A/N: This is the first fanfic I've ever posted and I've only watched a handful of ER episodes in the past couple years, so some details may be a bit off. But here's what I think should have happened after Gallant's death.

It took Ray almost a full minute to realize the hammering sound invading his dreams was not an actual hammer, but someone knocking on the door. Groggily putting his feet on the floor, he noted the rhythmic evenness of the knocking, which was now entering its second minute. No urgency, no enthusiasm, just a steady, unrelenting knock.

"Yeah, coming," Ray yelled in the direction of the door, turning on a light and then shutting his eyes against the brightness. Squinting, he undid the locks and pulled the door open a crack. Focusing his eyes, his still sleepy brain tried to comprehend what he saw.

"Neela." Definitely Neela, somewhat drenched and looking utterly exhausted, was standing in the doorway. He'd seen her only briefly, passing her in the hallways with minimal eye contact; since she'd made it clear on the roof he was to leave her alone. And he had dammit. He'd gone against every instinct in his body and done exactly as she'd asked. She'd been there for each of his past two shifts, totally focused, as if on auto-pilot, clearly to push aside the reality of Michael's death. And he'd done nothing.

"It's raining?" he asked, sticking with the obvious. Her face showed confusion and she blinked several times as though adjusting to her surroundings. Looking down at the tiny beads of water she answered him.

"Uh, apparently so." This detail seemed to be of little consequence to her. Breathing deeply and shifting her feet she appeared to become fully conscious of where she was. "It's late. I woke you up. Sorry, Ray, I'll just…"

"No!" he said a little too emphatically. Then softer, "No, it's fine." Reaching for her hand, he pulled her gently into the apartment, the apartment that in his mind was still theirs. She took several steps on her own and then stopped as if whatever momentum that had been produced in her evaporated. "I wanted to call you, see how you were doing." He stood behind her, hands hovering over her shoulders. "You should take that wet coat off." When she gave no sign of hearing him, he slowly did so himself, with no sign of awareness from her. Crossing in front of her to hang up the coat, he then turned around to face her trance-like form. "Neela? It's the middle of the night. What are you doing here?"

This comment reached her and she looked him straight in the eye. "Kovac made me go home. Told me I'd worked to many hours straight, hadn't slept and was over my limit for the week. I had to go home." She inhaled deeply, almost shuddering with the effort. "Home. Where's that? I can't go back to the apartment that…" she broke off before saying his name. She walked past Ray, toward the window with the view she had loved. Staring out into the city's rain-dimmed lights she continued. "I can't go there and look at the pictures of him smiling in uniform. I can't see the frames with the medals he already earned, but weren't enough." Bitterness dripped from her words. "And I can't go to Abby's because now she and Kovac are staying there instead of his place and are so in love and so happy. And I'm certainly not."

Ray's brain heard her words, but was stuck on one fact. "Kovac told you to leave? He got off before I did at 6. Neela, where have you been?"

"Walking." Her tone told him she wasn't sure herself. "He wouldn't let me do my job, the one thing I've been able to do to get my mind off…" Tears were filling her eyes and threatened to spill over. She shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. "He told me to go home and I…I didn't know where to go, Ray. The apartment or Abby's…didn't feel right." Her voice, strong at first, became raw with emotion the longer she spoke. "I just walked and walked and couldn't get his words out of my head. 'Go home, Neela.' And I didn't know where that was. So I just walked until…"

"You came here."

"I didn't plan to," she seemed almost embarrassed. "But this…" she gestured helplessly around her.

"Is home," he finished, draping his arm across her shoulders. It took you 7 hours to figure that out?" he joked. He felt her shiver and pulled her closer. "You're shivering. You left some of that tea you love. And clothes in your closet." He led her in the direction of her bedroom. "Go change, I'll make the tea."

She was wearing a pair of flannel pajama pants with a sweatshirt he would have sworn originally belonged to him. Her head rested against the back of the couch and her feet were propped up on the coffee table. A week or so before she moved out they had an argument about the placement of said table, Neela insisting it should be close enough that she could rest her feet on it, even if it meant his nearly dangled off the far end and he bruised his knee more often that not. He hadn't moved it in the time she'd been gone.

