Title: My Performance

Author: The Newest Message (Call me Nessa!)

Rating: M- violence, language, m/m, disturbing psycho, disturbing situations, peril...

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing.

Summary: Elliot gets herself a stalker who promptly finds himself jealous of JD and messes the kid up. Dr. Cox feels guilty and upset and whatnot, and more bad stuff happens that is... really bad. I don't want to tell you it all now! Just read!

Warnings: JDA, DCA (Torture in the somewhat near future). And I love cliffhangers!

Pairings: JD/Cox. And Turla by default.

A/N: I got a pretty good reaction to the first chapter! No Reviewer Reviews this time, though, because I've already replied to all of your reviews. Next time it'll come in the chapter, I think. I love you all for your support!

Wolf Bane 17 is a winner! First review!! Cupcakes for you, my friend! You got the ball rolling for the rest of these reviewers!

And Hazel in Despair is our next winner! Longest and most interesting review! Have a cake! You paid attention to the fic'!

start/

My Performance

Chapter Two (JD)

"What He Didn't Say"

Our hands fly to my chest, trying desperately to fix what's been done. Perry looks serious and somewhat composed, but he's shaking and I can tell he's fit to come apart. His hands are on my chest and he is assessing and understanding the damage.

My hands are on my chest, and I'm confused. And I'm trying so hard to understand what the hell is going on. Still, I can't. My hands pass through the dark blood and I choke again. I'm shaking so hard. What's going on? He shot me! He shot me. Why did he shoot me? What happened?

Panic suddenly and strongly swells in my chest as I gasp and wheeze and choke for air. Panic swells, and so do the three gunshot wounds.

I stare down at them and I feel weightless. I can't see anything but myself and Perry. I can't hear anything but myself and Perry. I can't feel anything. Nothing. Nothing but the burning in my lungs as they shriek and protest for oxygen.

Perry, I'm choking. I'm choking, Perry.

I don't really know what he's saying, but I figure that he's talking to the people that I know have gathered around us.

"Goddamnit, call for help!" He cries, hands running over my bleeding body in indecision. I can see a thousand thoughts passing over his face, but he still can't find anything to do.

He talks to me and removes the flannel shirt he had been wearing as a jacket. "JD, how's your breathing?"

I thought that was a stupid question. I open my mouth to tell him so, but nothing much comes out other than uncomfortable, iron-y warmth. I cringe inwardly because I know it's blood and I know that's bad. Real bad.

It really sort of sucks to be a wounded doctor.

Dr. Cox grimaces and helps me sit up so he can wrap his jacket tightly around my chest. This hurts, and only restricts my breathing further, and my eyes flutter shut and my head falls back. He begins to stand up, and as he does, his two strong arms shoot underneath me and he heaves me up, "Come on, Newbie," he says, without any convincing strength. He takes off as quickly as he can (nothing but a fast, stumbling walk), and I start to get past the numbness and unawareness I had before.

And I realize.

'Fuck.'

This hurts.

I let out a strangled sound of hurt and twist a bit in Perry's arms, desperate to find a position that numbs the pain. Obviously there isn't one, and I grab at my wounds and my eyes squeeze shut. I should be applying pressure and staying still and calm, but it's impossible. I'm tired from the lack of oxygen, and my throat and lungs are burning from the abuse. It feels like I've inhaled several dozens of razors into my lungs, and it hurts so much to breathe. But, still... I need to breathe.

I feel uncomfortable. I'm sticky and hot and cold all at once. I'm not sweating, but my wounds are sending feverish, pulsating waves of heat all through me. The other half of the time I'm frozen like a corpse in Perry's arms as he talks quickly and quietly to me. He's running now, and it's near unbearable and very frustrating. In the back of my mind, I know I urgently need to be relocated. Still, all I wish to do is curl up and stop existing.

It seems like days before we reach Sacred Heart, but I recognize the bright beacon-like sign quickly and some unidentifiable sentiment surges through me before I can do nothing but focus on the wounds again.

Dr. Cox slams into the building, and Kelso is, inexplicably, there. I feel him begin a biting, surly remark, but then he notices that my body, in Perry's arms, is failing. His old, watery blue eyes are wide and he stares after Dr. Cox, who has begun to do that other thing he does.

That other thing he does. You know- bark orders.

Something stabs me, "Dr. Cox-!" I choke, desperate. But I don't know what I want to say. I want this to be gone. I'm sure, despite the insults, the girls' names, the pointed hatred... that he wants this to be gone, too. I can see he's just as distressed as I am.

