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

7. Under Control?

Upon entering the infirmary, Beckett realized that he now had quite an audience. "Teyla, as I told you on the way over here, you have a minimal viral load, and it mostly seems to be dormant because you don't carry either the natural or artificial 'ATA' gene. This treatment is likely to cause some discomfort, but in your case I suspect not too much. However, if you require painkillers or sedatives..." he gestured meaningfully towards the medicines on the counter.

"No thank you, doctor, I am certain that I will be fine."

"Now then, if you will lie down here." Presently the blue light did its work, and Beckett was gratified to see that the stalwart young lady only winced once throughout the procedure. Although the screen read 'Clear', he ran a confirmatory blood test on both Teyla and himself. He grinned like an complete idiot when they were both negative.

"So that's why you said that I'm 'immune'."

Carson turned, surprised to see McKay; he'd rather expected the man to go back to his quarters and sleep until later in the day. "Yes. The effects seem to last for at least a couple of weeks. Your blood sample was killing off the virus as fast as I could mix it in. Remember that little 'ouch' you had when I 'scanned' you? That was actually the machine destroying this deadly virus! When it says you're 'clear', it means that the treatment is complete, and you are now clear of harmful viruses."

Turning to Galas, he smiled warmly. "Let's get Markham up here."

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

Meanwhile, Weir had entered the control room with a trepidation in her heart that she managed to keep out of her step. Once she got there she planned to call Beckett again. She had checked with the infirmary at intervals throughout the night to see if any progress had been made, and had been almost as disheartened as Beckett when Kavanagh was brought in. Even without medical training, she understood the implications of the exasperating scientist having contracted the illness; it was outside the originally-infected group and into the general population of the base. There was no telling who would be next - if not everyone. She had not called again, and only managed to catch a few hours of fitful sleep before giving up and heading for the main monitor room. Perhaps working on her routine daily tasks would help get her mind off the unseen killer stalking the halls of her base.

She smiled to herself as she topped the stairs. A glance at her watch showed that it was only 05:30, yet Dr. Grodin was already hard at work. She shook her head appreciatively. She didn't know what she would do without his steady voice always at her side. He probably couldn't sleep any more than she could, and had come to the main control room to distract himself.

"Doctor Grodin, you're up early." She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he spun around, surprised. Her pleasure at seeing her trusted advisor rapidly changed to consternation as she got a closer look at him. A fine sheen of sweat covered every inch of exposed skin, and even through his shirt he felt uncomfortably warm to her hand. His hand trembled slightly as he removed it from the control panel to Atlantis' main sensor array, and his eyes were glassy. "Peter? Are you all right?" The butterflies in her stomach told her otherwise, but she prayed that he would deny her fears.

A shaky hand went to his forehead. "Actually, Elizabeth, I...don't believe that I am..."

She pursed her lips, all business. 'OK, this is just another problem; DEAL with it,' she told herself firmly. Snaking an arm beneath his shoulder and draping his arm around her neck, she helped him to his feet. "Come on. Time for you to personally check out our new infirmary." Taking slow, careful steps, the pair headed down the stairs.

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

Working feverishly, the medical team managed to clear the virus out of all 6 patients but one, and Beckett got his entire staff familiar with the workings of the antiviral machine. Sheppard was saved for last, as Beckett's experience had demonstrated the need to assess how stressful the treatment was at each stage of the disease before trying it on their sickest patient. 'The operation was a success, but the patient died' was not a 'win' in his log. Ultimately, only the pilot remained.

Carefully wheeling the transport gurney and the ventilator with it, Sheppard was gently transferred with his bedsheet onto the platform. Beckett titrated in just enough Fentanyl to keep him comfortable without dropping his blood pressure significantly. He knew it would not be enough, but he was convinced that the Major was as good as he was going to get. Carson hit the button to begin the treatment. John grimaced as the blue demarcation crossed his pelvis then thrashed as the beam reached his chest, then laid quietly. Beckett was almost afraid to look at the monitor for the results.

"He's clear!" The doctor practically sagged in relief; "And his vital signs are stable". The whole room let out its collectively-held breath, then erupted in activity. Despite being finally free of the virus, the damage it had left in its wake still had to be dealt with. At least now they had a fighting chance. Turning again to Galas, Beckett began, "We need to transport the Major back into his bed; then we need to start getting him off the vent as soon as possible. Get me weaning parameters, then start turning down the FIO2 and watch his sats: I want it below 50 as soon as possible. Most of the others can be treated symptomatically, but I suspect that Ford and Kavanagh will still need bedrest. Also, we need to screen the rest of the base, and treat anyone who comes up positive." His sleep-deprived mind recalled an earlier deduction. "And send someone now to get Grodin down here; knowing him, he's ready to collapse any minute, and hasn't breathed a word of complaint."

"Too late." Weir's voice caused him to turn around. The Atlantis commander staggered in, supporting a semi-conscious Dr. Grodin. "He was at the sensor array." She gestured to the machine. "I take it you've found a treatment?"

Beckett nodded. "Let's get him up here, then get an IV started so we can keep him comfortable." Soon Weir's right-hand-man was declared free of virus as well, but sentenced to a minimum of 24 hours bedrest. Peter was too fatigued to object.

Weir smiled. "Dr. Beckett, it looks like you have everything here under control. I'll get people down in groups of five for screening, starting with those most likely exposed to SGA-1 in the last two weeks, or anyone who feels ill." She paused and quirked an eyebrow, "Good job, Carson."

He found himself smiling back tiredly, then suddenly found himself sitting on the floor as his legs turned to rubber. All the exhaustion of the last several days had suddenly caught up with him, not to mention the drain of fighting off a severe case of the virus himself. The room wheeled counterclockwise and, from a distance, he heard voices calling, "Carson!", "Dr. Beckett!", "Are you all right?". 'No, I'm not all right,' he thought irritably. 'I need a nap!' With that the world slid away into the warm darkness.

TBC...

AN: Uh-oh, another cliffie! So sorry...NOT ! (smirk) This chapter's for TJuk, who stays up at night for my post because she has an EIGHT HOUR time difference from me. Now that's flattering!

Aileen Roidh: Sorry, I'd like to add more of a Scottish flavor to Beckett's character, but I don't have the background or knowledge base, and it would just come off tacky. The most I'm comfortable with is the occasional 'lass' or 'ye'. While I've been to Dundee (the anniversary of the launching of Discovery) and to Edinburgh, I know almost nothing of the Scottish culture and would only look foolish trying to pretend that I did.

Now medically-detailed hurt/comfort, on the other hand.....This I know!