Characters: Ensemble, JD's POV
Summary: Carla could never understand our need to celebrate the unusual. To admire and honor the ordinary that moved beyond into the extraordinary. Plus, there were cool rubber flaps on his arms and legs that showed you his insides!
Word Count: 1800ish
Disclaimer: I do not make money from writing about fictitious television characters. For fun.
A/N: For the sitcomathon, requested by scrunchy, prompt: JD, Turk, a new holiday. Thank you to dlgood for the beta, and to Mr. S for his extensive Steve Austin knowledge, the big dork. If you want to see the doll in question (read to understand) it's here. Also, the theme song and intro can be seen here.
“Neither of you even grew up watching it. You didn’t know about it until college.”
“Carla, would you mock a dying man for wanting to come closer to Jesus?”
“Bambi, don’t you start with me.”
Carla could never understand our need to celebrate the unusual. To admire and honor the ordinary that moved beyond into the extraordinary. Plus, there were cool rubber flaps on his arms and legs that showed you his insides!
“A memorial day for a cancelled television show? You were two years old when it finished. And it’s August! They only had reruns during the summer. It wasn’t even on.”
“I know, but there are lots of things to celebrate in the spring. First of all, you know April’s tied up with ‘Jell-O-bration.’ Turk?”
“And May has ‘Take Your Rowdy To Work Day.’”
“So you see, Carla, the clear choice for The Six Million Dollar Man Memorial Day is in August.”
Turk broke in, “Listen, baby. JD and I have done this for years. You’re just going to have to understand it’s a part of who we are. How we identify ourselves. Plus, he has Real Working Bionic Vision and leg flaps!”
“I was just thinking that same thing, Super Brain Buddy!”
Carla rolled her eyes and dropped the “Six Million Dollar Man” Steve Austin doll on the coffee table. “Fine. Look like a pair of idiots. Same as every day.”
I quickly picked him up and checked to make sure that his vintage red jumpsuit wasn’t scuffed or soiled.
“Is he okay?”
“He’s going to be fine, Brown Bear.”
Turk gave a shimmy. “Me first!”
Dr. Wen pointed at the monitor next to the patient’s head. “The barium test clearly shows a tear in the peritoneal cavity. Who can show me where, exactly?”
Turk leaned into the surgical field. “Doctor, I’ve arranged for a special consult for this procedure. Allow me to introduce you to Dr. Steve Austin.” Turk pulled the doll out of his scrubs’ pocket and showed it to the nursing staff and Dr. Wen.
I was standing on the other side of the glass with an intern. “How did he manage to make tiny OR scrubs so quickly? That little mask is adorable!”
Turk held the doll to his face and looked through the Bionic Eye for a close up. “Doctor? We believe the tear is located two centimeters distally from the ileocecal valve.”
Dr. Wen nodded. “Excellent work, you two. Dr. Turk? I’d like a second opinion, please.” He held out his hand, his face mask hiding his wide grin.
I got Mr. Anderson in Curtain Three - subcutaneous hematoma and hairline fracture of the hamate - started on an IV drip with Doug in charge, which meant I had about three minutes before needing a crash cart. Time to find the Bionic Man. First stop? Nurses’ Station.
“Laverne, have you seen Turk?”
“Mmm hmm. Him and Carla think they’re fooling everyone into thinking they’re checking out supplies in that closet, but we know better.”
Just then, my pager went off. Apparently Doug had set a new record. The adventures of Dr. John Dorian and Colonel Steve Austin would have to wait.
“Elliot, don’t tell me you’re in on this, too,” Carla whined.
Elliot held up a finger in the classic “wait” hold, made her Jaime “The Bionic Woman” Summers doll fake an orgasm, and sighed. “Too bad there aren’t mini cigarettes for them to smoke. He’s good. Oh, he’s very good.”
“Why, Elliot? Why??”
“Turk and JD wouldn’t let me play with him last year because I said that GI Joe could totally beat up the Bionic Man but that’s only because I never watched boy shows. My brother Barry and I weren’t allowed to have boy dolls when we were little because my mom thought we make them,” she poked a finger through the other hand’s finger circle, “which we totally would have. Barry had the great idea of sanding the boobs off our Skipper doll so Barbie would have a boyfriend? That took all afternoon. He always made me play with Skipper, which I didn’t mind since Barry seemed to love dressing Barbie up in all the Bob Mackie gowns we had. Anyhoo, I asked JD last year if Steve Austin went commando under his jumpsuit and they wouldn’t let me hold him.”
“So... you brought your own Bionic Man doll today?”
“No, this is theirs. I found it lying around the wash station in the OR on Three and-” she pantomimed the classic ‘yoink.’
Elliot unzipped Steve’s jumpsuit and slipped Jaime’s plastic hand inside to feel his molded pectorals. In a high pitched voice she purred, “Take me out for lobster and I might let you pet my bajingo. Then you can show me what else is better, stronger, and faster... No, that last one doesn’t work for me.”
Carla blinked, shook her head, and walked swiftly away.
