"Are you sure you're feeling ok?" asked Susan.
Luka nodded and quickly put a bite of potato into his mouth. He wasn't, but it was just nerves. Again. He was well enough, healthy enough. He was over the pneumonia. The new drug combination was bringing his CD4 count up and his viral load down. It still wasn't what they were hoping to see, but it was improving, and he was well enough to return to work. Or at least he had managed to bully Kerry into agreeing to allow him to come back.
He was glad about that, but he was also scared. What would it be like? Everyone knew now, of course. That he was HIV positive. That he had AIDS. The secret he had fought so hard to keep all those months. They didn't know how he had gotten it of course. That was something he hadn't told anyone else, and he trusted Susan to keep that confidence. They would assume that it was a needle stick, or a careless fling in Africa, or right here in Chicago.
But not knowing the details wouldn't keep them from pitying him. The disease itself would be reason enough for pity. Could he work amid the whispers and stares? Susan's voice startled him from his thoughts.
"You need to eat, Luka. You're going to be late for work." Luka sighed, took another bite.
"You staying here tonight?" he asked. Over the past several weeks, since Luka had come home from the hospital, Susan had gradually, but almost imperceptibly, begun staying at Luka's apartment, living with him. They hadn't really talked about it, but after the first night, she had slept almost every night since in his bed. Just slept. They lay side by side in bed, touching nothing but hands, sleeping. Luka was comfortable with that degree of intimacy. Indeed he seemed to benefit from it. With Susan there, the nightmares had retreated again. Perhaps it was a subconscious attempt to protect her from his pain, or perhaps he was really comforted by her presence, but he no longer longer woke drenched with sweat, no longer remembered dreaming.
And sometimes, before they fell asleep, Luka would talk about the things he'd never been able to talk about before to her. It was easiest that way, lying side by side, holding her hand, but not looking at her. He'd tell her about Africa, about Matenda, about Kisangani. About the horrors, about wanting to die, about trying to die. And she'd hold his hand a little more tightly, and he'd feel her trembling, and know that she was crying silently. He never talked for very long, and there were still too many things he couldn't tell her yet, but it was a start. A few times too he had wakened in the middle of the night to find her gone from the bed, and had heard her in the bathroom, crying. But for him, the talking didn't seem to hurt quite so much this time.
Susan had been staying with him, but tonight he wouldn't be here. He was working a night shift his first shift back. Susan still had her own apartment, would she want to sleep here alone?
"I thought I'd stay. You have a better mattress than I do. And I'll give you something nice to come home to."
"Ah, so you're going to make me breakfast then?" Luka teased. He rose. "I need to get going. Put that away for me. I'll eat it tomorrow." He got his coat and gloves and crutch, kissed Susan good-bye, a gentle kiss on the forehead, and headed out to work.
A kiss on the forehead. Susan wanted more than that, he knew. Expected more. Deserved more. No, they wouldn't have sex. He would never put her at that kind of risk. But she could have more than a chaste kiss on the forehead ... holding hands. They were adults, not shy pre-teens. But he couldn't do more, not yet.
He was making progress. On his own, without going to a psychiatrist, without a support group. The idea of talking to other people about it ... the idea of talking even to Susan about some things still sickened him. But he was making progress. He could touch her. He could kiss her. He could sleep beside her; he liked sleeping beside her, waking in the morning to see her there. He could talk to her about so much. He just couldn't stand to be kissed. If he kissed her lips, she would kiss him back. If she touched him ... he shuddered. Not yet. She deserved happiness, she deserved so much more than him - a man who could promise her nothing except that he would, eventually, die and leave her alone again. But what did he deserve? Did he deserve the new light she had brought into his life?
Luka entered the ER. "Welcome back, Dr. Kovač" said Frank. No hint of pity. But then, this was Frank.
"Thanks." The lounge; off with coat and scarf, on with lab coat and badge, adjust the crutch. And L. Kovač M.D. was ready for work again.
