Title: My Smackdown

Pairings: JD/Cox, vague Elliot/Molly (in JD's head), insanely vague JD/Elliot, JD/The Todd, Cox/Jordan

Rating: Um…PG? There really isn't anything in it.

Summary: JD angers Dr. Cox. Repeatedly. I didn't really plan it, so it probably makes very little sense, and I'm guessing anything that sounds remotely good was probably unintentionally stolen from somewhere because I do that all the time, and only realise when I see it again.

Word Count: 4, 905

A/N: has inflicted a somewhat crappy story on the Internet And just to note, I tried to use American spellings as Scrubs is American.

Disclaimer: Do not own Scrubs, have so far made zero pence from this story.

"Oh Louisa, you did no-hot just give me attitude."

"I…I think I did. And you know what, Dr. Cox, I'm O.K. with that. I think that you…need to be taken down a peg or two. Maybe. But probably not by me…I have to go…"

"Not so fast there Deirdre." growls Dr. Cox, grabbing the back of my scrubs top, meaning I run like a character on Scooby Doo.

God I love that show. I have a momentary image of a Sacred Heart version of Scooby Doo. Unfortunately, I turn out to be Daphne, and Dr. Cox, the Ghost At The Toy Factory, jumps out at me and laughs when I squeal. I decide that it's time to end the fantasy-slash-daymare. Unfortunately, in the real world, the non-ghostly Dr. Cox is still yelling at me.

"What did you just say to me? Because really, I hope for the sake of your significant other that you did not just suggest that I 'need to be taken down a peg or two', because really, Cassie, I don't think Dr. Gandhi would appreciate you being delivered to his house, piece by piece, every morning for six weeks. So you'll just backtrack on your poorly-delivered, little-rich-girl-standing-up-to-Daddy-for-the-first-time speech there Lucy."

"I…you know what, Dr. Cox, no. I will not be brought down by you. Not today."

"Well boo-hoo-hoo. Haven't you just been reading your mom's copy of Release Your Inner Goddess there, ya feisty little thing. But you know it's re-he-heally not going to do you any good when I kill you. Because trust me, Lily, I will."

"Um…help!" I squeak at Carla as Dr. Cox storms away, veins in his neck pulsing, huffing through his nose like a really scary bull.

I think he hit me with his clipboard. That's maybe why I keep having visions of me in a matador's uniform, darting a red cloth in front of his face as he scrapes his foot on the ground. Actually, he looks kind of cool with a nose ring. But really. Not the point.

"Carla?" I mumble pathetically (well. Not pathetically. Manly pre-fight nerves, that's what it is.)

"Chill, Bambi. He's not actually going to hurt you. Just apologise. Appeal to his giant ego. Trust me, it always works with Turk when he's in a sulk. You wouldn't know, because he never gets in a sulk with you."

She smiles.

"He'll be fine."

She starts to walk away. I make an awkward face.

"What if I don't apologise?"

Carla blinks.

"Excuse me?"

"If I don't…apologise to him, what then?"

Carla clears her throat.

"Bambi, believe me, you don't even want to consider that option."

She draws one finger across her throat. I gulp. Maybe I should go work out if I plan to continue this standing-up-to-Dr. Cox thing.

I spend the morning avoiding Dr. Cox by hiding in patients rooms and bribing them with Jell-O not to tell Dr. Cox I was here. It isn't a very fun morning. Mrs. Van Housen likes to tell people in horror movie detail about her piles. Never mind 'you'll be scared to go in the water again', I'll be scared to think about tushies again! Which is so, so much worse. And really such a waste. Especially considering Nurse Tisdale was wearing really tight scrubs pants today. Mmmm.

I really want to go into the doctor's lounge for my daily fix of Cheers, particularly because they're showing the season where Kirstie Alley first comes in, and me and Turk are compiling a list of Famous Women Who Got Fat And Then Got Thin Again. All we have so far is Janet Jackson, and she doesn't really count because she wasn't fat for long. We kind of have to avoid Carla when we're making this list, because her eyes go all narrow, and she gives us a lecture on Objectifying Women and how Big Can Be Beautiful and We Are So Superficial, but then Turk says she doesn't have to worry because she's got curves in all the right places, and she cheers up after that.

