A/N: Wooooo, yeah, 'nother chapter. Took a little longer because Mom was home on sick leave and tends to stay awake even longer than me in that case which means I get to do no writing done (I have this thing about having to be by myself to be able to write. Being around strangers like on a train or at a café works fine but put me on the couch and I'm related to or friends with in the living room and nothing good comes out of it, writing-wise). I also realized that Morsberg gets an awful lot of chapters, which is probably mainly due to him being the new guy. We already know a lot about Maureen and even about Tom and Dee but to you - and in parts even to me - he's kinda an unknown quantity and I guess my brain just wants to change that or something. So please, bear with me?

Timeline-wise, we're a week after The Storm/The Eye, six months and a bit into the Expedition, at the time of The Defiant One, which is the episode that this story is referencing to.

Also, again, I'm discussing kinda dark themes in this, which shouldn't come as a suprise to anyone who has seen The Defiant One, and that won't change for the next two stories since we'll look at Hot Zone next and another canon character encounter for Morsberg after that so... it's okay if that's not your cup of tea, but I felt like I had to go a little deeper into the darker side of what being cut of from Earth and stranded in a really hostile galaxy means not just for the canon characters but also all these other people stranded with them. I also need it to make a few things I have planned for after Year One a little more plausible, character development wise, so uh... I'm sorry and it's okay if you don't want to read it. If you feel up to it, though, right on with you.

What Do I Know

"You don't know, you don't know
you don't know anything about me
what do I know I know your name
you don't know, you don't know
you don't know anything about me anymore."

Milow, "You Don't Know"

So, okay, I admit it, sometimes, being still mostly confined to the infirmary doesn't suck. For example, when practically the entire Expedition is deployed throughout the city for post-storm damage assessment, we get to stay in our nice, cozy offices, labs and ORs while everyone else gets to crawl around vents or trudge through knee high brackish sea water. All we have to do is wait for the inevitable casualties of slippery stairs, dark corridors and unsecured wires trickling in. Sure, being a combat medic, I'm usually the one going out there instead of people coming to me so it kinda does suck having to stay here, after all but yeah, at least I'm not getting wet feet. I'm really trying to do my best and appreciate the little things here, and I'm almost succeeding.

At least tonight, I get company, seeing as Maureen apparently finally used up her luck and succumbed to the Pegasus Galaxy, after all. Because, you see, after surviving here without getting injured even once for six months – considering that she does go off-world more or less regularly, that's an impressive record – she did fall down one of those slippery staircases and twisted her ankle. Also hit her head, earning her a ticket for one of our infirmary beds for a night of observation. Scans said her head's fine but trust me, head injuries are one thing we take very, very seriously here, even the least conservative of us.

But yeah, other than that, it's been kind of quiet today. Only a few other minor injuries, some more sprained appendages and a few cuts and bruises but no one else needed to stay overnight so we only got the usual skeleton grave yard shift personnel and a couple more on call in their quarters and it's shaping up to be another boring… "Dr. Morsberg, this is Operations. Please come in."

They're doing that on purpose. I swear to God. They know how to correctly address me, they just don't want to. At this point, I'd even accept being addressed with Captain, goddammit. I rolls my eyes. "This is Morsberg, go ahead."

"Jumpers One and Two are back, two KIA, await transfer to the morgue." Aw, no. Muss das sein? Did it have to happen when I'm the doctor in charge? Currently, three of us are on duty and we drew straws for first shift and apparently I drew the short one. The other two and the night nurse are in the on-call room, catching up on sleep which means that I'm the one stuck with having to do the initial documentation and necessary paperwork on the two KIAs coming in and I hate that stuff. Until now, I could get around it because I was either off-duty, one of the lucky ones in the on-call room or not the most senior dude around but apparently, bad luck finally caught up with me.

I resist a sigh. "Acknowledge two KIA, handling transfer to the morgue. Who's accompanying them?"

There's a pause, then Operations, sounding somewhat put off, "Looks like Dr. McKay just lost the argument with Major Sheppard. Sorry." Oh hell no.

I'd really like to take out my frustrations on that Canadian guy currently manning Communications back at the gate room but yeah, it's not his fault so I force myself to do the sociable thing and be nice. "Appreciate the heads-up, Operations. Morsberg out."

