TITLE:  Naughty Ladies
AUTHOR:  Ellen Hursh
RATING:  R-ish
KEYWORDS:  Romance, slight angst, some naughtiness & language.
LAST EPISODE SEEN:  "Drive"
TIMELINE:  "Fear of Commitment", or thereabout
ARCHIVE:  If you must.
DISCLAIMER:  ER and all its characters belong to Warner Bros.  No
infringement of their copyright is intended.  This story was written
for the enjoyment of "ER" fans everywhere, and may be downloaded for
your own pleasure.
SYNOPSIS:  Kerry plays games; Dave has a sub-optimal day; Some of the
ladies (or female characters, anyway) get mini-spotlights.
SPOILERS:  Um... not so much, really.
PREVIOUS INSTALLMENTS:  Home and Dry; And Miles to Go Before I Sleep;
Through the Hourglass; Jupiter Aligns with Mars; Shopworn; Come as You
Aren't; Out and About; Up in the Air; Serpent's Tooth; Thanks a Lot!; Shall
We Dance?; Yes, Sir, That's My Baby!; Yule-Tied; Should Auld Acquaintance;
Running with Scissors; Six White Flags Over Chicago; Sea Change; My Time
 Coming; Can't See the Forest for the Trees; Boys' Night Out/Girls' Night In;
Peace of My Heart; In The Midnight Hour; In Like a Lion, Out Like a Lamb;
Infamy!; When It Rains, It Bores; Complete Confusion
AUTHOR'S NOTES:  Thanks to Miesque for the harp seal line. Title taken
from "The Naughty Lady Of Shady Lane", words and music by Sid Tepper
and Roy C. Bennett.
PREVIOUSLY, ON MY-ER:  Nick & Dave: Lovers. Kerry & Luka: Married, kid on
the way, Kerry's in hospital. Elizabeth & Mark: Married, kid recently born. Yadda.


"You know having kids has interfered with your sex life when, while reading a
Winnie the Pooh book to one of them, you start to think that Kanga is hot."
    -- Elf Sternberg

C'est son corps contre mon corps
C'est nos corps qui s'enchaînent
Mais 3 nuits par semaine mais Bon Dieu, qu'elle est belle
    -- Indochine ("3 Nuits Par Semaine")



"Hey, Dr Kovac." Randi had tried to maintain the informality he'd
insisted on, but it appeared to be too hard for her - of all people! -
to manage it, and he tried to keep from showing his impatience. He was
just happy that she wasn't mangling his name as badly as before.
"Messages for you. You're in kinda early." There was, in fact, another
hour until his shift was due to start.

He shrugged without commenting on his early arrival, then took the
slips of paper from her and rubbed at his eyes - whatever sleep he'd
managed last night (and the last few nights, for that matter) hadn't
been enough. "Thanks." He fanned the message slips like a poker hand,
then stuffed them into the front pocket of his pants.

"Oh, yeah... and 'Genny' called, asking for you."

"Who?" He couldn't think of anybody he knew named Jenny; Randi smirked:
how soon they forgot!

"I think your wife is going stir-crazy upstairs."

"*Oh*. Um, I'll be back in a little while." She smirked at him again.

"Take your time." She watched as he disappeared into the lounge and
reappeared a few minutes later, armed with his lab coat and stethoscope
and the mysterious shopping bag he'd been carrying when he arrived, and
headed for the elevator.

* * *

Dave handed off the patient - some stupid kid on a motorcycle who'd got
his ass knocked over by the ambulance that had brought in Benton and
that old black guy who'd been in the previous week - to Benton at the
elevator and headed back to the desk for another chart. There was a
large gift basket sitting there, and he eyed it. "Is this the one for
Greene & Corday's kid?"

"Yeah. You still owe fifty dollars for your share of it," Cleo informed
him, to his dismay.

"Fifty bucks?" Last month had been a pretty hard hit for him,
financially - an unexpected medical expense had eaten up a lot of his
spare cash. He knew that Nick would gladly give him the money, but he
had a long-standing dread of relying on anybody - even his lover - for
*that* kind of help.

"It's a video baby monitor. Everybody else has already paid their
share, except for *you*."

"Yeah, but--"

"Nurses pitched in twenty each, doctors put in fifty."

"You mean I have to pay the same as Benton and Weaver?" Dave didn't
think that was fair: the guy hadn't even let him hold the baby! Cleo
pffed at him.

"You're a doctor, aren't you?"

"That's debatable," Randi said, without looking up from her magazine.

"Hey!"

* * *

"Hey. I heard you were going a little nuts up here." Kerry shot him a
look that plainly said "Well, *duh*."

"I can't imagine why that would be - I feel like a harp seal...I can't
move, I'm bored, I'm sick of watching TV and I want *pickles* NOW!
Pickles and honey. Yeah... mmmm... that sounds good."

