A/N: Ever since I saw this movie, I have been obsessed with it. I need more of Luke's character! I wish they had delved more into his past, and I think it would be awesome if they made another one, especially a prequel to give us more of Luke's background. I've thrown my own O/C in here to make it a bit more interesting, so some of the bits of the movie might get moved around or changed. We'll see. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: All I own is a DVD of the movie Safe, which I watch over and over. And the good doctor is my own creation. I wish I owned Jason Statham, but if I did, I wouldn't be wasting my time on fanfic!

"So, what can I help you with?" Dr. Tatum Kennedy asked the young man on the examination table in front of her at the free clinic.

"My feet."

"Can you take your shoes off?" she asked, pulling the end of the table out so he could prop his legs up.

He reached down and pulled the sneakers off his feet, wincing in pain.

Tatum had seen just about everything during her tenure as a medical examiner for New York City, but the shape this boy's feet were in shocked her. She was amazed he had walked in of his own accord. If he didn't end up requiring an amputation, or die from sepsis, she'd be surprised. "What's your name?" she asked softly.

"Charlie." He looked up at her with brown eyes that were too large for his pale face.

"Charlie, what happened to your feet?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. I think it was my shoes. I had some old shoes that didn't really fit, but some guy at the shelter gave me his pair the other day. I promised him I'd get my feet looked at, so here I am."

Tatum pulled on a pair of latex gloves and turned first his left foot then his right side to side. She snapped on a bright light and bent over to examine the skin. It was red and angry with scattered sores oozing green pus. He needed surgery, but getting that done for an indigent patient, especially a transient who most likely wouldn't follow up with care, was difficult.

"Rita?" she called.

A large-boned woman with gray hair entered the room. "Yeah, doc?"

She smiled at Charlie. "This is Charlie. I need you to take him to the whirlpool room. He needs to have his feet in the tub for twenty minutes with Hibiclens, then put Silvadene on the open areas, and wrap his feet up with a dressing. Then, see if you can get a line in, and give him two grams of Rocephin IV. You allergic to anything, Charlie?"

He shook his head. The pretty doctor made him feel comfortable – and worth something. She treated him like a person.

Tatum pulled her gloves off, washed her hands, and patted his shoulder. "Don't worry, Charlie. Rita will take good care of you. Can you make sure to come back every day?"

He nodded.

"Good. You come here every day, and Rita will soak and dress your feet. I'll see you next week."

"Th-Thank you," he whispered. He sat in the wheelchair that the nurse had pushed into the room and sighed as she wheeled him out.

Tatum sighed as she scribbled on the chart that had been made up for Charlie. She dropped it off at the whirlpool room and entered the next exam room, reading the chart as she walked in. "Hello."

"Hey, doc."

Tatum jerked her head up; she'd know that gravelly voice anywhere. "Luke? Oh, my God… Is it…how can it be you? I-I thought you were dead!" She flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and forgetting all about professionalism.

He reached up and wrapped an arm around her waist, squeezing her to his chest. It had been so long since he'd had any real human contact, and he had to admit, it felt good. "No, I'm not dead."

She pulled back, remembering herself. "I-I'm sorry… I just didn't expect…"

Luke shrugged. He had avoided all conversation for so long…ever since… Annie. He had faded into the shadows after her murder for fear he would bring the same fate down on everyone he cared for.

"I'm so sorry about Annie," she said softly, searching his face. The lifelessness she saw in his eyes scared her.

He shrugged again. "Thanks. Not much to be done for it now."

Tatum nodded and sat down on the stool. "What brings you here?" she asked, wanting to steer their conversation back onto neutral ground.

"I've had a cough I can't get rid of."

She pulled her stethoscope out and laid the diaphragm on his chest, instructing him to breathe deeply. After several moments, she pulled back. "Fever?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I think. 'Course, I haven't checked it." He went on to describe his symptoms to her, then asked, "What are you doing here? You finally get tired of dead people?"

She wrote some information in his chart then looked up, surprised again that Luke Wright was actually sitting in front of her, in the flesh. "No. I just volunteer here on Saturday mornings, unless I get called out to a crime scene."

Luke laughed humorlessly. "Always trying to save the world…"

Tatum scowled at him. "I try," she said dryly.

"So, am I gonna live?"

"Yes."

"Damn."

She knew he was joking – to an extent – but his eyes still held that dead look. "You have bronchitis. I'll give you some antibiotics for it, and it should clear up. But don't let it get worse. You don't want pneumonia."

"Okay."

She left him in the exam room and let herself into the medication closet. She pulled out enough samples to effectively treat him, dropped them into a small, plastic bag, and headed back to the exam room.

"Take two today, then one daily until they're gone," she instructed. "Where are you staying?"

He shrugged again. "No idea. Probably go to one of the shelters…"

"When was the last time you ate?" she asked.

"Yesterday. I try to get one meal a day at either a shelter or a soup kitchen. But it's all right."

She paused for only a split second before writing her address on a scrap of paper. "Come over tonight around six. I've got some cooking planned this afternoon, so I'll have plenty of food that needs to be eaten. Plus, we can catch up."

