![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
myficsTitle: Modern Medicine 5/6
Co-Written With: The absolutely lovely and talented![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dancinbutterfly
Rating: R
Pairing(s): Todd/Doug, JD/Elliot, Keith/Elliot, Turk/Carla.
Word Count: 6,406 of 31,805
Summary: After the events of My Self-Improvement, Doug and Todd try to hold together their budding relationship while JD tries to win back an old one.
Disclaimer: Bill Lawrence & NBC own Scrubs. Not for profit.
Thank You: Toagirlcalledkil for the amazing beta and dancinbutterfly for co-writing and kicking me into shape.
Being in the hospital as a patient was an interesting experience. Snoop Dogg Attending takes good care of him, and it makes Todd appreciate the Medical Weenies a little more than he used to, but all in all, after the treatment is completed and Kelso has finished making him sign something saying that he won't sue them because Jordan quote-un-quote "assaulted" him, he feels alone.
He remembers Doug bringing him to the hospital. He remembers how worried Doug was, how he didn't let go of him the entire drive, and how he didn't let Todd so much as close his eyes. And he's thankful. Not many people would've done that for him, especially not after what Todd said to him. Doug is…he's special. Todd sees that now.
He was allowed a day off for his troubles, too, which he knows Kelso only allowed him so that he'd sign the waiver (Todd would've signed it anyway—he loves Sacred Heart), but was relaxing all the same. He spent that day doing his homework like he promised Molly he would and doodling in the margins, and when he finished with that he tried to plan out what he'd say to Doug when he saw him at work the next day, because he couldn't just not say anything at all. Not after what Doug did for him. Not after what he did to Doug.
He still hasn't figured out what he wants to say by the time he knocks on the morgue door and Doug opens it with a surprised look on his face.
"Can I come in?" Todd asks, then steps inside and closes the door behind him as soon as Doug moves out of the way. He opens his mouth and closes it several times before he finally manages to say, "Thank you."
Doug blushes, and says, "Y-you're welcome." He shrugs and tries to look nonchalant, but he mostly looks uncomfortable, which is good because at least Todd's not alone in that feeling.
"No, really. You didn't have to do that for me, but you did. So…thanks."
"It was nothing," Doug mutters.
"No, really—"
"It was nothing," Doug says again firmly.
Oh. Message received loud and clear. As in, "it doesn't mean that we're back to the way we were." As in, "I have not forgiven you." Todd gets that. He hasn't exactly forgiven himself (or even Doug for pushing him that hard in the first place) yet, either. Molly says that it's a process, and Todd hangs his hopes on the prospect that one day the process will be complete.
"I know," he tells Doug. He knows more than Doug could ever guess. "I guess I just wanted to say thank you anyway."
"Okay," Doug says, and meets his eyes for a split second before looking away. "Is that all you wanted?"
Todd shifts his weight from one foot to the other and frowns. Doug didn't explicitly say, "Please get the hell out of my morgue," but he more than implied it. And Todd really can't blame him for saying-but-not-really-saying it, but all the same he really wishes he could make things right between them again.
"I—" Todd hesitates. "I'm sorry," he says after a pause. "For…everything."
"You said that at the bar."
"Oh."
"I've got a lot of work to do, Todd," Doug says with a sigh, and leans back against the metal drawers where they keep the bodies. He jumps away with a gasp when his bare skin touches the cold metal, glances at Todd, and then looks away. "So."
"Okay," Todd says as he fumbles with the door handle behind his back. "I'll…just go then."
"All right," Doug says without looking at him.
"Um…bye."
"Good bye," Doug replies, and it feels like a door being slammed shut in his face.
***
Doug has been in the morgue for almost an hour when he hears a tapping noise coming from one of the drawers. "Not again," he mutters, but steps cautiously towards it and pulls the handle.
The drawer slides out and its occupant—JD—gasps for breath. "Oh, thank God you finally heard me," he pants out while Doug tries to calm his own erratic breathing.
"How did you get in there?" Doug asks as he helps JD climb out.
"Damn Janitor!" JD exclaims, as he shakes his fist.
"I repeat," Doug says. "'How did you get in there?'"
JD frowns. "I think he put a sleeping pill in my coffee this morning, but I'm not entirely sure. I remember being really tired and taking a nap in the on call room and then I woke up in there," he jerks his thumb towards the drawer. "I got called in to work the night shift…I'm not even supposed to be here today!"
"All right, Dante," Doug says soothingly. "It's okay."
"Oh is it, Doug?" JD asks, edge creeping into his voice. "Is it really? Let's just go over my life for a second, okay? In recent memory, I have lost both my roommate and my child, I awoke to find myself as a member of the living dead, I've become a poop-fainter, and the…" he stares at Doug for a moment before he says, "and the one woman in my entire life who I have loved…who wouldn't care about any of that…she just got engaged to a more athletic, Aryan version of me. And…and I get that. Because I've messed things up pretty bad with her. But that doesn't mean it doesn't suck, okay?" He sighs. "So…no, Doug. It's really, really not okay."
Doug pats JD's shoulder consolingly. "Sorry."
JD shrugs, seemingly recovering from his emotional outburst. "It's fine."
"No," Doug says, plopping himself down on his favorite spinny stool and giving himself a turn. "This place sucks."
JD hops up onto the countertop and nods. "Sometimes."
"You want to talk about Elliot?"
JD shakes his head. "Wouldn't know what there is left to say. What about you? Giving up on Operation: Win Back Todd couldn't have been fun."
Doug sighs and spins himself around on the stool three times fast. He feels a little dizzy, but he was going for disoriented, so he's happy about that. "Yeah, well, you should know better than anyone that wanting someone back doesn't mean you get them."
"Totally different situation," JD insists. "Todd isn't off playing Naughty Apple Thief with Mr. Buns of Steel."
"And how would you know anything about the buns of any mister?" Doug asks, a little amused.
JD has the common sense to at least look embarrassed when he answers, "'Cause I used to take pictures of 'em and send 'em to Kim and say they were mine. I also did his abs."
"Amazing?" Doug asks because…well, Keith is hot, okay?
JD nods solemnly. "His abs are so firm you could grate cheese on 'em."
Doug eyes widen as he tries to imagine, but shakes his head to clear it. Best not to picture it.
"Wow," he murmurs.
"Yeah," JD agrees. "But hey, Todd's not exactly an uggo."
"No, he's not," Doug agrees. "We never tried to…grate anything, though."
"No, I don't imagine you had time in your whole whirlwind romance," JD sighs.
"It was not 'whirlwind,'" Doug says defensively.
"There was tornado action," JD insists. "It was like…like Hurricane Dodd there for a few weeks."
Doug rolls his eyes. "There might've been some spinning, but it was very light. Like a merry-go-round or something."
"Fine," JD acquieces. "Your merry-go-round romance then. It doesn't have the same ring—actually, it sounds kind of nice. Go alliteration."
"Yes, yay grammar. All hail the mighty comma," Doug says under his breath.
"Come on," JD says coaxingly. "You're telling me you never wanted to grate anything?"
"Even if I did," Doug says, leaning his head back against the wall, "it takes two people to…er, grate, as it were."
"Don't tell me Todd didn't want to get his grate on," JD laughs. "Todd's like…the grate daddy pimp."
"Todd can surprise you sometimes," Doug replies, silently begging JD not to pursue that line of questioning. Doug's not telling him why Todd didn't want to have sex, and things will only get awkward and confusing if he has to lie.
"A lot of people can surprise you," JD agrees. "But…no offense, but you don't seem like the kind of guy who ends a relationship over a lack of grateage."
