Author's comments: Well, well… I'm not even going to start to apologize – you all know that this, again, has taken thrice as long as it should have.

I hope you still put up with me, because with this chapter this story is taking a bit of a turn – I hope you like it, I have spent a great deal of thought on the storyline, and I decided to use this one… I'm motivated to write it anyways, and make sure to keep me that way, lol – translation; make sure you review it ;)
I LOVE all of you that have reviewed so far, I still can't believe how nice you are… J

CHAPTER TEN : WOMAN IN LOVE

6 a.m. 9th December, Chicago

A high, bright sound cut through her head like a knife. Thinking that the sound somehow came from inside her head, Susan squeezed her eyes together and switched positions in the bed, trying to catch up with the sleep that just until seconds before had been surrounding her like a soft, white, fluffy cloud. Not to mention that she had been having a wonderful dream.

But the sound only became sharper, and a ray of light teased her eyes no matter how hard she tried to keep them closed. Just as she was coming to terms with the fact that she was waking up and the wonderful dream only would remain a memory, she realized that the bright sound wasn't only a sound, but the sound of a happy and, unforgivably awake, voice.
"Good morning Chicago! It's 7.30 and I'm Peter Brown, your guide through the rainy weather. As you all have noticed it's raining like hell out there, but that doesn't matter when you have the golden opportunity to get all your favourite songs played by us and send granny your greetings in between. Yeah, that's right. Just call this number…-"

With a loud groan she reached out with her hand towards Peter Brown's voice, and just as he was repeating the number to the studio for the second time, she hit the "off" button and shut him up.
"God," she muttered and buried her face in the pillow. Who the hell had put the alarm on seven thirty…?
"The worst thing is that I probably did it myself…-" she muttered, slowly sitting up in the bed, knowing very well from past experiences that she wouldn't get any more sleep this morning.

Her hand was halfway through her messy hair when she realized that the room around her wasn't her bedroom.

This realization made her wake up completely in less than seconds. Just where the hell was she? Feeling both confused and frightened she looked around her, not recognizing one single thing. A simple bedroom, white walls, boxes on the floor, the boxes filled with books and something that looked like an extravagant bedspread or maybe just an ugly table cloth. No fresh flowers on the cabinet, no books by Barbara Wood or Belva Plain on the nightstand. Instead there was the alarm clock, shaped like some sort of vehicle, yesterday's Chicago Times, an unopened pack of cigarettes and a lighter with an obscure motif on it.

She tried to hide the fact that the sight of the plain white walls had ripped up something that felt like a fresh wound, letting disappointment and heartache stream out instead of blood, leaving an empty pain left, much worse than any physical wound could cause.

In her dream the bedroom walls had been made of brick.

Sounds from the other side of the door threw her back to reality. The door was opened and Ritchie stepped inside the room. She gasped at the sight of him.
"How…?" She began, before she suddenly remembered what had happened last night. But hadn't he said he'd drive her home…?

As if he could read her thoughts, he started explaining.
"I couldn't get into your apartment – so I figured that it'd be best to come here…" he said.
She frowned.
"You could have used my keys," she said.
He smiled.
"You were fast asleep, and I didn't want to wake you by asking how the hell do you organize that mess you call your handbag."
"It's no mess," she protested, making him smile even more.
"No?"
"No, it's not! Just… creative packing," she muttered, knowing that he was right. She really should organize that old purse of hers sometime. It was a rather good brand, after all. She had bought it for her first salary at the gas station where she had spent a summer in high school – her mother had screamed that she was nuts, but Chloe had loved it just as much as Susan did herself. They used to have the bag in turns – every time Chloe applied for a job she used it, thinking that carrying a DKNY bag would make her seem more qualified. Well, considering that she only applied for jobs that mainly were about arranging cans on shelves, it didn't help that much.

But it was still a good memory, Susan thought with a little smile on her face, playing with the fringes of the blanket while trying to ignore that Ritchie was looking at her in a rather persistent way.

