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What Dwells Within, 2/? (Beckett/Sheppard/McKay)
More. Previous chapter somewhere in this lj. ;-)
Chapter Two
For a change, Carson woke up alone in the bed. Normally he only woke up alone the second time of the morning, after his lovers had forced him awake earlier than man was intended to be conscious. But that morning -- perhaps because they'd been awake late into the night, they'd let him sleep in.
He'd gone to the mess hall for breakfast, not seeing either of them and wondering how long he'd missed them by. The clock in his head told him the hour, but it couldn't tell him when John and Rodney had had their breakfasts.
He sat down at one of the outdoor tables, enjoying the morning sun. He stared at the bowl on his tray -- oatmeal. At least he wouldn't be wearing it, today. Carson smiled to himself as he thought that maybe they should stock the kitchenette in their quarters and have more meals there.
"Dr. Beckett? May I join you?"
He looked up at Dr. Collin. She was holding a cup of tea, and looked rather more subdued than she had previously. He waved to the seat.
"Of course." He gave her a smile; none of this was her doing.
She sat down and said, without preamble, "I'm sorry. I didn't realise.. I was under the impression you'd *asked* to step down. When I was offered the job, I didn't think...I assumed you'd requested it."
He sighed and set his spoon down, not really hungry anymore. "It's all right, Dr. Collin. I...agree with Dr. Weir's assessment. Someone else does need to be doing the administrative work." And, had he been asked, he would have chosen exactly this portion of his jobs to give up. He loved genetics, despite not having focused much time on it recently. He loved medicine, as well, and he would still be on the infirmary's rotation.
And he'd realised he didn't actually want to give up the repair work, despite everything -- so the paperwork, meetings, and accompanying headaches were the only thing left to lose.
But Dr. Collin was frowning. "Unfortunately your staff doesn't agree. They're rather up in arms, actually." She smiled, ruefully.
Carson blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Maybe you can come down to the infirmary and we can figure something out? Because -- quite frankly, they're not going to work for me under the present circumstances."
Carson closed his mouth and pushed his tray away. "This sounds rather serious."
Dr. Collin nodded. "You bet your patootie it is."
~~~~
They went straight away to the infirmary; there they found most of the staff gathered in a large group, talking and arguing. As soon as they spotted he and Dr. Collin, they headed towards them, en masse.
Carson wasn't sure what to make of the angry expressions, but he asked, "What's going on, now?"
It was Dr. Chavez who answered. "We don't appreciate someone re-arranging our department without even asking. No offense, Dr. Collin, but we want you back as Chief Medical Officer," he said the last directly to Carson.
"But Dr. Weir--"
"We don't care what she says," Mariana put in. "Dr. Collin can help with the work -- we agree that you need help. But you have more experience than she does. Working here isn't like a hospital on Earth. There are things you just can't pick up in a couple days, or even a couple weeks."
"I agree with them," Dr. Collin put in, speaking as much to the staff as to him. Making it clear, he realised, that she wasn't trying to push him out of the way.
"But... I appreciate what you're saying," he began, as he tried to process what was happening. Tried to figure out what he wanted to do. "But Dr. Weir is correct. I haven't the time to do the job anymore. It isn't fair to leave the department at a loss, when someone else can take over."
The doctors and nurses frowned and grumbled at this. None of them were happy -- and Carson found himself quite touched. But he'd accepted the change and he was certain they would, as well, once they'd had some time to adjust. "Thank you, all of you. But Dr. Collin will learn what she needs to know quickly enough. When we got here, none of us knew what we were doing. If you give her a chance, she'll do an admirable job, I'm sure of it. I *can't* do the work anymore," he repeated. "Not and give fair shake to everything else."
"But we trust you," Dr. Chavez said. "When decisions have to be made -- we trust you to make the right ones." He glanced at Dr. Collin, but didn't say anything else.
"I'm sure Dr. Collin will be able--" he began.
