As always, I own nothing. Becker belongs to Dave Hackel Productions; I'm just playing with their toys for a little while.
But that "Aileen" that Becker mentioned earlier? She does belong to me. You'll see her in the House fic I'm working on.
Much Ado About . . . What? Why does everyone seem to want Becker these days?
"My, my, John! You certainly seem to be in a better mood today!" Margaret exclaimed when Becker strolled in through the front door.
"Yeah, well, let's just say I had a great night's rest and leave it at that. Who's up first?"
Margaret chuckled. She knew what "a great night's rest" really meant coming from John Becker. "Nothing yet, John. It's not even nine yet, and your first appointment's not until nine-thirty."
"Oh, all right. I guess I'll make a couple of calls and get that out of the way."
'Mm-hm!' Margaret gleaned that it was something more than a release of the stress he'd been feeling the last few days, but what could have made him feel so much better that he'd get to work early? Whatever, or whoever, it was must be good for him. Unless it was so bad that he needed to get away and find a distraction-
"Hi, Margaret," Linda greeted as she tripped through the door. "Before you say anything, I know I'm late. But there was this, um, it had a -"
"Oh, Linda, it's all right. You're only a few minutes late today. Better than the half-hour late you usually are."
"Really? Wow, I guess my clock's broken, then. Which is weird because it's supposed to have a guarantee that it'll run for ten years without any problems."
"If it has a warranty, you can send it in for repairs," she suggested.
"Well, the thing is, Margaret, that this clock was a gift from Gil, so I don't actually have the warranty . . . or a receipt . . ."
Margaret held her hands up in defeat. "I get the idea. Maybe you should get a new clock."
"Hm, maybe," Linda agreed slowly.
Several hours and many aggravating patients later, Linda got off the phone with a friend of hers.
"Big plans for the evening?" Margaret asked.
"Oh, not really, we're just gonna grab something to eat, maybe go to a club. What're you doing tonight?"
"Well, let's see, I'm gonna go home and, uh, get dinner started. It's Tuesday, so that means mac and cheese. Um, Lewis and I will eat in front of the television; he'll fall asleep. I'll do the crossword, go to bed, get up, and start all over tomorrow."
Linda couldn't fight the urge to hug her.
"What's this for?" Margaret asked, disconcerted.
"All of it!"
"What do you mean?"
"Your life! It's just so . . . dull!" Linda hoped she'd never be in such a rut.
"My life isn't dull! Sometimes, I cut up little hot dogs into the mac and cheese."
Linda hugged her again. When Margaret pushed her away, Linda exclaimed, "I can't help it! You need a night out. Look, come with Julie and me. We'll go to dinner and maybe go dancing. It'll be fun!"
"On a Tuesday? Ooh, I don't know."
"You have to come with me. Or else, it'll ruin my night. I'll be out somewhere having fun and then I'll start thinking of you with the mac and the cheese and the hot dogs and Lewis. Look, just do it for me, OK?"
Chris limped in on Bob's arm. "All right, almost there, one more step," he said as he helped Chris hobble her way through the door.
"Oh, my god, are you all right?" Linda asked.
"I'll get John," Margaret proclaimed as she headed towards his office.
"What happened?" Linda asked, concerned and curious.
Chris herself was a bit confused. "I'm not really sure. I - We were playing racquetball, I don't know if I was going for the ball or Bob was. I've never seen anyone move that fast!"
"Bob?" Linda asked incredulously.
"Yeah, he - he was a blur! The guy's in street clothes and a leather jacket, but he was running up the walls like in the Matrix!" She still couldn't believe how well he'd managed to play.
"I was pretty good, wasn't I?" Bob asked proudly. 'Considering until this morning, I didn't even know what racquetball was!'
Becker came out to see what the commotion was. "What'd you do, twist your ankle?"
Chris was slightly embarrassed. "No, no, it's my knee. It's happened before. It's like it popped out of the socket or something."
"Ew, gross." Linda did not like the sound of that.
Margaret was quick to reprimand her. "Linda!"
"Well, it is."
Becker helped Chris to her feet. "Let's get you back in the exam room. I'll take a look."
"Well," Bob knew he should leave. "OK, we'll do this again soon, OK? Well, you know, everything up to the point where you were curled up in a ball on the floor screaming. Amazing how many of my dates end that way," he remarked as he made a hasty exit.
"Uh, John, do you want me to stay?" Margaret called down the hall.
"Oh, no, no, no. You go on home. I don't want you to miss mac and cheese night."
Margaret turned to Linda. "You. Me. Let's go!" she declared.
As they made their way into an exam room, Chris apologised for bothering him when he was about to close the office. "Sorry to bother you like this. I would've gone to the emergency room but they make you wait, like, ten hours before anyone helps you and then the only thing they really care about is how you're gonna pay."
Becker helped her hop up onto the bed and sat in front of her. "Yeah, they are pretty heartless. You - you do have insurance, don't you?"
She reassured him with a smile and a simple "Yes."
"OK, then, let's take a look here," he murmured as he began massaging her injured knee.
"You know, the last time I popped my knee out like this, I was sunbathing in Mexico."
"You popped your knee out sunbathing?" He couldn't believe someone could get hurt so easily.
"Kind of a funny story, really. See, I was in this lounge chair and it actually folded up on me. You know, like in a cartoon? And . . ."
"Even an injury amuses you? Can't you bitch and moan like everybody else?" This woman was irritating with her optimism.
"Ow, ow, that hurts!" she cried out as he manipulated her leg.
"That's more like it." Now she sounded like one of his patients.
"Aah, oh!" she screamed again. He pushed on her leg some more until he heard her pleasant and surprised voice say "Ooh, oh, you just - you just popped it back in! How'd you do that?"
"Oh, who knows?" he remarked casually as he rubbed her knee to be sure it was fine. "I just moved stuff around until you stopped screaming." Why did that seem like such a familiar comment? Realising when he'd heard himself say that before, he pulled away from the perky blonde in front of him.
This couldn't be good.