Work Text:
I had just finished rounds with my interns when my pager went off. Normally, that wasn't unusual. Pagers went off all the time. Usually, it meant somebody needed me, somebody was looking for me, or somebody had discovered another task I'd forgotten to finish.
This time, however, the message was short enough to be alarming.
SUPPLY CLOSET 3. NOW.
Dr. Cox.
I slowed to a stop in the middle of the hallway and stared at the screen.
Supply Closet 3? That was oddly private.
Dr. Cox wasn't exactly a private person. If he wanted to yell at me, he'd do it in public. If he wanted to insult me, he'd do it louder. If he wanted to emotionally scar me, he'd usually make sure there was an audience.
So why a supply closet?
As I headed down the hallway, I tried to think of a reasonable explanation. Maybe there was a patient in there. No. Patients generally preferred rooms. Maybe he wanted to discuss one of the interns. Maybe I'd made a mistake, and he wanted to yell at me somewhere nobody else could hear.
Then another possibility occurred to me. Maybe he didn't want to yell at me? Maybe he wanted to talk? Actually talk? The idea settled into my brain and immediately started causing problems.
Maybe he'd finally realized I wasn't completely useless. Maybe he'd finally admitted to himself that I was his favorite resident. Maybe all the years of mentoring me, protecting me, and pretending not to care had finally caught up with him. Maybe he'd looked at me during rounds that morning and suddenly thought, wow, that guy really is the closest thing I've ever had to a son.
Okay. That one was a little weird, but still. Possible.
My imagination immediately took over.
I opened the door to Supply Closet 3 and found Dr. Cox standing in the middle of the room waiting for me. The closet was somehow enormous now, stretching far beyond the laws of physics and basic architecture. Warm golden light poured through stained glass windows that definitely hadn't been there before.
"Newbie," he said.
His voice echoed dramatically.
"Dr. Cox?"
He looked emotional. Actually, emotional wasn't the right word. He looked like a man trying very hard not to cry.
"Perry?" I asked softly.
He nodded.
"Perry."
A piano started playing somewhere. I didn't question it.
"I spent years trying to deny it," he said.
"Deny what?"
"The truth."
I swallowed.
"What truth?"
He looked directly into my eyes.
"That you're my favorite."
I gasped. Behind me, Turk gasped. Beside him, Carla gasped. Across the room, Kelso gasped. Somehow, the Janitor was there too. He gasped. The piano music got louder.
"I always believed in you, Newbie."
A tear rolled down my cheek, "a-and the insults?"
"They were encouragement."
"The yelling?"
"Encouragement."
"The emotional trauma?"
"Very aggressive encouragement."
I nodded.
That actually made a surprising amount of sense. Kelso stepped forward, carrying a velvet cushion, on top of it sat a gold crown.
"For outstanding hair," he announced.
The entire hospital erupted into applause.
I bowed modestly.
Then something slammed directly into my shin.
"YEOWCH!"
Reality snapped back so fast my neck almost hurt.
The Janitor rolled past with a mop bucket, one leg sticking casually into my path.
"Whoops."
I glared at him as he chuckled, then he kept walking.
Rubbing my shin, I continued toward Supply Closet 3. Honestly, the chances of Dr. Cox being in there waiting to admit I was his favorite person, apologize for years of emotional damage, and award me some kind of Hair Excellence Crown were pretty low.
But they weren't zero.
A minute later, I reached Supply Closet 3 and pulled the door open.
"Hey, Dr. Cox?" I asked. "Why did you call me here?"
"There you are, Dorothy."
The fantasy vanished instantly.
Dr. Cox was standing in the middle of the supply closet with his arms crossed. There were boxes stacked behind him, boxes stacked beside him, and enough irritation radiating off him to power a small city. He looked like a man who had spent the last twenty minutes trapped in a room full of medical supplies and had used every single one of those minutes to become progressively more disappointed in humanity.
I blinked.
"Dorothy?"
Dr. Cox closed his eyes, "that's what you heard."
"You haven't called me Dorothy in a while."
"That's. What. You. Heard."
"I'm just saying, it caught me off guard."
"Well, Jennifer, I'm thrilled we've managed to identify the most important part of that entire conversation."
"What are you doing in here?"
Dr. Cox stared at me for a long moment, looking like a man who was rapidly losing faith in both medicine and basic human intelligence.
