Fic: The Fine Art of Screwing With Your Ex-Husband: Part 1
Title: The Fine Art of Screwing With Your Ex-Husband
Chapter: 1/2
Author: nighthawkms
General Rating: PG-13
Pairing:(s) JD/Cox
Summary: Never doubt Jordan Sullivan if you know what's good for you.
Notes: Two parter for the Un-Love You Table. Number 7 on the table. Part 2 up in the next day or two!
7. Prove it.
It’s Monday morning, and Jordan and I are currently engaged in what we usually do juuust about every Monday morning - not to mention every other morning in the week.
We’re arguing.
Except, well, this is one of those rare arguments - and I mean rare, as in a still-mooing-steak rare - that completely throws me for a loop.
“Oh, you did nawt just insinuate what I think you did, Jordy Poo.”
I fold my arms, growl escaping the back of my throat as I face down my harpy-of-an-ex-wife, watching her tap her perfectly manicured nails on the countertop of the nurses’ station (nails bought with my damn money, by the way, lest we forget how deep the she-witch has her claws sunk into me), an irritating little smirk on her face.
“What, Per Per? That you’re head over heels-”
“Zip it, devil woman.”
Oh-ho-ho, Jordan is going to die. And I’m going to make sure it is painful, in ev-ery possible way.
I continue with my ranting. “You have clearly gone delusional, most likely brought on by a mixture of your Botox injections and the blood of young innocents that you feed on, because I thought I just heard you imply that I had some sort of ‘sexual’ - or even worse, emotional - attraction to Newbie.”
Oh thank god he’s off today; this is not the sort of conversation I want him overhearing. Especially with that spastic little imagination filled with puppies and unicorns that he has; he’d probably end up playing out the entire damn situation in his head, and proceed to inform me of Every. Single. Detail.
Jordan shifts her feet - probably getting ready to attack the nearest fresh meat that passes her way… which looks like it’s going to be Ted from where I’m standing; poor bastard - and keeps on smirking.
And wonderful, now it’s that ‘you-know-I’m-right-Perry’ sort of smirk - the one she gives right before she sets out to show me that I’m an idiot/in denial/a coward/any of the other ten-thousand little things she likes to prove me wrong about. And ninety-nine percent of the time - being that she’s Jordan - she usually gets her way.
Must. Stop. Her.
“Look, Jorderooney, I know you get your rocks off on the idea of me and Carolina making sweet, sweet man-love - and buhlieve me, whatever helps you get through the night, that’s just great for you; really, sweet cheeks, I support you fully; you go girl - but your insipid little fantasies are not coming to life. No way, no how.”
“Aww gee, Per Bear. Your denial, it’s, it’s just bringing tears to my eyes. What a performance! Let’s give you the Oscar, shall we?”
She starts clapping slowly, drawing the attention of a few other people in the hallway. Damn it, this is nawt a conversation I want to be having in public. So, I do the only logical thing a person can do when facing down demon-spawn. I avoid her ridiculously sharp claws (seriously, is her nail file made out of diamonds?) and grab her wrist, marching her down the hallway. A group of interns scatters in my wake - harpy dearest tries to solicit sex from one as we pass, which is just so enjoyable to watch, really - and I eventually manage to drag her into a deserted area of the hallway.
“Alright, did you take your crazy pills this morning?”
She gives me an innocent (by her standards) look, lip dropping into that unbelievably effective pout she can pull off, the one that has separated me from way too many large wads of my paltry cash savings.
“Fine, fine!” I snap at her, grimacing. “Explain your reasoning, before I have to stab myself in the eyes to end the torment.”
“It’s simple really, Perry. After five years of observing you play hospital with DJ, I can preeetty safetly say that I’m not the only one who gets my rocks off on your ‘man-loving’ of him.”
“…Wait, you actually fantasize about that? Honestly, Jordan, I mean- wait… eeeeeew! No, no, no!”
I shake my head, face twisted into a grimace as the image of Newbie keening under me, with Jordan watching us in the corner just, well, just decides to pop itself into my mind. Dear lord, I’m gonna be sick.
