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When Neela was ten years old, she had to make an acrostic poem out of her name for her English class. You know, A for amazing, B for beautiful, C for careful. She’d taken it home to puzzle over at her kitchen table. The L and the A were easy and while the E’s were a bit trickier, the real trouble was the N. She couldn’t find a single word that felt right.
Eventually she gave up and asked her dad for help. After a moment of thoughtful consideration, he offered, “...Neurotic?”
She had to look it up in the dictionary, but well, if the shoe fit.
See, Neela has spent her whole life living in her own head. She has this tendency to fixate on the things she does wrong, obsessively going over them again and again in her mind. It’s unhealthy, she knows, but it’s like picking at a scab. She just can’t help it. She's been told to learn to let things go, that no one can be perfect. Maybe that was true for other people, but not her. She’s always had to get everything right on the first try.
This was slightly complicated by the fact that she was her own worst enemy. Most days, Neela felt like a collection of flaws and pathologies held together by sheer stubbornness. She’s awkward, she’s indecisive, she’s bad with people and constantly puts her foot in her mouth, she gets inappropriate crushes on older men who, morally speaking, probably shouldn’t reciprocate. But the worst one, her fatal flaw, her Achilles’ heel, whatever you want to call it, is the one that keeps her up most nights. To put it simply: Neela’s instincts were always wrong.
She’s not saying that out of self pity or as part of her ritual of castigation, it’s just a statement of fact. Give her time to draft a detailed plan or an equation to solve, she’s right as rain. Great, even. A pleasure to have in class. But when it comes to making snap decisions, relying on intuition, situations where everything is on the line and there’s only a split second to make a choice, situations where people like Pratt or Weaver or Abby thrive? It’s like something shorts in her brain and she makes the worst call every time.
It’s what led to her accidentally killing a patient, embroiling her, Michael, and Carter in a mess that could have cost them all their licenses. It’s what led to her dropping out of her residency in Michigan, burning bridges it had taken four years of med school to build in an instant. It's what led her to, and she had to suppress a shudder even thinking about it, working at the Jumbo Mart. Neela spent weeks after each event agonizing over the could’ve-been’s and might’ve’s. She raked herself over the coals until she was burned raw.
In the end, the situations were resolved, but not because of anything Neela did. No, she just got lucky. That was almost the worst part, the knowledge that she could dig her own grave with the best of them but couldn’t get herself out when it mattered. She was completely, and utterly hopeless.
But she had been given a gift and was determined to make the best of it. There was no more room for failure. No more slack that could be cut for her. This time, things would be different. This time, Neela would finally get everything right.
..
Neela had a whole plan laid out in her mind for what she and Michael would do once he finally got home. She would pick him up from the airport and they would go to that Italian place he loved. He’d get the stromboli and she’d get the risotto. She was going to wear her favorite black dress because she knew it drove him wild - he’d written to her about it, these toe-curling letters that had kept her company on the nights when the apartment was empty and she was all alone with nowhere to go. They would make polite conversation, drink in the sight of each other, say all the things that they hadn’t been able to get across in their letters. And when the anticipation was sufficiently built, they would go back to the apartment and they would shag each other’s brains out.
She explained this to him - the dinner part at least - when they finally broke their mid-street embrace. Michael offered a solid rebuttal: after over twelve straight hours of traveling, he couldn’t bear the thought of being anywhere that wasn’t her apartment and anyway, he wasn’t hungry. How could she argue with that?
As usual, he made the right call. With the exception of when Ray walked in on them on the couch because she forgot to call him to say he couldn’t come home and she had to yell at him to get out, get out, Michael laughing into the divot of her clavicle, it was really, really wonderful. Michael had a way about him, even when they weren’t doing anything but laying in bed, that soothed her fringed edges in a way that no one ever has before. He was just steady, the most dependable person she’s ever known.