"Oh, I don't know, Jennifer. Maybe I wanted to spend seven minutes in heaven with you. Maybe I thought we'd make out a little. Maybe I'd finally re-hea-lized that beneath the crippling insecurity, the pathological need for approval, and enough hair product to survive a natural disaster, there exists a man I simply can-nawt live without. Or—and this is just a wild guess here—the door got stuck, and I've been trapped in this tiny little monument to latex gloves, alcohol wipes, and administrative incompetence for the better part of twenty minutes."
I glanced at him, then gently turned my gaze to the door, before looking back at him with an awkward smile as my brain slowly began connecting dots.
"So..." I trailed off, waiting for him to break the silence.
Dr. Cox just stared at me, his jaw tight.
"Oh," I said as it finally clicked. "You're actually stuck in here."
"Yes, Newbie. Try to keep up."
"And you paged me because you needed somebody to open the door."
For one brief, shining moment, something resembling hope appeared on his face.
"Yes, Newbie! Exactly!" he said, leaning forward
"Wow," I murmured, everything finally clicking into place. "I honestly didn't think you'd ever need my help for anything."
I stepped into the closet to join him, and the heavy door instantly swung shut behind me.
Click.
The hope disappeared.
For a moment, neither of us moved, then Dr. Cox slowly turned his head toward the door, then toward me, and then back toward the door. I could only smile weakly.
"You closed the door."
"I closed the door."
"I paged you because I was trapped."
"Right."
"And your response to finding me trapped was to voluntarily join me."
"When you say it like that—"
"How else would I say it, Julie? Should I perhaps focus on the positives? Should I take a moment to appreciate the initiative? Because from where I'm standing—and thanks to your remarkable contribution to this situation, that's exactly where I'm still standing—it appears that I have successfully witnessed the first rescue attempt in recorded history that somehow increased the number of trapped people."
I winced.
"That sounds bad."
"It sounds bad because it is bad."
Trying to salvage what little dignity I had left, I reached for the handle and gave it a twist. Nothing. I frowned and tried again. Still nothing.
My stomach dropped.
"Oh."
Dr. Cox immediately closed his eyes.
That wasn't the reaction of a man hearing unexpected news. That was the reaction of a man receiving confirmation of something he had known in his soul was coming.
"It won't open."
"Fan-tahas-tic."
"No, seriously."
"Oh, thank God you clarified, Veronica. For a second there, I thought we were discussing a completely different door. Maybe one in France. Or Narnia. Or some magical fantasy land where grown adults don't lock themselves inside supply closets after being specifically summoned to prevent that exact outcome."
I tried the handle again, still Nothing.
"Okay, maybe we're actually stuck."
"Maybe?"
"Yeah."
"Maybe."
I nodded, "definitely."
Dr. Cox stared at the ceiling for a few seconds.
"You know, somewhere in this hospital, there's a patient whose life currently depends on the collective intelligence of the medical staff. And somehow, despite the presence of surgeons, specialists, and people who have devoted decades of their lives to medicine, the universe has chosen this exact moment to remind me that one of those people is you."
"That's kinda harsh."
"Patricia, I spent twenty minutes trapped in a closet. Then help arrived and trapped itself."
I tried to come up with a defense, but nothing came out.
"To be fair, I wasn't expecting a trapped person."
"Really? Because I feel like the man standing helplessly inside a locked room may have been a clue."
For a few moments, neither of us said anything.
I tried the handle again.
Nothing.
Dr. Cox watched me.
I tried it a second time. Nothing.
He continued watching me.
A third time. Still nothing.
"Are you expecting a different result, Carol, or are we just conducting an exciting new study on repetitive motion?"
I let go of the handle, "just checking."
"Excellent. Let me know when we move on to checking it a fourth time."
I shoved my hands into my pockets and glanced around the room.
"So... what now?"
"What now?" Dr. Cox repeated. "Well, Tiffany, my current plan involves standing here until somebody notices we're missing."
"That's not really a plan."
"It's more of a concept."
I considered that.
"Couldn't we just page somebody?"
Dr. Cox immediately shook his head.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because, Veronica, I have already suffered enough humiliation for one afternoon."
I frowned.
"You got trapped in a closet."
"Exactly."
"So wouldn't getting out be worth a little embarrassment?"
