AN: Well...It's been a while. All right, it's been more than a while. I apologize profusely and all that, and there's really no excuse for the procrastination except that I've been looking for a job. A better job, I should say. One that will pay my student loans when the time comes. So, enjoy this chapter, peeps. I promise to try and update as soon as possible this time. Enjoy!
Chapter Five:
February 27th 2016
John studies the man towering over him. He doesn't seem like much—just a man in his mid-fifties with short, peppered hair, a permanent frown marring a leather-skinned face, and a gut on the verge of popping the button on his uniform—but the young man is fully aware how much power this man holds over a good portion of the country.
If possible, the man's frown deepens, and he narrows his eyes at JD. "What is this?" he demands, snapping an accusatory gaze on the group of young people. JD chances a look behind him and finds that his captors are, in fact, children, the oldest looking closer to thirteen.
The teen gives JD a wary look. "It's John Dorian, Sir," he says, though the confidence in his voice has waned.
The general makes an incredulous sound in the back of his throat. "You must be joking!" he huffs. "This is not John Dorian!"
The teen's mouth opens and closes several times before he speaks again. "But, Sir, we found him near the bunker, where you said your soldiers spotted activity."
Giving JD another scrutinizing look, the general barks, "What's your name, boy?"
JD would have frowned at the use of the word boy, but there are other pressing matters, such as remembering the alias Perry taught him. "Jimmy Miller, Sir," he says as timidly as he can muster, which isn't far off from the tone he would have used anyway. "I-I'm a veterinarian."
"He's lying," the teen says, eyes wide as he shakes his head. "Sir, he's—"
"Check his pockets," the general demands gruffly.
The teen complies quickly, his fingers shaking and fumbling in the young man's pockets. JD grits his teeth and silently thanks whatever god might be listening that he hadn't worn John's signature scrubs (he'd chosen jeans for the cool morning) and that Turk and Dan didn't allow him to carry a gun yet. It would have looked suspicious if a supposed veterinarian was walking around in hospital-issue scrubs with a P-90.
The teen finds JD's—formly John's—fake identification and flips it open desperately. Paling, he says, "No! No, this isn't right! I know he's—"
The general snatches the wallet from the teen's hands, looking over the contents with a scowl. "You didn't check him before you brought him here?" he growls angrily, throwing the wallet to the ground.
The teen backs away, holding his hands up. "It's gotta be a fake. I'm telling you—"
Back-handing him across the face, the military man shouts, "I've heard enough from you!" The teen falls to the floor, clutching his throbbing cheek as the general turns sharply and presses a button on his desk. Immediately, several soldiers enter the room, looming over the children intimidatingly.
"Take them away," the general orders, sweeping a hand over the group, "and make sure they know what we do to traitors in this country."
The children begin to cry, clinging to one another and staring with horrified eyes at the stoic soldiers.
"Wait, you can't do that!" JD shouts suddenly. "They're just kids!"
A boot is put to his back, and he's shoved forward onto the floor, pressed into the grungy, dust-laced concrete.
"And this one, Sir?" a soldier asks above him.
The general contemplates the man on his floor before saying, "Take him with you. Put him and any of the survivors in the camp with the rest of them."
JD is hauled to his feet and shoved behind the group of sobbing children and an angry teen, wondering if the nightmares about what's going to happen next will last his whole life.
0 o 0 o 0
The teen's name is Russel. JD learns this between hiccups and sobs when he is locked up with the children and the teen is taken for "questioning."
One-by-one, the children are taken: Marie, age six, who likes to read and misses her puppy that she had to leave behind when her family fled their home; Andrew, age nine, who wishes he had a few choice chemicals from his parents' lab—he could blow right through that door no problem, you know?; Jared and Jake, age seven, the twins who bicker and fight while tears are in their eyes and their arms are wrapped around one another; Tina, age seven-and-a-half, who wants to be a writer like her mother was and wishes she could live through all of this so that she might tell their story; Sarah, age eleven, who wonders if Russel's all right because she has plans for them, damn it—they're going to get married when she's 18 and have four children and live happily-ever-after in Italy, where the war just isn't—and she prays that Russel is okay because if he's not . . . if he's not . . . ; and, finally, Christopher, age four, who had no mommy or daddy even before the war and who lived with his granny until one day he was hungry and she wouldn't get up from the couch no matter how much he cried and how much he shook her.
And when they are all gone, JD lets himself cry—the only one to mourn the deaths of eight children who died because of John Michael Dorian.
0 o 0 o 0
February 27th 2009
John wakes with a start, stifling a scream at the back of his throat.
