This is too short (and too obscure) for AO3, so I'm posting it here. I originally wrote it in the aughts, but since I might be doing more with this canon, let's pull this sucker (which is set during season two) out of the trunk:
“Hey, Shirley – you know where Elliot went?”
Don’t tell him. Elliot thumped his hot forehead against the bathroom door. Please?
It was the first day of gross anatomy all over again – only this time, the patient was alive – and bleeding – out there, and Elliot himself was still conscious. In other circumstances, the second might’ve been recognized as a sign of personal growth. In other circumstances.
Stars started to twinkle at the edges of Elliot’s field of vision, and he quickly backed up into the tiny bathroom, sitting down hard on the toilet seat. With slick, trembling fingers, he tried to loosen his collar. He was suffocating.
Then, just as suddenly, nerves and self-loathing propelled Elliot back onto his feet, and he started to pace the enclosed space, wringing his hands. “What’s wrong with you?” he muttered aloud. “You’re not supposed to panic, Axelrod. Pull yourself together.”
“Elliot?”
At the knock on the door, Elliot froze, a brand new crimson flush crawling up the back of his neck. This was it. He was going to throw up. He was going to die. He was going to be barred from practicing medicine before he’d even begun.
“It’s okay, Elliot. You can come out now. They just took the patient up to surgery.”
Was Dr. Fiscus amused?
Elliot drew in a deep breath and, bracing himself, opened the door.
Yeah, I don't know. Hope this amused somebody!
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