Disclaimer: I don't own ER. No, you're not imagining it, this is the long, long overdue update to Guilt. Sorry for the length of this authors note, I'm afraid I've got a bit to say!
I could come up with many excuses for why its taken me so long to write this but I won't, I'll just say that if I'd been allowed to kill Neela it would have been finished a few chapters ago, but you, you know who you are, begged me not to so... I struggled with this, and wrote so many drafts, and then got stuck after the first few chapters until I watched Under Pressure last week and managed to finish this in one sitting, so for once thanks goes to the ER scriptwriters. In the last couple of days I've also come to the conclusion that I've been holding of posting this as I don't want it to end, but it has to, so here it is.
I want to say a big thank you to Modscho for her support, and Oceans of Ashes for putting up with my rants and making me feel not so bad for taking so long to update, and to everyone else for their kind reviews, thank you they've meant a great deal to me. Well guys, this is it, I hope you enjoy, reviews as always are love.
There's a black coffee in front of me, I've not touched it since I placed it there on the wobbly beech table in this beige inspired coffee house. Before I leave I'll drink it, swallow down what most likely will be the cold, bitter water but for now it just sits there, steaming, as I gaze out the window. Its early rush hour, people bustling their way to work, pushing and shoving their way along the pavement, the rain splattering on the ground around them but I'm not really seeing them, I'm not peering at the shoes and bags wondering where they bought them, I'm not wondering where they're going, I'm not thinking about what's in the lunch bag in their hand; instead I'm staring through them, past them, no longer in the present, in a world of my own.
A year's passed now, a year that I once never dreamed would exist for me but as I stare out that wide expanse of glass, past the dark brown, leather couches, and the beech, upright chairs, its as if only a moment has passed, only a minute since I heard a machine rhythmically echoing my heart beat, a second since it dawned on me that those murmurs were voices, and the briefest period of time since I realised that he was there by my side. As I gaze out of those rain soaked panes, I don't see the blackness or the wetness, all I see is a greenish, slate grey room and those eyes, those eyes were the first I saw that day, eyes so full of emotion that they would have made anyone choke. I know now that what I was seeing was love; love and fear, and pain and guilt, but most of all love, but back then it was all too much for me to comprehend. At that time there was only one thing I knew and that was that I was somewhere I never thought I'd be again, somewhere I'd had no intention of seeing again, surrounded by people that I'd said my goodbyes to a few hours earlier on a cold, stark, tiled floor. And the only thing I could feel was numb.
That first night was the longest night, he hardly left my side for twenty four hours, I closed my eyes and he was there, and he was still there when I opened them, making sure that I was never alone. My eyes were closed a lot that night, it was easier than having to look at him, at any of them, easier than having to deal with the reality of my existence. And at some point during that first night, when my eyes had slid shut in feigned sleep, I'd heard him whisper those three words that should have meant so much. I just lay there, pretending to sleep, how could I tell him that I no longer knew what love was? That I could tell red from blue, an apple from a banana, warm from cold, but I no longer could tell joy from sorrow, happy from sad; that I couldn't remember what love felt like. My emotions had died as the blood started to drain from my body, as my life was meant to end, and though my body and mind had been brought back to life, they still lay there, in a bathroom, in an apartment block, alone, lacking the oxygen they needed to survive.
Over the next few days I realised how they felt, surrounded by all my friends and colleagues, and him, I'd never felt so alone. They asked so many questions, looked at me with such pity and concern as if they wanted to understand why I'd done what I'd done, what they could do to make things right, but there was nothing they could do, nothing they could say, when it came down to it, it was my battle to fight if that's what I wanted to do. They could give me all the medication, all the counselling, all the support, in the world but if I didn't want to be there, if I wanted to find another way out, I'd be able to find a way, and they knew that. I can only imagine how soul destroying that must have been for them, but at the time all I knew was that I was alone, that my life, to live it or to end it, that decision lay in my hands and no one else's. In those first days I didn't have the strength to fight, either for it or against it, I just lay there, as good as died, as the hustle and bustle of the hospital continued around me.
I take a sip of the lukewarm liquid in front of me, momentarily distracted by the heated words being exchanged between the barista and a customer at the counter, over the presence of half fat or full fat soya milk in a grande latte, and find myself smirking at the banality of the whole situation. Who really cares whether its full fat or half fat in the greater scheme of things, its never going to be on that list of regrets when you're lying on your deathbed, is it? I feel my lips raise in a smile and allow myself to sink back into my thoughts.