Dr. Cox laughed. Not a happy laugh, but the kind of laugh people make when they're moments away from committing a felony.
"Picture it, Veronica. Carla arrives. She asks how long I've been trapped."
I nodded, "okay."
"I tell her twenty minutes."
"Okay."
"Then I explain that my rescue attempt somehow resulted in a second doctor becoming trapped."
I thought about that.
"Yeah."
"Then she tells Turk."
"Yeah."
"Turk tells the entire hospital."
I thought about that too.
"...Yeah."
"Then for the rest of my natural life, every time I walk into a room, somebody asks whether I've had any trouble with doors lately."
I let that image sink in.
"That's fair."
"Thank you."
"So we're just waiting?"
"We're just waiting."
Another silence settled between us.
Then a thought occurred to me.
"You know, this is kind of your fault."
Dr. Cox slowly turned his head toward me.
"My fault."
"You paged me."
"My fault."
"If you'd paged Carla—"
"If I'd paged Carla, Carol, we'd both be working right now."
"That's a good point."
"I know."
"Still kinda your fault."
"How?"
"You picked me."
The look he gave me suggested he was searching for a way to respond that wouldn't get his medical license revoked.
"That may genuinely be the dumbest defense I've ever heard."
"I've got worse."
"I know."
For a while neither of us said anything.
The closet felt smaller than it had a few minutes ago. Maybe because there wasn't really anything left to do. We'd tried the door, the door had won.
Outside, I could hear the muffled sounds of the hospital carrying on without us. A cart rolled past. Somebody laughed. An overhead page crackled through the hallway.
Neither of us moved.
Eventually, Dr. Cox sighed, a long one, the kind that sounded expensive.
"You know, Sunshine, I'm honestly not sure which part of this situation is worse."
I looked over, confused. "The trapped part?"
"The trapped part is certainly making a compelling argument."
I nodded, "yeah."
"But then I remember that eventually somebody's going to open this door, at which point I'll have to finish my shift, drive home, and spend the rest of my evening chasing a small child around my apartment."
"Jack?"
Dr. Cox rolled his eyes at me.
"Unless Jordan has secretly acquired another one, yes."
I smiled.
"He can't be that bad."
The look he gave me suggested I had never met a child in my life.
"Last week he attempted to eat a crayon."
"Kids eat crayons."
"It was still attached to the box."
I laughed. Dr. Cox didn't.
"He then cried because the box wouldn't fit."
"Okay, that's actually kinda funny."
"No. Funny would've been if somebody else had been responsible for him."
For a second, it looked like he was trying not to smile. The story itself wasn't what amused him. He just clearly found his kid's antics funny.
The silence settled again.
Footsteps passed by outside the room. We both looked toward the threshold, hoping for a rescue, but the sound just traveled down the hall and died out.
Dr. Cox sighed deeply, and I echoed the sound.
The footsteps won.
A minute later, I glanced at my watch and immediately regretted it. "Oh, crap."
"What now, Princess?"
"I'm gonna be late."
"Congratulations."
"Dinner."
"Fascinating."
I shrugged.
"With Elliot."
For a second, nothing happened, then Dr. Cox made a face. Not a big reaction, not even a particularly dramatic one, just a small tightening around his eyes. A brief look of pure annoyance, the kind people usually reserve for telemarketers and recurring infections.
"Oh, no."
I blinked, "what?"
"Oh, no."
"What does that mean?"
"It means no."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer you're getting."
I stared at him. He stared back, then looked away.
"We're kinda back together."
The reaction this time was immediate. A long sigh escaped him. The kind of sigh normally associated with natural disasters.
"Of course you are."
I frowned.
"Why do you always do that?"
"Do what?"
"That."
"Helpful, Britney."
"The thing where you act like we're making some horrible mistake."
Dr. Cox let out a sharp laugh out of pure disbelief, his brain seemingly unable to process any other alternative.
"Because you are making a mistake," he insisted.
"See? You're doing it again," I said, pointing a finger at him. "You can pretend all you want, but you actually care!"
"I assure you, I don't."
"You totally do."
Dr. Cox folded his arms.
"Shirley, I have consistently informed you that I do not care about the personal lives of the people I work with."
"Exactly."
"Exactly what?"
"Then why do you have opinions?"
He looked like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it. I may or may not have grinned too wide at him.
"AHA!"
