Viral

By: CrystallicSky

Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown or any of its characters, nor do I make any profit or attempt to with the writing of this or any of my other pieces.

Warnings: Language, homosexuality, implied sexual situations, etc.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Jack was severely wishing that he had chosen Sharon as a carrier and not a victim. Had that been the case, he would most definitely not be in this position right now.

The virus behind him tightened his grip upon Jack's throat, sharp claws digging into the membrane there, and the pale white cell whined softly in fear.

"Who are you?" it snarled at him in a raspy, underused voice. "What are you doing here?"

The young rhinovirus strain was terrified. He had no idea what this other virus was and how it operated or what its overall purpose was.

It could be the sort that hijacked other cells in order to reproduce itself! What if it mistook him for one of the cells native to Sharon? It might inject its DNA into him and use him to make copies of itself, causing him to undergo apoptosis and die; or worse than the lytic cycle, it could put him through a lysogenic cycle and keep using him over and over again to make copies, forcing him to live through it until it finally saw fit to kill him!

Without realizing it, Jack had begun trembling like an autumn leaf in fierce gale, whimpering a steady, frightened mantra of, "I don't wanna lyse, I don't wanna lyse, I don't wanna lyse…"

He suddenly heard a rough sigh behind him and the claws around his throat retracted, the brawny arm coiled around his middle pulling away. Instantly, Jack ran forward clear to the other end of the Hypothalamus Control Room, waiting until his back was pressed flat against the wall before turning to face the other cell.

What met his gaze was a virus of impressive stature, dressed in boots, breeches, and a peasant-style shirt. His membrane was a dusky golden color, shifting into a very dark shade of black at his waist-length mane; so dark a shade, in fact, it seemed to shine green. Sharp-looking eyes, similar to the virus' membrane but brighter, glimmered at him sternly from a handsome, masculine face.

"Who are you?" he repeated calmly, his voice smoother now as he took the opportunity to give it use. "What are you doing here?"

It took a moment of opening and closing his mouth like a salmon just plucked out of a stream before he was able to actually speak. Eventually, he managed, "Jack, my…my name is Jack! I'm a rhinovirus: I just…I just came here to fuck with the temperature a little and…and cause a mild fever."

The other virus' stern expression softened at the information. "A common cold?" he questioned. "Then, you are no threat to me."

Jack nonetheless remained tense and pressed firmly against the wall, staring warily at the other cell for fear of apoptosis.

The virus saw this and scoffed. "You can relax, Jack," he assured. "My name is Chase. I am a bubonic plague virus: I can do you no harm."

At the virus' self-identification, red eyes went wide but not from fear; from awe. "Oh my God," the common cold gaped, "you're...you're the Black Death…"

Chase cocked an eyebrow. "Yes…" he slowly confirmed.

"Holy crap, no way!" Jack squealed in glee, all fear forgotten in a second. "You're like, my idol! I've followed your whole career!"

Golden eyes blinked, surprised. "You have?"

"Of course!" the rhinovirus exclaimed. "Why wouldn't I? You're, like, the baddest virus ever! You're like AIDS but without the gross infection method and less-wussy killing method; with old-school class! You're totally awesome!"

Chase offered a serious gaze to the starry-eyed cell singing his praises. "…Thank you," he replied after a moment. "It has been…a very long time since I was given praise…"

This seemed to surprise Jack. "Huh?" he less than eloquently inquired. "Why?"

The bubonic plague sighed, his face turning away from his current cellular companion for a moment. "If you have followed my career as closely as you have claimed, you know the reason why: I am dormant."

"So what?"

Startled a bit by the statement, Chase turned to the pale, white cell, making a noise of curiosity in his throat.

"Who cares if you're dormant?" Jack elaborated. "That doesn't change the stuff you've already done (which is awesome, by the way; two-thirds of Europe) so who gives a fuck if you can't do it anymore? You're still the baddest virus ever!"

