A/N: Hey everyone! First of all, I'm so sorry about the delay in 'The Message in the Status Update' being updated. Exam revision is consuming my soul at the moment, but I will update it, I promise. It's just a matter of when!

Anyway, I just had to write a little something in response to the latest episode which just broke my heart. Ryan Cartwright, you were a fantastic asset to the show, and you'll be missed. This story is dedicated to my dear friend Emily, who loved Vincent dearly, and I hope this might help her in her grieving process. Love you, bb!

Hope you all enjoy. If you have the time, feel free to review! :)

"Promise me you'll never forget me, because if I thought you would I'd never leave." - Winnie the Pooh

It happens like clockwork every Thursday night.

It's nine PM, and the first one - a good-looking guy with sandy blonde hair and an easy smile - strolls in and commandeers a table for six. He pulls out a battered cellphone (which looks as if it's being held together by duct tape and not much else), checks the time, runs a hand through his perfect locks, and settles back into his seat.

Not thirty seconds later, a young woman with comically large brown eyes and a blinding smile bounds into the bar. She looks right and left, ponytail swishing behind her, before she spots her companion and rushes to envelop him in a hug. They sit back down, chattering amiably - though the conversation is slightly dominated by the petite brunette, who seems to feel as if it is her duty to relate every detail of her life thus far in the next five minutes.

Hot on her heels is a stocky African-American man, who claps the blonde guy on the back as he sits down beside him. He's recently come out of his shell - almost overnight, it would seem - and instead of sitting quietly like he used to, he now laughs raucously at something the girl is saying, before launching into a joke of his own that has his two friends bent double and crying with mirth.

After him comes an attractive, quieter Muslim man, who slides into his regular seat with a small, but very genuine smile. He orders his regular - a Diet Coke - while the other members of the group begin their weekly debate of whether they should do shots or not, and rolls his eyes good-naturedly at their antics.

Next, a tall dude with hunched shoulders and black polish on his fingernails trudges into the bar. He is immediately waved over with shouts of welcome, and he traipses over to his seat next to the excitable girl - the most unlikely of companions for this grim individual, one would've assumed - flashing them all a smile that's as un-grimace-like as he can possibly make him. The African-American immediately leans in to engage him in a conversation about the latest episode of 'Supernatural' and the man brightens up at once, talking animatedly with large gestures.

Finally, the Founding Fathers' door swings open for a sixth time, and a skinny, bright-eyed guy with a crooked grin makes his entrance. He makes his way over to the group, receiving one of the woman's bone-crushing hugs, a punch on the shoulder from the blonde, even a nod from his gloomy friend, as he collapses into the one unoccupied seat. It takes a casual observer only one glance to notice that he is the centerpiece of the group, the one who talks the most (not an easy task when competing against the brunette female), laughs the loudest, the life of the party. He is the link that connects them all together, the one who supplies friendship to five radically different people.

And with this final addition, the motley crew of misfits is complete.

As it has been for the past two years, and undoubtedly will be for many more.

But tonight is different.

Wendell Bray arrives at nine o'clock the dot, just like always. He's not smiling today though, and his normally perfectly coiffed hair is in a state of total disarray. He makes his way to the usual table, sits down in his seat, makes a halfhearted attempt to tame his messy hair. He looks as if he's aged ten years since he was last at the Founding Fathers. And for Wendell, it truly feels like it's been ten years since then, too.

Daisy Wick, right on schedule, pushes through the bar's doors. Wendell stands up abruptly when he sees her walking - walking, not jumping or skipping or sprinting - towards him. She looks as awful as he feels, with her hair hanging limp and her face unusually pale. Her eyes are red and puffy, and he wonders how long she's been crying for.

"Hey." He says lamely, arms outstretched.

Daisy accepts the hug gratefully, knocking all the air out of his stomach, and sniffling quietly into his shoulder.

"It's okay." He mumbles, patting her back awkwardly.

It's not okay, though. Of course it isn't. It's as far away from okay as it could possibly be. But Wendell can't think of anything else to say.

Clark arrives, and Daisy finally pulls away from Wendell with a watery smile.

"Hey man," Clark says, clapping Wendell on the back just like he normally does. Routine.

"Hey." Wendell replies, slipping back into his seat and motioning for Clark to do the same. Daisy blows her nose delicately on a paper napkin and follows suit.

Arastoo appears, glass of Diet Coke in hand, giving Daisy's shoulder a quick squeeze as he passes her and flops into his regular chair. He makes a stab at his usual charming smile, but it looks a bit too forced, and he resigns himself to sipping his drink silently instead.

