Quaranteam: Project Red -

Thanks to CorruptingPower for permission to make my little contribution to the ever-growing world of Quaranteam, and thanks to the whole collective for their feedback on the writing, and keeping me on the straight and narrow when it comes to canon.

It shouldn't be strictly necessary to read any other QT stories before this, but things might make a bit more sense if you do. The originals by CorruptingPower are, naturally, a very good place to start.

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Prologue

7th August 2020, around 8 a.m.

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Just because you get used to something, it doesn't mean it gets easy.

Kat liked that thought. She looked in the bathroom mirror, and smiled despite her pain. It wasn't easy, and that meant that it still deserved a little pride. Okay, she got out of bed every day, sooner or later, but it still wasn't easy. Life was a little more satisfying when she remembered that.

She splashed some water on her face, blinking a few times, and picked up the day's medication. As she squeezed the edge of the pill box gently, a compartment opened and her morning tablets fell into her hand. Swallowing them with a glass of water, she pushed a stiff hand through the short, dark locks of her hair. It

had

been a short pixie cut, no effort for her to maintain, but it hadn't really been possible to get it cut lately.

It'll be too long for me to manage soon. No going to a hairdresser now. If this goes on much longer I'll just have to cut it off. Or get Rob to do it.

Kat drifted back to the bedroom, dropped into a soft armchair and tucked herself into her weighted blanket to wait for her pain relief to kick in. Rob was still asleep. As usual. Much as she loved her husband, she couldn't help but feel a little jealous of his position in their morning routine.

I know he'd trade places in a heartbeat if he could, if I wanted it. But life doesn't give us a choice about that.

Kat slipped her glasses on and picked up her Kindle, reading the next book on her ever-growing pandemic reading list until the aches in her joints receded a little. It just needed to be a little better for her to move on to her next task of the morning. The time wasn't wasted;

Home Front

was an exciting continuation of one of Buroker's ongoing series, and she'd been looking forward to it. With a last glance at Rob, still sleeping soundly, she left the room, steps more awkward than usual as she tried to keep quiet. If she made a noise, it wasn't likely to wake Rob, but things could get more difficult if his sleep was disturbed.

In the kitchen, she made both their morning drinks: her coffee, his decaffeinated tea. The instant boiling water tap was possibly the best money they'd spent in the kitchen, as far as she was concerned. Handling a kettle was just too awkward, too painful.

She took a fortifying sip of coffee before putting the mugs on their respective tables in the living room, and headed back to the bedroom for the most challenging part of the day.

Just because you get used to something, it doesn't mean it gets easy. It would be nice if that didn't apply to so many things.

"Rob! Time to wake up," she called as she re-entered the bedroom. He stirred, muttering something. "Come on, take your tablets," she urged as she sat back in her chair.

An arm emerged from the duvet, groping for the box on the bedside table. Finding it, the arm pulled it back under the duvet. Rob rolled over, muttering again; this time, Kat thought she heard her name.

It doesn't look like he's having one of his nightmares. He'd be more agitated.

Suppressing a groan, she pulled herself back to her feet and moved nearer.

"What was that?"

"Cats," Rob muttered. "Have to get the cats out of the ceiling."

Kat relaxed; not a nightmare, just normally surreal. This had been happening for years now; another complication of his narcolepsy. She wasn't sure, but she thought it might have been worse since lockdown started. Irritated at having had to get up, she raised her voice to try to get through to him.

"You're holding your tablets. You need to take them."

His eyes opened slightly, fixing on her briefly, then to the box in his hand as he brought it back out from under the duvet. After several attempts, he managed to slide the cover open, tip his modafinil into his hand, and just barely avoided dropping them down the neck of his top rather than putting them in his mouth.

It looked like his eyes were closed again, as he groped for the glass of water kept by the bed. Sighing, Kat gently took his wrist to make sure that his hand met the glass so he could pick it up, rather than knock it over.

Once he'd taken his medication, he rolled over again, falling back to sleep. Kat checked the clock; it was early enough that she could give him a little more time--the rest of the morning routine would go easier if she let the medicines work for a bit. She went back to the living room, taking less care now--if something woke Rob at this point, it wouldn't cause a problem.

