The shift was finally over. It had been a struggle for Luka to get through it. His knee continued to throb, despite the ice and several doses of ibuprofen. But worse, he could feel Jing Mei and the others watching him. He knew they suspected something. How could they not?

Luka wearily put on his coat, started for the el. He looked forward to the day he'd be able to drive again. His right leg still lacked the strength and control to work the pedals safely. He could, of course, get a car with hand controls, or learn to drive with his left foot - but it was only a matter of time. He was still improving. And until he was well enough ... he lived in Chicago. The el would take him where he needed to go, along with the occasional cab.

He was exhausted. But could he sleep? What would happen if he slept? The nightmares hadn't been bad lately. Most nights he woke with the vague awareness that he had dreamed, but no actual memory of the dreams themselves. But today, he knew he would dream. More nightmares. More flashbacks.

He couldn't sleep, couldn't dream. That was something he couldn't bear, not after last night. Getting off the el at his stop, Luka started for home, then stopped suddenly and went into the small grocery store on the corner. A few minutes later he emerged, bag in hand, and walked the remaining two blocks to his apartment.

Inside, Luka went to the kitchen, put the bag down on the table. A bottle of vodka. It had been a long time since he'd been drunk - really drunk. An occasional glass of wine or beer with a meal, but when had he last been drunk? Kisangani? Before Matenda. With Gillian. The idea of getting drunk was very appealing. He'd drink half the bottle, maybe more. Enough to guarantee that he wouldn't dream today. Later he'd pay the price, but he'd think about that later. And that pain he could handle.

Opening the cupboard, Luka reached for a glass. Perhaps it was the fatigue, perhaps the nerves, or the bruises on his knuckles, or maybe his hands were a little stiff from the cold outdoors. The glass slipped from his grasp, shattered on the floor.

Luka caught his breath. 'They made me ... they hurt me ...' And he was suddenly angry. It wasn't fear, it wasn't panic, it was anger. And not a vague, general anger at the unfairness of it all - but anger at Them. At the people who had hurt that frightened young woman in exam 2 ... and at the soldiers who had hurt him. He suddenly wanted, needed desperately, to hurt them back ... to make them pay for all the pain they had caused him, for the agony that he knew now would follow him for the rest of his life.

He was gasping again, shaking. He couldn't do it. He couldn't hurt them. He couldn't do anything. He couldn't help her ... couldn't help himself ... couldn't help Sakina. He couldn't do anything. Couldn't change anything.

Still shaking, Luka took another glass. He didn't drop it. He looked at it for a moment, then hurled it across the room, and listened to it shatter against the wall. It made him feel better. A little bit. Suddenly Luka remembered Kisangani, remembered throwing a tray across the room, remembered being disappointed that nothing on it had broken. The hospital had used only melamine and metal dishes, so they wouldn't break. But the glass had broken, and he liked it. It was very ... satisfying. Luka reached for another glass.

Twenty minutes later, Luka sank down onto the stool, breathing hard. The cupboard was empty. The floor was covered with broken glass and china. And he felt better. He felt much better.

But the bottle of vodka still beckoned. A few drinks, then he'd sleep. Luka opened the bottle, reached automatically for a glass - and found himself laughing, just a little bit hysterically. Every glass, every cup, every bowl, was now in shards on the floor.

Oh well, he could drink out of the bottle.

And he did.

A bell jangled in his head. Luka groaned ... tried to turn over ... rolled onto the floor. Why was he sleeping on the couch? It had been too far to the bedroom. He remembered having fallen twice trying to walk, remembered giving up, crawling to the couch. His head throbbed, his mouth was dry.

The telephone was ringing. He could let the machine pick it up. But no ... if he did that it would keep ringing until the machine did pick up. He got up, found the phone, sank back onto the couch. "Hello." His voice came out a hoarse croak.

"Hi, Luka." Susan's voice. Cheerful. "You sound like hell."

"You just woke me. What time is it?" Oh God ... he was so hungover. His head hurt worse than his knee, and that was saying something. Through bleary vision he could see the bottle on the kitchen table. Had he finished it? He couldn't remember. He was going to have a couple of drinks ... but he knew he'd had more than that. Much more.

"It's a little after 4. Have a rough shift?"

"Ummm..." and Luka remembered. "Yeah ... sort of."

"I can come over; we can talk about it. I'm not on until tomorrow."

Luka rubbed his face, and suddenly saw the floor. It was still littered with broken dishes and glass. He groaned.

"Luka? You ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. But you can't come over today. I need to get some more sleep."

"I could come later, or we could meet somewhere? Maybe get dinner?"

"No ... ummm..." Luka rubbed his eyes, tried to focus his brain. "Not today. How about tomorrow?"

"I told you, I"m on tomorrow."

"After your shift. Come over. I'll make you dinner."

"Ok. I'll see you then. Around 8. Go back to sleep. You sound like you need it."

Luka hung up. He would go back to sleep. Then, later he would clean up the room.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Smells good," said Susan.

"Nothing fancy. Just soup and steak."

"Sounds delicious." Susan saw the table. "New dishes?"

"Yeah. I ... decided I needed a change. A fresh start. Are you hungry?"

"Starved."

"Sit down then. Everything's ready but the steaks. I'll put them on now."

Luka served the soup, poured the wine, and sat down.

"Fresh start, hmm...?" Susan asked. "Feeling ready to start moving on?"

It could have meant anything, but Luka knew what she meant. She had been so patient, hadn't said anything, but he knew. Perhaps she had misunderstood the invitation. He'd better deal with it right now. "Susan ..." he stirred his soup. "We're friends. I like being friends, I like having a good friend. It's been a really long time since I've had one. But that's all we are. I know it can be hard for some people ... for some men and women to be 'just friends.' If you can't be that with me ... if you aren't comfortable with it, then we need to end this right now. I just can't promise you anything more."

"Are you just not attracted to me?" Susan asked.

"No ... it has nothing to do with you. I can't ... be with anyone right now. If I could, I would be ... and I'd be happy for it to be you, but I can't. Maybe some time, but not now. And I don't know when I will be ready. I don't want you to think that you have to wait for me. We can be friends, and you can see someone else. I won't be jealous. I don't expect anything from you. Never have. I just want you to be happy."

"I am happy. I like what we have. I just ..." Susan shook her head.

"What?"

"I worry about you sometimes. You still don't seem ... happy."

"You don't have to worry. I'm doing good. I'm working, I have friends. Right now, that's all I need. How's the soup."

"It's delicious. Please don't tell me it's from a can."

"Nope. I made it myself." Luka smiled, but just played with his soup. He wasn't really hungry.