"Johnny?" Dan asks from beside him. The car is stopped. John fumbles with the seatbelt until his not-brother finally steps in and clicks the release button. John flails desperately to get the thing off of him. It might seem comical, except for the fact that the young man is hyperventilating and on the verge of tears.
"Johnny, calm down," Dan says quietly. He's startled when John whips around on him, wet eyes wide and dangerous, teeth clenched and bared.
"Don't call me that," he seethes, taking in a long, wheezing breath. "Don't fucking call me that!"
The passenger side door opens abruptly, and John is pulled from the car by the collar of his shirt.
"Hey!" Doctor Cox yells into his face as he slams him against the back door. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
John continues to wheeze, his throat closing slowly around an angry retort. Raising his arms, he clutches tightly to the other man's shirt.
Doctor Cox looks concerned. "Kid?"
It's not exactly the endearment that he wants, but it will do. John tugs the man forward with the strength he has left, meeting him half way and locking their lips. From inside the car, John hears Turk make his dramatic gasping noise while Dan simply says, "Whoa."
Doctor Cox doesn't struggle—not at first because he is too surprised to react, and not when the kiss lasts longer than he expects it to because it seems to be calming the other man down . . . and because it feels strangely nice. Just as he is considering responding to the kiss, John pulls back, his eyes glassy and his breathing, thankfully, even.
"Better?" the Irishman asks a little breathlessly, watching as a goofy smirk appears on the younger man's face.
"Not bad," John says quietly.
Doctor Cox frowns. "You okay?"
John's fingers carefully uncurl from the man's shirt, and he closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the car. "Fine," he states simply. "Where are we?"
The older man frowns deeper at the brush-off but answers the question. "San Francisco. We're outside that kid's house."
John's eyes fly open, and he breaks away from the Irishman's hold. "This one?" he points, already starting toward the front steps.
"Hey, hold on a second!" Doctor Cox demands, grabbing hold of the younger man's arm. John twists in his hold until the older doctor's arm is twisted behind his back. Growling from behind the man's shoulder, John says, "Don't touch me."
Doctor Cox's response is a huff and an agitated, "So, you can kiss me, but I can't touch you?" to which John replies, "Yes," and release him.
"Are you sure you really want to do this?" the older man asks, following the other up the steps. "What if the kid isn't sick?"
John knocks frantically on the door. "He is."
0 o 0 o 0
"He isn't," Doctor Frank Scott of San Francisco Medical insists, holding the results out to the young couple standing in front of him. Mrs. Hollock reaches a tentative hand to take it, but John snatches the folder before she even grazes it with her fingers.
"I told you," he says, waving the file around exaggeratedly, "these tests are inconclusive. You don't have the right equipment here." He whirls around on Doctor Cox and gives him an imploring look. "We have to take him to Sacred Heart."
"Our machines work just fine, Doctor Dorian," Scott says somewhat indignantly, turning back to Mrs. Hollock. "We ran every test possible multiple times. Your son is fine."
John steps between the woman and Scott, his back blocking the doctor from her sight. "Carol," he says carefully, making sure to look her directly in the eye—a tactic he has found to be quite useful as the leader of a rebel faction, "listen to me. Jeremy needs medical attention. He is very, very sick, and he's going to make a lot of other people sick." John stops and swallows, taking a deep shuddering breath before continuing. "People will die. Your son will die. This is going to have a lot of consequences if you don't come with me now."
Standing to the side, Perry furrows his eyebrows, watching the young man carefully. He has never seen a more serious look on anyone's face before, especially not on Newbie's face . . . But that's just the point, isn't it? This man is not Newbie. He's far from it, in fact. John has all the qualities of the leader he claims to be, and Doctor Cox, though hesitant to admit it, is impressed.
Doctor Scott scoffs from behind John, shaking his head. "This man is a lunatic. I'm calling security."
Before the man can move, however, Doctor Cox steps forward, addressing Mrs. Hollock. "He's telling the truth," he says firmly. "Your son's illness is going to hurt a lot of people unless you come with us now."
0 o 0 o 0
Carol Hollock is not an idiot.
Her husband is in the military, so she has spent much of her married life making decisions—alone. This decision seems rather large compared to the others, but a decision is still a decision, and at the end of the day, she will have to live with the fact that, right or wrong, she will again have to make one—alone.
Staring at the desperate men before her, however, she can't help but hesitate at their differing opinion. Her son, Jeremy, will always come first, no matter what. But the boy hasn't had so much as a sniffle since he got the chicken pocks when he was three. He is one of the healthiest young men that any doctor has ever seen, and before today, she's been told so many times by several physicians. If Jeremy is sick, then her keen parental senses are severely lacking.