She suppressed a gasp of pain as she took slightly too long a stride to reach her sofa, flexing her hip past its tolerance, and collapsed into the chair with a total lack of elegance but a great deal of relief. She pulled her table over, swinging it into position over her leg, opened her laptop and started to look at her emails. Savouring a good gulp of coffee, her eyes flicked over her inbox. A Patreon post from an author she followed, the daily summary from

The Guardian

, half a dozen emails from online shops that were sure she wanted to buy

another

instant hot water tap, another laptop, another book. She opened the last one, bringing some of the links up in new tabs to look at again later.

Nothing from my family. Well, it's only been a couple of days, and they don't know how worried we are. They haven't worked it out yet. Mum and dad are together, so if something happened to one of them, the other would tell me. Same with Jake--I might not get on that well with Jane, but she'd let me know. Bella's probably barely noticed the pandemic, with her nose stuck in her research; I don't even know how things are unfolding in Melbourne.

She glanced over the news. More empty headlines, more vapid opinion pieces from people who seemingly didn't have the facts to make it worth paying attention. More recipes to encourage people to "make the most out of lockdown".

Checking the time, Kat decided Rob had had long enough. So had her hips--the morning stiffness was definitely passing, getting to her feet was almost easy compared to the morning so far. She flexed her hands; they weren't any more sore than usual. Not a bad start to the day, so far.

"Okay Rob, time to get up now," she said, pulling the duvet off him. He looked up, lifting his head and blinking more slowly this time. "Out of bed. Time for your shower."

Checking to make sure he was following, in his shambling, zombie-like way, she went to the bathroom and started the shower running, checking the temperature of the water. She helped him out of his pyjamas, and pretty much shoved him into the shower seat before stepping back to lean against the wall to keep an eye on him.

It was a more enjoyable sight once he was awake.

* * * * *

Rob came to full awareness with warm water cascading over him.

Slow morning, then. I thought I got to sleep at a reasonable time. Oh well.

He moved in the shower chair, making sure he was soaked all over, and adjusted the shower head to direct the water away from him. He touched his hair, making sure it hadn't gotten too wet. They'd never had any luck with Kat trying to get him into a shower cap before he was properly awake, which meant he ended up washing his hair more often than he'd prefer. It was dry enough, though, and still held up in the bun he usually slept in.

He took the shower gel and lathered himself up, took a loofah to his back, and pointed the shower head back towards himself. As he sluiced himself off, he glanced across the room, spotting Kat leaning against the wall. She looked tired, and he fought down his daily guilt over how difficult the morning routine had become for her. She also had a definite smile on her face.

"Good morning," he said. Her smile widened slightly, some of the fatigue leaving her face. "What are you smiling at?"

"At you," she replied, her smile crinkling her deep green eyes. "Shouldn't I enjoy looking at you?"

He turned the shower off as she crossed the room and leaned over to kiss his forehead and pass him a towel. He quirked an eyebrow, following the pattern of their habitual banter.

"Even with this?" He bounced a palm off his ample waistline, a sharp smacking sound accompanying the ripple of flab.

She'll say yes, probably in some creatively soppy way. But she fell in love with a guy who was much more trim than I am now. She deserves that guy back, whatever she says. One of these days I'll get around to finding a way to get back into shape.

"Even if you grew a second head," Kat assured him, fulfilling his prediction. She lifted his chin to kiss his lips; there was no passion in it, not at that point in the morning while she was still loosening up her joints, but it held the promise of passion in the future. Mostly, it held love.

Staying on the shower chair as long as possible, Rob dried himself, leaning on a rail to finish. He stepped out of the shower area, one hand to the wall and the other receiving the glasses his wife passed to him, and they returned to the bedroom.

Rob felt better about dressing. It was more of a mutual activity. They worked together to sort out clothes, Kat getting anything that was low down to save him getting dizzy while Rob's hands did the necessary work for them both.

