As Jean walked leisurely down the driveway breathing in the cool night air, she glanced towards the front door and saw Matthew making his way out of the house. A quick scan revealed his police vehicle off to the side, but no sign of Lucien's car. Upon his approach, she stopped to greet him. "Good evening, Matthew."

He smiled at her, hands in pockets. "Evening, Jean."

It wasn't unusual for him to stop by the house after dinner to discuss work or even just to socialize. She made the assumption his visit was police-related but inquired nonetheless. "What brings you by so late?"

His foot scuffed the driveway as he shifted, gazing downward. "Ohhh, just capping off a long day." Looking up, he motioned towards the house with his head. "Didn't look like you were home so I just wanted to make sure he got in ok."

"I see." She waited for him to offer something additional but there was only silence. "Everything alright?"

"Well, to be honest, I don't think this is the easiest of days for him. We stopped at the Colonists Club on the way home and he may have had one too many."

So he was drunk, she thought to herself. Nothing new there really.

"Actually," he hesitated before continuing, "there was a bit of a row as we were leaving."

That got Jean's attention. "Oh?"

"Not his fault this time, I'm afraid. He was helping us more than anything."

She didn't look convinced.

"Honestly Jean, it was nothing really, just some bumps and bruises. But I thought you should know."

She smiled nervously nodding her head, unsure of what she was walking into. "Well thank you Matthew. Have a good night."

Already on his way to the car, he turned around to say, "Good night, Jean."

As Jean opened the front door, she felt her nerves kick in which was the case more often than not when she anticipated seeing Lucien. She removed her coat and carefully rested it on the hook. As she took a few steps towards the kitchen, Lucien's desk was visible from the hallway and she couldn't help but notice a poured glass of whiskey next to a half empty bottle. This prompted her to peak her head into the surgery. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lucien near the examination table, a bottle of antiseptic in his hand.

Initially startled to hear the door, Lucien glanced in that general direction and upon realizing it was Jean, he did little to hide his sense of contentment. "Oh Jean, you're home." He attempted a half-smile as he turned to her apprehensively, like a child anticipating a scolding.

Taking inventory, Jean noticed a large scrape on his left arm where his shirt was torn, a fresh cut below his right eye and the overall look of having been in a fight. He was drunk but she had seen him far worse. She happened to catch his eye for a moment and was quickly overcome with a familiar feeling. Adept now at suppressing it, she reasoned that he was her employer and she was too sensible to get herself into trouble. Lucien appeared so strong and self-assured most of the time, practically bullish. It drove her mad in an electrifying sort of way, if she were honest. But on this particular evening, as with many others, it was his vulnerability that tempted her. This, coupled with his boldness, made for an alluring combination she found hard to resist. Christopher was unassuming for the most part, happy to blend into the wall. He was a simple man whose persona lacked a single layer or nuance. Lucien on the other hand was a puzzle, a challenge she found hard to back down from.

Now leaning against the door frame, arms folded, quietly she responded, "Yes. Saw Matthew in the driveway," as if to say he told her everything, even though he hadn't. "Sounds like you had quite the day."

Lucien sighed, seemingly unsure of what to do next now that Jean was present. "Nothing a little whiskey won't take care of," pointing enthusiastically to his glass.

Can I help you with that?" she asked, referring to the bottle of antiseptic.

"I'm a doctor, you know Jean."

"Right. Well it might be easier if I do it."

He didn't seem willing to comply.

She went on, "And I learned from the best." There was a slight inflection in her voice but it wasn't really a question so she made her way towards him in a deliberate manner.

She could be so disarming at times and it flustered Lucien. He smirked and nodded in agreement to hide his unease. As she moved gracefully around the desk, she picked up his glass and handed it to him. "I'll trade you."

"Ah, thank you," he said, perching himself onto the table. She took note of his unsteadiness.

