Over the last couple weeks he'd spent a lot of the time he wasn't working staring at her bedroom door. Staring and thinking. Wondering what she was thinking, whether it was anything close to what he was thinking, and deciding probably not, or one of them would be on the other side of that door. But if he thought about that too long...

Well, he'd also spent a lot of time watching sports, practicing bar chords, and ranking and re-ranking the top ten Jimmy Page solos.

He knew that eventually they'd have to have the conversation, but he was willing to let that happen on her timetable. Maybe that made him kind of a chickenshit, but that didn't really bother him too much. Plus, the longer he avoided her, the more breathing room he gave himself. Another week or so, and he'd definitely be able to look at her without seeing her on her back, all tousled and beckoning. Hell, a week? Probably right now, if he had to, he could even stand right next to her without remembering how soft and warm she was as she moved underneath him, or tripping over fantasies about dragging her into a supply closet and making her make that noise again, the one she made when he--

Five, "Whole Lotta Love." Four, "Dazed and Confused."

He was standing in the ambulance bay, waiting for an incoming MVC, and that's where she found him, shaking his head at himself and thinking, Jesus, dude, get a grip. Beckoning?

"Hey."

"Oh, hey," he said. His back itched in the spot where she'd dug in her fingernails.

"Slow day," she noted.

"Yeah." He stared ahead, hands in his coat pockets.

A pause, and then, "Anything interesting on the way?"

He shrugged. "Not really. Drunk driver flipped his Lexus. You?"

"Nursing home knife fight."

Well, there was an icebreaker. "You're kidding."

"That's what dispatch said."

"Probably gang-related," he declared, and risked a direct glance to catch her smile. One of the downsides of avoiding her: he hadn't seen that in way too long.

"Hm. Or someone changed the channel during Judge Judy."

"Man, old people today are out of control. It's all sex and drugs and Lawrence Welk..."

"Lawrence Welk would make anyone violent."

And just like that they were standing around, laughing at each other's dumb jokes again. It couldn't really be that easy, could it?

"Ray..."

Guess not. "What?"

"You don't have to bark at me."

"I didn't--" He scratched the back of his head, and asked again more politely, "What is it?"

"Don't you think that...? Well we can't go on forever pretending it never happened, can we?"

"Is that what we've been doing?"

She looked at her shoes. "Not very successfully, I suppose. I don't know, maybe I'm making too much of it, maybe it shouldn't be a big deal. These things happen, right?"

"All the time," he agreed. A gust of wind blew her hair across her face and she brushed away a few strands that had gotten stuck to her Chapstick. He couldn't keep himself from asking, "So...it was a big deal to you?"

She froze for a second or two, and then stammered, "It was--. I--. Well, it's the sort of thing that can really change things between two people. If...if they let it."

"Yeah. Look, I--"

"And I've been thinking about that, that aspect of it...where we go from here."

Now, as best as he could tell, she was looking at his shoes.

"You have?" His voice came out quieter that he'd expected.

She nodded, and folded her arms, tucking hands under opposite elbows. "Quite a lot, actually."

"Have you...come to any conclusions?" They accidentally made eye contact, and he felt his heart rate begin to climb, as if he were exerting himself simply by having this conversation. Her shirt was open slightly at the collar, so he focused on the hollow of her throat. That didn't help.

"I was thinking that maybe we could... I mean there's no reason not to... Once some time has gone by... Probably the best thing would be to..."

He wanted to step closer, but his feet wouldn't move. "What, Neela?" he asked softly. He remembered how she'd looked at him that night, like he was something special. It wasn't the first time a woman had looked at him like that, but it was the first time he saw it and didn't want to run the other way.

The answer came in a rapid stream of words directed at the pavement. "It's probably best that we acknowledge it and move on and get right back to normal as soon as possible."

...Oh.

And then, like three little jabs to the gut, "Don't you think?"

He straightened his shoulders, clenched his fists inside his pockets. "Yeah, sure."

"Really?"

He looked out into the street. Where the fuck was the rig? What, did they hit traffic? "Yeah, whatever."

"So...we're on the same page, then?"

He shrugged, but it felt like an effort, unnatural. "Back to normal, absolutely." Whether it was out of pride or self-defense, he turned to face her with a careless, easygoing grin. "I was hoping you'd say that."

"Oh. Were you? Well that's...great. Really great." Stop saying 'great,' she thought. "I was really hoping this wouldn't have to spoil things between us, so...great."

"Nah, we're cool." He glanced at his watch. "Did you hear anything about traffic?"

"What? No." She looked back toward the ER doors for any nurses or orderlies coming through. There was no one. She wanted to go back inside, pretend they'd never had this conversation, go back to pretending the whole thing had never happened. Instead, she heard herself saying, "I was confused that night. You know? I guess you do. And drunk--not that that's an excuse, of course. But I wanted you to know that I didn't mean to...I wasn't trying to..."

"What?" He cocked his head, all good-natured sarcasm and reassurance. "Take advantage of me? Don't worry. I'm not in love with you now or anything."

Somehow, her body knew that the appropriate response to that was laughter. "That's a relief," she said, her tone overly comic, too loud and too bright. "After all, I'd hate for things to get awkward."

"I know, right?" He paused for a moment, and then, almost as an afterthought, added, "I'm glad you didn't get married, though."

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "Why, because you got to second base?"

"I think I got tagged out sliding into third, actually."

She ducked her head, and tugged her labcoat closed.

"And no. 'Cause I would've missed having you around." She raised her head at that, but he was looking off into the street. "Anyway, it's fine. You were trying to forget someone. That's cool, I get that."

That's cool, she repeated in her head. That's cool? "So what was your deep, psychological motivation?"

"I'm a guy," he said. "I don't need one."

"Right," she nodded. Her smile stretched her face in uncomfortable ways. "I guess we're cool, then. Great. Moving past it, back to normal. I'm putting it out of my mind."

The last was nearly drowned out by the sound of paramedic vehicles approaching, and they were suddenly surrounded by nurses, residents, and EMTs. As they stepped off the curb she heard him say, "So it's still on your mind?"

She'd never been so glad to see a perforated bowel.

Later, Abby cornered her in the lounge.

"So how did your test balloon go over?"

"Sucked into a jet engine," she said, and slammed her locker shut. "I told you he wasn't interested."

"Oh well," said Abby. "His loss."