WIP Week: Rentboy
28 November 2007 21:46![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
randomweavingWorking Title: Rentboy
Characters: JD/Perry
Preview Rating: PG-13
Summary: An AU in which circumstances forced JD to flee his home at an early age and become a prostitute on the streets of California.
Standard WIP disclaimer: Most of these stories were begun a long time ago. This one was started nearly a year ago, actually, on December 17th of 2006. We've grown as writers since then. These are also rough, as they're works in progress and have received no more than the most remedial editing. Keep this in mind. These are works in progress, progress being the key word. ;)
Perry Cox decided, as he strode down the corridors of Sacred Heart Hospital, that this night was officially going on the top ten list of Shifts from Hell. The thirty-two-year-old attending physician had been on call since eight o'clock the previous evening, and now, eight grueling hours later, he was still two solid hours from freedom. Of course, at the rate this night was going, it'd be another three or four before he actually got the hell out of there.
He scowled, and the group of interns that had been standing, bleary-eyed and frazzled-looking, directly in his path scattered swiftly, hunching protectively over coffee cups. Perry ignored them, though he did feel a small, involuntary swell of sympathy. What was it about the holidays, anyway, that made all the crazies go... well, crazier? It seemed every year, from Halloween until after New Year's, the hospital was chalk full of sob stories. Addicts overdosing, bi-polars attempting suicide, drunks, car accidents...hell, even violent crime rates seemed to go up, which Perry found depressingly amusing.
"'Tis the season," he muttered as he rounded the corner, toward the bustling ER, this time to do an admission on an unresponsive assault victim.
"Dr. Cox!"
Perry glanced up and nodded to Carla, who was waving him over to a gurney and a couple of EMTs. He stepped forward, taking the chart she handed him and walking alongside her as the EMTs pushed the patient toward an exam room. He only spared the briefest glance at the patient sprawled, clearly unconscious, on top of the sheets, before opening the chart and beginning to look over the paramedic's notes.
"Assault and battery, possible extended exposure, shock..." he read the list and winced. "Looks like I'm not the only one having a rough night." He glanced at Carla. "We got any ID on this kid?"
Carla shook her head. "He's got a pocket full of cash but no wallet," she said, lips quirked and brow raised. "So I somehow doubt he was mugged."
Perry snorted, pausing in the hallway as the orderlies wheeled the kid into an empty exam room. Perry stood in the doorway, waiting, as they transferred the patient to the table. "How long has he been unconscious?"
"Since they found him, apparently," she replied, watching with mild interest as they moved him. "Got an anonymous call to 911, said a kid had been hurt and needed medical attention. He'd been dragged into an alleyway and hidden behind a dumpster."
"Think it was his assailants who called in the emergency?" Perry asked, lifting his eyebrows as he flipped through the charts. "Multiple existing scars, fading bruises--sounds like some kind of family or spousal abuse, doesn't it?"
Carla shrugged. "It's as likely as anything," she said. "He's pretty banged up but it's not serious, I don't think. Bit of patch and fix and he should be fine, I'd think."
"Responsive to stimuli?"
"Noxious and painful," Carla confirmed. "But they can't completely rouse him."
"Substance abuse?"
"Won't know until we get the lab work back, but the paramedics didn't report any tracks or puncture wounds. If he is a user, he's not an intravenous one."
"They've drawn the blood work already, then?"
"Ordered all your favorites," Carla reported, grinning up at him. "Drew them already and they're heading to the lab as we speak."
Perry nodded. "All right," he sighed, running a hand through his curls. "Thank you, Carla."
She nodded, then turned and gestured to the orderlies; they followed her out of the room, pulling the stretcher with them. Perry stepped back long enough to stay out of their way, the moved into the exam room, kicking the door shut with his heel. "Okay, John Doe," he muttered. "Let's get this party started."
He grabbed a pair of gloves from the box on the sink, snapping them on and moving forward. It was then he got his first good look at the kid on the exam table.
He couldn't have been more than twenty-two or twenty-three, from the looks of him. He was probably about six feet tall, lean and pale, with dark, messy hair that fell back from his face. His eyes were closed, lashes long and thick against his high cheekbones, one of which sported a nasty purpling bruise, matching another along his hairline, at the temple. Perry spared a moment to note concussion as the probable cause of unconsciousness--though he wasn't going to rule out substance abuse just yet. Not until they got the blood work back.
He moved around to the side of the table, leaning over the young man and pushing his t-shirt up toward his chest. He frowned at the sight of multiple fading bruises along the kid's ribs and abdomen; he felt carefully along each bone, but none seemed to be broken. He lowered the shirt again, making another note on the chart.
"Okay, Mr. Doe--or may I call you John? Let's have a look here..." He lifted one of the young man's arms, rolling up the sleeve, and noticing finger-shaped bruises along the forearm. He shook his head. "Someone sure did a number on you, didn't they, kid?" he murmured.
Just then, something on the underside of the kid's arm caught his attention; he turned his wrist gently, and saw a thin white scar running from the base of the kid's palm about four inches down his wrist. He frowned, peering closer, then released the hand to examine the other. As he'd suspected a matching scar ran along that wrist as well. He sighed, lowering it to the table once more.
"Suicide attempt," he muttered. A while ago, from the looks of it, but definitely something to be noted in the chart. Still, it probably meant the kid had been treated before, probably even admitted to the psychiatric ward or at least put under emergency observation. "Not your first time with us, is it, Johnny?" Perry said, lifting an eyebrow as he moved forward once more.
He didn't get far, however, as the kid's eyes suddenly snapped open, wide and fearful, and he yelped, nearly falling off the table at the sight of Perry hovering over him.
"Whoa," Perry said, holding up his hands, taking a step back to give him some space. "Easy there, kid. You're safe. You're in the emergency room of Sacred Heart Hospital. Do you know where that is?"
"How the hell do you know my name?" the kid gasped, glaring at him.
Perry lifted his eyebrows, surprised. "Your name is 'Kid'?"
"You called me Johnny..." the kid frowned deeply, looking suspiciously around the room. "No one's called me that in years...How did you know my name?"
"It...I was working from John Doe," Perry said. "You're name's actually John?" What were the odds?