The next morning, they were still in bed, giggling under the covers like school children. Neela was sweaty and disgusting, ash still clinging to the crevices of her body, and her lungs were raw from smoke inhalation and there was no place in the world she’d rather be. She sighed in content as he traced patterns on her back with his finger. It was times like these, when she marveled at something as simple as his touch, that she wondered how they ever successfully navigated a long distance relationship. But never again, she thought with a thrill that went down to her toes. He was home to stay. She nuzzled into his side a bit more just because she could
They weren’t even talking, just basking in each other’s presence when Michael adjusted so he was looking in her eyes and said, as easily as asking if she wanted to get takeout, “We should get married. Today, right now. As soon as possible.”
It took every iota of willpower that Neela had in her body to not laugh in his face.
It’s- well, it’s ridiculous! They couldn’t just get married, especially not in a day. He might as well have said, “Hey Neela, quit your job so we can open a restaurant on Mars!”. It was so far out of the realm of possibility that she was genuinely concerned that he was suffering from some sort of untreated brain injury and she missed all of the other signs because she was too obsessed with getting laid like some kind of harlot.
“Sure I am,” he said laughing and waving her away as she tried to assess if his pupils were even, “it’s called love.”
“It’s called a concussion,” she retorted.
His physical condition might've checked out, but she had serious doubts about his psychological condition. That meant that she had to be the reasonable one. So she turned him down in bed, and in the shower, and on the subway. It didn’t make a difference; Michael was relentless, badgering her with all the reasons they should until she didn’t know which way was up.
It’s not like she doesn’t feel guilty turning him down. It’s not even that she didn’t see the appeal or wasn't touched by grand gesture. She just couldn’t do it. Nothing good ever came of Neela rushing into things, she knew. God, she knew. Maybe in a couple of years, when she was more certain of… anything, really. But now? Out of the question.
Michael didn’t see it that way. He said he loved her and asked if she loved him. She meant it when she told him she did. He said that’s all they need and he meant that too. It’s a very romantic notion from her steady, dependable Michael, but he was completely, totally, impossibly sincere. The first hint of doubt snuck its way into the back of her mind.
And so she started to think: if her instincts always lead her astray and her gut reaction was that they couldn't, then maybe by some twisted arithmetic, Michael was right.
What was she so afraid of anyway? That she was too young? She’s 28 - not exactly a child bride. Her mother had three kids when she was that age and was pregnant with number four. Was it that they didn't know each other well enough? She’s said things to him in letters that she’s never admitted to anyone else; the anxieties that tormented her since childhood, the slip-ups at work that she caught without anyone noticing, the stories too embarrassing to speak out loud. He’s more than repaid her with secrets and stories of his own. In some ways, he knew her better than anyone in the world.
He was so certain about it. She’s never been as sure of anything in her whole life as Michael was about eloping right then, right there. There he was, proposing to the most neurotic girl in Chicago for the thousandth time on a crowded subway at 8 am and running on about two cumulative hours of sleep like it was the simplest thing in the world.
The subway jostled suddenly and he caught her shoulders before she even realized she was about to fall. He held her steady. He’s always held her steady.
Really, how could she say no?
…
To give credit where it’s due, things went well for all of a month. It was a very literal honeymoon phase.
Neela was surprised by how quickly she took to it. It wasn’t that she thought she was never going to be married, it’s just that she could only ever picture it at a very far distance. Something that could be saved for after college, or after med school, or after she’d completed her residency. Just… after.
But there was something kind of nice about jumping in the deep end before she had time to overthink and ruin everything. Maybe spontaneity had its advantages - as long as it was a team sport.
Even their honeymoon trip was relatively spur of the moment. They’d both resigned themselves to postponing it at least a couple of months so that they could save up a bit instead of blowing what they had on booking a last minute vacation, but it turned out there were benefits to being friends with a multi millionaire - Carter offered to cover everything as a belated wedding present. They felt mildly guilty accepting, but neither of them were quite selfless enough to turn him down. As far as gifts went, it just beat out Abby’s toaster.