"There is no 'aha'."
"There was definitely an ‘AHA!’."
"There was not."
I smiled wider. The look he gave me suggested he was considering whether strangling me would hold up in court.
"You knew exactly who I was talking about."
"Because unfortunately, I've met her."
"You immediately had an opinion."
"Because unfortunately I've met you."
I laughed, Dr. Cox didn't.
"Seriously, though."
He groaned.
"Must we?"
"Yeah."
"You always say you don't care."
"I don't."
"But every time Elliot comes up, suddenly you're invested."
For the first time since the conversation started, Dr. Cox didn't answer immediately. He wasn't stumped, he was just carefully measuring his words.
"Lilly, you and Barbie have broken up so many times that watching your relationship is like being trapped in a rerun that nobody asked for."
I blinked, then smiled.
"That's a concern."
"No, it's not."
"That's literally a concern."
"No."
"Admit it, you're concerned about me," I nudged.
"I am thoroughly annoyed, Newbie. There is a massive difference."
"Keep telling yourself that, but it's definitely a concern."
"Newbieroo, if you say 'concerned' one more time, I'm going to find a way to make this closet even smaller."
"You seem awfully..." I made little quotation marks with my fingers. "... 'concerned’ for somebody who can't stand me."
Dr. Cox scoffed.
"Oh, here we go."
"No, seriously."
"Newbie—"
"You always say you can't stand me."
"Because I can't."
I nodded.
"Okay."
"Okay."
I let the silence hang for a second, then I pointed at him.
"Still sounds pretty concerned."
For a second Dr. Cox just stared at me. Then he laughed—the kind of laugh people make when they're already annoyed and somehow manage to become even more frustrated.
"Oh, right. I can't stand you."
I shrugged, "You said it."
"Yeah, Newbie, I said it. I can't stand the way you somehow manage to smell like a field of lavender despite spending fourteen hours a day in a hospital. I can't stand the way you look at me every single time you need help, which, coincidentally, is every five minutes. I can't stand the fact that half the time you don't even ask for help because apparently you've convinced yourself suffering builds character."
I blinked.
Dr. Cox wasn't looking at me anymore. He was staring at the opposite wall now, words coming faster and faster.
"I can't stand the way you get attached to every patient who walks through those doors. I can't stand that you never learn not to. I can't stand that every time somebody dies, you walk around looking like it's somehow your fault. I can't stand that after all these years you still haven't figured out that you can't save everybody."
My stomach dropped a little.
"Dr. Cox—"
"Buh buh buh—I can't stand that every time you get hurt, you pretend you're fine. I can't stand that every time Barbie breaks your heart, everybody in this hospital knows it before you do. I can't stand that you keep making the same mistakes over and over and somehow never become cynical enough to stop trying."
The closet had gotten very quiet, I wasn't sure he noticed.
"I can't stand the fact that I know exactly what you're gonna do before you do it. I can't stand that I know when you're lying. I can't stand that I know when you're scared. I can't stand that I know the difference between your fake smile and your real one."
The closet had gone completely silent.
Dr. Cox finally looked at me. His expression had changed into a tired look.
"I can't stand the fact that after all these years you're still walking around wondering if you're good enough."
I froze.
For the first time since the conversation started, Dr. Cox wasn't joking. Wasn't insulting me. Wasn't hiding behind sarcasm.
"You spend so much time worrying about whether people like you, whether you're good enough, whether you're a good doctor, a good boyfriend, a good friend..." He shook his head. "And somehow it never occurs to you that most people figured that out years ago."
I stared at him.
He looked away first.
"I think that's the part that annoys me the most."
A laugh escaped me. Mostly because my brain had completely stopped functioning.
"You sound concerned."
"Oh, don't flatter yourself, Clarabelle."
"But—"
"Yes, I'm concerned."
The answer came so quickly that it shut me up.
Dr. Cox sighed. Then, after a second, he reached over and squeezed my shoulder. Not long or dramatically, just enough to tell.
"You know what, Newbie?"
"What?"
"You deserve something nice for once."
For a moment neither of us spoke.
Then Dr. Cox immediately ruined it.
"God knows you've spent enough years making catastrophically stupid decisions to earn one."
There he was. I smiled despite myself, Dr. Cox rolled his eyes.
"Don't make this weird."
"Too late."
"Shut up, Newbie."
