In the Company of Wolves
Title: In the Company of Wolves, Part I
Pairing: JA/JP, JP/OC
Rating: R for violence and language.
Warning: AU
Disclaimer: Complete fiction, and I'm hoping it stays that way.
Summary: The hemorrhagic fever has been discovered in Western Washington. The team assigned to stopping this virulent disease discovers not only was the plague deliberately introduced to the human population, but it may have been the government that began the tragedy.
Main Post
Day One
Washington, DC
Dr. Jared Padalecki checked himself once more in the hotel's full-length mirror as he and his brother, Jeff, waited for the elevator. What he saw should have pleased him, but he was too numb to appreciate his impeccable reflection.
“Are they here?” Jared asked, tucking the trophy under in arm in order to adjust the gold cufflinks.
His casual demeanor did little to fool Jeff who knew what it must cost Jared to make an appearance tonight. “Yeah, Miller and his team checked in three hours ago.” Jeff paused for a moment as he saw his brother’s hazel eyes dim as memories once again clouded the man and his judgment. “Jared, if this is too much I can take your place and make excuses for you, seriously.”
“So the rest of the world can laugh behind my back?” Jared hissed between his teeth. “Fuck that. I will face the calculating bastard and hand him the goddamn award even if it kills me.”
“It just might if you don’t watch your blood pressure.”
The worried but humorous comment made the younger brother smile. “Thanks, but I have to meet them sometime and tonight is as good as any.”
Jeff reached out to still Jared's hands which were still fiddling with the cufflinks. "What really happened between you and Jensen?”
Jared refused to make eye contact as he said, “I was going to make our relationship official when I got back from Hong Kong. I came home and discovered he wanted to break it off. And I knew he was serious because he'd moved out while I was gone. Six weeks later, I got a request from Miller's lab for information on Jensen. That's it: there's nothing more. A two year-year relationship down the fucking drain without a chance for me to ask Jensen why.
“And now I have to give Miller the very award I myself was hoping to win this year.” Jared flipped the small but heavy trophy in his hands. It gleamed in the light, daring him to throw it into a garbage can or, better, out the hallway window.
“For God’s sake, there’s next year.”
“Not the same, I wanted it this year because I was in the same running as Miller. And the only reason he won is because of Jensen. He discovered the protein fragment and my lab didn't have a chance after that.”
“Jared, give me the goddamn thing. I’ll go…”
“No,” Jared replied, his grip tightening around the crystal chalice. “I have to. It’s been three years and I have to move on.”
“The rest of the world thinks you did. You’ve been very successful in fooling them.”
“I don't much care what the rest of the world thinks.”
“That’s incredibly strange thing to say, especially someone in your profession.”
Jared chuckled mirthlessly then threw an elegant shrug off his muscled frame. “Maybe that’s why I do what I do. This conversation is getting neither of us anywhere. Let’s go.”
Dr. Wentworth Miller eyed his partner warily as Jensen tossed back the third champagne glass in less than thirty minutes.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“Nervous as all hell, but I'll survive.” Jensen took a shy glance around the sumptuous ballroom. “Is it always this posh?”
“Always. The Kittering Foundation doesn’t do anything by halves. Smile, try to enjoy yourself,” Wentworth said as he gently bumped his shoulder against Jensen's.
“I rarely attend functions like this. Usually, the room’s filled with tired and harried people wanting to get to the free food and coffee…”
Wentworth laughed, a genuine full-bodied laughter that attracted a great deal of attention in the sedate room. “To tell you the truth those are more interesting for me too, but we won the award this year and we have to accept it.” He gave a fond glance at Jensen. “Are you ready? To face him again?”
Jensen shrugged and fiddled with the empty glass in his hand. “I think I am. I just wish they didn’t make him give us the damn award. I can’t imagine Jared appreciating the irony of it all.”
“He’s a grown man; I'm sure he can appreciate irony. Besides, I must admit I’ll enjoy taking it from him.”
Jensen gave an irritated glance towards his boss. Wentworth gave a slight wink in response. He then scanned the room and immediately caught the on-lookers trying to act disinterested.
“I see we’ve got quite an audience already.” Wentworth couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the gawkers and wondered what they would do if he suddenly broke into a soft-shoe routine complete with grandiose arm movements.
“I noticed that as soon as we came through the doors.” Jensen immediately caught the familiar tall figure as Jared entered the ballroom from a private entrance located in the back. For a moment he couldn’t breathe; he forced himself to look away and discovered Wentworth studying him.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made you come,” Wentworth said, genuinely contrite at the stressful situation he put Jensen in.
“Don't concern yourself with this. It’s not your fault everything is such a mess between me and him.” Jensen took a long look at his partner. “By the way did I tell you how amazing you look in a tux? Why is that such a surprise?”
“Maybe because most of the time I’m in space suits, breathing through a filter and doing a bloody good job of mimicking Darth Vader?”
Jensen bit back his laughter but his eyes shone clearly with amusement.
He’s happy, Jared thought, and he isn’t faking it either. Miller must be doing something right. Not that I give a shit. Still, it’s something to see Jensen happy again. How long has it been since I’ve actually seen him smile in public?
Feeling the acid of failure bite into his bones, Jared turned to the attendees sitting at his table and began his own conversation.
Neither he nor Dr. Ackles betrayed any hint of emotion though the rest of the guests were constantly on the lookout for some visible reaction from either of them. They also kept a close scrutiny of Dr. Miller who cheerfully said little and left the art of conversation to Dr. Ackles: a man whose many talents did not include the gift of gab. So, in spite of having the pleasure of sitting with the recipient of the award, the guests at that particular table found themselves bereft of interesting topics and were forced to strike up shallow conversations with each other.
Wentworth waited patiently as the function progressed while peeking glances at Jensen who became paler as the speakers droned on. In the hopes of improving his friend's mood, Wentworth whispered his opinion on the evening so far. “Overcooked vegetables, undercooked beef, and a ham for a speaker. Marvelous.”
Jensen had to place a napkin over his mouth in order to prevent himself from spewing out the wine he just sipped. Suddenly, he became still as Jared took his place on the podium.
“It is a great honor for The Kittering Foundation to present…”
Jensen didn’t hear the rest of the speech as he imagined just for a little while what it was like when his life was consumed by that man. Jensen believed those years to be the happiest of his life. But he was also practical enough to accept the fact that most good things came to an end, and usually very messily. Jensen turned to Wentworth and placed a congratulatory hand on his shoulder; an elegant and intimate gesture as Wentworth rose from his chair and strolled up to the stage to take what was rightfully his.
Day Two
Bellevue, Washington
“We’re taking you to the hospital,” Hunter shouted as he wrestled his older brother into the car.
Bill screamed, “I want to be left alone! Why can’t you leave me the fuck alone?!”
The yelling between the two men and Melanie's cries of distress prompted a worry neighbor to phone the police. They responded in less than five minutes, and before the hour was over Bill was forcibly strapped into a gurney with Melanie by his side as the ambulance roared its way to the hospital.
“It's the fever,” Melanie tried to excuse her husband as Peter, an emergency tech, vainly tried to calm down her restrained husband. “Bill isn’t like this; he’s really a kind and gentle man.”
Before Peter could say anything, Bill coughed up a thick blackish red mixture of blood, mucus, and tissue. It splattered everything and everyone around him. The driver nearly swerved onto oncoming traffic as the people in the back screamed in shock.
“Fuck!” Peter yelled as a glob of vomit hit him squarely in the eyes. “Faster, the man’s crashing!”
The driver gave a single nod and gunned the pedal while Peter called the hospital to upgrade the incoming patient’s condition to critical. The hospital team was waiting for them on the curb and immediately began the procedures required in such a critical scenario. The nurse who tried to insert an IV into Bill’s veins had to be replaced by another as she could not do her job properly. Every time she pierced his skin, blood poured out and it did not stop. In fact, even the specialist had to stop as the skin tissue around the punctures ripped open, allowing even more blood to escape.
At the end of this horrific emergency there were more than sixteen medical personnel involved, out of which five did not have gloves when they came into contact with Dr. Bill Coughlin.
Kathy Ostrovsky closed her eyes and firmed up her resolve. The last conversation she had with her best friend and neighbor, Lucy Jorgensen, scared her as Lucie ranted for over two minutes about how disgusting her son's habits had become. Kathy dialed her friend's cell then hung up when it rolled right into voicemail. She then called the house.
"Hello?" a scared young voice answered.
“Rory, can I talk to your mom?” Kathy asked Lucie’s son.
“Mommy’s asleep, she’s not feeling well.” The boy's whispery voice was thick with tears.
“Rory, are you okay?”
There was an audible sniffle and then the child began to cry. “Mommy yelled at me. She said it’s because of me she’s sick.”
“Oh sweetie, I’ll be there in a second!”
Kathy hung up the phone and dashed out the back door. She knew Lucie was ill, but what worried her most was what Rory had said. Lucie doted on her only child and would never say anything hurtful unless she was laboring under an outside influence. Kathy wondered if the drugs her friend was taking for her flu could be the reason for Lucie's bizarre behavior.
“Rory?” she shouted as she entered the house, using the kitchen door which was usually kept unlocked during daytime.
A small blond head peeped around the entrance to the den. The woman gave a warm smile and opened her arms. Without hesitation the boy ran into the protective grasp and wept bitterly. Kathy said, “I am sure mommy didn’t mean what she said. Let me go upstairs and check up on her. You stay here and wait for me?”
The boy nodded and sat on a kitchen stool. Kathy watched as Rory's thin shoulders drooping noticeably and wondered when was the last time he had eaten a decent meal.
“Lucie!” Kathy shouted as she went up the stairs, “It’s me, I got worried…”
The smell hit her first: a mixture of odors she could not define.
“Oh my God…” The words escaped from Kathy involuntarily as she opened the door to the master bedroom.
The lab results of the autopsies performed on the monkey came back but nobody was in the lab to receive them. So the envelope sat unopened in the mail basket as both Dr. Bill Coughlin and Dr. Lucie Jorgensen were too ill to come to work.
Later that afternoon, two more monkeys died.
“What the hell happened?” Dr. George Rodriguez asked Dr. Schmidt, the attending on duty when William Coughlin died. Dr. Rodriguez was assigned the unenviable duty of taking charge of Coughlin when he was admitted the night before, and after stabilizing his patient he had gone home only to be called back three hours later with the news of Coughlin's death.
Dr. Rodriguez drove through three red lights in order to get to the hospital on time. The autopsy was already scheduled and he wanted to personally oversee the transportation of the body and be present during the autopsy.
“I don’t know,” Dr. Schmidt responded, his exhaustion masked by his fear. “He went into shock and all his organs failed almost simultaneously. To tell you the truth I think he’s been crashing since he was admitted last night.”
Dr. Rodriguez’s beeper went off, giving the doctor a nasty shock. “Don’t go anywhere.”
