I haven't written fanfiction in a very long time, but I had a JD-like daydream of the two of them, and I couldn't let it go; had to write something. I tried to keep them in character, but I'm not sure I succeeded (I consider IC to be something you can read and hear their voices in your head), especially with Dr. Cox. He is my favorite character from the show, but the most difficult for me to write. Gah! Also, my tenses messed with me a lot; I have a clunky way of writing that I can't seem to break.

Disclaimer: Yeah. 'blank stare' I don't own them. 'eye twitch' Do you HAVE to keep rubbing it in? If I did own them… 'head tilts and she stares off into the distance'

Warnings: A bit (hopeful a lot later) of graphic slash, JD/Cox

Italics - JD's thoughts.

Bold - JD's daydreams.

Chapter One

When you work at Sacred Heart, even when you think you have grown accustomed to everything, you would be amazed at what can still surprise you.

I walk through the sliding glass doors of the hospital.

My thumbs are hooked around the straps of my backpack as I stride down the brightly lit hallway. I am swaggering more than I normally do, my hair is styled to perfection once again thanks to my trusty hairmet, and my high spirits are quite obvious to anyone who cares to notice.

Unexpectedly, a mop is thrust out in front of me from the open doorway to my right.

In a surprising show of grace on my part, I do what I consider a very cool spin move to avoid it. I crane my neck around to look back behind me as I continue to walk, smirk at my angry and disappointed adversary, and call out in a cocky voice over my shoulder.

"You have to be a lot faster, Janitor, to catch me!"

Damn it! I have to stop taunting him! He thinks this is a competition, with him trying his hardest to kill me and me trying to survive...

My head tilts upward and to the side in my patented, at least in my mind, daydreaming stance.

I stand in the middle of the Coliseum.

I am clad in gladiator gear. A leather bracer is wrapped around my right forearm, shiny metal greaves adorn my calves, a bronze scutum is clutched in my left hand, a gladius in my right, and an uncomfortable plumed helmet rests on my head and covers most of my face.

Peering down through the narrow openings surrounding my eyes, I am fascinated by the cuirass strapped to my chest. The gleaming armor is heavily ridged, giving me the illusion of having an amazingly defined six-pack and flawlessly built pectoral muscles.

If there were areolas crafted onto this, it would be perfect...

"That is a nice skirt you chose to wear to your death, prisoner!"

I jerk my head up as the booming voice echoes throughout the amphitheatre and stare up into the stands before me.

The Janitor is seated on his throne in the emperor's tier. He is dressed as a caesar, and the extravagant purple toga wrapped around his tall frame seems to glint evilly under the rays of the midday sun.

"It is not a skirt! It's a tunic, damn it!" I shout indignantly at the tyrant and try not to lower my shield to cover my distressingly bare thighs.

"Right. I'm bored with this, so..." The Janitor raises a fist out in front of him, points the thumb downward, and then frowns at the appendage. "You know, it has never been proven which direction meant death. I do like this one, though."

He lifts his clenched hand to his neck, turns the thumb towards himself, and drags the digit across his throat. He grins at me, and then drops his hand down before issuing an order in a loud authoritative tone.

"Release the tigers!"

I look around frantically and yell in a panicked voice, "Tigers? Plural? I can handle, maybe, one, but, uh… Can't we just talk about this?"

The sound of gates being raised pierces through the air with startling clarity.

I escape out of the unpleasant vision as I approach the nurses' station and hastily come to a stop several feet from it.

Like figuring out that you have a crush on your mentor. Not the giggling 'oh, he's so cute' crush, not that I don't think he's cute, but the 'I want to push him up against a wall and have my way with him' kind of crush. For many justified reasons I think he would hurt me very badly if I did that. If I could actually manage to shove him against a wall, that is. Dr. Cox doesn't like to be shoved...

I give a slight shake of my head to clear it.

