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pinkobsessedfreak · 7 years ago

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Epidemic (Dr. Claire Browne x Dr. Neil Melendez) [The Good Doctor]

word count: 11,706

Dr. Claire Browne was stuck. She was stuck mentally, emotionally, and physically. Her research and all the intelligence in her brain still couldn't spit out a cure. She'd been reading for the past couple hours, after going through an orientation session and then being forced into this cell, and still, nothing jumped out at her. All she had managed to get from this research were 3 papercuts and even more questions than what she had started with. The mutation was acting differently than all its derivative viruses, and Claire had not even the faintest of the idea why.

She was at an emotional crossroads, as well. Over the past few years of her time as being a surgical resident, she had developed certain “feelings” for one of her colleagues, feelings she was adamant in believing were unrequited. She didn't know whether to finally admit them, on the small probability that they wouldn't get out of isolation alive and on the even smaller chance that they might have been requited, or to just keep the unneeded and unwarranted feelings to herself.

Claire took a soothing deep breath and looked at her fingers, their bronze tone in stark contrast with the overbearing white of the plastic desk she was at. She inhaled deeply again, trying to relieve some of the anxiety she was getting from being locked up in a box no bigger than an OR. That was the physical aspect keeping her in captivity. She was stuck in a small, stark white room that smelled too strongly of disinfectant and had way too many lights and so little recreational space. The beds were so close together, too. She had never liked sleeping in the same room as other people, even though she had done it an innumerable amount of times. Deciding to take the smallest of breaks in an attempt to alleviate her nerves, she tilted her head to peer over at her colleagues.

Her hazel eyes skimmed over the tiny capacity of the room, landing on the only other female in the room and one whose company she didn’t particularly enjoy. Dr. Morgan Reznick, a woman with one of the coldest of personalities she had ever encountered, was skimming over an article about a certain species of an avian vector of Crimean-Congo hemorrhagic fever. Morgan was a realist, competitive and somewhat cynical. She was the opposite of the stereotype associated with her blonde hair color, her intelligence taunting anyone who dared step in her way. But Morgan was mildly compassionate, and had her moments of exhibiting tendencies that could be interpreted as “nice”.

Dr. Alex Park, the ex-cop who was 17 years her senior and around 17 times less mature than her, even with the 15 years of being a law enforcement officer, was comparing texts from two different analyses she had already read. Alex was observant, his experience in the police force giving him better conclusion-making abilities and analyzation skills. He was also more-or-less of a paternal figure to her, giving her advice in many aspects of her life and helping her with her fair share of problems.

Next to him was Dr. Shaun Murphy, the only resident Claire had gotten very close with, even to the point that she would even call him a brother. He was sweet, kind-hearted, blatantly honest, and one of the greatest people she had ever met. He was scouring over the genetics of the mutated strain, then took a moment to gaze upwards, probably doing a comparison to the known hemorrhagic fever strains. Shaun was excellent at doing vivid medical recall, thanks to his excellent visual-spatial intelligence and Savants syndrome. He was also autistic, just to state it. It wasn’t a detriment to anything that he did.

Lastly, adjacent to her was her attending, Dr. Neil Melendez, one of the greatest cardiothoracic surgeons she had ever seen and probably one of the best ever, period. On first meeting him, you would title him as arrogant and self-righteous. Claire could tell you first hand about how that would seem to be the truth, well, at first. Under that thin exterior of cockiness, however, was the most compassionate person she had ever met. Neil was very tender and caring, as well as humorous and maybe even a little bit intelligent. Just kidding; Neil was one of the smartest people she had ever encountered, although she hated to admit it. His intelligence, or declared lack thereof, was a type of running gag between the resident and the attending.

Currently, Neil was writing something down, his connected and hasty calligraphy proving difficult for her to read. What Claire managed to interpret was in a shorthand that she loosely understood, and what she had decoded didn’t make the least bit of sense to her. She kept up an unintentional stare at the opaque navy ink that flowed from Neil’s pen as he wrote, her mind working hard as she went off and scoured the millions of tangents she had either previously elaborated on or elected to ignore. The random thoughts might be of some help as their research progressed.

The need for all of this research, for all of this isolation and pandemonium, was because of a terrible mutation of filoviral hemorrhagic fever viruses that had escaped a lab in Utah. In a matter of days, the pathogen had infected nearly the entire West coast. Flights worldwide had been canceled, borders had been shut down, and ports were closed off. People showing symptoms of infection were sent off to CDC quarantine stations, where they went to become guinea pigs for treatments and cures. Soon after, they'd most likely die as not many of the treatments had worked. Even with the CDC’s neverending work and superb medications, the mortality rate was still 80%.

No known treatments were working, no matter if they were allopathic, osteopathic, or even homeopathic. Many medical doctors all around the United States; without consideration of their age, current occupation, or specialization, were called in to research. Everyone was working on trying to find a treatment, to find a cure. Books upon books on filoviral hemorrhagic fevers from libraries all around the globe were flown in. Articles with even the slightest mention of a hemorrhagic fever were being carefully analyzed by doctors nationwide.

Claire refocused on collecting her deliberations and began penning them in violet ink when the intercoms blared and paused everyone's work.

“The CDC has declared that the virus has reached an epidemic level. No overseas cases have been reported yet. Everyone remain in your groups and continue working.” A voice boomed over the speakers, one Claire quickly recognized as the director of the board of directors, Allegra Aoki. She could feel the worried tension in the room increase tenfold, no one uttering a word as they tried to refocus on the research they were doing, the only sound being pens scratching on paper and pages being turned.

As the minutes passed, Claire found a path in her mind that seemed off. Something about the text she was reading was different than what she could recall about the derivative viruses’ actions on the kidneys. She pulled out an endocrinology textbook to verify when a person in a white HAZMAT suit knocked on the metal door, it’s unexpectedness breaking her from her absorption of information.

“We've got coffees and small snacks. Dinner will be served in 2 hours.” The man informed them as he passed the drinks and packaged foods through the small cubby hole in the door. Claire could smell the baked goods already, her nose eager to inhale an aroma that didn’t have a hint of ammonia or chlorine in it. Deciphering the odors that hit her olfactory nerve, she recognized the familiar fruity fragrances of blueberries, raspberries, cranberries, and a minuscule hint of orange. Morgan grabbed the pastries and coffees carefully, chuckling quietly at the sight of them as she managed to balance them in her alabaster hands.

“They even got our Starbucks orders right.” She remarked despairingly, her tone conveying the melancholic and hopeless feelings that everyone was clearly suffering. Morgan set the coffees and pastries on the large, white table in the middle of the isolation box. Everything in this room was white: the tables, the desks, the seats, the beds, the sheets, the pillows, the lights, everything. The only bursts of color in this monochromatic scene were the people occupying it, and the medical texts that lay littered across the room.

Claire looked back at the textbook, trying to remember what point she was going to bring out before the snacks were dropped off. The “delivery boy"’s distraction had broken her concentration, though, and the mental path she was taking earlier was long gone. She pulled her lip between her teeth, irritated as she tried to regain her important yet lost train of thought, although her attempts were proving futile. At the sound of something being set in front of her, Claire shifted her gaze to the object, recognizing it as her coffee, and then to who delivered it.