He sat down at the end of what apparently was his bed, pulling up the legs of his black suit-trousers to avoid getting too many creases on them.
"You on your way to court?" she asked dryly, hoping that this lame attempt to joke about his fancy clothing would stop him from asking the questions she knew he, if he was anything like most people – would ask.
He chuckled.
"No. Work."
Obviously, she thought tiredly and once again let her fingers turn to the fringes of the blanket.
He gave her a through look.
"How are you feeling?" he asked with what she couldn't deny was honest concern, in his voice.
"I'm fine," she said, still toying with the fringes and avoiding his gaze.
"You weren't last night," he said taking her hands off the blanket and forcing her to look at him. She looked into his brown eyes for a second, then letting her tired gaze turn to the white, cell-like walls, almost feeling ashamed. Knowing that he had picked her up, listened to her teary ramblings, driven her home and let her sleep in his bed – it was all too much to take from an old enemy.
He sighed and looked down at the floor for a minute before starting to talk again.
"Have you thought about what to say to him?" he asked quietly, not wanting to push her but still wanting an answer.
"Ritchie, please don't…" Susan shook her head and held up her hand, looking down at the blanket.
"I can't say yet," she added, finally looking up and straight at him.
"But you will have to soon," he said, locking their gazes together.
"You don't have to make some grand speech…-"
She let out a dry laugh.
"I'm not planning to either, believe me!"
"… just say something, anything," he continued, ignoring her dry input.

Seeing that she still didn't take what he said seriously, or at least not finding it reply-worthy, he once again tried to give her a proper subject to take the forthcoming conversation from.
"Well, what do you usually talk about?"
Once again she gave him a dry laugh.
"What we talk about? X-rays? Patients? We don't talk, never have – that's the problem."

Ritchie sighed, getting short on subjects and, to be honest, patience. If this was what being in love made the usually so talkative and strong Susan Lewis turn into – then he surely was glad her feelings wasn't meant for him.
"Then why are you in love with him?" he asked, trying not to sound too impatient.
"I don't know!" She whined, hiding her face in her hands and shaking her head.
Now Ritchie's patience was up. He grabbed her hands and forced her to look at him.
"Susan, get a grip!"
She gave him an angry look and tried to get out of his grip, but, just as last night, he was much stronger.
"What the hell do you think you're…-" she began, but he interrupted her.
"This is not the Susan I know…-" he said, still annoyed, but also still with concern in his voice.
She looked down again, biting her lower lip.
"-…or," he added, "…- the Susan Luka knows, and it definitely ain't the Susan you will want him to know. You will have to collect yourself together, for God's sake! Like this you'll never be able to help anyone, even less able to help the depressed, suicidal Valium addict you for some reason are in love with."
She kept looking down, and he sighed deeply, getting up from the bed.
"I have to go. Think about what I said."

He stood up, picked up what apparently were his keys from the mirror table and headed for the door when he suddenly stopped, starting to go through his pockets as if suddenly having remembered something he couldn't get through the day without.
She saw it, and thinking that she knew what he was looking for she turned to the nightstand.
"Looking for these?" she asked, holding up the cigarette pack.
He turned around with a surprised look on his face. When he saw the cigarettes his face got a sheepish look instead.
"Yeah. Trying not to."
She frowned.
"Trying to quit by having an unopened pack on the nightstand?"
He smiled.
"Got one in every room. Self-torture."
"Right…" she said, looking at him and letting the first smile of the day spread over her face.
He laughed, the boyish grin making him seem younger than he was.
She watched him as he went through his pockets once again, and suddenly she saw bits and pieces of all the men she had ever trusted in him. Carter's boyishness, Doug's friendliness, Mark's genuine concern… and Dix's bad sense of humour too.
She tried for several minutes to find something of Luka in him, but without success. At first she was bugged by it, but she came to peace with it after a while.

Maybe Luka was too complex to have obvious similarities with anyone.

Ritchie seemed finally to be done with his pockets and turned back to Susan.
"Think about what I said, OK?" he said again.
She nodded.
"I will."
"You might think about unpacking a few boxes too, while you're at it," he said with a smile.
"You wish!" she laughed, playfully throwing a pillow at him.