Anyway, doctor's lounge. I've been hanging around, but I can hear ice hockey and I'm pretty sure that means Dr. Cox is in there, and even if he isn't, there's no way I'm stealing the remote from scary ice hockey guys with no teeth and confusing fan-jerseys. I considered going to the on-call room for a nap, but the first time I went I heard sex noises, and not the good kind, either, and the second time the Janitor was hanging around looking shifty. So I'm going to the canteen for some lunch. Or maybe I'll just steal Elliot's pudding (really easy if you get her talking about…well, anything, really).

"Oh, and she's down!" yells Dr. Cox in his sports commentator's voice as I slip on the Janitor's ridiculous and deliberate excess of floor wax.

"Get up, Lorelai, before I feel the need to demonstrate my Dance Dance Revolution skills on your scrawny little chest." he snaps, looming over me like a very scary and humanoid tree.

I blink and get up very quickly. There weren't any mentions of ass-kicking or being chopped up into bite-sized chunks in that sentence.

"You're not mad?" I quiver.

"Mad? Could you sound any more like a twelve year old girl? You see, me actually being angry about this whole screwy little situation would imply that I actually care about what you think about me, Vera, and buh-leeiiiive me, I sure as hell don't."

I frown. He's not going to kill me? Is this some sort of evil trick where he lulls me into a false sense of security then makes me crash into a giant yellow X while also destroying Sasha 2? No, that's the Janitor. Is he trying to psych me out with mind games? Ha. I am the King of Mind Games. Or at least, I'm always the fastest to get the picture in Magic Eye. Which is kind of a mind game, when you think about it.

"Dr. Cox," I declare, "If you're trying to psych me out, it hasn't worked. So ha! Ha…ha." I finished lamely.

Dr. Cox is wearing his 'I'll-see-where-this-is-going-before-I-decide-which-method-of-killing-to-deploy' face. It scares me.

"Amy, was that your attempt at smack talk?" he says in his 'talking-to-a-five-year-old-girl-who-just-trod-on-my-toe voice.

Like, mad, but, not too mad because of the whole 'five-year-old' thing. Only I'm not five. So I have something to worry about.

"Because, really, congrats on the whole 'trying-to-get-a-pair' thing you're doing. I support it, I ru-heally do. Only you might want to tell your gynecologist that using the pink, fluffy dice from his car kinda doesn't count. But good try, there Stacey."

I pout. Thankfully, he's already left, so he doesn't get to make any fake crying noises or comments about my new shade of lip gloss. Which might be a little too close to the truth, given the strawberry-flavoured lipbalm I borrowed from Elliot this morning. But really, my smoochers get sore in the morning. And it's winter! Anyway, it's not that bad, because I ended up eating it. Strawberry's my favorite lipbalm flavor.

I'm still pretty hungry, despite swallowing copious amounts of floor wax when I slipped, so I decide to go steal Elliot's pudding anyway. Just as I suspected, she's sitting in the cafeteria, hyperventilating over the fact that she's eating alone, and she looks insanely relieved to see me. Then again, Elliot always looks insane. In a good, hot-crazy-lady way. Not that I'm still attracted to her. Because I'm not. If anything…Ahem. I'll stop now. Being around Elliot starts to make me think like her.

"Oh, hey JD!" she says, in a very perky way.

"Hi, Elliot," I try to sound caring, which will encourage her to open up, which will distract her enough so that I can steal her pudding.

Ooh, and it's chocolate. Yummies.

"JD, do you think I should ask Dr. Cox about Mr. Wilson? Because I tried, and he whistled in my face, which is like, so rude, and so I…kind of…yelled at him, and Carla said not to speak to him for the rest of the day because if I don't let him cool down I'll get the 'Forehead Flick', which really hurts, and kind of messes up my bangs, too…"

Operation Grand Theft: Pudding is on.

"…And my mom called yesterday, and she said bangs were 'unprofessional' for a doctor, like, what does she know? I mean, doctor's wife, and all, but still…"

My hand inches towards the pudding.

"…Because she's my mom, and my therapist totally agrees with me that parents should be supportive. I mean, she also thinks I'm a repressed lesbian, but still, that's Dr. Hawkes, always trying to get in my pants!…"

Did I hear the word lesbian? And a woman trying to get in Elliot's pants!? She's probably old. Focus, JD! Focus on pudding! I feel all 'Zen'. I am focused entirely on pudding. Pudding is all there is. Ooh, Elliot kissing a woman who looks like a brunet Molly! Focus! Oh, so close to the pudding…And then Mighty Pinkie strikes. Owies.

