Beckett was grateful to Elizabeth. She'd stayed and made small talk with him for several more minutes, talking about the latest arrivals on the Daedalus and other meaningless talk and then had excused herself with a warm squeeze to his shoulder.

Steven Schwartz had been kind enough to release him from bed rest, especially after Beckett had acerbically noted that since he worked in the bloody infirmary, he wasn't likely to collapse without someone noting. Beckett had noticed though, he was being closely, if subtlely, watched for any signs of overexertion and had taken care not to over do. It wasn't hard; the heat stroke made even shuffling from his chair to Sheppard's bed an exhausting proposition.

Now he sat in his office, absently checking over the supplies in his pack. The clan had stripped them of everything but their BDU's and he'd had to make up a whole new pack.

"Sure you've got enough bandages in there, Carson?" Beckett started guiltily and then glanced down into the open bag. It was almost overflowing with dozens of packets of bandages. He glanced back up at Sheppard who stood lounging in the doorway, one sardonic eyebrow raised.

"Colonel, you shouldna be out of bed yet."

Sheppard started to shrug, and then with a grimace, stopped. Beckett heaved an exasperated sigh and gestured him in. "At least come in and sit down."

Moving stiffly, Sheppard sat down gingerly before easing back into the seat. "I needed to move," he explained, looking a little frustrated.

"I know, lad," said Beckett. He started to go on, but stopped himself and focused instead on emptying out the extra bandages.

"So, looks like you're back on your feet."

"There are a few advantages to being the CMO, despite my staff's best efforts to foil them," and he shot a dirty look out the window at where two of his nurses were folding linens while rather pointedly keeping an eye on him.

Sheppard chuckled. "They're just not used to seeing you beat up. Wait til I get you out on a few more missions. They'll get as used to seeing you in here as a patient as me and Rodney."

Beckett's attention focused suddenly on Sheppard. "What?"

"I just was thinking it would probably be a good idea for you to go through the gate a little more often. There's a lot more to the Pegasus Galaxy than this infirmary." He leaned back in the chair a little too nonchalantly. Beckett's eyes narrowed.

"Aye, and I see it all from the comfort of a jumper when I visit the mainland every week to check on the Athosians."

"Carson, you know what I mean. There is no feeling like stepping onto a world you've never seen before."

Beckett gave him a skeptical look. "I'll leave tha' to ye to enjoy, then. I'm perfectly content here."

"C'mon, Carson. It'd be good for you."

"Why are ye so eager to get me through that cosmic blender again?" and he glared at Sheppard.

"It didn't exactly go smoothly out there," said Sheppard, holding his hands up defensively, "and it seemed like it would be a good idea to, well, you know, get back up on the horse."

"You know sod all, Colonel!" and he began cramming handfuls of bandages back into the open bin, white-knuckled. Sheppard watched in silence for a moment.

"Carson, why are you so upset?"

Beckett didn't respond, just kept emptying out the pack.

"Carson, come on. Talk to me."

"Don't patronize me, Colonel," Beckett snapped.

"I'm not," replied Sheppard, "but this is obviously really bugging you. I think you'd feel better if you talked about it. Maybe to Heightmeyer?"

Beckett felt an eyebrow shoot upwards. "Aren't ye just full of the helpful suggestions today?"

Sheppard blinked, disconcerted and shifted a little in the hard plastic seat. "Or not. Look, I don't care who you talk to, but it's obvious you're upset."

"An' I can't imagine what there is ta be upset about," he said, lip curled. "I just allowed a friend to be tortured for days while I stood by and did nothin'."

Massaging the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed, Sheppard spoke again, obviously frustrated. "I don't…, Carson, what the hell is going on with you? We're back, we're safe. You even managed to snag the kid! So what is eating you?" With an effort, he stopped and spoke more calmly. "I just am trying to understand."

"Not much ta understand," said Beckett, his hands stilling, the fingers smoothing and straightening the package of bandages. The plastic was slick, and crackled under his fingertips.

"I'm sorry you were in that position, Carson." The colonel spoke softly.

Beckett sprang to his feet, sweat prickling between his shoulder blades as he paced around the small space.

"Ye're apologizin' te me?" and he twisted his shoulders violently inside the confines of the cotton lab coat he wore, trying to ease the itch. The movement reminded him of Sheppard's arms bound behind his back and he stopped. "I should be apologizin' te ye, lad. It's my fault ye're in this state," he said without turning to face the other man.

"Bullshit," Sheppard said easily. So easily that at first Beckett didn't notice. Then he turned around to gape at Sheppard.

"Ye don't understand," he said again. "I was goin' to do it, d'ya see? I was goin' to kill that child." He watched Sheppard like a hawk, but he didn't see disgust or anger. Just disbelief.

"Oh come on, Carson. You?" Sheppard quirked an eyebrow and grinned. "Not buying it."

Beckett could hear the barely suppressed laugh and felt himself beginning to stiffen. He advanced on Sheppard a step.

"Did you think they were goin' ta just give up? Just let us go once they saw we really wouldn't kill the child?"

"No, of course not. I just know you wouldn't have done it. It's just not who you are." He snorted and leaned back carefully in the chair. "You can't kill a kid! I mean, you? That's not you. It'd be like McKay giving up coffee. Or kissing Kavanagh." He shuddered and made a face.

"Is that all this is ta you, just a bluidy joke? An' me? Am I a joke as well? I'm some poncy fool, who shoots off drones at your helicopter and can't fly your wonderful Puddlejumpers?" Beckett's throat was tight and he was breathing heavily. He looked up to see Sheppard mouthing, 'poncy,' and looking like a deer in the headlights. For some reason, that just made him angrier. "It's a wonder ye allow such a right feckless git off world! I might end up shootin' my foot off. Ye bluidy fool! In the end I would have done it if for no other reason than ta give the child a merciful death! D'ye no' know ye would have both been killed if I hadna?" he demanded furiously. "You AND the child. It would probably have been a kindness gi'en the depths of poverty on that world. Better an easy death at my hand than slow starvation or taken in a culling."

Beckett stepped back, hands fisted. He was shaking, he could feel it, and hated it. Bit down on the inside of his cheek and breathed in and out. Sheppard was watching him, wide-eyed, mouth open. He snapped his mouth shut, jaw firmed in an expression of textbook sympathy and thoughtfulness and Beckett damn near hit him right there and then. "Excuse me, Colonel," he ground out.

"Carson, I think we need to talk about this . . ."

"I think you need to let the nurse examine you," snapped Beckett, taking another step back. "And I need a breath of fresh air." He spun on one heel and stalked away. Behind him he heard Sheppard call, ignored it. "Katie?" He beckoned, and the nurse looked at him, open-mouthed, then nodded and said "yes doctor!" and headed determinedly towards Sheppard. And Beckett stormed out, half wishing you could slam open Atlantis doors like he could in the old wards he worked in.