"I'm not," Doug sighs. "And can we drop the metaphor?"
"Fine. You don't seem like a horn dog. That better?"
"I miss the metaphor," Doug says wistfully.
JD taps the countertop as if to say get back on the point.
"I'm not a…a 'horn dog.' And I'm not the one who ended things." Which isn't exactly a lie. Todd was technically the one to say that it was over. But Doug knows now that he more than pushed him to it.
"So?" JD says. "Tell him to get over it. 'Cause you two? Are more depressing than Ted these days."
"Hey," Doug says. Ted's one of his closest friends, after all. They marathon together. But JD just gives him a look, and Doug has to admit that he's right. In fact (and Doug will never admit this to another living soul), one of the reasons he started hanging out with Ted was because it was pretty much a sure-fire way to boost one's self-esteem. Schadenfreude or whatever the Germans called it. "Okay," he admits. "But it's not that easy."
"So make it that easy," JD presses on.
"Okay, then you make it that easy with Elliot," Doug replies, and he knows he shouldn't, but it's not his fault that he can't tell him the real reason why it won't work.
JD looks taken aback. "It…totally different situation. There's five and a half years of history to untangle."
"That's your excuse," Doug tells him. "And I've got mine."
"Which is…?" JD prompts.
"Mine."
"All right," JD says amicably enough. "I should go home and sleep in a place that is not a morgue drawer and I'm sure you need to get back to…pathing or whatever it is you pathologists do."
Doug shrugs. "Actually, they'll still be dead in another hour if you want to hang around and talk some more. That's the nice part about having only patients who are already dead. No rush."
"Nah," JD says as he slides down off the counter. "The less time I'm actually here, the less the Janitor can do to me."
"Why don't you ever…I don't know, get back at him?" Doug asks.
"I've tried," JD says sadly. "It never works. I'm not at that level of pranking yet."
"I could help," Doug offers. "Remember that day Carla got glued to her chair? That was me. She still doesn't know."
"Really?" JD laughs. "That was pretty awesome."
Doug nods. "Yeah. I mean, if you ever wanted to do it, I would help. It's not like I'd have sick patients to attend to."
"Maybe," JD says. "If he ever throws me off the roof of the building, then we'll talk. That's where I draw the line."
"That's a pretty dangerous line."
"I'm fast and loose with my line drawing."
Doug does not say, "I'll show you something that's fast and loose," but he thinks it. Clearly, his brain is a traitorous, evil bastard who needs to stop thinking about Todd as soon as possible before Doug has to have a brainectomy to correct the situation.
"Good night," Doug says to him, then turns his attention back to his work. He's got chests to open, and guts to look at. Ah, sweet distractional bliss. It's going to be an okay day.
***
Todd is not having a good day. Granted, most of his days have been pretty horrible lately, but today has just been more than exceptional on the Todd Notation of Awful (it was originally named the Todd Scale of Awful, but he changed it when he realized it could be TNA).
Todd's had his share of awful days, but for some reason, he really misses Doug today and that seems to make everything worse. It's like everything before was bad, but it was a soft bad that he could sort of…float through. But now…now everything is hard and sharp and painful, and he can't walk through it without banging his legs against painful memories.
And part of him knows that he needs to concentrate on getting better first before he tries to start things back up with Doug, but most of him just wants to say fuck it and find Doug wherever he is and beg for his forgiveness. And that's a whole issue unto itself, because he's supposed to be learning not to feel this constant state of guilt. Not everything is his fault. He's learning that. So apologizing to Doug may not be the right thing to do. He's not sure. He'll have to ask Molly the next time he calls her.
He just…needs someone right now. A hand to hold or whatever that emotional kumbaya bullshit is that he's supposed to be dealing with.
He finally decides to head to the cafeteria for some pudding. Pudding always makes him feel better. Maybe Turk will be there and they can hang out and then Todd won't have to think about the way he kind of feels empty inside like someone took a mellonballer and scooped out his soul. People aren't supposed to be hollow like this. Todd doesn't deserve to have to be.
At the cashier, he digs through his pockets for some change and comes up with a dollar seventy-five in quarters, a ticket stub from Spider-Man 3, a receipt from Wal-Mart, and some lint. But it's the pencil topper he finds that makes his heart skip a beat. It's just a normal pencil topper. It shouldn't have this kind of effect on him. Blue plastic should not make Todd's breath catch in his throat, but it does.
Doug gave him this. At the arcade on their first date, Doug turned in the tickets he won and found he only had enough for a pencil topper. He'd spent five minutes picking it out (much to the annoyance of the arcade employee), and then he had given it to Todd.
Todd used pens, but he'd kept it anyway.
So the fact that he can barely say thank you to the cashier as she hands him back his change is just par for the course, really, because Todd is having one of the worst days of his life.
Except he's not, because then he turns around and finds Molly sitting there at a table by herself, eating a kielbasa like she belongs there and Todd's not having some sort of wild hallucination. He doesn't think he's hallucinating. If he was, he'd hallucinate a much better circumstance to see her in.
"Molly?" he says as he approaches her table, pudding cup clutched tightly in his hand. If Molly's not real, then at least his pudding is.
She smiles brightly at him. "Hi Todd! Come sit down with me. I came back to see Elliot and it just so happens to be kielbasa day. I have the best luck." With one pump-clad foot, she pushes the chair across from her out.
"Sit, sit," she says, tapping the seat with her shoe. "How are you? You look good."
That's ironic, Todd thinks, but doesn't say it. "Thanks," he says, because it's polite, and, "You do too," because it's true. He sits down in the seat she pushed out for him and pulls the top off of his pudding. "I was just thinking about calling you, actually."
"Well now you don't have to. I'm here!" She takes a bite of her kielbasa and makes an "O" face. As in "oh my god, yes, that is so good, harder, faster, more." Todd tries not to stare as she shakes her fork at her plate. "They just don't make kielbasa like this in Milwaukee. You want some?"
Todd rather thinks his problem is a severe lack of orgasm-inducing kielbasa (he briefly entertains the notion of what would happen if dongs really were made out of assorted sausages, but stops thinking about it when he finds himself unable to decide what should make up the balls—actual nuts or dumplings—and decides to stay on topic).
"No, thanks." He's not sure how to segue into it without actually telling her about his dongs-made-out-of-sausages theory, so he just says, "I tried to talk to Doug today," and forgoes trying to direct the conversation in that direction naturally.
"Oh my god," Molly breathes, leaning forward like he's an especially gripping episode of 24 that's just cut to commercial. "What did you say? What did he say? Tell me everything and oh, my god I sound like a sixth grader." She sits back and laughs. "I'm sorry. That was terribly unprofessional. But seriously, dish."
"He basically told me to get the hell out," Todd sighs. "I mean, not in so many words…Doug's not really the confrontational kind of guy and even if he was, he's not the kind to say those exact words, but…yeah, that was it. I told him I was sorry and he said he had work to do. It felt like…" he swallows roughly and tries not to say the words he knows he has to. "It felt like goodbye," he admits, and fuck, this is it, this right here, the reason today has been so hard. Even memories that used to be happy are now tinged with regret and it feels like he has no escape. "And…I don't know. It's not like I expected him to forgive me right away after what I said to him, but after he brought me to the hospital last week I thought…I don't know, it seemed like a good sign to me."
She dangles her fork from her mouth and bobs it up and down, thinking. Then she pulls the plastic utensil from her mouth and stabs another piece of her kielbasa. "How long's it been since you freaked out at him?"