“I do nawt have an attraction to Newbie; get that through your head, and stop trying to put it in mine!”
“You just pictured it, didn’t you?”
She gives me that smirk, that damn smirk again… and yep, yep, I think I’m going to kill her this time. I really am, don’cha know. She’ll probably rise from the dead to eat my innards, but it will be so worth it.
“Nooo, no way”, I lie, knowing she probably can see through my deceit, but I’ll be damned if I admit it out loud. “You are insane. You have lost your fucking mind. This conversation is over; do you understand me, Jordan?”
“Look, Per, if you really can’t see it, then I guess I’ll just have to prove it to you.”
“NO! You are not going to-!”
Too late; she’s already turned around and walked away, throwing me back a wave and shouting not to worry, that it will be fun! just ever so fun! and I’ll thank her later.
…I’m screwed.
~
Tuesday morning comes, and Newbie’s back at work, filling that last spot of crazy in my convoluted life that’s apt to be absent whenever he’s not around.
Not that I missed it, dear god, no. I guess I’m just used to it… I mean, you’ve gotta admit, the amount of crazy he brings to the table is pretty damn big.
Again; not missing it.
Jordan is wrong, damn it. Wrong.
Luckily, I don’t see him much for the first three hours of my shift, only when he’s bouncing back and forth between rooms like he’s on a pogo stick, and occasionally catching snippets of his inane, airheaded conversations with Ghandi. Jordan’s absent too; it’s a miracle really; the universe is somehow aligning to make this day awesome.
Of course, being Perry Cox, good things happening to me ne-he-evar last.
So while finishing off a particularly amazing rant directed towards my new idiot patient who can’t understand why lung cancer is a bad thing, I walk backwards - right into the janitor’s large, yellow, wheeling mop bucket. I land on my side, cursing as I hit the ground and hearing the bucket crash down next to me. Dirty, cold water spills out on top of me, soaking my scrubs and hair in seconds.
“Shit,” I say, sitting up and wiping water out of my eyes. Somehow I’ve managed to keep the patient’s chart that I’m holding from getting soaked, and Carla looms over me instantly, holding her hand out to take it, mouth twisted in a disapproving frown.
“Don’t get that wet, Perry; it took me forever to write out.”
“Great,” I hear the janitor moan. “Now I’ve got to do this place all over again.” He shoots me a glare. “Like making my job harder, huh? Now I know where Scooter gets his janitor-hating attitude. I’m onto you.”
I blink, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah… you go with that assumption, Lurch.” Then I look back up at Carla, holding out my hand - the one that doesn’t have the chart in it. “Thanks for the concern there, Carla. Mind helping me up?”
She huffs in that little annoyed way she always does when someone manages to make her feel guilty - which isn’t often, believe me - and helps me to my feet, snatching the chart from my hand immediately afterwards and nudging me towards the locker rooms.
“Go wash off and get changed before you get sick, huh?”
She gives me a slight smile, and I resist the urge to make a crack about her being a mother hen (too easy, Perry; too easy - let it go), instead turning and walking away.
The locker rooms are empty - not surprising, seeing as there isn’t a shift switch going on anytime soon - so I change in relative silence, snatching a towel from the pile and heading into the showers. This damn mop water is starting to stink; what the hell does that janitor use to clean the floors, sewer waste?
Kelso’s too much of a cheap bastard to opt for individual stalls in the showers, so I don’t often come here; I’ve just never found the idea of baring my package to the entire male staff of Sacred Heart very appealing. Especially considering some of the stories I’ve heard about The Todd’s shower room antics… yeah, I like my privacy. But I can hear one of the showerheads running; looks like someone is here after all…
“Streetlights, peeeople, woooah oooh-”
Is that… is he singing Journey? Oh boy…
I turn the corner before I can help myself and find Newbie standing ten feet away, running his long fingers through his dripping wet hair, eyes closed and chest slightly arched into the spray of water (why do I notice this, why the hell do I notice this…) as he belts out the tune. I gawk, somehow momentarily driven speechless, cursing my traitorous mouth for not working. Really, forty plus years of perfecting my brand of cynical sarcasm, and for this I can’t come up with anything? Christ…
Hrm, damn water can’t be too warm, his nipples are-
Fuck! Backpedal, backpedal.
