(Quick note about the layout of the apartment. When I first began watching ER, I missed the existence of a staircase in Luka's apartment. [Blame a very small tv and the fact that the stairs are never actually used [at least not in these first few seasons], but you just get a glimpse of the railing.] So, in all my fics that have scenes here, the apartment has the same basic layout – a few stairs leading down from the front door to an open-plan living space with a kitchen along one wall, a bedroom on the same level , and a bathroom with 2 doors, one opening from the bedroom, and one from the living room. And really, with his bad leg, we don't want Luka struggling up lots of stairs anyway, right?)

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Luka stood painfully resting on his crutches while Susan wrestled with the key.

"It sometimes sticks a little," he told her. "Especially when it's humid. Let me try."

"No, I got it." Susan gave the door a shove, and it flew open. She went through it. Luka just stood, looking into the room. "You ok?" she asked.

"Yeah." A deep breath, then slow steps through the doorway, and down the steps that led into the living room, one at a time."

"You might want to rig up a ramp," Susan suggested. "just until you can walk more easily."

"No. I need the practice." He started to make his way to the couch.

"It's a little bit torrid in here," Susan commented.

"You can turn the thermostat down. I asked Gillian to set it at 85 when she left. No sense in cooling an empty apartment for weeks." He sank down onto the couch. The walk from the car, the few steps, the stairs, had exhausted him. It must be the heat. He'd walked much further than this in PT.

Susan looked at him, concerned. "Are you sure you can do this? You don't have to prove anything; not to me, not to Allenson, not to anybody. If you need to be in the hospital a little longer, or need some help at home for a while ..."

"I can do this!" Luka snapped. "I'm just a little tired. And thirsty."

Susan went to the fridge, opened it. "It will have to be water. You have no food in here at all."

"Obviously." Luka managed a tired smile. I wouldn't want to eat anything that had been there for 3 months, now would I?"

Susan brought him a glass of water. "Ok. You just rest. I'll run to the store, get you some groceries."

"There should be some canned stuff; soup, tuna, in the cupboard."

"Are you hungry? It's almost lunch time. I can fix you something before I go."

"No, I'm not hungry."

"Ok. I'll do that grocery run then. Need anything before I go? Help to the bathroom?"

Luka felt himself tense. "I can take myself to the bathroom if I need it! I don't need help!"

"Sorry, Luka. I didn't mean ..."

"I know. I'm just tired. Going home is tiring." He closed his eyes.

"I'll get the groceries, and maybe something take-out for lunch," Susan said. "I'll be back in half an hour, 45 minutes. You have my cell number, right? If you need anything?"

Luka nodded. Didn't open his eyes. "I'll be fine. Oh... wait." He leaned forward, reached into his pocket. He still didn't have a wallet, he'd have to buy one ... took out a roll of bills. "For the groceries." He peeled off three '20's.

"No, I got it."

"Susan ..."

Susan nodded apologetically and took the money.

"And take the key. You can let yourself in when you get back."

"Ok. Stay out of trouble." A smile, and Susan was gone.

For a few minutes Luka just sat. His leg ached. He hadn't walked so far, really. Was it just the heat? Or the knowledge that he was home now, wouldn't have anyone to rely on to help him. Whatever he needed now, he would have to do it himself, would have to walk, no matter how tired he was, how sore.

Luka took hold of the crutches, used them to lever himself up off the couch. It was lower than his hospital bed, lower than the chair in his room. Standing up was much harder.

Slowly, he began to explore the apartment, seeing it as if for the first time - seeing it from the point-of-view of someone who was, temporarily, disabled. It was small, that was good. Not too much ground to cover. (But he couldn't have a live-in nurse, could he? Where would a nurse sleep?) Living room, the stairs down from the door weren't such a good thing. But he'd get used to them quickly enough. And it wasn't as if he'd be going in and out a dozen times a day. Kitchen area. Susan had been right, the cupboards were nearly bare. A few cans. The fridge held only a bottle of catsup, a half empty jar of mayo.

Into the bedroom. He smiled. Gillian had changed the sheets, made the bed neatly. Bathroom, it was small. Tight squeeze all the way around. And he'd have to figure out how to manage the shower. Maybe bring in a stool from the kitchen. He had to keep the cast dry, how could he do that? He couldn't wrap it himself. He'd figure out something. 'You're a doctor!; he said to himself. 'Doctors are supposed to be smart, imaginative. Able to solve problems.'

Slowly back into the living room. Pick up the small overnight bag, containing the few things he'd brought back from Africa with him. Much less than he'd brought to Africa. Much of what he'd taken with him was now in the hands of the Mai Mai ... along with so much else ... Sling it over the shoulder, make his way back into the bedroom.

He set the bag down on the bed and opened it. A few changes of clothes, the right leg on the pants cut at the seam to fit over the cast. His passport. He put that away safely. A few books. Sticking out of one of them was a piece of paper. Luka sat on the bed, took the paper out. He heard Carl's voice. "A support group for male sexual assault survivors." He closed his eyes. How could even the slightest reminder still make him so weak ... so sick ... so shaky? And Carl could think that he could actually go? Voluntarily talk about it all again? Listen to other men relate their stories?

He sighed; he'd put it away. Maybe some time ... No. Struggling to his feet again, Luka hobbled into the bathroom. Tearing the paper into tiny pieces, he flushed the scraps down the toilet, and returned to the bedroom to finish unpacking.

Luka heard the front door open. "Luka!"

"I'm in the bedroom!" he called back, and made his way back out into the living room. Susan was putting two bags of groceries on the kitchen counter.

"I just got you some basics - stuff that will be easy for you fix so you don't have to stand at the stove; bread, peanut butter, canned soup, some frozen meals, pasta."

"I suspect I'll be ordering pizza a lot," Luka said with a smile.

"Probably. Which is why I picked us up some Thai for lunch today."

"Thai's always good."

"So..." Susan said, when they were settled with the food, "What now?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're home. Where do you go from here?"

"I ... keep getting better. I still have a lot more recovering to do before I can work again ... or even walk again. I'll still have PT and counseling three times a week back at County."

"How will you get there?"

"I can take a taxi. And when I can walk a little better, I can take the el."

"When I'm not working, I could ..."

"No, Susan." Luka said firmly. "I'm glad ... I appreciate everything you've done for me. You've been ... you were there for me when I really needed someone. But I'm fine now. I'm home. You don't have to keep doing this."

"I know I don't have to. Maybe I want to. I like spending time with you. And you DO need some help still."

Luka nodded, didn't look at her. "I've been thinking ... I don't want, or need, live-in help. But maybe I'll hire an aid ... someone to come by a few hours every day to help me, just until the cast comes off."

"That sounds like a good compromise," Susan agreed. "And I'm still happy to take you to your hospital appointments, if I'm not working."

"No," Luka said again. "That won't be necessary. I didn't come home so that people could keep doing things for me all the time. I need to learn to do things on my own again."

Susan nodded slowly. He could tell that her feelings were hurt, but better to hurt them now then to let this get out of hand. He didn't need her. He didn't need anyone.