Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You lean against your register, sweat cooling between your shoulder blades. Your eyes follow the customer you just rang up, bags of Lysol thumping against their hips as they nearly sprint out of the garden center. The clock says you should have been out of here half an hour ago.

The register light flips off, a chain is clipped across the lane. The gate to the parking lot rattles as you roll it closed before heading inside.

The quiet rumbling of a small crowd wanders over to you as you make your way to the break room. Empty shelves reflect fluorescent lights, washing out the yellowed tan of age.

You fish your phone out of your locker and check the bus schedule as you clock out. March isn't usually chilly but you shiver as you wait for the bus, sending Julian a text.

You: people losing their minds today

Julian was having an easy shift in ER. Well, with the ER easy is just within normal range. And normal range is just no vomit or violence. But he cares more about how quickly that thought became past tense.

He jumps between alcoves, with charms and smiles to help relax and distract patients from blood draws. It's when he ducks down a hall to run his basket to the lab when he hears it first.

". . . received reports of a confirmed case . . ."

A reporter's voice crawls out of the break room as he goes by. Julian pulls up short, taking a few steps back to press the door further open. He can't see the TV, but watches the room full of people whose eyes are glued to it.

"In Prakra Hospital's statement, there are three confirmed cases of the new plague. While they have not disclosed the demographics of the patients, they did share that all three patients had been out of the country in the last month."

Julian's grip tightens on the basket, the plastic handle creaking between his fingers. He spins out of the doorway, continuing his path to the lab.

Every patient he sees for the rest of the day asks if he's heard the news.

Julian was supposed to be off work an hour ago, but had already called to say he'd be late. The hospital was having shift meetings to lay out quarantine expectations, and he didn't know how long it would take him.

Dragon winds around your feet as you put the dinner leftovers in the fridge before circling the apartment with your watering can. You scoop her up and rest her on your shoulder instead of dealing with your adorable tripping hazard.

You hear Julian's car pull in as you set down your watering can. The engine turns off, but instead of a car door you hear your phone ring.

"This plague is going to kill me."

"So far the documented symptoms are . . ."

Julian runs a dry hand over his face, the floor lead's voice droning in front of the crowded room.

"The schedules and rotations will be updated soon to account for the quarantine procedures . . ."

His eyes bore a hole into the clock above the speaker's head.

"Contact tracing should be ready by the end of the week, so just be aware until then." The floor lead claps his hand. "Go home!"

"Just sleep inside tonight and we can figure something out tomorrow." You pace from the kitchen to the couch, phone in one hand and Dragon in another. Malak squawks from his perch. "Yes the cases were at your hospital, yes we need to be careful, but this early on the likelihood of you having actually come in contact is low."

"But it isn't zero! And if you get sick because of me-"

"Do you know how many people bought Lysol at the garden center today? I'm more likely to get sick at work than at home."

Silence hangs. A car door opens.

"Just tonight. So we can make a plan."

Chapter Text

"Everything is already washed. You need masks, gloves? I left some in the room for you. Don't worry about food, everything I make is in batches. I will set some aside for you."

Mazelinka enunciates behind her mask, and you nod at her.

"And don't thank me again for the room!" She waves you away as she shuts the door, leaving you alone in her spare bedroom.

You sigh and set your bags down before peeling off your mask. The room is a decent enough size, smaller than the bedroom in your old apartment but bigger than your old dorm single. Plant motifs and decorations bring a smile to your face, but don't replace Burnie or Beatrice and the others. The drawers of the small dresser are, thankfully, empty. Your clothes don't fit perfectly, but it works well enough to not feel like you're living out of a suitcase. Hopefully, this will only take a month or two, anyway.

It only takes a week for you to realize this will take forever. The garden center had been deemed 'non-essential' and 'too difficult to sanitize'. Your register training got you stuck at the front of the store instead, and you have run out of ways to be polite about 'No we are not hiding toilet paper from you'.

You lay on the floor in the center of the borrowed bedroom, too drenched in sweat to use the bed, too exhausted from another ten hour shift to take a shower. Breathing and the gentle flow of air take all of your focus, eyes closed as you try to maximize both. Something in you aches as Dragon doesn't pounce onto your stomach.

Meows erupt from your phone. You fumble to answer it, eyes still shut. "Hi Portia."

"Are you home for the day, or did I catch you on break?"

"I am unhappily married to the floor, but I'm considering divorce for the shower." A groan escapes as you sit up. "Did you need help with something?"

