A/N: Hiya folks. Took a short break from My Vaycay to write the hockey fics, and then this one popped into my head. I'll return to My Vaycay soon, I promise. More chapters to follow on this one as well, will try alternating chapters on these bad boys.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, especially not Scrubs. Well I do, but they're the kind you wear to work and get blood and puke and other bodily fluids on. Oh yeah, most glamorous job ever. Um, oh right, I also own rum. Piña colada time, indeed.

His Limits- His Approach

Perry Cox knew his limits.

He knew exactly how many glasses of scotch he could drink and still function. He could be falling-down drunk and about to pass out and still work the coffee machine. Five and he could still make the TiVo playback last week's game. Three and he'd be able to suck it up enough to actually make it to their apartment and not run screaming the minute they opened the door. He'd tried that on number two before, and damn, had he regretted it. It wasn't quite enough. Four and he was a bit too relaxed. But three was just perfect.

Getting there at number three was something of a work of art. He'd have one drink before he even got ready, just enough to soothe his nerves. He'd take a shower, get dressed, lace up the sneakers. He'd start on the second drink while he turned off the lights and locked the door and made his way down to the car, finishing by the time he revved the beautiful girl up. And three would come after he had arrived and parked outside along the curb. Perry always took his time with three, letting it soak in a bit more than the others, sometimes sitting out there upwards of half an hour. He liked just looking at the building while he drank number three. He appreciated that it didn't have the pretentiousness of most buildings in the area. There were no spindly eucalyptus trees growing along the sidewalk, trying to look regal but instead being beaten and wilted by the Southern California sun. No potted flowers, no balloons attached to cheerful signs advertising rooms for rent. Nondescript red and beige brick glared at him, stripped down bare and honest. He'd count the bricks on bad nights, trying to bring some semblance of order back into his life, and on good nights he'd stare up at the fire escape, tracing the zigzagging ladder and railings skyward with his eyes.

Tonight he wondered how long it would take him to scale the building. He could probably jump high enough to grasp the lowest rungs of the escape, pull himself up, and run full tilt up the thing in twenty seconds. Not like it was ever likely to happen, but it was interesting to think about. He considered it, swishing his drink around, when there was a tap on his window.

Perry swiveled, rolling the window down. "How can I help you, officer?" he said more politely than usual.

"You can start by telling me how long you've been out here drinking." She smiled pleasantly.

With a glance at the clock, Perry did some math. It was 9:42. "Twenty-seven minutes, officer," he replied, glad he was only on number three. His math skills began to go around four.

The police officer stripped off a glove and laid a hand on the hood of his Porsche. She made a noncommittal noise. "Strange place to drink, you know, outside your apartment. Why not inside instead?"

Perry snorted. "This isn't my apartment."

"Oh? Well you have to understand that from my perspective that sounds even creepier, sir." Her voice was gentle, unhardened. He looked at her face. She was young, probably relatively new to the force. Any other cop would've hauled him out of the car by now. He decided to use this to his advantage.

"I'm sorry, officer," Perry sighed. "I know that sounds odd. The thing is…" he let the sentence hang as he glanced at the apartment building. "Well, some pals of mine from work live here, they're having a get-together. And one of them is this unbelievably beautiful woman." Tsk tsk, Per, you're a horrible person. Lies of omission are still lies. He shrugged off his conscience as he tapped the sides of his glass, hoping to come off embarrassed and shy. "I'm just trying to get the confidence up to go in there, you know?" He sighed again, half for effect and half because he felt somewhat bad about yanking this young cop around.

The officer smiled and straightened herself up. "Well I'm going to let you go then. Ran your plates and they're clean. The next guy who comes along won't be as nice as me though, could try to make an open container case out of this. You'd better take it inside sooner rather than later. Now you have a good evening." Her boots clacked on the asphalt as she made her way back to the squad car, leaving Perry in silence once again. He watched approvingly as she walked away in his rear-view mirror.

Perry knocked back the rest of the scotch and tossed the glass over his shoulder and onto the back seat. Reaching into the foot well of the passenger seat, he withdrew a paper bag with several bottles of alcohol, including the nearly empty scotch bottle he'd been pouring from. He shoved his keys into his jeans pocket as he emerged from the car and turned to see the squad car still parked behind him. Giving her a little wave, he smiled meekly and walked toward the apartment building.

