A/N: Oh My Gosh! Thank you all sooo much for your amazing reviews, those were the only things keeping me going on this chapter. Between working full time over the summer and a summer English assignment I was swamped and I apologized deeply for my FIVE MONTH delay. Seeing as how school starts in like three days I thoughts I better update or it could have been another five months.

I hope I didn't lose too many of you guys, and I hope this chapter isn't a disappointment after such a wait.

Her head spun, her knees weakened, and she found herself having to catch her breath. She hated this side of the door; she almost loathed it. Even when informing a patient's family, even giving good news, she realized that she would in fact step away from the door. It glared at her; it stared her down.

At first she thought of it as a distraction, to both her and the loved one, to be forced to watch the commotion unfold; but in reality, it was a safety net for herself.

When in the trauma room, she often felt comfortable, almost at ease. But take her out of that environment, throw her into a stressful one, and suddenly the stakes are higher. Suddenly you've cut a hole in that safety net… and right now she could almost feel herself slipping through it.

"Why?" She wondered to herself, "Why would they put windows on these bloody doors?" She continued to muse at the cruelty of the situation, remaining stock still against the wall opposite the horrid door.

Watching every swift step, every alarmed machine and ever panicked voice; she knew what they all meant, and dreaded what they may lead to.

In her deepest of thoughts, she has missed Bret coming in tow from his own car-having followed the ambulance, greeted by and oh-so-lovely Frank, and shown to a hard plastic chair. Yet she stood, in what some may say, was sheer terror.

She was about to tear herself away from the scene unfolding before her, when Abby appeared in her line of vision.

Abby was beyond concerned, for both of her friends. She stood with her weight evenly distributed on both feet, her arms wrapped around herself, hugging a chart or two to her chest.

"Neela, are you okay?" she spoke at a snail's pace, urging her friend to look her in the eyes. She would not comply; her eyes couldn't leave Ray's tranquil form, thinly covered by the crappy paper the hospital calls blankets.

"C'mon Neela, lets go sit down," Neela finally let herself be torn away, guided to the unknown. For everything was the unknown now. All she knew was that right then and there she had been standing, then walking, and then sitting. Her feet stole her attention. She found herself being led into the lounge, and only knew this because she had strained herself to raise her head in order to not walk into the door.

She vaguely remembered stopping. Stopping briefly so as to allow Bret to follow them in. It was slow, methodical, and torturous. The whole night seemed to drag on like this, and, she thought to herself, I didn't really even get to hear them play.

In the back of her mind, somewhere in the depths of her consciousness, she made a mental note to laugh about that thought when this was over.

She planted her body wearily on the cool leather sofa, the side closest to door, and allowed Bret to follow suit next to her. The dull screech of a wooded chair across the linoleum floor woke her from her morbid, absent minded, and indifferent thoughts.

Abby soon occupied the chair, straddling it to allow the back to almost rest against her chest. Her gaze traveled back and forth between the two occupants of the sofa as she thought about exactly how to begin. She thought about exactly what had happened in the trauma room and how much of it Neela already knew. She thought about what terms to use and still not lessen the severity of the situation.

"Well, he's stable," she felt as if she should say more, but no effective words came. No sighs were exchanged. No glances reverted.

Abby exhaled, only to inhale again silently. A pin could have dropped and you would have heard it from across the room. Silence seemed to be a theme tonight.

She found her words, and once she did, she felt it impossible to stop. The conflicting emotions and instincts threatened to ricochet against her skull until her emotion and physical torment was too much to bear. Should she stop as to allow the very good-looking man next to Neela to absorb? Or rather does she continue knowing that Neela would know if she felt out key details?

Before she could decide, her pager did the job for her. She was near the end of her revised bullet and carefully and quickly left her nearly shattered friend behind.

"Woah," Bret's voice was just above a whisper, finding no necessity for intensity, "What the…"

Neela, both physically and mentally over-tired, probably would have tried to recite the Gettysburg address if you asked her to at that moment. Then she would have promptly smacked you.

She quickly took inventory of what Abby said and converted into laymen's terms, "He's alive but unconscious, probably because he was deprived of oxygen for a few minutes, they put a tube down his throat to help him breathe…"

At this you could see her weariness take over. She leaned herself back against the soft leather of the sofa, lightly brushing against his arm stretched casually over the back. Her forefinger and thumb of her left hand pressed into the bridge of her nose.

"They are going to admit him into the ICU until he wakes up and they can take him off the breathing machine, assuming his body doesn't have any further adverse reactions," She finished. She tipped her head back letting her soft ethnic hair graze his slightly muscular forearm.

This was obviously a mistake. His right hand that had been draped on the back of the sofa made a slow curl towards her shoulder, cupping it. He pulled her closer to his body, only to be pushed away irritably.

"Not now Bret." She yawned. This was the third time that minute.

More silence; dragging on for minutes, maybe hours, although she doubted the latter. Bret sat closer to her, eyes fixed on her ear, as she refused to look at him.

The silence mounted, as did tension.

He pounced.