“Perry?”
I blink, and suddenly Newbie’s stopped singing and has turned to look at me, a quizzical expression on his face. My vocal chords still refuse to sound for a moment, but I finally manage to grunt out: “what the hell are you doing here, Charlene?”
My voice sounds hoarse; damn Jordan and her insinuations…
Suddenly, it clicks. Somehow, that devil woman set this all up. She probably paid the janitor ten bucks to trip me up, and she found a way to get Newbie here too.
Evil, evil, evil woman!
“One of my patients sort of threw up all over me,” Newbie says, finally snapping my attention back to him. “Er, why are you holding your towel like that? It looks kinda awkward.”
I glance down and stifle a moan of dread; somehow my hands have become those of a Shy. Teenage. Boy’s., and are gripping the towel firmly over my groin.
“Mind your own damn business,” I grunt, finally turning away and walking towards the opposite side of the showers. “Take care of your girly little bathing routine and get out of here, Newbie.”
“Can I-”
“No, Newbie, you may not sing. You may not hum. You may not speak, or make any other noise on the list that will cause me to go over there and strangle you; a list that is composed of every single sound, ever.”
He whimpers.
Aww, why are you so mean to your little boyfriend? my inner Jordan whines. I ignore it and take a deep breath, facing my back towards Newbie, fiddling with my towel and shampoo bottle until I hear him leave.
Then I drop my forehead against the shower wall, groaning loudly and glancing down at my cock, waving to me from its erect state.
Damn you Jordan. Damn you to hell.
~
Alright, so yesterday’s bit of unexpected arousal was just because Jordan knows exactly how to manipulate me to cause me suffering. Nothing more. Newbie saw nothing; I’ve got nothing to worry about.
But remember how you got rid of that annoying little erection? inner Jordan torments again.
I scowl, frowning so hard that the words on the chart I’m reading blur together. So what if I had to take care of my sexual needs in a little bit of an… unorthodox way? It’s not like he’ll ever know.
“Morning, Perry!”
Oh god - don’t look at him, don’t look at him, don’t look at him.
And I’m looking at him. Damn my traitorous neck muscles.
Newbie gallops towards me in his high-spirited, ever annoying way, and all I can think about is the last time I saw that face of his - gripped in ecstasy, projected against the back of my eyelids as I stood under a jet of water, hand pumping around my-
“Helooo. Dr. Cox? Perry? Anybody home in there?”
Good god, how did he get this close to me this fast? Does he always stand this close to me? How have I never noticed this?
Damn it, Jordan! You’ve ruined me!
“Casey! I’m trying a new technique today,” I quip, averting my gaze back to the chart and attempting to breathe, as my body seems to be no longer capable of working unless I spoon-feed it commands. “It’s called ‘I’m Going to Ignore You All Day.’ I’ve had such positive results when I’ve tried it on Bobo and Jordan; I’m hoping to repeat the same with you.”
“Hrm, well, I don’t think I did anything to piss you off in the last few days… so you and Jordan are fighting again?”
How does he-
“No, Janet. Suffice to say, your little psych intro course did nawt give you enough information to dissect the brain of one Perry Cox, so if you could just toodles, that would be swell.”
“…Alright. See you later, then!”
He picks up a chart and bounces off down the hallway, and only now do I look up, watching his receding figure manage to impressively catch himself from one, two, three stumbles, and oh! He’s down! What a shame.
“D-Doctor Cox?” I tear my gaze away from watching Newbie pick himself up from off the floor (not staring at his ass; no-ho-ho, definitely not) to see Kelso’s little minion, Ted, standing next to me, quivering and covered in his usual gallon of flop sweat. Peachy, just what I need.
“What is it, and explain it in ten words or less, because my auditory functions automatically shut down for you at word eleven, Buckland.”
“S-sorry to bother you, but have you seen Jordan today?”
