On the Rooftop

Disclaimer: Blah blah blah characters not mine, property of NBC/Warners/Amblin'/Constant C, blah blah blah not makin' any money (let alone profit) from this fanfic, blah blah blah Saabcakes *G*

Luka noted the staff's sympathetic glances as John Carter came back for his first day of work since the stabbing; he could identify with Carter's discomfort, he'd once been on the receiving end of a few sympathetic glances himself (though nobody had died, in *his* case).

He noticed that the others kept trying to give Carter very easy cases, and sighed. Carter was almost completely back to full mobility, now using only a cane - did they think that a few sutures and reductions would keep him occupied? Luka surreptitiously changed a few notations on the board, and made Carter's first case a tricky head trauma that had been intended to go to Malucci (who, Luka thought, could stand to learn some patience by dealing with more "boring" cases anyway).

Nevertheless, he kept an eye on Carter, to make sure he was able to handle the workload. Luka knew that some people thought he was being a "hard-ass" on Carter, but also knew, first-hand, that being thrown in at the deep end was sometimes the best way to get back into the work routine. The man actually appeared to be doing quite well; he was having trouble going into - or even looking at - Curtain 3, but so did everybody who'd been on that night.

Several hours into the shift, Abby came by, carrying a chart; he noticed her - her presence and her words - only peripherally, as he sat at the admit desk, trying to catch up on paperwork. The phone rang just often enough - Andrew had disappeared again, and the ever-irritating Amira was nowhere to be found, as usual - to distract him every few minutes; he really should, he thought, escape to the lounge... as soon as Kerry arrived for her own shift, he could hand off the board to her and go get something to eat.

Some coffee, too, perhaps - the watery stuff most Americans preferred was far too weak for his tastes, but espresso doppio - while still a little weak - came pretty close. A shame the desk clerk Jerry had moved on to another job - the man's coffee was, Luka had thought, excellent.

"Lydia, Carter's patient just came back from Radiology. Do you have any idea where he is?" The older nurse thought for a moment, glancing over at the handful of people waiting in chairs, then looked back at the med student.

"Sometimes he goes to the roof, when he wants to be alone." The words shot through him - it was precisely what Samantha Sobriki had said when the police had been looking for her husband - he clutched at the edge of the desk for a moment, feeling a peculiar wave of vertigo.

The guilt was still there, his constant companion for the last six years or so (oh, who was he trying to kid - he knew it down to the year, the month, the day), and only grew with every patient he lost. And yet, saving a patient so rarely made the guilt easier to bear - there was always something, some addition to the load. He'd helped save the hit and run girl, for instance, only to leave her with a long and painful recovery. Benton had tried to soften the news for him, but he knew too much to be fooled, as the girl's mother had been - he'd screwed up royally.

When he reached the roof he saw Carter, standing on the wrong side of the railing. The man's cane lay abandoned behind him on the tarmac. Luka had learned - pretty much the hard way - about moving silently; now he crept up behind Carter, thankful that the sun was not at his back. It was just what he needed, for his shadow to warn Carter of his approach.

He reached out, and caught Carter by the scruff of the neck, just as the man began to push away from the side of the building, holding him the way one might a cat. Carter struggled futilely against the larger man's grip, and Luka shook him gently. Also the way one might deal with a cat. Difference was that Carter wouldn't necessarily land on his feet if Luka lost his grip... and certainly wouldn't survive.

"It was the Ativan," Carter said sadly, ignoring Luka's words. "I should have known to have Sobriki put in restraints the moment Lucy said she thought he might be schizophrenic! But I had to be the great doctor that night, and pump him full of Ativan. Or if I'd followed Lucy's instincts, and let her back off from the lumbar puncture when he woke up like that. I might as well have stabbed her myself."

Luka wanted to laugh - he wanted to tell Carter, "You think *you* feel guilty? Try taking a wife and two children into a war zone and getting them killed! Try being shot by a sniper, and lying there helplessly in a pool of your own blood as your children are killed before your eyes - your wife, who you had promised before God to love and protect, raped repeatedly before she is killed as well!" But he said nothing, merely stood there with his hand full of Carter's shirt and neck, gradually realizing that his arm was tiring... and he no longer had the strength or the leverage to pull Carter back, even to switch hands. Carter was heavier than he looked! How long had they been up here? It felt like hours, but the sun hadn't moved.

He heard the door to the rooftop clank open, heard a startled shout. "Abby, get Malik. Get help. Quickly," he gasped. The door slammed shut again, and it seemed like a few more hours that he stood there - he had closed his eyes, trying to preserve his strength and fearing that his hand would give out. His leg burned - it had already been hurting this morning, and he had stressed it badly today, even before now. At least, he thought with dark humor, he hadn't been shot in the arm - Carter would really have been fucked then.