And then, Fisher arrives, the only one who appears virtually unchanged by this event, except that he's not as vocal about how awful his day has been as he normally is. He sits down beside Daisy, and all the awkward small talk around the table disappears.

Because everyone's staring at the other chair. The one that's still empty.

The one that'll be empty from now on.

Daisy chokes out a sob, and Arastoo quickly envelops her in a hug.

The other interns sit there in disbelieving silence, looking at the unoccupied chair as they listen to Daisy's sobs gradually subside.

Seconds stretch out into minutes. The silence is unbearable. Wendell wracks his brain for something to say.

Something, anything, would be better than just sitting here and saying nothing.

"... D'you remember the first time we met up here?" Wendell finally asks. Everyone turns to him in shock.

"We… we hated each other." Clark says, eyebrows furrowed.

"Yeah!" Wendell bobs his head enthusiastically. "We were all in competition. We couldn't ever stand each other's company! You were grumbling about being here, because you thought it was crossing over from business to pleasure." he looks at Clark, who shrugs. "And you, Fisher, you didn't see the point of living, let alone being here." Fisher nods, because it's true. "And Daisy, you saw us all as usurpers to Dr Brennan's affections." Daisy giggles, dabbing at her eyes.

"No offense, man, but where is this going?" Arastoo frowns.

Wendell laughs loudly, causing his companions to look at him with something akin to fear. "Because we were just sitting around this table, glaring at each other, and no one was saying anything, and then suddenly V -" he pauses, takes a shaky breath. "Vincent cleared his throat, and he said -"

"Perhaps it would interest you to know that porcupines float in water." Daisy completes for him, features breaking out into her usual grin.

"And then I said that I didn't believe him." Fisher interjects.

Arastoo nods fervently. "And so we all started debating about it."

"And then we got piiiissed." Clark draws out the last word, half-embarrassed, half-amused.

Wendell laughs again. "And so we decided it made perfect sense to go and look for a porcupine and throw it into a body of water." Everyone is laughing now - loudly and freely - because suddenly the situation seems ten million times funnier than it ever has before. "And after a couple of hours, we found one, and we threw it into the reflecting pool, and -"

"It floated!" The interns chorus, breaking out into hysterical laughter once more.

"That was the last time I ever disagreed with him." Fisher shakes his head in disbelief. "I lost fifty bucks that night."

"Your face when you saw the porcupine just floating along." Arastoo chuckles, and Wendell leans over to give him a high five.

Silence falls again.

"I miss Vincent." Daisy says quietly.

"Me too." Clark admits, as the other interns nod their agreement.

"I never got my fifty bucks back." Fisher mumbles grudgingly, causing his friends to laugh once more.

"Hey, you know what I think?" Wendell says abruptly as he spies Daisy blinking back tears again.

"Do I want to?" Fisher mutters.

Wendell ignores him. "I think we should get a vast amount of alcohol into our bodies, and a heckuva lot of Diet Coke into Arastoo." The Muslim grins and tips his glass in Wendell's direction. "And then we go find another porcupine to throw into the reflecting pool."

"Ooh! Can we get coffee while we're there?" Daisy asks eagerly, bouncing up and down on her chair. Wendell rolls his eyes - only Daisy would believe that the coffee cart would still be operating at nine o'clock at night. But he's glad that she's back to her normal self.

"Sounds good to me." Clark cracks a smile. "Nora's staying with her family for the weekend, so I'm free."

"Me too." Arastoo grins, and Fisher inclines his head.

"Awesome! Hey!" Wendell waves to the bartender. "Can we get five shots of straight vodka over here? Thanks!"

"Don't you mean four?" Arastoo asks quietly, gesturing towards the empty seat.

"No. I mean five." Wendell says firmly. Arastoo raises an eyebrow, but shrugs it off.

The drinks arrive, and suddenly everyone's laughing and talking and shouting, just like they always do. An hour later, they all stumble out of the Founding Fathers as one, clinging to each other and screaming about alcohol and coffee carts and porcupines named Vincent and reflecting pools in the cool night air.

Back in the Founding Fathers, an untouched shot glass sits in front of the empty chair.

His chair.

The following Thursday evening, things are back to normal - Wendell smiles brightly, Daisy chatters incessantly, Clark jokes openly, Arastoo sips his Diet Coke, Fisher throws out biting (but very well-meant) sarcastic comments.

Back to normal. Back to the routine.

Just like always.

But not quite.

A shot glass sits in front of the only unoccupied seat - a new tradition. A remembrance of the one who truly brought the interns together. The one who made them laugh and smile and drop porcupines into water.

The one of their number no longer with them.

But not forgotten.

Never forgotten.