Diabolicael, so glad you climbed aboard this slow moving train. Enjoy!

TVChick and MILover? Where have you gone? You are missed.

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Chapter Nine

Natural disasters can often be predicted. Indicators are read by experts, who plot the trajectory and gauge the expected impact. Sophisticated technology is employed with the aim of preventing loss of life. But even the savviest specialist can be blind to the signs. In retrospect, Natalie should consider herself an expert. Based on the compiled information at hand, she should have predicted the interruption and countered it with her own biological equipment. Hope had blinded her and now she was left to assess possible damages. Her inner instincts should have been employed, at least to save herself.

In essence, she should have known.

Tornadoes, born from thunderstorms, must be Director Ewing's spirit element because the woman certainly knew how to rain on Nat's parade. 'Black Cloud Kate' had touched down in what should have been an expected trajectory, aimed at destroying their night's future activities. And Connor had been forced to depart, heeding the call of a new case. He'd have to familiarize himself with the case's particulars rather than become acquainted with her… particulars. Her only consolation was that Stephen hadn't gone willingly.

"That black hole you mentioned?" He'd quipped, looking down as if it waited beneath them. "Apparently it takes you to NIH."

"Kate?" It had been a mock, not a question. There'd been no doubt. "The tornado strikes."

Stephen's sigh had been a terminal pronouncement on the evening. "Too bad we can't drop a house on her."

The conversation was recalled in the relative safety of the team's plane. Rumbling through the lower atmosphere, the engines complained about the new retrofits tampering with its perfection. The shuttering of the passenger hold was hardly unusual, but her seat seemed to jump on its bolted-down legs more than normal. Perhaps it was just her perception, as her heart was similarly lurching. The morning's meeting had been routine; here's the case, symptoms and suspicions. Diagnosis to follow. Not a moment deviated from the established norm. The patients, they were informed, presented a range of flu-like symptoms, joint swelling and an unproductive cough, a list not dissimilar from many of their easier cases. For this Natalie was grateful. Easy meant quick.

Boarding the plane, talking in rotating pairs and Miles flinching at every noise were all regularly schedules parts of any new case. Natalie alone strayed from the path. Eva noticed, discreetly asking if it was 'that time.' The young woman was herself experiencing the reward of an empty womb with the help of every drug available. A tampon was yanked from the bowels of a designer handbag and waved about as a sympathetic offering, causing a passing Frank to groan. Slapping it away, Natalie explained that she was just having an 'off' day and needed only a few rays of blessed California sunshine. That much had not been promised by their team leader, as recycled air was usually the only oxygen they typically had access to during a case. Tennessee had been a fluke.

Praying to a childhood God that last night didn't fall under that heading, Natalie pressed her body deeper into the seat cushions and let the air current vibrations ease the muscle tension. Looking back on the morning, there were no distinguishable signs of change for the team to notice. Perhaps that had been by design. Why let the group in on something they hadn't sorted out yet? The appropriate medical discussions had taken place around the conference table and they had all departed the building together. She'd made a point of entering the plane first, subconsciously telling Connor that he'd have to seek her out. Which he didn't. And that led to a host of negative thoughts that understandably looked like PMS to others.

Upon landing, two nondescript, black SUV's were parked on the tarmac. As was Natalie's custom, she'd hopped into the passenger seat of the first truck and waited for Connor to join her. Relief that he did was erased when Miles opened the back door, sliding in with no awareness of the daggers flying from her eyes. Damn. To ensure her blood pressure was suitably raised, the young man chatted purposely the entire way to the hospital. Pointless observations of the location and the hopes for a few hours in the surf made her wonder if Miles had been directed to this truck by someone else. A spy or a chaperone, she couldn't be sure. But perhaps suspicions had been aroused by the Tennessee trip and maybe, just maybe, they were in trouble.

The hospital was massive, mistakable for a high-rise with an aim toward touching the clouds. Clearly the architectural stylings of a man struggling with adequacy issues. Most medical facilities enjoyed a profile somewhat lower to the ground and any fear of heights would make this an unsuitable place to work. They were greeted by the highest ranking administrator, who was no less than 70 years old. The woman wore her panic between every liver spot and took them on a direct path to the 5 patients.

"They all just, well, dropped. Within an hour of each other," the administrator explained. "Good kitchen workers. Well, except the one on the end. Teenager, you know. But that's no reason to get hit with this," her hand made a circular gesture, "thing."