At last, he felt strong arms wrestling him backwards - he opened his eyes and saw Carter being lifted back over the railing and onto a gurney, then into the elevator, and sank to his knees, tried to pass out. But somebody was prodding his shoulder. "Dopust me," he murmured wearily, leave me, unaware and uncaring that he was speaking in Croatian, rather than English.

"Luka!" Who? Oh, Kerry. She must have arrived while he was up here - now he would be in trouble for leaving the ER unattended. The English pun prompted a ragged chuckle from him. "Luka, get up. You're too heavy to lift, and it's supposed to rain." Oh, let it rain, he thought momentarily, then looked up at Kerry from his untidy half-sprawl and saw guiltily that she was in pain as well. He tried to rise, but his knee failed to cooperate, and he went back down.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I just need to sit here a little while. I'll be all right. Nobody was killed while I was up here?" She pretended to scowl at him, but relented.

"I heard Lydia mention the roof," he told Kerry, leaving out his reaction to Lydia's words, "and I thought I might not have time to get somebody to cover. I was barely able to catch him, as it was."

"The important thing is that you caught him," Kerry told Luka, stroking his dark hair affectionately and leaning against his back; he reached behind him and wound his arm around her leg, lazily stroking her thigh. She smiled - he was not a man inclined to be physically demonstrative, which made even the least caress from him infinitely precious.

"And *you're* lucky I'm not a jealous woman. The gossips don't know whether to pair you off with Abby, or with Carol." He ignored the jibe about Abby; they both knew he had more sense than to screw around with a student.

"Too bad I had to admit to Carol that I'd sold my boat - do you know how difficult it is to park something like a Saab in a different inconspicuous spot every day, within walking distance of your house? Somebody's going to see me one of these days." She sighed.

"I've never apologized for the way I've treated you, have I, Luka? I fired you so coldly, then expected you to just come back like nothing happened. And I second-guessed you with Jake--"

"Which I deserved - I'd allowed too much to happen with the party. It's no excuse that Mark made such a sloppy hand-off before he left, I should have made rounds."

"Of course I know. I wanted to leap into your lap when you said that," she told him playfully, ruffling his hair. He smiled - normally he hated being touched, but he and Kerry understood each other. They were both so reserved in public, nobody would guess how they behaved when they were alone together. Nobody, Luka thought, would believe that the alpha-bitch of the ER sometimes rolled over and exposed her throat. (And for him, of all people!)

"Good. You're one of the few people who doesn't condescend to me just because I'm a foreigner - Carol's sweet, but sometimes I have trouble holding my tongue when she makes a comment like 'don't they have Valentine's Day in Croatia?'." He had repeated her ingenuous question in a slight falsetto, and suddenly laughed, a dark rich sound that she could feel where her legs touched his back. "You know, sometimes I think she believes I stayed in Chicago because of her."

"Of course not, it was always you. Even before I was... ready, I hoped. We should go back downstairs, before somebody starts to think I'm holding *you* over the railing now."

"I'll never be 'okay'," he told her, deliberately misunderstanding her. "But I'm rested and relaxed, I think I can make it downstairs now. Pass me Carter's cane, please?" She crutched over to it, and kicked it to him; he levered himself to his feet carefully. Kerry noticed with some concern that he was pale under his tan, and was leaning heavily on the cane.

He had, she thought, too much pride to complain of a little pain. (But, then, so did she.) Then again, he'd told her of his dark days one night - maybe he saw the pain as part of his penance for being alive when his family was dead, and therefore nothing that he deserved to escape. He suddenly leaned over, and gave her a hard kiss on the mouth. "To last me until tonight," he explained. "Now please let me know how much 'trouble' I'm to be in when we get downstairs."

"Hm... well, I was *very* upset with you for leaving the ER, of course. But since you did it to keep a colleague from committing suicide, I won't write you up *this* time. At least, not here at County."

"Oh," he chuckled, playing along. "So I'm to be your 'naughty intern' when we get home?" Kerry gasped at his audacity. "I love making you blush, Kerry."

"How about I let you think about what *your* 'punishment' should be?" she retorted, enjoying in turn the color that rose in his cheeks. He pretended to be so outrageous, but she could shock him *so* easily... and he was all hers, to shock as she pleased.


