Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.

A/N: Okay, so this new pairing started bouncing around in my head months ago…are people interested in more? The more who tell me they are, the more I will write. I will of course also get back to our already established characters; I would just appreciate your opinion on how much time I should spend developing yet another storyline. Feedback is a great motivator. Also, I may decide to do a segment on Chris, if I feel the urge, so let me know! Many thanks.

I sink wearily into the hard plastic hospital chair. For the moment, there's nothing I can do. Much as I hate to admit it, that feels good. I'm grateful. Finally, I give in to the headache and the exhaustion that's been brewing for a while. I pop a few Sudafed, hoping that will leave me coherent enough to take in whatever I have to do for Meredith. Not to mention study later, if I can.

No, I'm not unsympathetic. She's my roommate, for God's sake. I just…I have a lot to do. I'm Pre-med, and average grades are not an option. Besides, if I stopped to process everything that's been happening lately, I'd totally lose it. No. Can't do that. The only thing left is to stay totally focused. That'll get concrete results. That I can control.

But…I'm really tired. And my head hurts. It's getting all foggy. And when I cough, there's a pain in my chest. So I guess it won't hurt if I just close my eyes for……………

"Miss?"

I open one eye, find a young doctor standing over me. "Miss, we've taken your friend up to surgery. She'll be here for a few days."

"Will she be alright?"

"Assuming the surgery goes without complications, she should be just fine."

"You didn't exactly answer my question."

"That's all I know right now. I'm sorry." And he really does look sorry. "Is there someone you should call? Her family?"

"Her sister. I have the number…" I rifle through my purse, find my planner, and go to stand up, but I'm suddenly so lightheaded all I can do is sit down again.

"Are you alright?"

"What? Oh. Yes. I just have a cold." I end on a ragged cough. Now that I let myself think about it, it does sound pretty bad.

"Since you're here, why don't we get you checked out? I don't like the sound of that cough."

"Oh, no, really…"

"Do me a favor, huh? Humor me. Now, you sit down over here. I'll go make that phone call."

"No." I look piteously at the resident, then glare at that pesky intern, who's hovering in the "doorway."

"Yup," the resident says cheerfully. "I'll call upstairs." He leaves, and "that pesky intern" cautiously enters my cubicle.

I give him as evil a look as I can without making my head hurt worse, and all he does is give me a sympathetic half-smile. "It won't be so bad."

"Says you. I have studying to do."

"May I ask what for?"

"Pre-med."

He laughs. "Ah, the irony. Then you should know better. I'll bet you five bucks you haven't been taking proper care of yourself."

"Excuse me?"

"How much sleep do you get per night? When's the last time you ate a balanced meal?" His eyes have a challenge in them, and all I can do is look away, because he's right. "Sorry," he says suddenly. "It's just, I've been there. But I shouldn't have been so harsh. I'm not usually, really."

"Sure."

"No, really. I'm sorry."

I sigh. "It's okay. Besides, you're right, I do feel like crap."

He smiles. "Hey, look at it this way. You'll get some well-earned rest, and you'll get better faster than if we just gave you some medicine to take home. Pneumonia's no joke."

"Yeah. But that doesn't mean I don't still want to hurt you."

He grins. "Occupational hazard."

"Hey there, genius."

"Oh. It's you."

"Yup."

"Well, thanks to you, I've spent all day being shallow. I'm now thoroughly disgusted with myself. May I go home now?"

"Afraid not. Hey, don't pout, I brought you something."

"What?" He holds up some magazines. "People? Oh my God."

"I figured you for the guilty pleasure type. There's Time though, too."

"Thanks. Really. I appreciate it. And I'm sorry for being snotty. It's just, there's so much going on…and I called home today, and had to deal with my father's "I told you so" controlled hysteria mentality…"

"I beg your pardon?"

"My father's been under the impression that I've been on the verge of some form of nervous breakdown for years, steps away from anorexia, what have you."

"I know what you mean."

"You're anorexic?"

"Funny. No, but my brothers are built like linebackers, and as you can see, I'm not, so…"

No, he's not. He's tall and skinny, and he looks tired. His hair's a little shaggy, and he has glasses. But his eyes are a nice green, and he has really cute little freckles. His hair's an unusual color, somewhere between bronzed and dark strawberry blond. He kind of reminds me of Carter. You know, on ER. Just a genuine nice guy, cute in a careless sort of way. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Me? Ah, MacKenna. Dr. MacKenna."

"I meant your first name."

"Oh. It's Barry, actually. You're Susanna, right?"

"Suzy, please."

"Okay. So why does your father think you're constantly on the verge of collapse?"

"Oh, he's been doing that for years, ever since I moved away from home."

"Boarding school or something?"

"No. I used to model. I went to high school and worked in the city."

"Wasn't that tough, being on your own, no family?"

"Well, like I said, I'm Pre-med, so the money'll help. I'm not going to be beholden to my parents. And I liked the independence, being able to discover new things without having parents constantly looking over my shoulder. Besides, we have a close family friend that lives in the city. He's like a second father, really, and my dad stipulated that I see him at least twice a month, so he could hear from a reliable source that I was still, you know, breathing, and all that. Anyway, so I think the excessive fussing is just Dad's way of feeling like an involved parent, or whatever."

"Parents, huh?"

"You said it."

Suddenly he's looking a bit bashful. "Um, listen, I don't usually do this, but you're not my patient anymore, okay so technically you never really were, which is even better…um…could I have your number? To call you sometime?"

He's looking everywhere but at me, and there's a flush in his cheeks. "Not so glib now, are you, Doc?"

"Damn. You found me out."

There it is, that smile again. Yeah, he's getting my number. But not before I mess with him some more. "Couldn't you just, you know, look it up?"

"That would be unethical," he says uncomfortably.

"And asking me out isn't?"

"Look, are you gonna give me your number or not?"

"Sure, what the hey. You can help me with Orgo, if nothing else."

"Great. Excellent. I'll call." He gives me a small smile, and then he's gone.

"So it really doesn't bother you?" I regard him hopefully.

"What, that I'm sitting across from a very pretty girl?"

"Well, yeah," I admit, feeling foolish. "The whole model thing. It tends to intimidate guys. And then turn them into horny sleazeballs." He chokes on his soda a bit, and I smile at him.

He regards me earnestly. "Susanna, you're gorgeous, amusing, and smart as hell, and, well, I'm the guy who got through high school by keeping his head down and his nose in a book. Let's just say I'm still not necessarily used to girls like you noticing a guy like me. So you're not the only one feeling unsure here. Let's just take it one step at a time, okay?"

"Girls like me?" I grin as he squirms a bit. "So, you were, like, a geek in high school?"

"Guilty."

"Well, I wish you would've told me that sooner. I don't know whether I can be seen with you now." His astonished eyes snap up to meet mine, and as I snicker at him, he blushes adorably, in the manner I've come to expect, and I throw a French fry at him.

"That's right, take advantage of my bruised psyche there, Miss America."

"You can count on it."

"My pleasure." He ducks his head when he says this, his face turning red once again.

He's serious.

How completely, singularly wonderful is that?