Disclaimer - Not mine. If they were, I'd be rich. And we wouldn't be having this conversation.

A/N - OK, so things actually happen in this chapter (who'da thunk it?!). All kidding aside, I hope you like this, as it was a bit rushed, and not terribly thoroughly checked. Just thought I'd post it to keep up the momentum. Plus, stuff does happen in this, and Carson the 'space cadet' makes his reappearance. There's much more to come though. At least, I kinda hope so. Thanks for the very kind reviews - Asugar, Deana, SgtGroganSG, Taya Swan, jennamajig, Moonlight83, Mice2. I have messaged several of you to say thanks, but if I haven't, I humbly apologise. On the plus side, it's probably because I got distracted by writing some more of the story. Yay! Also thanks to the kind people who've added me to story alerts, etc. Please, read, enjoy, review. Merci beaucoup.

A/N (part 2) - Read on for this to make sense. I'm not particularly a John Wayne fan. It was just the first name that occurred to me. That said, you should watch Stagecoach and The Searchers.

His head was thumping like a marching band. That was the first thing Carson noticed when his eyes flickered open for the second time. Everything seemed so bright compared to where he had come from. And that, in itself, was a mystery to him now, lost in fever and sickness. He didn't like being so utterly confused. Beckett focused himself on trying to get somebody's attention.

There were voices, that much he knew. More than two of them. Carson let his head fall to the side, and instantly regretted it. The world tilted sharply. He closed his eyes, and tried to make everything balance again. He didn't like being confused. He opened them again, and was relieved to find that his field of vision was improved. It also wasn't doing an impression of a carousel; all bright lights and blurring. Carson tried to speak. His mouth was so dry. Swallowing didn't help – made it worse, actually.

The voices were low, as if trying to avoid disturbing somebody. He wondered if maybe it was him they didn't want to disturb. He wasn't sure that made sense. Carson squinted. He made out first one figure, sitting on a bed (sideways to him), then two more, standing nearby. They were familiar. He knew that their names should be instantly there, but somehow they were like fog. He tried to speak again. All that came out was a throaty sound, and that worried him.

Carson looked around frantically. As much as he could without moving his head. The marching band was right behind his eyes. It made him feel sick, with every pulsing thump. He tried lifting his hand. Everything felt like lead. He was so confused. There was something pinching his finger. Carson knew he ought to understand what it was. The knowledge was there, somewhere in his head. He squeezed his eyes shut. The pain was fading, but not enough that he could focus.

"B-" he croaked. They didn't hear him. "B-"

He tried to lift his hand again – was faintly surprised when he managed to do it. Carson squinted at the strange thing on his finger. He knew it was meant to do something important. Something to do with looking after him. A thought passed through his head. By chance, Carson caught it. He took hold of it, relieved.

"Why was he so important?"

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "Because he was John Wayne!" Trying to explain the importance of the Western hero to Ronon was proving difficult.

"Typical." Rodney muttered, a little too loud. "Kirk likes John Wayne."

"Shut up, Rodney. Who was your hero, Newton?"

"Who's Newton?"

"My hero was not Newton."

"Keep it down in here!" The three men turned guiltily to see Keller standing in the doorway, looking annoyed. "I have patients who need their rest."

They all studiously avoided looking at Beckett. He was, of course, the reason they had been haunting the infirmary for the past few days. Keller had been driven to distraction, between trying to control her patient's fluctuating temperature, and attempting to control her patient's many concerned visitors. It seemed like half the city had been by, just to see how he was doing.

"Sorry, Doc." Ronon said.

Sheppard tried to look innocent, but failed miserably. "We were trying to explain John Wayne to Ronon."

Keller rolled her eyes. She turned to the Satedan and cleared her throat. "Big movie star. Lots of shooting. Lots of violence. Pretty much always the hero."

Ronon nodded. "I get it."

"And you didn't get it from the last fifteen minutes Kirk spent trying to explain the John Wayne phenomenon?"

"Stop calling me Kirk!"

"What was that noise?" Ronon said.

They all dutifully stopped to listen, but heard nothing. Then just as McKay opened his mouth, a faint 'clink' disturbed the peace and quiet of the infirmary. Ronon slipped off the edge of the bed, and looked round. He stopped suddenly. The others waited. A smile threatened at the edge of his mouth.

"The Doc's awake." He said.

Keller had thought she would have to tackle them to stop the trio going over right away. She was surprised when they hung back. It occurred to her that they had been in this situation – or ones like it – so often that they knew exactly what to do. She smiled at Beckett, and walked over to him. Gently, she bent down a little to look him in the eye.

"Hey. How are you feeling?" she asked. "Want some ice chips?"

His eyes were very glazed still, as if the drug had not quite let go its vicious hold. But Beckett managed, somehow to focus on her. "B-" he said, trying to speak. Frustration marred his face.

"Don't worry about it." Keller reassured him. "You've been very sick."

A cup of ice chips appeared next to her. The doctor turned to find McKay standing there, trying to be inconspicuous. Keller offered him a smile, inwardly amused that the scientist was being so sweet. She had long known that McKay was much softer than he tried to appear, but it was always interesting to see the evidence. She took the cup gratefully. He retreated back to join the others.

Giving Beckett an ice chip seemed to satisfy the anxious man. He looked up at her, more focused now. "Je-" he croaked. "Jen-"

"What's he trying to say?" Sheppard asked. He was trying to be calm, but the pilot's outwardly relaxed nature masked a man occasionally as uptight as McKay.

Keller turned slightly. "My name, I think."

She was rewarded with a crooked, faint smile for that. "Sick?" he croaked.

"You drank something on a planet. It made you very sick for a few days. But you're doing much better now."

"Oh."

"Don't worry, Carson. You'll be back on your feet in no time."

"O-" he coughed, wincing with pain. "Others?"

Keller frowned. "What-" she started, before realizing what he meant "-oh, Major Lorne and his men are fine. You were the only one who drank it." Carson's eyes slid closed. She waited till she was sure, then turned back to her audience. "He's asleep."

"Again?" McKay grumbled.

They all knew he didn't mean it. The scientist's brusque of dealing with these situations could be hard to understand at first, but they had all seen him this way before. Ronon rolled his eyes, and grabbed McKay by the collar. Sheppard followed the pair out the door, grinning at the scientist's annoyed squawking. Keller shook her head in despair. She could have sworn she heard Ronon asking who Newton was. The doctor turned towards her patient. Checking over her shoulder quickly, Keller leant down to whisper in Beckett's ear.

"Get well soon, Carson. I need a sensible voice round here!" she said.