Fandoms: Scrubs / House crossover (Set in Sacred Heart Hospital, my money's on Sacramento, CA)
Characters this chapter: Dr. House, Dr. Wilson, Cameron, OOC Foreman, JD, Carla, briefly Laverne, Doug, and yes, DOCTOR COX!
Chapter rating:Barely PG for not even really cussing.
Overall story rating: NC-17 in parts, if I can make myself stop blushing, but relatively plot heavy overall.
Genre: Humor, angst, romantic, I think I hit everything but horror.
Warnings: Still OOC Foreman
Spoilers: Up to Scrubs Season 6, episode 7, "My Musical" and House, M.D., up to "Fools for Love," Season 3, episode 5.
The Guest Lecture 6/??
Chapter Narrator: The Jay DIZZLE! (JD)
Chapter Six: Ring-a-Ding-Ding
[Narrated by JD]
They Might Be Giants, "Birdhouse in Your Soul"
I'm your only friend, I'm not your only friend, but I'm a little glowing friend but really I'm not actually your friend but I am—
Whew. I feel so naked when I don't have the narrative. We all stood in the elevator, going down to the basement. I felt a little tension in the elevator, but I wasn't really sure where it was coming from. Maybe it was me—I was supposed to be doing rounds, and if Dr. Cox caught me, I would probably be beaten to death with a sturdy combined stack of his charts and mine. Still, I hadn't been paged, so no one had coded, so I might be okay. The elevator door opened, and in two turns, we were at the morgue.
"Here's the morgue; it's pretty standard, stainless steel, floor drain," I said, gesturing around. Why the heck was there a tour anyway? I mean, hospitals are generally all the same, more or less. Kelso must've needed some filler. "There's only one gurney though…"
"Must be a damn good hospital," black doctor said with a smile. I smiled back at him, and opened up one of the empty morgue drawers like a good little time-filling tour guide, only to have a strawberry bounce off my shoe. Upon further inspection, I noted that the drawer was full of bags of fruit and one bag of ice.
"Doug? Why?" I asked. He shrugged from his position on one of the tables, glancing up from his magazine.
"It's been slow, so I made a smoothie drawer. You want one?" he said, pointing to a half full blender sitting to one side of a tray of recently used dissection tools.
"I think I'm okay," I replied, eyes a little wide. I turned to the tour group. "Moving right along."
Once in the elevator, I added:
"That was Doug," I paused. "It's very very important that you don't let him touch you."
"Why?" their girl doctor asked.
"Because you'll die instantly," I answered.
"Anyplace else you're just dying to see?" I asked. "No pun intended?"
"Not really," Dr. Wilson said. He seemed tense… he probably needed a cup of tea, and maybe a cardigan. "I'm sure you've got work to do, and we should probably hook back up with Dr. Kelso."
"You want to hook up with Bob Kelso? Ick," Dr. House muttered. I repressed a giggle.
"Be quiet," the black doctor snapped at him. Dr. House mimicked him, sneering.
Awkward! I thought, relieved when the elevator opened at admitting. We wandered out and hovered around the nurses' station.
"Laverne, can you page Dr. Kelso? Or Ted, Ted'll work."
Laverne picked up the phone and dialed in to the intercom.
"Ted Buckland to the nurses' station please, Ted Buckland to the nurses' station."
"Thanks Laverne!" Before she could say 'you're welcome Q-tip,' there was a squeaking of sneakers and Ted appeared in a mist of sweat.
"Oh god what happened?" he gasped, one hand perched on his extra-shiny head, the other clutching his briefcase to his chest.
"Nothing, Ted," I said, giving him a crooked look with elegantly arched eyebrows if I do say so. "Did Kelso give you the schedule thingy for this whole conference deal?"
"Oh. Yeah. Don't do that," Ted sighed, digging in his briefcase. He paused and looked up. "Weren't there five of you? Jesus, Dorian, you lost one?!"
"I only ever got four—were there five of you?" I asked. Dr. House, Dr. Wilson, black doctor, girl doctor…
"Nope, nope, sorry, I'm right here," a disheveled Australian man bounded up and said. "Dr. Chase, pleasure's all mine," he added, grabbing my hand and shaking it. "Didn't you use to be a black surgeon?"
Do I smell sex? I thought, imagining a blind-folded smell test in which I identified fabric softener, lemons, my hair gel, and a perfume bottle labeled "Boinking."
"What the hell are you so damn cheerful about?" the black doctor barked at the Australian. I was starting to feel uncomfortable just thinking of him as black doctor. Visiting chocolate? Goateed wonder?
