Weary
by Jennamajig
SUMMARY: It's at night when the
weariness hits. A Carson piece.
SEASON/SPOILERS: Season
One. Slight mention of Poisoning the Well.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Been
sidetracked by a SG-1 series I'm working on, but this little
thing come to me while thinking about the fact that we need more
Carson fic. So randomness and angst ahead.
DISCLAIMER: I
don't own Stargate: Atlantis or anything associated with it. I'm
simply borrowing, but I promise to return all in one piece.
Eventually.
He was tired.
Physically and emotionally and from the tips of his fingers to
last centimeter of his toes. It never seemed to abate, and sleep
was constantly interrupted. He was the doctor after all. The one
that was supposed to look after everyone, make sure every injury
was attended to, every illness treated. The trouble was, in the
end, he wasn't sure who would look after him.
Carson Beckett sighed. It had been a long day and would be an
even longer night. SGA-2 came back with multiple injuries after a
hostile mission. He and his staff had barely settled when he'd
gotten a call from Peter Grodin, informing him that he feared
Elizabeth Weir was ill. This necessitated a trip to Elizabeth's
office with a stash of medical supplies, since he knew the woman
would never return to the infirmary without a fight. Some slight
bickering and a quick exam later, he tentatively diagnosed her
with strep throat, ordered her to her quarters and taken the swab
back to the lab. It *was* strep and before he knew it, all of
Atlantis seemed to parade in, inflicted with the ailment.
He briefly pondered *how* Elizabeth was sharing her germs, but
figured if he valued his life, so he'd be better off not knowing.
Still, half of Atlantis, including the majority of his own staff
now had strep throat. And despite his constant insistence, Rodney
McKay was thankfully - or unthankfully depending on how he chose
to look at it - was not one of them.
He was tired. The antibiotic supply couldn't take much of these
epidemics. Which, of course, was why, he was sitting on floor in
the mist of Atlantis medical supplies with a pad and pencil,
calculating some simple math.
His hastily formulated conclusions made him even wearier. He did
not look forward to delivering his finding at the next briefing
after Elizabeth was back on her feet any more than the impending
coming of the Wraith.
Oh well, his mum told him he would have days like this. He just
didn't expect them all to be so close together that there wasn't
a breath in between.
So he rubbed his weary eyes, got up, and poured himself a cup of
what Teyla told him was the Althosian equivalent of Earth's tea
but to him tasted all wrong. It kept him up and going though,
something he was grateful for.
It was the night when he did most of his paperwork and allowed
himself to indulge in deep thoughts and what ifs. He was far from
a brave man, he knew, though had yet to test his theory in the
true face of danger and wasn't sure how he'd react really. He was
petrified and in the mist of the night, those feelings sat in the
pit of his stomach churning alongside the not-quite-right tea. It
was hard to sleep in Atlantis. Even when he was off-duty, which
he never really was, it was difficult.
He busied himself setting up the duty rooster around the recent
strep throat invasion and sighed as he noticed he was the only
doctor currently not inflicted. Tomorrow's day just got longer
and it had yet to even begin.
His was a job that needed to be done but was often lost in
shuffle. Elizabeth led them all, Major Sheppard led the soldiers;
Rodney made scientific leaps that helped run Atlantis. He, well,
he supposed he patched up the fallout.
That wasn't really true, he told himself. He did lots of research
and was part of this expedition because of it. He'd managed to
make a few breakthroughs on Wraith physiology. Of course, there
was Hoff and...well, he couldn't forget Hoff.
He was tired, all right.
The main infirmary room was quiet, lights dimmed, SGA-2 sleeping.
The night nurse, a pleasant Midwest American named Laurie greeted
him with a smile, handing over the most recent set of vitals,
along with the tally she'd taken on those down with strep.
Laurie, bless her, was a Godsend, who anticipated his orders
before he'd even given them. However, tonight her usual smile
lacked a bit of its usual luster and he frowned. Fifteen minutes
later, he sent the lass, complete with antibiotics, back to her
quarters.
He adjusted the supply list, checked on his patients, and settled
himself at Laurie's post. He'd glanced at the cot he'd dragged in
a few weeks ago for all-nighters such as this one and sighed.
He guessed this was how most of Atlantis felt, especially in wake
of the Wraith. That your work was never done and your mind filled
with so many things that can't filter one thing out, never mind
try to ignore them all and sleep. Elizabeth constantly felt the
burden of leadership, he knew, and Major Sheppard walked around
with tired eyes. Rodney certainly didn't seem to ever shut off
his brain and he wondered if his friend was awake at this very
moment in his own lab, feeling wearier than he could ever
imagine.
He sighed again, listening to the soft beeps of medical equipment
and watching the tiny lights blinking in the shadows. He took a
sip of his now cold and imperfect tea and closed his eyes,
picturing his mother's kitchen and her old black tea kettle that
was loud enough to let the neighbors know it was teatime. He
could still taste the brew on his tongue and wondered if he tried
hard enough the not-tea could transform itself.
Instead he found himself grimacing at the liquid as it left a
trail of fire down his throat. But it wasn't the tea's fault
really. His tiredness crept into his bones and down his throat.
He swallowed again and realized it wasn't just tiredness.
Great, he thought, as he laid his head down on the desk's
surface. He probably had the beginnings of strep throat. He could
tick more antibiotics off the supply list. He managed to swab his
own throat without too much gagging, then hastily retrieved the
pills, forced a couple down his throat with the last bit of his
cold 'tea' and wanted nothing but to curl up in a blanket.
But there was work to be done and people to care for and the
world didn't stop no matter how much you wished it would.
So it all came back to his first thought. If he was supposed to
put everyone back together, who, in the end, would be left to
help him?
End.