"Nadi is losing it with nothing to do, and I'm trying to wrangle her away from bad TikTok video ideas." You groan again, both from Portia's news and you standing up. "I've been messing around with this Zoom stuff and think I have it down, but you're the best at picking movies for a movie night." You hum in agreement as you gather shower supplies. "So if you and Jules wanted to join-"

"He's at the hospital." You stiffen, and the words clack out of your mouth. "They're running everyone on doubles."

"Oh." Silence presses against your ear. "Right." You miss phones having static instead of silence. "He always brushes things off, so I forgot..."

Your jaw creaks as you start to speak. "He said they're going to try to stagger people to minimize contact, so maybe after next week he'll have time."

Portia breathes in deep on her side of the line, then you hear her clap. "You and Jules have Tuesday movie nights, we'll just have Saturday movie nights! Not like anyone is going out weekend partying right now."

You bark out a laugh at her determined cheerfulness. "Who needs to party when we can watch Blades of Glory?"

"Exactly! I'll send you instructions on how to use the program, you just get that shower and the movie ready."

You haven't squirrelled away any ice cream in Mazelinka's freezer yet, but popcorn is also good for a movie night. The worry chewing at your gut is quiet enough to tell yourself you're ignoring it.

I hope things go back to normal soon.

Chapter Text

Julian pulls away from the microscope, blinking his bloodshot eye before squinting to scribble in his notepad. If he can get three more samples done, he should be able to go home on time today. Dragon had not been pleased when she found out the new automatic feeder only gave out kibble, and she makes sure he knows it every time he comes home late.

He frowns in concentration, setting up the next sample. At first, he had been happy to get moved to research after spending the first month doing blood draws and direct treatment. Now, he doesn't have panicked patients or grieving relatives, but an emptiness hangs around the lab. Three months in, and the extended research network is yet to find the transmission method, leaving them all stuck at the highest level protocols. The click of the microscope echoes as Julian changes magnification.

If I can just get to Tuesday...

"Sir, all I can tell you is that they send us deliveries every day. I have no way of checking what will be on the deliveries."

The mask covers the flatness of your mouth as you crinkle your eyes to fake a smile.

"I know best practice is to change gloves between each customer, however the store has not been able to source enough gloves for the cashiers to do so. We have been making do with using hand sanitizer on our gloves between each customer instead."

Sweat inside your latex gloves pooles in the fingertips and makes your hands itch.

"Yes, I heard that cloth masks are less effective than surgical and KN95, but the company decided that the branded ones they gave us are part of the dress code. Personally, I wear a surgical one underneath it. They cheaped out on their fabric."

Your eyes widen in horror at a customer two registers down, whose mask is bedazzled netting instead of actual fabric.

"Sir, the distancing tape is marked on the ground. Please wait your turn at the provided mark."

You watch someone pull down their mask to cough into the crook of their arm. Tears well up in your eyes. You don't have a spare mask to change into if this one is soaked, so you blink then away.

Four sugar packets make their way into Julian's second coffee of the day. The break room floor's 6'x6' tape grid leaves him a clear path to the TV. He turns it on, hoping to drive away the eight hours of silence bouncing around his skull.

"-not enough oxygen in the bloodstream when wearing a mask. Readings show-"

He changes the channel.

"-caused by 5G-"

"-toilet paper profiteering-"

"-grocery stores-"

Julian doesn't care if he breaks the power button on the TV. He inhales sharply, then quickly unloops one side of his mask to chug his coffee. In one breath, the cup is empty and the mask is firmly affixed to his face, hiding the grim line of his mouth.

The ten hour shifts catch up to you. You had laid down on the floor to do your back stretches, and now you hear crickets outside the darkened window. Your bones crackle as you sit up to reach your phone.

"Shit, shit, I usually wake up when he blows up my phone-"

No missed calls. Only one message.

Julian: mor smpls in, stayin l8

You sit on the floor of a dark room that isn't yours, your face lit by the glow of a phone screen. No plants, no Dragon, no Malak, no Julian. The stillness settles into you, deeper than the exhaustion. It freezes you.

You: okay, be safe

Chapter Text

A golden prosthetic arm enters frame, a glass water bottle full of red liquid hanging from its pointed fingers.

"It's day four of my pomegranate cleanse, shout out to Praetor Jucies, check out my link-"

Swipe up.

Lucio is reclining on a couch, a podcast mic set up in front of him. His business suit is eye-watering red and lined with a spotted fur.

