My Evaluation Chapter Five, a scrubs fanfic

Disclaimer: I don't own Scrubs.

Whew! Sorry it took so long to update, everyone. I totally meant to . . . I've just been scarily busy lately. Just ask my teachers, they'll all tell ya. And my swim coaches. And my manager. And . . . shutting up now, time for a fic!

My Evaluation

Chapter Five

When I come back to reality I'm standing in front of my girlfriend at the mouth of Sacred Heart, the fluorescent letters hovering above me. There are pools of water in her eyes, tricking in the light, rolling down her cheeks. It doesn't occur to me that I should cry until I see her, and then suddenly the world is crumbling.

"Baby," she chokes, running up to me and wrapping her arms around my waist. She buries her head in my shoulder, sobbing. I can't even see her anymore, the tears coming in a flood, my heart pounding faster. How did I even get here in one piece? I wonder as I start shaking with grief.

My best friend in the whole world. The person who knew and understood me better than anyone I'd ever met. He's dying. He might already be dead.

I don't even lift my arms up to hug Carla back, I'm in such a zombie like state. "JD," I mutter numbly.

She sobs harder, muffling the noise in my jacket. I stiffen. This can't be good.

"Is he…?"

At these words she lifts her head, facing me. "He's alive," she manages to croak out. But she doesn't sound very hopeful. Her eyes are red and strained, her mouth drawn in tight as if trying to imprison the emotion it emanates.

I wish I could comfort her, but I can't. My hands fall loosely at my sides before I can even wipe that lingering tear off her cheek. All I can do is stare at her disbelievingly. It didn't seem real until someone cried, and now…

Now I'm angry with her. She's upset? She's known him for what, eight months? Nine? Sure, she's been the mother hen of JD from the start, and yes, they're great friends, but honestly—I've known him for almost nine years now. If anything happens to him, my life will change forever, and it will inevitably for the worst. It's selfish, it's a horrible thought, but when it comes down to it, JD can't die because I wouldn't be able to function without his constant happiness and quirky nature. What right does she have to be sad about it?

"It's not fair," she sobs, and I feel the weight of her head leaning into my chest, feel her pounding heart next to mine.

I can't say anything. I'm too afraid that it will come out as hostile and upset as I feel, so I let her cry, standing in the cold, empty wasteland that is the hospital parking lot.

Finally, I manage to say quietly, almost calmly, "He's going to die, isn't he?"

She doesn't respond, freezing in my arms.

"Isn't he?" I repeat, my voice cracking. And then the floodgates come pouring out. "Isn't he?"

She takes a step back. I breathe in deeply, trying to stay calm, stay in control. Instead I just sit on the curb of the lot, burying my head in my hands, wishing over and over again that I could replay this night and have it work out differently. What if I hadn't switched shifts with that other intern, and I'd ended up leaving with JD tonight instead? We'd probably have stayed at the hospital a couple of minutes later to do our normal soda run, and then the accident might not have happened…

Then I remember. It was an accident.

"Who hit him?" I ask out of the blue, right as Carla sits down to comfort me.

She looks a bit alarmed by my sudden blurt. "Um…" She pauses. "Nobody, baby. Nobody hit him."

That isn't the answer I was expecting. "What?" I breathe, barely able to form the word.

She shakes her head, more tears falling loosely down her cheeks. She swipes them away and says, "Apparently…well, a cop told me that there was a man running across the street in the dark, and JD veered out of the way so he wouldn't hit him."

The information won't process. "I don't understand," I say numbly, my voice feeling thin.

"It was a criminal, running from the police. A drug dealer. That's why the response team came so fast—the policemen in the chase heard the crash and found JD's car…smashed up and completely totaled." She can't say anymore. Her face crumples and she rests her head on my shoulder, hiccupping from crying.

I almost feel detached, like she isn't even with me. I feel so hideously alone. Whenever I was sad—truly, really sad, I could always count on JD to be there for me. He understands. He never turns anyone who needs help away, or laughs or makes their problems seem insignificant.

When I come to myself again I realize that I'm not alone. That I should respond in some way to the nonsense she'd just spieled.

"Oh."

