The alarm. Luka rolled over and pulled the pillow over his head as Susan hit the 'off' button.

"Rise and shine, sleepy head," she said.

Luka sat up with a little groan. "I'm up. But I won't 'shine' until the sun does. Too damned early."

"You always shine," Susan said. "Even at 5:12 a.m."

He looked at her. "In exchange for that witty, but very sweet lie, I'll make you breakfast this morning. Let me just hop in the shower first."

'Hop' wasn't the quite the right word. 'Stumble,' would have been more accurate. Moving much more slowly than usual, Luka slid out from under the covers, took his crutch, and made his way into the bathroom.

Luka stripped off his shirt and shorts and stood before the mirror for a moment. It was still a shock to see himself, the person he'd become. The inner peace, the contentment; yes, the happiness he felt most of the time now didn't seem to match the man he saw in the mirror. And neither was this, he knew, the man who Susan saw. But the handsome man, the one who 'didn't even have to try,' was long gone; and in his place was a gaunt, scarred stranger.

Much too thin. Ribs, collar bones, hip bones all showed. His appetite was still fairly good, but he'd been losing weight again, even more rapidly than before. He still wasn't used to the scars either. The line across his cheekbone, his wrists and arms, his leg. More scars across his ribs and abdomen. Some new ones from the case of shingles he'd had in the spring. And his eyes. Far too large for his face now, but they looked back at him from the mirror calmly. Despite everything, this was a body he could live with, accept, be comfortable with. Until he had to leave it for something better.

Luka sighed and turned on the shower. He didn't want to keep Susan waiting for her breakfast. He was moving slowly lately. Must be the change of seasons, the shortening of the days. Summer was nearly over.

"Eggs ok for breakfast?" he asked her, doing the last button on his shirt.

"Sure. Two eggs, with cheese. Toast and jelly. Caviar."

"Don't press your luck."

"Thought it was worth a try. I already started the coffee for us." Susan grabbed her robe. "I hope you left me some hot water."

"I never do. Breakfast will be ready when you're ready for it."

Luka limped into the kitchen; he was using his crutch all the time now. Mixing bowl. Eggs and cheese. As he straightened up, the eggs had been on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator, the room suddenly swayed, went gray for a moment. Luka grabbed the edge of the counter and took a deep breath and, after a minute, felt steadier. He pulled a stool over and sat down. Never stand when you can sit, he told himself. And never straighten up so quickly like that. Of course you get dizzy when you do that.

Three eggs into the bowl. Luka reached for the fourth, and watched with oddly detached fascination as it slipped from his fingers and dropped to the counter and rolled slowly, very slowly, across the counter, and fell to the floor.

"Damn." Where was the salt? He found the box, poured some on the egg. He'd ask Susan to clean it up later. He was, after all, making her breakfast. And he wasn't going to bend over again this morning. Another two eggs into the bowl without incident.

Milk. He'd forgotten the milk.

He was so tired this morning. He'd slept badly. He remembered dreaming. Not nightmares, he didn't have those anymore, at least not very often. Just odd dreams. He couldn't remember what they were about though. The milk. He needed to get the milk.

"Luka?" Susan's voice startled him.

"What?" Luka blinked. "The milk ..." His voice sounded strange to his ears.

"Luka, what's wrong?" And Luka realized that Susan was out of the shower and dressed, brushing her hair. How long had he been sitting there? There were five eggs in the bowl. Nothing else. The milk. He was going to get the milk.

"I'm fine." His voice sounded more normal now. "Just a little tired this morning. I must have drifted off."

Susan felt his forehead. "You feel a little warm." She sounded worried, and her eyes were frightened.

"I just had a hot shower; of course I'll feel warm."

"I think we should take your temperature anyway."

"Fine. You get the thermometer, I'll finish the eggs. I checked. We have no caviar."

Luka briskly added milk, salt and pepper to the eggs, and put bread in the toaster before Susan returned with the thermometer. "Watch the floor," he told her. "I dropped an egg. Don't step in it." He opened his mouth for the thermometer, and continued cooking breakfast while waiting for it to register. Susan set the table and poured the coffee. "99.2" he said, when it finally beeped. "Perfectly normal after a hot shower. "And I like my showers hot. I told you, I'm fine."

"Still, if you're tired, maybe you should stay home today. You don't have to work."

"Yes, I do." Luka's voice was quiet but firm. "Can you serve the eggs?" He didn't trust himself to handle the hot frying pan this morning.

The morning was dragging. Maybe he should have called in. A dull headache. Tomorrow he'd call Marty. Double check that nothing was amiss. No, tomorrow he had a regular appointment anyway.

"So, Mr. Garcia. How long has Angel had the rash?"

"Since yesterday. It's very itchy. He scratches all the time."

Luka reached into his pocket for his penlight. He'd check Angel's throat. Looked like simple contact dermatitis, but best to be thorough - and watched, with the familiar detachment as it slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. And the room was suddenly gray again. And he couldn't seem to move. Time stopped.

Dim, echoing, he heard Sam's voice. "Dr. Kovač? Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," he said. Or maybe he didn't. He couldn't seem to hear the words. There was only grayness, and the sound of his own breathing, and his pulse in his ears, both very loud. Then Sam again. "Luka, I think you should sit down for a minute," and a hand on his arm, and something against the back of his knees. But he couldn't sit down. He couldn't move. He knew that if he did anything, even tried to sit, he would fall. A faint sound in his throat, like a whimper. And Sam again, "Mr. Garcia, I'm going to have you take Angel back to chairs for a few minutes. Someone will see him very soon," and then louder, but further away, her hand was no longer on his arm, "Abby! Get Dr. Lewis! Now!"

"She's in a trauma!"

"Get her in here! And I need help."

And then he was falling. And there was only blackness.