In Idle Hands 2?
by Jennamajig

Eleven Hours Earlier

Carson had to admit, it seemed pretty straight forward. Not every situation was Hoff, he knew, but found it harder to convince himself of that fact. It was easier just to ignore it. He'd never face Hoff, or another Hoff, if he never left Atlantis. It had seemed like the perfect plan.

Of course, he should have known Major Sheppard wouldn't take no for an answer. He'd come back through the gate, asking for Carson's services. Carson listened, and then pointed out that any doctor could accompany him, and he had a few to choose from. But, oh no, Carson had been through the gate already. Knew what to expect.

Sure, knew what to expect. He knew to expect the worst and nothing
else.

Still, when he and Sheppard reached the city he found himself relaxing, and a bit of his harbored guilt disappearing. He couldn't let a previous experience get in the way of his professional duty he figured, and they'd be plenty of time to lament over a cup of tea later.

A woman greeted them and before he knew it, had latched onto his arm and practically ripped it out of its socket as she dragged him into a building and up a series of steps. He barely had a glance toward Rodney, Ford, and Teyla before a door opened and he was deposited inside. He heard the door shut heavily behind him.

Within a couple of seconds, he could tell that whoever was in this room, they weren't in tip top shape. One didn't need a doctor's sense to smell the air of sickness in the room, but if one was lucky enough to have such a sense, as he did, they could also tell it wasn't good.

Wasn't good at all.

He approached the bed, his old battered, traditional medical bag in hand. He laughed at the item when his mother presented it to him the day he officially earned his medical degree, but he still kept it and found it came in handy far more often than he'd like. It seemed to blend into the current setting, taking Carson back a few years, almost erasing the evolution of the last fifty years of modern medicine.

No one in the room spoke, so Carson took that as his cue. He set his bag down on the edge of the bed and took a look at the man in it.

His appeared to be in his forties, although massive illness had aged his face beyond its years. His skin was so pale that it seemed to blend in with the white sheet he laid on. He lifted a hand and it shook slightly.

Beckett took in these details and catalogued them as he began his examination. He was a doctor. This wasn't Hoff, this wasn't an experimental drug gone wrong, leaving him and medical technology helpless. An illness he could handle, after all he'd spent years studying diseases and their cases and cures.

No problem.

It was when he pulled back the blanket that he discovered he was wrong.

--

Sheppard eyed the door. He'd tried to head back down the stairs when another two armed men in brown blocked his path and set him backtracking. With their weapons raised, his gun paled in comparison. He hadn't the slightest idea what such an object was capable of, but he wasn't about to be stupid enough to find out.

He joined Ford, Teyla, and McKay on the floor.

"When did they-"

"When Teyla started down the stairs," Ford answered. "Came out of no where. I'm beginning to think this whole lack of technology is a lie."

"Really?" McKay started. "What tipped you off? The big giant men or the big giant guns?"

"Rodney," Sheppard warned.

"They are close in appearance to a Wraith's weapon," Teyla put in.

"A stunner?"

"Yes."

"Wonderful. If the Wraith are anything like the G'ould, then they are probably always developing new technology. There is no telling what it could do. It could kill us all." McKay slumped back against the wall.

Teyla shook her head. "The Wraith have no use for such a thing. They require their prey to remain alive."

"For feeding," Sheppard agreed.

"Now, that's just wonderful," Ford said, sarcasm in his tone.

"Then the real question is," Sheppard mused out loud, "why do they have Wraith technology and how did they get their hands on it?"

--

Carson knew the minute he saw the injury, there was nothing he could do. He recognized a product of the Wraith when he saw it and this one was beyond hope.

He let the blanket fall. The woman who'd dragged him into the room stepped forward.

"You can fix him?" she questioned. "Dr. McKay said your planet has medicines. Antibiotics," she carefully sounded out the word as if she was saying it was first time, "he called them."