"You...oh," the kid said, relaxing slightly. He frowned, and looked down, no longer meeting Perry's eyes. "Yeah. It is. I go by JD. But no, my last name isn't Doe."
"Care to share what it is?"
"Do I have to?" JD asked warily, eying the door again.
Perry frowned. "Only if you want us to be able to treat you." He fought the urge to approach the young man--he could tell he was only an instant away from bolting. "Look, kid, no one's going to hurt you," he said, trying to make his voice gentle and reassuring.
A wry smile crossed JD's face, and he actually relaxed a bit further. "It's Dorian. How'd I get here?"
"Anonymous call to 911," Perry said. "You were found in an alley, out cold. Do you know who did this to you?" It wasn't exactly protocol, asking that immediately, but there was something about the haunted look in the kid's eyes... "We can call the police if you have a description or a name, get them to put out an APB..."
"No," JD replied softly, but quickly. He shook his head gingerly. "Thanks, but no. Can you just finish checking me out so I can go?"
Perry frowned. "I... I'd planned on keeping you overnight," he said. "Your blood pressure is a little low, and we want to make sure there's no internal damage..."
JD sighed, closing his eyes for a long moment. "How much is it gonna cost? I don't have insurance...I don't think I can afford an overnight stay, not when I'll have to miss work, too."
"Where do you work?" Perry asked. "Surely they can arrange to have your shifts covered...?"
The wry smile returned. "Oh, yeah, someone will cover for me. But I don't exactly get paid sick leave, you know?"
Perry hesitated. That did actually present a little bit of a problem, of course, but maybe...
Oh, shit, why not? "Look, no one but me knows you regained consciousness," Perry said. "I can give you a shot of demerol--that'll knock you back out and help with the pain, too--and we can run some tests. The hospital can't street you if you're still unconscious. We can get you checked out, and Kelso won't have any way to check insurance because no one but me knows your name. You won't be liable for charges incurred for procedures you didn't consciously consent to." He bit his lip, lifting an eyebrow at JD. "What do you think?"
"How do you know I'm not an addict just willing to take the fix?" JD asked, raising an eyebrow in turn. "But fine...It's your ass on the line, not mine, and I wouldn't say no to getting checked out..."
"Your gratitude is overwhelming," Perry said dryly. "And you may very well be an addict, but you're also clearly being abused, and addiction or no, I can't let that slide. But you gotta work with me on this one, okay?"
JD nodded, face suddenly serious. "Whatever you need me to do, Doctor," he said simply, with a sincerity that surprised the older man.
"I... all right," Perry said after a moment, a little unnerved. "Well, I need to finish your exam, first, but since you're awake, rather than me poking and prodding, you could tell me about any other injuries I need to know about."
"How far did you get?" JD asked, lips twisting a little.
"To your waist, basically," Perry replied. "Bruises on the torso and the ribcage, and bruising on the arms in the shape and pattern of fingers. Some are older, some are newer, so I'm guessing this is an ongoing abusive situation you're in."
"Mmm..." JD sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "Well, there are probably more bruises on my thighs, and from the feel of it, I'm torn up a bit, too...I don't think I have to spell out where."
Perry's brows drew together. "Were you raped, JD?" he asked softly.
"Depends on how you look at it, but close enough...and no, I don't want to talk to the cops, all right?" JD looked suddenly very tired, and very young.
Perry bit back his protests, moving forward and reaching out tentatively to place a hand on the kid's shoulder. "All right," he said, softly. "All right. Look, I'm going to need to examine you, but if you like, I can give you the demerol first."
JD shrugged. "Either way's fine with me. Probably easier on you if I can answer questions and move when you want me to, right?"
"I...well, yes," Perry said, removing his hand at the casual tone of JD's voice. "If... if you're comfortable with that...?"
"I'm not exactly comfortable, but...You're doing a lot for me. Might as well make things easier on you. And like you said, you're not going to hurt me."
Perry couldn't help but smile at that, though it was a sad smile. "Look, I'd've had to do it this way if you hadn't woken up anyway. For crying out loud, you've had a hard enough time of it tonight without making it harder for my sake. Trust me, you're not the first person I've had to examine unconscious. Kinda goes with the territory of working graveyard shifts. So tell me honestly this time: Do you want the demerol before I examine you, or not?"
JD hesitated for a long moment, before finally nodding. "Okay. Okay, yeah, I'd like it. Thank you..." And the last words were honestly sincere, showing a glimpse of a more vulnerable side to the youth, before it disappeared again.
"Don't worry about it," Perry replied. "Look, I'm going to have to order it, so you just relax again, and sleep if you can, and don't open your eyes until you hear my voice. Got it?"
"Got it." JD settled himself down again, still watching Perry, his brow slightly furrowed. There were questions behind his eyes, but he didn't voice a one.
Perry nodded, stepping out of the room. "Carla?"
The nurse peered around the corner from the nurse's station. "Yeah, Dr. Cox?"
"Listen, my John Doe's getting a little combative; I need you to order a shot of demerol so I can sedate him long enough to examine him."
She frowned. "He's awake?"
He shook his head. "No," he lied, feeling a small twinge of guilt. "I think he's suffered some kind of trauma, though, and is in shock. He's talking in his sleep. Keeps saying 'no' and 'please stop.'"
Carla's face twisted in sympathy. "Poor kid," she said. "I'll order a syringe."
Perry nodded his thanks, then stepped back into the room. "Okay," he murmured. "Happy juice is on its way. Be just a few minutes, so keep with the sleeping act, but you can talk until I tell you not to, if you like."
"Don't really have a lot to talk about..." JD shifted, wincing slightly. "Unless there's something about all this you need to ask me, before you send me off to happy dream land."
Perry hesitated. "Well, I'm going to be ordering an abdominal CT to check for internal trauma, but I'm betting any bleeding we find is going to be from lacerated tissue in your colon. Your blood pressure is a little low, but not dangerously so; we'll probably give you some IV fluids, if there's no bleeding. Any significant trauma will require surgery, of course, but we can figure that out when we get the results from the CT."
"Surgery?" JD winced again. "Great. That'd be all I need..."
"Well, you probably won't," Perry said. "But it's better to know that for sure, you know?"
