"And you're happy about that."

"I'm not," she contradicted him, slugging down her soda with an intensity that belied its lack of substance. "Because it's tearing her up."

"They love each other."

"They never stood a chance."

He dipped his head in slight acknowledgement. "Maybe not. But it's not our place to say."

"I thought Kerry was supposed to be your friend."

"It's their relationship, Abby," he said patiently.

"Not when I'm in the middle of it," she snapped back.

He leaned back in the booth, the slight movement the only betrayal ofhissurprise. "You're still seeing her."

Not a question.

"Damnit, Abby..." he swore gently, leaning forward once more and gripping his mug so tightly that, for a moment, she thought the glass would shatter in his hand.

"No, I'm not," she interjected swiftly, hoping that the flushed memory of that afternoon on the roof wouldn't give her lie away.

Then, more hesitantly, "But I'd like to. I mean... I would." This, at least, was the truth. So much being finished with secrets, she realized wryly.

"Even though she's with Kerry."

"She won't be for long."

"Not if you don't leave her alone."

"I'm not the one..." Abby began to retort hotly, but stopped. "Why, Luka?" she asked instead. "Why should I leave her alone? Because Kerry's has had such a crappy life and has been alone for so long? Because she loves Kim? Well, guess what? So have I." She paused, before adding, "So do I."

"Sounds to me like you're trying to justify something you know is wrong."

"Wrong because it would fuck up the ecosystem of the ER and I don't want to work any more midnight to noons?"

"Wrong because Kim made her choice."

"Her choice was wrong."

"So you say."

"So every-goddamn-thing-she's-done-since says." Abby grabbed his empty beer bottle and studiously began peeling the label off in tiny, precise strips, avoiding Luka's eyes. "She asked me not to fight for her, Luka. She begged me to let her go so she could try and make it work with Kerry. And whore to self-sacrifice that I am, I did."

A heavy silence dropped over them, and Abby wasn't sure if it was because Luka was waiting for what she was going to say next or because he honestly didn't know what to say himself.

Keeping her eyes fixed on the growing pile of label shreds, she worked the bottle quietly in her hands. Its shape was cool and familiar, and the sticky residue from the label tacked to her fingers. When she continued, her voice was soft, hoarse with unshed tears and exhausted nerves. "I'm so tired, Luka. And every day it gets a little bit worse."

"Then let her go."

"Even though she's the first thing in my life I've wanted to hang on to?"

The question brought him up short, his blanch visible.

"I'm sorry, Luka." She reached out for his hand, half-surprised when he allowed her to clasp it in her own, much smaller one.

"You and me... it was never... Not for you either."

"You sound pretty sure of what it was for me," he said wryly.

"It's a little late to be indulging in revisionist history, don't you think?"

"You're probably right," he conceded. "But I do care about you, Abby. And this..." he gestured at the beer bottle in her hands.

"No matter how much you care for her... it's not good."

"S'What she says, too."

"She should know."

"I happen to know it too."

"Then what are you doing?"

"Trying to move forward."

"With Carter?" His tone making it clear that he didn't think it was the brightest idea she'd ever had.

"It's a start."

"A good excuse to start this..." He extracted the bottle from her hands and waved it gently in front of her face. "Carter's not going to make you happy." He paused, visibly measuring his words. "Are you asking that from her?"

It took her a minute to parse the meaning of his question, then, understanding, she answered, "No. Just to be... I guess. With me. Or at least in my general vicinity. Something like that."

He nodded once. "Then that's why this thing with Carter's not going to work."

"I thought you didn't want me to be with Kim."