Chapter 2

After two days of reworking his requisition and more dealings with the supply officer, Carson was ready to schedule an appointment with Dr. Mackenzie. Or skip the whole process and just saturate himself with all the sedatives he could get his hands on. But he did it – the revised requisition was filed and approved, and he was going back to Atlantis with a full load of medical supplies they desperately needed.

He wearily dropped into a chair in the SGC's commissary and sighed. He hadn't eaten in at least ten hours either. He just wasn't sure whether he'd rather start with the blue jello, one of his favorite dishes that Atlantis ran out of all too soon, or the steak. Unfortunately, the Americans didn't appreciate meat as much as Scotsmen did. It was nearly inedible. The choice made for him, he dug his spoon into the jello.

Just as he was blissfully scratching an itch on his wrist, he heard a voice he recognized almost immediately. »Dr. Beckett?« Colonel Caldwell.

»Yes?«

»Can I join you?« the Daedalus commander waved his tray at the table.

»Absolutely.« Carson motioned to the seat across the table, but had to retract the arm immediately to scratch his wrist again.

Colonel Caldwell went straight to the point: »I need to ask you something.«

»Yes?«

»You're in charge of requisitioning the medical supplies we'll be bringing back to Atlantis?«

»Aye.«

»Are these numbers correct?« He gave Carson a list on a clipboard.

Carson looked at it, and mumble-read it with the mouth full of the blue jello. »Aye. Except this. We have a hundred of these, not ten.«

The Colonel leaned back against the back of the chair, attacking a lettuce leaf. »Doctor, do you realize how much storage space we'll need for all of this?« He said between bites, subtly waving the lettuce at Carson.

»Aye. But it doesn't matter. It's what we need.« To avoid scratching with his finger, Carson now attacked the table's edge with his wrist. The Colonel only stared at him in confusion.

»I completely understand your point, Doctor,« he said, taking another leaf from his plate and expertly avoiding the dripping vinegar, »but I have to take into consideration everything else we'll need to take with us.«

»Need or want?« Carson almost regretted this as soon as he said it, but he was mentally exhausted to the point he didn't really care anymore. Subconsciously, he resumed scratching his wrist with his finger. »The medical supplies are essential. Many other things probably aren't.«

»To you, perhaps. But your stock will take up three storage rooms.« Caldwell leaned over the table and dug into the goulash. At the last moment he caught a drop of it before it dripped onto his pants.

»But you have more room than that, don't you?« Carson ground out, desperately wishing to drop some of the jello on his wrist to cool the itchy spot. He couldn't do it right there in the SGC commissary, though, so he only put the spoon in his mouth.

»Yes, but as I said, there's much more we'll need.« Caldwell didn't look up from his plate.

»Isn't there anything that you can store elsewhere? Or any way to give me enough room?« Carson asked.

»Well, perhaps we could squeeze together a few other things. The ammo alone will take one storage,« Caldwell said patiently, but hunted for a piece of a pepper on his plate with a little less patience.

»I understand. But there are other things we'll need less than medical supplies and ammunition. Can't you store something in the hangars?« Carson finished his jello, barely stopping himself in time to not lick the inside of the cup.

»I guess so. If you only saw how much equipment the scientists claim is 'vital' we'll have to transport!« Caldwell dropped his stout military manner for a moment and let his frustration show.

Carson grinned against his will. He could imagine the entire Atlantean science community descend upon McKay to explain what they needed and why, with Rodney getting pretty upset, but then plead enthusiastically with everybody who had any say in what they got. Also, Carson knew for a fact that even before McKay so much as dreamed of doing anything of the sort, Radek was already arranging things with Caldwell.

»Maybe that can be stored in the hangars,« Carson commented, knowing full well how miffed the scientists would be. This time he tried to scratch his wrist with the pad of the little finger. Despite the vigorous rubbing the itch didn't go away.

Caldwell didn't say anything, but his expression told Carson he got the joke.

»Listen, Colonel. I'd gladly give up some of these,« he pointed at the list, »but we don't have any assurance you'll be able to return to Atlantis every few months. Even so, I made allowances, in the hope that these supplies will last us eight to ten months. Save for the machines and the OR equipment. To tell you the truth, last year made me reassess a lot of what I knew of medical logistics, and in part, this is the result of that. I'm not ready to give up anything else, Colonel,« Carson said between bites of an apple.

»I understand.«

And Carson could tell he did. If only the itchy spot understood that Carson wanted it to stop! »Listen, Colonel, if you'll wait a day or so, I'll even help you rearrange the storage, but I won't give up anything my patients need.«

»Alright. I'll see what I can do.«

They ate in silence for a while. Specifically, Colonel Caldwell was eating and Carson trying to scratch away the skin on his wrist. The officer gave him a concerned look.

»Dr. Beckett, are you alright?«

»Aye; it's just an itch,« Carson cringed. »It's getting worse instead of better.« A few moments later he added with a frustrated tone: »I suspect it's psychosomatic.«

Perhaps that wasn't completely unlikely. Both men looked thoughtful at that and continued to eat.