“Caramel Frappuccino with almond milk and an extra shot of caramel,” Neil stated as she looked up, small smiles on both their faces. Claire let out a soft chuckle at the fact that he had remembered her order before grabbing the drink and taking a sip. As she drank the sugary concoction, she slipped into a state of calm. The coffee tasted just like it did when she got it from the Starbucks down the road. Sweet relief coursed through her unnerved being as the sensual stimulus brought her back to secure and good memories. Claire wanted to stay in the soothing entrapment of her mind, reminiscing forever, but she knew she couldn't. Her happiness didn't matter now. The happiness and survival of humanity were all that did. Her mother wasn't wrong when she was said she was selfless. Her mother had said that to her the last time they had physically contacted each other.

“Hmm. Still looking after everyone else but yourself, like you did for me.”

That’s what Claire’s mother had told her, verbatim. Her mother was not the greatest mother when she was raising Claire. She was a bipolar, drug-addicted mess that never wanted a child in the first place. But Claire was always there, through all the moments of betrayal and pain, until she legally didn't have to be. She always nurtured her mother when she was too weak to walk, always held her hair back as she vomited in the toilet from alcohol or withdrawal, always treated her wounds when she came home after being beat by one of her abusive boyfriends. Ever since Claire was young she helped others and would continue to do so until the day she died. Her mother knew this, as did anyone who looked at the young doctor.

Someone called her name, although it did sound quite faint at first. That wasn’t part of the memory. Claire severed herself from her trance, glaring at the source of the noise.

“What?” She snapped, annoyed that she had to have been taken out of her relaxed reverie. Morgan was sitting on her knees in front of Claire, and for one the first times since they had met nearly 3 years ago, appeared compassionate. The blonde set her hand on Claire’s leg tenderly, and the look they shared conveyed everything. Their gazes both held so much pain and fear and worry.

“I know that normal Me would never do this, but we’re both in isolation because of fear of contracting a deadly virus, so I think that the circumstances allow it. I’m here for you, alright? At all hours. Just shake my bunk and I’ll be up, alright?” Morgan offered, and Claire’s mouth fell agape in shock. This wasn’t the Morgan she knew; but then again, Morgan had testified that this wasn’t the Morgan that even she knew. After a few moments of contemplation, Claire shut her mouth, smiled slightly, and accepted the generosity with a nod.

“Thank you.” Claire’s graciousness was genuine, as was Morgan’s empathy when she smiled in return. After Morgan turned her attention back to her texts, Claire shook her head to rid herself of any remaining wisps of her daydreaming. She needed to focus, as this disease wasn’t going to cure itself. She pulled out the book from the top of her requested stack, closed her endocrinology textbook, and delved back into her readings. Her ballpoint pen tip skidded over the words as she read, the magenta-inked nib inscribing connections in the margins as she read.

A hollow knock echoed through the box again, splitting her from her concentration once more. Claire peeled her eyes from her book, her aggravation showing in the intense stare she gave the metal hatch as they placed the packaged dinner in the designated cubby. Alex grabbed the food this time, setting it on his desk as the drinks were delivered in boring styrofoam cups; their names written on the side in crude, black Sharpie.

“At least they spelled our names right.” Alex tried to infuse humor into the situation, grabbing the liquid containers and handing them out. Claire took hers and examined the concoction, cautiously taking a sip. When the Mountain Berry flavor of the-Powerade-from-McDonald’s-that-no-one-gets-but-she-secretly-liked exploded on her tongue, she chuckled and took another sip. They’re probably trying to keep the doctors’ electrolyte levels balanced and their energy storages high. There are only two reasons she can think of as to why they would this: to keep the researchers healthy and mentally fit so the research is at the highest level, or to keep the people healthy and their bodies with enough reserve to battle the virus if they were to accidentally contract it.

Shoving the arbitrary ideas aside, Claire inspected her bagged dinner closely. A cup of applesauce, thin slices of what appeared to be ham and cheese, and a stack of Ritz crackers lay inside the brown paper bag. It felt like she was in elementary school again, sitting at the lunch table with her deconstructed cracker sandwiches after begging her mother and her mother’s boyfriend for weeks to let her have actual food, specifically Lunchables, for school. She physically shook the memory from her head and perched back in her seat, setting the food on her desk. Removing the contents of the bag, she began delicately composing the ham-and-cheese cracker sandwiches as nostalgia poured into her circulatory system like it was oxygenated blood.

“Steve and I ate Lunchables when we ran away. Steve liked the pepperoni pizza. I did not.” Shaun declared as he opened his bag, making the same childish connection as Claire did. She smiled at the detail and popped one of the miniature sandwiches into her mouth, the stressful tension in the room beginning to ease.

“Really? I liked the pepperoni pizza.” Morgan responded as she took a sip of her drink, earning a scoff from everyone except Shaun, who only looked at his crackers before eating one.

“The pepperoni pizza one is disgusting. It’s cold and disgusting and just… ick.” Claire argued, and Morgan just rolled her eyes and chuckled. The room went quiet again, the sound of crunching crackers and the occasional straw squeak filling the anxious silence. She remembered one of the big points from the quote-on-quote orientation this morning; “Cooperation is key”. They were saying that group work gave a more objective view of the data and it might lay the foundation to a quicker path to discovering the cure, no matter how cliched it sounded.

Time passed quickly as they researched, dessert being delivered as well as towels and pyjamas. The towels were simple and white after repeated bleachings, designed to entrap water but be easy to clean and disinfect. The pyjama tops for both genders left little to the imagination, but thankfully the bottoms were loose, although short. Claire presumed that they were made by a lonely man in his research, but no choice was given other than to wear them, so that’s what she would do. She looked at the odd, pale purple clothing, noting that it had a similar design to the construction of the towels but still differed. This fabric was made more for insulation, therefore its structure was more tightly woven, but the cloth it was weaved with remained somewhat the same. It was also vastly different from the towels in one major aspect: the clothes were a shade of lilac, rather than the white-hued eyesore that was the towel and the rest of the room. The pyjamas, although they were risque, were a comfort to her tired eyes.

Claire continued researching as her colleagues began taking showers, trying to learn as much as she could before she was forced to sleep. Sleeping allowed the subconscious to collect itself, per say, and maybe reveal some connections and information that hadn’t been seen in the conscious state. She skimmed her finger under a chain of GGTACs that didn’t align with the opposing CCTTG and highlighted it. It was an impossible mutation, something that wouldn’t occur in DNA‒ ever. What did this mean?

Feeling someone’s hand on her shoulder, Claire looked up from the rest of genetic analysis that she was vigorously poring over for another mistake and faced who was disturbing her research. When she saw who it was, her face shifted from one of annoyance to one of understanding and fatigue.