"Kerry, you're not supposed to eat pickles," he told her patiently,
trying not to think about the "treat" she'd been craving since November
- *why* was it, that pregnant women always seemed to crave such
horrible things? Onions and raisins... peanut butter and bacon...
pickles and honey... ugh! "And you *don't* look like a harp seal -
you're very beautiful. Not so much longer, draga."

"I hope not. I feel like I've been pregnant for the last few *years*."
She gave her belly a few cautious pokes, as if it were something that
might explode at any minute.

"It hasn't been *that* long, you know."

"*You* try carrying around something that sits on your bladder or
shoves up against your diaphra--" He was suddenly at her side, reaching
for his stethoscope to listen to her chest, and she batted it away.

"Are you having trouble breathing?" She glared at him. "Sorry. I didn't
mean to interrupt you."

"She also seems to like exercising when I'm trying to sleep," she
finished lamely.

"How inconsiderate of him," he said, trying not to grin. "Hey, I
brought you an early birthday present." She perked up at the word
"present".

"Oh! Is that what's in the bag?"

"Yep. Have a look." He picked up the bag and unloaded it onto the bed
next to her. The box was blue, and nearly overflowed her lap. It was
also unwrapped (he wasn't very good at wrapping presents, so he avoided
it whenever possible), and she stared at the logo.

"A Playstation. And you bought it for *me*." He frowned at her
skeptical tone.

"Of course I did. I thought you might like something to help keep you
occupied when I can't be up here." He still spent as much time as he
could with her, and she appreciated it, but there were times lately
when she wound up throwing him out because his hovering was "driving me
up the fucking wall!", as she'd put it the last time.

"Uh huh. So what games did you get?" She snatched the bag out of his
hand before he could set it back down on the floor - she'd spotted
something else in there - and upended it, raising an eyebrow at the
smaller box that fell out. "'Zombie Nights'? You bought a game system
and a video game about killing zombies for *me*? Or were you hoping to
keep it for yourself?"

"Um..." She smirked at the guilty expression that was skulking around
the corners of his face.

"Hook that thing up," she said, snapping her fingers. "C'mon. I want to
make you work to beat my high score later."

"I, uh, I can get some educational games for it, too." His ears had
gone red, she noticed: if she hadn't already guessed that he'd intended
the machine for himself, the blush would've given it away.

"For the baby? Yeah, that's a good idea. In the meantime, I want to kill
something." She caught his startled look, and smiled grimly. "Do you
have any idea how many students have already been trotted through here,
to observe the effects of hip dysplasia in pregnancy? Believe me, I
want to kill *something*." He gave her hand a quick squeeze.

"You feel like a zebra, huh?"

"I feel like a whole damned *menagerie* - zebra, giraffe, platypus,
spiny anteater, you name it." He stroked her hair in an attempt to
soothe her, and she sighed.

"Poor baby. " She leaned against his hand for a moment, then sat up.

"Oh! Have you looked into diaper services yet?"

"Diaper service? No. Should I have?" She huffed at him.

"We're going to need something lined up in just a few months, you
know."

"I know. That's why I'm going to the warehouse store up in Lincoln Park
on Saturday." He'd recently been sucked in by a "great deal" on a
membership. Besides, the place had fascinated him, with its assortment
of giant containers of food: there was something slightly disturbing
about being able to buy a box with enough Twinkies to choke a horse.
Not that he had any idea, off the top of his head, exactly how many
Twinkies would be needed, if one wanted - for whatever reason - to
choke a horse, but he was pretty sure that one of those boxes could do
the job.

"You're buying disposables? Do you have any *idea* how much landfill
space disposable diapers take up every year?"

"And do *you* have any idea how unpleasant cloth diapers are, when
you're changing a screaming baby every few hours? Especially when
you're changing a screaming *boy* baby every few hours?" He really
hadn't changed *that* many diapers, with the hours he'd been working at
the time, but he'd changed a few. Besides, Danijela had certainly let
him know of her displeasure with the nasty little things.

"Disposables are wasteful, and this is a girl."

"Convenient. Boy."

* * *

Elizabeth moaned as Ella woke up crying again. While the bedside bassi-
net meant that she didn't have to go far to tend to her daughter, it
also meant that the crying was that much closer to her ear. She sat up
(or at least in a vaguely vertical position) and unfastened her top in
preparation for Ella's latest meal. The little thing latched right on,
and began slurping away. She wasn't sure where Mark was, exactly, but
she hoped that he was downstairs doing something in the line of making
something for *her* to eat. Not that she was that hungry at the moment,
but Ella would be zonked out - at least for a little while - after
feeding, giving Elizabeth the opportunity to eat *something*. *What*
she ate, she didn't really care.

She'd been a bit tired through her pregnancy, but nothing like this,
with the baby. Sure, there were things that Mark could do for Ella, but
nursing was obviously not one of them... and since nursing was usually
what Ella wanted to do (when she wasn't yowling for a fresh nappy),
Elizabeth was lucky to get thirty to forty-five minutes of "sleep" at a
time. According to the books - and Mark - Ella would probably begin
sleeping through the night in a couple of months, but it couldn't,
Elizabeth decided as Ella continued to feed, come soon enough for her -
the thought of an uninterrupted night of sleep was the greatest luxury
her fatigue-addled mind could imagine right now.

