Author's Note: Just a quick reminder that Carson and Alison are working in epidemic conditions. This chapter contains the death of a child, one that I didn't necessarily want to write but was necessary for the story. You'll understand as the story progresses, but I wanted to add this warning so that no one was caught off guard. Enjoy. ~lg

oOo

Alison woke with a start the next morning. Her head ached, and she felt the muscles in her back protest sleeping on a hard floor. Across the room, Carson still snored softly. Rolling onto her side, she sat up and pushed her hair from her eyes. A window next to Carson's bed showed that the sky had barely begun to lighten, and Alison shook her head. Today would be tough. She would survive on what amounted to an afternoon nap.

As quietly as she could, she pushed to her feet and grabbed her jacket. She'd slept fully clothed and now slipped out of the one-room house to find a place to relieve herself. A crude outhouse sat behind the house, and she hiked the path without complaining. She hadn't signed up to work in a state-of-the-art hospital, but this was primitive at its best.

After taking care of business, Alison took a few moments to enjoy her surroundings. The outhouse had been set back amongst the trees, and she heard the morning birds beginning their song. Lights glowed from the nearby clinic, a wooden building Colonel Sheppard had pointed out the night before, and she saw the vague hints of people moving around inside. What was that clinic like? Sheppard had said this world had been hit harder than most, and Alison tried to prepare herself for the worst. If the lines on Carson's face were any indication, she'd need what little strength she possessed. And more.

The treeline led into a light forest and followed a stream that bubbled and chattered as it made its way toward whatever ocean this world offered. The gate was located about half an hour's walk the other direction, and Alison knew getting help from Atlantis would be difficult at best. She hoped and prayed that they wouldn't need more than humanitarian aid, but the threat of the Wraith was always present.

She began to walk back to the house as she thought about her options. Carson's home was small, but he was the perfect gentleman. She had no doubt he'd make every effort to keep things proper between them, and Alison appreciated that. She hadn't come here looking for a relationship, though the brief chemistry she'd felt with Carson the last time had finally convinced her. Then, she smiled. Her mother had convinced her to return. Oh, the woman didn't know the half of what her daughter did, but she was wise to the ways of humanity. When Alison explained that she'd been offered a job working with a doctor in the wilds of a third world country, her mother immediately began asking questions about the doctor. Alison had tried to stay objective, but their first meeting had stirred so many different emotions. Hope. Attraction. Sorrow. Her time with Carson had ended with Alicia Vega's death. And, when she explained as much as she could, her mother told her that she had to return. She had to know if this doctor could be The One.

Shaking her head now, Alison glanced at the sky and wondered why she ever listened to the woman when she went into matchmaker mode. Her mother had the best intentions for her, but she still managed to convince Alison to do crazy things. Like return to Pegasus. Though, based on how Carson had responded last night, he needed the help.

For the first time since the funeral, Alison allowed her mind to return to that one fateful night. They'd met up with Colonel Sheppard and Dr. Beckett, both of whom had come to investigate the lab Major Teldy's team had found. The actions of a desperate villager released the monsters, and Alison had watched as Carson and Sheppard exterminated them one by one. Teldy and Mehra helped, of course. But Alison had merely gotten lost in the mist. And that stung. She didn't want to be the helpless scientist that got the team in trouble more often than not. She wanted to be strong, to help and contribute. But, after Vega's death, she just wasn't prepared to rejoin an active team.

So she joined Carson. The irony of that made her snort at the sky, and she resumed her walk back to the cabin. She hadn't just returned to Pegasus to work in a nice, sterile lab in Atlantis. She'd returned to the wilds of Pegasus. The things they faced out here could be just as great as the threats faced by off world teams.

Alison blinked away the ideas of what could happen and turned toward the front door of the cabin. A woman stood there, hand poised to knock. Alison rushed forward. "Excuse me? Sorry! Didn't mean to startle you."

The woman, who only looked vaguely startled, held a plate. "Can I help you?"

"Uh. . .yeah." Alison gave a little laugh. "I just wanted to make sure you didn't wake the doctor."

The other woman's face softened slightly. "I heard that a helper arrived last night for him. You're that helper?"

"Yeah." Alison let out a deep breath. "I'm still new here, so I was just. . . .Anyway, I wanted to let Dr. Beckett rest as much as possible."

The woman nodded. "I agree. He has been a wonderful help to our village, but he pushes himself too hard." She held out the plate. "I did not know you were here, or I would have brought you some food as well."

Alison waved a hand. "Don't worry about it." She stood awkwardly for a moment. "I'm Alison, by the way."