“Your turn to shower. You’ve got around half an hour.” He informed her and she set her tablet to the side, swinging her legs out from under the table and getting up. As Claire grabbed her pyjamas and headed for the bathroom, it took everything in her being not to turn around and catch a glimpse of him in the tight tee that they were given to wear. When had her wants suddenly become such a priority in her mind? Her desires should have been tossed to the side when this dangerous situation presented itself, so why hadn’t they? Concluding that her tired being was what resurfaced her lust, she zipped into the bathroom and shut the door.

Turning on the shower, Claire stripped as she waited for the water to heat up to her blazing liking and regrettably glanced at the shampoo. She knew that she would have to wash her hair daily like it was her hands when she was scrubbing in for a surgery. It would ultimately destroy her lovely curls and her natural sebum production, but it prevented a buildup of grime and maybe even lowered the chance of infection. Whimpering at the deduction, she remembered that it was for her own good and stepped into the shower.

As the pleasantly scalding water cascaded down her back, Claire felt the tension ease from her rigid muscles as she relaxed. Grabbing the provided shower gel and scrub brush, she got to work at scraping away her dead layers of epithelial cells and other usual grunge. Although the rough bristles were slightly uncomfortable, they were cleansing and somewhat relaxing as the soap lathered them up well enough. When she rinsed herself off, the suds draining away like her current worries, she loaded her hand up with shampoo and started to wash her hair. Once her scalp was cleaned enough to her liking, she rinsed out her darkened umber curls and shut the water off, padding out.

Claire slipped into the provided undergarments and pyjamas and peered at her reflection in the mirror, quickly running her fingers through the damp coils in an endeavor to untangle them. She scrunched as much water from her hair with the towel and set it in a crumpled heap on the floor, kicking it to the side. She opened the bathroom door silently, tiptoeing to her bunk and sliding under the blanket. Hearing a faint buzzing from a mechanization next to her, she peeked over at it curiously. One of the provided bed lights was on, illuminating its owner and the paper he was reading in a dim, milky white glow.

Claire noticed that the article Neil was reading was a small one she had skimmed through earlier. Nothing seemed too pertinent to her, so she passed it off to Morgan. She guessed that the blond had noted nothing of importance in it either and tossed it into the “unneeded information” pile that was forming around Alex’s desk. Maybe Neil had seen something she and the other female resident hadn’t in the text, or he could just be reading it to occupy his mind before sleeping. She had done that a lot in university, having read tons of fluff pieces when her mind was too tired to retain it but needed the stimulation for her nerves before she slept.

“You didn’t miss anything.”

Claire snapped her eyes up from the paper to Neil’s tawny, content face, confused. “Huh?” She asked. Evidently, in her sleepy state, her mind didn’t run nearly as fast as it was when she was caffeinated and fully awake.

“I saw you eyeing the text. You didn't miss anything in it. I just need something to read.” Neil elaborated, glancing over at Claire as she nodded in understanding. He pondered for a second, before shutting off his light and handing her the article. Claire looked at the piece of writing, then back to Neil, still puzzled.

“I’ve seen you on 36-hour shifts. Whenever you get a break, you grab a magazine, sit down wherever you can, and read it till you fall asleep.” Ah, yes, she forgot she did that. Reading had become part of her nightly routine after a long day filled with education; a necessary part of her learning life before she slept. Claire took the article and stared at it momentarily, before gently setting it down on the white floor and shutting off her light.

“Too tired?” Neil asked softly, almost warmly. Man, how tired was she? She chuckled and nodded, although it was unable to be seen by the other party.

“Mm-hmm,” Claire mumbled as she rested her head on the surprisingly comfortable pillow. Hopefully, her sleep would be as cozy as the mattress she was lying on. Relaxing into the bed, she pulled the blanket past her shoulders and shifted onto her side.

“Night Neil.” She murmured as she began to drift off into slumber. She barely heard the mellow, “Night Claire,” Neil said in response but the sound still brought small butterflies to her stomach before she fully fell asleep.

Claire woke up the next morning at the loud sounds of things humming, sounds she placed as a shower starting and the major lights being turned on. Stretching, she yawned and released a noise that sounded like the mewl of a cat. Scratching her dry scalp, she recalled from the CDC instructions given yesterday morning, at the start of their isolation, that she would have to shampoo her hair every morning and condition it once a day. She had elected to condition it in the mornings so that it would be, at least, moderately presentable during the hours that people could see her.

Hopping out of bed, Claire tugged the blanket over the wrinkled bed cover in an attempt to make the bed and fluffed her pillow. Looking over at the still-sleeping forms of Morgan and Neil, she elected to quietly go to her desk and begin doing some more studying of data she had compiled on the 2008 outbreak of the Lujo hemorrhagic fever virus, her genetic discoveries from the previous night having dissolved from her mind completely. She finally made it to her seat minutes later, having to do a wild dance that brought her back to her elementary school ballet days in order to keep quiet and not awaken the doctors near her.

Shaun stepped out of the bathroom, adorned in the familiar navy scrubs that Claire had grown accustomed to over her residency at San Jose St. Bonaventure these past few years. He went to his seat and began researching as well, although his focus was on the recent Ebola outbreak. He had done an enormous amount of studying on the lesser known hemorrhagic fever virus outbreaks the previous day, so she wasn’t phased at his fixation on the most popular of the hemorrhagic fevers.

After doing a couple minutes of analyzation, the temptation to take a shower and get ready for the rest of the day broke Claire’s concentration enough to where she found herself waltzing into the bathroom with today’s change of scrubs in hand. She turned the water on, placing the lever at her preferred yet hellish temperatures, and quickly undressed. She jumped into the water when it was lukewarm and scrubbed her body clean, hesitantly shampooing her limp ringlets once more. Grabbing the significantly smaller conditioner bottle, Claire squeezed a generous amount of its pink, pearlescent contents onto her hand and drenched her curls in the luscious gel.

She reveled in the fragrance of fruity, tropical calm before rinsing out the roseate conditioner and scrubbing her fingers one last time. Stepping out of the shower, Claire wrapped a new towel around her figure and began to dry off. Once she had fully dried off, she slipped her scrubs on and directed her attention to her dripping coils. She rubbed them vigorously with the absorbent cloth and once they had dehydrated enough, she tossed the wet towel to the side and waltzed out of the bathroom.

A sudden ringing from Claire's laptop broke the long silence, startling a sleeping Morgan from her snooze. Claire sat down and reached over, grabbing her shut laptop and yanking it open to see what the disturbance was. Her Skype was ringing with a call from a fellow doctor at Saint Bonaventure, Dr. Katherine Ellis. Claire hastily answered it and soon her screen was filled with the picture of a petite, white blonde young woman wearing amber lab glasses, a bright white lab coat, and sky blue gloves.

“Hey, Claire! How's isolation?” Katherine greeted teasingly, and the collective groan from everyone on Claire's end causes the girl to laugh. Katherine loved to kid, it was one of the qualities that attracted Claire to her in the first place. After a fellow surgical resident and a close friend of hers, Jared, left a few years ago and her mother decided to swindle her out of more money when Narcotics Anonymous failed to help her, a good, jesting friend was what she needed. And it was what she received, it being in the form of a Harvard graduate with the innocence and humor of an 8-year-old and a medical doctorate specializing in Human Genetics.