Only warm smiles from the med students and nurses, and a 'looking good, Doc,' from Pratt. Robert was running the board. He assigned Luka his usual assortment of easy general medical cases; lacerations and sprains, fevers and vertigo. Things that he could do in his sleep, even now. Kerry had suggested that he wear a mask while treating patients who might be infectious. "You need to protect yourself, Luka. And really, it's something we should all be doing anyway."
"But we don't all do it, do we?" he'd said. "How will it look if I'm the only one?" He had though, agreed to restrictions similar to those Jeannie had worked under. No putting his hands into poorly visualized cavities; nothing that would put his patients at risk. Of course, as long as he wasn't doing trauma, there wasn't much chance of that anyway. There weren't too many body cavities, at least not bloody ones, with sprained ankles and belly aches.
The shift seemed very long. When were they going to give him something more challenging to do? It took an awful lot of sore throats and sutures to fill 12 hours. And Luka was tired. He should have asked for a day shift his first shift back. He probably could have gotten it. He'd worked enough nights in November; he'd done his penance. And with Carter back (it had been six weeks, but he'd made no more noises about returning to the Congo), there were enough attendings again.
Luka stopped in the lounge for coffee, warmed his hands around the cup. He felt chilly. The heat must be malfunctioning again. Just a few more hours to go. Sitting down at the table, Luka put his head in his arms. He heard the door open and close and quickly raised his head again, as Sam said,
"You ok, Dr. Kovač?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Barring the odd terminal disease. I'm just a little tired."
"Night shifts suck, don't they. Hospitals should be open 8 to 5, like offices. I think people could manage to get sick during business hours only, if they really tried, doncha think?"
Luka managed to nod and smile. His mouth was dry. He was sweating; he could feel his hair sticking wetly to his neck. And he could feel Sam looking at him.
"Are you running a fever?" she asked quietly. "You're looking a little flushed."
"Yeah. I think so." Luka looked at his coffee.
Sam came over, felt his face. "You're definitely warm. When did it start?"
"I'm not sure. I was fine when I got here."
"I'm sure it's nothing then. Nothing serious."
Luka just looked at her for a minute. "There is no such thing as 'nothing serious' for me anymore."
"You can still get colds and routine infections, just like anyone else." Sam's voice became businesslike. "Come on. Let's find you a room. I'll start a chart for you."
Luka shook his head quickly. "No, it's not that urgent. It can wait until morning. I'll go home, I'll call my own doctor as soon as his office opens in the morning. It's just a few more hours." He sighed. "You can tell Romano I'm leaving. He'll have to get someone to cover."
"Do you need a cab or anything?"
"No. I'll call Susan to come get me."
Sam returned to her work, and Luka reached into his pocket for his phone, then suddenly swept his coffee cup onto the floor, his hand balled into a fist. He was fighting tears. He couldn't even get through one shift. How would he be able to work? And how long would he survive if he couldn't go more than a few weeks between infections?
He steadied himself, then dialed his home number. After a few rings, Susan picked up, sleepy, concerned. "Hello?"
"Hi, love. I'm ... not feeling well. Can you come get me?"
"What's wrong?" Alarm in her voice.
"I'm not sure yet. I'm just running a fever."
"You're at the ER, Luka. Let them work you up. I'll meet you there."
"No! I'll call DeAngelo in the morning. I just want to go home now."
"Ok. I'll be there in about 20 minutes."
"Pick me up around front; the main lobby." Luka didn't want to wait for her in the ER. There would be too many questions, too much concern. If he was lucky, he might be able to slip out without anyone even seeing him. No-one but Sam and Romano would have to know.
As Luka put his phone back in his pocket and went to his locker to get his coat he thought that there was one good thing about his leaving early. Abby would be coming in for a day shift in a few hours. This way, he could avoid seeing Abby. He didn't want to see her yet. She had visited him once in the ICU and he had managed to feign sleep. Somehow, he just couldn't face Abby.