Now he maneuvered carefully around it with the steaming mugs of tea in his hands. He offered one to her with the warning, "It's hot."

"You never made it hot enough," she automatically complained as she took the drink from him. Wrapping her hands around it she held her face over it, inhaling the warmth and aroma before taking a sip.

"That's because it's very difficult to treat second degree burns on your tongue." He noted her disgusted expression and took it as a sign she remembered their on-going debate. "That metric system you learned in London must have messed up your sense of temperature. I've been able to keep the apartment at a less-than-Saharan level since you've been gone." Sitting next to her on the couch, their arms within a fraction of an inch of touching, he couldn't see her face. "I missed you though." He felt and heard her inhale deeply, though whether it was a sigh or yawn he couldn't say. For several minutes they sat side-by-side, drinking from their respective cups and pondering their respective thoughts.

Eventually she set the cup down on the floor and settled further into the couch, tilting her head so it rested against his shoulder. After listening to her yawn several times in succession, Ray wasn't surprised when he glanced down to see her fighting to keep her eyes open. "How, uh…how much have you slept since…"

"Not much," she cut him off, yawning again before continuing. "I can't settle my thoughts. There's just too much in there." She shifted against him to get more comfortable and without thinking he slipped his arm around her to become her pillow. "My body's exhausted, but my mind's another story."

"Turn your brain off, that's what I do," he recommended. He almost missed her brief, quite laugh. "Hey, I'm being nice here."

"You are," she agreed. And then at the end of another yawn, "Thanks." She felt her body growing heavier against his, but was too comfortable to contemplate moving. She'd done enough thinking for today, for a lifetime, in fact, and this was something she didn't have to think about. She was warm, she was relaxed, and she was safe. She was home.

Ray waited for almost a half hour until he slowly eased himself forward. Neela's breathing had become deeper and more even; her body sunk into his and her eyes seemed permanently shut. Nonetheless, he didn't want to risk waking her from what he guessed was the only sleep she'd had in a while. Slowly, moving with the utmost caution, he maneuvered her head against his shoulder and leaned her body into his. Almost kneeling on the ground now, he slipped his arm under her legs and stood up in one fluid motion. He'd had to lift a high school cheerleader in the ER last week, and he didn't think Neela's petite frame was any heavier than the high schooler.

Turning toward the bedroom, he moved carefully and steadily through the short hallway, aware of the doorframes and corners. He'd changed nothing in her room when she left, too hurt to face the memories, and eventually unwilling to let anyone take her place. The bed was made, so he lowered her to its surface and disentangled himself from her. He stood and was reaching for the folded quilt to cover her with when she grasped his hand.

"Ray."

"I didn't mean to wake you," he apologized, mentally chastising himself for interrupting her precious sleep. "I just thought you'd be more comfortable in here."

"It's fine, Ray." The dim light from the hallway barely illuminated her face and her voice was husky from sleep, her accent less distinct. "I thought maybe…I was going to ask if you'd…" Her voice trailed off and it sounded as thought it was from embarrassment.

"If I'd…?"

"I feel so alone." She lowered her eyes so she didn't have to look at him. "I don't want to be alone too," she finished softly.

"You…want me to stay?" Unable to keep the surprise out of his voice, Ray wanted to confirm what he'd heard.

"You don't…"

"Sure," he said, a little too enthusiastically, so he tempered his next words and added compassion. "Anything you want, Neela." Sensing her discomfort for continuing the conversation, he took the quilt and gently covered her with it. Then he walked to the far side of the bed and eased himself under the bedspread. He folded his arms under the pillow and stared at the ceiling, conscientiously maintaining the boundaries created by the bedding. She'd asked for his presence, certainly not his comfort.

But she surprised him again, inserting herself in the space between them and then resting her head on his shoulder once more. And so he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer, reassuring her that he would indeed, do what Michael had not. He would stay.