AN: I don't know about you guys, but I am WELL overdue for a dose of Carson-whumping, and maybe a few others (if they get in the way…heheheheh…)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters to Stargate Atlantis, nor am I making any type of profit from this story. It is a work of fan fiction, for enjoyment only.

Just a Case of the Flu

By Kerr Avon

He leaned against the balcony railing with both elbows, warming his hands on a hot cup of coffee, and stared out at the horizon. The Atlantean sun was just beginning to peep through some thin clouds in the distance, painting them shades of iridescent pink and orange. Taking a deep breath of the fresh sea air, he sighed in contentment and sipped his beverage.

He'd always loved this time of day, even as a resident. It was particularly rewarding after a long night of moonlighting in the ER, trying to scrape together a little extra cash for daily necessities. The piecemeal traumas of the nightshift had usually been cleaned up, and the people who were waking up sick were still deciding whether or not their illness warranted a visit to the emergency department of the local hospital. It was as if the whole world was holding its breath, waiting for the sunrise.

Over the ensuing years, he found that the peacefulness of dawn persisted. Even when it was more of an idea than reality in Antarctica, the five or six AM time had been his, to contemplate life and reflect on the future. Of course, Antarctica was where he'd switched from tea to coffee as well; nothing but that nasty instant tea to be had from the Americans. He chuckled and took another taste of his creamy hot drink; since they were running low on coffee, it looked as if he might have to switch to the Athosian tea.

He silently watched the sky brighten from violet to deep blue to the lighter blue of day. Far below him, he could hear the waves gently lapping against the base of Atlantis. A bird called out in the distance, and was answered by its mate. Closing his eyes, he just let the moment…be.

"Hey Carson, what're you doing out here?" Beckett's eyes flew open, startled at the interruption. Straightening up and turning to face the intruder, he almost dropped his coffee. It was their resident insomniac, Rodney McKay.

"Just havin' a wee moment to me'self," Beckett replied, hoping Rodney would take the hint and vamoose. No such luck. The man was as sensitive as a brick.

Rodney took a deep breath and peered about, blinking. "Sure is quiet out here."

"It was." Carson sighed. He might as well find out what McKay wanted; a physician was on call 24/7 on this base. "What can I do for you, Rodney?"

McKay stuck out his lower lip and shrugged. "Nothing. I was just passing by and noticed you standing here, so I thought I'd be sociable." The scientist clutched his own cup of coffee lightly, and took this opportunity to stare off at the sunrise. "My, this is pleasant." And to Carson's amazement, the man said nothing more, but moved to the railing next to him and enjoyed the daybreak in silence. After a moment of disbelief, Carson turned back towards the dawn as well.

The two men stood companionably until the sun was well and truly up, then McKay straightened and glanced at his watch. "Almost time for the briefing," he commented. "You coming?"

Carson nodded. "Meet you there; just want to swing by and get a refill." He gestured to his now-empty cup. There was no way he was facing Gate travel with less than two cups worth of caffeine in his veins.

SGA-1 had made a bargain with the natives of PG6-4X2 for some badly-needed foodstuffs. While masterful farmers, theirs was a simple agrarian society, particularly bereft in basic medical know-how. Part of the deal was instruction in simple first-aid techniques; while this could be given by any member of his department, Dr. Weir had felt it most politically-correct to send the chief of medicine. He couldn't really argue the point, so he acceded gracefully. He'd already made certain that the Jumper was stocked with the supplies he'd need, not only for the demonstration, but for the trade. Sighing, he refilled his mug in the mess hall and headed towards the briefing room. Somehow he knew this would end badly. He felt it in his bones.

"Father, Father!" Jinto and Wex came barreling over to where Halling was clearing a field for planting. He had been working all morning, but it was slow going; the field had lain fallow for millennia after all.

Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he stood from where he had been prying up a boulder that had caught his plow and smiled. 'Kids. Such enthusiasm for life!' he thought. Aloud, he called, "Yes, Jinto!"

"Father, the eggs are hatching, the eggs are hatching!" The boy's face was flush with excitement; this was the first catch to hatch in their new home. "Come see! They're marvelous."

