Author's Note: Well, so much for the idea of this part of the overall story being a two-parter. It's not yet ready to be finished. Maybe one more chapter after this. Maybe two. We shall see. I had considered briefly splitting this piece off into it's own story, but it still fits the overall theme, and thus it stays. Apologies for allowing my muse to run around unsupervised. He tends to get into trouble at times. I do hope, however, that you continue to enjoy this piece. Thanks for the kind words thus far - they mean the world to any writer, and to me especially.

As with last time, I am not a doctor. I've done some very basic research, but if any medical issues presented herein make you giggle with derision, I do apologize. Go with it, yeah?


Turns out that had Nathaniel Taylor chosen to be a medical assistant instead of a military man, he might have ended up with a very successful career indeed. Over the next hour and a half, as more and more patients are brought in – including Private Reynolds, much to Elizabeth's chagrin – the Commander quietly and quite efficiently acts as her right hand man.

Neither one of them mentions the oddness of him taking orders from her – it hardly seems relevant with so many lives at stake. Privately, she finds that she's even more impressed with this man than she had been before. It's not easy for someone who ordinarily is charged with making decisions to be the one following directives instead. That he takes to it so easily speaks volumes to her about his dedication to both the Colony and to his people.

Especially Lieutenant Washington.

As of yet, the lieutenant's condition hasn't degraded. That's a great sign for her, but also a troubling one in the grand scheme of things. While she and Malcolm have made significant headway – they believe – on figuring out what the pathogen is, they've still having a considerable amount of trouble effectively charting the progression of it.

For instance, Private Alex Dorsey had not been at the bar the previous evening. In fact, his infection point appears to have been the dawn patrol, which had also been staffed by a few soldiers who had been at the bar and not yet become asymptotic. Dorsey had come into the Infirmary less than two hours after likely encountering the pathogen. He'd gone through the full gamut of symptoms before finally succumbing to a massive heart attack, which had killed him.

All in, Dorsey had likely been sick for about four hours total.

Wash and Reynolds appear to be complete opposites. While Wash has exhibited the coughing up of blood, the muscle fatigue and loss of motor control, she's been pretty much static there for several hours. Reynolds, who had been with Wash and other soldiers at the bar the previous evening, has only shown the earliest signs of illness – harsh dry coughing with some spotting.

It's utterly perplexing. Dorsey was healthy, in much the same shape as Reynolds. They'd been around the same age, and both of them had been completely free of major childhood illnesses that could have helped along the pathogen. And yet.

"Doc?" Taylor rumbles from beside her. She startles slightly. A few moments earlier, he'd been over by Wash, checking in on her. He's been doing that just about every ten minutes. Making sure she's still conscious, still fighting.

"Commander," Elizabeth chuckles uneasily. When she looks up at him, she's met with a soft understanding smile that calms her. "How is the lieutenant?"

"She's exhausted."

"I can imagine. But the important thing is –"

"That she's hanging in. Trust me, Doc, I know." He tilts his head and looks at her.

"What?"

"How are you holding up?"

Elizabeth shrugs her shoulders. There are so many things that she could say here, but quite a few of them are tinged with equal amounts of frustration and anger. This man expects better from the people who work for him. "It's been a long day, Commander. And it won't be over until we find a way to stop this contamination from spreading. As we saw with Private Dorsey, the chances are very good that it has already reached its way around the whole camp."

"I know," Taylor replies grimly, his turbulent blue eyes glancing over towards the glass door sealing him into the Infirmary. He'd love to be out there on the outside helping Jim Shannon run down leads on whom Patient Zero might be.

"Even so," she inserts, knowing exactly what he's thinking. "We can't take the risk of sending someone out who we know is infected."

"I know. Okay, what else can I do?"

"For right now? Honestly not much. We'll do another blood run in about forty minutes. Until then, do what you do best, Commander. Be there for your people. They need your strength right now. We all do."


After doing a round of the room, and speaking to every patient that's still conscious, Taylor seats himself down next to Wash again. He does a quick visual check of her, taking in her waxy complexion, the thin layer of sweat coating her, and her clenched jaw. She's clearly in pain, but still refusing any kind of relief.