He walked out into the hall and used a phone in the nurses' station: Dr. Rodriguez had no desire to touch anything in Coughlin's room.
“Rodriguez here.”
“We’ve just got another case down at emergency. The situation is almost identical to that of Dr. Coughlin's,” the nurse explained in a panicky tone. “The patient is another doctor named Lucie Jorgensen. Her neighbor, Kathy Ostrovsky, found the woman in a pool of blood…”
Dr. Rodriguez could still see Coughlin's corpse from where he was standing. "Isolate her. Did anyone come with her? A family member, perhaps?”
“Yes, Dr. Jorgensen has a son. He's here with the neighbor.”
“Don't let them go. Lie if you have to. I…” A crashing noise from Coughlin's room attracted his attention. “I’ll call right back.”
Dr. Rodriguez nearly collided with Dr. Chang when he ran into the room. His longtime mentor, Dr. Martin Chang, was surrounded by manila folders scattered all over the floor and around his feet, but he didn't seem at all aware of the mess as he was solely focused on the corpse.
“Marty, what’s wrong?” Dr. Rodriguez asked. The hunched form slowly turned to him.
“Where are his files?” Dr. Chang whispered, his face sickly pale with spots of sweat dotting on the flabby cheeks and the greyed temples.
“I think they're at the nurses' station," Dr. Schmidt answered. "Why do you ask?”
“I was a medical student in 1967, and during that summer I had an internship with my father who worked as a physician and researcher for Behring.” Dr. Chang pointed to the corpse and said, "That's Marburg. I'm sure of it."
“Marburg,” Dr. Rodriguez echoed, and felt his knees weaken. “Oh My God, no.”
“Who else? Is there anyone else?” Dr. Chang asked, his voice rising to an unnatural pitch.
“Yes, another patient just arrived and her son. They’re both downstairs.”
“How did they get here?”
“Ambulance. A neighbor found…”
“Don’t let any of them leave the building. And the same goes for the any medical personnel who came into contact with them.”
“Sir, with this patient … he crashed last night on the sidewalk. There was a great deal of blood loss,” Dr. Schmidt informed the venerated neurosurgeon.
“How did they clean it?”
“Probably hosed it with a mixture of water and disinfectant.” Dr. Schmidt began to feel the hot loosening feeling in his bowels and wondered if he was going to be able to hold it until he went to a bathroom.
“Not good enough, not nearly enough. We need to bleach the whole block as soon as possible. This patient, did he bleed on anyone?”
“Yes, the ambulance workers who brought him in and his wife were covered with blood. The man vomited his esophageal lining during the ride,” Dr. Schmidt answered.
“Find them, bring them in here but don’t tell them why. Just say the patient had AIDS. That should scare them well enough. Where’s the wife?”
“I sent her home,” Dr. Rodriguez answered.
“Good, hopefully she went straight home. Get her back in here. Tell her we need to talk to her about her husband. What’s her phone number? It’ll be better if you do it, George. It will look more innocent that way,” Dr. Chang said. "The last thing we need is to create hysteria. We have to contain the situation as much as possible. And that means getting everyone who came into contact with these people isolated quickly.
“Do you know if Coughlin's wife went to work this week?”
“Not as far as I know. She told me she was on vacation. They were getting ready for a big visit from the patient’s brother,” Dr. Rodriguez answered.
“Where is the brother?” Dr. Chang asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Hunter whispered, holding Melanie in his arms. “I’ll talk to them myself. You’ve gone through enough.”
The widow gave a sobbing nod and stumbled back into the house. Hunter was going to drive to Portland and break the horrible news to his parents. He decided it would be best if he told them of Bill's death instead of a phone call.
Hunter was still unable to comprehend his brother's awful and swift end. He thought it was a scene straight out of some second-grade medical thriller. A memory tried to scratch itself free but Hunter was too tired to think, much less focus on a hazy suspicion. As he drove through Bellevue he noticed a Starbucks located across the street from the mall. He bought a venti coffee for the drive. As he hit I-5 South, Hunter started thinking of ways to break the news that would inevitably shatter his parents.
Washington, DC
Jensen openly admired the coolly elegant women strolling by the café as he finished his meager dinner. How come he was able to memorize the Periodic Table at age six but unable to get a single fashionable ensemble together? He took another embarrassed glance at his mucky Levis, clean but faded plaid shirt and the hopelessly yellowed white T-shirt he dragged through four assignments in Africa and Eastern Europe. I'm in my thirties and I still look like a starving student, he thought deprecatingly. Then he gave a large mental sigh when he caught the sight of a hole on the tip of his left sneaker and his large toe poking through.
“I thought you decided to quit caffeine.”
Jensen coughed into cup and looked upwards until he caught Jared’s laughing eyes.
“I really wish you wouldn't sneak up on me,” he said truculently and then felt foolish for sounding so defensive and unreasonable.
“I wasn’t sneaking up on anyone. I called out your name twice but you were too busy examining your big toe. By the way, do you want to go shopping for a new pair of shoes? You always were a little helpless in the retail department.”
The offer was innocent enough but the barb behind the words was sharp and made its cut. However, Jensen didn't take offense; he knew where his forté lay, and shopping was a skill he was completely incapable of mastering. Its end result had always been atrocious, not to mention expensive for Jensen. So, he depended on kindness of friends and relatives during Christmas to supply him with suitable clothes.
“No, this is good enough for me,” Jensen responded, but his look of envy belied the answer.
Jared was dressed impeccably; black suit with a dark blue shirt which complimented his tan. Expensive silk tie to wrap up the whole outfit and cufflinks gleamed from his wrists, and Jensen knew by experience Jared looked this good starting at six in the morning. He sighed into his cup and took a long, dragging sip, hoping the silence would drive Jared away.
No such luck.
“This is an honest question: how hard is Miller making you work, Jensen? I don’t see you in any of the conferences. All I do is read about your work and an odd interview here and there.”
“We’ve been busy,” Jensen answered reluctantly. “The lab’s been taking up most of my time.”
“Of course,” Jared said. “Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to reveal Miller’s secrets.”
Jensen didn’t continue the conversation in the hopes of discouraging Jared from staying any longer.
However, Jared was not about to acquiesce to his desires. He knew his presence made Jensen uncomfortable and he wanted his ex to suffer.
Jared studied the freckled face and felt something in him wane a little more. In spite of his behavior, Jared was still very much in love with Jensen. He knew that was half the reason why he cheated behind Jensen’s back; a part of him wanted the relationship to self-destruct because it was becoming so serious. The other half was the fact Jared panicked and tried to grasp the last heady flavors of bachelorhood before he felt the gates of monogamy close behind him.
Before Jared could say another word he spotted Miller approaching the table. He saw the look of relief pass over Jensen’s face and momentarily felt bitterness overwhelm him.
“Good evening Dr. Padalecki,” Miller said and sat down next to Jensen.
“Good evening Dr. Miller,” Jared responded as coldly and formally as his rival.
Jensen sat between them, feeling like a wounded soldier caught in the crossfire between a Sherman and a Panzer. He took a deep breath to make some half-hearted attempt to begin a conversation, but Jared stood up before he could get a word out.
“Well, I hope your time in DC will be as fruitful as last night. Take care, Jensen.”
Jensen’s rolled off Jared’s tongue with such intimacy Jensen found himself blushing.
Wentworth stared at the departing man but wisely refrained from asking any questions. He could see the raw emotions behind Jensen’s eyes and had no desire to aggravate the old wounds. Instead, he offered to have a cup of coffee alongside Jensen and both soon ended up chatting amiably about everything except Dr. Jared Padalecki.
Jared returned to his loft and wondered if he could ring Katie and ask her to join him for a nightcap. The thought was relinquished without a fight as he admitted she would be a poor substitute for Jensen, and he wasn’t so cruel that he would inflict such knowledge on his ex-girlfriend. Katie was still hopelessly in love with him and was all too willing to accept the emotional scraps he cast towards her direction. Feeling even worse than before Jared tried to drown his turbulent emotion in alcohol. Thirty minutes later Jared admitted that he had failed miserably. He finished the bourbon in one swallow before getting ready for bed. However, instead of moving he continued to sit in the semi-darkness.
Why can’t I get over him? It’s been years but I still feel like it was today he left me.
The answer eluded him. Three years had passed yet Jared couldn’t see to its end, no matter what stood between them. He slowly undressed himself and climbed into the shower, ignoring his answering machine which held no less than eleven messages, three from Dr. Martin Chang.
New York City
October, 2002
Dr. Jared Padalecki looked around the ballroom, mentally calculating the amount of funding he could possibly raise and silently rejoiced when he was sure he could hit up at least two million dollars. Being the winner of the Mutter Award for Scientific Research definitely had rewards beyond international recognition.
Samantha Ferris slid next to him and whispered, “I see dollar signs all over the place.”
Jared lowered his head and said, “I see we’re thinking along the same lines.”
“Hard not to,” Ferris replied breezily. “Being the financial advisor for your lab gives me little choice but to find ways to pay for all our next paychecks.”
Jared grabbed a canapé as a tray floated by. “Tonight will make it a lot easier.”
Ferris clinked her champagne glass against his. “Amen to that.”
“Where’s your boyfriend?” Jared asked.
“Late, his flight into Kennedy was delayed. I swear, God would get delayed if he were forced to land there.”
“As long as he gets here to enjoy the free food and alcohol. Man, I love an open bar.”
She glanced about the room and said, “They did go all out, didn’t they?”
“Ummm," Jared muttered happily as he took a sip of gin and tonic. Minus the tonic. "All this and half a mil? Won't hear me complain'. Besides, it's pretty damn nice to enjoy something else besides a plaque when you win,” Jared said. “By the way, where’s the poor bastard?”
“Who?”
“The runner-up: the guy who’s going to get nothing but a damn plaque.”
“That would be Doctor Jensen Ackles, and he’s around. I spoke to him earlier.”
“What’s he like?” Jared asked.
“Quiet but incredibly cute in that dorky, scientific way. You can’t miss him. Just look for Mike.”
“Oh God, Mike’s here?”
“Because of Tom,” Sam answered. “You do know that it’s the Welling Foundation that’s sponsoring this, right?”
“That doesn’t automatically guarantee Mike’s presence.”
“It pretty much does, nowadays. Anyway, look for Mike and you’ll meet Dr. Ackles.”
“Do I want to, though?”
She stared at Jared with thoughtful gaze. “I don’t know: maybe not. He might be too much for you to handle.”
“I thought you said he was shy.”
“He is.”
“Then why the hell would I have a hard time handling the guy?”
“Because he’s not your average lab rat. You’ll see what I mean if you bump into him.”
With that final cryptic remark Sam left Jared standing by himself next to the buffet, which he took full advantage of. After eating to his satisfaction, a feat that required two complete tours around the table, Jared set out to meet Dr. Ackles if only to satisfy his curiosity.
