Dr. Betty Caduceus (doctor_caduceus) wrote in spirited_love,
Dr. Betty Caduceus

  • Location:
  • Mood:
  • Music:

The Guest Lecture 15/?

Stiiiiiiiiiiilllll writing through taffy. If this keeps up I'm going to write a porny one shot for the sheer unadulterated hell of it. You know what you should do? You should write a porny one-shot.

Fic: The Guest Lecture v1.5
Fandoms: Scrubs / House crossover (Set in Sacred Heart Hospital, my money's on Sacramento, CA)
Characters this chapter: JD, Turk, Izzy, Carla, Dr.Cox, Wilson, House
Chapter rating:PG-13 for cussing and thin layers of angst.
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.
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 15/?
Chapter Narrator: JD.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Weezer, "Freak Me Out"
You came out of nowhere,
Man, you really freak me out,
I'm so afraid of you,
And when I lose my cool,
I don't know what to do.
I know you don't mean no harm,
You're just doing your thing.
But man, you really freak me out.

"I gotta go," Turk hissed and hung up. I glared at my cell phone.

"JD, he didn't tell me anything except that you needed advice!" Carla said, trying to get Izzy to take her bottle. "And I can too keep a secret. Never told anyone about that lavender tanga you got me to get for you from Frederick's of Hollywood."

"And now Izzy knows about it, fantastic," I said, rubbing my eyes. The phone rang again, Turk's tone.

"Okay, she swears she won't tell anyone, and she has been known to keep some things under wraps—" I started.

"What are you having a hissyfit about," someone interrupted me.


"Noooooo," Dr. Cox said. "Not your hetero life mate. What the hell are you upset about? Are you having that breakdown I tried to insist on earlier, because I'm not on for a few more minutes, and Carla just yelled at me for about forty-five minutes, so I'm all warmed up—"

"I'm not telling you what I'm upset about. And how the hell are you back at work?" I asked, listening closely to the tone of my voice, picking every word carefully so there wasn't anything that could be misinterpreted. Correctly interpreted. Whatever.

"Kelso overruled Carla, so you should probably come back in," he said. "And why the fuck won't you tell me what's wrong? You always want to tell me what's wrong, that's our thing, that's how we work!"

"My shift doesn't start for three hours. And we don't have a 'thing.'"

"That's just cold. I'd tell you how proud I was if I wasn't so pissed off. Anyway, you should come in early because I'm dying and I don't know how long I've got."

I rolled my eyes.

"You're not dying!"

"I already crashed once today. Ask Gandhi, he'll tell you. Come on, it's two hours out of your life."

"Fine. I have to pick up Sasha anyway."

"Good boy," he said. For Shiva's sake, why the hell did he sound like that? Why did he have to use the quiet voice that made it sound like he actually needed something?

"Boy?" I asked around the pain in my throat.

"You heard me, JD," he said in that same sweet tone, and hung up. I looked at the phone for a second, then at Carla.

"I've gotta go. I'm gonna borrow Turk's bike," I said to Carla. I think she told me to hang on, maybe asked who wasn't dying; I wasn't really listening. When I got outside, I punched the wall a few times, just till the throbbing in my knuckles matched the throbbing in my chest. I sighed again and unchained Turk's bike.

When I got to the parking lot, Dr. Cox was standing there waiting for me.

"Took you long enough," he said, looking very not terminal.

"I'm glad you managed to maintain your tenuous grip on this life long enough for me to bike here. Now since I took the bait and actually came down here, you want to tell me what you want?" I said, opening Sasha's compartment and stashing the bike helmet in there as well. I looked back at him and god damn it, it just wasn't fucking fair!

"What happened to your shirt?" I asked, focusing on a point just past his left ear.

"I told you, I crashed. Check it out," he said, holding aside his lab coat and showing the singed spot on his chest. "Hurt like a bastard."

"I'm sure," I said, very purposefully keeping my eyes above the clavicles.

"Look, about this whole New Jersey thing..." he said. "C'mon, what's in New Jersey?"

I just stared at him.

"Look. Please stay?"