"Gentlemen," she says carefully, looking at each man in turn, then glancing out the office window at Jeremy, who sits patiently in the waiting area, "I'm taking my son home now."
Doctor Scott looks smug. The red-headed man looks pissed off. The young one looks . . . He looks the same. His expression hasn't changed at all, like he's still waiting for her to answer. It's . . . unnerving.
She swallows and sighs. "I'm sorry," she murmurs before turning and leaving.
Jeremy looks up as the door opens, a bored look on his face. "Can we go home now, Mom?"
Her smile is tight, and she can't help but stare at him a moment before nodding and saying, "Yeah, sweetie. Let's go."
0 o 0 o 0
John is quiet the entire trip home. Doctor Cox relays the story to Turk and Dan and attempts to draw the young man into the conversation, but he still says nothing.
"Johnny?" pop. "You all right?"
"Fine," John finally says, his head resting against the window. "Just tired."
pop. "We still got a while to drive yet. You should get some sleep."
John shifts in his seat, making no move to look at any of the car's passengers. "Do me a favor," he says softly, closing his eyes and folding in on himself—not a hard task despite his defined physique.
"Sure, Johnny," Dan concedes, alternating between looking at the young man and watching the road. "What do you need?"
John is quiet for a moment, then he says, "Spit out that gum."
0 o 0 o 0
February 28th 2009
John refuses an escort up to his apartment. Dan insists. John still refuses. Dan still insists.
"I'm fine," John says softly, opening the car door and stepping out into a drizzle. Clouds form overhead, dark and threatening more rain.
"You aren't," Dan states matter-of-factly, bowing his head slightly to get a better look at his not-brother.
He and John stare at one another for a long moment before the younger Dorian son shakes his head and says, "I'm going to get some sleep." His gaze flicks to the back seat. "I suggest you do the same."
Turk leans forward. "You mind dropping me off at the hospital? I got a shift in a few hours. I'll just sleep in the on-call room."
Dan gives John one last pleading glance before sighing and facing forward. "Sure thing, T."
John closes the passenger-side door, and the Sudan starts away. When the vehicle pulls far enough ahead, it reveals a figure standing in the street.
John frowns. "You should have left with the others." The rain begins to fall more rapidly, soaking their dirty scrubs and plastering their hair to their faces. The young man tries again, his voice weak and holding little conviction. "You shouldn't be here, Perry."
Doctor Cox watches him with reddened eyes, his lips drawn into thin lines and his face scrunching as the rain only worsens. "You kissed me," he states flatly, rain water flying from his mouth and chin.
John blinks sluggishly and nods. "Yeah, I kissed you." He swallows and glances around the barren street. The clouds are thickening, making everything dark in the morning hour. "I had to."
"You had to?" the older man scoffs. "Pray tell, Lucy: what would have happened if you hadn't?"
John is quiet for a moment before he takes a short breath and explains. "My throat would have swollen shut, and I would have choked . . . on air."
The smug look on Doctor Cox's face disappears, and he swallows, shifting uncomfortably before saying, "You would have died."
John nods. "If I hadn't kissed you, yes."
There is a long moment of quiet between the men before the older of the two clears his throat and says, "Well . . . I have to say, that's probably the most extreme excuse anyone has ever made to get me to kiss them."
The young man can't help the bark of laughter that escapes his throat, and he is immensely glad for the rain as tears form in his eyes. "Yeah, that sounds like something he would say."
The other's head cocks to the side, and he asks, "Who?"
John purses his lips, furrowing his eyebrows and shaking his head. "Why are you here?"
Doctor Cox mirrors the action. "Who are you talking about?"
John clenches his teeth. They've played this game before, he and Perry. The older man usually wins—but this man in this time is not his Perry. And John has a certain edge to him that this universe is not used to.
"Why are you here?"
"Who are you talking about?"
"That's none of your business."
"You can't ask questions and not expect to answer a few yourself, Newbie," Doctor Cox counters easily, stepping forward as the wind begins to pick up.
"You don't believe me when I tell you things about the future." John holds up a hand to stop the older man from interrupting him. "You're curious, right?" He smirks when the other man remains quiet. "I mean, I've been right about a few things. So what? It could just be dumb luck." He shrugs. "But you want to see it play out. You want to see if the great and powerful John Michael Dorian really exists."
"Hey," Doctor Cox starts, his tone conveying guilt, "that's not—"
"It is," John says with a nod, "and it's fine. I wouldn't believe a crazy person like me either." He swallows and takes a steadying breath, closing his eyes. "But—"
A clap of thunder breaks his train of thought, and his eyes fly open again in time to see a flash of lightening, followed by more thunder.