He rolled his eyes as soon as he was out of her sight. "For crying out loud," muttered Perry as he waited for the elevator. He twisted the top off the scotch, drained it, and stepped inside just before the doors closed. Number four, down the hatch. Oh well, it's probably for the best. Gonna need it tonight.

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"I think someone's at the door, JD," Elliot tried to yell over the din of the apartment, her head lolling back in JD's lap.

"Elliot!" scolded JD. "Don't move. You're messing up my handiwork."

She looked up at him with bleary eyes. "How does it look so far?"

JD frowned. "It looks stupid because you keep moving! Now stay still or your hair is going to stay half braided forever." He tied a colorful scrunchie around one French braid with a flourish and pushed her head back up into an upright position before setting to work on the other half of her hair. He'd tried doing her hair while they were both sitting on the couch, but he had a much better angle with her sitting on the floor with her back to the couch. He was grateful for something to occupy him, as he was fairly tipsy and everyone knew he got "handsy" when he was tipsy.

*knock knock knock*

Elliot looked up at JD from her seat on the floor. "I really think someone's at the door. Aren't you going to at least check?"

Frowning, JD cocked his head and listened, but could only hear the television blaring and the base thumping as music poured out of a pair of tall floor speakers. "Hey could you guys turn that down for a minute?!" JD yelled at Turk and Carla who were grooving to hip-hop music, beers in hand. They either couldn't hear him or ignored him, as he got no response. He looked back down at Elliot. "Maybe it's just Mrs. Thomas and her broom from downstairs." He stomped on the floor and leaned down. "THIS IS WHAT YOU GET FOR HAVING THAT CRAZY TUPPERWARE PARTY LAST FRIDAY! HAVE A GOOD NIGHT!" Shrugging, he returned his focus to Elliot's hair.

*BANG BANG BANG*

JD leaped about a foot off the couch. "I uh, guess someone's here!" He patted an eye-rolling Elliot on the head as he jumped up and made his way to the door. Glancing at his watch, he frowned. Almost ten already? Who could it possibly… oh crap.

He peered through the peek hole. A sandy-haired head was bowed, its owner staring at the floor. With a sigh the man turned slowly and began to walk back the way he came, towards the elevator.

Oh crap! I had no idea he was… I didn't think he'd really… OH CRAP!

JD whirled around. "HEY!" he yelled. His three friends turned to him, identical baffled expressions on their faces. "Turk, turn down the music! Carla, put in some popcorn! And for the love of God, Elliot, turn OFF the My Little Pony special and put something else on! HURRY!"

It took a moment for the inebriated trio to spring to action, but they followed JD's orders quickly. Once he was satisfied, JD opened the door and dashed into the hall.

"Dr. Cox!"

Perry stopped mid-stride, about to enter the elevator, and turned towards his shouting protégé. Straightening, he stepped back into the hallway and let the doors shut. Here goes nothing. "Well, if it isn't the Hostess with the Mostest. I thought maybe your little tea party had ended early and you were getting all wrapped up in your Rainbow Brite sleeping bags, watching My Little Pony and waiting 'til your first gal pal fell asleep so you could put her bra in the freezer."

He knows! Keep it inside JD, don't let him see how close he is! "You're late!" JD said weakly. Good front, go with it! "Well come on. What's in the bag?"

Frowning, Perry crossed the short distance to JD and shoved the bag into his arms. "You told me to bring rum, so I brought, surprise, rum. Oh, and a little something for me, because I'm sure whatever you're mixing up with that crap is something I won't be interested in." He sniffed, brushed the bridge of his nose in Perrylike fashion, and crossed his arms over his chest.

JD's eyes went wide. "But I… You really… Umm…"

"Yeah, time to finish a sentence there Chiquita. I don't have all night."

JD grinned. "Thanks, Dr. Cox. Come on in." He stepped back into the apartment and waved the bottle of rum at his friends. "Hey guys! It's piña colada time!"

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