A/N: I came across this song and the lyrics really stuck out to me, especially one stanza. It was so strange and I really wanted to associate it with a character.

Out of all the characters I could choose from, I chose Doc Worth. I don't even know why, but the last two lines made me think of the dear doctor and so I wrote this.

And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some
Someone else's heart
Pumping someone else's blood

-- "On The Radio" Regina Spektor

On The Radio

Worth grunted and stared at the dusty walls around him, turning slowly in his chair. He was bored, very bored, and he was expecting neither Conrad nor Lamont today. A shame, because he was sort of itching for a good argument.

He stopped spinning in the chair long enough to reach for the box of cigarettes he knew was empty. He had finished off the last one about an hour ago, but no matter how bored he was, he was not going to step outside that door to go buy more.

Worth leaned back and silently prayed that someone, anyone, would come and visit him in his self-assigned exile. Even Hanna would be welcome if it meant he didn't have to stew in this silence anymore.

Okay, maybe not Hanna. That was being a little desperate.

With a loud and much-too-dramatic sigh, Worth lifted himself up from his desk and swaggered across the room. Yes, swaggered. That's just how he walked, darn it.

Okay, so it turned out to be a little too exaggerated, and after losing his balance twice (but not falling, of course, he never fell), he gave up on his little show. There was no one to see him anyways, except for perhaps a few cockroaches.

Worth glanced around the room, searching for something that would keep him occupied. His gaze descended on a pile of suspicious looking boxes in a corner. One of them contained blood for Conrad, he knew by the stamp of the blood bank outlined in red on the side of the box that faced him.

Ha. Red. Could they be any more ironic? That was just trying too hard.

Worth wasn't going to admit that it made it so much easier to recognize.

The other box was filled with junk that had been slowly collecting around his office for far too long. Lamont had probably brought about half of it in when he very well knew the doctor did NOT want it.

Rifling around in the box, he found silly little trinkets he forgot he had, including two discarded cell phones, a tin filled with toys from kiddy-meals, and a business card that Hanna had sent over once with a weathered 5 dollar bill paper-clipped to it.

Worth pocketed the bill and continued rifling through it until he found an object that surprised him very much.

It was an old radio, probably a good decade old, and it looked very battered and very broken. Worth carried it gently over to his desk, clearing aside a few papers and scalpels and brushing off crumbs and dust bunnies before placing it down carefully.

Not really knowing what he was doing, he twisted knobs and pressed buttons until finally, static filled the quiet office. The noise surprised Doc Worth, and he almost jumped back a bit. Almost.

He cautiously scanned each channel, rewarded with nothing but static. Growing bored quickly, he jumped to an old channel he somehow remembered listening to once.

Music flooded the room, a soft classical kind, the kind of music Worth hated. He kept it on, though, for a reason he didn't understand.

When Conrad stopped by that evening for his dinner, he was shocked to find Worth dozing at his desk, and Bach's Minuet in G Major flowing out of an old stereo beside him.