"You okay?"

"My hands are cold."

Luka's hands were shaking by then, and he was forced to move his legs before anyone else in the trauma room could notice; he inhaled a deep breath while hoping that his team of co-workers would continue to work on the patient before all hope was lost. His leg was aching; at least, that's what he thought was aching. He wasn't really sure anymore.

He didn't remember much about the night before, except that he and Sam had made love, but he really couldn't recall anything furthermore. He didn't really remember anything from when he'd taken that pill, because of the combined pain of his leg and his head, the pounding in it had been barely bearable, until he was broken free of his trance on the TV by Sam walking down the stairs. His eyes had been locked and focused so hard, but he hadn't been retaining anything.

He felt hardly alive and hardly breathing, that he was only moving out of habit not because his brain was actually telling his body to move. It was sharp breaths for him as he pushed the doors of the trauma room open, forgetting to mutter some simple English words of asking his coworkers if they had it, and he walked down the hall in rather large strides. It was as though he had a destination that even he couldn't figure out what it was, but he found himself standing in the middle of the doctor's lounge.

Luka opened his locker and dug through the pockets of his coat, as though it were a search for something that his life depended on and he only had minutes to live; with a deep inhale, he let the rush run out of him and felt a chill take its place. He wasn't expecting for his hands to start shaking; in fact, it made him feel rather weak – but it wasn't something that he could control.

He stepped back, leaving his locker open as he collapsed onto the couch; he dropped his head to his hands and desperately attempted to calm his body with short, rapid breaths. His attempts were useless, and he felt tears spring to his eyes as a lone tear slipped down his cheek, staining it as it made a trail to his lips and stung the cracks in his bottom lip. His shoulders heaved but the sobs never came; his breathing was a raspy struggle as his voice begged to cry out. It was the first time that he'd shed a single tear for everything, he realized.

Scrubbing his hand across his face as he inhaled deep breath through his fingers, he forced himself into a standing position with his hand outstretched to search the pockets of his coat again. He shook his head when he found that, even though he had searched twice, he had found absolutely nothing, and he grasped tightly onto his locker door and threw it shut – the lockers rattling down the row. Oxygen, he needed some fucking oxygen.

He felt like his lungs were constricting in his chest, and he lightly touched his fingertips over his broad skin hoping to drown out the pain with his own touch. He was desperate, not only was his body desperate but his mind was desperate as well – he thought that he was experiencing some altered mental status or something. He could walk as fast as he could, but he wouldn't be able to hide the pain all day; it wasn't one of those that came and went – it was there until he found a way to get rid of it.

"Damn it!" His voice carried throughout the walls of the doctor's lounge.

He was beginning to feel physically sick, the vomit crawling up the back of his throat and inching its way up in such a grotesque state that he didn't even want to imagine what was going to happen next. He swallowed the large lump in his throat, hoping that it would force down every last thought that would make him become less of the person he'd tried convince everyone he was. He was strong in stature but weak in mind, and he felt the anger inside of him growing at the thought of himself.

His hands began to shake again, and he decided there was only one option to make all of the pain – mental and physical – go away. He dragged himself across the hall and into the drug lock-up, making sure that one noticed him, although, he was really to the point that he really didn't care, sweeping his hand across the chain in front of the window. His fingertips were rough against the coolness of the metal chain.

He let his fingers tap over the edge of the shelf, as though he was covering his shaking by making himself attempt a tune against the shelving, and he eyed the bottles of pills and vile warily. He was a bit reluctant in taking some from their own stock, but he needed the feeling of sensation that the medication brought him for him to continue on with the day; otherwise, he'd be a useless wreck barely breathing in the presence of his movements. No one wanted him to be a zombie, did they?

He quickly grabbed a vile, and slipped it into his pocket as he made his way to a free room with the hope that he could do this himself. It had been a very long time since he'd been forced to find his own vein and do anything on his own, momentarily remembering when he was in med school and found that the best way to practice was on himself, but he wouldn't – couldn't – let anyone know what he was doing. It would ruin him; it would ruin everything that he'd made for himself.