"Why don't you just give me the work?" Dr. Collin said suddenly. "You keep the title, and the final say. But I can do the daily stuff, the paperwork and all the annoying things most doctors don't like doing anyhow. But you'd still be in charge." She sounded like she thought it a great idea -- despite the fact she was giving up the job she'd come here to do.
He frowned at her. "That's hardly fair to you."
But she grinned. "Dr. Beckett, I'm in *Atlantis,* in another galaxy. I could be here to wash test tubes, and I'd be delighted."
"You...you really... it wouldn't..." He stopped, half-afraid that if he could say it, she would change her mind.
"Not at all. Call me your secretary, even. Or Assistant Chief. Or Debbie. I don't care. I just want to...." She looked around, and waved a hand. "This matters more than what my title is and which of us is making the big decisions."
"I...don't know what to say." Surely a person wasn't meant to take this many upheavals to his life in one day, Carson thought.
Though he couldn't honestly say his life had been routine, for a great many years.
He looked at his staff, and Dr. Collin. They all seemed quite sincere.
"I suppose there'd be no reason not to," he began. Then he was interrupted by a barrage of cheers and thank yous. There were handshakes and claps on the back, and several minutes before the staff on duty wandered back to their work and he was free to speak to Dr. Collin.
"We should figure out exactly what we're doing, then," he said, and she nodded. "Should we.. well. I dunno if it's your office or my office." He smiled.
Dr. Collin grinned. "Maybe we can call it 'the Final Resting Place'?"
Carson raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh, that's terrible." He laughed. "Whatever it is, let's go there and discuss matters."
~~~~~~~~
In the end, they came easily to an agreement. Carson simply handed over everything, as Dr. Weir had intended, except for the actual job title and the authority that went with it. In emergencies, Carson would be the one calling the shots but otherwise Dr. Collin would act as the CMO.
They sent off a message to Dr Weir, letting her know what they'd decided and asking her to make it official. Then he sent a similar email to John and Rodney, just in case they were serious about doing any of the things they'd discussed doing the previous night.
Then he left Dr. Collin to get acquainted with her job. He set off towards the lab, thinking he might get around to filing at least one of the progress reports he'd failed to submit over the last two months. But as he walked, he found himself heading instead down the other corridor, past the labs and borrowed offices, to the workshop at the end of cavenor's hall.
When he walked in, he saw the box of his belongings sitting on the table near the wall. That table was covered with odds and ends which he hadn't placed there -- left over from ten thousand years ago when other people had worked here. Carson felt no compunction to clean up after them; someday, maybe. When he had a fit of the tidys. But for now he used the larger table in the center of the room where the light seemed a bit better.
There was a charge-relay half open on the table at the moment; Carson didn't feel like working, though.
"That was unexpected," he said, looking around the room but seeing his staff gathered around him. "I had no idea...."
Was it really that much of a surprise?
Carson shook his head and sat down on the workbench. He really hadn't thought they would care one way or the other who was in charge. True, he'd always got along with everyone in the medical department and he'd known enough to understand how unusual that could be and be grateful for it. But he'd always laid claim to that on Dr. Weir's ability to choose personnel. Not him.
It made him wonder if he was doing the right thing.
He reached his hand over and touched the edge of the casing for the charge-relay. He could remember from the schematics what the interior of the device should look like, could identify the ways in which is did not look anything like what it ought. It was in a bad way, but easy enough to fix. Just a matter of putting in the time.
Once it was back in place it would help maintain the city's power center, allow them to power the ZPMs up or down rather than simply leave them going at full strength as they were now.
It didn't really matter; they had three thousand years before the ZPMs would run dry. But still, the power center was designed to work with the charge relays in place so Carson had it here, to be repaired.
He thought about the research waiting for him back at his lab. Not the reports, though he did feel a bit of guilt over that. But the work waiting for him, the things he could discover about the Wraith. Things which might help them understand, help them defeat their enemy.
It's all right if you want to go.
Carson shook his head. "I don't mind, really. I just.... it'll be easier, now. Dr. Collin's taking a good bit of the work and I'll be able to--"
It's all right, Murdoc said again. There was a pause, then, I'm sorry.