It's dark. I see lights dancing in front of my eyes. Have you ever looked on the inside of your eyelids, and seen the weird colors flashing around? You never really notice them when you close your eyes to go to sleep, but if you do, it's scary, isn't it? It's like there are creatures dancing some exotic, mindless routine in your eyeballs. You can't escape them, so you blink, and then you usually just forget them and fade into your own thoughts.

I have no other thoughts. I can't remember anything, can't focus on anything. Sometimes, when I was really stressed in med school, I felt like I had a thousand thoughts fleeting through my head at once, and it made my head hurt so much that I wanted to take the damn text books and fling them out of our second story dorm window. I'd give anything for that feeling now, that reassurance of my existence with the pain.

Oh, but there's still pain now. It's just not the good kind of pain. The good kind of pain is being sore after working out really hard, or being tired enough at the end of the day to sleep peacefully, or winning a really intense thumb war with your best friend (err, make that losing a bajillion times and then winning when said best friend fell asleep…)

I wonder what's going on in the rest of the world right now. I hate being cut off. This wouldn't be nearly as hard if I could just talk to someone about it…someone like Carla. She always listens to people. But seeing as I can't exactly talk right now, it doesn't matter much anyway. I wonder vaguely if Elliot's told anyone I'm here—assuming, of course, that it was Elliot I heard earlier…I won't put myself past hallucinations. At this point, anything could happen.

How wild. Me, JD, getting into a car accident. It's almost ironic enough to be funny. JD, the doctor who treats car accident patients all the time; JD, the dork who watches medical dramas (except for that evil Grey's Anatomy) that have freak accidents with everything from the Plague to bombs (damn it, that WAS Grey's Anatomy!); JD, the overly cautious driver who wore a helmet in the driver's seat when he first got his permit. Yeah, that's me. Turns out it doesn't matter if those accidents seem vague and impossible. Turns out it doesn't matter if you know the rules of the road better than anyone, or you spent half your Safeway paycheck one month taking defensive driving courses in a pathetic attempt to avoid suicidal squirrels. Turns out karma sucks.

Okay, so it is kind of funny. But it hurts like hell. I wonder—not for the first time since the initial crash—if I'm going to die. It's a casual thought this time; there isn't much room for a range of emotions, considering the state I'm in. It isn't the sort of trip-and-fall from kindergarten, where if you shut up your crying fast enough the teachers will stick a lollipop in your mouth. It's the sort of go-into-cardiac-arrest injury from Big Kid land, where if your heart stops long enough the big, shiny metal slabs of doom will shock you in your chest. Believe me, I already know they hurt (mostly because I ate Turk's pudding one day and he retaliated in the worst means possible).

How long has it been since the car flipped? I wonder. That might give me some idea of what's happening. I've always liked knowing the time. For some reason it makes me feel in control of what's going on. If it's only been ten minutes, then damn it to hell if it hasn't been the worst (and probably last) ten minutes of my life. But if it's been an hour or two or even three and I'm still alive, then there's hope, right? I could still live.

It sucks. I don't even get to have any famous last words. I'm not even sure where my mouth is right now, a far cry from emitting any sort of noise. It's just black with the dancing lights on the inside of my eyelids…maybe I'll give them names…

"Where's Carla?"

Her voice is cracked and low, deflated-sounding. From the corner of my eye I look over at my normally nervous, stricken intern. She's not blowing the hair out of her face anymore. It just hangs there over her tears. Damn it to hell, I hate it so much when that freak of a girl messes with the broomstick on her skull, but I would do anything to have her do it now. Break the silence. But I suppose she just did.

I realize she's talking to me, although her stare remains fixed against the wall. "She..." I think for a moment. Where is Carla? When did she leave? Didn't we come up here together only a few moments ago?

I check the clock. It's been a half hour since...they brought the kid in. I think. I look at the clock again. No, an hour's passed. So where had Carla gone?

Perry...I have to go get Turk, alright? Stay with Elliot. Stay here.

"She's with..." I nearly say Gandhi, but I'm not in the mood. Nobody is. I make a vague hand gesture and she nods in understanding.

Jordan's sitting in the chair next to me. We were watching the kid in surgery for a few minutes with Nervous Guy and Barbie, nobody speaking a word as we watched the surgeons rush with the sort of urgency and fury that no other person but the kid could command. Nobody here wanted to see him die...they would do anything, regardless of whether or not the kid wanted to live.