"Hush, there, Newbie," he growls. His eyes aren't on me- he's searching, frantic, for an available, equipped room.

"Come this way," Turk says then, and I see him dash past us. Dr. Cox follows and his face is grim. I realize about then how fast everything is going. It only took about two minutes to get to the hospital (I'm so lucky it's nearby) and they're both running now. Everything else is just a blur around me. We turn a corner. Almost there.

Suddenly, my back.

And I can't help but to scream.

It's a horrible scream. Any other situation, Perry would use this scream to torture me and my 'femininity' forever. But, this isn't any other situation. Instead of providing him with infinite insult ammunition, my scream startles Dr. Cox. He freezes, and I jostle in his hold. He grips me more tightly in reflex.

Not necessarily because of him, I call out again and kick out oddly. I'm just a bit more awake at this point, though my body is ready to give up on me.

Suddenly, I'm blind.

I'm sweating, now.

"Okay, JD!" Dr. Cox tells me with another, comforting squeeze. But I don't really know what he means. He breaks out into a run after Turk, who had previously frozen to stare. They're running, running now, and I think I hear a small string of other nurses and doctors following, wanting to help. I know everyone else just stares and judges the situation for themselves before resuming idle work. Whatever. This is a hospital- I can't expect them to be too roused by this.

More flames up my spine and I'm choking again. I do seem to need some oxygen. Please.

I finally feel myself start to slip away. Perry's actions had really been the only thing keeping me awake and animate, and now that my spine had apparently and inexplicably shattered, I was wasted. There was no energy in me. None.

"No, no, no, JD. No," Perry says, jostling me again, cruelly, "You can't sleep yet."

And I know that, but I don't care. I know it's dangerous to just doze off, in my condition. But, really, how much longer until I can just get some oxygen? I can't hardly keep my brain functioning, and trying to breath just results in horrible, wracking coughs that slake my throat and chest with renewed, horrid fires and pains.

There is a mild, but present pain in my clavicle and shoulder. I decide to focus on that for a while, and find that my eyesight, previously shot out by pain, is slowly refocusing.

Finally, I find myself on a bed, but the sudden and hasty straightening of my spine sends hurting like no other up my entire length and I choke and bite my lip before loosing another, horrid howl. And this is when it's simply impossible for me to remain even remotely tacit anymore. I can think to do nothing but writhe and howl and sob. At least I know I'm managing to suck in some air, no matter what pain and damage I know it's causing.

Dr. Cox sports a hard grimace, then begins to cut away his jacket and my shirt. He's wiping the blood away from the wounds with his bare hands, and Turk is buzzing around my other side, preparing what he's going to need for my survival. They're talking with each other.

I hear, "Okay, Dr. Cox. We've got it," Turk says it- he's all serious business.

Dr. Cox sniffs, crosses his arms, and stands virulent.

I realize then that a good bit of the surgical team is present with us. Why was everyone here tonight? Wasn't it, like, one in the morning?

I see Dr. Wen, and he's looking at Turk. I notice he's talking, but I'm unable to focus long enough to find out what he's saying. My sight is blacking out- it's spotted. Still, I see Turk's look of horror as Dr. Wen tells him he can't assist in my surgery. And then- Perry's look of purple rage and wild terror as Todd and Turk help him out of the room. He looses an arm free of their hold, and reaches for me. I wish I could smile.

I'm gone under sedatives.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Carla."

"Perry? Is that you?" her voice is groggy. Still, she immediately realizes something in the strained silence. Perry feels her bite her lip, "Is Turk okay?" she asks softly.

"He's sitting right next to me," Perry replies elusively. He's as gruff as usual, but she's too good- she can tell he's overwrought. Carla recognizes so much in that voice.

"Perry?"

"Baby... it's JD," Turk has decided to manage the call now- Perry was needed some time to rub his hands over his face, through his hair.

"I'm coming." She didn't want the details just yet.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Elliot, honey."

"Carla? Is that you? Why're you calling me? It's... three in the morning!"

Carla smiles a bit- it is three, but Elliot sounds so awake anyhow. Carla doesn't want to be the one, "JD needs you at the hospital," she says, quickly finding herself not nearly as expertly vague as Perry.

Elliot chokes on her next breath. She holds it, then released it in a hard gasp, "Okay." It's the tiniest little squeak.

