No Luka. One of the people who brought you here said a car bomb went
off. You were standing about five feet away."

"I shouldn't be here."

"You're right. You were lucky. The bastards who planted the bomb used
that East German monument to Socialist engineering: a Brabant. Its
auto body is made of pressed cardboard. Most of the damage you
sustained was due to bomb fragments. That's the first time I've ever
removed lead crystal from anyone."

Luka fell silent. Mateus's group; it couldn't be anybody
else. "Doctor, please do me a favor. Don't tell anyone else I am
here. I know who set that bomb and I don't want them to bring their
argument with me here and jeopardize the sick. As much as I want to
stay and help you, I can't. I'm almost as dangerous to you as the
jackals who want my hide."

"I tell you what. You get well first and then we'll see what we can
do to make use of your skills and not get anyone else hurt in the
process. Sister? Why don't you see if you can find something for Luka
to eat. I think one of the farmers brought in a couple of chickens.
There may be some broth left. No solid foods, however."

"Yes Dr. Markajic. Right away. The middle-aged woman smiled at Luka
and went to get his soup.

"She's English?"

"No, an American. She's here with some other ladies from the United
States. They're oblates of the Sisters of Mercy. They'd originally
planned to make a pilgrimage to Rome, but when their parish heard
about what happened to our hospital, they came here instead."

"America must be a wonderful place if people like that live there."

"The streets aren't paved with gold, but it's the closest I've seen
to heaven on earth." Dr. Markajic smiled.

"Get away with you then, Doctor M. It's also got its fair share of
hell." The Sister had returned with a steaming bowl. "Sure and it's a
grand country but it's not perfect. Don't fill this poor man's head
with visions of people walkin' around in halos and wings. Now, aren't
you late for rounds?"

"Yes sister." Dr. Markajic grinned. "Nurses. They think they run the
place."

"That we do.", the woman replied with a smug smile. "Now, me poor
boyo, let's see if I can get some of this broth inside you."

Luka ate half of the broth, vomited, and under protest consumed the
remainder which stayed put. He fell asleep as the nurse held his
hand. No one had done that for him since his mother died. Years
later, that was the clearest memory he had of his stay in the
hospital: the kind avuncular doctor and the brisk nurse with the odd
speech patterns. Bacteria bred from the source of the sour smells
that woke him resulted in his developing a severe infection. For the
next three weeks, his life lay in the balance.

Voices. Luka vaguely remembered voices hovering at the edge of his
awareness. Sometimes the voices spoke English, most times it was
Croatian. He'd been running a dangerously high fever for five days.
Since it was almost winter, sheets and rags soaked in rain water and
hung outdoors were used in an attempt to cool him down. The
hospital's only generator was needed to power lights for surgery and
to keep dwindling supplies of perishable medicines chilled. Ice packs
were yet another luxury.

In his delerium, Luka called for his family, and for Sofia. Despite
the best efforts of the meagre staff, his fever remained high. Two
more days passed and Dr. Markajic sadly went to send for a priest.
The American nurse overheard this and shook her head. Back home, a
course of antibiotics and this infection would be cleared up in no
time. She followed the doctor to his office and waited while he
called for the priest to come. When he hung up, she knocked and went
in.

"He's not going to live is he?"

"I doubt it. He's too malnourished for his body to put up a decent
fight. I'm sorry, Sister."

"May I use your telephone? I'll pay for the call."

"Of course. I was just leaving. This way, you have some privacy."

"Not necessary, Doctor. I'll need you to make up me shopping list.
While they're putting the call through, you start writing down
everything you think you will need in the way of medicines and other
supplies." The woman started dialing.

"Sister, are you sure *you* aren't delerious?"

"Well, that's a good question. I should have been payin' more
attention to what was going on around here. I stupidly assumed you
had medicines stored somewhere else. I'm beginning to think me eyes
aren't worth the looking they've been doing. "Hello? Could you
connect me to the overseas operator please?"

Dr. Markajic smiled broadly and started writing. It took nearly
twenty minutes for the connection to be made. When the call finally
went through, the nurse took the two pages of paper and asked to be
put on a speaker phone with a tape recorder running. That request
took all of five seconds.

"Alright, sir, here's the list." She had already read off
instructions for delivery. "I'll say each item twice. Who knows how
long this connection will last. If we're cut off, just phone Chicago
Memorial and tell them to let you copy their supply sheets for the
surgical, internal, and emergency medicine departments, then double
their usual order. Here we go." She read the list carefully
enunciating each item. The man at the other end must have asked her a
question regarding quantities because her reply floored Dr.
Markajic. "A plane-load should just about do it, sir. We need those
things yesterday. There's good people dying here."

When she hung up, she turned to the doctor who was staring as if he'd
seen a holy vision.

"New supplies should be here in just under 36 hours. Let's see if we
can keep these folks alive until then." Open-mouthed, Dr. Markajic
followed her back to the wards. Twenty-eight hours later, five large
trucks bearing the logo of the United Nations pulled up in front of
the building. All of the able-bodied pitched in with the unloading.
The first thing to come off the first truck was a huge refrigerator
equipped with its own generator. The men raced to install it while
everyone else began carrying boxes initialled C.F.F. into the
building. Some were packed in dry ice.

Dr. Markajic couldn't believe his eyes. Penicillin and other
antibiotics, anaesthetics, disinfectant solutions, disposable
syringes, pain killers, anti-inflammatories, latex and rubber gloves,
gowns, masks... it was like Christmas. The staff went to work
immediately. All while this happy bustle was underway, the woman
responsible sat by Luka's bedside quietly praying her rosary. She
looked up when Dr. Markajic came over with a syringe and a vial
containing a broad-spectrum antibiotic. He administered the first
dose and sighed. Two orderlies came up carrying what looked like a
smouldering blanket. Nothing on those trucks was wasted. Dry ice
wrapped in excelsior and rags were placed at strategic points next to
Luka's feverish body.

Two days after the miraculous delivery, Luka regained conciousness.
Once again, the lady with the odd speech was holding his hand. He
smiled weakly at her and went back to sleep. Each time he awoke
thereafter, his nurse was right there. He swallowed what she gave him
without question. Two weeks later he was able to sit up. This time,
Dr. Makarjic was sitting by his bed.

"Where's the Sister?"

"She and the other American ladies were sent home. It seems the war
is moving a little closer to us than their embassy would like. But
don't worry. I told her all about you. It seems you've been adopted,
Luka. The ladies promised that they would get their parish to sponsor
you to come to America as soon as you're well enough.", the doctor
grinned. "I only wish I was twenty years younger, maybe they would
have sponsored me."

"Doctor. I can't leave you to cope with this place on your own."

"That's taken care of. We're being evacuated soon. Most of the
ambulatory cases have already left. Now, that's enough talking for
the moment. You lie back down and get some more rest."

Luka did not object. He stretched out and for the first time, noticed
the clean linens on his bed. "Doctor? Where did these sheets come
from?"

"The same place you're going to; America. Your devoted nurse's former
employers are very rich. She made one telephone call and like magic
we were sent everything we needed. When you say your prayers, ask God
to watch over those women and bless them. They saved your life and
many more besides. Luka obeyed the doctor, never realizing that the
woman whose name he'd never learned would one day save him again.

* * * * *

Philippa Taylor examined the detailed accounts provided by the INS.
Her grandparents had recounted their experiences in the concentration
camps of Germany, so she thought herself capable of dealing with the
events that took place in L*****e. She was wrong.

Luka had been in hospital for three days when a group of about thirty
heavily armed men rode into the village of L*****e. Firing their
rifles into the air, they quickly gained control of the inhabitants
who were mainly elderly men, mothers with small children and young
boys. For two days, the intruders stole everything in sight. The
women were raped while their children watched. Screams and smoke from
gutted cottages filled the air. One woman managed to hide herself and
her small daughter in her outhouse. Peering through a crack in the
wall, she had a ground-level view as, on the third day, the armed men
rounded up all of the surviving residents and used them for target
practice.

This woman's statement included names she'd heard the men shouting to
each other. The leader of the execution squad had been
called "Lukasha" by his cohorts. She watched horror-struck as this
man shot upwards of thirty-five of her neighbors and friends. When
night came, she crawled from her filthy hiding place and escaped to
the woods. She and her child walked for five days before she found
sanctuary in a United Nations refugee camp. There, she told her story
for the first time.

Two other residents also survived. The first was a boy who was shot
in the face and presumed dead. He did not see too much but he did
glimpse the leading marauder. The youth described him as thin and
dark. The last survivor was a middle-aged man whose amputated leg had
meant he was useless as a soldier. He watched from the tower of their
church as the leader shot his neighbor and her twelve year-old
daughter. "I'll never forget him." The man said when he gave his
statement to the UN representative. "He had the face of an angel, an
angel of death. He was smiling as he killed that family."

Somehow, the UN peace-keepers managed to acquire photographs of known
militia members. Included in this motley assortment of rapists,
thieves, and murderers was the fuzzy image of a young doctor obtained
from his medical school. All three witnesses identified this
physician as the man who'd destroyed their homes and families. None
of the UN officials realized that these witnesses had been coached by
a survivor of a very different kind of disaster: Mateus Rovic.

After the car bomb had failed in its work, Mateus acquired a new
identity and made his way to the same refugee camp that would
eventually shelter the survivors of L*****e. He had been there for
some days before they arrived. Despite the widespread suffering
endured by the people in the camp, the village massacre was the first
such incident to be reported here. Not wanting to trust to his bomb
as the sole means for destroying the man who'd brought an end to his
power, Mateus managed to "befriend" the L*****can woman and her small
daughter. He'd kept his eyes open for likely bedmates and this woman,
once she'd been cleaned up a little, was comely.

He was not the first to hear her story, but he was a member of a
small group who heard her re-tell her horrible saga as they waited
for the evening rations. When the woman took her place in line,
Mateus was right behind her.

"You are very brave." He said in his quiet reasonable voice.

"I did nothing but hide myself and my child from wolves dressed as
men.", she replied. "The brave are soon dead."

"You mentioned a name, the leader's name."

"I'll never forget it. They called him 'Lukasha'."

"Oh? That's a pretty common nickname. Too bad. You didn't happen to
see his face?"

"Not clearly. He looked to be about my age; with dark hair. His cap
hid his eyes.

"I wonder... No, it couldn't be. The only man I knew with that name
was a doctor. He was a member of a militia group, though. Maybe..."

"What was his full name. Did you know it?" The woman had forgotten
all about food.

"Well, your description is pretty vague. I don't think it would be
good for me to give you the name of someone who probably had nothing
to do with what you suffered through." Mateus frowned thoughtfully.
He wasn't a tall man was he?"

"Yes. Yes he was, and thin."

"Oh dear. I hope that wasn't Dr. Kovac. He seemed like an honorable
man, at least until his family was killed... No, it couldn't be the
same man." Mateus muttered as to himself, then changed the
subject. "What's your daughter's name?" But the seeds had been sown.
The grief-stricken woman did not waste any time before going back to
the young officer who'd taken her statement. She told him she
suspected "Lukasha" was a former militia man and she gave him the
surname she learned. She was not unfair. She did mention that Kovac
may not have been the same man.

Thereafter, Mateus kept his ears and eyes open. By volunteering to
help at the camp's infirmary, he was able to casually mention Luka's
name and profession to the other two survivors. Then, in a camp with
over one thousand people and hundreds more arriving everyday, he
disappeared.

As Philippa made her notes, she couldn't know that the witnesses'
descriptions of the massacre, although real in every detail had been
tainted. The leader had been called "Lukasha" only because that was
the name of the small town he came from. None of the three survivors,
or anyone else for that matter, would ever know that Gregor Kondac
was this monster's legal name. By the time the visiting authorities
began to search the town where Luka lived, he had been in the United
States for almost six months. Without Mateus there to corrupt those
who were asked about Luka, the truth was told... after a fashion.

Former neighbors confirmed that the young doctor's family had been
killed in an air raid. However, they added, Dr. Kovac was also in all
likelihood dead as well, the victim of a car bomb. Relieved at being
able to close the inquiry, the UN officials accepted that Dr. Kovac,
his mind turned by grief had been responsible for the massacre and
was now before a sterner justice than any known on earth. *They*
stopped searching, but Mateus didn't.

"Sascha, it seems to me, the hospital is the best place to start
looking for people who can swear you were no where near L*****e."
John said when Luka finished answering questions about his story to
Philippa. "Even if they evacuated it, some records must still be in
existence that can supply doctors, patients, and other staff names."
John was trying to remain optimistic for Luka's sake.

"I agree." Philippa smiled at Carter's suggestion. "However, I don't
want to put all of our blintzes on the same plate. We will begin with
the hospital, but the search will by no means end there. Finding
people will be extremely difficult. The village of L*****e was an
extreme example of the worst that could happen. Whole towns were
shaken up. Entire neighborhoods disappeared in bombing raids. And
when you factor in 're-settlement'... even with the resources we have
at our disposal, this is not going to be easy."

Luka nodded. "John, my old neighborhood is gone. Of the people whose
names I remember, who knows how many still live there? I left. Many
of them left also. Unlike this country, where most law-abiding folk
have no undue reasons to fear the police or the military, many people
in the three countries involved *do*. Police-issued requests for
information will largely be ignored. Private inquiries...", Luka
sighed as John was about to suggest this. "...must be conducted one-
on-one. If we try to use television, like when you were missing, most
people would assume the government is behind it; figure they've done
enough, sacrificed enough, and turn it off."

"Oh." John's eyes mirrored his disappointment. "Well, the sooner we
get started, the sooner we'll be finished. Is there anything else you
need from me, Philippa?" He was due at work shortly.

"No, John. I'll wind things up with Luka. He'll be able to fill you
in later."

"OK. You're the boss." John gave Luka a quick peck on the cheek. "See
you later this evening." He was at the door when he stopped, returned
to where Luka was sitting, and embraced him. "I love you very much."
John kissed Luka again, on the mouth.

"Thank you, Janaskja. I love you. God willing, I'll see you tonight."
Although Luka's tone was serious, his eyes shone. He slapped John on
the butt. "Get to work, you sentimental menace to my equilibrium."
John winked and was gone.

"What was *that* all about?" Philippa was curious.

"I once told John that back home we got into the habit of making our
good-byes count because we never knew if they would be final ones.
After he was kidnapped, we decided we'd no longer take 'see you
later' for granted."

"I see. Very sensible of you. I'll remember that. Now, what was that
hospital called? Do you remember?" Philippa worked with Luka for
another hour or so, then he left to run errands. It was his week-day
off and by agreement, that meant it was his turn to do the grocery
shopping, laundry, and all the other tasks needed to run a household.

John made it back to County early enough to meet briefly with Dr.
Romano and give him an update on where things stood, prior to going
on duty . The surgeon agreed they had their work cut out for them.

"Are you two doing Ok?" Romano asked in a softer tone than most of
his colleagues would have thought possible.

"So far, so good. As soon as the hearing is scheduled, we'll inform
Dr. Weaver so she can make arrangements to get our shifts covered."
John replied.

"I suppose there is no real reason for both of you to be there..."
Romano observed in a sterner voice. He wanted to see Carter's
reaction to this. He was surprised by the response when it came.

"You're absolutely correct." John smiled. There is no *real* reason
why I should be there. There is however an important reason why I
*will* be there. I'm married to the guy; and what's more, I gave my
word... If Dr. Weaver finds she cannot spare both of us, I'll ask my
father to get a temporary physician to cover my portion of the
affected shifts then take leave without pay. I can promise you,
patient care will not be compromised."