It was like something out of a dream. Lying on the beach next to Michael, watching the sunset as it kissed the sky and the sea and the both of them with oranges and reds, she was filled with a level of contentment she never thought was possible. This was what she'd been missing, the other half that made her whole.
She even liked the mundane things: the mornings when she’d wake up to find him making her breakfast only mildly marred by the facts that he always burned the eggs and that half the time Ray was there too, writing thank you cards at the kitchen table elbow to elbow, brushing their teeth side by side in the bathroom mirror. It was all very domestic, and they were looking for a place of their own, so the Ray thing wasn’t going to be an issue for long.
When Michael got approved to finish his residency at County, it felt like everything was falling into place. And then Michael told her that he was thinking of reenlisting and the dream came to a crashing halt.
Neela took it… poorly. She’s not sure who she was more mad at. God, how could she have been so stupid. Why had she thought that this time rushing into a decision would work out for her? Why had she let Michael convince her? Because he was dependable? What a joke.
Neela spent the next couple of nights at Abby’s place sleeping on the couch - last year she’d festered in her own failure on that same couch for longer than she’d been married - paralyzed with indecision over what to do and so upset she can’t even think straight. All she could seem to do was replay every moment of their short-lived relationship, trying to find something she’d missed, some clue that she missed. She came up short.
As always, the couch was good to her. It swaddled her in layers of blankets and dirty clothes and used tissues and self pity, building up an armor impenetrable by the outside world. It was very tempting to stay there forever, ignoring Michael’s calls until he just got sick of trying. Let him understand how it felt to be abandoned.
But she couldn’t. Because despite how they rushed into it, she did love Michael. Because they'd been so happy before and she couldn't give that up.
(Because she couldn’t bear the thought of this being added to her long list of mistakes and failures. She could picture the gossip already, at home, in the hospital. Little Neela, divorced after a month. Her mother, expertly blending sympathy and condescension, as she asked, “What did you think was going to happen?”. The thought of it gave her hives.)
So when Neela cooled down, she and Michael sat down and had a long talk. Both of them cry at different points, but they muscle through it until they’ve articulated their points. When it became clear there was no dissuading him to not go, she did her best to swallow it.
Michael had to go back. She wanted him home, but she didn’t need him and it was a good thing he was doing, right? He was going to save lives, advocate for patients other people might let slip down the cracks. If a good marriage was built on compromise, then she could be the one to give this time. He’d pay her back, and had already paid her when he covered for her career-ending mistake two years ago. Neela could give him this.
Neela could take another six months of distance. She could and she would, because she was his wife and that's what wives did.
Michael kissed her goodbye at the airport with such tenderness he must’ve been afraid she was going to break. Dressed in his uniform, he was almost unbearably handsome, every inch the gallant hero. “I love you,” he said, his forehead pressed to hers like he could convey the depths of his emotions through osmosis, “I love you so much. Thank you.”
Neela watched him go, feeling nothing but hollow. The numbness was so unsettling that it was almost a relief when she got in her car and immediately started sobbing. She must’ve been stuck there for half an hour, resisting the urge to slam on the horn. When she was finished, she dried her eyes, blew her nose, and drove home alone.
It was hard, but she never expected it to be easy. Surprisingly, she found herself leaning on Ray. In the past, she confided in Abby, but between her pregnancy and her rekindling romance with Luka, it didn’t seem right to drag her into Neela’s bullshit. She’s not that selfish.
Unfortunately, without Abby Neela was forced to come to the humbling realization that she didn’t actually have that many close friends. There was really only Pratt and Ray, and beyond the fact that Pratt was her superior, he was also always more Michael’s friend than hers. So Ray it was.
A year ago, it would’ve seemed impossible that she would ever willingly hang out with Ray. In fact, she had dedicated a lot of time ensuring that they would spend as little time together as possible. But whether it was him deciding that he actually wanted to be a doctor, getting kicked out of his band, or the whole Zoe debacle, the rockstar attitude and the womanizing that annoyed her so much at the beginning had been significantly diminished. There were very few girls pounding his headboards these days.