Jean eased the antiseptic from his hand along with a cotton ball, placing it over the bottle as she tipped it, all the while keeping her eyes on Lucien. She went to raise her hand toward his face but the way his legs were positioned made it so that she couldn't reach him without leaning. "I can't—"

Sensing the inevitable awkwardness, he quickly cut her off before she could finish. "Oh, sorry, let me…" He hastily opened his legs providing her access but she hesitated. He then promptly closed them while moving to the side so she could stand in front of him. "There. Sorry." He simmered with embarrassment but she continued on unfazed and very gently began to dab the wound on his face.

She studied him while taking in the warm and familiar scent of alcohol on his breath, venturing to get closer

"Doesn't look too bad," she indicated somewhat cheerfully. This particular ritual brought back memories of the several times she had cleaned up Jack and Christopher after having a scrap. It felt strange with Lucien although not unpleasant.

"Oh, just a bunch of egos on a day like to today. Like you would say, stupid men having a stupid argument."

In reference to his current case she asked, "No suspects in custody then?"

Given Jean's close proximity, Lucien wondered casually what it would feel like to pull her in. This of course lead to an all too familiar frustration that permeated his body. He shuddered at the thought of how long it had been for him and how often he imagined sleeping with her. Not quite trusting himself, he avoided her eye, settling instead on the skin around her her barely exposed collar bone. Hardly realizing she asked a question, somehow he managed a reply, "Just some dead leads. Back at it tomorrow, I suppose." She appeared calm and composed despite the fact her hand was shaking ever so slightly. Not one to miss a clue, Lucien wondered if all of this was not lost on her. But his thoughts were interrupted.

"I wonder what your patients will think of this, Dr. Blake." He found her voice soothing and was grateful for the distraction.

"I think my patients know me well enough by now, Jean," stealing a quick glance with a smirk.

Capitalizing on the fact that he was looking at her, she gingerly placed her fingers on the side of his face, moving his head toward the light so she could get a better look. The unexpected contact took him by surprise. Lucien loathed feeling sorry for himself, but he struggled to recall the last time a woman had touched him tenderly in this way. Surely it had to have been Mei Lin. Or was it? He couldn't remember now.

"Jean."

"Mmm?"

Before he was able to respond and with little warning, he was suddenly gripped by a sense of discomfort. It was not entirely unfamiliar. Aware of what was to come next, he braced himself. Almost immediately, he was flooded with images of his time spent in Ban Pong. He shifted on the table to masque his distress. His most recent experience with intimate physical contact came in the form of torture, and he was surprised at how quickly those memories were provoked. Instinctively, he closed his eyes.

"Sorry, is that too much?"

His response was terse. "No, it's fine." Internally he was cursing himself and wondered if maybe this sort of intimacy would forever be a struggle for him. Quietly, he became overwhelmed with hopelessness but did his best to hide it.

Jean could sense his unease though and wondered whether she had done something wrong. "Maybe this is good for now, " she said shyly, stepping back to let him down.

He oozed off the table, trying to assure her everything was fine. "Yes, feels better already, thank you."

She narrowed her eyes at him in skepticism. In one fluid motion, she placed the bottle down before throwing the cotton ball in the trash then turned to lean against the table, positioning herself next to him.

Aware that she was on to him, Lucien attempted to recover with some small talk. "So what about you? Did you make it to the memorial?" He turned to her lifting his head and eyes, appearing eager for her response.

"I did. Met up with some old friends of mine and Christopher's. People I haven't seen in years."

His bristling at the talk of her life prior to her time in his home was imperceptible to both of them.

"So much has changed, Lucien. It's nice to share stories and catch up on old times. I mean in some ways, I feel like that time before the war never really happened. It's a distant memory now."

"Yes, seems that way, doesn't it," agreeing with her.

"But the war you know, it just took its toll."

Jean stopped there. She and Lucien had shared so much in the short time they had known each other. They had grown close as of late and at the very least, she knew she had a true friend in him. She certainly earned his trust with her fierce loyalty and protectiveness. But he had thrown up a psychological wall around his experience in the war. That was something she was simply unable to penetrate. He shared the occasional wartime anecdote in the context of something else and even spoke fondly of certain memories but anything beyond that seemed too painful to broach. Even Thomas was careful with what he revealed. The only thing she knew definitively from him was that Lucien spent time building a railway as a POW and despite the fact they weren't very close, the guilt from what Lucien had gone through seemed to have literally killed Thomas. The town gossip was just that Thomas' son was a broken man upon being set free and his parents' close friends worried that he would never return home.

