AN: Hey there, Kats and Kittens! How're things, eh? Lots going on this week. I have an Art test in about half an hour, two more later this week, plus my PPST this Saturday, which I will only have time to study for with a friend Thursday morning at breakfast ... Have I mentioned how much I'm screwing up my college life? I don't think I'll get out of here within the next fifty years... So I'll just get this up and running, yea? Thanks so much for all your reviews! You guys are amazing. :) Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own the television show Scrubs. I do not own the characters of the television show Scrubs. (Just 'cause I think I forgot to put one of these on the last chapter...)
Chapter Two:
JD comes to with a scream on his lips, sitting up in the cold, sterile curtained-off room. His eyes are wide and searching, his chest shuddering with uneven breaths on the brink of causing hyperventilation. Wincing, he looks down, finding a multitude of wires and tubes attached to his body and panicking when he realizes what they're for. He starts by disconnecting the feeding tube, scrunching his nose in disgust as he ties off the long, slender tube that leads into his stomach from his abdomen. Next, he starts on the heart-monitor patches riddling his upper torso. Pulling them off stings a bit, but he does it quick – like a bandaid. And last, the IV line. This one hurts most of all, but he reminds himself to pull the needle out slowly, gently.
When he is finally disconnected from everything, he tries to pull his thoughts together and calmly assess the situation. He recognizes the curtains – Lord knows he's been around them long enough to call them a part of his home – but the surrounding area looks different then he last remembers. It makes sense, however, seeing as the last thing he can recall is blowing up their former base of operations. Of course they would find a new place – several, as a matter of fact. There are simply too many people to keep in one place at one time. Their bases are scattered all over the country. JD has probably spent more time traveling between them and being a national icon then actually helping people.
Perry had tried explaining it to him once: how it was the hope, not the help, that inspired people to hold him in high regard. JD has never quite believed it himself. There are far braver people then he; people who have lost their lives to this pointless war. And what is spoken of them? A few kind words. What is done for them? The shedding of more tears mixed with blood. The mourning for the fallen is becoming so constant that it is hard to tell where the tears for one brave soul end and the others begin. JD does not feel worthy enough of the praise he is given. But he continues on, spreading this so-called hope across what used to be the United States because without it, there is just no use fighting anymore . . .
From the looks of things, he can only guess that he has been absent from the conscious world for several months. This kind of equipment is fairly rare nowadays and only used when a dire situation arises. How bad off had he been? The respirator beside his bed is an indication, but the fact that he had not been attached to it upon waking also suggests that his condition has been improving – as is also evident by the fact that he woke in the first place.
Running a hand through his hair, he gives a frustrated huff, his eyebrows knitting as he pulls back sticky fingers. He brings them to his nose, sniffing and making a face. Hair gel? Who the hell would put hair gel in his hair while he was in a . . . Jenny Denny. He laughs, using his favorite nickname for the youngest Sullivan-Dorian-Cox. Sighing, he returns to the task at hand.
He carefully swings his legs over the bed, feeling sluggish and heavy despite his thinner-than-he-remembers frame. As he slowly slides down onto the cold concrete, a shiver runs up his spine, and he has to hold on to the bed to keep from falling face-down onto the floor. Just as he suspected: his legs are severely lacking in any form of muscle mass. He'll just have to do this the hard way. But first, some actual clothes would be nice. Looking around, he finds a small dresser across the room.
"Of course," he mutters, wincing at the hoarseness of his voice. Closer to the bed sits a wheelchair, no doubt being wasted on the hope that he would awaken soon instead of being used for someone who might actually need it. He frowns at the thought, taking a deep breath before placing all his weight on his legs, crying out when they do not support him and he falls to the hard concrete below.
Glancing towards the curtain, he cannot help but wonder why no one has heard him – and at the same time he cannot help but be extremely grateful. Even as the doctor part of his mind screams at him to call for help, the smaller, more persistent voice in his head tells him that he doesn't even know where he is or who might be beyond the curtain. What if it's the enemy, trying to trick him into believing he is safe with his friends? What if the enemy just so happens to have the same particular brand of ugly hospital curtains? He highly doubts it . . . but refrains from calling out, nonetheless.
With quite a bit of pain – his meds are wearing off rather quickly – he reaches up and grasps the edge of the hospital bed, pulling himself up into a sitting position. With a deep, shuddering breath, he inches his way across the floor towards his goal, his legs at least strong enough to help propel him somewhat. His arms do most of the work, but even they are weak and heavy, and it takes him near five minutes to get to the infernal wheelchair. He glares at it determinedly as he sits up next to it, wondering how in the hell he is going to get into it now that he's exerted himself getting to it.