While the Athosians had managed to transplant most of their domesticated animals, and even acquire a few more in trades with other planets through the Gate, they had experienced quite a bit of difficulty with the fowls. Something in the environment seemed to kill them off with great rapidity, and yet the native birds were unaffected. Still, eggs were a staple of the Athosian diet, so they persisted in trying. Finally they purchased a fowl from Artemisia that seemed to thrive in their new home; the whole tribe had a feast to celebrate the first catch of eggs laid. None would be consumed until a reasonable flock had been established, but it was a start. Halling's smile widened; this new world was slowly becoming home to his people.

Chuckling, he decided that the boulder-clearing could wait. His son would become jaded to such wonders soon enough; he would enjoy them with the boy while he could. Taking Jinto's hand in his much larger one, he beckoned, "Lead the way."

"Come on, Carson, it wasn't that bad." McKay reassured the fuming physician, suppressing a guffaw. He could feel Teyla, trailing slightly behind, suppress a giggle as well.

"No, it really wasn't," contributed Sheppard as they hiked back to the Gate. McKay looked at the soldier in awe; how he managed to keep a straight face was beyond the scientist.

Beckett glared at them all. "The little blighter bit me!" he exclaimed, holding forth his injured hand.

Sheppard scrutinized it as they walked. "You have to admit," he finally commented, "the boy did an excellent job with the bandaging." McKay, seeing Carson's expression at that comment, was unable to hide his laughter and frankly gave up any attempt to try.

The trade had gone off without a hitch; Markham flew the Jumper to the outskirts of the village and set down without a bump. They had been greeted by the elders and the agreed-upon supplies, and Ford proceeded to direct the offload of the items they'd brought in trade, subsequently filling the jumper with enough food to last them a month. Then, while Ford, Markham and company had flown back to Atlantis, Beckett, Sheppard, Teyla and McKay had gone to the meeting-house for the first aid demonstration.

Now Beckett wasn't much for stage-fright, but so many people gathered in one place just to listen to him was daunting to say the least. Fathers, mothers, children…the whole town had turned out to learn how to clean a wound and apply a bandage. Their rapt attention was reassuring, and he rapidly forgot his self-consciousness as he warmed to the subject.

"Now, does anyone have any questions? No? Well then, do I have a volunteer to practice on me?" Beckett had used both Rodney and John as models for a wide variety of dressings and splints for extremities and truncal wounds. Teyla had observed quietly as she sat next to their chieftain, just in case there were any misunderstandings, in order to better smooth them over. The demonstration had gone well, but Beckett wanted to be certain that these people could comfortably perform what they had just seen. After all, what good were bandages if you didn't know how to use them?

A young boy raised his hand, waving it frantically. Beckett smiled at the enthusiasm; here was a young doctor in the making.

"All right, son, why don't you come up here where everyone can see you?" The physician figured that if the youth could manage a few simple dressings, then the adults probably understood as well. The dark-haired child scurried up to his side and stared up at him in awe.

Beckett squatted next to the youngster. "What's your name, son?"

"Tyre," answered the boy.

"Well, Tyre, do ye think you could bandage my hand, then?" Beckett held the appendage out towards the child, who looked at it curiously.

"But it's not hurt," the young man complained.

"Ah know that," replied the physician patiently. "Just pretend, OK?"

The child gazed up at him in confusion. "But…there's no wounds."

"Make believe, laddie, make believe." Carson's patience was wearing thin, and Rodney's suppressed snickers weren't helping.

Tyre was conflicted; on the one hand, it made no sense to bandage an uninjured hand. On the other, he could tell that the doctor was preparing to ask for another volunteer. Shrugging, he did the first thing that came into his five-year-old mind. He grabbed the outstretched hand and bit down…hard.

Carson yelped in pain and surprise, jerking his hand away from the boy and clutching it protectively to his chest. Half the adults in the room were instantly on their feet; a few of the more aggressive ones had their hands on their weapons, ready to protect the child. Teyla murmured calming words to the tribe's leader as the whole group waited to see how Beckett would respond to this…misunderstanding.

