I used to feel you breathe, but now I hardly see you.

He rounded the corner in a rush, disappearing into the drug lock-up in search of anything that may be needed for the trauma. He'd normally send the nurse, but Chuny and Inez were pretty busy calming the Spanish speaking patient and transcending past the requirements that their jobs entailed. He wasn't leaving the nurses to handle the trauma alone, Ray was in there.

He paused in his step, his blood covered gown drifting down to reveal his thin, white t-shirt, before entirely entering the room.

His eyes were frantically moving across the shelves, and at first glance, he hadn't noticed Sam leaning against the counter to the side of the shelves, her head in her hands. His heart tugged in her direction, but his personal persona quickly left him as a heavy wave of a professional relationship reminded him that he shouldn't care. He could hardly see her, let alone recognize her.

He took a step to the side as she looked up, immediately noticing just how embarrassed she was with her cheeks flushed and tearstains on her face. He stepped towards her again, his eyes locked on her defeated frame as he became overwhelmed with what he should do and what he wanted to do. He knew that he should grab the medicine and leave like he'd never seen anything, but he couldn't.

He swallowed a large gulp, annoyed with himself for still caring for her.

"Are you all right?" His voice was grave, deep in his chest and struggling to escape from him, as he reached forward and laid a hand on the shelf. He rested all of his weight against the shelves. He'd lost his mind, speaking to someone that he hardly knew.

"What?" She furrowed her eyebrows, her face contorting in surprise. She didn't expect him to speak to her of all people, let alone without her speaking to him first. She lifted her hands to her face and wiped away the quiet tears, shaking her head. "I'm fine, Luka. Really."

"Sam, I know you," he spoke softly and sighed through his slightly parted lips. He trickled his fingers along the shelf as he warily dragged his other hand through his thick, flowing hair. "You're not fine. Please tell me."

"It's nothing, Luka. It has nothing to do with you," she shook her head, clearly defeated. She could hardly form words above a whisper, her body shaking with each outward breath.

"You always seemed to keep it that way," he narrowed his eyes in her direction. He drew in a deep breath, ignoring the pain in his chest at her physical struggle. "Why won't you talk to me?"

"Why are you doing this, Luka? Quit pretending."

"I've been pretending," he sighed, annoyed with the direction that the conversation had taken. He was annoyed that even after 3 months, he still cared and there was nothing that he could do about it. It hurt him to know that no matter who came into his life it'd still hurt to be that close without being able to reach out touch her. But this time he ignored it all, and he reached out to lightly touch her arm. "I've been pretending that it doesn't hurt."

"Luka," she spoke to him warningly, as she would a child – her child, and she took a step back to escape from his gentle touch. It was hard to let him touch her, if only for a brief second, because she wanted to be with him, no matter how much of a mistake it would be. "We both know that this doesn't work."

"What doesn't work?"

"You. Me. Us," she shook her head, sighing slightly exasperated. She could be mad at him; she could be mad at herself. "We can't do this. It doesn't do us any good. We don't get anywhere."

"I'm not asking for that, Sam," he shook his head, his eyes rolling as he was becoming aggravated with the whole situation. He was beginning to wonder why he even asked her if she was all right; he knew it would lead to an unwanted conversation.

"Then, what are you asking for?" She gave him a once over, shifting her gaze away from him as her eyes glazed over. Her hand rested on her hip as her other one pressed against the counter. She found herself wanting what she'd told herself all along she couldn't have: him.

"I don't know," he sighed, untying the yellow gown and letting it drop to the floor. His t-shirt was tight to his body, and she found herself gawking at him – noting how much weight he'd put on from all of the take out she knew he'd never admit to her that he'd eaten. "I don't know what I'm asking for anymore. If you would have asked me that a few months ago I could tell you, but I don't know the answer to that anymore."

She shrugged, her eyes going back to him with tears threatening to fall. She bit her bottom lip, not knowing what to say. The one thing she did know was that he was different, and not just physically. He was actually letting her in, he was just too late doing it.

"I've made mistakes, Sam. A lot of them-"

"We all make mistakes, Luka," she shook her head to accompany her shrug. She watched him narrow his eyes in her direction, and she reluctantly stepped toward him. "It's what we do best."

"I don't want to keep making the same mistake," he shook his head, stepping forward quickly and catching her tiny waist in his grasp. He looked at her for a solid moment, seeing the confusion in her eyes as he kept his hands on her. He leaned in, beginning to recognize her for the first time in 3 months, and let his lips softly find hers.

It was different than he remembered, but then again he could hardly remember.

He let his hands conform to her waist as he felt her fingertips slowly trickle across the back of his neck. He felt himself lean into her, turning until he couldn't push back anymore. He was lost against her, his lips fused against hers as their tongues were in a battle between right and wrong; until her arms were no longer around his neck but her hands beneath his chin.

He drew out one last breath as he stepped back, dropping his hands from her and dragging a hand through his hair. He looked at her, his eyes meeting hers to find her as equally hurt as he was. They were now both broken and defeated pillars, wanting nothing more than crumble into the other.

She gave him one last lingering look as he reached out to touch her cheek, but she stepped away towards the door. He reached out and grabbed her wrist, his other hand pressed deep into his hip, catching her attention for just a moment more.

"This…"

"I'm sorry," she simply shook her head and stepped out of the room, leaving him alone.

He stepped forward, his anger beginning to fume as he found himself in the exact same place he'd found himself three months before. He balled his fist up, and hit the cage with al of the anger that he had built up within a three month period.

He let things get away from him, and he didn't take a step back until it was far too late.