"I don't think it will come to that." Romano grinned. He liked it
when he couldn't bully people.

"Anyway, thanks for your support. By the way, I've been meaning to
ask you. What is that crunchy stuff Gretel likes so much?"

"It depends. I get different varieties. Why?"

"It's delicious." Carter said simply.

"You *ate* my dog's food!?"

"Well, I asked her if I could try some. I was kidding, but she pushed
the bowl over to me. So I had a few pieces to keep from hurting her
feelings. She *was* nice enough to make the offer." John said, never
realizing what this matter-of-fact explanation would mean for his
future. A lifetime of being around horses had left Carter with his
own innate sense of an animal's psyche.

"Ask Shirley for the name of the store. They specialize in organic
pet foods." Romano smiled.

"That really *was* dog food?!" John gulped. "Her bowl said 'muesli
for Gretel'..."

"Yeah, that's what the store calls it. I suppose it sounds more chi-
chi than 'kibble'." Romano laughed at Carter's attempt to keep his
composure and probably the contents of his stomach. "Are you *still*
going to purchase some?"

"Sure, why not? I mean it's organic... I don't think it will kill me.
Gretel looks very healthy." John couldn't wait for next April Fools'
Day. Luka was in for a most unusual breakfast.

"They were right; you'll eat *anything*." Romano laughed again.

"I do have *some* standards, Dr. Romano. Not many, but some." John
grinned and left the office.

Rocket, still chuckling, returned to his paperwork. He had no doubts
about Carter or Kovac. Gretel's ability to smell out rats had never
failed him. Too bad he couldn't convince Human Resources to let her
sit in when they interviewed prospective employees.*

* * * * *

There is an old blues standard featuring the observation that "if it
wasn't for bad luck I wouldn't have no luck at all." Luka was
seriously beginning to consider adopting the song as his personal
theme. He caught a streaming head cold at Easter and had been at home
for two days. John was doing an all-out imitation of Florence
Nightingale; and to top it off, Philippa had called to say she'd
discovered the remaining portion of Mercy Hospital had been bombed
into atoms six days after Luka was released. Dr. Markajic was dead as
was most of its remaining staff.

When John came home from work late that afternoon, Luka was sitting
in the living room with his head in his hands. Used tissues and pages
from a tabloid newspaper were strewn about the floor. The look on his
partner's face stopped whatever John had been about to say. Instead,
he took off his jacket and began to pick up the newsprint sheets.

"John, for God's sake, stop hovering! Just leave it!" Luka snapped.
John put the pages he'd gathered on the coffee table.

"OK, Sascha. You'll tell me what's wrong when you're ready." Ignoring
Luka's mood, John kissed the top of his husband's head and went to
take a bath. He'd already been told the bad news and knew Luka's
outburst was not personal. Smiling to himself, he hung up his suit
jacket and went into the bathroom. When he got there he found Luka
had already started the hot water and was adding apple-scented bath
gel.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you." Luka said quietly. He remembered too
late what his temper could do to someone like John who was vulnerable
to the ill opinion of total strangers, let alone people he knew and
cared about.

"*I'm* not. You just won me two hundred and sixty-five dollars." John
grinned as he shrugged out of his suspenders.

"Excuse me?" Luka thought he must have mis-heard.

"You're excused." John took off his trousers and went to hang them up.

"No, what's this about your winning money?" Luka looked at his
husband whose face was brimming with good humor.

"I thought you'd heard about it. Jerry's been keeping book on when
your halo would fall off and you'd start acting like a human being as
far as I was concerned." John sat on the edge of the tub to remove
his shoes and socks. "I picked the 15th of this month---last week, in
other words. I guess I'm partial to that number." John smiled softly
and put his socks and shirt in the hamper. "Anyway, I win the pot O
cantankerous one. Everybody else's dates have long since passed.

"When did this book start?" Luka was astonished.

"The day you proposed. I guess nobody else figured out how nearly-
perfect you are, except me."

"John, that was over two years ago!"

"See what I mean? You remember anniversaries and everything." John
laughed at the look of complete mystification on Luka's face.
Combined with his reddened nose, he looked like a bewildered rabbit.

"You're kidding."

"Yup. Had you going for a minute there. Now, unless you want me to
pee in the tub, I suggest you take about four steps to one side."

His mouth open, Luka moved out of the way.

"But I yelled at you for no reason..." Luka said loudly over the
sound of two thunderous streams of water.

"No you didn't. You *had* a reason, and I know I'm not it. You
received bad news today. You're worried and upset; not to mention
sick with a cold. Did you expect me to fall apart because you're in a
shitty mood? Listen," John flushed and automatically went to wash his
hands even though he'd be up to his neck in hot soapy water in just a
few minutes. He turned on the cold water and removed his boxers. "I
know the difference between someone saying hurtful things on purpose
and someone who is stressed out *and* out of sorts." John stepped
into the tub. "Like, I said, your halo fell off. Welcome to the human
race, Sascha."

Luka sat on the rim of the bathtub and handed John a washcloth. "I'm
sorry anyway, Janaskja."

John rolled his eyes. "Please, I hope you haven't been walking around
on eggshells for the past three years afraid my poor self-esteem was
going to shrivel up and die at the first sign of criticism. I know it
was pretty frail when you first met me. I'll even admit to being just
a little too enchanted by the view from the pedestal you put me on.
Despite my angst-riddled confession a few weeks ago, or maybe because
of it, I've been waiting for you to yell at me so I could show you
how grown up I am, be smugly magnanimous, *and* make you feel like a
heel." John grinned as he lathered his hair. "Besides, Philippa
called me at work. I know all about the story in the 'Chicago P-I'
and about the hospital."

"Oh." Luka had been too upset over the Post-Intelligencer's lurid
headline story: "Angel of Mercy, or Angel of Death?" to realize their
lawyer would have called John as well.

"It's a lousy picture of you." John smiled then dipped his head under
the water to rinse it. "Let's face it, husband. We knew the press
would get wind of this sooner or later. If your 'unknown admirer' can
send letters to our apartment, surely he or she could figure out how
to get in touch with the media. Philippa was pretty cool about it.
She's already managed to obtain a delay in the proceedings on the
grounds that their entire investigation is leaking from every
orifice. Now why don't you tell me what's really got you so upset?"

"You're wonderful."

"Granted. Come on, Sascha. Tell me your troubles."

"I was feeling lousy enough about all of this, but I never really
focused on the invasion of our privacy. The last time one of us was
in the media, it took months for things to calm down. I felt like I
let you down again." Luka was partially truthful. John's assurances
about his ego to the contrary, how could Luka tell him that deep
down, he sometimes found it hard to cope with John's new-found
emotional serenity.

Without being conciously aware of it, Luka had grown used to being
the person others relied upon. He disliked feeling as if he needed to
be indulged or catered to. John's observation that he'd finally
joined the human race was more accurate than either man realized. Not
since the death of his family, had Luka felt so helpless. Luka sighed
then sneezed.

"Gesundheit. Do you have a cold in your head, or a hole in it?
Listen, Sneezy. For the gazillionth time, I love you like nobody's
business and I don't care who knows. You're an innocent victim in all
of this. I plan to take Tammy Wynette's excellent advice and stand by
my man... or maybe right behind him with my cock up his ass. Either
way, you've got to get a whole lot more rotten to get *my* goat."
John chuckled as he soaped himself.

"Remember, dear heart, I've been yelled at by experts; with Gramps
leading a list that includes Kerry, Peter Benton, Dr. Greene, on
video tape preserved for posterity by the way, *and* the Rocket Man.
In comparison to that crowd of all-stars, you're bush league. Just
you wait until *I* get the head cold from Hell, a medium-sized media
scandal, *and* a husband buzzing around me with a tissue box in one
hand, and a rectal thermometer in the other... I might take a stick
to you. So, why don't you make yourself useful and scrub my back?"

Luka kissed the top of John's wet head and reached for the bath brush.

"Seriously, Sascha." They were finishing dinner. "This newspaper
story may do more good than harm. Nobody came forward when I went
missing until it was on television. Who knows? A surviving staff
member from your hospital may be calling the editor right now to say
you were flat on your back; too sick to go to the bathroom, not to
mention head up a 'death squad'."

"Have you really been waiting for me to get angry with you?" Luka
asked.

"Uh-huh. We've been together for almost four years without a serious
argument." John paused to light his after-dinner cigarette, then
remembered Luka's cold and returned it to his pack. "That's not
natural. Married people fight. If you hadn't yelled at me today, I
would've kept up my over-solicitous care and nursing of your cold
until you *did*." John smiled.

"Thank you, I think." Luka swallowed a few more spoonfuls of his
soup. "Hey, wait a minute. What about *me*?"

"What about you?"

"Have you been sitting on any negative stuff afraid to say anything
to me?"

"Nope. I had the bad luck to fall in love with someone who's perfect,
apart from the odd nauseating nocturnal nosegay." John
snickered. "And you'd already told me about your propensity for
leaving burn marks on the bedding."

"John, I'm serious." Luka was smiling nevertheless.

"So am I. That's the other thing I'm waiting on. Sooner or later, now
that you've become human, you *are* going to do something to piss me
off royally. I've already got a bag packed so I can go home in a huff
to grandmother and wallow in sympathy because my husband refuses to
leave the toilet seat up, or drink from a glass. I figure I'd best
make a mountain out of a molehill because you'll never cheat on me or
belt me in the chops."

"John, if I do *anything* that gets on your nerves please tell me."

"Of course, husband. It's just that so far it hasn't happened."

"I love you." Luka said quietly.

"I know you do. Right back at cha." John got up to clear the table.

Luka went to bed while John cleaned up and had his cigarette. Neither
of them knowing how close to the edge they both were.

Author's Note:
* I always seem to be thanking Invicta for "Hail to the Chief".
Anyway, to find out more about the amazing Gretel, check her story
out (smile). I give it four paws up! KPP

The delay in the proceedings gave Philippa's army of investigators an
extra month in which to locate a minimum of three people who could
testify that Luka was nowhere near the village of L*****e
when "Lukasha" and his team were slaughtering its inhabitants. She
and Luka had not exaggerated the difficulties involved.

The story in the Chicago Post-Intelligencer stirred things up.
Reporters began calling the Justice Department and County General
with inquiries. Despite its reputation as a sleaze rag, the Chicago P-
I, managed to make enough noise for the legitimate press to pick up
the story. It was only a matter of time before some ratings-hungry
television journalist realized that Dr. Luka Kovac, the so-
called "Angel of Death" was also the same man who was in a homosexual
relationship with the son of Roland Carter, one of the richest men in
the country.

So, one week before the evidenciary hearing was scheduled to start,
John was called into the lounge to see images of himself and Luka on
the television. Archival footage of a helicopter landing at Midway
and the two of them walking hand-in-hand to an ambulance were played
as the anchor person outlined the atrocities committed against women
and chldren. Network footage of the mass graves appeared next. The
anchor's solemn explanation that none of the charges were proven was
all well and good. Unfortunately, it was voiced over a freeze-frame
shot of Luka's face as it appeared the morning he made his appeal for
John to be returned. He looked the epitome of a soul in torment.
Guilty as hell.

John watched saying nothing. When the segment ended, he turned on his
heel and walked out of the room slamming the door with enough
violence to crack the glass. His friends stared after him. They
rarely saw Carter's fury. It was all the more startling because of
the icy control with which he was keeping it in check. His
grandfather would have been shocked at Johnny's "back-bone". Kerry
watched him get on the elevator and shook her head when the indicator
panel showed it had stopped on the floor where the Administrator had
his office.

By the time Carter got to the seventh floor, his face was pale. He
entered the large office at the end of the hall. "Is he in?"

The secretary looked up, startled. From the look on her face, John
realized he'd better calm down. "I'm sorry, is the Administrator
available to see me for a few minutes?" He automatically adopted the
same tone of voice he used to soothe nervous horses.

"I'll check, Dr. Carter. Will you have a seat?"

"Thanks, but I'd rather stand."

The young woman shrugged and went into the inner office. In less than
a minute, she came to the door and gestured for John to come in. He
thanked her again quietly and waited for her to shut the door behind
him.

"I'm sorry, sir. Channel Six just ran a story about Dr. Kovac using
footage from two years ago.", he didn't have to elaborate. "My name
and our place of employment were mentioned. I thought you might wish
to get a copy and see it for yourself before you consider County's
response." John said in a monotone.

"I'll have Judith get on it. Is there anything else?"

"No, thank you. We promised to keep your office informed. I'm sorry
that County General couldn't have been left out of this." John turned
towards the door.

"Dr. Carter, did this story mention your relationship with Dr. Kovac?"

"Yes it did. I wish they'd omitted that. It's really no one's
business and has nothing whatsoever to do with the charges made by
the Justice Department."

"Well, yes... I do see your point, however, most people think...
consider two men living together to be unusual.", the Administrator
finished lamely as John's brown eyes blazed dangerously. When Carter
responded, it was all the more effective, due to his quiet manner of
delivery.

"Two men living together is unusual? Not hardly. Otherwise, there'd
be cameras and reporters camped outside of every college dorm and
frat house in the country. What you're trying to say is the idea of
two men living together, as a married couple is unusual. Well, that's
not our fault. What the press really wants is reactions from my
family; the 'celebrity' angle. If my father was an electrician,
believe me, my relationship with Luka would not have been mentioned.
On a scale of one to ten for press-worthy sensations, by ourselves,
we barely rate a point zero zero one." John said thinly. "If you'll
excuse me, I have to get back to work. Thank you for seeing me."

"Has Dr. Romano been notified of this latest development?"

"Dr. Weaver said she would do so at the earliest opportunity." John
left the room.

* * * * *

Despite the publicity, the search was not productive. In the United
States, no Croatian or Serb contacted knew anything relevant about
the massacre or Dr. Kovac's whereabouts during the critical time.
Inquiries made in Yugoslavia, Croatia, and Bosnia-Herzegovinia,
regarding surviving patients and staff of Mercy Hospital had thus far
yielded nothing. Many of the patients had been admitted under false
names. The staff had consisted largely of volunteers, whose names
were now forgotten, if indeed surviving patients ever knew them. The
extra time was of no help. Even John was finding it difficult to
remain hopeful. One by one, each avenue of the investigation resulted
in a dead end.

The hearing got underway on a sunny Wednesday in late spring. John
had been granted leave to attend. He and Luka arrived and were
greeted by Philippa who looked grave. "I'm very sorry. This is not
going to go well for us. As of this moment we have bubkes, nada, not
a sausage."

"So what will happen when this is over?" John wanted to know.

"A deportation date will be set so that the charges can be formally
adjudicated in the country where the events took place: Bosnia-
Herzegovinia. I will do my utmost to obtain another delay so that we
can continue to gather evidence on Luka's behalf. But as it stands
now, we don't have any hope of an dismissal. I'm truly sorry." She
ushered her clients into the hearing room where she and Luka took
seats at a table on the left side of the room. John sat immediately
behind them.

Philippa's assessment was an accurate one. One by one, the three
witnesses gave their heart-rending testimony and all of them pointed
to Luka as the man responsible for the deaths of their families,
neighbors, and friends. The three judges sat stone-faced as Philippa
delineated Luka's alibi and the painstaking search underway to
confirm it. Despite witnesses testifying on behalf of Luka's sterling
character, she was wasting her breath. In less than four hours, the
three judges ruled the evidence was suffcient for the Justice
Department and the INS to commence deportation procedures.