Hrm, did it in ten words exactly; not bad. And speaking of my she-devil ex-wife…
“Nope, by some divine power from above (‘Mhhmm,’ chimes in Laverne from the corner), I haven’t seen her since yesterday. Now shoo.”
As Ted wanders away in his apathetic stupor, I reflect on the fact that Jordan hasn’t shown her face to me since our little conversation two days previous. I’m guessing she knows that I know - and damn does that sound like a Newbie-esque thing to say - that she set that whole shower incident up, and wants to let me cool off before she pops up to sink her claws in me once more. Well good - the longer she keeps away, the longer I can keep some form of sanity intact.
Two hours and five imbecilic patients later, Carla’s jockstrap husband stops me in the hall.
“Hey, Dr. Cox, have you seen my man, V-Bear? One of the nurses told me he paged JD a half-hour ago for a patient, and he still hasn’t shown up.”
Hrm, it is a little odd for Newbie to neglect one of his patients. Not that I’m gonna let Ghandi know that, but hell, Kelly’s normal response time to a page is one that utterly screams, ‘I-don’t-have-enough-dignity-to-try-and-not-seem-desperately-needy!”
But rather than admit that I actually bother to hold this knowledge of Newbie (or any knowledge of Newbie), I tug my pager - which has mercifully decided to start buzzing - from my belt, excited grin on my face as I hold it up and wink at Ghandi.
“So sorry I can’t help you look for your boyfriend, but I’ve got doctorey things to do at the…”
I squint, and then frown at the message on my pager.
“…the morgue? Huh, well, the morgue it is then; sayanora, sucker.”
Sending the surgeon a mocking salute, I do a three-sixty turn and launch myself away, smirking as I hear him grumbling behind me. Ah, the sound of frustration caused by me. It’s so refreshing on a bland and boring day such as this.
When I’m out of Ghandi’s line of sight, I check my pager again, blinking in surprise to find that it’s our missing Newbie’s number calling me to the morgue. Another addition to the mystery; I’ve got no idea why he’d be calling me down there… My stomach clamps at a thought that wanders suddenly into my head, but I shove it away, growling. Damn it, he will not chase me away, I am not a sissy like him. Focus, Perry, focus!
The drone of noise disappears as I head down into the bowels of the hospital, twisting left and right, down hallways whose light fixtures seem to get dimmer as I go on; and damn if this doesn’t feel like I’m in the middle of a bad slasher movie. How does Nervous Guy stand being down here all day?
…probably talks to the corpses. Weirdo. Eh, at least he can’t do much damage with sharp objects down here.
The morgue entrance finally pops into view - a metal security door that seems like major overkill, seeing as the bodies are not going to walk out of there themselves, and grave robbing just isn’t as profitable as it used to be. Surprisingly, the door seems to have been left open (so much for security), and when I step inside, nobody (well, nobody living) is there.
Nothing stirs inside the starkly green-swathed room as I look around. Autopsy tables and tools glint under the light of the flickering incandescent bulbs on the ceiling. The only sound is the steady drip drop coming from the leaky sink, and the noise sends a shiver down my spine… damn, it’s creepy down here. Can’t they get a radio, or something?
Well, Newbie hasn’t shown his face yet, so I kick back on a chair, waiting. If he doesn’t show up in the next three minutes, I’m getting outta here; I’ve got better things to do than sit around and wait for him in this little hellhole. I swear, if he pops up from under one of these morgue sheets and shouts ‘surprise!’…
And hello, is that a voice?
My gaze flicks over to the door of the cold chamber, a door that - god knows why - is even more heavily secured than that of the morgue entrance. It’s closed, but I could’ve sworn I heard someone speaking from behind it…
I jump up as I hear the voice again, faint behind the reinforced steel, but still audible. Someone’s in there, and it sounds like they’re calling for help. Huh, maybe Murphy got himself locked inside somehow; better get him out before he freezes and joins the rest of the corpses in there.
Grabbing the handle, I pull the heavy door open, its rubber bottom squeaking against the linoleum as a hissing wall of cold air slams into me. Light pours into the dimly lit cold chamber from the small opening I’ve made, and- what the hell?
