Battlefield – chapter 5 – a little bit of crackfic.

This challenge was as follows:

Your new challenge is: CRACK!FIC/MELODRAMAConsider this your excuse to trop out those ridiculous, bizarre scenarios that you were always a little to embarrassed to write, the crossovers that make no sense at all, and the dramatic wailing and gnashing of teeth (that's the melodrama part). Nothing is too strange, too unlikely, or too OOC for this challenge! Go wild! Have fun! Consider this an amnesty from having to Make It Believably. grins

This was my attempt to answer the challenge AND keep the story in tone.

Gibbs was worried. For some inexplicable reason, McGee had come down with a raging fever which was, thus far, unresponsive to antibiotics.

The director stood at his side, equally perturbed though he wasn't sure if she was concerned for McGee himself or about the extra paperwork his death would necessitate.

Tony sat in a chair on the other side of McGee's bed staring out into space. Although ordered to stay away, he maintained he couldn't sleep anyway so he might as well come back. Gibbs was unsure if that were really true or if Tony actually had a vested interest in the rubber-lipped female doctor who roamed the lower corridors.

He took a moment to debate whether her lips were a natural curse or the result of an over-enthusiastic collagen regime. In either case, it was hard to shake the impression that she was a bizarre Cheshire cat who would fade away just leaving an enormous pair of fat lips. Jen sure was keeping an eye on her, though. Maybe she was jealous.

The door slowly opened to reveal McGee's publisher. In a less cynical moment, he might have thought she had come out of genuine concern: no, perhaps not even then. She was clearly motivated only by the need to protect her investment. Gibbs watched as she slunk in, letting the door float closed gently behind her.

"How is he doing?" she asked.

Gibbs declined to grace her with actual eye contact. "He has a raging fever and they don't know why."

"He'll be OK, though?"

Gibbs could stand it no more. He turned to her abruptly. "He'll meet his deadline."

"Jethro!" Jen seemed shocked at his implication.

"That's all I needed to know," Ms Crawshaw replied. There was a refreshing honesty about her that made Gibbs pine for a study nine-iron in his hands.

Another creak of the door and Gibbs was surprised to see Lt. Col. Hollis. Mann peek inside.

"I thought I might find you here," she said to him, eyeing the array of woman already in the room. Maintaining eye contact with Gibbs, she sidled along the wall to sit next to Tony. "How's he doing?"

Gibbs top lipped twitched in the echo of a smile: the contrast between a genuine and ingenuine question was never so stark. "We've got to beat this fever," he said flatly.

As if on cue, McGee's eyelids parted to reveal two glassy bloodshot eyes. At first he stared uncomprehendingly at Gibbs, the director and his publisher and then the fog began to lift. Rather than exhibit recognition however, McGee became agitated, his breathing uneven and rapid as he studied them each in turn. Flinging his head to the other side of the bed, he sized up Tony frowning in confusion. Then his eyes fell upon Hollis Man and a full panic attack took over. McGee began thrashing around the bed, desperately trying to transmit some message to them.

Gibbs stepped forward and took him firmly by the shoulders, feeling the sweat leaching through the rough cotton hospital gown. "You're OK, McGee," he said quietly.

He watched as McGee focused on him. At first McGee looked bewildered, then he smiled a relieved smile, relaxed and sank back into oblivion with a sigh.

Every single part of McGee ached. Disorientated, he forced his eyelids open and let his eyes roam over the strange assortment of creatures surrounding his bed. Slowly they took on human form. He was sure he recognised those three standing together looking down on him. Now he had it: Chicago Hope! He must be really sick if three Chicago Hope doctors were standing there. He strained his brain to remember what the formula was for dying on that show. Did most of them make it? Was it a season finale? He couldn't remember.

He swung his head to the other side of the bed and caught sight of the guy in the wheelchair from Dark Angel. He wished he'd paid more attention to his name but in truth he had spent most of that short lived series ogling Jessica Alba. Hold on – didn't they get engaged? Maybe she was here. Oh, that's right; she became invisible soon after meeting that Welsh guy from Hornblower and they'd called off the whole thing.

Next to wheelchair guy was another woman – his heart pounded as he recognised her: the Borg Queen! She was here to assimilate them all! He had to tell the others. How could there possibly be a Chicago Hope, Dark Angel, Star Trek cross over? It would never rate. He tried desperately to warn them but the mind meld must have already begun: he had lost the ability to speak.

Then someone had him by the shoulders. Who was it? Ted Bundy? The fiancée from Freaky Friday? No, it was that guy who married Mindy. He'd always loved Mindy. He was loosing his grip on reality, such as it was, again. It all became too hard and McGee's eyes slid shut again.