Luke took the paper from her and stared at the address. "Greenwich? You're moving up in the world."

"Yeah, I guess. Will you come?"

He thought for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, I'll be there. You expecting anyone else?"

"No."

He finally smiled slightly. "Good. See you at six." He picked up his rucksack and left the exam room.

Tatum stared after him for a few moments. Luke Wright had been one of the few NYPD detectives she had enjoyed working with. His mind was quick, and his wit was sharp. He was able to piece crime scenes together better than anyone she had met. His work ethic was no holds barred, take no prisoners. He was honest to a fault, and many of his colleagues were not impressed with his abhorrence of bribery. There were more honest NYPD cops than there were dishonest ones, but he seemed to have been surrounded by the ones with less than ideal morals.

Then, one day, he disappeared. All of his open cases had been transferred to other detectives on the anti-terrorism squad, and all of her queries were met with brick walls. It was as if no one knew where he had gone – as if he'd just vanished from the face of the Earth. The only information she had heard had been that he had quit the force and was moonlighting as an MMA fighter in Jersey. And a few months later, his wife had been brutally murdered in their home. Whispers floated around that Docheski had dispatched his men to make a statement to Luke for not taking the dive in a specific cage match, which supposedly had cost him millions.

She had not known what to think. She had assumed that either the Russians had gotten him, or he had committed suicide over the death of his wife. And after a year, he had become nothing more than a ghost legend – the stuff rookies were told in whispered conversations when veterans wanted to shake them up a bit.

But today, he had been sitting in an exam room in the flesh. And he looked like hell. Apparently, his exile had taken him underground where every day was a fight for survival.

She prayed that he would keep his word and take her up on her offer.

xXx

Tatum glanced at the clock for the thousandth time. It was 5:55 p.m. She had instructed the doorman of her building that she was expecting a guest who would appear to be homeless and to let him up. Otherwise, Luke would have been run back into the street.

She nervously adjusted her T-shirt, and then needlessly stirred the spaghetti sauce that was simmering on the stove. The knock at her door caused her to jump.

She hurried to the front door and flung it wide, still not quite believing that Luke was standing in front of her. "Hi," she said softly.

"Hi." He shuffled his feet.

"Come in," she said, standing back and inviting him inside. He stood in the foyer and looked around.

"Nice."

"Thanks." She shut the door behind him and turned, continuing to stare at him. Even in his dilapidated state, he was as handsome as ever.

Luke sniffed the air. "Something smells good," he said, his stomach grumbling loudly.

She led him into the living room. "Thanks. I hope you're in the mood for spaghetti."

He raised an eyebrow. "Tate, I haven't eaten shit this past week. Anything you made will taste delicious." His mouth was beginning to water. He looked around at her pristine living room, with the pale, slipcovered furniture, and he was suddenly uncomfortable. It had been weeks since he'd bathed, and he didn't want to soil her home with his filth.

She swallowed. "Um…I set some stuff out for you…in the bathroom. I-I thought you might like a shower."

Luke smiled. "A shower would be great."

Tatum smiled back. She hadn't wanted to offend him. "Follow me," she said and led him down the hallway into the bathroom. On the counter, she had placed a clean, fluffy towel, a new toothbrush, a razor, and a can of shaving cream. She pulled a department store bag from the linen closet and handed it to him. He opened it and pulled out a new pair of jeans, a cream button-down shirt, a package of underwear, and a package of socks.

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. If Docheski knew where he was and that Tatum was his friend… He wouldn't survive the guilt of causing the death of another person he cared for again. "Thank you," he whispered.

She couldn't meet his eyes. "You're welcome. Well, I'll just leave you to it, then." She pulled the door shut behind her on her way out and headed back into the kitchen. She busied herself by hand washing the few dishes in the sink and setting the table, carefully folding the napkins and placing the silverware just so.

She had set the spaghetti on the table and was just taking the garlic bread out of the oven when Luke padded into the kitchen. She looked up at him and smiled. "Nice," she said, nodding at him.

He grinned at her and looked down at his new clothes. It felt wonderful to be clean again. "How'd you know my size?"

Tatum laughed. "Luke, I'm a doctor who works mostly with the dead. I'm pretty good at eyeballing someone's measurements."

"A bit more morbid than I would have liked."

She shrugged and set the bread basket on the table. "You asked."

"That I did. What can I do to help?"

She pointed at a chair. "You can sit. All I have to do is grab the wine, and we'll be ready."

Luke looked down at the feast spread before him. He hadn't had so much food at his disposal since Annie had cooked his last meal. He sat in the chair Tatum had pointed to and folded his hands. He wasn't a praying man, but at this moment in his life, he felt nothing but gratitude for what he had been handed that day.

Tatum entered the dining room and set the bottle of chilled wine on the table before settling in her seat. She motioned that Luke should serve himself first, so he did. She waited until both of them had their plates full and the wine poured before she said, "Okay, now tell me where in the hell you've been the last year."