Forever is what comes to mind, but Todd knows that it can't have been that long, no matter what it feels like. He holds out his hands in front of him, fingers splayed out and mutters, "Monday, one day. Tuesday, two day. Wednesday, huh what day? Thursday, third day." He considers his hands for a moment, then says, "About two weeks, I think? Probably a little less, but it feels longer."
"That's right. I'm awful with time," she mutters. "I think that's typical. I've heard horror stories about breakups in this hospital. Is it true that Elliot injected JD with something?" She shook her head, sending her blond hair flying. "Sorry, off topic. Anyway, two weeks is not forever. Two weeks is barely as long as you were together, right? And I know it hurts, Todd. I do. But he didn't tell you to actually go to Hell did he?"
"Two happy weeks seems a lot shorter than two sad ones," Todd murmurs, but nods anyway. "No, he didn't. He just strongly implied it while giving me the hairy eyeball. The Todd generally prefers his eyeballs to be waxed."
"How would you do that exactly? Wax eyeballs? You're a plastic surgeon; do lots of people get that done? Sounds painful." She twirls her fork thoughtfully. "But the hairy eyeball never hurt anybody. What other people say only hurts you if you let it. And if you can't stop it, then start thinking up ways to resolve the problem. Which is what you talk to me for. Have you been doing your homework?"
Todd nods vigorously. He has been doing his homework with more care than he showed in med school, even. "Yes. I never did get a notebook like you said, but I got a binder. That way I can just poke holes in stuff and stick it in there." He pauses, tries not to laugh, but fails. "Sorry," he says quickly as he stifles his snickers. "But yes. I don't have the binder here because I was afraid someone would find it, but it's in my apartment and I can bring it to you if you want. It's even organized." He's rather proud of that, actually. Todd's never been one to keep things neat and organized when he didn't have to, but he didn't know if Molly would ever ask to see his homework and he wanted to be prepared in case she did, and now it looks like his foresight is going to pay off.
"Well, tonight or tomorrow after the engagement hoopla we can get together and go over it if you like. It might help for someone to see it. Make what's in those books more real. Who knows, maybe one day you'll show Doug what he already knows. But that's not what we're talking about anyway, is it?"
Todd shakes his head and pops a spoonful of pudding in his mouth. "No," he says around the spoon, then swallows before continuing. "We're talking about the fact that I've managed to successfully introduce my foot to my mouth about twelve times in the last week and that I keep hurting Doug. And myself," Todd adds after a pause.
"Well what do you want me to do, Todd? Because right now, I'm not really sure what you think I can do for you. Most of these things seem to be things you've got to do for yourself."
Todd bites his lip. She makes a good point. "Can't you…I don't know, tell me how to fix it?" It sounds lame and he knows it, but Todd doesn't know what else to try. A guy can only bang his head against a brick wall so many times before it starts to hurt.
"It? Which it? You seem to have a lot of its. It - Doug not talking to you? It - your self-esteem issues? It - your intimacy problems? Or it - the fact that you're going to need a new pudding if you don't stop squeezing that one so hard." She points at the pudding pack that is on the verge of exploding.
Todd glances down at his pudding and releases his grip. He wants to say all of them, but that's not going to be helpful, so he says, "I don't know. Eventually all of them, but I guess I have to pick one right now?" She nods. "Then…I still don't know. I want to get better before—if he ever forgives me, that is—I get back together with Doug, but…wouldn't it be easier to get better if I had a…support system or whatever? Doug's very supportive. He's like a bra that way."
"You don't have boobs, Todd. So technically, you don't need a bra. And you can't ask your boyfriend to be your bra, even if you did. A bra is a thing; Doug's a person. A person should only hold your boobs up on special occasions. Trust me, as someone who does have boobs, I know this." She pauses, almost an invitation for a boob joke, but most of them are so obvious it's not even worth it. "You have to get the tool to do it yourself - that is what bras are you know. They're a garment, a tool, that you have to go out and get sized for, and then you have to try them on until you find one that fits. And usually? The really good bras, like La Perla, are crazy expensive. Are you following the metaphor? Because now I'm wondering if I took my white load out of the laundry before I left Milwaukee."
"So…you're the tool? Or…wait. Am I the tool?" If he weren't so confused by the metaphor, he'd be making tool jokes right now. He passed up the boob ones, but Todd does not have that much will power.
"The binder is the tool, Todd. The mantras and the self-talk and the therapy are the tools. I'm not a bra. I'm a Teddy bear."
"So I can cuddle you?" Todd asks with a raised eyebrow. Which, okay, he tries to tone down that sort of thing around Molly out of respect for her, but he's already passed up a boob joke and a tool joke in the last two minutes. He needed that.
She smiles and her face lights up. "If you need to. Absolutely. I love a good cuddle. Can I trust you not to cop a feel? Cause I will cuddle the hell out of you. I give great cuddle. You know, human contact is incredibly powerful in its healing properties."
"I'd probably try to cop a feel," Todd admits. What? It's not like he's proud of that fact or anything. "So…what you're saying is that…it's all up to me?" If he sounds a little scared when he asks…well, that's because what he is.
"Yes, Todd. It is all up to you. It has always and will always be up to you." She says softly, seriously. "It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll, you are the master of your fate, you are the captain of your soul." She pops a chip in her mouth, chews, and lets that ruminate for a moment before adding, "And you know, if you promise to only cop the one? I'll give you a cuddle anyway. You look like you could use a hug."
What Todd thinks he could use is more like a giant do-over button for his entire life, but he's been learning lately that things like that aren't ever going to happen and apparently he has to suck it up and do this himself, so. There's that. He holds out his arms and pulls her into a hug and he technically does not grope her chest (it's not groping if there's no cupping). "Thanks," he whispers, because he really and truly is thankful for everything she's done for him.
She's not the kind of person who cares that she's sitting on his lap in the middle of the cafeteria on a Tuesday afternoon but she is the kind of person who squeezes tight and kisses his forehead in away he used to wish his mother would - completely giving, completely affectionate, completely free of any malicious subtext.
"You're welcome, Todd. And for the record? I'm not just doing this 'cause it's my job. I'm doing it because you're my friend. And I love to help my friends." She squeezes again and smiles at him. "Feeling better?"
In a way, he actually kind of is. Somehow knowing that it's up to him…well, Todd's always joked that the only person he could depend on was himself. "Yeah," he sighs as he releases her. "I can do it, right? I mean…I can get better and I haven't lost Doug completely? In your professional opinion?"
"In my professional opinion? From here atop your lap?" She chuckles. "I think that you're not a hopeless case. I also think that you need to go slow. I mean, were you and Doug actually friends before the boyfriend thing happened?"
Todd thinks about it and frowns. "Not really. I mean, we were both in the Brain Trust so we talked sometimes, but we weren't close. Which…that kind of sucks, actually, because he's kind of a really cool guy."
"Well how about this—if you really like him—try that first. Let him cool down and see if he doesn't want to be friends. Because most good relationships are based on friendship. Trust me. As a girl who's had nothing but bad relationships with men who definitely weren't my friends, I know. Besides, mental and emotional intimacy can't help but help with the physical intimacy."
Todd nods. "You're right. I mean, of course you are, you deal with guys like me for a living, but I'm sure you still like to hear that you're right anyway."
"I think everyone does."
Todd smiles and takes the last bite of his pudding. "I have surgery," he says, gesturing to the cafeteria doors. "But I'll see you later."
"Okay," she agrees, and goes back to eating her kielbasa.