He left after assuring her that she could stay in the apartment even without organizing his books, and while eating the strawberry yoghurt Ritchie practically had forced upon her, Susan took a look around the apartment. It was very similar to hers of course, but the fact that it was next door to her place made everything seem reversed, and therefore pretty funny. His bathroom was where her bedroom was, and her dining table was standing next to his stove, only the wall between them. As she ate the yoghurt and wandered around the flat she realized that Ritchie had quite a personal way of unpacking – there were ten books in one bookcase, four in the next one and only a few framed photos in the third, standing alone on the shelf in a way that made them seem rather lonely.

"Why did he leave you here…?" she said to the frames as she walked up to them, not noticing the weirdness of having a conversation with three framed photos.
She stopped right in front of the bookcase, and suddenly saw that her framed friends weren't as lonely as they seemed – next to them laid a bunch of other pictures, just waiting to be framed.
"Hey, you're here too," she said cheerily, as if she just had seen half of her graduating class standing in front of her.
She picked up the pictures, and looked at the first ones. They were mainly of mountains and other nature sceneries, and suddenly she remembered that Ritchie was an enthusiastic mountain climber that had been spending more time in the Grand Canyon than in Phoenix while she was in Arizona. Once he had been limping around the ER for weeks after spraining an ankle on one of his many filed trips.

Every once in a while a woman came up on the pictures, short brown hair, nice smile. Out of curiosity Susan turned back and forth on the pictures, trying to find any lead whatsoever to who she was. The fifth picture was already turned upside down, and she turned it right, expecting to see the unknown woman again. But she didn't. Instead of seeing the woman on the picture, she looked right into Luka's eyes.

He was sitting at some sort of table, with the same Doctors Without Border's coat that he had been wearing on the picture Ritchie showed her in the car last night. The look on his face was frowning - as if the first thing he would ask Ritchie when he was done photographing was what the hell he was doing with a camera in the middle of a war zone.
His eyes were even more soulful than usual, seeing right through her. She shivered at the sight, as if the photo brought back memories from way back, memories of a man she thought she had known, but that now was slipping away from her.

Unaware of that she did it, she let her fingers caress his hair on the picture. The Bosnian wind was playing with it, making her remember the feeling of dragging her hands through it. A pleasant feeling it was, and she closed her eyes for a second, letting recent events come back to her.

Everything was insane. She was standing here like a complete fool, not knowing why she felt like she did and even less knowing what she did feel. Thinking about Ritchie's rather harsh summary of things, she sat down on his couch.
"Like this you'll never be able to help anyone, and less the depressed, suicidal Valium addict you for some reason are in love with."

It was a way to put it, but she had to admit that it was better than anything she had come up with to summarize things. She knew he was right – she wasn't herself and she had to get her head back where it belonged. Start behaving like an adult, for God's sake.

Even more annoyed with herself now than a few seconds ago she rose up from the couch and walked up to the mirror in the hall. She stared at herself, locked her eyes in the ones in the mirror. Old make-up all over her face, hair looking like it hadn't been either washed or brushed for ages.
"Why are you in love with him?" she asked the mirror, her voice almost accusing, as if she was asking a diabetic patient why on earth he wasn't taking his insulin.
"I don't know…."
The mirror image whined, and she got even more annoyed. It was like the woman in the mirror was only a part of her, a part she wanted to erase, never wanted to have to face again. It was the woman that had cried her heart out on a bench, the woman that couldn't make herself go home to her own apartment but chose to be an intruder in an apartment owned by a man she thought she knew, but that now suddenly seemed to have done a 180 into a totally different person. It was a woman that wanted a man to take care of her. A needy, whining woman she didn't want to be.

And, utterly – a doctor that had fallen in love with her patient. The deadly sin. It didn't happen often, but when it did it was despicable. Wrong, horrible, forbidden. Professors and teachers used it as an example of everything that wasn't being a doctor.

