A/N: This chapter is a follow-up of sorts to Asclepius. You should definitely read it first in order for some of the references to make sense.

Thanks to all who reviewed! Please keep it coming. I'm currently working on the next chapter of "One Sick Puppy," and I'll hopefully have that out soon. I'm still trying to figure out what kind of trouble to have the little guy get into!

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My neck and back were killing me. Rodney wasn't kidding when he said we were spending quality time with the nanovirus samples. I must have been at this for hours, staring at the frightening things under the microscope.

I didn't care, though. It allowed me to keep my mind off the memory of almost having to watch my friend die horribly.

"OK. I should be dead now." Rodney said, staring at the ceiling with fear and resignation.

I started allowing myself to hope. "You ran into Dumais at the same time?"

"Exactly the same time."

The implications of this were staggering. "Then, yes, you should be dead." How was this possible?

From the looks of it, Rodney was wondering the same thing. "Oh, God! I'm still here!"

Ford looked rather shocked, too. "Yes, you are."

"Interesting..."

"Interesting?" If looks could kill, Zelenka would have been in serious trouble.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but..."

"...why?" Zelenka again, finishing my thought.

"Exactly."

"Well, I don't care." Rodney looked almost giddy with relief. "I mean, I really don't care!"

I don't mind telling you, I teared up at that point. But I just patted Rodney on the shoulder and went back to work, which in this case involved watching Dr. Biro perform the autopsy on Dr. Hays. It's one thing to watch an autopsy of some anonymous poor soul, it's quite another to watch one performed on someone who was recently under your care.

Rodney's been in and out of here since the outbreak. He's been invaluable in helping me run tests on these perishing fuckers. But when I try to tell him to get some rest, he just snarls and says something about Warren Zevon. It's like he's tormented by some inner demon. I finally looked it up and found out that Zevon was a songwriter who'd said he'd sleep when he was dead. Zevon, sadly, is now eternally sleeping. Rodney, on the other hand, looks like he hasn't slept in days.

Ford and Zelenka haven't had that problem. Last time I saw them, they had consumed mass quantities of the brew from Zelenka's illicit still and had pretty much passed out. But I don't tell tales out of school, and you didn't just hear that from me.

Rodney's single-mindedness was one reason I decided to ask Kate Heightmeyer to hold sessions with the team. Everyone's been under a lot of stress from the Wraith, but sometimes the threat of illness can be more distressing than the threat of physical attack. This is as good a time as any for us to look for problems.

Predictably, the two intrepid military lads complained the loudest. Aiden, though he could be downright obnoxious when put in charge, eventually accepted the inevitable with grace. (I don't have to be a psychiatrist to realize that during the storm he was desperately trying to hide the fact that he was scared. As if anyone wouldn't be.) John was more pigheaded about it. I think I managed to coerce him without bruising his ego too much, though I'm not sure I want to know why Private Nichols wanted all those extra condoms.

Rodney's reaction to my "request" to see Dr. Heightmeyer was unexpected. He agreed without any argument. That alone made me worried. Something really is eating at him, and I don't think it's just his near-death experience. It may have something to do with turning the shield on during the storm. I was concussed at the time, but from what I've been able to piece together Rodney almost activated the shield two minutes before the tidal wave hit, which would have turned Teyla, Sora, and myself into fried hash. Now he seems haunted by it. I wish I could tell him that I don't blame him. If the city and 'gate access had been destroyed, the expedition couldn't possibly survive, and I'd never be able to live with myself if I were the cause. Kate says that if Rodney isn't ready to talk about it, then I shouldn't bring it up, but I hate to see him torture himself.

Knowing Rodney, he may also be blaming himself for his inability to solve the virus problem sooner. The two of us are becoming almost frighteningly self-critical.

Speaking of Kate, I think I'm the only one left who hasn't spoken with her. Since it wouldn't be fair for me not to follow my own orders, it was time for me to schedule my session.