After forty minutes of uselessly circulating around the ballroom, Jared dove outside into the cool, wet night. He looked out at Bryant Park and noticed how beautiful it looked in the dark. Of course, being NYC, there wasn’t enough darkness to truly enjoy the romantic air, but the park did lent itself to certain dreamy notions, no matter how trivial.
Jared took a sip of coffee, savoring the rich taste. It was then he realized he wasn’t alone on the balcony. He turned to his right and saw a man standing in the darkness not ten feet away. He was obviously enjoying the same view as Jared was.
“Lovely night,” Jared said.
The man turned to him and quirked a smile. “It is.”
“Hiding from the partying crowd?” Jared asked. The stranger was dressed to kill but it was obvious by his continuous fidgeting that he wasn't used to wearing a tuxedo.
“More like hiding from a certain person who have taken it upon himself to make sure I get roaring drunk tonight.”
Jared’s grin broadened immediately. “Oh, you have one of those friends.”
“Most certainly,” the stranger answered softly before peeking into the room.
“Hey, it’s not that too far a jump to the street.” Jared glanced over the balcony. "I bet you can make it without a problem."
“I was actually thinking about that earlier, but I can’t leave.”
“You came with a date?”
“No, I was stupid enough to agree to give a talk after dinner.”
Jared paused before cautiously asking, “What’s your name?”
“Jensen Ackles.”
Jared closed his eyes and sighed. “My name is…”
“I know who you are. Mike pointed you out earlier.”
“Did he?” Jared asked weakly. “Well, I am going to categorically deny whatever he accused me of.”
Ackles’ laughter was softer than his smile but it was bright. “He thought you were a godsend, actually, Dr. Padalecki.”
“Call me Jared. It’s good to finally meet you.”
Jensen approached him and shook his hand. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you. And before I lose my nerve, I wanted you to know I think your work is amazing.”
“You’ve been keeping up with it?”
“Hard to miss, considering.”
Jared blushed a little. “I still don’t understand why the media’s taken such an extreme interest…”
“Right,” Jensen interrupted, his voice tinged with sarcasm and humor.
“What do you mean?” Jared asked, surprised to find himself suddenly on the defensive.
“You play up your looks and your charisma with the press,” Jensen said. “Suddenly science, especially medical science, isn’t a mystery to the normal Joes and Josettes anymore. It’s sexy is what it is when you’re on CNN and BBC, talking about diseases and preventive medicine.”
“Don’t be shy, tell me how you really feel.”
“Dude, you do it on purpose. Don’t tell me you get insulted because I’m telling the truth.”
Jared studied the man standing not two feet away from him and found complete lack of malice or jealousy. To his shock Jared realized Jensen was telling straightforward truth, nothing more and nothing less.
“Maybe?” he admitted weakly.
“I’m not blaming you,” Jensen added hurriedly. “And I’m certainly not saying it’s bad either. Hell, it’s nice to see someone talk about infectious diseases without looking like he caught a case of it right alongside his patients.”
Jared nearly inhaled the coffee he was drinking. He managed to place the dainty cup on the railing before bursting into laughter.
“I’m not kidding!” Jensen said. “Have you seen some of those pictures in Pathology and Pathobiology? Holy hell, it’s no wonder people don’t want to read about what we do! Not when they have to look at those mugshots. Or look at us while we’re talking on television.”
“You’re not shy,” Jared finally said. “You’re quiet.”
Jensen tipped his head to the side, peering at Jared. “Someone told you about me?”
“Just that you’re the poor bastard who’s taking home a plaque and nothing else.”
“Hey, it’s a classy plaque: real glass, not plastic.”
“Where do you work?” Jared asked.
“UCSD, right now,” Jensen answered.
“You’re leaving?”
“Thinking about it. I thought California would be more my style. As it turns out, it’s not. People are crazy there.”
“Most people who work in our field are off the beaten path.”
“Oh, not them, the people outside the labs. I’ve never met a bigger collection of nutjobs in my life. Seriously, when I found out California is the state with most shrinks, I was in no way surprised.” Jensen paused for a moment then added, “And I hate the traffic.”
“Where are you thinking about going?”
“I’ve gotten few offers in the private sector,” Jensen said. “And after tonight I’m pretty sure I’ll get few more.”
“Ever think about joining another lab?”
“Like yours?”
“Yes.”
“I have an offer from Miller’s in Oxford.”
“You’re not serious!” Jared barked. “You can’t go over there, you’ll be branded a traitor.”
“Last time I checked, we won the Revolutionary War few hundred years ago.”
“Have you met Wentworth Miller?”
“No, can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”
“The man’s a fucking nightmare. Runs his lab like a tyrant and I’m not talking about the velvet-gloved kind either.”
“His publications are uniformly brilliant, though,” Jensen countered. “You have to admit that much.”
“I’m not doubting the man’s a genius,” Jared said. “It’s just that … I think you can do better, and on this side of the pond. Besides, why are you looking at the private sector anyway?”
“With Bush in the White House, the fundings are going to dry up pretty damn fast for us academics. Even you must feel the pinch by now.”
Jared nodded and glanced at the partygoers. “Yeah, I do actually.”
“You’re looking to hit up few of them?” Jensen asked.
“I have to,” Jared admitted with a heavy voice. “We spent money expanding our labs and expected more. But with Clinton gone … well, you know the drill.”
“I do,” Jensen said. “Look, why don’t we go inside so you can do your magic and get the money you need to keep your lab going? I can even introduce you to couple of people.”
“Who?”
“Mike’s brought friends who are even wealthier than he is.”
“Let me guess, his yacht buddies?” Jared shook his head in distaste. "I know them, and the last thing they want is to donate money that won't make them famous or pretty."
“Actually, no. This bunch doesn’t look like they’re the Monaco type. There’s a woman named Kristin Kreuk who’s an heiress and another Milo … Vent … Vent something or another. Anyway, they seem loaded and very interested in what tonight’s about. From what I heard, they actually paid to be here tonight.”
“I'm sold. Lead on, McDuff!”
Jensen gracefully dodged the people milling about with Jared following with some difficulty. He came to an abrupt halt when Jensen stopped and motioned with his head to the right. Jared turned to see Mike chatting amiably with a group of people who looked like they just graduated from college.
Jared smiled when Mike spotted them and waved frantically. He also noticed Jensen starting to slip into the crowd. He smiled, grabbed Jensen by the elbow and whispered, “You’re not leaving me now.”
“Hey, I never said I’d join you in your fundraising venture.”
“Too late,” Jared said as he tugged along the reluctant man.
“And here’s the winner!” Mike crowed as he thumped Jared on the back. “Tom was so damn proud to find out you won this year. Man, he couldn’t stop talking about it.”
“So you all attended school together?” a thin, dark-haired man asked in a polite but curious tone.
“Sorry, introductions all around.” Mike pointed to the questioner and said, “This is Milo Ventimiglia. The lovely young lady to his right is Kristin Kreuk, and the other lovely lady is Kristin Bell.
“And, of course, you all know Dr. Jared Padalecki: tonight’s recipient of the Mutter Award.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Kristin Bell said eagerly. “My brother’s studying medicine at John Hopkins and he’s thinking about entering your field.”
Jared felt Jensen tilt slightly away in order to make his exit. He tightened his grip just a little and said, “Good to know there are people still interested in studying infectious diseases.”
“Exactly what is the breakdown between clinical practice and research in your field?” Kristin Kreuk asked. "From what Mike's been telling us, it seems unbalanced in favor of the clinical side of things."
“Hard to say,” Jared answered. “A lot of people who work in labs also work in clinical settings, ranging from your local hospitals to remote villages.”
“How about just in the States?” Bell asked.
“It depends on the diseases,” Jared answered. “There is a great number of respiratory diseases right here in New York that must be treated.”
“But the really dangerous ones?” Kreuk asked.
“Those we have to go looking for,” Jared answered cautiously, wondering what Mike had been telling his friends. “And that’s a different beast altogether. That takes a different mentality and a unique lifestyle.”
“But that’s what you’re famous for,” Ventimiglia said. “I mean, that’s why you’re receiving the award tonight instead of Dr. Ackles.”
Jared flushed and looked contritely at Jensen who shrugged and said, “That probably does have something to do with it. But my main research is in RNA, the poorer, less-popular cousin of DNA. Just the fact that I got recognized for it was something of a shocker to me, especially when you consider how stiff the field of competition was.”
“Did you think you had a chance to win?” Ventimiglia asked.
“A chance? Sure, but I wouldn’t have bet on myself if that’s what you’re asking.”
Jared’s feeling of discomfort was beginning to hike rapidly. He gave a warning glance at Mike who looked about as happy as he did with the turn in conversation. But before either of them could change the subject Ventimiglia said,
“I was talking to Dr. Miller earlier. He told me tell you congratulations on your work. He thinks what you’re doing is amazing.”
Jensen’s polite smile turned genuine. “You know him?”
“Kind of,” Ventimiglia answered. “My mother established her foundation in London and Dr. Miller’s lab is currently one of the recipients. She thinks the world of him.”
“His lab is churning out papers at an incredible rate,” Jensen said. “I can’t figure out how he does it.”
“Most of it is him, actually,” Ventimiglia answered.
“How is that possible?” Jared asked.
“The man’s a genius,” Ventimiglia said. “And I’m not exaggerating there. I heard he offered you a position in Oxford, Dr. Ackles.”
“As did I,” Jared said smoothly.
Ventimiglia looked at Jared in surprise. “Really?”
“We were talking about it earlier,” Jared said. “Of course, I’m not going to push it any further as Jensen needs time to consider his options, especially after tonight.”
“Damn straight,” Mike said. “And with that, shall we sit? I think the function is officially about to start.”
Jared was very pleased to note Jensen was sitting at his table. With some polite finagling, Jared managed to snag the seat next to him.
“You didn’t offer me anything,” Jensen said discreetly as a small salad plate was placed in front of him.
“The guy was being pushy,” Jared said. “Don’t tell me you didn’t think he wasn’t.”
“No, he was. But now everyone’s going to think I’m going to work for you.”
Jared quirked a grin at Jensen. “Now, why do you think that?”
Jensen blinked nervously. “You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“The subject of my RNA research that got me the magnificent plaque tonight.”
“Um … not really?” Jared admitted sheepishly.
“My topic was the RNA coding of the Filoviridae and its immune-suppressing capabilities.”
Jared’s interest in his food suddenly disappeared. He turned to Jensen and said, “Really? You found it with mammalians?”
“Definitely,” Jensen answered eagerly.
“After this, can you show it to me?”
Jared started to kick himself as soon as his jaw stopped wagging. There were cheap pick-up lines but what just came out of his mouth was more than dirt poor. To make matters worse Jensen paled slightly and his posture tightened.
“I don’t think I’ll be up for anything tonight,” Jensen said curtly.
