Disclaimer: All material and characters related to ER are not of my creation, and are owned by NBC etc, not myself.

Spoilers: Only for another of my stories, Against the Odds. This is a companion piece to that story, and although it makes sense without it, it's not really much of a story on its own.

Author's Note: Well, here's the prequel to Against the Odds; bet you were beginning to doubt you were actually ever going to see it, I know I've been promising it for weeks now. Before I start on it, I'll just set out the premise I've been working under in order to hopefully make things a little clearer. This story basically runs parallel to events in Season 12 and the early part of Season 13, with the one basic difference being that instead of getting married on the same day Michael and Neela get married the day after he proposes. Also, I'm not entirely sure when Abby got pregnant, but for the purposes of Against the Odds, she had been pregnant for a month or two before the wedding, which I think is earlier than it happened in the show. Any questions, just ask, but I'm sorry if this is slow going – I haven't seen any of Season 12 so I'm just going to roll with my interpretation of things, which will probably not be absolutely as it happened on the show, for which I ask you to accept my apologies. If there's a glaring discrepancy that bothers you, let me know how to fix it!

Rating: M – if you've read Against the Odds, you'll know why it's rated M. Not sure yet, but can't rule out a bit of strong language as well so be warned.

Back to the beginning

The first shot of tequila burnt a fiery trail down his throat, but he ignored it and refilled the glass before he'd even caught his breath, telling himself the tears in his eyes were entirely as a result of the alcohol. Nothing else.

She was getting married.

The second one was as bad as the first, and his hands were shaking. Down to the alcohol of course.

Tomorrow. She was getting married tomorrow.

He hadn't even bothered with beer. There was six pack in the fridge with his name on it, but it wasn't enough. Beer was for relaxing, and he was craving oblivion. He wanted to descend into a dark, blinding, crushing oblivion where he never had to hear her name or see her smile or listen to her laugh.

He had heard Jerry and Morris talking about it at the admit desk. She had happened to be there as well, and when he turned to look at her, a look of shock on his face and a question in his eyes, in the split second it took her to meet his gaze, he knew it was true before she said the words. He'd managed to choke out some congratulations before blinding grabbing a handful of charts and stalking off.

She ran after him. 'Ray, Ray wait up.'

He didn't stop walking. He just couldn't bring himself to look at her. Then he felt a small, soft hand warm on his arm and her quiet appeal stilled his steps. 'Ray, what's the matter?'

What's the matter? What's the matter? Was she stupid, blind, or just plain cruel? Then he looked at her, and his anger died. Those big brown eyes were all hurt and confusion, and he couldn't stay mad at her. At himself, yes, for feeling this way, and at Gallant, who thought he could swing back into town whenever he liked and just march her up the aisle, but not at her, never at her.

'I just… I have to say I'm a little surprised, that's all.' He tried to keep his voice casual.

'Well, I'm kind of surprised myself,' she admitted. 'But…' She shrugged. She didn't know what to say to him. She didn't know what she was doing herself. Agreeing to marry Michael, tomorrow, was a whirlwind decision, so unlike her, but Michael was amazing, loving and caring and strong, and he made her pulse race a little when she was close to him.

And the thing she had about Ray? Well, that was just crazy. They were roommates, friends, nothing more, and never would be. He was wild, irresponsible; only a matter of weeks ago, he'd been sleeping with an underage groupie, and he was in a band and drove her crazy, and… And maybe when she married Michael the voice in her head that had been increasingly telling her, just as it was right now, his hazel eyes staring down at her full of pain, that she might not be as crazy in thinking this as she thought she was, would give up and go away.

He wasn't going to let her get away with her half answer. 'But what, Neela?' He needed to hear her say the words. He didn't know whether it was because he thought that if she said it out loud, she might miraculously realise her mistake, or if he just wanted to torture himself, but he needed to hear her say that she loved Gallant.

'But… just because it's a crazy thing to do, it doesn't mean I shouldn't do it.'

What an impeccable answer, he thought. It answered his question perfectly, but on the other hand, didn't answer it at all. And whether she had intended it or not, it gave him the opportunity to fight for her, to tell her the truth. But they both knew he wouldn't take it.

'Well, good luck with it.' He hoped the smile he forced onto his face looked less like a grimace than it felt.

Neela watched his departing back. What had all that been about? Her instinct was telling her that that hurt look in his eyes, that angry demeanour, was down to something that the very prospect of which made her stomach flutter, and her pulse race in a way that it had never done with Michael. But it couldn't be. Her rational side tried to talk herself out of it, but the seed of doubt was in her mind now, and it was taking hold.

The third shot of tequila was no less painful than the ones that it chased down. Never again would they have those easy, relaxed nights here together, just the two of them, drinking beer and eating junk, the real world on the other side of a locked door. Now that little world would be gone, she would be gone.

He poured another, and it went the way of the others, too quickly, and he choked on it a little. The burn in his throat had reached his stomach now, but he still felt chilled to the bone at the prospect of losing her.

He wondered briefly if he should ease up. It was, after all, the wedding of the year tomorrow, and he didn't want to go there with a hangover to add to the pain. In fact, he didn't want to go at all. With another shot in hand, he questioned why he should have to at all. Why should he have to go and watched the woman he… loved? Yes, maybe even loved, get married to someone else. Then he imagined the look on her face as she cast her eyes, those deep, beautiful eyes of hers, around the room, and realised he wasn't there. Other than Abby, he knew he was her best friend, and he couldn't not go to her wedding. He wasn't that selfish.

But if he didn't go, then at least she would know. She would know for sure, beyond accidental brushes of skin on skin and looks that said more than words dared to. If he couldn't bring himself to go to her wedding then at last the pretence would be over and she would know, once and for all, that he was in love with her.