He sat on the bed as Kat passed him his jeans, slipping them over his feet before leaning on the bed lever to stand and pull them up; by then, Kat had her soft grey skirt at her waist, and he did up the silly fiddly little zip people seemed to think necessary on women's clothes. He shrugged into his black t-shirt without difficulty; Kat had little difficulty getting into her pull-on bra, but needed some help pulling down her white top, rather tighter than a man's t-shirt. Once she was dressed, he ruffled her hair and kissed her forehead. Finally, he let his own dirty blond hair down, ran his hands through it, and tied it back in a rough ponytail.

It's a good thing there's nothing wrong with my hands. We'd be pretty stuck, then. Especially for the next job.

Moving in well-trodden paths, they moved on to the living room. Kat took her seat while Rob leaned against a bookcase to drink his tea. Only warm now, but that was what he was used to, and it didn't even strike him as odd. Picking up his wife's now-empty mug, he swung around to the kitchen, swaying slightly as usual.

"Breakfast?" he called back through the open door. He rinsed the mugs and started the kettle; he still wasn't used to that instant boiling water thing. It was okay for filling a pan, but he didn't trust it for a mug.

"Just some toast, please," Kat replied, her fatigue from the morning routine obvious in her voice.

"If you ever want more than that, you just have to ask."

"I know."

He didn't like to remind her of that too often, but he knew that, as much as he could do with losing the weight he'd put on over the last ten or so years, she could do with putting some back on.

Well, who wants to eat much when they're in pain all the time?

Sitting for as much of the process as he could, he put together toast, marmalade, coffee press, milk, sugar and all on a trolley. Leaning on it heavily, Rob rolled the lot through to Kat, taking his own tea and sitting down while she served herself. He knew that spreading her own marmalade was one her little acts of defiance against her condition; it hurt, but it proved she could still do things. Once she had taken her meagre portion, he grabbed the rest for himself and reclined his chair, willing the world to stop spinning and let him eat.

* * * * *

After breakfast, the usual routine of the day continued. Kat mostly read, while Rob had his morning shave--something best done once fully awake--and got on with what little work he had, starting with checking some of his work emails. Before long, he felt the need to move around a bit so, as was their habit, he replaced Kat's breakfast coffee with a mug of tea.

"Well, they've cancelled another month of sittings," he reported, sitting back down. "I hope they're going to waive our minimum sitting requirements, otherwise there's going to be a real shortage of magistrates once this is over."

Kat set down her Kindle, pausing in thought before replying. She gazed out of the window, the rows of industrial-era housing toward the town centre reminiscent of Lowry. Two other small towers, of an age with the one they lived in. Miles of post-war low-cost housing heading out from the centre. The main road they overlooked. All quieter than they had ever been, even on a Sunday, before the pandemic came. A familiar view that had become alien, and then familiar again, changed, not what it was.

She wondered if she would ever again see it as it had been.

"That assumes there isn't going to be a shortage anyway."

"True. But I'm also concerned about the apparent lack of work that needs doing. We were working as normal, just sitting from home, for the first couple of months of lockdown. Even if the judges are still sitting, the only way they could be getting by without lay magistrates is either them dealing with everything on the papers--and I'm not certain that would make enough difference--or there just isn't much going before the family courts right now."

"And isn't that just another datum, telling us more about what's going on?"

"Yeah. And it's one I don't like. I can understand there being no work on the Fitness to Practice panels right now; everyone's too busy. But a near-total halt to child arrangements, child welfare, heck, even non-molestation work? That's a

big

data point. I don't buy that lockdown has somehow resolved all the knots that families get themselves into."

They both reflected on that in silence.

"Let's have something on TV," Kat suggested, fifteen years together teaching her that it was best if Rob didn't put all his attention into stewing over the implications. She wasn't sure which would be worse for her mental health--the mood he'd get into, left to his own devices, or the conversation that was likely to happen if this carried on. She didn't need any more worries right now.