It took me a long time to realise why they kept coming back, why they wouldn't leave me alone like I wanted. In my mind I was a waste of space, no good to anyone, yet these people kept coming back despite me ignoring them, pushing them away, shouting at them. My behaviour was awful to say the least, I can admit that now, but despite how bad it was there was normally someone there when I opened my eyes, usually one or two visitors each day, and more often than not it was Ray. Their persistence slowly ate away at my resistance and I began to realise that they weren't there out of some deep seated guilt or pity but because they genuinely cared about me enough to put up with all my shit, and I realised that perhaps I wasn't such a terrible person after all. This was no mind altering epiphany out of the blue, it was gradual, something I wasn't really conscious of until I realised that I'd started fighting again. It was hard, harder than hard, I realised first hand that there's no easy cure for depression, that wanting to be better doesn't make you better, it doesn't matter what causes it you can't decide to flick a switch one day and be well again, I would have loved to, but you can't. Like everything that's worth it it was gradual, not even a day at a time, but slowly, an hour, a moment, at a time; one minute I'd be fine, feeling fairly positive and then the smallest thing, a new patient in my therapy session, a tangled sheet, an overly stewed cup of tea, could send me spiralling back into the blackness.
Those first couple of months it was easier to count the good moments than the bad they were so infrequent, but, again, gradually they increased until I could go for days without one and then one would sneak up and plunge me back into the darkness. Those days were the worst, when its your state of being you don't realise how bad it is, but when you're getting used to smiling and laughing and you hit one of those dark periods, and they still were darker than dark, it hits you with such a force, and you can't understand why it happened, or that you were happy just before so why weren't you now, and all those questions just make the battle harder.
I was lucky though, I had all these friends to support me, once I let them in, once I let them help me, and they never gave up on me and they never let me give up. I'm grateful for that now, its easier to fight when you know you've got all these people on your side, even if you don't realise it at the time. And I was even more grateful for Ray, I remember recalling something he'd once said to me 'you're the best friend I ever had', he once again became that for me. He was always there, at most a telephone call away, no matter how he was feeling or how much pain he was in. He'd finished growing up after his accident, who wouldn't in the circumstances, but he wasn't bitter, he was just getting on with his life, not letting it stand in his way, and it seemed that an important part of that was making sure I was okay.
It was clear to both of us that I wasn't ready for anything romantic, I think we both realised that whatever it was between us was so much more than just a romance, that when it happened we both wanted it to last, to be a rest of our lives sort of thing. So we kept it at arms length as I recovered and we rebuilt our friendship, and we found our way back to what we were before our hearts got so embroiled.
When I was finally released, I think most of my friends assumed I'd stay with Ray for a bit, or maybe forever, but that would have pushed things along too quickly, it would have been impossible to deny those feelings, that attraction, that was always between us, instead Abby offered me their spare room. Luka's father had died not long after that night, and after arranging the funeral, and sorting out all the legal matters, he'd returned to Chicago, and County. I was well enough by the time he returned to notice the difference is presence made to Abby; she was more carefree, less stressed, lighter, as if a weight had been lifted, and when they offered to let me stay I accepted gratefully.
I'm jostled from my thoughts as a stroller hits the leg of my chair, one of those ones with the oversize wheels designed for off road trekking not navigating the narrow spaces between the tables. I meet the woman's eyes and she scowls at me as if I'm intentionally getting in her way, I feel a deep sigh rising inside me, and almost stick my tongue out at her in a childish response, instead I retreat to thoughts of a far more pleasant family.
I think spending time with Joe was perhaps the final push I needed, he was so alive, so bouncy, getting into everything, and getting away with it with his innocent smile and sweet words. He was, and still is, a little monkey, when I stayed there nothing was private from his prying hands, I was just relieved that he had yet to learn to read when I found him ensconced in my journal. Being with him made me realise that I wanted that for myself, I wanted to be a part of a family, like Abby and Luka's, and that was one more reason for me to fight even harder during the bleak periods, there was no way I was subjecting a child to my lows until I knew I could deal with them.