I can't prevent the distracted smile that spreads over my lips as I let my eyes take in the man before me. Dr. Cox has yet to put on his white doctor's coat; allowing me an unobstructed view. I run my gaze over him quickly in an attempt to evade any notice that I am checking out my male co-worker; from the curly hair, thick neck, deliciously broad shoulders, to the curves of his hips and ass. I appreciate the tight Gap t-shirt the other man is wearing and how the scrub pants cling to him just right.

I sigh and make my way to stand beside my crush.

I watch with a grin as Dr. Cox's brows scrunch up slightly as he, the so not a morning person, turns towards me for a direct glare.

I should probably tone down my cheerfulness...

"Hi, Dr. Cox!"

Damn it!

I grimace mentally at how over-excited those three simple words manage to come out.

"Hey, Wonderbra, you seem extra perky this morning… Did your, did your new boy-toy," Dr. Cox's eyes narrow in disbelief, and he twists his head slightly to the side, "finally let you top?"

His eyes open wide in mock astonishment as he finishes the sentence, and even though he doesn't give me any time to respond he continues.

"I can't believe it, Tierra, I really cannot believe it. Congratulations." He gives me a fake approving stare, and then cups his hands around his mouth as he shouts down the hall. "A miracle has occurred, people, a miracle! Mary Anne has finally gotten what she wanted from a man!"

I love how expressive he is...

My grin broadens as Dr. Cox turns his attention back to focus on me.

Who am I kidding? He always pays attention to me...

I allow a coy and probably silly-looking smile to form on my face before I answer his rhetorical question.

"Maybe he did? And maybe it was really good?" I purse my lips and my eyes darken thoughtfully as I gaze at him.

I don't think he would like to know what I want to do right this moment. Don't look at his lips! Do not look at his lips!

His eyebrows attempt to reach his hairline at my words, before he scowls at my total lack of being insulted and storms off.

He'll probably make fun of me even more now, but it was totally worth it to see that look on his face.

"Dude, that was a disturbing, but major props on getting Dr. Cox to shut up."

I glance over, and finally notice something other than Cox. Turk is leaning up against the counter with his elbow resting on it, of course. This has been his normal morning ritual ever since he got together with Carla; his surgeries usually didn't start until later on in the day. As I walk over to stand closer to him, I greet him with the affectionate nickname I had given him in college in what I consider my 'gangsta' voice.

"Hey, Chocolate Bear. Wazzup?" Immediately after the welcome, I drop the poorly-done inflection and my voice becomes excited. "Wasn't that awesome, Turk?"

I have difficultly refraining from jumping up and down like a spastic schoolgirl; it is an extremely rare occurrence that I get the last word in any verbal exchange with Dr. Cox.

"It was, Bambi. I'm so proud of you." Carla answers for Turk instead as she walks up to her desk. She offers me a slightly patronizing but genuine smile, which I return with an almost painfully wide flash of my teeth. "Why are you in such a good mood, anyway?"

That's my Carla. She's always afraid something, hopefully not gossip-wise, was being kept from her.

"Yeah, man, you do seem pretty happy." Turk studies me suspiciously, and then his eyes light up and the corners of his lips tug up into a pleased grin. "Whose lovelies have you been playing with? Ahh? Yeah, buddy!"

"Turk!" Carla glares disapprovingly at her husband.

"What, Baby? That's the only thing that would make him this happy, and I just wanted to congratulate my boy." Turk's tone is instantly defensive.

I sigh.

Turk was right. Normally that was the only thing that could put me in this kind of mood. But, unfortunately, I was going through a bit of a dry spell again. How was I supposed to explain that just seeing Dr. Cox made me happy? Answer was, I wasn't going to.

"No, it's nothing like that, guys. Come on, you would have noticed if I tried to sneak someone into our place." I aim my best imploring, innocent stare at Turk, and then Carla.

"That's true." Turk instantly concedes, looking disappointed.

Yes!

"Whatever you say, Bambi." Carla seems far from convinced.

Damn it!

"OhmyGodwhatdidIdo?"

A high-pitched jumble of words comes from the right of the nurses' station, and causes us all to jump. In unison, we turn to stare at a frazzled-looking Elliot.

