Aftermath: From the Bayous
A/N: Hello. I've written this story as my contribution to RayNeela support because I've been feeling upset all these months at what they did to Ray, and what that did to Neela and Ray's relationship and ceased to even think about writing any fanfic. ER is not actually shown over here because of lack of ratings, and I've been following the story and tried to catch bits and pieces online – all to my bitter disappointment. But I always try to keep a little flame of hope lit. I may have gone out on a limb with certain things like Ray's relationship with his mother, of which I have no idea. I also have not had a chance to have it proof read. But hopefully this is a story to be enjoyed by all fellow Roomies supporters.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this story, nor do I have any rights to events which have occurred on the television show ER.
He'd spent a lot of time sitting around and thinking. It was all he could really do for the longest period. The feelings of shock, pain and anger all gave away to a helplessness that descended upon him as it never had before. He'd had his share of feeling the injustices of his predicament. This was not how life was meant to turn out for him. Where was that carefree rocker with the devil-may-care grin perpetually plastered to his face? He had to admit that those days had been over a long time ago, before what had happened. Now any chance of them reappearing was gone, along with his limbs and life as he had known it.
He didn't know if he even cared. After all, the change was inevitable; there were some things in life you had to let go of to acquire that which you most desire. And he desired her. Neela Rasgotra. The best friend he ever had, as he once confessed to her. The one woman he could admit to loving, even if the sentiment felt more like pain. It was a hurt that he had been willing to tolerate. Why else would he have waited so long? Standing by as she lavished her affections on someone that he knew did not deserve any of it. The loss of his legs seemed to amplify everything that had gone wrong with him, with her and with everything that had been between them.
Lying in bed, in a strange but familiar room hundreds of miles away, he wished he was back in Chicago. He didn't know why. It would only serve to keep fresh the wounds that were yet still to heal; Neela, the accident, his loss and the fact that some days he would rather die than be crippled for the rest of his life. But lately he had been desperately hoping that, somehow, he could put an end to things the way they were – up in the air.
He had written letters to her and received polite replies. He knew that she did not really know what to say to him. That she blamed herself, somehow, though he never openly gave her reason to. There was a distance in their correspondence that was heartbreaking, frustrating, and he knew he was partly to blame. At times he was morose as he wrote, his letters terse, and he knew that the way she handled that was by being aloof. Sometimes when he read her painfully detached civility it made him angry enough to get violent. He could still see the stain on the wall where the mug of freshly brewed coffee had shattered.
His mother had nothing to say about that, surprisingly. She had run to the room when she heard the crash, his back turned to her as he stared out the window at the dying sun. She had quietly cleaned up the mess with a resigned sigh and left without a word. She grieved for him like she had actually cared what was happening in his life all these years. That was something he could not bear, one of the reasons he'd rather face his demons than grow slowly apathetic in the lazy warmth of the bayous. It was a feeble attempt at things that had never been; she was trying to make up, too late, all the years that had lacked the love and affection of a caring parent. She tried too hard and smiled too much even as tears shone brightly in the corner of her eyes. It was touching, but he could not make himself yield to her compassion.
The only thing he could think about was Neela. The only thing he could care about was Neela. There was Katie, who was sweet and always openly showed her affection for him. It was she who was there beside him as he mourned in that narrow, pristine hospital bed; she who was there, when Neela wasn't. But it didn't matter. He didn't love her and knew he had used her only as a distraction and a means; but he did not know how to stop her advances without reproof. Not after everything she had done for him. It was clear that she detested Neela more for the fact that he could not let her go rather than for the accident. The feeling of hostility was there every time he mentioned her name. Yet it did not make a difference to him.
His recovery was slow and agonising. As a doctor, he could never appreciate the pain of amputation. Now, as a patient, he could sympathise very well. The hours of rehabilitation, of gaining the strength to even want to try – it was the biggest struggle he had ever faced. At the beginning he didn't even know why he got out of bed everyday to face what seemed like a bleak future. There had been no point; his legs were gone, his career probably ruined and his heart...crushed by the only woman who ever meant enough to hurt him. Yet he pulled through; he could walk and he was actually glad to be alive most days. Spending some time with shrinks had done him a lot more good than he ever thought it would, considering he used to think they were all hacks.
Now he knew it was high time he faced it all. But mostly, that he finally confront his feelings and be true to them. Desperately though he had tried, he could not forget those dark brown eyes, inches from his, as she whispered that he would get through this. Could not forget how, as he looked into her eyes, he almost wished he could have felt her lips on his again before he left. But most of all, he could not forget that he loved her and still did. It was time she knew that too.
He picked up the phone.