I think my heart skips several beats as I see Carla slowly dropping to her knees with her hands raised. There’s a gun pointed directly at her. The gunman waves the clerk and the store manager out from behind the counter and they quickly join Carla. I don’t think there’s anyone else in the store.
I’m frozen in place, though I know I need to do something. What, though? Think, JD, think! Except all I can think is that I really need to pee. It’s probably just my fear reflex, but maybe it’ll buy me some time, anyway.
I carefully back into the bathroom, hoping that the gunman doesn’t have any idea I’m here. Just in case, I move into one of the stalls and lock the door. Okay, so it’s the first place someone would look and it’s not like they couldn’t shoot through the door or something, but it’s better than just standing out in the open. Besides, I just need time to think. And to pee.
Unfortunately, by the time I’ve relieved myself, I’m no closer to coming up with a plan.
Maybe I should just stay right where I am. That’d be the safest thing to do. The gunman will probably be gone in just a couple minutes, anyway. So I should just stay here.
Except that Carla is out there and I can’t just leave her there alone! Not that I’d be all that great at protecting her, I suppose. Truth be told, when she gets mad or upset she’s scary and--as has been pointed out to me time and again--I’m just not. If I go out there, she’ll probably end up protecting me. Still, I know she has got to be as scared as I am. Probably more so since she’s the one with a gun in her face. At the very least, I should be there with her. I know I shouldn’t go and play hero or anything; I’m hardly hero material. But I still can’t help but feel like I should be doing something.
Okay, so…what should I do? I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths, trying to collect my thoughts and organize them into something coherent. Problem is I’m still coming up blank. I’m trained to deal with all sorts of emergencies where I have to make split second decisions, but nothing like this has ever happened to me. Well, not counting this morning. And really, that happened so fast I didn’t have a chance to react. So, I’m going to have to rely on someone else’s experience. Really, there’s only one good way to figure this one out, and that’s to ask myself one simple question:
What would MacGyver do?
First thing, he’d take inventory. I bravely unlock the bathroom stall door and peek out. I’ve got…a towel dispenser. No, that’s pretty much bolted to the wall. Scratch that. Um…a trash can. I’ve got a trash can. Aaaaand…six rolls of toilet paper! Now we’re getting somewhere. Except that damn it, the trash can is bolted to the floor. Why would someone want to steal a convenience store’s bathroom trashcan?! Somehow I don’t think TPing the robber will accomplish anything.
Okay. I have six rolls of toilet paper. And pair of heavily soiled socks. I add them to my pitiful inventory list as I peel them carefully off my feet. Gross. Better wash my hands. Ooooo! Foamy soap! It’s ouchless!
What if…I cover the toilet paper with foamy soap; use the socks (after washing them with foamy soap) as a sling shot…probably not all that helpful unless I somehow manage to hit the gunman in the eyes. Even then, it would simply be an annoyance. Sadly, I don’t think even MacGyver would come up with a way to make a bomb out of this stuff. Well, the socks may be borderline lethal, but somehow I doubt I should count on it.
Back to the drawing board. Think, think, think…MacGyver was no good to me, but maybe someone else would be. What would Elliot do?
I imagine her cowering in the bathroom stall, knees to chest, feet tucked up on the stool so no one could see she’s there, mascara running down her tear-streaked face, all the while mumbling, “Frick! Frickfrickfrick…”
Yeah, that’s not helpful, either.
Cox would just storm out there and insult the robber until he handed over his weapon and surrendered in shame. Unfortunately I don’t think I’d be able to pull that off. Turk? Turk would be out there. He wouldn’t be overly brave, or do anything stupid; he’d just be there stoically keeping Carla safe. Which is what I should be doing instead of cowering in here.
At least I’m not mumbling anything. “Crap! Crapcrapcrap…”
Damnit!
My heart is pounding as I push the bathroom door open a little bit, hoping that maybe the gunman has already taken the money and run. Unfortunately as I peek out, I can see he’s still there. He’s pacing nervously in front of the door, occasionally pausing to look outside and then curse loudly. “What the hell is he doing out there?!”
“He’s just taking a coffee break. You should just go,” the store manager urges. “He probably won’t even notice you.”
“Right, and then one yell from one of you and he’s on me,” the guy argues, glaring at the guy. “I’m not going to jail.”
Then you probably shouldn’t have held up a store. I kind of wonder if it’s even worth the effort to hold up a little store like this one. It does decent business, but I wouldn’t think they’d have more than a few hundred dollars tops in cash at this time of day. Seems like a lot more risk than it’d be worth. But then, I’m not a robber, so what do I know?
