Standard disclaimer: All characters and material related to the ER belong to well, I'm guessing here, NBC, various production companies, the writers and all others associated with it. I'm sure they don't belong to me and I won't be making any $.
Ray Barnett was lying awake staring at the ceiling. The moment had a feeling of total unreality to it. He couldn't believe he was back in his childhood bedroom. He couldn't believe he'd lost both his legs. Damn her. Oh, he supposed in a more rational state he'd be hard pressed to state exactly how it had been Neela's fault. He had been pathetically checking her message in the middle of the road, but, really, if he hadn't been so drunk would he have done that? Then again, if he hadn't seen her with Gates when he (once again) believed he had a chance with her, maybe he wouldn't have been so drunk. So, yes, God damn her straight to hell.
He heard the phone ring. He assumed it was another of his mother's friends checking that they had gotten home all right; seeing if there was anything they needed. He expected the next couple weeks were going to be a full blown nightmare parade of sympathetic old ladies. He almost wished he had decided to gut it out and do his rehabilitation at County's clinic. Almost.
"I'm sorry; he's sleeping. He's had a tough day."
It was someone calling for him, then. Who could that be? There were only a handful of people who knew. For a moment, his heart started beating faster at the thought that it might be Neela keeping in touch like she promised? He pushed the thought away; he swore she had disappointed him for the last time.
"Well, I'll check but if he's sleeping I am not going to wake him. Can't you just leave me a message? I'll be sure he gets it first thing in the morning." He could hear his mother coming down the hall and his door slowly opened just a bit. He considered feigning sleep, but now he was curious.
"I'm awake, Mom. Who is it?"
His mother sounded mildly annoyed. "It's Abby Lockhart and she insists it's an emergency."
He wanted to say he wasn't on call, wasn't ever going to be on call again, but he felt the prickling of fear. He knew he'd never sleep now until he heard the news Abby thought was important enough to track him down to deliver.
To his mother he said, "I'll talk to her. Thanks." He took the handset and he said to Abby, none too gently: "What is it?"
"Ray, have you heard the news?" Abby sounded strange; subdued even for Abby.
"I've been on a plane most of the afternoon and evening, Abby. I haven't heard any news. Why don't you just tell me why you called and how you got this number?"
"Look, Ray, I don't know what's going on with you or why you're in Louisiana. Katey told me you were at your mother's when I asked. I'm sorry if this is really bad timing, but I think you'd better come back to Chicago as soon as you can. It's Neela."
He felt a superstitious fear that his earlier cursing was involved somehow. Oh, God, he didn't mean it. "Abby, talk to me. Start at the beginning. What's the matter with Neela?"
"She was at the anti-war rally. The one where the crowd panicked. She fell; she got trampled. She's here at County. Ray, I'm sorry, but it doesn't look good. They're taking her in to surgery."
"How bad?" He knew crowd crushes were really dangerous. People got killed. "What kind of surgery? How is she?"
"Bad. It's bad. She came in with a collapsed lung, four broken ribs, a lot of soft tissue damage but it's the head injury they're worried about. They're going to try to relieve some of the pressure…"
"Was she conscious?"
"No. She's never regained consciousness. Now they're going to keep her under. I know it sounds crazy, but I think she'd do better if you were here. It's probably asking a lot; it is asking a lot since you just got there to see your mother, but, Ray, I think you'd better come. I'm scared. I don't think you'd better wait if you want to see her."
He had just heard Abby Lockhart admit she was scared. It must be really bad. He decided in an instant. "Abby, I'll get there as soon as I can. But, it's complicated. I need you to do me a favor. Call Astrid in HR; she offered me a spot at the Rehab Center in County. I'm going to need it after all. While I call the airlines, can you call her and see if they've still got room at the inn? Make the arrangements, if you can. I'll call you back as soon as I get a flight."
"The Rehab Center? Ray, what's going on?"
"I didn't—I don't—want everybody knowing. I had an accident and I'm going to need care. My Mom was going to take care of me while I did outpatient therapy down here. But now, well, plans can change. I hope. I'll call you as soon as I can."
"Ray, what happened? How are you? What kind of accident?"
"Abby, not now. All will be clear when I see you, which will be soon, if I can start making calls. What's your number?"
"I'm in the ER and I'll be here all night. We've got a little lull now so I'll call Astrid right away. Talk to you soon, Ray, and thanks."