To his credit, Beckett noticed none of this; his eyes were fixed on the child whose lower lip was beginning to tremble with suppressed tears. The boy knew he'd done something wrong, he just wasn't certain what. Carson's heart melted. Carefully releasing his now-injured hand from his good one, he held it up and examined it critically. Several small lacerations, just the right size for small incisors, were copiously bleeding on both sides of his hand just below the index finger. He nodded and smiled reassuringly at the boy. "Well, now, that's certainly injured, isn't it? How would you like to show me what you've learned about cleaning and bandaging a hand, then?"

Tyre shyly nodded, sniffled audibly, then set about expertly washing and wrapping Carson's hand. The crowd settled down respectfully once they were convinced that no harm would come to the boy. By the end of the exhibition, Beckett was certain that everyone understood the principles and basic practice of wound care. The Atlanteans said their farewells to the satisfied group and began the hike back to the Gate.

Beckett s glowered at the astrophysicist who was still audibly chuckling. "Finding this funny, are we?" he asked in a tone which demanded a negative response.

McKay, however, was not intimidated. Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, he gasped for breath and replied, "Yes, actually, I haven't laughed so hard in years!"

Beckett had to admit that, had this incident occurred to someone other than himself, he might not have had the control that Rodney had thus far exhibited. Smiling despite himself, he jerked his head towards the Gate. "If you're quite through…shall we go home?"

McKay breathlessly nodded, wiping his eyes once more, and the four once more headed towards Atlantis.

Dr. Lawrence listened carefully to Jinto's lungs. The boy lay listlessly, eyes half closed, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. His cheeks were flushed with fever, but his dull eyes followed the physician's every move. "All right, deep breath in…and out….in…OK, you can breath normally."

Halling stood anxiously to one side, wringing his hands and watching as Derek gave some instructions to nurse Shelly Galas in inaudible tones. He practically bowled him over as the doctor came over to discuss the child's condition. "Well, doctor, how is he? How is my son?"

Derek remained grave. "He's a very sick little boy. When did you first notice that anything was wrong?"

"This afternoon. We were watching some eggs hatch when he suddenly became pale and complained of being hot. Next thing I knew, he had vomited all over the farmyard straw."

"Is anyone else he knows sick? Family? Friends?"

The corner of Halling's mouth twitched upwards in irony. "We are all the family either of us has left; the cullings have seen to that. I feel…" he seemed to search inside himself for anything that might give a clue to help treat his child, "a little tired, but I was clearing stones from the field all morning."

"What about playmates?"

"He and Wex are inseparable; Wex was fine when we left the mainland to bring Jinto here."

"And you've never seen anything like this before?" Derek was at a loss; as a surgeon he was way out of his depth. Silently he wished for the hundredth time that Beckett would hurry and get back from his mission; the man was both a virologist and epidemiologist, and clearly the person most likely to be able to help one very sick little boy.

"No, never. It happened so fast…"

Shelly came up and murmured quietly, "104.2 now, doctor."

Derek glanced back to where the boy was beginning to thrash around, trying to get relief from the fever. Shaking his head resignedly, he replied, "Cooling measures, then. The tylenol alone clearly isn't enough. We'll hit him with broad-spectrum antibiotics, too, until we can get a handle on what we're dealing with." He took the proffered clipboard, jotted down the orders, and handed it back.

"Yes, doctor. We'll get right on it." She headed back to the youngster's bedside.

"Cooling measures?" Halling asked in concern, gently grasping Dr. Lawrence's shoulder.

Derek sighed. "Your son's fever isn't coming down with the medicine I've given him so far, so we're going to resort to more old-fashioned but effective measures. We'll be putting ice packs in his armpits and groin, as well as washing him down with cool damp cloths. If we don't get his fever down he could have seizures or even brain damage."

Halling nodded, releasing his light hold on the physician. "I understand. Please…I worry." He tried to explain further, but Derek's upheld hand stopped him.

"We're doing everything we can…but you're right to be concerned. He is very, very ill."

Halling nodded, then blinked several times in surprise. Raising a hand to his own forehead, he swayed groggily.

Derek's hand shot out to steady the taller man. "Would you like to sit down? I think this is a little much for you to take in all at once…" Dr. Lawrence had seen innumerable fathers faint at the sight of their injured children; he suspected that the same would hold true for ill children.