Doctor Cox starts forward, grabbing John's upper arm and pulling him towards the apartment complex. "Come on. There's no point having this conversation out here." John allows the man to lead him inside and to the elevator. "What floor?"
Instead of speaking, John leans forward and presses the close doors button, leaning back against the wall of the car and studying the other doctor intently. "What," the young man asks calmly, "are you expecting?"
Doctor Cox furrows his eyebrows and slowly begins to shake his head. "What are you—"
"You said I kissed you."
"You did."
"Yes, but you didn't have to bring it up again."
"Why wouldn't I bring something like that up?" Doctor Cox glances at the elevator buttons. "What floor?"
"You'd only bring it up if you'd been thinking about it." John's eyes narrow. "Have you?"
"That's not the point, Newbie!"
"I'm not 'Newbie,' Perry."
"And I'm not 'Perry,' Charlotte."
An uncomfortable silence fills the elevator before John nods towards the buttons and says, "Three."
Perry presses the button harshly, grinding his teeth and crossing his arms as the elevator starts the short ride upwards. When the small car stops and the doors open, John makes no move to exit the space.
"You gonna stay in here all night?" Doctor Cox jabs with little malice.
"It'd be better than facing myself in the morning," the young man says softly, leaning his head back and staring at the elevator ceiling.
The older man presses his lips to together tightly, knowing he shouldn't ask but doing so anyway. "What do you mean by that?"
John closes his eyes and whispers, "Please, Perry. Please . . . just leave."
"Why?" Doctor Cox doesn't miss a beat, his tone harsh, demanding . . . and just the slightest bit frightened. "What the hell is the matter with you?"
"Leave," John pleads again, his voice begging the older man anything but. "Leave, and it will be over. Leave, and you won't have to worry about me."
The other man growls low in his throat, crowding John against the elevator and smacking a hand, palm flat, against the wall. "You're killing yourself."
"And what if I deserve to die?" John asks softly. "What if I've killed more people than I've saved? What if I've put guns into the hands of children and told them to fight a war they know nothing about?" He runs trembling fingers across his chest, down to his abdomen. "What if every scar still burns like it's brand new?"
Doctor Cox swallows hard and shakes his head. "That's what we pay psychiatrists obscene amounts of money for—so they'll listen to us whine about why our lives are so horrible and give us candy to make the pain go away."
"Right," John breathes softly. "I'm pretty sure the last psychiatrist I went to ended up killing himself."
"All the more reason to see another."
The younger man allows himself a smile. "You should hold on to that, Perry . . . I miss that about you."
"Miss what?"
John is quiet before he says, "Humor."
Doctor Cox sighs. "Are you really this fucked up?"
"Only on Tuesdays."
"It's Saturday."
"Exactly."
"What do you need me to do?" the older man asks seriously.
Shaking his head, John replies, "I need you to leave." He sucks in a breath as Doctor Cox leans in closer, pressing their chests flush against one another.
"What do you need me to do?"
Hot breath ghosts over the young man's lips, and his tongue darts out to lick them nervously, his eyes still closed. "I need you . . . to leave."
Doctor Cox's mouth presses firmly against John's, the younger man whimpering and trying his best not to move. It isn't really a kiss. Their lips are mashed together, but neither of them make the final gesture. Doctor Cox waits for John to do something. John waits for it to be over. They are at a stalemate. Until, finally, the older man leans his head away.
"John," he says quietly, "I thought this is what you needed."
John swallows hard. "What I need," he whispers, opening his eyes to the harsh fluorescent lighting of the elevator car and Doctor Cox's expectant face, "is for you to leave." Without so much as another thought, he slides out from the other man's impending body and onto his floor.
The elevator doors click closed with a horrifying finality.
AN: Well, not gonna lie. This one was a tear-jerker for me. I mean, killing kids? Come on! That's just not right. And this chapter is actually longer than I initially planned it to be. I had to dip into chapter six to get it this long, and I have to say that I am happy with the result. :) So, stay tuned for the next chapter! Which will be up by the coming weekend, for sure.
Oh, and a, uh...warning for chapter seven (not the next chapter, but the one after that). There will be man-on-man action. Explicit man-on-man action. I rounded up the tallies for the affair between future!John and past!Doctor Cox, and the affair won out. Which means there will be a third part to this series.
AND! I am officially writing Dan's book. Started it the other day, and it's coming along quite nicely. Won't be finished for a while, but I promise to post it somewhere once it's done. :)
Later, Gators! Catch you on the flip side.