* * *

Peter stomped out of the OR. Sure, his wrist hurt a little... but that
didn't mean Romano had to go ordering him out of there like that! He
rubbed it, and winced. All it needed was a little ice, and it would be
*fine*. He looked up and saw one of the nurses hurrying towards him.
"Dr Benton, your wife is here." He shook his head, confused.

"What? I'm not married." The nurse consulted a piece of paper in her
hand.

"Uh, I'm sorry. Carla."

"Where is she?"

"Down on the third floor." He found Carla and Reese in an examination
room. Carla was sitting up in a hospital bed, wearing a hospital gown
and looking tired. Reese was perched on the end of the bed, and hopped
down to get a hug as he came in.

"Carla. What happened?"

"I was carrying Reese and I stepped on a grate. Twisted my ankle so bad
I thought I was gonna pass out." He barely registered her complaint,
and instead signed to Reese.

"Hey, man. Are you okay?" Reese grinned, and pointed to a little band-
age on his elbow. Carla huffed, disappointed that she wasn't getting
sympathy for her injury.

"He scraped his elbow, but *he's* okay."

He spotted her clothes piled in a corner. "You were wearing *these*
while you were carrying him?" He dangled one of her shoes - strappy
little things with four-inch heels (the sort Jackie snidely referred
to as "fuck-me shoes") - from a finger, and she pouted.

"They were telling me I need an operation. I told 'em to call you - I
don't *want* an operation." He flipped through her chart and nodded.

"With your injury, they're going to have to put a screw in your ankle,
so it heals right."

"Well can't *you* do that?"

"No. A specialist - an orthopedic surgeon - has to do the surgery.
They're trained to do that." She pouted again.

"So how long am I going to be in the hospital, anyway?" He shrugged.

"Just a couple of days."

"Peter, no. I can *not* be away from home that long. There's Reese to
look after, and Roger's out of town."

"Again?" Carla stretched, pushing her chest out to emphasize her
breasts.

"Yeah. Well. We haven't been getting along too well lately," she
admitted, letting her voice get breathy and girlish. The effect was
lost on him, to her disgust.

"Look, I can take Reese for a couple of days, while you're in the hos-
pital."

"Uh-uh. I don't think that's a very good idea, Peter."

"What are you talking about? I'm his father." She shrugged an eyebrow
and looked away for a moment.

"Jackie said you're living with your girlfriend now. I don't want him
around *that* kind of environment." He frowned at her careful enuncia-
tion of the last word.

"'Environment'? What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know, what with you two not being married. I just don't think our
son should be exposed to something like that." He smirked.

"Our son? You mean the one we had out of wedlock? C'mon, Carla." She
sniffed, reluctant to let go of her bone.

"Anyhow, I don't like that girlfriend of yours - she doesn't exactly
seem like the, well, *motherly* type. It's not good for Reese."

"I could always ask *Jackie* to look after him while you're in the
hospital."

"Huh! No, I'd rather have *you* around to look after him, than your
*sister*."

"What's wrong with my sister?" Her look said that she thought there
were *plenty* of things wrong with Jackie, but she shook her head.
Didn't need to be going *there* right now, after all.

"No, no. You go ahead and take Reese while I'm in the hospital gettin'
that screw thing put in my foot."

* * *

Luka had finally managed to get Kerry's Playstation hooked up to a
spare monitor he'd cadged from Pedes and he was watching her have a
great time blowing things up. At the very least, it was a welcome break
from their earlier "discussion" of the relative merits of disposable
and cloth diapers. The phone on the nightstand rang just as Kerry
gibbed another zombie (he could have sworn he heard her call the
creature "Romano") - and he answered it. "Kovac." He listened to the
other person talk. "He what? Okay, I'll be right down. Have Yosh wash
out his eyes, and see if Security can get the mace away from her." He
hung up and groaned. Kerry didn't take her eyes off the screen, but
she'd clearly been listening to his side of the conversation.

"Do I want to know what happened?"

"An elderly patient maced Dave when he tried to give her a rectal. I
guess she isn't here for 'weak and dizzy all over', huh?" She nodded.

"Mm. Is he okay?"

"Oh, I'm sure he is. He'll be a little damp, and his eyes will be red
for a while, but he'll live. At least he didn't get himself shot with
Haldol this time. I guess I'm on now... I'll come back as soon as I
can."

"Okay. Just be sure to call about the diapers."

"Yeah, yeah," he called back over his shoulder and closed the door
behind him. It was a pity, she thought, that the nurses wouldn't let
her have a phone book so she could just make the calls herself, but
Janet had included the prohibition in her chart: as much of a micro-
manager as she was, making so many arrangements over the phone might be
a problem for her blood pressure.

