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Post by Praline on Aug 6, 2008 19:32:03 GMT 10
Rating: PG-13, but R later on...
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.
Spoilers: Some season 9 and maybe early 10 I guess.
Reviews: Please, if you have the time, R&R. Thankyou. Constructive criticism is welcome, but I’m 80 of the way through this and happy so far My first fic, so be nice please!!Dedications: To Claire, for putting the idea in my head to write fanfic, and for her endless videotaping, I am very grateful. To Natasha for reading without having ever seen the show, amazing!! And to No 13.baby for her emails, so great to talk to another writer And to all the Lubies in the world A/N: Apologies if some of my British phrases are alien, please do not hesitate to email me to ask anything and I will get back to you ASAP. Secondly I started writing this in July 2002, it was meant to be AU season 9, it has now turned into sort of AU sort of not so apologies if it seems a little disjointed!!______________________________ 1. SunshineIn the summer, it never worked. In the winter, it doubled the coldness. Whoever invented air conditioning had to be taking the piss, Abby thought, heading for the exit, Marlboro Lights in hand, dying for the contradictions that were fresh air and a good smoke. She was momentarily interrupted by an onrushing Carter. “You OK?” He asked, brightly. She smiled, realising for once that she was not tired of the question or faking the answer when she replied. “Yeah. Just need some fresh air.” “You’ll be lucky. They say it’s almost eighty-five degrees out there.” “Anything’s better than baking my ass off in here,” she said, grinning. The hot, sticky air clung with a vice-like grip, the humidity instantly rising to meet her. Not even the draught from the doors closing behind her made any difference. Out of the furnace, into the flames. As always, she thought, eyeing the glowing tip of the cigarette, watching shades of red, orange and yellow smoulder away to greying ash. She took another long drag, feeling the precious rush of the nicotine beginning to kick in. Abby leant back against the wall, the sun blazing in her face, her eyes tormented by the brightness. Before she had been a smoker she had always wondered why people chose to light up in the summer, as if it was somehow warm. Warm it was not. Addictive, it certainly was. Closing her eyes, she let the cacophony of sensations take over for a few precious moments of much-needed escapism. Nothing passed through her consciousness except the tiny daggers of ultraviolet piercing her skin with such vibrant rays. Opening her eyes again, she leisurely surveyed her surroundings. OK, so summer meant acute sunburn, more drink driving, hyperactivity and general hospital mayhem. But it also meant warm sunshine, long, beautiful evenings and...oh God, not in this weather! She blinked to ensure this was not some crazy hallucination. Approaching her was a jogging Luka. She had never seen him so exhausted before, and that really was saying something. “Taking the scenic route?” She quipped, knowing he was off work today. Catching his breath, he struggled for an answer. “Just trying to...” “Lose weight?” She joked, enjoying the horror on his face as he gazed sceptically at his stomach. And men think we’re vain! He grimaced, then looked up. “Get fit.” Abby quickly took hold of his burning hot arm and smiled. “I’m kidding. You’re fine.” “But you’d better go before anybody sees you. I mean, running in this heat? They’ll be dragging you upstairs in no time.” Luka smiled, but made no reply. Abby frowned at him, wondering why she was trying to remember something. Then, through the incandescent summer haze, her mind caught up with her. “Oh God. Do we still have to go to that crappy lecture tonight?” She was referring to Weaver’s punishment for anybody who was late too many times: to attend Northwestern University’s medical lectures in their free time. And to report back with copious notes to prove you’ve been listening. “Yeah. Should be interesting.” His tone held no enthusiasm. “So what time are you coming to get me?” She stubbed out the Marlboro and exhaled deeply. He held up six fingers, smiled and jogged away, towards the open arms of the glowing sun. Abby turned around and went back to embrace the smouldering ball of flame that was the ER. A/N: Not much of a cliffhanger, I know, next chapter up very soon!!
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Post by lkaljk (Ebba) on Aug 6, 2008 21:42:06 GMT 10
[glow=red,2,300]Greate ! [/glow]
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Post by Praline on Aug 7, 2008 17:25:51 GMT 10
Reviews: A big thankyou to all my reviewers so far. Stick with me, I have a lot more to come A/N: I wrote this a long time before we were ever treated to the brilliance of Hindsight, so you’ll just have to bear with me and imagine for the purposes of this chapter that Luka has a new car that he loves just as much as the old one. 2. Living For The City.The seatbelt fastened in place with an affirmative click. Abby closed her eyes momentarily. She was brought out of her trance as she was hit by a sheer wall of noise as Luka switched on the radio. She jolted violently in the seat as if he had just hit an eject button and sent her vaulting through the sunroof. Suddenly all too aware of her discomfort, he turned the radio down to a softer volume. Abby leant against the window thoughtfully. The sun was still gleaming brilliant light into the city, the temperature beginning to cool as evening set in. “Bad day?” He asked, putting on his sunglasses. “Not really. I just don’t think this is the solution. If Weaver wants me to get up on time then she should buy me a new alarm clock.” He laughed. “I agree with you on the first part, but..” She interrupted. “Yeah, it’s my own fault. Sometimes it’s just hard to be enthusiastic about an eleven hour shift.” Luka contemplated this for a moment. “I know, I suppose it’s better than sitting in an office all day, though.” “People who work in offices don’t have to remove foreign objects from people’s butts.” Abby replied sharply, still gazing out of the window. “They don’t get to save people’s lives either.” “OK, that’s 1-0 to you.” They both laughed. Knowing she had been comprehensively beaten, Abby changed her mode of playful attack. “So, Luka, what’s your excuse?” He turned quickly to look at her, puzzled. “For what?” “Being late?” She prompted, grinning. Pressing his foot on the accelerator he replied quickly, “I need a new alarm clock too.” The drive was relatively short and pleasant, the weather easing off some of their grievances at an inconvenient evening. The university was a grey and black sprawl of buildings which seemed out of place in the light blue sky and gleaming sunshine. The contrast was a disturbing one, a place of such future importance should not have seemed so daunting. But Luka felt a strange aura as the edifice confronted him. He felt like it was waiting to teach him a lesson. Or perhaps he was just worrying about the car, parked a few streets away as there was no way he was going to leave it near the university. Pausing for a moment, he watched the heat haze rising in the air, shimmering with effervescence. Reality quickly caught up with him and he managed to remember his manners as he held the door, allowing Abby to pass through before him. A maze of signs, corridors and catatonic rushes of students exploded before them. Absorbing the chaos around her, Abby figured they should be at home in this madness. “You have any idea where we’re going?” She asked, wanting to find some quiet. “Third floor. Room 35B. Stairs or elevator?” Abby let out a little smirk as she hit the button and the elevator swiftly arrived. Room 35B was strikingly deceptive. Despite having double doors, both were surprised to find a large lecture theatre open up in front of their eyes. It was already half-full, bustling with noise as the students chatted amongst themselves, awaiting the arrival of the lecturer. They made their way inconspicuously to the back, sitting temptingly close to the exit. While Luka stretched uncomfortably and undid another shirt button, Abby scanned the room, examining the students. Most were fairly young, with a few exceptions. Her observations were interrupted by the arrival of the lecturer, a short, thin man. Dressed in a blue suit and wearing a cravat, he looked as if he had just stepped out of the set of Quincy. Maybe he is Quincy, Abby thought with a little smile. Anything to make this complete waste of time a little more bearable. At least you’re not alone, she thought. Luka plucked a pen from his pocket, the artificial light flashing against its silver casing. The lecturer thumped his books onto the desk, then checked his microphone was clipped on and fully functional. “OK guys, as promised from last time, there’s a treat for you all. If you’d all like to turn around and wave at Ed behind you, he’ll start the procedures video running.” All eyes momentarily shifted to the back of the room where behind a glass screen sat a middle-aged man who swiftly clicked buttons and the huge video screen roared into life. All eyes returned to the front. “Great. I forgot the popcorn, “ Abby whispered, flatly. Luka shifted in his seat again, wishing he could’ve shrunk a few inches for a while. The film clicked into life, the lights were dimmed and a monotonous voice-over began to explain the thoracotomy. Moments later, the explicit pictures became too much for some of the novices, who began running for the nearest toilet. Meanwhile, Abby was recognising the symptoms of falling asleep. The noise in her ears became blissfully distant, her eyelids began to flicker and the air conditioning blew a cool, caressing air across her skin. Fighting the tiredness, she shifted abruptly upwards in her seat. Searching for something else to capture her attention, she leant slowly against Luka’s shoulder, interested in what he had been writing for the past few minutes. Scattered on the paper were an array of doodles and what appeared to be his shopping list. She let out an audible sigh. “Can we go? This is pointless.” She whispered in his ear. “And get into more trouble? I don’t think so, Abby.” He replied quietly, pressing the end of his pen harder into the paper. “You never know. You might enjoy the feel of Weaver’s whip on your ass.” Luka laughed hard, disguising his enjoyment by coughing violently into his