Author's Note: Sorry this one took a bit longer to get up, I caught a wicked cold. Awful. I miss breathing. Anyway, I want to again thank all the wonderful reviewers who've stuck with me. I know it seems bleak but, trust me, we're getting there. Again, continuity has taken a bit of a beating again. Mostly regarding Kovač because, at the time that I wrote it, I had no idea how serious the injuries he incurred in 21 Guns were. Everything else should be fine, but, again slight AU! It's okay. You like it. No, really, you do.
Disclaimer: Still in Chapter 1, y'all.

Three Steps Backward
by, Caliente

Chapter 3: The Middle, Part 2

Greg Pratt had been accused of a lot of things in his short life. A lot of rather unkind things, mostly. But, beyond the arrogance and bravado, he really did care. About the job, about his patients, and about his coworkers. Even the ones he didn't like very much. "So I hear you're leaving," he commented off-handedly to his resident after they'd stabilized their trauma patient.

Ray blinked at his attending (wow, weird) before shrugging. "Yeah. Can't afford my rent anymore and I got a buddy down there who's looking for a new roommate."

Rolling his eyes, Greg nodded his head toward the other trauma room where Neela was working on their patient's daughter, who had presented with a broken leg. "That's a load of crap. I think we both know the real reason you're leaving."

"Hey, you don't know shit, man," Ray retorted before closing his eyes and shaking his head lightly. Great, way to prove Pratt's point for him. He'd never hear the fucking end of it now.

Greg was smirking at him, and Ray decided at that moment he hated karma. "Right." He skimmed the chart in his hands quickly before signing off on the bottom and looking back at Ray with a more serious expression on his face. "You know, when I told you to give her some space, I didn't mean seven states' worth."

Shrugging nonchalantly, Ray frowned. "Whatever." He moved to leave, but Greg stepped into his path.

"Hey." Greg raised his hands in an innocent gesture. "You were being clingy. She'd just lost her husband, she needed space. I was just trying to help."

"Well, maybe I didn't want your help," Ray snapped, trying to push his way past the other man. "Maybe I just wanted my best friend back."

Greg raised his eyebrows at Ray. "Sure you did."

It took all Ray had not to punch him just then. "Look," he ground out, "I just wanted to make sure Neela was okay, okay? That's all." Greg opened his mouth to respond but Ray suddenly continued, "I mean, God. What is with everyone? Nothing happened!" He forced his gaze to stay on the man before him and not drift toward her. "Nothing. Not before she was married, and definitely not after. I'm not that kind of guy." Greg smirked. "I'm not."

The smirk dropped from his face and Greg frowned lightly. "I didn't say you were," he responded in a placating tone. "I'm just saying—"

"I know what you're saying," Ray cut in angrily. "I know what all of you are saying. So you can just stop it. I'm leaving; that settles it once and for all." This time, when he went to push past Pratt, the other man didn't make any moves to stop him.

"I care for her too, you know," he said, instead, just loud enough that Ray could hear him as he pushed open the doors to Trauma 2.

Ray paused for a moment, head hanging slightly, but refusing to turn back. "I know." He shook his head. "I just wish I could stop." Then he stalked out, never once looking behind him.

"Busy" didn't begin to describe the state of Abby Lockhart's life as of late. Even with her time off work, she found herself at the hospital more often than not. She split her time between her new baby—who was still in the NICU and would remain there for another week—and Luka, who was in outpatient recovery. If her body hadn't already been stressed out, it was now. Nobody was surprised that she was thoroughly exhausted, least of all Neela, who found her passed out on the couch in the lounge.

"Abby," she said, lightly shaking her friend's shoulder. "I know you're tired, but—"

"But what?" her friend grumbled in response, sluggishly trying to push herself up. "I feel like I haven't slept in…" She gave up the struggle and collapsed back down. "Ever! I feel like I've never slept before. Can't I just have five more minutes…?"

Neela tried not to laugh. Pouring a cup of the sludge the ER staff called coffee for her friend, she helped Abby into a sitting position and handed her the mug. "Here," she said with a soft smile. "If nothing else, this will surely wake you up."

Forgoing her better judgment, Abby took a rather large gulp. Then she made a face. "Eugh, because it's awful!" she cried, springing up to fix a fresh pot. "I told you never to let Chuny or Morris near this machine!"

Raising her hands defensively, Neela shrugged. "What can I say? I've been distracted." It was meant to sound light, but it held far too much weight for that.

Abby smiled sadly at her, nodding. She'd never really been one to beat around the bush, so she decided to let the elephant in the room out. "I heard Ray's leaving."

Neela ducked her head, busying herself with putting things in her locker. "Yeah. Moving to Miami."

Crossing over to her friend, Abby put a hand on her shoulder. "Neela…"

"I'm fine, Abby," she said stiffly. "It's fine. He wants to pack up and go, that's his business."

Abby frowned. "What happened?" she asked, taking another gulp of the bitter liquid.

