AN: Hi again! Sorry it's been so long since I've updated. Real life has been keeping me occupied. Hope this chapter is worth the wait! :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Still. Except for that box of Little Debbies on the fridge. Nope, my roommate claims they're her's. Dang it!

He enters the room slowly, hesitant to break the aura of stillness pervading the room. By force of habit he reaches for the chart hanging at the end of the bed and flicks through its contents, trained eyes cutting through all the extra notes to read the essentials. No change in vital signs.

Sighing, he drops the chart back in its holder and begins to fiddle with the various monitors filling the room, keeping his mind focused on anything other than the pale, still figure lying in the bed. Finally though, he's run out of things to meddle with, and his attention settles on the comatose occupant of the room.

"Damn it, JD," he mutters under his breath. There is no response, not that he really expected one. Odd how he once dreaded seeing the kid's mouth open, cringed as his ears were assaulted by some annoying and irritating question. Now he would give anything to hear JD's grating, girly voice again.

Suddenly he flied into a rage, powerful legs lashing out at the hard plastic chair by the bed, knocking it into the wall. Fingers curled into fists propel into the wall, seemingly of their own volition. But the outburst is over as quickly as it had precipitated, and his arms drop back to his sides, shoulders slumping. He rights the upturned chair, then drops into it, his 47 years weigh more heavily on him than ever before.

"You have to pull through, JD," he whispers softly, unaware of the sympathetic brown eyes watching him through the window. "I don't know what I'd do if you don't."