hands. Turning to face her, he shrugged, then offered her his hand, rapidly sweeping her out of her seat, while getting to his feet, clutching pen and paper in the other hand. Luka was very convinced that he would lose his balance but managed to sort himself out and slowly followed Abby towards the heaven that was the exit. They stole away in silence, not a soul witnessing their departure from the dark theatre of dreams. Every university seemed to have its very own “Lung Cancer Alley,” a doorway littered with students eagerly consuming what smelled like half the world’s tobacco. Abby was surprised that instead of fuelling her temptation to smoke the acrid cloud of fumes irritating her eyes put her off. They dodged their way in out of the crowd like footballers in a swarming penalty box, eventually reaching the safety of the street. The air was slightly cooler now, the sun still blissfully unaware of its shimmering power. Slowly, they began the short walk to the car. “I must admit, I’m disappointed with your lecture notes.” “Well, it’s better than nothing.” He said, optimistically. “I think “I was bored” is a waste of ink and paper, don’t you?” Luka laughed. “Yeah, I guess so.” When they finally reached the car, sunlight gleaming against the paintwork, both sharply realised that they would be going nowhere in a hurry. Although parking there had seemed to be a good idea at first, the traffic cop had obviously had other ideas and thus, Luka had earned a ticket and a wheel clamp for his troubles. Abby was tempted to laugh, dying to tell him “I told you so.” She was surprised to find herself giving in to her instincts as the supplication was evident in Luka’s eyes, as if he were asking her to do it. “Well, I did tell you not to park there.” He shrugged, surprised that he was relatively unconcerned. “I’m sorry.” Luka spoke sincerely, knowing they had a relatively long walk ahead of them. There was a moment of almost unbearable silence. Abby smiled. “You’ll just have to be a gentleman and walk me home, then.” Without argument, they headed for the bustling heart of the city. The streets were full, racing with the vivacity of a rainbow, colours unfurling like an acid trip. People, whether together or apart, floated in and out of the crowds like a miasma, everybody seemingly oblivious of everybody else’s life, problems or troubles. In fact, it was such a perfect evening, the sun dancing high in the sky, a lush, cool breeze hanging in the air, it appeared impossible that people could have any troubles. “I’m sorry,” Luka repeated, beginning to feel a little tiredness tugging at his limbs, wishing he didn’t have to walk. “It’s OK. Besides, I haven’t talked to you properly for a couple of weeks. What have you been up to?” Abby asked gently, turning to look at him. “Not much.” Abby rolled her eyes, half-expecting such a vague answer. She knew she’d have to work on this one. “You know the saying.” “Do I?” Luka asked , instantly intrigued by the riddle. “The devil finds work for idle hands.” He laughed. “Nothing like that. Working, reading, getting beaten at Pictionary.” “Still?” She asked, bemused, then added, “You should get Operation. If your friends beat you at that, then..” “I’m in trouble. I’ll think about it.” The flow of people and traffic twisted chaotically as they crossed a road laden with cars, trucks, buses and a wall of sound which cut a dark shadow through the utopia of the sunshine. Diesel fumes invaded the sticky air and the buzz of a thousand radios and voices mingled into a confusing disharmony. Summer in the city was both beautiful and destructively ugly. The pavement was a welcome haven from the chaos, despite the ongoing rush of people like blood burst from an artery, wildly spraying and scattering the summer streets. “So, what about you? Shouldn’t you be out with Carter?” Luka asked, staring straight ahead, digging his fingers against the car keys in his pocket. Abby exhaled deeply and then let out a trademark sarcastic laugh. “That was over a while ago. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it.” The walls in that hospital had ears, that was a pure certainty. “I’ve been busy,” he replied, with a nonchalance that betrayed every ounce of his feelings. Seconds felt like minutes, time seemed to elapse painfully. Suddenly all too aware of his unfeeling tone, Luka continued. “I’m sorry. And I’m surprised. I thought he was in love with you.” “They’re just words.” Abby replied sharply, although her words were tinged with a palpable sadness. Words which seemed so violently out of place in summer’s rapturous reverie. Luka momentarily searched for words but knew there was no answer, and furthermore that silence often spoke louder volumes. Astonishment crept into his veins as he realised that he actually felt sorry for Carter. An emotion that he had not felt for a very long time. Yeah, like he really needs my pity, he thought. Still, nobody really deserved to have their feelings dismissed with such iciness. But as he was relatively oblivious to the situation, he let it drift away into the humid air. “You’ve been busy looking after Maria, haven’t you?” Maria was seventeen and dying of leukaemia, but apart from the obvious symptoms, nobody would have ever known. Every person who met her agreed that she had a vivacity, an endearing quality that stretched far beyond her illness. She was not dying, she was alive. She smiled endlessly, joked about her unenviable position and sang constantly. Courageous was not the word, more like miraculous. Accepting your immediate fate was perhaps the most daunting task a human being could face, Maria had done so with considerable grace and without any indication of fear. “Yeah. But now that you mention it, sometimes it makes me feel a little guilty. Simply because her optimism is catching, I feel as if I’m just doing it to make myself feel better.” Abby laughed at his humility, then added, “Trust me, you’re doing it to make her feel better. Either that, or you’re taking your pay home under false pretences.” “It must be the first one, then.” His conscience eased slightly, Luka gazed up speculatively at the sky. “I hope the weather stays the same.” His tone was almost dream-like, as if he were momentarily astounded by nature’s perfection. “You won’t be saying that tomorrow to all the sunburnt old ladies and the annoyingly hyperactive kids.” Abby was not trying to irritate him, but enjoyed putting a realistic spin on such a total image of faultlessness. The good weather did not make everything better. But it certainly helped.
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Post by lkaljk (Ebba) on Aug 7, 2008 18:31:18 GMT 10
[glow=red,2,300] GREATE AGAIN [/glow] Keep going !
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Post by Praline on Aug 9, 2008 15:51:24 GMT 10
Reviews: Thankyou, and yes, keep ‘em coming!!
Author’s note: The book and play referenced in this section are The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho and La Casa De Bernada Alba (The House Of Bernada Alba) by Federico García Lorca, but you need not read them, they are just tools to communicate ideas. I also have a strange feeling that I have unconsciously plagiarised a Romano quote from season 6. So sorry!!
“We possess art lest we perish of the truth.” Nietzsche, The Will To Power
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3. Lost For Words
Irony is something of a double-edged sword. It can be something beautiful, something amusing, yet at the same time, something dark and achingly painful. Luka wondered which label was appropriate in this case as he observed Maria, bolt upright in what looked like a cold hospital bed, engrossed in The Alchemist. A book about dreams and finding your own destiny. An optimist’s heaven, a pessimist’s nightmare. Yet someone or something had so cruelly decided Maria’s destiny for her. Irony in the basest, vilest sense. Yet, on the other hand, perhaps it was comforting to read such an uplifting and hopeful novel. Knowing her fairly well, as most of the staff in this hospital did, he was sure it was distracting her from any of the dark, self-pitying thoughts that could well have crossed her mind.
The sun was once again beaming in, splitting into dark shadows through the half-drawn blind. It was not hot or cold in the room and the only sound was in the distance. Maria reached a point, then slid a piece of paper that acted as her bookmark silently between the pages. Still holding the book, she spoke quietly, interrupting Luka who was meticulously examining her chart.
“What are you reading at the moment?” Her accent was broken slowly with Hispanic tones, her grandfather had left Madrid many, many years ago.
He glanced up, quickly fixing his gaze on her. “Lorca.” He replied succinctly, suspecting Maria would need little explanation. He had been attempting to learn a little Spanish, as so many people in the city seemed to speak it. A good way to learn a new language was through literature and music. So it was Lorca and Enrique Iglesias all the way.
“Bernada Alba?” She asked, knowing this was one of the dramatist’s best known works. He nodded. “In Spanish or English?” Maria pressed on, showing the resolve that had made her battle with illness seem so effortless.
“Spanish,” he replied.
“Why not the translation? I assure you it’s very good.” Her tone was bright and encouraging.
“Something is always lost in translation,” Luka replied with a little sadness. Then it struck him that he could have just reflected on his whole life in America. It sent a rush of despondency into his veins but his thoughts were gladly interrupted by Gallant peering around the door.
“I’m sorry to interrupt but Dr Romano is asking for you.”
Luka nodded an apology Maria’s way and then followed the young man out of the door.
“You shouldn’t be his messenger.” It was such a waste of the young student’s time.
“Everybody is Dr Romano’s messenger,” Gallant replied, with a surprising optimism, “But thanks anyway.”
As if his ears were burning, Romano appeared, looking as stoic and serious as ever. He took a long, piercing stare through the window, then said quickly,
“Well, Luka, I’m glad to see you’re keeping the teenage fan base amused.”
Romano expected no reply and was not going to get one.
“Anyway, I’ll get straight to the point. The bunch of incompetent deadbeats down here that, frankly, wouldn’t know what an MD was if it bit them on the ass are bailing one by one with flu. So lucky you gets to work til 2am.”
