Title: A Life in the Balance
Summary: What if Vaughn was sent to the "Scrubs" hospital when he fell deathly ill in "Counteragent"? Hilarity would ensue, that's for damn sure.
Disclaimer: The "Alias" crew belongs to JJ Abrams and the "Scrubs" crew belongs to Bill Lawrence.
Do you ever have one of those days when you just think nothing else could possibly get any worse?
See, normally this would be the time when I'd get all flashback-y and recall all those humiliating and morally painful things that have happened to me in the past twenty four hours as I stare off into space, but no, I've been summoned by Dr. I'm-so-cynical-and-sarcastic-you-should-just-call-me-Dr. Cyncastic.
Ha, Cyncastic! Some people never lose their charm and wit and I thank God I've been blessed with the mad skillz.
The sound of Cox's angry whistle shakes me from my thoughts and forces me to look directly into the sun. Oh God, I can't see anything. I think I'm blinded. Damn you, Cox, DAMN YOU!
"Bambi, your eyes are here," He points to me with his first two fingers then to his eyes, "not here. And we don't have time for my ingenius quips about your flagrant homosexual tendencies, ie: staring at my crotch, because we've got some serious sh-t going down as we speak."
What is this?! Cox simply stating that he thinks I'm a flagrant homosexual rather than making fairly obscene gestures and remarks and showing off his mastery of the allusion. This must be serious.
"What's going on?" I ask, picking up the pace so that I'm walking in stride with him.
"Do you not listen to anything I say, newbie?" Ow, I highly doubt my question warranted a slap upside the head.
"Aw, is little newbie hurt? Well too bad. Suck it up and be a man for once. You still have a week until the sex change--"
Enough is enough. I stop and stop in Cox's path to force him to stop, too.
"Okay, I get it. Ha ha, I'm a woman. Ha ha, I'm a homosexual. Ha ha I'm a soon to be transvestite. Now that we've established this, can we please move on and you tell me what the Hell everyone's in such a fuss about."
"Oh God, if there was ever a time when I wished to have a recorder more than anything, now would be the time."
I take a deep breath and run my hand through my hair with an exasperated sigh. Dr. Cox laughs and mutters something under his breath as he bypasses me and continues down the hall.
"You snooze, you lose, newbie."
"You snooze, you lose, newbie," I imitate in a low bitchy!JD voice as I shake my head towards Dr. Cox's direction. I really pity the child who has to endure the psychological damage that man will inflict upon them.
"Cursing out Dr. Cox in your head, huh?" I hear Elliot say as she walks up beside me.
"How'd you know?" I ask, turning to face her.
"Well, the venomous look coupled with the bitchy!JD imitation kind of gave it away," she says as she places her charts on the counter and turns to me again.
This girl knows me far too well.
Cursed be the day I become predictable.
"You're not even listening to me," Elliot exclaims angrily.
"Uh, yeah I am." I reply quickly, trying desperately to shake the image of her giving Mr. Simmons a lap dance to to heal his "achin' heart."
"No, you're not. You're doing that stupid little staring off into space and day dreaming about some stupid thing you always do."
"So wait. What's going on that's making everyone get so freaked out and why have we stopped admitting new patients?"
"Didn't anyone tell you, JD?" Carla asks, leaning over the counter.
"Tell me what, dammit?!" I exclaim frustratedly.
"We're the back up CIA designated hospital." She finishes.
"What? What does that mean?"
"It means that the CIA came to us and basically said that, in case of an emergency and the real CIA hospital can't take anyone, we have to stop admitting patients for precautionary measures. If an agent gets injured or violently ill, we gotta take care of them." Elliot explains nonchalantly.
Both Carla and I stare at Elliot in wonder.
"What?" She asks, confused. I shake my head and turn back to Carla.
"So what's the big deal? We'll treat him and move on."
"That's the thing. We can't. This Agent Vaughn has some sort of virus or something that hasn't been identified. No one knows how to stop it or cure it or anything. Basically this guy's screwed."
"What were his symptoms?" I ask, curious about this "unknown" virus.
"They say the first signs are bleeding at the fingernails." Carla replies, shaking her head. "It's crazy. I've never heard of anything like it."
"You know, maybe it isn't some kind of virus. Once I went to this new nail place to get a manicure and a week later my fingertips were all infected and puffed up, and there was a little bit of blood coming out of my fingernails. Never trust a "get a manicure get a pedicure free" deal. My poor feet have never been the same."
How gross. It's times like these I'm glad I'm not having sex with her anymore...
Yeah, the time is over. I definitely wish I could still be having sex with her...
Carla's looking at Elliot like she's a complete and utter lunatic and Elliot's just humming and picking her cuticles. What a Kodak moment.
"Is it contagious?" Because if it is, I'm definitely concerned about my own well being in this whole scenario. Because you know if worse came to worst, Dr. Cox would volunteer "newbie" to go in and contract a deadly virus and die a slow and painful death. Oh, that Cox.
"So when's this CIA Agent Michael Vaughn coming in?" Elliot asks giddily, "do I have the time to put on some makeup and make my hair?"
Once again, me and Carla stare at Elliot in disbelief.
How clueless can this girl possibly be.
"Eliot, you're not gonna pick up a date, I can guarantee you that. And how do you know this guy isn't a hideous 65 year old man with warts that have hair growing out of them?" Is it really that obvious I'm still not over Elliot? I tried to act nonchalant but I think it came out in a bratty 9-year-old JD voice.
"I don't know...I've always imagined CIA agents as tall dark and handsome--"
"Oh, Agent Dorian, is that your gun I feel in your pants or are you just happy to see me?"
"No, that actually is my gun..."
"Elliot, I really think that picking up a date will be the last thing on this agent who has been infected with a deadly virus's mind."
All of a sudden, the doors fly open and a guy around my age with tan skin and light brown hair is rolled in on a stretcher by some CIA medics. Yeah, he doesn't look like a 65 year old man with warts and hair growing out of those warts. He's still sporting his suit, damn I've never owned a suit that nice in my life, and has an oxygen mask over his face.
"What did I tell ya?" Elliot whispers giddily to Carla.
I could soooo take this guy in a fight. And by fight I mean chess match. And by chess, I of course mean checkers. KING ME!
Who am I kidding, by checkers I mean chinese checkers.
"Sydney...Somebody call Sydney..." I hear him mutter faintly and his eyes grow heavy.
"Sorry Elliot, sounds like this guy's taken." I say a little too happily.
"Trust me, he'll forget all about this Sydney after I'm done with him. I call changing him into his gown!"
"Last time I checked, this wasn't a Barbie doll collector's chat room." Is that Lucifer himself, I hear? "No. It still isn't actually. It's a hospital, and sadly to say, you two are doctors. Now we've got a very sick man on our hands..."
END CHAPTER ONE