Disclaimer: I don't own Scrubs. I do own this lovely piece of gum, however unwanted that tidbit of information was.
I thought of this fic randomly on a plane flight. I also thought of a different fic on that plane flight but it seems really bogus so I don't think I'll post it. Lol. Why the heck are you reading the author's rambling? READ THE FIC!
That evening, coincidentally enough, I walked into work feeling sick to my stomach. I knew that this evening marked the end of the hospital's "Surveillance Week," so Carla and the nurses put it, and everyone would be completely on edge. See, Surveillance Week is when a bunch of hot shot medical inspectors come in and ask the patients how crappy the Jell-O is. The poor cafeteria staff has been worked to the bone—and then, of course, there's the doctors, who actually have to pay attention for once.
Haha, just kidding! We do pay attention, we really do…er…What was I saying?
Oh, right. I was walking into the hospital around eight o'clock at night, getting ready to start a twelve hour graveyard shift. I always enjoy these shifts, simply because the vending machine on the third floor is always restocked at night. I think the lady is nocturnal.
But this night I wasn't particularly revved up, and it wasn't for lack of caffeine. No, I'd gotten my coffee buzz about three minutes before leaving, but it wasn't enough to quench the sinking feeling that Dr. Cox would be angry as ever now that the inspectors had left.
I took a deep breath outside the doors of the hospital. Why did this seem like I was signing my own death warrant? What, was I suddenly afraid of Dr. Cox? No way.
So why did I feel so different?
Chalking it up to stress, I walked through the doors and clocked in.
"Newbie. Make one wrong move and I swear to God, I'll slaughter you. Understood?" Dr. Cox greeted me, glaring.
"Good evening to you, too," I mumbled back.
"This isn't the time to sass me, Annabelle, I'm clearly irritated enough as it is. Now get a move on, you're taking over some of my patients."
I frowned as he thrust the seven clipboards in my hands. "Huh? Why can't you--?"
"Because I'm going out to get a beer, that's why."
I gawk at him.
"I'm kidding," he said, rolling his eyes. "Honestly. This is why you make an unfit doctor. I understand that, being a sheltered little girl and growing up in the prairie with pretty dresses your mother made you, you might not understand sarcasm. The truth is, I'm sick and tired of working and the SoapNet recap of my favorite show comes on in…negative five minutes. See? You've already made me late."
"But I can't take more patients," I protested, trying to shove the charts back at him. "I've already got some of Elliot's since she's gone on vacation—"
"Funny that she left during Surveillance Week," Dr. Cox remarked. "Barbie gets it. Why can't you? Now quit blubbering about your personal problems and get going.
I still remember the world
From the eyes of a child
Slowly those feelings
Were clouded by what I know now
I sighed, watching him dump the remaining five charts on Doug on his way to the elevator. But then I lightened up, trying to look on the bright side. Maybe by saddling me with all of his patients and their paperwork, he was trying to show how much he trusted me.
"Hey, look what Dr. Cox gave me! High five!" the Todd yelled, raising up two charts.
Or maybe there was just a "Torture Me" sign taped to my scrubs.
"Fine, man. The Todd will high five himself," he huffed.
Well, I figured then that I'd better get to work if I had any dream of getting the charts all filled out. First I counted the clipboards in my hands. One, two, three…twenty-two. Holey-moley, I was in trouble.
"Whatcha got there, Bambi?" asked Carla at the sight of my grand display.
"Oh, it's karma. I did something horrible and I'm being punished until I remember what it is," I informed her, trying to scoop the clipboards up again. Okay, Plan B. I picked up all the charts from the third floor, ten of them, and decided to begin with those.
"Um, need any help?"
"Yeah, could you watch those for me?" I asked, nodding my head towards the remaining twelve charts sitting on the nurse station counter. "I'll be back for them later."
"Wait, are these seriously all yours?" she laughed.
"Yes. It's my birthday."
Her eyes widened. "Really? Oh my gosh, JD, I didn't—"
"My birthday's not for another month!" I said, exasperated. "I'm being sarcastic. Truth is, Dr. Cox and Elliot both pulled a Houdini and now I'm stuck with too many charts to count."
"Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on these," Carla assured me. "Call me if you need any help. Be careful, okay?"
Be careful? Why was she telling me to be careful, as if I were in danger?
I looked back at her questioningly, but she had already started to stack the charts and place them neatly beneath an office chair. I made my way onto the patients, forgetting the comment instantly. Now that Dr. Cox was taken care of, I didn't dread the rest of the night so much. It couldn't get any worse, right?
Where has my heart gone
An uneven trade for the real world
Oh I... I want to go back to
Believing in everything and knowing nothing at all
Six hours in. So far there had been a delusional pregnant woman screaming about the Vietnam War, a kid who managed to lodge a penny in his nose (why it possessed him to do this at ten o'clock at night, I didn't know), a three-car accident from a highway involving drunk driving, a gun shot wound and a really bad flu case. Oh, and that was just what I got paged for—that's not even counting the twenty-two patients I had to deal with otherwise. Between the constant paging, the checking on patients, the filling of charts and the completion of paperwork, I was literally running all through the hospital.
Around two in the morning, I had dealt with most of my patients and completed a good majority of the paperwork, excluding a man on the second floor. According to Carla, who debriefed me earlier, he was an alcoholic and a drug dealer and he had been beaten up by a client before getting himself landed here. I was really looking forward to meeting him. Truly.
Not.
The elevator door dinged open and I walked inside to find none other than Dr. Cox. "Oh, thank God," I gasped. "Dr. Cox, you gotta help me—"
"Nope, not now, Newbie. I'm on coffee break. The commercial's almost over."
"But—but Dr. Cox, I can't—"
"Sheryl, get it together. Puppy tears won't work on me either, so please do us a favor and don't resort to that. Like I tried to explain earlier, this is time for the grown-ups to relax and the children to do the chores."
"I'm serious. There are way too many patients, and I'm practically the only person in the hospital doing anything—"
"Well, kudos, Newbie. How do you want the plaque engraved? How about World's Best I-Don't-Give-A-Shit-About-It? Now shut your trap and leave me be," he growled, stalking off when the elevator doors opened.
I seethe to myself, accepting defeat. I'm so sick of him brushing me off like that. Why can't he take anyone besides himself seriously for once? Is it that difficult for him? Sometimes I'd kill to be just like him, and other times I'd like to, well, kill him.
Sighing, I rode the elevator to the second floor and got off, searching for room 253.
I still remember the sun
Always warm on my back
Somehow it seems colder now
"Mr. Ramison," I greeted the man, walking in. "How are you feeling?"
Immediately I wished I hadn't asked. The man shot me a death glare like no other from the bed. Everything about him looked menacing. No wonder he was so good at selling drugs—I was afraid of him, and hell, I was supposed to be treating him. He wasn't particularly large, but you could tell just by looking at him that he didn't give a damn about anyone in the world. He was cold. That was the only word that summed him up, besides dirty, which was more literal than philosophical.
"How am I feeling? Just wonderful. I've got a broken arm and cracked ribs and a twisted leg and a black eye and you wonder how I'm feeling? Fuck you, doctor. Bet you don't even know what the hell you're doing, do you? You even know who I am?"
I shrugged. "I know whatever's on my chart here," I told him, trying to keep the mood light and finish this as soon as possible.
He grinned at me threateningly. "That's not what they say on the streets."
I cleared my throat. "Well, Dr. Cox, your usual doctor, isn't here tonight, so I'm checking in on you."
"I don't need to be damn checked on, asshole. Get out of my sight or I'll hunt you down and shoot you to death. Don't think that I can't, either. That would be your last mistake."
I'll admit that my heart beat a bit faster after he said that, but I continued. "I see you've been put on pain medication. How's that working out?"
"I can't fucking move, how do you think it's working out?"
I fidgeted, cracking my knuckles and trying my hardest not to bolt out of the room. "Well, you're due for another dosage," I told him, hoping my voice didn't sound as shaky as I felt. Something wasn't right about this guy. I left his room to get his next dosage in the supply closet, then made my way back.
