They think that because DJ's gotten Perry to put down the bottle, get up off the couch, get fully dressed (although secretly, she doesn't think scrubs really count as 'clothing' even if he does have to wear them for work) and report to work that the war's won and life can continue is as it was.
Where the hell were they three weeks ago when she was trying as best as she damn well could to keep him together, making excuses for him, trying to be there for him even though he kept insisting she'd "never understand" because she wasn't a doctor. They were doctors, where the fuck were they?
No, they hadn't even noticed until she slept in a little too late to stop him from showing up to work a goddamn mess. She had to sit there and watch them act all concerned for their dear friend, and look at her as if she were some sort of hard hearted monster. She was too damn tired and frustrated to do anything else but play along. She couldn't fix him, maybe they could.
Of course it only rubs salt in the wound that their plan worked.
She watches him sleep out of the corner of her eye, while she's pretending to leaf through some old fashion magazine. His brow is puckering, shoulders rising to meet his ears --- he's waking up then, not just another bad dream.
She reaches out and twines her fingers in his hair, despite the tacky unclean feel. His lips pucker and he turns away from her in response. She lets her fingers fall free and return to her magazine.
If she tries to wake him, even for a good morning blow job, he'll be pissy all damn day, and she's just too tired after the last month to deal with one of Perry's little sulks.
She's never known anyone to fight so hard against waking up in the mornings. Part of that might be the extra dose of sleeping pills she's been slipping him – but he's been like this as long as she's known him. He twists and turns far more in this last hour than he does all night, hogging all the covers and the pillows as if he were trying to barricade himself from the real world.
He lets out a soft pained groan and slowly opens her eyes.
She knows the rules here too – no touching him until he touches her, don't say anything because he's irritable enough to turn 'good morning' into an insult against his manhood or something. Normally he'll lie there a few minutes before rolling off the bed, knocking the covers onto the floor and locking himself in the bathroom.
His hand reaches out to touch her knee and she's too relaxed to hide her twitch in response.
"Jordan," His voice is soft and slightly wavery, she normally only hears it when he's drunk off his ass and feeling melancholy (which is every time he's drunk), but he hasn't touched a drop of alcohol since JD came in and 'saved the day'. "This last month must have been hard for you."
"Well, it wasn't exactly a picnic of roses for you either," she grumbles, unsure of where this is going.
"I didn't think you'd stay."
"Apartment shopping is hell right now."
His hand strokes up and down her thigh and his eyes lose focus for a minute.
In this short moment, right now, she might admit out loud that she loves him.