"For what?" Carson was startled.
For this. You know you don't have to, right?
There came a small picture from the city's map, of the infirmary. It rotated, slowly.
It's all right if you'd rather--
Carson shook his head. "I wouldn't rather do paperwork, thank you."
Be a doctor, Murdoc finished.
Carson smiled. "I still am, you know. Just because my patient is a large city, doesn't mean I'm not still doing what I love best." Even as he said it, he understood how true it was. In some ways what he was doing felt exactly the same as being a doctor to live, human patients.
There was silence and Carson had time to wonder if Murdoc was going to respond. Carson waited, still resting his fingers on the charge-relay casing. The metal was cool, felt more like ceramic. But he knew it was metal, could even call up the exact details for manufacturing the casing if he wanted. He made a mental note -- literally, scrawling the words on the notepad section of the screen in his eyes -- reminding himself to share the information for Dr. Zelenka and the other engineers.
He thought of John's positive reinforcement for remembering to do that sort of thing and flushed.
It isn't the same thing, Murdoc said, and Carson started before he realised Murdoc was responding to what he'd said about being a doctor, and not his thoughts of John and menthol-flavoured blowjobs in the corridors.
"No, it isn't the same thing. But my patient is getting better and I can *fix* what's wrong, instead of use surgery and drugs and hoping for the best." He looked around the workshop. "It isn't the same," he agreed. "But I don't mind."
He couldn't say, precisely, how much he liked it. He didn't hate it -- otherwise he wouldn't have bothered. It didn't give him the thrill that exploring genetics did, nor the warmth of connection that being a healer did.
But there was something in it. The fact his patient wouldn't die? The fact that there was no pain or suffering, just a broken body to repair?
He didn't know. What he did know was that sitting here in the workshop was where he wanted to be. The charge-relay would take days to fix, but he was growing eager to get started. When it was completed he would take it down and install it, and it would either work or he would come back and try again.
It was like medicine without all the danger, he realised. Cold, unfeeling machines and devices that didn't care if he took a week off, or his hands slipped and he had to try again, or if he failed three times in a row before finally making things work.
He wondered if he should be ashamed of wanting this. A coward's medicine, where nobody suffered and nobody died. But as Dr. Weir had said, what he was doing here was important. He'd already given more to the expedition as a repairman than he had as a doctor, after all.
That's not true, Murdoc whispered. Carson didn't want to listen, but Murdoc pulled up a file. His own personnel records, Carson realised. Reluctantly he opened them.
There was a list of all the patients he'd treated. All of them, from the lives he'd saved all the way to the ones he'd given band-aids and aspirin to.
Do you really think they'd appreciate knowing you think that charge-relay is more important? Murdoc asked.
Carson didn't respond. He saw, and looked away from, John's name.
"All right," he said quietly. "You've made your point." He picked up the charge-relay and brought up its schematics. "They're both important."
The interface display flickered and the schemata for the charge-relay disappeared.
Why don't you go back to the lab? Murdoc suggested.
"It's all right," he said, sighing. "I actually do want to do this."
The scroll of repairs shifted to the bottom of the list, where the most trivial of repairs were found. Carson frowned and tried to move it, but the scroll didn't budge. The display screen showed a map of the nearby corridors, with the medical lab highlighted.
"I don't need to--" he began, trying to call up the repair screen for the charge-relay again.
He got a diagram of a grain cooker.
Carson sighed again. "All right, all right. I'm going." He set the charge-relay down and stood up.
The interface remained frozen as he left the workshop. He poked at it a couple of times, but couldn't make it change until he was staring through the microscope at a slide of Wraith cells and the line of the repair scroll was in the way. Then it shifted to the edge of his vision and the display map dimmed as far as it would go, clearing his line of sight.
