Disclaimer: Yeah, still not mine.
Summary: There were days he wished he stayed in Scotland. Or Antarctica. Hell, even America sounded better than Atlantis.
Author's Note: Carson was feeling a little left out of the whole thing. Which has me rather worried, because if he feels left out of the team, Teyla and Ronon may well be next. Post "Phantoms".
Second Guesses
Carson Beckett was not a religious man. It was very hard to be when one spent their spare time messing around with the human genome. And God, in any form, hardly counted when you were in another galaxy.
He absently wondered how anyone even passably religious would explain away the Ancients, or the Stargate, or them being in Atlantis at all. He supposed he never really wanted to find out. The answer was unlikely to make much sense to him anyways.
They had been here for over two years. And when he stopped to think about all that had gone wrong in those two years, it was a wonder he hadn't died of stroke long before now. There really was only so much stress the human body could take before it just…stopped working.
And that was what led him to the nearest balcony, as soon as he was able to escape the infirmary without having one of his nurses track him to make sure he was 'alright'. It was likely going to be a long time before he was anywhere near alright again. He had to admit to himself that he wasn't handling this whole thing all that well. And he knew that talking about it would help, and that John or Teyla or even Ronon would be happy to lend an ear, because they understood. But that was really the problem; it was just a reminder that the rest of them had all gone through a similar trauma, and none of them were coming to him to cry on his shoulder. Bloody hell, even McKay seemed to be handling the whole thing better then he was!
He'd signed on to the expedition knowing there was a good chance they might never get back. And, if that were so, and they were stranded in another galaxy and had to fend for themselves, that his position as CMO was just as important as Elizabeth's as expedition leader. He was used to stress, but that wasn't really the kind he was looking for at this point in his life. But since he'd been stupid enough to figure out the whole Ancient gene himself, he was rather obligated to tag along. Perhaps it would have been better if he'd become an actor. Unlikely he'd ever be called on to save someone's life on some distantly deserted planet where everyone that set foot through the Stargate went absolutely nuts because of some weird alien experiment.
Carson leaned forward to rest his weight against the railing and banged his head down onto the cold metal. Perhaps a little harder than he'd meant to, but the physical pain was actually a welcomed relief from the emotional turmoil that was going to drive him insane.
He'd let a patient die under his care because of negligence. How was he supposed to live with that guilt? How was he ever going to be able to walk back into that infirmary and save someone else's life? Because if it could happen once, it could certainly happen again. And if it was the Colonel, or Rodney, or Elizabeth next time, he wasn't going to be able to live with himself for the rest of his life. He wasn't entirely sure he was going to be able to live with himself now.
Maybe he should just pack up and go home. Claiming psychological trauma would show up on his record, but at least he'd be back on Earth, in Scotland if he wanted to, and perhaps that would make everything alright.
Carson sighed. Except that he knew it really wouldn't. Because Atlantis was feeling as much like home as Scotland had ever done, and John and Elizabeth and even Rodney, if he admitted it, were as dear to him as his own family. And he was doing amazing work; the kind of work he'd always wanted to do ever since he'd discovered what the double helix was. And up until now, he'd been dealing with the stress as well, if not better than most of the people around him. Did he really want to give all that up because of a crisis of conscience?
Although, to be fair, this was rather more complicated than that. But it wasn't the first time it had happened to a doctor, and it certainly wasn't the first time on Atlantis. Elizabeth had spent more hours than she'd admit sitting in his office, or his room, when others weren't around to see, practically in tears because she was second guessing ever decision she'd ever made that had led to someone's death. And he'd listened, and comforted, and made her realize that they needed her, and that no matter what she did, it was probably the right thing at the time, and that carrying that amount of guilt around wasn't going to help anyone, especially those that were dead.
Perhaps he should have learned a long time ago to take his own advice to heart. A taste of his own medicine, as if were.
He straightened, looking out over the sunset on the ocean and acknowledging somewhere in the back of his mind that there was nothing to compare to it on Earth. He let himself back inside, and headed straight for Elizabeth's office. Decision made; he was staying, and he'd do whatever he had to to come to terms with what had happened and move on.