My God, that had sounded like a question and not an order.

"...Why?" I asked. He looked at me very hard, like he was trying to burn a hole through my head and see into my brain. For a second he looked like he might actually say something. He was holding his hands up in a weird way. I think 'imploringly' would be the literary adverb.

But he never did say anything.

I turned away and walked up the ramp to where Turk stood, looking disappointed and scared.

"Newbie!" Dr. Cox called after me. I didn't bother turning around. I patted Turk's shoulder as I walked past him. I'd have to make sure to hug him later. As I turned into the hospital, I saw Dr. Cox talking to Turk, tense, contained anger all over his face. Since when did Dr. Cox bother containing his anger?

I went down to the locker room and changed into a fresh set of scrubs, then went upstairs to bum around the lounge until my shift started.

"Hey Doug," I said, sitting next to him on the couch. He kept turning a morgue tag over and over in his hands. "What's that?"

"I almost got to use it," he groaned.

"You get to use toe-tags every day, Doug. It's not that good a hospital," I said.

"This one's special," he sighed, handing it over to me.

It was special, all right.

Name: Cox, Percival.
C.O.D.: Electrocution.
D.O.B.: October 30, 1963.
D.O.D.: May 2, 2007.

"That's not even remotely funny," I snapped, ripping up the tag and throwing it in the trash. "What the hell's the matter with you?"

"Oh come on," Doug said. "You're telling me you've never wanted him dead, not even for a second?"

"No! I haven't!"

Doug glowered at me.

"Right, I forgot. He's crazy about you."

"Don't be a jackass," I said, the suggestion that Dr. Cox was crazy about me causing a piercing twinge in my chest cavity at its sheer unlikelihood. I sat back on the couch and picked up the remote. "Whaddaya wanna watch?"

Doug shrugged.

"Anything that isn't a soap or a sport," he said. We settled on the Daily Show. Lewis Black was upset about something, but it wasn't long before I settled into a quiet doze.

"Hey. JD," a voice said next to me. I opened my eyes to see that Doug had split and Turk had taken his place.

"Hey C.B."

"How you holdin' up?"

I shrugged.

"The weirdest part is all the stupid little stuff that bothers me now." I told him about Doug's special toe-tag. "Did Dr. Cox really crash?"

"Yeah man, he did." My guts lurched.

"What happened?" I asked, wincing at how my voice quivered.

"That House guy hit him with a defib. The shock stopped his heart. I wasn't sure we were gonna get him back."

"Dr. House hit him with a defib?"


"On purpose?"

"Completely on purpose."

I swallowed hard.

"I'll be back in a sec," I said. I walked quickly to the men's room and threw up the vague remnants of my tossed salad violently, then dry heaved for a while after that, thinking of all the stupid childhood euphemisms we used to use for throwing up. Blowing chunks. Tossing your cookies.

He'd died. He'd actually died. I worried a lot about him mouthing off to the wrong patient, or the wrong patient's relative, but I'd never expected another doctor to kill him. At least, not on purpose. I stood, wiping my mouth with toilet paper and flushing it before opening the stall door.

Dr. House stood there, wearing a surgical top, looking composed as could be leaning on his cane.

"My god, Johnny, you look terrible."

My hands few out, slamming his shoulders and forcing him to stagger back.

"What's wrong with you?!" I bellowed at him. "You killed him!"

"Did that Gaelic bastard tattle? Sissy," House said, rolling his eyes.

"He didn't tell me anything, the guy who revived him did!"

"I should've known he wouldn't have the common decency to stay dead," he grumbled. I shoved him again.

"What's the matter with you?! What's the matter with you? You're a fucking doctor! You're not supposed to hurt people!"

Some weird, disgusted light appeared in his eyes.

"Do they actually teach you kids anything about Hippocrates in med school these days? He was a quack. We hurt people all the time. All the time. And do you know why they let it all go?"

I glared and said nothing.

