Fic: My Long Sleeves (1/2)
Title: My Long Sleeves
Fandom: Scrubs
Pairing: JD/Cox
Rating: T for somewhat graphic mentions of self-injury
Summary: He wasn't suicidal, he just needed a release.
At first, it was an easy way for him to relieve stress. Some people smoke, or drink, like Dr. Cox. Everyone has a release. His just happened to be a little less socially acceptable. But that didn’t make it wrong, did it?
It started his first year at Sacred Heart. With all the stress of being an intern bottling up inside him, it was natural that he needed an outlet. After pulling yet another grueling 24 hour shift, he couldn’t sleep. Tossing and turning for hours hadn’t helped his stressed out mood. Deciding that sleep was overrated anyway, he got out of bed and paced his room, eventually directing his wandering feet towards the bathroom to splash water on his face. As the cool liquid dripped from his visage, he was rummaging in the cabinet above the sink for a hand towel to dry off when he spotted something else. Reaching for the razor blade, he held it gently in his hands, turning it so it glinted in the harsh fluorescent light of the bathroom.
He had heard of people who cut themselves (after all, he was a doctor), but never before had he entertained the idea of doing it himself. He put the razor back in the cabinet and turned away, calling himself crazy for even thinking about it. But an errant thought struck him, a memory of one of his recent patients. Admitted for attempted suicide, the young girl had slit her own wrists. He had asked her why she’d done it, to which she replied, “It hurt so good, I couldn’t stop. I just needed a release.”
He thought about it for a moment longer, then made up his mind. I’ll only do it once. I’m sure it’ll hurt like hell, and that’ll prevent me from even thinking about doing anything like this again.
Carefully, he took out the razor. Holding it tenderly between his trembling fingers, he pressed it to the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrist. He had been right, it did hurt, but for some reason, as he watched the red liquid flow down his wrist, over his hand, and drop by drop fall from his fingertips into the sink, his mind went blank. All he could concentrate on was the steady dripping of his own blood into the basin of the sink.
That was how it began. Simply a way to soothe his mind, help him forget everything to fall asleep. He wasn’t suicidal; he just needed a release. After all, being an intern was stressful, and having Dr. Cox as his attending certainly didn’t help matters any. Soon it got to the point where he was unable to fall asleep until he had coaxed some of the scarlet liquid out of his veins. The months went by, and he kept track of them by the multitude of tally marks carved into his skin. Sometimes, when he was really stressed and distracted, he would press harder than normal. Those cuts hurt worse, and took longer to heal.
It’s totally innocent, he kept telling himself. But to be safe, he never went without wearing long sleeves. He had always worn long-sleeved shirts under his scrubs, so there was no way anyone at the hospital could find out about his secret habit. Not even Turk, his best friend and roommate, noticed anything was different. It’s totally innocent.
But when his feelings towards his mentor, Dr. Cox, began to blur the line between hero worship and something more was when his habit got worse. He knew Dr. Cox was tolerant of alternative lifestyles. He also knew that if he were to ever talk to him about his feelings, he would be ridiculed and called by girls’ names forever. But his longing for the older doctor grew more with each passing day until it was all he could think about.
Worried about slipping in front of Dr. Cox and accidently revealing his feelings, he developed a new twist to his nightly ritual. Remembering all the girls’ names he had been called during the day, he would make a cut for each one. Every Lillian, Samantha, and Becky got its own mark on his arm. The pain made him face reality-as much as he daydreamed about his mentor, he could never have him in real life.
This habit of his grew over the years, until one day he made a huge mistake. When Dr. Cox had tricked him into thinking he wasn’t going to be named Chief Resident, he had cried out, “Why do you hate me when I show you nothing but love?” He had been so upset by Dr. Cox’s trick that he didn’t realize his slip-up until later, when he was standing at the nurses’ station talking to Carla and spotted Cox striding down the hall. Stricken, his face paled, and he left abruptly as Cox approached.
