All my life's a circle, but I can't tell you why,
The seasons spinning round again,
The years keep rolling by ….
I've found you a thousand times, I guess you've done the same …

(All My Life's a Circle, Harry Chapin)

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Abby struggled with the key. The door wouldn't open. Was the problem the lock, unfamiliar and a bit sticky, or was it because her hand was shaking too hard to turn it?

She'd told herself a thousand times since she'd hung up the phone that everything was fine. Luka was fine. He would have called her back, or called an ambulance himself if things were worse. But the fear still nagged at her.

The key finally turned; the door swung open. "Luka!" She didn't see him. The apartment felt empty, and as always, rather dark despite the late morning sunshine through the windows. The tv was on, tuned to a talk show. He'd be in the bedroom of course, resting. "Luka!" she called again. "Where are ..." and her voice cut off in shock.

He was sitting by the couch, on the floor. He leaned against the couch, his head resting on the seat. His eyes were closed and, even from the across the room Abby could see that his skin was grey and beaded with sweat. It plastered his hair to his forehead. He hadn't stirred, hadn't reacted to the sound of the door, or her voice or her footsteps.

For one brief, heart-rending instant, Abby was certain that he was dead. He was too still. But more, it was something in his face - drawn, slack, hollow, mouth slightly open. Abby had seen too many people die. And too often they looked just like that.

But no, he was breathing. As she got closer she heard the sound of it over the voices on the tv. Very rapid, very shallow, and very hoarse.

Relief and terror battled within her. He was alive, but something was clearly, horribly wrong. Abby dropped to her knees beside him, called his name again. She checked his pulse; like his breathing it was too rapid, too weak. And his skin was cold and clammy. Two trails of sweat trickled down his temples.

Abby shook him. "Luka! Come on ... open your eyes." An endless moment, then his eyelids fluttered. His eyes opened. He looked in her direction, and, for another long instant, didn't seem to see her. Then his eyes widened a little, and the glazed emptiness gave way to a look of pain. The frightening stillness was replaced by trembling and his breathing, still much too rapid, deepened a little. His hands clenched into fists.

"Luka? Can you hear me?" A nod. "What hurts?" Her own voice shook.

"Chest ..." Very faint. "Can't breathe ..."

Luka looked frightened now. More frightened than she'd ever seen him before. And, perhaps in response, Abby's nurse training kicked in. She instinctively pushed back her own fear and her manner became calm, reassuring, professional.

"Ok. Let's get you lying down." He was in shock, that much was clear. Really, everything was clear. Abby had been a nurse for too long, had seen these symptoms too often to be in any doubt about what was wrong. She'd seen pulmonary embolisms before. And Luka had seen them too. They had both seen patients die from them. Why hadn't he called for help? He had to have known what was happening.

She got him lying down on the floor, covered him with the blanket from the couch, all the while saying meaningless, reassuring things. "It's ok," she said. "Everything is going to be ok ... nice and easy now ..."

She had to go to the phone now, call 911. But as she started to stand, Luka grabbed her arm.

"Stay!" he gasped.

"I'm just going to the phone. I have to call an ambulance." Reluctantly, Luka released his grip on her arm and Abby went to get the phone. She saw his eyes following her, watching her. Then they fell shut. "Luka! Stay awake!" Dialing 911, she carried the receiver back to his side, took his hand. Luka's eyes opened again for a moment, then closed again. He was struggling to stay conscious, to breathe. His grip on her hand was weak. "Luka!" she said again. "You have to stay with me!"

The 911 operator answered, and Abby quickly gave her the address, then dropped the phone to give Luka her full attention. "Ok, help is coming," she said gently.

"It's here," Luka murmured, and tried to smile but couldn't quite manage it. He opened his eyes again, was watching her face. What was he looking at? Looking for?

Abby knew he shouldn't be talking, he needed to save his strength, but the quesion came out anyway. "Why didn't you call for help? Why did you wait so long?"

"Tried ... couldn't walk ... fell ..."

God ... why had she left him alone? In her imagination, Abby could see it. She saw Luka struggling to walk, trying to get to the phone, his pain and breathlessness increasing every moment, his legs giving way beneath him. And, all the while she had been off talking to Carter; thinking only of herself, of a meaningless relationship, of a man who meant nothing to her, had never really meant anything to her. Imagining that there was something salvageable there. Something worth having.

Luka's eyes closed once more. His grip on her hand was even weaker; barely there at all. "Luka!" Abby blinked back tears. "Stay with me!" she said again. Please ... stay with me. We belong together. Don't leave me now. A slight fluttering of his lashes, but he didn't open his eyes; his breathing was slow now, labored, he was running out of strength. He'd been struggling for too long.

"Just listen to my voice, Luka. Concentrate on my voice, and stay awake." And again, his eyes opened. For just an instant he looked at her, then they fell shut one more time.

His grip on her hand went slack - and he stopped breathing.

"No!" It was a cry of pain. Then Abby called his name again; shook him. He was limp, still. Almost afraid to check, she felt his throat. There was a faint vibration. He still had a pulse.

"Hold on, Luka ... try to hold on ..." Tilting his head back, Abby sealed her mouth on his, breathed air into his lungs, and was reassured by the sight of his chest rising slightly. A few more breaths, then she checked his pulse again. His heart was still beating.

But she shouldn't be doing this. Her mouth should be on his, but it should be kisses. She should be kissing him. How long had it been since she'd kissed him? She shouldn't have to be doing this. Abby wiped her eyes and pressed her mouth to his one more time. And heard sirens.