Length: Not a One Shot! Wow!
Pairing: JD/Dr. Cox
Rating: M (smile…)
Warnings: Slash, obviously. And see above.
Set: Post 5th Season.
A/N: Just important to know; I casually ignore the whole OMGSHE'SPREGNANT thing here…mainly because she annoys me so much I can't even dredge up her name in my memory.
A/N 2: Inspired by the best damn House/Wilson fic I have ever read, Contamination. The idea of it is BEAUTIFUL. And I don't mean to rumor part, even thought that rocks. I mean the whole..."i care about you enough not to want to lose you" thing. Which just made me cry. Okay I'll quieten down now…
Ever since Jill Tracy had been diagnosed – a little late – with rabies, Dr. Cox had had disturbing trouble making decisions. Especially when a life balanced on the right or wrong of those decisions. Elliot Reid had already caught him out on that once, but the blonde doctor could do nothing to restore his confidence. And, truth be told, Perry Cox was beginning to worry. And for the first time in his life, he wasn't worrying about the patients. He was worrying about himself. Because he had no idea – just no idea –what he would do if he caused another patient's death by another wrong decision.
What's more, oddly enough, he had been feeling more depressed than usual; both at work and at home, though admittedly he could not dwell on it as much at Sacred Heart because every ounce of his concentration was invested in upholding his confident façade.
He would never, ever, ever show up to work drunk again.
J.D approached him, ridiculously hesitant, that idiotic smile on his face. Dr. Cox hated the way J.D always said his name; with such excitement. It made him cringe.
"If you have a second, I was wondering if I should push the ole' thrombos with this guy?"
Dr. Cox quirked an eyebrow, curiosity overcoming the urge to berate the younger man.
"Thrombos – you know, thrombolitics." The doctor laughed, hands on hips in an oddly coquettish way.
"Good god Tracy. You are a doctor now. You should know these things. You are a doctor – should I even bother with this or just go right ahead and have the Janitor rig the loudspeakers so that they can remind you every five minutes that people's lives depend on you? It might save me the trouble of following you around everywhere. Now get out of my sight, Lucy, you just about make me sick when you come here whinging after all this time. Wah! Wah! Wah!" Flinching – that was odd, he hadn't seen that before – J.D backed away from him with a quick roll of his eyes.
Dr. Cox started down the hallway, but suddenly a mop was flung in his path. Suppressing a growl, he turned to face the Janitor, who as regarding him solemnly. He found himself hoping this wouldn't take long, because he dimly knew he needed to get the hell out of there before someone else asked him to make a potentially disastrous decision.
"Just so you know, I would never rig the loudspeaker for you. Even if I could. Kelso got every lock in the building changed after he found the storage of my taxidermy squirrel collection."
"Fascinating," Dr. Cox managed after a moment of blank staring. "Are we done, jumpsuit?"
The Janitor nodded and moved his mop, and Dr. Cox walked extremely quickly down the hallway, a hand in front of his face like a shield, trying not to look as if he was running.
Apparently, it was about power.
Sitting at the couch with a scotch between his knees, Dr. Cox drummed his fingers on the coffee table, waiting for Jordan to get home.
Tuesday's were his least favorite day; because they were the days he met and spoke with his shrink. Coined in with the morning's disaster, he should have been knocking back more than that tiny glass of alcohol right now, but his mind was whirring too much for drunkenness.
Apparently, it was about control.
He needed to feel in control to get some of his confidence back. Or so said his shrink. Both of his shrinks.
And, if he couldn't get control back at work because he wasn't confident enough – he scowled – then that left at home.
Jordan pushed her way into the living room, keys in her mouth and grocery bags in each hand. Awkwardly, she spat the keys onto the carpet.
"You mind giving me a little help here?"
"Quite frankly? Yes."
All the same, he did get up, but instead of bringing the bags into the kitchen, he merely took them from her hands before capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss.
She pushed him away.
"What the hell is the matter with you?" She snapped, flipping out her compact to reapply her lipstick. "Before we had a kid together it was fine for you to initiate this whole baby-making process. But you're my bitch now, Perry, not the other way round."
Hoping the hopelessness wasn't showing on his face, Dr. Cox shrugged and sunk back into the sofa. He picked up the remote.
He had to do something soon, before he killed someone.
"Dr. Cox! Dr. Cox!"
He spun around, irritation already on his face.
"Yeah, you know, the whole blonde Barbie thing is getting a bit old now. I might even dye my hair blonde, just to spite you..."
He whistled, and she jumped.
"Oh, Dr. Cox, you told me it "might" be a good time to start treatment this morning."
Jordan hadn't exactly helped with the control thing.
"Well…what did you mean by "might"?" Quickly, she ploughed on. "Dr. Cox, please don't yell at me! I know I'm a doctor know, but this patient is a very difficult case, plus she wears this totally overpowering perfume so you know – oh – I just don't want to screw up!"
She was practically wringing her hands.
"Calm down, Barbie. You were right to come to me."
"Oh, really? Great!" Her face brightened considerably. "So…do you…think you could…give me the answer?"
"I need to pee," he answered after a moment, and saw her eyes narrow.
He took off at an almost run, cursing himself for his lack of inventiveness. Worse, he knew he didn't have much time now.
How was he meant to get that back in the space of five minutes? He hadn't even been able to scream at Elliot, the only person who still took his rants semi-seriously and as for anyone else…even Newbie seemed to find them amusing, now.
The buxom nurse paused, clipboard in hand.
"Have you seen Murphy?"
"He's sick today," she told him levelly before moving off in the direction of the Nurse's Station.
Nurse's Station. Carla! He could grab her and…no. Berating Carla had, in the past, only further dented his self-esteem and as for kissing her…
Dr. Cox could almost already feel the slap burning his cheeks.
Elliot was always a thought – not for the yelling, the kissing – but he was meant to be in the bathroom right now, not trying to give himself an ego boost so he could answer a simple medical question. He would never be able to live that down, he realized.
No, no, he needed…
That strangely high pitched bouncy voice…and for once, Dr. Cox wasn't unhappy to hear it. Utter relief swept through him. With one, quick, sharp glance around, he grabbed J.D by the neck of his scrubs and shoved him against the wall of Sacred Heart Hospital with a kiss.
J.D stood stock-still, and, thankfully, did absolutely nothing – neither reciprocating nor pushing the older man away. Dr. Cox's eyes bored into his – he wasn't about to close them, after all! – and relief still flickered in them.
The kiss was a relief; it felt about as satisfying as delivering a punch to someone's face, and in exactly the same way. Something – confidence – flooded into him, and Dr. Cox let his hands fall away from where they had been trapping J.D against the wall. Even that tiny loss of control was a pang, so he made the kiss more bruising than ever. Finally, he pulled away, and seeing J.D staring at him, frozen, lips still swollen, was just another thrill of satisfaction.
Unfortunately, he had no time to explain. Instead, he gave J.D his most fierce glare and sped down the corridors to find Barbie to tell her treatment should have gone ahead weeks ago, and that a man was dying for chrissakes because she was too busy blow drying her hair every morning to go to the convenience store around the corner and purchase some common sense.
In those exact words.