Through it all, Luka sat with his arm around his waist, chewing on
his thumb. He'd never expected Philippa's arguments to be accepted.
The most she could obtain was Luka's release on his own recognizance,
provided he reported to the INS daily and surrendered his passport.
John breathed a sigh of relief when this small measure of grace was
granted. As they waited for the hearing room to be cleared, he put
his hand on Luka's arm. Neither man spoke until they'd reached their
apartment.

"How long do you think we'll have?" John finally asked as he put on
the kettle for his tea then got out a bottle of wine for Luka. In his
current mood, John knew the last thing he needed was a drink but Luka
certainly looked as if he could use one.

"Two weeks, two months, two years, what difference does it make? Once
I leave the States, I'm a dead man. It's best if you stay here.
There's nothing more you can do. The 'trial' will be a repeat of what
happened today. Then I'll be stood up against a wall and shot."
Luka's voice was bitter. Ever since he'd seen the news piece on
Channel Six his mood had darkened.

"What about appealing the verdict?" John was trying not to show how
scared he was. "I mean all of the war crimes trials I've ever read
about lasted nearly forever and were being appealed for years after
the initial verdict. "I mean, they'll probably put you in jail but I
can visit, and our search can ..."

"For God's sake John, will you shut up! This isn't going to happen in
America where people like you can *buy* your way out of everything.
I'll be going back to a country run by the same mad dogs who killed
my family and any other Croatian they could get their hands on!
There's not going to *be* anything to appeal! It's over! Christ, I
don't know why I ever came to this country... you might as well pour
yourself a glass of wine and get drunk with me. It's doubtful if I'll
be alive for your birthday!" Luka yelled. His eyes were a tawny gold.
He looked like a wild animal.

"If it's all the same to you, I'll wait and see." John said as calmly
as he could under the circumstances. He picked up the bottle and
began looking for the corkscrew. He'd never seen Luka act like this.
Unlike the last time, this *was* personal. Luka grabbed him by the
arms and shook him.

"For the last fucking time! I am going to be sent home where I will
be found guilty and executed! There's nothing you, your family, or
anyone else can do to stop this!" Luka let go of John, snatched the
bottle from him, broke its neck on the edge of the sink and poured
most of the contents into a beer mug.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." John said very softly
turning off the water for his tea. He retreated to their bedroom
leaving Luka by himself. Inspite of wanting to, he wouldn't let
himself cry. When his grandfather yelled at him, telling him what a
failure he was and how much he disappointed everyone, he'd learned
the hard way not to so much as sniffle. Having hurt feelings was bad
enough without being slapped into the bargain. Rubbing his arms where
Luka had grabbed him, he paced the floor.

In spite of Philippa's exhaustive briefings, he'd never really
allowed himself to think too much about what a guilty verdict would
mean. That Luka could be executed had never entered his mind. He was
hurt, terrified, and angry; not a good combination. Sitting on the
edge of the bed he thought about calling his sponsor. He didn't want
to get high or take a drink, he simply needed someone to talk to
about all of this. Sighing, he pulled his rosary from under his
pillow, crossed himself and began his second Novena for the day.

Literally "decades" later, he was startled by the sound of glass
breaking in the kitchen. Quietly, he went to see what had happened.
Luka was passed out, sitting on the floor with his back against the
dishwasher. He'd finished the bottle and had opened another which was
three-quarters empty. The beer mug was lying in pieces all around
him. John quietly swept up the fragments and went to get a blanket.
He covered his husband, placed a plastic pitcher of water next to
him, turned out the light and returned to the bedroom and his
prayers. Since they'd been together, he'd never felt so alone.

As the beads slid through his fingers, he repeated the Ave Marias and
Pater Nosters automatically. Although intended as penance for his own
crime, he was praying for Luka. He knew Luka was frightened and
despite his continual harping on the worst-case scenario,
disappointed. When he finished his prayers, John undressed, put on
his caftan and went to check on Luka who was now slumped over onto
the floor. John moved the pitcher out of the way, got a cushion from
the living room and placed it under his husband's head.

After two hours of tossing and turning, John turned on the bedside
lamp and fished a medical journal out of the night stand and tried to
read. His emotional turmoil would not let him concentrate. Maybe if
he hadn't tried to be so cheerful. He should have asked Luka to be
more open about what *he* was feeling. Why couldn't Luka's verdict be
appealed? Surely grounds for this could be found. John's mind raced.
How could he face Luka in the morning? Should he apologize? Dear God,
he'd have to travel back to this country alone after his husband was
shot.

"Alone". The word kept repeating itself in his mind. He'd be alone.
Back to the half-existence he'd known before Luka. Going through the
motions, pretending to enjoy what he was doing while all the time
wanting to go somewhere and scream himself hoarse. John finally
drifted off and, for the first time in nearly a year, had a
nightmare. Images of Luka in a foreign courtroom gave way to a vision
of a prison courtyard with soldiers lined up opposite a solitary
blindfolded figure. As the volley blasted into Luka's chest, John
awoke gasping for breath.

Shivering, he got up and went to the bathroom. At some point during
the night, Luka had gotten up and come into this room. He was seated
on the floor leaning against the side of the tub, a wet washcloth
over his eyes. John used the toilet and turned to see if he'd
awakened his mate. Luka looked as if he was still asleep. John
started back for the bedroom. He nearly jumped a foot in the air when
a hand touched his leg as he went past. Luka had been awake the
entire time.

"Will you be joining me?" John asked quietly.

"No.", came the blunt monosyllable.

"Good night, Luka." John whispered and returned to bed. Neither of
them were able to get much in the way of sleep.

The next morning, John left for work while Luka went to report to the
INS officers. Thanks to Philippa calling Kerry, their co-workers had
heard about the outcome. No one said anything about the hearing,
keeping their conversations limited to the usual greetings and work-
related discussions. When Luka got to work, his professionalism kept
his friends from discerning that all was not well between John and
himself. On his break, John called his therapist. If he didn't talk
about this with someone, he would go crazy. When his shift ended,
John offered to cover for Dr. Chen who had phoned to say she would be
delayed getting to work for three hours. The idea of travelling home
in Luka's company, neither of them speaking to each other, was an
unpleasant one.

Shortly before midnight, John let himself into their darkened
apartment. Despite his leaving the hospital late, he was alone. There
was no sign that Luka had come home. A new fear gripped John. He'd
been so busy thinking about what he would say; how he would frame his
apology, he hadn't thought that Luka might be at the point where he'd
do something drastic.

His hand shaking, John didn't hesitate before picking up the phone
and calling Philippa. She had a meeting scheduled with the both of
them for Monday, but no, she hadn't seen or heard from Luka today.
John called his father next, not realizing what this simple act said
about his own inner growth. Once, he would have died rather than let
a member of his family know that he was hurting or that all was not
well with him. Now, he truly didn't give a flying fuck what anybody
thought, Luka's well-being was the only thing that mattered.

"Hey, Dad. Have you heard from Luka today? No, he's not here; he
didn't come home tonight and I'm worried. We argued last night. He's
really scared about what's going to happen. I am too, but I was too
busy with my 'Pollyanna' act to consider what Luka was going through;
what's facing both of us. He believes he'll be executed for these
crimes and I don't think he's exaggerating. Yeah, I just got off the
phone with her. OK. If you hear from him, call me. Thanks Dad."
Finally, John called County and asked to speak to Yoshi. After a wait
of some minutes, Yoshi picked up.

"Yosh? Can you do me a favor. Luka hasn't come home yet and I'm
worried. Could you check to see if he's still there? Yes, we had a
fight. Don't forget to check the roof." John tried to keep his voice
even as he said this. "Call me back. I'm at home. Thank you, Yoshi."

An hour later, Yoshi called back to say that Luka had indeed left at
the end of his shift and got on the El'. Dr. Dave had come on duty at
the same time and saw him on the platform before he boarded a train.
John thanked Yoshi for taking the trouble to search the hospital and
hung up. He put on some coffee and turned on the television.

The apartment was too quiet, too empty. He was alone. As the antics
of Warner Brothers cartoon characters flashed on the screen, John sat
and cried silently. Luka was late by only six hours or so. *He* had
gone missing for over six months without anyone knowing his
whereabouts or whether or not he was even alive. How had Luka
survived? Resolving to wait two more hours, John had already planned
what he'd say when he called the police.

His anxiety and two cups of coffee notwithstanding, John dozed off.
When he woke up it was almost four in the morning. He went to the
bathroom and when he saw Luka seated on the end of their bed, for the
second time in his life, Carter passed out cold. When he came to, he
was lying on the bed with Luka sitting next to him.

"Are you alright?", both said together.

"Luka, I'm sorry." He said simply. Yell at a child often enough, and
you'll raise someone who will apologize if it rains. Although what
had happened between them was not his fault, John immediately assumed
all of the guilt.

"John, please don't do that." Luka said very gently.

"What?"

"Apologize for something you didn't do. What I did last night hurt
*you*." Luka sighed deeply. "I'm used to brooding by myself. It drove
my family crazy. Ever since this began, I've been expecting the worst
that could happen. At the same time, I also allowed myself to hope
I'd be wrong... All of that came to a head yesterday evening. *You*
were only doing what any reasonably well-adjusted person would do,
trying to stay positive; not wasting energy fretting and stewing over
things that haven't happened yet. I could see you were worried, but
you never laid the weight of your concern on me. There is no reason
why *you* should be apologizing." Luka smiled a little. "Please be
honest. What I did last night and today hurt your feelings didn't
it?" John nodded slowly.

"Thank you." Luka's eyes had tears in them. He shook his head. "John,
I am the only one who should be expressing regret for what happened
here. All during today, I kept remembering the look on your face...
the fear and pain in your eyes. I kept thinking you must have looked
like that when your grandfather was screaming at you... and here I
was, taking his place. To make things worse, I tried to make you get
drunk. Something which could have jeopardized your health, *and* your
job. Then what did I do? I went off to brood some more, by myself."
Luka shyly touched John's face.

"When you were taken from me, I very nearly fell apart. I wasn't
aware how much I relied on your strength supporting my own. When you
came back... Please try not to be hurt too much by what I'm about to
say." Luka wiped his face and sighed. "I was very surprised at how
well you survived that experience and more than a little envious of
your emotional equilibrium. When I didn't come home tonight, part of
me must have wanted to pay you back for what I'd gone through when
you were missing. I'm so very sorry." Luka said gravely.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" John's voice was husky. "Why
didn't you tell me how you really felt? I told you I can take
criticism. I trust you Luka. When I was stabbed, you held my life in
your hands. When I married you, I thought you knew, I gave you my
soul as well."

"That's why." Luka gathered John into his arms and held him. "You
always tease me about being perfect and that's alI thought it was at
first, just teasing. Then someone made me see you truly *believe* in
my quasi-sainthood then I *really* became ashamed to face you...
*You* are the one who is the better man. With all of the sorrow
you've endured in your short life, you've somehow been able to rise
above it. It hasn't cast a shadow on your spirit." John pulled away
and began to object. Luka gently placed a finger on the lips that
were still trembling slightly.

"Please hear me out, Janaskja." Upon hearing his pet name John
smiled weakly. Luka cleared his throat and continued. "I know you've
made mistakes, one of them very serious indeed. But what you haven't
done is let these errors dominate your life, and more important, you
haven't repeated them endlessly. Since coming to County, I've watched
as you labored to become a better person. I've watched as you faced
your past and was somewhat jealous of the strength it took for you to
set it aside. I walked around for hours tonight; afraid to face you.
I thought about us, and the damage I did, then I went to see your
father."

"Why didn't he call me? I asked him to let me know if you were
alright." John's voice rose.

"I know. I convinced him not to, over his strenuous objections. I
told him I was going home to you as soon as I left his house. To make
sure of that, he drove me here himself. We talked about you and about
my boorish behavior for nearly three hours and I discovered I was not
the only one who's been astonished by your strength of spirit and
your ability to forgive.

"Roland told me what you said when he tried to apologize for being a
lousy father. He forced me to realize at last, the man I thought I
had all to myself, is as compassionate and generous to anyone lucky
enough to encounter him. It's not in your nature to hold grudges.
Roland also showed me the letter you wrote to the old man forgiving
him for the hell he put you through. The stupid fool never read it.
But that doesn't matter does it?" Luka asked.

"Sascha...", it was Luka's turn to smile. "Please don't keep putting
me on a pedestal. I had no choice but to face my past. When I went to
Atlanta, I'd reached rock bottom. There was no way they would have
released me if I hadn't worked the program to the best of my ability.
I couldn't take the easy way out, they wouldn't let me. The
counselors and the other patients were very skilled at spotting
fakers. Trust me, I tried to get away with not being honest and they
called me on it everytime." John explained.

"I finally reached a point where I was forced to admit to myself that
I'd fucked up royally. I had to step from behind the charming
barriers I'd built and look at my errors. When I came back to
Chicago, my therapist and I continued the work I'd begun in rehab. I
knew that if I was ever lucky enough to be able to give my heart to
anyone I couldn't offer damaged goods. I would've handed over a
pretty sorry excuse for a gift if it was riddled with rancor and
resentment."

"You didn't answer my question." Luka smiled as John tried to down-
play his courage.

"No, whether or not Gampa read my letter doesn't matter. He can no
longer hurt me or anybody else except himself. I'm a murderer. I've
no right to judge *his* little sins. Listen, I forgave him purely out
of self interest. When I die, I want to be able to see you and my
brother and there's no way I can do that if I end up in Hell." John
was completely serious as he said this, little knowing he was only
increasing Luka's appreciation of his character.

"Janaskja, you were right. My poor excuse for a halo has fallen off
and then some. I *am* human. I found that try as I might, I can't
live up to your valuation of me." Luka embraced John again. "Maybe,
sub-conciously I was trying to make you hate me... Push you away...
So when I'm shot you wouldn't miss me as much..." Luka whispered
brokenly. Coming on top of everything else, this last admission was
too much for John. Seeing what fear had done to his beloved, he broke
down; understanding what was facing them---permanent separation.
Luka's death.

Luka held his husband and rocked back and forth rubbing John's
back. "Sascha?" John's voice was shaky. "I am not as strong as you
would like to think. I should have admitted I didn't know how to help
you through this. Instead, I kept acting like a pain-in-the-ass ray
of sunshine all the time you were scared to death. If our time
together has been cut short, I don't want to waste any more of it
over this. I forgive you. John said softly, knowing Luka would never
ask him. I forgave you last night."

"I know you did and I thank you. When I woke up and saw you had
covered me up and put a pillow under my head, I knew it then. You
couldn't even leave me to spend a night on the kitchen floor after
acting like a drunken idiot without making sure I was as comfortable
as possible. I've told you I would look after your heart and keep it
safe. Well, I haven't done a very good job recently. John Truman
Kovac-Carter you have my solemn promise. I will never do anything
like this to you, ever again." Luka took John's head in his hands and
kissed his forehead.

"I accept your promise Sascha, as long as you also promise to get
angry at me when I truly deserve it." John said.

"You have my word." Luka stood and held out his hand. John clasped it
and rose to his feet. Luka undressed his husband and put him to
bed. "I called in sick for tomorrow, for both of us." Luka said as he
took off his clothes. "Tomorrow, I'm going to see my therapist and
try to get a handle on what's been happening in my life lately. Then,
I'm coming home to you and make mad passionate love to my better
half." Luka got under the covers and sighed when John moved into his
arms again.

"Let's run away." John had his nose buried in Luka's side.

"What?"