“Okay,” Jared said and fished out his business card. “Here’s my e-mail and let me write down my cell so you can call me if you have problems. Seriously, that’s something I'm genuinely interested in.”
Jensen took the card and stared at the glossy words embossed on the expensive paper. “It really is fascinating,” he finally said. “And I’ve just gotten started.”
“And UCSD is still willing to let you go?”
“Like I said, RNA is the poorer, uglier cousin: DNA research is all the rage and I know for a fact that they have two researchers already vying for my spot.”
“That’s just wrong,” Jared said heatedly. “Look, I really do want to read your paper, so, e-mail it to me ASAP.”
Jensen openly looked at Jared with curiosity. “I have to ask: did you read any of the papers submitted for tonight's award?”
Jared shook his head. “No, none. I was shocked when I found out I was in the running. The truth is Samantha Ferris, my financial advisor, must have sent in my paper for nomination because I sure as hell didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“I was in the Philippines. There was an outbreak of meningitis and the fatality rate was over ninety percent.”
“That’s high … way too high.”
“Exactly,” Jared said. “Which was why I went.”
“Was it meningitis?”
“It was both meningococcal meningitis and meningococcemia. All the infected tested positive for both. What was worse that it got out into the public because the diseases struck an orphanage.”
“Multiple contacts?”
“And the fact that some families surrender their children to orphanages but visit them, sometimes on a daily basis.”
“Oh, hell,” Jensen said.
“Yeah, we had no idea until we started interviewing the families and found the connection. After that things got simpler. Not easier, mind you, but simpler.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Mike asked from across the table.
“The joys of foreign cuisine,” Jared answered quickly. “Or the lack thereof in some cases. This is damn good food, by the way.”
“Like you’d know,” Mike scoffed. “You’d eat asphalt if you’re hungry enough.”
“He’s a big guy,” Jensen said. “He has to eat to keep up that physique.”
Mike laughed. “Oh you should see Jared after he returns from the field. Nothing but skin and bones. The first thing he does is order two large pizzas with all the toppings. He polishes those off in one sitting with a six-pack. He waits for maybe four hours before ordering enough Chinese to feed an entire platoon. Polishes that off in one sitting. And he goes like that for two full days.”
Jensen looked at Jared with wide eyes. “Are you kidding me?”
Jared shook his head and grinned broadly. “Nope, nothing says home like meat-lover’s pizza and a brewski. Besides, you know Chinese food just goes through you in two hours, right?”
“You’ve been eating bad Chinese food,” Jensen said.
“Be careful there, Jared. Jensen’s a real foodie: goes for the good stuff or nothing at all.”
“Really?” Jared asked.
“Mike’s exaggerating, of course,” Jensen said. “But I like good food. Hell, I’m so busy in the lab that when I do get a chance to actually sit down and have a meal, I’d like to eat something that won't give me cause for regret an hour later.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Mike said. “I still remember the Ethiopian restaurant you took me to. Man, that was amazing stuff.”
“Do you think you could sacrifice all that if you ever got a chance to work outside the lab?” Jared said.
“Outside … like outside in a jungle?” Jensen asked.
“Yep, we’re talking guerrilla country.”
“In a heartbeat,” Jensen answered.
“Why?” Mike asked. “Not that I’m doubting your desire to, but why’d you want to do it?”
“To see,” Jensen answered eagerly. “To actually see how it all starts … where it comes from, how it got here or there, and what it does and doesn’t do in the wild. Diseases just don’t spring up from any old place, Mike. It came from somewhere specific, it hides in something specific. You find its reservoir, you might just be able to find a way to eradicate it forever.”
“You sound like you're fighting a war,” Kreuk said.
“It is, no doubt about it,” Jared said. “Especially the one Dr. Ackles has written about.”
“Which is?” Bell asked.
“Ebola,” Jensen answered.
Mike shuddered in real fear. “Jesus, don’t talk about that while we’re eating.”
“Sorry,” Jensen said.
“It’s that bad?” Kreuk asked.
“Worse, so much worse,” Jared said. “It’s the bogeyman in our world.”
“People, we’re about to have our meat course,” Mike said. “So, can we please switch topics?”
"Meat course?" Jensen asked. "They're actually serving dinner tonight?"
"Of course," Jared answered, smiling at Jensen's confusion. "Why are you surprised?"
"No, it's just that there were huge buffet tables," Jensen answered, reddening quickly. "I thought that was the meal."
"Dude, no," Mike said. "Tom's family makes a fortune selling beef. The Wellings own multiple ranches in Argentina, Brazil, and Hawaii. And they produce some of the best beef in the world."
"Another words, Welling Foundation loves to serve food," Jared added. "So, I hope you checked off the box for beef when you sent back your RSVP card 'cause, trust me, the steak's just out of this world."
"I probably did. I know better than to ask for fish or chicken," Jensen said.
“Speaking of, where's Tom?” Jared asked.
“He’s recuperating,” Mike said.
“What happened?” Jared asked.
Kreuk coughed politely behind her napkin and said, “He tried skiing … naked.”
Kristin Bell starting giggling into her wine glass as her friend fought to maintain her composure.
“Naked?” Jared asked. He turned to Mike and said, “Please tell me you got a picture of that!”
“I most certainly do.”
“Why was he skiing naked?” Jensen asked.
“Because he lost a bet he made with Mike,” Bell said. “It was hilarious. Poor guy, he got sunburned all over, and I mean all over.”
“When did this happen?” Jared asked. “And why was I not invited?”
“It happened last weekend and you weren’t invited because you would’ve done more than just take pictures. Besides, he remembers your last prank so he knows better than to go anywhere with you, at least without an adult present.”
“What happened last time?” Jensen looked at Jared, his green eyes peering eagerly at him.
Jared’s chuckles soon broke into guffaws as he clapped his hands in glee.
Mike was even more amused and it took them a while to get themselves back in control. Mike said, “It was last year. For my birthday we all decided to celebrate at my family's vacation home in Kiawah. Somehow Jared convinced Tom to try on this new sunscreen that he claimed was the newest stuff from Australia.”
“Tom burns pretty badly if he’s out for too long,” Jared said. “So I mixed up my very own batch of sunscreen just for him and injected into an empty tube of sunscreen I bought in Melbourne.”
“He was outside for maybe … what? Thirty minutes? Anyway, he turned polka-dotted," Mike said.
Jensen’s eyes widened comically. “What?”
“Tom was spotted like a leopard. It was friggin’ hilarious.” Jared took a sip of the wine and started laughing again. “The look on his face when he saw what happened to him; oh my God, it’ll be treasured memory forever.”
“For all of us,” Mike added. "I never saw Jeff laugh so hard in my life."
“How did you manage that?” Bell asked.
“Miniscule capsules containing pigmentation that explode when exposed to heat for certain length of time,” Jared answered. “The color was green, if you’re interested.”
“Does it wash off?” Jensen asked. “It had to, right?”
“Yeah, but you need special chemicals. Nothing toxic, mind you, but Tom must have been in the shower for at least three hours, trying to scrub out the dye.”
“Was the pigmentation extracted from plants?” Jensen asked.
“Yup,” Jared said. “Damn pretty shade of green too.”
“Anyway, yeah, after that Tom won’t even take a handshake from Jared.” Mike clinked his glass against Jared’s. “Best birthday I ever had.”
“How long have you guys known each other?” Jensen asked.
“Oh, probably eight years now?” Mike said. “I think.”
“I think so too," Jared said. "My brother, Jeff, introduced me to the wonder twins that are Mike and Tom.”
“Is your brother a doctor?” Kreuk asked.
“Yes,” Jared answered. “Though I know he’s also thinking about going into the private research sector. There’s a company that’s up and coming, and they’re doing some heavy recruiting in his area.”
“What company?” Jensen asked.
“Ignatius, I think?”
“I heard about them,” Bell said. “Big on the Beltway.”
“Department of Defense?” Mike asked.
“Aren’t they all?” she answered. “But yeah, they’re pretty cozy with the DoD.”
“Who’s the CEO?” Jensen asked.
“Someone named Robert Singer,” Bell said. “But from what I heard he got pushed out just last week.”
“What happened?” Jared asked.
“Internal tug-of-war,” Bell said. “Singer started the company in order to focus on genetic research for neurodegenerative diseases. That went for about six years before this latest coup by his CFO.”
“I see,” Jared said. “Maybe I should tell Jeff to do further research on Ignatius before signing any dotted lines.”
Mike nodded in agreement. “Good call. Beltway contracts are nice but they can stick with you for a long, long time.”
“Speaking from experience?” Jensen asked.
“My dad, actually,” Mike said. “He had something going with them from the Vietnam era. It’s just now we’re learning what kind of work he did for them.”
“Did the government ever approach you?” Jared asked Jensen.
“Yeah, probably for the same reasons they approached you,” Jensen answered.
“And what reason would that be?” Kreuk asked.
“Ebola is considered so dangerous that there are only handful of people in the States who are qualified to handle it under laboratory conditions. We’re all screened very tightly on a daily basis, and anyone who manages to qualify gets multiple offers, especially from the government," Jensen explained easily. "Anyway, if something happens the government can definitely reel all of us in at a moment’s notice."
Kreuk looked at Jared. “Same with you?”
“Most definitely,” Jared answered. “Because it could be manipulated into a biological weapon, the government has strict protocols and keep count of who has what. My lab is one of four outside of Maryland that has access to it. And that’s only because we share the lab with the Army Medical Research.”
“And the data, I presume?” Ventimiglia asked.
“Of course,” Jared said. “They have full access to my work, 24/7.”
“Then isn’t there a chance that the military is engineering the disease to become a weapon?” Kreuk frowned as she looked at Jared and Jensen. “I know I sound paranoid but the thought of anything that deadly in the hands of the military, even ours, well … makes me nervous.”
“It’d be suicide,” Jensen said. “There is no cure, no vaccination, nothing that can prevent the disease from liquefying the human population if it gets out. I’m sure there are madmen who would try but we know better.”
“Do you feel the same?” Ventimiglia asked Jared.
“Yes, and I trust the military personnel who has access to my work. Hell, I trust them with my life on any given day when we’re abroad.” Jared glanced at Jensen and added, "You have to have good people working with you when you're facing a contagion like Ebola. It's single-mindedness in surviving is astonishingly pure and nearly unstoppable."
“Sounds like you respect the damn thing,” Ventimiglia said.
“We do,” Jensen said. “You have to. Otherwise, we shouldn’t have any access to the virus.”
“Fear and respect,” Jared said. “It’s a good combination when working against an enemy as deadly as this particular virus.”
“Okay, enough talk about work. Let’s get down to real business. What are the odds that Belichick didn't sell his soul to win the Super Bowl?”
Mike’s question raised a healthy bout of laughter and soon the talk of lethal contagions was eradicated from the dinner table.