“I'm just kidding. How's research?” Katherine asked, being somewhat more serious this time around. Claire gestured to the large stack of books behind her and Katherine chuckled. The textbooks basically provided a painful flashback to the stressing days of university for everyone in the room.

“Why'd you call?” Claire inquired, knowing the only reason couldn't have been to check up on research made by a team of surgical residents and one actual surgeon that doesn't have much experience with this type of work. Katherine’s eyes met Claire’s over the screens and then broke contact as Katherine glanced back down at her analyses, a tiny smile on her face.

“Just wanted to check up on you. Doctor Bridgers is considering bringing up some surgeons and surgical residents to perform his previously-scheduled cardiac surgery. I recommended you. You guys are the best.” She smiled as she looked back at the rest of the team. Everyone shied away from the screen, embarrassed at the compliment Katherine gave. Morgan smiled widely, her change in personality evident in her reaction. Beside her, Shaun honestly denied the compliment with a shake of his head, chestnut tufts of hair fluttering in the motion as he did so. Alex humbly and modestly looked away from the screen and refusing the praise, causing Katherine to giggle. Claire was glowing, a large grin on her face as she emanated delight. Neil just smiled, but it was obvious that the compliment meant a lot to him, and to every single one of them.

“We still have a lot to learn,” Claire interrupted their glee, and Katherine laughed. The blonde’s blue eyes flitted to Neil, who wasn't looking at her or the screen. He was, though, attempting to discreetly stare at the curly-haired epitome of a star radiating happiness that was sitting in front of him. Katherine softly snickered before turning her attention back to the uplifting matter at hand.

“Which is why Bridgers wanted residents in on the surgery too. Have them not lose any education time while researching. So he’ll probably choose you all.” As Katherine responded, the door on her side of the stream slammed open and a panic-stricken doctor was at the handle. Everyone's attention shifted to them, and the frazzled doctor tried to catch their breath.

“Doctor Bridgers is down.”

Katherine immediately stood up, ignoring the loud variety of surprised noises from the other side of the screen. “What happened? Did he contract the virus?” She interrogated, and the doctor looked at the video chat, then back to her, their face a mirror of Katherine’s anxious expression.

“Cardiac episode in the contact room.”

Fear flooded Claire's veins when she heard that, her heart skipping a beat. When a doctor was unconscious, they had no control over what they were doing. Therefore, when in the contact room, they could easily do something extremely dangerous that could result in being infected by the pathogen they're in contact with. Although Doctor Bridgers was in a HAZMAT suit, the risk still rose.

Katherine frantically looked at her screen and then shut off the video, presumably dashing off to the incident. Claire closed the laptop and turned to her friends, who all looked just as worried as she did. No more than a few moments of stunned silence passed before the intercom gave off 3 consecutive alarm noises and a voice filled the room.

“Doctors Melendez, Browne, Reznick, Park, and Murphy, are you willing and able to perform a septal myectomy on Dr. Andrew Bridgers, although he may be infected with the virus?” This voice was different than the dominant and feminine voice of Mrs. Aoki; this voice was gruff but womanly, definitely a professional doctor that rose high in the ranks from her stubborn courage and perseverance. Neil looked at his residents, who all gave a supportive nod, then answered.

"We're willing," Neil responded, and as soon as the words had left his mouth, their metal door opened. Outside of their isolation room was a congregation of people in lemonade yellow HAZMAT suits holding equipment the doctors had only used in medical school during infectious disease emergency training. The usual infectious disease drills that are done at San Jose Saint Bonaventure, and basically any hospital, didn't involve the apparatuses seen in the gloved hands of the grouped scientists.

Claire strolled out, everyone else on her tail, her leading the line as they got doused in disinfecting chemicals. She reached the end of the conglomerate of HAZMAT wearers, the last person holding a common pair of navy blue scrubs. She was about to grab the scrubs and walk to a room to change, but the individual shook their head.

"You need to undress here. No other place is available at the moment." Claire rolled in her eyes in contempt, before realizing the pitfalls of that situation. Everyone could see her in the undergarments provided by the CDC, which were again made by a lonely man in research. She could end up seeing the subject of her infatuation in his undergarments. Although the last proposition didn't upset her, it still made her feel like a creep and could make him feel uncomfortable. Claire shook her head and sighed, acknowledging that the event of her getting undressed here was unavoidable.

Claire shrugged her jacket off before wrapping her fingers around the hem of her scrub top. When a curtain appeared between her and Morgan, having been put up by a considerate, understanding scientist, Claire let out a loud sigh of relief. Pulling the royal blue shirt over her head, one of the workers grabbed the article of clothing from her and shoved it into a plastic bag, closing it up and putting it in a basket of other packaged clothes. Claire pushed her pants off and kicked them over to the scientist, who bagged the pants as well. She quickly slid into the new scrubs and waited for instruction, her toes bouncing against the floor in rapid, impatient succession.

"Follow me." A new person, dressed in a neon yellow getup that contrasted vastly against the pale yellow of their fellow HAZMAT-clothed colleagues, ordered. The voice was recognizable, Claire places it as the woman who spoke to them over the intercom a few minutes ago. Claire speed-walked, almost being chased by her coworkers to obey this doctor and match their brisk pace.

They led her to a pristine washroom that was connected to a room she was all too comfortable with; an operating room. Other workers, who were decked out in mint green and held surgical-grade soap and bristled brushes in their hands, greeted them with inviting gestures. Claire walked over to one, who grasped her dusky brown arms and shoved them under a piping hot faucet. They went on their merry way, scrubbing at her arms viciously to thoroughly cleanse them. When they finished, her hands tingled and were raw, but were clean.

Claire headed to the OR doors, where surgical technicians awaited her with proper safety attire in hand. As she walked, they strapped her gown on and slid her hands into the proper cornflower blue gloves. The last person put on her gloves as well as her goggles and tied her hair back before putting it in a surgical cap. The door finally opened, the air pressure difference chilling her face a little as she strutted in. Alex and Morgan were already in there, as well as Neil, who and turned and looked at her, the seriousness in his eyes putting a lock on her distracted emotions. Her brain immediately tuned into the situation at hand and delved back into her surgical mindset.

Claire squeezed into the small space between Neil and Morgan, the blonde looking down at her with offense, but not saying a word. The smirk that rose to Claire's face wasn't missed by her attending, who returned the facetious look with one of his own.

“Alex, you've assisted on one of these before with me. How would you like to be first assist?” Neil asked the male, who looked over and nodded. Claire’s eyes flitted to Neil, flabbergasted; she had assisted on two septal myectomies with him before! Wouldn't he want the resident with the most experience in the matter to be his second on this risky emergency surgery? Neil met her stunned gaze with a near-teasing look in his umber eyes, agitating her even more.