He reminds himself – certainly not for the first or last time – that she hasn't progressed since having been brought into the Infirmary a few hours earlier. That means she still has more time before the illness becomes truly hideously serious.

"Nathaniel," she whispers, her voice raspy and just barely audible.

"I'm here, Wash."

"I'm okay, sir," she tells him, rolling slightly to look at him. The effort is excruciating for her – every muscle she moves screeches in agony – but she succeeds, managing to lock eyes with him. "I'm still here, too."

"I need you to keep telling me that," he admits, reaching out to take her hand. He's held it a couple of other times, but not like this. This feels like he's holding onto her and begging her to do the same. This tells her that he's scared.

She kind of hates that even if it does accurately reflect her own feelings.

"Not going anywhere, sir. Someone has to cover your six."

He chuckles. "That they do, Lieutenant. I'd probably be dead a hundred times over without you back there."

"Try a thousand."

"You might be stretching it a bit there."

"Towards the low end," she lobs back. That she is still bantering with him gives him tremendous hope.

"Fine, you win," he tells her.

"Like always," she tells him with what might have been a sassy smile had not a tremor worked its way through her frame at that exact moment. She coughs harshly after it passes, her body suddenly bent forward and nearly seeming to shake apart with the effort of each hack.

That's when he notices the change in the way she's coughing.

He turns, finds Elizabeth (who is bent over Reynolds, talking to him) and calls out, "Doc, I need you over here."

Elizabeth looks up at him with sharp alarm in her eyes. She's clearing fearing the worst. As she approaches, her eyes sweep over Wash's doubled over form. She settles a gentle hand on the lieutenant's back. "What's wrong?" she asks.

"The sound of the coughing. Dry before. Sounds…wet now."

She meets Wash's eyes as he says this. Having been a medic for almost all of her time in Somalia, the lieutenant understands what "wet-sounding" coughs mean. Liquid in the lungs or more precisely acute respiratory distress. It seems that finally, after a brief pause in the action, the infection is progressing again.

Elizabeth taps a few keys on the monitors. The sirens hadn't gotten off because Wash's vital signs hadn't declined noticeably, but what she's seeing is absolutely concerning. "Damn," she curses in spite of her best efforts not to.

"It's moving again isn't it?" Wash sighs once she's finally able to lay herself back again. Her chest aches from the exertion of the coughs. She supposes she should be thrilled that she'd been able to force her body forward, but right now, that seems like far too little of a victory to celebrate considering.

"It appears so. I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about," Wash tells her.

Elizabeth just smiles tightly at that. She's heard these words before – knows that Wash has as well. It's what patients tell their doctors around the time they start to think maybe they're not going to make it out of this alive. It's a horrible thought.

"We need to put you on assisted breathing immediately, " Elizabeth tells her, trying to steer the conversation back towards possible treatments. She's dumbing down the terminology, not for Wash but for Taylor, who is suddenly looking very agitated. This man is so used to controlling his feelings and emotions, but he's never really been good about doing that in regards to the people he cares deeply for. Wash is certainly – absolutely - one of those people.

Perhaps, one could argue with some degree of ease, that she is the most important person left to him in this life. His most loyal soldier, his most trusted lieutenant, and most importantly, his oldest and dearest friend.

If she dies today, outwardly, Nathaniel Taylor will most likely do what he has always done – he will stoically push through the pain and hurt and do what's best for the Colony. Inwardly, well Elizabeth can only begin to guess how such a loss will affect him. She's aware of his personal history - mostly through personnel files and interview texts – and knows that he's already lost so much in his life.

Wash nods slowly. She'd love to have the energy to argue, to insist that she doesn't need the oxygen, but she knows her own body well enough to know that what she's feeling right now is very serious. If she's to have any chance at all to survive, then she has to cooperate as much as possible in order to slow this thing down again. It's all about buying just a bit more time really.

Time to find a cure or time to say goodbye.