It was 9:35 in the morning.
“I really hope you’re joking,” Luka replied, taking a long look at his watch.
“Am I wearing a red nose and baggy pants?” “Thank you.” With that, the little surgeon walked slowly away, disappearing along the corridor with a patronising pace. It was going to be a very long day.
“I am a barbarian in this place because I am not understood by anyone.” Ovid
The night sky sprawled out like a thick, dark blanket and a little warmth hung in the still air which in contrast, always seemed to whistle past up on the rooftop. The colours above amalgamated above, the darkness merged with the milky orange of light pollution, leaving a scant dash of visible stars. There were faint noises in the background, traffic, voices, music yet all so indistinguishable. Luka took a little time to absorb his surroundings. Still, he was powerless to stop thoughts careering in his head like a through train. Despite the fact that it was now gone eleven and he knew that he was surviving on something more powerful than adrenaline yet bordering on sheer exhaustion, tiredness shot the questions into his aching mind like a trace of bullets. His earlier words to Maria lingered like a ghost. The volatile blend of his physical and mental states left him with so much to ponder.
Perhaps it was time to pack it in and get an office job, with the sweet paradise of whole weekends off and regular hours. He was interrupted as a fighter jet began to rush across the Chicago skyline. Its afterburners spread a threatening glow across the blackness, then it shot out over Lake Michigan like a deadly arrow. Suddenly Luka remembered his school history lessons and the teacher bringing in a huge map of the USA. As if they believed nobody knew where America was, as if it were mystical, an imaginary place of dreams and cowboys. He did not, at this moment, want to think about ideas of countries, or divided countries. Tell me about it, he thought, momentarily closing his eyes to shut out thoughts of home. Wherever that was. Vehemently flicking the “off” switch on those thoughts, he reverted back to his career musings.
What other options were possible? Go into private practice and become a rich man by prescribing Viagra to all the horny old men. Maybe not, he thought, with a genuine smile and a laugh to himself.
“Having impure thoughts about Romano? It happens to all of us.”
Abby’s voice violently shook him out of his reverie, he had heard no approaching steps. The mind was certainly a powerful thing, he had been transported deep into the spirals of his consciousness. He did not turn around to face her, but nonetheless replied. “Romano is the reason I’m not drifting peacefully in and out of sleep. So my thoughts about him are malicious, not salacious.” “Not that they ever are salacious,” he affirmed, with another laugh.
“Sometimes I think you should just pick him up and put him in your pocket.” She joined him, placing her palms flat against the cold concrete before assessing the twilight with an acerbic glance.
“So he can annoy me all day? I don’t think so.” Luka spoke with little amusement this time, feeling his fatigue slowly turn to languor, knowing now that any attempt to sleep in the next few hours would be completely futile.
Abby’s purpose became evident as she struck a match against the wall. The intense chemical reaction sent fizzles and crackles into the silent air along with a sharp glow of light and the tantalising aroma of sulphur. She lit the end of her cigarette with admirable caution then discarded the match over the side, its flame swiftly extinguished in an unnatural gust of wind.
“Did someone send you to chase my shadow?” In his peripheral vision, Luka caught a glimpse of the glowing tip of the cigarette and found himself reminded of the jet. Deadly, but in a different sort of way.
“Somebody’s gotta do it.” She said, lightly, almost voiding all meaning from her words, then continued. “You’ve picked the right time to be hiding up here. It’s as dead as a freaking corpse down there.”
The pun was ungracious yet he was pleasantly amused, feeling another smile dissipate his pensive mood. Dark humour was often the only humour associated with this place.
Abby took a longer drag and then felt the smoke weighing down on her lungs. It was not a sensation she experienced often but when she did it was a sharp reminder that she should attempt to quit. Feeling greatly relieved as she exhaled the bluey-grey stream of smoke she turned momentarily to look at him. Melancholy was deep-set in his gaze. Yet it was not unattractive, in fact, his sadness often had an endearing effect, she concluded. She rapidly reminded herself that the dejection was not always there as it had seemed to be before. In fact, she was certain that of late, a radiance had been etched onto his retinas which appeared almost out of place. It further added to the deep enigma that he continued to be. Abby considered that someone or something could have lit the blackened touchpaper of his soul, the fire within that she was sure had once been prevalent had been lit again. She would find out somehow. Even though in her mind she linked Luka, not unkindly, to a cryptic crossword. Frustrating, but in a good way. Desperate now to stop her fluctuating thoughts, she leant on the ledge and spoke.
“I take it you’re having a bad day, then.” Her tone held no mockery or sympathy. Sometimes, she surprised herself how sometimes her words were so distant from her feelings. But on other rare occasions, both word and sensation were as tightly connected as links in a chain.
“Just a very long day. With little escape from my thoughts. Not a very good combination.” As usual, his words gave little room for manoeuvre, there was so much yet so little to speculate on. He did not wish to theorise on his feelings out loud because he was still battling with the internal struggle.
Exhaling a sigh which purged a little of the confusion from his veins, he found the only few words that possessed any sort of definitive clarity. An apology.
“I’m sorry. You don’t need to hear this.”
You’d be surprised, Abby thought, flicking the ash away with an almost eloquent gesture. Although she was barely half way through her smoke, she happily ground the ash violently into the concrete, watching the fire smoulder into nothing.
“Don’t worry about it. You just need to get some sleep.” This time, her words were brushed with a shimmer of concern and she had found some warmth in the unyielding depths of the night. The silence was then pierced by his pager. With a wry smile, Luka turned to face her and said, without any hint of seriousness or sadness, “It looks as if the corpses have awoken.”
She flashed a sincere smile, then replied. “I wouldn’t sound so concerned, you know, you’re the living dead’s favourite doctor.”
Lost for words, he headed for the door feeling decidedly better, leaving Abby in the same predicament as he had found himself in moments before. But at least she was smiling.
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Post by lkaljk (Ebba) on Aug 9, 2008 19:37:00 GMT 10
[glow=red,2,300]Keep going[/glow]
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Post by Praline on Aug 22, 2008 17:20:30 GMT 10
Reviews: Thankyou once again to all my readers, I appreciate you taking the time to read my work. Keep those reviews comin’ 4. Mad WorldSometimes, in a hedonistic manner, the world passes you by without a trace. Especially when the weather is spectacularly good, as it had been for what seemed like an eternity. The cold caress of cotton sheets against a burning hot body was a wondrous contrast which Luka relished until he finally dragged himself out of bed. He was going to be late but once again, indifference had got the better of the tug of war in his head. So he was in no rush. Send me to your stupid lectures all day, he thought, gazing out of his window, his pupils dilating with a bolt of tranquillity. Sunshine was like injections of optimism but the long days also left so much space for contemplation, which could lead anybody’s thoughts off into a plethora of emotions. Gladly, he found a distraction in the day’s current affairs as he scanned the newspaper while sipping casually from a can of Coke as it was far too hot for coffee. “If it isn’t the dead man sitting. Weaver is after you and she’s taking it out on me, as usual.” Susan joined him in the crowded Doc Magoo’s which was bustling with people eager for their breakfast. Along with the general commotion, “Walking On Sunshine” by Katrina and the Waves blared from the sound system. Susan’s tone had been neither angry nor frustrated but Luka took the opportunity to ask some questions, avoiding the general issue of his misbehaviour. “You really don’t get on with her, do you?” He asked plainly, finally gazing up from the broadsheet. “Not really. It’s a long story.” Her mind cast back to those early years of rivalry and bitchiness. “Indulge me. I have all the time in the world,” Luka replied, radiating as much vivacity as the atmosphere itself. Susan laughed aloud, catching the glint of mischief in his eyes. “You’re having one of those “I don’t care” career moments, aren’t you?” “Is it that obvious?” “To somebody who’s been there, absolutely. It’ll pass, they always do.” He turned the page and drank again, his eyes darting rapidly as he scanned for anything that may be of interest. “You see, that’s why Weaver is so high-maintenance. She never has those lapses.” This observation seemed tainted with a little sadness, perhaps even envy. Susan quickly reminded herself that she was not envious at all. “She’s not the bionic woman, she must do. Unless we’re the strange ones.” Interested in where this was going, his attention wavered from the news. “We must fall prey to the distractions of our social lives.” Luka was unsure whether she was taking the piss or indicating that their boss had no social life. Or perhaps it was both. Who knows? Susan too felt a little bewildered as she realised that in many ways, Luka was still as elusive as the day she had met him, so she asked, “What do you do when you’re not working?” He momentarily shifted in his seat then let out a little smile. “My friends exploit me with their complicated board games, drink all my beer and use my apartment as a walk-in cinema.” She smiled enigmatically. “But you wouldn’t want it to change, would you?” “Maybe not,” Luka replied, as wonderfully ambiguous as ever. Eyeing the last drop of the caramel coloured liquid in the bottom of the can, he finished his drink and carefully folded the newspaper like a worn-out commuter. “I guess I’d better go and get my punishment.” “Good luck, I’ll be thinking of you,” Susan said amicably, knowing what it was like to be on the receiving end of Weaver’s wrath. With that, he made the short journey towards his