oOo

There was a strange whistling, whining sound. Carson Beckett opened his eyes and immediately closed them again. There was something too close to his face for his eyes to focus on it. Had Ronon and McKay put him in a box for a joke? Turning his head to the side, Beckett made out the lower half of McKay, stretched precariously across the two chairs, head tipped back, snoring loudly. He couldn't see all of McKay. Where the hell was he? Something else was in his line of vision. He squinted. Was that Ronon's big paw hanging down?

God. He was under the bed. And he was hung over. He was so hung over he was probably brain damaged and he'd walk around drooling for life. Or puking. God, do NOT let him puke under Ronon's bed, please! He'd give himself a lobotomy on the bed frame either before or after he choked on substances best unnamed and maybe then he'd be strangled by Ronon's dust rhinos because no way was anything that size small enough to be called a bunny.

Ooooh, god. His stomach was NOT cooperating. He groaned and rolled over, praying for the nausea to go away. PLEASE go away before his head fell off or he . . . .oh, this was not good.

The door chimed, then opened. Sheppard, or rather Sheppard's feet stood in the open doorway, taking in the scene.

"What the hell did you do now?" he asked in an incredibly loud voice. McKay didn't move but Ronon's hand twitched. Sheppard walked across the room and shook McKay's shoulder. The scientist snorted loudly and fell off the makeshift bed onto the floor.

"Ronon! C'mon, wake up!" But the colonel didn't touch Ronon. Probably a wise choice. Even half-dead of alcohol poisoning he could probably still kill with his pinky finger.

Beckett lay still, his nose burning. Oh God, he could feel the contents of his stomach flirting with his throat. McKay curled in the fetal position, covering his head with his arms and groaning. The bed frame creaked, dipping under Ronon's weight and he watched the support cross-eyed as it bowed towards his nose. Two big feet appeared beside his head and then the bed bounced back up, the feet moving unsteadily towards the bathroom.

He breathed a sigh of relief, choked on dust and started gagging. Oh, don't puke, don't PUKE! His brain was going to bleed out his ears but then he'd be dead at least, and that would be a good thing. He opened his eyes to see Sheppard crouched down beside the bed, looking concerned.

"Carson, are you ok?"

"No. I'm dyin'," he groaned and curled up on his side, praying he really was.

"You're just hung over. You'll be all right." Sheppard turned and glared at McKay where he laid on the floor, gagging. With a sigh, the colonel went over and helped him into the bathroom. Beckett tried very hard not to listen. Or smell.

In a moment, Sheppard was back. Beckett could see McKay propped up over the toilet, shoulders heaving. "All right, Carson, you're next." He grabbed Beckett's ankles and pulled. The motion rocked Beckett's rebellious stomach and he spewed uncontrollably.

"Oh crap," he moaned. "Why ….ye ………leave ………me be?" he choked out between retches. From somewhere Sheppard found a container and propping Beckett up, shoved it in front of him.

"What were you two thinking?" he demanded as Beckett puked, cursed and puked.

"Softer," muttered Ronon, one hand over his eyes and the other covering his mouth.

"Softer?" sneered Sheppard. "You know it's one thing if the two of you decide to get plastered, but taking Carson down with you?"

""Ooooh,"

glurp

"Carson, you can't blame me."

Ooorf.

"You know the effects of . .. "

oooorgh…

The retching noises continued and finally halted. McKay landed on the floor with a thump and moaned. "Oh, pleeeease it be over. Please tell me this isn't just a respite."

"I don't know about respites but you know you're just building up more puke, McKay," said Ronon without sympathy.

"Oh god. Oh god. This is all Carson's fault. We were being Samaritans and benevolent and HE kept drinking. And he ought to know better, practitioner of the black arts like that."

"You ready to puke again or are you going to talk some more?"

"Do I really have to choose?"

"Yes."

"I think . . I . .."

Urrrgh

"That's what I thought," said Ronon, smirking.

Sheppard glared over his shoulder. "Get him out of here, Ronon. I'd expect you, at least, to know better."

Ronon pushed away from the wall and flashed a surprising grin at Sheppard. "Tradition, Sheppard, to drink with the men you might die for."

Taking McKay's arm over his shoulder, Ronon walked him out of the room towards the balcony, McKay whining all the way. "C'mon, McKay. Let's go see who you can puke on."

Beckett leaned his head back against the cool wall and gulped in air. He had stopped throwing up for the moment, but it was a temporary reprieve and he knew it. Breathing heavily, he watched them go, then closed his eyes and swiped at the sweat and drool on his face with shaking hands. He felt a nudge, opened his eyes. Sheppard stood there, holding a cup of water. Beckett took it gratefully and sipped.

"Feeling a little better?"

"Wha' does it look like?" grunted Beckett, closing his eyes. "And close the bloody curtains."

"They are," came the dry response. Beckett opened his eyes a crack. The light was marginally subdued. He closed them again.

"Thanks."

Sheppard winced, wrinkled his nose. Then looked away. "I am sorry, you know."

Carson slumped back down onto Ronon's bed. He was going to have to offer to wash the sheets. He sighed.

"Aye, me too. Me too."

"You know . .. " Sheppard's voice was hesitant. It was an odd sound for him. "I do understand. I'm sorry it happened. I wish I could change things."

"I know. I wish that all the time. Believe me, there's so many things. . . ."

"Carson. you can't change them. You can only accept them. There's lots of stuff you can only accept. Like your job. My job, well, that's keeping you safe. You and Weir and Teyla and yeah, McKay, if I can keep him from building more bombs. Pretty much everybody, really."

Beckett looked up, but Sheppard was leaning against the wall, studying the floor. "That's my job, Carson. I don't get much choice. And sometimes I don't like it. But that's what I do." He looked up suddenly and his eyes were hard and sad and resigned.

"I know, lad. An' I know I made your job harder."

Sheppard was shaking his head. "You let me worry about that, Carson." He grinned. "That doesn't mean I won't kick your ass if you don't follow orders off world."

"That's all right, Colonel. Doesn't mean I won't kick your ass WHEN ye don' listen in the infirmary. And just when IS your next full physical, Colonel? Remind me?"

"Ooooh, no you don't! That rubber glove thing . . .that's just . . ."

"Sick. But you knew that already, Colonel. It IS Beckett after all. Now if we're all through with our Hallmark moment?" McKay was back and standing a little unsteadily in the doorway, Ronon looming over his shoulder.

"You should know, Rodney. What's the score, Ronon?

"McKay wins for both quantity and quality," he grinned. "He has a very fine splatter effect!"

"Oh, god. You didna need to share that." Beckett stuck his fingers in his ears. And then had to pull them out to cover his mouth. And raced for the bathroom. Faintly, he heard Ronon, "I'm gonna need new quarters."

Then Sheppard's voice again, filled with suppressed laughter. "What can I say, Ronon? You reap what you sow, man, you reap what you sow."