Disclaimer: I do not own Scrubs.
Author's Notes: Warnings about character death and major violence. Don't continue if you get queasy at the sight of blood.
"Dougie, this better be good to have dragged me all the way down to the morgue."
He watched as the older doctor looked around, clearly annoyed like usual. Shifting back and forth, he decided he was a little anxious, but it wasn't horrible. He had to do it, or nothing would be right in his life ever again. He needed this redemption. After all, he was an accomplished pathologist now, he was confident now, he was in control, he was calm.
"Well, Nervous Guy? I don't have all day to sit and watch you sweat or kill these dead people even further. I do actually have a worthwhile job that saves people's lives."
Nervous Guy. Only this doctor could make him as nervous as he use to get. Could make him sweat and search frantically for a soda that didn't exist. Whimper when a blood test was bad, even though he couldn't do anything about it. He could feel the sweat trickling down his neck, but it wasn't from the jitters anymore. Now he was prepared. He was confident. He was calm.
"Of course, maybe you'll mess up so bad this time that one of them will actually come to life! Wouldn't that take some explaining. Hell, one could only hope that you'd be useful like that. God knows how many more patients have survived since they moved you."
He fingered the scalpel, dragging the sharp edge across his finger and relishing the short stab of pain. The doctor's words couldn't hurt him any more. He was calm.
The doctor finally turned around, clearly annoyed by the silence, but that's when he saw light briefly glint off the scalpel. His face instantly changed, not quite yet nervous, but getting closer. The doctor realized he had been cut off from the door, and began to speak, but it didn't matter. He was calm.
He lunged at the doctor, barely scratching him at first, but still drawing the bright red blood out. The doctor dodged again, and ran for the door, but he had planned for that. It was locked, no way to get out. Never again would he have to search for that non-existent chart or soda. Never again would he have to get the blame for the bad blood work. Never. He was calm.
Now the fear really entered the doctor's eyes as he moved closer, wielding the scalpel high in the air. He enjoyed the change, relished it, and charged at him again. The doctor tried to sidestep the attack, but he had already planned for this. He was calm.
The scalpel dug deep into the doctor's side, eliciting a shout of pain and causing an eruption of blood. He smiled, acknowledging that living people always bleed so much prettier. The doctor groaned, holding his side and backing away slowly, now yelling angrily at him, but it never hit his ears. He watched as his victim backed into a table, and he lunged again, striking easily since the doctor's reactions were beginning to dull. This time he gouged out a chunk of his thigh, effectively taking the doctor down. He was in control, and he was calm.
There was a pounding at the door, causing him to glance up at the horrified face staring back at him. He ignored the frantic blue-green eyes and straddled the doctor, wiping at the wet substance on his face. His hold tightened on the scalpel and his heartbeat quickened as he lowered it and dragged it down the doctor's chest, not even wincing when the screams bombarded him. He couldn't feel anything, not when he was calm.
The glass in the door shattered, pelting him with the shards. He just shook it off and continued with his work, trying to show the doctor just how accomplished he was as a pathologist. People rushed through the open door, pushing him off the now quiet doctor. He'd never be bothered again by his angry words. He started to laugh as they shoved him into the ground, tears streaming down his face.
He was calm.