"Nothing," Neela responded quickly. Too quickly. And she knew it, too. Sighing, she turned around and leaned back against the lockers. "You know, when I married Michael, I had all these… all these ideas about how it was going to be. I thought… I mean, I loved him. Shouldn't that have been enough?" She covered her face with her hands. "Why wasn't it enough?" She shook her head, sniffling lightly.

Pulling her friend to her for a hug, Abby stroked her hair lightly. "I don't know," she whispered sadly. It was all she could offer.

With all the strength she could muster, Neela pushed away from Abby to stand on her own. Strong. She had to stay strong. "But then Ray… it was so comfortable. But I couldn't betray Michael that way." Abby's eyes widened and Neela shook her head. "Not like that. Just… how could I know Ray better than I knew my own husband? I couldn't…" Her eyes dropped to the floor. "Sometimes I have trouble even picturing his face."

"Neela, it's okay," Abby consoled, eyes clouded with concern. "I think—listen, you might not want to hear this but… maybe you should talk to Luka."

Neela blinked. That was not what she'd expected to hear from her friend. She'd gotten plenty of unwanted advice and offers to listen if she felt the need to be the weak damsel everyone seemed to think she was. But this… "Yeah," she agreed, still slightly stunned. Then she tried to smile—it sort of worked. "How is he doing, anyway?"

Brightening considerably, Abby began to inform Neela about the status of both her boyfriend and their new baby. Listening intently, Neela was relieved to hear about someone else's life for a change. She was already living hers. Talking about it to death was starting to drive her a little loopy.

In all the years that Jerry Markovic had worked for the ER, he had never been a patient there. Oh sure, he got his yearly checkups and things like that, but when he got shot he finally saw the doctors and nurses in their element. It was like seeing them for the first time… and it scared the crap out of him. His stay was nearly over and he still wasn't sure what he thought about it. 'Course, he'd still have plenty of time to mull it over in the weeks to come.

"Hey, Jerry," Ray greeted, a friendly smile on his face. "I just wanted to check on you, buddy. I hear they're going to discharge you in a couple of days."

Feigning a smile of his own, Jerry nodded. "Yeah." He paused, watching Ray look over his chart. "I hear you gave Weaver your two weeks."

Despite all the crap, Ray couldn't help but crack a smile. Even with his injuries and being laid up at the hospital, Jerry was still the man when it came to knowing just about everything at the hospital. "It's true," he confessed, putting the chart down. "Just time to move on, I guess."

There was sympathy on Jerry's face, but he chose not to voice his thoughts. Instead, he offered his hand to the standing doctor. "Well then, good luck." Appreciative, Ray shook it gently in an attempt to avoid aggravating any of his wounds. Jerry winced slightly but kept smiling through the pain. "And thanks. Really." His expression turned serious. "Without you and Pratt…" He shook his head. "I'm glad you were here that night, man."

Surprised, Ray kept shaking Jerry's hand dumbly for a moment before dropping it and nodding. "Hey, it was no problem, Jerry." He gave a friendly wave as he moved to leave. "I'll be back to check on you again before you leave…"

"You better!" Jerry called after him. "None of this leaving without a good-bye crap, Barnett. We're a family here!" Then he smirked to himself as he lay back down. Huh. Guess he knew the answer to his question, after all. Go figure.

It took all of Luka Kovač's willpower not to kill his nurse. It wasn't that she was a bad nurse, exactly, but the way she kept coming in every five seconds… if he had to see her face one more time, he was going to let her have it. Granted, it would probably be morphine-induced and in Croatian, but she'd know what he meant. He was sure of it. So when there was a gentle knock at the door, he croaked out a frustrated, "What?" followed by a couple of coughs. At least, that's what he thought he'd said.

Neela's head popped in and she blushed lightly. She should've known better. The man was still recovering from his muscle strain and paralysis. Why was she bothering him now? "I'm sorry," she apologized, ducking her head. "I'll just come back later, when you're feeling better…"

"No, no," he shook his head and beckoned for her to enter. She did, closing the door gently behind her. "It's fine, Neela. What can I do you for?" He blinked, focusing his eyes. "Do for you."

Struggling to find the words, she finally sighed and headed for a chair by his bed. "I, uhm… I know you're still recovering and, er, how are you, anyway?" Yeah, way to avoid the topic. Nice work.

"Confused," he answered with a disarming grin. Neela felt her stomach flutter for a moment, and she remembered why she'd had a crush on him oh-so-long ago. "What's wrong?"

Another sigh. Neela sat back and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Nothing I just…" She steeled herself against her own feelings—all the guilt and anger—and bit the bullet. "I was wondering… can I ask you about your…" she winced slightly, "your family? In Croatia."

A look that Neela had never seen on Luka's face fell into place for a long moment before he nodded heavily. "Yes, I think…" He looked her straight in the eyes. "I think I would like that very much." Maybe it was the morphine talking, or the look in her eyes she'd carried since Michael's death. Hell, maybe it was the prospect of a real doctor scaring the annoying nurse away. But, whatever the reason, he found he meant what he said. He just hoped Neela wouldn't mind the morphine slur.

Three down, one to go. Like it, hate it—don't forget to drop me a line.