Operations signs off, too and I grunt and get up to collect the PADD I need for the necessary paperwork. There are about a million things I'd rather do than the whole KIA song and dance with Dr. Rodney McKay of all people but I like our two pathologists too much to make their work even harder than it already is by sloppy paperwork. And yep, there they are. Two gurneys obviously carrying the KIAs, two guys from the security team currently on duty at Operations and His Royal Canadian Pain in the Ass, Rodney McKay.

I try to remember where the hell Sheppard's team went last and, ah, yeah, right, that planet fifteen hours from here. Which is why we didn't see them all for almost three days and Dr. Zelenka suddenly turned out to be really good at doing the stuff McKay usually does. "Ah," McKay makes, looking vaguely uncomfortable, "Mooseberry, isn't it?"

Right. At least I already knew that about him from various scientists complaining at mess hall tables and various semi-official social functions that he never gets their names right. I try my most costumer-friendly pasted on smile. "Morsberg, sir. Stabsarzt Matthias Morsberg, at your service." Then I nod at the Marines who take the opportunity to get the hell out of Dodge. Traitors.

Wariness is pretty evident in McKay's face and okay, can't fault him for that. It is a fake smile, as all costumer-friendly ones are. "Yes, well, whatever. Here you go, two dead scientists, delivered directly to your doorstep." There we go. Haven't even been talking a full minute to this guy and I already feel my blood pressure spiking. Seriously? "Two dead scientists, delivered directly to your doorstep"? I know that he's got all kinds of issues but I didn't know callousness was one of them. "Which means that I…"

"Get to tell me everything procedure tells me I need to know. And thank you for your cooperation, sir." If he'd shown anything else than that weird uncaring and kind of hurried attitude, I might have been lenient and done the short version. Since he hasn't, though, we're doing the full Twenty Questions. Congratulations, Doc. "Alright. Let's start with…"

"Me getting out of here." Yeaaaah no. Not even the short version would have allowed that. "Listen, Munchby, I know you guys can do all this without harassing the rest of us. I wrote that procedure manual," not really, you just kept annoying Dr. Beckett with useless additions until he gave up and pretended to incorporate a couple of them, "you really don't need me here."

Okay, I have got to stop automatically wanting to correct him whenever he addresses me with a wrong name because let's be honest, he's not going to stop doing it, either way. He just really doesn't care enough about anyone outside of Command to remember our names. Just focus on the important things here. "As a matter of fact, I do, sir. Now, we can either get this done in about five minutes or I can radio Dr. Beckett. Would you like to tell him that I had to wake him in the middle of the night because you're trying to push me into violating protocol or shall I?"

He's just this close to telling me to go fuck myself but a little threatening him with waking up one of the very few people who tolerate him here and telling him that he's trying to circumvent the procedures he claims to have written goes a long way and he ends up glaring at me and crossing his arms. "Scare tactics. That's something you Germans really like, huh?"

Uh-huh, not going to dignify that with an answer. Or maybe I will. "Nope, that's just me. Works every time like a charm, too." Oh, I think someone's about to blow. Better make it quick. "Okay, sir, names and departments of the deceased, please?"

"Is this really necessary? I mean, you can just look at them yourselves, it's not like you guys are afraid of dead bodies or anything, after all." Okay, that I recognize. Dr. McKay is notorious for his aversion against anything having to do with sickness and, God forbid, death. Maybe he's just being an ass because he's uncomfortable?

Nah, that would be too simple an explanation. And if there's one thing Dr. McKay doesn't do, it's simple. I do my best not to sigh and rolls my eyes. "Yes, sir, it's necessary. Now, names and departments of the deceased?"

"Would it kill you to display at least the barest minimum of civility, Mickenbush?" Okay, that's it. I've gone out of my way to be professional and polite for him but there are only so many times a surgeon can say "please" – and ignore being called by a new wrong name every damn time – to anyone before it becomes ridiculous, and we're already past that point by now. Fuck you, Rodney McKay. I'm about to give him a piece of mind which he luckily – for me – forestalls by just plowing right on. "But if you must know, this one's uh Abbey and this one's Gaul, both Science Department."

Right. I know for a fact that we have neither an "Abbey" nor a "Gaul" in the Science Department and shouldn't he know that, being the fucking Head of the Science Department and all? Okay, don't go flipping tables now, there's gotta be a reason for McKay being even more insufferable than usual. And I still don't know who it is there on the gur… fuck it.

