Warning - some adult 'activity' in this chapter :)

Day 14 Thursday 20th October 2011

He's having a lazy day, well, every day is lazy, it's not like there's anything he's supposed to be doing, but this day he's decided he's not even getting out of bed except to pick his food up off the floor and go for exercise. So he's lying in bed with just his shorts on, drifting in and out of sleep, thinking about random things, trying his best not to think about anything at all.

He decides he might as well have some fun while he's here, in bed, not doing anything, and his hand drifts down to his cock. It's totally limp of course, there's not much in here that would make little Greg stand up and take notice, so he spits on his hand a bit and gets to work.

It's not the first time he's done it in prison of course, but he's bothered less than you would think. This prison doesn't have a rule against it, he's been told by other prisoners than in some states prisoners are forbidden from masturbating, not that the rule stops anyone of course. In this prison there's no rule except you can't do it in public. Or in a fashion that is designed to 'intimidate a prison officer or inmate' whatever the hell that means.

Well, he's not in public here and there's no prison officer in sight so there's nothing stopping him. Little Greg is having some trouble getting interested in proceedings though. Some visual stimuli is called for but the random book deliveries have yet to include copies of Playboy. He closes his eyes and does a mental shuffle through the ladies of his acquaintance. Cuddy, well no, maybe not. He immediately moves on to the next one, Stacy, no, not her either. There's Cameron of course, but she's staring at him all uptight and judgey so he dismisses that image. Thirteen's not bad, in a skinny sort of way, but she doesn't do anything to help the situation. Amber briefly floats before his eyes, but besides the fact that she's Wilson's and therefore completely off limits, she's also dead and buried, and he wants her to stay that way this time, thanks very much. He briefly imagines Wilson, that's done the trick a couple of times in the past, but this time it's a complete turnoff, he doesn't know where he stands with the man but using him in this way seems no more appropriate than Cuddy would be, and he really doesn't want to think about that whole mess while he's trying to beat one out.

He almost gives up on the whole idea but in the end he pictures one of the hookers he'd had during his post-Cuddy binge. Nice and safe image there, with no emotional baggage attached to it. It takes some doing but finally there's movement and he works hard at it and is eventually rewarded with a climax that leaves him physically drained but is more empty and hollow than satisfying.

His shorts take care of the cleanup and then he strips them off and throws them into a corner of the cell, laundry pickup is tomorrow if last week is any guide so they won't be there long.

He decides he can't be bothered getting up and putting on a clean pair of shorts so he lies under the covers naked and tries to keep a glow going. It doesn't last long and then he's just lying in a bed in solitary feeling faintly pathetic and a lot depressed. It's not his own hand that he wants. He tries to bring back the feeling of Cuddy lying with him after they'd done the deed, that feeling of being with someone who wants you. Except, he'd never really been secure with Cuddy, he'd always had the feeling that he was one wrong move away from breaking them up, he'd been desperate to preserve what they had to the extent that when he thought she might be dying, that he was going to lose her forever, he'd been unable to face that. He'd lost her anyway, they had failed as he had always known they would.

He doesn't want to think about Cuddy now, not on this, his 'day off'. He laughs at the concept, every day in here is his day off. Never, in all his life, has he had such an extended stint of time where he had absolutely no responsibilities. Childhood had been driven by study, and chores, and various extra curricular activities as prescribed by his father. Then there had been college, and med school, then the treadmill of internship, residency and then getting Board certified in two specialties.

The extended hospital and rehab stay after the infarction had been full of activity - tests, rehab, medication, various specialists coming to see him. Even in Mayfield his time had been closely scheduled, with counselling, group, and various other activities.

His father had a saying, which he had trotted out to young Greg whenever he saw him unoccupied, the devil finds work for idle hands. This was usually quickly followed by his father finding him some work to do. Greg had once, and only once, pointed out that logically this meant that his father was the devil.

Now he lies idly in a bed in a solitary cell in New Jersey State Prison, free to do absolutely nothing for as long as he wants. He wonders what Dad would have thought of this.

"You know what your problem is? You don't know how lucky you are."

"Yeah Dad," he says out loud, rolling over to face the wall, "I'm real lucky."

Vanessa sits with her sister, Theresa, in Doctor Wilson's office, listening to him tell them the latest bad news. It's a familiar setting for them. Doctor Wilson has been Vanessa's doctor since the day she got diagnosed with breast cancer in 2001. She thanks her lucky stars every day for finding a doctor like Wilson. He's been attentive, emphatic, everything that so many doctors aren't. She feels that he's been in her corner since the beginning, fighting the cancer with her. He was there for her struggle with alcoholism, her ups and downs with the now-absent Bobby, he's been there for everything. Through the operations, the treatments that made her sick, the nights when she didn't think she'd make it through. Now she's here again, the cancer is back with a vengeance, and she needs a lung transplant. A double lung transplant.

She should be terrified but she's not. Doctor Wilson is smiling at her with that gorgeous smile of his, exuding confidence and optimism. She looks at Theresa who is staring at Doctor Wilson with a slightly dreamy smile on her face. She knows Theresa fancies him, although they've both heard the nurses talk about how he's a bit of a ladies man, a 'love them and leave them' type of guy. It's hard to believe, the way he's been with her, she can't see him as someone who would routinely break someone's heart.

At least he has the cast off now. She's not sure what happened there, she'd had a routine appointment with him a year ago and he'd been distracted, pale, his wrist broken. A car accident he'd explained, but there had been something else there. Something that was making him sad, she'd thought. She hadn't enquired further, after all it was no concern of hers, she had enough problems of her own.

She focuses again on his words, a double lung transplant, long waiting list, has to be ready at any minute to proceed. More treatments in the meantime, more procedures, and more pain. She feels a hand grasping hers, her sister, here to support her. She squeezes back, it will be okay, Doctor Wilson says there's a good chance of her getting the lungs and he's going to do everything he can for her.

Yes, she is very lucky indeed that she has Doctor Wilson.