Luka leaned against the wall while Susan again wrestled with the key.

"You have got to talk to the landlord about this lock. It's 10 degree's out. It can't possibly be humid."

"It also sometimes sticks when it's cold," Luka said mildly, and Susan smiled at him, and he smiled back, a rather tired smile.

The door finally opened, and Susan put an arm around Luka's waist to help him inside. Luka didn't like it, but he couldn't yet walk well without help. The 2 weeks in bed had left him quite weak, though he didn't like to admit it.

"Do you want to go right to bed?" she asked, studying his pale face. "You look pretty wiped out."

"No, I've just spent two weeks in bed. I want to be up for a while." Luka sank down onto the couch, slipped the crutch from his arm, and put his face in his hands.

Susan watched him a moment, concerned. No, more than concerned. She hurt. She knew that he hurt, not just the physical pain of his illness, his chronic injuries but something worse than that. Now there were just even more things that he wasn't going to tell her, wasn't going to talk to her about. How long was he going to keep shutting her out? The two weeks since the diagnosis, he'd barely spoken to her about his feelings, his fears. Did he think she didn't want to hear? Had her too flippant response to his initial remarks made him think that? Or was he just not yet ready to talk about them. Was he going to keep using denial, as Carter suggested, as his coping tool?

"What's wrong, Luka?" she asked. He just shook his head, didn't even bother to raise it from his hands. "Damn it, Luka! Would you talk to me! We're friends, right? Friends talk to each other."

Luka looked up, looked at her. He looked exhausted - defeated. "Life ... just sucks sometimes," he said softly, and let his head drop back down again.

"That it does." She sat on the couch beside him. "But it's all we have, isn't it?" If he had been anyone else, she would have put an arm around him, but she couldn't do that. He wouldn't let her. God ... why wouldn't he let her do that?

And then she made her decision. Maybe it wasn't the right time. Maybe it was wrong to approach him when he was so vulnerable. Maybe it would be the worst mistake she ever made. But she had to know ... and her gut told her that it was the right time.

"Luka ... you don't have to go through this alone; face this alone. I'm here for you, and will always be here - as your friend if that's really what you want, but I'd like to be more than that."

A quick shake of the head. "We've talked about this, Susan. More than once."

"I know. And you said that you might be ready some time. I'm ready now. I've been ready for a while."

Luka raised his head; stared at her, baffled. "Let me see if I understand this," he said slowly. "You've been happy to be just friends for the past six months. And now that I've been diagnosed with a particularly virulent strain of a fatal sexually transmitted disease ... you want to start sleeping together? Do you have a death wish?"

"I'm not talking about sex, Luka ... though yes, I'd like that too. I'm talking about a relationship. Two people ... relating to each other, being open with other, caring about each other, loving each other."

"But why now? Maybe because you're feeling sorry for me?" The bitterness was clear.

"No. Maybe because I already love you. And I've been willing to wait for you to be able to love me back ... but I don't want to wait forever. When I walked into your room, and saw you lying there, and I thought you weren't breathing ... I thought you were dead ... I knew I didn't want to lose you before I'd at least tried ... we'd at least tried." Susan wiped at her eyes. "You said it wasn't me ..."

"It isn't. I do care about you. If I could be with anyone, I would want to be with you. But I can't. I just can't. And I still don't know when ... or if ... that will ever change."

"Why? Is it the virus?"

"No."

"Then what? There has to be a reason."

"There is." Very, very quiet. "But it isn't ... it just isn't something I can talk about. Not even to you. It hurts too much."

"Not talking about it hurts too, doesn't it?"

Luka didn't answer for a minute, just played with the fringe on the afghan, still on the couch from Susan's night there two weeks before. "What did Carter tell you?"

Susan was confused at the sudden change of subject. "About what?"

"About me? About Africa?"

"Nothing. Just that ... you'd had some terrible experiences. And I never asked for more details. But God ... Luka ... whatever this is, it is tearing you up, keeping you from living, more than the HIV is ever going to be able to do. Can you really think so little of me that you think that there is anything you could tell me that would make me think less of you? Love you less? And if it is something that might ... change the way I feel about you, don't I have the right to know? So I can make my own decision?

Another long silence. Luka rubbed his leg nervously, looked around the room. What was he looking for? Escape? He picked at the fringe of the afghan, finally settled on a corner of the room to look at. Susan sensed that he wasn't really in the room with her any more. That he had gone somewhere else. Was this how he had gotten through his sessions with DeRaad? How he had managed to talk about the things that had caused him such pain? When he finally began to speak, his voice seemed hollow, distant.

