Author's Note: This chapter does get quite intense at the beginning and especially at the end. I know I don't usually put up warnings about intensity, but we see yet another effect of an epidemic in this chapter. :( Also, the story underwent a major plot overhaul since I last posted. Don't worry. It won't be taken down any time soon. Let's just say that the new plot fits in with what has happened already and is much more intense and much better than what I originally had in mind. You can thank theicemenace and Ani-Maniac494 for that one. theicemenace mentioned something to me, and it started me thinking, and Ani-Maniac494 helped me brainstorm it out so it all made sense. :) That said, enjoy! ~lg
oOo
The next three days changed how Carson and Alison related. She still rose early and cooked breakfast as normal. They fell into the same routine they'd had before their day away. But it was different. He thoroughly enjoyed seeing her smile in the morning, and he did everything in his power to see it again after a long day at the clinic. He knew enough to know that they had a long way to go before deciding if this relationship could work out in the long-term, but he knew he'd fallen a little in love with her at the waterfall.
One of his favorite times of the day was at the end. With the two of them sharing the same one-room house, they had to be careful about their relationship and how intense things became. He knew she'd been hurt in the past, and he decided that they wouldn't go beyond the steps they'd already taken until she was ready for it. And not just physically. He refused to have her return to Earth because he did something foolish in a moment of passion. However, at the end of the day, she greeted him with a kiss and a smile, and Carson discovered that he loved the domestic nature of their relationship. While it wasn't quite the same, he got the feeling that a life with Alison would be very similar to this.
Did he want a lifetime with Alison? He liked to think he did, but he wasn't foolish enough to base that very important decision on one day's chemistry. He wanted to know everything about her, the good and the bad, so he could. . . . .So he could do what? Shaking his head, he returned his focus to the medications he'd been sorting. He had two patients in the clinic, both of them on the mend from flu-like viruses. There had been no new cases of the Hoffan drug since Omari, and he hoped the worst of it had passed. Like he'd told Alison when she first arrived, he knew a few of the survivors became carriers for the disease, but he couldn't tell who had or had not.
"Dr. Beckett!" The cry startled him from his thoughts, and he rushed out of the storeroom to see Omari nearly carrying her teenaged son. She looked somewhat frantic. "Please help him!"
Carson rushed to the boy's side and slipped one of his arms over his shoulders. After getting the lad to a bed, he knelt next to him and pulled his stethoscope from where he'd draped it around his shoulder. He listened briefly to the boy's lungs but didn't have to be told what was wrong. The boy had been infected with the Hoffan drug.
Carson turned to Omari. "How long has he been like this?"
"Just now." She shook her head. "He's been feeling a bit ill for the last two days, but he thought it was the same thing the others had. Not. . . ." Her eyes filled with tears.
Carson touched her elbow. "Stay with him." He pushed to his feet and hurried into the storeroom. Grabbing the first course of medications, designed to ease the boy's pain, he glanced out the rear door and caught sight of Alison bringing a plate of food to him for lunch. He set aside the medications long enough to motion for her to hurry.
"What is it?" She set the plate on a shelf and frowned.
"Omari's son." Carson watched her carefully. "He's got it."
Her face fell. "I'll go see her."
"Good." Carson retrieved the medications and led Alison into the main area of the clinic. She didn't spend as much time with the patients as he did, but her specialty wasn't in treating the ill. Her specialty was in researching various cures, and he gratefully allowed her to take the weight of that while he treated the sick. It worked well for them.
Alison moved to Omari's side and put her arm around the other woman's shoulder while Carson started an IV with medications and fluids. He reached for the cannula connected to an oxygen tank and slipped it over the boy's face. The extra oxygen seemed to help him breathe, but Carson knew it may not be enough.
Alison never left the clinic that night. Nor did Carson. They gave Omari her space, but they stayed close just in case. Once, around midnight, Carson found Alison in the storeroom with silent tears slipping down her face. Omari's son had grown worse as the hours progressed, and he knew it struck a chord with Alison. Especially since she'd watched her mother endure something very similar. Rather than speaking, he stepped beside her and pulled her against his chest. She never turned, but he felt her relax into his arms.
The battle for the boy's life was over quickly. Around dawn, he began gasping for air, and Carson could do nothing for him beyond hold his hand. When he finally did stop breathing, Alison let Omari weep over her son. Tears ran down her face, and Carson knew she desperately wanted to escape the confines of the clinic. He ground his teeth together and stepped back, performing the final duties of a doctor with a stoic expression on his face. He hated seeing patients die, even if he could do nothing for them. And, after recording the time and date of the boy's death, he escaped to the storeroom.