***
Sometimes when Doug's having a slow day in the morgue, he heads up to the nurses' station and listens to the hospital gossip. And when he gets bored of that, he pre-tags some of the patients who look ready to go. After he finishes that, he walks a few laps around the floor to stay in shape for his marathons.
Step step breathe, he reminds himself as he power walks past the supply closet. Every good marathoner knows that breathing is key. So is pacing oneself. Slowing down or speeding up can kill your race if you're not careful. But when Doug hears a sigh, the kind of sigh that practically drips tears and misery, he can't just ignore it, so slow down he does, and he opens the supply closet door to reveal JD sitting on an overturned milk crate with his head in his hands and dark, wet stains on his scrubs.
"JD," Doug asks as he steps inside and shuts the door behind him, "are you okay? It's really dark in here." He fumbles for the light and manages to turn it on without hurting either of them, then sits down on another milk crate. It's cramped and claustrophobic, but Doug spent many days in this very closet during his third year as an intern, so it's almost comforting.
JD takes a deep breath and says very calmly, "No."
Doug tries to gently pry JD's hands away from his face and manages after a small struggle. He was right; JD is crying.
"Elliot," JD says softly as he looks away from Doug's eyes.
"Still engaged?"
"Worse," JD mutters. "She's actually going to marry him. I mean, I guess I knew that, but it hadn't really hit me that engaged meant 'to be married,' you know?"
"What happened?"
"I heard her talking to Molly about having babies and raising a family and…it should be me, right? Not Keith; me. But it's not."
"No," Doug admits, because though he wants to comfort JD, lying to him would help no one.
"I just…I wish we could've forgiven each other, you know? Because me and her, all we did was hurt each other. Or at least that's what it seems like."
"No," Doug says, "that's not true. You two made each other happy at some point."
JD gives a bitter chuckle that sounds odd coming from him. "Yeah. Maybe. But if we did, it was a long time ago. We just…we never got the timing right. And when we did, we just tore each other down. And then we both built up walls to protect ourselves from having that happen again, and…and now it's just too late. I'm never going to get her back. She's going to marry Keith have have two-point-five WASPy children with blonde hair, blue eyes, and tightly toned abs and buns and all that stuff, and even if I did have a chance, I couldn't give her any of those things. My ass is flabby, Doug. Flabby, okay? It's like an old man ass."
"Er…"
"My abs are nothing to write home about, either," JD laments more to himself than to Doug.
"JD?"
"Yeah?"
"You have got to pull yourself together, okay?"
"Look who's talking," JD says, almost as if he's not paying attention to his own words and doesn't realize what he's just said. Doug decides to let it slide mostly because JD inadvertently has a good point.
"Hey, look at me," Doug says taking JD's face in his hands. "It's going to be okay, all right?"
"How?" JD asks softly, and tears well up in his eyes again. "How is it going to be okay? How would you feel if you knew that you were never going to get Todd back?"
"I do know I'm never going to get Todd back," Doug replies, and his voice only waivers a little. "And it hurts like hell, but I'm not crying in supply closets and comparing my ass to hypothetical children's."
"You don't know that," JD says, and now he knocks Doug's hands off of his face and returns the gesture. "You've still got a chance, don't you?"
"I—"
"No," JD insists. "If…if I had known back then, I wouldn't have let it get this bad. But now you know. So you can fight it, right? You will, won't you?"
Doug bites his lip. He wishes it were that simple. "I can't."
"You have to, Doug," JD presses, and now his voice sounds a little desperate. "All this time, I just sort of thought that somehow in the end we'd end up together. I wasn't planning on some other guy coming in and taking her. That's what's going to happen to you guys if you don't stop it. You have to stop it."
"I don't think that's going to happen," Doug counters, but he silently hopes JD doesn't ask why he doesn't think it will.
"And neither did I. That's the point. If you keep waiting on your problems to work themselves out, they never will. You have to be the one to fix your life."
"Some things are unfixable."
"But if you really love each other, then—"
"Then nothing," Doug interrupts. "This isn't some storybook where good triumphs because good triumphs. Newsflash, JD. Love doesn't conquer all. There are…things that can happen that no matter what you want or say or do, you can't overcome them, okay? Do I wish Todd and I could make it work? Absolutely. But do I know when to stop beating a dead horse? Yes."
"Todd's not a dead horse."
"And Elliot's not a married one. If you want her, then go out there and beat the hell out of her." Doug pauses. "That came out wrong."
"Elliot's a dead horse," JD says dejectedly. "But Todd's not."
Doug sighs. "Maybe not, but he's one trip and fall away from the glue factory."
"So be there to catch him when he falls," JD replies. "Don't let him be put out to pasture. If you want to mate with the stud, you have to work at being the best bitch in the stable, right?"
"That analogy makes no sense," Doug informs him. "A bitch is a female dog, and I'm pretty sure mating with a horse would kill her."
"But you're a very tough bitch."
"How about I'm not one at all? I like that idea better."
"Fine, so you're a mother goose, whatever, I don't care. You're right; the analogy sucks. Doug, there is a guy in this hospital who, believe it or not, loves you, okay? You can try to deny that all you want, but he does. And you're right, I don't know why you two broke up or what's keeping you apart. But I know people. I know that I've never seen either of you happier than when you were together, and I've never seen either of you sadder than you have been since you broke up. And you guys were only together…what, a couple of weeks? Do you know how long it usually takes for two people to build up a connection like you guys have? To have that much influence over someone else's life? And now for whatever reason, the two of you are just ready to throw that all away like it never meant anything. But it meant something, Doug. It meant more to you than I think you're willing to admit. Hell, it meant something to me, too, because I'm your friend, and seeing you happy made me happy. And in a way, I guess it kind of made me feel like maybe one day I could be that happy, too. You guys were amazing together and I just don't see why you're so quick to throw that all away. Whatever it was, it can't be worth this much pain. So put on your big boy boots, grow a pair, and get out there and resuscitate that dead horse and then ride the hell out of it, okay? If not for yourself, then for Todd. And if not for him, then for me. I need to see some light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel action."
"So let me get this straight. I'm supposed to make up with my ex-boyfriend…for you?"
"Exactly," JD says very seriously.
"You can be very self-absorbed sometimes," Doug comments. "Did you know that?"
"I did." JD nods. "And I'm okay with it."
"As much as I'd like to help you out—"
"Doug, look at me." JD waits for Doug's eyes to finish raking over him. "I'm pretty pathetic, aren't I?" It's more of a rhetorical question, but even if it required an answer, Doug doesn't feel particularly compelled to argue. "I am you in five years. Just think about that the next time you want to give up on Todd."
Doug thinks about it, and…well, he hates to admit it because it's not like he thinks being like JD is the worst thing in the world or anything but…he doesn't want to be like him, not even a little bit.
"I'll think about it," he says finally. Then, "Are you going to be okay?"
"Sure," JD says with a shrug. "Like you said, it hurts like hell, but you've got to pull yourself together anyway, right?"
"Right."
They both stand and stare at each other for a long moment. The closet is so small that their noses are only a few inches from each other.
"Should we hug or something?" JD asks finally.
Doug shakes his head. "This is gay enough even for me, thanks. Throw in a hug and we're practically asking for the Janitor to come take pictures or Dr. Cox to stick his head in and make some stupid comment about hairy-backed Marys or something."
"Right," JD says with a smile. "Mental hug, then?"
"Sure," Doug says, mostly because he has no idea what a mental hug is but whatever it may be, it can not possibly be as awkward as standing this close to another person in such tight quarters. "We should go."
"One at a time," JD agrees. "'Cause of the Janitor and Dr. Cox."
"Okay," Doug says, and without another word, slips out of the closet.