castigation, just as a prisoner is lead down to the cells. When he arrived, Susan had been right, Weaver was after his blood. “I’ll get straight to the point. Your lateness is unacceptable. You’re fully aware of the current penalty. If you’re going to waste my time then I’ll waste yours. And this time I want to see the notes as well. You can check the schedules for yourself.” After facing the torrent, he nodded, feeling like a schoolboy being chastised by the headmistress. “Is that all?..Because I should...” Suddenly, mid-sentence, Luka wondered if he was being a little audacious and chose to keep his mouth shut. Not very much would be able to break up his strangely good mood. Not even if the sun disappeared from the sky and the heavens opened and it rained until December. “No. You can take Abby with you as well. It’s a shame you’re not dating anymore, then you could kick each other out of the damned bed,” Weaver said dryly, raising her voice even more, evidently angered as if she believed her staff were beginning to conspire against her. Luka was humoured by the image and bit on his thumbnail to hide his smile. In fact, he was tempted to add, “But she would never kick me out of bed.” Wisely, he held his tongue. He was curious at his boss’s slight, pained amusement. Perhaps the sun had shone on her too. “Sort it out, Luka, I don’t want to have to fire you.” He nodded again, then said sincerely, “I appreciate it.” Yet sincerity escaped him as he left the lounge with a wide grin. He was ready for whatever was about to be thrown at him. Deciding to pass on the bad news before it had any sort of a chance to eat away at him he spotted his co-conspirator in lateness. Abby’s interest was instantly piqued by his bright, unassuming disposition, a very welcome tangent from her very unwelcoming paperwork. “It looks as if you enjoyed getting your butt smacked. I always thought you were a bit of a masochist.” He laughed, then shook his head dismissively. “It’s the weather.” “Not the sex, drugs and rock and roll?” She continued, enjoying this game. “If only I had the time,” Luka said, slightly caught in a frail reverie. “Which reminds me, we have to go to those lectures again. It seems as if once again, I’m not the only one who can’t be bothered.” She frowned, then smiled. “I spent half of yesterday morning swearing at my VCR after it chewed up three tapes. It was my own emergency, which seemed a little more important than anybody else’s at the time. God, that’s selfish,” she said aloud, meaning to keep it to herself. Thoughts raced through her head, then she turned toward him with a smile, and spoke quietly. “Luka, if you’re in such a good mood, then why didn’t you tell Weaver to poke it up her ass?” Luka smiled, “I don’t think it’s any good for me to be that eloquent in English.” “Fair enough,” Abby shrugged, eventually returning to the array of pages stretched in front of her eyes. “You’ll call me to let me know when we’re going?” She asked seriously, suspecting that despite their outward disregard, somewhere inside they were both eager to atone for their mistakes. “Sure.” I’d better look like I’m doing something, he thought. Deciding to chance his luck, he took a chart at random and examined only the room number and patient’s name. Life would be boring without a few surprises. “I wouldn’t if I were you. That kid has a set square lodged in one of his nostrils. Math has never been so dangerous.” In issuing her warning, Abby had conceded that the world was genuinely crazy today. But in a positive, stirring way. “It could be worse.” Luka spoke while searching for his pen which had eluded him as well as pessimism had. “You’re right. He could have a compass stuck up his...” She did not need to finish the sentence. After locating his pen and finding that the child, Chad, did in fact have a mathematical instrument
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Post by lkaljk (Ebba) on Aug 26, 2008 0:16:16 GMT 10
It's greate !!
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Post by Praline on Aug 30, 2008 15:33:07 GMT 10
5. Universally Speaking.
Reviews: Please R&R, I really hope this bit makes sense!!
Author’s Note: Book referenced here is Fiesta (The Sun Also Rises) by Ernest Hemingway. OK, so I get a bit philosophical here, so please reassure me that it makes sense, it’s quite simple really!! And yes, my strange fascination with Quincy ME shows through here. It’s a sickness. I’m getting treatment LOL!
Trains are funny things, indifferent to their passengers, their driver and the chaos that can often surround them. They are not indifferent to the weather, especially in winter, but when the El grinds to a halt in summer, questions must be asked. It was mid-afternoon so there were no commuters, just parents and children taking advantage of the school holidays, who were becoming over-excited thanks to the delay. Like the train, Luka was indifferent, floating away on a cloud of literary enthralment as he leant against the doors, engrossed in Hemingway’s Fiesta. His white shirt was being made ever more translucent by the iridescent lighting, the sun glinting violently off of his gold necklace. Sounds, movements, thoughts, feelings eluded him.
Abby, standing opposite, momentarily closed her eyes in a silent prayer. If there was one thing she could not bear, it was trains that did not move. When you were moving, you were getting somewhere, when you were still, and without change, you were stuck. Your destination was painfully elusive. You cannot go back nor forward, the frustration seemed never-ending. Sighing, she opened her eyes quickly, as if she had been shot through with an arrow of awakening. Just as her eyes opened, the train jolted forwards and they were moving again. God had obviously decided to stop toying with Chicago’s transport system. She was not worried that her companion was so seemingly fixated on his literature. Abby concluded that it was not that Luka did not wish to talk to her, but that he was obviously enjoying his latest read. After all, time was precious for people in their profession, and who had the time to read these days?
Even so, something inside her needed to know that she was more able to capture his attention than mere fiction. As egotistical as it may have sounded, of late he possessed even more magnetism than ever before. A magnetism to which she was helplessly attracted. It was not magnetic sadness, but its antithesis: a burning vigour, a flame of exuberance. Perhaps this had been his manner before his world caved in. Who am I to make those assumptions? She thought sadly, feeling as if, once again, things had stopped still and she had been caught in that exasperating limbo between the present, the past and the future. As despite the fact that Luka’s outward appearance seemed to be one of a positive nature, she was still left with no idea why. All that she knew was that his enigma was still immensely powerful and that she was determined, this time, to get a better insight into just for what reason. If only things were that simple.
Tired of her thoughts, she decided to reach out and communicate.
“Did you get that thing out of the kid’s nose the other day?” As he immediately closed the book and gave her his full attention, Abby felt a rush of contentment which shifted her thoughts all over the place, displacing all of her wonderment for a few seconds. Who cares why?
“Yeah. It’s a shame they didn’t teach him anything about symmetry. Two would have been a bit of a challenge.”
She smiled, then added, “Did it come out at exactly forty-five degrees?”
Luka smiled and shook his head. “Those things are inaccurate the world over. Useless in every sense of the word.” This took him back to painful memories of maths classes. Learning how to add up was practical, but he had yet to find a use for trigonometry or equations in his everyday life.
Five minutes later and they had rattled into the nearest station to the university, public transport something of a necessity this time around in order to avoid any more costly parking mishaps. On such a balmy, almost tropical afternoon, Luka concluded that even before the futile lectures, he had perhaps already learnt his lesson as he would’ve liked to sit out in the sun reading the paper, rather than being here. So he would promptly invest in an alarm clock with digital display, world time, multi alarms etc. He was sure there was even one with a CD player that played your favourite CD to wake you up. That sounded like a good idea. Anything to get him out of bed. In spite of his recent apathy, he still loved his job very much and didn’t want to lose it. That would be one step too far. The pre-evening sky was a rich blue, dotted with a few clouds, ultraviolet searing through the atmosphere as the heatwave continued. Once again the university building was a cold, grey slab of ugliness which seemed even more unsightly in the mirror of summer’s perfection.
“Are we going to the same place as before?” It was just over a week since their last visit, and Abby was hoping that this one would be just as short.
Her question injected a firm twist of determination into him, as he replied resolutely. “Abby, I’m not going to sit in there and listen to things that I already know. That won’t teach me anything. This is, after all, an institution of learning. So let’s go and learn something.” Luka was not angry, he had been captured by tenacity. Abby, ever ready to be the realist and bring him back down to earth with a resounding thud, rolled her eyes and spoke just as persistently. “What about the notes?”
He gazed at her incredulously for a moment, perplexed that she was challenging his notions. It already made sense in his recent rebellious mentality. Rapidly switching tactics, Luka found the answer more quickly than he had expected.
“We’ll make it up. Never underestimate the power of fiction. Besides, I’ve always wanted to write a thesis entitled: Medicine vs Maths: the awful truth.”
Abby felt a smile creeping up on her as a ghost dancing through the shadows. She did not really want to give in, but she knew that deep inside, she agreed with him completely. Why waste your time going over things you already knew when you could take the opportunity to learn something new?
“Let’s go inside before the sun really starts to affect your head.” Accepting defeat had never felt so good.
Inside, there was little of the chaos they had observed last time. Corridors were as empty as the last train home, the air was unvibrated by any speech, it almost seemed as if learning had taken the form of silent contemplation. This was a palpable sign that lectures had already begun. Cautiously eyeing the schedule pinned to a pristine notice board, Luka felt the inane thrill of destruction as he gently tugged it from the Blu-Tak that adhered it to the wall.
