Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis is not mine; the following work of fanfiction is for fan enjoyment only. No profit is being made (sigh).

Epidemic

By Kerr Avon

2. Is there a Doctor in the House?

Beckett was pouring over one of the devices when a throat cleared loudly behind him. Even though startled he managed not to jump, but straightened stiff muscles and turned towards the door. "What can I do for you, Major?"

Sheppard leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed and a smirk on his face. "Actually, I was wondering if you needed help. It's after two AM."

Carson rubbed blurry eyes and focussed on his watch. "Huh. What do you know?" He combed his fingers through his hair in embarrassment. "Guess I lost track of time." Excitement suddenly lit his eyes, "But look at this; it's the most..."

"I don't care if it makes my bed and cooks me breakfast. You can show me tomorrow." He tried to look stern, as if he were speaking to the Athosian children. "Right now, bed."

Feeling surprisingly like a recalcitrant youngster, he responded, "Sure, right after I...

"Now." His brow creased as he got a closer look at the physician. "When's the last time you slept, anyway? You look as bad as McKay when he's on a caffeine jag."

"Oh, surely not..."

"Glanced in a mirror lately?"

Beckett raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Then what's your excuse?"

The Major had the grace to appear chagrined, then replied defensively, "Hey, I was just up getting a snack and saw you working in here and stopped to say hello."

"Sure 'n ya were," drawled Carson, his brogue thickening. He then crossed his arms and stared skeptically at the Major.

Sheppard shifted uncomfortably under the gaze, then finally spread his hands in defeat. "Look, I was worried about you, all right? You've hardly been out of this 'sickbay' of the Ancients for over a week now. According to Nurse Galas, you've only eaten when they've force-fed you, and you catch 'catnaps' on a spare bunk in the corner." He turned serious. "I know the technology's fascinating, but it will be there in the morning; at the rate you're going, you soon won't be." He gave his patented 'work with me on this one' smile, then tossed out his ace, "Your staff really cares about you, and they're pretty worried right now." He left out the part where the Chief Nurse had threatened to go to Weir about Doctor Beckett's condition if she found him slumped asleep over his research again.

Beckett sighed, then ran a hand over the stubble on his chin consideringly. "I suppose you're right," he admitted in defeat. He was so tired he could hardly see straight enough to work.

"Come on; I'll walk you to your quarters."

Reluctantly Carson flipped off the machine he was experimenting with, nodded, and headed for the door.

------------------

"Hey Markham, come on! We're gonna be late for duty." Stackhouse knocked impatiently on his friend's door.

"Yeah, yeah. Gimme a second, I'm lacing up my boots." The tired voice filtered back.

"You know how the Sarge gets when we're late." Stackhouse glanced nervously at his watch.

"The guy outranks us by less than a year..." Markham grumbled as the door slid open.

Stackhouse stared at his disheveled friend. "Man, you look like shit. You sick or something?"

"Aw, I think I've caught a cold. I was up half the night coughing, and the other half either sweating or freezing."

"You seriously need to report to sick-call today. I'll make sure everyone knows where you are."

Markham slumped. "You know, you're right. I'll go there now."

-------------------

Beckett looked up from the device he was evaluating as the PA came over. "Sir, I'd like you to take a look at Sergeant Markham."

Carson's eyebrows raised, as he usually didn't get asked to see 'sick-call' patients. "Certainly. What seems to be the problem?"

"Well, he's febrile to 101.6, tachycardic at 126, and mildly hypotensive with a BP 106/54. If we were home, I'd say he has the flu. But you said that you wanted to see anybody with a new febrile illness..."

Beckett squelched a small shiver of anxiety and went to see his patient.

"All right, say 'Ahhh'."

Markham did as he was told, although his throat hurt terribly. Beckett peered inside with a small flashlight and tongue depressor.

"Very good. Swallow." He palpated the sergeant's neck for possible enlarged lymph nodes. As the exam continued, he had to agree with his PA; this looked a lot like the flu.

"When was the last time you were off-world?" He was jotting information down on Markham's thin medical chart.

"A little over two weeks ago."

'Hmmm...most viral diseases incubate in seven days, so he probably caught this here on base somehow.' "Have you been anywhere unusual on base in the last week to ten days?"

Markham thought hard about the question, then shook his head. "No...no, just the same places I've been since we arrived. Why? What's wrong with me?"

"Well, you look like you have the flu. The only problem is, we're a small community, and no one else has it. In fact, other than trauma and the occasional wound infection, the base has been exceptionally healthy." He looked apologetic, but firm. "Until I'm certain that this isn't some new, exotic, Pegasus-strain virus, I'm afraid you're stuck here."

Markham looked like he wanted to argue, but felt so miserable that he sullenly acquiesced. Beckett smiled, then escorted the young man to a bed.

---------------

"Achoo!"

"Gesundheit." Sheppard shot Rodney a glance across the mess hall table at breakfast. "Hey. You coming down with something?"

McKay pulled out a crumpled handkerchief and loudly blew his nose. "No," he replied nasally. "When Atlantis surfaced I said there'd be allergens; I now have the hay fever from hell. I get it every spring."

Sheppard looked vaguely disgusted as McKay blew his nose again...loudly. "Why don't you see Beckett about some antihistamines? It's gotta be better than suffering like this."

"Antihistamines make me drowsy, and I need to be on my toes." He snuffled briefly, then sneezed again. This time he didn't quite get his mouth completely covered, and managed to hit the Major with a fine spray.

Rolling his eyes in distaste, Sheppard decided not to make a big deal out of it, just avoid it. Rising, he said, "Well, I need to get to the Jumper Bay, or I'll be late for my class."

Rodney, talking around a large mouthful of toast with marmalade, asked, "What class is that?"

"I'm teaching about twenty of our more talented people on base the fine art of Jumper piloting. After all, we can hardly afford to be limited to only one pilot if we ever want to find anything in the Pegasus Galaxy."

Rodney nodded his approval. "Good idea." He took a long swig from his coffee cup, then stood himself. "I need to be getting to my lab anyway."

---------------------------

"Achoo!"

"McKay, that's getting really irritating." Kavanagh wasn't a patient man to begin with, and the loud sneeze in the relative quiet of the workroom had caused him to fumble the connection he'd been working on. He gestured at the device in frustration. "Now I have to start the sequence all over again."

"Oh, so sorry," replied Rodney in a voice absolutely dripping with sarcasm. "I didn't mean to inconvenience you with my suffering over here." He blew his nose loudly to demonstrate his misery. "It's the damn pollen. I'm terribly allergic.

Kavanagh squinted his eyes in distaste. "So take something for it already. That's just disgusting."

Now Rodney became indignant. "Kavanagh, this is my lab; if you don't like it here, LEAVE."

The taller scientist shot him a surly glare; McKay had the best mass spectrometer on the base, and he needed it for his current project. Remaining silent, he turned back to his work with poor grace.

Rodney, clearly cheered by his verbal victory, assumed a smug expression and turned back to his own experiment and was soon completely engrossed in his work. He had to hurry if he wanted to finish this stage before his team's mission that afternoon.

TBC...