"I am Omari." The woman lifted the plate. "If you'd like, I can return with more food for you, as well."

Alison sensed the desire to help and knew she needed to tread carefully. "That would be wonderful, but not necessary."

"I disagree." Omari smiled slyly. "You have not seen how Dr. Beckett doesn't eat. I'll return shortly."

Alison watched the woman head back to the village, amazed at the generosity of these people. She supposed it came from a grateful heart, and she slipped inside while trying to ignore the smell from the plate. It may have been alien to her, but it smelled great! Lifting the napkin covering the meal, she found some sort of fried meat along with tough biscuits. Setting the plate on the table, she peeked around the piles of stuff and found Carson still sleeping. He'd rolled onto his side sometime in the night and had half buried his face in the pillow. Smiling at his boyish appearance, Alison carefully moved crates and boxes until she found what she wanted.

The crate opening startled Carson awake, and he sat up as Alison cringed. "What. . .?" He blinked at her and then at the window. "It's morning?"

She smiled at him, already enjoying the surprised expression on his face. "Yes, it's morning." Figuring that the damage had been done, she continued opening the crate and pulled out such items as Bisquick and other non-perishable foods that she'd talked Sheppard into sending. "I met Omari, by the way."

Carson watched her carefully as she carried the box of pancake mix over to the stove. "Aye. Omari's a good woman."

Alison didn't glance over her shoulder, though she wondered at the warmth in Carson's voice. Had he found someone on one of these worlds that made him happy? While they hadn't shared much beyond a few laughs, Alison had somewhat hoped they could rekindle their own chemistry. She didn't want to intrude, however, and chose not to comment.

Behind her, Carson rose and rustled about, eventually leaving the cabin. Alison breathed a sigh of relief. She'd rarely seen him as anything but put-together, so seeing the startled expression on his face as he awoke both worried her and endeared him to her. How long had it been since he'd slept through the night?

Omari returned before Alison had finished the pancakes. She offered another plate of food and another welcome to Alison before leaving to work in the clinic. Alison carried the food to the table and tossed the hard biscuits on a plate. She had no desire to be rude, but some things weren't meant to be saved from one day to the next. Bread was one of them. She used the one skillet in Carson's home to make pancakes, burning the edges of more than a few as she figured out how to operate the wood burning stove. By the time he returned, however, she had a warm breakfast on the table and cold water from the well outside. Figuring she'd done what she could, she waited for him to settle and wondered just what the day would bring.

oOo

Carson stared at the breakfast that Alison Porter served him and smiled. He hadn't eaten this good in. . .well, since he left Atlantis. The locals did their best, but times were hard. Omari always made sure the food was filling, but she needed to feed her own family first. Having pancakes fresh from the stove was wonderful, even if the edges were burnt.

As she settled across from him, Alison flushed. "Sorry." She motioned to his plate. "About the pancakes, I mean. I'm not used to. . . ."

Rather than speaking, Carson reached out and covered her hand. "It's no problem, love." He reached for the syrup she'd brought. "This is wonderful just as it is."

She looked a bit relieved and quietly ate her meal. Carson also ate, surprised that he'd slept through the night. Either no one had died, or the locals realized just how tired he really was. Looking at the piles of stuff in his home, he knew that this day would be long and tiring. Just like every other day on this world.

Alison stirred as she neared the end of their meal. "I don't want to bring up a bad subject or anything, but. . . ." Her voice trailed off.

When she didn't continue, Carson smiled. "Yes?"

"How bad is it?" She motioned toward the clinic. "Really?"

His appetite didn't vanish. He had too many years of working in war-torn countries and with Michael for talk of death to diminish how much he ate. Besides, he needed his strength. Still, he glanced down and speared the last bite of meat on his plate. "Bad." After chewing and swallowing, he met her eyes. "There were no sanitary conditions here when I arrived. That, alone, killed a good portion of the sick. Since I've been here, we've seen a slight decrease in fatalities, though many of those infected still die."

"But how are they infected?" She shrugged. "I read that the Hoffan drug was a unique protein that made certain people immune to the Wraith. That it was administered, not 'caught.'"

"Aye, it was." Carson nodded. "But we're dealing with a modified version of that drug. This is Michael's drug. He wanted to make these people immune to the Wraith, but he didn't care how many actually died. The unforeseen side effect was that some of those who do become immune to the Wraith actually become carriers for the disease."

"So the infected return home, thinking they're cured, only to infect their families?"

"Aye."

"And do their families survive?"