"Damn," she muttered: she'd become distracted, talking to Luka, and a
zombie had sneaked - could zombies even sneak? - up on her character
and eaten it. Oh well. She was feeling sleepy anyway... a nap would do
her and the baby some good.

* * *

"Hey, Randi. Could you shove this under the desk? It belongs to Mr
Simpson in Exam Four." Randi raised an eyebrow as Abby passed her an
inflatable doll that was dressed in a risqué nurse's costume. "Trust
me, you don't wanna know." Randi's derisive snort appeared to concur
with that position. Both women looked up as Luka appeared.

"Hey, Abby. How's your mother doing?" Abby shrugged in response to his
question.

"Still here in town. She's actually staying on her meds and going to
appointments with Dr Mueller this time. For now, anyway... we'll see
how long *that* lasts." Abby didn't sound very optimistic, he noticed.
Not surprising, the way her mother had bolted back in December.

"Good luck with that. Randi, where's that woman who maced Malucci?"

"Exam 2," she replied, gesturing with her pen in the vague direction of
the room. "I hear some of the nurses are gonna chip in to buy her a big
'thank you' bouquet." He frowned at the sight of her impish grin.

"They'd better not be. That woman *assaulted* him - he'd be within his
rights to push charges against her."

"Oh, I didn't mean they were going to thank her for *macing* him." Or
at least they'd never *admit* it, she silently amended. "It's just that
he wears a skimpy undershirt under his scrub top, and the nurses got a
good look at all those muscles he has under his clothes. I heard Yosh
nearly *fainted* when Dave took off his scrub top to get his eyes
washed." Luka looked disturbed by this revelation.

"Thank you, Randi, I *never* wanted to know that."

* * *

Kerry woke from her nap - thankfully, there hadn't been any strange
dreams since that last one - and was startled to see Millicent Carter
waiting in a chair by her bed, reading a magazine through spectacles.
"Millicent? Uh, what..."

"I wish you'd told me that you were in the hospital. I had to hear
about it from *John*," she said reproachfully.

"Oh. I didn't think--"

"That I'd be interested, or that I'd come visit you? Nonsense. Have you
given any thought to what the two of you will be doing after your baby
is born?"

"What do you mean?"

"I assume that neither of you will be giving up your job to stay home
with the baby - you *do* already have a nanny lined up for your child,
right? And a housekeeper?"

"Luka mentioned housekeepers," she admitted. "But I don't--"

"You *will* need a housekeeper, Kerry. Believe me. Dealing with a baby
*and* the day-to-day details of keeping a house livable isn't easy,
even for someone who *doesn't* have your, eh, mobility problems."

"No, I suppose it wouldn't have been easy, keeping up *that* house."

"That? Oh, that one wasn't our first house. Your father - John's grand-
father - and I started out a trifle more modestly than *that*." She
dismissed the subject with a flick of her hand. "And what is this
*thing* you have here?" Millicent nodded at the Playstation, which
Kerry had set aside on top of the nightstand before her nap.

"Luka bought me a video game system, to keep me occupied for the next
few months." Millicent peered at it from her chair.

"Oh, really? And is it working?"

"I think I scared one of the residents earlier." Kerry was surprised to
see that her mother looked pleased to hear this.

"I assume that's a 'yes'."

* * *

Jackie sat on the bed in Jesse's room, the way she'd gotten into the
habit of doing lately. Everything there was still the way it had been
nearly six months ago, when her youngest child went out and got himself
shot over that stupid slut. The bed was still unmade, there was still a
heap of clothing on the floor (how many times had she yelled at him for
that?), papers and books were spread across his desk, waiting for home-
work time. The wastebasket even still had its perfectly preserved cache
of balled-up paper, candy wrappers, used tissues and other artifacts.

Walt had only *once* dared to suggest doing something with the room
(such as donating Jesse's clothes to charity). They'd had a huge fight
over that, with Jackie accusing him (at the top of her lungs) of not
caring that her baby was dead. It had been easier for him to just give
in, and let her keep the empty room the way it was. It was weird for
the rest of the family, though, to pass that door when walking down the
hallway - to know that it was frozen in time, waiting for the return of
someone who was never coming back.

* * *

"I'm outa here," Dave informed the general vicinity as he signed out.
The old woman who'd maced him had finally apologized to him before
leaving - he suspected that Dr Kovac had sweet-talked her into doing
it - but his indignation had faded away with the sting of the pepper
spray and he'd graciously accepted the apology. He didn't have it in
him to do anything else: the poor old lady's constipation, it turned
out, had been caused by a giant tumor sitting on her ovary and she
didn't want to stick around to be treated. Apparently even Dr Kovac's
sweet-talking had its limits.

Cleo cornered him before he'd made it out the door. "Hey. What about
the fifty dollars you still owe?"

"You'll *get* it, Cleo," he reassured her. What the hell... he could
take a couple extra shifts at the "doc in a box" to scrape up the extra
cash.