“Take your pick.” Abby scanned the list rapidly, aware that they should make haste as it was evident that the lessons had begun, else the place would be littered with students elated that their grilling was over for the day.
Film studies, Hispanic culture, Philosophy, Investigating the Self... Investigating the self?? That sounds interesting, she thought, slightly aware of the sexual undertones. Finally, a course caught her eye: Tragedy in literature: and why we need it. OK, so the undertones of that were completely masochistic. Perfect, she thought. Room 12A, in five minutes.
Lecture theatre 12A was vigorous with noise, almost teeming with anticipation. It had no video screen but a real feel of humanity as one wall had a huge window which looked out over a lush garden at the heart of the buildings. Rays of light sliced their way across the seats, rich shadows formed on whitewashed walls. No stark electric lighting was needed to illuminate the students and their writing, nature had taken this into its own hands with continual beams being pumped into the expanse of the room. The lecturer arrived in perfect time, a woman who looked as if she had barely graduated herself. She was carrying a few papers while jostling with the jet of brown hair which shot out of her head like a fountain. Luka put his book on the long bench in front of him which acted as the writing desk for the students, then dug his elbow into it and rested his palm thoughtfully against his cheek. If he was going to be uncomfortable then at least he could do it while paying attention.
A buzz of sound continued to permeate through the air, the summer obviously acting as an even more powerful catalyst as the students’ chatter was almost of epic proportions, a raking of decibels against the eardrums, a disharmonious rant. Sensing the chaos in front of her, the lecturer stood, arms folded protectively and assessed her students for the day. Her calm seemed to heighten their perceptiveness, so much so that once they had realised they were being scrutinised so carefully, silence eventually prevailed.
“Hi everyone. I’m Elena and I’m here to present the first of my three lectures on tragedy in literature and why it is so essential.” Abby noted that the woman had a British accent very much unlike Dr Corday’s, it was less harsh, less polished and the young woman seemed at ease speaking to this disorganised rabble.
“I’ll be blunt and get straight to the point. I was a student not so long ago so I know that you won’t have done all the reading, I also know that people in my position have a tendency to make things more complicated or talk for hours about irrelevant matters just to perpetuate themselves.” This brought a trickle of laughter from Elena’s audience, they knew she could relate to them.
“So. I’ll get straight to the heart of my theories.”
“Let’s start with something we all know. Anyone care to tell me why Romeo & Juliet is such a classic? And if anyone mentions Leonardo di Caprio then I’m leaving straight away.”
Laughter was followed by silence, then a young man in the front row decided to chance his luck.
“Because everybody can relate to it. Everyone knows what it’s like to be young and in love.” Yeah, but we didn’t all try and kill ourselves when things with the parents got a little messy, Abby thought, with fond memories of Othello and Macbeth. Now that was tragedy, with sex, lies and deception thrown in for good measure. Romeo and Juliet was a mere starting point, the poor man’s Shakespeare. But, she conceded, it was a good starting point, as the legion of students in front of them were now writing busily.
“Empathy comes in to it. It’s just human nature. That, in essence, is the key to most stories. Being able to put ourselves in the place of the main protagonists. But this was going on long before Shakespeare, of course. And we have to ask ourselves why we do it, why we should want to imagine ourselves in such perilous situations.”
Contemplative silence thickened the air. No-one spoke, no-one moved, not even the sun turned to cast a different shadow against the walls. Luka closed his eyes momentarily, knowing that there were thousands of answers to the question that had been posed. But he also knew that the woman was being paid to give her opinion and thus, it would probably be easier to speculate on her theory rather than attempting to make immediate sense of his own ones. As he opened them again, sunlight grazed against his pupils so he shifted slightly to deflect the rays away from his eyes.
“Here’s the guy who had the answer.” As if by magic, the young woman clicked a switch and onto the bare wall was projected a sharp black and white image. “Mr Nietzsche, German philosopher. Now, I see a lot of myself in this man. He took lectures, he went insane.” Her audience were once again enjoying themselves. “Anyway, in his first book, The Birth Of Tragedy, he suggested that Greek tragedy was written so that the Ancient Greeks could come to terms with bad things in their own lives.” She paused once more, then continued. “But just before you all start shouting “bullshit” at me, let me ask you a few questions. Anybody here who doesn’t have a TV?”
A ripple of sarcastic, unbelieving, almost caustic chuckling burst forth from the students, as if to say, yeah, right.
“Right. Anybody who doesn’t own CDs?” No hands were raised.
“I assume you’re all avid fans of reading, if not, then you’re on the wrong course, so get out while those suckers in the admissions office can still handle the paperwork.” Now for the conclusion.
“And what are all the songs, TV shows and books for? To leave all the bullshit behind, to come to terms with all the unbearable in life, to give us somewhere to escape to. So Nietzsche may have gone insane, but his ideas weren’t so crazy.” “And just to prove that too, I’m finishing dead on time so you guys can all go home and catch tonight’s episode of The Bold And The Beautiful.”
Luka smiled, feeling a little of the empathy that she had described, wondering why those crazy soap opears were so popular. There was no applause and they all left swiftly, as if this moment in time had been a catalyst for something more pressing, more urgent, more exciting for all of them to await in the future. Yet all were left with the young woman’s thoughts lingering like a rich sediment finally discovered in the dark depths of a bottle.
Journeys home always seemed to take much longer, even if the amount of time taken was precisely the same; even if the survival instinct of finding home was thriving in the veins. Abby was concerned at feeling so distinctly awake, light gleaming in her eyes, sounds stereo clear in her ears, arrows of thought darting in her mind. She did not crave the beauty of sleep, the lucidity of dreams, the precious escapism of the subconscious. Which made a pleasant change. The pavement appeared to pass beneath her feet like a rich silken carpet, wisps of cloud in the sky were like gentle threads connecting her thoughts. Now it was time to expand on them. Or perhaps to attempt to dispel the cynicism that always seemed to creep up on her. But then, with her life’s experiences, she considered, it was perhaps better to be a cynic than a dreamer. Because every time she imagined something would go right, things had a habit of taking an unpredicted U-turn and she was left facing the other direction with all that was cynicism smiling wickedly in her eyes. Time to strive for a change.
“Do you have a favourite TV show?” She asked this question with an alarming amount of caution, which surprised her.
“Yeah,” “I think so.” “I always enjoy Quincy.” Luka replied in all seriousness.
“Quincy?” Abby was amused and astounded, her face a picture of utter disbelief. “Why the hell do you watch that?” Am I actually having this conversation? She wondered, half believing she would wake up in a tangle of sheets with a smile on her face.
“I see a lot of myself in Quincy. He lived on a boat, had a string of beautiful girlfriends...but he does have one big advantage...” His tone indicated he wasn’t taking this so seriously now.
“Which is?” She couldn’t wait to hear this one.
“All of his patients are already dead.”
Abby laughed, pushing her hair out of her eyes, feeling a little frustrated. So much for having some sort of serious conversation. She berated herself for becoming peppered with agitation as she surveyed her surroundings, the tempestuous dry heat mixing with a rush of people. A little over three months ago it had been snowing. From Siberia to the Seychelles in three easy months. The world is going crazy, she affirmed.
“So, let me get this straight. Watching some old guy pretending to do autopsies makes you feel better at the end of a long day.” The utter confusion seeped through her arteries like fine rain, making her feel as if she was searching in the dark. If she even knew what she was looking for in the first place. Luka frowned slightly, wondering where all the questions were being fired from, not wanting to be caught without a reasonable answer. Then again, he didn’t want to be the guy who had all the answers.
“It’s something else to think about. Rather than what you did, what you didn’t do and what you could’ve done.” He hadn’t expected to put it so plainly. Evidently, this also troubled Abby as she said blankly, “But it isn’t that simple.”
“Why not? The woman was right. We all watch TV or read a book, or listen to music.”
Now the turmoil was warming her blood, the weather intensifying the sensation, prickling her skin, she was roasting inside and out. “Because, Luka, life is shitty and it hurts. You know it, I know it, every damn body knows it. How can something so complicated be resolved by something so simple?” She had not meant to speak her final sentence but it trickled out of her mouth like a gushing waterfall, purging the angst from deep inside her body. Avoiding Luka’s assessing gaze, she eyeballed the sky furiously, questioning whatever or whoever was up there. She did not care where the answer came from anymore.
“I’m not going to argue with you.” After all, Luka concluded, if life was a poker game then they had both been dealt some pretty awful hands and were still in search of the elusive royal flush. “But if we all sat down thinking about it all the time then we’d all go crazy. Not everything has to be so...complex. But then again, a little complexity can be interesting. Simplicity would bore us all to tears.”
Shit, these Europeans like their philosophy, Abby thought to herself, still wracked with puzzlement. “Well, bore me with a little simplicity by explaining exactly what you mean.” She paused, considering that she was now beginning to sound more aggrieved, maybe even desperate. “Please.”