She feels a soft mask get placed over her mouth and nose. It reminds her of the damned rebreathers that she'd left behind eight long years ago. Almost immediately the mask, which is made up of some weird kind of gel that expertly molds itself to the wearers' face, seals down. She feels the rush of air into her.

As the pure oxygen flows into her, and she feels some sharpness return to her fogged mind, it occurs to her that Nathaniel hasn't spoken for several minutes. Not since Elizabeth had come rushing over. One look up at her commanding officer tells her everything she needs to know, though – right now, he's more scared than he's been since arriving in Terra Nova. For him, facing down Nykos and Slashers and Carnos and even Sixers is nothing compared to sitting at the bedside of a loved one and waiting for them to die.

Even worse when it's someone like her who if they must go should at least be afforded the respect and dignity of dying on her feet.

He's been here before. He'd watched Ayani die so many years ago. And just days before that, he'd watched Wash get med evac'd away from the battlefield. This is hell for him. No, it's a repeat of hell. Right now, he's wondering how much more of this he can take.

Deep in the middle of his thoughts, he's surprised when he feels a slightly calloused hand slide into his own, and then grip it with more strength than he would have assumed possible. He looks up, and smiles slightly when he sees his lieutenant watching him with what he can only describe as annoyance.

"Sorry," he says.

Unable to speak through the mask, she simply squeezes his hand again.


Reluctantly, a short while later, Nathaniel leaves her side to do another round of blood tests for Elizabeth, who has been called away to assist with a patient who seems to be getting very close to the end. All around him, he can hear the sounds of illness and pain. He wonders when that will be him.

He gathers blood from each patient, offering a comforting word to each – or in the case of Corporal Penny, a promise to tell his child how good of a man he was – then runs it through the analyzing machine. He does this task with considerable detachment, the gears in his mind grinding away, searching for a military solution to this problem. That he can do nothing but wait around seems preposterous to him. Unthinkable even. There has to be more that he can do. Has to be.

There isn't, of course. Deep down, even he knows that.

Right now, everyone is waiting on exactly one thing – for Jim Shannon to find out who Patient Zero is and bring him in. Dead or alive.

Shannon has been in touch all throughout the day, radioing in almost every fifteen to thirty minutes without fail. He's clearly worried about his wife, who thankfully hasn't shown any symptoms yet. Each time he initiates contact, he also asks about Wash and Reynolds.

The younger man because his daughter loves him. Wash because Shannon considers her a good friend. The two of them routinely patrol together, handle Colony security problems side-by-side or sometimes just go out drinking with each other. In a way, Taylor almost envies the ease of their relationship. There are no lines to worry about, no protocols or regulations to consider. They can just be perfectly at ease with each other without worrying what others might think.

"Commander," he hears from his side. It occurs to him that this isn't the first time today that he's allowed his thoughts to drift him away from reality. He wonders if that's a little known symptom of the infection. It's been hours since he'd been exposed, and so far, he hasn't shown even so much as a cough. Perhaps the earliest stages are more neurological than physical, he muses.

"Mr. Hawkins?" he asks, glancing in the direction of the bio-bed that she'd been standing at just a few minutes earlier.

"I'm afraid he's passed."

Taylor just shakes his head.

"Commander, how are you feeling?"

"As well as can be expected," he replies, moderately amused that she seems to be thinking about the same thing he is – that he seems just fine.

"So I've noticed. Odd."

"Why's that? You're not showing any symptoms, either."

She simply smiles at him, and he thinks maybe it's a slightly sad one. She then pulls her left hand out of her pocket, and shows it to him. That's when he notices that it's trembling fiercely. "I can't control it," she tells him. "Started about twenty minutes ago. And I've been feeling the muscle fatigue for a bit over an hour now. Seems not everyone starts with the coughing after all."

"You should lie down."

"We both know there isn't time for that, sir," she answers. "I've already lost three members from my medical team. We can't bring in reinforcements. Whoever is in here, it falls to us – and to Malcolm – to find a way to treat this."

"No rest for the wicked."

