Fandom: Scrubs
Fic: My General
Characters: John Dorian and Perry Cox. Not slash.
Rating: G
Description: "What can you do with a general when he stops being a general?" Fluffy futurefic with songfic elements. One-shot drabble.
Warnings: None to speak of, though you may not see the point of it if you haven't watched White Christmas with Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye.
Disclaimer: I do not own Scrubs. I just loves it. No profit, just writing practice.
My General
His voice. It was his voice that made me stop before walking in. I felt the emotion of it hit me sudden and hard, quick and severe as a heart attack. I'd never heard him sing before, not like this.
But he was sitting in the doctor's lounge, and he didn't think anyone could hear him. I was the only one in the twenty years I'd known him who'd ever been able to sneak up on the man, because I was the only one who knew exactly how far back to stand so that the hair on the back of his neck didn't prickle and he thought he was alone. I'd only been visiting Sacred Heart in the first place because... well, Perry was nearing sixty-five. The board knew it, and he was about to be shunted off to an early retirement.
Jack was laying down on the sofa while they waited for Jordan and Jennifer to arrive so they could all go out to dinner. The teen's long blonde hair was tucked into a neat ponytail at the nape of his neck, fingers curled lightly around a smartphone that kept him in constant contact with his latest girlfriend. Perry was singing softly to himself while the kid napped. It was a song I recognized instantly as being from "White Christmas," a favorite Christmas movie for the Dorian-Turk family (Elliot and Carla had agreed that we'd basically merged into one unit a long time ago) because it was Christmas-ey without being too cliched.
"What can you do with a general, when he stops being a general? Oh, what can you do with a general who retires?"
He sounded like Bing Crosby himself, a mellow tone in his voice that never came up when he spoke, when he ranted or yelled or even when he joked. He crooned like a songbird, and my heart went up into my throat. Because with all this rough edges, his thick skin and flinty gaze, he still had the capacity for this much beauty.
"Who's got a job for a general, when he stops being a general? They all get a job but a general, no one hires."
I'd known all along that he was, in some way, perfect. Damaged, sure, but perfect. And now he was proving me right without even knowing it. Proving that he was capable of melancholy sadness without a trace of anger, for once.
I turned around and left as silently as I'd come. Left and sought out my wife, our eleven-year-old girl, our own tween-aged son. I left and tucked that image, and the feeling that went with it, deep into my heart. And I knew that, if Perry needed somewhere to be after he retired, I'd be right there for him. And who knows? Maybe he knew it too. After all, I'd still follow the old man wherever he wants to go.
Because I love him, I love him, especially when he keeps me on the ball.
And I'll tell the kiddies I answered duty's call with the grandest son of a soldier of them all.