'Neela.' She held open the elevator door for Abby to rush in alongside her. She had been headed for the roof for some fresh air, to think, but she didn't mind company in the form of Abby.

'Hey,' Neela replied wearily, resting her head back against the wall of the elevator and pressing the button to take them to the very top. Abby took in the destination, and her friend's worried eyes, bit lip, preoccupied air. To her, they didn't look like the pre-wedding jitters of a regular blushing bride.

'Neela, are you okay?'

When she said, 'I'm fine,' Abby knew for sure something was wrong. She waited for a minute to see if there was going to be any elaboration, but there wasn't.

'You're going to the roof; that usually means you're not fine.'

'I'm just nervous, that's all. I'm getting married tomorrow, I'm allowed to be nervous, aren't I?' She knew she was being snappy and defensive, and hated herself for it. Why did she always have to be such an open book?

'Nerves are normal Neela. Biting your best friend's head off for asking a simple question is not.' The elevator doors opened with a ping and they stepped out into the cold, crisp air. 'So what is it, what's wrong?'

Neela stalked over to the railing, gripping it tightly and looking out over the city. She sighed. 'You think I'm crazy marrying Michael, don't you?'

'Yes, but just because it's crazy, that doesn't necessarily mean you shouldn't do it.' Abby chose her words carefully, not lying but hedging her bets until she could be sure in what direction the conversation was going to go.

Neela turned to look at her. 'That's exactly what I said to…' And then she stopped guiltily, and she knew she had just gifted Abby her secret on a plate.

'To Ray, honey?'

She nodded.

'And Ray's the real reason you've got cold feet, isn't he?'

'I don't know, I honestly don't. And even if I did, what's the point, he's Ray isn't he? The great Ray Barnett. It doesn't matter if I do have some pathetic schoolgirl crush on someone who wouldn't look twice at me unless my chest grew and my IQ shrank. I'm getting married. That's the main thing, right?' Even to her own ears, she sounded like she was persuading herself.

Abby was reluctant to answer. This was too big a decision for her to risk even giving an opinion; she didn't want to influence anything. She cast about for a suitable response. 'All I know Neela, is that whatever happens, whatever decisions we make, that against the odds, against anything we throw at it, love will win out in the end. It may take years, but what is meant to be, will be.'

There was something in Abby's voice that made Neela think she was talking about something else than there here and now, and her gaze, fixed blankly on a point in the middle distance, wasn't looking out over the city as Neela's was. She was seeing something totally different, and from the private, half smile on her face, it was obviously something good.

His hand was unsteady as he refilled the glass for the… how many times was it now? The very periphery of his vision was beginning to blur, but the black oblivion that he was so desperately seeking him had not arrived yet.

Instead, visions of her danced through his mind, from when he first met her to seeing her in that stupid Statue of Liberty hat, to the time she had hunted him down after his gig to call him out over his behaviour, to feeling her cool, smooth hand in his much larger one as they shook hands and sealed his fate.

God, all those missed opportunities. If he'd had the courage to take just one of them, he might not be sitting here alone, drinking tequila like it was going out of fashion, haunted by thoughts of her pledging her love and her life to someone else.

He felt tears pricking at his eyes again, and this time, now the alcohol was in his system, he didn't have the strength to fight them. Brushing angrily at the moisture, he decided the answer was to pour another drink. He tried turning the TV on for a bit of hollow company, but the very first channel that came on was showing the World Poker Tour and he switched it off instantly.

At least she was out tonight. There was talk of a hen night of some sort. At least she didn't have to see him behaving like such a pathetic mess.

Neela and Abby were silent for a long time, both lost in their own thoughts. Eventually, Abby came back to the present, and she remembered why she had tracked Neela down in the first place.

'Anyway, I came to find you to say, Sam and Chuny are making noises about a hen night tonight. Nothing much, but a few drinks at Ike's I guess. I wanted to check your views on the matter before they got too carried away with it.'

'A hen night?'

'Yes. Feel free to say if you don't want to.'

Neela thought about it. A hen night; that would make it more like a real wedding. It would feel as if she was actually getting married if she had a hen night. And if she could go out and get absolutely plastered, she might feel like shit in the morning, but at least she wouldn't lie in bed, awake all night, wondering if she was doing the right thing.

'No,' she smiled. 'I want a hen night. Let's have a hen night.'

And right up until she was standing on the pavement outside Ike's, she really thought that a hen night would help, that she would be able to have a few drinks and let her hair down, and it would all be okay. She could hear strains of music and shrieks of laughter coming from inside. Her hand hovered over the handle. And then she took a step backwards, away from the party, away from reality.

When Ray heard a key in the lock, he frowned. Who was that? Only Neela had a key, but it couldn't be her. She was out celebrating her… her wedding. He pulled himself up, and stumbled out into the corridor. 'Hello?'

'Ray…'

Through the alcohol haze, he saw her standing there, an expression that he didn't understand on her face. She was dressed for her night out, in dark denim jeans and a tight black jumper. It had a v neck and he could see the coffee coloured skin of her chest rising and falling. All he could really think, through the tequila and the sudden pounding of blood in his skull, was that she looked very beautiful and vulnerable, and even though she was getting married tomorrow, she was here. With him. 'Neela?'

Slowly, she began to walk towards him, trying not to think. Tonight, she just wanted to be.

'Neela, what are you doing here? I thought…'

She was shaking her head. 'There was somewhere else I had to be,' she said quietly, looking up at him with wide, scared eyes.

'Where–'

She cut him off with a finger on his lips. 'Here. With you.'