"I prefer not to think of myself as wicked," she says at him, a smile lighting up her face. He can see the seriousness of what's going on around them burning deep in her eyes, but he appreciates her attempts at levity more than she knows. Much like Wash, it means that she hasn't given up yet. She's still fighting.

"So noted, Doc. As for myself, aside from maybe having a bit of a straying mind today, I feel just fine." He tilts his head. "Could that be a symptom?"

"It's possible certainly, but to be honest, unlikely. It's far more plausible, Commander, that believe it or not, you're simply human like the rest of us, and are therefore allowing your fears to get the best of you. If only for a few moments at a time."

He grunts at that, choosing not to tell her that in his line of work, even a few seconds of allowing such thoughts can end up deadly for everyone involved.

"When's the last time we took a blood sample from you?" Elizabeth queries, choosing to move past the awkwardness of the prior conversation.

"Not since I came in."

"Let's take another now."

"You having an idea?"

"Not sure yet. Right now I'm just mostly curious."

"All right," Taylor nods before sitting down and holding out his arm to her.


The next time Shannon contacts them is about twenty minutes after Elizabeth has disappeared into the lab with several blood samples – including Taylor's. This time, the lone sheriff in Terra Nova has some well-needed good news.

"I think I've found Patient Zero," Jim says, his voice still heavily filtered by the speaker of the bio-suit. He sounds tired, which he probably is. Not only has he been trudging around in a super heavy, super hot bio-suit since just after the sun had come up, but he's also been moving non stop. And he's probably more than a little freaked out by everything he's been seeing.

"Who is it?" Taylor asks as he gets up (after providing the blood, he'd returned to his position next to Wash, who has been staring blearily up at the ceiling, her eyes half-closed but still broadcasting clear fear and pain) and makes his way towards the lab. "Wait, hang on a sec."

As he approaches, he sees Elizabeth bent over a table, speaking to Malcolm via videoconference. All around her are screen and holo-projectors full of the breakdown of various blood samples. Taylor knocks on the door and enters, showing Elizabeth the radio to explain his entrance.

"I'm in with your wife and Malcom, Shannon. Go ahead."

"I was telling the Commander that I believe I've located Patient Zero. His name is Trevor Hannahan. He's on your team, Malcolm."

Malcolm nods. "He's one of my field researchers. He went out to take samples of some of the new vegetation that we found over in the West Valley. But I already checked every sample he brought back, they were clean of all pathogens."

"Don't know what to tell you," Jim answers. "Of the six potential matches – folks having been OTG yesterday and at the bar last night – Hannahan is the only one I've found that looks like he's been dead since early this morning. And people I've talked to seem to remember that he was coughing up a storm last night."

"We need to get his remains here immediately," Elizabeth states. "As well as the clothes he was wearing yesterday. And his backpack if it's around."

"Already in progress," Jim replies grimly. " How are our people doing?"

Taylor exchanges a look with Elizabeth, as if asking her if she's going to tell him the truth about her symptoms. Instead, she, she shakes her head and answers with, "Mark appears to still be steady. The lieutenant…not as much."

"How bad is she?"

"Right now, she's holding steady again, but she is starting to show some of the more dangerous symptoms."

"Damn." Then, after a beat, he asks, "And how are you?"

"We're fine, Jim. Both the Commander and I remain symptom free."

There's a sound like a sharp exhaling of air. "Thank God. All right, I should have Hannahan to you in about ten minutes. And don't worry, Commander, we'll make sure his body is treated with the proper respect."

"Didn't assume otherwise," Taylor assures him. "We'll see you in a bit."

"Yes, sir. Shannon out." The radio beeps and then goes dead.

"All right, what am I missing?" Malcolm asks immediately. "And don't say nothing, I saw the looks you two gave each other. Are either of you showing symptoms?"

Elizabeth and Taylor exchange another look – his plainly stating (ironically) that now is no time for stubbornness. Hers almost insisting upon it. Finally, sounding utterly annoyed, she admits, "I am. But they're mild. And beginning stage. I'm still fully able to function."

Malcolm runs a hand across his jaw, his fingers rubbing against his facial hair. "And if that changes?"