She knew very well that she was exaggerating a bit, but to get some sort of balance between the woman in the mirror and the one in front of it she felt that every was exaggeration needed. She wanted to blame the woman in the mirror for everything, wanted to make her so wrong and so horrible that she somehow would disappear from the surface of earth – be wiped away, disappear like a dead leaf in a stormy autumn night. Blaming the woman in the mirror for committing the deadly sin would make the woman in front of the mirror seem good in comparison – she had only fallen in love with a friend. An addict and deeply depressed person, but still.

With a sigh Susan broke the intensive eye contact with her mirror image. She was being childish. There was no difference between the woman in front of and inside the mirror, that was a little girl's game she had played in her and Chloe's bedroom twenty-five years ago. There was no mirror woman and no deadly sin committed. Luka wasn't a random patient, and she wasn't his doctor. That she had let her emotions carry her away a snowy December afternoon was no excuse for acting like a zombie. She could walk around Chicago, she could talk to photographs and mirrors but she would still not get rid of the insane feelings inside of her. The only way to do that was to confront them. Not confront them through a mirror or another woman's mind, but to face them head on and not act like a teenager with a crush.

She had put a stop to her life as a teenager the day Dr. Kayson came rolling in on that gurney, and she wasn't intending on going back.

After taking a deep breath and dragging her hand through her hair she went to the door, opened it and left Ritchie's unpacked boxes behind as she walked into her own apartment. The door slammed shut behind her, and she fixed her eyes on the phone on the hall table in front of her.

Croatia

He cursed loudly when he heard the sharp ringing of the phone cut through the room inside. Not intending on going back inside he froze on the veranda, letting it ring twice, three times. After the fourth he took a deep breath and yelled loud enough to be heard in the basement.
"Natalia!! Answer, damned!"
Five times, seven.
Dubravko swore again and pulled the door, running towards the direction of the sound. As the ninth ring faded out he picked it up.
"Kovac," he said while trying to pull off his right glove with his teeth.
It was quiet in the other end for a while, but then he heard the same, in comparison to Natalia, light voice that he had heard about a week ago in the same phone.
"Dubravko…?" she asked, almost sounding nervous.
He shook his head in disbelief, almost laughing. Susan Lewis it was, no doubt about that. That she actually called…. He hadn't believed she would.
"Yes," he said, wondering what she wanted.
He could almost hear her taking a deep breath back there thousands of miles away.
"How… How have things been?" she managed to get out.
He bit his lower lip.
"Fine," he lied, not really knowing why but the minute he let out the words he knew it had been the right thing to say. How would the truth make things any better? It wasn't like she could do anything to help from where she was. He didn't want her help either.
She let out what sounded like a sigh of relief.
"So, is Luka doing better then?"
"Sure…" Dubravko said absently, staring out of the window in order to avoid the crucifix on the wall in front of him. The view outside surprised him – it was snowing. It must have started only seconds earlier.
"Can I talk to him?"
Her question made the snow disappear in front of his eyes. He dragged his hand through his hair, cursing under his breath, still turned away from the crucifix.
"No…" he began, not having a clue about what to say next.
He could almost see the doctor-like frown on her face. He didn't know why he called it doctor-like, actually – he always connected anything bad with the hospital world, both because he himself almost fainted at the sight of blood, but also because of what that world had done to Luka.
It was pretty ironic, actually. How much hadn't he sacrificed to get there, and then it almost killed him.
Her inevitable question came faster than he had expected.
"Why not?"
He could hear something else in her voice now – first she had been nervous, then relieved, now there was a third emotion. Fright? Anxiety? Maybe even desperation.
"Why not?" she repeated her question, and now he could tell that it was fright that filled her voice.
He grabbed the first excuse he could come up with.