"Yeah. Better safe than sorry, right?" JD's voice was grimly amused as his eyes closed again and he shifted his weight once more. "Okay, Doctor--what's your name?"
"Cox," Perry replied, glancing at the door. "And zip it."
JD did, his body relaxing completely and convincingly, despite the pain he must be feeling.
Carla opened the door, syringe in hand. "Here you go, Dr. Cox."
He stood, moving forward and taking it carefully with a nod. "Thanks, Carla."
"Are you sure he needs it...?" Carla murmured, peering at JD over Perry's shoulder. "He seems pretty calm now."
Before Perry could respond, the kid moaned softly, tossing his head, one arm flailing slightly.
"Yeah, he's just peachy. Just give me the damned needle and get going, all right?" Perry's words were harsh but his voice was gentle, and Carla did as he asked, shaking her head sadly at the boy on the bed once more.
JD cracked an eye after the door closed again. "How was that?"
Perry grinned. "Not bad," he admitted. He held up the syringe. "You ready?"
JD held out his arm and nodded. "Hit me."
Perry moved forward, laying the syringe aside for a moment. He tore open an alcohol swab and, cradling JD's elbow in one hand, gently cleaned the fragile skin on the underside. Then he tied a tourniquet over JD's bicep and waited a moment as the veins popped up. "You're no heroin addict, whatever else you might be," he commented lightly. "No tracks." He moved forward with the needle again before the kid could reply. "Good night, JD," he said softly, poking through the skin and injecting the drug.
JD blinked once, watching the needle, then again, more slowly. "G'night... Dr. Cox," he murmured softly.
Then he blacked out for the second time that night.
* * *
His tests came back negative.
"He's a little torn up, but it's nothing terrible," Dr. Morris told Perry, looking over the CT scans. "There's no internal organ damage, if that's what you were worried about. The low blood pressure probably has more to do with malnutrition than anything else. Tell him to start eating and he should be fine."
Perry had nodded his thanks. That was a relief for more than one reason, actually--sneaking JD the scans had been easy enough, but surgery would've been another matter. He shook his head, grateful they wouldn't have to deal with it; on impulse, he stopped by the cafeteria and ordered a bag lunch. Then, food in hand, he hurried back up to the room where they'd admitted JD for observation. He stepped in, sliding the door shut behind him. The demerol would have worn off about half an hour ago, he knew, but JD appeared to still be asleep--either that, or he was a very good actor.
"Hey, kid," he murmured. "You awake?"
"Yeah," came the soft reply, though JD didn't move, still to all appearances dead to the world.
"It's safe," Perry told him, amused. "You can open your eyes."
"Maybe I'm just sleepy," JD replied, sounding rather amused himself. He blinked slowly, stretching hesitantly. "So? Am I getting cut open?"
"No," Perry replied. "You're fine. A little beat up but apparently none the worse for wear. At worst you probably had a minor concussion." He moved forward, lifting the hand that still clutched the lunch bag. "I got you something to eat."
"Dude...thanks." JD smiled slightly, looking both relieved and a bit surprised. "So what happens now?" he asked, pushing himself up a bit, still moving slowly.
"Now," Perry said, stepping to the side of the bed and lowering himself into the chair there, "you eat your food. I'll deal with the rest."
JD grinned, accepting the bag, which contained a ham and cheese sub sandwich, a bag of potato chips, some cookies and a can of root beer. He pulled them out and set them on the bedside table, then unwrapped the sandwich and took an enormous bite. Perry watched him, brows raised, wondering just how long it had been since the kid had a decent meal.
Too long, from the looks of him. "JD?"
"Yeah?" JD mumbled around his mouthful.
"Do you have... I mean, you..." Perry frowned, wondering exactly what he wanted to ask. Well, he knew what he wanted to ask; he wanted to know if the kid would be okay. If he had a place to stay, food to eat, a job. A family. But how the hell was he supposed to ask something like that without sounding creepy? "I guess I'm a little worried about you," he finally said. "You're pretty malnourished, and the bruises... I don't want to see you right back in here in a week or two."
JD didn't answer right away, just kept chewing until he'd swallowed his mouthful, his face guarded. "I get by okay..."
"Do you live alone?" Perry pressed. When JD nodded, Perry hesitated, then reached into his pocket for a pen and grabbed the paper bag from the bed. "Look," he said, scrawling on the bag, "I'm going to give you my cell phone number. I know you said you don't have insurance, but if you're ever in trouble, I'd rather you call me before it gets bad enough to land you in here again." He tore off the corner of the bag with his name and number and handed it to the younger man, who was staring at him in disbelief.
"Do you..." JD trailed off, a strange expression on his face, and Perry felt his face grow warm. He half wasn't sure why he was making the offer, himself, but he wasn't going to back down now--stubbornness would see to that. And hell, the kid really did look like he could use the help.
But JD apparently thought better of whatever he'd been about to ask, and instead closed his mouth, took the piece of paper, and folded it into his hand. "Thank you, Dr. Cox. Hope I don't need to take advantage of this...but I will if I need to."
Perry nodded. "Okay. Good." Then, getting to his feet, he said, "I'm going to go ahead and DC your drip--when you're finished eating you're free to go. I've already filled out the discharge paperwork." He smirked. "One thing about this place--if you can't pay, it's easy to get out quickly."
JD smiled slightly, still putting the food away at an almost alarming rate. "Big surprise."
Perry watched him a moment longer, then moved forward, pressing a few buttons on the plum pump, then clamping off the drip. "Arm," he instructed, and JD held it out, not even pausing in his eating. Perry shook his head as he pulled the IV, thinking he should offer to take the kid to dinner sometime, because apparently he needed it.
Luckily, he caught that one before he blurted it out. He rolled his eyes at himself, securing a band aid over the spot on JD's arm where the IV had been. "Okay," he said. "You're all set. As soon as you feel up to it, you're free to go."
"Thank you. Again." JD finished his soda, shifting again with a slight wince. He was silent for a long moment, but then spoke up just as Perry was leaving. "Dr. Cox?"
Perry paused, turning around, and saw JD watching him with that odd look again. "It's been awhile since someone took a risk for me...I do appreciate it," the young man said. "Let me know if there's ever anything I can do to repay you...I live at 257 Las Tunas. Apartment 10."