Prologue, Part II
Pairing: JA/JP, JP/OC
Rating: R for violence and language.
Warning: AU
Disclaimer: Complete fiction, and I'm hoping it stays that way.
Summary: The hemorrhagic fever has been discovered in Western Washington. The team assigned to stopping this virulent disease discovers not only was the plague deliberately introduced to the human population, but it may have been the government that began the tragedy.
Main Post
Day One
Washington, DC
Dr. Jared Padalecki checked himself once more in the hotel's full-length mirror as he and his brother, Jeff, waited for the elevator. What he saw should have pleased him, but he was too numb to appreciate his impeccable reflection.
“Are they here?” Jared asked, tucking the trophy under in arm in order to adjust the gold cufflinks.
His casual demeanor did little to fool Jeff who knew what it must cost Jared to make an appearance tonight. “Yeah, Miller and his team checked in three hours ago.” Jeff paused for a moment as he saw his brother’s hazel eyes dim as memories once again clouded the man and his judgment. “Jared, if this is too much I can take your place and make excuses for you, seriously.”
“So the rest of the world can laugh behind my back?” Jared hissed between his teeth. “Fuck that. I will face the calculating bastard and hand him the goddamn award even if it kills me.”
“It just might if you don’t watch your blood pressure.”
The worried but humorous comment made the younger brother smile. “Thanks, but I have to meet them sometime and tonight is as good as any.”
Jeff reached out to still Jared's hands which were still fiddling with the cufflinks. "What really happened between you and Jensen?”
Jared refused to make eye contact as he said, “I was going to make our relationship official when I got back from Hong Kong. I came home and discovered he wanted to break it off. And I knew he was serious because he'd moved out while I was gone. Six weeks later, I got a request from Miller's lab for information on Jensen. That's it: there's nothing more. A two year-year relationship down the fucking drain without a chance for me to ask Jensen why.
“And now I have to give Miller the very award I myself was hoping to win this year.” Jared flipped the small but heavy trophy in his hands. It gleamed in the light, daring him to throw it into a garbage can or, better, out the hallway window.
“For God’s sake, there’s next year.”
“Not the same, I wanted it this year because I was in the same running as Miller. And the only reason he won is because of Jensen. He discovered the protein fragment and my lab didn't have a chance after that.”
“Jared, give me the goddamn thing. I’ll go…”
“No,” Jared replied, his grip tightening around the crystal chalice. “I have to. It’s been three years and I have to move on.”
“The rest of the world thinks you did. You’ve been very successful in fooling them.”
“I don't much care what the rest of the world thinks.”
“That’s incredibly strange thing to say, especially someone in your profession.”
Jared chuckled mirthlessly then threw an elegant shrug off his muscled frame. “Maybe that’s why I do what I do. This conversation is getting neither of us anywhere. Let’s go.”
Dr. Wentworth Miller eyed his partner warily as Jensen tossed back the third champagne glass in less than thirty minutes.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“Nervous as all hell, but I'll survive.” Jensen took a shy glance around the sumptuous ballroom. “Is it always this posh?”
“Always. The Kittering Foundation doesn’t do anything by halves. Smile, try to enjoy yourself,” Wentworth said as he gently bumped his shoulder against Jensen's.
“I rarely attend functions like this. Usually, the room’s filled with tired and harried people wanting to get to the free food and coffee…”
Wentworth laughed, a genuine full-bodied laughter that attracted a great deal of attention in the sedate room. “To tell you the truth those are more interesting for me too, but we won the award this year and we have to accept it.” He gave a fond glance at Jensen. “Are you ready? To face him again?”
Jensen shrugged and fiddled with the empty glass in his hand. “I think I am. I just wish they didn’t make him give us the damn award. I can’t imagine Jared appreciating the irony of it all.”
“He’s a grown man; I'm sure he can appreciate irony. Besides, I must admit I’ll enjoy taking it from him.”
Jensen gave an irritated glance towards his boss. Wentworth gave a slight wink in response. He then scanned the room and immediately caught the on-lookers trying to act disinterested.
“I see we’ve got quite an audience already.” Wentworth couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the gawkers and wondered what they would do if he suddenly broke into a soft-shoe routine complete with grandiose arm movements.
“I noticed that as soon as we came through the doors.” Jensen immediately caught the familiar tall figure as Jared entered the ballroom from a private entrance located in the back. For a moment he couldn’t breathe; he forced himself to look away and discovered Wentworth studying him.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made you come,” Wentworth said, genuinely contrite at the stressful situation he put Jensen in.
“Don't concern yourself with this. It’s not your fault everything is such a mess between me and him.” Jensen took a long look at his partner. “By the way did I tell you how amazing you look in a tux? Why is that such a surprise?”
“Maybe because most of the time I’m in space suits, breathing through a filter and doing a bloody good job of mimicking Darth Vader?”
Jensen bit back his laughter but his eyes shone clearly with amusement.
He’s happy, Jared thought, and he isn’t faking it either. Miller must be doing something right. Not that I give a shit. Still, it’s something to see Jensen happy again. How long has it been since I’ve actually seen him smile in public?
Feeling the acid of failure bite into his bones, Jared turned to the attendees sitting at his table and began his own conversation.
Neither he nor Dr. Ackles betrayed any hint of emotion though the rest of the guests were constantly on the lookout for some visible reaction from either of them. They also kept a close scrutiny of Dr. Miller who cheerfully said little and left the art of conversation to Dr. Ackles: a man whose many talents did not include the gift of gab. So, in spite of having the pleasure of sitting with the recipient of the award, the guests at that particular table found themselves bereft of interesting topics and were forced to strike up shallow conversations with each other.
Wentworth waited patiently as the function progressed while peeking glances at Jensen who became paler as the speakers droned on. In the hopes of improving his friend's mood, Wentworth whispered his opinion on the evening so far. “Overcooked vegetables, undercooked beef, and a ham for a speaker. Marvelous.”
Jensen had to place a napkin over his mouth in order to prevent himself from spewing out the wine he just sipped. Suddenly, he became still as Jared took his place on the podium.
“It is a great honor for The Kittering Foundation to present…”
Jensen didn’t hear the rest of the speech as he imagined just for a little while what it was like when his life was consumed by that man. Jensen believed those years to be the happiest of his life. But he was also practical enough to accept the fact that most good things came to an end, and usually very messily. Jensen turned to Wentworth and placed a congratulatory hand on his shoulder; an elegant and intimate gesture as Wentworth rose from his chair and strolled up to the stage to take what was rightfully his.
Day Two
Bellevue, Washington
“We’re taking you to the hospital,” Hunter shouted as he wrestled his older brother into the car.
Bill screamed, “I want to be left alone! Why can’t you leave me the fuck alone?!”
The yelling between the two men and Melanie's cries of distress prompted a worry neighbor to phone the police. They responded in less than five minutes, and before the hour was over Bill was forcibly strapped into a gurney with Melanie by his side as the ambulance roared its way to the hospital.
“It's the fever,” Melanie tried to excuse her husband as Peter, an emergency tech, vainly tried to calm down her restrained husband. “Bill isn’t like this; he’s really a kind and gentle man.”
Before Peter could say anything, Bill coughed up a thick blackish red mixture of blood, mucus, and tissue. It splattered everything and everyone around him. The driver nearly swerved onto oncoming traffic as the people in the back screamed in shock.
“Fuck!” Peter yelled as a glob of vomit hit him squarely in the eyes. “Faster, the man’s crashing!”
The driver gave a single nod and gunned the pedal while Peter called the hospital to upgrade the incoming patient’s condition to critical. The hospital team was waiting for them on the curb and immediately began the procedures required in such a critical scenario. The nurse who tried to insert an IV into Bill’s veins had to be replaced by another as she could not do her job properly. Every time she pierced his skin, blood poured out and it did not stop. In fact, even the specialist had to stop as the skin tissue around the punctures ripped open, allowing even more blood to escape.
At the end of this horrific emergency there were more than sixteen medical personnel involved, out of which five did not have gloves when they came into contact with Dr. Bill Coughlin.
Kathy Ostrovsky closed her eyes and firmed up her resolve. The last conversation she had with her best friend and neighbor, Lucy Jorgensen, scared her as Lucie ranted for over two minutes about how disgusting her son's habits had become. Kathy dialed her friend's cell then hung up when it rolled right into voicemail. She then called the house.
"Hello?" a scared young voice answered.
“Rory, can I talk to your mom?” Kathy asked Lucie’s son.
“Mommy’s asleep, she’s not feeling well.” The boy's whispery voice was thick with tears.
“Rory, are you okay?”
There was an audible sniffle and then the child began to cry. “Mommy yelled at me. She said it’s because of me she’s sick.”
“Oh sweetie, I’ll be there in a second!”
Kathy hung up the phone and dashed out the back door. She knew Lucie was ill, but what worried her most was what Rory had said. Lucie doted on her only child and would never say anything hurtful unless she was laboring under an outside influence. Kathy wondered if the drugs her friend was taking for her flu could be the reason for Lucie's bizarre behavior.
“Rory?” she shouted as she entered the house, using the kitchen door which was usually kept unlocked during daytime.
A small blond head peeped around the entrance to the den. The woman gave a warm smile and opened her arms. Without hesitation the boy ran into the protective grasp and wept bitterly. Kathy said, “I am sure mommy didn’t mean what she said. Let me go upstairs and check up on her. You stay here and wait for me?”
The boy nodded and sat on a kitchen stool. Kathy watched as Rory's thin shoulders drooping noticeably and wondered when was the last time he had eaten a decent meal.
“Lucie!” Kathy shouted as she went up the stairs, “It’s me, I got worried…”
The smell hit her first: a mixture of odors she could not define.
“Oh my God…” The words escaped from Kathy involuntarily as she opened the door to the master bedroom.
The lab results of the autopsies performed on the monkey came back but nobody was in the lab to receive them. So the envelope sat unopened in the mail basket as both Dr. Bill Coughlin and Dr. Lucie Jorgensen were too ill to come to work.
Later that afternoon, two more monkeys died.
“What the hell happened?” Dr. George Rodriguez asked Dr. Schmidt, the attending on duty when William Coughlin died. Dr. Rodriguez was assigned the unenviable duty of taking charge of Coughlin when he was admitted the night before, and after stabilizing his patient he had gone home only to be called back three hours later with the news of Coughlin's death.
Dr. Rodriguez drove through three red lights in order to get to the hospital on time. The autopsy was already scheduled and he wanted to personally oversee the transportation of the body and be present during the autopsy.
“I don’t know,” Dr. Schmidt responded, his exhaustion masked by his fear. “He went into shock and all his organs failed almost simultaneously. To tell you the truth I think he’s been crashing since he was admitted last night.”
Dr. Rodriguez’s beeper went off, giving the doctor a nasty shock. “Don’t go anywhere.”