"Aye." Carson sighed. "But I'm afraid they won't help."

"Why? He is sick. I was told they help when one is sick."

He shook his head. "This isn't simply sick, I'm afraid. Your..." He fished for a name.

"Loren. His is our leader. Our president," she told him.

"Loren," Carson repeated and turned to look at the man. "I'm afraid there's nothing I can do."

Loren, for his part, closed his eyes. The woman shook her head.

"No," she whispered.

Carson hated this part of his job. No matter how many times you practiced and role played, giving bad news was still unpleasant and still necessary. He didn't believe in lying to anyone about such a thing, as it only brought even more heartache down the line. Life taught him that, and being in Atlantis only made this part of his job happen more often.

"I'm sorry," he simply said.

But she was still shaking her head and she turned to the bedside table, opening a draw and brandishing an item.

"They will come," she said. "He just needs more of this."

Carson realized the item in her hand was a vial. He frowned. "More of what?"

Surprisingly, she handed it over to him. "This. Perhaps your planet has some. Like you have antibiotics." She looked hopeful.

The vial was nearly empty, but Carson recognized the reddish color from his recent experience on Hoff and their and his continuing research and recent Wraith autopsy. He couldn't be positive without running a few labs tests and comparing them to the small sample they still had on hand.

Wraith enzyme; the chemical they released into their victims the moment before the Wraith started draining life from them. Some form of it. Maybe even some form the supposed 'miracle' drug still being distributed on Hoff, if the Wraith hadn't already destroyed them all once word leaked into the galaxy. Carson still didn't know much about the chemical, only that for some reason it appeared to make the human body temporarily stronger and easier to drain. It appeared to break down in the human body rather quickly after death, but during life, he could only speculate.

It could be that it wasn't simply a Wraith injury killing him.

"How long has he been taking this?" he asked.

The woman frowned. "For nearly two years. We all have. It is a gift from the gods."

He shook his head. "No, it's not. You all take this?"

She nodded. "Yes. Loren was low and went to meet with the gods yesterday. He came back with a new supply and a few hours later, collapsed. He has no idea how he received his injury."

"Right." Carson didn't believe it for a second. "When's the last time he took this?"

"Last night," she answered. "He has been sick and not able to keep much down. Not even that."

"Lovely," Carson muttered. He started to put two and two together. The enzyme, he supposed, acted like a drug, stimulating the body. Therefore, when one stop taking it, well, he could surmise what the consequences would be. "It's killing him."

"You're lying," she hissed.

"I'm not," Carson insisted. "This enzyme, this," he held up the almost empty vial, "medicine, is making him sick."

"It makes us stronger. Makes him stronger." She wasn't backing down.

"Yes, it makes you stronger. Temporarily. Strong enough for a Wraith to feed on you. Once they do and you don't get anymore of it, it breaks down. It kills you."

She shook her head. "They will bring us more. He won't die."

Carson realized what she had just revealed. "They? Who are they?"

"The gods," she answered. "They protect our planet."

"Gods," he muttered. It sounds like something out of SG1's mission logs and frequent encounters with the G'ould. Carson admitted he didn't read much of the actual missions, instead concentrating on the injures and medical records, but he knew that on many planets, the G'ould were considered gods, when they were far from it. But they were no G'ould in the Pegasus galaxy, as far as they could discern. There was a completely different threat.

"Holy crap," he breathed. "The Wraith."

"Wraith?" she repeated. "Who are they?"

She had idea, he realized, but was almost certain of his theory. There was no other way these people could get such an enzyme, especially when they were excited by the simple idea of penicillin.

"They are bad. Very bad. Not gods."

She narrowed her eyes. "You're wrong."

"I wish I was." He suddenly had a very bad feeling about this. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man in brown move in front of the door, a large and very modern looking weapon in his hand.

"You're wrong," she repeated and Carson knew he was, but it wasn't about the Wraith.

End Part 2.