I reluctantly got him up a little bit earlier than usual so he could run home, take a shower, get some clean clothes and make it to the hospital at a reasonable hour. The first cup of the godawful hotel coffee did absolutely nothing to flush the tiredness and lingering remains of the sleeping pills out of his system. I ran to the Starbucks next door and got two of the biggest, most caffeine filled coffees they had, tipping the barista an extra ten dollars while babbling about how she was doing a wonderful service for all of mankind. Thankfully this cup of super-coffee went to work on him and he began to resemble a human being again.

"You okay to ride your bike?" I asked him, letting the wonderful caffeine buzz flow throw my veins. Greg wasn't the only one who needed an extra jolt that morning before facing another long day. I had managed to get just under five hours of sleep before hauling my half-dead body out of bed that morning. "Do you need a taxi?"

"I'm perfectly fine," he muttered, lounging on the bed and finishing his coffee while watching me putter around the room in my morning routine like he had nothing better to do. No hurry to get up and back to diagnosing exotic diseases with unpronounceable names. Cuddy was going to blow a gasket.

"Are you going to be on time? What should I tell Cuddy?"

"Tell her I'll be there when I get there. Or tell her nothing at all. Either way, I don't care."

"Fine," I said, and opened the suitcase to hunt down my blue and green checked tie. "She's going to come and ask me if you're in another sleeping pill induced coma, so I'm going to have to tell her something. Just don't come crying to me when she rips you a new one."

"I can handle Cuddy," he replied, then gulped down the last of his coffee and crushed the cup. He carelessly tossed it in the general direction of the trash can and missed it by a good three feet. Neither of us made an effort to pick it up.

"I know you can–"

"Goddamn right I can. Did I detect some doubt in your voice, Dr. Wilson?"

I looked over at him and raised an eyebrow. "Just keep in mind she has the power to fire you."

"Being as you seem to remind me of that fact at least once a month, there is no way I can forget."

"Good. I hope you never will." I began to pull the damn suitcase apart. The damn tie had disappeared into laundry oblivion, along with half my socks.

"If she wanted me gone I'd be gone by now," my friend said with a faint smile. "I guess I can say the same thing about you. Staying by my side until the bitter end, Jimmy?"

"I'm by your side because I want to be," I replied a bit tersely, making damn well sure that he knew I meant every word of what I was saying. The need to look after him, to make sure he was going to be okay, rose in me like flood waters and threatened to carry me off. "Bitter end or not, I'm here to stay."

"Is that why you left the apartment and checked into this hell hole?"

"It's not like I moved to the remote Alaskan wilderness," I said. "I'll be back at our apartment tonight."

"Damn right you will be, if I have to drag you by your perfectly blow-dried hair." He looked at my suitcase and frowned. "Hold it."

"What is it?" I frowned with him, then looked down at the jumbled pile of clothes I was rummaging through, wondering what the hell caught his eye and what was so fascinating about it. "What are you looking at?"

"Don't move." He slid off the bed and made a beeline for my suitcase, his eyes wide and locked on something, never blinking.

I followed his gaze and saw a corner of white plaster peaking out from the upper pocket.

Without a word, Greg gently pushed me aside and reached for the pocket, pulling out a small section of the cast that had been on my arm. It had been hidden away in the spare bedroom since I knew Greg would tease me about it mercilessly if he ever happened to see it. I had forgotten that I brought it with me. I hadn't had time to think about it since he arrived at my door. The initials GH+JW were still very visible in the permanent ink he had used to scrawl them on there.

"You saved this?" He eyed the plaster like it was a priceless treasure.

Instead of answering, I just carefully took it out of his hands and tucked it back into the pocket.

"I was banging on the door and calling you a coward for packing up and leaving," he said in a low, shaky voice. The color drained from his face. His legs threatened to buckle. All because of a little piece of plaster with our initials on it.

"Yes, I remember that."

"You still brought that with you instead of smashing it on the floor."

"The thought of smashing it never crossed my mind."

"Why did you save it? Why did you bring it with you?"

"You took care of me when I had shingles," I began, "and you took care of me when I broke my arm and had terrible migraines. You were there when I needed you. I guess I brought that with me as a reminder of why I need to come back and be there for you."