He stayed where he was, despite the sense of victory, because he thought maybe he was onto something with figuring out just what sort of creature the Wraith were. There was something about them and the bug he'd taken from John's neck, that made him think they were related.
end chapter two
Chapter Two
For a change, Carson woke up alone in the bed. Normally he only woke up alone the second time of the morning, after his lovers had forced him awake earlier than man was intended to be conscious. But that morning -- perhaps because they'd been awake late into the night, they'd let him sleep in.
He'd gone to the mess hall for breakfast, not seeing either of them and wondering how long he'd missed them by. The clock in his head told him the hour, but it couldn't tell him when John and Rodney had had their breakfasts.
He sat down at one of the outdoor tables, enjoying the morning sun. He stared at the bowl on his tray -- oatmeal. At least he wouldn't be wearing it, today. Carson smiled to himself as he thought that maybe they should stock the kitchenette in their quarters and have more meals there.
"Dr. Beckett? May I join you?"
He looked up at Dr. Collin. She was holding a cup of tea, and looked rather more subdued than she had previously. He waved to the seat.
"Of course." He gave her a smile; none of this was her doing.
She sat down and said, without preamble, "I'm sorry. I didn't realise.. I was under the impression you'd *asked* to step down. When I was offered the job, I didn't think...I assumed you'd requested it."
He sighed and set his spoon down, not really hungry anymore. "It's all right, Dr. Collin. I...agree with Dr. Weir's assessment. Someone else does need to be doing the administrative work." And, had he been asked, he would have chosen exactly this portion of his jobs to give up. He loved genetics, despite not having focused much time on it recently. He loved medicine, as well, and he would still be on the infirmary's rotation.
And he'd realised he didn't actually want to give up the repair work, despite everything -- so the paperwork, meetings, and accompanying headaches were the only thing left to lose.
But Dr. Collin was frowning. "Unfortunately your staff doesn't agree. They're rather up in arms, actually." She smiled, ruefully.
Carson blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Maybe you can come down to the infirmary and we can figure something out? Because -- quite frankly, they're not going to work for me under the present circumstances."
Carson closed his mouth and pushed his tray away. "This sounds rather serious."
Dr. Collin nodded. "You bet your patootie it is."
~~~~
They went straight away to the infirmary; there they found most of the staff gathered in a large group, talking and arguing. As soon as they spotted he and Dr. Collin, they headed towards them, en masse.
Carson wasn't sure what to make of the angry expressions, but he asked, "What's going on, now?"
It was Dr. Chavez who answered. "We don't appreciate someone re-arranging our department without even asking. No offense, Dr. Collin, but we want you back as Chief Medical Officer," he said the last directly to Carson.
"But Dr. Weir--"
"We don't care what she says," Mariana put in. "Dr. Collin can help with the work -- we agree that you need help. But you have more experience than she does. Working here isn't like a hospital on Earth. There are things you just can't pick up in a couple days, or even a couple weeks."
"I agree with them," Dr. Collin put in, speaking as much to the staff as to him. Making it clear, he realised, that she wasn't trying to push him out of the way.
"But... I appreciate what you're saying," he began, as he tried to process what was happening. Tried to figure out what he wanted to do. "But Dr. Weir is correct. I haven't the time to do the job anymore. It isn't fair to leave the department at a loss, when someone else can take over."
The doctors and nurses frowned and grumbled at this. None of them were happy -- and Carson found himself quite touched. But he'd accepted the change and he was certain they would, as well, once they'd had some time to adjust. "Thank you, all of you. But Dr. Collin will learn what she needs to know quickly enough. When we got here, none of us knew what we were doing. If you give her a chance, she'll do an admirable job, I'm sure of it. I *can't* do the work anymore," he repeated. "Not and give fair shake to everything else."
"But we trust you," Dr. Chavez said. "When decisions have to be made -- we trust you to make the right ones." He glanced at Dr. Collin, but didn't say anything else.
"I'm sure Dr. Collin will be able--" he began.