Why Omari's son? Carson shook his head as he dealt with the emotions. When he first came to this world, Omari took him in. He'd come to know her family well, and he considered them to be his closest friends here. He'd moved into the cabin he now shared with Alison only after the previous owner had died, asking him on his deathbed to care for the land. Still, Omari made daily trips to bring him food, comfort the sick, and generally be an assistant for him.
Movement behind him brought his head around. Alison stood in the door, her face dry but still showing signs of her recent tears. She bit her lip and then stepped forward. "What now?"
He saw the brave face she'd put on for him. "Uh. . .we need to. . . ." Carson struggled to find the distance he needed.
Alison frowned at him. "Carson, give yourself a few moments." She shook her head. "It's okay to do that."
"Shouldn't I be telling you that?"
"I love Omari, but I don't know her family well." She walked over to him and slipped her arms around his waist. Laying her head on his shoulder, she said, "I'm sorry."
Carson held her for the next few minutes. Somehow, this felt different than when he'd comforted her. This time, she comforted him.
Not really wanting to let her go, he finally stepped back. "We need to prepare the body. There's nothing more I can do, but these people have traditions."
"I know." Alison smiled. "I'll help Omari."
"Ali-love, you don't have to."
"I know." She left the storeroom before he could say anything else.
The next two days were a jumble of activity, emotions, and worry. After her son's death, Omari naturally went into a depressed state. Carson kept a close eye on the woman, who appeared to have had a relapse of the disease. More people came to the clinic, suffering a variety of illnesses from flu to bronchitis to full-blown pneumonia. All of them were survivors of the Hoffan drug, and Carson wondered if there was a connection. There were a few new cases of the Hoffan drug that appeared, but most of the sick simply suffered the effects of the disease.
Omari rallied after two days, though the light in her eyes had gone out. She grieved deeply, as Carson knew she would, and he tried to get her to take some time for her family. But she refused to leave the clinic. Every day, she pushed herself from her bed to treat the sick while, at night, she struggled to contain her sobs. Her husband came to the clinic daily, holding his wife's hand and stoically accepting that she needed to help other mothers who had gone through the same thing. Carson admired the man and hoped that they'd seen the last of this illness.
oOo
At first, it felt like a tightening across her chest. Alison let out a deep breath and pushed it away. She'd felt it at Abihne's funeral and again at the memorial for Omari's son. As she worked to cook dinner for her and Carson, she thought about the other woman and wondered if there was anything she could do. That's when she felt the tightness.
Carson appeared for dinner, hugging her tightly and barely taking time to wolf down the meal she'd prepared. Alison didn't mind. He always found the time to spend a few moments with her when he arrived late at night, and she willingly returned to the table she'd set up with this newest influx of patients. The portable lab she'd brought with her had been moved to their cabin so that room could be made for the patients in the clinic. Two days after the death of Omari's son, Alison watched Carson head back to the clinic with slumped shoulders and let out a deep breath. He'd need to talk when he came back, and she wasn't sure she had it in her to stay awake. The last three days had been exhausting, and she struggled to keep her focus.
Her chest tightened again, and she sat back from her work with a frown. This was different. It wasn't preceded by a funeral or a dream or anything that could have triggered a flashback. It was. . . .Her eyes closed. Not again, she thought.
All through her childhood, she'd been plagued with bronchial infections. More often than not, it was brought on by the change in seasons. It hadn't prevented her from being recruited by the SGC, especially since she'd not had an infection since she was ten years old. But she remembered the symptoms well, especially since she'd had a severe case of pneumonia that last time. Taking a deep breath and feeling how difficult it was, she resigned herself to seeking Carson's help.
Knowing that he was busy with patients at the moment, she set aside those plans and returned to work. The tightness increased, as did the temperature in the cabin. She slipped out of the long-sleeved jacket she'd taken to wearing as the nights had cooled in the last week, but it did little to help her. Just as she would have gone to the clinic, Carson arrived. She blinked up at him and saw the alarmed expression on his face. "Carson, what is it?"
"Alison?" He rushed to her side and put a hand on her face. "You're burnin' up!"
"Yeah, it's a bit hot in here."
"Aye." His tone told her that he didn't believe her for an instant. He took her by her shoulders and stared into her eyes. "How long have ye been feelin' like this?"
"This evening." She pushed away from the table and allowed herself to admit how bad she really felt. "I thought it was just. . .you know. . . ."
He visibly struggled to clear his face from emotion. "Ali, I'm goin' ta have ta examine you."