So when it came to discussion about anything war-related, Jean never wanted to press Lucien. She was sure he suffered enough, as did so many others. The nightmares alone were an indicator of that. But as she stood there next to him, curiosity got the best of her. As hard as it was for her to admit, she cared for him deeply and wanted to know what had happened. Asking him outright seemed too transparent though; he would see right through that. She opted for something more indirect, already knowing the answer. "You didn't march today, I take it?"

Still holding his drink, he took a long sip. After swirling the whiskey around in his mouth and swallowing fully, he glanced at her sideways. "Uhm, no, I didn't. I had to work."

Jean was discerning enough to see through his sarcastic defense. Not letting him off the hook, she tilted her head making a plea with her eyes.

He sensed her puzzlement cuing his further response. He took a breath before explaining, "Oh, they reach out to me every year Jean, asking me to get involved but to be honest, I'm just not comfortable with it. I'm not. What's the point really?" He desperately wanted some validation.

She wondered if he felt like he was above it all but that didn't seem like Lucien.

"Is it that you don't want to be bothered? I just think it would be nice for you, Lucien. You deserve to be honored."

"Honored." He looked at her incredulously. It wasn't as much a question as it was a challenge.

"Yes."

Judging from his tone, Jean feared she had said the wrong thing. She saw he was struggling to find some words and began to wonder if this was a bad idea. Panicking now, she wanted to take it back.

"Lucien, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried. Matthew mentioned you had a horrible day and I seem to have made things worse. Please know, that wasn't my intention."

She took a couple of steps forward to move away from him and make her way upstairs. He thought about letting her go and then, with the quickest of reflexes, he grabbed her arm firmly and pulled her back before she got too far. Somewhat frightened, Jean turned around to face him and in quiet desperation, he locked her down with his stare. He loosened his grip once he was comfortable that she wasn't going anywhere. It seemed their conversation wasn't over.

"Just…gimme a minute."

He began working his jaw still searching for what he was going to say. She stood frozen, scared to open her mouth.

He figured to himself that it would just be easier to remain evasive. Hell, why burden her with this? There were many times he contemplated opening up to her, but he feared her reaction. And selfishly, he didn't want to be let down when she inevitably wouldn't understand. But it did occur to him that she was the only person who ever cared enough to ask and for that reason, he felt like he owed her a proper answer.

"Well…to be honest, I was captured, Jean. I mean where's the honor in that?" He looked at her blankly.

The bluntness of what he said really struck her. It was inconceivable to her that he could truly see it that way and she naively thought she could convince him otherwise. "But you survived, Lucien."

He opened his mouth to fire off a rebuttal then hesitated. Finally he conceded, "That's not how I see it I'm afraid."

Lucien saw the disappointment in her eyes mixed with confusion and knew he needed to explain further. He also felt the self-recrimination seeping in. He had shouldered this burden for years now but had succeeded in burying it so he could carry on with his life. And that had worked well. Now it seemed he was being called to confront a demon.

"Do you know, Jean? I left a man to die all alone when I was captured. A young officer."

Lucien spoke softly, almost hoping she wouldn't hear him. He tried to gauge her reaction, secretly wanting to cower, and although she didn't respond, the look in her eye encouraged him to continue. So he did, slowly.

"He was very badly wounded…on the outskirts of a swamp. I had a medic with me and we went in to try to save him. But it was so difficult to move and the two of us struggled to reach him…" his breathing now slightly labored.

"…it was just…it was dark and they were waiting for us in the brush."

From the corner of her eye, Jean saw his throat move as he swallowed hard.

"Unfortunately, we couldn't see them."

Lucien remembered vividly the smell in the air as he recalled the next part. "The medic was a few steps behind me when suddenly there were all sorts of loud commotion…and within seconds he was covered in bullets. I mean you could barely see his arm band - they had just laid him out. And I thought for sure I was next assuming those bullets were meant for me." He paused again as he felt the need to check in with Jean but her look was hard to decipher.