"They let it go, JD, because otherwise they'll never get their puzzle solved. It's not about the patient, it's about the puzzle. It's about the riddle. There's an answer to every one of them and you have to cut them open to get to it. If you let it get to you every time they start to bleed, then well! It was all for nothing, wasn't it? So let's get to the bottom of this riddle: Why would I kill Perry?" House asked, leaning his back against the wall and smirking.

"How should I know?" I said, standing at the sink and rinsing my mouth out. I splashed cold water on my face and glanced uneasily at him. "I barely know you."

"Okay, then why does anyone kill anybody? Because of 'harm.' Either actual or just perceived. People kill other people because those other people harmed them first. Or did Percival neglect to mention that he put me in a coma and left me there?"

I had nothing to say to that. I didn't even know if it was true, and while I didn't want to believe it… it sounded just like something Dr. Cox would do. Dr. House pushed away from the wall and tapped my ankle gently with his cane.

"Everybody lies. Everyone. And Hippocratic doesn't sound like hypocritical by accident."

"What do you want?" I asked.

"That wouldn't be any fun. You'll find out when I get it," he answered with a cheery smirk. "Or when you figure it out for yourself."

He strolled out of the bathroom.

I had to find Dr. Cox. I tore down the hallway, scanning his patients' rooms.

"Q-Tip, quit runnin' around like that. This ain't your Habitrail," Laverne finally said.

"Sorry," I said. "Have you seen Dr. Cox?"

"On call room, trying to sleep some sense back into that curly head of his."

I nodded, and forced myself to walk in there like a normal person.

It's always easy to find Dr. Cox in the on call room, since he made a point never to share it with anyone (not even Jordan during the days when they were still 'conversing').

Insert the cliché of your choice here, I guess. What can I say to describe someone looking completely transformed by sleep that hasn't already been said? I guess it's hard to look angry when you're asleep no matter how good you are at it when you're awake, barring some pretty intense dreams. With his head on the pillow, his curls looked a little like a halo, and his lips were open just slightly. His hands had been folded across his chest, but one had slid off, and now lay palm up on the mattress.

If I woke him up, he'd probably kill me.

I reached out and pushed two fingers into the skin of his wrist, right by the bone on the thumb side, feeling for his pulse. There it was, thudding away, warm and steady under the skin.

"I only know a couple of people who actually have the stones or the stupidity to touch me at all, let alone when I'm asleep," he said, voice all gravelly. I yanked my hand away like I'd been burned. I heard the sound of his coat rustling as he sat upright, continuing, "Carla's hands aren't that soft, there aren't four inch talon holes in my arm, so it can't be Jordan, and Jack doesn't bother to let go no matter how much I growl, so that leaves—"

I backed towards the door and managed to find the knob.


He winced as light from the hall flooded the room. I wondered if I looked dramatic and imposing, all backlit like that. I kind of doubted it.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

I swung the door shut with a click and spun around to walk right into Dr. Wilson.

"Oh, sorry," he said. "Did you see Dr. Foreman in there?"

"You stay out of there, you incubus!" I bellowed leaping on him. He yelped, and I covered his mouth and dragged him into a supply closet before Dr. Cox could come out to find out what was going on.

I got to drag someone into a closet for once. Neat!

"What are you—" Dr. Wilson started, reaching for the knob. I slammed myself in front of the door.

"Oh no you don't. I am so on to you, with your soulful brown eyes and your big hands and your fancy specialty and your nice tie and your—"

"What?" he broke in. "Did I do something I'm not aware of—"

"Something? Some thing?!" I started looking around the closet for something to kill him with.

"Dr. Dorian! Dr. Dorian!" he said, finally shaking me by the shoulders and slapping me like a dame in a film noir. I stood there panting.

"I don't know what you're angry about!" he said, eyes wide and alarmed.

"I'm angry about New Jersey!" I said. He shook his head, leaning back against the shelves.

"We're all angry about New Jersey, Dr. Dorian," he said.

I paused.

"Why would you be angry about New Jersey?" I asked.

"Well, you know. When in Rome and all that. So why am I New Jersey's representative in this particular closet? What'd I do to you?"