"Kiss my arse, Foreman," Aussie doc said. Foreman, that would work, and Aussie doc was Chase and girl doctor… chilly! …girl doctor had taken a bottle of hand sanitizer from the nurses' station and was squirting it into my hand.
"Sorry, you don't know where he's been," she said, which was technically true. "And thankfully neither do we."
"There's an opening dinner tonight, the hotel has directions," Ted said, dejected and monotone as ever. "Other than that you can do whatever the hell you want for the day, god knows I wouldn't spend it here. The panels start tomorrow."
With that Ted wandered off, scratching his head and muttering.
"So!" Dr. Cox said, walking up behind me and making me jump. Just a little. Dr. Cox gave my little tour group a withering look and continued.
"It would appear that you collectively have no further business here so I'm sure you'll be wanting to find an elsewhere to be before you get any sick person on you, and Priscilla, Queen of the Dry Spell has real work to do."
Dr. Cox clapped a hand down on my shoulder—he was finally learning that physical contact can be a useful tool between a mentor and a protégé. Dr. House cocked his head and smiled at us.
"Oh, but it'd be so fascinating to join Johnny on his rounds and see what's going on with the baby docs these days!" Dr. House said, chucking me on the chin. I shook my head a little, modestly beaming, then modestly wincing as Dr. Cox's friendly hand on the shoulder became a friendly vice on the shoulder, yanking me backwards down the hall.
"What, newbie?" Dr. Cox said loudly as he dragged me down the corridor. "You have to go try to keep people alive and can't stay and gossip with the Jersey Girls? Oh no, that's just too bad, I guess we'll have to go and poke at the sick people."
I waved ineffectively at the tour group.
"You know, if you'd let go, I'd probably keep following you," I pointed out, only to be yanked into an empty patient's room, where Dr. Cox let me go, crossing his arms and revving up for a really killer rant.
"Holly, what precisely did I tell you not two hours ago, hm?"
"That I was going to slave till I die like a real doctor?" I asked. He gave me that crooked smile that I knew didn't express any pleasure or approval.
"E-hexactly. Now how in the hell is strolling around with the Jersey docs pointing out walls and bedpans and things slaving till ya die?"
"The Todd disappeared, and Turk asked me to take over," I pouted. No. I mean growled, or snarled, or something else very testosterone-packed. Man-tastic.
"Well then you'd best get out your little stewardess uniform and talk them through what to do if the oxygen masks deploy, wait, no, better idea, you could stay away from Dr. House like I told you and do your job!" he snapped.
"You never told me to stay away from Dr. House!" I protested. "You just said I wasn't allowed to go into differential diagnosis!"
Dr. Cox got right up in my face and whispered through his teeth in that way that makes my loins think bad things that interfere with good solid brain thoughts. Also man-tastic?
"Well I am telling you right now, Yvette, that you are to stay away from Dr. House. I don't give a crap about his little Jersey groupies, but if I catch you making eyes at him again, you will be so grounded."
"Wasn't makin' eyes at him," I muttered very quietly. When will I learn to hush?
"That's it," Dr. Cox snarled, reaching into his pocket and yanking out a navy blue velvet ribbon Blue Velvet was a creepy movie. Isabella Rossellini sure is pretty… with a jingle bell attached. He's gonna strangle me! This isn't how I want to die! I want to die in an avalanche of Pogs once I've gotten the world's largest collection!
I snapped out of my Pog world and looked back at Dr. Cox. He'd managed to get the ribbon around my neck but surprisingly my esophagus hadn't been crushed.
"I was saving this for a threat and subsequent humiliation but you leave me no choice. You do not get out of range where I can hear jingling."
"Dr. Cox, I'm not a cat!" I whined, reaching for the knot behind my neck. Dr. Cox's finger was in my face in an instant.
"Remove that," he said, more quietly than I cared for, "And there will be capital C consequences that I doubt very seriously that you will be able to handle."
And in a flap of white coat, he was out of the room. I detached myself from the wall and sighed, collecting myself.
"I DON'T HEAR JINGLING!"
I bolted out of the room. I wasn't a cat. Cats don't heel. There was no point in appealing to Dr. Cox's sense of reason at this point, so I did the next best thing.
"Carla…" I sulked at the nurses' station. She bustled around (she hates the word bustle, she things it's scurrying for fat girls) handing out instructions and charts to about seven doctors, nurses and interns.
"Bambi, I'm really swamped, can it wa—is that a bell around your neck?!" she gasped.