Chase let out a bitter-sounding chortle. "Yes, well...if only all cells thought like you do, young rhinovirus."

Jack frowned, staring almost apprehensively at the older virus for a long, drawn out moment. "Hey are you gonna be in Sharon for awhile?" he abruptly inquired.

Chase blinked. "I..."

"'Cause if you need a place to stay," the pale cell continued, not waiting for an answer, "I've got a pretty nice setup down by the Fallopian Tubes. This body's already hit menopause, so it's pretty vacant there. There's no cops, and I've been lurking around Sharon for a couple of days already, so I know the layout and stuff if you wanna see the sights. What d'you say?" Jack entreated with a dazzling smile. "Us viruses gotta stick together, right?"

The bubonic plague considered this for a moment. In most cases, he preferred to be alone. However...he really didn't know anything about the city of Sharon, most importantly where the leukocytes of this particular woman most largely grouped.

While he loathed admitting it, being dormant not only negated his ability to infect a body, it made him vulnerable. Should so much as one white blood cell get ahold of him, he was quite literally dead.

Chase had been living since before the Renaissance and had no urge to undergo apoptosis anytime soon. If this younger virus was able to help him avoid that fate, he was all for allowing the nonlethal to drag him around a bit to at least get some lay of the body he was currently inhabiting.

Besides...Jack was clearly a fanboy of his, something he hadn't had in centuries, and the ego-boost he'd surely get with this rhinovirus around might do him a bit of good.

"Very well," Chase said at last. "I will take you up on your offer: show me the sights this body has to offer, Jack."

Said cell made a joyous, squealing noise, his white-membraned hand grabbing onto the golden wrist of the elder virus. "Awesome," he gleefully exclaimed, dragging Chase towards the door in order to exit the brain, "you won't regret this!"

-.-.-.-.-.-

The nonfatal virus had proven himself truthful in his promise, Chase mused to himself, sitting across from the cell at a plain but nonetheless sturdy carbon table within his home.

Jack had taken it upon himself to first of all drag the Black Death to a relatively nice retail outlet for the purpose of buying him new clothing (because medieval fashion, while all well and good, didn't quite fit in amongst the modern denizens of Sharon) and had insisted upon paying for what was bought, to which Chase offered no protest: he'd no proteins to exchange for the clothing, anyways.

Jack had encouraged him to pick out whatever he wished, and the elder virus had eventually settled upon a more modern style of boots, a dark pair of dress slacks, and a comfy dark grey turtleneck, all of which the white cell assured him looked positively dashing. This opinion was only reaffirmed by the looks given by the various other cells in the city the two passed on the way to the Fallopian Tubes district.

It had made Chase a bit uneasy at first; the stares. He was a virus, recognizable as one (or at least he believed so) and the more cells that knew of his presence in this body only increased his odds of being fatally introduced to a white blood cell.

That unease had passed when a female blood cell had approached him, saying she knew his category of cell didn't really divide but was he willing to give it a shot for her?

She'd mistaken him for a neuron! Not too great a leap, he supposed, considering the length of the membrane that formed his hair (which could be interpreted as message-relaying dendrites) and his rather impressive height even for a virus (potentially making his torso a long, myelin-coated axon), and if one cell in the body had made that error, chances were good that others would as well.

Apparently, it had been so long since he'd last infected a body that he was no longer recognizable by even average cells as a threat.

How sad.

Regardless, the Black Death was currently undetectable within Sharon so long as he was able to avoid contact with any leukocytes, and thanks to Jack, that would likely be no issue.

As Jack had said, the Fallopian Tube district was now a largely deserted neighborhood in comparison to the vital center of activity it must have been when the woman was actively menstruating and bearing children every few years. With what Chase'd been told of Sharon's husband's aversion to touching her since menopause, he safely assumed the Vaginal district would likely be similar.

Very few cells took up residence in this part of town, and those that did were the seedy, less-than-reputable types, only leaving their run-down dwellings to enact their seedy, less-than-reputable transactions, whatever they may be.