"The masks and social distancing are just placebos. They distract you from noticing you're sick that way you're more likely to get worse. Then once you're sick enough to be in the hospital, that's when they put the chip in you-"

Swipe up

CG flames autoloop as words slam against the video background. Lucio's voice plays over it.

"If you want to MAXIMIZE your POPULARITY, first you have to MINIMIZE your WEAKNESS. SIGN UP NOW for my digital class of finding and KILLING YOUR WEAKNESS-"

Swipe up.

A golden prosthetic hand holds a pill bottle from the bottom, slowly rotating it.

"This new, exclusive preventative treatment for the Red Plague only uses natural ingredients. Since it's still in the preorder phase, I can't tell you everything, but I did get cleared to confirm that it uses the shell of the Red Beetle, which is high in-"

Swipe up.

You shift your laptop screen, trying to keep the shifting sunset glare off of Nadia and Portia's faces. Mike Meyers gyrates groovily in the smaller window of your screen.

"I'm so glad we managed to stock up so quickly." Nadia talks over the movie, not that you mind. "I was worried about the doordash situation, but the front desk managed to work out a system so I don't have to go down and the driver doesn't have to come up."

"I thought things were going to be slim when I missed out on graduation shoots, but now everyone is using their stimulus money to shop from artists." Portia added on. "Some of my regulars ordered large prints of my nature shots, so it's evening out."

Its not the same type of movie night you're used to, but it's nice to have actual conversations with people. The past few months had been nothing but being treated like a register robot or exhausted grunts with coworkers. Being able to laugh and complain grounds you in a way the physical exhaustion can't. The grating disconnect between them being stuck at home while you only come "home" to sleep and go back to work is worth feeling human.

You know what you can easily agree on. "Did either of you see Lucio's newest tiktok?"

Groans erupt from your computer, drowning out the movie.

"I swear, that guy is allergic to being normal."

You see Nadia nod in agreement on your screen. "That man is willing to do anything to get five seconds of attention. I'm not envious of anyone who has to be in the same room as him right now."

"Me either. On top of his giant head, I bet the only reason he hasn't caught the plague is because he's asymptomatic."

Nadia and Portia hum in agreement, and the movie plays for a bit. Your brain solves a puzzle you didn't know it was working on.

"Lucio is not shagadelic."

You're surprised that the burst of laughter from your speakers isn't accompanied by a cloud of smoke. The movie keeps playing, but the chatter overtop of it continues.

You mute Julian when his snores start drowing out the newt scene on movie night. It's the first time in a month that he hasn't been at work or already asleep on movie night, and the disappointment sits heavy in your stomach. It's not a surprise that he passed out the moment he stopped moving- the bags under his eyes are a mile long- but you thought yearning for him through a screen had ended when you moved to Praka.

Monty Python continues to play, and you try to let yourself enjoy it, pushing out laughs for jokes you usually find hilarious. Your eyes keep flicking to the small feed where Julian's hair is barely on frame, torn between hoping he gets the rest he desperately needs and hoping he wakes up and gives you the attention you need.

Eventually, Malak flies over to Julian's laptop and starts pecking.

"No, Malak, don't, please, stop, Malak!"

Julian's video call hangs up.

Your frustration and loneliness tastes like salt.

Chapter Text

The plastic chair creaks under you as you collapse into it, your legs stretching under the table as your head dips back. Your eyes close as you steady your breathing, the scanner beeps still ringing in your ears.

The garden center didn't sell food. The garden center didn't have to worry about food assistance. You never had to remove bread or cheese from an order because an EBT card balance was low or the new price hike was too high. You miss your garden center. You miss your plants. You miss your cat. Your bird. Your-

A cough tickles at the back of your throat, protesting how far back your head is hanging. You right yourself from your collapse against the back of the chair, clearing your throat and taking a drink to wash away the scratch of talking for four hours.

There's no excuse to stop the tears this time. Your vision swims, melting the warm hues of Mazelinka's spare room. Cool air chills the tears as they coat your cheeks, the sting sharp against the rising heat. You blink and sniffle, but can't bring yourself to wipe the tears off of your face. Instead, your hands are clenched around your phone.

Julian: relief called, stayin 4hr extra

You stare at the cold light of the screen, colors melting and swirling and blinking back into focus. Eventually, the phone screen turns off. Eventually, the sun finishes setting.

You: i miss you

"He cancelled again?!" Portia exclaims from your laptop. "He's only been responding to me every fourth text or so, but I figured he was still actually talking to you!"