"I mean it. I know you're innocent. You know it. Who cares what
anyone else thinks? Let's find a country that doesn't permit
extraditions and never come back until our name is cleared."

"You're serious."

"Extremely. Lots of money plus one private jet and we could be out of
the country in 24 hours."

"You'd leave your work, your family?"

"*You* are my family. We're doctors; we can work anywhere. Trauma is
universal. I'm sure Dad or Gamma knows somebody who can jury-rig a
passport or two. Do me a small favor, at least consider this option.
I'm not going to stand by and let those Bosnian goons murder you
under the form of law."

"John, I can't let you do this..."

"Sascha, while I waited for you to come home I also had time to
think. I'll never know how you managed to endure six months not
knowing where I was or if I was. Even if they arrest every member of
the Carter family and we go bankrupt, that's nothing compared to
losing you forever. If you were sick, don't you think I'd do
everything I could to find a cure? This is the same thing. To save
your life, I'll do whatever I can and more..."

The rest of John's statement was silenced as Luka kissed him deeply
then held him closer. John exhaled, feeling as if he'd been holding
his breath for two nights running. Good moods or bad, the United
States, or the Yucatan penninsula, none of it mattered. As long as
Luka was alive, they would be alright.

"I'm afraid." Luka said quietly. His therapist nodded. "In three
weeks I'll have to leave this country and will probably be executed
for a crime I didn't commit. There's nothing more to be done and I
don't know where to turn. And to make an intolerable situation
worse... I hurt the person I love most in the world." Luka shook his
head.

"Have you told John how you feel?" Dr. Samuelson's photograph could
have been used to illustrate a dictionary definition
of "psychiatrist". He was in his early sixties with gray hair and
beard. Like Luka, he was an immigrant, from Austria. His accent
underscored the beau ideal of the Freudian psychotherapist. However,
as typical as he seemed at first glance, Leonard Samuelson had been
happily in love with a fellow psychiatrist for over thirty years. He
and his lover had been providing counseling and latterly, grief
therapy to gay couples since coming to the United States forty years
ago.

"We talked last night. He's been wonderful through all of this. So
much so, that I found myself resenting how well he's been coping. I
yelled at him. I was violently angry. I don't know what on earth
possessed me to vent my rage and frustration on him. Of all of the
people in the world, he least deserved that."

"Proximity." Dr. Samuelson smiled. "He was there. You were angry,
frustrated, disappointed, *and* terrified. You've apologized and he
forgave you. From what you've told me about that young man, he
understands you didn't genuinely mean to hurt him. I wouldn't let
this worry you too much, Luka."

"I know you're right. Things are bad enough as it is... and yet, I'm
more concerned about what I did to John than I am about being shot.
*You* didn't see him... He's been trying so hard to keep me focused
on the positive, when I blew up, he looked as if I'd shot *him*. Dr.
Samuelson, I don't think I'll ever be able to forget the way he
looked..." Luka groaned and put his head in his hands; seeing John's
trembling lips, his eyes wide and bright with the tears he'd managed
to control.

"Luka. John may have been hurt, but he's assured you he understood
why you did what you did. He's forgiven you. Now, what is it about
this that's really bothering you?"

"That I lost control of my temper. That I'm helpless in all of this.
John said I finally joined the human race and he's telling the truth.
I acted like a fool. All he was trying to do was spare me from having
to worry about how he was holding up in addition to everything else.
Then I tell him I'm having a hard time accepting the fact that he's
coping so well."

"Because deep down, you want him to be as hurt and afraid as you are?"

"No!" Luka paused. "Yes.", he said more quietly. When I first met
John, he seemed to need so much... When he turned to me... I guess I
enjoyed being his anchor more than I realized. And now, it's almost
as if he doesn't need me to do this anymore."

"And you're scared that eventually he'll no longer need you at all."

"Perhaps, probably. I guess."

"Luka, you're going to have to accept the fact of John's inner
strength once and for all. How long do you think your marriage would
last if he was always the one who leaned on you? You'd get tired of
supporting him and eventually hate his weakness even more than you
think you resent his strength. You've been married how long? Two
years? Well, you're no different than most couples. Both of you are
still growing and changing. You should be grateful that your husband
is showing you that he can shoulder his half of the worry. I'm sure
the time will come, when he *will* turn to you for support and this
way, you won't be too exhausted to help him."

Dr. Samuelson chuckled softly. "Stop flagellating yourself over this.
If John truly believed you were perfect as you define the term, he'd
have been devastated. As far as he's concerned you're perfect for
him, meaning he loves you enough to forgive your faults and trusts
that you'll do likewise when he screws up. Let this go, Luka... for
both your sakes."

Luka nodded. Dr. Samuelson's advice was reasonable. John deserved
someone who worked as hard at growing up as he did.

"So you're certain that no witnesses survived from Mercy Hospital?"
Dr. Samuelson seemingly changed the subject. However, he knew that
concern over his impending deportation and probable execution was at
the root of all of Luka's worries.

"It looks that way. Our lawyer and a legion of other people have been
searching for months without any success. I found out this morning
that I'll be deported in three weeks."

"They're not wasting any time."

"Tell me about it." Luka said drily. "The media attention has prodded
local Serbians to mount a letter-writing campaign. The idea of a
Croatian war criminal is highly attractive; all the more since most
of the atrocities were committed by Serbs. The Justice Department is
still embarassed by their luke-warm efforts with the Nazis living
here. I'm being pointed to as a model of their new efficiency."

"Luka, what *do* you remember from your stay in that hospital?" Dr.
Samuelson had an idea.

"I was out of it most of the time I was there. Between the delerium
and fever from my infection I was too weak to stand up. I don't
recall that many details. Dr. Markajic, who's dead, and this American
nurse... they're the only staff I remember clearly."

"There was an American there?"

"Yes. I was told she and some other ladies came there to nurse the
sick and wounded. And no," Luka shook his head as his therapist
started to speak. "I don't remember any of their names. Dr. Markajic
said they would get their parish to sponsor my coming to the States,
but they were evacuated and nothing ever came of it. I had to find my
own sponsor."

"Luka, you probably remember more than you realize. Considering what
you'd been through prior to being brought to Mercy Hospital, it's no
wonder your conscious mind is drawing blanks. I'd like to hypnotize
you. Maybe you'll remember a name or some other important fact."

"Doctor, testimony gained under hypnosis is not admissable."

"I know. But it *is* a good source for leads. Maybe your lawyer's
office can open some new lines of inquiry. Not many civilian women
traveled to your country during that time. There must be *some*
records."

"If there were, they were destroyed along with the rest of the
hospital. Besides, America's a big country. We could hardly track
down a hand-full of women in three weeks."

"Maybe not. But what have you got to lose?"

"You're right again, Doctor. Let's try it."

Dr. Samuelson had an old-fashioned analyst's couch in his office.
Most of his patients sat in chairs, but a few liked to recline while
discussing their problems. The senior man dimmed the lights as Luka
stretched out. It took only twenty minutes for him to put Luka into
the mental state where sub-conscious memories could be accessed.

The gold watch had gone the way of the dodo. Most hypnotherapists
could put their patients under through the simple means of any
rhythmic sound or visual stimulus. Relaxation and a focused mind were
all that were needed. In response to Dr. Samuelson's softly spoken
questions, Luka's hidden memories began to emerge, containing all
kinds of "forgotten" details. He remembered his nurse's funny turns
of speech and was even able to quote her as his doctor took him
through those nightmarish weeks.

"What is an oblate?" Dr. Samuelson asked when the hypnotic trance had
been broken.

"A lay person who abides by most of the rules of a religious order
without actually entering a convent or a monastery."

"So these women were Catholic?"

"Evidently."

"My boy, don't you see?! This is a marvellous clue! These women were
officially affiliated with a religious order: the Sisters of Mercy.
Your priest should know how your lawyer can trace them."

Luka grinned. "May I use your phone?"

"Go right ahead." Dr. Samuelson grinned back.

* * * * *
Philippa got to work right away. She knew if Luka left the United
States, guilty or not, his chances for returning were slender indeed.
She called the Chicago diocese, figuring she might as well try for
the long shot first. Tapping her pencil on a yellow legal pad she
waited for the secretary to supply the number for the closest Sisters
of Mercy convent.

Luka went home after his session. He let himself in and smiled to
find their apartment was immaculate. John had already cleaned up all
traces of disorder from two nights ago. Living with Kerry Weaver had
done wonders for his domestic skills. For someone who grew up with
the services of a large household staff, surprisingly, John was the
neater of the two men. Ever since he was a child, his people-pleasing
habits prompted him to pick up after himself. If his family seemed
indifferent to his attempts at gaining their approval, the servants
thought he was wonderful. It had been a long time since he'd needed
help when trying to do laundry or cook.

Carter came out of the kitchen and greeted Luka with a long deep
kiss. "I hope your appointment helped you."

"Janaskja, I have some good news." Luka was smiling widely as he
described the hypnosis and the lead it provided.

"Ohh, Sascha. We just might have a chance after all. This could be
just what two doctors ordered."

"This doctor anyway." Luka agreed. "Come here beloved." Luka held out
his arms and enveloped John in a hug. "I want to make love to you."

"I like a man who knows what he wants." John murmured against Luka's
broad chest. "Let me check on dinner, and then I'm yours for as long
as you like." John hurried back into the kitchen to put the ragout
he'd made into the refrigerator. They could microwave their servings
later. Pausing only to make sure all of the burners were out, John
flew down the hall to their bedroom, his clothes falling to the floor
as he went. Neatness could wait, he couldn't.

Luka had already undressed and was getting the lubricant from the
bathroom. He removed the remaining articles of John's attire and,
putting his fingers under John's chin, tilted his face upwards for a
slow burning kiss. John put his arms around Luka's neck and sighed
contentedly when Luka picked him up and carried him to the bed. John
tucked his nose into the crook of Luka's neck and inhaled deeply,
relishing the blend of Luka's aftershave and the natural spicy musk
that was his husband's own unique scent.

"Going down." Luka announced as he placed John on the bed and
bracketed the slender body with his arms.

"I should jolly well hope so." John murmured with a lopsided grin.

Supporting himself on his hands and knees, Luka kissed John's
forehead, his eyelids, cheeks, neck, and chest. The small soft kisses
were doing their work very well judging from John's twitching penis.
Luka bent his head to suckle first one nipple then the other as John
began to move beneath him. They hadn't made love in weeks and John
was more than ready. Luka's mouth continued its downward journey and
John began to emit small noises as his arousal deepened.

Luka lightly stroked John's penis which was now fully erect. Then he
swiftly took it into his mouth, sucking the head and lavishly bathing
the shaft with his tongue. "Ohhh, sweet heavens..." John arched his
back as Luka took him deeper. "Don't stop, beloved."

Luka had no intention of stopping. He eagerly attended to his
husband's needs, fully prepared as John began to thrust upwards into
the warmth and moisture. John nearly screamed when he felt a
lubricated finger begin to work its way toward his prostate. Between
these twin sources of pleasure it wasn't long before Luka was able to
drink his fill as John's orgasm overtook him. Luka withdrew his mouth
slowly, removing all traces of semen before sliding upwards to
embrace his trembling husband. He gently held John as the younger man
regained his composure. The look in John's eyes was filled with quiet
joy as they kissed once more.

After a few moments, Luka sat back on his heels and reached for the
lubricant. He applied it generously to himself and to John then began
again. Massaging the silky skin on John's chest and sides with one
hand, Luka guided his penis into place. John gasped once then slowly
smiled. Luka filled the tight space, pausing frequently to make sure
John was ready for him. As he began to thrust, he stroked John's hips
and stomach. John sighed at this familiar and yet totally new
pleasure. He lifted his hips to meet Luka's thrusts but his husband
had other ideas and placed his hands firmly on John, holding him
still.

The slow pumping continued and John moaned, his voice deepened by
desire. "Please Luka, make me come. I want to come with you." Luka
obliged him by gently stroking the quivering semi-erect organ. The
combined sensations were bringing John closer to the point of no
return. He shouted Luka's name as the slow lunges became faster and
more insistent. Coherent speech was impossible. Their lusty ballet
was accompanied by a series of gasps, moans, and grunts building to a
crescendo of shouts as Luka's orgasm slammed into him with the force
of a freight train. John was not far behind and Luka bent to lazily
lick the pearly semen that spattered his husband's groin and abdomen.

Dinner was postponed until nearly midnight as they took their time re-
discovering the pleasure two people could give to each other. When
their late-night collation had been eaten and Luka had fallen asleep,
tears poured down John's face. If he had to kidnap his husband, there
was no way he'd ever let him board that plane for Bosnia. John
surreptiously dried his eyes on the sheet and decided to call his
father in the morning. Time was moving too swiftly and for once, *he*
was the one who refused to place any hope in this new avenue of
inquiry. Luka was not the only one who could claim a string of bad
luck for his very own.

Praying that his guardian angel would come through, John drifted off
into slumber. Luka had once told him that God answered prayers; to
which John replied that sometimes the answer was "no". As sleep took
him, he had no way of knowing that aided by wings supplied by Aer
Lingus, his guardian angel was on her way back to Chicago after an
absence of nearly five years. Mrs. Riordan was coming home.

* * * * *

This was more like it. Philippa Taylor grinned as she placed a call
to the Sisters of Mercy convent outside Chicago. It was early
evening, but like 7-Elevens, the Catholic church was open at all
hours. A soft woman's voice answered. "Deo Gratias".

Philippa smiled. She had to be the only Jewish woman on the planet
who'd received a convent education. "Benedicite" she replied
automatically. "I wonder if you could assist me? My name is Philippa
Taylor. I'm an attorney acting on behalf of a client who has been
falsely accused of perpetrating war crimes. At the relevant time, my
client was extremely ill in a hospital affiliated with your order in
what is now Bosnia-Herzegovinia. During his convalescence, there were
several oblates of your order from the United States working there.
Do you have any idea how I could trace these women? Some of them may
be able to testify that my client could not have been the man
responsible for the atrocities he will be tried for."

"When was your client in hospital?" the woman asked in turn. Philippa
supplied the dates. "Yes, oblates from the Chicago area travelled to
Yugoslavia during the time you mentioned. Four of them were from the
parish of Saints Peter and Paul. If you will wait a few minutes I'll
get you Father Halloran's telephone number. He's the priest for that
parish."

Philippa held her breath. After searching all over the United States
and racking up an overseas phone bill large enough to serve as the
GNP for a third-world nation, she couldn't believe the answer had
been here in Chicago the entire time. She grabbed her pencil as the
line was picked up again. "Ms. Taylor? Here is the telephone number."
Philippa wrote it down. "What is your fax number?" Philippa gave her
the information. "Thank you. Our records indicate a total of twenty-
four women, oblates, nurses, and nursing sisters were in Yugoslavia
during that time. I will transmit the list to you immediately.

"Thank you, Sister..." Philippa paused.

"Robertine.", the nun replied. "I hope we have been able to help
clear your client."

"I'm sure you have." Philippa said. She turned to her computer and
activated its facsimile. Five minutes later, the list appeared on the
monitor. "Bless you, Sister Robertine!" Philippa whooped as she
clicked "Print" with a flourish. It looked as if the cavalry was
coming over the hill; wearing habits, veils, and armed with rosaries,
but riding to the rescue nonetheless. She picked up the phone and
dialed the rectory of Saints Peter and Paul.

* * * * *

Their day off helped Luka and John to present more cheerful faces to
their co-workers when they returned to County. While Luka went off to
his first patient, John located Yoshi and gave him a hug. "Thank you
again for taking the time to help us. I... we really appreciate it."