TBC...
X-posted to scrubsfic and jd_cox
Chapter: 1/2
Author: nighthawkms
General Rating: PG-13
Pairing:(s) JD/Cox
Summary: Never doubt Jordan Sullivan if you know what's good for you.
Notes: Two parter for the Un-Love You Table. Number 7 on the table. Part 2 up in the next day or two!
7. Prove it.
It’s Monday morning, and Jordan and I are currently engaged in what we usually do juuust about every Monday morning - not to mention every other morning in the week.
We’re arguing.
Except, well, this is one of those rare arguments - and I mean rare, as in a still-mooing-steak rare - that completely throws me for a loop.
“Oh, you did nawt just insinuate what I think you did, Jordy Poo.”
I fold my arms, growl escaping the back of my throat as I face down my harpy-of-an-ex-wife, watching her tap her perfectly manicured nails on the countertop of the nurses’ station (nails bought with my damn money, by the way, lest we forget how deep the she-witch has her claws sunk into me), an irritating little smirk on her face.
“What, Per Per? That you’re head over heels-”
“Zip it, devil woman.”
Oh-ho-ho, Jordan is going to die. And I’m going to make sure it is painful, in ev-ery possible way.
I continue with my ranting. “You have clearly gone delusional, most likely brought on by a mixture of your Botox injections and the blood of young innocents that you feed on, because I thought I just heard you imply that I had some sort of ‘sexual’ - or even worse, emotional - attraction to Newbie.”
Oh thank god he’s off today; this is not the sort of conversation I want him overhearing. Especially with that spastic little imagination filled with puppies and unicorns that he has; he’d probably end up playing out the entire damn situation in his head, and proceed to inform me of Every. Single. Detail.
Jordan shifts her feet - probably getting ready to attack the nearest fresh meat that passes her way… which looks like it’s going to be Ted from where I’m standing; poor bastard - and keeps on smirking.
And wonderful, now it’s that ‘you-know-I’m-right-Perry’ sort of smirk - the one she gives right before she sets out to show me that I’m an idiot/in denial/a coward/any of the other ten-thousand little things she likes to prove me wrong about. And ninety-nine percent of the time - being that she’s Jordan - she usually gets her way.
Must. Stop. Her.
“Look, Jorderooney, I know you get your rocks off on the idea of me and Carolina making sweet, sweet man-love - and buhlieve me, whatever helps you get through the night, that’s just great for you; really, sweet cheeks, I support you fully; you go girl - but your insipid little fantasies are not coming to life. No way, no how.”
“Aww gee, Per Bear. Your denial, it’s, it’s just bringing tears to my eyes. What a performance! Let’s give you the Oscar, shall we?”
She starts clapping slowly, drawing the attention of a few other people in the hallway. Damn it, this is nawt a conversation I want to be having in public. So, I do the only logical thing a person can do when facing down demon-spawn. I avoid her ridiculously sharp claws (seriously, is her nail file made out of diamonds?) and grab her wrist, marching her down the hallway. A group of interns scatters in my wake - harpy dearest tries to solicit sex from one as we pass, which is just so enjoyable to watch, really - and I eventually manage to drag her into a deserted area of the hallway.
“Alright, did you take your crazy pills this morning?”
She gives me an innocent (by her standards) look, lip dropping into that unbelievably effective pout she can pull off, the one that has separated me from way too many large wads of my paltry cash savings.
“Fine, fine!” I snap at her, grimacing. “Explain your reasoning, before I have to stab myself in the eyes to end the torment.”
“It’s simple really, Perry. After five years of observing you play hospital with DJ, I can preeetty safetly say that I’m not the only one who gets my rocks off on your ‘man-loving’ of him.”
“…Wait, you actually fantasize about that? Honestly, Jordan, I mean- wait… eeeeeew! No, no, no!”
I shake my head, face twisted into a grimace as the image of Newbie keening under me, with Jordan watching us in the corner just, well, just decides to pop itself into my mind. Dear lord, I’m gonna be sick.
“I do nawt have an attraction to Newbie; get that through your head, and stop trying to put it in mine!”
