The apartment was quiet and empty. Susan was at work, of course. Luka took off his coat, went automatically into the bathroom. But the nausea that usually plagued him after his therapy, the nausea he usually had to battle desperately to control during the cab ride home, wasn't there today. His heart ached ... his head hurt ... he was dizzy with fatigue, but there was only a distant queasiness in his stomach.

Could he finally be making progress? Could this be what he had been needing? No, he told himself. This is just familiar pain. So much of what he had told Brian were things he had told people, albeit usually in much less detail, dozens of times over the years. This pain was so familiar that, like the guilt that accompanied it, it was truly a part of him now. Talking about it didn't make him sick. Not anymore. Not like the other things did.

But God ... he'd been right, of course. He'd known it all along, this was why he hadn't told Carl about these things. Brian didn't understand. The pain, the guilt was part of him. He couldn't get rid of it, not really. Let it go? Removing the guilt, letting it go, would be like removing a part of his body. Like cutting off his leg. Or ripping out his heart. Or, at best, like removing scar tissue that had been there forever - exposing something even worse underneath. If he did let it go, would he even recognize the new person he would become?

He couldn't get rid of it, he just needed to learn how to live with it again. He needed to let go of the newer, fresher agonies. He needed to let go of Matenda. He should never have told Brian about Vukovar at all.

He would never be really happy; there wouldn't be time to get there. He just needed to learn how to make Susan happy. To be able to pay her back for the small measure of happiness that she was bringing to what remained of his life.

Luka struggled up from the bathroom floor. He was still queasy, but he wasn't going to throw up. He could leave the bathroom. Susan would be home in a couple of hours. He put together a quick casserole for supper; chicken, veggies, potatoes, cheese, and popped it into the oven. Today he could have supper waiting for her when she got home, though he was far too tired to eat any himself. Writing a note 'Supper's in the oven. I love you.', he put it where she would be sure to see it, took his meds, and went to bed.

He woke from a light sleep to Susan's footsteps and the slight rustle and jar of the bed as she slid under the covers beside him.

"Did you find your dinner?" he asked.

"Yes. It was delicious. A Croatian specialty?"

"Nope. A 'what we had in the fridge' specialty."

"I liked the note too. I love you as well, and I'm sorry I woke you."

"It's ok. This way I get to see you for a minute. I'll probably still be sleeping when you leave for your shift in the morning." He touched her face gently. "The one good thing ... the only good thing about being in the hospital was that when I woke up you were always there."

"I'd be here more if I could," Susan said. "I have to work. I wish I didn't have to work so much."

"I'll be back to work soon ... start pulling my share again." Luka knew well that Susan was working more shifts than usual because he wasn't working and had been so sick. The ER needed the coverage and they needed the money. Susan was supporting him right now. One more thing for him to be ashamed of.

"That's not what I meant, Luka. There's no rush."

"So, you don't want me to be well enough to work? To be able to work?"

"No ... I mean yes, of course I do. I'm just saying that you need to be well enough first. Going back before you're ready, when you're still not well, you'll just get sick again and have to start over. I'm just sorry that we can't spend more time together." She smiled. "When you do go back, I'll make sure we work a lot of shifts together; it would be pretty ironic if we ended up on opposite shifts all the time."

Luka rolled abruptly onto his back; looked up at the ceiling. "You deserve better than this. I hate hurting you, Susan. You know that, right?"

"You don't hurt me."

"Yes I do. I don't mean to ... I don't want to, but I do. All the time."

"It isn't you. The things that hurt me are just the same things that are hurting you. You just keep fighting them, all of them, and I'll be happy." A beat. "Did you see McGrath today?"

"Yeah. It went ok."

"You look better than you usually do after a session. Better than you have for a while."

"I didn't throw up. That's a definite improvement." He rolled over again to look at her. "I don't know how much longer I'll keep going back though. I don't know how much it's really helping."

"You just started. These things take time."

"It isn't cheap."

"Don't worry about that. It's worth every penny."

"Not if it isn't working." And not, he thought to himself, if someone else is having to pay for it because you are barely working enough hours to pay for your own health insurance.

"Stick with it a little longer. You do seem better today."

"I feel better, but I'm not sure how much of that is from the counseling, and how much is from being glad that I didn't die last week. That I have a little more time left with you." He was pleased to see her smile at that. He kissed her. Something else he could do to make her happy, at least a little bit. He began to caress her, as he had done before. It had been a long time, she must be missing this.

After a few moments Susan reached for him, to return his caresses, and he quickly moved her hands away. "No," he said. "Just ... let me ..." And Susan rolled away from him, sat up. "What's wrong?"

Susan shook her head. "I don't want to do this. Have you ... talked with McGrath at all about this stuff yet?"

"He knows about the problem. We haven't really started working on solving it yet. As you said ... these things take time."

"Then we're going to wait until you have started to work on it."

"I don't know how long that will take. Or if I'll ever get there. This is my problem. It's not fair to you to make you suffer for it."

"But this isn't what I want," Susan explained, sounding exasperated. "It certainly isn't what I need. Sex is about two people, Luka ... giving to each other, right? I can't just lie there and be ... serviced. And I certainly don't need for you to give me orgasms." She sighed. "I know you mean well, sweetheart ... but this isn't doing anything for me. I'd much rather just hold hands, or put my head on your shoulder ... when you feel ready for that ... and know that you're enjoying it; than have you doing all this for me out of some sort of sense of duty ... because you think it's what I'm wanting from you."

Luka was suddenly cold. Not sick. Just cold. Like there was a sudden emptiness inside of him. The one thing he had thought he was doing right, and it wasn't. "You said you liked it."

"I did. It's a first step. But we need to take the next one. And until you're ready to do that, I think it's better to just stop. Ok?" Luka nodded, got out of bed. "Where are you going?" asked Susan quickly, her voice suddenly concerned.

"I"m fine. I'm just getting something to eat. I didn't have supper."

"There's plenty of your casserole left in the fridge."

Luka warmed himself a plate, made some tea. He managed to choke down a few bites of it, then wandered aimlessly around the living room for a while, watching the clock. When an hour had gone by, and he was sure that Susan must be asleep, he went back into the bedroom.