A/N: Yup, last chapter. Also, I don't own the song that's used at the end of the story. "Touch of Grey" is solely the property of the Grateful Dead.

CHAPTER 8: Ray

It was well past 9:30 by the time my shift ended. The ER was still picking up the pieces from that afternoon's shootout, but things were so much quieter than before. The construction workers would be here first thing tomorrow morning, and from what I could tell, they were definitely going to have their hands full.
"Hey Frank, has anyone seen Neela?" I asked as I exited the lounge and put on my jacket.
"Last I heard, she was taking a nap upstairs," he answered. "I dunno about you, but I am not looking forward to the next few days."
"Yeah, tell me about it," I agreed. "How's Jerry?"
"Dubenko says he's gonna make it."
"Awesome. Well, I'm gonna go wake Neela and see that she gets home."
"Right. It looks like we're pretty much over the hump, so I'll see ya tomorrow."
"You too."
When I got off the elevator on the third floor, I checked every exam room until I found Neela. She was curled up on a couch in the far corner of the room, and sleeping like a baby. At first, I thought that maybe I should just let her be, considering the fact that she'd buried her husband that day. But then I started to wonder if she should be alone. After a few seconds of hesitating, I quietly opened the door and slipped into the room.
"Neela?" I said softly. She didn't respond, so I put a hand on her shoulder and gently shook her. "Hey Neela, it's Ray."
Neela squirmed against the couch cushions, and her eyes opened a crack. "R—Ray?" she mumbled. "What time is it?"
"Almost 11."
"What are you doing here?"
"I was just getting ready to head out, and thought maybe I'd take you home."
"No, I just wanna stay here."
"Neela..."
"Look Ray, I've had the day from hell," Neela interrupted, as calmly and politely as she could manage. "So if it's all right with you, I'd really appreciate it if you walked out that door lest I introduce your giblets to my Nike."
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," I said defensively. "I just thought maybe you'd like someone to lean on, that's all."
"And I assume you're interested in being that someone, right?"
"Well, I don't mean to brag, but I am a good listener."
"Fine," Neela huffed as she got up. "Let's go."
A few minutes later, we were on the El. Neither of us said a word the first few minutes of the ride: myself, because I was still trying to process everything that had happened today; and Neela, because she was having to face the reality of being a widow before she turned 30. And believe me, I wouldn't wish something like that on my worst enemy.
"Look, Neela," I said at last, "I know you don't wanna talk about what happened today, but I just wanna tell you this only once, and you have my word that I'll never mention it again."
Not even looking in my direction, she nodded silently.
"I may not have known Mike as well as you did, but I can tell that he loved you very much," I said. "And from what you and some of the others have told me, he was a damn good doctor. And to tell you the truth, I would've really liked to have gotten to know him and work with him. Look, what I'm trying to say is, I can understand how you must be feeling now. I know what it's like to lose someone you care about. When I was a sophomore in college, an old friend of mine from back in Louisiana died from a brain aneurysm. He'd gone to sleep after a party one night, and never woke up again. And lemme tell ya, I was so pissed off that he'd died, and so depressed that I couldn't even bring myself to get up in the morning and go to my classes. But then I realized that he wouldn't have wanted me to just throw everything away, and that I had to get on with my life. It wasn't easy at first, but somehow, I found the strength to let go of the pain of losing him. And if Mike could come back for just five minutes, that's exactly what he'd be telling you to do. I'm not saying that you'll get over this immediately, because it doesn't work that way. It's gonna take some time, but he would want you to move on, and I know you can do it. We all do."
Neela looked up at me. I could see the tears forming in her eyes, but she wiped them away. "Thanks, Ray," she murmured. "You're a really good friend, you know that?"
"I try to be."
The train came to a stop, and we stood up, exited the doors, and walked the next few blocks to my apartment. The second we got in, Neela gave me her coat to hang up, and then went straight to the guest room, where she flopped down on the bed and was asleep in an instant.
"Goodnight, roomie," I whispered as I shut the door. I then made my way to the kitchen, got a bottle of raspberry iced tea from the fridge, and sat down on the couch. My iPod was sitting on the end table next to the lamp, so I picked it up and turned it on. After making sure the battery was fully charged and putting the buds in my ears, I started shuffling through the seemingly endless list of songs that I'd saved.
For some reason, here's the song that happened to start playing as I found myself dozing off:

"Must be get-tin' ear-ly,..clocks're run-nin' late;...
Pain-by-num-bers mor-nin' sky-y..looks so pho-o-ny...
Dawn is brea-kin' e-v'ry-where;..light a can-dle curse the glare...
Draw the cur-tains, I do't ca-are;..it's all ri-i-ght...
"I will..get by-y...(2x)
I will..ge-et by-y-y, I will sur-vi-i-ive..."

Amen to that, Jerry, I thought sleepily. Amen to that.

THE END