For the longest time I just sat there at the edge of the bed with my back to him, listening to his breathing, wondering how he had tracked me down. I hadn't told him where I was going and had been changing hotels every few days. I was surprised he took the time to track me down at all. After the deal-with-Tritter thing blew up, I figured he'd never want to see my face again and would just leave a message on my voice mail telling me to get my stuff out of his apartment before he piled it all on the curb and burned it.

How wrong I was. I looked over and saw him sprawled perpendicular across the bed, unconscious, still in his motorcycle jacket and shoes. His chest was rising and falling with a strong and steady rhythm. His pulse was fine. He wasn't lying about taking just enough sleeping pills to knock him on his ass. And he was right about one thing–I couldn't throw him out. I couldn't and wouldn't risk hurting his leg by dragging him from the fourth floor of this hotel to a cab and he damn well knew it. That bum leg of his came in quite handy sometimes.

The bed was bad and so uncomfortable I thought it must have once been used as a torture device. But I wasn't going to spend the night on the floor so I took a deep breath and set about the long and tiring task of maneuvering Greg the right way on the bed. Trust me, moving six feet and three inches of dead weight isn't easy, especially when said six feet and three inches needs a little extra care so he won't be in screaming pain the next morning. Fifteen minutes and a lot of tugging on his left arm later, I got him righted. I searched his pockets. No more wayward sleeping pills. No pills of any kind at all. That was a tad strange. I took off his shoes and was trying to figure out how to get his jacket off when his eyes blinked open.

"Dad?" he mumbled, looking right through me. "Dad?"

"What is it, Greg?" I asked carefully as his eyes darted around the room, not seeing anything.

"You promised..."

"Promised what?"

"Are we going to see the pyramids tomorrow, Dad? You promisedddd..."

"Yes, we're going tomorrow," I replied quietly and he seemed to be happy with the answer. Looking at him right then, one would never guess the troubled mind hiding underneath his tired smile. "I need you to sit up first. Can you do that for me, Greg?"

It took all his effort and some of mine to sit up. I managed to get one sleeve off before he passed out again on my shoulder, mumbling something about sand getting in his hair. With some careful and creative balancing I got the jacket completely off and lay him back onto the pillow. The nights were getting down into the thirties and he was wearing only a thin tee-shirt under his jacket. Getting him under the covers was out of the question. I folded the comforter over him.

Just how long had he been riding around out there in the cold night looking for me? I shuddered at the thought.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Don't leave me, please.

As if I ever could.

I looked down at the man in my thoughts who was now a million miles away in la-la land. The man who turned my life upside-down, inside-out, forwards, backwards and sideways. The man who loved to push my buttons and drive me absolutely insane just because he could. The man who was probably going to spend the next decade of his life in prison. The man I still loved more than anything.

Trying to get him to wake up the next morning was just as fun as dragging him across the bed. I shook him and he batted my hand away. I called his name and he ignored me. I tugged on his arm and all I got for my effort was a slurred "Nnnnooo...I don't wanna go to schooooollll". Giving up, I went ahead with the unenviable task of punching in Cuddy's number on my cell phone and filling her in on the details.

"Sleeping pills?" she huffed into the phone. I could almost see her scowling. "Why am I not surprised."

"Yeah, well, he's completely zonked out. It's safe to say that he probably won't be in today."

"Why am I not surprised at that either?"

"For what it's worth, I don't think he was aware of how powerful those sleeping pills are. He took them so I wouldn't be able to throw him out, not so he could get out of a days work."

"That doesn't make it all better, Dr. Wilson."

"It wasn't supposed to."

"I'm still short a diagnostician for the day."

"I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do about that. He's not going anywhere today. He's unconscious at the moment and the few times he woke up he was completely disoriented. He thought I was his father."

"Fine," she sighed. "Is he going to be okay by himself or am I going to be short an oncologist too?"

"I'm sure he'll be fine. He'll probably sleep the rest of the day. I'll leave him a note and he's got his cell phone. I'll be there in about twenty minutes, Dr. Cuddy."

"All right. I'll see you later, Dr. Wilson."

My pager went off around 2pm. I knew who it was before I even looked at the number.

"Where the hell are you?" Greg growled into the phone.

"I'm at the hospital, where you should be. Didn't you get my note? Are you still at the hotel?"

"Yes, I'm still at the hotel. By the way, fuck you and fuck your note."

"Greg, if all you're going to do is swear and insult me, I'm going to hang up right now."

"Why aren't you here?"

"Because I have a job to do."

"Goddammit, Jimmy, I wanna see you. I wanna talk to you." His voice still had a slur to it. Either the pills were still in his system or he had helped himself to my booze. Probably a little bit of both.

"I know, I know. I'm busy right now," I said.

"I wanna see you now."

"I can't–"

"Now!"

"No, Greg. No," I said firmly. The sooner he learned that I wasn't going to drop everything in a heartbeat and see him just because he demanded, the better. "I have work to do and I have every intention of finishing it. Now you can either wait for me or I'm checking into a different hotel tonight."

"Your suitcase is still here with me. Lots of nice clothes."

"I can buy more clothes. You can either wait and we'll talk in a few hours, or we're not talking at all. Do you hear me?"

No answer, just static crackling across the line.

"Greg?"

"Yeah," he muttered. "I heard you."

"I have to go now. I promise we'll talk later."

"Hurry up and get your sorry ass back here. And bring some fucking food." Click.