I wrote this a while ago. I decided to post it because, you know what? My interests have changed hugely since I last updated – I want more variety than what I currently have on my list of fics. So, I fixed up this story – not originally meant to be a oneshot, but still – and got it up here quick.

For fans of How Lucky We Are and The Pursuit of an Artist, you might want to check on my lookup to see what's going down.

It hadn't even crossed his mind until Dr. Cox had mentioned it, face stern and fighting to stay blank as it often did when dealing with a patient. Come to think, when had he become a patient? Most likely around March, when all of this began getting out of hand.

He'd just wanted a break. It was hard to put up with all that was being thrown at him, hard to keep a level head. He just wanted peace. He tried to make the fact he was a doctor and should therefore know better irrelevant.

He'd found it much more satisfying to slip an extra dollar or so to the guys who stood around at street corners in wool caps with greasy hairs lining their upper lips. He figured he could steal from the hospital, but that wouldn't be right. Not to mention there'd be more reason to suspect…

He made friends with the wrong people, though he supposed right for him. They lived like he did, waiting for the nearest opportunity when they could score, and most important of all they shared. They liked him at first because he was the one who was the all-important doctor, so he had plenty of dough and plenty of sharing to go around. And even after he couldn't share, they would with him because they weren't like other people. They couldn't process the same idea of right and wrong when they were high, and he took advantage of that. But then, they all did.

Some days he wouldn't know where he was. He'd lie, staring, until the shadows on the ceiling or bare sky would shift into colorful hallucinations. On some days he didn't even show up to work.

As expected, the drugs did solve everything. She left. Everyone left. His problems simply disappeared as if swept out from beneath his feet. Whoosh.

But by the time he decided to come clean, he found it to be harder than he'd originally hoped. Things, suddenly, were not going as planned.

No more afternoons spooning with Rowdy and watching the twilight bask his apartment in a grayish violet saran wrap. He spent the latter of those days vomiting, his body begging for the substances he refused to give.

Dr. Cox wouldn't let him step foot in the hospital unless he was there as a patient. He couldn't remember quite how he'd found out, but on one of the occasions where Turk visited, Carla standing behind him scared and teary, he had told him that Dr. Cox was who he'd first confided in, or at least according to the older doctor.

Really? He had? He didn't recall.

In time, it became apparent just who was the superman to his cat-in-a-tree. Because as time progressed, he became increasingly aware of two strong arms holding his shoulders steady as he tried to retain his body temperature.

"What do you mean you're still cold? Look, I just turned on the fireplace," My apartment doesn't have a fireplace… "and there's at least a thousand dollars to my gas bill heating the place right now. What more do you need?"

He managed to form words. "Where's Jordan?"

The older doctor's expression faltered. "She's… We haven't been seeing each other much as of late, Newbie."

So of course, in all of his recuperation, he hadn't even had time to think about getting tested.

Dr. Cox had almost thrown the chart at him, like in the days when they were mentor and student working together here at Sacred Heart. He thought twice, though, and held it close to him, hands in armpits like he always had.

"New… JD, I'm not sure of the best way to put this out there, so I think it's just best if I say it outright." Despite this, he took a long time staring at him, summoning the words. "Your T-cell count is unusually low, and I think we should have you medicated for HIV."

There. It was out.

JD sat still, mind blank. He hadn't been expecting this. He couldn't even process it. And suddenly all his thoughts burst forward, as if the jolt of such a shock was all that they'd needed.

Needles. He'd been sharing them. Looking back, he felt like an idiot for not saying something sooner. And come to think, it made the drawn-out withdrawal he'd experienced make more sense… How much trouble it was just to keep warm, how he could never seem to gain any weight…

His world was quickly crashing down around him, and hard.

"Nothing is final," Dr. Cox said, in the tone that said it was, or that it could be. Damn him for using standard procedure. Damn him for using the same tactics JD had only a year ago…

Wait a second. Had it been a year?

"How long?" he croaked, so suddenly that Perry had little to no idea what he was talking about. Of course they didn't know how long he had to live; he hadn't even been tested yet!

At the incredulous eyebrow quirk he received, JD tried again. "I mean… how long since all this started? Since I…"

He was quiet for a moment.

"Eighteen months next week… as far as I've been involved."

And that was the hardest blow of all.

-

His tests continued to come back negative. JD was not yet ready for death row, though Dr. Cox wanted him on a low dose of AZT just to be sure. He needed to be in tip-top shape.

Next week, he'd be going back to work.

I know little about AIDs or hospital standards in accepting ex-druggy employees, so… forgive me.

I know it ends abruptly, but... please don't ask for a sequel.