I probably should have.
Instead I smiled.
For a second, Dr. Cox looked like he wanted to say something else, something that wasn't an insult, that lasted approximately half a second.
"Oh, for God's sake."
"What?"
"That."
"What?"
"The smiling."
"I can't help it."
"Then learn."
I laughed.
Dr. Cox immediately looked annoyed that I'd found any of this amusing. For a few seconds, he just stood there with his arms crossed, staring somewhere over my shoulder. Not looking at me—which was interesting—because Dr. Cox usually looked directly at people when he was insulting them.
Avoiding eye contact felt significantly more dangerous.
"You know," I said, "for somebody who supposedly can't stand me, that was a pretty nice speech."
"It was not a nice speech," he growled.
"Come on, it definitely was. You basically said you worry about me."
"I literally did not."
I pointed at him, "You listed like twelve reasons."
"I was complaining."
"Most of those weren't complaints."
"They absolutely were."
"One of them was basically 'I care about your emotional wellbeing.'"
Dr. Cox looked horrified, "as God is my witness, that is not what I said."
"It was definitely the vibe."
"The vibe."
"Yeah."
"The vibe."
I nodded, "the vibe."
Dr. Cox stared at the ceiling. Probably looking for patience or an exit. Unfortunately, neither was available.
The smile slowly faded from my face as a sudden, deeply embarrassing realization hit me.
"I don't even really know why I cared so much what you thought."
The joke disappeared immediately.
Dr. Cox looked back at me, I shrugged.
"I mean it."
For some reason, now that I'd started talking, it felt impossible to stop.
"Maybe it was because you were my mentor."
"Terrifying."
"Maybe."
I shrugged, "maybe it was because after my dad died, my brain just started collecting authority figures."
"Again. Terrifying."
I laughed, but the laugh faded pretty quickly.
"Except that doesn't really explain it."
"Explain what?"
I stared at the floor.
"You."
That got his attention.
"I mean, normal people don't spend this much time thinking about their mentors."
"No?"
"No."
I looked back up.
"I talked about you constantly."
His eyes narrowed, "to whom?"
"Everybody."
"Oh good."
"I'm serious."
"That's not helping."
"Turk. Carla. Elliot. Random patients. Probably a few birds."
"Birds?"
"The birds are not the point."
"Please continue. I'm fascinated by your descent into madness."
I ignored him.
"I'd complain about you and somehow end up defending you. I'd spend twenty minutes explaining why you were impossible to work with and another twenty explaining why everybody else was wrong about you."
The silence that followed felt different. Heavier.
"I mean..." I laughed awkwardly. "Looking back, people always looked at me kinda funny afterward."
For the first time all afternoon, Dr. Cox didn't immediately have a sarcastic response ready. That should've worried me. Instead it just made me keep talking.
"Maybe I wanted your approval. Maybe I saw you as a mentor. Maybe I saw you as some weird father figure. I don't know."
I looked down at the floor, then back at him.
"But none of those explanations really explain why I kept trying so hard."
The closet became very quiet.
Outside, the hospital continued without us. Inside, neither of us moved.
"Because if it was just approval..." I said softly, "I think I would've stopped years ago."
The words hung in the air, for a second, neither of us spoke. Then I rubbed the back of my neck and looked away.
"Wow."
Dr. Cox remained silent.
"That sounded significantly less pathetic in my head."
A corner of his mouth twitched.
"There it is. Attaboy."
"What?"
"I was beginning to worry."
"Worry?"
"For a brief, horrifying moment, Jennifer, I thought you'd developed self-awareness."
I laughed despite myself.
"Seriously?"
"Yes, seriously. You spend ten minutes delivering what can only be described as an emotional hostage situation, and somehow your biggest concern is whether you sounded pathetic."
"To be fair, I kinda did."
"To be fair, Newbie, you've been sounding pathetic since approximately the moment I first saw you."
"That's harsh."
"It's generous."
For a second, I thought that would be it. The joke, the escape hatch, the thing we always did whenever a conversation got too real. But this time, neither of us took it. The silence returned, and somehow it felt different now. Smaller. More dangerous. Like we'd both accidentally wandered too far into something neither of us quite knew how to get out of.
I looked down, then back at him. Dr. Cox was already looking at me. Neither of us looked away.
"Well," he said eventually, "this is a spectacular disaster."