"Coxjustyelledatmefornoreason!" She seems to get herself under control, although her voice is still a near screech. "He even made fun of my hair! It looks alright, doesn't it? Oh my God, it looks horrible, I knew it! I have to find a mirror!"

"Elliot!" I speak sharply and reach both of my hands up to get a firm grip on her shoulders; shaking them a little. "Elliot! Calm down! Your hair looks fine! No, no, it looks great!"

She stares at me for a moment. After blowing an ineffectual huff of air at her bangs, her panicked expression is overtaken by a shy and very pleased one. "Really, JD? That's so sweet."

"You need to relax, Elliot." Carla states calmly from behind me. "You should know by now that Dr. Cox doesn't need a reason to be mean. That's just the way he is."

I release Elliot's shoulders, as it looks as though she has gotten a handle on her emotions.

"Yeah, I know. I've just been having a really rough day." Elliot pouts and gazes forlornly at the floor.

"Wait a minute. It's only fifteen minutes into our shift, Elliot!" I stare at her in confusion.

"I know." She sighs. "It's been a really bad fifteen minutes…"

All three of us give her our pointed 'you are completely insane' looks, which she doesn't notice or chooses not to notice as she picks up a chart from the counter and starts to flip through it.

I shrug and finally realize that I haven't done anything work related since I got here.

Oops, my bad.

"Later, guys." I call to my friends as I head to the locker room to change into my scrubs.

Sometimes what surprises you is a little amusing, if not a little embarrassing...

"I don't know what's wrong with this guy, Carla. I had test after test ran on him, and I still have no idea what is causing his inability to keep anything down, stomach pains, and nausea." I whine, only slightly, mind you, as I slump awkwardly against the countertop that Carla is sitting behind; my arms stretching out limply with my wrists curving down over the inner edge.

"Does he experience dizziness as well? Maybe the lack of eating is causing the stomach pains and nausea..."

I can hear the grin in her voice.

My head is up off the counter in an instant, and I give her the scariest glare I can manage, which fails to intimidate the amused Latina nurse one bit.

"Hadn't thought of that." I hiss at her with an extra heaping of sarcasm.

Maybe Dr. Cox is rubbing off on me...

"I'm sorry, Bambi. You'll figure it out." She gives me an encouraging smile before going back to organizing charts and flicking her pen rapidly over paperwork.

"It all points to a tumor, but if it was, he'd be losing weight, not gaining it!"

My mood had done an about-face from giddily happy to stressed-out in probably about two seconds. I had immediately been swamped once I finished changing; three of my patients having been in critical condition. I spent most of my shift running back and forth trying to keep them alive, and I hadn't had more time than to step into Kyle Memphis' room, say that I'd do everything I possibly could for him, and step back out.

In frustration, I thunk my head onto the hard surface I'm leaning on. I had already lost the patient that had been brought in with multiply gunshot wounds.

It takes a moment for me to notice that my forehead really hurt.

Ow!

I lift my head a short distance from the surface I hit it on and rub at the sore spot gingerly.

A sharp whistle cuts though the air, and, as always, it doesn't fail to shove my heart up into my throat. I spin around too quickly and almost fall, but I manage to, thankfully, stay mostly upright due to my successful frantic grab for the lip of the counter.

Remember how to breathe! That's it! Just in and out... Hmm, in and out. And Dr. Cox. Frick! I've been spending too much time around the Todd... and Elliot.

I retreat out of my thoughts and focus on Dr. Cox's face. He looks pissed.

Back into my thoughts, now! What did I do?

"Newbie!"

I snap my head back around. I had been staring off into space again, and trying to catalog all of the things I had done today that might have antagonized him.

I back away slowly from the angry man, and hold up my hands defensively as I remember.

"I'm sorry I forgot to bring you your coffee!" The words come out in a rush, and I stare at him with wide eyes.

Okay, I may think he's hot, but he still scares me, damn it!

For a split-second, his expression softens slightly with amusement.