* * *

"You're kidding." Luka shook his head. Kerry had already told him about
Millicent's visit (he'd been surprised to hear that the woman had
played a round of "Zombie Nights" with Kerry before leaving for some
meeting or other). He thought it was nice, that Millicent seemed to be
interested in maintaining personal contact with her.

"No! The kangaroo punched the opossum, who'd stuck his hand in the kan-
garoo's pouch!" Kerry gave him a blank look.

"These were school mascots?"

"No, they just *like* dressing up like animals. And I haven't told you
the 'best' part - the opossum stole a cat puppet from one of the
patients, and he was getting very, uh, 'friendly' with it." He paused,
to make sure Kerry knew what kind of "friendliness" had been involved,
and she made a disgusted face.

"Oh my god. Did you return the puppet to its owner?"

"No, she'd already left by the time I caught the guy. I took the puppet
away from him and cleaned it up a little, in case she ever returns. I
doubt she will, though - she's an old homeless woman with a huge tumor
that'll kill her in a few months, and she refused treatment. Believe
me, I tried to convince her to stay." He sighed, and stroked Kerry's
belly. The baby decided to put in its two cents at that point, and
wriggled under his hand. "Well. Hello in there," Luka cooed, and leaned
in to plant a kiss where his hand had been resting.

Just as he'd placed his lips on her belly, though, the baby whapped him
with a well-placed smack, and he recoiled. "The baby just hit me." The
absurdity of the situation, combined with his shocked tone, had her
struggling to keep from laughing. He rubbed his chin, more from embar-
rassment than actual injury, as she gave in and snickered. She relented
at his wounded look.

"Poor baby. I'm sorry I laughed. " He made only a token effort at a
sulky pout, that failed as the corner of his mouth twitched... okay, so
it *was* funny!

"I cannot believe you didn't feel that," he told her. His hand was back
on her belly, but placed more cautiously than before.

"She’s been pounding away in there for a while. I *told* you she likes
to exercise."

"He'll be one hell of a kickboxer when he grows up." She stuck her
tongue out at him as he patted her tummy.

"Hmph. What kind of cat puppet was it, anyway? Some kind of sex toy?"

"Oh, no. It's really kind of cute. I was going to put it in my locker,
but then I thought you might get a kick out of it." He took the cat out
of the pocket of his lab coat and put it on his hand - trying very hard
not to think about where it had been recently - and made it do a little
dance for Kerry.  She gasped when she saw it, and half-reached out to
it.

"Mr Whiskers!"

"Who?" *Whoever* the hell Mr Whiskers was, he thought, she was
certainly happy to see him!

"There was a children's TV show when I was little, I used to watch it
all the time. She had, uh, she had all these great puppets, like Mr
Whiskers, and she had a chimpanzee in a sailor uniform called... oh,
what was it... Coconuts! I can't believe it... Dave got maced by
Princess Taffeta!?"

"'Princess Taffeta'?" Mr Whiskers... Coconuts... Princess Taffeta...
crazy!

"Yeah. I always wondered what ever happened to her. I guess now I
know." She looked misty-eyed, so he handed her the puppet. "Luka, no.
I can't take this - she's probably wondering what happened to him."

"C'mon. She told me she had no family for me to contact. She'd probably
rather that 'Mr Whiskers' go to someone like you, who enjoyed him so
much as a little girl, than to some collector who only cares about him
as an investment. You'd prefer that 'Mr Whiskers' gets thrown in the
trash?"

"No, of course not. But if she comes back, you're going to give it back
to her."

"Oh, absolutely." He knew, though, that Princess Taffeta would never
return.

* * *

Abby was outside in the ambulance bay, working her way through the
second cigarette of her shift, when her cell phone rang. "Hello?" She
listened, then smiled. "Oh, *hi*. I thought you were still in bed.
Yeah, I wish I could be there, too. Maggie's still in town, though.
Don't worry. She'll probably take off again soon - she never sticks
around for very long, remember?" She raised her eyebrows in surprise at
what she heard. "Raspberry syrup?" She giggled at his reply, and looked
around to make sure nobody was in earshot. "You're gonna get me in
*trouble*, John. I gotta get back inside now. See ya later."

* * *

Luka had *just* pointed a Nigerian couple (their son was being treated
for injuries sustained in the process of being a normal teenager)
towards the cafeteria when he heard a minor commotion in the direction
of the front desk. He turned to look, and was startled to see Nick
bringing in Dave - the younger man's face was pale, and tense with the
effort of not screaming (he would, Luka thought, have made an excellent
soldier, or secret agent) - but sent Nick to the lounge and got Dave
into an exam room as quickly as possible, with Lily there to assist.
"What happened, Dave?"