"I know." She nodded, trying not to flush. "I'm sorry, Carson."
Before he did anything, he pulled her into his arms. "Don't apologize." He pushed her away immediately and reached for his medical kit. "Now, describe your symptoms."
"Tightness across the chest, problems getting enough air, apparently a fever." She smiled. "I thought it was just a slight upper respiratory infection given the change in the seasons."
He nodded. "I'll need to draw some blood. And I want you to lie down."
Alison accepted that without a fuss. She admitted how bad she felt and let him take whatever he needed. He led her over to her pallet and ordered her to get comfortable while he went for some medications in the clinic. He returned shortly with an IV, oxygen, and some medications to help her feel better. Then, he moved to her spot at the lab table and began working on the blood samples he'd taken from her.
Alison lay in her pallet, watching him work as she tried to think about what had changed for them since their day away. She loved having him close, loved how he always made time for her, loved being able to relate without speaking a word. Life with Carson would be like this, she realized. It wasn't easy to be kind when everyone around her was ill or dying, but Carson made it seem almost effortless. He accepted her sour moods and desire to not talk to anyone. She knew they had a long way to go if they decided this was what they wanted, but she liked the thought that they could have started something to last for the rest of their lives.
A muttered curse brought Alison out of a restless sleep. She hadn't even realized that she was dozing until she struggled to focus on Carson. He sat at the lab table, staring at her as if he'd just lost his best friend. "Carson?" She couldn't get more than a whisper out.
He moved to her side, kneeling and taking her hand in his. "I'm sorry, love."
"I have it, don't I?"
"Aye." That one word caused his face to crumble. He didn't cry, but she saw the effect of it in the way his eyes fractured slightly. "Let me go to the clinic and get some medications. I'll be back."
"Okay." Alison let his hand slip out of hers and watched him leave the room. She had the disease. One that he didn't know how to cure. She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe past the band across her chest. She would survive. She had to. Carson needed her to.
oOo
Carson stood in the storeroom, quietly gathering supplies from the shelves. Alison needed more than just an IV and oxygen. She needed medications to help ease the symptoms. She needed. . . .
"Carson?" Omari's soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts. The woman had taken to using his given name after her son's death, and he suspected she simply needed someone to mother. Now, she stood in the storeroom door. "What is it?"
"It's Alison." He hated delivering this news to her. "She's got the disease."
Omari's face fell, and he watched as she dropped a bland expression over her features. When she looked back up, only her tears showed her true emotions. "May I see her?"
"Aye." He led her to the cabin, worried that Alison had already drifted to sleep. He administered some medications through the IV and took Alison's vitals. She was stable, for now. He'd seen patients languish like this for a week or more before recovering. He'd also seen them languish for just as long and die. He couldn't tell which one Alison would be.
Refusing to accept the latter option, Carson left Omari at her side and returned to the lab table. He spent the remainder of the night there, working on exploring some possible way to cure this disease. If he didn't. . . .He refused to consider losing Alison. Not yet.
The remainder of the week passed slowly. Carson slept maybe two or three hours a night, trusting Omari to watch over Alison while he rested. He split his time between the clinic—where several local women had returned to help the sick, the lab table—where he worked frantically on a possible cure, and Alison's bedside. Those times next to her were priceless as he realized that he really did love her. He decided that late one night while he held her hand. She'd drifted to sleep smiling because he'd called her beautiful, and seeing her so happy in spite of being so sick made his decision. It might have seemed fast for some, but Carson knew what he wanted in life.
He wanted Alison. It was as simple as that and yet so much more complicated. He wanted her to survive, to laugh, to be there when he came home exhausted. He wanted to give her everything she desired, to show her how special she really was. He wanted long conversations about medicine, dreams, and hopes for the future. He wanted to make sure she never woke from another dream about Vega's death alone. He wanted to be at her side for the rest of her life, and he wanted her at his side for the rest of his.
That simple decision affected everything. He spent less time in the clinic and more time working. His thoughts constantly turned to Perna and her death, and he pushed them aside until he could no longer ignore them. The locals understood his absence from the clinic as soon as they discovered that Alison was also ill. He still visited daily, but his focus was on making sure she lived. She had to live. He needed to tell her that he would do anything to make her happy, even if it meant that she returned to Earth for good. In spite of everything he wanted, what she wanted was priority after she survived.
Almost a week after she'd fallen ill, Carson returned from the clinic to find Omari waiting for him. "How is she?"