Chase was positive this area in particular had been abandoned by the lymphnode's task force long ago: he was safe here.

Jack's 'sweet setup' was essentially more of a dive, in every sense of the word: no ATP, no running hydrogen, and a distinct lack of all but the most basic and necessary carbon furniture. However, it was better than all the other houses and apartment complexes the elder virus had seen in the area, and at the very least, there was a solid roof to the place and none of the walls were caved in. That was a good thing.

The nutrients that were kept in stock, too; those were very good, as well.

"Do you hydrolyze glucose every night, Jack?" he found himself inquiring, watching the colorless cell engage in said activity.

The rhinovirus looked up at his guest's question, choosing (to Chase's great pleasure) to swallow his mouthful first before replying, "Yeah, pretty much. I mean, I tend to change bodies quick, so I usually end up with more stolen protein than I know what to do with. I don't stay in one place for too long, so instead of wasting it on a really nice place to live, I spend it on really high-end nutrients. You can use those no matter what body you're in, y'know?"

"Intelligent thinking," Chase complimented honestly, ingesting a bit of the meal himself. "So, what is said of your adaptability being the method of your survival is true."

"Oh, definitely," Jack agreed. "If I didn't genetically change myself just a little bit, like, every day, I'd have had a vaccine made for me by now. Gotta keep changing; keeping the humans on their toes so they can't get rid of you with a little injection, y'know?"

"Mm," the Black Death replied simply to that. "I certainly wish I was as adaptable as you are. If I had the ability to change my genetic make-up that quickly and make myself resistant to a cure as you do...well, simply put, the entire world would be reliving my glory days by now."

To Chase's confusion, the rhinovirus's cytoplasm gathered behind his cheeks, flushing the membrane there a pale-pale pink color.

"Yeah, uhm," Jack coughed awkwardly, desperately trying to think of somewhere better to guide the conversation than the implied genetic recombination (he'd only just met Chase, and the cell was implying things like that? How forward!) and eventually coming up with, "so, what brings a cell like you to Sharon?"

Golden eyes blinked once in mild confusion but thankfully, the change in topic was accepted. "This woman was visiting a pathology lab recently, yes?" Chase knowingly inquired.

"Yeah," Jack confirmed, "her husband works in one, so, she's probably been there to visit him recently."

"I was being studied in that lab," Chase said. "Apparently, I'm so small of a threat these days that the scientist researching me, I assume Sharon's husband, didn't even see fit to wash his hands of me before kissing his wife." Chase ignored the empathetic look Jack gave him and continued, "I ended up on a strand of her hair, made my way to the ear, and from there to the brain. At the time, the Hypothalamus Control Room was the only one empty, which is where I was when you happened to attempted that mild fever."

"Wow, you were in a lab?" the rhinovirus interestedly inquired. "How long were you there?"

"Several months at least," the Black Death informed him. "Before that, I was just barely surviving on the long-rotted bones of former victims buried in the ground and was taken by archaeologists to the pathology lab for research purposes."

From such a statement, Jack deduced, "It's been awhile since you've been in an actual person, then. I'm curious: is Sharon any different than the medieval bodies you've lived in?"

"I have noted differences," Chase conceded, idly sampling a bit of the sucrose and finding it just as high-quality as the glucose. "This city is much larger than I am used to and...more high-tech. Too, I've never seen so many adipose cells in my life. They seem to make up a much higher population than they did in the Renaissance, but overall, I suppose bodies are roughly the same as they were."

"People have evolved to be taller since then," Jack nodded, "and they've got way higher-fat diets on the whole along with a pretty sedentary lifestyle. Sharon's in pretty good shape comparatively; you'd be shocked at all the adipose neighborhoods you'd find in an obese person!"

"Things have changed, it seems," the virus mused. Idly glancing around the room, golden eyes were for at least the hundredth time abhorred by the not only plain but also shabby quality of the living space. While it was better than others in the neighborhood and he could admittedly understand Jack's logic behind taking such poor living conditions, it was a very far cry from what he was used to.