Perry raised his eyebrows, but nodded. "Okay," he said slowly. "Noted. It was nice meeting you, JD. See you around sometime." He smiled, then turned and left the room.
* * *
JD dropped his key on the table just inside the door, reminding himself to hide it again for the next time he ended up locked out. Not that his landlord wouldn't let him in, but he didn't usually feel up to the...persuasion...it'd take. He grabbed a beer from the fridge, frowning at the moldy loaf of bread, Tupperware container of soup, and ancient box of pizza that were all he had to eat. He felt mildly ill just thinking of it, and dropped gingerly down onto the couch.
"Not great, JD," he murmured to himself, "but still in one piece, at least..." He shook his head, opening the can and taking a long gulp, wincing at the taste. Horse piss, but cheap...It was good enough for his purpose. He looked around the small apartment, and sighed, thinking the same thoughts he always did, when he was home and didn't have enough beer in him to distract him from their intrusive insistence. What the hell am I doing here? Jesus, look at me...how the fuck did I let this happen?
Three years ago, he'd been doing pretty well. Near the top of his class in high school--not exactly popular, but affably nerdy enough to have a group of like-minded friends--good prospects for college, maybe even a few scholarships. Only nine years away from his dream of being a doctor...
And then his mom had remarried. And fallen ill, within the space of three months. His new step father hadn't been impressed by academic performance, and definitely not with affable nerdiness. JD's grades had started to slip, as he spent his time at home trying to avoid his step-father, and rarely succeeding.
The bruises he could've handled, could've laughed off when his friends noticed. But the rest of it...that was harder. He almost wished it would show, as well.
And finally it did, when Dan dropped by unexpectedly one afternoon, to find him in the bathtub, wrists slit. It should've worked. JD had done research, studied technique, applied the rusty razor with the concentration and finesse of a surgeon. He'd taken a hot bath to open veins and increase the flow of blood. He'd taken some of his mom's pills to make the pain less, so he wouldn't chicken out halfway through, or fail to make the cuts deep enough. He'd settled back and closed his eyes, escape planned to the t, and fully expected the end to take him. Afterlife, any afterlife, would be more preferable to his current circumstances.
But he woke up in the hospital, instead; woke to doctors telling him how lucky he was his brother found him in time, full of reassurances and referrals to therapists. He'd almost been glad, thinking at last he could tell someone. But his step-dad pulled him out the moment he could bully a doctor into signing the release forms, and JD'd been returned to hell, made worse now by being blamed as a financial burden for his stupidity, raising medical bills he'd have to pay off on his own somehow.
So he'd planned a different escape. He'd run away as soon as he was healed. Hitched a ride to California, out looking for his father, following the address of the last letter he'd gotten from him. A dead-beat he might be, but he'd never lifted a finger against JD. Maybe they could work together--build something of the shattered remains of their so-called family.
But when he arrived, the apartment manager hadn't heard from Sam Dorian in two months. All he got was an order to let him know if JD found him first, because that bum owed him three months' rent.
So there he was, in a city on the West Coast, seventeen and homeless, alone, not even a high school diploma under his belt. The hope of the Dorian family, already washed up.
JD took another long drink of beer, shuddering slightly at the memories. He'd tried to make a go of it, at first. He'd had a little money, left to him by his grandmother, and had managed to live off it for a while, while he looked for work. Not that there was much open to him, but after he turned eighteen he was able to find a few things, and eventually got his GED, studying around incredibly long fast food shifts.
But then that money had run out, and he wasn't making enough to get by. He cut back on everything but food and rent, but he still couldn't make ends meet. Struggling desperately, barely surviving, the thought of reopening the scars on his wrists grew ever more attractive. But somehow he stumbled on for a year, hanging by a thread the entire time.
Until the month came he couldn't pay his rent. And his landlord looked him over, told him he had awfully pretty lips for a boy, and there was a use for them as good as cash.
Since then, he'd made his money in the oldest profession of all. Ironic, in a way, that Les Miserables had been one of his favorite musicals, in his life before. Because "Lovely Ladies" had a tendency to play in his mind at the worst possible moments...still, his clients didn't seem to mind if he hummed around his mouthful.
And then one night JD discovered how much someone would pay to bruise him. And how quickly his skin healed.
"No one's going to hurt me," he murmured to himself, remembering that doctor's words. "Yeah...not unless they pay me for it, they're not..." He snorted, finishing off the beer, considering getting up for another. Rick hadn't meant to get so rough, anyway, he'd just been drinking. JD supposed he should be grateful the client had called 911 for him. It wasn't the first time someone had gone too far, but it was the first time he'd blacked out. And now he'd have to wait for his face to heal to go out again...
He pulled himself up, wincing at stiff muscles and aching bruises, getting himself another beer. At least Dr. Cox had been a decent guy. He'd actually seemed to care...either that, or he was really good at faking it. JD wasn't sure what kind of payment the man would want for the way he'd broken the rules, but he found himself hoping that Cox had figured out exactly how he'd been hurt, and would show up looking for "thanks."
Wonder what he's like in the sack... The man was big, handsome, and obviously well muscled. And his hands were surprisingly gentle...must come from being a doctor, that sensitive touch. He could think of a few places he wouldn't mind feeling it...
JD knew he was rare, in that he could still find some comfort, some joy, in contemplation of the act from which he made his living. He'd learned to take himself away, of course, to let his mind wander in fantasy while the client did whatever he'd paid to do, but he didn't have to every time. One or two of those who came to him he was actually rather fond of, and several excited him.
He thought that Cox would be one of those. And it certainly wouldn't hurt to be in good with a doctor, especially if things went too far again. The danger of being an independent...there was no one looking out for him but him, and he couldn't afford to give up the beatings; they simply paid too well.
Not to mention his rent was basically free now.
But still...He pulled the piece of lunch bag out of his pocket, reading the phone number again. He wouldn't call, not unless he desperately needed to, but just looking at it made him feel something he hadn't for a while. He still couldn't believe he'd told Cox where he lived. What if he showed up?
JD didn't know if he hoped for it or dreaded it. But when he finally fell asleep on the couch that night, JD found himself dreaming of that doctor, his gentle fingers touching him everywhere, simply because JD them wanted to.