"Why don't you just give me the work?" Dr. Collin said suddenly. "You keep the title, and the final say. But I can do the daily stuff, the paperwork and all the annoying things most doctors don't like doing anyhow. But you'd still be in charge." She sounded like she thought it a great idea -- despite the fact she was giving up the job she'd come here to do.
He frowned at her. "That's hardly fair to you."
But she grinned. "Dr. Beckett, I'm in *Atlantis,* in another galaxy. I could be here to wash test tubes, and I'd be delighted."
"You...you really... it wouldn't..." He stopped, half-afraid that if he could say it, she would change her mind.
"Not at all. Call me your secretary, even. Or Assistant Chief. Or Debbie. I don't care. I just want to...." She looked around, and waved a hand. "This matters more than what my title is and which of us is making the big decisions."
"I...don't know what to say." Surely a person wasn't meant to take this many upheavals to his life in one day, Carson thought.
Though he couldn't honestly say his life had been routine, for a great many years.
He looked at his staff, and Dr. Collin. They all seemed quite sincere.
"I suppose there'd be no reason not to," he began. Then he was interrupted by a barrage of cheers and thank yous. There were handshakes and claps on the back, and several minutes before the staff on duty wandered back to their work and he was free to speak to Dr. Collin.
"We should figure out exactly what we're doing, then," he said, and she nodded. "Should we.. well. I dunno if it's your office or my office." He smiled.
Dr. Collin grinned. "Maybe we can call it 'the Final Resting Place'?"
Carson raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh, that's terrible." He laughed. "Whatever it is, let's go there and discuss matters."
~~~~~~~~
In the end, they came easily to an agreement. Carson simply handed over everything, as Dr. Weir had intended, except for the actual job title and the authority that went with it. In emergencies, Carson would be the one calling the shots but otherwise Dr. Collin would act as the CMO.
They sent off a message to Dr Weir, letting her know what they'd decided and asking her to make it official. Then he sent a similar email to John and Rodney, just in case they were serious about doing any of the things they'd discussed doing the previous night.
Then he left Dr. Collin to get acquainted with her job. He set off towards the lab, thinking he might get around to filing at least one of the progress reports he'd failed to submit over the last two months. But as he walked, he found himself heading instead down the other corridor, past the labs and borrowed offices, to the workshop at the end of cavenor's hall.
When he walked in, he saw the box of his belongings sitting on the table near the wall. That table was covered with odds and ends which he hadn't placed there -- left over from ten thousand years ago when other people had worked here. Carson felt no compunction to clean up after them; someday, maybe. When he had a fit of the tidys. But for now he used the larger table in the center of the room where the light seemed a bit better.
There was a charge-relay half open on the table at the moment; Carson didn't feel like working, though.
"That was unexpected," he said, looking around the room but seeing his staff gathered around him. "I had no idea...."
Was it really that much of a surprise?
Carson shook his head and sat down on the workbench. He really hadn't thought they would care one way or the other who was in charge. True, he'd always got along with everyone in the medical department and he'd known enough to understand how unusual that could be and be grateful for it. But he'd always laid claim to that on Dr. Weir's ability to choose personnel. Not him.
It made him wonder if he was doing the right thing.
He reached his hand over and touched the edge of the casing for the charge-relay. He could remember from the schematics what the interior of the device should look like, could identify the ways in which is did not look anything like what it ought. It was in a bad way, but easy enough to fix. Just a matter of putting in the time.
Once it was back in place it would help maintain the city's power center, allow them to power the ZPMs up or down rather than simply leave them going at full strength as they were now.
It didn't really matter; they had three thousand years before the ZPMs would run dry. But still, the power center was designed to work with the charge relays in place so Carson had it here, to be repaired.
He thought about the research waiting for him back at his lab. Not the reports, though he did feel a bit of guilt over that. But the work waiting for him, the things he could discover about the Wraith. Things which might help them understand, help them defeat their enemy.
It's all right if you want to go.
Carson shook his head. "I don't mind, really. I just.... it'll be easier, now. Dr. Collin's taking a good bit of the work and I'll be able to--"
It's all right, Murdoc said again. There was a pause, then, I'm sorry.