When he had been actively infecting bodies and remaining in individuals for very short periods of time (similar to what Jack was currently doing) due to how quickly his presence and wreaking of havoc resulted in their deaths, he had stayed in very high-end communities, and why not?

He was a monster-virus, a juggernaut completely unstoppable by any cell or immunity, and they could do little more than submit to his whims and let him do as he wished lest they be exposed to his claws and forcefully lysed!

Or at least…that was how things used to be…

Regardless, while Jack did not pack quite the punch the bubonic plague once did, he was still just as immune to immunity, so to speak, so long as he was not arrested or encountered after the standard 10-17 days the lymphnodes would need to recognize him and mount a counterattack. There was no reason he couldn't at least take advantage of the period during which he was untouchable and get himself at least something middle class to live in!

"Jack," he began, decided that he would be changing the rhinovirus' mind on this issue, "how is it that you can stand to live in such a manner?"

Red eyes blinked back at him from across the table in confusion. "What d'you mean?"

"Surely you have noticed the lack," Chase insisted.

"…of what?" Jack wondered when his idol failed to elaborate on his final word.

"Of everything," he clarified. "Granted, your environment is sugar-rich, but what if you require more hydrogen than you currently possess in order to break down your meals? You're quite out of luck without any hydrogen running to your dwelling."

"Well…" the common cold considered this for a moment, acknowledging it as a valid point before arguing back, "that's what those hydrogen fountains in the park down the block are for: all the hydrogen I need to hydrolyze sugars, and I don't have to pay a single protein for it."

Chase scoffed. "So, in exchange for 'free hydrogen,' you are required to leave your own home for a drink as if you were a lowlife canine cell and in such a lousy neighborhood that your chances of being mugged or forced to divide against your will skyrocket through simple existence?"

Jack responded to the statement with a sheepish look. "When…when you say it that way, I guess-"

"And what of the absence of ATP?" the Black Death demanded. "You're once more out of luck should you wish to be active after dark or if you need to keep track of the news to determine your own safety based upon the body's response to your actions."

"Well, I-"

"And surely your reputation is suffering from this sort of lifestyle," the virus informed his host. He immediately knew he'd struck a nerve at the suddenly-desperate and disturbed expression upon the white cell's face. It was obvious to Chase that to Jack, reputation was everything (a likely reason he idolized Chase for having made such a name for himself) and that the swiftest way to alter the cell's opinion was to call his 'rep' into question.

Smoothly, Chase continued, "No leukocyte will take you seriously living in such a hovel as you do; neither will any other cell, for that matter. It makes you appear weak and insignificant, dwelling in such a place. It causes the assumption that because you do not have anything but the worst the body has to offer, you cannot have anything but the worst the body has to offer: you are too weak to take the best by force in the eyes of others."

"That's not true," Jack immediately protested, a dark, bitter vehemence lurking in his voice as he said it. "I'm not weak. I'm sick of people telling me that just because I'm not fatal. I can knock any world leader I damn well want of their goddamn feet for two weeks and nobody can fucking stop me from doing it. I'm not weak."

"I'm well aware of that," Chase placatingly promised. "It is others you should be seeking to convince; that you must show you are not guilty of inferiority by association. Wouldn't you like to be respected, maybe even feared to an extent?"

"Yes," Jack answered honestly and immediately, fists subtly clenching at his sides. "I've always wanted that."

Chase grinned. Even after all these years of isolation, his skill at manipulation was as powerful as ever. "Then, perhaps you should seek a nicer dwelling than one such as this," he suggested. "Something away from the ghettos and slums of run-of-the-mill germs and illnesses and into a higher class of neighborhood, a place fit for a self-respecting virus."

Red eyes gazed blankly down at the carbon tabletop, thinking the issues over seriously. Eventually, Jack agreed, "Yeah…yeah, I want…I think you've got a point."