"We'll worry about that later. I'm going to go get ready to receive the body. Can you finish examining the blood samples?"

"Of course," Malcolm nods, looking like there's a lot more that he'd like to say.

"Good. I'll contact you as soon as we have Hannahan's body on an autopsy table." She then leans forward and turns the screen off.

"You should have told him," Taylor says softly, clearly speaking about Jim.

"I know. And if I have to, I will. But I truly believe that the answer we need is in Mr. Hannahan's body. If that's true, and we can find a cure quickly, then there's no reason to worry him. Not right now when the Colony needs him."

She's staring straight at him, practically daring him to call her on what she's saying which is only a few shades off of what he's said at other times. Nothing is more important than the Colony, right? Problem is, just a few hours ago, he'd said to hell with that responsibility and willingly risked infection to go to Wash.

"He's already worried, Doc. We worry about the people we love." She sees him turn his head – whether he realizes it or not – glancing towards Wash. "We might not want to, we may know it's best not to, but we do. We just do."

She reaches out and lightly touches his left forearm causing him to look back at her, "I know," she tells him. "Believe me, I do. But right now, neither one of us has the time to worry about what we can't control. We need to focus on what we can do. Jim has a job to do and so do I."

He's just about to ask her again what he's supposed to do – practically beg her for something to do that will actually help – when a loud siren goes off from across the room. They both snap around, searching out the original.

"Wash," he says, his voice suddenly sounding quite strangled. Even from across the room, he can see the way her body is jumping, caught in the grip of a massive seizure. The two of them cross the room in mere seconds. As they do so, they pass several soldiers – including Reynolds – who stand up to try to see what's going on. They know full well who is lying on that bed, and to a man, they feel the heartache of what their lieutenant is going through.

"Turn her to the left," Elizabeth snaps out as her fingers race over the control panel of the bio-bed, quickly calling up different diagnostic displays. "Gently, don't try to restrain her. We need to let it ride out."

Taylor nods his quick understanding of the direction, his hands reaching out to grip her shoulders and turn her towards the left. It's not easy – she's strong normally, somehow even stronger now. "Easy, Wash, come on now, easy," he pleads, knowing damn well that it's unlikely that she's cognizant enough to know what he's saying. Still, he feels like he needs to comfort her somehow.

After a few more seconds (which feel like a brutal eternity to him), the seizure finally come to a sputtering end and then, utterly exhausted, Wash collapses into his arms, her body feeling practically boneless. He takes note of the way her eyes are rolled back, and the way her chest is heaving with almost violent exertion. He sees the sweat practically pouring down and across her ashy skin. Worst of all, she's still slightly shaking, as if she's suffering through a string of tiny aftershocks. Most likely, her body is simply coming down, regulating itself. She's conscious, but only in the most scientific and literal sense of the word.

"We're running out of time," Taylor growls, his hands still gripping her shoulders, perhaps a bit too hard. Looking down, he sees the tension in his own knuckles, and realizes that it's likely that he'll have left bruises on her skin.

Elizabeth doesn't reply to that, doesn't need to. He sees the look in her eyes, knows that she's thinking the exact same thing. He sees her run a hand – the one that has been shaking badly – through her hair. That's when he notices the beads of sweat forming around her temples. He's about to say something to her about what he's saying when he catches the form of a young medical aide coming towards them, moving quickly.

"Doctor, your husband is outside. He said you're expecting him," the young man states as he approaches. His name is Max Harvey. Vaguely, Taylor remembers him having come over in the 5th Pilgrimage, then only sixteen years old. He notices that the kid seems to be mostly all right, showing only minor symptoms.

"I am," she nods. Then, to Taylor, ""I'll go out to meet Jim." When he looks like he's about to protest, she states, much more firmly. "You want something to do, this is it. Lieutenant Washington means a lot to this Colony, sir. A lot to you. Right now, she needs you far more than I do. And you can help her far more than you can help me. Now, sir, with all due respect, let me do what I need to do, and you do what you need to."

"Copy that, Doc."

