Author's Note: This was inspired by one of the latest episodes of Scrubs. No real spoilers, just something that got me thinking, and fantasizing myself. I own nothing, it all belongs to the delightfully twisted Bill Lawerence, ABC, and John McGinley for delivering that line soooo perfectly.

He thinks about it late late hours of the night, when sleep doesn't come and his brain is buzzing with too many thoughts and annoyances that the booze can't seem to mute. His shrink thought that if he focused on 'clearing his mind' at the end of the day he'd probably sleep better, which was easy for him to say, considering he had so very few thoughts running around that oversized skull in the first place.

So he took out a page from his least favorite intern/resident/attending's notebook. Not that he'd ever-eh-heh-heh-heh-HEVER tell Lucy so, because he absolutely would not hear the end of it, and god knows she wouldn't be satisfied with a measly five cents, oh no, it'd be drinks at the bar and calling her by her real name and NO NonononononononNONONO! It was simple: think of the weirdest thing, and let your mind wander, following the logic wherever it went until his brain cells suffered asphyxiation by stupid.

It started as just another one of those dreams… undoubtedly influenced by Patty and the girls watching that pregnant "man" on Oprah in the lounge that afternoon. It's stupid, because "he" may want to be called a man, but "he" was still physically female, so not that big of a shock that he/she could get pregnant. The things people would do or say for a buck.

But what if male pregnancy were real? He spends a few nights in contemplation of the biology of making that possible, without cheating and cramming a uterus and vagina in the works. There are two very good reasons for that: A) there's not enough room in a male's pelvis to accommodate the birth of a child aaaaaaaaaannnnddd the big important B) He likes his cock and balls right where they are, they've had a lot of good and occasionally traumatizing times together, especially when Jordan was younger and a whole lot freakier--- and he's not going to jeopardize their well being.

It felt like cheating to just use a caesarean section to get the fetus out… so the question becomes where to place the equivalent of the male vagina, or "mangina" as he had taken to calling it, that isn't through the pelvis. The problem frustrates him for weeks, but he can't leave it alone. It's was as bad as being unable to sleep because of all the stress --- perhaps more so because it was so stupid…

Then, one evening as he watches Jenny bob around in her bouncy chair he has an epiphany --- Kangaroos. Kangaroos carry their young in a pouch, which they eventually jump out of… not that a human fetus was going to do that, but the idea worked…

Then there was the trial of figuring out how to impregnate a male with a gestational pouch, because fucking a bellybutton just didn't sound or probably look all that sexy, not to mention it was pretty awkward. It could go one of two ways: the penis could draw the impregnated egg from the uterus, through the vas deferens and into the pouch to gestate, much like seahorses; or perhaps a shunt connecting the "muterus" need to work on that one still… to the rectum, opened by hormonal shifts in the testes as they switched from creating sperm to eggs.

That problem solved, he thinks he can probably get on to some other fantasy --- until his hand slides down his stomach and he wonders what it would feel like to carry a child within him; to hold another life within him, to feel it grow and kick, a heartbeat beneath his own.

He's never told anyone, but he seriously considered becoming an OB-GYN, during his internship. It was fascinating, and exciting specialty, not to mention you saw a lot of women everyday… until Dr. Benson pulled him aside and quietly informed him that a man of his build would probably not be his, or any woman's first pick for a gynecologist. A guy who looked like a hockey player between your legs giving you a pap smear or delivering your baby did not exactly inspire comfort. Not mention his bedside manner was more --- confrontational than most expectant mothers preferred.

It was probably a good thing in the end. Internal medicine was much more challenging and interesting than gynecology, and lord knows he'd get sick of looking labias and vaginas all day, and that'd be a shame.

Still, it would have been --- amazing to be a part of bringing a new life into this dump. Sure, he'd contributed to the creation of his two children, but that was just because he happened to be at the right place at the right time --- it could have been any guy that happened to be humping up on Jordan.

There was just something --- special about being pregnant. He'd seen it work its magic on Jordan twice now --- sure she used it as a license to be even more demanding than she usually was, but there was something much more peaceful --- happier --- about her to her too, and Jorderoo wasn't someone who he'd consider a 'born mother' either---

"You'd hate the stretch marks, and being fat for a whole year," Jordan grumbles beside him, tiny fist smacking him in the side.

"What are you blathering about," He rolls on his side to face her, eyebrow raised in skepticism, because she doesn't know what he's thinking. She can't know, because otherwise she would never have let him hear the end of it.

"You're doing that thing where you stroke your stomach and you're thinking about being pregnant --- and you'd cry like a baby after the first Braxton-Hicks contraction."

"I don't know wher-er-ere you'd get a kah-ray-zee---"

"Perry, you do realize that you talk in your sleep, don't you? Now, what are you going to buy me to keep my mouth shut?"