	On The Rooftop by EHursh Last ep seen: Be Patient Disclaimer: Blah blah blah characters not mine, property of NBC/Warners/Amblin'/Constant C, blah blah blah not makin' any money (let alone profit) from this fanfic, blah blah blah Saabcakes G Luka noted the staff's sympathetic glances as John Carter came back for his first day of work since the stabbing; he could identify with Carter's discomfort, he'd once been on the receiving end of a few sympathetic glances himself (though nobody had died, in his case). He noticed that the others kept trying to give Carter very easy cases, and sighed. Carter was almost completely back to full mobility, now using only a cane - did they think that a few sutures and reductions would keep him occupied? Luka surreptitiously changed a few notations on the board, and made Carter's first case a tricky head trauma that had been intended to go to Malucci (who, Luka thought, could stand to learn some patience by dealing with more "boring" cases anyway). Nevertheless, he kept an eye on Carter, to make sure he was able to handle the workload. Luka knew that some people thought he was being a "hard-ass" on Carter, but also knew, first-hand, that being thrown in at the deep end was sometimes the best way to get back into the work routine. The man actually appeared to be doing quite well; he was having trouble going into - or even looking at - Curtain 3, but so did everybody who'd been on that night. Several hours into the shift, Abby came by, carrying a chart; he noticed her - her presence and her words - only peripherally, as he sat at the admit desk, trying to catch up on paperwork. The phone rang just often enough - Andrew had disappeared again, and the ever-irritating Amira was nowhere to be found, as usual - to distract him every few minutes; he really should, he thought, escape to the lounge... as soon as Kerry arrived for her own shift, he could hand off the board to her and go get something to eat. Some coffee, too, perhaps - the watery stuff most Americans preferred was far too weak for his tastes, but espresso doppio - while still a little weak - came pretty close. A shame the desk clerk Jerry had moved on to another job - the man's coffee was, Luka had thought, excellent. "Lydia, Carter's patient just came back from Radiology. Do you have any idea where he is?" The older nurse thought for a moment, glancing over at the handful of people waiting in chairs, then looked back at the med student. "Sometimes he goes to the roof, when he wants to be alone." The words shot through him - it was precisely what Samantha Sobriki had said when the police had been looking for her husband - he clutched at the edge of the desk for a moment, feeling a peculiar wave of vertigo. The guilt was still there, his constant companion for the last six years or so (oh, who was he trying to kid - he knew it down to the year, the month, the day), and only grew with every patient he lost. And yet, saving a patient so rarely made the guilt easier to bear - there was always something, some addition to the load. He'd helped save the hit and run girl, for instance, only to leave her with a long and painful recovery. Benton had tried to soften the news for him, but he knew too much to be fooled, as the girl's mother had been - he'd screwed up royally. Sometimes he felt as though he must go mad... "lose it", as Americans put it. "So he's a little depressed -- it doesn't make him crazy," Mrs. Sobriki's words came to him again - he'd held back a nod, and not just because those police officers had been in the room. Acknowledging the truth of her words would have been a grim reminder to himself, and seeing Carter wake up on the table like that had been enough of a reminder, thank you very much. He quietly stood up and headed for the elevator - he really should let somebody know he was leaving, but he feared there might not be time for that. When he reached the roof he saw Carter, standing on the wrong side of the railing. The man's cane lay abandoned behind him on the tarmac. Luka had learned - pretty much the hard way - about moving silently; now he crept up behind Carter, thankful that the sun was not at his back. It was just what he needed, for his shadow to warn Carter of his approach. He reached out, and caught Carter by the scruff of the neck, just as the man began to push away from the side of the building, holding him the way one might a cat. Carter struggled futilely against the larger man's grip, and Luka shook him gently. Also the way one might deal with a cat. Difference was that Carter wouldn't necessarily land on his feet if Luka lost his grip... and certainly wouldn't survive. "Why're you doing this? Just let me... it's all my fault, I wouldn't listen to her--" "Shut up," Luka interrupted coldly. "You think you're the only one who blames himself for a death? You aren't." "It was the Ativan," Carter said sadly, ignoring Luka's words. "I should have known to have Sobriki put in restraints the moment Lucy said she thought he might be schizophrenic! But I had to be the great doctor that night, and pump him full of Ativan. Or if I'd followed Lucy's instincts, and let her back off from the lumbar puncture when he woke up like that. I might as well have stabbed her myself." Luka wanted to laugh - he wanted to tell Carter, "You think you feel guilty? Try taking a wife and two children into a war zone and getting them killed! Try being shot by a sniper, and lying there helplessly in a pool of your own blood as your children are killed before your eyes - your wife, who you had promised before God to love and protect, raped repeatedly before she is killed as well!" But he said nothing, merely stood there with his hand full of Carter's shirt and neck, gradually realizing that his arm was tiring... and he no longer had the strength or the leverage to pull Carter back, even to switch hands. Carter was heavier than he looked! How long had they been up here? It felt like hours, but the sun hadn't moved. He heard the door to the rooftop clank open, heard a