I move to lift the shrouds after all, under the pretense of, "Alright, just verifying, sir," and… ah, that's… one very sucked out scientist. So sucked out that I don't recognize him. Oh God. And then I remember, kind of out of nowhere that there might not be an Abbey in the Science Department but there definitely is an Adams. Or rather was an Adams. "Dr. Patrick Adams, sir? That him?"

McKay doesn't really look at Adams's remains and to be honest, I can't even fault him for that. Yes, studying medicine means getting used to dead people and human remains in all kinds of conditions but that doesn't mean that we're immune to being shocked by especially gruesome kinds of death. For someone like McKay… well. He nods and visibly swallows. "Yes, Patrick Adams, that's what I said, right?"

Okay, I just… whatever. Seriously. Let's just… get on with it. "Cause of death, sir?"

Now he's glaring at me. What? It's fucking procedure, okay? You signed off on that one! "What does it look like, you moron?"

You know, all I want is to throw this idiot out of the infirmary and get it over with alone but I just bet that it'll get me into a lot of hot water with both Dr. Beckett and the morgue staff and while I like them, people working in a morgue are not people you want to get on the bad side of. So I just let it go, take a deep breath and mutter, "So, Wraith encounter it is," while checking ticky boxes and scribbling on my PADD.

Okay, one down, one to go.

Fuck. Really bad choice of words. Better keep that to myself, too because I swear, even though it sounds like I'm a callous asshole, I'm not. Because I can assure you, seeing the desiccated corpse of someone I just saw playing Monopoly with a couple other Expedition members in a common room three days ago does not leave me cold. But I have a job to do, and I'll do it right and that's why check the blocks, mutter and move on to the next one. "Sir, can you please again tell me the name and department of the second deceased?"

"No, I can't! And I don't have to! Isn't there anything else you have to do, like, I don't know, roll up bandages or count aspirins or something?" Oh God, why is he making this so hard? We could have been done with this in five minutes flat if he'd just been cooperative.

I suppress a growl. An actual growl, everyone. I do not growl. Growling is not in my nature. And yet I just almost did it. "Yes, sir, you have to do it and…"

"You want to know who this is? This is Dr. Brendan Gall, Science Department, two PhDs, one in astrophysics from CalTech and one in molecular biology from the Sorbonne, he had an unhealthy interest in Rubik's cubes and he shot himself in the head because a Wraith fed on him and took away twenty years of his life in five seconds, with the weapon I gave him." Holy… "Are you happy now, Dr. Moronbully?"

Before I can reply anything, though, he glares at me again, then turns around and storms off and I just… stand there, like an idiot, blinking and then something makes me look down to realize that McKay must have pulled off the cover of the second body and… that is indeed Dr. Brendan Gall, Science Department. Looking twenty years older. With an obvious gunshot wound to his right temple.

And then it finally hits me. Rodney McKay doesn't have a problem with remembering people's names and it's not like he doesn't care enough about them not to learn them, either. Rodney McKay very well knows the name of every person working under him, as well as their professional history, areas of expertise and apparently also some personal stuff as well.

Well shit. Seems like I actually deserve that last name he called me.

There's this one moment when I stand there, PADD in hand, staring down at the aged face in front of me and I try to tick the right boxes, over and over again. It takes me at least a minute until I realize that my attempts are unsuccessful because my hands are shaking so much that I constantly miss the block and the PADD refuses to take my order.

Fuck, I hate it when that happens. This has serious shades of Hoff and I thought I'd left that behind a couple months ago. I've been through a lot of shit, even before coming to Atlantis because that's what happens to special forces soldiers but suicides… man, that's a whole other ballgame as my American friends like to say. Combat related deaths, accidents, even illness I can deal with. Suicides… not so much.

Okay, just get a grip and get this over with. You're a surgeon, you do delusions of grandeur, arrogance and God complexes, not sentimentality. I take a deep breath, grip the PADD a little tighter and do this whole ticking boxes thing again. This time, it works and five minutes later, I can put away the PADD, cover both scientists' faces and wheel them into the morgue to stow them away. I leave the pathologists a note and get back into the main infirmary.

I briefly consider looking into the on-call room, to see if anyone's in the mood for bullshitting but that would probably just lead to someone looking up the incident reports out of boredom and I'm not in the mood for talking about what just happened so I do the next best thing. Check-up rounds.

