Disclaimer: I own nothing

JD's flashback in italics

JD's POV


That night...

"No! Stay back!"

"What are you doing, man? Just let him do it!"

"Shhhh."

I need to concentrate! Why doesn't everyone just be quiet? I don't know how long we've been here now or how close to the end of this ordeal we really are - but I sure as hell did not expect it to end this way. And if there is anything I can do about, it won't end this way.

"Please, don't do this. This isn't what you want!"

I am currently pleading with the man that has held us hostage for what feels like weeks. I've watched him grow increasingly hysterical over the past, oh I don't know, several hours. He is now holding his gun to his own head. He's shaking uncontrollably and tears are endlessly streaming down his red, frightened face. He looks young. Maybe around my age. I don't think he imagined things would go this way when he first stepped foot in this store.

"Just do it so we can all go home."

I fight the urge to glare at the woman to my left who just said that. I don't want to take my eyes off the man in front of me. I don't really know what I'm supposed to be thinking or feeling. I don't know what the right reaction is supposed to be. All I know is I'm scared and exhausted, and more than a little numb. I imagine the people left standing around me are experiencing similar sensations right about now, too. We've been going back and forth like this for a while now. A couple of us are trying to talk the man out of killing himself right here and now. Most people have remained relatively silent, and then there are a few people who have been making comments like the one that woman just made. It's all making my head spin.

I don't know what to do. I'm not trained to handle crisis situations like this. My arms are getting tired. I've kept them outstretched for who knows how long. I don't know. You always see people doing that on tv - like they're approaching a wild animal. I slowly move towards him. I guess he does kind of resemble a wild animal. He lets out a tortured sounding sob and his gun shakes more. He's ready to break at any moment, and this could go either way – turning the gun on someone else, or blowing his own brain out.

"What are you doing?! Don't come near me!"

He's wailing. He looks terrified. That's funny. I should be the one looking terrified. He's the one with the gun!

"I won't do anything. I just...please...put the gun away. You're panicking - this isn't what you want to do. There are other options here. Please!"

"How do you know what I want! You don't know!"

Oh shit. I freeze as the shaky gun is now trained on me.

"I-"

"Shut up!"

The gun is waving a little bit. I mentally take note of who is nearby. If he shoots that the way he's wobbling it, who knows where the bullet will go. He's already proved he's not the best shot in the world.

My heart pounds loudly in my ears as he moves slowly towards me.

"Who are you anyway? Why do you think you have all the answers? You've been telling me what to do this whole time! What are you playing at? What do you have up your sleeve? TELL ME!"

He's losing it.

"Nothing! I'm no one! I just came in here to get some gas and wash my hands, that's all. I didn't plan on this! None of us did! You're over stressed and you are threatening your own life. All I want is for all of us to get out of here safely. That's it!"

He's crying again. The gun is all over the place. I don't know if it's possible for my muscles to be any more tense than they are right this second.

"You said there were other options?"

"What?"

"YOU SAID I HAD OTHER OPTIONS!"

Oh, so I did.

"Yeah...yeah, I did."

The man yells out in frustration before suddenly lunging at me. I flinch and try to step away but he grabs me around my shoulders and once again I feel the cold metal of the gun against my temple. I should be getting used to that right about now. I can feel him trembling.

"Y-you have to t-tell me what those options are. If you're so g-good at figuring out what to do...tell me what I should do."

His voice is raspy and his breath keeps catching in his throat like he's shivering. His desperation is almost tangible.

"O-o-o-k" I'm stuttering, stalling really. What the hell am I supposed to tell this guy? I don't know anything! Why the hell did I have to go and say something as idiotic as "there are other options here" when I have no idea what those are!

"Ummm...no one has to get hurt. You don't have to get hurt."

The gun is pressed hard into my temple, it's too distracting, I can't think.

"What other way out is there?!"

I flinch again and try not to jump too much. I don't want to accidentally jar his finger out of place. Wouldn't that be ironic - to die because of my own nerves? Ha.

Way out way out way out...think!

"You could turn yourself in? Maybe they would go easy on you...you could explain how this was all a horrible mistake. That you never meant for any of this to happen. Maybe-"

The gun clicks. He must have cocked it, or whatever it is people do when they're preparing to fire. I think I taste vomit in my throat.

"No."

He says that one word with a quiet forcefulness that makes my blood slow in my veins. It's a tone that says that was the absolute worst suggestion anyone could ever give. Leave it to me to make that mistake.

"Ok, ok. So, that wasn't the best suggestion...just...don't...do anything."