Dave took a couple of deep breaths as Lily injected morphine into his
IV, and tried to collect himself. "Uh, I was biking home, and I swerved
to avoid running into some people when I was nearly there. The tire
must've slipped off the wet curb or something - next thing I knew I was
all over the sidewalk." Luka examined Dave's arm - the idiot had
apparently never heard of protective gear - and decided that the
injuries were, in fact, consistent with the described events - he'd
never seen anything in Nick's behavior to suggest that there was any
kind of abuse in the relationship, but it wouldn't be the first time
that an abuser wore a different face for the world in general.

"Okay. I want to get some x-rays, to see if there's any fractures. In
the meantime, Dave, you need to get into a gown."

"Sure. Lily, can you help me unhook the IV for a minute so I can get my
shirt off?" He caught Luka's exasperated look, and sighed. "It's my
favorite t-shirt - I don't want it cut up!" Luka rolled his eyes.

"Try not to scream too loudly, then: you don't want to scare the other
patients," he advised. "I'll give you some privacy," he added, and
closed the curtain. He groaned and stretched, then headed to the lounge
to speak with Nick... and to get some coffee for himself.

* * *

Nick was nursing a cup of  coffee (it tasted like somebody had left a
fish in the reservoir of the coffee-maker... again) when Luka entered
the lounge. "How is he?"

"We're going to get some x-rays of his arm. Otherwise, he seems to be
just fine. Even if there's no fracture, he ought to take it easy for a
while."

"No biking?" Luka shook his head.

"The injury isn't to the dominant hand, so he *could* still ride using
only one hand. But I wouldn't recommend it, no."

"Okay. I'll drive him to work as much as possible, or send him in a
cab - *please* tell him that he isn't to ride that thing, *period*."

"We both know how well he listens to commands, but I think he'll be
willing to stay off his bike, without being *told* to do it."

"Oh, I hope you're right."
 
Luka began to reach for the coffee pot, but paused when Nick cleared
his throat loudly. "I wouldn't, if I were you - that is some *serious-
ly* nasty brew." He chuckled, and winced down another sip. "And yet,
it's still better than Dave's coffee."

"I've been wondering about that: how--" Nick shrugged, and shook his
head.

"I have *no* idea how he makes coffee taste that way. Sorry. If I knew,
I'd teach him not to do it! So far, the only solution has been to keep
him from making coffee."

"That's the solution around here, too."

"I heard about that. I heard that you were banned from making coffee
too?" Luka sniffed indignantly.

"Most of the staff just can't appreciate a *properly* brewed cup of
coffee." Nick smirked.

"I also heard that the last time you made coffee, everybody had the
jitters for about a week."

"Rumor. So how are *you* doing, after Dave's accident?" Nick shuddered.

"Ohhh.... He was practically under my window when he wiped out - I
heard a scream, and looked out and saw him lying on the pavement.
Scared the hell out of me. I haven't looked yet, but I'm sure I have
some new grey hairs out of this."

"You haven't known him very long, have you?"

"You and Dr Weaver didn't know each other very long when *you* two got
serious," Nick retorted defensively. "Or so I've heard."

"What? No, I didn't mean that. I'm the *last* person to talk about
that. Just... they get in there, under your skin, don't they? And
before you know it you're hooked. The good way, I mean." Nick smiled.

"I never knew you were a poet, Luka." Luka was startled.

"I'm not. Far from it."

"Still, you put that beautifully. I knew him a little from when I
filled in for you, then Mark, last summer, but nothing happened until
shortly before Halloween."

"Mm-hm?"

"I ran into him at Doc's. We had some dinner, talked for a couple of
hours, and I wound up going home with him."

"You seem to be doing better at secrecy than Kerry and I managed." Nick
shrugged.

"Dave and I have been in our respective closets for a long time - we
both learned how to put up a good front. Almost too good, I guess - I
was going nuts thinking about Dave, but I thought he was straight."

"So did everybody else - he flirts with all the women so much."

"Exactly. So how'd you and Dr Weaver get together? If you don't mind
me asking." Luka shrugged.

"I started out as a moonlighter, like you, and she wound up asking me
to stay on permanently after, uh, a regular attending got too sick to
work here."

"Is that when the two of you--"

"No, no, no. That wasn't until several months later. We... had a dis-
agreement over a patient, and I went by her house later to apologize.
And then... um... you know...." Nick grinned.

"Must've been one hell of an apology!" His pocket suddenly began
warbling an electronic version of "Smoke on the Water". "Uh... sorry.
I need to take this."

"Sure, sure."

* * *

"What's with Malucci's name being on the board?"

"He had an accident on his bike, and Dr Dennison brought him in.
Apparently he happened to wipe out right outside Dennison's window."

"Don't you think that's a little... I dunno... *convenient*?"

"What do you mean?"

"Am I the only one around here who noticed that they used to hang
around each other a lot when Dennison was subbing over the summer?"

"So? Oh, what, you're saying they're, like, *gay*?"

"Well? It fits."

"Please. You're just jealous that Dave never asked you out."