"I'm glad you think so," Chase smiled. "Does this at all influence your plans for the rest of your stay in Sharon?"

"No…yes…well, kind of," the common cold eventually settled with. "I've been here for almost two weeks already: I've only got, like, two days at best to hang out here before I'm in danger, so it probably wouldn't be any good to get a nicer place now. I doubt I could even find a property in time to live in it any more than five minutes before having to leave. Still, there's some pretty nice hotels over by the Cardiac district we could check out. I can afford a two-night stay at one of those pretty easy." Jack glanced back up at the older virus, uncertainly inquiring, "Would...that still help my rep, or...?"

Highly against the idea of remaining in this dump, Chase confidently assured, "Of course it would. When can we leave?"

-.-.-.-.-.-

Chase appreciatively eyed the large and lavish-looking building that now loomed before him, finding it a far preferable alternative to the run-down shack of a mere thirty minutes before.

The Vena Cava Arms was a high-class hotel located near the aforementioned pathway to the heart- home, Jack had told him, to the innumerous affairs of the mayor herself!

Said estrogen cell had been elected by unanimous decision sometime after menopause, when the entire body had become fed up with the lack of sex and its beneficial properties. The female steroid's entire position had been romantic overtures and seductive actions in order to coerce Harold (Sharon's husband) into sex, sex, and more thankyougod sex, so of course, she'd been a shoo-in.

Since that had, so far, failed utterly and election day was once more rolling around, Ms. Eve Magdalena was now pushing a much more aggressive stance and was finding droves of loyal supporters in her emphasis for the need of an extra-marital sexual rendezvous. Sharon had already begun taking subtle, rudimentary steps towards piquing the interest of that sweet and handsome Leonard in the booking department in which she worked, already yielding bright smiles and engaging behavior from the blond and divorced forty-year-old.

Regardless, none of that information was relative as Chase calmly strode into the lobby of the fine hotel, head held high as if he owned the place and a lovely female cell (likely appearing to others as a loose, floozy type of girl) hanging off his arm.

A common method of avoiding detection when you didn't belong was to act as if you did belong and the once-deadly virus followed this method precisely, waltzing up to the front desk and asserting, "Excuse me, miss, but I'd like to rent a suite for two nights." The girl beside him giggled and squeezed his arm affectionately, and with a smirk, Chase added, "My date and I wish to make the most of the time we have together."

The young muscle cell behind the front desk looked the handsome male neuron up and down, sparing a brief thought to how she'd like to make the most of two nights with someone like him before allowing her eyes to fall momentarily on the lucky woman who was being allowed that privilege.

A pale membrane, short pixie-cut hair, and bright red eyes to go with a highly curvy body (tiny waist, wide hips, and a chest so large she had to have had cytoplasm infused) and blatantly trampy clothing.

Pfft, of course: such a hot cell would go for the hooker-type.

"Of course, sir," she nonetheless replied, smiling brightly. "Two nights here will cost 200 proteins." The woman held out her hand for the male's credit card and was given pause as the precise amount was instead handed to her in bills.

"I insist on paying, baby," the girl with the neuron cooed, pressing her ample chest seductively against the cell's body. "It's the least I can do."

The muscle cell behind the front desk grimaced upon noting the majority of the bills to be either very low or singles and, seeing the female they'd come from, she was subject to an unwanted knowledge as to the sort of undergarment these had likely been stuffed into at a strip club. "Ah, thank you," she stiffly spoke, gingerly placing the proteins away from her. "Before I give you your room key, I'll need a name to put in the register."

"Chase Young," the neuron casually informed her and, eager to get the classy male and trampy female out of the lobby where the other guests would see them, she quickly wrote the name down and handed over an available access card for one of the rooms.

"There you go, sir," she said courteously. "Your room is number 806, on the fourth floor. I hope you and your...date enjoy your stay."

Chase gave the muscle cell a winning smile. "Oh, don't worry," he assured, "we will..."

