A/N: Sorry for not updating in forever. This chapter has taken me a while to write. I tried to capture JD's feelings about himself as a person and a doctor. I hope I was a little bit on target. The reference JD makes about one of his patients was from Season One: My Tuscaloosa Heart. A big thanks to my wonderful Beta, Therm.


JD POV

Ever since I've restrained him, Dr Cox has had interns treating him instead of me. I knew why he chose an intern simply because they were all too scared of him and would do exactly what he wants them to, which was leave him alone.

Out of all the interns he could have chosen he at least chose the most competent of them all, Debbie Michaels. She was smart and willing to learn and she seemed like an intern who would progress to be a good doctor. Plus, you didn't have to look over her shoulder constantly to prevent her from killing someone as Attendings have had to do in the past (Doug jumps to my mind).

Still, everything that had to do with Dr Cox was run by me first, procedures, medications, examinations. And so while she technically was his doctor-I monitored his chart.

I wondered if he guessed what I was doing, I wondered if he even cared.

Thanks a lot to Carla his condition has improved a lot in the last week. He's walking again, eating a little bit, and going to psychical therapy sessions on most days. We're hoping to have him go home soon. Once he's there he'll still have to go through a lot more physical therapy, but where he'll do it is up to him, either here in the hospital, or in a private clinic.

Since Dr Cox is a patient now we're short staffed. Kelso divided up his patients but there's still new ones coming in each day and it's sometimes hard to keep up with work. I've found myself here plenty of times after my shift was over just trying to finish up paperwork

Tonight I was working the night shift; I actually don't mind working this shift so much. It is quiet and with most patients sleeping, I have plenty time to catch up on all the paper work I neglected during the day. It's funny when I first started out, paper work consumed my day, but after six years I learned to do it quickly, but being short staffed there just wasn't so much time.

The nurse working the night shift approached me and informed me that she had given Dr Cox his sleeping pill. I decided to take the chance, and check up on him. Even though Debbie was a good intern I wanted to examine him for myself after all she's still a young a doctor and not as experienced as I am.

I gently pushed his door open and quietly crept into his room; it was the first time I was in there since the incident. The room was dark except for the soft glow of various monitors; even though he was stable, hospital policy required that all ICU patients to be hooked on- just the vitals, nothing major: pulse, o2 stat, and blood pressure.

Although the room was virtually dark, I was able to make out the nasty bruises which still covered his face. It's been a couple of weeks since he was assaulted, some of his black and blue marks have turned yellowish-green- a sign they're healing, but some of the bad one were still purple. Even though a blanket covered his sleeping form I was able to tell how much he thinned out. His jaw hasn't fully healed so he still had to survive on liquids and pureed food; great if you're on a diet but counterproductive when you need to heal. Getting him to eat has been difficult but who can blame him? Pudding, jello, and applesauce can get tiresome. Though there was one person who got him to eat. My lips curled into a small smile when I thought about it. Good o'l Jordon, gosh that woman is scary. Every day she comes to visit him with a protein shake or a smoothie, and rumor has it he only tried to refuse her once.

I slipped my stethoscope beneath his gown and listened carefully. His lungs sounded okay like Debbie said, but not as clear as I would hope; tomorrow I'll have her start him on antibiotics.

Just in case.


Two days later

I was in the ICU examining Mr. Binkley, his kidneys were not doing well and I felt it was time to start dialysis; I walked to the nurses' station to tell Carla to do so. While talking to her I saw Detective March enter the ICU heading straight for Dr Cox's room. Carla and I followed him with our eyes, but neither of us made an attempt to stop him.

After ten minutes I watched from the nursed station as Carla entered the room and made some lame excuse to get the detective to leave. After five more minutes he left the room. As he walked towards the exit of the ICU I stopped him.

"Detective, do me a favor and go easy on him"

"He seems like he's feeling fine, so what's the problem doc?"

"Physically maybe, but emotionally he has a way to go."

"Whose fault is that?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Whose fault is that? Mine? Yours? The guys who beat him up? You want me to be straight with you?"

I didn't reply, not really wanting to hear what he had to say.

"You should have told him" he said. "You should have been honest with him, because he asked you what happened, and he counted on you, and he trusted you."

"That's not what he needed, he needed to heal an-"

"And he's scared to death" the detective continued. "Listen I've seen countless victims and as a doctor so have you. But you don't see him as one and you know why? Because you can't. It made no difference whether he knew or not, but it made it difference to you, you want to blame me that's fine, but you're the one who screwed up, doctor." and with his words still hanging in the air he turned and left the ICU.


For hours I laid in my bed tossing and turning, what with the detective's words still ringing in my ears. His rant reminded me of those that Dr. Cox tossed my way countless times. I hated the detective, I hated what he had to say, I hated that he read me so easily, and I hated that he was right.

I glanced at the clock once more. I had to get up in a few hours for my shift and it didn't look like I would fall asleep any time soon.

By five o'clock I gave up on sleep and got dressed. I headed to the hospital and grabbed a coffee on my way, still getting there well before my shift.I headed to the deserted doctor's lounge and flopped down on the couch with nothing but my coffee and thoughts keeping me company.

What the heck am I doing? Have I grown up? Have I changed as a doctor? With a whirl wind of questions plaguing my mind, the answer became clear. Dr Cox had become my crutch which I subconsciously learned to lean on. And then I remembered something he told me when I first became an Attending physician.

"From now on, the buck stops with you. And I know that you have occasionally bent the rules in this dump over the past couple of years, but you only did it because you knew when the crap started raining down it was damn sure gonna fall on my head."

And he was right, and that had to change.


My shift was over, but before heading home I entered Dr. Cox's room.

If he was surprised by my boldness he didn't show it as his face remained impassive. Knowing he wouldn't be the one to talk first I began: "When I was an intern I had patient who was a big a jerk. When he died I felt guilty even though he was terminal, I felt guilty because maybe I treated him differently because he was a nasty individual.

"Everyone tried to reassure me that I did nothing wrong that he died because of his illness and not because of my neglect. Yet for days I couldn't sleep. I finally came to you and you told me I screwed up-not because of anything I did, because he was a going to die anyway, but because the way I felt about the patient. I don't know why but I was finally able to sleep".

"You also told me that part of being a good doctor is not repeating the same the mistakes and I've tired not to but I'm not always able to disconnect myself from my patients" I said referring to him. "I came to you then, because whenever self-doubt would flood my mind I needed someone to stop it, and over the years I've been able to need that reassurance less and less, but as much as I've grown I still sometimes needed you to help quell those self doubts.

I walked to his bed. "So whenever you have a chance I have a patient I'd like you to look at." I said while handing him the chart I was holding.

He glanced at it and was bit surprised to see 'Perry Cox' written on it. He held his chart in his hand for a while before letting out a sigh, cocking his head to the side like he always does when he's uncomfortable, and handed me back the chart-unopened.

"You're doing fine there Newbie" he finally said.

"Thank you."

I felt the pressure instantly lift off my shoulder, although I vowed I would be my own doctor I needed his faith one last time. Reassurance is nice and it is even sweeter hearing it from him, even after all these years.


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