"You're more than welcome, Dr. Carter. Is everything better?"

"Yes. We may have a small chance after all. Keep your fingers
crossed."

"Of course. Let me know if you and Dr. Kovac need my help with
anything else."

"We will. Domo arigato gozaimatsu, Hikaru-sama."

Yoshi grinned. Trust John Carter to have remembered his family name.
His Japanese accent wasn't too bad either.

During his break, John called Roland and arranged for them to meet.
Maybe he'd read too many spy novels, but he didn't think arranging to
illegally leave the country was something to be discussed over the
phone. As he hung up, he grinned wryly. Gampa would have apoplexy if
knew that John had planned to follow in his footsteps after all. Luka
might be madder than a hornet and would probably yell at him for
months, but he'd be alive. Sighing, he went to check the board. He'd
better see a few patients before Kerry decided to remind him of his
duties.

Oddly enough, his session with Dr. Samuelson had provided Luka with
his first real hope. His colleagues were mildly surprised to hear him
whistling as he went from one patient to the next. His therapist's
advice about his relationship with John had also been very helpful.
Luka, had married while still in his teens. It was time he grew up.
John would find a strong well-balanced man far more desirable than a
sulky teenager.

It was the season for broken bones, muscle pulls, and abrasions as
skate boards, yard work, and other forms of warm weather exercise
took their toll on house-bound Chicagoans emerging from their winter
cocoons. Luka didn't even mind constantly repeating the need for
helmets and pads while suturing knees, elbows, and scalps. If any of
his patients had seen the news stories, they didn't let on.

When their shifts were over, they travelled home. This time, the
silence that enveloped them was due to fatigue. Luka held John's hand
as they rode and did not release it when their stop was announced.
The weather was beautiful and when they reached the apartment, John
began to open windows while Luka prepared their evening drinks. The
window in the dining room was stuck and John jumped when Luka came up
behind him naked and began to kiss the back of his neck.

"Leave that one for now, beloved. Come with me." John silently
complied. Luka began to undo the buttons on John's shirt while
kissing his lips. "You're worried, Janaskja. You'll get wrinkles.",
he whispered then began to rim the outer edge of John's left
ear. "Let me see if I can come up with something to smooth your skin
and ease your mind." The shirt fluttered to the floor.

John's hands were busy with the drawstring to Luka's scrubs. Neither
of them had taken the time to shower before leaving work, preferring
to do so in privacy. "I can't help it, Sascha, we only have..."

"All the time in the world." Luka said smiling as John tugged on the
knot. "Slow down. I'm not going anywhere." John broke the string and
pulled the bottom half of the scrubs to Luka's shins as he sank to
his knees. Luka reached down and hauled him to his feet. "Cleanliness
is next to Godliness", he quoted as he grabbed John around his waist
and hauled him, shuffling into the bathroom. Just as things were
about to get very hygenic indeed, there was a knock at the door. Luka
was in no fit state to receive company so John reluctantly zipped up
his trousers and went to see who it was.

Cursing under his breath he hastily did up his shirt and opened the
door. A petite elderly woman stood there smiling. John's mouth fell
open. Her sparkling grey eyes narrowed as she laughed at his
flabbergasted expression. "You were expecting, the little people, me
boyo?" Give your old godmother a hug." John embraced her.

"Mrs. Riordan, when did you get back?!"

"A matter of two hours ago. Well shouldn't you be about asking me to
come in? Or have you forgotten the manners I taught you?"

"Please." He held the door for her. "I'm so glad to see you."

"I doubt that.", she grinned looking at his shirt. Half of the
buttons were undone and the others were fastened incorrectly. There
was also a hickey, whose color would have done a Cardinal proud,
visible just below her godson's left ear.*

"We just got home." John blushed.

"And that's another thing. When were you planning to tell me you were
married? Ireland isn't the end of the world you know. It has
telephones, a mail service, and all the mod cons."

"I thought Father would have told you."

"That's the groom's job. Now, get dressed properly and see if you
remember how to boil water. The coffee they serve on those airlines
is not fit for man nor beast. Double quick with you then."

"Yes, ma'am" John scooted down the hall stopping first in the
bathroom. "Sascha? Game's called on account of leprachauns. Get
dressed and get into the living room. We have company." He yelled
over the noise of the shower. A groan which sounded more like the
growl of a caged lion was Luka's reply. John turned off the hot water
producing an indignant shout. "*That* should make you decent." John
laughed skipping aside when Luka slid the door to the shower open
flinging cold water at his husband's retreating back.

"This better be worth it." Luka muttered shivering.

"Oh it will be." John called out as he re-buttoned his shirt. Neither
of them realized a miracle was about to happen.

"So, what were you doing in Ireland for all of this time? I thought
you were never coming back." John scooped coffee into the machine and
opened a package of petit beurre cookies.

"Visiting relatives, touring, and dabbling in me former profession.
You doctors are all the same: think the sun sets on your vertical
smiles while we nurses are doing all the work." Mrs. Riordan had
served as a nurse during the Korean War before going to work for the
Carter family.

"Hey, you're preaching to the choir, Mrs. R. It's a foolish omadhaun
I'd be if I ever forgot me place in the grand scheme of things. Be
nice to nurses, or you'll rue the day." John grinned sheepishly. "I
forgot your advice just once and believe me, that was more than
enough." He blushed remembering Haleh and her colleagues hoisting him
with his own petard.

"So where are you hidin' the wedding album?"

"We don't have one. It's all on video tape." John explained as he
carried the coffee service into the living room behind his
guest. "Besides, my other half should be out here in a minute. He was
in the shower." John hadn't blushed this much in years. "Speak of an
angel..." Luka came into the living room and stopped, his mouth and
eyes stretched wide open.

"You!", he and Mrs. Riordan exclaimed together.

"You two have met before?" John asked, puzzled at their obvious
recognition of each other. He couldn't guess how they'd managed it.
Mrs. Riordan had missed their wedding. Indeed, she'd left for Ireland
before Luka even came to County. He stared as Luka pulled the woman
to her feet and embraced her fiercely all the while jabbering in
Croatian.

"Yes we have." Luka finally replied in awed tones as Mrs. Riordan
settled her blouse. "I never knew her name, but she saved my life."

"Tush. All I did was hold your hand and spoon feed you. Dr. M. did
all of the real work." Mrs. Riordan demurred, beaming.

"Wait a minute..." John's mind was slow to grasp what was going
on. "You and Mrs. Riordan met before..."

"At Mercy Hospital, Janaskja. *She's* the American nurse I told you
about yesterday." Luka's eyes were shining and his grin could have
lit downtown Las Vegas.

"Deo Gratias", John whispered. "You mean to tell me..."

"*This* is the man you married?" It was Mrs. Riordan's turn to look
surprised. "Will wonders never cease."

"Amen to that." John nodded fervently. He'd never doubt again. Before
he even knew Luka existed, his prayers had been anticipated and
answered.

"Where, in the name of heaven did you manage to get all of those
supplies?" Luka eventually got around to asking. A three-way
conversation had been going on as each filled the others in on
missing details.

"From Johnny's Da'. The Carter Family Foundation is like havin' your
own personal pot of gold.", Mrs. Riordan chuckled.

"Excuse me." John left the room. This was too much. When he got to
their bedroom. He fell on his knees for the second time that evening
and silently poured out his incoherent gratitude. As he got to his
feet he reached for the telephone.

Philippa Taylor was used to coping with hysterical clients, but even
her skills were hard-pressed to get John to a point where he made
sense. After twenty minutes of hasty questions, It finally dawned on
her. A witness had been found, in Chicago, and she'd known John all
of his life. When she'd calmed her client to where he could
comprehend, she told him she had also managed to contact three other
women who remembered Mrs. R's pet patient. Tears running down his
face, John hung up the phone and went to tell Luka. His husband was
saved: in quadruplicate.


Author's Note:
* Although I am not a Catholic, I grew up assuming the term used for
the "marks of passion" was in "honor" of the late Cardinal Hickey.
After all, both share the color crimson. (Big Protestant Smile) KPP

Philippa interviewed Mrs. Riordan the following morning. Phone calls
to Philadelphia and Sarasota, Florida had located two other women who
remembered Luka clearly. The fourth woman, a fully professed Sister
of Mercy had returned to Bosnia where she was working in the re-built
Mercy Hospital. Plane tickets were dispatched and Philippa happily
called the INS asking for Mr. Symonds. His assistant answered and
tried to put her off but Philippa stuck to her guns. The dreaded
words "wrongful prosecution" got her quarry out of his meeting in no
time.

"Sir, I'll get right to the point. The evidence I've been searching
for has turned up. My client can prove his innocence with no doubts
whatsoever. You and I both know the Bosnians will hang Dr. Kovac from
the highest tree without benefit of our silly insistence on due
process and all of the other legal folderol that keeps our country
flawed but free. I would like to interview the witnesses against Dr.
Kovac in your presence and if what I think has happened proves to be
the case, you will have to schedule another hearing at which Dr.
Kovac will be fully exonerated."

The INS official hemmed and tergiversated but Philippa's revelation
that a nun and two other honest, devout Catholic women would be
prepared to swear on their hopes of heaven to Luka's innocence, was
enough for him to get his supervisor's approval of both requests.
Philippa deliberately left Mrs. Riordan out of it. The incredible
coincidence of John's godmother, the former housekeeper to the Carter
family being the one who nursed Luka was too unbelievable. Somebody
would be sure to think the woman had been put up to testifying. If
her testimony was compromised in any way; statements made by the
other women would also be suspect.

The following afternoon, Philippa talked to the three INS witnesses.
That all had been in the same refugee camp was not stressed in the
hearing. She quickly passed over the events which took place in
L*****e. She had no doubt of the veracity of this portion of their
statements. Instead, Philippa asked questions about their stay in the
refugee camp. The elderly man was the first to mention he'd been
asked by a volunteer orderly in the makeshift hospital about the
massacre prior to giving formal testimony to a UN official. The youth
now in his early twenties, whose remaining eye had been bandaged at
the time, also admitted talking late one night with someone who'd
asked him to describe "Lukasha".

Through all of this, the woman who'd escaped to the woods with her
daughter, said nothing. When Philippa asked her to relate her
experiences, the woman reluctantly admitted to talking with a man who
mentioned that Lukasha's last name might have been Kovac and that
he'd been a member of a militia group. Philippa smiled. Three
witnesses had all talked to an unknown man or men, who made helpful,
but damning suggestions. Thanking them for their time, Philippa
signalled to Mr. Symonds to remain in the room as the other officials
escorted the witnesses out.

"Mr. Symonds, your witnesses have been influenced." Philippa
announced bluntly. "You've been extremely cooperative with me so I'll
return the favor." Philippa then related Luka's experiences with
the "Sons of Thunder". As the INS agent began to insist that Luka's
participation in these raids was grounds to maintain the judges'
decision, Philippa held up her hand.

"Don't you see? My client began receiving threatening notes about
this matter *weeks* before your office even contacted him. The police
report he filed..." Philippa read the date. "This report shows that
someone outside of your office, or God forbid, a member of your
staff, was in contact with Dr. Kovac prior to your people bringing
formal charges. I don't know about you, but it seems to me someone or
some group with a powerful grudge is behind all of this. Dr. Kovac
has admitted to accidentally shooting and killing a man who was
attempting to rape the woman who acted as his nurse. Perhaps a member
of this man's family wanted revenge." Philippa leaned forward eagerly.

"When I talked with Bosnian officials they were very happy to tell me
that this militia group was raided and many of its members arrested
three or four days *after* Dr. Kovac left them. He has informed me
that he didn't rat them out and regrets not doing so. So, maybe
someone else *did*. Nevertheless, surviving members of the group,
including its leader, may have thought that Luka *was* responsible.
The only reason Dr. Kovac ended up in Mercy Hospital is because a
former Son of Thunder set off a car bomb in an attempt to silence
him. Now, don't you think this is more than sufficient evidence to
indicate a former member of that group could have "suggested" Dr.
Kovac may have been the same 'Lukasha' who slaughtered women and
children?"

Symonds nodded reluctantly. He'd had his own doubts from the
beginning. Luka Kovac had not even bothered to change his name upon
coming to this country. He was either incredibly stupid, foolishly
arrogant, or innocent. "Okay, I'll talk to my superiors.", he sighed.

"It shouldn't be hard to convince them." Philippa took pity on the
poor man. "I deliberately didn't ask your witnesses to describe their
prompters in detail. I'm thinking there's a pretty good chance this
guy or guys, whoever they were, may have been involved in the events
that took place in that village. Afterall, they all ended up in the
same refugee camp; that can't be a coincidence."

His expression brightening, Mr. Symonds got up to leave. Philippa was
mostly correct as far as she knew. The series of events that had
threatened to engulf her client were fraught with nothing but one
incredible coincidence after another. Unfortunately, none of the
officials would find this out until greater damage had been done.

* * * * *

Two days after Philippa's meeting with the INS, over a late
breakfast, Mateus Rovic, now known as Matthew Robbins received a
phone call from a "friend". The bowl containing his cereal hit the
wall spattering its contents all over the kitchen. Despite his
expertise with explosives, despite his subtle handling of the
L*****can survivors, Dr. Kovac would be going free with his name
cleared. Mateus had never believed in life's fairness. Nevertheless,
the injustice of this turn of events made him furious.

He'd managed to cozen UN officials into arranging for him to emigrate
to the United States. Afterall, as a Croatian whose home showed every
sign of being taken over by the dreaded enemy, he was a political
refugee. So Mateus found himself in Chicago with its large Slavic
population scrounging to make a living. Skill with dynamite and
firearms is not in very high demand unless you join the police or the
military. Mateus was too old for the latter, and had no intention of
ever enlisting with the former.

Had he known, Dave Malucci could have told Rovic there was
one "organization" for want of a better word, who often had need of
skilled marksmen and individuals who were good at winning arguments
with reluctant debtors or eager would-be witnesses. Recent
immigrants, especially those whose documentation could not withstand
scrutiny, made easy prey and Mateus soon found himself earning a
living by making others wish they were dead. Unfortunately, he was
not a very good businessman. His salary, though generous, did not
last long. Mateus liked to impress those who went in fear of him.
Expensive clothes hanging from racks "borrowed" from the garment
district lined the walls of his run-down apartment.

Mateus also liked to have a good time. Unfortunately, he did not
possess the handsome good looks of Luka Kovac, so he also spent money
to smooth the rough spots from his "social life". The thought of Luka
earning good wages as a doctor and fucking the son of an extremely
wealthy man had only spurred Mateus's desire for revenge. So, he
spent even more money bribing INS clerks to alert him when and if any
of the village survivors came to the United States. All it took was
one of these "dear cousins" coming to the land of the free, for him
to get to work.

Rovic's "reunion" with his long lost cousin, in this case, the young
boy, happened in a public employment office to which Mateus had
followed his unwitting protoge after discovering where he'd settled.
Mateus pretended to recognize the scarred young man while they waited
to see the overworked employment counselors. It didn't take long for
Mateus to work the conversation around to the terrible state of
affairs back home where wolves and jackals were now running nation
states and living very well indeed.

The youth sighed and volunteered that the only "wolf" he wanted to
see shot had been killed by a car bomb. Mateus asked for the name of
this deserving victim and was not surprised when the boy replied the
suspect's name was probably Luka Kovac. Ten weeks hanging around in
that stinking refugee camp had paid off handsomely. Another twenty
minutes and Mateus had convinced the boy that not all deaths were as
permanent as folks would like to think. Implying that the murderers
of his own family were still searching for him, Mateus "confided"
that he too, had staged his own death. This guaranteed the boy's
silence where Rovic was concerned.

