Hostage - Chapter One

Title: Hostage
Author: GalaxyDuster (aka Sara)

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I don't own the regular ER characters... obviously.
Spoilers: References to 13x18 - Photographs and Memories. (This happens the next day.)
Content Warning: Nothing more than your standard ER gore; drugs, violence.

She had such a headache.

It was all Neela Rasgotra could think about as she walked in through the ambulance bay. She had drunk far too much beer at Sam's birthday party the night before, and this morning she was paying the price for it. She felt as if her eyes were going to suddenly implode.

"Morning, Frank." She lazily made her way past the front desk and headed on, to the elevators, not really wanting to go up to the surgical floor. She hadn't seen Dubenko since yesterday, and she was dreading the thought of facing him again this morning. It was going to be so ridiculously awkward after his bizarre confession to her.

"My personal feelings toward you…"

It seemed like everyone was having personal feelings toward her these days, Neela thought, chagrined. All she wanted was a moment's peace. She felt like she was trapped in some ridiculous nightmare where everyone was demanding her immediate attention all at once, and she was unable to give any of them exactly what they wanted.

What was worse; she didn't have a moment to just sit down and breathe, to think of what she needed and wanted for herself.

"Neela, wait."

Neela whirled to see Abby Lockhart coming up behind her quickly in the corridor. She smiled, glad to see her friend – as well as to have a legitimate excuse for stalling.

"Good morning," Neela said, giving Abby a bright smile.

"Hey, good morning to you, too. Listen, we just got a trauma in that I need you to take a look at." She began to walk back towards the ER at a brisk pace, and Neela followed. "Crazy drug addict vs. police officer, and the police officer didn't win."

"Oh, no." Neela felt her instincts starting to kick in immediately, brushing aside all of her personal worries. It was what made her an excellent surgeon.

"He used a knife, quite generously," Abby sighed. "More than twenty stab wounds, most of them superficial, but we have at least two that are deep in the belly…" She continued to give Neela the information as they headed into the trauma room.

"Can you come out of la-la land for five seconds please, Ray? I'm trying to clear this board." Greg Pratt scowled at Ray Barnett, shaking a fist full of charts in his direction.

"What? Oh. Sorry." Ray, who had been leaning over the desk, lost in his thoughts, stood up straight and reached for the charts.

Pratt looked curious, but he said nothing.

A tired looking police officer approached the desk. "How's Jimmy doing?" He asked, shifting a cup of coffee back and forth between restless hands.

"They're still working on him," Pratt replied. "Looks like most of the wounds were superficial, but we have a surgical consult down here now assessing the full extent of the injuries."

Ray immediately wondered if the surgical consult was Neela. He felt guilty for letting that be his first thought – a man had been stabbed over twenty times, and he was worried about Neela? It seemed like she was all he could think about these days.

"Did you guys catch this thug?" Pratt wanted to know.

"No, he got away." The police officer looked extremely disappointed. "I can't believe it; the crazy freak got away. I let Jimmy down. I can't run as fast as I used to."

"You did everything you could, man," Ray assured him.

The officer nodded, but he looked unconvinced. "I'm gonna go call Jimmy's wife. I think I owe him that much. She needs to be here." He headed off in the direction of the phones.

"That's rough," Pratt muttered, shaking his head. He hurried off in the opposite direction.

Ray sighed and peeked at his first chart. He just wasn't ready to get started, he thought. He was still thinking about last night, and how he had finally gotten Neela to open up to him. She had smiled at him so sweetly when she had promised him that he wouldn't have to wait long. He smiled a little, remembering the way she had hooked his arm to try and get him to dance to her ridiculous song. He knew she had enjoyed herself as much as he had.

What he couldn't figure out was why she needed more time. He didn't want to be stuck waiting and wondering anymore.

There was a nervous tapping at the glass doors on the other side of the desk. A man stood behind them, looking anxious. Ray looked up from his charts, still lost in his thoughts, and went to open the door. The man stepped slowly into the admit area.

He looked about 40 years old, Ray estimated, and had dark black hair and a clean shaven face. He was dressed in expensive looking clothing, but Ray noticed he was shaking quite a bit. There was a bright sheen of perspiration across the man's face.

"Please, help me," the man said, his tone something akin to begging.

"Okay, it's all right, let's go sit down," Ray suggested quickly. He looped a protective arm around the man's back, as it seemed he was going to tremble right down to the floor. "What's your name?"

"Chris. Please. Please. Please." The man's hands clenched and unclenched in rapid succession. His eyes darted quickly from side to side as Ray led him toward a row of chairs.

"Woah, are you ok? You're bleeding!" Ray stopped in his tracks as he noticed a large, dark red splotch across the belly of the man's expensive white undershirt. It had been hidden from view under his suit coat. "Sit here, right now," Ray said, stopping them in front of a chair. "Sit."

"No," the man gasped, still standing.

"Chris, buddy, sit down," Ray implored, grasping the other man's shoulders to ease him down into the chair.

"Don't touch me, don't touch me!" Chris shook Ray's hands free, his eyes looking a bit desperate. "I just need… some help. Can you help me?"

Ray began to realize that something wasn't quite right. He took a slow step back, trying to figure it out.

"Just get me whatever you got, ok? Morphine. Percocet. Vicodin. Whatever. Get it all for me. Now." Chris began to tremble more than ever.

Ray felt his pulse start to pick up. "Hey, just take it easy. It's cool."

"It is not cool!" Chris shouted.

Ray was vaguely aware of the audience that had gathered behind the admit desk. From the corner of his eye, he saw Abby come out of the trauma room, her yellow gown covered in dried blood, looking very sad. Neela stepped out behind her.

"He didn't make it. I guess we've got a murderer on the loose now."

Ray locked his gaze with the man standing in front of him and felt a horrible sense of dread wash through his body.

"What are you waiting for?!" Chris snapped. His hand went toward his pocket.

"Are you bleeding, man?" Ray asked, swallowing hard. He already knew the answer, but he fought desperately to stay calm.

"No, I'm not bleeding," Chris said, drawing a long knife from his coat pocket. There was old blood all over the handle and blade. "I just need some help."

Ray closed his eyes slowly and felt his stomach twist itself into a knot. "Oh, my God," he muttered.

In a fraction of an instant, Chris had his elbow locked around Ray's throat. Ray felt himself being whirled around as Chris pulled his body hard against his own and pressed the cold, sharp edge of the knife against the bottom of his jaw.

"JUST GIVE ME WHAT I WANT!!!"