Rob grunted his agreement, picking up the remote. He opened YouTube first, scrolling through suggestions. He wanted something that would hold his attention more than the historical costuming videos that Kat loved, and he didn't think she was likely to fancy trying to get her head around any astrophysics right now. Simon Whistler would just be annoying when he was in this mood.

Seeing him scrolling with no sign of stopping, Kat suggested maybe they should see what was on actual broadcast TV.

This wasn't much better.

Homes Under the Hammer

,

Cash in the Attic

,

Pointless

. All repeats, of course. One channel was halfway through

A Matter of Life and Death

. It was like TV had turned into one long bank holiday.

Giving up on finding anything engaging that was less likely to sour his mood further, Rob decided to try the news.

Images of NHS workers in frankly inadequate PPE, in busy--but not overwhelmed--Accident & Emergency departments. B-roll of world leaders meeting by Zoom, including their very own mop-headed Prime Minister. A recording of a speech from said Prime Minister from several days ago, Boris stood outside Downing Street assuring the country that Brits, with "the grit and determination that saw us through the Blitz" would get through this, that there was nothing to worry about as long as everyone maintained social distance.

It was Kat who broke the silence in the room, her own thoughts now too busy to contain.

"People believe him," she said. "Well, not exactly, but they believe him enough. They believe it all, that the impact isn't so bad, that there's a way out of this, that the government know what they're doing." She sighed. "They've done that much well, the government and NEBC." Rob scoffed.

"The NEBC

are

part of the government, to all intents and purposes. After all, the government are the ones who forced media consolidation, so now we have just

one

broadcaster for the north of England, and the government is pulling their strings. They stopped clapping for the NHS when it got obvious how much quieter the applause was getting--and now it's so quiet out there, traffic on the main roads makes them look more like a cul-de-sac. How is everyone being so stupid? They're all seeing the same things we're seeing, if they care to look, but they still don't

see them

."

"They're not stupid," she chided. "You know that. Yes,

we

could work it out even without those little bits of insider information you've gleaned, but how many other people could? It doesn't make them stupid. Most people aren't like us."

"No. You're right. It doesn't help to think of everyone else as stupid. I'm sorry." He shook his head, a little ashamed of himself. "And we should be glad people haven't figured it out. We can't be the only ones who have--I can only hope that everyone else who does get it figures out the next part as well."

"Yeah. What happens if everyone knows..."

"I just wish we knew

specifics

. We know it's worse than they say, we know there's more going here than Covid. But what? There was talk of this 'DuoHalo' a bit ago, but that's not really been mentioned for a while--were they minimising that all along, or is there something else? How many are dead?

Why

is whatever it is so hard to contain?"

Kat thought silently for a moment before replying.

"My mother would know, but you know that if we ask her she'll stay tight-lipped. You're still sure you shouldn't reach out to any of your colleagues? Some of them must be in the know."

"Wouldn't be appropriate, and I'm sure they wouldn't tell us anything useful either, for the same reasons. Or they'd get in trouble if they did. It does all put her messages reminding us to be careful in a different light, though." Rob's hands clenched and unclenched as he wrestled with his emotions.

"So what's really bothering you, love?"

"You know what," he said, bitterly, leaning forward in his chair. "I could be doing something. I

should

be doing something--

we

should." His voice became raised as he let the feelings fly. "If we can see what's happening, even a tenth of what's happening, with the manicured presentation that's being put on everything, we could

do something

."

Kat smiled at him. There was something she found particularly endearing--and attractive--about her husband when he was like this.

"Sure. If you could stand up for 30 seconds unaided, if I could use my hands, if you could be properly awake for more than 10 hours a day. If I weren't stuck here shielding on account of my medication."

He glared at her, but she just kept looking at him with soft eyes, a half smile on her face, until he relaxed back into his chair, nodding.

"You're right. But I don't like it. I don't like feeling forgotten by the rest of society, like the government think we don't matter because we're not 'productive'. We're not even 40, and we're written off."

She pushed herself from her sofa, reaching a hand out to him as her half-smile shifted to a knowing smirk.

"There's something we can do that you will like," she said, slightly bashfully, removing her glasses and nodding towards the bedroom. "Come on."