"He's asleep," he said, coldly counting on she wouldn't ask him to wake Luka up.
Once again he could hear her exhale heavily. Relief again, even more than last time.
"Well, let him sleep then," she said, sounding as if she smiled.
He nodded, even though he knew she couldn't see it.
"I'll tell him you called," he said in a somewhat normal voice, trying not to show how glad he was that she had believed him.
"If you would," she said, almost sounding happy for the first time during the conversation. Knowing that she only was relieved because he had lied to her gave him a unpleasant feeling, but he tried to shake it off him. What did it matter, what she believed or knew. And, the odds that Luka indeed was sleeping were very high. As a matter of fact he hadn't opened his eyes in almost two days. They said that he was only barely conscious, but as long as his heart beat strong there surely was nothing to worry about….
No, what would be better if she knew?
He was just doing her a favour.
Telling himself that, he hung up, only to see Natalia standing on the threshold to the kitchen.
"Who was it?" she asked - not angrily, but not exactly calmly either.
Thinking there was no need in lying to his wife too, he told her the truth.
"Susan Lewis. That American doctor, you know…"
He didn't get any further before Natalia interrupted him.
"When is she coming here then?"
He frowned, honestly surprised.
"What?"
Natalia crossed her arms over her chest, pulling the red cardigan tighter around her as she saw the snow outside. Or maybe she just felt the normal temperature of the hall, which usually was about the temperature outside. He should really do something about that ventilation system sometime. It worked a bit too well.
"I take that you told her to come here," she added calmly looking straight at him.
"No," he said with a laugh, wondering where his wife got all her ideas from.
"Why on earth not?"
He laughed again.
"You're serious, aren't you?"
She took a few steps towards him.
"Of course I'm serious! Damn, Dubravko… – when will you understand that we can't do this by ourselves?"
She added the last in a bit more tender voice, but he didn't hear it.
"We don't need her here! There are enough doctors at that hospital as it is," he added in annoyed voice.
"Then why don't they know what the problem is?" she replied angrily. "What are you going to do, to let him die before getting help?!"
"He is not dying!" Dubravko burst out. He tried to laugh, but the laughter got stuck somewhere in his throat.
"Then why has he been unconscious for two days?"
"It's not two days yet!"
"Dubravko! You know as well as I do that he hasn't said two words since he fell asleep on Wednesday, and it's not good!"
"Well, he obviously needs the sleep…" Dubravko began, but Natalia shook her head.
"Did she tell you this is normal? Because if she did, then I will call her and say that it's everything but right and normal!"
"No, she didn't," he sighed. "And don't get so…-"
He didn't have the time to finish "worked up" before Natalia interrupted him.
"You didn't tell her, did you?"
He sighed again.
"I didn't see why I should have," he then said.
She rolled her eyes angrily.
"No, of course you didn't! Your brother is dying, and you don't see why you should tell a doctor about it…!"
"Jesus, what difference would it make?" he asked, realizing that this was turning into the argument of the day. Or the argument of the week, actually. It wasn't the first time Natalia said that Susan should come to Croatia. She had picked up the topic as soon as she had heard the woman's name, but he had managed to convince her every time that it wasn't necessary. Until now. She had that look in her eyes, the look that told him that the only way he'd get out of this was to either let her have her way, hit her or leave the house, and since he was not one to give up or a coward that beat up his wife instead of bantering with her, he knew that he would have to leave.
He walked to the door, opened it and stepped out.
"Damned Dubravko, don't you walk away like that!" she yelled, following him as far as her indoor sandals would let her, which wasn't that far.

The door slammed shut, and she stared angrily at it. How could he be so stupid?
She looked at the door, and heard him try to start the car. Once, twice, and then the engine died. She knew exactly how he was swearing out there right now, and with any luck the car troubles would make him calm down enough before getting to the hospital where he would take Tito's place at Luka's bedside.
The car started, and he drove away, leaving her standing there, still staring at the door.
She thought for two seconds, then she walked back to the phone and picked it up, pressed the button that dialed back to the last used number and said a silent prayer that it would be the receiver who would have to pay for the call.

Chicago

Susan was standing on the middle of the living room with the white phone in her hand. She smiled, but she still didn't know what she felt. It had been such a short call, she had spent most of the time being scared to death of what Dubravko would say, and when he hung up she still had a thousand of questions to ask.