-.-.-.-.-.-

"Oh, gawd," Jack groaned in discomfort as the door to the suite clicked shut behind him, "could chicks wear any more uncomfortable stuff?"

Chase chuckled in amusement at his companion. "Uncomfortable or no," he said, "you make quite the convincing woman, rhinovirus."

The white cell blinked as he kicked off the thigh-high stilettos he had deemed 'hooker boots' before glancing down at himself. The miniskirt he wore barely concealed the fact that he had male genitalia and he'd only just managed to cram his chest into the tube-top.

"Well," he admitted, "if I were narcissistic and stupid enough to not know I was me, I'd probably tap my ass."

Raking his gaze over the male virus' currently female-looking body, shapely and attractive, Chase had little doubt that he, too, would divide with a woman so lovely as Jack was masquerading as.

"Sexy as I am," said common cold declared, "this is uncomfortable as shit."

That said, Jack squeezed his large, feminine chest until the cytoplasm that'd earlier been displaced there mercifully returned to his waist from whence it had come, letting out a relieved sigh as one might upon unbuttoning their pants after a Thanksgiving feast. The nonfatal then did the same to his wide, curvy hips and proceeded to smooth out his torso to his liking; shaping his malleable body back to the way it'd been and was supposed to be.

Recalling how Jack had earlier cinched his middle with a tight hiss of discomfort at the displacement within his own form, Chase inquired, "So, this is how you manage to avoid detection and treatment for so long?"

"Mmhm," the rhinovirus affirmed, slipping off the tube top that had lost its purpose along with his loss of breasts and removing a black sleeveless shirt from the small bag he'd brought along to the hotel. "It's all about confusing Immunity with me. I can't kill my host, so I've gotta change my appearance a lot to keep the leukocytes from catching on before I'm ready to split." Red eyes turned onto the elder virus. "I'll bet you had a more, 'make 'em suffer as much as possible and kill 'em as quick as you can' kinda strategy, right?"

The Black Death had a brief memory of laughing with a purely wicked mirth as he took off into the air and infected a new host, watching as the old host, dead and covered in boils and lesions, was tossed into a burial trench filled with at least twelve of his other victims and set ablaze. "Something to that effect," he answered Jack's query.

"Mmm," the white cell hummed, slipping on a pair of boxer shorts and pants before sliding off the skirt. "I wish I could do that," he spoke with a definitive tone of want. "I mean, yeah, I'm still active and everything, but...I'd give just about anything to be fatal, even if that meant I'd have to go dormant."

Immediately, Chase wanted to call the younger virus a fool; tell him he should never wish for dormancy after the ability to kill, as it was the bubonic plague's own personal hell and had been for far too many years now. What else could one call having had a taste of near-limitless power and then being cursed to never possess it again?

But then he stopped to think about it.

Jack's situation was not his. Unlike Chase, who had from the very beginning of his career been deadly and respected, the rhinovirus had always been nonfatal.

Among the virus community, nonfatals were treated poorly and looked down upon: only nonfatals that, instead of killing, crippled their hosts were given so much as the time of day, and it was a pitiful body that couldn't survive a common cold. Jack had quite likely been ignored or treated unkindly for his entire life, despite the fact that he was essentially unstoppable, because who would truly find it a top priority to stop him? At the most, he was a temporary inconvenience to whatever body he happened to inhabit- a petty, inconsequential criminal.

From his perspective, it was natural to want a taste of that limitless power; to want to be able to kill for just a little while so that he might prove himself to the peers that had seen him as weak and inferior his entire life, even if that meant he would be doomed to an eternity of dormancy and would only have a legacy to live on.

"We...are a bit alike, Jack," Chase decided after a bit of thought. "At the least, we strive for similar goals."

If there had been any doubt in his mind as to Jack's intelligence, they were dispelled immediately when the rhinovirus considered every thought Chase had taken several moments to think about in a split second and agreed, "Yeah...I guess we do."

