The rest of the weekend flew by in a booze colored haze.

Cuddy never called; never came to check up. Somehow, that was both a relief and a worry. The look of hurt she had on her face was haunting me, and, somehow, I knew that I was responsible for that.

Wilson wasn't exactly happy with me, but I managed to not only guilt him into taking back to A.C. for my bike, and I still got lunch AND dinner out of the deal. Pretty sweet for locking his sorry ass out of the apartment.

"You're an ass," he grumbled for the what had to be the millionth time that day.

Somehow, he knew something was bothering me. I suppose, in his own narcissistic view of the world, he thought it was his fault. Part of it was. I was a selfish bastard, and I did want him to myself, not in the way a jealous lover wanted him, but in the way he was my last grasp on life kind of way.

Everybody had abandoned me, except for he and Cuddy, and without them, I'd be nothing. I'd have nothing, and they were both slipping out of my grasp. They were leaving me behind, and the void that was left behind was sucking me in to it's dark depths.

I was being left alone and miserable, so I decided to help hurry things along.

We'd got back from A.C., I flipped on the World Series of Poker, and I settled on the couch, nursing a fifth of Jack. I didn't even look up at him. "So, what else is new?"

"You're killing yourself, you know," he frowned, glaring at me.

"Well," I shot back at him. "Give me another day, and you won't have to worry about that, anymore." I slumped back against the couch, sneering at the T.V.

He sighed in frustration, but he walked away. I heard him talk to Sam on his cell, then he left me alone to wallow in self-pity alone.

The man knows me all to well, and he didn't even freak out when he came home and found me passed out on the couch, naked.

I spent Sunday moving out. Wilson made a weak attempt to stop me, but I brushed him off. I was the third wheel, now, and I didn't want to stick around. We loaded up my belongings in my car, his car, and Sam's car, and we drove to my place. Since I'd already spent most of the weekend drowning my liver, I thought I'd finish up the trifecta with a bang.

Which is why I limped into work on Monday with one hell of a hangover and an even worse attitude.

I scowled at my underlings as I stormed into the conference room, waiting for our morning ritual. I threw my cane into a corner, and I slumped heavily into my chair. Low and behold, the kiddies had something for me, and after a quick, insult laden DDX, they scattered.

I'm pretty sure Chase was in tears. If not, he should have been. Even mini-stud had told me to back off. I hadn't realized Taub had grown some balls. Guess that was his way of dealing with his marital frustration instead of going out and getting some strange strange.

Well, they mostly scattered.

Foreman hung back, watching me carefully. "What's up?" he asked, pointedly.

"Last I checked, your brother's THC levels." Ba-zing for me.

"Ha ha," he rolled his eyes. "I heard you moved out of Wilson's loft. You sure that's a good idea?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Lover's quarrel, I'm sure I'll get over this broken heart" I grumbled, sarcastically. "Why do you care?"

He shrugged, ever stoic. Nothing seemed to phase the unflappable Foreman. "I don't. I care about my job, and if you're heading for the mad house again..." he trailed off, his dark eyes never leaving mine.

I leaned back in my chair, appraising him. "You're a cold-hearted bastard," I commented, mildly.

He didn't move. "I had a great teacher," he finally stated, dryly.

"Yeah," I snorted. "Now that we've cared and shared, go do your job and help the the Brit and Bi run the CT scan."

"You think Taub can handle talking to the husband all by himself?"

I looked at him, and I lifted an eyebrow. "Better than if you were there with him. After all, he speaks adulterer. You don't."

He gave me a small salute, then left me alone in the office.

I didn't expect Wilson to come visit me in my office today. I figured he was still a little sore at my abrupt departure from the loft this weekend, but sure enough, a little before noon, he came bursting through the glass doors.

I was reviewing some the patient's previous CT and MRI's, and I was checking her previous records, trying to find clues to what ailed her. I had some ideas, but no definite conclusion. Yet.

I looked up, and I pulled my reading glasses off. "Lunchtime already?" I was genuinely surprised by his visit.

He bit his lip, and he thrust his hands in his pockets, looking serious. "Have you heard?" he asked in a dejected voice.

"Heard what?" I frowned. "That the hot blond radiology tech has been dating 13? That's old news." I picked my scans back up,

"No," he began with a sigh. He took a deep breath. "That Cuddy's leaving the hospital."