Not knowing where he could go where his melt-down would be private, he headed towards a supply closet on the third floor. His hands were shaking with his tumultuous emotions, and although he had never done it at work, he needed his release right then. He let himself into the blessedly empty supply closet and shut the door, neglecting to lock it in his frantic search for something, anything, sharp. His fumbling fingers finally closed around a razor, one of the ones that nurses used to shave patients when they needed to be prepped for surgery.
He gasped with relief when the cool metal sliced into his delicate flesh, releasing a gentle flow of scarlet down his forearm. His earlier words to his mentor kept playing over and over in his head. Angry at himself, he pressed the razor down harder, causing more blood to flow. Too late, he realized his mistake, as his vision began to grow dark around the edges. The strength of his turbulent emotions combined with the lack of blood was causing him to lose consciousness.
The last thing he saw before he passed out completely was Dr. Cox’s worried face floating in front of him. He could see his mentor’s lips moving, but for some reason the words didn’t register in his mind. As his world went dark, he could vaguely hear Dr. Cox shouting.
Newbie?
JD!
I need a gurney over here!
When he awoke, he was lying in a hospital bed. Looking at his wrists, he noticed they had been bandaged. Embarrassed that his dirty habit had been revealed, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, only to see an angry looking Dr. Cox standing in the doorway, effectively blocking his exit. He sighed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to leave until Dr. Cox had received a satisfactory explanation for why he had been discovered, passed out in a supply closet with a razor blade clutched in his fingers and blood streaming out of his most recent wound.
Dr. Cox shut the door and strode over to the bed. Sitting on it, his look of anger did not fade, but there was something else in his eyes-compassion? Worry? His own eyes began to fill with tears, and he looked away, fully expecting to be berated for crying. Instead, something else happened, something that he had wanted for years.
Dr. Cox gently took his shaking body into his arms, in what could only be described as a hug. Shocked, he began to sob. He had longed for this hug for so long, and now it was tainted by the memory of his self-destructive behavior that hung in the air between them.
After a moment, Dr. Cox broke the silence. “Why, JD?”
“Because of you. It’s all because of you.” Said not as an accusation, but as an explanation.
“Me?” Pause. Then, “Why?”
“Because I love you.”
To his surprise, Dr. Cox didn’t push him away. Instead, he merely held him closer while he cried.
Fandom: Scrubs
Pairing: JD/Cox
Rating: T for somewhat graphic mentions of self-injury
Summary: He wasn't suicidal, he just needed a release.
At first, it was an easy way for him to relieve stress. Some people smoke, or drink, like Dr. Cox. Everyone has a release. His just happened to be a little less socially acceptable. But that didn’t make it wrong, did it?
It started his first year at Sacred Heart. With all the stress of being an intern bottling up inside him, it was natural that he needed an outlet. After pulling yet another grueling 24 hour shift, he couldn’t sleep. Tossing and turning for hours hadn’t helped his stressed out mood. Deciding that sleep was overrated anyway, he got out of bed and paced his room, eventually directing his wandering feet towards the bathroom to splash water on his face. As the cool liquid dripped from his visage, he was rummaging in the cabinet above the sink for a hand towel to dry off when he spotted something else. Reaching for the razor blade, he held it gently in his hands, turning it so it glinted in the harsh fluorescent light of the bathroom.
He had heard of people who cut themselves (after all, he was a doctor), but never before had he entertained the idea of doing it himself. He put the razor back in the cabinet and turned away, calling himself crazy for even thinking about it. But an errant thought struck him, a memory of one of his recent patients. Admitted for attempted suicide, the young girl had slit her own wrists. He had asked her why she’d done it, to which she replied, “It hurt so good, I couldn’t stop. I just needed a release.”
He thought about it for a moment longer, then made up his mind. I’ll only do it once. I’m sure it’ll hurt like hell, and that’ll prevent me from even thinking about doing anything like this again.
Carefully, he took out the razor. Holding it tenderly between his trembling fingers, he pressed it to the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrist. He had been right, it did hurt, but for some reason, as he watched the red liquid flow down his wrist, over his hand, and drop by drop fall from his fingertips into the sink, his mind went blank. All he could concentrate on was the steady dripping of his own blood into the basin of the sink.
