Title: His Mistake
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: Character Death
A/N: Written for impromptu50. I've got big plans for this story line and the one to follow it. I'm looking at this story to have around four chapters, and then there will be a series following it around ten chapters in length. Granted, of course, if y'all want me to.
Summary: JD and Janitor have always been enemies. What happens when Janitor takes it too far?
JD sat on the bench in the locker room with his book bag open between his knees. He stared into the open locker. His eyes had a glazed sheen to them. He hadn't moved in the past five minutes.
Janitor watched JD with a smirk. He had a sudden thought of Jurassic Park. He wondered if gel-head thought a janitor's vision was based on movement. Janitor considered the idea. It may have merit. People often complained of messes and stains he never saw. Stains tend to sit very still.
He couldn't tell from JD's posture if the young doctor was happy, sad, or daydreaming. But Janitor knew what could. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a nickel. The nickel test was a tried and true indicator of a person's emotions. If the victim reached for the nickel quickly, he was happy. If his movements were slow, he was sad. If he didn't move at all, then he was off in la-la-idiot-boy land.
Janitor took a steadying breath and lined up his shot. This would be a tricky one - he would have to get it over the locker door, far enough that it didn't land in the book bag, but not so far that it went rolling away into the darkness beneath the lockers. He intended to take it back as soon as the test was done.
He threw the nickel. It arced through the air and landed beside JD's bag with a satisfactory ding. JD's eyes immediately snapped downwards at the sound.
Janitor grinned. Happy. He could fix that easy enough.
JD voiced a soft note of eager surprise as he knelt down to pick up the shiny coin. Janitor made his move. With two large steps, he marched into the locker room and stood behind the open door. JD was down on the floor below him, picking up the nickel. A sharp psst! brought his attention to the man above him.
Janitor smiled down at the young doctor. "Look with your eyes," he said, and with one swift kick, he knocked the locker door into JD's face. The boy let out a sharp yelp, before falling back, arms sprawled out at odd angles. Janitor bent down and plucked the nickel from JD's lax grip. "Take with your hands," he finished.
Whistling a tune, Janitor put the nickel back in his pocket where it belonged.
Dr. Cox stepped into the locker room, shrugging off his stained lab coat. Mr. Kemp had had the brilliant idea to vomit onto Dr. Cox's chest during his physical. Needless to say, the event had set the tone for the rest of his day.
What he discovered sprawled out on the locker room floor didn't make him feel any better.
Dr. Cox cringed at the still form of JD lying before him. He had done so well to avoid the boy all day. It was looking like it might be a new record. But now here he was, lying in wait. Literally. Dr. Cox yanked open his locker door and pulled out a fresh coat. "Whatever you're planning, save it," he mumbled to the young doctor. "I am really not in the mood . . ." He stared at the stained coat for a moment, before tossing it unceremoniously into the locker. He'd worry about washing it later.
He glanced over the door, a little disconcerted at the kid's silence. JD lay still, his eyes closed. Dr. Cox kicked JD's shoe. "Hey, Melinda," he stated. Nothing. He let out a shrill whistle and clapped his hands together. "Rise and shine, sleeping beauty." JD laid still.
He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the boy. JD's nose was turned at an odd angle. A thin trail of dried blood ran down his cheek and disappeared into his hair. His lips were pale, tinged with blue.
Dr. Cox beat his locker door out of the way and knelt down next to the prone figure. "JD?" he called, reaching a hand out to grasp his chin. Soft skin gave easily underneath his fingers. The head rotated loosely, offering no resistance. Dr. Cox's fingers skirted down to JD's exposed neck, feeling for a pulse.
Nothing.
"Shit," he murmured. Turning, he bellowed out into the hall, "Help! Doctor needs help in here!" Turning back to JD, he tilted his chin up and leaned down to begin CPR.
Janitor leaned heavily on his mop, watching people rush past him. He was curious to know what was happening, but he didn't feel like moving. It had been a trying day. He decided on a compromise.
Standing straight, he let the handle of his mop drop into the path of a young intern. The boy tripped spectacularly and fell to the floor. Doing well to hide his grin, Janitor leaned down and offered the boy a hand. "Gotta watch yourself there," he said. "Mops can be pretty unpredictable."
"Thanks," the boy said gratefully, accepting the hand up.
"What's all the rush?" Janitor asked casually.
The intern stared down the hall. "It's Dr. Dorian. He's hurt." He looked uncomfortable, like he was divulging secret information to one not worthy of hearing it.
