Home sweet home.

I sat back on the sofa with a glass of bourbon and waited for Greg to finish up his shower. It was immeasurably satisfying to be back in the apartment, with all the familiar shapes, scents, shadows and comfortable furniture. Words cannot express how wonderful it will be to sleep in a cozy bed, a bed I know all the creaks and squeaks of. I won't wake up in the middle of the night and wonder where the hell I am, then remind myself that I'm in yet another lousy hotel. I won't have to stare at the television in an empty room. I won't have to wake up alone.

Strange. I've been back at the apartment for a whole hour and it feels like I never left. The hotels suddenly seem like a distant, faded memory. They can stay that way.

Greg came out of the bathroom, flushed from all the pounding hot water, his tee-shirt and sweatpants clinging to his still damp skin. He gave me a tiny smile, one that touched his eyes more than his mouth, then limped over and sank into the cushion next to me. The fresh scent of soap soon wafted over to where I was sitting, while swirls of steam rose up all around him.

"Hey," he said, and looked me over, like he couldn't quite believe I was there and would disappear if he so much as glanced away.

"Hey yourself," I replied.

"It's nice to have you back."

"It's nice to be back. Those hotels got old real fast."

"I can imagine," Greg said with a light chuckle, then whatever humor he was feeling faded away and was replaced by a deep sadness entwined with more than a little guilt. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too."

"You're a better friend than I deserve."

"How can you say–"

"I really thought you were going to leave for good this time," he interrupted, suddenly unable to meet my eyes. "I kept waiting for your goodbye message on the answering machine or a note taped to my office door."

"I kept waiting for you to start a bonfire with all the stuff I keep in the spare bedroom. I guess that makes us even."

That got another light chuckle out of him. "I should burn those ugly ties of yours anyway, just for the hell of it." He spun the cane in lazy circles. "I really screwed up, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did." No need to lie. Ever since he crossed paths with Tritter everything had been positively chaotic. Quiet, peaceful moments have been few and far between.

"I thought I was in control. Even when I stole those pills from the pharmacy I thought I was in control. Just a few pills to dull the pain and everything would be fine. Just like always. One more pill...then another...then another...Believe it or not, there was one good thing about you leaving me in my own vomit."

"What's that?" I puzzled, suddenly afraid he was going to turn angry and scream at me again.

"That's when I realized that I wasn't in control anymore. Nothing like that had ever happened to me before and it was scary. Very scary. Cuddy once told me I was on my way to becoming a junkie, and she was right."

Only then did I look down and see that Greg was gripping his cane so hard that it threatened to snap in half at any moment. Bulging veins stood out against his white knuckles. He was also lying to me. He wasn't scared at all, he was absolutely terrified. He just admitted to stealing the pills and being well one the bumpy road to being a junkie. Add a possible prison sentence into the mix and it makes a terrified Greg House. Terrified of losing control, terrified of losing his freedom, terrified of losing everything because of some little white pills.

"When I came to your hotel room I was surprised you let me in," he went on. "After hardly seeing you for weeks I figured you had finally had enough and wasn't willing to give a bastard like me another chance that I don't deserve."

"You keep saying that you're surprised that I'm still here," I observed. "My whole life is here with you and with the hospital. I can't–and won't–leave it all behind. You need some help right now and I'll be here to help you, but you have to want to help yourself too, Greg."

"You make it sound so easy, Jimmy."

"I shouldn't. It's not going to be. If you were so convinced that I was history, why did you come to the hotel to ask for my help to begin with?"

"Because I need your help more than anything right now. I can't do this alone."

"What if I hadn't opened the door? What would you have done?"

If he tells me he was going to swallow a whole bottle of Vicodin I swear I'm going to scream...

"If you had just refused to open the door, I would have broke it down. If you had not been there at all...well, I guess Cuddy would be dealing with a heartbroken drug addict right now."

I exhaled the breath I didn't realize I was holding. Right now he was hurting more from emotional pain. The physical pain barely registered.

"You hurt me, Greg," I said curtly, wanting to get it out and get it over with. "You really hurt me."

"I know," he said sadly.

"Part of me didn't want to open that door."

"Can't say that I blame that part of you."

"You're going into rehab." It wasn't a question. I didn't even need to say it gain, but I wanted to just to show him I was serious. I may not leave Princeton, but I might have to leave him if he doesn't put an honest effort into turning his drug habit around.

"I am."

"I've been waiting a long time to here that," I said.

"I'm glad you were willing to wait," he told me, and began to spin the cane in lazy circles again.