The voice inside his head encourages him: Come on, Nancy. It's just a chair, not Mount Everest.
A sudden renewal of strength courses through his veins as he recognizes the tone. He even manages a slight smirk as he pulls himself up and into it and breathes a sigh of relief.
"Piece of cake," he croaks, wishing the room had also been equipped with ice chips.
Wheeling himself over to the dresser, he pulls the top drawer open with a grunt, smiling as he finds several pairs of his favorite boxers, neatly folded and stacked in rows. He grabs one of the top pairs and slams the drawer closed, trying the second one. Scrubs tops; these, sadly, in a very limited array of colors. He snatches a blue one along with a long-sleeved black shirt with some sort of band logo on the front. At least he can wear what he wants underneath his professional clothing. The bottom drawer holds scrubs bottoms, and he grabs a pair to match his shirt, piling the clothing in his lap and wheeling himself to the other side of the bed.
With quite a bit of difficulty and a string of curses that even Perry might be proud of, he manages to dress himself, tossing the hospital gown in a nearby corner. Now, to try on his new legs. He figures that attempting to cram weeks worth of physical therapy into mere minutes might be pushing it just a tad far, but he doesn't have time to lie around and do nothing. He has people to help, lives to save ... food to eat. God, is he starving.
With a smile that morphs into a wince, he stands on wobbling legs, grunting as he puts most of his weight onto the bed. Finally up, he carefully begins to shift the weight onto his legs, gaging how much he can stand. He is almost fully standing on both legs when they give out on him, and he quickly grasps onto the bed once again to keep from falling.
I couldn't have been out very long if I can at least stand on them, he thinks to himself, trying again. This time, his knees wobble but his legs stay relatively steady. He grins at his progress. Now, if I can just take a step- He grunts as he falls face-first to the ground.
"Fuck," he whines, rubbing his jaw and raising himself into a sitting position. That's going to bruise. He looks around desperately, his gaze fixing on a cane leaning up against a cart nearby. Again, his brows furrow as he wonders why it isn't being used by someone who needs it, but he shakes his head and reaches for it anyway, grasping it tightly and pulling it towards him.
With a great deal of effort, he is able to pull himself up again using the bed, experimentally leaning onto the cane. When he does not fall, he breathes a sigh of relief, taking a cautious step forward and then another. Several minutes later, he has made his way around the room twice, albeit slowly. He winces and starts for a third lap, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Two more laps later, he calls it quits, stopping by the curtain opening and hesitantly drawing it back to peek outside.
The place is deserted, save for a few tables and cots. His eyebrows raise as he scans the complex. It is considerably larger then the last place he remembers and much cleaner, thank goodness. In the past, they have lost so many people due to infection because of the places they have been forced to practice – hide – in. Hopefully, Perry and the others have been able to find cleaner facilities, such as this one, more often then not.
He is startled as three people, suddenly, appear – two soldiers and a nurse. The soldiers carry three or four cots between the both of them, the nurse gesturing the men to put them aside.
Looks like they're just setting up, JD thinks to himself, watching as they set the cots down against one wall, heading back towards the entrance immediately. That explains why no one's heard me yet.
He vaguely wonders whether he should stay where he is or try to find someone. He doesn't think he can stay in this curtained-off room for much longer. It really is starting to make him nauseous . . . or maybe that's just the meds wearing off. With a deep breath, he hobbles out from behind the curtain, watching as the nurse on the other end of the room starts towards the entrance after the soldiers.
"Excuse me," he calls hoarsely, his voice disgustingly frog-like. The woman jumps slightly and turns, her eyes sweeping over the room before landing on JD's sickly form and widening.
"D-Doctor Dorian?" She squeaks, reminding the young man of Elliot.
"Yea," JD nods carefully, wary of the dizziness still fogging his mind. "Um, could you get someone for me?"
The nurse nods vigorously and raises her hand, palm up. "Just . . . Just stay here. I'll be right back."
"But-" JD has no time to finish as she scurries off. He pouts and mumbles, "I didn't even tell you who I need." A few minutes later, he finds out that telling the nurse wouldn't have been necessary at all. She already knew who exactly to get. Turk, Carla, Dan, and several children all rush in, halting as soon as they catch sight of the man-who-has-risen.