He chokes on some more tears in my ear. I don't think he's going to be able to hold out much longer like this.

"Maybe you could go out the back door? Maybe you could just...get away!"

I try to look at whoever it was who said that. It sounded like the Subway girl. I can't turn my head enough though. I can hear some people gasp and exclaim in objection to this suggestion. My captor however seems to relax a bit.

"B-back door? Is there a back door?"

"Yeah, it's where we take the trash out. Over there."

I'm guessing she's pointing at something.

"Ok. Nobody move. If anyone follows me or tries anything...he's dead!"

He shakes me hard and jams the gun into my temple again. It looks like I'm not out of the woods yet. I swear my legs are going to give way any moment. He drags me along toward the back door. His arm has shifted so that it's no longer around my shoulders, but around my neck now. I can still breath, but the pressure is really uncomfortable. Combine that with the acid in my throat and I'm pretty sure I'm going to start gagging.

I hear him open a door behind me and I'm being dragging through. We're in a dark entryway for a few seconds while he seems to struggle with a second door. Finally the door gives way and we stumble outside. The sun is so bright, even though it's well past noon, I have to close my eyes for a while. I'm still being dragged around. I'm so disoriented. How can he tell where he's going? I can smell rotting cabbage in the air. You can tell we're near the dumpsters. His breathing sounds labored. I notice mine is too.

"Ok."

He drags me along for a few more steps before stopping and pushing me away from him. My feet slip on the gravel and I fall to the ground. It takes me a minute to get my bearings. The gun is still pointed at me, but he's looking around - I guess planning his escape route.

"Don't move. Don't make a sound."

I swallow and nod. I watch him as he stumbles through the tall grass and disappears behind the dumpsters. I sit there, waiting and listening. And he's gone.


"JD, what are you doing here? I thought you got off an hour ago?"

"Hm?"

"Are you ok?"

A cold hand touches my bare shoulder. I jump. Damn Elliot and her freakishly cold hands! Wait - bare shoulder? What the hell? I look down at myself. Apparently I zoned out in the middle of changing into my street clothes. I'm standing in the locker room in my jeans with no shirt on.

"What? Did you say something?"

Elliot knits her eyebrows at me. "You were just standing here staring at the wall. You have goose pimples."

Goose pimples? I shudder. I hate it when people say goose pimples instead of goose bumps. Gross.

"How long have you been standing here like this?"

I don't know how to answer that, considering I have absolutely no idea. I guess she gets impatient with my silence and looks around for my clothes. She finds my shirt and stuffs it into my hands.

"What time is it?" I felt like I had to say something.

"It's around 10:00. Have you been down here since 9:00?"

I shrug. I probably have been. I don't remember.

"Sabrina! Looks like you've been working on developing the world's scrawniest doctor physique. What's your secret? Have you found the fountain of pubescence?"

I look down at myself and swallow. For some reason his comment has made me feel really insecure and ashamed. I look the same as I always do. He usually makes cracks about my flabbiness. I guess he got bored of that and moved on to make fun of something else. I decide now would be as good a time as any to finally put my shirt on.

"What are you still doing here, anyway. I sent you home an hour ago."

That seems to be the question of the hour. Elliot and Dr. Cox both busy themselves by getting their things out of their own lockers while I ignore them and grab the rest of my things out of my locker.

"I found him down here topless, staring at the wall. He must have had an extra imaginative daydream session this time. So, what was it this time? Dr. Acula? Floating head doctor?"

"Looks, like we lost her again, Barbie."

Oops. I must have zoned out again. This time it was my wallet that distracted me. Or, what's inside my wallet more accurately. I clear my throat and shove my wallet into my back pocket. I catch Elliot and Dr. Cox exchange glances. Oh no, they're sharing something. That's not normal. They don't share things!

Dr. Cox shakes his head and turns back to his locker while Elliot swings her backpack over her shoulder and walks over to me.

"Are you sure you're ok? You seem more out of it than usual and you haven't really been yourself lately. Are you coming down with something? Oh, no. There's an awful bug going around - you don't have a fever do you? Oh God, don't breathe on me! Frick!"

She went from standing next to me looking all concerned to covering her mouth and nose and jumping away from me like I was dripping with manure. I'm tired. My head is starting to ache, but I don't think I'm getting sick. I sigh.

"I'm not getting sick. Don't worry, your fine, Elliot."

She drops her arm in visible relief. "Oh, good. Geeze. I really didn't want to catch anything. I look awful when I'm sick, and Keith has never seen me look like that and I have no idea how he'd react and I'm feeling really vulnerable right now and I need him to love me and think I am pretty."

