Another shift.

Luka entered the busy ER and smiled a little. Yes, here he was still Dr. Kovac. Here he could still focus on what he could still do, for a few hours out of his week. The patients, most of them anyway, didn't know what he used to look like, used to be like. He was just the doctor they would see today, and then forget. And he could still take care of them. He couldn't save his own life, but he could save a few others. He could still do something to make his existence worthwhile.

"Good morning, Jerry," he said.

"Good morning Dr. Kovač. Dr. Weaver wants to see you first thing."

"Can I take my coat off first?"

"She didn't specify." Jerry picked up the memo. "I quote, 'Have Dr. Kovac come up and see me as soon as he arrives.' Whether that allows for coat removal, I couldn't say."

Luka smiled, shook his head, and went into the lounge. There were med students there, chatting, as usual. A few nurses. Opening his locker, he shed his coat, put on his lab coat, got coffee. At home he drank decaf now, or tea. The caffeine bothered his stomach. But at work he still drank real coffee. One more thing to make him feel like he was still a real doctor. Kerry could wait.

Once upstairs he didn't have to wait at all this time. Kerry's secretary spoke briefly to her on the phone and then said, "Go right in, Dr. Kovač ."

The office looked just the same as it had almost exactly a year before, when Luka had come here to ask Kerry for his job back. And he suddenly shivered. He hadn't even thought about what Kerry might want to talk to him about. But the look on her face as she rose to greet him told him that it wasn't going to be anything pleasant.

"Have a seat, Luka," she said, and her voice had the same cool professionalism as her expression.

"Will this take long? Triage was looking pretty packed downstairs."

"It shouldn't take long. There have been some concerns about your work recently. It's becoming increasingly clear to everyone that you are struggling."

"I'm doing fine, Kerry. I haven't missed a shift in over a month. I haven't had an infection in even longer than that. The only thing I can't do any more is suturing - the neuropathy. As soon as I recognized I was having a problem with that, I stopped. Otherwise, my current schedule seems to be working well for me. I can do everything else."

Kerry shook her head. "You've been showing up, but your work, even in other areas, has been far below the standards we've come to expect. You've been making mistakes; a lot of them; putting your patients at risk."

Luka just stared at her for a moment. "No. I've been doing fine. I haven't made mistakes. I would know if I had."

"The other doctors and the nurses have been covering for you, correcting your mistakes." Kerry's voice was very gentle now. "We know how important this has been for you, to be able to work for as long as possible. But it isn't something they can do any longer. It's risking patient's lives; you are risking patient's lives; and I know that isn't something you would ever want to do. I don't know if it's simple fatigue, or side effects of your medications, or a more direct symptom of the disease, but it's clear to everyone that the work is just too much for you now, Luka. I'm sorry."

Luka could only slump back in his chair, numb. He'd known this moment would have to come eventually. But not like this. He'd thought he was doing well. Why hadn't anyone said anything before? The words came automatically from his mouth, the words he'd said so often before, "I need to work, Kerry."

"We can find you other things to do. There is plenty of work to do around the ER. But nothing involving direct patient care any more."

Anger washed away the numbness like a wave. "Paperwork? Busywork? Something to make me feel useful while I wait to die? Don't bother." He stood up, so quickly that the room swayed for a moment. He had to grab the edge of her desk for a second to steady himself while he adjusted the grip on his crutch and turned to go. "And don't bother coming to my funeral either. I never could stand insincerity."

Luka was shaking, and he knew he was deathly white, but he fought to maintain some semblance of control as he made his way through the busy corridors of the hospital and back downstairs to the ER. He would have given anything to have avoided going back there at all. But he needed his coat and his wallet and keys. All were in his locker. Would he be able to leave without anyone seeing him? Asking questions? Surely they all knew already. Nobody actually expected him to show up for work this morning. He wasn't really needed anyway, of course - his schedule of erratic half-shifts and limited abilities just offered some extra coverage, he was never the only attending on duty.

He made it back to the lounge without anyone seeing him, or at least nobody spoke to him. He should clean out his locker, he thought, as he opened it. It took him three tries to get the combination to work. But he didn't feel like doing it right now, and he didn't have a bag to carry everything home in. He'd ask Susan to do it for him another day. He just took one photograph off the inside of the door. One of several copies he had made years ago. He put it carefully into his pocket.

Taking off his lab coat he started, automatically, to hang it on the hook. No, there was no sense in doing that. He would never need it again. For a moment, Luka held it in his two hands. It was like a second skin ... it was his identity, had been for as long as he could remember. Wadding it into a ball, Luka threw the coat into the trash can.

The apartment was empty. Susan wasn't working today, she must have gone out somewhere. Luka was grateful for that. He didn't want to see anyone. Not yet.

Putting his purchase, picked up on his way from the el station (he hadn't wanted to wait for a cab) down on the counter, Luka got himself a glass. He wasn't supposed to drink any more. Alcohol was not good for him, lowered his resistance, increased the risk of a seizure, reduced the effectiveness of his medications - not that they were doing a damn bit of good anyway, of course. And he'd been good about that. He hadn't had a drink in months, hadn't gotten drunk in longer than he could remember. But today it wouldn't matter. What was the worst that would happen? It would kill him? He was dying anyway. And it wasn't like he had anything to live for any more anyway, right?

Vodka hadn't looked good today. Neither had scotch or tequila. He'd finally settled on a bottle of wine. It wouldn't get him quite so drunk, it was true, but it would taste better going down. And, given how long it had been since he'd imbibed, and how thin he was, maybe it wouldn't take as much alcohol as it used to to get him really drunk.