"Hey! That's my pudding, JD. Get your own. Anyway, as I was saying, does it sound cocky for me to think she wants to get in my pants, I mean it's not like I'm some lesbian pin-up girl."

Ah, well. At least I get to listen to lesbian stories. I wonder if this is a ploy to get me to stay. Ack, who cares. Back to the fantasy…Elliot and Brunet Molly…Redhead Molly…Blond Molly…Elliot and Three Mollys! Today is a happy day.

After stealing a pudding from the counter when Scary Sloppy Joe Guy wasn't looking, I checked on my patients-all fine and dandy, thank you, I told you it was a happy day, I see Dr. Cox leaning against the nurse's station, looking rather chastened. Carla is shaking a finger in his face.

I hear the words "Bambi" and "Cruelty" and "Bitch-slap you across this counter, and you might not think you're afraid of a little Latina woman, but we all know you're sure as hell afraid of anything that might mess up those perfect curls of yours".

Oh no. I'll just edge away, and he won't notice me, and he'll take out his wrath on Nervous Guy…or Elliot…or Kelso…or Ted…or pretty much anyone who happens to be standing around. Oh, what the hell, just run! Run, JD, run! I run, but unfortunately I end up entangled in the Janitor's cleaning supplies cart. Ow. I think I have a mop in my eye. And maybe my butt. Ow. Carla stops scolding-slash-threatening Dr. Cox, Dr. Cox stops ignoring Carla and planning my painful death in his head, and the Janitor just appears from nowhere. Dear God, I'm going to die in a cleaning supplies cart! And I never did get that hug.

"At least let me have a last request!" I yelp.

The Janitor gets the same half-bemused-half-wondering-how-to-kill-me-without-the-evidence-pointing-to-him look as Dr. Cox.

"Depends what it is." he says.

"Oh, for the love of God, blue-collar, just let the kid go," says Dr. Cox.

Yay! He likes me! And I'm 'the kid'! No Newbie, no girl's names…I may do a dance in the middle of my painful mop embrace.

"After all, I'm going to kill him later."

Aw, damn. I knew there would be a catch.

"This isn't over," whispers the Janitor.

Eee his breath is cold. And it smells like my perfumed notepaper…which was a gift from my mom, which I will throw out at the first opportunity I get.

"Thanks, Dr. Cox," I yell after him, finally free of the Deadly Mop Grip.

"You will die, Sheila. And it will be painful," he yells back.

Ah well. At least death isn't as imminent as it was ten seconds ago.

I decide, for lack of any actual work to do, to go find Turk. For one thing, we can confer over our Thin To Fat to Thin Again Women list, and if his morning surgeries went well we can do our 'Turk Is The Greatest Surgeon Ever And JD Is A Damn Good Sidekick' dance, and if he got to do a boob job (breast augmentation, breast augmentation, you are a doctor now) I'll have to high-five The Todd and we can do our 'Made The World A Better Place' dance. We may do too many dances for straight men. Unfortunately, before I can get to Turk, I am cornered by a nightmarish plastic vision-like Barbie's Evil Twin…ooh, scary. It turns out to be Jordan.

"Hey. DJ. I'm going to talk and you're going to listen and do what I tell you to. Come."

She makes beckoning gestures with her disturbingly claw-like fingers (or is that Dr. Cox's influence on my thoughts?) and I follow, because Jordan has spiky stilettos on and I'm not wearing a cup. I consider saying "I'll talk to you if you can get my name right," but again, I refer you to the lack of cup. I am dragged into the examination room where I met Screech from Saved By The Bell. He had an infection that caused swelling of the tongue. I made him say 'falafel'. It was funnier than Saved By The Bell. Especially the seasons after Jessie left. I liked Jessie, goddamnit! She was hot and spunky. Anyway, I'm in here with Jordan, not a Nineties sitcom character. Momentarily Jordan grows vast orange hair and shrieks "Oh A-al." while wearing really awful clothes. Ah, I miss the Nineties. Mullets and flashpants were great, really. But…Jordan.

"Listen, DJ. I know ole Perry's got it in for you because…oh, I don't know, you tried to kiss him back or you spoke during sex…"

"Hey!" I exclaim, shocked and affronted…and a little woozy from the me-kissing-Dr. Cox images flooding my head right now.

"That's not what me and Dr. Cox do! We're colleagues. And friends. Well. Sort of. I mean, he kind of wants to kill me, but…"

"Mimimimimimi." Says Jordan, pressing her finger to those shiny, shiny lips of hers. I wonder if she polishes them?