JD swallows hard, wracking his brain for the right words to say. "Um," he tries. "Hi?"
"Dad!" Sam screeches, running forward and trailed by Izzy, Jack, and Jenny. Turk, Carla, and Dan hurry towards him as well but at a slower pace. Turk looks absolutely shell-shocked. Dan's face is lit up by a huge grin. And Carla ... Carla looks worried.
"You guys! No, no, no! Don't-"
JD braces himself, placing most of his weight on the cane in his right hand, but as Sam slams into him, wrapping his arms as tightly as he can around his father's waist, the young doctor's legs give out, and he falls to his knees, ignoring the sharp pain that runs up his thighs and hugging his son to him. He closes his eyes, reveling in the feel of Sam's soft hair against his cheek. How long has it been since he's felt that?
Jack, Jenny, and Izzy tackle the two to the ground, forming a dog-pile on them both. Jenny and Izzy shriek in high-pitched tones, raining kisses on JD's face. Jack pats his shoulders and his arms, grinning Perry's smile at him all the while. The weight of them knocks the air right out of JD's lungs, but he can care less as he smiles right back at them all.
"All right, all right!" Carla's commanding voice echoes in the large expanse as she claps her hands to get their attention. "Everyone off Bambi this instant! Give him some room!" The children are removed one by one by Dan and Turk, and JD is helped to his feet by his older brother and instantly pulled into a hug.
"Hey, little brother," Dan laugh-sobs into his ear. "Good to see you up and around." He pulls away slightly, staring JD firmly in the eyes before kissing his forehead and ruffling his hair. As he pulls his hand back, he makes a face. "Jenny, what did I say about the product? Sparingly, Sweetie. You gotta tone it down a bit."
JD leans down and dramatically whispers so that everyone can hear, "Don't you listen to him, Jenny Denny. I think it's perfect!" Jenny smiles widely, and he chuckles, hanging onto Dan's shoulder for dear life until Turk approaches him, picking him up and bodily swinging him around.
"Vanilla Bear!" He shouts happily. JD has to hold on tightly, bunching the fabric of Turk's jacket to keep from slipping from his grip. When the surgeon sets him back down, his knees buckle slightly, and he nearly falls to the ground again, regretting having left his cane on the ground when the kids attacked him. Turk grabs his middle and hauls him back to his feet, keeping a firm hold on his this time. "Sorry, buddy." He shoots JD an apologetic look, but the young man only laughs and smiles.
"It's okay, C-Bear," he nods, turning as Carla approaches him and giving her a gentle hug. "Hey, Carla."
"Hey, Bambi," the nurse says with a watery smile. "When did you wake up? Are you feeling all right?"
"I'm okay. I only just woke up," JD chuckles, pulling away and placing his hands on her shoulders. "I'm a little thirsty, though. Any water in this joint?"
Carla nods as tears slowly slip down her face, handing the young man off to Dan before running towards another curtained-off part of the complex.
"You sure you're doing all right, Johnny?" The older Dorian asks, worry lacing his tone as he studies the young man carefully.
"Just tired," JD smirks, wrapping an arm around Sam as the boy latches onto him once again. "Hey, Sammy! You been a good boy?"
Sam nods vigorously, staring at his father thoughtfully. "Dad, how come you're tired when you slept for so long?"
"Depends," JD chuckles. "How long was I asleep?"
"Almost three months," Carla replies gently, returning with a glass of water and placing it in his hand. She makes sure he has a firm grip on the cup before letting go, having to catch it as it nearly slips between his fingers.
"Sorry," the young doctor grimaces sheepishly.
"That's all right, Bambi. Take is slow," Carla encourages with one of her comforting smiles, re-placing the glass in JD's hand and helping him guide it to his mouth. He takes a few good-sized gulps before the nurse pulls it away. "Easy, Bambi. It's just water. It's not going out of style or anything."
JD releases a satisfied breath, smiling with relief. "That's much better. Thank you." And then the Carla's earlier statement settles in. "Three months? I've been asleep for three months? How... What..." He glances around fleetingly. "Where's Perry?" The others exchange a wary glance. "Guys-" JD's words are more forceful, the leader that the country has come to know pushing forth and making himself known. "-where's Perry?"
"Last we heard, he was only half a day behind us with the other half of the supplies," Turk explains when neither Carla or Dan say anything.
"Last you heard?" The young doctor repeats, his eyebrows furrowing and his teeth grinding as the arm he has around his brother slides off the man's shoulders. Anger and worry cause a new-found strength to shoot through his legs, and he takes a step towards Turk. "What do you mean? When was the last time you heard from him?"