* * *
Should we finish it? Scrap it? Let us know!
Characters: JD/Perry
Preview Rating: PG-13
Summary: An AU in which circumstances forced JD to flee his home at an early age and become a prostitute on the streets of California.
Standard WIP disclaimer: Most of these stories were begun a long time ago. This one was started nearly a year ago, actually, on December 17th of 2006. We've grown as writers since then. These are also rough, as they're works in progress and have received no more than the most remedial editing. Keep this in mind. These are works in progress, progress being the key word. ;)
Perry Cox decided, as he strode down the corridors of Sacred Heart Hospital, that this night was officially going on the top ten list of Shifts from Hell. The thirty-two-year-old attending physician had been on call since eight o'clock the previous evening, and now, eight grueling hours later, he was still two solid hours from freedom. Of course, at the rate this night was going, it'd be another three or four before he actually got the hell out of there.
He scowled, and the group of interns that had been standing, bleary-eyed and frazzled-looking, directly in his path scattered swiftly, hunching protectively over coffee cups. Perry ignored them, though he did feel a small, involuntary swell of sympathy. What was it about the holidays, anyway, that made all the crazies go... well, crazier? It seemed every year, from Halloween until after New Year's, the hospital was chalk full of sob stories. Addicts overdosing, bi-polars attempting suicide, drunks, car accidents...hell, even violent crime rates seemed to go up, which Perry found depressingly amusing.
"'Tis the season," he muttered as he rounded the corner, toward the bustling ER, this time to do an admission on an unresponsive assault victim.
"Dr. Cox!"
Perry glanced up and nodded to Carla, who was waving him over to a gurney and a couple of EMTs. He stepped forward, taking the chart she handed him and walking alongside her as the EMTs pushed the patient toward an exam room. He only spared the briefest glance at the patient sprawled, clearly unconscious, on top of the sheets, before opening the chart and beginning to look over the paramedic's notes.
"Assault and battery, possible extended exposure, shock..." he read the list and winced. "Looks like I'm not the only one having a rough night." He glanced at Carla. "We got any ID on this kid?"
Carla shook her head. "He's got a pocket full of cash but no wallet," she said, lips quirked and brow raised. "So I somehow doubt he was mugged."
Perry snorted, pausing in the hallway as the orderlies wheeled the kid into an empty exam room. Perry stood in the doorway, waiting, as they transferred the patient to the table. "How long has he been unconscious?"
"Since they found him, apparently," she replied, watching with mild interest as they moved him. "Got an anonymous call to 911, said a kid had been hurt and needed medical attention. He'd been dragged into an alleyway and hidden behind a dumpster."
"Think it was his assailants who called in the emergency?" Perry asked, lifting his eyebrows as he flipped through the charts. "Multiple existing scars, fading bruises--sounds like some kind of family or spousal abuse, doesn't it?"
Carla shrugged. "It's as likely as anything," she said. "He's pretty banged up but it's not serious, I don't think. Bit of patch and fix and he should be fine, I'd think."
"Responsive to stimuli?"
"Noxious and painful," Carla confirmed. "But they can't completely rouse him."
"Substance abuse?"
"Won't know until we get the lab work back, but the paramedics didn't report any tracks or puncture wounds. If he is a user, he's not an intravenous one."
"They've drawn the blood work already, then?"
"Ordered all your favorites," Carla reported, grinning up at him. "Drew them already and they're heading to the lab as we speak."
Perry nodded. "All right," he sighed, running a hand through his curls. "Thank you, Carla."
She nodded, then turned and gestured to the orderlies; they followed her out of the room, pulling the stretcher with them. Perry stepped back long enough to stay out of their way, the moved into the exam room, kicking the door shut with his heel. "Okay, John Doe," he muttered. "Let's get this party started."
He grabbed a pair of gloves from the box on the sink, snapping them on and moving forward. It was then he got his first good look at the kid on the exam table.
He couldn't have been more than twenty-two or twenty-three, from the looks of him. He was probably about six feet tall, lean and pale, with dark, messy hair that fell back from his face. His eyes were closed, lashes long and thick against his high cheekbones, one of which sported a nasty purpling bruise, matching another along his hairline, at the temple. Perry spared a moment to note concussion as the probable cause of unconsciousness--though he wasn't going to rule out substance abuse just yet. Not until they got the blood work back.
He moved around to the side of the table, leaning over the young man and pushing his t-shirt up toward his chest. He frowned at the sight of multiple fading bruises along the kid's ribs and abdomen; he felt carefully along each bone, but none seemed to be broken. He lowered the shirt again, making another note on the chart.
"Okay, Mr. Doe--or may I call you John? Let's have a look here..." He lifted one of the young man's arms, rolling up the sleeve, and noticing finger-shaped bruises along the forearm. He shook his head. "Someone sure did a number on you, didn't they, kid?" he murmured.
Just then, something on the underside of the kid's arm caught his attention; he turned his wrist gently, and saw a thin white scar running from the base of the kid's palm about four inches down his wrist. He frowned, peering closer, then released the hand to examine the other. As he'd suspected a matching scar ran along that wrist as well. He sighed, lowering it to the table once more.
"Suicide attempt," he muttered. A while ago, from the looks of it, but definitely something to be noted in the chart. Still, it probably meant the kid had been treated before, probably even admitted to the psychiatric ward or at least put under emergency observation. "Not your first time with us, is it, Johnny?" Perry said, lifting an eyebrow as he moved forward once more.
He didn't get far, however, as the kid's eyes suddenly snapped open, wide and fearful, and he yelped, nearly falling off the table at the sight of Perry hovering over him.
"Whoa," Perry said, holding up his hands, taking a step back to give him some space. "Easy there, kid. You're safe. You're in the emergency room of Sacred Heart Hospital. Do you know where that is?"
"How the hell do you know my name?" the kid gasped, glaring at him.
Perry lifted his eyebrows, surprised. "Your name is 'Kid'?"
"You called me Johnny..." the kid frowned deeply, looking suspiciously around the room. "No one's called me that in years...How did you know my name?"
"It...I was working from John Doe," Perry said. "You're name's actually John?" What were the odds?
"You...oh," the kid said, relaxing slightly. He frowned, and looked down, no longer meeting Perry's eyes. "Yeah. It is. I go by JD. But no, my last name isn't Doe."