“Claire, you'll be second assist.” He added as Claire released an irritated huff of air from her nose. Morgan quietly snickered and the brown-haired beauty eyed her with a look that could slaughter everyone in the operating room if gestures could murder. She shifted her eyes back to Doctor Bridgers’ iodine-laden skin and watched as the patchy, black ink of a skin-safe marker danced over the proposed incision area. Neil and Alex shared a glance before the younger of the two-handed the steel scalpel over.

“You know how to begin.”

Alex made the first incision, his fingers nearly as steady as wanted in this condition; but as his nerves wracked with fear, his hand minutely shook. Everyone was buzzing with unease, emotions haywire in this tense situation. The ebony-haired surgical resident made more cuts through the subdermal and muscular tissue layers till he reached the sternum and rib cage, Claire taking the bone saw from the pan of surgical instruments and leaning over the body. The blade sliced through the breastbone and retractors slid into her hands as she set the deactivated bone saw down. She pulled the sternum apart, dividing the chest in half and exposing the barely-beating heart. Claire gulped, the weak clenches of the muscle paining all who viewed it.

“Morgan, Shaun, you know the drill.” Neil dictated, and the two residents obeyed his unspoken orders. They installed the heart-lung bypass machine swiftly and smoothly, Shaun not generally affected by the dread and Morgan burying hers with professionalism. Neil quickly went in and began the septal myectomy, dissecting the aorta to gain access to the congealed musculature inside.

“Alex, which part of the pericardium should I suture the aorta to?” Neil asked as he punctured the aortic wall with the curved suture needle. The answer was simple; the pericardial reflection. Claire lost the resentment she didn’t realize she was holding when Alex looked into the cardiac cavity, then back to the cardiothoracic surgeon. She shouldn’t be creating a childish rivalry in this time of distress. Her rationalizations kept blaring in her head when she noted that Alex had answered the question correctly. This was not the place to have a running commentary with her brain but since she was second assist, the team wouldn't really need her to do anything else but observe.

Alex slid a ROSS aortic valve retractor in the size of six into the root of aorta till it hovered above the hinge-point of the right coronary cusp, pulling the interior chambers of the heart into view. Neil looked into the ventricle, then at the gleaming metal of the scalpel he was holding in his gloved palm, before turning to Claire.

“Claire, name the size, location, and depth of the first three incisions I am supposed to perform and I’ll let you make them.” He offered, and Claire’s hazel eyes widened as she floated back into reality. Neil had clearly abandoned the established assist ranks he had established earlier. She lightly shook her head, gathering her clustered thoughts as she expeditiously considered the query. There wasn’t much need for thinking, though, as the answered quickly floated to her amaranth lips.

“The first incision is usually 3.5 to 5 centimeters long and is made parallel to the outflow tract. It’s 2 millimeters below the insertion of the leaflet, at the midpoint of the coronary cusp. It’s also 1 to 1.5 centimeters deep. The second incision is 2 millimeters below the right coronary leaflet hinge and begins at the base of the first, carrying it into the sub-commissural area. It’s 2 millimeters deep. The third incision is also 2 millimeters deep and runs parallel to the second, beginning 2.0 mm below the left coronary cusp hinge and in the sub-commissural area. It ends 4 to 5 millimeters from the mitral annulus.” Claire elaborated, and the proud smile on Neil’s face, although hidden under the surgical mask, is shown in his gleeful, umber eyes.

He handed her the 11 blade scalpel, and excitement ran through her body at the touch of the steel against her covered hand. Claire moved to where Neil had stood just moments before, positioning herself above the open heart as she steadied her hand. She placed the scalpel above the extended muscle and, with great poise, began the first incision. The blade precisely sliced where she had stated it would need to, and soon the first three incisions were done. She glanced back up at her attending, whose attention wasn’t at her, but at Shaun.

“Shaun, go in and create the flap.” Neil directed, and the brunette took the scalpel from Claire and then went in. Minutes passed as he made the precise, 2 millimeter cuts into the left ventricle, Claire holding the gradually-growing flap with forceps. After a long while, the flap had reached the preferred length and thickness of 3.5-4.5 centimeters by 1-1.5 centimeters and was ready to be fully resected. Morgan, as instructed by Neil, was standing flush with Shaun with scissors in hand. She cut away the resection, and Claire pulled out the flap with her clamped forceps. She set it into the bowl she didn’t realize Alex was holding, and Neil trimmed away any excess with the scalpel and extended the resection slightly. He placed any scraps of congealed muscle into the bowl as well, before letting Alex flush the cavity with saline.

“Morgan, how should we close up?” Neil asked as he pulled the various instruments out of the healthy-looking heart. When the surgical resident didn’t answer, Neil peered at her with concern. She was inspecting something in the cavity, clearly having noticed something suspicious. As the rest of the surgical team went to see what she noted, a jet stream of bright, oxygenated blood shot up out of the heart. Surprise locked Claire in her place before confusion and curiosity broke her from her catatonia. Did they mess up? Did she mess up?

“He’s bleeding from his right lung,” Morgan exclaimed as she reached in to plug the superficial wound. The rest of the team shared bewildered and accusatory glares, before leaning in simultaneously.

“Did we nick him?” Alex asked, but the blonde shook her head in disagreement. The puzzled feeling that poked at Claire’s insides grew exponentially. What could be the cause of this unexplained bleeding? One clear explanation broke through her wall of dumbfoundedness, but she refused to consider it seriously. Doctor Bridgers could’ve gotten infected with the mutation and his organs were already beginning to hemorrhage. The surgery had taken hours, the incubation period was just as long. The more she contemplated the cause, the more reasonable it became.

The words were small and quiet as they flew from Claire’s mouth. “He could’ve been infected.” As soon as she said it, they all backed away, hands up, and several HAZMAT-adorned scientists flooded the room from the observation rooms adjacent to the operating room. They pushed the 5 coworkers into a decontamination room, readying the broiling hot showers and disinfectants. Claire knew the routine, shoving her gown off as more workers came in to undress her. They pulled her gloves off, moving up to her facial adornments soon after. The surgical accessories were carefully placed into biohazardous waste containment units, and as the scrubs came off, they were put into them as well.

A few of the employees inspected her almost naked body closely, but the denotation of it being for her safety made the situation less uncomfortable than it could have been. Scrapings of her epithelial cells were taken, as well as cheek swabs and several bodily fluid samples.

“There is an excessive buildup of sebum here. Did you shower today?” Claire overheard one of the scientists asked Morgan, and the blonde shared a worried glance with the curly-haired woman. They both knew the answer to that, but sebum buildup shouldn’t be a worry. Only three viruses had been transmitted via sebum, but one of them was a hemorrhagic fever virus that might’ve been in the concocted pathogen. Crap.

“No,” Morgan answered truthfully, and the HAZMAT suits shifted as the people within most likely shared a similar glance to the one the two women had shared moments before. The surgical team was then promptly shoved into the decontamination showers and handed scrub brushes, the bristles even tougher than they were in the isolation bathrooms. Claire hastily loaded the plastic hairs with disinfectant soap and scratched it all over her body. She slid the brush under her remaining clothes with discomfort, the wet undergarments sticking to her uncomfortably. Nevertheless, she continued to scrub her bronze skin raw, not wanting to contract this disease in the slightest.