“You just pictured it, didn’t you?”
She gives me that smirk, that damn smirk again… and yep, yep, I think I’m going to kill her this time. I really am, don’cha know. She’ll probably rise from the dead to eat my innards, but it will be so worth it.
“Nooo, no way”, I lie, knowing she probably can see through my deceit, but I’ll be damned if I admit it out loud. “You are insane. You have lost your fucking mind. This conversation is over; do you understand me, Jordan?”
“Look, Per, if you really can’t see it, then I guess I’ll just have to prove it to you.”
“NO! You are not going to-!”
Too late; she’s already turned around and walked away, throwing me back a wave and shouting not to worry, that it will be fun! just ever so fun! and I’ll thank her later.
…I’m screwed.
~
Tuesday morning comes, and Newbie’s back at work, filling that last spot of crazy in my convoluted life that’s apt to be absent whenever he’s not around.
Not that I missed it, dear god, no. I guess I’m just used to it… I mean, you’ve gotta admit, the amount of crazy he brings to the table is pretty damn big.
Again; not missing it.
Jordan is wrong, damn it. Wrong.
Luckily, I don’t see him much for the first three hours of my shift, only when he’s bouncing back and forth between rooms like he’s on a pogo stick, and occasionally catching snippets of his inane, airheaded conversations with Ghandi. Jordan’s absent too; it’s a miracle really; the universe is somehow aligning to make this day awesome.
Of course, being Perry Cox, good things happening to me ne-he-evar last.
So while finishing off a particularly amazing rant directed towards my new idiot patient who can’t understand why lung cancer is a bad thing, I walk backwards - right into the janitor’s large, yellow, wheeling mop bucket. I land on my side, cursing as I hit the ground and hearing the bucket crash down next to me. Dirty, cold water spills out on top of me, soaking my scrubs and hair in seconds.
“Shit,” I say, sitting up and wiping water out of my eyes. Somehow I’ve managed to keep the patient’s chart that I’m holding from getting soaked, and Carla looms over me instantly, holding her hand out to take it, mouth twisted in a disapproving frown.
“Don’t get that wet, Perry; it took me forever to write out.”
“Great,” I hear the janitor moan. “Now I’ve got to do this place all over again.” He shoots me a glare. “Like making my job harder, huh? Now I know where Scooter gets his janitor-hating attitude. I’m onto you.”
I blink, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah… you go with that assumption, Lurch.” Then I look back up at Carla, holding out my hand - the one that doesn’t have the chart in it. “Thanks for the concern there, Carla. Mind helping me up?”
She huffs in that little annoyed way she always does when someone manages to make her feel guilty - which isn’t often, believe me - and helps me to my feet, snatching the chart from my hand immediately afterwards and nudging me towards the locker rooms.
“Go wash off and get changed before you get sick, huh?”
She gives me a slight smile, and I resist the urge to make a crack about her being a mother hen (too easy, Perry; too easy - let it go), instead turning and walking away.
The locker rooms are empty - not surprising, seeing as there isn’t a shift switch going on anytime soon - so I change in relative silence, snatching a towel from the pile and heading into the showers. This damn mop water is starting to stink; what the hell does that janitor use to clean the floors, sewer waste?
Kelso’s too much of a cheap bastard to opt for individual stalls in the showers, so I don’t often come here; I’ve just never found the idea of baring my package to the entire male staff of Sacred Heart very appealing. Especially considering some of the stories I’ve heard about The Todd’s shower room antics… yeah, I like my privacy. But I can hear one of the showerheads running; looks like someone is here after all…
“Streetlights, peeeople, woooah oooh-”
Is that… is he singing Journey? Oh boy…
I turn the corner before I can help myself and find Newbie standing ten feet away, running his long fingers through his dripping wet hair, eyes closed and chest slightly arched into the spray of water (why do I notice this, why the hell do I notice this…) as he belts out the tune. I gawk, somehow momentarily driven speechless, cursing my traitorous mouth for not working. Really, forty plus years of perfecting my brand of cynical sarcasm, and for this I can’t come up with anything? Christ…
Hrm, damn water can’t be too warm, his nipples are-
Fuck! Backpedal, backpedal.