"No, I…suddenly I…." Mid-sentence, the muscular man crashed to the ground, despite Dr. Lawrence's attempt to catch him or at least control the fall.

"Nurse!" Derek called. Placing a hand to the unconscious man's forehead, he was astonished by the heat radiating from him. "No way…" he muttered, and felt for a pulse. He found it weak and rapid; placing his stethoscope to the farmer's chest, he was dismayed to hear the same rattling bronchial sounds that he'd just heard in his son. Sitting back on his heels, he stared up at Shelly, who'd just arrived with an ammonia ampule.

"I think we're in trouble," he commented grimly. "Get some orderlies and help me get him into a bed."

The four travelers were still laughing as they strolled through the Gate. Beckett had long since hidden his hand in his pocket in the hopes that they would change the topic, but no such luck. He tried to remain good-humored about it, but the jokes were already wearing thin.

"Right, Rodney. And I'm to assume…" Beckett's latest rejoinder was forgotten as a grim-faced Weir met the team.

She turned first to Carson. "Doctor Beckett, your presence is requested in the Infirmary. I've notified Nurse Galas that you've returned; she'll meet you on the way."

Carson nodded, all business. "Right then. If you will excuse me…" He left the room at a trot.

"What's going on?" asked Sheppard, speaking for the rest of them.

"Let's go to my office and I'll get you three caught up." She turned to the Athosian warrior. "I'm afraid that this particularly concerns you, Teyla."

Exchanging shrugs, the three followed Weir upstairs.

"Thank goodness you're back," Shelly exclaimed as she met him in the hallway halfway between the Control Room and Medlab and handed him an N95 mask and nonsterile gloves. "We've had quite a run for our money the last few hours."

All thoughts of his throbbing hand evaporated in the intensity radiating from his Chief Nurse. "What's this, then?" he asked, stripping off his field gear as they walked.

"The Athosians started coming in about thirty minutes after you left; they seem to have picked up some sort of virus on the mainland, and it's running rampant through their population."

"Oh Lord, I was afraid something like this might happen someday. What are the symptoms?"

"It apparently starts out with rhinorrhea, along with diffuse muscle aches and a low-grade fever. The Athosians for the most part don't even notice these symptoms, however, since they are so similar to the way they can feel on a normal basis. Within twenty-four hours, however, the fever suddenly spikes and they become nauseous, dehydrated, and often collapse."

"Who first exhibited symptoms?" This sounded bad.

Shelly took his flak vest and handed him a white coat and paper cover-gown. "Jinto."

Beckett stopped short and stared at her. "Halling's son?" he asked intensely.

Shelly nodded, lips pursed. "I'm afraid so. Second was Halling himself; one minute he's talking to Dr. Lawrence, the next he's on the ground. At first we thought he'd fainted, but he had a fever and rhonchi on exam. Then someone brought in the boy's friend Wex. Next thing you know, we're swamped."

Carson resumed walking, but increased his pace. "What about our people?"

"No one yet, but it's likely only a matter of time. We've been shuttling over the sickest Athosians for hours now, and there weren't any quarantine precautions in place initially." She glanced at him apologetically, "We didn't think we needed any; it just sounded like a bad flu."

Beckett sighed. "A 'bad flu'? Why doesn't anyone ever remember that the 1918 influenza pandemic killed over 70 million people in under a year? That was more than the entirety of World War I. My dear, 'the flu' was the worst killer ever on our planet."

"Surely the bubonic plague…" Shelly suggested hesitantly.

"At its height, the Bubonic Plague killed 2 million people; admittedly, the death toll altogether for the Plague was 137 million, but that was spread out over 70 years. The influenza pandemic killed over half that number in just one year."

Shelly's hand flew to her mouth. "I didn't realize…"

Beckett shook his head. "No one ever does, lass. No one ever does." So saying, he donned his mask and gloves and walked into the controlled chaos that was his infirmary.

TBC…..

AN: The statistics are actually as accurate as I could find; the influenza pandemic of 1918 was probably the worst 'plague' in recorded history. As far as the Carson-whumping goes; no, that little nip was NOT it! Just you wait….