It turns out that beneath the nail polish and the ripped t-shirts, Ray was as big a loser as she is. Neela would’ve liked keeping company with him solely for the reminder that she wasn’t the only one whose life had dramatically veered off the charted course, but there was a surprising compatibility when they weren't arguing all the time. Ray was even… sweet? She hadn’t thought Ray was capable of being sweet, but he was. Sometimes they would be on the couch together, watching whatever garbage television they’d fixated on that week and he would do something like wordlessly extend half of his blanket towards her or have a beer waiting for her before she had to ask for one.
It was so horribly thoughtful. She appreciated it and despaired it in equal measure because it was so domestic that, inevitably, it would remind her of the things she was missing out on. Her brain would get as far as “I wish Michael would’ve-“ before she ruthlessly cut it off, because Michael would and Michael had, it’s just that Michael wasn’t here. He’d do it again when he came home. She just had to be patient.
One of Ray’s shirts got mixed in with her laundry - they’d started going to the laundromat together and it happened occasionally. A few weeks ago he somehow got her underwear, an absolute nightmare. It was the kind of comfortable that only comes from years of wear, the cotton soft and thin, and she told herself he wouldnt’t miss it. She wore it to sleep sometimes and pretended that the empty half of her bed didn’t bother her more than usual when she did.
….
Once upon a time, fainting in front of a crowd of her peers after getting screamed at by deranged animal rights activists definitely would’ve triggered a full blown never-show-her-face-again-in-public emotional breakdown. Now, Neela was shocked to find that, though immensely embarrassed, she was otherwise taking it with a surprising level of equanimity. Had her time as a doctor thickened her skin, was it just a relatively small issue compared to the mess her life had become, or was she just taking solace in the fact that she’d done nothing to bring it on herself? After all, it was, as Dubenko said, a truly appalling string of coincidences. She’d like to attribute it to personal growth, but it was much more likely that it was some combination of the latter two.
Relative acceptance aside, there was still enough of a sting to it that when Dubenko offered to buy her a drink at the hotel bar, she didn’t turn him down. She felt very entitled to a bit of day drinking and commiseration.
They made idle small talk for a bit and Neela spent most of it complaining. Dubenko didn’t seem to mind. He told her he thought her life sounded interesting. She resisted the urge to tell him it’s pronounced “pathetic”. Really, if he only knew that the most interesting thing that’s happened in her life recently was when Robin Tunney (her pick) had beat out Christopher Meloni (Ray’s pick) on Celebrity Poker Showdown and Ray had to clean the bathroom for the next week. He was pushing for double or nothing for the championship game.
God, he was going to laugh when she told him about today, Neela thought. At least she could probably wheedle a sympathy dinner or two out of it - maybe that lasagna she liked, or the grilled chicken.
As lost in her thoughts as she was, she wasn’t even really paying attention to what she was saying until Dubenko questioned her. “Your roommate? Doctor Barnett?”
“Yeah. Ray.” Why had she brought up Ray to Dubenko at all, she wondered. All I want to do is hang out at home with my roommate. Had she really said that out loud? Despite how desperately sad it sounded, it was also uncomfortably revealing.
“Well that’s nice. It’s good that the two of you get along so well.” There was no judgement in his tone, but Neela felt it anyway, a light flush rising in her cheeks. It didn’t take long for her to find a reason to excuse herself.
She took the El to the conference, but she really wasn’t in the mood for the crowd so she decided to splurge on a cab. Just her luck to get the first untalkative cabbie in the history of Earth. Beyond an inarticulate grunt as she told him her destination, he left her alone with her thoughts.
Historically speaking, this was not a great place for Neela to be. She’s nothing if not consistent.