"JD, these things happen. I mean, he could have gotten delayed. He was with a lot of people. You know how it is, hauling all that stuff from one place to another," the surgeon tries to calm his friend.
"Turk, stop stalling and just answer the damn question!" JD nearly shouts. Jack, Izzy, Sam, and Jenny all gasp at his use of a bad word, but the young man could really care less about morals at the moment. "Where the hell is my husband?"
"It's only been three days since we last saw him, Bambi," Carla says gently, stepping between the two. JD can see that she is trying to hold back her own temper, most likely repressing it more for the children rather than him. "Three days ago, we took some supplies and as many people as we could and headed to the new site. We only just got here. There's no need to worry. He could be here at any moment, for all we know."
JD bites down on his tongue to keep from yelling at the woman, knowing that it can only end badly for him – three month coma or not, she would whip his ass hands-down. Instead, he merely nods, looking back towards Turk. "Sorry," he mumbles. The surgeon nods knowingly and offers a meek smile.
The energy that JD had channeled earlier wears off quickly, and he has to find Dan's shoulder again as his legs weaken and almost give out again.
"I gotcha," Dan says reassuringly, wrapping his arms around the other's waist. "I gotcha, little brother."
"I think you ought to go back to bed, Bambi. You still look terrible," Carla says sympathetically, stroking the side of his pale, sweaty face.
"I whole-heartedly agree," JD nods with an exhausted smile. "I think that and some food would be fantastic."
The nurse smiles warmly. "I'll see what I can find." She starts off again, taking JD's water with her as Dan steers him towards the curtained-off area again. The young doctor wants to groan at the thought of having to hide behind those horrible curtains again but says nothing, thinking it best if they are going to have to keep him on an IV for a while longer. Though the idea of sitting around and watching Gilmore Girls with Turk like the old days is certainly appealing.
"Turk, please tell me you brought-"
"All seven seasons, V-Bear," Turk replies with a satisfied smirk. "Have some faith, playa! I got your back!" And JD knows, without a doubt, that his friend most certainly does. Dan gets the young man situated in bed, the children piling in after him and positioning themselves comfortably around the doctor. By the time Carla arrives with a tray full of applesauce, pudding, and jell-o, JD and the young ones are already asleep.
0 o 0 o 0
Perry treks tiredly through the entrance of the new base, removing his soaked poncho and shaking the water from his hair while giving a rather nasty cough. He's sure he contracted something while being in the clutches of the soldiers he escaped only a few days ago. And with Carla's persistent mothering, he will never be able to ignore it until it goes away. With a sigh, he scans the large expanse. It is definitely more roomy than the last place. They don't have to quash hundreds of people onto cots with barely enough room to walk between them.
He spots Carla heading towards him with a huge smile on her face. "Carla," he nods in greeting. "How's the fort holding?"
"Just fine," she replies, hugging him tightly.
Perry raises his eyebrows in confusion and surprise, returning the gesture. "We got held back a bit by the storm. Damn thing followed us here." The nurse nods as she pulls away, and the doctor looks at her curiously. "Something you want to tell me?"
Before she can respond, Jack, Izzy, Sam, and Jenny bombard him, all speaking at once and tugging on his wet clothing.
"Whoa! Guys, whatever it is, can it wait? I'd really like to change first," Perry pleads.
"Not before a checkup," Carla intervenes, taking the man from the children's insistent hold. Perry groans and rolls his eyes, staring at JD's make-shift hospital room longingly as they pass by it.
"Can't I just-"
"Absolutely not," the nurse says firmly. "You're soaked! And you still have that cough. I want you looked at as soon as possible."
With a huff, he follows her back towards the examining tables, halting when she stops in front of a particular curtain and turns back towards him with a smile. "The doctor will see you now." She gestures with a hand for him to enter.
Perry's eyebrows furrow as he cocks his head at her. "The doc-"
His question is cut off abruptly as he is pushed past the curtain, coming face to face with JD.
AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard for any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?
Hope you liked this one! I didn't get a chance to read through it one last time, so if there are any mistakes, please don't maul me! I'll get back to them, I swears! ... But do review! And tell me how I'm doing so far. The next chapter might not be up until next week (sorry!). I've got sooo many things going on right now, that I have absolutely no time to stop. Seriously. I shouldn't even be writing this. What the heck am I doing? I gotta go! Later, Gators! Catch you on the flip side!