Their conversation took place in Buffalo, New York. Mateus asked for
the boy's address, although the youth's whereabouts were already
known to his fellow countryman. Rovic promised that some of his like-
minded "friends" would try and see if Lukasha had also fled to the
land of opportunity. Mateus then returned to Chicago and waited for a
suitable amount of time to pass. Then he typed an anonymous note
enclosed a video tape of Luka's appearance on Channel Six, mailed it
to the boy and waited again.

The poor young man, thinking he could finally obtain justice for his
disfigurement and the deaths of his friends, contacted the
authorities and began the chain of events that despite carefully
forged links, had ultimately failed to bind Mateus's enemy. The
hearing to exonerate Luka Kovac would be in three days and Mateus
would be ready to extract his own justice.

* * * * *

The hearing room was filled with reporters, government officials,
witnesses, plus the usual curious bystanders. Mrs. Riordan having
done her part, was notably absent. The three INS witnesses had spent
the intervening days providing descriptions of the men who'd prompted
them. A police sketch artist, borrowed for this occasion was able to
produce two portraits. The young boy had been temporarily blinded by
a bandage over his remaining eye when he'd been prompted. He'd only
heard the man's voice and was not prepared to identify anyone on the
basis of one brief conversation which took place over five years ago.

Although two portraits were created, anyone could see that despite a
few minor differences the men depicted were either identical twins or
only one man was responsible. The "original" for these portraits, his
hair long since dyed blond, was seated at the rear of the hearing
room. He scowled as Luka Kovac, accompanied by his little boyfriend,
took their seats. The two men were smiling as the hearing got
underway. Mateus Rovic settled back to listen.

A Justice Department offcial stood and began to speak. "This hearing
has been called in order that testimony from witnesses on behalf of
Luka Aleksandr Kovac may be heard prior to execution of the
deportation order. If this new testimony withstands examination and
is accepted by the United States Department of Justice, execution of
the deportation order will be delayed until such time as those who
brought charges against Dr. Kovac have the opportunity to obtain
additional evidence against him. If they fail to do so, or waive this
option, all charges filed against Luka Aleksandr Kovac will be
summarily dropped and the deportation order will be revoked." The
young official took his seat next to the three survivors as a Federal
judge took his place at the dais.

An INS clerk stood. "This hearing is called into order. Judge
Frederick Grayson is presiding." The middle-aged woman announced. The
room became quiet. One by one, the three survivors gave their
accounts of the massacre for the last time and identified Luka as the
man they thought responsible. When they completed their portion of
the proceedings, Philippa stood, purely out of habit. This wasn't a
formal court of law. She could have remained in her seat.
Nevertheless, her instincts for the dramatic, which had helped her in
prior jury trials, was in evidence as she paused to arrange some
papers before speaking.

"Ms. Rodjavic, how did you come to suspect that my client, could have
been the man responsible for the tragic events you witnessed?"

"I told some people what had happened to me and afterwards one of
them mentioned that the man I described could have been a former
member of a militia group." The female survivor explained quietly.

"Did this person mention any names when talking about this former
miltia man?"

"Not at first. He asked me to provide more details describing the man
who shot my friends. I told him this monster was called 'Lukasha' by
the others who were also shooting people. That's when he mentioned
the family name 'Kovac'."

"I see. What did you do with this information?"

"I went back to the young man from the UN peace-keepers who took my
statement and gave this information to him."

"Thank you, Ms. Rodjavic. I have no further questions for you at this
time."

Philippa repeated identical questions for the remaining survivors and
received variations on the answers provided by Elizaveta Rodjavic.
Pausing once more, she then addressed the three of them. "If you had
not been provided with the opportunity to examine a photograph of Dr.
Kovac, do you think you could have identified him as the man
responsible for the deaths of your families and friends? Please take
all the time you need to carefully consider your answers." Philippa
sat down as the witnesses conferred with each other and the INS
officials. After fifteen or so minutes the witnesses stood.

"Although this man...", the elderly male survivor pointed to
Luka. "...looks somewhat like the man I saw shooting my neighbors,
no. I cannot absolutely say it was him. Ms. Rodavic and the youth
said the same. They sat down as a quiet hum of conversation rose in
the hearing room.

Philippa stood once more. "The events which you survived took place
over three days time." Philippa gave the dates from memory. "My
client could not have been the man responsible for the horrors you
suffered. At that time he was lying in a hospital almost one hundred
kilometers distant very near death himself. I would like to call
three witnesses who *can* identify him positively as a patient at the
Sisters of Mercy Hospital. To the best of my knowledge, the last time
these witnesses saw my client was over five years ago." Philippa
smiled at the INS officials who'd neglected to pay much attention to
the fact that Luka had been identified as the result of a photograph,
not actual physical recognition.

Sister Clare Bernard came forward and stood before Luka. She smiled
at him. "Yes. This man...", she pointed for the record. "...was a
patient in our hospital during the time mentioned. He was admitted
four days before the events described by the survivors and had not
been released prior to my being evacuated four weeks later."

"During his stay in your hospital, could my client have managed to
sneak away, commit these atrocities and then return to the hospital?"

"No. He had developed a post-operative infection and very nearly died
as a result. At the time of the shootings, he was unable to sit up.
Unless he'd been carried out and committed the murders while lying on
a stretcher, he would have been incapable of leaving the hospital
under his own power."

"Could my client have been exaggerating his injuries?"

"No. I updated his records. His fever was high. He was unconcious or
delerious for most of the time I attended to him. He may have been
able to falsify his temperature and pretend to be unconcious, but
there was no possible way for him to increase his white blood cell
count."

"Do you remember any distinguishing marks on my client's person that
are not visible as he sits here?" Philippa almost purred.

"Yes. He should have a large scar on his left side; the result of
surgery to remove schrapnel."

"Thank you Sister Bernard. I have no further questions."

The other two women came forward in turn and positively identified
Luka. When they fininished, he also stood and revealed to the
assembly the scar on his left side. The INS officials had only one
question for each of Luka's witnesses: why hadn't they come forward
before now? Sister Bernard quietly replied that she had been out of
the country for the past two years and inquiries made of the staff at
the re-built hospital in Bosnia were not put to her as she had been
on a spiritual retreat cloistered from contact with the outside world.

The other two women also stated that they lived some distance from
Chicago and therefore, had not seen the news and television stories.
The first they'd heard of the charges against their former patient
was when Philippa's office contacted them one week ago. Satisfied,
the INS officials stood after conferring briefly with their witnesses.

"The witnesses have waived their right to seek additional evidence
against Dr. Kovac in this matter. The Justice Department accepts the
testimony of the witnesses who have come forward on his behalf. Dr.
Kovac, please stand. The Justice Department and the government of the
United States thanks you for your cooperation in this matter. All
charges brought by these said institutions are summarily dropped. The
deportation order is hereby revoked. You are free to leave."

Luka went over and shook the hands of the INS officials and then
stood before the three witnesses who'd inadvertantly brought this
about. "I am extremely sorry for your losses. I hope that the men
responsible for them will be caught and made to answer for their
crimes. Under the circumstances, I cannot blame any of you for
seeking justice. I know you did not do so out of any personal
animosity against me." He said quietly in Croatian.

Elizaveta, tears in her eyes, stood and took Luka's hand. "Although
I'd like nothing better than to see those bastards shot for what they
did, I could take no joy in the death and suffering of an innocent
man. If I did, I would be as bad as they; worse, because I know
better."

"Thank you." Luka replied in English. He returned to his seat.

Mr. Symonds came over and handed Luka his passport. "Congratulations,
Ms. Taylor. Now it's our turn to begin the search for the man who
engineered all of this."

"You have my best wishes, sir." Philippa grinned. "It won't be easy."

Finally, Luka turned to John whose face was grave. In the presence of
the three disappointed survivors, he had no wish to give vent to the
joy that made him want to shout. Only his eyes gave any indication of
his exuberant relief. It was over. They could breathe again.
Remembering the reporters, neither he nor Luka so much as took the
other's hand. Disappointed at this show of seemliness, the
journalists filed out.

At last, John and Luka left the room. John whispered something in
Luka's ear which caused him to laugh aloud. Looking at each other,
they didn't observe Mateus Rovic following them. When they reached
the lobby of the building, the lights from the television cameras
caused them to stop momentarily. Mateus went past them, pulled a gun
from his pocket and fired at point-blank range into Luka's chest.

Screams and a confused scuffle ensued as John gently laid Luka on the
floor. Sister Clare pushed her way through the crowd as an INS
official ran to call an ambulance. Luka was unconcious, so John
didn't hesitate to rip open his husband's shirt. Pain was not an
issue, keeping Luka alive was. The wound was surprisingly small. It
was hardly bleeding. John then slipped his hand under Luka's back and
withdrew it covered in blood. Needing something to staunch the flow
from the exit wound, John stripped off his coat and shirt. Balling up
the latter, he packed it into the steady flow. Sister Clare had been
quick to follow his lead. She removed her panty hose and John used it
to tightly bind the makeshift bandage into place.

Security guards had cleared the space around them. John placed his
fingers on Luka's carotid artery. His pulse was perceptible but
thready. No longer aware of reporters or anything save Luka, John
began to administer modified CPR, exhaling into Luka's lungs while
Sister Clare gently applied pressure to push blood from his
extremities to where it could sustain his vital organs. Her lips
moved as she silently prayed.

"Please, Sascha. Stay with me. It's Janaskja. You're going to be
fine. Help is coming soon." He repeated. It was a prayer. His own
traumatic experience had taught him that although patients appeared
unconcious, many times they were aware of their surroundings and
would remember things said to them afterwards. A choir of heavenly
angels could not have sounded as beautiful as the sound of the
approaching ambulance siren.

Five minutes later, two EMT's raced over to the stricken man. Carter
filled them in calmly but rapidly as the technicians hastily placed
Luka on the transport board. Once in the vehicle, John gave them
Luka's blood type as the crew began to set up a transfusion and
provided oxygen. His experience as a ride-along physician was limited
to only a few runs, so Carter knew the best thing he could do for
Luka was stay out of the way of the more experienced trauma techs.

"Where are you taking us?"

"County's closest."

"Thank God." John knew there was no way Luka's colleagues would fail
him.

"Did you hear that, Sascha? They're taking us home. Kerry's Crew will
have you fixed up in no time. Hang in there, beloved. Janaskja's here
and he loves you very much." John had bent down next to Luka's left
ear and was speaking quietly.

"Two minutes out." the youngest technician called out.

John moved to one side to give the men room to get Luka out of the
vehicle. When the doors were opened, he was the last to leave the
ambulance. The senior EMT gave the bullet to Mark Greene as they all
raced inside. Peter Benton was waiting in Trauma One and helped as
they shifted Luka from the gurney. The rapid infuser was quickly
hooked up and John's friends went to work. He looked up startled as
Chuny handed him the top to a pair of scrubs. He'd been entirely
oblivious to his semi-nakedness.

He watched as X-rays were taken and Luka was intubated, then followed
as Luka was conveyed to surgery. From the amount of blood and other
factors, John surmised the damage from the bullet was severe. John
ran up the stairs and managed to meet them as they emerged from the
elevator. "Do you want to scrub in?" Peter asked. John nodded. "Yeah,
I'd like to be in there. I won't be in the way." He went to prepare.*

The moment John entered the operating theater, Luka crashed. Tears
standing in his eyes, Carter stood and silently watched as they
worked to finish connecting the by-pass equipment. It couldn't end
like this. Not after all they'd been through. John closed his eyes as
the technician made the last rapid adjustment. The machine's monitor
was silent for a couple of seconds, then regular beeping was heard.
Now, they had time to work.

Luka was fortunate. No major blood vessels had been compromised.
Nevertheless, the bullet had caromed off his ribs and managed to
puncture his heart. Peter assessed the damage as Luka's chest cavity
was exposed further. The worst area was the posterior wall of the
cardiac muscle. Peter called for silk of the proper gauge and began
to suture the laceration. Once this was done, Peter asked for
additional suction.

John's heart beat in time to the beeping monitor. Unconciously, his
breaths matched the whispered sounds of the respirator. When he
looked up again, he saw his father and Mrs. Riordan standing outside.
Philippa must have told them what happened. Mrs. Riordan held up her
rosary and smiled. John returned his attention to the operating
table. Peter finished repairing this portion of Luka's injuries and
personally irrigated the field before callling for suction. Everyone
held their breaths as they waited to see if any additional blood
seeped into view.

Judging from the amount of damage, the bullet had been small and it's
velocity, despite the shooter's proximity, had been slowed by its
erractic path. Once again, Mateus failed. By choosing a small, easily
concealed weapon he'd spared Luka. After pausing momentarily, blood
re-appeared. Peter searched for and located the sources and repaired
these additional wounds. Each time a laceration was sutured, or an
ancillary vessel was closed, the field was irrigated and cleared.
Finally, Peter was confident that his reconstruction work was done.
Now for the most dangerous portion of the procedure.

The internal paddles were charged and ready. A solution containing
electrolytes was used to surround the heart muscle. Luka's body,
previously chilled to reduce its functions, would be warmed as the by-
pass technician began to shut down the machine that had been
breathing and pumping blood while his heart was out of commission.
The suturing had to hold up against tremendous pressure when Luka's
heart was shocked into beating on its own.

So many things could go wrong. The sutures could fail. Luka's heart
might not be able to pump with sufficient strength to maintain a
viable blood pressure level. Hidden damage could go critical and
before he could be placed on life support once more, he would die.
Although patients had survived fairly lengthy procedures on heart-
lung by-pass equipment, no one could actually live while remaining
hooked up to the thing for much longer than eight hours.

John closed his eyes and prayed as the paddles were applied to the
solution. A silence that seemed to last ten years followed, then the
beeping resumed. Luka's blood pressure was low, but viable. He had a
chance. Twenty minutes passed as Luka's heart continued to beat on
its own. As his blood pressure crept higher, Peter prepared to close.
John grimaced and clasped his hands when the rib-spreader was winched
to its closed position then extracted. Once the hellish looking
device had been removed, the surgical team watched the monitors.

Luka's heart continued to beat, albeit with a slight decrease in
pressure. So far, much better than anyone had a right to expect. His
sternum had been detached from its supporting super-structure. This
man-made fracture had to be splinted. Surgical steel sutures were
used to hold the replaced bone in place. A technician then increased
the pressure on the respirator slowly until he reached near-normal
and they waited again. Peter stretched his arms and turned to give
the thumbs-up sign to his former student.

A total of four and three-quarter hours later, Luka was wheeled into
the ICU. John went to scrub again. This time from the skin outwards.
During the preceding one hundred and fifty years, doctors had learned
that cutting people open was not the hard part; keeping them alive
afterwards was. Luka had first-hand experience and could have told
them post-operative infections claimed many more lives than the
actual operations.

In order to remain with Luka, John had to be as germ-free as modern
medical technology would allow. After showering, the nurses for this
critical care unit helped him put on the special scrubs, mask,
gloves, and bonnet. Only his eyes were visible.


