"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
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