I stayed with them for a few months, near the end of which I started back at County, taking it slowly, easing my way back in a few shifts at a time. I offered to go back to my apartment a number of times before that, but they wouldn't hear of it, not until all of us – them, Ray, my doctors and myself – were in agreement that I was ready for it. It was daunting to say the least. I was scared that as soon as the door shut, and I was alone, I would fall apart, a fairly reasonable fear I guess. To start with it seemed like it wasn't going to be an issue as I was never allowed to be alone, I'd get in from work and my buzzer would go and there would be Ray with a DVD and takeaway, or my phone would ring and it would be Sam asking me to a movie. In the end it was me that had to say that I would be okay on my own, that if I need anyone I'd call, that I wouldn't break, and eventually I got through to them. Ray was the hardest to convince, perhaps because he felt he had the most to lose if I was wrong, but I wasn't and I needed to know that. It took me a while to get used to not always having something to do, someone to see, but, despite a few tearful phone calls, and late night visits, I got used to it. I was independent again.
I should have told Ray then that I was ready to explore what was between us, but I didn't. I told myself that I wasn't ready, that I didn't want to mess up what we'd rebuilt, but I was lying to myself, and he let me. He says he didn't want to push me into something I wasn't ready for. So that was it, I was friends, the best of friends, with a guy I'd loved for almost all of the time I'd known him and I don't think anything would have changed if it hadn't been for an incident one afternoon in the ER when I woke up to the reality of my actions, or the lack of them.
My recollection of it is fairly hazy, once I knew that Ray was involved the panic took over. I only became aware of what was happening when County was evacuated, there were patients and doctors and nurses rushing around the ambulance bay and all anyone was saying was that there was a hostage situation in the ER, three doctors being held at gunpoint. Ray had been off shift for a couple of hours so I wasn't that worried about him, I should have known better of course, but I found myself, as odd as it seemed, worrying about Dustin. He was on the ER rota that day and he'd disappeared downstairs an hour or so earlier, and I hadn't seen him since. I managed to catch hold of Sam as she ushered patients out of the way to ask her if she'd seen Dusty. My heart dropped to the ground when she told me he was still inside with Ray. I just stood there as she moved away, the idea that Ray was in there churning in my mind. It was while I was out there, in the cold, dark night, that I realised that I'd been lying to myself, telling myself that I didn't want to spoil our friendship by taking things further whereas in reality, I was just too damn scared that I might get hurt, that I might lose him again. I'd done exactly what I'd done after Michael died, well, not quite, there was no Tony this time, but it was close. I'd kept telling myself that our time would come, that it would all work out, but the question that was resounding in my head was, had we had too many second chances already?
The relief that coursed through me when word filtered out that they were all okay, that the gunman had been taken down was immense, and when I was finally allowed back inside, and I found myself at his side, seeing him shaken but otherwise unhurt, I just couldn't stop myself from pulling him into my arms, I never wanted to let go. And from the way he was clinging to me neither did he. Crenshaw told me afterwards, while he was still fairly worked up from it, that Ray had been amazing, so controlled, unfazed, he'd tried reasoning with the guy, even when he had a gun pointed at him, and had managed to get the guy to hand over his gun just before the marksman shot him. Ray said that he'd felt for the guy, that he'd been trying to make a life for him and his girlfriend, and it had gotten to the point where money was so tight that they felt that the only thing they could do to survive was rob a store, hence the gun. He was pleading with them to save his girlfriend who'd been hurt in the incident, saying that they had to fix her even when it was apparent that that wasn't possible, and that that had reminded him of that afternoon in Trauma 1 when he'd been so certain that he'd lost me. They'd called it just before he handed over the gun and Ray said he'd just fallen apart. All I knew was that this guy had made me see what I was denying myself, this wonderful, brave, caring man who wanted to spend the rest of his life loving me, and for that I was immensely grateful.
As I glance over the breath steals from my lungs. He pushes his rain soaked hood down as he searches me out. It's been a hard shift, I can tell, its not just the scrubs he's wearing, its in the way he's holding himself, the way he's moving, like even the slightest movement aches like you wouldn't believe. But I do believe it and seeing him like this makes me ache as well. He's still glancing around, searching, and as his eyes fall on me they light up, sparkling with the intensity of feelings they hold. We've been on opposite shifts for the last few days and despite sharing an apartment these few minutes over a cup of coffee as we pass are all the time we've shared during them, and they're what makes the hardest shift bearable. As he grabs a coffee at the counter, I step back into my thoughts.
There was no more going slow after that day, we moved my stuff into his apartment the following weekend, and it wasn't destined for his spare room. I lift my head again and smile, almost four and a half years after I moved out we were roomies again, and if I have my way that will never change, I've realised something over the last few months, that that man making his way through the coffee shop towards me is the man I'm meant to love for the rest of my life and, as he leans down to meet my lips with his, I promise myself that I'll make sure that happens.
