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After successfully harassing an old woman out of the stool beside him, Perry finally cleared the space for its intended occupant. A moment later, the Janitor dropped onto the seat.
Perry slid a beer down the bar. "Had to be done."
"Thanks, Chief. I got your next one."
"Don't mention it."
"So, I'm late because Dorian parked his scooter behind my new van," the Janitor grumbled, cracking a peanut shell between his fingers.
"Oh."
"Practically punctured a tire backing over the damn thing. Kid drives me crazy."
"Got a new van, huh?"
"Well, you blew up the old one over a bet, remember?"
"Right." Perry took a heavy swallow of his drink. "Ah, Dorian drives me crazy, too."
"Tell me about it."
Perry traced the rim of his glass. "A couple of weeks ago, he had to come with me somewhere, so we took my Porsche. He finds this can of root beer rolling around on the floor, and I tell him it's been down there for a month and not to open it. Apparently, that doesn't matter because I just haven't heard of the John Dorian Three-Tap Method."
"That sounds stupid."
"According to him? No." Perry finished half his scotch, the ice clinking loudly against the glass. "He does it anyway, and sure enough, the thing explodes. Dashboard, windshield, radio—pretty much the entire front of my car gets covered in root beer. Dashboard's still sticky."
The Janitor chuckled, taking a slow sip of his beer.
"Yeah, I don't understand how his brain works either," Perry muttered, shifting on his stool. "Just yesterday, he had me punch a vending machine because his snack got stuck. I told him it sounded stupid, but he kept insisting, so eventually I did it."
The Janitor laughed.
"Unfortunately, it worked. And of course, he didn't forget to do that stupid dance." Perry drained the rest of his glass, his shoulders twitching in a bitter imitation of JD's exact movements. "Oh, that dorky little dance. God, I hate it when he starts doing that."
"That kid is way too easily impressed," the Janitor said.
"Exactly." Perry signaled the bartender for a refill. "One thing goes his way, and he won't stop grinning."
"That's true."
"I'm serious. Kid finds five bucks on the ground, and suddenly he's smiling at everybody for the rest of the day."
The Janitor laughed into his beer. "Yeah."
"And he thinks he's being subtle about it," Perry said, pointing with his fresh glass.
"He never is."
"At some point, his face has gotta get tired," Perry muttered, taking a quick sip.
The Janitor set his bottle down. "What?"
"The smiling. The dimples alone have to be putting in overtime."
The Janitor snorted directly into his beer. "That's a weird thing to say."
"Why?"
"It just is."
Perry waved a hand dismissively. "The point is, the kid gets way too excited over everything."
The Janitor shook his head. "I'm telling you, his head's full of rainbows and butterflies and whatever other nonsense keeps him going. Kid's ridiculously expressive."
"Exactly," Perry agreed, nodding to the empty bar mirror. "You always know what he's feeling." He reached for his glass again, his voice dropping an octave. "One look at those damn blue eyes and you know exactly what's going on. Happy, angry, nervous, sad. Doesn't matter. The kid couldn't hide an emotion if his life depended on it."
He lowered his gaze to the amber liquid. "And I hate it when he looks sad."
The Janitor watched Perry closely, but Perry just kept talking to the counter.
"I mean, genuinely. I can't stand it. The second he gets that look, you start wondering who did it," he said, taking another heavy gulp. "And then you wanna find whatever idiot put it there and tear the whole thing apart." He let out a sharp sigh. "Hell, at that point, I'd be ready to burn the whole damn world down."
The Janitor raised an eyebrow. "Mm."
Perry snapped a finger warningly. "Don't."
"I didn't say anything."
"You were thinking it."
"Maybe? Can't blame you, though," the Janitor said, leaning back. "Sometimes I wonder if he's just a little girl trapped inside a grown man's body."
Perry gave a reluctant nod. "Yeah."
The Janitor leaned closer. "Yeah?"
Perry ignored him, signaling the bartender for another scotch. "I mean, have you seen him?"
"Have I seen him?"
"Chief, the kid wears those long-sleeve shirts under his scrubs and somehow always looks comfortable." Perry gestured vaguely around the dimly lit bar. "Everybody else in that hell-hole hospital looks exhausted. Sweating. Miserable. Then there's Newbie, looking like somebody wrapped him in a blanket and sent him to work."
The Janitor snorted. "That's weirdly specific."
"I'm making an observation."
"Sure."
"I'm serious," Perry insisted, already deep into his third scotch. "He gets excited, starts talking with his hands, waving them all over the place, and the scrub top rides up a little, revealing his pale ski—"
He cut himself off. The rest of the sentence died in his throat. Perry stared off at the neon beer sign across the room, the hard lines of his face softening into a quiet, uncharacteristic smile.
The Janitor watched him in dead silence.
"He always looks comfortable," Perry murmured, his voice fading out. "Like he should be asleep somewhere. Or curled up on a couch. Or buried under three blankets watching some terrible movie."
The Janitor took a slow, calculated drink of his beer.
Perry blinked, his smile fading under the Janitor’s heavy gaze. "What are you staring at?"
"Nothing," the Janitor replied smoothly.
"You were absolutely looking at me."
"You hang around that kid too much. You're starting to daydream just like him."
Perry let out a sharp, defensive laugh. "Huh? Oh, the daydreaming. God, I hate when he does that. The kid just disappears halfway through the day. You look over and he's staring off into space with that stupid serious look on his face, pouting like whatever's going on in his head is the most important thing in the world. Then five minutes later, he accidentally says part of it out loud, and now everybody else has to figure out what the hell he's talking about." He finished the rest of his glass in one shot. "It's ridiculous."
He shifted uncomfortably on his stool. "And don't even get me started on the hair."
The Janitor sighed. "Oh, boy."
"I'm serious. Every morning it's perfectly combed, perfectly styled, smelling like a fruit stand. One little gust of wind and suddenly he's standing there looking personally offended." Perry shook his head, his glare returning. "It's ridiculous. For the record, it's even worse when it's messy."
The Janitor gave Perry a flat, unimpressed look.
Perry leveled a sharp glare right back at him. "Don't."
"For a guy who drives you crazy, you sure spend a lot of time talking about him."
Perry scoffed, looking away. "Oh, please."
"I'm serious." The Janitor took a slow sip. "You've spent the last hour complaining about the kid."
"Chief, that's because he gives me plenty to complain about."
"Sure."
Perry stared down at his empty glass. "I don't know."
"It'd be weird," Perry said quietly.
The Janitor snapped his fingers against the counter. "What would?"
"Not seeing him... even for a day," Perry added, his voice losing its edge completely.
The Janitor stayed perfectly still. Perry scowled, looking away. "What?"
The Janitor set his beer down on the counter. "It's nothing," he muttered.
"Good," Perry replied, fixing his gaze straight ahead at the liquor bottles.
"That's the nicest thing you've said all night," the Janitor said.
"Shut up."