"Care to share what it is?"
"Do I have to?" JD asked warily, eying the door again.
Perry frowned. "Only if you want us to be able to treat you." He fought the urge to approach the young man--he could tell he was only an instant away from bolting. "Look, kid, no one's going to hurt you," he said, trying to make his voice gentle and reassuring.
A wry smile crossed JD's face, and he actually relaxed a bit further. "It's Dorian. How'd I get here?"
"Anonymous call to 911," Perry said. "You were found in an alley, out cold. Do you know who did this to you?" It wasn't exactly protocol, asking that immediately, but there was something about the haunted look in the kid's eyes... "We can call the police if you have a description or a name, get them to put out an APB..."
"No," JD replied softly, but quickly. He shook his head gingerly. "Thanks, but no. Can you just finish checking me out so I can go?"
Perry frowned. "I... I'd planned on keeping you overnight," he said. "Your blood pressure is a little low, and we want to make sure there's no internal damage..."
JD sighed, closing his eyes for a long moment. "How much is it gonna cost? I don't have insurance...I don't think I can afford an overnight stay, not when I'll have to miss work, too."
"Where do you work?" Perry asked. "Surely they can arrange to have your shifts covered...?"
The wry smile returned. "Oh, yeah, someone will cover for me. But I don't exactly get paid sick leave, you know?"
Perry hesitated. That did actually present a little bit of a problem, of course, but maybe...
Oh, shit, why not? "Look, no one but me knows you regained consciousness," Perry said. "I can give you a shot of demerol--that'll knock you back out and help with the pain, too--and we can run some tests. The hospital can't street you if you're still unconscious. We can get you checked out, and Kelso won't have any way to check insurance because no one but me knows your name. You won't be liable for charges incurred for procedures you didn't consciously consent to." He bit his lip, lifting an eyebrow at JD. "What do you think?"
"How do you know I'm not an addict just willing to take the fix?" JD asked, raising an eyebrow in turn. "But fine...It's your ass on the line, not mine, and I wouldn't say no to getting checked out..."
"Your gratitude is overwhelming," Perry said dryly. "And you may very well be an addict, but you're also clearly being abused, and addiction or no, I can't let that slide. But you gotta work with me on this one, okay?"
JD nodded, face suddenly serious. "Whatever you need me to do, Doctor," he said simply, with a sincerity that surprised the older man.
"I... all right," Perry said after a moment, a little unnerved. "Well, I need to finish your exam, first, but since you're awake, rather than me poking and prodding, you could tell me about any other injuries I need to know about."
"How far did you get?" JD asked, lips twisting a little.
"To your waist, basically," Perry replied. "Bruises on the torso and the ribcage, and bruising on the arms in the shape and pattern of fingers. Some are older, some are newer, so I'm guessing this is an ongoing abusive situation you're in."
"Mmm..." JD sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "Well, there are probably more bruises on my thighs, and from the feel of it, I'm torn up a bit, too...I don't think I have to spell out where."
Perry's brows drew together. "Were you raped, JD?" he asked softly.
"Depends on how you look at it, but close enough...and no, I don't want to talk to the cops, all right?" JD looked suddenly very tired, and very young.
Perry bit back his protests, moving forward and reaching out tentatively to place a hand on the kid's shoulder. "All right," he said, softly. "All right. Look, I'm going to need to examine you, but if you like, I can give you the demerol first."
JD shrugged. "Either way's fine with me. Probably easier on you if I can answer questions and move when you want me to, right?"
"I...well, yes," Perry said, removing his hand at the casual tone of JD's voice. "If... if you're comfortable with that...?"
"I'm not exactly comfortable, but...You're doing a lot for me. Might as well make things easier on you. And like you said, you're not going to hurt me."
Perry couldn't help but smile at that, though it was a sad smile. "Look, I'd've had to do it this way if you hadn't woken up anyway. For crying out loud, you've had a hard enough time of it tonight without making it harder for my sake. Trust me, you're not the first person I've had to examine unconscious. Kinda goes with the territory of working graveyard shifts. So tell me honestly this time: Do you want the demerol before I examine you, or not?"
JD hesitated for a long moment, before finally nodding. "Okay. Okay, yeah, I'd like it. Thank you..." And the last words were honestly sincere, showing a glimpse of a more vulnerable side to the youth, before it disappeared again.
"Don't worry about it," Perry replied. "Look, I'm going to have to order it, so you just relax again, and sleep if you can, and don't open your eyes until you hear my voice. Got it?"
"Got it." JD settled himself down again, still watching Perry, his brow slightly furrowed. There were questions behind his eyes, but he didn't voice a one.
Perry nodded, stepping out of the room. "Carla?"
The nurse peered around the corner from the nurse's station. "Yeah, Dr. Cox?"
"Listen, my John Doe's getting a little combative; I need you to order a shot of demerol so I can sedate him long enough to examine him."
She frowned. "He's awake?"
He shook his head. "No," he lied, feeling a small twinge of guilt. "I think he's suffered some kind of trauma, though, and is in shock. He's talking in his sleep. Keeps saying 'no' and 'please stop.'"
Carla's face twisted in sympathy. "Poor kid," she said. "I'll order a syringe."
Perry nodded his thanks, then stepped back into the room. "Okay," he murmured. "Happy juice is on its way. Be just a few minutes, so keep with the sleeping act, but you can talk until I tell you not to, if you like."
"Don't really have a lot to talk about..." JD shifted, wincing slightly. "Unless there's something about all this you need to ask me, before you send me off to happy dream land."
Perry hesitated. "Well, I'm going to be ordering an abdominal CT to check for internal trauma, but I'm betting any bleeding we find is going to be from lacerated tissue in your colon. Your blood pressure is a little low, but not dangerously so; we'll probably give you some IV fluids, if there's no bleeding. Any significant trauma will require surgery, of course, but we can figure that out when we get the results from the CT."
"Surgery?" JD winced again. "Great. That'd be all I need..."
"Well, you probably won't," Perry said. "But it's better to know that for sure, you know?"
"Yeah. Better safe than sorry, right?" JD's voice was grimly amused as his eyes closed again and he shifted his weight once more. "Okay, Doctor--what's your name?"