Click here to go to part 6.
Co-Written With: The absolutely lovely and talented
dancinbutterflyRating: R
Pairing(s): Todd/Doug, JD/Elliot, Keith/Elliot, Turk/Carla.
Word Count: 6,406 of 31,805
Summary: After the events of My Self-Improvement, Doug and Todd try to hold together their budding relationship while JD tries to win back an old one.
Disclaimer: Bill Lawrence & NBC own Scrubs. Not for profit.
Thank You: To
agirlcalledkil for the amazing beta and dancinbutterfly for co-writing and kicking me into shape.Being in the hospital as a patient was an interesting experience. Snoop Dogg Attending takes good care of him, and it makes Todd appreciate the Medical Weenies a little more than he used to, but all in all, after the treatment is completed and Kelso has finished making him sign something saying that he won't sue them because Jordan quote-un-quote "assaulted" him, he feels alone.
He remembers Doug bringing him to the hospital. He remembers how worried Doug was, how he didn't let go of him the entire drive, and how he didn't let Todd so much as close his eyes. And he's thankful. Not many people would've done that for him, especially not after what Todd said to him. Doug is…he's special. Todd sees that now.
He was allowed a day off for his troubles, too, which he knows Kelso only allowed him so that he'd sign the waiver (Todd would've signed it anyway—he loves Sacred Heart), but was relaxing all the same. He spent that day doing his homework like he promised Molly he would and doodling in the margins, and when he finished with that he tried to plan out what he'd say to Doug when he saw him at work the next day, because he couldn't just not say anything at all. Not after what Doug did for him. Not after what he did to Doug.
He still hasn't figured out what he wants to say by the time he knocks on the morgue door and Doug opens it with a surprised look on his face.
"Can I come in?" Todd asks, then steps inside and closes the door behind him as soon as Doug moves out of the way. He opens his mouth and closes it several times before he finally manages to say, "Thank you."
Doug blushes, and says, "Y-you're welcome." He shrugs and tries to look nonchalant, but he mostly looks uncomfortable, which is good because at least Todd's not alone in that feeling.
"No, really. You didn't have to do that for me, but you did. So…thanks."
"It was nothing," Doug mutters.
"No, really—"
"It was nothing," Doug says again firmly.
Oh. Message received loud and clear. As in, "it doesn't mean that we're back to the way we were." As in, "I have not forgiven you." Todd gets that. He hasn't exactly forgiven himself (or even Doug for pushing him that hard in the first place) yet, either. Molly says that it's a process, and Todd hangs his hopes on the prospect that one day the process will be complete.
"I know," he tells Doug. He knows more than Doug could ever guess. "I guess I just wanted to say thank you anyway."
"Okay," Doug says, and meets his eyes for a split second before looking away. "Is that all you wanted?"
Todd shifts his weight from one foot to the other and frowns. Doug didn't explicitly say, "Please get the hell out of my morgue," but he more than implied it. And Todd really can't blame him for saying-but-not-really-saying it, but all the same he really wishes he could make things right between them again.
"I—" Todd hesitates. "I'm sorry," he says after a pause. "For…everything."
"You said that at the bar."
"Oh."
"I've got a lot of work to do, Todd," Doug says with a sigh, and leans back against the metal drawers where they keep the bodies. He jumps away with a gasp when his bare skin touches the cold metal, glances at Todd, and then looks away. "So."
"Okay," Todd says as he fumbles with the door handle behind his back. "I'll…just go then."
"All right," Doug says without looking at him.
"Um…bye."
"Good bye," Doug replies, and it feels like a door being slammed shut in his face.
Doug has been in the morgue for almost an hour when he hears a tapping noise coming from one of the drawers. "Not again," he mutters, but steps cautiously towards it and pulls the handle.
The drawer slides out and its occupant—JD—gasps for breath. "Oh, thank God you finally heard me," he pants out while Doug tries to calm his own erratic breathing.
"How did you get in there?" Doug asks as he helps JD climb out.
"Damn Janitor!" JD exclaims, as he shakes his fist.
"I repeat," Doug says. "'How did you get in there?'"
JD frowns. "I think he put a sleeping pill in my coffee this morning, but I'm not entirely sure. I remember being really tired and taking a nap in the on call room and then I woke up in there," he jerks his thumb towards the drawer. "I got called in to work the night shift…I'm not even supposed to be here today!"
"All right, Dante," Doug says soothingly. "It's okay."
"Oh is it, Doug?" JD asks, edge creeping into his voice. "Is it really? Let's just go over my life for a second, okay? In recent memory, I have lost both my roommate and my child, I awoke to find myself as a member of the living dead, I've become a poop-fainter, and the…" he stares at Doug for a moment before he says, "and the one woman in my entire life who I have loved…who wouldn't care about any of that…she just got engaged to a more athletic, Aryan version of me. And…and I get that. Because I've messed things up pretty bad with her. But that doesn't mean it doesn't suck, okay?" He sighs. "So…no, Doug. It's really, really not okay."
Doug pats JD's shoulder consolingly. "Sorry."
JD shrugs, seemingly recovering from his emotional outburst. "It's fine."
"No," Doug says, plopping himself down on his favorite spinny stool and giving himself a turn. "This place sucks."
JD hops up onto the countertop and nods. "Sometimes."
"You want to talk about Elliot?"
JD shakes his head. "Wouldn't know what there is left to say. What about you? Giving up on Operation: Win Back Todd couldn't have been fun."
Doug sighs and spins himself around on the stool three times fast. He feels a little dizzy, but he was going for disoriented, so he's happy about that. "Yeah, well, you should know better than anyone that wanting someone back doesn't mean you get them."
"Totally different situation," JD insists. "Todd isn't off playing Naughty Apple Thief with Mr. Buns of Steel."
"And how would you know anything about the buns of any mister?" Doug asks, a little amused.
JD has the common sense to at least look embarrassed when he answers, "'Cause I used to take pictures of 'em and send 'em to Kim and say they were mine. I also did his abs."
"Amazing?" Doug asks because…well, Keith is hot, okay?
JD nods solemnly. "His abs are so firm you could grate cheese on 'em."
Doug eyes widen as he tries to imagine, but shakes his head to clear it. Best not to picture it.
"Wow," he murmurs.
"Yeah," JD agrees. "But hey, Todd's not exactly an uggo."
"No, he's not," Doug agrees. "We never tried to…grate anything, though."
"No, I don't imagine you had time in your whole whirlwind romance," JD sighs.
"It was not 'whirlwind,'" Doug says defensively.
"There was tornado action," JD insists. "It was like…like Hurricane Dodd there for a few weeks."
Doug rolls his eyes. "There might've been some spinning, but it was very light. Like a merry-go-round or something."
"Fine," JD acquieces. "Your merry-go-round romance then. It doesn't have the same ring—actually, it sounds kind of nice. Go alliteration."
"Yes, yay grammar. All hail the mighty comma," Doug says under his breath.
"Come on," JD says coaxingly. "You're telling me you never wanted to grate anything?"
"Even if I did," Doug says, leaning his head back against the wall, "it takes two people to…er, grate, as it were."
"Don't tell me Todd didn't want to get his grate on," JD laughs. "Todd's like…the grate daddy pimp."
"Todd can surprise you sometimes," Doug replies, silently begging JD not to pursue that line of questioning. Doug's not telling him why Todd didn't want to have sex, and things will only get awkward and confusing if he has to lie.
"A lot of people can surprise you," JD agrees. "But…no offense, but you don't seem like the kind of guy who ends a relationship over a lack of grateage."