He walked out into the hall and used a phone in the nurses' station: Dr. Rodriguez had no desire to touch anything in Coughlin's room.
“Rodriguez here.”
“We’ve just got another case down at emergency. The situation is almost identical to that of Dr. Coughlin's,” the nurse explained in a panicky tone. “The patient is another doctor named Lucie Jorgensen. Her neighbor, Kathy Ostrovsky, found the woman in a pool of blood…”
Dr. Rodriguez could still see Coughlin's corpse from where he was standing. "Isolate her. Did anyone come with her? A family member, perhaps?”
“Yes, Dr. Jorgensen has a son. He's here with the neighbor.”
“Don't let them go. Lie if you have to. I…” A crashing noise from Coughlin's room attracted his attention. “I’ll call right back.”
Dr. Rodriguez nearly collided with Dr. Chang when he ran into the room. His longtime mentor, Dr. Martin Chang, was surrounded by manila folders scattered all over the floor and around his feet, but he didn't seem at all aware of the mess as he was solely focused on the corpse.
“Marty, what’s wrong?” Dr. Rodriguez asked. The hunched form slowly turned to him.
“Where are his files?” Dr. Chang whispered, his face sickly pale with spots of sweat dotting on the flabby cheeks and the greyed temples.
“I think they're at the nurses' station," Dr. Schmidt answered. "Why do you ask?”
“I was a medical student in 1967, and during that summer I had an internship with my father who worked as a physician and researcher for Behring.” Dr. Chang pointed to the corpse and said, "That's Marburg. I'm sure of it."
“Marburg,” Dr. Rodriguez echoed, and felt his knees weaken. “Oh My God, no.”
“Who else? Is there anyone else?” Dr. Chang asked, his voice rising to an unnatural pitch.
“Yes, another patient just arrived and her son. They’re both downstairs.”
“How did they get here?”
“Ambulance. A neighbor found…”
“Don’t let any of them leave the building. And the same goes for the any medical personnel who came into contact with them.”
“Sir, with this patient … he crashed last night on the sidewalk. There was a great deal of blood loss,” Dr. Schmidt informed the venerated neurosurgeon.
“How did they clean it?”
“Probably hosed it with a mixture of water and disinfectant.” Dr. Schmidt began to feel the hot loosening feeling in his bowels and wondered if he was going to be able to hold it until he went to a bathroom.
“Not good enough, not nearly enough. We need to bleach the whole block as soon as possible. This patient, did he bleed on anyone?”
“Yes, the ambulance workers who brought him in and his wife were covered with blood. The man vomited his esophageal lining during the ride,” Dr. Schmidt answered.
“Find them, bring them in here but don’t tell them why. Just say the patient had AIDS. That should scare them well enough. Where’s the wife?”
“I sent her home,” Dr. Rodriguez answered.
“Good, hopefully she went straight home. Get her back in here. Tell her we need to talk to her about her husband. What’s her phone number? It’ll be better if you do it, George. It will look more innocent that way,” Dr. Chang said. "The last thing we need is to create hysteria. We have to contain the situation as much as possible. And that means getting everyone who came into contact with these people isolated quickly.
“Do you know if Coughlin's wife went to work this week?”
“Not as far as I know. She told me she was on vacation. They were getting ready for a big visit from the patient’s brother,” Dr. Rodriguez answered.
“Where is the brother?” Dr. Chang asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Hunter whispered, holding Melanie in his arms. “I’ll talk to them myself. You’ve gone through enough.”
The widow gave a sobbing nod and stumbled back into the house. Hunter was going to drive to Portland and break the horrible news to his parents. He decided it would be best if he told them of Bill's death instead of a phone call.
Hunter was still unable to comprehend his brother's awful and swift end. He thought it was a scene straight out of some second-grade medical thriller. A memory tried to scratch itself free but Hunter was too tired to think, much less focus on a hazy suspicion. As he drove through Bellevue he noticed a Starbucks located across the street from the mall. He bought a venti coffee for the drive. As he hit I-5 South, Hunter started thinking of ways to break the news that would inevitably shatter his parents.
Washington, DC
Jensen openly admired the coolly elegant women strolling by the café as he finished his meager dinner. How come he was able to memorize the Periodic Table at age six but unable to get a single fashionable ensemble together? He took another embarrassed glance at his mucky Levis, clean but faded plaid shirt and the hopelessly yellowed white T-shirt he dragged through four assignments in Africa and Eastern Europe. I'm in my thirties and I still look like a starving student, he thought deprecatingly. Then he gave a large mental sigh when he caught the sight of a hole on the tip of his left sneaker and his large toe poking through.
“I thought you decided to quit caffeine.”
Jensen coughed into cup and looked upwards until he caught Jared’s laughing eyes.
“I really wish you wouldn't sneak up on me,” he said truculently and then felt foolish for sounding so defensive and unreasonable.
“I wasn’t sneaking up on anyone. I called out your name twice but you were too busy examining your big toe. By the way, do you want to go shopping for a new pair of shoes? You always were a little helpless in the retail department.”
The offer was innocent enough but the barb behind the words was sharp and made its cut. However, Jensen didn't take offense; he knew where his forté lay, and shopping was a skill he was completely incapable of mastering. Its end result had always been atrocious, not to mention expensive for Jensen. So, he depended on kindness of friends and relatives during Christmas to supply him with suitable clothes.
“No, this is good enough for me,” Jensen responded, but his look of envy belied the answer.
Jared was dressed impeccably; black suit with a dark blue shirt which complimented his tan. Expensive silk tie to wrap up the whole outfit and cufflinks gleamed from his wrists, and Jensen knew by experience Jared looked this good starting at six in the morning. He sighed into his cup and took a long, dragging sip, hoping the silence would drive Jared away.
No such luck.
“This is an honest question: how hard is Miller making you work, Jensen? I don’t see you in any of the conferences. All I do is read about your work and an odd interview here and there.”
“We’ve been busy,” Jensen answered reluctantly. “The lab’s been taking up most of my time.”
“Of course,” Jared said. “Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to reveal Miller’s secrets.”
Jensen didn’t continue the conversation in the hopes of discouraging Jared from staying any longer.
However, Jared was not about to acquiesce to his desires. He knew his presence made Jensen uncomfortable and he wanted his ex to suffer.
Jared studied the freckled face and felt something in him wane a little more. In spite of his behavior, Jared was still very much in love with Jensen. He knew that was half the reason why he cheated behind Jensen’s back; a part of him wanted the relationship to self-destruct because it was becoming so serious. The other half was the fact Jared panicked and tried to grasp the last heady flavors of bachelorhood before he felt the gates of monogamy close behind him.
Before Jared could say another word he spotted Miller approaching the table. He saw the look of relief pass over Jensen’s face and momentarily felt bitterness overwhelm him.
“Good evening Dr. Padalecki,” Miller said and sat down next to Jensen.
“Good evening Dr. Miller,” Jared responded as coldly and formally as his rival.
Jensen sat between them, feeling like a wounded soldier caught in the crossfire between a Sherman and a Panzer. He took a deep breath to make some half-hearted attempt to begin a conversation, but Jared stood up before he could get a word out.
“Well, I hope your time in DC will be as fruitful as last night. Take care, Jensen.”
Jensen’s rolled off Jared’s tongue with such intimacy Jensen found himself blushing.
Wentworth stared at the departing man but wisely refrained from asking any questions. He could see the raw emotions behind Jensen’s eyes and had no desire to aggravate the old wounds. Instead, he offered to have a cup of coffee alongside Jensen and both soon ended up chatting amiably about everything except Dr. Jared Padalecki.
Jared returned to his loft and wondered if he could ring Katie and ask her to join him for a nightcap. The thought was relinquished without a fight as he admitted she would be a poor substitute for Jensen, and he wasn’t so cruel that he would inflict such knowledge on his ex-girlfriend. Katie was still hopelessly in love with him and was all too willing to accept the emotional scraps he cast towards her direction. Feeling even worse than before Jared tried to drown his turbulent emotion in alcohol. Thirty minutes later Jared admitted that he had failed miserably. He finished the bourbon in one swallow before getting ready for bed. However, instead of moving he continued to sit in the semi-darkness.
Why can’t I get over him? It’s been years but I still feel like it was today he left me.
The answer eluded him. Three years had passed yet Jared couldn’t see to its end, no matter what stood between them. He slowly undressed himself and climbed into the shower, ignoring his answering machine which held no less than eleven messages, three from Dr. Martin Chang.
New York City
October, 2002
Dr. Jared Padalecki looked around the ballroom, mentally calculating the amount of funding he could possibly raise and silently rejoiced when he was sure he could hit up at least two million dollars. Being the winner of the Mutter Award for Scientific Research definitely had rewards beyond international recognition.
Samantha Ferris slid next to him and whispered, “I see dollar signs all over the place.”
Jared lowered his head and said, “I see we’re thinking along the same lines.”
“Hard not to,” Ferris replied breezily. “Being the financial advisor for your lab gives me little choice but to find ways to pay for all our next paychecks.”
Jared grabbed a canapé as a tray floated by. “Tonight will make it a lot easier.”
Ferris clinked her champagne glass against his. “Amen to that.”
“Where’s your boyfriend?” Jared asked.
“Late, his flight into Kennedy was delayed. I swear, God would get delayed if he were forced to land there.”
“As long as he gets here to enjoy the free food and alcohol. Man, I love an open bar.”
She glanced about the room and said, “They did go all out, didn’t they?”
“Ummm," Jared muttered happily as he took a sip of gin and tonic. Minus the tonic. "All this and half a mil? Won't hear me complain'. Besides, it's pretty damn nice to enjoy something else besides a plaque when you win,” Jared said. “By the way, where’s the poor bastard?”
“Who?”
“The runner-up: the guy who’s going to get nothing but a damn plaque.”
“That would be Doctor Jensen Ackles, and he’s around. I spoke to him earlier.”
“What’s he like?” Jared asked.
“Quiet but incredibly cute in that dorky, scientific way. You can’t miss him. Just look for Mike.”
“Oh God, Mike’s here?”
“Because of Tom,” Sam answered. “You do know that it’s the Welling Foundation that’s sponsoring this, right?”
“That doesn’t automatically guarantee Mike’s presence.”
“It pretty much does, nowadays. Anyway, look for Mike and you’ll meet Dr. Ackles.”
“Do I want to, though?”
She stared at Jared with thoughtful gaze. “I don’t know: maybe not. He might be too much for you to handle.”
“I thought you said he was shy.”
“He is.”
“Then why the hell would I have a hard time handling the guy?”
“Because he’s not your average lab rat. You’ll see what I mean if you bump into him.”
With that final cryptic remark Sam left Jared standing by himself next to the buffet, which he took full advantage of. After eating to his satisfaction, a feat that required two complete tours around the table, Jared set out to meet Dr. Ackles if only to satisfy his curiosity.