“You’re right, life isn’t easy. Yet if it was a fairy tale, it’d get boring. Like if there was only...one flavour of ice cream.” OK, he conceded, it wasn’t the best example but he had finally discovered why Ben and Jerry make so much money.
Their conversation seemed to make everything else trivial, their journey seemed programmed, effortless and timeless. Home seemed close yet faraway and neither knew when or where this spiral of thought would end.
“Just where is your new philosophy on life coming from?”
“Like I told you, it’s the weather.” “Amongst other things...” His trailing voice threw up a mist of possibilities.
A clue, she thought, feeling a little more triumphant now.
“Such as?” She asked, with a tempting grin. Sometimes teasing it out of him was the only way to go. Although part of her did not expect a definite answer. After all, this was Luka, man of mystery. She smiled at the cartoon character image in her head.
“Some good memories. And endless reruns of Quincy.”
This time, Abby’s smile was wry as she realised that he had placated her troubles without even trying. How the hell did you do that? It was as if he had taken her grievances, torn them into insignificant shreds of paper and let them flutter away in a gust of wind. That was more than enough to ask of him. For now.
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Post by lkaljk (Ebba) on Aug 31, 2008 22:46:37 GMT 10
Greate !
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Post by Praline on Sept 2, 2008 16:05:27 GMT 10
Reviews: Please R&R, I feel this is my best chapter so far and would love to know what you think of it, and thankyou once again for all of your kind words so far. Author’s Note: Apologies for any medical inaccuracies in this part as I have no time to research but I have used my artistic licence to successfully escape any impossibilities. I hope! For your information, Davor Suker is one of Croatia’s most famous soccer players, I think he still plays somewhere in Europe, but is getting on in soccer-playing terms!! 6. Until Tomorrow“Death lies on her like an untimely frost upon the sweetest flower of all the field.” (Romeo & Juliet: Act Four, Scene Four lines 55-56) Three days later and the temperature was pushing ninety degrees. Heat like this in the Windy City seemed alarmingly unnatural. It was only a few degrees hotter and it felt like the air would erupt into the beauty of flames, shattering bursts of deep red and orange into the ether. Luka had only known weather like this once before, on a summer trip to Madrid many years ago. He had gone to watch Davor Suker lead Real’s front line and had not been disappointed by the tumultuous atmosphere of the Bernabéu stadium. Sometimes work was not unlike the Bernabéu stadium before a match against Barcelona: chaotic, feverish, numb with rivalry and excitement. He noted with a tinge of sadness that he was actually not there to work, he was here to see how Maria was doing. Almost everybody, at some point, despite their crazy schedules had been to keep the young woman company, such was her vibrancy. Although this week their task had been crudely nicknamed “death-watch,” as they were almost certain that this week her illness would finally get the better of her. Maria had insisted that her relatives should not be present for her final hours. She wanted them to remember her living, breathing, laughing, fighting rather than finally losing her battle. But procedures, bureaucracy and other trivial small print meant that someone always had to be in attendance. Deciding it was time to be casual he yanked his shirt out of the waistband of his trousers and felt the blissful rush of air against his skin as he climbed the stairs to the ward. He was pleased to see that keeping the latest vigil was Gallant. In the mass of unfamiliarity which often swamped the heaving walls of this institution, it was always good to see a familiar face. Some sort of sanity in such a sea of anarchy. The young student came to meet him at the door, dressed in a T-shirt and shorts. Despite the outward energy, Luka could clearly see that he was exhausted. He knew all too well himself that it took time for your body to adjust to such a rigorous schedule. “That girl’s energy is amazing. Almost superhuman.” Gallant observed in wonder as he stared back through the window. “It seems to be taking its toll on you.” Luka said, slowly. “That’s a diplomatic way of telling me I look like hell, isn’t it?” “We have a way with words on the other side of the world.” Gallant smiled, then said a firm, quick goodbye before leaving Luka alone and very aware of it in the vast corridor. Feeling slightly alien in the immense, vacuous space, he went into the room. It was refreshingly cool, yet filtrated with a vibrant mood. To Luka this almost seemed perverse: after all, the girl was dying. Yet she seemed to charge her surroundings with positive ions, radiating beams like the unforgiving sun which burnt so very vividly today. “I see you’ve drawn the short straw this time.” Maria said, her cracking voice the only evident sign of her weakness. “Not at all. Where would I get all my book tips from?” His tone was light, compassionate. “Give me a pen and I’ll write you a list.” Her steely determination touched him as the pen shuddered violently in her hand, her body plagued by both illness and treatment. At this stage it was impossible to tell whether the drugs or her condition were making her feel worse. Slowly, with such precise caution, he reached out and took hold of her wrist and felt her pulse. Blood was stirring slowly through her tortured veins. She would not be fighting for too much longer, Luka theorised sadly, watching shadows dance across the wall. “Have you done all the things you wanted to?” It sounded so final, so damning, so unbelievably heartbreaking but he knew she had made plans a long time ago to do some things before she passed away. She nodded with a charismatic smile. “Yes. Apart from one thing. I always wanted to go into space. Not to be an astronaut, but to see the world from up there. As one. That’s the way it should be.” Maria paused, then added with a wan smile, “That probably sounds naïve to you.” Luka shook his head. “No, I think that’s a wonderful image.” He leant back slightly in his chair and thought about it, about space. You wouldn’t get me up there, he decided. Although he had faced some perilous situations in his life, the expanse of the constellations seemed a little too dangerous. Besides, it was nice to watch the stars from the spinning axis of Earth. Even if down here people were ultimately divided. Realising that he was still gripping her wrist, still feeling her slow, laboured pulse like the beat of a bass drum, he slowly let his grasp slide away. Just as hope seemed to be slipping away from Maria’s quest to battle on. An hour later and the sun was at its peak, yet this room seemed so wonderfully escapist, so unreal but brimming with the harsh realities of life. Sometimes people die and nothing can be done to save them. Even though Luka knew this situation rendered him utterly powerless, he did not feel bitter about it. It was tragic, it was a waste, such a waste of a rich youthful life, yet to be enriched by the mysteries of adulthood. Ambiguity struck him full in the face as with a shock he realised that perhaps missing your older years was not such a bad thing. No worries about ageing, relationships, tax forms or life insurance. Maria’s rasping tone interrupted his drifting mind. “Is it nice outside?” Reams of sunlight were scattered across the room. “It’s very warm. Makes a change. A nice one.” Changes were not all for the worse. Her breathing became infinitely shallow as pain and disease sucked evilly at her lungs, taking her oxygen and feeding off it for its own wicked gains. Here was the girl who envisaged the world as one yet she was being so cruelly invaded. Maria did not dare close her eyes. To close your eyes was to face the darkness; a darkness that she had not prepared herself for yet. “Will you take me outside? I want to see the sun.” Luka suddenly imagined himself there in that bed, dying, at the mercy of whatever had decided to take her over. Knowing that he himself would rather feel the last rush of all that was life: sunlight, than the empty whiteness of the bed, he nodded slowly. Words were not needed to satisfy the dying girl’s wish that he could not refuse. Feeling utterly mechanised, almost robotic, he offered her his hands as she struggled out of the sheets. Maria’s pale skin was excruciatingly cold to touch, the warmth of life fading away. Even the IV drip hooked into her arm had been rendered useless, the rush of synthetic chemicals a blunt knife against the sharp blade of infection. It remained in her arm as a signal that nobody had given up just quite yet. Halfway down the stairs, Maria had been sapped of any energy she may have scarcely possessed, a reaction as violent as sticking a pin into a balloon. One moment you were sliding towards your mortality, the next you were facing the truth in an alarmingly rapid decline. As if all the tables had decided to turn in one fleeting step. It was then, behind the warm orbs of his grey eyes, that Luka realised the enormity of the situation. He was about to carry a dying young woman in his arms, past his colleagues, past the general public, all of whom would be bemused, maybe even unsettled by his plight. He was not about to be deterred. Some things are stronger than mere opinion. They already all think I’m the crazy foreigner. Still. Even more reason to do what the girl wanted and damn everybody else. Resilience was now warming within him as Maria got colder. When he eventually reached the ground floor, one arm under her shoulders, the other under her knees, the useless bag of fluid flung over his broad shoulders, he realised that it did not matter anymore. Despite the crowd and craziness that encompassed them, he could already see the clearly mapped path to the exit. To the elusive sun. All that was around them meshed into an incoherent blur, colours swirling into haze, sounds unclear and unimportant, everything else numbed, dead, paralysed, powerless. Eyes may have burned with critical, astounded gazes but they could not intervene the course that had been plotted. Maria’s eyes were still wide, receiving flashes of light, every few seconds Luka checked to ensure she was still there, that their quest had not been in vain. Noise rushed past his ears in an uncomfortable dissonance, movement rushed past him like a whirling hurricane. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of steps, a lifetime’s pilgrimage, they reached the desolate safety of outside. The heat bit with the malicious iciness of a cold winter’s day, the sphere of the sun was there above them, almost grinning down triumphantly. In a swift, painful moment, Maria became feather light in his arms, as if she was signalling the end. “Hasta mañana,” her voiced cracked, then her gaze was strikingly fixated as her soul slipped away from her tormented body. Until tomorrow, Luka thought sadly. But then he was comforted, still holding her there, frozen by the blinding warmth. Somehow, like the sun, Maria would still be there tomorrow.