"Ah. You got the Drug Lord," said Dr. Cox conversationally, heading back to the lounge after grabbing his coffee. "Well, Newbie, good luck with that."
"What is this, a test?" I demanded, throwing my hands up. "I give up! I've been racing around like a madman all night—can't you just take, like, two patients?"
"Sure. I'll take the dead one and the comatose one. Catch ya later, Susan."
I shook my head, walking back into Mr. Ramison's room.
"Don't move," he hissed warningly.
I don't think there was a doubt that I couldn't move.
Where has my heart gone
Trapped in the eyes of a stranger
Oh I... I want to go back to
Believing in everything
I think I must have stood there in shock for nearly a minute. He didn't move the trigger, his "broken" arm holding the gun steadily pointed right at my chest.
"You move, I shoot."
"Mr. Ramison," I stammered, "c-can't we…work this out…?"
"It's people like you who make this world disgusting," he accused me, making no move to set down the weapon. Then he laughed, his cackle sick and chilling. "You go ahead and yell, boy. Bring 'em all in here, I don't give a damn. You're dead either way. I've been thirsting for a kill since I got here, and looky now, it's your lucky day."
His finger put just the tiniest of pressure on the trigger, pulling it back a millimeter.
"Please," I begged him, whispering. I didn't want people to come running in on this scene. It was bad enough that he was going to kill me—I didn't want to die knowing I'd brought other people along for the ride.
And then it hit home. He was going to kill me.
They say that before you die, your life flashes before you in little snippets. It didn't happen like that. In fact, it would have been welcome; at least I would have something else to think about.
But instead I stood there, sweating and frozen to the spot, wondering what the hell I had done to deserve this.
"Bastard. Scared, aren't you? Believe me, I've seen it before. You're gonna beg for mercy, tell me you've got a family, all that crap. Sorry, I ain't buying it." His mad grin widened. "I'm like your god. I decide what happens to you now. Understood?"
I didn't say anything. I wasn't going to beg for mercy, too scared that someone would come in. I couldn't lie about my wife or children. Hell, I couldn't even stay in a relationship for more than a month. I even screwed it up with Elliot just a week ago. I was only twenty-seven.
My pager beeped.
"Answer and you're dead."
"How long are you going to do this for?" I asked him pleadingly. "Why haven't you just shot me yet?"
"I want them to see. I want them to know that I control the shots around here." He snickered. "Literally."
I wondered how anyone could be this heartless. Was it humanly possible not to care about other people? I had become a doctor to save lives, and now a patient wanted to murder me.
Well, at least I wouldn't be sued for malpractice, I thought to myself, nearly laughing out loud at the absurdity. This was like a game. A sick, crazy game, and I'm on the losing side.
Iesu, Rex admirabilis
Et triumphator nobilis,
Dulcedo ineffabilis,
Totus desiderabilis.
I heard footsteps walking down the hallway. I wish they'd leave. I closed my eyes and willed them to go away, but the steps grew louder and closer.
"JD, there you—" Carla stopped dead in her tracks, the clipboards falling to the floor. I winched. The noise would attract at least half of this floor, if not more people.
"Oh my God," Carla gasped. "Sir…put the gun…down," she said slowly.
He rolled his eyes. "I'd back up if I was you, pretty missy, cuz I've only got one bullet and I'm saving it for Dr. Shithead."
"Carla, leave," I said to her harshly, not daring to move. "Get out of here right now."
Tears began to form in her eyes. At that moment I would have done anything for super powers. I wanted to push her away, keep her silent, do something. But I had no super powers, and there was only one bullet.
A bullet that was meant for me.
I checked the clock above his head. We'd been locked like this for seven minutes, but it felt like an eternity.
Carla snapped out of her trance. "JD…" Her voice cracked. "I…"
"Get lost!" I yelled at her, not even caring if she took offense. I don't think I had ever yelled at anyone like that before. But it got the message across. She ran for it, to do what, I didn't know. I hoped that he would just shoot me before she got back. Less of a chance that the bullet would miss me and hit someone else if he did it alone.
