A/N: Here is the last chapter. Thanks to all my readers and all your reviews. Special thanks to Purridot–you are The Awesome!
"What do we have here?" I said, bringing the take-out containers to the coffee table.
Greg had made it home before I did and had just finished ordering the food when I walked in the door. Then when it arrived he made me pay for it.
He accepted the Pepsi I handed over and said, "Open them and find out. Anything with chicken in it is mine."
"Even though I paid for it?" I asked.
"You're going to pay for it with more than money if you don't hand over my food."
I set the containers down on the table and helped myself to a Pepsi. I hadn't even opened my container of fried rice when I noticed him plowing through his container of orange chicken without pausing to take a breath. "Slow down!" I cautioned him. "How about chewing and tasting your food first."
"I'm hungry," he mumbled through a mouthful of pulverized chicken. "I haven't eaten anything since your french fries."
"It's all going to come right back if you don't slow down. It's not like we're going anywhere after this. We have all evening, Greg. Now stop shoveling your food or you're going to regret it later."
That earned me an irritated grunt, but he knew from experience that I was right and began to eat his dinner at a reasonable pace. The night was still young and we had planned a nice long evening of doing as little as possible–just food and relaxing in front of the television. For one brief second I thought about asking if he wanted to go shopping just to see what he would say; but I was afraid he would actually want to go and I would end up having to buy him that leather jacket he had been looking at the last time. Besides, I didn't want go out. I didn't feel like playing a human version of pinball with cranky crowds and screaming kids. In those situations it was all too easy to see why Greg preferred to take refuge from the world in his apartment and only went out when he had to.
The smell of the food made my mouth water, and I hadn't eaten since he stole half my lunch nearly six hours ago. We munched on our food and watched the local news.
Afterwards I gave my dinner a fair amount of time to digest, then I moved to clean up the empty containers. He knew I couldn't stand a mess and he knew I would clean it all up; I wouldn't let them sit there long enough to collect dust. His apartment was definitely cleaner since I had moved in. The second he tries to take credit for it I'm going to make him a huge dinner to rival a Thanksgiving feast and make him wash every last dish.
I stuffed the remains of dinner into the trash can, washed my hand, then walked back into the living room to find Greg standing at the edge of the sofa with a pillow in his hand.
I paused and blinked.
"Sit," he said, nodding at his usual spot on the sofa.
I remained standing and folded my arms. "Should I beg and roll over, too?"
"I'll make you beg later," he smirked. "Right now I just want you to sit."
"Because I'm tired and I want a comfy lap to rest on."
"I'm tired, too. Why can't I rest on your lap?"
"Half my lap isn't up to it, and I was here first. Now get your ass over there before I take this pillow and smother you with it."
"Such a persuasive argument," I drolled with a roll of my eyes as I strode over and sat down.
"I have a reputation for getting people to do what I want."
"By threatening them with death?"
"It works, doesn't it?"
Apparently it does.
In less than thirty seconds he had taken over the rest of the sofa, the pillow on my lap and his head on the pillow. He made sure my arm was draped across his chest so he could hold my hand, then told me to turn on the DVD player and I did, finding that he had put in Hot Fuzz before I had arrived home. That was fine with me. We spent half the evening giggling like loons at the silly British cops and the other half watching various true crime documentaries. A nice relaxing night spent with him. No interruptions. No arguing. No drugging each other. Just us enjoying the movies and shows and each other's company. I couldn't have asked for anything better. Well, he could have paid for his half of the food, but you can't have everything.
"Hey," he spoke up the show's credits began to roll.
"That thing you did in the cafeteria today..."
"What about it?" I asked a bit warily, hoping he wasn't to do a 180 and pick a fight.
"It was fucking brilliant. I wasn't expecting that. That was so me, Jimmy. I have to say that I'm just a bit proud of you."
Smiling down at him, I said, "Thank you."
"You're welcome. Now how about doing it for real," he said huskily.
"Why, Dr. House, is that a Vicodin in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"
"Follow me and find out." He stood up and held out his hand.
I took it but remained sitting until he frowned, puzzled. "Tell me I'm fucking brilliant," I said.
"Seriously? What for?"
"I like the sound of it. Tell me I'm fucking brilliant and then I'll follow you, heal, beg, roll over and fetch."
He laughed. It was a deep, rich laugh. The kind I don't hear often enough. "Alrighty then, Jimmy. You are fucking brilliant."
"Just what I wanted to hear."
I got up and followed him into the bedroom. I would follow him to the ends of the earth. Maybe later I would tell him that.