OK. Do things. Don't think. God, Neela, you can't die. Don't die, Neela, don't die. Call the airline, arrange for transportation to County, tell Mom, pack the few things that were unpacked. Neela, Neela. Don't die before I can tell you how sorry I am. Don't die ever. He found himself vaguely praying non-stop in the car to the airport, on the airplane, in the access van ride across Chicago. God, don't let Neela die. Let Neela live. Ray didn't consider himself a religious person anymore, although he'd gone to church regularly as a child, but he found himself making bargains with God—all kinds of crazy bargains, if she would just live.
He wheeled himself in to the ER with his stuff bag balanced across what was left of his legs. The rest of his bags hadn't made the quick connection at Dulles. His flight plan had been bizarre, but he didn't think he could afford to be choosy. It really was just as well, it gave him way less stuff to deal with. He didn't know how he'd had the presence of mind to grab his staff ID but he was glad of it as he could get in through the staff entrance. He found Abby at the desk and she updated him. Surgery was done; Neela was in the ICU.
The nurse wouldn't let him in, of course. Family only, and Tony Gates. He worried about what that last meant, but also considered that Gates may have managed to manipulate the ICU staff more skillfully than he. No luck when he tried to explain how far away her family was and how long it would likely be before they could arrive. He said he lived with her, and it didn't even feel like a lie when he said it. He tried to reason that, as a doctor he was here to help, but he had no success with that argument, either. Fortunately, Dr. Dubenko came by and took pity on him. After he came out from checking on Neela, he scrawled Ray's name on the records at the desk and said, "But you've got to behave. Don't upset her. One visitor at a time. That means you and Gates have to work it out. Peacefully. Understand?" Lucien would be remembering the brawl at the wedding. That seemed so long in the past now. Lucien couldn't know what a changed man Ray was now. Now he had promised God, among other things, that if only Neela would live, he, Ray, would accept her with Gates. Ray thought God might be making sure he really meant it. He nodded his assent. Lucien ordered, "Have them page me if you notice any change." Again, Ray nodded.
When he was in the room at last, he looked at the chart immediately, although he knew this was a terrible violation of her privacy and the HIPAA rules. A part of him admitted it was a stalling tactic, to delay the moment he'd been dreading, when he would see for himself just how bad it was. He hoped the chart would give him some professional distance, but as soon as he looked down at her he realized what a vain hope that had been. She was so battered and looked so frail. Her head was a mass of bandages and all her lovely hair was gone. He felt rage and terror and an almost primal urge to hurt the thing that had dared to hurt her. She was hooked up via a series of wires and tubes to all the usual equipment. This should seem routine to him, but he wanted to scream, or cry, or both.
The chart didn't tell him much he didn't know already. They had her in a drug induced coma to try to reduce brain swelling. There was nothing to do now but wait and hope her vitals held steady. He knew it was no use expecting much in the way of positive signs in the near future; he'd need to school himself to patience. Later, when they stopped the drugs, he could look for signs that she was coming out of it. Now, he just needed to be alert for any bad changes. So, he wheeled himself to the side where he had a good view of the pulse oximeter. He got as close as he could get, carefully threaded his hand through the bed and took her hand in his. It was awkward, but it was wonderful. He allowed himself a moment of pure gratitude for his life, and hers. He was amazed that they were both still among the living, when it could have been so different. He resolutely pushed away the thought that Neela had a tenuous hold on life right now. Instead, he leaned close so he could speak softly, "You'll get through this, I promise." And he willed himself to believe it. He sat there for a while, staring at her pulse, her pressure, her oxidization levels. He realized he was exhausted. He couldn't remember when it was that he had taken his last meds. From the throbbing pain in both his legs, it had clearly been awhile. He could use another one, but he couldn't leave her this soon. He wasn't sure how he was ever going to leave her again.
When he jerked awake, he realized he'd dozed off sitting upright in the chair. He was afraid his hand had pulled too hard on Neela's. Everything looked OK and her vital signs hadn't changed. Still, he didn't want to take any chances. He knew they were monitoring from the station, but he hated to leave her alone.
He surrendered to the inevitable. He was in this for the long haul; later she would need him more and he needed to be healthy enough to be of use to her. Again, he leaned in close so he could speak softly. It was strange to talk to her. He had no sense she was there. He cleared his throat. "Um, it's me, Neela. Ray. Honey, I'm going to go, but just for a little while, I promise. Sweet dreams, Neela." It was a good thing she was in a coma, he sounded like an idiot. Oh, well, in for a penny. "Rest, baby. Doctor's orders." He wheeled himself out and up the elevator to check in at his new digs in the Rehab Center.