A/N: I didn't mean to end this so abruptly, it just kind of...happened. Anyways, thanks everyone!

Even under the best of circumstances I think Greg and Tritter would be at each others throats. In a perfect world they might tolerate each other, but this world is far from perfect, and Greg's tendency to rub people the wrong way finally caught up to him. Of course he didn't mean for everyone around him to end up paying for it, but it happened and we dealt with it. The trial is over. Cuddy perjured herself to save his ass. I give it a day before she tries to use that against him. I give it thirty seconds after that before Greg throws it back in her face using a knuckleball.

He's spending a night in jail for contempt. He can handle it, I just don't know if his leg can handle the bed that looks as comfortable as a block of concrete.

Good circumstances or not, everyone of us is hoping like hell that we never have to see that jackass Tritter ever again.

Greg went through rehab. Amazing, but true. He hated every second of it. It didn't do a whole lotta good, I know that much. But he kept his promise. I just need to know if kept it for me.

I was finally able to get the damn pot roast into the crockpot before I picked Greg up. The smell of it spilled out into the hallway when I opened the door.

"Smells good," he said as soon as we stepped in the door of the apartment. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes," I answered. "It's not quite done yet."

"I wanted roast duck with orange sauce."

"You lose. It's that or the stale remains of the Cheerios. Feel free to pick the latter. More roast for me."

"Yummy. What's for dessert?"

"There's ice cream in there. Mint chocolate chip." I bought the ice cream the day before. Comfort food. I had already polished off one gallon but he didn't need to know that.

"Any more goodies to choose from?"

"No, that's all I got. Sorry."

"Hmph," he grumbled, and limped to the sofa. "Bake a cake and write 'The Jailbird is Home' on it."

"I'll think about it," I said, watching him settle into the cushions and lift his leg onto the table. He grimaced a bit and massaged his thigh. The jailhouse bed must have been torture. "You want a Pepsi?" Catering to his every whim would take the edge off and make him a little more chatty.

He gave me one of those crooked smiles, the kind that knows he has me wrapped around his finger. Or at least thinks he does. "That would be lovely."

I got a bottle for each of us, then joined him on the sofa.

"Welcome home," I said, and raised my glass in a toast.


"I'm sure Tritter was thrilled to hear the news."

"Fuck Tritter." He scowled and gulped down half his drink. "I never want to hear that prick's name again."

"Fair enough." Deciding it was a good idea to change the subject, I said, "You kept your promise."

"What promise?"

"You went to rehab."

"That I did." He turned his attention away from his now half-empty drink and looked me square in the eye. "And you're still going to bug me to death about it, aren't you? Can't you just ever let something drop? You're worse than me. Let's just watch some TV for a while." He picked up the remote, clicking the television on. The Long Kiss Goodnight showed up on the screen. Greg left it there. "When's dinner going to be ready?"

"In a while. How was rehab?"

"It sucked on toast."

"Is that all?"

"That's all you need to know."

"I'd like to know more."

"And I'd rather not talk about it right now, if that's alright with you," he said curtly, letting me know what he really thought about rehab and the current conversation. "I spent the night in hell. Can I stretch out and relax for a little while?"

I kept pressing on anyway. "You said promises were made to be broken. Why didn't you break this one?"

"Because I didn't."

"Why not?"

"Which answer will make you shut up about it?"

"Just answer me. All I want is an answer."

"No, you want a specific answer." He tore his gaze away from the television long enough to give me an icy, letting me know I was pushing my limits. "Just tell me what you want me to say, Jimmy. What do you want me to say?"

"Did you go to rehab to stay out of jail or did you go to keep your promise to me?" I asked quietly, limits be damned.

He continued to stare at the TV.

"Which one was it, Greg?"

I watched him watching the movie. It continued to play as he watched, chewing on his thumbnail. Then he blindly reached out and grabbed my shirt collar, pulling me over to him. His arm settled around my shoulder as I snuggled up and watched the rest of the movie.

I had my answer.

–The End.