I was mulling this over, gazing into the windows of the OR. His head was bleeding enough to make anyone wonder about the possible brain damage. His chest, arms, and legs were covered with embedded shards of glass now inked a shining red. But nobody was concerned about that, as it seemed he was coding for the third time since he entered the OR.

My eyes started watering. I couldn't bear it. He was suffering; anyone could see it. I may want to kill him on a daily basis, but I never truly wanted him to die. He had so much potential. Damn it, I was going to help him. No one has ever made me want to help them. Hell, I'm the narcissist of the bunch, am I not? Why should I ever care about what happens to some intern?

But I could see it in him right away. More than potential—I could see that he was in this for all the wrong reasons, for all the reasons that would make his life a living hell. He wanted to save lives, to help people, to make people smile. Heroic, yes; but more stupid than anything else. Those very intentions are the same ones that lost me my wife and everything I cared about. But people like that, the ones that actually care—you can't beat it out of them. They stay like that. Newbie was good, and he was in it for the long run.

I knew, though, that when the time came, we'd have to let him die. That same desire to help people was the one that drove me at that moment. We'd have to let him go. It wouldn't be fair to bring him back if he would only suffer. Could anyone truly recover after being in such a state? Would anyone want to?

It was then that my thoughts were interrupted by the hitch in Elliot's breath. I knew what was happening before she knew herself. Her knees buckled under her, leaving her sitting on the tile floor in small, quiet hysterics. Had I any sense I would have moved to help her, but my eyes were transfixed on the team in the OR, reacting to the incessant drone of the heart monitor ringing its piercing cry.

They brought him back. I knew they would—the kid would fight, and the surgeons would fight, and we'd sit here and watch them, hoping they'd win against the invisible enemy. Nervous Guy leaned down to help Elliot before she grew any more distressed, and quietly led her out of the room.

"Let's go," Jordan whispered as they left.

I followed her out to the waiting room. Now I sit here, watching the clock, wondering when someone would come out and give us the news. Is he dead now? Is he still struggling? If they bring him back, will he be the same? Will I be the same? How could anyone treat him the same after this?

That is, assuming that he'd live. Which he probably won't.

Jordan squeezes my hand and I look up to see a surgeon entering the room.

"You're here for John Dorian?" he asks.

Nobody answers. Finally Elliot says, "We're here for JD," offering him some acknowledgement.

He takes a deep breath.

Okay, did anyone else HATE last night episode as much as I did?? Oh...wait.

SPOILER ALERT

Alright. Back to what I was saying. Last night's episode?? Piece of CRAP. That's not even an excuse for an episode, and JD even acknowledged what a crappy, plotless cop-out it was! What the hell? I wait all week for Scrubs. It's the highlight of my school/work/sport frenzied days. I need Scrubs like drugs or something. And . . . well, it's like asking for for a piece of cake and getting rotten buttermilk and carrots instead. "Recap" my ass. The directors of that particular episode--hell, whoever came up with all that BS--ought to be shot. I hope next week is better. Actually, if it's not, then . . . I'll send a mean letter. TO MY ALL TIME TV SHOW. I'm not even kidding--I would do it!

AND WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON WITH KIM? Is she dead or something? I don't get it! Will they ever bring her back before the season (or hopefully not series) finale??

AND HOLY BEJEEZUS, DR. COX SHAVED HIS F-ING HEAD?? What is that, some sort of twisted joke? That was the only interesting part of the whole episode. I mean, yay, big whoop, a suicide patient. Good to know that you fall back on awkward plot devices too, People Who Make Scrubs. I didn't care about the plot and the sentimentality and the cheesiness. Dr. Cox SHAVED HIS HEAD. HEADLINE NEWS: HIS HEAD IS AS BALD AS TURK'S.

Which wouldn't have been so disturbing if someone had just mentioned it on the show. Like, "Aw, gee, nice haircut, Dr. C," or something like that. Where the hell was JD? Probably daydreaming. Aw, shucks, I don't care. I'm mostly pissed about how bored-to-tears that thing made me. I mean, hullo, I've seen all these episodes they recapped. I knew the lines and was saying them before the characters did. My parents were growing alarmed with my extensive Scrubs knowledge.

Anyway. Sorry. I needed to rant there :D.

running in circles