Carson pushed away his plate, the sorrow inside stealing the appetite that talk of death had left. "No." He let out a quick sigh, wishing he knew what to do. He'd watched too many of the survivors bury husbands, wives, parents, and children. "It appears that the same protein markers that help them survive the Hoffan drug aren't passed from parent to child. They're entirely random, much like a family with blond hair and brown eyes suddenly has a red-headed, green-eyed child. We're dealing with things at a genetic level, and some of those things can't be predicted from person to person."

Alison set down her fork. "I'm sorry I asked."

"Don't be." He reached to cover her hand again. "You could not have known the answers, and these are things you need to know for your time here."

"Yeah, but I could have waited until after we'd eaten."

"Alison, love, I haven't eaten that well since Atlantis." He watched her smile make a slight appearance. "Don't fret on my account."

She nodded and rose to clear the table as Carson eyed the pile of humanitarian supplies. There was so much to be distributed, and he didn't know exactly what had been brought from Atlantis. He supposed that he'd take Alison to check in at the clinic and spend much of the day cataloging and organizing the supplies for future use. The clinic had a back room they could use as storage, and he supposed it broke the routine of life hunched over a microscope.

Letting Alison worry about the dishes just this once, Carson straightened his own corner and set about making a plan for the rest of the day.

oOo

After washing the few dishes she'd used, Alison followed Carson into the clinic. She regretted asking him about the Hoffan drug, but she needed to know the effects. She was completely unprepared for the reality that met her.

Pallets had been arranged on the floor with precision that spoke of time spent in hospitals. Several had curtains around them, the closest thing to isolation one could get. All of the nurses wore cloths over their noses and mouths, and Alison knew that it would do little to stop the spread of disease. But Carson worked with what he had. Looking over at him, she watched as he donned a dingy white lab coat, one that looked as if it had been washed multiple times over. He'd set up areas with basins for cleanliness, and each of the nurses used running water to wash after every patient. Still, it was. . .primitive.

Carson glanced over at her. "I know it's not quite what you're used to."

She waved aside his concern. "You're helping. That's what matters."

"Aye, I suppose it does." He gave her a smile that brought out his dimples but didn't reach his eyes. "Let's introduce you and get started for the day."

Alison followed him from person to person, committing all the nurses' names to memory while trying to figure out how he kept up with all the patient information. All of them showed the same symptoms, but they had all reached various stages with the disease. Alison tried not to wrinkle her nose as one patient was cleaned after vomiting into a pail. She'd encountered illness in a hospital before. During her residency, she'd been required to work various departments to get a feel for what each one needed. But this. . . . This was insanity. And Carson did it every day.

You will, too, a little voice reminded her. She dutifully trailed after Carson as he headed for the store room at the rear of the clinic. Part of her was relieved for leaving the filth and sickness behind while the other part of her hated how she felt. She'd decided to return to Pegasus based on her mother's urging that she return to Carson. And she wondered if she could handle it.

Carson took some time to consider the supplies in the store room as Alison discreetly moved to the window and breathed in the fresh air. She knew she'd soon become accustomed to the smell of sickness, but it bothered her right now.

"Okay." Carson turned. "I think we can store the foodstuffs here, just what we can't fit in the house. And the medical supplies can go. . .there. That leaves the medications for me to figure out."

"Don't you want those locked away?"

"Aye." He shrugged. "No matter what world you're on, you need to be careful." He rubbed his hands together. "Shall we get started?"

Alison eagerly followed him back to the cabin and began sorting the supplies. Some of them, like the crate with the fresh linens and extra clothing, were scooted to one side of the room. She'd packed fresh lab coats for each of them as well as several changes of clothing for herself. She'd left Carson's things up to Sheppard and McKay. The food supplies soon filled the empty shelves in the cabin, and Alison vaguely wondered if she could find some fabric to hang over the open shelves. As it was, it looked very rustic and somewhat endearing. Carson seemed happy with the supplies, but Alison knew he'd give many of them away. They carried the same amount of canned food to the store room as they stocked in the cabin, drawing attention at all the traffic they produced.

Halfway through the day, Alison's energy waned. She saw Carson's concerned gaze as they ate a quick lunch and straightened her shoulders. If he could do this job, then so could she. Never mind the fact that she'd only had enough sleep to amount to an afternoon nap. She needed to get accustomed to the day-night cycle on this world. By the end of the day, however, the huge pile of supplies had been whittled down to three crates. One had Alison's personal effects. One held Carson's personal effects, and the third was general supplies for the house. Alison glanced around, wondering if she should turn the sheets into curtains just for a bit of privacy.