"No, Kendra, this is na-ot about the coffee. Although, that does irritate me. If it happens again," he pauses, for dramatic effect of course, "I will break into that shoebox-sized area you deem necessary to ac-tua-al-ly call an apartment, steal that stuffed mutt of yours, and hand it over to Jumpsuit." He points his index finger close to my face. "With orders that you ne-ev-ever see it again."

No, not Rowdy!

"Then, uh, what is this about?" I shuffle my feet a bit nervously.

I have to find a hiding place for Rowdy while I'm away!

Dr. Cox's face becomes completely serious. He flicks his nose and crosses his arms over his chest in a way I'm all too familiar with, and his next words are carefully measured with no extra syllables added.

"What I want to know, is why you are dragging your feet on getting the prenatal tests done for Mrs. Memphis? My God, Newbie! You must know by now how this works! She has crappy medical insurance that hardly pays for the visit, much less an extended stay. If those tests are not done soon, she will be discharged without knowing what might be wrong with her or her baby."

My mind sticks, and I just stare at him; vaguely noticing that a vein starts throbbing in his forehead as I do so.

Mrs. Memphis? Oh my God, that was a woman! Why didn't I look more closely at the chart and that convenient little portion of it that tells you a person's gender?

I take off down the hallway; making sure to dodge around Dr. Cox at a distance I feel is beyond his ability to reach.

Not that it would do much good; he can run faster than me!

"I'm on it, Dr. Cox!" I shout as I run. Not away, of course, just to the patient.

And another of the surprises can be dealing with a case where the results are what you expected in a different one...

I sit dejectedly on the bench in front of my locker.

I am trying to keep my mind blank as I stare directly forward, but without really registering anything around me. I bang my head back against the locker door; listening to the thud and dull ring of hollow metal, before I do it again. I duplicate the action repeatedly, harder each time, until I am wincing in pain and swearing.

Mr. and Mrs. Henderson are a younger couple that had been trying to get pregnant for over a year. They had come in for an ultrasound because they thought that they were finally going to have a baby, even though the home pregnancy tests had been coming out negative. This happens sometimes, and Mrs. Henderson's stomach had been expanding like that of someone carrying a child.

They already had names picked... A nursery fully stocked and decorated...

A louder thump and metallic chime echo through the small and mercifully empty room. This time I don't curse, although I dimly feel the sharp bolt of agony that races down my spine from the back of my head. I just stare straight ahead.

And I just told them that the hopeful mother has only two more years to live. She will never have children... Talk about adding insult to injury... Ah, fuck this.

I stand, quickly strip out of my scrubs, and toss the bundle of clothes angrily into the bottom of my locker. I slam the door shut; not caring about the sleeve it closes on and crimps.

Fuck my shower shorts, too!

I stagger a little as I head for the staff showers. I feel somewhat like crying, but the sensation is vague and I succeed in keeping it together. I have always prided myself on my ability to grieve with no tears; I believe it is better to laugh when you are happy and endure misery in silence.

I plod with heavy steps to one of the showerheads that extend out from the slightly grimy, tiled walls. The room is an incredibly-ugly, dark-mold color due to the fact that several of the lights need to be repaired, but I think the Janitor is waiting for all of them to go out before he fixes any of them. The gloom makes me feel an acute twinge of claustrophobia.

Nowhere in this hospital should be this depressing. It's unnecessary cruelty... Oh. That's why he hasn't replaced the lights...

I twist the hot temperature knob until I have adequate pressure and hold my left hand under the spray of water; waiting for it to warm up before moving my body underneath as well.

It is late, and the new shift began at least two hours ago.

There shouldn't be anyone using the showers, or even the locker room for a while...

At that thought, my mind starts to wander and almost instantly drifts to center on Dr. Cox. I picture him, with no effort at all, in my head, and imagine that he is here with me.

Naked.

I need something to take my mind off things...

The pounding of the water against my skin should have been soothing, but I stand, nervous and on edge, beneath the falling liquid. It is uncomfortably hot, and is turning my skin an unnatural shade of pink with its scalding droplets, but I make no move to adjust the cold/hot water ratio. I feel almost as though I can't move.