* * *

The x-rays came back: it was - to everyone's surprise - just a sprain.
Dave's wrist would need to be in a plaster splint for about a week, and
he had been advised to avoid riding his bicycle - and risking further
wrist damage - for another few months, but he was just glad to have
avoided breaking any bones. Plus, he was still pretty happy from the
morphine. Luka finished applying the splint, then removed his plaster-
sticky gloves. “Any questions?”

"Yeah. How'm I gonna... you know... function with this thing? I mean,
at work - I know I have to keep this thing dry."

"Stick to minors and paperwork, no traumas. If you don't already know
how to do one-handed knots, see if Carter'll show you." He'd heard
about the pigs' feet that Carter used to *cover* with sutures; one of
them - a pathetic little freezer-burned specimen that had bristled with
old knots - had even turned up at the very back of Kerry's freezer last
year, when he was hunting for an ice cream bar. His alarmed scream upon
finding the thing (and promptly dropping it on the floor and kicking it
away from him) had had Kerry in stitches, once she'd found out what had
startled him. That, of course, had led to a wrestling match, which had
led to many shirt buttons needing to be replaced.

"Paperwork? Ugh."

"It *is* part of the job, you know."

"I know, I know." Dave glared at the splint. He hadn't been entirely
truthful with Dr Kovac: it *was* true that he'd swerved to avoid some
people, but it seemed absolutely insane to tell the man that he'd felt
an enormous shove - way too strong to have come from any of the people
he'd seen - just before he went flying, and heard laughter... the
laughter of someone who got their kicks pulling the wings off flies and
torturing small animals. Even he didn't really believe it, and he'd
*been* there: it was like something out of a bad Stephen King novel.

"Stick around for a while in the lounge, afterward, to make sure you
don’t have a reaction to the antibiotics, and I’ll give you a ride home
later.”

"Nick left?" Dave was annoyed that his hurt had come through in his
voice; he hated letting people know when they'd wounded him or found
one of his weak spots. He could usually mask with a goofy joke or an
insult, but this damned morphine - while it worked great for the
physical pain - had really done a number on his defenses.

"He was called in to work a last-minute half-shift at Mercy. Don’t
worry - he told me to tell you that he’d come by your place after-
wards.”

“I know. It’s just... y’know...”

“You wanted him with you, to, uh, ‘kiss it all better’?” Dave glared at
Luka until he realized he wasn’t being teased... much.

“Well... *yeah*."

"I won't offer to kiss *anything*, but I *will* make sure you're
settled in before I leave." 

"Thanks," Dave said, surprised by the kindness of the offer.


* * *

Nick searched out Cleo, who'd just finished with a patient and was
wiping the name off the board. "Hey, Cleo. I heard there's a gift bas-
ket for Dr Greene and Dr Corday's new baby. I know I'm just a moon-
lighter, but I was wondering if it was okay for me to chip in for it,
too?" Cleo's flat stare unnerved him - it was impossible to know what
she was thinking, or what kinds of conclusions she was reaching. While
he fully intended to be open and honest about his sexuality, he wanted
it to be on *his* terms. Then again, he supposed, offering to pay his
partner's share of a baby shower gift wasn't exactly the textbook
definition of flying under the radar. He wouldn’t even have known about
the situation, if he hadn’t overheard some nurses complaining about
Dave’s continued failure to pay.

"Sure, Nick, no problem. The nurses have each put in twenty, and the
docs put in fifty each. Is that okay for you?"

"It's perfect." He took out his wallet and counted out a few bills,
then handed them to Cleo.

"It's very sweet of you to contribute for the baby gift. Good timing,
too - I don't think we're ever gonna get Dave's share out of him."

Nick shrugged. "Dave... is Dave." He was surprised to see Cleo laugh at
that - he'd never thought of her as being someone who *did* that.

"Yeah, we keep waiting for him to grow out of that."

* * *

Cleo went to her locker and stashed the money in her purse, and
wondered why those two were still pretending to be just friends. Oh
well... she supposed they'd be open about it when they were ready - no
need to be pushing them into anything.


* * *

Luka greeted his wife with a kiss. "You're getting very good at that
game." She set aside the controller and ran her finger along his arm.

"Thank you. But you'd get good too, if that was all there was to do all
day."

"C'mon. There has to be something else - you could work on that sequel
to your novel we were talking about, back in December." She wrinkled
her nose at the idea - it was one thing to joke about a sequel while
making love, but to actually sit down and flesh out a plot?

"Maybe later. Would you help me get a shower? The nurses are busy, and
I feel grubby. Besides, I just can't take another sponge bath right
now... not even if you do it." He frowned.

"You shouldn't be out of bed--"

"You can carry me, right?" He sighed, then nodded.

"You have shampoo?"

"Yes. In the bag you put together for me after I was admitted,
remember?"

"Oh, right." He went digging in search of her shampoo bottle (he'd pan-
icked while assembling her toiletries, and thrown in way too much
stuff - there was no way, for example, that the disposable razor would
be of use to her, when she had trouble getting at her legs), then
scooped Kerry up in his arms. "You're much lighter than Carol was."