"I hope he read those articles about burnout I sent him," Nadia includes while Portia resorts to making clawing motions with her hands. "They specifically warned about how high the rates are for it in medical fields."

You remember Julian sending you a screenshot of the five different articles Nadia had sent him in the span of three minutes. "I think his work sent out an email about it, too."

"Good. He barely knows how to pace himself in a normal situation, let alone a stressful one."

"And how are you so calm about this??" Portia finds her words again in her frustration. "He's barely a human being right now!"

"Portia, I'm barely a human being right now. I've been working fifty hours or more a week for four months now. The only things I do other than run a register is sleep and try to watch two movies a week."

Nadia and Portia both stare at you, lost for words, as Anne Hathaway sings to a room of giants.

You huff out a sigh, scratching your head. "It's not your guys' fault, and watching a movie is better than sleeping." Both of them slightly relax on the half of the screen they take up. "Did you know Anne did all of her own singing?"

"Wait, really?"

Chapter Text

A cough breaks through your nose. You try to play it off as some of your lunch catching in your throat, actively not looking at the two coworkers spread out in the break room. They continue their breaks normally, motion unstopping in the corner of your eye.

The second cough causes them to still. This one is fuller in the throat, pulling your hand up to your mouth before you notice the cough is even there. It is followed by a third, and a fourth, before you catch a breath. You pull your shirt over your nose and abandon your food, leaving the breakroom and your frozen coworkers for the solitude of the employee bathroom.

When the coughing fit finally passes, you catch your breath and wash your face. You have just enough time left to pack your food away and manage to still clock in on time.

Your laptop screen swims and blurs as Deadpool saunters across the screen. You try to blink him and Julian back into focus, but your eyes protest.

"If you're tired, we don't have to watch a movie," Julian offers as you wipe at your eyes. "You shouldn't have to push yourself.'

You get your eyes back together and shake your head. "I'm not tired, I think my eyes are just giving out after staring at the register screen."

"Well, we still don't have to watch the movie." Julian pauses the stream of the movie. "What's the stupidest thing one of your customers said this week?"

"Oh, god, I forgot to message you. Someone at my register tried to sell me Lucio's prevention goop."

"No." Disbelief paints Julian's face. "Someone actually bought some?"

"Oh, more than that. Portia told me that..."

You try to not wipe at your buring eyes as Julian laughs for the first time in too long.

You mute yourself on the call every time you feel a cough coming. Portia and Nadia are deep in consideration of what reality would look like of Spaceballs was right and you could have a recording of "Now" that you could then fast-forward through, and you're certain this small throat clearing will be the same as the others.

The scratch doesn't go away after the second cough.

The fifth cough counts as hacking up a lung.

You raise a hand to cover your mouth, and the call goes silent. You keep coughing into your hand, the breath not catching in your lungs. Portia asks you something. Why are your eyes still burning, coughing doesn't make eyes burn. Being tired and bloodshot can, but not coughing. Why can't you breathe in fully, you need to respond to Portia. She's worried, Nadia is scared, you need to tell them that you're fine, that the new gloves at work are turning your hands red.

It's fine. Everything's good, it's all normal. You need to tell Portia it's fine so she stops panicking. She's calling Mazelinka to check on you. Your eyes won't focus, red is bleeding in from the edges of your vision.

You need to tell her it's-

Julian flips through his most recent data table, his eye scanning for any obvious patterns. Nothing had been obvious these past few months, but maybe today- tonight?- was the day his sleep-deprived, caffeine-addled brain would make the genius connection that would let him hold you again.

He sighs, the sound stealthily spilling past his lips, before shoving off the table to head to the break room.

He's seen you happily exhausted before- the joyful tiredness of helping him pack to move to Praka- as well as being beaten down into exhaustion- work leaving you with every speck of dirt on you weighing a pound. But movie night last week was different. That type of exhaustion-

A nurse rounds the corner on the wrong side. Julian curses into his mask as he pivots and launches his limbs out of the way, desperately trying to stay distanced. The nurse's eyes blow wide as he takes a half step towards Julian to help, before remembering that would be the opposite of help.

"I'm so sorry, I don't usually run into anyone this late."

"I was distracted too." Julian scrapes at the bottom of his charm, but can feel his performance coming off flat. "Just keep the paths in case its a wandering patient next time."

"Yep. Sure. Sorry."