Carla sighs and bites her lip. She gets out of the car.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Elliot arrives just as Dr. Wen presents himself. There is no sign of a clipboard or anything, which has Perry more tense then a wound coil. The blood all over his minty scrubs has Carla queasy, Turk grief-stricken. Elliot stands at the door of the room, too unaware of the situation. Carla leans on the back of the sofa on which Turk and Perry sit together, awkwardly side-by-side.

Dr. Wen wishes he could sit down, too. Three hours in a suspenseful, upbeat surgery has him dead on his feet. Not to mention the stress of it being someone like Dr. Dorian. He wonders if it's okay to realize how much more worried he was during the surgery than he ever was with other patients. He consoled himself, at least, that it was an understandable feeling.

Wen begins big, "He crashed a total of seven times."

Perry's head falls hard into his hands. Carla bites her lip. Turk's eyes shut, his heart stops, and he falls back against the couch. Elliot feels a terrible lump rise in her throat. Her bag falls to the ground, and an assortment of make-ups slide across the linoleum in all directions. It goes ignored, and she suddenly sits where she stands. JD didn't have appendicitis this time.

Wen grimaces inwardly and readies himself for the big explanation. Generally, he doesn't tell the friends and family all too many details, but he knew these four would want to know about every second of the operation. Still, he hoped to leave out the fine details.

"One of the bullets did minimal damage. The other two just about tore him apart," he states. "Bullet number one just passed on through. Enter wound, exit wound. Just missed his lower ribs in the right chest," he clears his throat and wonders why he hadn't brought the charts. They probably thought JD was dead.

Turk had lifted his head, he was staring intensely at Dr. Wen, while Carla thoughtlessly rubbed his shoulder. Tears welled in her big, beautiful, brown eyes, but she bit her lip and fought kept them back. Elliot stared hard at her spilled make-up, some of it opened and leaving interesting shocks of colorful powder across the tile. Her knee was sitting in a particularly bright blue eye shadow, but it was doubtful that she was concerned about her slacks just then.

Dr. Cox hadn't moved. He sat over his knees, fists holding up a heavy head, eyes closed, mouth drawn tight over his clenched teeth. His veins were risen high out of his hands and neck. Portrait of despondency.

"Bullet number two pierced straight into his right lung, which was flooded with fluids We did manage to extract the bullet, but we haven't cleaned his lung up very thoroughly- he crashed before we could try. We got him back quickly enough, but he would crash every few minutes or so after that, and we knew the surgery needed to be wrapped up," Turk had shifted his gaze at this point. Wen could tell the surgeon was imagining what it had to have been like in the room, and he was realizing exactly why he wasn't allowed to assist.

"An emergency rose when we found the third bullet lodged in his lower spinal cord. The shooter must have been in close proximity, for it appears as though the bullet ricocheted off of his right clavicle. From there it damaged his pelvis and rebounded up to rest. He must have moved about a lot to get it lodged in between his discs the way he had," he continued, ready to leave the room. This was a lot more intense than anything he'd ever done before. He knew these people, and he knew Dr. Dorian.

"We extracted the bullet, and decided to drain his lung later- he wasn't anesthetized deeply enough for a longer operation. We're going to have to give him about seven hours before we can work on him again. We'll have to see how he does until then. Still, we can't give him any drugs- it's too dangerous at this point."

Perry stirred. Elliot became attentive. He wasn't dead.

Turk became very restless. He looked as though he just wanted to get up and run, far. Carla kept him anchored. She'd successfully swallowed her tears, and her hands had stopped moving on her husband's shoulders.

Elliot spoke. It was raspy and strained, "How did this happen?"

Dr. Cox made no move to reply, but Carla and Turk were both staring at him in anticipation to let Elliot know that he was involved some how. She could see a rather beautiful bruise blooming under his right eye. The easiest idea was that they were mugged, but it seemed to be a bit more than that.

Everyone found themselves a bit surprised to find Dr. Cox speaking, now. His eyes had opened, but he had not scooted a centimeter, "So he's going to wake up."

Dr. Wen nodded, "Soon."

Perry looked up at him, "Did you call the cops?"

Wen didn't really know the correct answer, "We did. They should be coming in to get a statement from yourself and I," he quickly saw that he had chosen the wrong answer. Dr. Cox got to his feet. He was definitely not pleased.

Dr. Wen nearly felt threatened as he stalked over, but he tore right past him. They all knew where he was going.