That was how it began. Simply a way to soothe his mind, help him forget everything to fall asleep. He wasn’t suicidal; he just needed a release. After all, being an intern was stressful, and having Dr. Cox as his attending certainly didn’t help matters any. Soon it got to the point where he was unable to fall asleep until he had coaxed some of the scarlet liquid out of his veins. The months went by, and he kept track of them by the multitude of tally marks carved into his skin. Sometimes, when he was really stressed and distracted, he would press harder than normal. Those cuts hurt worse, and took longer to heal.
It’s totally innocent, he kept telling himself. But to be safe, he never went without wearing long sleeves. He had always worn long-sleeved shirts under his scrubs, so there was no way anyone at the hospital could find out about his secret habit. Not even Turk, his best friend and roommate, noticed anything was different. It’s totally innocent.
But when his feelings towards his mentor, Dr. Cox, began to blur the line between hero worship and something more was when his habit got worse. He knew Dr. Cox was tolerant of alternative lifestyles. He also knew that if he were to ever talk to him about his feelings, he would be ridiculed and called by girls’ names forever. But his longing for the older doctor grew more with each passing day until it was all he could think about.
Worried about slipping in front of Dr. Cox and accidently revealing his feelings, he developed a new twist to his nightly ritual. Remembering all the girls’ names he had been called during the day, he would make a cut for each one. Every Lillian, Samantha, and Becky got its own mark on his arm. The pain made him face reality-as much as he daydreamed about his mentor, he could never have him in real life.
This habit of his grew over the years, until one day he made a huge mistake. When Dr. Cox had tricked him into thinking he wasn’t going to be named Chief Resident, he had cried out, “Why do you hate me when I show you nothing but love?” He had been so upset by Dr. Cox’s trick that he didn’t realize his slip-up until later, when he was standing at the nurses’ station talking to Carla and spotted Cox striding down the hall. Stricken, his face paled, and he left abruptly as Cox approached.
Not knowing where he could go where his melt-down would be private, he headed towards a supply closet on the third floor. His hands were shaking with his tumultuous emotions, and although he had never done it at work, he needed his release right then. He let himself into the blessedly empty supply closet and shut the door, neglecting to lock it in his frantic search for something, anything, sharp. His fumbling fingers finally closed around a razor, one of the ones that nurses used to shave patients when they needed to be prepped for surgery.
He gasped with relief when the cool metal sliced into his delicate flesh, releasing a gentle flow of scarlet down his forearm. His earlier words to his mentor kept playing over and over in his head. Angry at himself, he pressed the razor down harder, causing more blood to flow. Too late, he realized his mistake, as his vision began to grow dark around the edges. The strength of his turbulent emotions combined with the lack of blood was causing him to lose consciousness.
The last thing he saw before he passed out completely was Dr. Cox’s worried face floating in front of him. He could see his mentor’s lips moving, but for some reason the words didn’t register in his mind. As his world went dark, he could vaguely hear Dr. Cox shouting.
Newbie?
JD!
I need a gurney over here!
When he awoke, he was lying in a hospital bed. Looking at his wrists, he noticed they had been bandaged. Embarrassed that his dirty habit had been revealed, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, only to see an angry looking Dr. Cox standing in the doorway, effectively blocking his exit. He sighed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to leave until Dr. Cox had received a satisfactory explanation for why he had been discovered, passed out in a supply closet with a razor blade clutched in his fingers and blood streaming out of his most recent wound.
Dr. Cox shut the door and strode over to the bed. Sitting on it, his look of anger did not fade, but there was something else in his eyes-compassion? Worry? His own eyes began to fill with tears, and he looked away, fully expecting to be berated for crying. Instead, something else happened, something that he had wanted for years.
Dr. Cox gently took his shaking body into his arms, in what could only be described as a hug. Shocked, he began to sob. He had longed for this hug for so long, and now it was tainted by the memory of his self-destructive behavior that hung in the air between them.
After a moment, Dr. Cox broke the silence. “Why, JD?”
“Because of you. It’s all because of you.” Said not as an accusation, but as an explanation.
“Me?” Pause. Then, “Why?”
“Because I love you.”
To his surprise, Dr. Cox didn’t push him away. Instead, he merely held him closer while he cried.