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Post by lkaljk (Ebba) on Sept 7, 2008 5:23:00 GMT 10
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Post by suzanne on Sept 7, 2008 22:09:50 GMT 10
Love this story!! Really love the Abby/Luka relationship/friendship!! Update soon!!
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Post by Praline on Sept 9, 2008 16:03:20 GMT 10
Reviews: Please R&R, although I introduce one of my own characters, it’s still 100 Luby. Let me know what ya think!
Author’s note: Song made reference to here is Sexiest Man In Jamaica by Mint Royale. BTW, seeing as I wrote this bit pre season 10, Secrets And Lies doctor criticising Abby is in full swing here : )
7. Ray of Light
I shouldn’t be doing this, Abby thought. Which was strange considering at that moment she was doing absolutely nothing. She sat, meticulously examining her set of keys. They were the decider. Take them with you and go out or stay here with them. Or go out without them and get locked out, she added, with a futile smile; as futile as her current passage of thought. Outside her window, Chicago was still aflame with such enchanting weather, as if somebody had taken a match to the sky. Matches. Cigarettes. The words connected in her head, she needed to calm her rushes of thought. She needed a smoke. No, she thought determinedly. She got up and moved closer to the window, watching the world pan out in front of her, still clutching on to her keys.
She was utterly preoccupied with thoughts of Luka. Not that she had seen or spoken to him today. But gossip at work, as viscous and damaging as ever, had informed her of today through his eyes. And now she was feeling as if part of him had been transplanted within her, as she toyed with her concern for him; concern that she knew he had felt a thousand times over for her. Yet she did not imagine that he had been troubled with the same uncertainties. Although she desperately wanted to be a friend, part of her, a part with experience of that man, knew she would only come home full of more questions. With Luka came complexity, complexity which was both sweetly enticing and repelling.
Rapidly, Abby ran a finger against one of the keys, its jagged edge feeling silky smooth to her touch. This finely cut silver object was a key to his apartment, one that he had never asked to have back, one that she had removed and replaced from her set a thousand times over. Something she could not let go of, even if she tried. With it came such simplicity as sunlight bounced off its glistening edges. She could just open his door and walk in. And scare the shit out of him. Maybe not. Deciding that she would feel completely ambiguous whether she stayed or went, she adopted a rapid sense of purpose. Just being there could make all the difference. She shoved the mixture of keys into her pocket then hailed the door closing behind her as an important soundtrack to her near future.
As she paced the streets peacefully, the punishing heat rapidly dissolving away around her, she went over in her head what she was going to say. She didn’t think that being blunt with a “Hey, I heard you carried that dying girl in your arms today,” was the best icebreaker. Warmth suddenly invaded her body, her whole consciousness infected with a rush of pleasing humidity. Perfect weather did not allow for imperfect emotions: everyone equated a good climate with a good mood. Abby speculated on what Luka’s disposition would be when she arrived. Hearing what went on from him was at the very least, going to be the most accurate account of events. All the same, she expected him to be withdrawn, pacified, perhaps even brooding. Once again, she would have to coax it out gently. Battle plans firmly laid, she pushed open the main door with a rush of intention.
Immediately, she was hit by a pulsating wall of sound. Thick bass lines were elegantly mixed with a grating male vocal. Some guy going on about being the sexiest man in Jamaica. Abby rolled her eyes. Somebody’s having one hell of a party, she thought, surprised she was actually able to order any thoughts in the midst of such noise. Climbing the stairs slowly, as if each one were Everest, she began to feel the doubts arising inside again. Taking a much needed moment to gather just a few ounces of composure, a few threads of understanding, she leant back against the redundantly cold wall. Grow up, she thought, you’re not a teenager with a crush. That would be nice, though, she imagined, with a smile.
Now face to face with his door, she closed her eyes painfully tight, tempted to thump her fist three times against her forehead rather than the cold portal that encountered her. Ignoring this irrational notion, her hand thudded almost in time with the excruciatingly loud music that permeated from upstairs. Then came the waiting, the seconds like minutes, the minutes like hours, the hours like days. Open the damn door, she thought, impatience beginning to prevail with a frightening urgency. It was a torture that she came close to enjoying. Luka arrived reasonably swiftly, both surprised and pleased to have a visitor.
“Hi Abby, come in,” he said, without questioning her motives, without asking her why she was here, as part of him already knew why. Abby noticed that in his left hand he was holding a book. Yet more reading? Seeing that she had noticed, he waved her in, closed the door firmly, then commented.
“Testing the theory,” he said, indicating the Greek Tragedies book that he had been reading. “What can I do for you?” Don’t answer that, she thought, mischievously. As always, he wanted to help, and in turn, she could not help but smile.
“I came to see how you are...after today. I heard about what you did.” She replied succinctly, turning casually towards the wide open window. It was a wild evening. The sun had set, leaving behind eclectic streaks of copper in a caramel sky. Switching cautiously from nature to man, she observed him, waiting eagerly for his reply. Luka considered his response carefully while pouring himself a cold glass of Irn-Bru, listening to the fizz sparkling in the air. Part of him wanted to say, “I guess you heard about my freak show,” to give the image that he was generally pissed off with the world. But he did not submit to the falsehood. If he said that he hadn’t really thought about what he had done today then he would’ve been lying. It had affected him, but not in the way he had expected.
“I’m fine. Would you like some?”
Abby felt somewhat confronted by the gleaming vial of luminous fizz.
“Can I be blunt?”
“Why change the habit of a lifetime?” He asked, playfully.
She ignored his insight. “It looks like the remnants of a nuclear accident.” She exhaled deeply, feeling the warm air all around. “Seriously, though, how are you feeling?”
Luka was pleased to feel her immediate concern, to see the evident eagerness in her eyes. It was nice. But if she was here attempting to unravel the depths of his consciousness, she would have to go home empty-handed. Not because he wanted to keep it all locked inside, not because he was afraid to explain what he was feeling; but because the anger, emptiness and frustration had chosen to elude him this time around. Misery had slipped through his grasp like fine sands, had escaped him like a fugitive and he was left with a refreshing sense of well-being. Even though his mind had deliberated that young woman’s death for some time, his instant thoughts left him with an unclouded horizon, a thriving outlook. Too much had already eaten into the depths of his soul, wasting away so many years, poisoning so many opportunities. Not even the thudding music which grated and bounced against the ceiling, which could have sent anyone half crazy, permeated through the protective shield of tranquillity that was surrounding him.
“Fine. It was what she wanted...to die out in the beautiful weather. I don’t really blame her, I think I would have felt the same myself,” he said gently, observing the sky outside. Wondrous traces of scarlet red in the stratosphere were like the traces of that young woman’s soul, illuminating the sky. Never mind tomorrow, she was still here today, hours later. “She’s out of the misery now.” He smiled, pleased that all the conflicting thoughts once bouncing around inside his head like erratic pinballs, had been resolved. Maria no longer knew the pain, the illness, the desperate battle, now she was alive somewhere else and that was an astonishing, almost infinite comfort.
Now I really need a cigarette, Abby thought, surprised that she did not have to force a smile. But it was almost funny. Ironic, in an amusing sort of way. When she had desperately wanted Luka to be happy he was a picture of sadness, infused with despair to the core. Now, when she had expected him to need cheering up, he had a grin the size of the damned Brooklyn Bridge. She wondered if he would notice if she started to bang her head violently against the wall, which was something she really felt like doing at that particular moment. The outside world was screwed up, the weather so unnatural, why shouldn’t everything else be screwed up? Back to the small talk, she decided, lost in her pursuit of some sort of deep and meaningful conversation.
“Are your neighbours having a party?” Her eyes drifted to the ceiling.
He shook his head lightly. “No, that’s just Mo, the guy from upstairs. He’s a DJ...Every night for half an hour he practices his set.”
“What if everybody doesn’t like hearing his set? Doesn’t he know what headphones are? Doesn’t it piss you off?” Luka was concerned by her somewhat erratic, rapid-fire questions. Something was under her skin.
“I just told him he should be grateful I don’t bring my work home. Are you alright?”
God, I want to scream, she thought. Am I alright? This was unbelievable. Aware that her rapidly declining mood was becoming evident, she swallowed hard and closed her eyes momentarily. The thudding of the music stopped. She smiled, realising that what he had said was quite amusing. Well, if you can’t beat ‘em... Although Abby knew that it was tantamount to surrender, she suspected that there would be more chances for a deeper insight. “So, is he, like, one of your friends?” She spoke, attempting to calm herself slightly.
