That's right, I have returned.  Months of mental anguish and overdoses of coke (the legal stuff) and sugar have finally done their job and the inspiration has hit.  Actually, I just got tired of not writing anything that even remotely made sense and decided that this writer's block shall not overtake my life. 

Yes!  I shall fight the good fight!

Of course, that means that my other projects shall have to take a back burner - they're used to it as they have been gathering dust for a couple of months - while I try to finish at least one multi-chaptered story.  Just one!

Based on the Quarantine challenge on the NWP board. 

Thanks to romani-princess who betaed this for me.  You're a lifesaver :)

Before I forget, again, I'd like to give a big thank you to Sarah - also known as Llamas in Short Pyjamas on ff.net - who helped me way back when during my first fic, Right Kind of Wrong.  She was a massive help in all things Dark Angel and I am forever indebted for her willingness to answer some irritating questions of mine.  Thanks girl, you're an angel :)

This is dedicated to you, Sarah.

A couple of things before beginning: while this is post LAtR, Biggs is alive.  Lets just pretend it was some other transgenic that met such a horrible fate, shall we?  Why, you ask?  Cause I said so, damnit!  And cause I liked the character, however brief his inclusion was.  Got that?  Fabulous.  Now, on with the story -

Quarantine

Prologue: In Threes …

It is generally acknowledged that everyone has their blond moments*.  The moments in life when the gift of commonsense happens to fly happily out the nearest window leaving the unfortunate soul to deal with matters themselves.  It never works.

That morning, it was Sketchy's turn for a moment.

Honestly, he'd been building up to such a moment for a rather long time.  After a full three days with no mishaps or ridiculous little mistakes, it was natural that he'd stuff up at some stage.

Of course, in light of the manner that these moments liked to present themselves and inconvenient a whole lot of people, it was no surprise that Sketchy chose to partake in this ritual stupidity in the middle of a crowded Jam Pony on a Friday afternoon.

When he breezed into the warehouse holding a slightly battered package, no one thought too much of it.  They were after all employees of Jam Pony Express, a place where such packages were perfectly common.  It was just a normal package.

This was Sketchy's first mistake.

Who knew that such an innocuous looking item would cause so much chaos and confusion.  So many unprecedented events.  Such a great deal of braided hair and impromptu makeovers.

It was a small parcel, the size of a regular paperback book, wrapped in brown paper and tied with off-white packing string. 

And it was leaking.

Right onto Normal's paperwork.  Their bespectacled leader wasn't too impressed.

"What is this?" he demanded, pointing at the offending spill creeping toward a stack of invoices.  He scooped up the papers and hugged them possessively to his chest.

"Some old guy told me we were expecting it," Sketchy shrugged, unperturbed.  "I decided to do him a favour."

Normal gave the box a nudge across the counter.  "Expecting what?  We're not waiting for any packages," he replied, seemingly mystified.  He shuffled through the papers in his hand, looking up every now and then to send Sketchy a scathing look.  Finally, he placed the sheaf of papers on the desk behind him.  "Nope, no expectations.  I think this little treasure can be disposed of."

Sketchy nodded but made no move to pick it up.

Normal picked up the box, almost dropping it again when a rivulet of the clear liquid ran down the inside of his wrist.  By this time, Sketchy had moved away from the dispatcher's desk and was heading off to talk to Alec lounging indolently by the lockers. 

"Hey ingrate," Normal bellowed, holding out the package and attempting to wipe the stuff from his arm simultaneously.  "This goes in the dumpster.  Bip, bip."

He then threw the package, fully expecting Sketchy to catch it before it hit the floor.

The box flew into the air, arched across the floor and into Sketchy's waiting arms.

And then right through.

"Oops …"

This was Sketchy's second mistake.

Sketchy ducked down and retrieved the package.  He took a moment to peer at the label, promptly dropped the parcel back to the floor, and looked up wide-eyed, catching Alec's attention in the process.

"Hey!"  Normal's exclamation successfully shot Sketchy out of his haze. 

By this time Alec had appeared at Sketchy's side and squatted down to examine the source of Sketchy's vexation. 

The address label had already been taken care of by the leaking liquid, the writing already little more than an illegible smudge.  The sticker plastered over the top did not go unnoticed however.

"Oh, fuck …" Sketchy breathed. 

Mistake number three.

The familiar yellow glare of a biohazard sticker - and the accompanying lettering: Property of the CDC, Atlanta.

Alec looked up.  "Um boss, we have a little bit of a problem …"

to be continued …


* no offence intended to blonds :)