Luka filled the glass, drained it, then refilled it. He lifted it and said aloud, "Here's to you, Kerry - Fuck you." and drank down the second glass. For a really cheap wine - he hadn't bought it for taste or the cachet after all, but for the alcohol content, it was remarkably drinkable. A third went down just as easily, and he could feel the alcohol starting to affect him, not an unpleasant feeling at all.

Halfway through the fourth, suddenly, a far too familiar feeling - nausea. Luka bolted for the bathroom, and barely made it before the wine came up, along with the coffee and his breakfast.

Sitting on the bathroom floor, shaking, Luka no longer felt the least bit tipsy. Just weak and nauseated. Hell - what a capper to his morning. After everything else, he couldn't even get drunk any more. When he felt able to stand again, albeit shakily, he went back into the kitchen, poured the rest of the wine down the sink and put the bottle in the bottom of the trash. Susan would only ask too many questions if she knew. Then he went to bed.

He was just starting to drift off to sleep when he heard the front door open and close and then, a moment later, Susan's voice calling, "Luka? Are you home?"

"Yeah! I'm in the bedroom!" he called back, and Susan was there, concern etched on her face.

"What's wrong? Are you sick?"

"Besides the usual you mean? No, I'm fine."

"You had a shift today, didn't you?"

"That was the plan," Luka said quietly.

"What happened, Luka?" Susan sat down beside him.

"Kerry fired me."

Susan shook her head. "No. She can't do that, Luka. She cannot fire you, not for having AIDS."

A deep breath. "Ok. She didn't precisely fire me. I can keep working, if I'm willing to spend my days sitting at a desk shuffling papers, doing chart reviews and whatever other busy work they can come up with for me ... until I'm too weak to get out of bed any longer, or I drop dead from sheer boredom. But I can't see patients any more. I can't treat patients any more."

"Oh, Luka ... I'm sorry ..." Susan said softly. Then, "We knew it would have to happen though ... eventually."

And Luka suddenly caught his breath. "You knew! You've known for days - weeks - haven't you?"

Susan stared at him. "Known what?"

"About this! Kerry said that people have been covering for me ... I've been screwing up and the other docs have been covering for me .. protecting me ... fixing my mistakes. Which would include you. We've worked the same shift more than once. How many mistakes have you corrected? How many scrips did you rewrite for me ... how many diagnoses did you second guess?"

"None, Luka. I swear I didn't know anything about it. If they were going to such trouble to protect you, they would have been protecting me too, right? They couldn't have risked me telling you."

"I just wish somebody had ... I would rather have known."

"I'm sure they thought they were doing what was best for you. This way you got to work a little longer than you might have otherwise."

"Or pretend to work. Was I really doing anything these past few weeks ... or just playing at it?"

"I'm sure you helped a lot of patients, saved a few lives along the way."

"It's just ... I hate this disease. It takes everything away. I can stand dying ... but why does it have to take everything away first?"

"It won't take everything," Susan reminded him gently. "It will never take me. I'll always be here."

Susan was fixing lunch when the door buzzer rang. Luka went to answer it. "Yeah?"

"Luka? It's Abby."

Luka turned to look at Susan in surprise. How long had it been since Abby had been by? She had visited a couple of times during the summer. Uncomfortable, awkward visits. Susan shrugged. "Sure, come on up, Abby," Luka said.

He opened the door for her. She looked a bit pale, and more than a bit awkward and uncomfortable. So, what else was new? "Hi, Luka. Hi, Susan."

"We're just getting ready to eat lunch," Luka said. "There's plenty if you want to stay and join us." Susan always made twice what he could manage to eat any more ... somehow thinking that if she cooked it, he would eat.

"No, I can't stay very long. I need to get back to work. I just ..." She opened the bag she was carrying. "I found this in the lounge," she said rapidly. "I would have put it in your locker, but I didn't know the combination. I didn't want it to get lost, or maybe someone else pick it up by mistake. I guess you just forgot to hang it up ... put it away. I didn't want you to wonder where it was when you came in next time."

His coat. Luka reached out and took it from her. There was nothing else he could do. There was a coffee stain on the sleeve from someone's discarded coffee cup. "Thanks." He could feel Susan watching him, watching them, puzzled. Quietly,"You didn't find it in the lounge, Abby. I left it ... where I left it, for a reason. And I know you know what that reason is. So don't pretend to be stupid. It doesn't become you." He limped over to the couch, sat down. Abby followed, continued talking softly.

"I just didn't want you to do something you'll regret later. I know you're angry. I would be too. But I think you'll want to hold on to that."

"For what? So I can be buried in it? I don't need it any more."

"Maybe someone will want to have it. Maybe your father? I know he's so proud of you, Luka."

He hadn't thought of that. Yeah ... maybe someone would want to have it. He'd have to think about it.

From the kitchen Susan said, "Lunch is ready. Are you sure you don't want to stay, Abby? We can put out another plate, it's no trouble."

"No, I need to get back to work. I'm just on a half hour lunch break and I'm going to be late getting back as it is." She got up. "I'll be seeing you, Luka. I can let myself out."

Luka just nodded. He wouldn't see her again. And his heart hurt at little at that. Something else he had ruined in his life. They could have been friends, stayed friends, if he hadn't been so afraid those first few months back home in Chicago. But then, time got away from them, and now it was too late. "Bye, Abby," he said softly, but she probably didn't hear him.

He heard the door open and close, and Susan said, "Are you coming to eat lunch?"

"In a minute." His voice broke. He held his coat in his hands, crushing it in his fists. Then he buried his face in the cotton fabric and cried.