Jack then proceeded to unceremoniously flop onto the king-size bed of their suite, announcing, "I'm tired. I know there's only one bed, but I stay mostly to one side, anyways, so, I don't care if you wanna join me later."

"As if I would've slept in a chair for your comfort," Chase snorted. "If anything, I would remove you from the bed."

Jack took no insult. On the contrary, he chuckled good-naturedly, throwing the blankets over himself in a haphazard manner. "Well," he said, fluffing one of the pillows to his liking, "if you kick me out, at least let me get a couple of hours sleep before we switch. I get seriously loopy on no sleep, and I'm thinking you won't wanna deal with that later."

Chase watched as the youth rolled over, back to him as he chirped, "G'nite!" before promptly going to sleep.

The bubonic plague scoffed in mild derision as Jack fell asleep within a minute. A brief glance at the clock beside the bed revealed it to only be about 6:30 in the evening.

Some five hours of watching television (the programs near constantly interrupted by Mayor Magdalena's ad campaigns) and idly flipping through the staple copy of 'On the Origin of Species' placed in all hotel room bedside drawers later, Chase decided firmly that to remain awake any longer was a complete and utter waste of time.

The virus flicked off the television, changed into the more comfortable clothing Jack had lent him (baggy on the slender cell but of a nice fit on Chase), and turned off the lights before slipping into bed alongside the common cold.

Jack was not an elegant sleeper, one that lie down at night and woke up in the same position in the morning, but at the very least, he hadn't been lying earlier and did indeed remain of the side of the large bed he had chosen.

The snoring and relatively consistent movement were mildly agitating, but to a patient cell such as Chase, it was tolerable.

And yet, as he settled down to get a bit of rest, sleep proved oddly elusive.

Within moments, a strange compulsion took the virus; an inkling towards an action that niggled at the back of his mind and made his arms feel stiff and uncomfortable as he denied it.

He wanted, inexplicably, to drag the sleeping rhinovirus from the left of the bed over to the right- to his side of the bed.

Chase, instead, did no more than roll over to his side, facing away from his bedmate, and dismissed it entirely in favor of much desired sleep.

It was forgotten until approximately 2:00 AM, when the Black Death was awakened by a particularly loud snort, a vicious yank of the blankets towards the left side of the bed, and a dull thud.

Gold eyes blinked open, adjusting to the darkness immediately and glancing over to ascertain the reason he'd been woken up.

It wasn't a very good one.

Jack, in some dream-fancy or other, had managed to roll over and fall off the bed, dragging a pillow and a good deal of the covers along with him.

He'd somehow remained asleep.

The compulsion to drag the rhinovirus closer to him was pulled back to the forefront of the virus' mind as Chase realized he cared as to whether or not Jack remained on the floor for the rest of the night.

How odd, he mused to himself.

Regardless, this current compulsion was stronger than the one previous and would not be ignored as easily, and so Chase soon found himself scoffing quietly as he stood from the mattress and walked around the bed to where the pale cell lay in a heap of white and black amongst the red of the blankets.

Chase easily scooped the youth (possessed of a relatively small frame and musculature) up from the ground and was forced to pause, as Jack slumped unconsciously against him, at how warm the common cold virus was!

The warmth was largely to ensure the ability to cause fevers, Chase knew, as he too possessed a bit more heat than the average cell for precisely that reason, but Jack was far warmer than he. Perhaps it was because while the bubonic plague could cause a fever, it was in addition to many other worse symptoms that required much more of the virus' attention.

In Jack's case, fevers were accompanied by much fewer symptoms comparatively, and ones that didn't need all that much focus to enact. Maybe that allowed Jack to concentrate his efforts into making the fever he gave a bit worse?

Chase had the brief, fleeting desire to not let the common cold out of his arms, to keep that pleasant warmth all for himself.

Instead, he resettled the youth on the bed, threw the covers back over him, and returned to his side of the bed in order to get back to sleep.

Luck was not on his side in that department because around 4:30 AM, he once more awoke and this time, for no reason whatsoever.

