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.
Copyright Footer', 'This site is not affiliated in any way with "ER", its writers or production company, or NBC, and makes no profit from the show. The ERROS skin is by Brihana. The script is eFiction version 3.4.2© Tammy Keefer, http://efiction.org\r\n