"Not good." Omari had a way of stating things with a tone of "duh" in her voice. Her pretty blond hair had thinned in recent weeks, a testament of her struggle against the modified Hoffan virus and the loss of her son. She'd lost weight, as well, but her green eyes burned brightly. Maybe a touch too brightly, because he thought he saw tears.
Carson frowned at her. "And how are you feelin,' lass?"
"I am. . .fine." Omari shrugged off his hand. "Carson, you are a good man. You need not concern yourself with me."
"On the contrary." Carson headed for the kitchen area of the cabin. "You're my friend, and that means I worry. Especially since you should also be in one of those beds. At least for a few more days."
She snorted at him, and he moved to the kitchen. He needed to eat, as did she, and they only had a few canned vegetables and some canned meat for the evening. Hope in the village had dwindled as more people became ill. Carson hadn't been able to locate the carrier for the disease yet, and he prayed he hadn't done something to expedite this.
Omari checked Alison, speaking softly with her as Carson set two plates on the table. Most of Alison's nourishment came from the IV now, but Omari needed to eat. That woman stepped out of the curtained area and met his eyes. "She's asking for you."
Carson set down his fork without having ever taken a bite and entered the "sickroom." He'd originally hung the curtains to give her privacy in the one-room cabin they shared. But, now, it kept her separated from the rest of the sick. Rather than letting his worry show, he smiled.
"Carson." Her voice was whisper-soft, and her blue eyes smiled at him. She had an oxygen cannula around her ears, and she drew on it frequently. Her breathing came in short spurts, almost like Perna's had at this stage.
He knelt next to her pallet and took her hand in his. "Hello, love."
She smiled at the endearment, not really understanding how much he meant it. "You're worried?"
"Aye." He nodded.
"I'm too sick, aren't I?"
"Aye," he said again. It was the truth. She should have started to recover by now.
"Maybe it's scarring on my lungs." She'd picked up on his thoughts and sought for an explanation. "I had pneumonia a couple times when I was young. Wouldn't that do this?"
"It could." He shifted to where he was sitting on the floor rather than kneeling. Part of him wanted to stretch out and hold her close to him, giving her a softer pillow than just the wooden floor. But he might be called away during the night again.
She drew on the oxygen once again, and her eyes, normally a vibrant blue, faded just a touch. They fluttered open. "I'm sorry." She pulled her hand from his and touched his face. "This isn't your fault."
She fell asleep before he could tell her that it was. Carson gently laid her hand back on her stomach and stared at her face. Her brown hair was oily and clinging to her sweaty face. The fever that ravaged her body had been multiplied. Still, she was beautiful. He saw past the effects of the illness and to the heart of what made Alison Porter who she was. And that was what he loved.
Last time, he had no idea what to do about the illness. This time, however, he was better equipped. He knew how this virus had been designed, how it worked, and what counteracted it. Unfortunately, none of those remedies had helped. Just like Perna. His past with Perna aside, he knew he would never stop loving Alison, no matter how this ended for her.
That made his decision. For days, he'd considered pushing the "help button," as Colonel Sheppard called it. Ever since Alison fell ill a week ago, he'd thought about returning to Atlantis. He'd always put it off because she rallied. But a quick check of her vitals told him that her fever had spiked. She may not get another chance, he thought.
"Just hang in there, lass." Carson brushed her hair from her face. "I'll be back. Just. . .hang on!"
He left the curtained area and rushed to the clinic. Omari was still awake, still moving around the clinic and helping others. He carefully stepped through the pallets and touched her shoulder. "I need to go to the gate and. . . .Can you stay with her?"
Omari nodded. "You are calling your people?"
"Aye." Carson sighed and rubbed his eyes. "She needs help I can't provide."
Omari simply touched his elbow and headed back to the cabin. Carson watched her go, grateful beyond words for what she'd done up until now. With someone in the cabin, he set out on foot. The moon was full, and the path to the Stargate well-lit. Once there, the glow of the chevrons lit his face as he dialed and fished a radio from his pocket. After entering his IDC, he activated the radio. "Atlantis base, this is Carson Beckett. Please come in."
"Dr. Beckett, this is Mr. Woolsey." The bureaucrat's matter-of-fact manner came over the radio link. "What can we do for you?"
"I have a patient who needs advanced medical care." He rubbed his face, unable to give the man Alison's name without feeling like he might break. "Colonel Sheppard said to call if I needed anythin'."
After a moment, Woolsey's voice came back. "I've informed Dr. Keller, and she should be ready to head out within the half hour. Is there anything we can do until then?"
"No." Carson triggered the radio once more. "Beckett out." More tired and alone than he'd ever been, he sat down next to the DHD and waited.
~TBC