“We’ll stay quiet,” Carla offers. The gunman only rolls his eyes. “No, really. We could like lie here and count to a hundred or something.” The robber snorts and I wonder if perhaps he’s some sort of demented relation of Dr. Cox. His long lost cousin, Bubba, perhaps.
“You could tie them up,” the store manager suggests. The clerk looks wide-eyed to his boss and shakes his head frantically, obviously very upset by this idea. Not that anyone would actually want to be tied up, but something tells me it’s more than just a mere objection to the temporary discomfort. “You’ll be gone before we can get the police’s attention.”
“I don’t have rope…do you carry any here?”
The manager shakes his head and frowns. The clerk visibly relaxes for a moment. “How about duct tape?” the manager suggests. “There’s some in aisle three.”
The robber looks thoughtful for a moment, then nods. “You,” he points to Carla. “Go get a couple rolls.”
The store clerk begins making a weird noise. Like he can’t breathe. His face is even starting to turn a little red. Even from my distance I can see the little beads of sweat on his forehead.
“What the--?”
“He’s having a heart attack!” Carla snaps as she quickly gets up and moves toward the clerk. I’d venture that he’s probably not actually having a heart attack but an anxiety attack. The symptoms are superficially identical, and the situation definitely lends itself to panic, especially if he’s got a particular fear of being tied up. I’m sure that Carla knows it’s more likely just an anxiety attack, too, so I’m betting she’s hoping that if this guy thinks the clerk is dying, they might just decide to get the heck out of here. It helps her case that pretty much every television show ever that has had a store robbery has included the heart attack scene.
Her plan hits an immediate snag. “You! Don’t move!”
My eyes widen as the gun is once again pointed directly at Carla. “But--"
The gunman steps menacingly toward her and she freezes. My mouth goes dry as he grabs her arm and then presses the gun to her forehead. I can see her eyes close. The guy’s arm is trembling slightly and I just know that’s a bad sign. He’s freaked out, which means that he’s likely to do something impulsive and stupid--like shooting someone--than if he truly felt he was in control. Not just someone. Carla. He could shoot Carla. I have to stop this!
“You need to let us treat him,” I call out as I ease out of my hiding spot. I raise my hands and walk slowly toward them silently praying that I don’t startle him enough to cause him to shoot Carla or me.
“What the--" The gunman focuses his attention on me. The gun that was on Carla turns toward me. I stop moving. In fact, I think I stop breathing. It’s probably a really good thing that I already made use of the facilities or it would probably prove to be a really embarrassing moment. After a few moments of silence I start moving closer again, ignoring every instinct that is telling me to turn and run.
“You don’t want him to die,” I speak softly but with a confidence that I’m not really feeling. “Let us help him.” My heart is pounding so hard, I swear he should be able to hear it, but I somehow manage to maintain eye contact. After a few tense moments, I see him relax slightly and give a small nod, dismissing me as any sort of threat. If I weren’t so relieved, I’d probably be insulted. I’m more concerned about getting Carla away from him, though. “Nurse Espinosa,” I address her formally, not wanting to reveal to this guy that we’re anything more than colleagues, “could you please assist me?” Her eyes meet mine and she nods in understanding.
“Of course, Dr. Dorian,” she agrees, though it takes a few moments before the gunman releases her arm so she can comply. She quickly moves to the clerk’s side. I move to follow, but the gunman stops me, gripping my arm tight and placing the gun at my chest. I watch as Carla and the store manager help the clerk to lie down and Carla loosens his tie. She looks up at me, and hesitates as she sees the gun being pointed at my chest. Then turns her attention back to the man who is clearly still struggling to breathe.
“We need to get him to a hospital.” To my credit, my voice doesn’t betray my fear in the slightest. “It will take at least five minutes for an ambulance to get here,” I fudge the number a little bit considering that Sacred Heart is only a few blocks away. “You’ll have plenty of time to get out.”
The gun digs in a little more. “There is a cop sitting right across the street. How long do you think it’ll take him to get here?” Somehow I doubt he really wants to hear my answer. “You’re a doctor. You help him.”
He shoves me hard enough to send me sprawling next to the clerk. My head spins from the sudden movement and it takes me a few moments to be able to move without fear of vomiting again. I think at this point I’ve completely emptied all the contents from my stomach, but dry heaving doesn’t sound all that appealing, either.
“You okay, Bambi?” Carla asks in a very quiet voice.