As we currently only have one patient here, I don't expect much in the line of company – seeing as by now, Maureen should be sleeping – but yeah, concussion, so I better actually do go and check up on her.

When I get to her bed, though, she looks pretty much awake. Okay, she looks halfway awake. As awake as someone who got knocked on the head a few hours ago can look. "Wow. You look serious." Mh. Seems like her situational awareness didn't get bumped.

So much for the stealth approach, then. I give her a resigned sigh and come walking over, hands in my pockets. "Just got a lesson in biblical justice is all."

"Biblical justice? Sounds grave." Yeah, well, if she says it like that…

I waggle my hand while leaning my backside against her bed. "Judge not lest ye…"

"Right." Well, at least my year abroad in the Bible Belt during high school served some purpose if I can still cite the Old Testament from memory. It kinda also really sucked, you know, being a closeted gay kid in evangelical Small Town America but other than me being kind of really afraid of them learning that one thing about me, my host family was pretty nice. Maureen gives me a sympathetic look. "You wanna talk about it?"

Tempting and I know that she'd listen. But I also know that if I tell her no, she'll take it at face value and leave me alone for the time being. I shake my head. "Not tonight."

She nods. "Fair enough." That's what I love about her. She really does take a no like that at face value.

Okay, that's probably a good point to change the topic. Redirecting attention always works well, as I figured out back at the start of my medical career. "And you? Can't sleep?"

She nods and then winces, making a face. "Yeah, a pounding headache tends to do that to a person."

Right. Maybe she got a bigger bump to her head, after all. I straighten up and take up my instructor pose. "You might not have been unaware of it until now, Lieutenant, but this is called an infirmary. We have one very nifty advantage over every other department, and that's having access to little miracle pills called "pain killers". You'd honestly be amazed at what one can do with those…"

Her first reaction is to snort and chuckle a little and then wince again, her face contorted with pain for a moment. She grunts and shortly massages the bridge of her nose and says, her voice genuinely pleading, "Please don't make me laugh."

Damn, now I actually feel bad. It makes me drop the instructor pose and hop on her bed, looking apologetic. "Just trying to cheer you up." She wants to say something and okay, yes, I get it. "And I'm really sorry for that. So, you want some?"

Gingerly, she shakes her head. "Nah, I'm good." Yeah, of course she'd say that. She's a Marine, after all. And at this point into the Expedition, I'm almost sure that it's not even about the whole "Pain is just leaving the body" thing Marines have going on, it's about that underlying feeling that we need to be alert here, all the time. We made a lot of enemies in the last six months, not to mention all that other crap that has happened to us. She gives me one of those looks that mean that she has seen through my casual attitude, even with the pounding headache. "But you look like you could use some company."

Yeaaaah, well, she's not wrong about that. There was a reason why I came here in the first place. I raise my hands. "Guilty as charged."

It makes her smile but thankfully she remembers not to laugh just in time. "'S okay, I'm here. I mean, not like I can just get up and leave or something but…"

"Tell me again how you ended up here?" Because seriously, that was one funny story. And since she, as she so rightly stated, she has to stay here for the night and I have to be awake for a few more hours until shift change and medical journals can only keep you awake for so long, I'm going to take full advantage of anything that takes my mind off the fact that I just put two bodies in the morgue. I give her the puppy dog eyes. "In excruciating detail, please?"

She glares at me. "Bastard."

Yeah, I know, that's what my last boyfriend liked to call me when we… Well. There's a reason he's my ex-boyfriend and a reason that I resolved to stop thinking about him back on Manaria. I decide to concentrate on intensifying the puppy dog eyes. "Pretty please?"

That results in her rolling her eyes, wincing once again and then giving me an acquiescing sigh. "Okay, fine. This is how it went…"

And while she tells me again how she happened to end up here, I manage to be entertained enough to stop thinking about the two scientists in the morgue and how having twenty years of your life being sucked away from you is so terrible that you'd rather shoot yourself in the head than live with it for even one more day for at least a few minutes at a time and I realize that that's probably the main reason why she decided to retell the entire story in the first place. Because she's a friend like that.

Damn, I just hope Rodney McKay has friends even half as great as I have because he sure needs 'em. Everyone here does. Because whatever this galaxy decides to throw at us in the future, as long as those friends are there, things can't be that bad. Never that bad.