When she turned her steaming water off, Claire was handed a teal salve that would aid in the healing of the raw skin and prevent infection. She spread the alginate over her body and rubbed it in like it was lotion, the turquoise gel being absorbed into her smoothly and leaving no perceptible remains. She turned her head to check on Morgan, but was whisked off to a smaller, achromatic cell before she could. Stupid protocol. She was in her own, separate isolation, to prevent infection in the case she had contracted the virus from Doctor Bridgers. A tablet came in from the cubby in the door, her tablet, wrapped in a thin layer of plastic.

Claire grasped the tablet tightly, setting it on the tiny desk in the room and turning it on. On the screen was a vast library of documents about hemorrhagic fever viruses and the new pathogen. She opened one out of habit and began scanning the paper for details she didn’t already know. Everything was becoming repetitive in the articles, the same painful sufferings and death sentences listed in each one as if it was a mantra. A loud voice boomed from the intercom, one that she wished would never have to blare again.

“It has come to our attention that Dr. Matthew Bridgers, during his cardiac episode in the contact room, had contracted the virus. During his several-hour-long emergency septal myectomy, a surgeon on the team, Dr. Morgan Reznick, contracted the virus as well. Dr. Bridgers died on the table. All doctors associated with either of these incidents has been put into individual isolation. Please, continue your research. Find this cure.”

No. No. No. Damnit. No. Not Morgan. God, no! Claire angrily slammed her hands on the desk, whimpering as hot, salty tears streamed from her eyes. Her Skype lit up with a call, and she answered it hesitantly. Morgan popped up on the other end, eyes already seeming puffy and dismal.

“Morgan! Morgan, please tell me it’s not true,” Claire pleaded, pained. The green eyes of the blonde met Claire’s hazel ones, and a barely visible shake of the head made tears begin to pour more violently from Claire’s eyes. Morgan’s cries echoed Claire’s as they both let their emotions out. This couldn’t be happening. Please, God, don’t let this be happening.

“Hey, Claire, please don’t stop searching. Even if I die, don’t stop. We need this cure and you’re… you’re the smartest doctor I know. Don’t tell Neil that.” Morgan and Claire let out a small chuckle at the last comment before the blonde continued.

“You’ve done amazing research before and I really need you to do it again. For me. For you. For everyone.” Morgan uttered with a labored breath as the doctors working with her yanked the tablet from her palms. The Skype call was ended abruptly, and Claire kept looking at the dark indigo screen for what felt like hours.

Her fingers, as if by their own volition, closed out the Skype call and opened more texts to analyze. Claire delved back into her aimless research, to bury out all the pain she was feeling at that moment. This shouldn’t be happening. Stupid Doctor Bridgers. Stupid contact room. Stupid pathogen. Stupid scientists. Stupid Earth! Claire tried her best to drain those exhultations out of her mind as she studied the work, only a stray tear escaping her hazel eyes every now and then.

It seemed like years passed as Claire examined everything she could find and fitted into the routine of her single room, showering twice and eating thrice daily as she was set to research. She focused on the genetics once again, noting even more discrepancies between the alignments of the nitrogenous bases. There was a repetition of either a thymine that paired with itself or with a guanine or vice versa. She had no clue why.

When a Skype call came in, breaking the silence in the small room for the first time in days, Claire wasn’t hesitant to answer it. On the opposite end was a pallid Morgan, unconscious in her bed as the extensive group of doctors surrounding her looked at the screen solemnly. No, this couldn’t be happening. There had to be some fight left in Morgan’s body. Morgan was a strong woman! She may have been a cold jerk but she was also nice and this? No.

“I’m sorry to inform you four that Morgan’s organs have ruptured and hemorrhaged beyond the point of salvageability. There is nothing we can do but wait.” The lead doctor stated, and the sobs were falling out of Claire before she could stop them. Morgan was her friend, no matter how reluctant she was to admit it. Morgan was a good person. She didn’t deserve this. None of the people infected with this virus did.

“Since you have passed the incubation stage for the virus, you will be allowed back into an isolation room with one another.” She realized, amid her weeping, that the others were also on the line with her. When a sudden beeping, one anyone could recognize as asystole, rang out in the rooms, Claire’s gut-wrenching sobs pulled her from her chair to her bathroom. She dry-heaved into the toilet, nothing coming out of her except spit, tears, and sorrow.

When she collected herself enough to where she wasn’t as overcome with nausea anymore, Claire went back to her tablet. It had landed on her bed, screen still on and streaming with whoever was left in the video chat. As she checked, doctors came into her room, protection suits on but not HAZMAT level. Probably level C, she would have guessed, if she were clear-headed. She walked numbly with them as if her movement was a necessity, rather than an obligement. They led her to a new room, one that was still colorless in decor but had friends in it. Everyone was there; everyone except…

Tears still surged from Claire’s eyes in a torrential downpour as she padded to an empty bed, trying to find comfort in the cozy blankets. All she got, though, was tear-dampened sheets and a deafening chorus of whimpers and cries from her colleagues. Of course, the damned voice of the woman she began to despise came onto the loudspeakers.

“We regret to inform you that, as of 25 minutes ago, Dr. Morgan Reznick died at the hands of this virus. Please continue your research and, with all due respect, find this damn cure.” The woman was cut off quickly after that, and everyone looked at each other with heartbroken stares.

“Morgan would- she would want us to keep researching.” Alex tried to stifle the grief that was strangling them all. Claire doesn’t blame him, for he isn’t wrong. But she deserved her time to mourn; they all did.

“I don’t give a damn what she would’ve wanted, right now. You know what Morgan wanted? She wanted a life. She wanted to get married. She wanted to have kids and take them to waterparks and amusement parks. She wanted to go places and save lives and be the best surgeon she could ever be. But you know what she got? A body bag. So, shut up, Alex. Just. Shut. Up.” The words rolled off of her tongue before she could think. This was all a knee-jerk reaction; almost reflexive. But she’d be damned if what said wasn’t the truth.

Alex seemed taken aback by the statement, but acknowledged its truthfulness with a sigh and a small nod as he wiped his face with a tissue. Claire’s anger diminished as she collapsed into another round of blubbering lamentation. Her knees curled close to her chest as her sobbing started to ebb, fatigue taking over her numb grief. She felt someone sit next to her on her bed, and she didn’t have to look to know who it was. Neil wrapped an arm around her and she rested against his side. They cried together. They all did.

When the sound of the showers automatically being turned on entered the room, turning on as an alert that it was time to start getting ready for bed, no one volunteered to go first. After some gentle nudging by her companions, for it was all the retaliation they could muster, Claire took the first shower. It was a quick but effective one, one she would normally take when she needed to rush out and head to a shift when she had slept in. God, how long had it been since things were normal? Had it barely been a couple weeks? It had felt like she had been stuck here for decades.