Dr. Wen sighed and took his space on the sofa, and Turk made no move to follow JD's mentor. Elliot, however, stumbled to her feet and hurriedly staggered after the man. Carla would have stopped her, but she wasn't trusting her voice. She rubbed Turk's back instead, wondering, too, what could have happened.

Turk mumbled, "Will he be okay, Dr. Wen?"

Dr. Wen didn't bother replying.

He was too busy staring at his shaking hands.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I don't know how I let this happen," Dr. Cox informed the comatose man.

After a stray thought, he added, "I wish I could blame this on you."

His heart wasn't really in it.

He stared at the kid, wanting so badly to hear a ridiculous, offended reply. None came, and Cox sighed and found his head, again, resting on his hands, "You're a disaster," he mutters, words full of horrible emotion.

He barely hears the door swing open.

He glares at the newcomer, needing very much to let them know that they're unwanted. But its Elliot, and his glares never seem to work on her anymore. All he could ever do to get her to scram now was insult her, but he knew he wouldn't be able to right then. Even if it was all he really wanted to do.

Besides tell JD to 'shut the hell up'. He really wanted to do that.

Then Dr. Cox has a different idea. He turns to the blonde woman, "Please, Elliot, just give me a little while," and he did mean it, but he was sure they both knew he hated requesting for what he needed in such a sincere way.

She sucks in her lower lip, trying hard not to get angry with him. Finally, she nods and exits the room sulkily. She meets Turk and Carla, who had begun to make their own way to the room. They glance his way, Turk expressionless, Carla full of concern and grief. Out of instinct, Perry looks to his Newbie, needing that face to finish the regular. His eyes would tell him that everything would be fine, and he cared about him. That's always what happened when Perry felt this bad.

But Newbie's eyes were closed. He wasn't even smiling.

For the first time in so long, Perry's big, strong heartbeat faltered.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I wake up to various throbbings, as I knew I would.

My spine harshly reminds me that it exists, and, straight away, I worry about my legs. They're numb, as if they've been deprived of circulation for countless hours, but they work. Still, as I shift under the- seemingly eight-ton- blanket, an odd, prickling sensation spikes up my spinal cord. Crippling pain flares up in my lower back.

My right hip is sore and immoveable, and my right shoulder sports pain worse than that of my spine and hip united. My right side has a very sharp ,continuous throbbing. It's pretty distracting.

But the thing bothering me the most is the wounded lung. It's more than uncomfortable, and I realize quickly that any breath just a millisecond too long or too deep will send me into a fit of dangerous, wracking coughs. It feels roughly as though have the worst side-stitch in the history of the planet, but it's up in my right chest. Which is just great, because I do have a gnarly side-stitch actually in my right-side. My whole right side is just the disaster district.

I sense someone in the room, and I know they're aware that I'm awake. They don't say anything, though, so it must be Carla- she's probably the only one who would think to just let me rest.

I don't feel as though sleep is looming anywhere near. I might as well spend some energy and knock myself out. I know how little I have- it shouldn't take too long.

I allow my eyes to flutter open, and a horrible, skull-cracking headache rips through me. I wonder, just briefly, if someone has taken a paddle to the back of my head. Bom, bom, bom, bom, bom, bom, bom, BOM...

I look over at Perry (I think he saw the surprise on my face, and I think he loved it), who just sat and stared intensely at me. He knew not to say anything. I smile, because I'm actually a bit touched to find him to be the one there for me when I wake up. I wonder how long it's been.

I see my smile land an impact on him, and I'm beaming inside. At least I know now that he's not going to be an emotionless drunk for the time that I need for him to be here, to help me through this. Though I don't know yet what it is I need to be helped through. I don't believe he does either. He's here anyway.

I'm dumb, and so I go to sigh with satisfaction. The deep breath I take stabs my lung fiercely and I seize up and catch my breath. My and actually flies to my chest and my eyes flicker closed. I can't even imagine how horrible it would be to start coughing. As slowly as I possibly can, I gently let the air go. I look at Perry.

He's suspended, half on his feet. I wave him off.

Randomly, I wish to bash in the EKG, because I'm sick of its stupid beeps slamming into my cranium each ever-loving second. The sound should be comforting- my heart is beating. Still, I have nothing but glares and contempt for it. Dr. Cox talks to me.

"You crashed seven times," he tells me. His voice scares me.

I look at him, and something sparks in his own eyes as they meet mine.

Another thought floats through my head- what do I look like right now?