Author's Note:
* I am not a doctor and I know full well that an actual operation of
this type is a complex and often lengthy procedure. I also have been
informed that in "real life" John's presence in the operating theatre
would not be permitted. Hey, events have been altered for dramatic
content. If our show of shows can do it, who am I to break with a
time-honored tradition? Special thanks to Mike Sugimoto for providing
medical resources. KPP

Luka's condition was listed as "critical": a rating automatically
assigned to patients who were not breathing on their own. John sat by
his husband's bed, numb with shock. Although he'd remained fairly
calm immediately following the shooting, the events of the past six
hours caught up to him at last. One moment, he and Luka were laughing
at some silly observation John made: more from relief than actual
humor, the next minute he was up to his elbows in Luka's blood. Now,
he sat by Luka's side shuddering as images of what could have
happened flashed through his mind.

Mere inches had saved his husband. If the bullet had been diverted by
another rib, instead of the one that was actually hit, Luka would
have died. If the shooter had used larger calibre ammunition, Luka
would have died. If traffic had delayed the ambulance... On and on,
John's mind raced while he gently held Luka's right hand in his own
gloved ones. Although his thoughts moved at the speed of light,
outwardly, his benumbed state permitted him to present a calm
appearance to the friends and colleagues who periodically tapped on
the glass to smile their encouragement.

Loss of blood blanched Luka's face. Without the rhythmic rising and
falling of his chest, he could have been mistaken for a cadaver.
Despite the quietly beeping monitors, John frequently checked his
husband's pulse. The respirator helped Luka to breathe thereby
preventing undue strain on traumatized tissue. Nutrient fluids
nourished organs doing their best to recuperate. It would be a while
before Luka's body would be permitted to do any of the work required
of it to ingest, digest, and eliminate food in the regular fashion.

John had been an above-average surgical resident. His aborted study
of surgery had provided him with enough training to be very afraid.
When exposed to air, blood clots. Externally, this drying blood forms
scabs protecting the wounds beneath. Internally, blood clots can
kill. The body's attempt to heal itself in this fashion was the cause
of Lucy's death. She had been showing signs of making a full
recovery. Then a pulmonary artery became blocked and within minutes,
she was gone.

The threat of post-operative infections was also a major cause for
concern. Bodies resent being cut open and this resulting shock to the
system weakens patients leaving them vulnerable and unable to fight
bacteria with anything near optimum strength. Access to the post-
operative ICU was strictly limited, so John willingly assumed some of
the nurse's duties. As everyone waited for the effects of the
anaesthesia to wear off, he updated Luka's chart with data pertaining
to his vital signs: blood pressure, oxygen levels, temperature, and
heart rate.

Luka's chart wasn't actually kept in his room. Paper handled by
staff, who move from patient to patient, can provide lush living
quarters for germs. Instead, the relevant statistics were forwarded
to computer screens at the desk where all of the charts were kept.
This way only one or two people entered the room, theoretically
reducing the chance for infection.

After two hours, John left the ICU to find his father and Mrs.
Riordan. By the time he located them in the waiting room, Millicent
had also arrived. "How is he?", she asked for all of them.

"His vital signs are stable but his condition will remain critical
until he is breathing without a respirator." John said quietly.

"How long before he wakes up?" Roland wanted to know.

"It depends...", John began to answer then his voice caught. Roland
hugged his son as emotions that had been suppressed broke free.

"Everything's going to be alright, Johnny. God won't let Luka die. He
knows how much you love him." It had been a long time since his son
had shown a need for reassurance. It had been even longer since
Roland had been there to provide it. He rubbed John's back as sobs
shook his slender frame. "Shhh, Johnny... Your Daddy's with you..."

These murmured phrases eventually calmed John to the point where he
could speak. Wiping his eyes with the heels of his hands, he summoned
up a brief smile. "You always seem to be here when I need you the
most. Thanks, Dad. I love you."

"Feeling better?" Roland was barely able to keep his own voice
steady. To the end of his days, he would bitterly regret not being
the kind of father his children deserved.

"Yeah. That was bound to happen sooner or later. I'll be okay for
now." John exhaled and answered his father's first question as if the
emotional outburst had never been. "It depends on several factors."
John briefly smiled again. "People react to anaesthesia differently.
If all goes according to the book, Luka should begin coming around in
another two hours or so."

"His body can only be helped by the rest, Mr. C." Mrs. Riordan
added. "And the same goes for you, me boyo. Why don't you lie down on
the couch over there? Try to sleep. I'll wake you in plenty of time
to rejoin your husband before he comes to and starts to fret. Come
on..." She took John's arm and led him to the couch.

"I'm too keyed up to sleep." John objected.

"Stretch out anyway and close your eyes. You're more tired than you
realize."

John followed orders. He knew better than to try and change Mrs.
Riordan's mind. Once it was made up, there was nothing to do but get
out of her way. He put his arms over his face and kept still;
thinking there was no way he could fall asleep. His body had other
ideas however, and in less than ten minutes he was snoring.

"Mother of Mercy, will you listen to that noise." Mrs. Riordan looked
fondly at the young man she'd known from infancy.

"When he stayed with me after he was attacked, the maids used to bet
on whether or not the ornaments on the etagere outside his room would
vibrate off the shelves. Luka must sleep wearing ear plugs."
Millicent observed quietly. Watching her son and grandson, had
brought tears to her eyes as well. She decided to write and thank her
absent husband for inadvertantly re-uniting Roland and John. "Son,
what on earth happened at that hearing?"

Roland relayed Philippa's account of the events that took place
earlier in the day. "They arrested the man who did it. The idiot was
so hell-bent on revenge, he neglected to remember the reporters.
Philippa believes neither John nor Luka will need to testify at his
trial. The whole thing is on video tape." Roland sighed. "The bullet
was recovered at the scene by the police. This bastard is going to
jail for a long time, and when he's a very old man, he'll be sent
home to face the authorities in Bosnia."

"Good. I called Richard before I came over here. He's going to have
armed security guards start working at the boys' apartment building.
Afterall, there is a large number of elderly residents with
substantial incomes living there." Millicent grinned for a
moment. "At least that's what I'll tell John or Luka if they ask."

"Excellent idea, Mother." Roland agreed looking at his only remaining
son. He prayed silently that all would be well. If anything happened
to Luka, God only knew how John would cope with losing the other half
of himself.

They talked softly for another forty minutes or so then a nurse
appeared at the door. "Where's Dr. Carter?"

"Asleep on the couch. Is anything wrong?" Roland asked.

"Oh no. Dr. Kovac is still unconcious. However, if Dr. Carter wants
to be there when he wakes, he'd better get suited up again."

Mrs. Riordan went over to John and gently rubbed his shoulders. "Come
on sweetheart, time to make yourself decent for a date with your
husband."

John sat up, instantly awake. Like most physicians, he'd acquired the
ability to waken fully focused. He hugged his family and left with
the nurse. The disinfecting shower revived him somewhat and once he'd
finished dressing, he resumed his place at Luka's side. The readouts
on the monitors were encouraging. Luka's blood pressure was only
slightly below normal. His temperature was still somewhat low but
that was much better than otherwise. A fever could signal the
presence of infection.

John took his husband's cool hand. "I'm back, Sascha.", he said
softly. "You really scared me in the operating room. Please don't
ever do that again. JA Ljubav te." He repeated the last statement
several times, while pressing Luka's hand to his cheek.

The door opened and Peter Benton came in. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay I guess. Thank you for saving his life. I owe you a
tremendous debt." John said quietly.

"Hey, man I was just doing the job they pay me for." Benton replied
shortly. Nevertheless, his eyes were shining.

"Yeah, right...", John said. Luka's hand twitched. "Is he waking up?"

Peter went to the other side of the bed and gently tapped Luka's
face. His eyelids fluttered then opened.

"Hey there, sleepy head. Welcome back." John said as he stroked
Luka's hand.

Luka's eyes focused on John. He was still very pale. His eyebrows and
lashes stood out against the pallor of his visage. John softly
touched Luka's cheek. "You came through the surgery very well. Dr.
Benton claims he was merely doing his job which is perfectly true as
long as he admits to being a routine miracle worker. Dad, Gamma, and
Mrs. Riordan are also here..." Luka gestured feebly. He wanted to be
extubated.

"Whoa, Sascha. Not so fast. That tube is going to stay right where it
is until Dr. Benton gives us the high sign. I don't want you wearing
yourself out talking to me. I know what you want to say and I thank
you for loving me. Now, why don't you go back to sleep. I love you
and I'm not going anywhere. They're going to hook me up with my own
personal Foley, so I can sit here and drive you nuts with my
babblings of relief. Go back to sleep, my beloved Luka. Janaskja's
here." Luka's eyelids closed.

Dr. Benton pretended to be absorbed in the monitor readouts as John
spoke to his husband. His former student's matter-of-fact tone could
not hide the fact that he loved Luka deeply. The one-sided
conversation was one of the most intimate he'd ever heard. He felt as
if he'd walked in on the couple as they were making love. When he
glanced up, he saw John had settled himself in the chair and was
still holding Luka's hand.

"When he wakes up again, and if his vital signs are still good, we'll
extubate. I'll check back in a couple of hours."

"Thanks again, Dr. Benton."

"Don't mention it, Carter.", the surgeon left as one of the ICU
nurses came in.

"Dr. Carter? Your friends downstairs thought you might like to have
this." She held out Luka's rosary, still damp from its disinfecting
bath.

"Thank you, Nurse Carstairs." John took the stainless steel beaded
chain and immediately crossed himself. "Our Father..." With any luck,
he'd be finished with his first Novena before Luka woke up.*

Hours later, John looked up when he heard someone softly tapping on
the window. Kerry Weaver held up a huge sheet of computer paper
bearing the words "Get Well Soon". John smiled at her as she taped it
to the outside of the glass. John got up to examine it closely.
Almost everyone at County had signed it, personalizing their
signatures with small drawings or short messages. Kerry grinned and
using American Sign Language, telegraphed, "Hang in there." John blew
her a kiss in return. She gave him the thumbs-up sign and left to
return to the ER.

Luka woke up again three hours later. His vital signs were still
improving. Peter Benton, responding to his pager, showed up and
examined Luka's on-screen "chart". "Go ahead and extubate him." His
voice sounded oddly flattened coming from the speaker mounted in a
corner of the room.

"You know the drill, Sascha. On four, I'm going to remove the tube."
John said smiling as he detached the external connection to the
respirator. One, two, three..." Luka inhaled and on "four" exhaled as
John withdrew the tube from his airway. "Hold on a second beloved."
John took a sealed bottle of sterile water and quickly connected the
drinking straw. "Three sips is your limit, you're driving remember?"

The water never reached Luka's esophagus as the interior of his mouth
absorbed it all. "I love you." His voice was hoarse but strong.

"I love you too. How do you feel?"

"Like I've been shot." He was smiling, nonetheless. "How are you?"

"Numb, kind of shaky. I fell apart, but Dad was there to put me back
together. Nevertheless, don't be surprised if I start weeping all
over the place. You really scared the shit out of me." John
replied. "Now, why don't you go back to sleep." John could see their
short conversation had tired his husband. "You've told me everything
I needed to know. Smiling, Luka drifted off again. It was nearly one
in the morning. John quietly left the room and headed to the lounge.
Millicent was now stretched out on the couch, asleep. Roland and Mrs.
Riordan were playing two-handed bridge.

"It looks like he's going to be alright. They've upgraded his
condition to 'serious'." John grinned. He's breathing on his own and
his vital signs are better than we'd hoped they'd be at this point."

"Thank God." Mrs. Riordan said.

"Do you need anything, son?"

"No. Thanks, Dad. I'm going to find a coffee pot and dive in head
first."

"Is Luka okay?", their conversation had roused Millicent.

"It looks very much like it, Gamma. He's not out of the woods yet,
but he's definitely on the right path. Why don't you guys go home and
get some real rest?" John suggested. "Luka'll probably sleep most of
this morning and afternoon. I'll call you if anything happens."

"If you're sure, John."

"I'm sure. Thank you for waiting with us. We really appreciate it."
John hugged them each in turn. "I'll go down with you. I think Dr.
Weaver's on duty. I want to thank the trauma team for saving our
lives."

As they rode down in the elevator, Mrs. Riordan spoke up. "John, had
you planned on taking extended leave to be with Luka?"

"Frankly, I haven't thought that far ahead. I'd planned to discuss it
with Dr. Weaver after you guys left." John yawned, his mouth opening
wide.

"Well, if you don't think I'll be in the way, I won't mind staying at
your apartment and nursing the dear boy. It's not as if I haven't
done it before." Siobhan Riordan's grey eyes twinkled.**

"Thank you, we'd both like that." John hugged his godmother again as
the elevator doors opened. He walked them to where Roland's limo was
waiting then went to locate Kerry. She was in the lounge waiting for
the coffee machine to finish working its magic. "Dibs on the second
cup." John said and yawned again.

"How's Luka?" Kerry poured two mugs of the lethal concoction known
to her staff as "Kerry's Killer Brew."

"We've extubated him. He seems to be doing alright so far." John took
a gulp. "I needed this."

"Dr. Chen offered to cover the first half of your shift tomorrow, I
mean today. And Dr. Finch volunteered to take the second half."

"I'll thank them when I see them. I'll probably return to work
tomorrow. My godmother has offered to nurse Luka once he's released."

"Don't worry about it, Carter. Your father already asked if we would
like to have temps cover for you two. I checked with Romano and he
said go ahead. Both of you need some time to process all that's
happened."

"Dad doesn't have to do that."

"I know. I told him the very same thing. He assured me the only
benefit to having wealth was being able to help other people. He
didn't want you or Luka to worry about anything while he recovers.
Technically, you're temporarily re-assigned to the staff upstairs.
Your salary will be paid as usual. It's not as if the temps are going
to cost County anything. And apart from the odd homicidal maniac,
Luka's as healthy as ten horses. He's built up enough sick leave to
get him through this with weeks to spare."

John grinned as he finished his coffee. "You're right, Dr. Weaver. I
really don't want to be anywhere else but Luka's bedside. Could you
thank the trauma team for us? I should be getting back but I needed
some 'real' coffee first. The ICU staff has been wonderful but they
couldn't make a decent cup of swamp water to save their lives." John
surprised Kerry by giving her a peck on the cheek. "Thank you for
being my friend, for saving our lives, for everything."

By the time John returned to the ICU, he could barely keep his eyes
open. In spite of Kerry's strong hand with the coffee scoop, he was
almost dead on his feet. He went through the disinfecting drill and
entered Luka's room, preparing to sleep in the hard-backed chair. The
nurses had a surprise for him. A gurney had been wheeled in. John
quickly broke the seal on the large plastic envelope and withdrew a
disposable pillow and sheet. He pushed the gurney until it was next
to Luka's bed, stretched out sighing, and reached for Luka's
hand. "Good night, Sascha." Silence, then snores.

When Luka woke up just after dawn, he smiled upon hearing the
familiar thunderous cataract of sound. Turning his head, he saw John,
flat on his back, the sheet half off the gurney. A nurse came in with
his morning meds: non-aspirin pain-killers and a mild sedative. "Does
he always make this much noise?"

Luka swallowed the pills and nodded. "Thank you, nurse." A choked off
snort signalled the end of Carter's slumber. He sat up to find Luka
watching him and smiling. His color had improved. He looked less like
a corpse and more like a living person."

"Good morning, Sascha. Did I wake you?"

"No. It was time for my meds. Why is it that hospitals wake you up to
take something to make you go to sleep?"

"Beats me. How are you doing?"

"Not too bad. I can't wait to get out of here. I'll let you in on a
secret: I hate hospitals."

"You should talk to your therapist, beloved. A doctor who hates
hospitals... sounds like suppressed masochistic tendancies to me."
John grinned.