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I'll say this right off the bat. Kate Heightmeyer has a nicer office than I do. Oh, mine is bigger and needs to be closer to the infirmary, but hers has a much better view. If we were both working back in academia, this would trigger some seriously nasty political infighting. Fortunately, we're both more mature than that.

But that doesn't stop me from feeling a twinge of envy.

When I entered her office, Kate stood up and greeted me warmly. "You didn't have to make an appointment. You know you can just call me anytime."

"Aye, thank you. But this way I figured I wouldn't disrupt your schedule any more than necessary."

She nodded. "How are things going on your end? Oh, and would you like a cup of herbal tea? I just brewed a pot."

"Thank you, love. We've been quite busy. I've been monitoring Rodney and the others to make sure there aren't any delayed effects. I've also been listening to them complain about this with varying degrees of politeness. In addition..."

Kate interrupted, asking gently, "No, I meant how are you doing?"

Oh. Good question. I took a sip of the hot tea and looked out over the ocean. "Honestly? Those things scare the hell out of me. Next time we may not be so lucky. Then I'll have to watch some more autopsies."

"I can't imagine that being pleasant."

Now that was the understatement of the year. "You're right. It wasn't. What kept me going was the fact that if we didn't figure things out, Dr. Biro would have had to continue." I stopped. I wasn't at all sure I should tell Kate what was running through my mind now. I had spoken with her, of course, after the incident with the Asclepius cubes, but I did not want to stir up those emotions again. (Yes, I named the cubes, and if Major Sheppard doesn't like it he can take his chances at his next routine medical exam.)

What the hell, go for broke. "I have to tell you, I came this close to going back to that Ancient medical clinic..."

"Did you?" she asked.

"No." In the end, I knew I couldn't afford the luxury of "dying" again to look for nanovirus data that might not even exist. I wasn't even sure the cubes would work through a Hazmat suit. Although if the countdown for Ford and Zelenka had continued much further, my resolve would have been sorely tested.

"Good." Kate said. "I don't think Dr. Schwartz would have appreciated having to save your ass again."

"Probably not," I conceded. The Asclepius cubes provided the user with an easily accessible store of medical knowledge. But they didn't run on anything as simple as batteries. Instead, they drew power from the user, as I found out the hard way. I had my colleague and Dr. Weir to thank for saving my life, and Schwartz responded by threatening to kill me again if I so much as thought about using the cubes.

Inevitably, my thoughts next turned to the reason why I had put myself in such danger. I still missed Michelle Donohue and kept expecting her to walk into the infirmary to report to work. She had been one of the most talented members of my staff, but had died of cancer several months earlier. The expedition had not brought the necessary chemotherapy agents with us, and I felt responsible for that. Intellectually, I know that there's no way we could have anticipated every contingency and I know that some people are beyond my ability to help, but I'll be damned if it doesn't hurt like hell.

"Carson?"

I realized that I had been sitting there staring at nothing. "Just thinking. Chances are, the cubes would have been worthless. This outbreak was solved more by nuclear physics than by medicine. Like I said before, we may not be so lucky next time."

"Any idea yet on who or what might have created the virus?"

"No, we're still trying to figure it out." Whoever it was was a truly evil SOB. That virus had no purpose except terrorism. I, who was still trying to forgive myself for my role in the deaths of the Hoffans, could not even begin to understand the motivation of the nanotech designer.

Kate knew me too well. "I'm sure you're doing the best that you can. But you're thinking about Perna, right?"

Aye, that I was. She was the bonnie lass who headed the ill-fated research project to find an immunity to Wraith feeding. Would future generations of her people think of her in the same way we were thinking of the unknown nanotechnologist? Lord rest her soul, I hope not.

Kate and I continued to talk for another half hour or so. I have to wonder. She spends so much time helping all of us deal with our demons. Who helps her with her own? As hard as my job is, I definitely wouldn't want hers. I think we're both looking forward to a time when things become simpler for this expedition. We just hope all of us are around to see it.