"Cox," Perry replied, glancing at the door. "And zip it."
JD did, his body relaxing completely and convincingly, despite the pain he must be feeling.
Carla opened the door, syringe in hand. "Here you go, Dr. Cox."
He stood, moving forward and taking it carefully with a nod. "Thanks, Carla."
"Are you sure he needs it...?" Carla murmured, peering at JD over Perry's shoulder. "He seems pretty calm now."
Before Perry could respond, the kid moaned softly, tossing his head, one arm flailing slightly.
"Yeah, he's just peachy. Just give me the damned needle and get going, all right?" Perry's words were harsh but his voice was gentle, and Carla did as he asked, shaking her head sadly at the boy on the bed once more.
JD cracked an eye after the door closed again. "How was that?"
Perry grinned. "Not bad," he admitted. He held up the syringe. "You ready?"
JD held out his arm and nodded. "Hit me."
Perry moved forward, laying the syringe aside for a moment. He tore open an alcohol swab and, cradling JD's elbow in one hand, gently cleaned the fragile skin on the underside. Then he tied a tourniquet over JD's bicep and waited a moment as the veins popped up. "You're no heroin addict, whatever else you might be," he commented lightly. "No tracks." He moved forward with the needle again before the kid could reply. "Good night, JD," he said softly, poking through the skin and injecting the drug.
JD blinked once, watching the needle, then again, more slowly. "G'night... Dr. Cox," he murmured softly.
Then he blacked out for the second time that night.
* * *
His tests came back negative.
"He's a little torn up, but it's nothing terrible," Dr. Morris told Perry, looking over the CT scans. "There's no internal organ damage, if that's what you were worried about. The low blood pressure probably has more to do with malnutrition than anything else. Tell him to start eating and he should be fine."
Perry had nodded his thanks. That was a relief for more than one reason, actually--sneaking JD the scans had been easy enough, but surgery would've been another matter. He shook his head, grateful they wouldn't have to deal with it; on impulse, he stopped by the cafeteria and ordered a bag lunch. Then, food in hand, he hurried back up to the room where they'd admitted JD for observation. He stepped in, sliding the door shut behind him. The demerol would have worn off about half an hour ago, he knew, but JD appeared to still be asleep--either that, or he was a very good actor.
"Hey, kid," he murmured. "You awake?"
"Yeah," came the soft reply, though JD didn't move, still to all appearances dead to the world.
"It's safe," Perry told him, amused. "You can open your eyes."
"Maybe I'm just sleepy," JD replied, sounding rather amused himself. He blinked slowly, stretching hesitantly. "So? Am I getting cut open?"
"No," Perry replied. "You're fine. A little beat up but apparently none the worse for wear. At worst you probably had a minor concussion." He moved forward, lifting the hand that still clutched the lunch bag. "I got you something to eat."
"Dude...thanks." JD smiled slightly, looking both relieved and a bit surprised. "So what happens now?" he asked, pushing himself up a bit, still moving slowly.
"Now," Perry said, stepping to the side of the bed and lowering himself into the chair there, "you eat your food. I'll deal with the rest."
JD grinned, accepting the bag, which contained a ham and cheese sub sandwich, a bag of potato chips, some cookies and a can of root beer. He pulled them out and set them on the bedside table, then unwrapped the sandwich and took an enormous bite. Perry watched him, brows raised, wondering just how long it had been since the kid had a decent meal.
Too long, from the looks of him. "JD?"
"Yeah?" JD mumbled around his mouthful.
"Do you have... I mean, you..." Perry frowned, wondering exactly what he wanted to ask. Well, he knew what he wanted to ask; he wanted to know if the kid would be okay. If he had a place to stay, food to eat, a job. A family. But how the hell was he supposed to ask something like that without sounding creepy? "I guess I'm a little worried about you," he finally said. "You're pretty malnourished, and the bruises... I don't want to see you right back in here in a week or two."
JD didn't answer right away, just kept chewing until he'd swallowed his mouthful, his face guarded. "I get by okay..."
"Do you live alone?" Perry pressed. When JD nodded, Perry hesitated, then reached into his pocket for a pen and grabbed the paper bag from the bed. "Look," he said, scrawling on the bag, "I'm going to give you my cell phone number. I know you said you don't have insurance, but if you're ever in trouble, I'd rather you call me before it gets bad enough to land you in here again." He tore off the corner of the bag with his name and number and handed it to the younger man, who was staring at him in disbelief.
"Do you..." JD trailed off, a strange expression on his face, and Perry felt his face grow warm. He half wasn't sure why he was making the offer, himself, but he wasn't going to back down now--stubbornness would see to that. And hell, the kid really did look like he could use the help.
But JD apparently thought better of whatever he'd been about to ask, and instead closed his mouth, took the piece of paper, and folded it into his hand. "Thank you, Dr. Cox. Hope I don't need to take advantage of this...but I will if I need to."
Perry nodded. "Okay. Good." Then, getting to his feet, he said, "I'm going to go ahead and DC your drip--when you're finished eating you're free to go. I've already filled out the discharge paperwork." He smirked. "One thing about this place--if you can't pay, it's easy to get out quickly."
JD smiled slightly, still putting the food away at an almost alarming rate. "Big surprise."
Perry watched him a moment longer, then moved forward, pressing a few buttons on the plum pump, then clamping off the drip. "Arm," he instructed, and JD held it out, not even pausing in his eating. Perry shook his head as he pulled the IV, thinking he should offer to take the kid to dinner sometime, because apparently he needed it.
Luckily, he caught that one before he blurted it out. He rolled his eyes at himself, securing a band aid over the spot on JD's arm where the IV had been. "Okay," he said. "You're all set. As soon as you feel up to it, you're free to go."
"Thank you. Again." JD finished his soda, shifting again with a slight wince. He was silent for a long moment, but then spoke up just as Perry was leaving. "Dr. Cox?"
Perry paused, turning around, and saw JD watching him with that odd look again. "It's been awhile since someone took a risk for me...I do appreciate it," the young man said. "Let me know if there's ever anything I can do to repay you...I live at 257 Las Tunas. Apartment 10."