John got up went over to his husband. Leaning over the bed, he pulled
down his mask and kissed Luka gently on the forehead. "Feeling better
now?"

"Much. You wouldn't happen to have any of that Chicago sausage handy?"

"Yes, but you won't be able to deal with it just yet. Don't worry
though, I'll save it all for you. For the next few days, as your
doctor, I'm recommending the usual invalid diet: lots of cuddles and
hugs and maybe some kisses to keep things interesting..."

"Uh-huh. I'll starve to death."

"That's my gloomy groom. Trust me, the time will fly by."

Brief though it was, this conversation used up most of Luka's
reserves. John smiled at his husband and placed his index finger over
his own lips. "If you don't want me to sing to you, I suggest you try
to go back to sleep."

"I'll be good."

"I love you, Luka." John kissed him on the lips and caressed his
cheek.

Luka closed his eyes as John pushed the gurney out of the way, folded
up the sheet, and resumed his station on the chair next to Luka's
bed. When an hour had elapsed, John went to check in with his family.
Mrs. Riordan answered. "How is the dear man?"

"Much improved, Mrs. R. Still weak as a newborn kitten, but his
vitals are looking much better."

"God be praised. I'll be there in about another hour or so. I spoke
with your nice Dr. Romano and he's going to allow me to look after
Luka while you get rested."

"You don't have to do that, Mrs. R. The nurses here are actually
lining up to get on the list to take care of him." John couldn't
believe his ears: Romano "nice"?

"Well, they'll have to get in line behind *me*." Mrs. Riordan
chuckled.

Author's Note:
* Thank you, D.S. for "Home" and for the surname of the ICU nurse.

** When I first saw this beautiful name in print, I'll confess I was
stumped. See-ob-han? Sigh-ob-han? Well... Ms. Carole Nelson Douglas,
fantasy and mystery writer extraordinaire, provided the correct
pronouciation and saved my pride. It's Shuh-vaughn, folks. Erin Go
Bragh! KPP

Luka had been moved from the ICU to a regular room earlier that day.
He was making an excellent recovery and insisted that John return to
work full-time. His husband objected strenuously. "Please, Sascha.
I'd never forgive myself if anything happened and I wasn't with you.
I know you think I'm the original Iron Man, but when it comes to
something like this... Humor me, please? Besides, in my current frame
of mind I'd probably drop a Foley in someone's trachea and intubate
them up the ass."

Secretly relieved that John wanted to stay with him, Luka settled for
half-shifts. John's over-attentiveness during Luka's cold had been
deliberately calculated to get on his husband's nerves. Now, he
rarely intruded unless Luka asked for his assistance. The night
before Luka was scheduled to be released, John had his first
nightmare. Luka got out of his bed and took his husband's hand
raising it to his lips.

"Wake up, Janaskja. I'm here. It's nothing but a bad dream." He
gently shook John's shoulder.

With a broken scream, John woke. "Luka?"

"It's okay.. I'm fine. You were having a nightmare." Luka sat on the
edge of the bed as John moved his upper torso into his husband's lap.

"Here we go again." John muttered bitterly. "Just when you thought it
was safe to go back in the water..." He wiped his eyes on Luka's
thigh. "Damn, I'm beginning to think nightmares are my lot in life."

Luka stroked John's hair. "I never did tell you what my shrink said
about our relationship did I?"

"I'm not sure I want to hear this." John murmured into Luka's crotch
producing the first faint stirrings of desire his husband had felt in
days.

"I think you do." Luka smiled. "John, you merit a grown-up husband.
Someone who works as hard at being a mature person as you do. I was
only seventeen when I first married---a teenager. Although, I don't
think I fucked up too badly as a husband and father, I was only a boy
when I assumed those responsibilities. You know, believing I always
had to be the strong one my women folk depended on. I got used to
having the final say." Luka smiled as John sat up, brushing the hair
out of his eyes.

"You'd think I would have learned my lesson that last day..." Luka
continued in a soft voice. "Marije begged me to take her and the
girls with me to wait for our rations, but *I* knew better. They'd be
safer at home; I told them... talk about survivor's guilt..." Luka
paused and swallowed a couple of times. "I didn't fully understand
what I'd been doing until recently. My therapist asked me if I may
have been resenting your strength because deep down I was afraid it
meant you didn't need me; that someday I'd look up and you'd be gone.
Reluctantly, I admitted to him and more importantly, to myself that
he was right."

John's face was a study in shock mingling with disbelief. "That's
ridiculous! I need you like I need air and water and food. I don't
know who's crazier; him for suggesting it, or you for agreeing with
him."

"Nevertheless, he *was* correct. Without realizing it, I'd been
trying to mold our relationship to conform with that of my first
marriage. That way, I wouldn't have to grow up and worse, if I hadn't
been jolted into facing facts, I wouldn't have let you grow up
either. Just because you find it easy to cry Janaskja, doesn't make
you weak. Just because you have nightmares after living through
traumatic events doesn't mean you're immature. I did the best I could
in my first marriage. If the bombs hadn't fallen, both Marije and I
would have had to eventually recognize changes in each other and in
the way we loved each other." Luka reached out and caressed John's
cheek.

"You don't really *need* me despite your charming romantic assurances
to the contrary. You *want* me and want to be with me: a much
healthier state of affairs. If I had died, you would have grieved
deeply and you would have survived. That's the man I love and want
more than anything or anyone else in this world---a strong husband
who isn't afraid to face unpleasantness. A strong man who has been
very gentle thus far with a old-young fool who wanted to see your
gentleness as weakness; a reason to feel needed." Luka took John's
face into his hands.

"You are a very important part of my life. If something were to take
you from me, I'd suffer immensely, but I *would* survive. I did
before. Does this mean I take you for granted, or value you any less?
No. I didn't lie in my letter. 'To the depth and breadth and height
my soul can reach...' That means I love you fully: John Truman Kovac-
Carter... not some adolescent idea of who you are, but the man who is
so incredibly strong, he doesn't mind allowing me to comfort him on
occasion. And what's more, is strong enough to provide steady comfort
to me." Luka leaned forward and kissed John. A soft gentle kiss, and
for the first time, it was he who felt dizzy afterwards. He'd been so
closer than either of them realized to seriously harming their
relationship.

"Sascha? I think I missed the point. Could you repeat that last part
again?" John smiled and Luka took him into his arms. "You've really
been thinking about this." He said softly, his head on Luka's
shoulder.

"I've had plenty of time between naps." Luka chuckled

"Well, I'm not going to ever down-play my appreciation of your
comforting gestures. I almost said 'need'. And in a way, that word's
a more accurate reflection of how I really feel when you hold me like
this." John admitted sleepily. "When I was little, the hugs and
kisses I'd received as a toddler stopped when I started school. Then
my brother became ill---my sister and I were all but forgotten. After
he died, Mom and Dad also went away leaving me and 'Ria with our
grandparents. Gamma was okay, but we both know my grandfather was a
real horse's ass. No offense meant to members of the equine species."
Luka felt John's smile against his shoulder.

"Yeah. I'm a grown man. And, yes, although losing you would hurt like
ten thousand hells, I guess I'd somehow go on living. But
underneath 'Super Carter', is a little boy who wanted desperately for
someone to say they loved him and that he was important to them. So,
you have my permission to 'comfort' me all you like. I promise you, I
won't resent it. I still *need* it too much."

Luka put his head against John's cheek. "I won't forget, I promise.
But please tell me, that's not the reason you fell in love with me?"

"Of course not. It's just you're the first person I've loved honestly
enough to trust with how I feel deep down inside. You weren't the
only one who struggled with adolescent ideas of 'true love'. I wasted
a lot of time *pretending* to be strong, not realizing it takes more
strength to show the fear and uncertainty which bedevil everyone at
some point. Well, I'm finally admitting that this grown-up man truly
enjoys your comforting gestures... especially since they so often
lead to more athletic activities."

The events that had so nearly wrecked John and Luka's life together
had served some good after all. Neither man ever forgot this soul-
baring discussion.

* * * * *

Luka's release from the hospital the following morning was a reverse,
somewhat muted replay of John's return after his six-month forced
absence. The noise was less, but the outpouring of emotion from his
friends and co-workers touched Luka deeply. He would not be permitted
to return to work for another three weeks. This was primarily due to
the fragile state of his sternum. In order for this bone shield to
knit fully, it could not be subjected to undue strain.

No heavy lifting, no driving where the steering column could have a
traumatic impact and no making love from any position where Luka had
to support himself on his arms. The look on Peter Benton's face as he
spoke this last caution almost resulted in the choking death of his
former student.

"Don't worry, Dr. Benton. We know what's what." John said his lips
twitching. He didn't dare look at his husband who'd suddenly found
the ceiling tiles extremely interesting. By the time they were seated
in the back of the limo, both men laughed until they cried. Mrs.
Riordan had moved into the spare bedroom the day before, and when
they let themselves into the apartment, the odor of paprika chicken
brought tears to Luka's eyes once again.

"Welcome home, my pets. Dinner's keeping warm in the oven. I've got
some errands to run. I'll be back in about three hours. The pharmacy
delivered your medicines Dr. K, and there are some goodies to snack
on in the 'fridge." She gave both men a quick kiss and left, firmly
shutting the door behind her.

"You can't say she isn't the soul of tact." Luka observed as they
headed for the bedroom. Halfway down the hall, he stopped and put his
arms around John. "I never did thank you for everything you did while
all of that hearing business was going on. So..." Luka kissed the
smiling lips which soon parted to receive him. Mindful of the
incision, only their mouths and hands touched. When they came up for
air, John leaned back against the wall, dizzy as always. Hand in
hand, they went into the bathroom.

Luka sat on the edge of the tub as John removed first his clothing,
then his husband's. A four-legged plastic bathing stool had been
delivered along with the prescriptions. Luka took his seat as John
turned on the water and added their favorite gel. Taking a washcloth,
John gently soaped Luka neatly avoiding the protective covering he'd
placed over the long incision. When he finished, he rinsed the suds
from the body he loved. Luka, in turn took the cloth and washed John
from his chest to his knees. John quickly attended to the rest of
himself and rinsed off. Before he could get out of the tub, he gasped
as he felt Luka's lips on his penis. It wasn't long before Luka was
enjoying a super-sized portion of Chicago sausage.

John placed his hands on Luka's shoulders as the soft lips and
questing tongue began to work their way with him. Throwing his head
back, John commenced to gently push himself deeper into the center of
a universe of sensation. Sensations that were suddenly intensified
when he felt a finger begin its journey towards the core of his
being. John's head was spinning while the familiar tingle that was
almost painful in its intensity crept up his spine, its origins in
his groin. Shouting Luka's name, his orgasm burst onto his awareness.
The tongue didn't stop until John leaned panting on the tiled wall.

When he summoned the energy to open his eyes, he looked down and his
heart nearly stopped when he saw the smile on Luka's face. "That was
good, no?"

John nodded, transfixed. He went on his knees and felt Luka's strong
arms enfold him. He could have remained there forever listening to
the soft music of his husband's heart beating. A heart that had
nearly been silenced forever. Tears flowed from John's eyes,
eliciting a chuckle from the man he loved.

"After all your careful washing, *now* you've decided to get my
bandage wet. Dr. Benton will be most disappointed."

"Shut up and kiss me, Sascha." John tilted his face up towards Luka's
lips.

"Is that any way to talk to an invalid?" Luka breathed when he could
speak.

"No invalid could have done what you just did." John murmured.
Sighing, he got to his feet. The water was almost cold. "Into bed
with you, beloved. You need to rest after your mighty labors on my
behalf. John reached down and grasped Luka's penis. "See, you're
developing a swelled head. In a while, I'm going to have to do
something about that."

"That's the problem with public hospitals, you have to wait forever
to see your doctor." Luka grinned and stepped from the tub. John
softly wrapped him in an emerald green bath sheet. Then it was Luka's
turn to wonder if he'd gone into cardiac arrest as he was swept off
his feet and carried into the bedroom. John was slender, almost
skinny, but most people forgot the amount of physical strength needed
to control an animal that outweighs its rider by a factor of ten.
Luka felt himself lowered to the bed. John wasn't even breathing hard.

Carter slowly unwrapped his husband as if he was a precious gift.
Luka closed his eyes when he felt hands smoothing his sides then lips
on his left breast. Then cool air flowed over his skin. John had
removed the bandage revealing a thin scar that stretched from Luka's
collar bone almost to his navel. Opening his eyes, he saw John
smiling as he brought a package from behind his back.

The long fingers slowly removed shiny black wrapping paper emblazoned
with pink triangles. Lifting the lid, John withdrew what looked
remarkably like a black silk stocking. Going on his knees, John took
Luka's left foot into his lap and proceeded to roll the hosiery onto
his husband. It was a surgical support stocking designed to make sure
the blood vessels in a patient's legs were stimulated into doing
their work while their owner spent time flat on his back.

John sensually smoothed the lycra into place. The garment covered
Luka to mid-thigh. At the top, a band of red embroidery became
visible when John removed his hands. "Property of John T. Kovac-
Carter", the cursive script was upside down so the wearer could read
it. "Do not remove unless given permission by the owner." Luka
laughed until he nearly choked as John produced the matching stocking
and put it on.

"Where on earth did you find them?"

"I called Cyril and Charles last week. Needless to say, the medical
supply companies in San Francisco were the first to discover there's
a great deal of money to be made in sexy invalid fashions. I thought
about ordering the matching garter belt, but I figured I'd better not
press my luck." John grinned.

"I can't wait to see my hospital gown. Pink maribou feathers?"

"Ooooh Sascha, we have to talk. All this time, Cyril's been trying to
get me in back in drag. Next time he calls, I'll tell him to design
something slinky for you. But until then..." John laughed as he bent
to retreive another "gay-ly" wrapped package. "Happy homecoming,
beloved."

Luka ripped open the dark green wrapping paper. Lifting the lid to
the box, he pulled out a deep green silk caftan. When he looked up,
his eyes were shining with merriment.

"Well, Charles *is* more the more conservative of the two. We figured
one of these is easier to get in an out of than pajamas. Plus, the
fabric will allow you to slither around in the bed much easier than
those old sweats you've been wearing. Not to mention I'll be able to
get my Croatian sausage double-quick."

"And for my feet?" Luka asked.

"Nothing exotic, Cinder-fella. *Dad* picked these out." John held up
a pair of matching green Moroccan leather slippers. Luka fell over
roaring with renewed laughter when he saw their lining featured small
pink rosebuds.

"You didn't."

"Nope. I only told him they were your favorite flower." John
snickered.

"Indeed. I love you."

"Why don't you get dressed in your new duds while I get something to
nibble on?"

Luka sat up and nearly shouted when John slipped to his knees and
swiftly inhaled his husband. After a few minutes, John sat back and
reached under the bed. Luka smiled when he saw the familiar logo on a
box of condoms. He too, was now the recipient of transfusions and was
pleased to see John was going to play safely. Extracting a foil
packet, John opened it and rolled the latex onto Luka's quivering
organ. His husband's eyes stretched wide as he beheld more writing.
In red script, similar to that used by the Atlanta manufacturers of a
carbonated beverage, the words, "Sole source of Luka's Luscious
Liquid" spiralled like a barber pole from the nippled tip to the cuff.

"Where in the name of heaven..." Luka gasped as John's eager mouth
covered all trace of the sexy message. There was no end to his
husband's surprises. Luka writhed in delicious agony as John began
humming "It's the real thing..." There was no doubt in his mind,
convalescence was going to be a lot of fun. He'd have to get shot
more often.

The End