(no subject)
Just because it wasn't Sunday didn't mean Dr. Cox wasn't in the clinic. In fact, because it wasn't Sunday accounted for most of the reason he was there at all. Having his own clinic shift was what he wanted and he was eager to work (though he'd never admit it and if anyone were to ask, they'd have a shiny new asshole), but he'd had to sneak away every once in a while to rebel, and in the process, proving once more that being the best damn doctor around didn't mean standing there with a thumb up his ass waiting for someone to keel over and die. Though the excitement would have been nice. If only the damn bookshelf had offered up a reel of General Hospital.
But it didn't, so Cox was in the clinic. He'd taken to flipping through charts, trying to find something interesting. There were a fee HIV positive patients, and it looked like one of them had just died. When Cox read that, he'd about tossed a tray across the room. This just went ahead and proved that not even a vacation was a vacation. That not even sand in places that were just never meant to see sand could relax ya enough to take the edge off of death.
He was already through the C's in the charts, standing bored and strong against a wall. People would come. They always did.
But it didn't, so Cox was in the clinic. He'd taken to flipping through charts, trying to find something interesting. There were a fee HIV positive patients, and it looked like one of them had just died. When Cox read that, he'd about tossed a tray across the room. This just went ahead and proved that not even a vacation was a vacation. That not even sand in places that were just never meant to see sand could relax ya enough to take the edge off of death.
He was already through the C's in the charts, standing bored and strong against a wall. People would come. They always did.