His frustration was immediate: why in the hell could he not simply sleep?

Annoyed, the virus glared at the ceiling for several long moments before a slight rustling of the blankets called his attention to the left side of the bed once more.

Jack slept quietly now, in complete contrast to the snoring and movement of before. He lay partially on his side, inclined towards Chase in such a way that he could see his face and chest clearly. He exuded an…innocent and fragile aura, as if a single touch could shatter him in the same way one might shatter a porcelain doll.

Quite unlike his waking demeanor, Jack appeared very much like a porcelain doll, Chase reflected: silent, easily damaged…lovely, even.

The young virus shifted minutely in his sleep, his hand that had previously rested at his hip sliding upwards to the middle of his chest.

That would've been all well and good if his lax fingers hadn't caught the bottom hem of his tank top and dragged it upwards to where the hand now lay.

Chase found himself staring unabashedly at the sight of the pale cell's middle. Of course, he had known Jack's membrane lacked pigment indefinitely and that he would surely be just as white as refined glucose beneath his clothing, but…simply seeing that paleness on only Jack's hands and face allowed for the sight-assumption that it was makeup; that the rhinovirus had simply painted himself that way as some sort of fashion statement.

There was no mistaking what Chase saw now as a fashion statement.

The membrane of Jack's stomach was as pristine and as shockingly white as the rest of him, the moonlight streaming through the barely-open curtains casting it in an entirely different, entirely brighter perspective. Contrary to Chase's own well-defined body, Jack had no prominent abdominal muscles, a 'six-pack' he believed it was called, to speak of, but neither was he pudgy. This led his middle to be flat, the membrane taut and nearly concave as it sloped down from his ribs into his hips that just barely peeked out from the waistband of the dark pair of sweatpants Jack wore.

Why is he still clothed? Chase managed to wonder before abruptly realizing just what he had thought.

And suddenly, everything made sense.

It made sense why he had allowed Jack to be his retainer despite the fact that he was normally wont to be alone. It made sense why he'd found the young virus's falsely-female body attractive when, as a rule, he tended to find females unattractive. Too, it made sense why he found himself sympathizing with Jack's struggle, why he had been delighted to find his intellect keen, and most recently, why he'd wanted the rhinovirus close to him and preferably without clothing.

Chase wanted to divide with Jack.

Honestly, the revelation was…far less surprising that it probably ought to be. After all, Jack was a virus young in appearance and certainly attractive enough. His mind was sharp (Chase had never been fond of fucking idiots) and what with him being enamored of the Black Death already, it didn't seem as though it would be a struggle to seduce Jack to the point of willingness to incubate.

To add…it had been a long time since Chase's glory days when he could divide with whomever he wished. To date, the last time he'd been with another cell was several hundred years ago.

It made sense for Chase to be attracted to possibly the most perfect candidate.

Unfortunately, now was not the time nor the place to be shaking Jack awake and demanding he conjugate with him. Jack would surely balk at the sudden prospect and not only deny him, but flee Sharon and leave him behind, as well.

Dormant or not, the Black Death was not a virus to be refused or rejected: he simply would not stand for it. Jack would be seduced.

For now, Chase pulled the bottom hem of Jack's shirt back to his hip (gently so as not to wake him), once more concealing the lovely expanse of white-white membrane with cloth. The crimson comforter was then pulled upwards to drape over Jack's slim form, keeping him warm for however much longer he would sleep.

Confident in his decision on what to do about his current bedmate, Chase was finally able to get to sleep and remain asleep.

-.-.-.-.-.-

A/N: Anyone remember the Osmosis Chack idea I've dabbled briefly in with Anthology and Back in Business? Say hello to the origin-story. ;P

I've actually had this done for awhile, but I've been saving it so I could post it on a special occasion. I figure today qualifies and in light of that, I have something that needs to be said to Silvarbelle...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY! :D

I hope you guys enjoy her present as much as she does! :)