"I didn't say I cared," says Jordan, as though saying this would be akin to saying she was a mass-murderer, or actually looked her age.

"But, this little 'catfight' you two have planned kind of interferes with our weekly family counseling sessions, and our therapist is really just the hottest guy in the practice, I mean my God, the man's an Adonis, so each week I make Perry really, really jealous by flirting with the guy so we get to have aggressive sex afterwards. More than usual, I mean. So, if you could just apologize to him, it'd be great, 'cause I was kind of looking forward to it."

"I'm sure you were, Jordan, but I can't just ignore my principles. I'm sticking to my guns, I'm afraid."

Wow. I sound so professional. All suave and confident, like James Bond. I wish I was James Bond. I indulge myself for a second by riding on a jet ski with a really cute girl in a bikini clinging to my waist and mega-cool gadgets in my suit pockets, but then I'm right back in the examination room with Jordan.

"If you do this, I'll get Perry to stop calling you girl's names for a week."

"Done."

Darn it, I am too weak. Plus, he'd already forgiven me, so I have nothing to apologize for, unless I apologize for Carla or simply for existing, and…well, it's worth a try. I wish I was doing 'World's Greatest Surgeon' dances right now.

And that's how I ended up here, outside the doctor's lounge, trying not to have a panic attack. Which is difficult, what with the words 'You will die, Sheila' echoing over and over again in my head and my heart bang-bang-banging like Tim Allen's attempts at DIY. I feel like Doug answering a crash on his first day with Dr. Cox yelling at him. Panic sweat streams from my hands and my forehead and yes, yes, from my ears, which is horrifying. I wonder if I'll actually be able to open the door without my hands slipping on the handle, causing me to bang my head against the ouchie, metal door.

I take a deep breath. Ah, hospital smell. Sloppy Joes and Jell-O and the Janitor's scary German disinfectant, which he may one day use to poison my pudding. And, we're going in. The hot oncologist is telling the prettiest gyno girl that 'Dr. Brookes was really riding my ass today'. The Todd is telling the hot oncologist that he'd like to ride her ass, and her friend's. The hot oncologist and the prettiest gyno girl give him a disgusted look and leave.

"They'll be back," says The Todd confidently, grinning at me. "No-one can resist The Todd for long." He smirks. "And speaking of long…"

Oh nononononono. I am not going to be hit on by The Todd.

"Have you seen Dr. Cox today?" I ask.

"No, but there's some doctors' cocks I would like to see," says The Todd, nodding emphatically.

"See ya, The Todd," I say, preparing for a quick exit.

"Rejection five?" he asks.

"Sure."

Oh, why does that always hurt so badly? My poor little hand.

"Don't you worry, Lenny Leftie, I'll take care of you," I whisper to my poor, poor, red palm, kissing it.

"Dear God, Susie, are you so desperate for a boyfriend that you've resorted to pretending that your body parts are men? Because if so, you may want to skippity-skip on down to the mental ward. I'm just she-ure that they'd love to see your pretty, wacked-out little face, there, Sybil."

"Dr. Cox! I was just looking for you!"

"You always are." Dr. Cox mutters drily.

I kind of resent that. Sometimes I'm looking for Turk, or avoiding the Janitor. And, obviously, my job. Which I do. Pretty damn well, if you ask me. Although I don't have a dance. Maybe I should get a dance…I'm halfway through figuring out the logistics of the hip-pop when I remember I have to talk to Dr. Cox.

"I…I just wanted to apologize. I really am sorry, and I don't see the need for us to actually come to blows over this. So, whaddayasay, pals again?"

I hold out my hand and grin in what I hope is an endearing way. Dr. Cox narrows his eyes and glares at me.

"We never actually were 'gal pals', Samantha, and unless you want me to break off that French-manicured hand of yours and use it as a soap dish, I would walk away."

I tuck my hand into my arm at Superman-speed. But a week without girl's names is not something I'd give up without a fight. I'm hoping that won't become too literal.

"Jordan wants you to go to family therapy because she wants to have aggressive sex with you," I say, because I don't actually have any explanations that don't involve me saying the words 'aggressive sex' to Dr. Cox.

Which is not a great juxtaposition, let me tell you. He raises one eyebrow in that oh-so-cool and ever-so-slightly-dangerous way of his which I can't master even when I operate my eyebrows manually.

