A/N: Since on the show they never gave us Luka's age, after a few calculations I came up with 37 in the first part of season 9, in 2002. I based this on the fact that he said in The Crossing that when his family died he was in the middle of his internship (and I took the liberty to presume that he had just started it a bit before the fighting turned heavy) and that in Croatia, as in most parts of Europe, med school lasts for six years, starting right after high school, which ends at 19 (or 18 for those who have been sent to school a year earlier). So, as the internship is the first year of residency, Luka was most likely 26 or 27 in 1991. I went with the first scenario.

5:43 A.M. The cool autumn air was invading the room, the scent of a new day making its way through the half opened windows. Next to him, she rested. Eyes closed, small movements of the lips…a hand on the pillow… no necklace, no other jewelry. No make-up either, but that must've wore off, because he couldn't remember her removing it. She was there, had been there for him the night before, allowed him to lost himself in her and took pleasure out of it. She was there, his, for a few hours, naked and alive. Her heart beats strong and regular, bursting of life, her hair soft and long, her body covered with a vanilla scent. She wanted to be there and he knew for sure that if he was to ask her out – dinner, movie, ice fishing or bungee jumping, she would've said yes. But that would mean he'd eventually have to start talking, making a connection, sharing pieces of his life and explaining once again how he'd managed to be 37 and still single. "I'm not exactly family oriented", was the latest he came up with. He dreaded all those, start all over again, care, only to ruin everything again. And – what women in her right mind would actually want to deal with all of that, anyway? A few were angry, mad at him, calling him jerk, others called him crying, pleading to get a second chance, wondering if they've made something wrong. But that answer would qualify as the evergreen saying "it's not you, it's me"; they deserved better, he wasn't good enough for them. He was actually spearing them, really.

So he just left, before her waking up, feeling grateful for not being in his own head the time he had spent with her, not thinking about things or questioning himself about a possible future. It was simple. It could actually work.

Carter passed him by today; all his anger, his self righteous attitude, his condescending looks were gone. No more trying to hurt him by asking him if Croatia is so wonderful, why isn't he going back, when the answer was so obvious, and it so didn't involve any sort of food; no more confronting him about patient care and ignoring the orders. He just smiled and said hello, and went on bitching about the shortage of needles. " Developed a crack addiction again, you little whiner? Or whatever you were on…", but he had never actually spoken the words.

Later, Carter had even looked him in the eyes and with a broad smile made a stupid remark about him looking tired. "Drop dead." He was at ease now, content with his little victory, marching around the E.R. like it was his own turf, laughing with the nurses, teasing Susan, getting thank you cards from former patients. "Prick." At least he managed to get better security.

Then Janet – something came along. And she flirted and smiled, broadly, and seemed interested. And she flirted her way to the supply room, where she was more than eager and pleased, and even after that she still hung around him. Until things got serious and her daughter had more than an UTI so she needed family time, alone, and specifically told him that. Because he wasn't part of that, he wasn't part of anything and he's played his role, got his thank – yous, so all she wanted was for him to get lost. Fast. And so he did. Bad part? If Susan had never seen to be much of a fan, now he was pretty sure she didn't quite like him.

Soon, his mistakes turned into nurses being quiet whenever he walked into the room, his colleagues talking to him strictly about work, everyone avoiding him and feeling so unlucky to have to go through a shift with him. The only one who still was smiling at him from time to time was Carter, but he was sure that was just because Little Whiner felt a bit awkward about the whole thing and was trying to prove what a good sport he really was, although he only took what was his in the first place, anyway. What were all those people whispering about while looking at him when they thought he couldn't see them?

Fight fire with fire, right? Abby telling him he "totally sucks" only managed to give him confirmation that he really was on the right track. If she had been in his team before, now she was definitely on the other side. Complete isolation.

Escaping in medicine always did the trick. Families quarreling when faced with distress, people breaking down, feelings confessed, births, deaths, happiness and great sorrows. He had fought for each and one of them, for better care, for a better life or an easier death. He had shared their joy, tried to give comfort in times of misery, playing a different part in tens of different stories, feeling needed and respected for 12 hours a day. Until he couldn't just give anymore, until the stories turned completely the same every single time, when his part was done and he was being tossed aside, each of these people going back to their lives. Until he was empty and his safe place wasn't as safe anymore.

Well, Thanksgiving was coming up soon and even if that wasn't quite his holiday, he was thinking about celebrating. This year, he really was thankful. For alcohol.

While she was happy.