"I'm not," Doug sighs. "And can we drop the metaphor?"
"Fine. You don't seem like a horn dog. That better?"
"I miss the metaphor," Doug says wistfully.
JD taps the countertop as if to say get back on the point.
"I'm not a…a 'horn dog.' And I'm not the one who ended things." Which isn't exactly a lie. Todd was technically the one to say that it was over. But Doug knows now that he more than pushed him to it.
"So?" JD says. "Tell him to get over it. 'Cause you two? Are more depressing than Ted these days."
"Hey," Doug says. Ted's one of his closest friends, after all. They marathon together. But JD just gives him a look, and Doug has to admit that he's right. In fact (and Doug will never admit this to another living soul), one of the reasons he started hanging out with Ted was because it was pretty much a sure-fire way to boost one's self-esteem. Schadenfreude or whatever the Germans called it. "Okay," he admits. "But it's not that easy."
"So make it that easy," JD presses on.
"Okay, then you make it that easy with Elliot," Doug replies, and he knows he shouldn't, but it's not his fault that he can't tell him the real reason why it won't work.
JD looks taken aback. "It…totally different situation. There's five and a half years of history to untangle."
"That's your excuse," Doug tells him. "And I've got mine."
"Which is…?" JD prompts.
"Mine."
"All right," JD says amicably enough. "I should go home and sleep in a place that is not a morgue drawer and I'm sure you need to get back to…pathing or whatever it is you pathologists do."
Doug shrugs. "Actually, they'll still be dead in another hour if you want to hang around and talk some more. That's the nice part about having only patients who are already dead. No rush."
"Nah," JD says as he slides down off the counter. "The less time I'm actually here, the less the Janitor can do to me."
"Why don't you ever…I don't know, get back at him?" Doug asks.
"I've tried," JD says sadly. "It never works. I'm not at that level of pranking yet."
"I could help," Doug offers. "Remember that day Carla got glued to her chair? That was me. She still doesn't know."
"Really?" JD laughs. "That was pretty awesome."
Doug nods. "Yeah. I mean, if you ever wanted to do it, I would help. It's not like I'd have sick patients to attend to."
"Maybe," JD says. "If he ever throws me off the roof of the building, then we'll talk. That's where I draw the line."
"That's a pretty dangerous line."
"I'm fast and loose with my line drawing."
Doug does not say, "I'll show you something that's fast and loose," but he thinks it. Clearly, his brain is a traitorous, evil bastard who needs to stop thinking about Todd as soon as possible before Doug has to have a brainectomy to correct the situation.
"Good night," Doug says to him, then turns his attention back to his work. He's got chests to open, and guts to look at. Ah, sweet distractional bliss. It's going to be an okay day.
Todd is not having a good day. Granted, most of his days have been pretty horrible lately, but today has just been more than exceptional on the Todd Notation of Awful (it was originally named the Todd Scale of Awful, but he changed it when he realized it could be TNA).
Todd's had his share of awful days, but for some reason, he really misses Doug today and that seems to make everything worse. It's like everything before was bad, but it was a soft bad that he could sort of…float through. But now…now everything is hard and sharp and painful, and he can't walk through it without banging his legs against painful memories.
And part of him knows that he needs to concentrate on getting better first before he tries to start things back up with Doug, but most of him just wants to say fuck it and find Doug wherever he is and beg for his forgiveness. And that's a whole issue unto itself, because he's supposed to be learning not to feel this constant state of guilt. Not everything is his fault. He's learning that. So apologizing to Doug may not be the right thing to do. He's not sure. He'll have to ask Molly the next time he calls her.
He just…needs someone right now. A hand to hold or whatever that emotional kumbaya bullshit is that he's supposed to be dealing with.
He finally decides to head to the cafeteria for some pudding. Pudding always makes him feel better. Maybe Turk will be there and they can hang out and then Todd won't have to think about the way he kind of feels empty inside like someone took a mellonballer and scooped out his soul. People aren't supposed to be hollow like this. Todd doesn't deserve to have to be.
At the cashier, he digs through his pockets for some change and comes up with a dollar seventy-five in quarters, a ticket stub from Spider-Man 3, a receipt from Wal-Mart, and some lint. But it's the pencil topper he finds that makes his heart skip a beat. It's just a normal pencil topper. It shouldn't have this kind of effect on him. Blue plastic should not make Todd's breath catch in his throat, but it does.
Doug gave him this. At the arcade on their first date, Doug turned in the tickets he won and found he only had enough for a pencil topper. He'd spent five minutes picking it out (much to the annoyance of the arcade employee), and then he had given it to Todd.
Todd used pens, but he'd kept it anyway.
So the fact that he can barely say thank you to the cashier as she hands him back his change is just par for the course, really, because Todd is having one of the worst days of his life.
Except he's not, because then he turns around and finds Molly sitting there at a table by herself, eating a kielbasa like she belongs there and Todd's not having some sort of wild hallucination. He doesn't think he's hallucinating. If he was, he'd hallucinate a much better circumstance to see her in.
"Molly?" he says as he approaches her table, pudding cup clutched tightly in his hand. If Molly's not real, then at least his pudding is.
She smiles brightly at him. "Hi Todd! Come sit down with me. I came back to see Elliot and it just so happens to be kielbasa day. I have the best luck." With one pump-clad foot, she pushes the chair across from her out.
"Sit, sit," she says, tapping the seat with her shoe. "How are you? You look good."
That's ironic, Todd thinks, but doesn't say it. "Thanks," he says, because it's polite, and, "You do too," because it's true. He sits down in the seat she pushed out for him and pulls the top off of his pudding. "I was just thinking about calling you, actually."
"Well now you don't have to. I'm here!" She takes a bite of her kielbasa and makes an "O" face. As in "oh my god, yes, that is so good, harder, faster, more." Todd tries not to stare as she shakes her fork at her plate. "They just don't make kielbasa like this in Milwaukee. You want some?"
Todd rather thinks his problem is a severe lack of orgasm-inducing kielbasa (he briefly entertains the notion of what would happen if dongs really were made out of assorted sausages, but stops thinking about it when he finds himself unable to decide what should make up the balls—actual nuts or dumplings—and decides to stay on topic).
"No, thanks." He's not sure how to segue into it without actually telling her about his dongs-made-out-of-sausages theory, so he just says, "I tried to talk to Doug today," and forgoes trying to direct the conversation in that direction naturally.
"Oh my god," Molly breathes, leaning forward like he's an especially gripping episode of 24 that's just cut to commercial. "What did you say? What did he say? Tell me everything and oh, my god I sound like a sixth grader." She sits back and laughs. "I'm sorry. That was terribly unprofessional. But seriously, dish."
"He basically told me to get the hell out," Todd sighs. "I mean, not in so many words…Doug's not really the confrontational kind of guy and even if he was, he's not the kind to say those exact words, but…yeah, that was it. I told him I was sorry and he said he had work to do. It felt like…" he swallows roughly and tries not to say the words he knows he has to. "It felt like goodbye," he admits, and fuck, this is it, this right here, the reason today has been so hard. Even memories that used to be happy are now tinged with regret and it feels like he has no escape. "And…I don't know. It's not like I expected him to forgive me right away after what I said to him, but after he brought me to the hospital last week I thought…I don't know, it seemed like a good sign to me."
She dangles her fork from her mouth and bobs it up and down, thinking. Then she pulls the plastic utensil from her mouth and stabs another piece of her kielbasa. "How long's it been since you freaked out at him?"