I nod as I shakily get to my hands and knees and move toward the clerk. “How’s he doing?” I frown as I realize that the clerk is unconscious.
“He’s just fainted,” she assures me softly. “Pulse is strong. He should be okay.”
I glance up at the robber, who is back to peering out the door at the officer that is still parked across the street. I have to do something or this situation is only going to get worse. It may not be a busy store, but the longer he’s here, the better the chance that someone else is going to walk in on this. Or perhaps that cop will finish his coffee and stops by to pick up a newspaper or a donut or something. If we don’t get the gunman out of here, it’s only a matter of time before someone does get hurt.
“I’m going to get him out of here,” I whisper. Carla and the store manager both shake their heads.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” the manager protests. “Just stay cool and he’ll be gone in a few minutes.”
“Yeah, or someone else comes in here and gets shot,” I counter.
I get to my feet and slowly move toward the phone. “I need to call an ambulance,” I announce as the gunman looks toward me. He shakes his head, but I don’t stop, even as the gun rises. My heart is pounding, but I reach for the phone anyway.
And suddenly there’s a gun pressed to my neck and he’s pressing me against the counter. I hear Carla gasp, but for some reason the threat seems to have the opposite effect as what it should and I suddenly feel astoundingly calm. Everything becomes clear. I hold my hands out as if surrendering as I turn around to face the gun.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve had a gun in my face,” I inform him, purely as a distraction as my fingers curl around the phone. I become aware of Carla rising to her feet behind us, and realize I don’t have much time before she’ll be placing herself in greater danger. “It’s not even the first time, today,” I add as he suddenly doesn’t look as sure of himself. I almost smile as he twitches. It’s now or never. “This man is going to die if he doesn’t--" I don’t bother to finish as I grab the phone and swing as hard as I can, slamming it into the gunman’s head. He drops like a lead weight and the gun goes scattering across the floor. Yes! I can’t believe that worked! I wonder if they’ll give me a medal or something…
Carla hugs me around the waist, burying her face in my chest for a few moments while we both regain our bearings. I feel myself starting to shake as the false bravado immediately wears off. I hug Carla back, relieved that we’ve made it through. Just a few more minutes and we’ll be home and this’ll all just be a bad memory that we can use to guilt Turk into buying us dinner. Maybe tomorrow night when I don’t feel like throwing up anymore.
The store manager scurries around us and retrieves the gun.
It’s about that moment that Carla suddenly stiffens and looks up at me with wide eyes. “Them.”
My brow furrows in confusion.
“He said, ‘them’,” she says, her voice rising almost an octave. “Not us, them!”
I still didn’t get it until a moment later I felt the barrel of the gun pressing into the back of my neck. “You damn well better hope my brother’s okay,” the store manager growls and I feel the hair on the back of my neck rising. “You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?” I swallow hard, but can’t make myself answer. Not that he really expects me to. “You, grab a first aid kit,” he orders Carla. “You’re gonna help me get him to the car.”
Reluctantly we both obey, Carla disappears into the medical aisle while I try unsuccessfully to wake the robber. He’s down for the count. I look guiltily up at the store manager, who curses and looks back outside.
When Carla returns, he takes the kit from her and then shoves her toward me. “Hey!” I protest, but stop as he points the gun at me again.
“Get him up,” he instructs us. “Don’t try anything funny.”
Like what? Does he expect me to suddenly start juggling? I wisely keep that thought to myself as Carla and I struggle to drag the store manager’s brother to his feet.
“Okay, you guys walk in front of me. Don’t do anything to draw attention.” I’m not sure how I manage to keep one foot moving in front of the other I’m so nervous. I can’t help but wonder what’s going to happen once we get them to the car. I somehow just don’t think he’s going to just let us go.
We reach the door and I stop. “I can carry him by myself,” I offer, only slightly ashamed at how my voice wavers. “Just let her stay here.” Carla gapes at me and I can see she’s conflicted about whether or not to protest. She isn’t given a chance as the store manager just gives us a little nudge with the gun.
“You’ll get in the back with him,” he tells me. “You’re gonna drive,” he adds to Carla. He stoops down and picks up the bag that presumably has the store’s money and suddenly there’s only one question that pops into my head.
How’d he end up with my backpack?
Chapter End Notes:
Is anyone actually reading this? If not, I understand since I'm the only person here who posts Scrubs fic here. But if you are, please let me know because I probably won't continue updating on this site if I know that nobody's reading...Thanks! (If you are reading and just don't want to leave a review, the story will continue to be updated on fanfiction.net, so you can look for it there.)
