A/N: Here's another chapter. The Hotel isn't real... just a warning. I enjoyed writing this one and I hope you'll enjoy reading it. Please review.

Disclaimer: Nope.

I sat on a conveniently placed bench across from Greg's office. I was brooding and I think he was too. I watched him with a discontent look on my face and wondered if he knew I was there. He was sitting with his back to me, tossing his giant red tennis ball in the air, and staring out the window. I leaned back against the wall and tried to get comfortable. I didn't want to confront him too early. He'd get hostile if I didn't give him some time.

My phone buzzed and I picked it up, glancing at the screen and registering a number I didn't recognize, I answered it, "Dr. Johnson."

"Hello, my name is John; I'm with the Buxton Suites Hotel. I just wanted to let you know that your funds have been revoked and you either need to pay for tonight or check out." Shit, Macintosh had taken me out of the system faster than I thought he would have.

"Um, yeah, I'm busy now but I'll be sure to do that when I get a minute." I looked in my bag and fiddled with my wallet, trying to find my credit card.

"Well, just to let you know, check out time is two PM. You'll need to pay or be checked out by then; otherwise there is a thirty dollar fee." I tossed my wallet into my bag and sighed, I couldn't afford a thirty dollar fee. I couldn't even afford another night in the room.

"Alright, thank you." I hung up and put my phone back in my bag, deciding not to answer it again today. Every time I answered it, it was bad news.

I stood up and decided to brave confronting Greg. I needed to tell him that I was going to have to go back to California. I'd have to start looking for a job and, better yet, asking for money. I pulled the glass door open and he spun around to face me.

"I was wondering when you were going to show up." He put his ball back on his desk and crossed his arms.

"Yeah, I had some personal stuff to take care of." I sat down in a chair in front of his desk and tried to relax. Nothing was going my way.

"What? You forget about the dying guy in isolation?" He gave me a serious look and I felt like he was seeing right through me. I was trying to act macho about my situation but it was getting hard with him looking at me that way. I wanted to dissolve into a sobbing mess right there.

"No, I just lost my job. Now my hotel is telling me that, since the CDC isn't paying for it, I need to pay for my own room. I can't afford to pay for my own room. I can't afford anything." I rubbed my right eye and intercepted a couple of tears before they fell.

"I thought the CDC paid well, especially for their overqualified employees." He looked interested now and, as he lifted his leg to rest on his desk, I was sure I could see a hint of concern in his eyes.

"They do. I just never realized how expensive it was to pay a person to make your sister comfortable while she dies." I didn't want to lay the blow on him like this. After all, he'd dated my sister and he'd been rather close with her, if only for her cookies.

He stopped fidgeting and stared at me. I think he was trying to see if I was telling the truth or not. I held his gaze for a short moment and then had to look away, lest I start crying. I didn't want to make a scene right there in the glass office.

"Rebecca? What does she have?" His piercing gaze never left me and I had to mumble my answer to the carpet.

"Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma," I kept staring at the carpet, not daring to look up, just in case I lost my nerve, "I'm going to have to go back to California. I can't afford to stay here. I need to look for a job and find some way to make money."

"No way," I looked up at him and he glared right back, "I'm not letting you go across the country while Wilson is sick. You said he might die even if you're here; he will die if you're not."

I didn't say anything and just looked back down at the floor. Honestly, I didn't know what to say. It wasn't that I didn't care about Greg's best friend. I just couldn't see what I could do without the CDC's backing.

"I told you before and I'll tell you one more time. We don't need the CDC. You know this stuff better than anyone I know. You don't need a team or money or anything else in order to fix him. You can have everything I have here and that's a lot more than you had in Godforsaken Africa." He put his leg down and stood up, not without some struggle, "Come on, it's lunchtime. I'll even buy."

I looked up at his towering form and opened my mouth to argue, he beat me to the punch, "Standing up and walking to the cafeteria doesn't require words. Just do it."

I closed my mouth and stood up, following orders. I didn't want to think about money or my job or my sister, though I knew he wouldn't let me get away with that. I simply followed him out of the room and down to the cafeteria.

"I'm afraid the prognosis isn't good. She's at a stage three and even with chemo and radiation, there's little chance that she'll last more than six months to a year." The oncologist at UCLA was an asshole who I despised with every fiber of my being. Telling me that my sister was going to die wasn't helping his case.

"Alright, when can we go home?" I refused to look weak in front of this man who had just poked a huge hole in my emotional balloon.

"I suggest you get her into a home hospice program or something like it. I'm sure you don't have time to take care of her and she'll need a lot of help in these late stages. You can go home in a day or 

so." I didn't acknowledge him and just sat down, picking up the journal I was reading and going back to work. He got the hint and left, leaving me to brood.

My sister, Rebecca, had made some bad choices in her life. After our father died she had gone into a deep depression. During our childhood I had never really thought that she was that close with our father but apparently she was closer than I'd observed. She'd tried to kill herself a number of times, nearly succeeding once. After Dana, who had gone almost insane once she realized that she was forced to take care of her dead husband's children, nearly beat Rebecca to death, Rebecca decided to run away and she ran to L.A., doing God knows what for three years.

I went off to Northwestern University in Chicago and almost forgot about my sister. Until she showed up in front of my apartment building the day before Christmas, I was sure I had moved on. I was in my sophomore year of college as microbiology major and I was doing well for myself. Rebecca looked like a completely different person. She had obviously seen the nasty side of Los Angeles.

She lived with me through my senior year in college and, just after I was told to seek medical school elsewhere, she decided to get a home of her own. She had started working in a department store and I was happy that she was doing better. I went off to Michigan State University in East Lansing and then transferred to the University of Michigan and moved in with Greg during his last year of medical school and my second.

After Greg graduated and left me to live alone again, Rebecca showed up, looking worse than before. She'd been diagnosed with the Epstein - Barr virus and I knew that she'd been working the streets. I found out she was addicted to cocaine and I immediately started working to convince her to go to rehab. I got her in the hospital and a friend of mine at Michigan agreed to look at her. They treated her EBV and got her into rehab. After she got out she refused to speak to me and moved back to Chicago, and back to her crappy life there.

Now, I was sitting in the UCLA hospital waiting room, waiting for my sister to recover enough to go home. I had already picked a hospice and I was making plans. I would cost me an arm and a leg, but this was my sister. She needed to at least be comfortable, especially if I couldn't be there to ensure it. So most of my paycheck would go into her care and I would have to live off the rest of it. It was going to be a challenge.

Lunch consisted of a Reuben for Greg and a salad for me. He'd mocked me all the way from the salad bar to the table. He was watching me, trying to stuff my face and still look polite, and trying not to laugh. I knew I was a sight but lately I hadn't been eating.

"You can sleep on my couch." I looked up with lettuce still in my mouth and he had to stifle a laugh again, "Until Wilson is better, you can sleep on my couch. I'm sorry the presidential suite isn't available but if you ask Wilson, the couch isn't too bad."

I took a drink of my Diet Coke and tried to process the information he was handing me, "Are you sure…" I trailed off and tried to think of a good way to phrase the next sentence. I was worried that I would do something stupid if I was that close to him outside of the hospital.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Go get your stuff and check out. After work I'll show you my apartment. You can sleep there but I don't want any daisies on my dinner table." He took a bite of his Reuben and focused on it, telling me that he didn't want to discuss it.

I looked down at my salad and muttered, "I like tulips."

He swallowed his bite and gave me a look. I just smiled and ate more of my salad.