Hey, all. Sorry it took so long. It document manager didn't work! EEEESH.

Disclaimer: I. Own. My. Soul.

...crap. Sold it to Zach Braff. MAN he's hot.

I don't own Scrubs.


Elliot's POV

"J.D. just paged me," I announce, holding up the pager.

"What'd he say?" Carla demands, hovering over my shoulder. "I might kill him."

I glare at her. "Says he's at the intersection at Coral and Treetop. Where is that?"

"Like, ten miles away, out by where I get my hair cut," Carla answers with a frown. "Why the hell is he all the way out there? Ask him."

"I am," I say, typing in the words as fast as I can. I hit the send button and waited for a moment or two.

"So?" Carla prompts. "What'd he say? There'd better be a good reason for this. For all we know he's halfway across the world with that brother of his…not to mention that he has a shift this afternoon. It's nine o'clock."

"He says he'll tell us later. I told him I was coming."

"Um, you mean we, don't you?" Carla says pointedly.

"You don't have to come," I say defensively. "He paged me."

Carla rolls her eyes. "Car, Elliot. You need a car. For driving. Your car's in the shop."

"…oh. Er, could I use your—"

"Let's go."

"Are we gonna leave a note for—"

"He'll be fine, he'll be fine. He can always call us. Besides, he and that Todd guy are out doing something." Carla shudders. "I don't want to know, frankly."

We head downstairs and get into her car, driving the awkward ten miles in silence. I toy with the idea of playing the radio, but I'm too tense to think of music. I agree with Carla. I may very well kill J.D. when I get my hands on him. As much as I hate to admit it, I really do care about that weirdo. In more ways than just friendship. But it didn't work out—we both know better now.

Still, I sort of wish…

"Take a left here," Carla instructs.

"Huh?" I snap out of my daze. "Oh, right," I respond, shaking my head. "Sorry."

"Pay attention, Elliot!"

"I know. I know. Sorry."

"I don't see him anywhere," says Carla, peering out the window. "Wait, I think that's him with the newspaper. Since when does J.D. read the paper? Maybe he's decided to wise up for once!"

I park the car right by the bench where the newspaper-covered J.D. sits. Carla rolls down the window. "Hey, Bambi!" she calls. "Get in!"

J.D. shuts the newspaper closed and bolts to the car like a bullet on crack. Immediately he slams the door and looks behind us. "Let's go," he says quickly, inspecting the area around us.

"J.D.!" Carla gasps.

"What?" I ask, looking back at him. Oh my God. There's blood all over the top of his head and on his face. "What HAPPENED?" I demand. "Holy shit, J.D., what did you do?"

"Drive!" he commands, fully panicking.

"Just go," says Carla. She unbuckles her seat belt and gets into the back with him. "How many fingers am I holding up?" I hear her ask him.

My heart's racing. For a moment it had looked like he was dead. Completely pale, bloody and dead.

"Carla, don't…"

"I'm dead serious, J.D.," Carla enforces. "What the hell did you do? Where did you and Dan go?"

"Dan," J.D. says bitterly, closing his eyes and throwing his head back on the seat in disgust. "Not right now, I'm tired."

"Don't you dare. You're a doctor, you ought to know that people with head wounds need to stay awake."

"It's not a wound!" J.D. snaps. "It's just a bump!"

"J.D., it's as big as Mt. Everest!" I squeak from the front, barely managing to hold the steering wheel steady. I think that old man in the Porsche just flipped me off. I stick out my tongue.

Ugh. That was mature.

"Just go straight to the hospital," Carla tells me. I nod.

"No!" J.D. gasps. "Are you kidding? You can't do that!"

"Yes we can," I say. "Just you watch."

"No way. You can't. It's just a bump. Besides, I'll have to…"

"Explain yourself? We're waiting, by the way," Carla reminds him.

"I…" J.D. hesitates. "Dan and I…had a disagreement."

"What kind of disagreement?"

J.D.'s hand flies up to his head. "Ack," he exclaims.

"See? You're hurt, you numbskull," says Carla. "You can't deny that. We're taking you to Sacred Heart. You obviously have a concussion—it could be worse, too. You need to get that checked out."

I'm shaking. Somehow I can see this isn't going to end well. Half of me is listening to them argue in the back and the other half of me is trying to get a glimpse of J.D. through the rearview mirror just to make sure he's still alive. Oh, wait. A little part of me is also still driving, but that's a bit insignificant now.

"No, I don't," J.D. protests. "It's personal, Carla. I don't want the entire staff of Sacred Heart seeing me come in because I bumped my head."

"That's not a head bump. What did you get hit with?"

"I don't know!" J.D. says angrily. "I can't even remember. He just smacked me with something and…"

"And you blacked out. Definite concussion."

"Just take me to the apartment. Please."

"Bambi!"

"Please?"

"It's not going to work this time. You're hurt. Seriously."

"Just leave me alone…" J.D.'s voice drifted off and grew airier. "Doesn't matter."

"J.D." Carla shakes him and I see for a fleeting moment his head lolling to the side before I turn my attention back to the road. "J.D., wake up!"

"Is he okay?" I demand.

"He's out cold."

"Oh my God. What do we do!"

"Keep driving, for heaven's sake!" Carla snaps. I know she doesn't mean it; she's probably just as worried as I am. "He's still breathing. I think we'd better try and get there as fast as we can, though. He still has that fever from last night…God, Bambi, what the hell is wrong with you…" she mutters.

"He's not gonna die," I mutter to myself. "He's not gonna die, he's not gonna—"

"Calm down, Elliot. Do you need me to pull over and take the wheel?"

J.D.'s death-like form popped its way into my head again. No way. I'd rather drive over boulders than be stuck in the back facing that. "N-no, it's okay, I got it. We're almost there. Don't worry, we're almost there," I repeat, mostly talking to myself. But Carla takes a deep breath, too—I can tell she's just as freaked as I am. I feel a little less stupid.

"Pull into emergency," Carla instructs, her voice firm and confident. I thank whatever being is out there for my car breaking down. Otherwise I would have been completely petrified.

So much for being a doctor.

"Hey, don't I know you? What's going on?" asks one of the doctors from Emergency as I speed in.

"I—it's—"

Carla shoves the door open. "It's J.D. His head's pretty banged up and he's sick with something. He's been unconscious for about fifteen minutes, but he's still breathing."

The guy's eyes widen. "What happened?"

"Just go!" I blurt, near hysterics. He runs off and retrieves several other doctors and a gurney. I steal a look at J.D. and wish immediately that I hadn't. Tears fill my eyes.

I want to be with him. I want him to know that I really do care, and that I'm not bitter or angry anymore, that it was all in the past. I want him to hold me again.

I stay in the car, hands still squeezing the life out of the steering wheel, until one of the other doctors—Brian, I think—opens the door and motions for me to get out.

"It's alright. I'll move the car for you, Elliot. You go ahead—they might even need your help."

I shake my head. "I can't…"

He pats me on the back. "I know. It's gotta be hard. What the hell did the kid do?"

I burst out sobbing. "I don't know!" I cry, stalking into the hospital to find a bathroom. "I just don't know!"


Eeepers. Lol. Have fun with that.