"I'd damned well *better* be. At least you don't have as far to go,
this time." He tweaked her butt in the process of transferring her to
the little chair in the shower, and kicked the bathroom door shut
behind them.

"Feels like you're keeping your muscle tone nicely."

"Well, I *do* have Jeanie coming in to help me with that."

"As long as you're not stressing yourself or the baby too much - I know
you sometimes overdo things." She rolled her eyes.

"I'm *fine*. You worry too much." He glared at her, and she glared
right back. "Well, you *do*."

"Sorry to be such a drag," he grumbled, and she pffed at him.

"Oh, come on. Now either hand me the shampoo or help me do this." He
rolled up his shirt sleeves and tried to help her with washing her
hair, but they quickly found that he was more helpful getting at the
bits she couldn't quite reach anymore. After she'd rinsed off the last
of the soap, though, she smiled sweetly up at him. "Y'know, maybe you
should've taken off your shirt for this." He looked at himself - his
shirt had taken a few splashes of water, here and there, but he didn't
really see a need to *remove* it.

"Why? This'll dry in no time." She beckoned him closer, as though to
tell him a secret, then lunged for his tie and pulled him in for a
kiss... one of those hard, deep kisses that he liked so much.
"Whoulgh!mmm..." Water was suddenly pouring over his head, in the
collar of his shirt and down his back and shoulders, but he didn't
really care. Okay, so he had wet hair in his eyes... small price to pay
for what they were doin-- Then some water went up his nose and he
backed off, choking and coughing; he shook his head like a dog,
spraying water all over the bathroom, and thumped back on his ass. He
gave one final cough, and sat up - he noticed that her skin was flushed
in all the usual interesting places, and he smiled weakly. "I see the
shower has perked you up." She arched her eyebrows naughtily at him.

"Uh huh. How about you get out of those wet clothes, and I'll see if I
can't perk you up a little, too."

"Now really..." She was pleased to see that he was blushing... or maybe
it was just the warmth of the shower that had done it. Either way, she
kinda liked the look.

"You're going to take all that off, you know. Unless you were planning
on sitting there until that dries?" He pretended to glare at her, and
she snickered.

"You're the one who got me wet in the first place."

"I thought it was understood, that we were going to fool around in
here."

"Well, maybe."

"Well, nothing. You enjoyed it, right?"

"Yeah... except for that last part. But this is very unprofessional."

"Maybe. But we're married, we're in private, and we're not going to
scare the horses." He made a baffled face.

"'Scare the horses'? What does that mean?"

"Just strip."

"If we get in trouble for this, I'm telling them that it was all your
idea." But he was already unbuttoning his shirt, and kicking off his
shoes and socks.

"Chicken."

* * *

"Is it raining outside?"

"No. Why?"

"I just saw Dr Kovac go by with wet hair, and wearing scrubs."

"If he was smiling, it probably had something to do with visiting his
wife upstairs."

"*Oh*."

* * *

"Hey, Luka, can I speak with you for a moment?" He looked up from his
paperwork. His good mood following his shower tryst with Kerry had,
amazingly, managed to survive Carter's recent arrival. Then again, he
only had a little while until it was time to go - drive Dave home, then
work some more on getting the house ready for the baby.

"Sure, Janet." She suppressed laughter at the thought of what she was
almost certain he and Kerry had been doing earlier: she'd heard about a
thoroughly-soaked Luka emerging from Kerry's room and asking for a set
of scrubs. It wasn't as though they were the first couple ever to get
up to a little hanky-panky in those bathroom showers, after all.

"Uh, I know you meant well, buying Kerry that video game...."

"Yes?"

"I'd really appreciate it if you'd take that thing home with you."

"There is a problem?"

"How do I put this... she gets excitable while she's playing it."

"You're worried about her blood pressure, then?"

"That, and she's really disturbing when she's killing zombies." She saw
his blank look, and sighed. "She *cackles* while she's doing it.
Besides, I think she's named some of the zombies after certain people
on the hospital's staff." He covered a faked cough with his hand, to
hide a grin: so she *had* called that zombie "Romano"!

"Janet, what do you expect? She's tired of being shown off every time
you get new students. It's not exactly as though she can get up and
walk out in protest."

"This *is* a teaching hospital." He pretended to think about what she'd
said.

"Yes, that's true. It's also true that your students are guaranteed to
come into contact with patients with much more disturbing habits than
'cackling' while killing video game monsters."
 
"Luka, *please*." One of her residents had been in tears, and she'd
heard that there was a med student who wouldn't enter Kerry's room
without a rosary in hand, as it was.

"I'll talk to her about it. But I won't take away the game without her
permission."

"Fine, fine. But *please*... try to get her to see that she's inter-
fering with the way I run my department."

"Of course, Janet."



POST-OPERATIVE NOTES:


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