Julian nods as he walks away, trying to use his limbs normally. He doesn't notice the shake in his hands until he goes to open the break room door, his finger banging against the handle. He hisses as he gets the door open, changing the plan for his break.

Julian grabs his bag, quickly eating with one hand while navigating his phone alarm with the other. The adrenaline drains from his system, weighing down his eyelids.

Portia called, I'll have to check that next break.

Julian slogs through the hallway. The nap had been the right choice, the problem was the lack of time to properly take one. The main force keeping his eyes open is the heat of his coffee almost burning his hand through the paper cup.

He just makes it to the lab, cup to counter before the door clicks shut behind him. Julian shakes the heat from his hand as he checks on the delivery of new samples to analyze. It's smaller than the last few 4am dropoffs, a downward trend that has been a fragile hope in Julian's chest. He gets half the coffee down before getting back to work.

Julian stops at the third sample.

Your initial. Your last name. Your birth date.

His fragile hope drowns.

Chapter Text

Julian knows he can't visit you. Access to the lab is already strict enough, and he's dealing with samples, not patients. The Red Plague patient floors are running on actual quarantine procedures, the transmission method still not confirmed despite the Plague having gone on for half a year.

Julian doesn't know if he wants to see you. You had already looked so tired last week. Portia said you had collapsed. To see you intubated, unresponsive, waxy pale with crimson staining your hand and eyes...

He shoves away the image his brain is trying to build. The apartment comes back into focus around him. Dragon and Malak curled together on your side of the couch. His laptop surrounded by an explosion of papers. The dishwasher is running in the kitchen, and Julian hears the beeps of the automatic feeder before the other side of the couch becomes a flurry of movement.

Julian's eyes flick to the time. He wipes at his face and groans. The laptop clicks shut, the research data is stacked in a pile close enough to something organized. His coffee mug makes it to the sink and his head makes it to the pillow for a few hours sleep before he heads back to the lab.

"Portia, I don't have time to join in on movie night this week."

"Jules, you said that last week," Portia complains over his phone. "I even picked a movie you'll like."

"There's just too much going on. One of the centers we're researching with has someone contacting me directly, and I'm re-reviewing our half of the data to follow a lead for them." Papers flutter off the coffee table as Dragon zooms by, chasing her newest toy. "And someone on the development end wants us to track a new symptom so I'm logging in the backdata after sifting for which files have the relevant data. And then-"

"Ilyushka." Portia's voice is harsh, but Julian can hear water behind it. "I know this needs to be solved. I know we want it sooner than later. I don't- I can't-"

Portia pauses, but Julian can't bring himself to fill the silence.

"But I don't want to lose you. And they don't either."

Malak takes advantage of Julian leaning back on the couch to seat himself on his shoulder, his beak carding through the tangled mess of Julian's hair.

"I know," his voice is raspier than before, the tension that had been holding him together collapsing. "I know. Next week will be a month, and we'll know how it will go by then." He closes his eyes against the tears. "Just- just one more week, Pasha. Let me run myself into the ground for one more week, and then I can get myself back together before they come home."

Julian's ears ring in the silence, exhaustion pulling him deeper into the couch cushions.

"You have to promise to movie night next week. Nadia got the fancy DisneyPlus plan so we could all watch Hamilton."

"I promise. Now let me finish today's batch of paperwork so I'll have time to keep that." Julian pulls the phone away to hang up.

"Coffee doesn't count as sleep!!"

"Yeah, yeah," Julian mutters under his breath as he goes to make another cup. Malak stays on his shoulder, cawing when Dragon almost trips him. "Malak, have you finished that report on leeches for me yet?"

Julian's hands shake from the coffee. That's what he tells himself, at least, as the vial of blood rings against the equipment. It's probably true, somewhat, since he lost track of this shift's count after the sixth.

It doesn't have anything to do with you.

Sure, Portia isn't happy that he keeps missing movie night. It isn't his fault that the hospital collaborators needed more data re-entered into the system.

Nothing at all to do with you laying still in a hospital room.

And yes, maybe he can't remember the last time he slept somewhere that wasn't a chair. His break room has a couch, but it's not next to an outlet to charge his phone. Or to keep his laptop charged while he does more outside research.

It's completely unrelated to the fact that everyone who survived the plague started to recover by the one month mark.

No, none of this was related to the five weeks that had passes since he last got to hear your voice, see your face, make you smile.

It's just because he's buckling down on research. It's the data collection and logging that has him at wit's end. It's the tangential historical treatment methods he's reading about that has his wick burning at both ends.

It's just the plague.