Kokoro

By: Eyes-of-Pearl

Rating: K

Disclaimer: ER and Friday Night Lights belong to its respective owners

Synopsis & Author's Notes: This is the start of what I am hoping to be an ER and Friday Night Lights crossover. I only have a general idea, so be patient with me as this story takes form. It starts off after ER's Season 13 finale with Ray's POV. This is mostly Ray-center, but I don't think Reela fans will be disappointed with the development of this story. Don't worry for those who aren't familiar with FNL. I'll do my best to weave in the characters and there will be appearances from the main cast!

This is a story about self-discovery, in a journey, not only to heal the heart but also the mind and the soul. Remember: Clear Hearts, Full Mind, Can't Lose ...

Kokoro

Kokoro is roughly translated to "heart" in Japanese (not the actual organ). Although, I've seen the word in reference to "mind" and "spirit."

PROLOGUE: Thoughts on a Jilted Honeymoon

He sat at the back of the van that was going to bring him and his mother to the airport. From there, they were going to fly back down to Baton Rouge. He didn't know the specifics about the arrangements. At the moment, he didn't really care, as long as he got from point A to point B. After all, if he didn't have legs anymore. It wasn't like he could get up and drive his SUV with the windows down and punk rock blasting through the car stereo.

He fingered the blanket that draped over his knees. The surgery went well from a medical point of view. He was alive and breathing. The scratches on his face were superficial and with time, they would fade. But, there were other scars that remained, like those at the site of his amputation. The flaps were starting to heal. So far, there weren't any signs of infection, but that didn't mean that he was off the hook when it came to all the antibiotics that he had to take.

But the physical healing was only secondary, the pain was at the forefront. Morphine shots had helped immensely, before they were switched over to a regular dose of Tylenol 3.

He chanced a look outside his window and quickly lost interest. How many times had he commuted through the streets of Chicago on his way to and from work? Countless ...

He stared ahead, taking a brief fascination at the back of his mother's head. 'What must she be thinking?' he thought.

Jasey Barnett had been tearful at her son's predicament. After the initial aftermath, she had taken upon herself to fix everything. "Baby, I'm going to take you home. I'm going to make you better."

Ray didn't have the heart to tell her that the only way to make him better was to give him back his legs. Instead, he offered a weak shake of the head before facing away from her. He didn't need all of this false cheerfulness, no matter how good her intentions were.

A bump on the road jolted him from his momentary lapse in concentration. He grunted at the impact of the vehicle which alerted his mother to his discomfort.

"Ray? Honey, are you alright?"

He resisted to retort with a sarcastic comment. I lost my legs, not my intelligence. "I'm fine, mom. Thanks." It's not like it can get any worse.

When his mom turned back in her seat, Ray found his thoughts wandering again. He recalled the last conversation before leaving the hospital. The encounter had left him emotionally drained. He didn't want to deal with both Katey and Neela at the same time.

The former was his on-again-off-again girlfriend. As much as they both tried to deny and pretend, their relationship wouldn't have gone far. The sex was great, but beyond the physical attraction, they would never connect on the same plane as he did with Neela. Katey wasn't a fool, she saw it more clearly than anybody else. He hadn't treat her fairly, but she was there when he came to Northwestern General Hospital, mangled, totaled ... in the worst shape imaginable. Apparently, it was one of her girlfriends, also a doctor, who made the connection and called. Katey had frequented his side often, even taking it upon herself to call Ray's mom in Baton Rouge. Still, talking to Katey was ten times less complicated than talking with Neela.

Neela Ragostra - she was the women that he had waited for. I trusted you. I fought for you ... and I even fell in love with you.

Yes, he would admit freely to that. So many times, she left him at the wayside, keeping him waiting and yearning. Always, she would go back to Gates, but this time, it was him who was doing the leaving. There's really no point of me staying.

Again, he found himself staring out the window. All kinds of people were walking with signs and banners. He squinted to catch one of the slogans on the posters of a passerby and deduced that they must be going to the Anti-War Rally. They all walked with a purpose. They all walked, period.

The car halted momentarily to let another group of demonstrators crossed the street. "Almost there, honey," his mom called from in front of him.

He nodded, though, he quickly realized how useless the motion was. What's there? Home? The airport?

His fingers found their way to the blanket on his lap. It was the only thing that covered up the results of a near-fatal car accident that caused him both his legs. The barrier was only temporary; the scars would still be there.

The motion of the car speeding up caused him to look up. He saw the back of his mother's head and realized the heartache couldn't easily be numbed by a couple of codeine-coated pills.

End Prologue