Chapter 4:

"So, you put cream cheese and cranberry sauce on a turkey sandwich?" Carson awoke to Colonel Sheppard's voice.

"Yep. Sort of gives it a sweet and sour kick to it. Throw some lettuce and some sprouts on it and you're good to go, trust me," answered Dr. Randall earnestly.

"You Californians and your sprouts. The rest of it sounds pretty good though," agreed the Colonel.

"Yeah, especially when the turkey is leftovers from the actual bird, like the day after Thanksgiving."

"Now you're talking. A day dedicated to turkey sandwiches and college football," added the Colonel. Dr. McKay just groaned. "Oh yeah, I forget you Canucks have your own Thanksgiving, just not as cool. Isn't it on the one nice day a year you get?"

"Ha ha ha Colonel. Actually do you think they'll feed us? All your talk of food has gotten me hungry."

"Rodney, is there ever a time when you're not hungry?" asked Sheppard. Rodney was about to retort when Dr. Reik poked her head in.

"I'll have some trays sent in, after we get some updates on your vitals," giving them all looks that said that there would be no arguing. Rumor had it she had put herself through medical school after a stint as a medic in the marines. The woman didn't take squat from anyone. Carson made a mental note to mention her name the next time they wanted a doctor off world.

"So anyone up for a game of prime, not prime?" asked Rodney innocently as they were finishing their chicken soup.

"When in doubt, serve chicken noodle soup, better than most flu vaccines," thought Carson. "What's prime, not prime," he asked.

"You don't want to know, Doc," interrupted Colonel Sheppard before Rodney could explain.

"I, for one am feeling much better. This flu must be one of those twenty-four hour varieties. So much for Wraith knowledge," sighed Dr. Randall. She caught sight of a doctor poking his head in. "Any chance of getting released soon? I understand the concern, but I think you overreacted." Colonel Sheppard gave her a look as if to say, "That's my line." The doctor shook his head.

"All of you certainly seem to be over the worst of it. As much as I'd like to say yes, we still don't strong understanding of what we're dealing with. I'm afraid we need to keep you here another day or two, just to be on the safe side." After a moment's consideration, he added, "I think I can at least arrange for showers and clean scrubs."

"Dibs on the first shower," called Colonel Sheppard with an almost child like glee and practically running for the doorway. Kyte was last and was finger-combing her hair when she walked back into the room. The medical staff had scrounged up a few items: a couple decks of cards, some paperbacks, a few magazines, but no laptops. With a start, she realized everything could be easily disposed of. A quick glance at Carson revealed that he'd realized the exact same thing, which meant they were still considered infectious.

Carson noted the odd look on Kyte's face, as she mused over the current situation.
It was a mixture of concern and was it, a detached clinical analysis? Rodney appeared oblivious to the situation, but Carson could tell by the set of the Colonel's jaw something just didn't add up in his view. Hopefully, Kyte was right, this was a 24-hour bug and the Wraith were lousy at human biology. After all, they hadn't been able to resolve the telepathy problem with Teyla's ancestors. He hoped Kyte was right, They'd be released from the infirmary just before the Daedalus arrived, Caldwell would fume about the situation, but realize there wasn't anything he could do, now the danger was past except file his own reports on how he would have handled the situation.

Half a day later, everyone was either reading, trying to sleep, or playing solitaire. A deafening silence filled the air, and no one was enough of an idiot for now to say anything. If anyone had thought of placing bets on how long Rodney could be silent, they'd all underestimated. They'd tried playing poker for a little while, but Sheppard and McKay had almost come to blows over supposed tells. Rodney had suggested, "prime, not prime" again and ducked a flying book. They were all tired of one another, the room, the waiting, the feeling of captivity. Dr. Heightmeyer might have hypothesized that the four of them would consciously try to avoid one another in the coming days. Even Carson and Kyte, in the beginnings of a relationship, needed some time apart. No one even complained when it was time for yet another round of tests and blood draws. Like little children who know nap-time will be over in five minutes, they didn't want to do anything to delay their anticipated freedom.

The silence was broken two hours later by Dr. Bio's clipped voice resonanting from the adjoining room. "Right now we have Colonel Sheppard and Drs. Beckett, McKay, and Randall in isolation. We're not sure if they're still capable of transmitting the virus."

"I'd like to see the artifact and their workups. Of course I'll need to run my own set of tests. Have you managed to isolate the virus yet?" came a new voice, a strong Southern accent.

"You have the full resources of Atlantis at your disposal," answered Dr. Weir.

"As well as the Daedalus," added Colonel Caldwell.

"Damn," thought Colonel Sheppard, managing to blank his face as the quartet stepped into the room. "Catch a tailwind?" he asked politely, as he slid off the bed and stood at attention.

"Actually we've made a few minor adjustments to the engine; shaves about 12 hours off the time," intoned Colonel Caldwell. There was a small note of triumph in his voice with the early arrival. Dr. McKay just glowered at being stuck in the infirmary and knowing he'd have to simply wait to look at the modifications. From the look on the astrophysicist's face, Carson was willing to bet he had been a kid who shook his presents when they were underneath the tree, tormented by the anticipation. Kyte also appeared upset; there was a shock of recognition on her face as she stared at the new doctor, who hadn't noticed her yet.

"Dr. Beckett? I'm Dr. Jared Mason, the MD/PhD virologist. I'm impressed with the retrovirus you designed. I know it had its shortcomings, but I'm sure they can be resolved," spoke the source of the Southern voice. Carson studied him briefly. Blond, good looking, if he were an actor playing a doctor, he'd be cast as the earnest intern, the one determined to make a difference, but Carson thought he detected something unsettling in his eyes. His gaze traveled over to Dr. Randall. "Katydid?" he queried, reverting to the nickname he used to tease her with years ago. "Of all the infirmaries in all the world…"

Dr. Randall stared back. The last time she'd seen him, she'd thrown a glass of wine in his face and stomped out of the fanciest restaurant she'd ever been in.

"You two know each other?" asked Dr. Weir, sensing the sudden rise in tension.

"Yes, Dr. Mason and I were together in school." Dr. Randall stumbled over the last word.

"Actually, I'm surprised you're not working on this virus, even if you are a patient," commented Dr. Mason. He added for the benefit of everyone in the room, "In grad school she was one of the best in virology. I'm surprised you're not at the CDC, heading up some department."

"I switched fields. I'm a botanist," she said simply.

"Why? Just because of what happened? I know you have your standards, but to turn your back on your true talents is just crazy."

"I didn't have a choice, I didn't turn my back. I found everyone else had turned theirs."

"You could have talked to me, I could have helped."

"You mean used your daddy's money? I don't think your daddy's money would have helped, unless he was willing to endow buildings. Not after what Dr. Grotzky said." Seeing his puzzled look, she added, "You never heard." He shook his head. "Never mind." Dr. Randall turned away. "Let the past stay buried." Dr. Mason opened his mouth to protest, then looked at the riveted faces, watching the uneasy reunion.

"We can talk later," he finished, determined to have the last word.

A/N: Don't worry, more action, less dialogue in the coming chapters. I have nothing against Canadians (I think they have better beer than us – actually that's probably most of the world) or the South. I should add that one of my undergrad students is a medic in the marine corp. Some of her students, well …