Breathe woman!

"Elliot, you are pretty. I've seen you when you're sick, and you're still pretty. He's going to have to see it sometime, anyway."

Dr. Cox slams his locker shut and looks at us in disgust.

"Can you two not talk when I'm standing in the same room? In fact, I'd really appreciate it if you did not talk - ever. No words. Not one syllable."

"Can I grunt?"

Dr. Cox pretends to be deep in thought before replying. "You can only grunt if it's because I have torn your tongue from your annoying mouth and forced you to swallow it, and you're grunting in excruciating pain."

"Ah."

I see. It's nice to know where you stand.

"You better not be getting sick, Melinda. Because if you are getting sick, that means you've probably contaminated me by breathing all over me all day long and now I have to take a bath in lysol, which means I won't be getting any sex tonight, which means I will be one unhappy man tomorrow. And do you know who I'm going to take my anger and sexual frustration out on? That's right - you."

My headache is starting to get to me and all of a sudden I am in no mood to listen to one of Dr. Cox's speeches. I clench my jaw while I close my locker and place my backpack on my shoulders. I accidentally glance at him while turning to leave which apparently triggers "JD word vomit".

"If you were paying attention you would have already understood that I am not getting sick, nor am I sick. So don't worry your ridiculously curled head over it - it looks like you'll be getting plenty of sex tonight. We all know it's all about you anyway."

By the time I said the last part I was already heading out the door. My feet must have known the danger the rest of me could be in after a comeback like that since they are moving as fast as they can, short of sprinting down the corridors. Now that I was booking it down the hallway in what I hoped looked like a "leave me alone, I'm angry" walk, my anger has dissipated. Now the walk just feels stupid, but I sort of feel committed to it, so I keep going. I just want to get home where I can take some ibuprofen and go to bed and not think about guns and letters and suicide.

I hear footsteps coming up behind me. They're too light to be Dr. Cox's.

"JD!"

They're Elliot's. She jogs up along side of me and stares at me with great wonder.

"JD, I can't believe you said that! You should have seen his face. That was amazing - and a little scary - but mostly amazing. You totally told him off! Of course you realize he's going to kick your ass or maybe drain the break fluid in your scooter, but...still!"

She said all this while animatedly waving her arms around and laughing here and there. I just kind of scratch my head and smile a little at her excitement as we exit the hospital and step out into the parking lot.

"Yep, that's right. Don't mess with the J-Dog."

I try to sound all tough and gangster, but I just end up sounding like a huge dork. Oh, well. I'm used to that. Elliot laughs and smacks my arm playfully.

"Goodnight, JD."

"Goodnight Elliot."

She practically skips off to her car, which is parked around the corner. She turns back and yells, "Be careful - check your break fluid!"

I just smile and wave until she's turns back around and disappears around the corner. And there it is. That feeling is back. Instant loneliness. It makes the air feel heavier somehow and I can feel my entire demeanor change. It's silent and still out here without Elliot keeping me company. My eyes glaze over as I stand there in the middle of the parking lot. It occurs to me how isolated I've become. The sad thing is, if I'm honest, I'd admit that it's mostly of my own doing. I've withdrawn from everyone. If I really wanted to I could invite people over to see my apartment or head over to the bar to see who's around. I could offer to make Turk and Carla dinner or play board games with Elliot and Keith. Instead every night I go home, alone, and sit in semi-darkness in my nearly empty apartment. I don't even know for sure how I spend those hours every night. I have a feeling there is a lot of sitting and staring at nothing in particular. I have become somewhat obsessed with my floor, as well. Maybe it's because I stare at it so much. I keep sanding it down and cleaning it. I even put a wood protector coat down a few mornings ago when I woke up 3 hours before I needed to.

It feels like I've been this way for years. I know it's only been a little less than a month, but I can barely remember what my life was like before. I can't say that this is entirely new. I've spent the majority of my life like this. I never had many friends growing up. I think I pretty much weirded everyone out. Or annoyed them. I must have been one of those awkward needy people who no one likes to be around because they try waaay too hard to be accepted and liked. It's really only been since med school and working here that I managed to form a solid friend base, a true family.

Right now though, I'm beginning to doubt how close knit we really are. It doesn't appear that I've been missed all that much. True, Elliot might be picking up that something's a little off, but if the all knew me as well as I convinced myself they did, I guess I would have expected a little more of an acknowledgment of my absence.