His left hand took a fast, nonviolent swing towards her face, holding it closer to his as he deposited a deep, furious kiss on her lips that could have gone on forever. She wouldn't have it.

She began pushing, almost clawing at his chest. Her feet skid across the floor in front of her, desperately seeking friction she clearly didn't have. She finally gained an upper-hand and he backed off.

Neela stood a good five feet away from the couch, and only two from the door. A look skewed her face into one of pure disgust.

"How dare you?" She whispered. Tears that had only minutes before dried, threatened to spill again.

"Neela, listen…I…"

"No, you listen!" She bellowed, her heart tearing through her vocal cords with bursts of angst and exhaustion swirling together into pure rage. "Your 'supposed' best friend nearly died tonight and you sit here and try to take advantage of me!"

"Neela, I'm –"

"You pervert!" She said purposefully loud, wanting someone- anyone, to hear. "I don't know what I ever saw in you." She further stressed the 'you,' making it sound like the worst kind of pervert. The kind one would see on the ten o'clock news, in a police sketch, wanted for the rape and murder of elderly women.

Her voice lowered into somewhat of a sneer, and she took a breath to steady herself, "Get out," She pointed toward the door of the lounge and waited for him to move, "Get out, get out, get out!"

Her shriek hung in the air, like a bee looking for nectar, as he slowly made his way out the door and continued toward the sliding exits of the ER.

She hung her head and dragged her feet behind her lagging body as she followed after him, eyebrows furrows, holding back a flood of tears.

"Bret?" He turned at her somewhat calmer voice.

"Don't you even think about setting foot in this hospital any time soon."

She, as well as the rest of the ER who watched him disappear behind the glass doors, saw his hand reach up and brush a silent tear away.

And Neela didn't feel the slightest pang off guilt as she disregarded his tardy shot of emotion, and turned to go back to her ailing friend.

She had read his chart, twice. She got up and paced back and forth a few times, and sat down dizzy.

Dizzy from exhaustion, dizzy from buzzing machines, dizzy from low blood sugar as well, she supposed. When was the last time I ate? She had mused for a while, nonchalantly, and yet not bothering to remedy that situation.

The clock only read ten minutes later then the last time she had checked it. She sat for five more minutes, alternating between watching his chest artificially move, and contemplating holding his hand.

Each time she got herself close enough to do so, she refrained. She had never been comfortable with closeness and Ray. The two just didn't seem to go hand in hand; pardon the pun.

As if on cue, stepping in time with the second hand on the clock that had become Neela's good acquaintance, Abby made her presence known as only she can.

"Oh shh-," she stopped herself through gritted teeth as she pushed open the door. A normal task for most, but Abby just happened to have her hands full with two steaming cups brimming with coffee, and Murphy's law swiftly kicked in.

The pressure of the door sandwiching the Styrofoam cup between it and her hand forced the lid off and the contents of the cup everywhere. "-it."

Neela, nearly startled out of her skin, turned to face her cursing comrade, "You alright?"

She smirked bashfully at her clumsiness.

"I was about to ask you the same thing…" Abby's smirk faded and was replaced with a look of deep concern.

"I'm fine, I'm not the one on a ventilator," Neela's gaze shifted from Abby to Ray as she stood up. Her hands remained on the bed rail to help steady her unnoticed, but Abby had a keen eye. She put the coffee down on an empty tray and put her hand on Neela's back, supportively.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"'Bout what?" Neela couldn't bring herself to look at Abby, knowing full well what she was referring to.

"Half of Admin heard you tearing into Bret," Abby turned her friend to face her and held her gaze, "What did he do?"

Neela's silence said it all as she blinked tears away from her eyes, "It's just been a long day."

Abby took a deep breath that fell out as an exacerbated sigh, "How long has it been since you've eaten?"

"I'm fine." She swayed.

Neela watched as Abby crossed the room and began reading Ray's chart. Her eyes scanned the familiar words and her fingers flipped the pages, "Look, they won't be taking him up to the ICU for a few hours, we could go out or to the cafeteria and be back before they even move him."

"Maybe we should stay in the cafeteria, so someone can find us if…"

"They can page us."

"Ok," Neela looked briefly at the clock and then just as quickly at Ray, as if asking his permission before surrendering to her growling stomach.

With one hand occupied with a now cooler cup of coffee, she watched Abby go to the door and hold it open for her.

"I'll be right there."

She waited until Abby had closed the door before finally taking Ray's hand in her own. At first shocked at how cool it felt, she regained her composure and leaned in close to his ear.

"Ray, you've got to fight this, okay? I need you…I need you to fight this." Her strained whisper was barely audible over the numerous monitors, but she hoped he heard her.

She gave his hand a warm squeeze and turned to leave. Her hand lingered in his as she picked up her coat from the chair she'd recently been occupying.

His fingered curled, ever so slightly that if she hadn't been praying for it she wouldn't have noticed it at all. But she did notice and as she turned back to face him, his weary, but just as bright green eyes greeted her stunned, chocolate brown ones.

"Ray?"