Dr. Betty Caduceus (doctor_caduceus) wrote in spirited_love,
Dr. Betty Caduceus
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The Guest Lecture v1.5 10/??


Fic: The Guest Lecture v1.5
Fandoms: Scrubs / House crossover (Set in Sacred Heart Hospital, my money's on Sacramento, CA)
Characters this chapter: Dr. Cox, JD, Carla, Turk, Jordan, Kim
Chapter rating:PG-13 for draaaaama and language
Overall story rating: NC-17 in parts, if I can make myself stop blushing, but relatively plot heavy overall.
Genre: Humor, angst, romantic, smut, I think I hit everything but horror.
Warnings: Language, almost cartoon-esque violence and a somewhat implausible Deus Ex Machina (I'm such a damn hypocrite), and continued ragging on New Jersey.
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 10/??
Chapter Narrator: Oh my crack-smokin' god it's Perry. (Perry with curly hair damn it!)

I've been workin' hard on this chapter. It's a little tricky to make Perry narrate, so if his voice makes no sense or is way OOC, lemme know and I'll try to press and starch it a bit more. I apologize for the Deus Ex Machina, I just couldn't iron it out any other way. Next chapter is well in the works, and is (hopefully) funnier than this one.

Chapter Ten:

Pedro the Lion, "Options"

So I told her I loved her,
And she told me she loved me.
And I mostly believed her,
And she mostly believed me.


[Narrated by Per-Bear, at long last]

Damn it, it was supposed to have been a good week. Jordan was out of my hair for days at that idiotic retreat, most of the interns were going to conference panels, so Newbie and I should've been able to actually get some bona fide doctoring done.

Damn it.

On the surface he seemed fine, but the godawful jokes were half hearted, there was no singing or dancing. His eyes didn't light up when he drifted off. He didn't come looking for me; he'd ask me a question if I happened to walk up, but everything was just… off. He couldn't have been that bothered by all that stuff about how wrong it would be to have sex with him, I mean, he had to think it was just as wrong.

"Make up your mind yet?" Carla asked me as I handed off one chart and collected two others.

"Hnnn," I replied. "Mickhead is doing a godawful job today, did he find another wife to kill?"

"He does have a girlfriend," Laverne confirmed. I snorted.

"Anyone seen her lately or has she gone the way of Jimmy Hoffa?"

Newbie walked up at that point, rubbing his forehead.

"What the hell is wrong with Mickhead?" he asked Carla. "His interns keep coming up to me and asking me to change his orders so no one dies."

"That's it," I said, sticking out my hand and waving my fingers. "Carla, give me his charts."

"See, Bambi, you can't go to New Jersey because Mickhead will kill half of California," Carla said, smiling and winking at me, handing over the stack of patients Mickhead was trying to assassinate. Newbie shook his head, rolling his eyes.

"I'll take half," he said, holding his hand out while writing some orders.

"As you wish, Teresa," I replied, giving him a bit less than half the charts. He walked off again without anything clever to say, and Carla's smile faded.

"You could just apologize," she said.

"I could do a lot of things. I could climb atop the building and sing sea shanties while wearing an eye patch, trying to sail the hospital broadside of other hospitals so we can loot them of trach kits and crash carts. I could go to whatever girly salon Camilla goes to and get my hair straightened so it flops in my eyes like the kids in tight pants like to wear theirs, maybe get an eyebrow ring and start listening to Fallout at the Disco or whatever—"

"Hey," Gandhi interrupted, having apparently arrived during the early stages of my rundown. I turned to him, flicking my nose and crossing my arms. I simply do not get interrupted in mid tirade. It's just not done.

"Okay," I asked. "Who ordered the scalpel jockey, because I specifically requested extra cheese and green peppers, I mean, my god, is it so hard—"

"You would think that after all the damage your last big rant did you might've learned a little something," Mr. Espinosa said, shaking his head. "Sometimes it's better to keep it all short and sweet, like 'I'm sorry I was such a prick.'"

He moved closer.

"Or, 'If JD goes to New Jersey I'm gonna slice you up and give away your organs and feed the leftovers to Rowdy.'"

"In fairness, that wasn't that short," I replied. "And I didn't make New Jersey. It just sprouted all on its own."

I turned away to get some actual work done, catching sight of Newbie talking to one of Mickhead's interns, who looked reassured and not at all in fear of her life. I walked into the room of a patient in a coma to make sure Mickhead hadn't ordered twenty cc's of cyanide, and reached up to turn off the TV.

"Um, hello, I was watching that," a much loathed voice said from the other bed.

"What the hell are you doing here, Greggers?" I snarled.

"Well I was watching The View, but I guess you're just not interested in the issues facing women today," he replied, twisting around and sitting up. "Good thing I brought some reading material."