“Perry?”
I blink, and suddenly Newbie’s stopped singing and has turned to look at me, a quizzical expression on his face. My vocal chords still refuse to sound for a moment, but I finally manage to grunt out: “what the hell are you doing here, Charlene?”
My voice sounds hoarse; damn Jordan and her insinuations…
Suddenly, it clicks. Somehow, that devil woman set this all up. She probably paid the janitor ten bucks to trip me up, and she found a way to get Newbie here too.
Evil, evil, evil woman!
“One of my patients sort of threw up all over me,” Newbie says, finally snapping my attention back to him. “Er, why are you holding your towel like that? It looks kinda awkward.”
I glance down and stifle a moan of dread; somehow my hands have become those of a Shy. Teenage. Boy’s., and are gripping the towel firmly over my groin.
“Mind your own damn business,” I grunt, finally turning away and walking towards the opposite side of the showers. “Take care of your girly little bathing routine and get out of here, Newbie.”
“Can I-”
“No, Newbie, you may not sing. You may not hum. You may not speak, or make any other noise on the list that will cause me to go over there and strangle you; a list that is composed of every single sound, ever.”
He whimpers.
Aww, why are you so mean to your little boyfriend? my inner Jordan whines. I ignore it and take a deep breath, facing my back towards Newbie, fiddling with my towel and shampoo bottle until I hear him leave.
Then I drop my forehead against the shower wall, groaning loudly and glancing down at my cock, waving to me from its erect state.
Damn you Jordan. Damn you to hell.
~
Alright, so yesterday’s bit of unexpected arousal was just because Jordan knows exactly how to manipulate me to cause me suffering. Nothing more. Newbie saw nothing; I’ve got nothing to worry about.
But remember how you got rid of that annoying little erection? inner Jordan torments again.
I scowl, frowning so hard that the words on the chart I’m reading blur together. So what if I had to take care of my sexual needs in a little bit of an… unorthodox way? It’s not like he’ll ever know.
“Morning, Perry!”
Oh god - don’t look at him, don’t look at him, don’t look at him.
And I’m looking at him. Damn my traitorous neck muscles.
Newbie gallops towards me in his high-spirited, ever annoying way, and all I can think about is the last time I saw that face of his - gripped in ecstasy, projected against the back of my eyelids as I stood under a jet of water, hand pumping around my-
“Helooo. Dr. Cox? Perry? Anybody home in there?”
Good god, how did he get this close to me this fast? Does he always stand this close to me? How have I never noticed this?
Damn it, Jordan! You’ve ruined me!
“Casey! I’m trying a new technique today,” I quip, averting my gaze back to the chart and attempting to breathe, as my body seems to be no longer capable of working unless I spoon-feed it commands. “It’s called ‘I’m Going to Ignore You All Day.’ I’ve had such positive results when I’ve tried it on Bobo and Jordan; I’m hoping to repeat the same with you.”
“Hrm, well, I don’t think I did anything to piss you off in the last few days… so you and Jordan are fighting again?”
How does he-
“No, Janet. Suffice to say, your little psych intro course did nawt give you enough information to dissect the brain of one Perry Cox, so if you could just toodles, that would be swell.”
“…Alright. See you later, then!”
He picks up a chart and bounces off down the hallway, and only now do I look up, watching his receding figure manage to impressively catch himself from one, two, three stumbles, and oh! He’s down! What a shame.
“D-Doctor Cox?” I tear my gaze away from watching Newbie pick himself up from off the floor (not staring at his ass; no-ho-ho, definitely not) to see Kelso’s little minion, Ted, standing next to me, quivering and covered in his usual gallon of flop sweat. Peachy, just what I need.
“What is it, and explain it in ten words or less, because my auditory functions automatically shut down for you at word eleven, Buckland.”
“S-sorry to bother you, but have you seen Jordan today?”
Hrm, did it in ten words exactly; not bad. And speaking of my she-devil ex-wife…
“Nope, by some divine power from above (‘Mhhmm,’ chimes in Laverne from the corner), I haven’t seen her since yesterday. Now shoo.”