I laughed softly, "being trapped?"
"No."
That caught me off guard. His eyes stayed on mine.
"No?"
"No."
The corner of his mouth twitched, "being right."
My stomach flipped.
"About what?"
"About you."
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. For once, Dr. Cox noticed, which somehow made everything worse.
"Jesus Christ."
"What?"
"Nothing."
Neither of us broke eye contact. Normally, keeping my eyes locked on Dr. Cox would be a victory, but right then? It just made everything feel incredibly small. The closet, the air, the tiny shred of distance left between us. Dr. Cox rubbed a hand over his face. "This is a terrible idea."
"What is?"
"You."
I blinked, "What did I do?"
"Oh, where exactly would you like me to begin?"
Despite himself, he smiled. Just a little. That might've been the most dangerous thing I'd ever seen.
I laughed, "You like me."
I smiled before I could stop myself.
Dr. Cox groaned, "There it is again."
"What?"
"That look."
"What look?"
"The one making this significantly harder than it needs to be."
My heart skipped, "You like me."
"Oh, don't."
"You do."
"Newbie."
"You do."
For one brief second he looked genuinely conflicted. Not annoyed, not irritated. Conflicted. Like he was arguing with himself and losing.
Then he grabbed the front of my scrubs. Not hard, just enough.
"You're a menace."
I laughed.
His eyes closed.
"Yeah."
The answer surprised both of us.
Before I could say anything else, he kissed me.
It was quick. So quick that for a moment I wasn't entirely convinced it had happened. Then Dr. Cox stepped back immediately, as he'd just remembered who he was.
Neither of us spoke. The silence lasted exactly three seconds, maybe four? Then he dragged a hand over his face.
"Well."
I stared at him, "Well?"
Dr. Cox dragged a hand down his face.
"That was clearly a terrible idea."
"You don't sound very convinced."
"I am choosing to ignore that comment."
"You kissed me."
"I was there."
"You kissed me."
"Yes, Newbie, I'm familiar with the sequence of events."
I couldn't stop smiling, Dr. Cox noticed. Of course he noticed.
"Don't."
"What?"
"The smiling."
"I can't help it."
"Try harder."
I laughed.
For some reason that seemed to make everything worse. He shook his head and looked away.
"Jesus Christ."
The smile wouldn't leave my face, "You kissed me."
"I am aware of what happened."
"You kissed me."
"J.D."
The smile vanished.
Not completely, just enough. Because for the first time all afternoon, he actually called me J.D. instead of using his usual girl names. Dr. Cox realized it too.
Judging by the expression on his face, he regretted it immediately. Unfortunately for him, I didn't. Something in my chest did a weird little flip, and before I could talk myself out of it, I reached for him. My hand caught the front of his coat the same way he'd grabbed mine.
For a second he looked surprised. Then I pulled him back. This kiss lasted longer since neither of us seemed eager to step away.
For the first time all day, Dr. Cox didn't have a sarcastic comment ready, which should've been alarming. Instead, it was kind of nice.
Then—
The supply closet door flew open.
"Oh for the love of—"
Carla stopped.
The rest of the sentence died instantly. Nobody moved, nobody spoke.
Carla blinked.
Once.
Twice.
A third time for good measure.
Dr. Cox and I sprang apart so fast I nearly knocked over an entire shelf. The silence was deafening.
"...Huh."
Carla looked at me.
Then at Dr. Cox, then back at me, then back at Dr. Cox.
"Oh."
Nobody said anything.
Carla pointed toward the hallway.
"Do you two have any idea how long I've been looking for you? I've got nurses asking where Dr. Cox is, Kelso asking where Bambi is, Turk is convinced one of you got kidnapped—"
Her eyes narrowed.
"Actually, this somehow makes more sense."
"Carla—"
"No."
She held up a hand, flat-out cutting me off.
"No. I don't even want an explanation."
I opened my mouth to promise her it wasn’t what it looked like, but before I could even spin the lie, she shook her head. "I especially don't want that explanation."
Dr. Cox closed his eyes, which, for Perry Cox, was roughly equivalent to dying.
Carla shook her head.
"Unbelievable."
Then she pointed down the hallway.
"Both of you. Out."
Neither of us moved.
"Now."
And for the first time in my life, Dr. Cox and I got scolded by Carla at exactly the same time.