"I could not possibly care less, Greggers, about the View or whatever 'Barely Legal Holland Tunnel' skin mag you brought along," I replied, writing out new orders for the coma patient, hoping that he'd found himself in a coma before Mickhead had gotten to him and not after.

"Skin mag? Come on, Per, I'm here on business. I mean, I hear Johnny's looking for an apartment anyway, so I figured, why not New Jersey," he said, leafing through some papers. "So, at the hotel, I printed out some real estate listings."

I chose to ignore him, and started walking out the door.

"Of course, if he doesn't find a place right away, he can always stay with me," Greg said.

I could hear the smirk in his voice, and a muscle just started… twitching in my temple.

Suddenly, everything went white, and I could swear I heard music. Not that little "ba ba ba ba ba ba ba baaaaa" tune I sometimes catch Newbie hummimg after I've given him some kind of revelation, but a loud, harsh, electric guitar riff, punctuated by thunder.

Duhn. Duhn. Duhn. Dah duh Duhn. Duhn. Duhn.

I stepped into the hallway and grabbed a syringe and a small bottle from one of the carts. The orderlies really shouldn't leave things like that lying around. I filled the syringe carefully, making sure there were no air bubbles— wouldn't want anyone having an embolism, now.

"This one looks good," I heard that god awful nasal voice say as Greggers came out into the hall along side me. "It's even got a Jacuzzi. That would feel good on the old leg. You know what else would feel good?"

Greggers did not get the chance to finish that smarmy and no doubt lecherous thought. I grabbed the arm that was holding his apartment listings and stabbed the needle into one of the veins in his wrist.

"Oh that's mature," Greg said, rolling his eyes. Then he blinked, and his eyes rolled back into his head completely, and then the bastard hit the ground.1

"Dr. Cox!" Carla shrieked, running down the hall and checking his pulse. "What the hell did you just do?"

"Put him in a coma. Who the hell left this cart here? We should not just have barbiturates lying around like this."

I took the needle and his fucking real estate listings and stuck both in a biohazard box and turned back to Carla.

"So. Where do we leave him?" I asked.

"What?!" she yelped.

"C'mon," I said. "Can't put him in pediatrics, he'll traumatize the young'ns. Can't do ICU, someone might wake him up."

Carla looked up with an expression which, once, would've made my heart flutter.

"Let's stick him back in there with the other coma patient," she said. "Pull the curtain, no one'll know he's in there."

"My god, I love the way your mind works," I replied, grabbing Greggers under his arms and hauling him back in the room and dropping him on the empty bed with Carla's help.

"Should we throw a heart monitor on him just in case?" she asked.

"Nah, if he dies, everyone'll just think he finally ODed on hydrocodone," I answered. Carla gave me a look. "Or that Mickhead did it."

Carla put one hand on her hip and dropped her head a little, glaring.

"Oh fine, monitor the fucker," I said. "You know you're not as fun as you used to be."

"I'm a mother now, it makes me really want to avoid jail," she answered, plugging in a heart monitor and using bandage scissors to cut open his t-shirt. I wasn't going to lift a finger when it came to keeping that bastard alive

"Now where the hell did Newbie get off to?"

Carla arched an eyebrow.

"You make up your mind?" she asked.

"Hello, I just put our competition into a coma, what do you think?" I replied. She broke into a smile.

"I know he was going to go check on Mrs. Vaughn, since you're such a bastard to her," she said. "I'll set up the monitor, you get to work."

I walked out, hearing her call after me,

"And be nice to him!"

I got to Mrs. Vaughn's room in about thirty seconds, walking in to see her laughing while Newbie told some animated story. Oh what the hell. I get stiff professional Newbie and this hag gets the real version? Both stopped the second I got through the door.

"Coretta, need you for something," I said gruffly.

"I'm actually in the midd—"

I whistled.

"Hey! I know you've been watching the Jeopardy teen tournament because geeky boys are so hip these days that you can't help but find them just dreamy, but I am not wearing a pocket protector and phrasing my answers in the form of a question for a damn good reason, so get your ass up and come with me, now."

He sighed as he got up and followed me, rather than springing up and heeling as he should have done, but at least he was moving. I marched into the lounge, currently empty, and turned to face him.

"So what did you need me for?" he asked, eyes dull and not quite looking at me. I snapped my fingers in front of his face which brought his eyes into better focus.

"I need you to knock it off with all this 'I might be going to New Jersey' bullshit. You're distracting Carla, Barbie, Gandhi, and that's just gonna spread to the residents and interns who for some reason seem to respect you, and it's gonna make my job a hell of a lot harder," I growled.

"I'd knock it off, but the decision isn't made yet," he said with uncharacteristic terseness. "Kim hasn't gotten back to me about the whole thing."

"Kim, shmim, Nora, it doesn't matter what she says when she calls you up for a little girl talk, assuming Jordan hasn't barbequed her, because I absolutely forbid you to go to New Jersey!"