"Let me get this straight, here, Chantelle. Jordan asked you, the one person on Earth who may actually annoy me more than she does, to convince me to go to family therapy instead of breaking your spindly little neck in two with my knee?"

I annoy him more than anyone in the world? More than Dr. Kelso? More than Elliot?

"I…I think so."

"This is part of her evil plot to destroy the world, Newberina. Did I not teach you rule one of medicine? Do not trust anyone who has donated more than one wing to this hospital, especially if that person's name is Jordan Sullivan! I mean, do you not hear me? Is your head so full of how you'd look with bangs or whether that guy is e-hever going to call you that you don't actually absorb important medical information? Because you cannot expect to be treated like the big, grown-up doctor I know you long to be if you're too damn busy worrying about your ass fat to actually listen to your teacher."

He thinks my ass is fat? Does this mean I can say 'kiss my big white ass'? It really doesn't have the ring of 'big black ass', does it. He seems to want a reply.

"Yes, Dr. Cox." I chirp dutifully.

"Atta girl, Newbie."

Yay! He likes me again! I do my 'Dr. Cox Likes Me' dance, which is the one dance I don't have to share with Turk. Because as much as I love dancing with Turk, sometimes it's nice to go it alone.

I realize I'm not entirely sure what just happened with Dr. Cox and me. Does he like me again? Is he still going to kill me? Is he angry with Jordan? Oh God…did I start a fight between Jordan and Dr. Cox? Did something I say trigger something in Dr. Cox's brain that now means…That now means I am dead. Oh good God, she'll stab me with her stiletto heel.

I have to find somewhere to hide. Like, now. My first thought is the supplies closet, but reminding myself that it is jealously guarded by a crazy janitor with aims of torturing innocent doctors somewhat dissuades me.

Then I think about the men's room, but I think Jordan is actually more likely to go in there than the ladies' room.

On-call room? Perfect. I just have to make sure that there is no sign of either male moaning or my nemesis, The Janitor, before doing so. Thankfully, there is no sign of either, so I duck inside and bury myself under the covers of the bottom bunk in the furthest bed. I think this is the most hidden place I can find unless I crawl under the bed. And I hear tell that The Todd lies in wait under one of them in hope of a euphemism opportunity or the horizontal rumba taking place. And I'm just too damn scared to risk it.

I wonder if I can use the hiding-under-beds thing in Dr. Acula. Because that really seems like something he would do. God, I love Dr. Cox. I mean…I mean Dr. Acula. That…that wasn't a Freudian slip, it was just that I was thinking about him…before…oh, dagnammit, I'm gonna go face up to whatever it is I've done.

I power-walk down the hall, wondering if Jordan is going to flying rugby-tackle me like Johnny The Tackling Alzheimer's Patient. Thankfully, I run into neither of them on my travels, but when I reach the nurses' station, it becomes abundantly clear that yes, I have stomped all over the train wreck that was Jordan and Dr. Cox's marriage. Jordan is yelling at Dr. Cox in her crazy person's high-pitched voice, Dr. Cox has brushed his nose and crossed his disturbingly large forearms at least five times, Carla looks as though she may spontaneously combust if she is not allowed to play her usual role as the hospital agony aunt and general Mrs. Fix-It, and Laverne is calling everyone in the entire hospital and informing them that Jordan and Dr. Cox are having yet another massive bust-up, and this time it's personal.

Which is a lot of things to absorb, which is why I only realize quite why Kelso is chuckling, collecting money and saying, "It seems my fruity college drop-out of a son has finally come through for me, sport. I know all the signs, you see, and just in case you ever find yourself getting sick of being called Nancy and yelled at by that curly-haired jackass, I'll give you his card. Be warned, though, sport, he might just leave you for a Filipino teenager with an unpronounceable name. It's the one thing we share, a preference for the Asian peoples. The rest I blame on Enid. Heel, Ted."

Well, not so much the genetics and the 'heel, Ted', but you get the point.

Ted says, "The Philippines aren't in Asia, sir.", and Kelso says "Well, then it's all Enid's fault. This day just keeps getting better and better."