startled shout. "Abby, get Malik. Get help. Quickly," he gasped. The door slammed shut again, and it seemed like a few more hours that he stood there - he had closed his eyes, trying to preserve his strength and fearing that his hand would give out. His leg burned - it had already been hurting this morning, and he had stressed it badly today, even before now. At least, he thought with dark humor, he hadn't been shot in the arm - Carter would really have been fucked then. At last, he felt strong arms wrestling him backwards - he opened his eyes and saw Carter being lifted back over the railing and onto a gurney, then into the elevator, and sank to his knees, tried to pass out. But somebody was prodding his shoulder. "Dopust me," he murmured wearily, leave me, unaware and uncaring that he was speaking in Croatian, rather than English. "Luka!" Who? Oh, Kerry. She must have arrived while he was up here - now he would be in trouble for leaving the ER unattended. The English pun prompted a ragged chuckle from him. "Luka, get up. You're too heavy to lift, and it's supposed to rain." Oh, let it rain, he thought momentarily, then looked up at Kerry from his untidy half-sprawl and saw guiltily that she was in pain as well. He tried to rise, but his knee failed to cooperate, and he went back down. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I just need to sit here a little while. I'll be all right. Nobody was killed while I was up here?" She pretended to scowl at him, but relented. "No, lucky for you." But he still felt the need to explain himself. "I heard Lydia mention the roof," he told Kerry, leaving out his reaction to Lydia's words, "and I thought I might not have time to get somebody to cover. I was barely able to catch him, as it was." "The important thing is that you caught him," Kerry told Luka, stroking his dark hair affectionately and leaning against his back; he reached behind him and wound his arm around her leg, lazily stroking her thigh. She smiled - he was not a man inclined to be physically demonstrative, which made even the least caress from him infinitely precious. "You're just lucky I'm not a jealous man. I might start to wonder about you and Carter." "And you're lucky I'm not a jealous woman. The gossips don't know whether to pair you off with Abby, or with Carol." He ignored the jibe about Abby; they both knew he had more sense than to screw around with a student. "Too bad I had to admit to Carol that I'd sold my boat - do you know how difficult it is to park something like a Saab in a different inconspicuous spot every day, within walking distance of your house? Somebody's going to see me one of these days." She sighed. "I've never apologized for the way I've treated you, have I, Luka? I fired you so coldly, then expected you to just come back like nothing happened. And I second-guessed you with Jake--" "But I then told you of my family so badly," he reminded her. "I'd pushed you into a corner," Kerry insisted. "Then I was so cruel to you after Sobriki stabbed Carter and Lucy." "Which I deserved - I'd allowed too much to happen with the party. It's no excuse that Mark made such a sloppy hand-off before he left, I should have made rounds." "Luka?" "Yes, Kerry?" "Hush, will you?" "Yes, Kerry. You know I meant it when I wished you a happy Valentine's Day, don't you?" "Of course I know. I wanted to leap into your lap when you said that," she told him playfully, ruffling his hair. He smiled - normally he hated being touched, but he and Kerry understood each other. They were both so reserved in public, nobody would guess how they behaved when they were alone together. Nobody, Luka thought, would believe that the alpha-bitch of the ER sometimes rolled over and exposed her throat. (And for him, of all people!) "Good. You're one of the few people who doesn't condescend to me just because I'm a foreigner - Carol's sweet, but sometimes I have trouble holding my tongue when she makes a comment like 'don't they have Valentine's Day in Croatia?'." He had repeated her ingenuous question in a slight falsetto, and suddenly laughed, a dark rich sound that she could feel where her legs touched his back. "You know, sometimes I think she believes I stayed in Chicago because of her." "And you didn't?" She knew better, but she always liked to hear him say it. "Of course not, it was always you. Even before I was... ready, I hoped. We should go back downstairs, before somebody starts to think I'm holding you over the railing now." "If they thought that, they'd be a lot slower about coming than they were for Carter," Kerry teased. "You're okay now?" "I'll never be 'okay'," he told her, deliberately misunderstanding her. "But I'm rested and relaxed, I think I can make it downstairs now. Pass me Carter's cane, please?" She crutched over to it, and kicked it to him; he levered himself to his feet carefully. Kerry noticed with some concern that he was pale under his tan, and was leaning heavily on the cane. He had, she thought, too much pride to complain of a little pain. (But, then, so did she.) Then again, he'd told her of his dark days one night - maybe he saw the pain as part of his penance for being alive when his family was dead, and therefore nothing that he deserved to escape. He suddenly leaned over, and gave her a hard kiss on the mouth. "To last me until tonight," he explained. "Now please let me know how much 'trouble' I'm to be in when we get downstairs." "Hm... well, I was very upset with you for leaving the ER, of course. But since you did it to keep a colleague from committing suicide, I won't write you up this time. At least, not here at County." "Oh," he chuckled, playing along. "So I'm to be your 'naughty intern' when we get home?" Kerry gasped at his audacity. "I love making you blush, Kerry." "How about I let you think about what your 'punishment' should be?" she retorted, enjoying in turn the color that rose in his cheeks. He pretended to be so outrageous, but she could shock him so easily... and he was all hers, to shock as she pleased.