I spun on my heel and stormed out, glad that that was settled.

"HEY!"

What the hell? I turned back around.

"What the hell makes you think that you can 'forbid' me to do anything?" he shouted back, storming right after me. "This isn't a group decision, it's not up for a vote, so you sure as hell can't just make a fucking proclamation and tell me what to do!"

"Oh, I agree that it's not a democracy here, Chantal, but if you think that you're the one who gets to make these calls, you're sorely mistaken!" I snapped back.

"You have no say in this!" he snarled.

"'You have no say in this,'" I mimicked, whining even though he hadn't. In fact, this was probably the most testosterone he'd displayed in a long time. I hoped that he didn't blow a testicle. "You're not going to New Jersey if I have to break every bone in your skinny damn body to make sure it doesn't happen!"

He flung his arms up in the air.

"Threats! That's terrific, you don't get your way so you threaten to hurt people, that's really fantastic, who wouldn't want to stick around for that?"

"Wanting to has nothing to do with it!" I yelled.

"You've got a gang of interns and everyone else in this place to threaten and scream at and push around, what the fuck do you need me for?" he shouted, getting up in my face and shoving me on the word fuck.

"I—"

I was cut off as my phone rang. I was going to ignore it, but then the kid looked at me coldly.

"Answer it," he said, looking torn between hitting me and just walking away. "We're done here."

I let out a growl, following behind him as he walked over to the Nurse's station and snapped the phone open.

"What?" I said.

"Hey Per. Not coming back this weekend."

Jordan. Fantastic.

"Excellent," I snapped. "When shall I expect your crazy and ever widening ass?"

"Never. Dumping you for D.J.'s girl."

Holy fuck.

"Why the hell would she go from him to you?" I said suspiciously.

"Well isn't that an interesting question! I'm better in bed," she answered. "And she likes someone with a little more backbone. But then, you have no comparison basis."

After what I just saw, the thought that Kim believed Newbie to have no spine was tremendously god damn laughable. Unfortunately, I just wasn’t feeling that jovial.

"My even tone is solely due to the underwhelmingness of my total lack of surprise, and, of course, my complete and all-encompassing indifference. I knew this day would come, and if you think you're getting sole custody then the lesions on your soul have finally spread to your brain."

"Who said I wanted sole custody?" she said, as cavalier as could be, but that was to be expected, she was, after all, an ice demon from the deepest levels of hell. "Put Sally on the phone, I want to hear the moment her little candy heart breaks."

"Not gonna happen," I growled. "Now you put Portia de Rossi on the phone."

There was a long pause, during which I strolled away from Newbie, hoping he wouldn't overhear. By the time I glanced back, his anger had seeped away as worry took its place. He was just standing there, holding a chart, glancing at me with those damned baby blues with fretting now painted all over him.

"JD?" the new, nervous voice on the phone asked, wavering slightly. Oh no, I thought. There will be none of this.

"Not even close, ya harlot," I snapped, taking my anger at the Garden State and turning it towards blonde pregnant urologists everywhere, briefly thinking that maybe Ben was right and I did talk like a pirate before dismissing that traipse down memory lane and focusing on the verbal beat down at hand.

"I will hand the phone over momentarily," I growled, keeping my voice low, "but let me make something crystal goddamn clear: You do it quick, and clean, and if he hangs up that phone thinking this miserable fucking joke is somehow his fault, mark my words, in six months, I will be strangling you with the umbilical cord, you get me?"

There was a pause.

"I got you," she said. "I really didn't mean for this to—"

"Save it," I snapped, taking the phone away from my ear.

I returned to where he stood, and faced that doe-eyed wreck of a man I call Newbie. And as much as I did not want to, I handed him the cell phone.

"I like the Ellen show," he said so quietly, and god help me I wish I could tell you he was off in his own little world, but he was looking me right in the eye, and for a moment, the weird tension that'd been plaguing us for the past couple days was gone.

"I know you do, champ," I replied as he took the phone. "I know you do. Take it in the on-call room."

I almost patted him on the shoulder and wondered if I should wait to help him pick up the pieces. I figured I should probably stick around since, after all, we were technically going through the same thing, sort of, more or less. I just had more practice. So I leaned against the wall of the on-call room, growling at any of the youth that made a move on the door.

It didn't take long, but it sure did feel like forever. I didn't hear much from inside, and what I heard just didn't sound like J.D.'s voice. The clatter and the crunch I knew. The door clicked quietly open a moment later, and I pushed off the wall and stood in front of the kid, prepared for him to cry, hug me, hit me, whatever.

I was not prepared for him to look me in the eyes and see absolutely nothing there.

"I owe you a phone," he said, holding one chunk of what used to be my cell. And then he just walked away.

Footnotes:
1. I have no idea if this is how a medicinally induced coma goes, but what the hell.
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