Dr. Millengraff looked a bit ill herself, in Natalie's opinion, though not with the symptoms the team was here to diagnose. The old woman kept her gaze on her employees as she spoke, as a grandmother watching over sick grandchildren.

"How did it start?" Connor used a gentler tone with her than he would with most bureaucrats. He must have felt the maternal vibe as well.

"This morning I spoke with the shift manager. He said that yesterday they all complained of various stomach issues." She put a hand on the glass window. "He thought they were just trying to get out of their duties. Any spreadable illness would keep them from working with the food. A few of them tend to be," Dr. Millengraff looked at Connor apologetically. "Well, a little overdramatic. And they're known to socialize outside of the hospital."

Natalie stepped forward. "It's an understandable assumption. They're all so young."

Doing her best to straighten an old spine, the administrator resumed a more professional tone. "After they collapsed, there was doubt they weren't faking it. We thought at first is was dysentery but there was no swelling of the intestines. But when the headaches and joint pain started..." A sad shake of her head dislodged a lock of gray hair from her hastily bound bun. "Tests were conducted which ruled out Hepatitis C and Tuberculosis."

"We'll rerun those tests," Connor directed the order to Natalie, but Dr. Millengraff's immediate frown showed her offense.

"I can assure you that our lab is one of the best in the state."

With all the patience of having explained this during every case, Connor turned fully to her. "My pathologist is the best in the country. We never work from someone else's results."

No matter how many times she'd heard that compliment, it never failed to do marvelous things to her insides. And made her work eight times harder to keep him from being proven wrong.

Heading to the lab required an intolerably long elevator ride. What other hospital in existence had so many floors? A smooth journey it may have been, but the music alone was enough to warrant the building's destruction. A light jazz version of 'Girls just wanna have fun?' Holding no hope for the state of the laboratory, Natalie followed the etched wood placards in the direction of her temporary home. Pushing open the swing doors, her eyes blinked rapidly at the sight. The lab was a revolt against the sterile, bland offerings of most facilities, which made it almost appealing aesthetically. A study in heather gray and mauve, the place looked like it had been featured on a makeover show. Wall hangings, colored vertical blinds and iron work furnishings spoke of an unpractical décor that was somehow incredibly pleasing. The workers, at least, seemed to enjoy their surroundings. Working on laptops while sunken into captain's chairs, two men and one woman looked up slowly, three pairs of eyes taking in their visitor's reaction as though it were a departmental hobby.

Natalie lifted a hand to gesture to her open mouthed expression. "You must get this a lot."

The younger of the two men, a tall and shockingly thin fellow, stood and waved an arm about the room. "You mean the 'where's the white walls and stainless steel' look?"

"That's the one," Nat confirmed as approached the man's desk. "I'm Dr. Durant from…"

"N.I.H.," the older gentleman drew out the acronym like one speaks the name of a personal enemy. Hunched over his desk, his posture was reminiscent of a demented, horror movie mortician. "Come to take over our highly decorated space and then leave it a mess."

And the good feeling that came with the pretty walls vanished. "Actually, I'm here to help your co-workers in ICU."

"Lady, kitchen staff are not co-workers. That's like cozying up to the janitor." The man, whose name tag identified as Dr. Martin Felton-Landers, returned his baggy eyes to his screen, thankfully ending the cheerful discourse.

Dr. Samuel Hinson, who looked all of 25 years old, walked around his desk with a hand extended. Natalie accepted the hand, which was rather dainty. The frail man's grip lacked any real strength; not for fear of crushing hers but as though in protection of his own bones.

He introduced himself as Sammy. "Don't mind Marty. He comes from British stock, so there's a deep-rooted class system going on in his brain."

"I see." Natalie eyed the sole woman among these two polar opposites and sympathized with her nervous exterior.

"My parents were proud citizens of the Queen's empire," the 50-odd year old's conceited tone suddenly held a bit of an unnatural accent. The hyphenated last name should have been a clue.

Biting her tongue to halt any snarky reminders about the outcome of the American Revolution, Natalie opted to simply nod. Dr. Hinson, however, had no interest in letting the man win and gave her an exaggerated wink.

"And you, my friend, were proudly born in Pittsburgh." The reminder shut the old man up nicely. She'd have to remember that.

