"Luka! Luka!" An unbearable headache. A cool hand on his forehead. And a very familiar voice calling his name. Luka opened his eyes. He was still lying where he had fallen. Susan was there, and Sam, and Abby. And an overturned stool. He must have hit his head when he fell, he thought, maybe on the edge of the exam table. That's why it hurt so much.

"I'm ok. I just got dizzy."

"Maybe," Susan said, blinking back tears of relief. "But I think we should work you up."

"No, I'm fine."

He saw the three women look at each other, and Sam said gently, "You had a seizure, Dr. Kovač ."

"No," he whispered, but looked at Susan, who nodded.

"It wasn't a bad one, didn't last very long. But we need to figure out what's wrong. Can we help you up onto the table?"

Luka nodded, and winced as nausea swept over him at the movement. He struggled to sit up ... and again the grayness, bright, this time, like an overexposed photograph, he thought, before it darkened into blackness again and he couldn't think at all.

When he opened his eyes again he was lying on the table, and the room seemed to be swarming with people. Susan was still there, and Sam and Abby. And Kerry and Pratt. And couple of med students. And an orderly. And his head ached.

"I'm not a damn teaching case," he growled.

"This is a teaching hospital, Kovač," Kerry said lightly. "Everyone is a teaching case. Even you."

"I'm cold." He was aware that they'd gotten his coat off, and his shirt, and Abby was putting monitor leads on his chest. Had she seen the scars before? He wasn't sure.

"We'll get you a blanket in a minute," Susan said.

"Temp 100.6," said Sam. "BP 110 over 70, pulse 90, resps 18, sats 99 on room air."

All pretty normal, Luka knew, except for a low grade fever. And a blinding headache.

"Do you know where you are?" asked Kerry.

Luka sighed. "Exam 2, County General Hospital, Chicago Illinois. It's Wednesday, September 15th, 2004. My name is Luka Kovac M.D. I'm alert and oriented times 3. I'm fine. I have a headache. And a terminal illness."

Kerry had to smile for a moment, before turning serious again. "You had a seizure, Luka. And you fainted when you tried to sit up. There is something wrong, we need to find out what. Any pain besides the headache?"

"A little nausea. Look... I had a dizzy spell and I fell. I probably hit my head; a slight concussion. That could have caused the seizure. I just need to rest. I can do that at home."

"Possibly. I'd still like to work you up, rule out anything else."

"You weren't feeling well this morning," Susan reminded him gently. And to Kerry, "He may have had an absence seizure this morning, while making breakfast."

Luka sighed again. He wasn't going to win this, and he was much too tired to try and fight them all. "Whatever you want to do. Just get it over with."

"Given your history and the fever, I think an infection is far more likely than a mass, so lets do an LP, see what shows up. If it's clear, we can do a CT." Kerry turned to one of the med students. "Marissa, have you..."

"No!" snapped Luka.

"No LP?" asked Kerry, puzzled.

"Not a student ... I know they have to learn, but not on me."

"Ok. I'll do it?" Kerry suggested. Luka didn't exactly relish the thought of Kerry sticking a needle in his spine either, but given the options ...

"Fine."

Everything was starting to get a little foggy again. The headache was making everything dull. But Luka knew well that, the remote possibility of a mass, a tumor, aside, there were two possibilities here. He could have meningitis. An infection. An infection was usually treatable, or, it would kill him relatively quickly. Either way, it would all be over within a few days, one way or the other. Or his symptoms, the slow thinking, the clumsiness, the seizures, could be symptoms of encephelopathy. Dementia. That would kill him too. But not quickly. Not quickly at all. It would only kill him after it had made his life a complete, living hell first.

"Ok, Luka, just a stick to numb the area first." He felt something cold on his back, and squeezed Susan's hand a little more tightly as the needle with the local anesthetic went in. God ... 10 minutes ago, 15 ... he had been a doctor. There was his coat over the chair. Now he was a patient again.

He managed to smile at Susan. "Honeymoon's over, I guess."

"You could still marry me," she said. "We could have a second one."

"And a little pressure now," said Kerry. "Hold real still now, Luka."

Luka just looked into Susan's eyes for a very long time, until the room began to turn gray again. He tried to speak, but nothing came out.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He was dead. He was sure of it. He couldn't move, could barely feel his body. No pain, nothing at all. Just a heavy numbness.

But then gradually, the sensation, by now much too familiar, of air being forced into his lungs. God ... he was on a ventilator again. He tried to open his eyes. The lids moved, but seemed very heavy.

"Luka? Sweetheart? Can you hear me?" He managed to get his eyes open, and could feel now, distantly, someone holding his hand. Why couldn't he move? "Luka, can you hear me?" Susan, of course. Looking exhausted. "Blink your eyes."

He blinked, and tears slipped out.

"It's ok," Susan said quickly. "It's drugs. It's just from the drugs. We've had to keep you heavily drugged, in a coma. It was the only way to stop the seizures." She wiped the tears from his face. "But the worst is over now. We're letting the drugs wear off now and you're getting better. You'll be able to move again soon. They'll take the tube out. Just don't try to fight the vent right now."

Luka closed his eyes. A ventilator. He had not wanted this. He thought he'd been very clear about that. But they hadn't listened to him, had they. Even Susan hadn't listened. He should be dead now. He had thought he could trust her.

It was still so hard to think. Everything was still foggy, dull. He was still so tired. He slept again.

When Luka woke again things seemed better. The tube was still in his throat, but he could move. Susan still sat by his bed. She still looked exhausted, obviously hadn't slept in days. But she managed to smile.

"Hey, look who's awake."

Luka didn't try to smile back. He motioned for a pen and paper. He was clumsy. Frighteningly so. The words on the paper were little more than a scrawl. Barely legible.

'Don't want this.'

"The tube will come out soon. I promise. Probably later today. You haven't had any more seizures, you're breathing on your own now."

Luka just underlined the words again. Why didn't she understand?

She shook her head. "I know. It was what we thought ... what I thought best. You had a good chance. With treatment, there was a good chance that you wouldn't die. I wanted to give you a chance. I wasn't ready to give you up. And I didn't think you were ready to give up yet. We were so happy. We can still be happy, right? We still have time. And it was worth it. You didn't die; you are going to be fine. You just needed help for a few days, like last time ... to get you through the rough spot. Like last time, when you agreed to the vent. If I'd thought it would be ... anything different, I wouldn't have let Kerry intubate you.

'Meningitis?' wrote Luka.

"Yeah. It's been a nasty few days. But you're getting better." She smiled. "You are very hard to kill. You'll probably live forever, y'know."

'Hope not,' he wrote, and closed his eyes, exhausted. No more hospitals. He would forgive her this time. She loved him, and had done what she thought best for him, for both of them. But this could never happen again, because he would never set foot in a hospital again, as a patient. As a doctor, yes, but not as a patient.