But Luka was doing fine. At least that was good. A bit unexpected, considering his condition when he left County, but… Maybe home surroundings had more of a medical effect than she had thought.

She sat down next to her window, and looked out on the wintry day while leaning her chin against the phone in her hands.
There was just something that bugged her… Something, something that didn't add up.

Maybe she was just being overdramatic. Luka was fine, everything was fine. Maybe she had wanted to be his saviour, maybe that was all there had been. Maybe she had tried to fix what she hadn't been able to fix in Div, maybe she had seen something of Chloe in him when it was at its worst. Maybe that was all it was.

If it was, then she was alone again.

Her melancholic thoughts were interrupted by the phone under her chin ringing, almost giving her a heart attack. As if rudely awoken, she picked it up.
"Hello?" she said, not sure who she expected it to be. Her mother? Hardly. Carter or Weaver? More likely. Abby or Jing-Mei? Possibly.
"Susan Lewis…?" she heard the woman in the other end say, pronouncing the name carefully as if she didn't want to forget any letters, but still her heavy Eastern European accent shone through.
"Yes," Susan said, standing up as if she would hear better that way.
A short pause, and then the dark, slightly husky but still somehow very clear voice was back.
"My name is Natalia Kovac, Dr. Lewis. You just spoke to my husband, and I think I will have to correct what he told you."
The woman's name was familiar. Luka had told her about a Natalia, Dubravko's wife with whom he was always fighting. The Hollywood-worthy marriage and the kids, how many she wasn't sure of. Three, or was it four? Well, that probably didn't matter right now.
And what did she mean by 'having to correct' what Dubravko had said? Had he misunderstood something, but how could he have, he was there, wasn't he? Had he been lying to her, but why would he have? And why was Natalia so horribly straight forward?!
"What do you mean…?" Susan asked carefully, almost not wanting an answer. The more she thought of it, the more she realized that this was serious, important, not a joke. Luka's family was poor, they would never waste a phone call to America on something that wasn't necessary.
"Dubravko didn't tell you the whole truth, Dr Lewis," Natalia said, still unbelievably calm.
"Call me Susan, please," she said, feeling a lot more nervous that two seconds ago.
"What didn't he tell me?" she continued, biting her lip.
"Luka is not doing all that well, Susan," Natalia said.
Susan pressed her teeth tighter against her lip and closed her eyes before continuing.
"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice trembling a bit.
"He hasn't woken up for more than a few minutes in two days. They don't know what's wrong."
Susan sat down at the first place she could find, which happened to be her kitchen table.
"Is he…- Is he at the hospital?" she finally managed to get out.
"Yes. He collapsed two and a half days ago here at home. He just lost consciousness and suddenly barely breathed…-"
"Had he taken anything?" Susan interrupted, dragging her hand through her hair. "Valium, Vicodin, anything?"
"I don't know… But he hasn't been able to keep anything down, not even to drink anything.
Susan sighed and leaned her forehead against the palm of her hand.
"God, we should have never let him leave…" she thought out aloud.
"No," Natalia said calmly. "I don't think you should have."
"God," Susan said again. "Do you know what they have given him, anything… What have they said…?" she then asked, knowing it probably was hopeless. If Natalia had heard anything at all then she probably wouldn't remember it, and if she would have, then it'd still be in Croatian. And not of any help to her.
"I think… I think he's taking Valium again," Natalia said, for the first time with uncertainty in her voice.
"He stopped taking them?!"

"I think… I'm not sure… Maybe."
"Oh Jesus," Susan groaned, getting up from the table.
"What is it?" Natalia asked, sounding both worried and frightened.
"Natalia," Susan said, trying to sound calm – "make sure he takes every damn pill until I get there."
"Are you coming here?" Natalia asked, not sounding as surprised as Susan had been when she had heard her own words, but as if it had been the most normal thing in the world.

She let them sink in for a few moments, then she replied.
"Yes, I'm coming. Tell him I'm coming."