Is that what I've been doing? Have I been trying to get some sort of pity response by purposefully pulling away? Am I the kind of person who would manipulate my friends like that? Am I trying to set them all up for failure somehow by quietly abandoning them and then expecting them all to come running after me with roses and kisses? Maybe it's all me. Maybe I have no right to feel disappointed in them. Maybe I'm being horribly unfair.

"Ok, Melinda, are you trying to pick a fight?"

"AH!"

Holy God in heaven! How does he do that?!

"'Cause seriously, anytime you want me to kick that scrawny ass of yours I'd be more than happy to oblige."

Shit shit shit. He's not actually going to beat me down right here in the parking lot is he? I suddenly realize that I am in fact still standing in the middle of the parking lot. I wonder how long I've been standing here thinking. I really have to stop doing that.

"I didn't know you were the kind of guy who beat up little girls." I mumble before I even knew the thought was in my head. What the hell am I doing? I must have a death wish. I squeeze my eyes shut and wince at my own stupidity. I need a better filter.

"Sorry." I mumble again. I'm kind of afraid to look at Dr. Cox. I open one eye and sneak a peek. He sucks on his teeth and touches his nose before folding his arms across his chest. Yep. I've pissed him off.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Cox. I didn't mean to snap at you...again. It's just been a long...day."

Or month...

"So you finally admit it."

"Admit what?"

"That I'm right and you really are a little girl."

I open the other eye and look at him more closely. Maybe he's not that mad. Now I'm confused. A car is coming. We're in the way. I blink at the headlights and move out of the way. Dr. Cox moves with me and we wait until the car goes by. I don't know if I'm supposed to just go over to my scooter and leave or if we're still having a conversation (if you can call what we were just having a conversation).

"So...you're not going to drain my break fluid?"

He doesn't really respond to my question. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks at me for a moment with that "I'm Dr. Cox and I'm being very serious right now" face.

I swallow. That's an anxiety producing face. It could mean a couple different things. It could mean he's about to berate me. Not in the abstract, mostly impersonal way he usually does, either. That face is often followed by a direct attack on a real and deep-seated character flaw. Or sometimes that face is followed by advice or words of wisdom. Sometimes a combination of both.

"Are you really feeling ok? You know that when you answer this question you don't have to try to be all macho and manly since we both know I'm not buying it."

Oh. Is that actual concern for my wellbeing? I'm a little confused. Again.

"Um...yeah. I can normally tell when I'm coming down with something. Machoness aside...I'm...not ill."

He looks at me as though he's trying to figure out of I'm telling the truth. What the heck?

"Why are people asking me that all of a sudden? Do I look that bad?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

How's that for an ego boost.

"You've lost weight."

I look at myself. No I haven't. What is he talking about?

"I don't think so. I look the same."

"Listen, Gidget. I know you want to be able to fit back into that little black number you wore to homecoming your Junior year in high school. You know, the one that you wore to try to get the captain of the football team to notice you? I hate to break it to you, but it didn't work then and I really don't think it's going to work now."

I squint at him. What is this? Maybe my scrubs are fitting me a little more loosely, but so what? I just haven't had the biggest appetite of all time lately. I haven't been starving myself or anything.

"Ok, I don't think I want to argue about whether or not I've lost weight. I don't understand why that would be such a big deal anyway."

Dr. Cox shrugs and then goes back to staring at me. Is he trying to get me to admit to something? I feel really weird and exposed. I feel like this is some kind of eating disorder intervention or something. It's really uncomfortable.

"Are you tired?"

"What?"

"Are. You. Tired?"

"Yeeeaah. So? I just worked for 15 hours. It's pretty much a given that I'll be tired."

And then I've managed to stand around getting lost in my own head for another hour and a half.

"Have you been more tired than usual?"

"Um...I don't know. Maybe. It's been a busy month."

This is getting stranger by the minute...or by the question.

"Alright, Newbie. Never mind. If you want to go around looking and acting like a zombie all day and then deny it, that's your business. Just don't let it get in the way of your work." He moves a step closer and sticks a warning finger in my face. "And don't you dare assume that it's ok for you to talk to me the way you did today. I know you're a rookie and you're getting used to the feeling of your sparkling new spine, so I'll let you live - this time. But if you so much as look at me with that kind of attitude again, I will not hesitate to rip that spine right through your pasty skin and snap it across my knee - got it?"

I swallow and nod. Holy shit that was scary. He grunts and walks over to his car, conveniently parked right next to my scooter.

"And for God's sake eat something of substance and get the hell to bed."


Author's note: Next up, another Dr. Cox POV. Yee haw. And maybe one of these days I'll actually get around to writing the next chapters to my other 2 fics…..sigh.