With Mr. Anderson stabilized and Doug writing lines in the Janitor’s closet - Dr. Cox just wanted him out of the way, I think - it was time to reminisce with my hero: the world’s first cyber-genetic astronaut doctor. God, he had everything.
Now... where was he?
Elliot bit her lower lip while smooshing the two dolls together in a plastic kiss when she heard Laverne’s voice ring out, “Anyone seen Johnny, the Tackling Alzheimer’s patient?”
“WHO AM I??”
Elliot was knocked to the ground with a whoosh of air, the dolls skittering along the floor towards the Janitor.
“Dammit, I never get any help around here. This biomedical waste weighs a t– . Oh. This should do the trick.”
The Janitor pulled a pair of barbeque tongs from his work belt and neatly snagged the Bionic Man off the floor and wiped the lipstick that perfectly matched Blonde Doctor’s off its face.
“Hey!” Elliot struggled to untangle herself from Johnny on the floor.
“Sorry. Got work to do, Blondie.”
The Janitor spun the doll in his hand like a pistol. “This’ll do juuuust fine.”
Turk was under the scrub station when I ran in.
“Okay, my turn, Dark Chocolate.”
Turk gave me a look. And right then, I knew I had used the wrong name.
“So where is he?”
Turk smiled and let out a nervous laugh.
“So how does this thing work again?”
The Janitor poked at the bionic panels on Colonel Steve Austin’s arm.
“Hmm. Where’d I put my knife-wrench?”
Turk and I raced from Three down to Two, looking in every room for the Six Million Dollar Man. Unfortunately, we began picking up onlookers. Like Ted’s a capella group, The Worthless Peons.
Their stunningly talented rendition of the Six Million Dollar Man theme song as we ran was a little distracting. Also, they weren’t as fast as Turk and I. We improvised with running in slow-mo and making bionic sounds as we exited the elevator in front of the nurses station to allow them to catch up.
And that was when I saw Colonel Steve Austin, American Hero, in the hands of the enemy.
“So you turn his head like this and push the lever on his back and – ”
The Janitor demonstrated how the Bionic Action Arm could lift an entire bag of biomedical waste.
“-viola! That Bionic Grip is amazing.”
I raced towards the Colonel, not paying attention to the crash cart Lonnie was rolling in my path. Does that count as a double entendre? Or is that only for sexy things? No one bothered to check on me as I flipped to the floor. The Todd popped out of an adjoining room.
“Bionic Grip? Because I could use that. Down here!” he grinned.
Turk hurdled me. “Todd, NO!” The Todd leered and pulled the front of his scrubs out and slipped Steve Austin in.
I got to my feet and yelled, “Nurse! Forceps!”
Nothing. Turk held his hand out. “Nurse! Forceps!”
Laverne slapped a pair into his hand while a second nurse snapped a rubber glove on his left hand.
“Oh, now come on!”
Turk, using his gloved hand, pulled The Todd’s pants open and gingerly reached in with the forceps and retrieved Steve.
“I need a Gurney!”
I shoved an older woman off a nearby Gurney - what? She was climbing off! - tossed a “sorry!” over my shoulder and strapped Steve down. Turk and I raced to the autoclave to sterilize him before any of Todd’s cooties could take hold.
Turk checked the Colonel’s vitals as we raced to the Sterilization Room. “Dammit, don’t you go dying on me!”
“He won’t, T-Diddy. We won’t let him.”
We held each other while the autoclave ran through its cycle.
“He’s going to be fine. He’s going to be fine, dammit! He’s Bionic!”
I patted Turk’s back while he pulled himself together.
I gave The Worthless Peons a nod.
“BUM bum bum BUM BUM bum bum...”
Turk switched on various monitors and fired up the defibrillator. It made a glorious hum. I took Mr. Anderson’s hairline fractured hamate into my hand and addressed the interns.
“Mr. Anderson, Curtain Three. A man barely alive.”
Mr. Anderson gave a frightened start. I reassured him with a shake of my head to let him know he wasn’t going to die of a marginally broken hand.
“Do dooo dee doooo!”
“Interns? We can rebuild him. We have the technology. We have the capability to make the world’s first Bionic Hand. Mr. Anderson will be that man. Better than he was before. Better. Stronger. Faster. Isn’t that right, Mr. Austin?”
The Six Million Dollar Man, astride the IV drip, had his right hand outstretched.
“Action Figure Five!” The Todd knocked him across the floor. Stupid Todd. Turk retrieved him and held him close. I knew that hold. And at that moment, I knew The Colonel was safe.
“Dah dah daaaaaaaah! Bum bum bum.”
I gave Ted and the other Peons a “well done” nod. “Nice work on the running noise, Ted.”
Ted mopped his sweaty pate with a handkerchief. “Thanks.”
Only three hundred and sixty-four more days until the next Six Million Dollar Man Memorial Day. Oh, I almost forgot...
Turk made that puppy dog face that no human and most mammals couldn’t resist.
Carla tossed both of us tennis balls that we had strategically sliced with scalpels earlier. I made the “nahnahnahnahnahnah” bionic noise and one, two, three-
Only Jell-O-bration was better. Or maybe the Pop-Tart-A-Thon of September...