And the reason for that is the person currently using the shower behind me.

There is a constant tension in my body; from my scalp down to my toes, and a near agonizing sense of anticipation that thrums through my muscles.

I hazard a glance over my shoulder and intend to look away immediately, but instead find myself staring as if enthralled.

What is he doing here, anyway? He never showers here.

He is standing similarly to the way I had been only moments before. His legs are parted for balance, palms flat against the tile at shoulder-height, and his body is hunched over slightly, head bowed, as if the weight of the world is trying its hardest to crush him.

Maybe it is…

After my cursorily observation of his stance, I start at the top of him and work my gaze down to examine him more thoroughly.

His hair is completely soaked, causing his curls to appear black in the low lighting. I want to run my hands through the wet ringlets, bury my fingers in them and tug his head back forcefully until his neck curves out, allowing me to caress the sensitive skin of his throat with my lips. Relinquishing his hair, I would stroke my hands over his shoulders and down his firmly muscled back; alternating between using teasingly light touches and pressing hard against the tautly constricted flesh in an attempt to send that rigidness elsewhere.

I would leisurely slide my palms along the arch of his lower back, and then down to grip the swell of his ass tightly in my hands; finally able to knead and squeeze what I had only admired from afar. Once satisfied with my inspection, I would grasp his hips in a bruising hold and jerk him roughly back against me; my chest connecting with the solid expanse of his back and my aching cock thrusting against the cleft of his ass.

I bite back a moan at the thought, but not as well as I had hoped for.

"Newbie, what are you doing?"

I twitch violently in guilty alarm, and my gaze snaps up to the man's face.

He is looking straight at me. His eyes are partly closed, making it impossible to actually see their piercing irises, but my memory easily provides the sight of them in my mind's eye.

I swallow hard and the simple movement is painful.

I can't move.

But then he begins to move towards me, and even though I have been caught, I can't stop watching him.

I stare at his chest; my eyes eagerly tracing over the planes and dips of his sculpted muscles, and my body shudders with the desire I have to touch, taste, smell, and simple take every inch of him in. He is toned and pleasingly, not overly, muscled and I can't make out any ribs, but I know if I just clinched my fingers tight into his silky looking flesh I could feel them and count them.

I notice that his arms are not swinging, not moving at all as he walks; he appears as tense as I feel.

I hesitate just a second before looking lower than his stomach.

And feel a heady spike of arousal surge through me.

He is half-hard and very nicely endowed. His hips sway in a predatory fashion as he stalks deliberately in my direction.

I suddenly remember to breathe since I first saw him staring back at me. The air goes out of my lungs in a rapid gust, only to immediately be pulled back in, and I start to pant. I want to stop myself from doing so, but I find I desperately need the oxygen.

My cock twitches as he finally comes to a halt in front of me. I am standing at full attention, agonizingly hard, and if he would just fucking touch me, wrap his fingers around me, I would come.

I stare at him, my eyes filled with need and an unspoken plea.

He meets my gaze, but the shadows conceal his eyes, and I can't determine how he is looking at me.

Then he slowly reaches down, and his callused hand becomes my sole focus as he encircles me, gripping me tightly.

As he slides his hand swiftly along the length of my cock and then rubs his thumb rapidly over the sensitive tip, I tumble over the edge.

"Dr. Cox!"

"Dr. Cox!" I cry out quite loudly. My dick is pulsing in my own hand, emptying the result of my orgasm onto the wet tile in front of me. Still panting, I rest my forehead on the wall; it feels blessedly cool against my heated skin, and I wait for myself to come down.

"Newbie, what the hell are you doing?"

I freeze; my lungs stopping.

I slowly turn my head in a rolling motion, leaving it in contact with the tile.

Dr. Cox is standing in the doorway, fully clothed. He is still in his scrubs and white coat even, with his arms crossed, and looking very angry.

All my thoughts flee, except for one.

I have to be the only person who fantasizes inside of my fantasies.