I appealed to Carla's. I made sad puppy eyes at her, which were probably made extra poignant because a bad man had put a bell on me!
"DOCTOR COX!" she roared, stepping around the counter.
"You tell him, Latina Lion!" I cried. She glanced back at me, one eyebrow raised. I shrugged in reply, "It's a thing I'm trying."
"I like it," she nodded as Dr. Cox strolled (moseyed?) up.
"You bellowed, oh tiny pink one?" Dr. Cox said, feigning innocence.
"You can't treat JD like an animal!"
"This is for his safety!" Dr. Cox said incredulously. "Honestly, I would've lo-jacked him but I didn't think he'd be able to walk!"
That tidbit of sarcasm pushed Carla over the edge. Her chin dropped, and her eyes got very, very dark.
"This is funny to you?" she seethed. I wish I could seethe. I just can't pull it off. Damn my boyish good looks.
"Have you met me?" Dr. Cox said. "Hi, Perry Cox, egocentric bastard who is ah-hall-ways right, it's a thrill. That bell is for his protection!"
"Oh what the hell's gonna happen to him if he's not in your lab coat pocket?" Carla had moved on to "from the Block" neck motions. The situation was escalating.
"New Jersey!" Dr. Cox snapped in reply, pacing back in forth in front of her. I really needed to visit the zoo… Carla's voice got gentler, and she started to explain things to Dr. Cox like he was a very simple boy.
"Bambi's not going to New Jersey, 'cause Turk's not going to New Jersey, 'cause there ain't no way I'm going to New Jersey!"
"New Jersey is here, Carla! It's crawling around the hospital, oozing out of the air vents like the damn Blob and I'm Steve McQueen!"
"How does that justify treating Bambi like a dog?!" she went off. Dr. Cox looked desperate and livid and miserable all at once. So he was fairly normal.
"The dog… survived the movie, Carla."
"Do you know how fucking crazy you sound?!" she shrieked. Silence fell over admitting and the nurses' station.
"Hold on," Laverne muttered into the phone. "It's gettin' PG-13."
"The bell. Stays on. And Newbie stays with me!" Dr. Cox snarled and oh I hoped he was wearing a cup because Carla was going to boot his testicles into his nostrils. He grabbed the back of my scrubs and dragged me away again, gnashing his teeth and foaming at the mouth about meddling nurses. My unlikely savior came in the form of Bob Kelso.
"I hate to break up this little tea party," Kelso said, smiling and glaring in that weird sort of white coated dinosaur kind of Chihuahua way… "But you two have a welcoming dinner to attend in four hours."
"What the hell have you been packing in that pipe of yours, Bobbo?" Dr. Cox inquired. Kelso gave that warm, avuncular smile.
"Oh dear, Ted didn't tell you. How inconsiderate. Ah well."
And just like that, the smile was gone, and BeelzeBob was back.
"Dinner. To welcome all these bastards from their crappy hospitals to the conference. You're going, Perry, or by god, I will take your parking space and you can ride the back of your labradoodle's scooter to work!" He paused, looking at me. "Son, is that a bell on your neck?"
"Um…" I started, but then realized I had no place to go. Dr. Kelso sighed, then put his arm around my shoulders, moving a few steps away from Dr. Cox.
"Son, I'm given to understand that something spiked and leather is what people are after these days. I know it's hard to keep up."
He took out a pen (clicky top, the lucky old fox) and his prescription pad, then peeled off the one he'd written on.
"This is Harrison's number. For god's sake, Dorian, if you're going to be a pervert, you might as well do it right."
Kelso gave my shoulder a firm pat and marched off, most likely in search of muffin. Dr. Cox stared down Carla, who stood with her hands on her hips back by the nursing station.
"The bell," he called out to her. "Stays on."
He turned back to me. I put the prescription in my pocket.
"You may go to your tent. Go directly to your tent. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars in Victoria's Secret gift cards. You will get dressed for this idiotic dinner. Then you will wait until I come get you. Once at this idiotic dinner you will NOT speak to any of the Holland Tunnel docs unless you are standing directly next to me, Carla, or, and I cannot believe I am saying this, Gandhi. You will not get into any vehicle except my Porche or that stupid clown car Carla and her wife drive. This includes taxis, rickshaws, bicycles, tandem or otherwise, motorcycles, unicycles and little red wagons."
I didn't really know what to say to that.
"Okay?" I said quietly.
"You're damn right. Oh, and the bell—"
"—stays on, I get it, I get it."