He sneaked off into a dark room, leaving the lights off as he searched the drawers for a clean and unused needle as his hands continued to shake. He was weary to do this himself, his hands shaking horribly beyond belief and making red flags shoot out in his mind in question of how he was going to do it himself if his hands didn't become still, but he would end up being a ball on the floor if he didn't. He HAD to do it, he would die without it.

He reached into his pocket for the vile and withdrew the liquid into the syringe; he tapped the needle with a solid flick into the syringe grasped tightly in his shaky hand. He pushed the needle into his arm, hoping that he'd hit his vein because he couldn't really feel the pinch in his skin – he couldn't believe that he was shaking so horribly that he was going numb. He wasn't sure how he'd managed to discover that finding his own vein while his hands were shaking was just as easy as painting by numbers would be.

He managed to cross the room and dispose of the syringe and needle, throwing the vile into the bottom of the trash and hearing the glass of it shatter as he knew that the liquid contained in it would drench the bottom of the trash can. He stumbled back to the gurney, placing his hands on the rolling bed to steady himself as he rolled onto his side; he felt like a mess – like he'd been hit by a train and then ran over by a herd of horses, twice. He was still – he was becoming still.

He felt the fight was over and drawing nearer to calmness. He let the drug take over his body, going to the very nerves that was attached to all of the pain that rested in his body – that rested deep into his soul – and made those nerves dead to the world until he was human again. That's exactly what he needed – to be a fucking human again.

A fucking human again.

He laid back on the gurney, hoping that the thrashing and movements were reserved only for nights – when he tried to sleep – and he threw an arm over his eyes to block the light. He pulled his knee towards his chest and pressed his foot against the rolling bed beneath him, letting his other leg hang off so that he could make a move towards the floor if his beeper were to go off. He sighed, feeling sleep deep within him but knowing that it would never come.

The door slightly cracked and a sliver of light appeared through the door to collide with the remotely darkened room, making him squint as the light peeked its way inside of his arm. He sighed haphazardly as he looked in the direction of the shadow; unsure of whom it was that interrupting him from, well, not sleeping, and he sat up. No matter how hard he looked, he couldn't seem to decipher who it actually was.

"Go away; page me if you need something," his mouth hung up slightly as he pushed his tongue into the inside of his bottom lip, making it stick out a bit, and he clutched the bedding in his tight grasp. If he were honest with himself, he actually appreciated the interruption – it gave him reason to not sleep. "They have the number at the desk."

"Luka?"

He could place the voice; she sounded so weak, not at all like she used to sound when she spoke to him, but then again, that was when he had loved her and nothing could go wrong between them. Something had to of gone wrong between them, but he couldn't place exactly what had gone wrong – maybe it was that she'd disregarded him and his feelings to just abort his child like that. That child was just as much his as it was hers, but he'd tried to make it work – he just couldn't see passed the volatile human being that she was.

"Yeah?"

"Umm, Kerry Weaver's been trying to get a hold of you. She's on line 2 right now."

He sighed as she disappeared from the doorway, less interaction the better, he guessed.

-

Luka angrily pulled the button up dress shirt from the waist of his pants, annoyed by yet another shirt being ruined by blood being smeared across it in the midst of a trauma. He couldn't even recall how many shirts that week had been ruined because of the blood splattering in the middle of a trauma, but he was beginning to remember why he hated having a herd of brand new med students. Most of the blood he found himself drenched in was form bags of O-Neg, not from the patient; he had at least expected brilliant minds to have the ability to insert an IV, but obviously he'd expected too much.

He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it from his body, letting it become a huddle on the floor beside his feet as he searched in his locker for a t-shirt or a scrub top. He sighed, slightly exasperated that he'd entered the lounge without a different shirt on hand and it prompted him to kick the base of the lockers as though it was giving him a release that he needed. His shoe squeaked as he turned on his heel, slamming his locker as hard as he possibly could.