"It's all of you! I mean hell, at first, I'm all 'yay, new friends!' but then before I know it my mentor is in the sack with some random oncologist and I'm getting sexually assaulted in a steakhouse by the Todd and an Australian who's actually prettier than the girl you brought with you and psychoanalyzed at the same time, and then I get back to work to find out that Dr. House killed Dr. Cox earlier tonight, and I just don't know if I can work for someone that thinks the Hippocratic oath has that kind of wiggle room!" I exclaimed.

"Perry's dead?!" he exclaimed back.

"Well, not anymore," I clarified.


"And don't call him Perry," I added, remembering why I'd dragged him in here in the first place.

"House killed Per—Dr. Cox?" he asked.

"Ask Turk!" I replied, crossing my arms, and explaining the story.

"Christ," he said. "And here I've been going to panels. Almost as if there was a conference going on."

"And sleeping with my mentor," I added.

"Just that one time!"

"You're still in his apartment!"

"I'm in his guest room."

"Ha!" I barked. "A likely story!"

"Look, he's plenty attractive but I only slept with him to make House jealous, which was apparently completely ineffective!" Dr. Wilson sighed.

"Apparently not that ineffective given the attempted murder," I muttered.

"Of course, your outburst begs the question, 'Why does Dr. Dorian care who sleeps with Dr. Cox?'" Dr. Wilson asked.

I paused, realizing how far my little outburst had tipped my hand, or, more accurately, smacked my cards out of my hand directly onto the table and shone a spotlight on them.

"Ohhhh," Dr. Wilson said. "I'm an idiot. You've got a thing for him, right?"

"I will neither confirm nor deny anything," I glowered. Dr. Wilson rolled his eyes.

"You called me an incubus and yelled at me for using his first name. You're in love, or at least infatuated."

"So what?"

"So you've already confirmed everything. Why don't you just tell him?" Dr. Wilson asked. "Rather than cramming the perceived competition into supply closets."

"That would end poorly," I said, reaching for the closet door. This may not have been the best tactical decision on my part.

"Because of the competition from the scary ex-wife?" he said, sticking his leg out and holding the door shut with his foot.

"The scary ex-wife is history. The only competition here is you," I replied.

"I'm your competition?" he exclaimed. "From the minute we got here, you've been being all cute and puppy-esque at House, and you're blaming me for not realizing you were in love with Cox?!"

"What are you talking about, puppy-esque?" I answered, shaking my head. "That's not even a real word!"

"So the incredibly realistic naïve and innocent act… it's not an act, is it?" he asked.

"So you and Dr. Cox aren't a thing?"

"For the last time, guest room. God, House is unbelievable."

I started feeling regretful for attacking him given how mournful his expression looked.

"So you're Dr. House's… um…"

"Yes. I am Greg's 'um'. Or I was until he met you. You're Dr. Cox's 'um'?"

"No. Look, I'm really sorry. I didn't even know I was in love with him 'til like six hours ago."

"So I guess that makes it less likely that you'll be joining us in New Jersey," Dr. Wilson said, voice going up a bit in inquiry. I gave a short laugh.

"Yeah, other way around actually. Dr. Chase gave me the analysis of a lifetime and I really just don't think that me sticking around with my heart on my sleeve for any passerby to poke with a scalpel would be the best option."

"Ohhh, no. No no no, John—can I call you John?"

"I prefer JD—"

"—JD, you just cannot listen to anything Dr. Chase tells you. He's not a therapist, he's very evil, and he probably wants to keep you in his apartment in a French maid's outfit and pink bunny ears and screw you until you forget the English language."

"He kinda got a leg up on that in the steakhouse men's room."

"I will be having words with him about that at some point," Dr. Wilson confirmed. "Look, House does some amazing work, but there's a good chance he'll also ruin your life."

"I'm actually not having much of a life," I pointed out.

"Even so."

"Did he ruin your life?" I asked.

"Oh, a few times. But it wouldn't be love if he hadn't."

"You're lucky," I sighed. "Dr. Cox likes troubled."

"Trust me, Dr. Dorian," he said, patting me on the shoulder and reaching for the door of the closet. "You're troubled."
  • Post a new comment


    default userpic