I don't hear that part, however, because I am distracted by Jordan saying this; "Why are you so stupidI mean are you so blinded by your own God complex that you cannot see that that-that foofy little girl masquerading as a doctor wants to make sweet, sweet love to you and that you, Percival, feel the exact same way? I mean, gee, Per, do you not listen to a word Dr. Phil says? That whole 'girl's names' thang you've got going on is kind of a giant flashing light with sirens and a bell informing the world that This Is Sublimation, and you cannot deal with the fact that a boy-a really, really girly boy, but a boy none the less-gives you tingly feelings in your man parts!" I think-'Their therapist is called Dr. Phil?' first-I always was distracted by the little things, and then I am overwhelmed by the terrifying feeling that they are talking about me, and oh God I give him tingly feelings in his man parts?!

Dr. Cox is glaring at me. Is that because he's tingling? Oh, I should not think about that. Ever. I think I'm tingling. "Boys," I hiss at my scrubs pants, "Calm yourselves. Think about…Dr. Kelso." My boys shudder. I sigh with blissful, blissful relief. Dr. Cox returns his glare to Jordan. "Ho-kay, there, Jadis, hif you want to concoct warped, improbable little fantasies about me and Miss Teen America over there, then that's, well, deeply disturbing, but all well and good when you are on your own, perhaps when you're feasting on innocent souls whilst reclining on the mausoleum slab you call home, but if you're going to bat-screech it out to the people that I have to see every single day, we might just have a problem here."

He smiles his 'I'm going to eat you' smile at her, and then turns his oddly pretty (oh, why oh why do I choose now to notice that?) eyes to me.

"And as for you, Arabella, well, just you listen here, sugarplum. I don't care about you. I don't love you. And I definitely do not get my jollies from seeing your girlish, pouty little baby-face about this godforsaken place. Got that, Mary Ellen?"

I nod, trying not to feel disappointed. Because I really shouldn't be disappointed. I should be very, very happy that I don't have to stop wearing my medium scrubs around Dr. Cox. Because frankly, the ladies, they lurve them. Dr. Cox makes shooing motions and his eyes go scary googly. Dr. Cox would make a good googly-eye toy. I used to collect those in college. I think I still have them in one of the many, many unpacked boxes in my and Elliot's apartment.

Oh, right, leaving. Dr. Cox's eyes look like they may pop from the rage. I hear Jordan saying something about disobedient underlings and appropriate punishments. I think I hear the word 'spank'. Dr. Cox makes his angriest exhalation. I walk faster.

I decide I'll hide out in the doctor's lounge this time, but when I get there I begin to wonder if Dr. Cox has acquired superspeed, because Days Of Our Lives is playing inside. Someone's evil twin brother has impregnated his girlfriend. Or they're searching for a missing emerald. I don't know. I really don't hear well all smushed up against the door like this.

Anyway, I don't particularly want to be assaulted by rabid soap opera fans with hairspray-stiffened fringes and scarily sticky lipgloss for making them miss the conclusion to either of those storylines. Or assaulted by a newly superspeedy Dr. Cox. Although he would make a really good superhero. All tortured and caring-about-people and muscly. Um. Perhaps I shouldn't go there. I don't know why I've suddenly started having all these weird thoughts. Maybe I'm spending too much time around Carla and her sweet, strawberry-ish perfume is affecting my brain. Ah, strawberries. Maybe I should go borrow Elliot's lipbalm again.

Elliot, unfortunately, is still gawking at the WWE match between Dr. Cox and Jordan, so I have to lurk behind a wall and poke her with my thankfully unnaturally long arms. Though they aren't as long as Stretch Armstrong's. If they were I could perform a referee separation on Jordan and Dr. Cox and they'd never even know it was me.

I could do a lot of things without anyone knowing it was me. Like filming Nurse Tisdale in the shower or pinning 'Kick Me' signs to the Janitor's back. Though he'd probably guess it was me. Maybe he has mind-reading skills. Superspeed, stretchy arms and mind-reading. We could form a Truth and Justice Trio. If only they liked me more. And we actually had superpowers…Elliot is staring at me and looking twitchy and irritated. Why…oh, right, lipbalm.

"Elliot," I hiss, "I'm hungry. Lend me your lipbalm."

"I'm not letting you eat my lipbalm, JD!" hisses Elliot in return, only her hiss is high-pitched and much, much quicker.

She turns back to the Ultimate Fighting Championship. I scowl. Stupid Elliot and her only using lipbalm for lip-soothingness. It's her loss. She'll never know the delicious buttery-strawberryey taste. Mmn. Man, Dr. Cox's forearms really are huge. He could pick me up and shake me without even wincing. I hope he doesn't. Then again, I kind of hope he does…I really have to stop thinking about Dr. Cox.