Forever is what comes to mind, but Todd knows that it can't have been that long, no matter what it feels like. He holds out his hands in front of him, fingers splayed out and mutters, "Monday, one day. Tuesday, two day. Wednesday, huh what day? Thursday, third day." He considers his hands for a moment, then says, "About two weeks, I think? Probably a little less, but it feels longer."
"That's right. I'm awful with time," she mutters. "I think that's typical. I've heard horror stories about breakups in this hospital. Is it true that Elliot injected JD with something?" She shook her head, sending her blond hair flying. "Sorry, off topic. Anyway, two weeks is not forever. Two weeks is barely as long as you were together, right? And I know it hurts, Todd. I do. But he didn't tell you to actually go to Hell did he?"
"Two happy weeks seems a lot shorter than two sad ones," Todd murmurs, but nods anyway. "No, he didn't. He just strongly implied it while giving me the hairy eyeball. The Todd generally prefers his eyeballs to be waxed."
"How would you do that exactly? Wax eyeballs? You're a plastic surgeon; do lots of people get that done? Sounds painful." She twirls her fork thoughtfully. "But the hairy eyeball never hurt anybody. What other people say only hurts you if you let it. And if you can't stop it, then start thinking up ways to resolve the problem. Which is what you talk to me for. Have you been doing your homework?"
Todd nods vigorously. He has been doing his homework with more care than he showed in med school, even. "Yes. I never did get a notebook like you said, but I got a binder. That way I can just poke holes in stuff and stick it in there." He pauses, tries not to laugh, but fails. "Sorry," he says quickly as he stifles his snickers. "But yes. I don't have the binder here because I was afraid someone would find it, but it's in my apartment and I can bring it to you if you want. It's even organized." He's rather proud of that, actually. Todd's never been one to keep things neat and organized when he didn't have to, but he didn't know if Molly would ever ask to see his homework and he wanted to be prepared in case she did, and now it looks like his foresight is going to pay off.
"Well, tonight or tomorrow after the engagement hoopla we can get together and go over it if you like. It might help for someone to see it. Make what's in those books more real. Who knows, maybe one day you'll show Doug what he already knows. But that's not what we're talking about anyway, is it?"
Todd shakes his head and pops a spoonful of pudding in his mouth. "No," he says around the spoon, then swallows before continuing. "We're talking about the fact that I've managed to successfully introduce my foot to my mouth about twelve times in the last week and that I keep hurting Doug. And myself," Todd adds after a pause.
"Well what do you want me to do, Todd? Because right now, I'm not really sure what you think I can do for you. Most of these things seem to be things you've got to do for yourself."
Todd bites his lip. She makes a good point. "Can't you…I don't know, tell me how to fix it?" It sounds lame and he knows it, but Todd doesn't know what else to try. A guy can only bang his head against a brick wall so many times before it starts to hurt.
"It? Which it? You seem to have a lot of its. It - Doug not talking to you? It - your self-esteem issues? It - your intimacy problems? Or it - the fact that you're going to need a new pudding if you don't stop squeezing that one so hard." She points at the pudding pack that is on the verge of exploding.
Todd glances down at his pudding and releases his grip. He wants to say all of them, but that's not going to be helpful, so he says, "I don't know. Eventually all of them, but I guess I have to pick one right now?" She nods. "Then…I still don't know. I want to get better before—if he ever forgives me, that is—I get back together with Doug, but…wouldn't it be easier to get better if I had a…support system or whatever? Doug's very supportive. He's like a bra that way."
"You don't have boobs, Todd. So technically, you don't need a bra. And you can't ask your boyfriend to be your bra, even if you did. A bra is a thing; Doug's a person. A person should only hold your boobs up on special occasions. Trust me, as someone who does have boobs, I know this." She pauses, almost an invitation for a boob joke, but most of them are so obvious it's not even worth it. "You have to get the tool to do it yourself - that is what bras are you know. They're a garment, a tool, that you have to go out and get sized for, and then you have to try them on until you find one that fits. And usually? The really good bras, like La Perla, are crazy expensive. Are you following the metaphor? Because now I'm wondering if I took my white load out of the laundry before I left Milwaukee."
"So…you're the tool? Or…wait. Am I the tool?" If he weren't so confused by the metaphor, he'd be making tool jokes right now. He passed up the boob ones, but Todd does not have that much will power.
"The binder is the tool, Todd. The mantras and the self-talk and the therapy are the tools. I'm not a bra. I'm a Teddy bear."
"So I can cuddle you?" Todd asks with a raised eyebrow. Which, okay, he tries to tone down that sort of thing around Molly out of respect for her, but he's already passed up a boob joke and a tool joke in the last two minutes. He needed that.
She smiles and her face lights up. "If you need to. Absolutely. I love a good cuddle. Can I trust you not to cop a feel? Cause I will cuddle the hell out of you. I give great cuddle. You know, human contact is incredibly powerful in its healing properties."
"I'd probably try to cop a feel," Todd admits. What? It's not like he's proud of that fact or anything. "So…what you're saying is that…it's all up to me?" If he sounds a little scared when he asks…well, that's because what he is.
"Yes, Todd. It is all up to you. It has always and will always be up to you." She says softly, seriously. "It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll, you are the master of your fate, you are the captain of your soul." She pops a chip in her mouth, chews, and lets that ruminate for a moment before adding, "And you know, if you promise to only cop the one? I'll give you a cuddle anyway. You look like you could use a hug."
What Todd thinks he could use is more like a giant do-over button for his entire life, but he's been learning lately that things like that aren't ever going to happen and apparently he has to suck it up and do this himself, so. There's that. He holds out his arms and pulls her into a hug and he technically does not grope her chest (it's not groping if there's no cupping). "Thanks," he whispers, because he really and truly is thankful for everything she's done for him.
She's not the kind of person who cares that she's sitting on his lap in the middle of the cafeteria on a Tuesday afternoon but she is the kind of person who squeezes tight and kisses his forehead in away he used to wish his mother would - completely giving, completely affectionate, completely free of any malicious subtext.
"You're welcome, Todd. And for the record? I'm not just doing this 'cause it's my job. I'm doing it because you're my friend. And I love to help my friends." She squeezes again and smiles at him. "Feeling better?"
In a way, he actually kind of is. Somehow knowing that it's up to him…well, Todd's always joked that the only person he could depend on was himself. "Yeah," he sighs as he releases her. "I can do it, right? I mean…I can get better and I haven't lost Doug completely? In your professional opinion?"
"In my professional opinion? From here atop your lap?" She chuckles. "I think that you're not a hopeless case. I also think that you need to go slow. I mean, were you and Doug actually friends before the boyfriend thing happened?"
Todd thinks about it and frowns. "Not really. I mean, we were both in the Brain Trust so we talked sometimes, but we weren't close. Which…that kind of sucks, actually, because he's kind of a really cool guy."
"Well how about this—if you really like him—try that first. Let him cool down and see if he doesn't want to be friends. Because most good relationships are based on friendship. Trust me. As a girl who's had nothing but bad relationships with men who definitely weren't my friends, I know. Besides, mental and emotional intimacy can't help but help with the physical intimacy."
Todd nods. "You're right. I mean, of course you are, you deal with guys like me for a living, but I'm sure you still like to hear that you're right anyway."
"I think everyone does."
Todd smiles and takes the last bite of his pudding. "I have surgery," he says, gesturing to the cafeteria doors. "But I'll see you later."
"Okay," she agrees, and goes back to eating her kielbasa.
Sometimes when Doug's having a slow day in the morgue, he heads up to the nurses' station and listens to the hospital gossip. And when he gets bored of that, he pre-tags some of the patients who look ready to go. After he finishes that, he walks a few laps around the floor to stay in shape for his marathons.
