A/N: Hi, all! This is my first Scrubs fanfic, so I'm incredibly nervous. I've fallen slightly in love with the dynamic between JD and Dr. Cox, so I wanted to write something exploring that sort of co-dependency between them. I also wanted to look at the betrayal of Jordan sleeping with JD when we discover in a later episode that the reason for her divorce from Dr. Cox was the fact that she slept with another of his students - I've never really seen that parallel drawn on in fic before, so I thought I'd give it a go. This is what came about as a result. Not necessarily slashy, but feel free to interpret it as such if you're that way inclined ;)

Disclaimer: Scrubs and all of its affiliated characters belongs to Bill Lawrence and a bunch of other people who aren't me. Don't sue, I'm skint.

Contains spoilers for 'My Bad', 'My Last Day', 'My Overkill' and 'My Own Private Practice Guy'.

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I'm not stupid; I know the kid wants something from me.

Hell, he's been wanting it since day one. A mentor, a guide, someone to hold his hand, tell him what a good little doctor he is and give him a shove in the right direction. Now, I've really no idea why he's singled me out to be that person, because I've honestly been doing my damnedest to get him to stay the hell away from me for the past year. For both our sakes. I constantly mock and belittle him for being the little girl he undoubtedly is, but I still can't quite seem to shake him off. Kid's like a damned limpet. Carla used the word 'crush' once, and as disturbing as that thought undoubtedly is… honest to God, it -- it wouldn't surprise me. There's just something about that constant need for my approval…

But I digress. Right now, he wants something else, apart from all that. He's looking for my forgiveness. Trouble is… I'm just not sure I'm ready to give it. I wish I was, I honestly do. I can tell that Shirley's truly sorry - hell, anyone who happened to be within a five-mile radius of the hospital during his little 'performance' in the cafeteria would be able to tell that. I told him I understood, and I do - Jordan is a force of nature, and Newbie is… well, Newbie. He never stood a chance against her, once she set her sights on him.

Aw, hell with it - if I'm being honest with myself? This doesn't even have anything to do with Bethany. It has everything to do with another student I had a few years back. My protégé. My star pupil. Who also happened to make the ridiculously stupid mistake of doing the horizontal tango with my ex-wife. Who, at that stage, was still my wife. You see the problem, here? And unlike Clarissa, he knew damn well who she was. He'd been my confidant, the one person I trusted enough to spill all the problems of my marriage to. Then he went right on ahead and stuck that knife in my back.

Unfortunately for him, he also got caught, though the black eye I gave him was nowhere near gratifying enough. I'd've killed the little rat-bastard, if Jordan hadn't stopped me.

I have to wonder whether she knew who Newbie was - whether she deliberately singled him out to get to me. It's not impossible; she is on the Board, and there have been more than a few rumours concerning 'Dr. Cox's lapdog' and 'preferential treatment' making the rounds, despite my best attempts to crush them.

Damn it all to hell. It wasn't supposed to go down like this. Sure, I'd taken a… special interest, shall we say, in the kid, but he was only meant to stroke my ego - the best damned intern of the lot, hanging off my every word. He's supposed to be a goddamned trophy, I was never meant to actually care about him. After Petey, I swore that I wouldn't get close to a single one of the overly-cocky baby docs that come through this dump again. It's not worth it. Oh, sure, they spend a year or so acting as though you're the best darned thing since sliced bread, but you can be certain that sooner or later they'll realise there's bigger fish to fry and go skipping off into the sunset without so much as a by-your-leave.

Still, I think I've finally gone and figured out what's really bothering me so much. Carla hit the nail right on the head during Alison's little team-bonding session in the cafeteria earlier today.

"You're just pissed because you're still in love with your ex."

She really touched a nerve there, whether she knows it or not. Now, don't get me wrong, I love Carla. I really do. She's tough, she's spunky, she doesn't take crap from anybody… She's the closest thing I have to a friend in this hellhole, even if things are a little awkward between us right now. Not to mention the fact that she's smokin' hot. But we've been there before, the two of us, and we know it doesn't work out. And I'm just now beginning to realise that while I do love her… I'm not in love with her. I never have been.

I am, apparently, still in love with my demonic shrew of an ex-wife. The woman who, not content with taking half my life savings in the divorce, also proceeded to take what little dignity and self-respect I had left. For an absolute genius, I am truly the biggest idiot that ever lived. The only small consolation is the fact that she doesn't know. And she can ne-hever find out, either, because the knowledge would be enough to make her laugh so hard she'd split her Botox-ed face in two, before going on to make my life even more of a living hell than it is already. You know.

I don't quite remember how exactly I got here, which is disturbing to say the least, but somehow I find myself standing on the wheelchair ramp. Newbie is sat on the railing, looking all forlorn, and I know he has no idea that I'm standing there because his head is tilted to the side and his eyes have that stupid glazed look they take on whenever he's ensconced in one of his pink frilly daydreams. I suddenly remember that his pager is in the pocket of my lab coat, after I rescued it from that creepy Janitor earlier today. I'm not sure what he was planning to do with it, and I really, re-heally don't want to know. I look at the thing for a second, and then come to a decision, letting out my signature whistle. Danielle starts a little, then jumps down from the railing, looking a touch apprehensive.

I make sure to get all up in his personal space as I start tossing the pager from one hand to the other. I didn't think to plan a rant in advance, so I'm not sure exactly what I'm going to say, but I open my mouth and this is what comes out:

"Do you know how I now that this is yours, Farrah? 'Cause when I paged you earlier, someone found it next to a Fresca and a dog-eared copy of Teen People magazine. Anyway, long story short: the whole incident gave me a bang-up idea; because, you see, I've got tomorrow off. So I'm gonna be on my couch, sipping on some scotch and paging you every twenty seconds. And if you don't answer every damn last one of 'em, I'm gonna shove this thing so far down your throat it's gonna make you take a tinkle every time it goes off. Big fun, right?"

All in all, not a bad effort. Being a bitter, cynical jackass has its perks, and having the ability to ad-lib like that is one 'em. And, sure, it's revenge. But it's also forgiveness. Maybe a little apology, too. I hope I managed to get that across somehow, because right now I'm pretty sure I have a maniacal grin spread across my face as I hold out the pager, only to jerk it back again when he tries to take it. I do this again, and again, because I just can't help myself, before I finally get bored and hurl the damn thing out into the parking lot.

I can't resist laughing a little as Carlotta hurries away to spend the next half hour trying to find it again. God save me, but I missed this. It's only been a few days, and I missed this. It's just too damn fun, tormenting the kid. I get why the Janitor decided to target him, out of all the other terrified-looking interns that came streaming through those doors a year ago. Poor Newbie.

So, I'm still in love with a woman who may in fact be Satan herself. I spend ninety-nine percent of my life working myself to death for a man who cares more about the reputation of his hospital than the wellbeing of his patients and seems determined to crush my will to live. And to top it all off, it looks as though the odds are good for the Red Wings to lose the next season. But somehow, all of that seems just a little bit more bearable than it did five minutes ago.

Damn kid.

A/N: Feedback is always welcome; abuse is not. With that in mind, I would love to hear what you guys thought, and any constructive advice you might have to give.