Janitor frowned. His mother had always told him he was the worthiest of the worthy. How dare this intern contradict his mother? "Isn't he always? I've had to clean up after his spills more times than . . . well, regular spills."
The intern fidgeted a little. "I think this is serious," he said. Janitor felt his smirk slip. Nodding to the boy, he let the intern go.
Now he faced a real quandary. Idiot doctor may be hurt - seriously - and this was something he very much wanted to see. However, it would still require movement, and as far as he knew he wasn't getting paid by the step.
Shrugging, he picked up the mop and followed the intern.
Dr. Cox leaned away from the gurney, breathing hard. He stared down at the lifeless form stretched out before him. Doctors and nurses milled around, watching. Useless bodies, all of them. Pulling his pager from his waistband, he checked the clock. "Time of death: 11.45 am." A soft murmur arose from the room's occupants. Dr. Cox raised his eyes to scan the crowd.
What happened? came a soft whisper, bouncing wildly off the silent walls. Answers followed, rumors chasing speculations. I heard he slipped and fell - banged his head on the locker - always a clumsy boy - just a matter of time until something like this happened - drowned in his own blood . . .
He had been alive just yesterday. Talking, laughing, unforgivably annoying, living . . . breathing. Those bright blue eyes staring at him. Soft mouth smiling shyly. He felt his throat constrict painfully.
Dr. Cox gripped the pager tight. Whirling around, he threw it into the room, screaming his rage as the plastic box shattered against the wall. The older doctors edged their way out of the room. Those too young to know danger when they saw it were gently shooed away by the nurses.
An intern made the mistake of trying to cover the body with a white cloth. Dr. Cox pounced on the boy, tossing him aside with a growl. Shaking a finger in the kid's face (and amazed at himself that it wasn't a fist), he stated, "Don't. Touch. Him." His voice was shaking. The young man nodded and fled.
Turning back to the body, he stared down at it. The sheet lay crooked over the body. Dr. Cox grimaced as he reached down to pull it straight. Fingers brushed limp hair away from a cold forehead. His chest felt tight. He wondered for a moment if he was having a heart attack.
A soft, warm voice sang out beside him. "Breath, Perry . . ."
He tried and met with limited success. His mouth was clamped tightly shut. Dr. Cox feared the sounds that might come out if he dared open it. A small hand patted soothing circles on his shoulder. Her soft sniffle echoed in the empty room.
Dr. Cox reached up to take Carla's hand and squeezed it tight. He stared down at JD. The corners of his lifeless mouth were turned up in a faux grin. Dr. Cox shook his head. "Stupid kid . . ."
The mean doctor and the small, saucy nurse lady were standing in the hall. Janitor slowed his steps as a pair of men wheeled a gurney out of a room, a black bag lying atop the white sheets. He moved aside to give the two men room to perform their grim task.
The front flap was left open. Janitor caught sight of dark hair and pale skin as the gurney squeaked by. He smirked. "Already played that card, my friend," he shouted after the men. "I know your tricks!"
"He's dead, you idiot," came a voice behind him. Janitor turned to see the tall doctor glaring at him.
"Dead?" Janitor echoed.
"Yeah," quipped Dr. Cox, his voice strained. "Didn't the body bag clue you in to that minute detail?"
Janitor swallowed thickly. His foot suddenly throbbed from where he'd kicked against the locker door. He glanced over his shoulder at the retreating gurney. The two men were stopped at the elevator. A sudden thought - a plea almost - popped into his head. I didn't mean to. It ran through his mind, pounding a steady tempo into his brain, over and over and over again, blocking out all other sights and sounds, tunneling his vision to that bag, the body inside it, the gurney being rolled into the elevator, being taken down into the basement, being cut up by a disgruntled man with a sucker stick dangling from his mouth -
"What?"
Janitor turned to look down at Dr. Cox. The mean doctor was staring up at him with those crazy eyes, wide and confused. "What did you say?"
Janitor thought. "I didn't mean to . . . say anything. I didn't mean to say anything." He nodded and forced a smile.
Dr. Cox's eyes narrowed. Janitor could almost feel him thinking, processing, putting ideas together to form theories. He doesn't know. He can't know.
Nodding to the man, Janitor clenched his mop tight in his hands and turned to leave. An iron grip clamped down on his elbow, pulling him back.
"You always hated him," Dr. Cox hissed, eyes accusing.
Janitor looked from the hand on his arm to the doctor's pale face. "So did you."
Pulling free from the suddenly loose grip, Janitor whistled a tune and walked down the hall.
A/N2: Feedback is appreciated!