He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of a blonde haired woman, the long hair tied tightly in a bun behind her head, and her height exceeding Sam's by a few inches. He didn't know what to do or say, but he became suddenly aware that he was half naked; he was always self cautious to let someone look at his body, but a complete stranger made him antsy – he hated the beach for that exact reason. He sucked in his bottom lip and began biting at it to save his life.

She stood tall, her hands in her coat pockets, and she appeared to be unwavering; her nerves were calm – maybe he was just uptight – and it seemed as though nothing could rattle her. Her eyebrows rose for a moment, her mind obviously beginning to move a million times a minute, and she shook her head slightly. He'd never seen her before – why not?

"Who the hell are you?"

His voice rumbled deep in the back of his throat as he finally formed words together at the sight of this woman. She was – she'd captivated him like he hadn't been captivated since when he'd first met his wife. He hated that these women could play tricks on him so easily.

He narrowed his eyes in her general direction, hoping to make her shift in her stance or to get some other kind of general reaction out of her, but she never seemed take her eyes off of him in one of those 'I'm watching you' looks. He could honestly say that he didn't know what to think of this woman – she was in his department, wearing one of his lab coats, appearing to be doing his job. He'd kick her ass in a trauma – he'd see to it.

"Who the hell are you?" She could counter him immediately, and that sent something, he wasn't sure what, all the way down to the hollow pits of his stomach. She didn't seem to be flustered at the sight of him, like most other women, and that stirred something inside of him. Tension.

She pursed her lips together as his eyes openly traced her face, her body, and she wasn't sure if it was to get an image of her to imprint onto his brain or if it was because he was somehow attracted to her; her first day back, she certainly was in no absolutely no mood to have a stranger drink her in. Already, she didn't like this tall, dark, and undoubtedly handsome doctor standing before her – obviously believing that his looks would get him somewhere in the world. She didn't know that her looks were the last thing on his mind, and he was trying to find words to express himself.

"I'm the hell person who's the acting chief of this department," he angrily stared, having long forgotten that he was shirtless and his chest was bare to anyone who would dare enter. His chest heaved as he breathed in sharp and rugged breaths, shoving his hands into his hips and encircling them with a tight grip as he leaned back on his leg.

She let out a slightly annoyed breath, also relieved to finally know who the half naked man in the room was. She was beginning to understand the gossip and how Chuny had "informed" her of Dr. Luka Kovac and his undeniable masculine beauty, as she'd so nicely put it, would take some getting used to and she'd be unable to tear her eyes away from him. It wasn't difficult for her to look this man in the eye – in fact, attraction in Chicago was the last thing on her agenda after the last bit of romance she'd gotten a piece of – and she could honestly say that he was a complete mess. But, until further notice, he was her technical boss.

"I'm Dr. del Amico, but call me Anna," she offered him a smile, but it was painted across her face and faker than the plant in the corner, as she outstretched her hand for him to take. She was surprised when he took it, absently dragging his other hand down his chest as though he were embarrassed, and he gave it a firm shake. "Kerry was telling me that you had your hands full down here."

"Are you being transferred here from another department?"

His eyebrows furrowed as he pursed his lips in confusion, scratching the back of his head as he attempted to search the room for something to cover his upper half with. Anna remembered a scrub top being in one of the cabinets that she'd found earlier, and she began searching above the counters. She shook her head.

"I'm your new emergency peds attending," she paused in her search and looked at him over her shoulder, offering him a smile, "I like to live the double life."

"Right," he nodded his head, slightly skeptical.

"I was an intern here many, many years ago – I worked at CHOP," she found the scrub top and offered it to him, then reaching aside for a cup of coffee.

"What the hell is CHOP?"

He asked her while taking the proffered shirt and letting it unfold, noticing that she hadn't seemed to offer him a second glance. He had mixed emotions – it could have been from the drug and it could have been from the lack of sleep – all he knew is that she was a beautiful woman. He'd only admit it to himself, but she was even more beautiful than Sam and he'd thought he was so completely head over heels for her.

He must have been wrong.