Step step breathe, he reminds himself as he power walks past the supply closet. Every good marathoner knows that breathing is key. So is pacing oneself. Slowing down or speeding up can kill your race if you're not careful. But when Doug hears a sigh, the kind of sigh that practically drips tears and misery, he can't just ignore it, so slow down he does, and he opens the supply closet door to reveal JD sitting on an overturned milk crate with his head in his hands and dark, wet stains on his scrubs.
"JD," Doug asks as he steps inside and shuts the door behind him, "are you okay? It's really dark in here." He fumbles for the light and manages to turn it on without hurting either of them, then sits down on another milk crate. It's cramped and claustrophobic, but Doug spent many days in this very closet during his third year as an intern, so it's almost comforting.
JD takes a deep breath and says very calmly, "No."
Doug tries to gently pry JD's hands away from his face and manages after a small struggle. He was right; JD is crying.
"Elliot," JD says softly as he looks away from Doug's eyes.
"Still engaged?"
"Worse," JD mutters. "She's actually going to marry him. I mean, I guess I knew that, but it hadn't really hit me that engaged meant 'to be married,' you know?"
"What happened?"
"I heard her talking to Molly about having babies and raising a family and…it should be me, right? Not Keith; me. But it's not."
"No," Doug admits, because though he wants to comfort JD, lying to him would help no one.
"I just…I wish we could've forgiven each other, you know? Because me and her, all we did was hurt each other. Or at least that's what it seems like."
"No," Doug says, "that's not true. You two made each other happy at some point."
JD gives a bitter chuckle that sounds odd coming from him. "Yeah. Maybe. But if we did, it was a long time ago. We just…we never got the timing right. And when we did, we just tore each other down. And then we both built up walls to protect ourselves from having that happen again, and…and now it's just too late. I'm never going to get her back. She's going to marry Keith have have two-point-five WASPy children with blonde hair, blue eyes, and tightly toned abs and buns and all that stuff, and even if I did have a chance, I couldn't give her any of those things. My ass is flabby, Doug. Flabby, okay? It's like an old man ass."
"Er…"
"My abs are nothing to write home about, either," JD laments more to himself than to Doug.
"JD?"
"Yeah?"
"You have got to pull yourself together, okay?"
"Look who's talking," JD says, almost as if he's not paying attention to his own words and doesn't realize what he's just said. Doug decides to let it slide mostly because JD inadvertently has a good point.
"Hey, look at me," Doug says taking JD's face in his hands. "It's going to be okay, all right?"
"How?" JD asks softly, and tears well up in his eyes again. "How is it going to be okay? How would you feel if you knew that you were never going to get Todd back?"
"I do know I'm never going to get Todd back," Doug replies, and his voice only waivers a little. "And it hurts like hell, but I'm not crying in supply closets and comparing my ass to hypothetical children's."
"You don't know that," JD says, and now he knocks Doug's hands off of his face and returns the gesture. "You've still got a chance, don't you?"
"I—"
"No," JD insists. "If…if I had known back then, I wouldn't have let it get this bad. But now you know. So you can fight it, right? You will, won't you?"
Doug bites his lip. He wishes it were that simple. "I can't."
"You have to, Doug," JD presses, and now his voice sounds a little desperate. "All this time, I just sort of thought that somehow in the end we'd end up together. I wasn't planning on some other guy coming in and taking her. That's what's going to happen to you guys if you don't stop it. You have to stop it."
"I don't think that's going to happen," Doug counters, but he silently hopes JD doesn't ask why he doesn't think it will.
"And neither did I. That's the point. If you keep waiting on your problems to work themselves out, they never will. You have to be the one to fix your life."
"Some things are unfixable."
"But if you really love each other, then—"
"Then nothing," Doug interrupts. "This isn't some storybook where good triumphs because good triumphs. Newsflash, JD. Love doesn't conquer all. There are…things that can happen that no matter what you want or say or do, you can't overcome them, okay? Do I wish Todd and I could make it work? Absolutely. But do I know when to stop beating a dead horse? Yes."
"Todd's not a dead horse."
"And Elliot's not a married one. If you want her, then go out there and beat the hell out of her." Doug pauses. "That came out wrong."
"Elliot's a dead horse," JD says dejectedly. "But Todd's not."
Doug sighs. "Maybe not, but he's one trip and fall away from the glue factory."
"So be there to catch him when he falls," JD replies. "Don't let him be put out to pasture. If you want to mate with the stud, you have to work at being the best bitch in the stable, right?"
"That analogy makes no sense," Doug informs him. "A bitch is a female dog, and I'm pretty sure mating with a horse would kill her."
"But you're a very tough bitch."
"How about I'm not one at all? I like that idea better."
"Fine, so you're a mother goose, whatever, I don't care. You're right; the analogy sucks. Doug, there is a guy in this hospital who, believe it or not, loves you, okay? You can try to deny that all you want, but he does. And you're right, I don't know why you two broke up or what's keeping you apart. But I know people. I know that I've never seen either of you happier than when you were together, and I've never seen either of you sadder than you have been since you broke up. And you guys were only together…what, a couple of weeks? Do you know how long it usually takes for two people to build up a connection like you guys have? To have that much influence over someone else's life? And now for whatever reason, the two of you are just ready to throw that all away like it never meant anything. But it meant something, Doug. It meant more to you than I think you're willing to admit. Hell, it meant something to me, too, because I'm your friend, and seeing you happy made me happy. And in a way, I guess it kind of made me feel like maybe one day I could be that happy, too. You guys were amazing together and I just don't see why you're so quick to throw that all away. Whatever it was, it can't be worth this much pain. So put on your big boy boots, grow a pair, and get out there and resuscitate that dead horse and then ride the hell out of it, okay? If not for yourself, then for Todd. And if not for him, then for me. I need to see some light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel action."
"So let me get this straight. I'm supposed to make up with my ex-boyfriend…for you?"
"Exactly," JD says very seriously.
"You can be very self-absorbed sometimes," Doug comments. "Did you know that?"
"I did." JD nods. "And I'm okay with it."
"As much as I'd like to help you out—"
"Doug, look at me." JD waits for Doug's eyes to finish raking over him. "I'm pretty pathetic, aren't I?" It's more of a rhetorical question, but even if it required an answer, Doug doesn't feel particularly compelled to argue. "I am you in five years. Just think about that the next time you want to give up on Todd."
Doug thinks about it, and…well, he hates to admit it because it's not like he thinks being like JD is the worst thing in the world or anything but…he doesn't want to be like him, not even a little bit.
"I'll think about it," he says finally. Then, "Are you going to be okay?"
"Sure," JD says with a shrug. "Like you said, it hurts like hell, but you've got to pull yourself together anyway, right?"
"Right."
They both stand and stare at each other for a long moment. The closet is so small that their noses are only a few inches from each other.
"Should we hug or something?" JD asks finally.
Doug shakes his head. "This is gay enough even for me, thanks. Throw in a hug and we're practically asking for the Janitor to come take pictures or Dr. Cox to stick his head in and make some stupid comment about hairy-backed Marys or something."
"Right," JD says with a smile. "Mental hug, then?"
"Sure," Doug says, mostly because he has no idea what a mental hug is but whatever it may be, it can not possibly be as awkward as standing this close to another person in such tight quarters. "We should go."
"One at a time," JD agrees. "'Cause of the Janitor and Dr. Cox."
"Okay," Doug says, and without another word, slips out of the closet.
Click here to go to part 6.
