Retrovirus 4.0

A/N: I know these chapters have been short, but I promise that the next couple will be much longer. Enjoy!
"I-I can't let this happen!" Mairghread whispered, on the verge of tears. "I won't! I won't let the hunger…"

"Hush lass," Carson soothed and pulled her into a hug as she cried. "There's nae need for tha'"

"Yes there is!" she cried despondently. "I-I-I don't want to hurt anyone! Please, make it stop!"

"Ah cannae do tha', luv…"

"Then I'll go ask Aunt Elizabeth to lock me in the brig before the hunger comes."

"Nae, nae, no need for tha' yet!" he told her. "Ah cannae stop ye growing, but Ah think I can keep ye among us safely."

Mairghread furiously scrubbed at her tears with a fist. "How?"

Beckett sat on a stool and adopted his I'm-explaining-something-very-complicated-in-the-simplest-way-I-can voice.

"Before your father…" he made a motion with his hand indicating that there was something that was supposed to fill in the blank, but he didn't particularly want to say it. "He stumbled upon a solution o' sorts tae the problem o' feeding. He understood tha' the real problem wasn't the ability tae feed, because tha' was what allowed for healing powers, but the inability o' the body after puberty tae convert food into energy. Do ye understand?"

Mairghread nodded.

"Your father discovered tha' there is gene in the wraith DNA tha' allows food to be converted tae energy, but tha' it 'turns off' during puberty," Beckett grabbed a tray with blood sampling equipment and Mairghread held her arm out.

"Now," he said as he tied a tourniquet around her arm and swabbed the inside of her elbow with an alcohol swab, "When ye were here two weeks ago, Ah gave ye a small dose of the retrovirus your father developed to keep this gene 'on'. Ah'll just take a wee bit o' blood, see if it's done anythin' before Ah give ye the next dose."

He filled two small tubes with her dark blood. One, he sent to the earth-style lab for regular comparative analysis, while the other he ran through a Lantean diagnostic machine.

"Seems not tae have reacted badly—no antibodies have turned up," Beckett told her when the machine spat out its answer. "So, Ah'd like tae give ye the next dose; it'll take some time—about an hour."

"It's four thirty in the morning," Mairghread reminded him with a smile. "I have plenty of time."

"Aye," Beckett gave her a smile before fetching an IV of saline and a small vial of dark orange serum. "Lie down please."

Mairghread lay down on the infirmary bed (which was not nearly as comfortable as her own) and crossed her arms over her chest. A moment later she remembered that Dr. Beckett would need a vein and extended her arm. Carson took it with a smile, retying a tourniquet and tapping the back of her hand lightly.

"Last time, Ah gave ye a very small, dilute dose. This is much more potent—ye may feel a bit lightheaded today. Let me know if it bothers ye," he told her as he carefully found a suitable vein and inserted the IV deftly. He hung the saline on the hook attached to the bed and injected the entire umber vial into the bag, where its sticky tendrils floated through the salty liquid in some bizarre, watery version of modern dance. Carson poked, prodded and otherwise sloshed solvent and solute until they had joined in non-holy solvency.

Mairghread watched as the tangerine fluid flowed down the clear plastic tubing. It felt cool as it entered her blood. Her eyes began to drift closed—it was very early, and her terror-filled awakening had tired her. The mattress beneath her was soft-ish, the blanket which Uncle Carson spread over her was warm, the infirmary immersed in the quiet of the early morning. Drowsily she wondered what color it was, where the orange retrovirus met her deep indigo blood. What happened if you mixed orange and purple Kool-Aid?

TBC

NEXT: What Dreams May Come

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