She had skin like a light chocolate milk mixture that made her country look a bit more attractive than she might have normally been, and, if he had to guess, he'd say that with age she would have been more beautiful than she was 10 years ago. Her eyes were a dark chocolate that mixed a bit too wonderfully with her pinkish toned skin, and it made him kick himself for looking at her for a bit too long. He should be stabbing himself, especially since he had a girlfriend.

She smirked, a quiet laugh at herself for just noticing the heavy accent in his voice, and she watched him as he pulled the scrub top on over his head. She wasn't watching him, per say, she'd sooner admit that she was waiting until she was certain he could hear her. She was definitely going to hate herself in the morning.

"CHOP is the hospital that I worked at in Philadelphia," Anna saw his eyes flicker at the mention of a place he might recognize.

"Oh," he pursed his lips together, reaching down onto the bench and grabbing his stethoscope to drape around his broad shoulders. He felt guilty now, not so unashamed at having been shirtless and countering the situation with his staring, and he tried to keep his eyes from turning into her direction; he rubbed the back of his neck, the heat spreading across it scraping beneath his nails. "Well, I guess it's good to have you."

He hadn't meant to sound so disappointed at an addition to his staff, but he was tired and slightly angry with everything in his life. He was suffering, and therefore everyone around him was suffering as well – he knew that with Anna there to threaten his position, he was going to have to step it up and ignore everything that he felt deep inside of him. He was going to become mechanical.

"Are you kidding? County always draws you back," she smiled, watching him cross the room to get himself a cup of steaming coffee. She leaned back against the countertop, Luka beside her as he leaned his waist into the edge of the countertop and obviously relaxing as the contents of the hot liquid slid down the back of his throat with the small sip. "So, why are you acting chief of the ER?"

He laughed quietly, his head turning towards her slightly. She wondered if he did that often- smiled, truly smiled – because he had one of those smiles that would be contagious if he only did it often. She could tell by the rare lines across his face that he didn't do it much; she could tell that he was such a troubled soul, but she'd never be willing to tell him that.

"They're reluctant to make me the chief of ER because they say that I come and go to much," he shook his head as he turned his eyes from her, his fingertips tracing the countertop beside his mug of hot coffee, "they say that I've been to Africa twice and both times I've come back practically dead – claiming that it showed uncertainty on whether or not they would need another replacement for me if I choose to leave again. Kerry has told me herself that she is surprised that I'm still here."

He breathed out, suddenly comfortable around her, and he felt as though she was someone he would be around for a very long time.

"That's all from the words of the chief of the hospital."

She nodded, and she figured that she'd pried enough out of him. She tended to do that – drag the truth, the deepest and darkest secrets out of strangers without them ever expecting it.

"Doesn't sound too promising," she shook her head, and she dropped her hands into the pockets of her lab coat as she pushed off of the counter and crossed the room. She could relate – nothing in her life anymore seemed too promising anymore, and every time something finally seemed right something else fell right in the way. Life was a bitch, and there was no escaping it.

"Nothing is," he shook his head, following her across the room and leaving his steaming mug of coffee beside hers. What the hell was he doing following her so closely? He was questioning his very being and everything he'd invested himself in – his job, his relationship, his addiction – all by his attraction to the woman suddenly in his presence.

"It's going to be a long day," she said suddenly, breaking the tension forming behind her, "I guess we better get back out there."

"Yeah," he agreed reluctantly, his body too tired to even fit anything she'd suggest. If she suggested him taking her on the lounge floor he'd probably do it – he was too tired to fight. They walked out of the lounge, both heading to the admit desk to take another patient from the load. His hand absently dropped to the base of her spine, helping to guide her, and he had no recollection of doing it. The movement was as though it was second nature.

"Luka!"

"Yeah," he replied immediately and exasperatedly. He heard a powerful voice behind him, causing him to turn on his heel to face the direction of the forceful tone; her tone was not one that he'd want to question, especially if she was angry at him – at anyone. He turned to Anna as she continued to advance in her direction, ignoring the voice and ignoring his actions. "I'll be right there to help you get a move on things."