"For what?" Carson was startled.
For this. You know you don't have to, right?
There came a small picture from the city's map, of the infirmary. It rotated, slowly.
It's all right if you'd rather--
Carson shook his head. "I wouldn't rather do paperwork, thank you."
Be a doctor, Murdoc finished.
Carson smiled. "I still am, you know. Just because my patient is a large city, doesn't mean I'm not still doing what I love best." Even as he said it, he understood how true it was. In some ways what he was doing felt exactly the same as being a doctor to live, human patients.
There was silence and Carson had time to wonder if Murdoc was going to respond. Carson waited, still resting his fingers on the charge-relay casing. The metal was cool, felt more like ceramic. But he knew it was metal, could even call up the exact details for manufacturing the casing if he wanted. He made a mental note -- literally, scrawling the words on the notepad section of the screen in his eyes -- reminding himself to share the information for Dr. Zelenka and the other engineers.
He thought of John's positive reinforcement for remembering to do that sort of thing and flushed.
It isn't the same thing, Murdoc said, and Carson started before he realised Murdoc was responding to what he'd said about being a doctor, and not his thoughts of John and menthol-flavoured blowjobs in the corridors.
"No, it isn't the same thing. But my patient is getting better and I can *fix* what's wrong, instead of use surgery and drugs and hoping for the best." He looked around the workshop. "It isn't the same," he agreed. "But I don't mind."
He couldn't say, precisely, how much he liked it. He didn't hate it -- otherwise he wouldn't have bothered. It didn't give him the thrill that exploring genetics did, nor the warmth of connection that being a healer did.
But there was something in it. The fact his patient wouldn't die? The fact that there was no pain or suffering, just a broken body to repair?
He didn't know. What he did know was that sitting here in the workshop was where he wanted to be. The charge-relay would take days to fix, but he was growing eager to get started. When it was completed he would take it down and install it, and it would either work or he would come back and try again.
It was like medicine without all the danger, he realised. Cold, unfeeling machines and devices that didn't care if he took a week off, or his hands slipped and he had to try again, or if he failed three times in a row before finally making things work.
He wondered if he should be ashamed of wanting this. A coward's medicine, where nobody suffered and nobody died. But as Dr. Weir had said, what he was doing here was important. He'd already given more to the expedition as a repairman than he had as a doctor, after all.
That's not true, Murdoc whispered. Carson didn't want to listen, but Murdoc pulled up a file. His own personnel records, Carson realised. Reluctantly he opened them.
There was a list of all the patients he'd treated. All of them, from the lives he'd saved all the way to the ones he'd given band-aids and aspirin to.
Do you really think they'd appreciate knowing you think that charge-relay is more important? Murdoc asked.
Carson didn't respond. He saw, and looked away from, John's name.
"All right," he said quietly. "You've made your point." He picked up the charge-relay and brought up its schematics. "They're both important."
The interface display flickered and the schemata for the charge-relay disappeared.
Why don't you go back to the lab? Murdoc suggested.
"It's all right," he said, sighing. "I actually do want to do this."
The scroll of repairs shifted to the bottom of the list, where the most trivial of repairs were found. Carson frowned and tried to move it, but the scroll didn't budge. The display screen showed a map of the nearby corridors, with the medical lab highlighted.
"I don't need to--" he began, trying to call up the repair screen for the charge-relay again.
He got a diagram of a grain cooker.
Carson sighed again. "All right, all right. I'm going." He set the charge-relay down and stood up.
The interface remained frozen as he left the workshop. He poked at it a couple of times, but couldn't make it change until he was staring through the microscope at a slide of Wraith cells and the line of the repair scroll was in the way. Then it shifted to the edge of his vision and the display map dimmed as far as it would go, clearing his line of sight.
He stayed where he was, despite the sense of victory, because he thought maybe he was onto something with figuring out just what sort of creature the Wraith were. There was something about them and the bug he'd taken from John's neck, that made him think they were related.
end chapter two