Here we are again, but this time we've gone a whole other direction. Please, let us know what you think. As always, your reviews are welcomed and greatly appreciated.

Yours,

butterflyswest and Erin Allen

Ray sighed heavily as he trudged up the stairs to his apartment. He would have taken the elevator, but it was broken again. After the day he had just survived, he was just one crisis away from the nuthouse. His bag dragged at his shoulder as he scuffed to his apartment. He hadn't even wanted to come home tonight. There was nothing here that he really cared about anymore. It seemed cold and far too empty, even with his clutter scattered all over the place. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, shooting the deadbolt as he shut the door with a bang. He involuntarily winced before he remembered that there was no one here to complain about the noise. He let his bag slide from his shoulder to the floor and simply stood, staring at the darkened apartment.

Christ, but this was hell.

Hanging his jacket neatly on the peg that Neela had installed—she was everywhere in here—he went to the kitchen and yanked open the fridge. He fished a beer from the shelf, twisted off the top, and tossed the cap in the general direction of the garbage. He shook his head and turned away when the cap bounced off the rim and rolled under the fridge. At least no one would see the damn thing under there. Not that there was anyone here to see it. He sighed and drained half the bottle in one swig. He had to stop this. Now, before he really did go insane.

Dodging stacks of sheet music and piles of clothes that just never seemed to find their way to the hamper, he went to the living room and flopped on the couch. It took ten minutes to find the remote inside an empty pizza box. He flipped on the tube, wondering if this god-forsaken day was ever going to end. He watched the flickering screen, sipping his beer, not really watching what was going on. Halfway through the program, he snapped the TV off and tossed the remote on the table. It was useless. He just couldn't concentrate. He closed his eyes and leaned back, trying to relax.

He could still see the stunned, almost sick look on Luka's face when he had come into the trauma room. He could still feel the way his stomach had turned when Luka had given them the news that the Casualty Officer was there to see Neela. He'd wanted to go then and find her, hold her, let her know that he was there for her. Tell her that he would always be there for her, no matter what.

He'd felt like the worst sort of ass, when she had finally shown up in the ER, elated about her surgical residency. There she was, happy as hell that she'd finally taken a huge step in her career, and he was about to shatter everything. It tore him apart inside when she'd gone off about no one being happy for her. It had taken everything he had to keep from gathering her into his arms then, if only to keep her from the pain that he was about to inflict on her.

But he couldn't keep it from her. Not then, and not now.

With a groan, he shoved to his feet and went down the hall. When was it that things had gone to shit? He couldn't pinpoint one set event or time. All he knew was that he couldn't help her. It had almost brought him to his knees when he'd found her on the roof, and she had told him to just stay the hell away from her. Didn't she understand that he was only trying to help? That he would have kept her from the hurt if he could have?

He shoved open the door to her room and leaned heavily in the doorway, his eyes roaming over the place that she had once filled with light. Now it was nothing more than a half empty room, without personality, without soul. Crossing the room, he sat on the floor, his back supported by the bed. He rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He was going crazy. He could feel it. Had he ever hurt this much; so much that it was a struggle to just breathe? He hurt for himself, and her, and for everything that wasn't going to be. Ever.

Pulling a deep breath into his lungs, he dropped his hands to his sides to rest on the floor, suddenly too tired to move. Something crackled beneath his right hand and he frowned. What the hell..?

It was just a plain ivory envelope, but it was that handwriting on the outside that caught him around the heart. He picked it up, holding it in his hands like a live bomb. He felt his pulse begin to roar in his ears, and he dragged air into his lungs in hard gusts. There was only one word written on the front, "Ray", in her neat almost prissy handwriting. Nothing else, but it had the force of a blow in what it did to him. He felt knocked for a loop, staggering from it.

With hands that shook, he tore open the flap and pulled out a single sheet of paper that exactly matched the envelope. Neela's stationary, neatly folded with almost military precision. He smiled sadly. She was nothing if not neat. Slowly, he unfolded the paper, smoothing it out against his knee. He was almost afraid to read what was written in that precise scrawl across the entire front of the paper, but he knew he would. He glanced at the date at the top of the letter and cringed inwardly. She had written this the day she moved out. He steeled himself for what was surely a kiss off letter and nearly fell over at the first line. He blinked against the sudden burning in his eyes and swallowed back the bitter lump in his throat.

Dear Ray,

Writing this letter to you is just as daft as writing those letters the night Dr. Carter left. I know that you will never read this. I could never allow that, but I have to handle this somehow. I can't tell anyone else how I feel.

I want you to know that I am moving out, not because it's something I want, but because it's something I must do. I'm married, Ray, and I shouldn't be having these feelings for you. I shouldn't be dreaming of you. Nor should I wonder what would have happened had things been different. I shouldn't be you in my thoughts instead of my husband, but you are. Always. And I don't know how to stop.

I don't know what or how it happened—that I should feel these things, but it did, and I don't know how to deal with it. You've always been there for me, even when my husband wasn't. I keep telling myself that there isn't anything between us, but my heart just refuses to listen. Mostly, I think, that if I hadn't rushed into marrying Michael, then things could have been different.

But they aren't, and that is how it must be.

I hope that, one day, you will understand that I am not doing this to hurt you. I am doing it to save you…to save us both from what I feel. You know me better than my own husband, and that is simply terrifying. You've touched places inside me that he would never even believe were there, and that, more than anything scares me. I can't be in love with one man and be married to another. It isn't fair to either of you. This is the only way to ensure that it goes no further, that I don't do something that will destroy us both.

I'm sorry, Ray. I'm truly, deeply sorry.

Love,

Neela

Ray let the paper fall from his fingers without seeing it. She loved him. He put his hands over his face and could see her behind his eyes as she had been on the roof, struggling to stay calm, fighting for control. He had wanted nothing more than to drive away some of the pain, to give her some comfort. Then he remembered the look in her eyes when she'd told him to stay the hell away from her. The look of shock mixed with guilt. She loved him, and now her husband was dead. She had driven him away to save herself from more pain.

His chest tight with tears he refused to shed, Ray plucked the letter from the floor and pushed up from the floor. He tucked the letter back into the envelope and simply stood there, staring down at it. She had never meant for him to see this. She hadn't wanted him to ever know that she loved him. Somehow, that hurt more than all the rest of it. He understood her reasons, but that didn't make it any easier. Turning his back on the empty room, he went to the door. He couldn't look back as he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.