Natalie requested a place to work and Dr. Hinson showed her to a spot near his own but far from Marty. Still, voices carried in this decked out haven and every mumble against big-headed government agencies and their cheeky women was delivered to her ears. Her laptop was up and running and she began the work of rerunning all tests, departing briefly to collect fresh samples. A crossing of paths with her boss was entirely probable and possibly rewarding. It was all in the maneuvering, this quest for answers. Had anything changed and if so, was that transformation of a satisfactory nature? Only after completing her end of the preliminary phase of testing would she have an opportunity to verify. Although if he wasn't yelling, it wasn't clear how she'd locate him in this maze.

(…….)

As the day wore on, the creative differences in the hospital's construction grated on her nerves. The lab's swinging doors acted as a prop from an old western; bursting open at random intervals with strangers looking for a fight. The techs were apparently backed up and the shaky progress sent the well-tanned doctors into spectacular huffs. California had a special brand of arrogance, manifest in the specialists that practice here. But they did not have her attention. The second round of test results were in and she was documenting every ebb and flow on a graph to find irregularities and commonalities.

Frank had reported from the kitchen, having swabbed every available surface. He'd focused on the patients' work stations, as they held down separate parts of meal preparation within opposing corners of the backroom. Each baggy was carefully emptied, the swabs snipped at the cottony end to be run through its paces. The hospital, sparing no expense on modern furnishings, hadn't skimped on equipment either. Gleaming machinery waited for her use, though a less than welcoming glare from Marty tried to force guilt into every fingerprint she left behind. Documentation in hand, Natalie gladly abandoned the lab to hunt for far better company.

The daydream would have gone thus: finding Connor in an empty room, there would be a resumption of last night's enterprise. Cell phones would be incinerated and blood would boil. The amenity-rich hospital would have large beds occupying every room. And soundproof walls.

Reality went like this: Once Stephen had been located, Natalie found with him nearly every nurse in the place. At least 2 young women to each patient, with a reserve group waiting in the wings and receiving instructions from her boss. It wasn't unusual to utilize excess staff, on those rare occurrences that they exist, to keep watch over the patients for changes. It was, however, abnormal that it bothered her this much. Just a moment alone to utter the question she'd practiced on the walk over was now unattainable.

Eva, seeing her friend hovering by the door, approached and once again mistook Nat's emotional state as requiring Midol. Joining the two women, Miles held up his clipboard with a sigh.

"They can't get their stories straight. It's like they all lived a different day." He sighed. "So Connor's got these nurses doing simultaneous questioning, hoping maybe they'll either start corroborating each other or at least tell more truth to coworkers."

Remembering Marty's stance on what makes a 'coworker,' Natalie wished them luck and marched to where Stephen had been sequestered by the administrator. Dr. Millengraff was unable to comprehend the strategy, apparently, because she had moved from defending her lab techs to defending her kitchen staff. At least she could be applauded for caring, a rarity with most bureaucrats. Wrenching her way into the conversation, Natalie caught his eye and he took the folder without a word, resuming focus on the administrator while managing not to cut her off. A sign of a decent mood? Or did he just not trust his tongue to speak nicely. Someone pulled on her arm, the hand persistent enough to draw her away from the pair. Turning, she found Frank waiting to address her.

"So what's the deal?"

Busted already? How had the teddy bear discovered her secret so fast? Red colored ever inch of skin, heating her to sauna strength as he eyed her curiously before speaking again.

"With the patients, Nat." Shaking his head, he looked over her shoulder at Connor for a moment, and Natalie watched puzzle pieces unscrambling in his mind. "Wait, what did you think I meant?"

Think, dammit. "The deal with Connor and Dr. Millengraff. It probably looked like I was eavesdropping." Who said chicks can't lie in a crunch?

"Don't usually have to eavesdrop when he gets hassled by the suits. But he's been kinda tolerant of her meddling. Got the grandma thing going, you know?"

The general lowdown on the results was summed up in one word; negative. The hospital's tests were substantiated as accurate and now it was time to move forward, beginning with the results of Powell's kitchen swabs. The machines should have run through their processes by now and she excused herself to return to the relative safety of the lab. And when Marty grunted in abhorrence at her reappearance, she borrowed Connor's temper and let loose a verbal torrent on unfounded arrogance and England's historical faults that surely took ten years off the old man's life span. And it was remarkably satisfying.

But not as satisfying as when Stephen arrived in person to obtain the latest results. The three techs had gone home a half hour ago, leaving her to greet her visitor any way she saw fit. And the ideas all involved those lips.

Only those lips weren't interested.