Perry raised his eyebrows, but nodded. "Okay," he said slowly. "Noted. It was nice meeting you, JD. See you around sometime." He smiled, then turned and left the room.
* * *
JD dropped his key on the table just inside the door, reminding himself to hide it again for the next time he ended up locked out. Not that his landlord wouldn't let him in, but he didn't usually feel up to the...persuasion...it'd take. He grabbed a beer from the fridge, frowning at the moldy loaf of bread, Tupperware container of soup, and ancient box of pizza that were all he had to eat. He felt mildly ill just thinking of it, and dropped gingerly down onto the couch.
"Not great, JD," he murmured to himself, "but still in one piece, at least..." He shook his head, opening the can and taking a long gulp, wincing at the taste. Horse piss, but cheap...It was good enough for his purpose. He looked around the small apartment, and sighed, thinking the same thoughts he always did, when he was home and didn't have enough beer in him to distract him from their intrusive insistence. What the hell am I doing here? Jesus, look at me...how the fuck did I let this happen?
Three years ago, he'd been doing pretty well. Near the top of his class in high school--not exactly popular, but affably nerdy enough to have a group of like-minded friends--good prospects for college, maybe even a few scholarships. Only nine years away from his dream of being a doctor...
And then his mom had remarried. And fallen ill, within the space of three months. His new step father hadn't been impressed by academic performance, and definitely not with affable nerdiness. JD's grades had started to slip, as he spent his time at home trying to avoid his step-father, and rarely succeeding.
The bruises he could've handled, could've laughed off when his friends noticed. But the rest of it...that was harder. He almost wished it would show, as well.
And finally it did, when Dan dropped by unexpectedly one afternoon, to find him in the bathtub, wrists slit. It should've worked. JD had done research, studied technique, applied the rusty razor with the concentration and finesse of a surgeon. He'd taken a hot bath to open veins and increase the flow of blood. He'd taken some of his mom's pills to make the pain less, so he wouldn't chicken out halfway through, or fail to make the cuts deep enough. He'd settled back and closed his eyes, escape planned to the t, and fully expected the end to take him. Afterlife, any afterlife, would be more preferable to his current circumstances.
But he woke up in the hospital, instead; woke to doctors telling him how lucky he was his brother found him in time, full of reassurances and referrals to therapists. He'd almost been glad, thinking at last he could tell someone. But his step-dad pulled him out the moment he could bully a doctor into signing the release forms, and JD'd been returned to hell, made worse now by being blamed as a financial burden for his stupidity, raising medical bills he'd have to pay off on his own somehow.
So he'd planned a different escape. He'd run away as soon as he was healed. Hitched a ride to California, out looking for his father, following the address of the last letter he'd gotten from him. A dead-beat he might be, but he'd never lifted a finger against JD. Maybe they could work together--build something of the shattered remains of their so-called family.
But when he arrived, the apartment manager hadn't heard from Sam Dorian in two months. All he got was an order to let him know if JD found him first, because that bum owed him three months' rent.
So there he was, in a city on the West Coast, seventeen and homeless, alone, not even a high school diploma under his belt. The hope of the Dorian family, already washed up.
JD took another long drink of beer, shuddering slightly at the memories. He'd tried to make a go of it, at first. He'd had a little money, left to him by his grandmother, and had managed to live off it for a while, while he looked for work. Not that there was much open to him, but after he turned eighteen he was able to find a few things, and eventually got his GED, studying around incredibly long fast food shifts.
But then that money had run out, and he wasn't making enough to get by. He cut back on everything but food and rent, but he still couldn't make ends meet. Struggling desperately, barely surviving, the thought of reopening the scars on his wrists grew ever more attractive. But somehow he stumbled on for a year, hanging by a thread the entire time.
Until the month came he couldn't pay his rent. And his landlord looked him over, told him he had awfully pretty lips for a boy, and there was a use for them as good as cash.
Since then, he'd made his money in the oldest profession of all. Ironic, in a way, that Les Miserables had been one of his favorite musicals, in his life before. Because "Lovely Ladies" had a tendency to play in his mind at the worst possible moments...still, his clients didn't seem to mind if he hummed around his mouthful.
And then one night JD discovered how much someone would pay to bruise him. And how quickly his skin healed.
"No one's going to hurt me," he murmured to himself, remembering that doctor's words. "Yeah...not unless they pay me for it, they're not..." He snorted, finishing off the beer, considering getting up for another. Rick hadn't meant to get so rough, anyway, he'd just been drinking. JD supposed he should be grateful the client had called 911 for him. It wasn't the first time someone had gone too far, but it was the first time he'd blacked out. And now he'd have to wait for his face to heal to go out again...
He pulled himself up, wincing at stiff muscles and aching bruises, getting himself another beer. At least Dr. Cox had been a decent guy. He'd actually seemed to care...either that, or he was really good at faking it. JD wasn't sure what kind of payment the man would want for the way he'd broken the rules, but he found himself hoping that Cox had figured out exactly how he'd been hurt, and would show up looking for "thanks."
Wonder what he's like in the sack... The man was big, handsome, and obviously well muscled. And his hands were surprisingly gentle...must come from being a doctor, that sensitive touch. He could think of a few places he wouldn't mind feeling it...
JD knew he was rare, in that he could still find some comfort, some joy, in contemplation of the act from which he made his living. He'd learned to take himself away, of course, to let his mind wander in fantasy while the client did whatever he'd paid to do, but he didn't have to every time. One or two of those who came to him he was actually rather fond of, and several excited him.
He thought that Cox would be one of those. And it certainly wouldn't hurt to be in good with a doctor, especially if things went too far again. The danger of being an independent...there was no one looking out for him but him, and he couldn't afford to give up the beatings; they simply paid too well.
Not to mention his rent was basically free now.
But still...He pulled the piece of lunch bag out of his pocket, reading the phone number again. He wouldn't call, not unless he desperately needed to, but just looking at it made him feel something he hadn't for a while. He still couldn't believe he'd told Cox where he lived. What if he showed up?
JD didn't know if he hoped for it or dreaded it. But when he finally fell asleep on the couch that night, JD found himself dreaming of that doctor, his gentle fingers touching him everywhere, simply because JD them wanted to.
* * *
Should we finish it? Scrap it? Let us know!