After forty minutes of uselessly circulating around the ballroom, Jared dove outside into the cool, wet night. He looked out at Bryant Park and noticed how beautiful it looked in the dark. Of course, being NYC, there wasn’t enough darkness to truly enjoy the romantic air, but the park did lent itself to certain dreamy notions, no matter how trivial.
Jared took a sip of coffee, savoring the rich taste. It was then he realized he wasn’t alone on the balcony. He turned to his right and saw a man standing in the darkness not ten feet away. He was obviously enjoying the same view as Jared was.
“Lovely night,” Jared said.
The man turned to him and quirked a smile. “It is.”
“Hiding from the partying crowd?” Jared asked. The stranger was dressed to kill but it was obvious by his continuous fidgeting that he wasn't used to wearing a tuxedo.
“More like hiding from a certain person who have taken it upon himself to make sure I get roaring drunk tonight.”
Jared’s grin broadened immediately. “Oh, you have one of those friends.”
“Most certainly,” the stranger answered softly before peeking into the room.
“Hey, it’s not that too far a jump to the street.” Jared glanced over the balcony. "I bet you can make it without a problem."
“I was actually thinking about that earlier, but I can’t leave.”
“You came with a date?”
“No, I was stupid enough to agree to give a talk after dinner.”
Jared paused before cautiously asking, “What’s your name?”
“Jensen Ackles.”
Jared closed his eyes and sighed. “My name is…”
“I know who you are. Mike pointed you out earlier.”
“Did he?” Jared asked weakly. “Well, I am going to categorically deny whatever he accused me of.”
Ackles’ laughter was softer than his smile but it was bright. “He thought you were a godsend, actually, Dr. Padalecki.”
“Call me Jared. It’s good to finally meet you.”
Jensen approached him and shook his hand. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you. And before I lose my nerve, I wanted you to know I think your work is amazing.”
“You’ve been keeping up with it?”
“Hard to miss, considering.”
Jared blushed a little. “I still don’t understand why the media’s taken such an extreme interest…”
“Right,” Jensen interrupted, his voice tinged with sarcasm and humor.
“What do you mean?” Jared asked, surprised to find himself suddenly on the defensive.
“You play up your looks and your charisma with the press,” Jensen said. “Suddenly science, especially medical science, isn’t a mystery to the normal Joes and Josettes anymore. It’s sexy is what it is when you’re on CNN and BBC, talking about diseases and preventive medicine.”
“Don’t be shy, tell me how you really feel.”
“Dude, you do it on purpose. Don’t tell me you get insulted because I’m telling the truth.”
Jared studied the man standing not two feet away from him and found complete lack of malice or jealousy. To his shock Jared realized Jensen was telling straightforward truth, nothing more and nothing less.
“Maybe?” he admitted weakly.
“I’m not blaming you,” Jensen added hurriedly. “And I’m certainly not saying it’s bad either. Hell, it’s nice to see someone talk about infectious diseases without looking like he caught a case of it right alongside his patients.”
Jared nearly inhaled the coffee he was drinking. He managed to place the dainty cup on the railing before bursting into laughter.
“I’m not kidding!” Jensen said. “Have you seen some of those pictures in Pathology and Pathobiology? Holy hell, it’s no wonder people don’t want to read about what we do! Not when they have to look at those mugshots. Or look at us while we’re talking on television.”
“You’re not shy,” Jared finally said. “You’re quiet.”
Jensen tipped his head to the side, peering at Jared. “Someone told you about me?”
“Just that you’re the poor bastard who’s taking home a plaque and nothing else.”
“Hey, it’s a classy plaque: real glass, not plastic.”
“Where do you work?” Jared asked.
“UCSD, right now,” Jensen answered.
“You’re leaving?”
“Thinking about it. I thought California would be more my style. As it turns out, it’s not. People are crazy there.”
“Most people who work in our field are off the beaten path.”
“Oh, not them, the people outside the labs. I’ve never met a bigger collection of nutjobs in my life. Seriously, when I found out California is the state with most shrinks, I was in no way surprised.” Jensen paused for a moment then added, “And I hate the traffic.”
“Where are you thinking about going?”
“I’ve gotten few offers in the private sector,” Jensen said. “And after tonight I’m pretty sure I’ll get few more.”
“Ever think about joining another lab?”
“Like yours?”
“Yes.”
“I have an offer from Miller’s in Oxford.”
“You’re not serious!” Jared barked. “You can’t go over there, you’ll be branded a traitor.”
“Last time I checked, we won the Revolutionary War few hundred years ago.”
“Have you met Wentworth Miller?”
“No, can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”
“The man’s a fucking nightmare. Runs his lab like a tyrant and I’m not talking about the velvet-gloved kind either.”
“His publications are uniformly brilliant, though,” Jensen countered. “You have to admit that much.”
“I’m not doubting the man’s a genius,” Jared said. “It’s just that … I think you can do better, and on this side of the pond. Besides, why are you looking at the private sector anyway?”
“With Bush in the White House, the fundings are going to dry up pretty damn fast for us academics. Even you must feel the pinch by now.”
Jared nodded and glanced at the partygoers. “Yeah, I do actually.”
“You’re looking to hit up few of them?” Jensen asked.
“I have to,” Jared admitted with a heavy voice. “We spent money expanding our labs and expected more. But with Clinton gone … well, you know the drill.”
“I do,” Jensen said. “Look, why don’t we go inside so you can do your magic and get the money you need to keep your lab going? I can even introduce you to couple of people.”
“Who?”
“Mike’s brought friends who are even wealthier than he is.”
“Let me guess, his yacht buddies?” Jared shook his head in distaste. "I know them, and the last thing they want is to donate money that won't make them famous or pretty."
“Actually, no. This bunch doesn’t look like they’re the Monaco type. There’s a woman named Kristin Kreuk who’s an heiress and another Milo … Vent … Vent something or another. Anyway, they seem loaded and very interested in what tonight’s about. From what I heard, they actually paid to be here tonight.”
“I'm sold. Lead on, McDuff!”
Jensen gracefully dodged the people milling about with Jared following with some difficulty. He came to an abrupt halt when Jensen stopped and motioned with his head to the right. Jared turned to see Mike chatting amiably with a group of people who looked like they just graduated from college.
Jared smiled when Mike spotted them and waved frantically. He also noticed Jensen starting to slip into the crowd. He smiled, grabbed Jensen by the elbow and whispered, “You’re not leaving me now.”
“Hey, I never said I’d join you in your fundraising venture.”
“Too late,” Jared said as he tugged along the reluctant man.
“And here’s the winner!” Mike crowed as he thumped Jared on the back. “Tom was so damn proud to find out you won this year. Man, he couldn’t stop talking about it.”
“So you all attended school together?” a thin, dark-haired man asked in a polite but curious tone.
“Sorry, introductions all around.” Mike pointed to the questioner and said, “This is Milo Ventimiglia. The lovely young lady to his right is Kristin Kreuk, and the other lovely lady is Kristin Bell.
“And, of course, you all know Dr. Jared Padalecki: tonight’s recipient of the Mutter Award.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Kristin Bell said eagerly. “My brother’s studying medicine at John Hopkins and he’s thinking about entering your field.”
Jared felt Jensen tilt slightly away in order to make his exit. He tightened his grip just a little and said, “Good to know there are people still interested in studying infectious diseases.”
“Exactly what is the breakdown between clinical practice and research in your field?” Kristin Kreuk asked. "From what Mike's been telling us, it seems unbalanced in favor of the clinical side of things."
“Hard to say,” Jared answered. “A lot of people who work in labs also work in clinical settings, ranging from your local hospitals to remote villages.”
“How about just in the States?” Bell asked.
“It depends on the diseases,” Jared answered. “There is a great number of respiratory diseases right here in New York that must be treated.”
“But the really dangerous ones?” Kreuk asked.
“Those we have to go looking for,” Jared answered cautiously, wondering what Mike had been telling his friends. “And that’s a different beast altogether. That takes a different mentality and a unique lifestyle.”
“But that’s what you’re famous for,” Ventimiglia said. “I mean, that’s why you’re receiving the award tonight instead of Dr. Ackles.”
Jared flushed and looked contritely at Jensen who shrugged and said, “That probably does have something to do with it. But my main research is in RNA, the poorer, less-popular cousin of DNA. Just the fact that I got recognized for it was something of a shocker to me, especially when you consider how stiff the field of competition was.”
“Did you think you had a chance to win?” Ventimiglia asked.
“A chance? Sure, but I wouldn’t have bet on myself if that’s what you’re asking.”
Jared’s feeling of discomfort was beginning to hike rapidly. He gave a warning glance at Mike who looked about as happy as he did with the turn in conversation. But before either of them could change the subject Ventimiglia said,
“I was talking to Dr. Miller earlier. He told me tell you congratulations on your work. He thinks what you’re doing is amazing.”
Jensen’s polite smile turned genuine. “You know him?”
“Kind of,” Ventimiglia answered. “My mother established her foundation in London and Dr. Miller’s lab is currently one of the recipients. She thinks the world of him.”
“His lab is churning out papers at an incredible rate,” Jensen said. “I can’t figure out how he does it.”
“Most of it is him, actually,” Ventimiglia answered.
“How is that possible?” Jared asked.
“The man’s a genius,” Ventimiglia said. “And I’m not exaggerating there. I heard he offered you a position in Oxford, Dr. Ackles.”
“As did I,” Jared said smoothly.
Ventimiglia looked at Jared in surprise. “Really?”
“We were talking about it earlier,” Jared said. “Of course, I’m not going to push it any further as Jensen needs time to consider his options, especially after tonight.”
“Damn straight,” Mike said. “And with that, shall we sit? I think the function is officially about to start.”
Jared was very pleased to note Jensen was sitting at his table. With some polite finagling, Jared managed to snag the seat next to him.
“You didn’t offer me anything,” Jensen said discreetly as a small salad plate was placed in front of him.
“The guy was being pushy,” Jared said. “Don’t tell me you didn’t think he wasn’t.”
“No, he was. But now everyone’s going to think I’m going to work for you.”
Jared quirked a grin at Jensen. “Now, why do you think that?”
Jensen blinked nervously. “You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“The subject of my RNA research that got me the magnificent plaque tonight.”
“Um … not really?” Jared admitted sheepishly.
“My topic was the RNA coding of the Filoviridae and its immune-suppressing capabilities.”
Jared’s interest in his food suddenly disappeared. He turned to Jensen and said, “Really? You found it with mammalians?”
“Definitely,” Jensen answered eagerly.
“After this, can you show it to me?”
Jared started to kick himself as soon as his jaw stopped wagging. There were cheap pick-up lines but what just came out of his mouth was more than dirt poor. To make matters worse Jensen paled slightly and his posture tightened.
“I don’t think I’ll be up for anything tonight,” Jensen said curtly.
