Pocked

Dale Jakes does not like sick people. Why is this happening to him?

Briggs knocks on his door late in the morning, and that's never good, so Jakes sits on the bed with his head in his hands, waiting for his day to be ruined.

At Jakes's wave, Paul lets himself in and closes the door behind him. (Again, nothing good can come of this.)

"Paige and Johnny are back from their op," he explains, and Dale wonders what that has to do with him. Internally, because if he asked out loud, he'd get an answer, and that's the last thing he wants.

"Does Johnny have the plague?" he asks snorting. That was the explanation they got for why the op was coming to an early conclusion, but cell service was choppy in the surveillance van so they never got any context for that.

"No, Paige exaggerated." Paul laughs. "Does have a nasty case of the pox."

"Small?"

"Chicken."

Dale grins. "No shit?"

Paul nods. "Paige, too."

He's picturing Johnny covered in spots, chuckling at his housemates' misfortune when he realizes that Briggs is making that "bad news" face.

"Glad you feel that way," he says slowly. "Because I have to pick up where they left off, and Mike and Charlie have never had them, so…"

"No, no." Jakes said firmly. "I am not-"

"You are," Briggs corrects, leading the way to Johnny's room.

And because he already knew that, Jakes follows, all the way into the apparent quarantine ward.

"She's scratching!" Johnny tattles, jabbing an accusing finger in Paige's direction.

Paige scowls and digs a fingernail into his side. "I'm not even sick! I'm just in here because I've been stuck in a van, breathing the same air as patient zero over here."

For a second, Jakes is optimistic because Johnny alone is definitely better than Johnny and Paige egging each other on. But when Briggs graciously offers to set Paige free if she removes the sweatshirt she's wearing over her t-shirt and Paige refuses, his hopes are dashed. "You have it, too," he says glumly, more unhappy for himself than her. "Don't play that."

Shrugging, Paige sheds the sweatshirt, revealing her speckled arms, and blatantly scratches at the splotches.

Briggs swats her hand. "Stop that," he admonishes, then levels Johnny with a glare when he snickers. "Jakes is going to help you out today. Try not to piss him off."

Then he leaves, and Jakes is officially in charge. "Go to bed," he orders Johnny, before turning to Paige. "Do you want to go to your room, or…okay." He trails off as she climbs into the bed next to Johnny. "Yeah," he sighs. "That seems about right."

There's some general shoving and elbowing as they both try to get comfortable at the expense of the other until Jakes shoves a pillow between them to put a stop to it. He puts a hand on each of their foreheads, hesitantly because while Paige's face is still clear, Johnny's is freckled with pox and kind of nasty looking.

"You're hot," he says, frowning. Johnny pretends to swoon at the compliment, and Jakes considers leaving them there to scratch themselves to death. "I'm gonna go get you…something, I don't know. Do you need anything?"

"Make it stop itching," Johnny groans. Paige nods her agreement.

"Don't think I can do that," Jakes says honestly, before swinging the door open and almost running into Charlie, who's hovering in the hall.

"Well?" she demands.

Dale frowns and starts down the stairs. "Hi. How are you? Better than me, I presume. Weather's nice today. Any of that cover why the hell you're following me?"

Charlie catches the back of his shirt, unamused. "How are they?"

"Whiny," he decides. "Irritating. Kinda ugly at the moment, if I'm being honest."

"How are they feeling?" she snaps.

Searching through the medicine cabinet for something…strong looking, Jakes considers that. "Warm, mostly."

Charlie snatches a bottle off the top shelf and hands it to him, glaring. "How warm?"

"I don't know," he complains. "Warm. Like, I felt it, but I didn't burn myself or anything."

"That's nice. That's real nice. I'm going in there."

She darts up the stairs. Jakes swears and chases after her. "Hey, hey!"

"Uh uh, not gonna happen," he says firmly, standing in front of the door. "I've got my hands full with them already. You think I wanna spend all day taking care of you too?

"Because you're doing such a great job so far?"

Jakes ignores that because he's actually doing a fantastic job, thank you. For a second, he wonders what would happen if he stopped caring and let her get sick because that seems to be what she damn well wants to do, but comes to the conclusion that Briggs would kill him and closes the door with her on the outside.

"She's scratching!" Johnny complains again. "Tell her not to scratch. I'm barely holding it together over here, and I don't need her tempting me."

"No one scratches, or I cuff your hands behind your back," he says simply.

Johnny blinks. "That's…harsh."

Frowning, Paige inches closer to Johnny. "Yeah, most people use oven mitts or duct tape or something."

"Why would I use oven mitts when I have handcuffs?" he asks, carefully pouring up to the line on the medicine cup. Paige dutifully gulps it down, but when he pours a second capful for Johnny, the younger agent scowls in distaste.

"Yeah, that's gonna be a no," he assures him. "That stuff's gross."

"Either get over it, or let that fever fry your brains," Jakes suggests, holding the medicine under his nose.

Paige somehow manages to glare and roll her eyes at the same time. Could she always do that? Or did Charlie teach her?

"Or," Paige says pointedly. "We have the same stuff in pill form in the bathroom cabinet."

Okay, so he's the errand boy now. That's great. He goes to get the meds, hanging Johnny's handcuffs threateningly from the doorknob, as a reminder to behave in his absence. He matches the bottle to what looks like the same stuff from the medicine cabinet and fills a glass of water, returning just in time to find Mike skulking outside Johnny's door.

"Hey!" Jakes yells. "Your girlfriend's Typhoid Mary right now, get away from there."

Mike rolls his eyes. "What's the harm in going in there for like two seconds?"

Eyeing him warily and making note of the fact that he didn't deny the girlfriend crack, Dale pushes the door open and nods towards the two on the bed, who look considerably more miserable than when he left. Paige has developed marks on her forehead and cheeks, and she's leaning her head on Johnny's shoulder. Johnny looks no better, coughing violently into his elbow.

"That's the harm," he says smugly, almost feeling guilty that they deteriorated just in time to prove his point.

"They're okay right?" Mike asks hesitantly, watching as Paige sleepily rubs at a spot under her eye. "They look bad."

"They'll be fine." Probably. They actually look rougher than he would have expected.

He kicks Mike out and makes him stay out by relying on good old fashioned guilt, telling him that the more time he spends arguing with him in the hall, the less time he spends with the lepers.

Paige has her pant leg rolled up to her knee, scratching at her spotted shin when he enters.

"I know, handcuffs," she groans when he knocks her hand away. Jakes shrugs and supervises as Johnny takes his medicine.

"I won't cuff you," he promises. "Just…take it easy."

He sits next to the bed, facing the door to make sure that no one goes in or out. It's only a few minutes before the medicine knocks Paige out, and Johnny follows seconds after.

Which is where Paul finds him, hours later, dozing with his head on the bed unconsciously scratching at his ribs.