Carson turned, holding one of the packages of freshly-washed sheets. "Don't take this the wrong way, love, but it seems a shame to hang these fresh linens from the ceiling."

She smiled. "I was just thinking the same thing."

He looked up. "I like you and all, but I'm thinkin' you'd prefer a bit of privacy every now and again. Especially since it looks to be a rather long stay in places like this."

She wanted to tell him that she'd be fine, but she couldn't be certain. "I appreciate it."

He stared balefully at the vacuum-sealed package before his face lit up. "How about this? We wash the sheets and blankets that have been used, keep the fresh ones for ourselves, and hang the old ones?" Then, he frowned. "That sounded selfish."

Alison set aside the military wool blanket she'd been fiddling with and pushed to her feet. "Carson, you're—we're—out here with no support, no friends, and very little in the way of comfort on our side. You spend your days in that clinic, serving others. You deserve to have a place to return to that's all yours, that you don't have to worry whether the sheets are stained or not, that smells good." Then, she nearly ducked when he gave her a sharp glance, embarrassed that her earlier thoughts about the smell of sickness had erupted so sharply. "I'm sorry. That didn't come out quite right."

He smiled. "No, it didn't. But I understand. Give it a day or two. You'll get used to it."

"I know." She narrowed her eyes. "Carson, give yourself a place to relax."

He glanced around the cabin. "Just having you here has been a big help."

She felt her face heat but knew the warmth from the wood stove would cover it. "I'm glad." They stared at one another for a few moments, and Alison realized what could happen. What would happen. She knew the odds of falling for a man like Carson. For her, they were high. Very high. And, with the two of them working in such close proximity all the time, not to mention living in the same house, she almost felt like she didn't have much of a chance. If that wasn't enough, Carson's blue eyes and dimples would definitely seal the deal. Shaking herself from her thoughts, she glanced around. "Well, can I at least move away from the stove? It got a bit warm last night."

"Oh, aye!" He tossed the clean sheets onto his pallet and helped her gather her things. They eventually settled with Carson in one corner while Alison took the opposite, leaving the wood stove near the door and as far from either of them as possible. He even eyed the walls and ceilings, and she realized he was making plans to give her some privacy.

The exhaustion headache was too great to ignore any longer, and Alison motioned over her shoulder. "I'm going to step out and clean up for the night." She shrugged. "I feel like I've pulled an all-nighter."

Carson nodded. "I'll head back over to the clinic for a time."

"No need." She shrugged. "I can step out. . ." A knock interrupted her, and Carson rushed to answer it.

Omari stood on the other side, tears streaming down her face. "Abihne needs you."

Alison stood as Carson's face fell. "Dr. Beckett?" She'd used his proper title all day out of deference to the people around.

He turned. "Abihne is. . .six. He's. . . ." Rather than continuing, he just shook his head.

Alison watched helplessly as he grabbed the dingy lab coat and headed out into the night. The clinic wasn't far, and she almost followed. Instead, she made sure to remain here. She couldn't watch a small boy die. Not this soon. Memories of Vega's funeral, complete with the weeping mother, returned. Vega's father had stared stoically at the sealed coffin, but her mother had openly cried. Alison had sat behind them, struggling with finding a balance between Teldy and Mehra's stoicism and her own grief. How did one say goodbye to a friend and colleague, much less a child?

Realizing that Carson wouldn't be in the mood for talking when he returned, she dug out the tea she'd brought and set the kettle on the stove. It heated before he returned, but she made sure to keep the water piping hot. Finally, after three hours, the door opened. Carson scuffed in, his shoulders slumped and face haggard.

"It's over," he said quietly.

Alison wanted to go to him, to hug him. But he walked directly through the house, grabbing clothes from his store and out the back door. She fixed tea and waited. He returned after twenty minutes, face and hair freshly washed and clean clothing on his body. The others he'd sealed into a bag to be decontaminated later.

Alison served tea. He accepted his cup and settled at the small table, staring at nothing while he absorbed the implications. When he finally let his hand rest on the rough surface, she reached over and let her own cover his. She didn't know how to comfort him, but she remembered what a help it was to have Teldy break that military code long enough to touch her shoulder during Vega's graveside service. She hoped her touch spoke loudly to Carson.

His hand turned, and Alison let a smile barely touch her face as he gripped her hand. She hadn't dealt with the grief of Vega's death just yet, and being back in Pegasus made it seem that much closer. They sat for a long time, neither speaking, as they took comfort from the presence of the other in the room. Somehow, they found a way to communicate and grieve.

~TBC