"That your girlfriend?" the man asked me crudely.
I shook my head. "No," I replied tensely, my eyes still locked on the gun. It was so old and rusty, yet it was going to do me in. I always thought I'd have a more valiant death than this. Actually, I always thought I'd at least have the opportunity to die as painlessly as possible.
I was wrong, I guess.
"Then she's runnin', that's for sure. No help for the asshole here."
By this time I was shaking, trying to think of words to say, anything that might get me out of this. But nothing came to mind. I couldn't even come up with some stupid fantasy about it. No, this was way beyond my imagination. This was really it. This was the night I was going to die.
I wish that the man had been right. I wish that Carla had just run and left me there, but she didn't, of course. First she called security. Then a warning was issued through the hospital to evacuate the second floor immediately. Which meant, of course, half the doctors and nurses in the hospital decided to waltz on down to the second floor and see what was going on.
Where has my heart gone
An uneven trade for the real world
Oh I... I want to go back to
Believing in everything
Away
But having "security" come down was worthless. They were as vulnerable as I was, and they chose to stand behind me. Anyone could tell you immediately how it was going to end, just by looking at the scene. I didn't know many of the people down here very well, besides Carla and the Janitor, who were being shoved aside by personnel.
"He's my friend!" Carla's shrill voice rang out. "Move over—you don't want me to—"
"What the hell is going on here?"
"Is that a gun? Holy shit, the man's got a gun—"
"Is that JD? Why's he on this floor, anyway?"
"I've never seen anything like this happen before…I've been at this hospital for years…"
"We're gonna get sued! Oh GOD, we're done for!"
"JD. Don't panic. You'll be fine," Carla assured me, though she was crying like all the other hysterical women by now.
The more people that arrived, the wider the villain's grin. He needed an audience. He was getting one.
I felt like some kid standing up at a talent show with all the parents watching. There was a microphone in my hand and I was standing there like a deer caught in headlights, unsure of what to do. Say something, or pass out from fear? In this case it was either move and die, or don't move and die.
"Geezus—Newbie—"
I turned my head with just the slightest movement to look over at Dr. Cox as he ran into the room. It was that indescribably small move that would cost me; my first impulse was to cover my ears, because the shot was so loud.
My second impulse sent me to my knees, clutching at my stomach. The small crowd that had gathered around us gasped in shock—What did they think was going to happen? I wondered to myself, bent over in pain.
The man threw his gun, knocking a security officer in the head. Another officer got close enough to hit him with a tranquilizer. Two seconds too late.
I laughed, the silvery taste of blood in my mouth. He shot me in the stomach. Not at the heart or the brain or some terribly vital organ, but the stomach.
That didn't make it hurt any less, though.
Where has my heart gone
Trapped in the eyes of a stranger
Oh I... I want to go back to
Believing in everything
Someone was shaking my arm, asking if I was okay.
"Dandy," I gasped, struggling to get air.
My vision went in and out of focus until Dr. Cox came into view, looking absolutely stricken.
"JD—I didn't mean to—kid, I really had no idea—"
I shook my head. "I'll be fine," I assured him. Somebody was bringing a gurney in as I said this, and I trusted the people in this hospital. At least I got shot in the most convenient place on the planet. "It's fine."
"No, Newbie, it's not," Dr. Cox contradicted me furiously.
He swam out of focus again. I leaned over, trying to stop the bleeding, but by this time I was being lifted up onto the gurney. I felt like I was on fire.
"It is," I repeated, wishing we could have this conversation another day.
"Bambi," Carla said in a shaky voice, her hand on my shoulder as I got wheeled away. "Damn it, Bambi…"
I grinned. "Got shot in the stomach," I told her proudly, even though at this point I was probably only half-aware of everything that was going on around me.
"You'll be okay," Carla said, her voice assuring. I wasn't sure if it was for her benefit or mine. "You'll be okay, understand?"
I nodded my head, closing my eyes. I knew I'd be fine.
Now it was just a matter of trying not to be afraid for the rest of my life.
I still remember
Uh...yeah! Review! With speel chec, if yu ples...just kidding! lol.