“I know that he has a worrying addiction to KFC, he loves movies and sings very loudly, so...I suppose I know him quite well.” He replied, still attempting to analyse her mood. They were interrupted by a knock at the door, three sharp rasps. “Excuse me for a minute.” He went to answer the door, leaving Abby with a precious moment to herself, to compose the amalgam of feelings that fizzled deep within.
Clenching one fist into a tight ball, she squeezed, compacting the sheer confusion, crushing it away, trying to let her puzzlement fade into insignificance. Her thoughts were gladly interrupted as her ears tuned into the dialogue that was going on over on the other side of the room. It did not take her long to ascertain that Luka’s visitor was the elusive Mo from upstairs. She hoped this was not going to be just a flying visit as this guy sounded interesting.
“I got you this, I’m thinkin’ Time Crisis 2 just doesn’t feel right without the guns.” Mo, who was clearly dressed for summer in basketball vest and huge denim shorts, eagerly emptied the PlayStation 2 accessories catalogue into Luka’s hands. He flicked the pages quickly, scanning rapidly with a somewhat cautious gaze. “What makes you think I need a “Phaser Light Gun” with optical sights?” He flashed a half-smile, glad that he wasn’t the one who had to think up the names for those things.
Mo shrugged. “You have the DVD remote.” Nine times out of ten, if you had a question, Mo had some sort of plausible answer.
“It comes in useful when you insist on watching all your favourite movies here. Did you want anything else?” Luka asked slowly, not wanting to get rid of him, but knowing that everything with Mo was a game that you just had to play out.
Mo smiled charismatically. “Two things,” he said, raising two fingers from his left hand into the air. “First, you can introduce me to your friend, then we can all sit down and watch these.” He was not averse to telling things how they were, so he emptied a pile of DVDs into Luka’s arms and brushed casually past him. He moved rhythmically, almost dancing across the floor towards Abby. He outstretched a large hand, flashing a warm smile, beaming like the sun.
“Hey. I’m Mo, I live upstairs. Tell me, how do you have the misfortune of knowing Luka?” She took a few moments to look at him before she replied. He was tall, reasonably muscular and his eyes had an unmissable sizzling quality, sunshine burning in his retinas. His grip was firm but soft, extremely welcoming.
“I work with him,” she said, amused, thinking it was definitely not her misfortune. Mo nodded, smiled, twisted his hand, then let go.
“Any good saves today?”
Why did everybody seem to think that there was something dazzling about working in a hospital? She was tempted to tell him about her day and its harsh realities: people with sunburn in intimate places, overflowing bedpans and some poor sucker with a bullet through his earlobe. Piercing in an entirely new context. But she simply replied, “It really isn’t that glamorous.”
He smiled at her, unfazed. “It is to me. They spent two hours trying to bring my Dad back, so they tell me, so...I think you do a pretty special job.”
Something in the tone of his voice was communicating that the attempts he was speaking of had been unsuccessful, so she said quickly, “I’m sorry,” amazed that this man she barely knew had just told her something that was quite private.
“Thanks. It’s been a while now. Do you sing?” He spoke slowly, but still with a potent sprinkling of vivacity wrapped around his words.
Syringe in one hand, song book in the other. I think not, she thought.
“Not if I can help it, why?”
“He’s trying to get a record deal. Thinks that recording a duet is the only way to go,” Luka replied, feeling strangely displaced within his own four walls.
“You don’t have to record a duet with a woman,” she said, gazing speculatively in Luka’s direction.
“Nah, I already tried that. No joy. C’mon, man. I mean, there’s Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me..”
Luka let out an audible sigh, it was his turn to feel like banging his head against the wall. “Mo. I cannot sing. So just let it go.”
“We could do The Boy Is Mine in drag.”
He laughed, then replied in an amused, almost disbelieving tone. “You really think that will change my mind?”
“OK. I’ll give you a thousand dollars.” Mo spoke in all seriousness.
Abby shook her head dismissively. “He probably earns that in an hour.” Any chance for a cheap shot at the overpaid doctors, in her opinion, needed to be taken. Luka quickly covered his face with his hands, feeling as if he was in the school playground and being ganged up on. Deciding that he was stronger than that, he pushed his hands through his hair and breathed out slowly.
He turned to face Abby, and engaging her in a piercing, thoughtful stare, he responded.
“Nobody does it for the money.” His tone was passionate but direct. It was effective. Regret slowly began to rise in her like the humid air, Abby returned his stare with a wilful, submissive glance which simply said “I know.” She did not need to vocalise her thoughts, they were clearly emblazoned across every inch of her eyes.
Their attention was then distracted by Mo, who had slipped away unnoticed but now, as ever, his presence was seemingly in the foreground.
They both turned to watch in different shades of disbelief as he grouted in the freezer compartment, his head thrust fully into the icy nadir.
“Is he for real?” She asked, half smiling, half confused, waiting for someone, anyone, to pinch her and bring her back into reality with a violent jolt.
“I’m afraid so.” Their gazes locked momentarily, a clear moment of intimacy in a spinning spectrum of insanity, an attempt perhaps to make sense of something.
“I should go home, I have to work in the morning.”
“So, you’re going to leave me alone with him?” Abby smiled, decoding the subtext in his words: this was a “please don’t go” thinly disguised with humour.
“What is he looking for?” She decided to make him sweat a little by changing the subject.
“I don’t have any chicken, so he must be looking for ice cream.”
Just as Luka spoke, one arm came flying out of the freezer, tub of Ben and Jerry’s firmly in hand. “I got ‘cha!” Mo rapidly pulled of the top and hastily inserted three spoons into the unexpectedly soft ice cream. “What’s it to be then? Horror or James Bond? I have Tomorrow Never Dies..that unforgettable stunt with the remote control BMW.”
Though his tone was slightly authoritative, he was not imposing or overbearing and Mo definitely did not come across as selfish. Just enthusiastic. He loved his music, his movies and his food and the more people he could share them with, the better.
“That sounds OK to me. Abby?”
“You have ice cream. That loosely translates as I don’t care.” She swiftly took the ice cream out of Mo’s hands and sat down.
“In that case, I’ll go back up and bring down Deep Throat. Pun unintended.”
After his somewhat risqué comment, which was nevertheless well received by his audience, Mo busied himself in setting up the film.
“There’s one thing I’ll never understand about James Bond.”
“How he suddenly changed from old man to a young one again, or how he hasn’t got syphilis from screwing around so much?” Mo smiled at Abby’s answer, then put forward his own theory.
“Nah. The guy’s meant to be a secret agent, yet he goes around tellin’ everybody his name. To me, that’s just stupid. Why doesn’t he just tell everybody he’s called Bob or somethin’?”
“One of life’s mysteries.” Luka replied effortlessly, with a half smile, feeling a little tired. He guessed that even a child could be exhausted by his neighbour’s outward energy. Even so, he was pleased to be having such a trivial conversation, not everything had to be so life or death.
There was silence as they waited for the DVD to load. Mo claimed his seat in between Abby and Luka, grinning with a sly smile as if he knew something that everybody else had missed. Despite relaxing with his feet on the table, he tapped his fingers in slight irritation against his thigh, attempting to remember something. Abby watched with intrigue as he began to frown, an expression seemingly out of place for a man with such a sunny disposition. She toyed with the spoon in the ice cream, slightly mesmerised by her fixed, concentrated state of mind. Jesus, she had enough trouble attempting to decipher Luka, let alone this guy that she had just met. Finally, the temptation of Double Chocolate Swirl got the better of her and she turned her attention to the tub rather than trying to understand the male psyche. After all, there was nothing to understand about ice cream other than it tasted good.
Five minutes into the film and Mo suddenly remembered what he had been struggling to recall. His frown faded and he submitted to a grin. He did not like to feel his memory fading, so when he caught up with his errant thoughts, he shifted slightly in the seat and then smiled fully. Turning to Luka, he said rapidly, “Can I count you in for next week? My cousin’s having another party.”
“Same time and place?” He asked, adjusting the volume slightly.
“Yeah. I can drive there, you can drive back.”
“OK, but we’re going in your car. I don’t have enough room for all your stuff.” Luka hoped that didn’t come across so explicitly as “You’re not driving my car.” “Ever.” But, he was telling the truth, it was impossible to fit all Mo’s things in his car.
“Fine by me. Hey, you wanna come too?” Now, Mo turned to Abby, spoon hanging upside-down in her mouth. Quickly, she dragged it out, savouring every bit of melting ice cream. Although every bone in her body, every cell in her blood was expecting to refuse politely, she shocked herself slightly by replying with a gluttonous smile. “Sure, why not? When?”
“Next Wednesday. Let’s meet here, about eight.” Mo was pleased, he slapped his leg contentedly and grinned. Expeditiously, Abby scanned her mental calendar, and, sure enough, she did not, to the best of her knowledge, have to work next Wednesday. She exhaled, then managed a slightly mischievous grin as she wondered just what she had got herself into. Only the future would prevail with the answer.
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Post by lkaljk (Ebba) on Sept 10, 2008 3:36:46 GMT 10
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