Disclaimer: I don't own Scrubs.

Sorry for the obnoxiously slow update (5 months! Dear god, I'm terrible!). Writers block is a bitch, seriously. This fanfiction really doesn't have a plot, either, I'm just going to write and see where it takes me.

Soyeah. Enjoy, and as always, please read and review. I'll try my hardest to update quicker next time.


--Chapter Two--

After the uncomfortable situation in Mrs Jones' room with Dr Cox, I felt it was quite necessary to go home, put my feet up, and relax.

Unfortunately, Turk was misinformed three days ago (by Todd) that playing Britney Spear's albums loudly will quell his nerves and prepare him for his battles ahead. That therefore explains why I currently have two earplugs fastened securely and – perhaps a bit too – tightly in my ears.

I yawned, flicking on the old video box and hit the on button of the DVD player with my foot, eager to watch (subtitled, as Turk was still playing his obnoxiously loud pop music) season five, episode three of House. Usually I dislike dramas, but the House character is strangely intriguing – that is, he reminds me of someone in particular, but I haven't quite figured out whom – and the Australian actor has a funny accent. Turk, on the other hand, loves House, and when he saw me watching the DVD when he walked out of the bathroom, he jumped over the couch with an; "Ooooo! House! That guy is a whole lot of crazy.", turned his music off, and sat next to me.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I intended on removing the earplugs from my ears, only to discover that I'd put them in just a little too well. I watched Turk's moving mouth, hearing nothing, and groaned.

Oh great.


You'd think that being a doctor employed at Sacred Heart Hospital, you'd get some kind of health benefit when you so happened to feel ill. Unfortunately, this was not so, as Dr Kelso found that, more often than not, doctors did get sick, and if he was lucky he'd be able to pawn money from them. So no benefits for me.

Therefore, after waiting for two hours – despite my doctor status – at in emergency, one of the on call doctors finally had a chance to look at my ears.

"Yep. Patricia, looks as though you've punctured both your ear drums." Dr Cox said with a patronizing sigh, shoving an otoscope into my right ear.

Eh? What did he just say?

"I'M SORRY I CAN'T HEAR YOU." I shouted in reply dumbly. I felt very foolish, sitting here, letting Dr Cox look into all of my orifices…

Orifices is a funny word…

… or, rather, the two orifices that made up my two ears. Not to mention he actually had me sitting on one of the cold emergency stretchers that are so cold that they freeze your buttocks through even the thickest pants. Luckily the stretcher was as cold as it was; Dr Cox was literally breathing down my neck and the heat of that in the coldness of the room was making my brain go a little fuzzy.

Dear god, what is WRONG with me!?

Dr Cox groaned, "Nurse, a piece of paper and a pen, please?"

Evidentially, Dr Cox was having a good night, because he wrote in scrawling capital letters; "HE WHO CAN'T HEAR CAN'T SPEAK." With a wide grin on his face, paused for a moment, and continued; "MAYBE SOMEBODY CAN TEACH YOU SIGN LANGUAGE, JANA."

I groaned. The only person who knew sign language in this stupid hospital was the Janitor, and I wasn't about to go and ask him for help. No way, no how.

In any case, Dr Cox grabbed another sheet of paper from the nurse and wrote for what seemed like a minute. When he held it up it read; "IT WILL HEAL WITH TIME. THAT MEANS NO SPEAKING UNTIL THEN."

He's decorated it with balloons and other celebratory items. How sweet.

I smiled ruefully.


Not being able to hear and being friends with Turk are two things that don't really go hand in hand. Turk likes to talk to people; he likes to be able to have a conversation, which means speaking. Therefore, writing everything down for me annoyed him greatly.

So, we'd devised a secret code; our own little language, which consisted of hand movements. Thumbs up meant "yes", thumbs down meant "no", two fingers up meant "change the channel", three fingers up meant "I like that" and of course, four fingers plus thumb of our right hand meant "Carla's PMSing so watch out."

Three days into being deaf, I yawned, practicing the hand signals that Turk and I had devised on my two seater couch. I was blatantly ignoring the TV (that I had "Closed Captioned"), and was dressed in my always fashionable onsies pyjamas. I'd had to take sick leave from work, considering I couldn't hear anything, and I never went anywhere without a (pink) notebook that Elliot had so kindly brought me with a frilly (also pink) pen to with it.

Mmm. Frilly Pink…

Secretly, I really liked them. But, unfortunately, all of this alone time in my brain just gave me time to ponder over my little "Dr Cox" issue.

God, what is this feeling? Whenever I think about Dr Percival Cox, I have this strange warm sensation in my belly – oooooh, there it goes – and my head got a little clouded. It's weird! It's almost like a – excuse the expression – high school crush!

Wait, crush? I do not have a crush on Dr Cox. I mean, come on, for starters he's a man and I'm, also, a man

I twiddled my fingers together.

What could have caused this? Seriously. This isn't cool. I know I always want things I can't have – like Elliot – but Dr Cox? Just because he said, "you will never hit this"?

I want to hit that. WAIT NO I DON'T! God! JD, grow up! You are a MAN who likes WOMEN. How the HELL am I going to fix this problem?

To Be Continued