As Ted wanders away in his apathetic stupor, I reflect on the fact that Jordan hasn’t shown her face to me since our little conversation two days previous. I’m guessing she knows that I know - and damn does that sound like a Newbie-esque thing to say - that she set that whole shower incident up, and wants to let me cool off before she pops up to sink her claws in me once more. Well good - the longer she keeps away, the longer I can keep some form of sanity intact.
Two hours and five imbecilic patients later, Carla’s jockstrap husband stops me in the hall.
“Hey, Dr. Cox, have you seen my man, V-Bear? One of the nurses told me he paged JD a half-hour ago for a patient, and he still hasn’t shown up.”
Hrm, it is a little odd for Newbie to neglect one of his patients. Not that I’m gonna let Ghandi know that, but hell, Kelly’s normal response time to a page is one that utterly screams, ‘I-don’t-have-enough-dignity-to-try-and-not-seem-desperately-needy!”
But rather than admit that I actually bother to hold this knowledge of Newbie (or any knowledge of Newbie), I tug my pager - which has mercifully decided to start buzzing - from my belt, excited grin on my face as I hold it up and wink at Ghandi.
“So sorry I can’t help you look for your boyfriend, but I’ve got doctorey things to do at the…”
I squint, and then frown at the message on my pager.
“…the morgue? Huh, well, the morgue it is then; sayanora, sucker.”
Sending the surgeon a mocking salute, I do a three-sixty turn and launch myself away, smirking as I hear him grumbling behind me. Ah, the sound of frustration caused by me. It’s so refreshing on a bland and boring day such as this.
When I’m out of Ghandi’s line of sight, I check my pager again, blinking in surprise to find that it’s our missing Newbie’s number calling me to the morgue. Another addition to the mystery; I’ve got no idea why he’d be calling me down there… My stomach clamps at a thought that wanders suddenly into my head, but I shove it away, growling. Damn it, he will not chase me away, I am not a sissy like him. Focus, Perry, focus!
The drone of noise disappears as I head down into the bowels of the hospital, twisting left and right, down hallways whose light fixtures seem to get dimmer as I go on; and damn if this doesn’t feel like I’m in the middle of a bad slasher movie. How does Nervous Guy stand being down here all day?
…probably talks to the corpses. Weirdo. Eh, at least he can’t do much damage with sharp objects down here.
The morgue entrance finally pops into view - a metal security door that seems like major overkill, seeing as the bodies are not going to walk out of there themselves, and grave robbing just isn’t as profitable as it used to be. Surprisingly, the door seems to have been left open (so much for security), and when I step inside, nobody (well, nobody living) is there.
Nothing stirs inside the starkly green-swathed room as I look around. Autopsy tables and tools glint under the light of the flickering incandescent bulbs on the ceiling. The only sound is the steady drip drop coming from the leaky sink, and the noise sends a shiver down my spine… damn, it’s creepy down here. Can’t they get a radio, or something?
Well, Newbie hasn’t shown his face yet, so I kick back on a chair, waiting. If he doesn’t show up in the next three minutes, I’m getting outta here; I’ve got better things to do than sit around and wait for him in this little hellhole. I swear, if he pops up from under one of these morgue sheets and shouts ‘surprise!’…
And hello, is that a voice?
My gaze flicks over to the door of the cold chamber, a door that - god knows why - is even more heavily secured than that of the morgue entrance. It’s closed, but I could’ve sworn I heard someone speaking from behind it…
I jump up as I hear the voice again, faint behind the reinforced steel, but still audible. Someone’s in there, and it sounds like they’re calling for help. Huh, maybe Murphy got himself locked inside somehow; better get him out before he freezes and joins the rest of the corpses in there.
Grabbing the handle, I pull the heavy door open, its rubber bottom squeaking against the linoleum as a hissing wall of cold air slams into me. Light pours into the dimly lit cold chamber from the small opening I’ve made, and- what the hell?
TBC...
X-posted to scrubsfic and jd_cox