Claire dressed in the lavender pyjamas she had grown too accustomed to over these couple weeks, stumbled out of the bathroom, and dropped onto her bed. It wasn’t long before she slept, her few dreams either tormented with loss or simply empty. When she woke up the next morning, the showers were on but no one else was alert. She raced to the showers and cleansed her sleepy body, trying to wash the grief from her soul like it was grunge on her body. When her fuzzy brain began to clear, and the events of yesterday crashed down on her like a meteor, she kneeled on the shower floor and cried again.

She hardly managed to collect herself as she crawled out of the shower, only being able to sit up on her knees as she dried off. Claire threw her scrubs on, progressing to standing and stomping out of the bathroom. She barged right into Shaun, who didn’t seem phased at all. Was he as numb as her? Morgan was a rude person, especially to Shaun, but clearly, her loss had impacted him too. He didn’t mutter a word before shutting the bathroom door and leaving Claire, once again, the only one awake in her room.

She pulled out her tablet, in a motion of habit, and turned it on. The screen quickly lit up, the articles she had read hundreds of times still open on it. The genetic anomalies were piling up, too much for it to fit into the margin of error of the analyzation machine. How come no one had noticed this before? Claire zoned back into her work, only being startled by it when someone set breakfast down on her desk. It was piping hot oatmeal, with dried berries resting in it and the smallest specks of cinnamon and sugar along the edges; her favorite.

Claire took the spoon in the bowl and scooped up a glob of oatmeal, popping it into her mouth hastily. The oatmeal was gone in minutes, the usually chatty breakfast situation having completely diminished every since they were split up. Ever since… God, why did everything she thought had to come back to Morgan? She swallowed down a rising cry and went back to work. Everyone was silent, working just as hard as she was. They wanted a cure equally as bad, if not more, than her. They wanted to save everyone they could, and, as Shaun would say, they didn't want anyone else to “go to heaven”. They already lost Morgan; they couldn’t lose anyone else.

The Skype on Claire’s computer rang unexpectedly, and she answered the call with such swiftness that one could mistake it for a cheetah.

“Claire? How’re you holding up?” Katherine was on the other side, of course. Her eyes were puffy, and there barely evident tear trails on her face. Was that how Claire looked right now? The grimace Claire sent back was enough for Katherine to understand the dire pain her friend was going through.

“You can come up to my lab to research. I see how you all are focusing on genetics. That’s my specialty if you didn't remember. I got the Harvard degree to prove it.” Claire groaned at the haughtiness her friend jokingly displayed, and they both laughed a little. The humor was working to lighten the dreary mood somewhat.

“Might want to tune the arrogance down, KitKat, or I could start mistaking you for Neil,” Claire teased, and the unamused look she received from the man in question was enough to make her start laughing harder. It was another joke between all of them. Shaun had called Neil arrogant several times in the first year of his residency, and Claire had since used it to her humorous advantage.

“Seriously, though, my lab is open to you at all times.” Claire stopped her jubilee to ponder the offer, eyeing her other residents and her attending. She could finally see if the machine was just broken, or there was really something going on with the DNA of the virus. She turned back to the computer, her smile smaller on her face.

“I hope you’ve got room.” Claire’s answer caused Katherine to grin, nodding.

“I’ll let them know.” Katherine shut off the video chat, presumably going to tell the CDC to let the surgical team go to her lab. The stampede of scientists that appeared outside of their room in the minutes following the call startled her, but she had begun to get used to the pale yellow HAZMAT suits that always seemed to be in use around her.

Claire was the last one out of the door, her legs having fallen asleep from sitting for too long. She wasn’t allowed to run and catch up; as any uncoordinated, unplanned motion could somehow raise the risk of infection. When she finally got up to Katherine’s room, her coworkers were already in new scrubs and had filed into Katherine’s laboratory. Claire undressed swiftly, slipping into the bright pink laboratory scrubs that Katherine adored. She started putting the extra accessories on, admiring the fact that the genetic lab had so much protection. It could save so many lives. It probably had, so far.

As she was about to finish tucking her curly hair into the laboratory cap, a loud explosion came from the laboratory. The door immediately slammed shut and sealed with an air-lock as Claire ran up to the window. She could see gas being sucked up by a vacuum and her friends on the ground. The loud cursing coming from the other end of the room was barely heard through the metal door and Claire concluded it to be Alex, but as the room cleared up, she saw that it was Katherine. That girl never cursed. What the hell happened?

“Containment! Call containment! Oh-” Katherine was shouting, and Claire tried to tune out the exorbitant list of obscenities that fell from her mouth. Several people ran in through a connecting hallway, scooping up the bodies of her friends and taking them elsewhere. Katherine wasn’t resistant to their prying arms, and her friends were unconscious. Frankly, what the hell had happened?

Claire tried to get an answer out of everyone around her, but they were just as confused as them. A person ran up with a monitor, and on it was Katherine. She seemed nervous and panicky, her eyes darting quickly around the screen and room. When Claire was put into the vision of the camera, the blue eyes of the geneticist locked on her.

“Claire, the virus. It got out. We’re all infected. Your research is right. Go to the 2nd floor. There’s another lab there. Find the cure.” She was quick with her words before the tablet was wrenched from her hands and an IV was shoved in her arm. Claire was stunned, locked in another catatonia. Neil was infected. Shaun, Katherine, Alex- they were all infected. They’re going to die unless she found that cure. She couldn’t lose Neil. She couldn’t lose Katherine or Shaun. She couldn’t lose any of them.

The doctor that had brought the tablet was quick to take Claire to the second-floor laboratory. She was forced into a neon yellow HAZMAT suit, a color to match the fear coursing through her veins. When she finally entered the laboratory, several geneticists turned to her and seemed to almost kneel. Katherine had a lot of woo over these people, or it could be her knowledge in a direction that may lead to a cure. Claire swallowed down her nerves and her worries, and got to work.

“Run an analysis of the DNA again. Identify the base pairs and run a program to find where they don’t line up.” Claire ordered, and they all scrambled to work. She situated herself at a computer, results already popping up on the screen. As the DNA was read, more and more mismatches were found and marked. As befuddled as Claire was, she kept up a serious face and tried to make sense of the thousands of genetic mistakes.

When the examination of the genetic code was done, there were over three-quarters of a billion misalignments. It was unbelievable. The machine wasn’t wrong, so something in the DNA clearly had been. How had they all missed this? She turned to the group of confused geneticists and read their dumbfounded faces. A stupid idea popped into her head, but all of what Claire had been doing so far was off of stupid ideas, so she’d go with it.

“Isolate these mistakes and determine what the bases are made up of.” The words left her mouth dry and sticky, as she realized how idiotic she must sound. It has to be thymine, guanine, adenine, and cytosine, and nothing else. What was her brain getting at?

The geneticists shared skeptical murmurs and gestures between them, but obeyed her demands anyways. As their maspectrometers and other future-esque devices whirred to life and analyzed the nitrogenous bases, Claire impatiently waited in her chair. When the results came in, in the form of cute whistles and beeps, startled gasps filled the laboratory.