Dubenko’s comment didn’t have to mean anything. They were getting along really well these days, better than ever before. Especially with the new devil movie kick they were on. He’d found out that due to chronic childhood cowardice, she’d never seen any of what he deemed “classic” seventies horror movies and he was determined to rectify that fact. They’d spent the past week watching one or two movies a night (or morning, depending on when they were scheduled). Neela was so far unimpressed, but it made Ray happy and there was something kind of dorky but cute about how he’d mouth the words along with the characters. Beyond that, there were the joint trips to the laundromat, the grocery store. They’d been sharing meals more than usual, because it turned out that Ray was a pretty decent cook and Neela liked doing the dishes because it helped her clear her mind and it only made sense to join forces. He’d even helped her with her presentation, her audience of one as she ran through her slideshow a dozen times, offering commentary that was occasionally even helpful.
Compared to the roiling mixture of love and anger and pride and worry that sat in her gut when she thought of Michael, it was easy. Moreover it was fun. They were two things that had been sorely lacking in her life recently. But there was nothing happening beyond that. No torrid affair despite what some people at work (Frank and Morris) liked to insinuate. Maybe it made her a bad wife that she preferred having fun with Ray to lying in her bed in a flowing nightdress writing Michael letters about how much she missed him, but it didn’t make her an unfaithful one.
But then why did she feel so guilty? It was like actually talking about their friendship, or maybe Dubenko drawing attention to it, had revealed a sordidness she’d been willfully ignorant to. She thought of that morning, as far away as it felt, how understanding Ray had been in the face of her blatant self involvement, the gentleness with which he cleaned her blouse, the moment where- no. It didn’t matter.
Too soon, the cabbie dropped her off at her apartment, mumbling her total. Neela hesitated on the sidewalk, not ready to go inside. Standing outside of the building, staring up apprehensively at what she knew was their window, she was perversely reminded of The Exorcist, Father Merrin bathed in mist as he entered the house of the devil. Well, Ray wasn’t the devil and she hated that movie anyway. She could face him. Eventually, when she didn't feel so strange.
A walk then, to clear her head. Just around the block. She would calm down and things would go back to normal. As normal as things could be under the circumstances, what with her husband overseas and her sharing a home with her wannabe rockstar roommate and the both of them working on at a hospital that regularly dealt with helicopter explosions and gang kidnappings.
But even as she thought it she knew it wasn’t sustainable. The curtain had been pulled back, the bubble popped. She could keep trying to lie to herself, but not well and not for long. Because the truth was that this morning, when Ray was soothing her worries and his face just inches from hers, the only thought running through her traitorous brain was how much she wanted to close the distance. It was clear that he’d wanted it too. She could blame it on her loneliness or hormones or that Venus was in retrograde over Mercury, but it didn’t change the facts.
Neela felt sick. She’d never, ever been the type of girl to fool around behind her boyfriend’s back. Not even in grade school, when dating was just holding hands on the playground. Yet here she was, a married woman, fantasizing about another man while her husband was overseas serving his country. How horribly cliched. What was next, a Dear John?
“Dear Michael, I’m sorry. I know you’ve only been gone a few months, but I found someone else. It’s Ray! You know, the guy everyone always thought I was sleeping with? The good news is, getting divorced should be pretty easy considering we never moved in together and I never got around to changing my name. I hope we can still be friends! Love, Neela.”
The nausea didn’t abate.
No, no, nothing had happened and she wasn’t going to wait around until something did. She had to be proactive, stop herself from giving in to her impulses and doing something she'd really regret. Neela would move out and put as much distance between her and Ray as possible. He might be hurt, but he would understand. He had to know that what they’d been feeling was wrong.
She was surprised by how much the idea of leaving stung, but it was all the more reason to go. If it was hard now, it would be harder later. Better to rip off the bandage in one go.
A new determination in her step, Neela turned to walk home, turning up her collar against the sudden chill. Soon, Michael would come back and he would never have to know how mixed up she’d gotten in his absence. Soon, they would be husband and wife again and it would be like he'd never been gone at all, the way it always was when he came home. Soon, everything would be alright again. If loneliness was her penance, she’d pay it a thousand times over, for as long as it took.
This wouldn't be another mistake. She wouldn't let it.