Elizabeth nods sharply, then turns to Harvey. Once again, acutely aware that the Commander is hanging on every word she says, she dummies down the medical terminology for his benefit, "The lieutenant just a suffered a grand mal seizure. She's conscious, but still not cognizant of who or where she is. She should start coming back to her senses within a few minutes. If you will please monitor her condition, Mr. Harvey? If you see anything out of spec, let me know immediately."

"Yes, ma'am," Harvey nods and then moves over to take her place at the console next to Wash's bio-bed. He starts checking her oxygen levels and her blood pressure. Everything he can check, he does.

For his part, Taylor has stopped paying attention to both Harvey and Taylor, his eyes now back on Wash, who true to Elizabeth's words, is starting to show signs of awareness. He sees her start to move, her motions uncharacteristically awkward and graceless. She looks a bit like a small child trying to figure out what the hell her limbs are supposed to do.

Then he sees her look up at him, her dark eyes hazy and unfocused, but still clearly frightened. She probably has no idea what's just happened (he recalls from his rudimentary field medical training that seizure victims rarely realize what has just occurred to them), but she seems to know that something is very wrong with her. She seems to understand that somehow or another, she has taken a significant turn for the worse.

And then she reaches up, pulls the gel oxygen mask away from her mouth with her left hand, and whispers, "Nathaniel."

"I'm here, Wash. I'm right here." He moves his hands from her shoulders and clasps them both around her right one, squeezing tight.

"There's something…something I need…I need you to know." she gasps out, her words choked. He has to strain to hear her. Almost unbelievably, he thinks he sees tears shining in her eyes.

"Sir," Harvey says, "We need her to put that mask back on." He's looking down at the screen, frowning as he sees the effects of the loss of pure oxygen on her.

"You heard the man, Wash. Put the mask back on," Taylor insists.

"Nathaniel, please."

He wants to tell her that whatever she has to say can wait. He wants to tell her that there will be time for this later, but as he looks into her hazy dark eyes, and he takes in her complexion (which suddenly seems a bit bluish to him) he realizes that there might not be another chance for this.

"Commander," Harvey starts again.

"Son, is she stabilized?" Taylor asks.

"I'm fine," Wash whispers. Not shockingly, everyone ignores her.

"Mr. Harvey?" Taylor presses.

"Yes, sir, Lieutenant Washington is stabilized."

"Then let them have a moment," Reynolds says as he comes up. He's starting to look a bit pale himself, but considering how many hours ago he was exposed (while at the bar with Wash and a few other men), he's holding up well. When he looks down at the lieutenant, though, his face contorts into an expression of worry and fear. This woman has not only been his CO, but also like a sister to him. She'd taken a liking to him from the beginning, pushing him hard and fast, looking for ways to make him stronger. A better man.

Watching her go through this – even as he knows that this could be him in just a few short hours (or even minutes) – utterly wrecks the young Private.

Maybe Harvey realizes that this is a battle he doesn't want to have or maybe he sees something in both Taylor and Reynolds's eyes that convinces him that arguing with either man right now is in no one's best interest. Either way, after one glance down at Wash (who he's amazed to notice seems to be actually following the discussion with astonishing awareness considering what she's just gone through) he replies with, "Right. Doctor Shannon could probably use some assistance getting the body into Autopsy."

"I'm sure she would appreciate the help," Taylor agrees, the rather unsettling memory of her shaking hands abruptly popping into his head.

Suddenly eager to be aware from these two men who suddenly seem intense, Harvey states, "Yes, sir. " He checks the screen once more, verifies Wash's vitals, memorizes the numbers he sees (Elizabeth will surely want to know them) then moves away, off towards where good doctor had disappeared to.

"Thank you, Private." Taylor says to Reynolds as soon as Harvey is gone.

"Not a problem, sir. If the lieutenant needs anything, I'm right over there." He gestures back towards the bed he'd been sitting on just a few minutes prior.

"Understand."

Reynolds nods, and then almost reluctantly, moves off.

As soon as he's gone, Taylor turns his attention fully to his lieutenant. He squeezes her hand again, and says softly, so only she can hear, "All right, Wash, it's just you and me now. Talk to me."

TBC…