“Okay,” Jared said and fished out his business card. “Here’s my e-mail and let me write down my cell so you can call me if you have problems. Seriously, that’s something I'm genuinely interested in.”
Jensen took the card and stared at the glossy words embossed on the expensive paper. “It really is fascinating,” he finally said. “And I’ve just gotten started.”
“And UCSD is still willing to let you go?”
“Like I said, RNA is the poorer, uglier cousin: DNA research is all the rage and I know for a fact that they have two researchers already vying for my spot.”
“That’s just wrong,” Jared said heatedly. “Look, I really do want to read your paper, so, e-mail it to me ASAP.”
Jensen openly looked at Jared with curiosity. “I have to ask: did you read any of the papers submitted for tonight's award?”
Jared shook his head. “No, none. I was shocked when I found out I was in the running. The truth is Samantha Ferris, my financial advisor, must have sent in my paper for nomination because I sure as hell didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“I was in the Philippines. There was an outbreak of meningitis and the fatality rate was over ninety percent.”
“That’s high … way too high.”
“Exactly,” Jared said. “Which was why I went.”
“Was it meningitis?”
“It was both meningococcal meningitis and meningococcemia. All the infected tested positive for both. What was worse that it got out into the public because the diseases struck an orphanage.”
“Multiple contacts?”
“And the fact that some families surrender their children to orphanages but visit them, sometimes on a daily basis.”
“Oh, hell,” Jensen said.
“Yeah, we had no idea until we started interviewing the families and found the connection. After that things got simpler. Not easier, mind you, but simpler.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Mike asked from across the table.
“The joys of foreign cuisine,” Jared answered quickly. “Or the lack thereof in some cases. This is damn good food, by the way.”
“Like you’d know,” Mike scoffed. “You’d eat asphalt if you’re hungry enough.”
“He’s a big guy,” Jensen said. “He has to eat to keep up that physique.”
Mike laughed. “Oh you should see Jared after he returns from the field. Nothing but skin and bones. The first thing he does is order two large pizzas with all the toppings. He polishes those off in one sitting with a six-pack. He waits for maybe four hours before ordering enough Chinese to feed an entire platoon. Polishes that off in one sitting. And he goes like that for two full days.”
Jensen looked at Jared with wide eyes. “Are you kidding me?”
Jared shook his head and grinned broadly. “Nope, nothing says home like meat-lover’s pizza and a brewski. Besides, you know Chinese food just goes through you in two hours, right?”
“You’ve been eating bad Chinese food,” Jensen said.
“Be careful there, Jared. Jensen’s a real foodie: goes for the good stuff or nothing at all.”
“Really?” Jared asked.
“Mike’s exaggerating, of course,” Jensen said. “But I like good food. Hell, I’m so busy in the lab that when I do get a chance to actually sit down and have a meal, I’d like to eat something that won't give me cause for regret an hour later.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Mike said. “I still remember the Ethiopian restaurant you took me to. Man, that was amazing stuff.”
“Do you think you could sacrifice all that if you ever got a chance to work outside the lab?” Jared said.
“Outside … like outside in a jungle?” Jensen asked.
“Yep, we’re talking guerrilla country.”
“In a heartbeat,” Jensen answered.
“Why?” Mike asked. “Not that I’m doubting your desire to, but why’d you want to do it?”
“To see,” Jensen answered eagerly. “To actually see how it all starts … where it comes from, how it got here or there, and what it does and doesn’t do in the wild. Diseases just don’t spring up from any old place, Mike. It came from somewhere specific, it hides in something specific. You find its reservoir, you might just be able to find a way to eradicate it forever.”
“You sound like you're fighting a war,” Kreuk said.
“It is, no doubt about it,” Jared said. “Especially the one Dr. Ackles has written about.”
“Which is?” Bell asked.
“Ebola,” Jensen answered.
Mike shuddered in real fear. “Jesus, don’t talk about that while we’re eating.”
“Sorry,” Jensen said.
“It’s that bad?” Kreuk asked.
“Worse, so much worse,” Jared said. “It’s the bogeyman in our world.”
“People, we’re about to have our meat course,” Mike said. “So, can we please switch topics?”
"Meat course?" Jensen asked. "They're actually serving dinner tonight?"
"Of course," Jared answered, smiling at Jensen's confusion. "Why are you surprised?"
"No, it's just that there were huge buffet tables," Jensen answered, reddening quickly. "I thought that was the meal."
"Dude, no," Mike said. "Tom's family makes a fortune selling beef. The Wellings own multiple ranches in Argentina, Brazil, and Hawaii. And they produce some of the best beef in the world."
"Another words, Welling Foundation loves to serve food," Jared added. "So, I hope you checked off the box for beef when you sent back your RSVP card 'cause, trust me, the steak's just out of this world."
"I probably did. I know better than to ask for fish or chicken," Jensen said.
“Speaking of, where's Tom?” Jared asked.
“He’s recuperating,” Mike said.
“What happened?” Jared asked.
Kreuk coughed politely behind her napkin and said, “He tried skiing … naked.”
Kristin Bell starting giggling into her wine glass as her friend fought to maintain her composure.
“Naked?” Jared asked. He turned to Mike and said, “Please tell me you got a picture of that!”
“I most certainly do.”
“Why was he skiing naked?” Jensen asked.
“Because he lost a bet he made with Mike,” Bell said. “It was hilarious. Poor guy, he got sunburned all over, and I mean all over.”
“When did this happen?” Jared asked. “And why was I not invited?”
“It happened last weekend and you weren’t invited because you would’ve done more than just take pictures. Besides, he remembers your last prank so he knows better than to go anywhere with you, at least without an adult present.”
“What happened last time?” Jensen looked at Jared, his green eyes peering eagerly at him.
Jared’s chuckles soon broke into guffaws as he clapped his hands in glee.
Mike was even more amused and it took them a while to get themselves back in control. Mike said, “It was last year. For my birthday we all decided to celebrate at my family's vacation home in Kiawah. Somehow Jared convinced Tom to try on this new sunscreen that he claimed was the newest stuff from Australia.”
“Tom burns pretty badly if he’s out for too long,” Jared said. “So I mixed up my very own batch of sunscreen just for him and injected into an empty tube of sunscreen I bought in Melbourne.”
“He was outside for maybe … what? Thirty minutes? Anyway, he turned polka-dotted," Mike said.
Jensen’s eyes widened comically. “What?”
“Tom was spotted like a leopard. It was friggin’ hilarious.” Jared took a sip of the wine and started laughing again. “The look on his face when he saw what happened to him; oh my God, it’ll be treasured memory forever.”
“For all of us,” Mike added. "I never saw Jeff laugh so hard in my life."
“How did you manage that?” Bell asked.
“Miniscule capsules containing pigmentation that explode when exposed to heat for certain length of time,” Jared answered. “The color was green, if you’re interested.”
“Does it wash off?” Jensen asked. “It had to, right?”
“Yeah, but you need special chemicals. Nothing toxic, mind you, but Tom must have been in the shower for at least three hours, trying to scrub out the dye.”
“Was the pigmentation extracted from plants?” Jensen asked.
“Yup,” Jared said. “Damn pretty shade of green too.”
“Anyway, yeah, after that Tom won’t even take a handshake from Jared.” Mike clinked his glass against Jared’s. “Best birthday I ever had.”
“How long have you guys known each other?” Jensen asked.
“Oh, probably eight years now?” Mike said. “I think.”
“I think so too," Jared said. "My brother, Jeff, introduced me to the wonder twins that are Mike and Tom.”
“Is your brother a doctor?” Kreuk asked.
“Yes,” Jared answered. “Though I know he’s also thinking about going into the private research sector. There’s a company that’s up and coming, and they’re doing some heavy recruiting in his area.”
“What company?” Jensen asked.
“Ignatius, I think?”
“I heard about them,” Bell said. “Big on the Beltway.”
“Department of Defense?” Mike asked.
“Aren’t they all?” she answered. “But yeah, they’re pretty cozy with the DoD.”
“Who’s the CEO?” Jensen asked.
“Someone named Robert Singer,” Bell said. “But from what I heard he got pushed out just last week.”
“What happened?” Jared asked.
“Internal tug-of-war,” Bell said. “Singer started the company in order to focus on genetic research for neurodegenerative diseases. That went for about six years before this latest coup by his CFO.”
“I see,” Jared said. “Maybe I should tell Jeff to do further research on Ignatius before signing any dotted lines.”
Mike nodded in agreement. “Good call. Beltway contracts are nice but they can stick with you for a long, long time.”
“Speaking from experience?” Jensen asked.
“My dad, actually,” Mike said. “He had something going with them from the Vietnam era. It’s just now we’re learning what kind of work he did for them.”
“Did the government ever approach you?” Jared asked Jensen.
“Yeah, probably for the same reasons they approached you,” Jensen answered.
“And what reason would that be?” Kreuk asked.
“Ebola is considered so dangerous that there are only handful of people in the States who are qualified to handle it under laboratory conditions. We’re all screened very tightly on a daily basis, and anyone who manages to qualify gets multiple offers, especially from the government," Jensen explained easily. "Anyway, if something happens the government can definitely reel all of us in at a moment’s notice."
Kreuk looked at Jared. “Same with you?”
“Most definitely,” Jared answered. “Because it could be manipulated into a biological weapon, the government has strict protocols and keep count of who has what. My lab is one of four outside of Maryland that has access to it. And that’s only because we share the lab with the Army Medical Research.”
“And the data, I presume?” Ventimiglia asked.
“Of course,” Jared said. “They have full access to my work, 24/7.”
“Then isn’t there a chance that the military is engineering the disease to become a weapon?” Kreuk frowned as she looked at Jared and Jensen. “I know I sound paranoid but the thought of anything that deadly in the hands of the military, even ours, well … makes me nervous.”
“It’d be suicide,” Jensen said. “There is no cure, no vaccination, nothing that can prevent the disease from liquefying the human population if it gets out. I’m sure there are madmen who would try but we know better.”
“Do you feel the same?” Ventimiglia asked Jared.
“Yes, and I trust the military personnel who has access to my work. Hell, I trust them with my life on any given day when we’re abroad.” Jared glanced at Jensen and added, "You have to have good people working with you when you're facing a contagion like Ebola. It's single-mindedness in surviving is astonishingly pure and nearly unstoppable."
“Sounds like you respect the damn thing,” Ventimiglia said.
“We do,” Jensen said. “You have to. Otherwise, we shouldn’t have any access to the virus.”
“Fear and respect,” Jared said. “It’s a good combination when working against an enemy as deadly as this particular virus.”
“Okay, enough talk about work. Let’s get down to real business. What are the odds that Belichick didn't sell his soul to win the Super Bowl?”
Mike’s question raised a healthy bout of laughter and soon the talk of lethal contagions was eradicated from the dinner table.
Prologue, Part II