“What? What is it?” Concerned, Claire leaned in between two of the geneticists behind her and looked at their computers. On their screens was a chemical compound she had never seen before. And, based on the gaping mouths and the bold, black “NOT AVAILABLE”s on everyone’s screens, neither had they. When a maspectrometer cannot identify a substance, the machine was either broken, or it was new. Considering everyone’s machines said the same thing, the substance they had found was undiscovered.

“What does this mean?” Someone said. It didn’t matter who, as they were all thinking the same thing.

“I think it means that we found the clue we need to get a cure.” Someone responded, and a break in the tension was almost audible as people began to rev up their brains.

“Well, what are we going to name it? Based on its compounds, I say calimine.”

“No no no. It has more carbon. Carbine? Wait, there’s a foreign element in here.”

“Morons! It should be named bonamine.”

“No, there’s already bonafides. Too close in name.”

The arguing kept increasing until someone barged into the room like a hellhound.

“The naming rights belong to Dr. Browne. She was the one that discovered this. I would expect you to focus more on the cure, though, rather than naming rights. You’re acting like children. Start seeing what could remedy this new base.” It was the woman that had been updating them on everyone’s condition over the intercom. When Claire’s eyes landed on the woman, she recognized her as world-renowned CDC researcher, Dr. Madiline Goven. She was an excellent researcher and, as Claire had predicted when she first heard the voice, fought her way to the top.

“So, what’s the name going to be, Dr. Browne?” Dr. Goven inquired. Claire didn’t need to think long about it.

“Morganine.” Claire’s eyes welled with tears as the name slid off her tongue like a sweet candy.

“Okay. Now, find whatever kills morganine.” Dr. Goven’s reply startled some of the researchers, but it became clear with a little bit of thought. Since this new substance, Morganine, hadn’t been found in humans because their A, T, C, and Gs lined up perfectly, they could find something that killed morganine and administer it. It would kill morganine and essentially the virus, and nothing else.

And so the geneticists and Claire went to work. They scoured over everything they could, things that would combat morganine and neutralize it fully. A night passed, then a morning, then another night, and Claire grew exceedingly worried. Neil and her close friends were rotting away in a medical ward, the cure nowhere near to being found. She couldn’t lose him; she couldn’t lose them. All their research was turning up empty, nothing in the system able to combat and fully kill morganine.

As the sun rose on the second day from the discovery, Claire found it. It started with the geneticist next to her spilling his coffee onto her computer and almost short-circuited it. During that moment of fright, Claire accidentally closed off her tabs and the search engine opened up. Her keyboard got hit a few times when the man went to clean off the monitor and processing unit, and a random word popped up.

“Sefylhdyhtlmi.”

It may look like a string of random letters to you, and, at first, it did to Claire. But as she looked at it, she took out a few letters and suddenly an idea popped into her head. Sefylhytlmi was a fictional place in a book series she had read in university, but it was meant to correlate with a place in Denmark, known as Ronne. It was a coastal city on a tiny island in the Baltic Sea, but recently a meteor had struck down there.

On that meteor was something that had supposedly cured a blind man of his ailment; neovascular macular degeneration caused by a mutated strain of hemorrhagic fever that he had contracted in the Congo several years earlier. Before anyone could visit this meteor again, though, NASA and other organizations had collected it and shipped it off to a top secret place for analysis. The analysis had revealed that there was an alien DNA on there that did absolutely nothing to human DNA and simple viruses.

The alien DNA sequence was released to a select few researchers, one being Dr. Goven. They quickly obtained the sequence and ran simulations of it against the mutated virus. It cured it. Then, they ran simulations of it against other hemorrhagic viruses. It cured them. It didn’t cure any other viruses, but it obliterated hemorrhagic fever viruses completely. The geneticists quickly synthesized the alien DNA, and Claire didn’t hesitate to grab the finished specimens and run to the containment ward. She was sufficiently gowned in a neon yellow HAZMAT suit, of course.

No one was stopping her as she released the synthesis, in the form of an aerosol, into the air of the infected room. The effects were almost immediate, the 4 infected doctors almost simultaneous perking up. Apparently, the virus hadn’t liquified their organs yet, and only made them have the common symptoms of the flu. Katherine gave her friend a wink as she yanked the HAZMAT suit off.

“Knew you could do it.” Katherine’s words made Claire’s ears heat up drastically, the happiness in Katherine’s tone making Claire feel elated. She quickly went over to her friend and hugged her tightly.

“Claire? What did you do?” Shaun’s words weren’t interrogating and rude, but rather, merry and curious. She ran over to his bedside and hugged him as well. She was filled with so much joy at the fact that everyone was okay. Shaun, Katherine, Alex, Neil; they were all safe.

“She found the cure,” Alex answered for her. She walked over to him and gave him a hug too. Alex was a little surprised, but patted her back in a paternal fashion.

“Well, that’s great and all, but, Dr. Browne, you should come back here while we clean everyone up.” Claire hesitantly pulled away from the hug and obeyed the voice. She backed into the adjacent observation room and conversed with the doctors in there, who were all in awe of the work she had done. An innumerable amount of questions, compliments, and flat-out hugs later, she was allowed back into the room.

“Well, how’d you do it?” Katherine asked, almost giggly with happiness. It lifted Claire’s already cloud-high spirits to see everyone she cared about alive and cheerful.

“It’s a long story that I’d much rather share when everyone is healthy.” Claire didn’t want to indulge her friends in the long explanation of how she found the cure that would definitely get a few chuckles from them yet. Another doctor walked into the room and nodded at Claire.

“We’re working on that. Every lab in the world is synthesizing the DNA and administering it as quickly as they can. Congratulations Dr. Browne, you saved the entire human race.” Claire felt tears of joy and some sadness slip from her eyes at the comment. She couldn’t save everyone, but she saved multitudes more than they had lost.

“Well, I’m hungry as a bear, so… Who’s up for pizza? I know a great place around the corner!” Katherine broke the silence, and everyone chuckled. They started getting up from their seated positions on the bed and heading for the door, being interrupted by the doctor.

“Well, Dr. Browne can meet up with you later, as she has a press conference to attend.” Claire rolled her eyes, getting a snicker from Neil and Katherine before stepping out of the door. She got another hug from the geneticist and started walking out towards where the doctor was leading her when she stopped in her tracks. Throwing all cares to the wind, Claire ran up to the group as they were heading away, specifically to Neil.

Without another thought, she pulled him down by the collar of his scrubs and kissed him. He reciprocated the kiss almost immediately, and all her worries melted away as her nervous heart started racing for a whole new reason. Katherine started squealing when she saw it, and Claire pulled away slowly.

“I love you.” The words were soft, meant for the other one only.

“I love you too.”

“FOR FREAKING FINALLY!” Katherine shouted as she started hopping around and clapping excitedly. They didn’t have much privacy at this moment, they had realized, but it didn’t matter. The two doctors rolled their eyes in sync and turned to the fanatical, happily raging Harvard graduate.

This was an amazing start to this new, healthier world. And they were going to enjoy every second of it.

#The Good Doctor #melendaire #claire x neil #neil x claire #clairendez #naire #wow this is long #took me forever #but it's hella good #i'm sick as a dog lol

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