"Somehow I was spared but they beat me pretty badly."

He kept his head down now while Jean tried unsuccessfully to hold back the tears that had welled in her eyes.

"I was barely conscious being dragged off and all I could hear was that young man screaming. Just begging for me to save him and not to leave him." His voice cracking now, "He didn't want to die alone, you know?"

Jean for her part stood shocked and heartbroken, unable to move. She had covered her mouth with the back of her hand trying to absorb all he was saying.

"And I've just never been able to shake that image. Between the medic and the officer, I'm haunted by it. I feel responsible…for both of them really."

His voice was unsteady but he wasn't crying.

Jean was at a loss for words. "Lucien, I had no idea."

"Well I've never shared it with anyone."

"Not even your father?"

"I did tell my father. In a letter. But we never discussed it after that. I couldn't burden him when he was dying."

"Matthew?"

"No. Not even Matthew."

Lucien took a cleansing breath as he gathered himself. "There are certainly more stories where that came from but what can you do? It was such a long time ago now," as if hitting a reset button to erase everything that had poured out of him. Anticipating some sort of relief, he slowly turned to face Jean. But as their eyes met, he was stunned by how utterly exposed he felt. It took only a second for her to decipher the shame he had been trying to hide. It was familiar to her because she recognized it in herself. It didn't last long though. Within an instant, it was replaced by a deep vacancy that settled into the recesses of his eyes. Lucien stared off into the distance as he felt himself slipping away from his body. Mindlessly, he raised his glass to his lips and it became apparent that his hand was trembling uncontrollably.

"Lucien." Jean cautiously covered his his hand with hers as she pulled the glass down and away from him with her other hand. This seemed to have brought him back. She looked up at him now pleading. "You know there is nothing you could have done to save either those men." She anxiously searched him for some type of acknowledgement. "Please tell me you know that."

He brushed her off, . "Jean, please. I'm fine."

She now had her hands on both of his arms attempting to connect with him but he stepped back trying to gain some distance and space. She closed in on him.

Shaking his head, "Please don't, Jean, I…" The urgency of his demand was weakened by the quivering of his voice. He was unable to finish his sentence. In an effort to maintain some sense of control, he moved his hand to the back of his head smoothing down his hair, a common gesture for him when he was uncomfortable. But it was pointless; he could feel himself coming undone. Jean was overcome with emotion as she witnessed him breaking. Intuitively she pulled him in, fully expecting him to push her away. But he was heavy with grief, unable to resist. With a sense of defeat, he leaned forward and reluctantly buried his face into the crook of her neck as he began to sob, repeating her name, as if begging for forgiveness. His arms eventually secured themselves around her, as she cried with him bearing all of his weight. The words felt so inadequate but she found herself whispering, "I'm so sorry, Lucien. I'm so sorry," as they continued to hold each other for the next few moments.

Finally unable to shed another tear and feeling quite drained, Lucien peeled himself away from Jean. He wiped his eyes hard and rubbed his face before focussing on her. The shame was gone, replaced now by embarrassment. He shook his head briefly then looked away. He was terrified of what might come out of his mouth so he stuck to the facts. "Jean, my head is pounding. I think I need to go to bed."

She hesitated before responding, observing his weariness. "Yes, of course, Lucien." She placed her hand on his arm in a caring gesture. "I'll get you some water if you want to grab the Bex." And with that, she left for the kitchen.

"Thank you, Jean."

Upon her exit, Lucien retrieved what was left of whiskey and worked it down in one gulp. He walked over to his desk to place the glass down but feeling entirely sober now and knowing sleep would not come easily, he decided to pour another finger's width. Again he drained it. Barely able to process what had just happened, he sighed as he haphazardly untucked his shirt and worked his remaining buttons. Needing a cigarette badly, he rifled through his desk searching for the few he kept hidden in the drawer. Nothing. Then he remembered there were a couple in his dresser so he strode across the hallway into his bedroom.

Jean arrived back at the surgery only to realize he was gone. "Lucien?"