TITLE: Parking Lots and Drunk Sincerity

FANDOM: Scrubs


AUTHOR: Murron

RATING: PG-13ish (oooh, there might even be some swearing tsk tsk)

SUMMARY: Just a continuation.


AUTHOR'S NOTES: First, I kinda stole the title from an Ataris song called "So Long Astoria", just because it kinda fit and because I haven't an imagination to be found. And I kinda take a potshot a certain hockey goalie *couCuJogh*, no offense if there are any Wings fans reading this, but I hate him from the bottom of my bitter, evil little soul. A Leafs fan is like an elephant, we never forget. He is stupid, you shall never convince me otherwise! Mwa. Ha. Ha. Other than that, R+R, thanks.


"Newbie, you can't avoid me forever."

Oh, but I can try! It's been three days since the little.incident in the bathroom, and I've managed to not be in the same room with Dr. Cox since then. It hasn't been easy. But when you fear for your life, nothing else matters. He said they would never find my body. And I think he was serious.

But now he's got me. I let my guard down for one minute and he corners me in the storage room while I'm looking for a syringe. Dammit! This room is secluded. No one will hear me scream.

My face is on fire already. I can't look him in the eye.

"Now, Shirley, we need to have a little talk, wouldn't you think?"

No no no. We need to repress. We need to forget. That's what we need to do.

My shoulders slump and I nod. I'm still looking at the floor. Ew. I'll have to talk to the Janitor about the crappy job he did in here. Ha. Like that'll happen.

"So, tonight, eight o clock, you and me. There's this little bar on the corner by."

He's giving me directions, but I'm tuned out again. Outside the hospital? Dr. Perry Cox, he who almost broke my leg the first time I tried to hang with him outside work, he who said he would move if I ever came over to his apartment again, wants me to meet him outside of work hours? Oh god, I think I'm in bigger trouble than I thought.

"Can't we just, I dunno, talk here?" I break in while he's still in mid- sentence. I mean, if we have to talk, at least we could do it where I could get prompt medical attention.

"Not a good idea, genius."


"Dr. Cox?" A nurse pokes her head around the door. "We need you. The guy in four is crashing." She bustles off.

"That's why." He nods in the direction of the hallway. "So, are you going to come or not?"


"JD, look at me. Do I look angry?" No. For the first time in days I look him square in the face, and he looks.hopeful, maybe?

"Then for god's sake, stop giving me the cold shoulder and come."

He's gone out the door in an instant. I guess he doesn't see me nod.

************ 8:30. I make it to the bar.

I didn't mean to be late. Really. After my initial doubts, I actually started to look forward to ironing things out with Dr. Cox. But then my tool of a resident pawned some patient off on me just as I was leaving. Bastard. And then the bus was late. Piece of crap.

I've never been to this place before, and with good reason. It's almost deserted, and a dive at that. I catch sight of Dr. Cox as soon as I walk in. He's the only one sitting at the long, greasy-looking counter, sitting on a high stool, hunched over on his elbows, his legs wrapped back around the rungs like a little kid. It's odd seeing him out of his scrubs, in jeans and a tight, black t-shirt, his shoulder blades and the bunched muscles of his upper back clearly outlined through the material. Damn, he looks strong. He must work out.

Oh god! What am I thinking about that for?! No, not happening! Bad JD!

I sidle up to him. He's already got three empty beer bottles in front of him. And it's Canadian beer. That's like six American beers! Damn, am I in deep. He's working on a fourth.

"Hey, Dr. Cox." I sit down awkwardly beside him.

"Newbie!" He sounds almost surprised. And completely drunk. "I'd given up on you, buddy!"

The bartender waddles over. "What'll it be?"

"Just a Coke, please." A snort of laughter, but he plunks the can down on the counter. No glass. Very classy.

I turn back to Dr. Cox, who has engrossed himself in the silent hockey game playing on the TV, riveted to the wall just below ceiling level.

Think of something to say to him. Think of something to say to him. Think of something to say to him.

"Who's playing?" Classic icebreaker.

"The stupid Red Wings. Their stupid goalie can never keep the stupid puck out of the stupid net. Jackass waste of payroll!"

"Yeah, he's stupid all right." Who the hell is he talking about? I'm in over my head.

But he doesn't seem to notice. We fall into a comfortable silence. Well, for him it's comfortable. But it just gives me time to get more and more awkward, and a little angry as well. Why did he drag me out here when I could have been at home getting some much-needed sleep? If we were going to talk, why did he get tanked before I even arrived.

Twenty minutes have passed, and we've barely said ten words. I'm fed up. My piss-warm Coke is gone anyways.

I get up to leave.

"Where are you going. Aren't you having fun?"

"I gotta get some sleep." I sidestep his question, blushing again for no reason, and I quasi-stalk out of the place, into the cool night. The parking lot is half-lit with streetlights. How the hell am I going to get home. The next bus doesn't come for twenty minutes. I stand with my hands in my pockets, staring up at the stars.

"Newbie, wait!" He comes out the door, struggling into a jacket. He looks a little wobbly, but not nearly so smashed as I first thought he was. He makes it to where I'm standing and grabs my arm. "You can't leave. You forgot to pay, so I had to pay for you. You know what that means."


"Now you have to put out. Them's the rules."

I shake my head and pull away from him.

"Ah, c'mon, not even a smile?". He tries to get me with the puppy-dog eyes.

"I'm not in the mood for this shit. I'm going home."

"JD, please? I don't know what to say to you."

I look at him incredulously, really furious now. "You could start by telling me why you decided to get totally piss-drunk tonight before I even got here, when we were supposed to have a very serious conversation. And then you can stop with the fucking pussy-footing and tell me what I really want to know. Do you want this to go somewhere?"

"JD, do you think this is easy for me? Do you think I could even be here if I wasn't half-plastered?" He's staring at me like an injured animal, breathing heavy. "Would I be here if I didn't want this to go somewhere?" He stares at me levelly, letting the weight sink in.

Did he just say what I think he did?

Hallelujah! This is like winning the Superbowl. I can't stop the goofy grin that appears on my face.

"We good?"


"Good. Now, help me find my car. I think you're going to have to drive me home. I'm not feeling too good."

"Serves you right. Maybe it was the copious amount of booze you just had."

"Maybe." He slings an arm around my shoulder and we totter off to his car. He fishes the keys out of his pocket, tosses them to me.

We drive in silence. Mostly because he falls asleep the instant we are in motion, his forehead pressed against the glass of the passenger-side window.

I park and shake him awake. He comes to with a snort, blinking at me in confusion for a moment.

"Hey." I smile at him.

"Hey," he croaks out. "Home?"

"Yeah, we're here."

"Wanna come up?"


Mwahahahahahaha! Will they? Won't they? Only time will tell! Cliffhangers are maliciously fun.