"I ... umm ... I had a clinic for a while ... in Matenda. It was a village about 150 kilometers from Kisangani. A really remote area, there was no other medical care for thousands of square kilometers. I didn't have much to offer, a few antibiotics, anti-malarials, some vaccines when I could get them, some very basic surgery, but it made a big difference to these people who had nothing. But there was a lot of fighting in the area. Rebels. They came to the clinic. I'd come down with malaria. I didn't think I was real sick at first. Just chills and some fever. I took Fansidar. Thought I'd be fine. There was some warning before the soldiers came, most of my patients were able to escape, but I thought it was safe again, and came back ... the soldiers were still there. I was captured; me and a few others. Patrique, my assistant, a few of my patients, some other people from the area. They held us there in the clinic. I was so sick. The malaria. I couldn't stand up to the treatment ... they made us kneel for hours in the heat, with no food, no water, our hands tied behind our heads. I kept fainting.

"So later, they took me to the tent, and they beat me. I thought at first they wanted information from me, but I didn't know anything. They beat me anyway. They broke my leg - most of my ribs - fractured my skull - broke a bunch of bones in my face. I thought they were going to beat me to death. I think that was their plan ... I don't know. I was crying. I was screaming. I just wanted it all to stop. And so ... they raped me. I was still tied up ..." (Luka's hands went automatically to the scars on his wrists). I couldn't fight them. I couldn't do anything. Five men." Luka's voice broke a little. He steadied himself and continued. "They took me back to the clinic, where the other prisoners were. They shot them all. I couldn't see what was happening, but I could hear the screams and the shots. I kept waiting for them to shoot me too, but they didn't. They left me. The soldiers went away, and left me to die. I lay there for days ... dying from the malaria ... and thirst ... and pain ... just waiting to die ... I was still tied up, and so badly injured I couldn't even move. There was so much pain ... so many flies ... I was so afraid. I eventually lost consciousness, but it took a long time. Finally Carter and Gillian and Charles found me and took me back to Kisangani. The doctors there took care of me until I was well enough to come home."

Luka fell silent, let his head drop back into his hands. Susan just sat on the floor; she had slid off the couch while Luka was telling his story. She was stunned, sick. Of all the things she had imagined - she'd never thought of this, nothing like this. "Oh God ... Luka ... I ..." She couldn't think of anything to say. Didn't trust herself to speak for fear that she would cry, and she knew he didn't want her tears now. Luka didn't speak either.

Finally she said slowly. "Were the injuries ... was there physical damage, so you can't ..."

"No. Everything works physically." Still no emotion in his voice. "I get ... ummm... nocturnal erections sometimes. A few wet dreams. I just can't bear to think about it. When I think about being with someone ... being touched that way ... I panic, I get sick." His breathing quickened a little.

"You've had counseling? About this?"

"It doesn't help."

"Then you need more. You need a different therapist."

"I can deal with it, Susan. It's just not important to me. Not anymore. I'm sorry if it is to you."

"Nobody should have to go through their life feeling like this, Luka, having this kind of pain. It isn't about sex ... it's about how you feel about yourself." A deep breath. "You know, Luka, that what happened to you ... what they did to you, has nothing to do with you ... and has nothing to do with sex. It was just their way of hurting you ... in a way that they knew would cause you the most pain."

"And they succeeded, didn't they?" The deadness was back in his voice.

"So you're just going to let them?" Susan sat back on her heels. "Damn it, Luka! If you just sit here, and let this thing ... consume you ... you are letting them win. That is what they want! You couldn't fight them then. There was nothing you could have done to stop them from ... doing what they did to you. But you don't have to let them keep doing it ... keep hurting you. You can fight them now! If you don't fight them, you are letting them win. Are you going to just sit there and let the bastards win?"

Luka looked up, his eyes defeated. "They killed me, Susan. I am dead. How much more completely can they win?"

"You aren't dead yet. You are alive, and can still be alive for a long time. You have a lot of time ahead of you, and you have have to keep living. It's all you can do. I know that it must seem ... scary to face this ... easier to keep coasting, say it doesn't matter. But I love you. I want so much for you to be happy. If you can't love me, ok ... but you can't just not love - because you're afraid of loving, because you think that you don't deserve to be loved. You still have life ahead of you Luka, and if it's one year, or five, or fifty, you deserve to be happy, and to be happy, you have to be able to love again - you can't be alone.