"You had a bullet stuck in your spine. You moved too much when I was bringing you here," but he doesn't hold anything against me for it, which is weird. He leans back and searches the room to find something to hold his attention. He's got a crazy, amused smile going. I'll bet he feels uncomfortable. Despite the burning, flaming, ripping, cutting, numbing pain, I myself feel very contented.

"And the-hen, Newbie, a bullet got stuck in your lung!" Suddenly he's quite animated. He's out of his chair so fast that it startles me and I jostle in the bed. He ignores me as I wince and he's pacing, throwing his arms out, glancing at me every once in a while to make sure I'm there, awake, listening.

"You're lucky your legs even work at this point, and that you even have a chance to walk- though it's slim," he spits. I realize about then that he isn't even talking to me. He just wants to get this out. He's venting stress, and I let him, just for a moment longer.

"Dr. Cox," I tell him, and my voice is thin, a bit high. I feel like I'm suffocating, little by little. The air itself is just plain cloying to me. I wonder why I don't have any respirators or any other aide. There isn't even an IV. Just the EKG, because I am apparently so prone to crashing.

As he hears my voice, Perry simultaneously halts his therapeutic tangent and whirls around. He ambles swiftly up to my bed, "I don't think you should be talking, Newbie," he eyes me uneasily.

I smile, just a bit, "I'm fine," I meant to exclaim it. I meant for it to be as amicable as usual. I meant for it to be reassuring. Instead, my breath hitches in the middle of the two-word statement and I have to pause to swallow and ease my already overwrought lung wound.

After a moment of my regulating my breathing and him patiently waiting and keeping an eye on my condition, just in case, I look up. I can't be awake anymore. I tried. This is too much.

I whisper, "Morphine?"

Dr. Cox grimaces, then shakes his head.

What?

He sits down and leans in towards me, "No, Newbie. You're not nearly as stable as you think you are- morphine would kill you."

I flip out, then. I want to scream about how the pain is killing me, but the best protest I can come up with is a piteous struggle in my bed. I throw my numb, tingling legs around a bit and I reach forward, trying to sit myself up. I end up calling out sharply and falling back on the bed. I want to curl up in response to the pain flaring up my spine, but I know that even trying would just hurt so much worse.

Dr. Cox frowns at me, "I'm sorry. Look, JD, just go to sleep for now."

He stands up to leave and give me rest. I stop him with another panicked flail.

He turns and crosses his arms. His look reminds me that I can't really talk.

I do anyway. This had been something I was planning to ask about before I got shot. Back when I was defending myself, I wondered, "What. Did. You. ...Mean."

He raises an eyebrow.

I swallow and push my head back into the pillow. I don't want to elaborate- it takes too much out of me. My arms are strong enough that I can shove my nails into the fleshy palms of my hands.

I look to Dr. Cox again, "When. You. Said."

Rest. Then, "'You... didn't. Say. Anything about... this.'"

And I know he knows exactly what I'm talking about. He goes white, and his arms fall to his sides. He glances out of the room and comes over to the bed again.

I hadn't really had time to think about it. But... there wasn't much to think about- there wasn't much that it could mean. It hinted at something, though.

It hinted that Dr. Cox set me up.

He knows I see that. He sits down again and looks deep into my eyes, which I really don't find myself able to handle right now. I can't focus on his eyes at first, for there is much too much going on with my body, and he is much too intimidating. He waits patiently for me as I struggle with the pain and the breathing. Maybe three minutes later, I look to him.

"I want you to forget about that right now."

Instantly, I open my mouth to protest, because I haven't yet caught on how dumb of an idea protesting is.

For the barest second, Perry's fingers press my lips. His eyebrows are raised ('really?', they ask) and he waits again for me to calm down.

"I promise I'll talk to you about that another time. When you're doing better." He waits before raising his eyebrows yet again, hinting that he expects some form of reply.

I'm not looking at him now, but I nod. The fact that he won't tell me now is very unnerving.

Apparently my only motivation to fight unconsciousness was Perry. As soon as the door closes behind him, I'm out. Thank God.

/end

A/N: I feel like being a jerk and not researching medical stuff. I'm going to make all that stuff up, for the benefit of the story and my laziness.

And, uhh... hey, guys? I'm just wondering... do you like stories when they're in different character's points of view, or if they're just in third person? I really want to know! Please, please review and give me your personal preference! I like writing in both, and I'm not sure what to do!

REVIEW, MONKEYS.

-PEACE OUT

NESSA