Disclaimer: Carson isn't mine, neither is anything else from the series, I'm just borrowing. Story itself is mine, though.

Author's note: Bureaucratic jargon isn't exactly my forte, much less the medical variety, so I've taken lots of creative license with it. Hopefully, you'll understand it anyway. (On second thought; hopefully not – that would mean I didn't do my job well. *g*)

Also thanks to my betas, fififolle, who helped me make the bad parts worse (in a good sense) and make Carson sound a bit more like himself, and Purpleyin, who helped make this more readable than what I originally wrote.

[Addendum.] Updated between January 2nd and 5th, 2020... After many years, I decided to go over my old fics and fix the leftover mistakes and rough spots. I was considering making only minor corrections here – same as I did with the other fics, but in the end I opted for a more thorough editing to make it a smoother read. If you've read this fic before, you'll probably notice the differences, but the content is the same.

Too Much

by

Iona

Medical school had prepared Carson Beckett for a lot of things, but not for this. It was something he was dearly sorry for.

He sat at a desk, facing a horrible bureaucratic monster with oversized glasses and perhaps just a wee bit undersized uniform. The fact that he was underground, under tonnes of a mountain, didn't make him feel any better either. And the dim light of the desk lamp and an even dimmer overhead light made for a very eerie feel in the office. It felt as though he was being questioned by a phantom official in a long dead castle.

»Before we approve your requisition, Doctor Beckett, there are a few issues that need to be addressed,« the SGC medical supply officer said in a flat voice.

»Aye?«

»Now, did I read this correctly...«

It took the officer more than half a minute to find what she was looking for in the stack of stapled papers that was most likely Carson's list of medical supplies to be replenished.

»You need 1200 labels...« she started in a monotone voice.

Ah, only that. Carson felt relieved.

»...and of those 540 for O positive blood products including whole blood, and 270 for A negative blood products including whole blood?« She gave him a look over the top of her glasses.

»Aye.«

»How come there are so few of the labels for all the other types of blood products?«

That almost rendered Carson speechless. What does a doctor say to that?

»Ach, I was just judging by statistics.«

»But type A negative blood is statistically not very common,« the officer pointed out, sounding like she was reciting a report.

Of course Carson knew that! How to explain this to this polished scarecrow of a woman; that was another matter. »Well...«

»Are you trying to say that I...« she lowered the pen she held at the ready onto the desk in exasperation.

»No!« Carson gave out a low growl that didn't really have any effect on the officer. »The statistics are based on our blood usage.«

»And also on your statistical donor breakdown?«

Carson stared.

»Listen, lass. I made sure I only listed what is needed. We run a fairly small facility; our needs may be different than yours at the Academy Hospital!«

The only reaction his outburst got out of her was two raised eyebrows and thinned lips. »I do run the SGC supplies as well, Dr. Beckett. It is also an undersized facility. The statistical breakdown of blood types there represents the general population well.«

Carson took a deep breath and drew the specialized language from deep inside his memory, the place that hadn't been accessed in years. He managed to start quietly and calmly again. »Captain, the data I have tell this story. If you have doubts about this, talk to the nurse who did these breakdowns for me. I am simply telling you what we need. We do not need 540 labels for O negative, we only need 260 of those, what we do need is 540 labels for the O positive. We don't need 270 labels for B negative, but we do need 270 of those for the A negative. That is not too hard for you to understand, is it? And if you'll check, the number of bags I requested matches the number of labels for all blood types.«

The woman remained unperturbed.

»Alright, next matter.«

»Next!« Carson cried.

She leafed through the papers a little more.

»Here it is. You requested an unusually large amount of various intravenous glucose solutions units. We cannot give you as much. It is requested that you lower the number of needed units in the future, and, if possible, the number of situations that would result in the need for glucose solutions.«

»I beg your pardon?«

»For the activity and main purpose of the base of which your facility is a part, the amount of glucose you claim to need exceeds the estimated amount of glucose used by such facilities per annum.«

Carson was mere millimeters from losing control of himself. The woman didn't seem to sense that. He wondered if she was daft. Judging by her language, it was entirely possible.

»Like, I told you, I've only assessed our needs; that is what we need.«

»And like I told you, Dr. Beckett, your need for glucose exceeds the estimated amount front-line combat support facilities use.« Or maybe she wasn't really daft, just simply evil.

»What? What combat facilities?«

»That is what your base is, Doctor Beckett,« she said in a tone that clearly told Carson she thought he was not among the most intelligent.

»First, it is not a base, it is a city,« Carson started slowly, calmly... »and my infirmary is not a 'combat support facility'; it's an infirmary that is available to all the people in the city, most of them are scientists doing research. Considering that, we also encounter situations where glucose may be needed.« ...and ended in a quick angry tone: »So, can I have it?«

»We'll have to reassess that.« The officer took the pen. »Now, how did you classify your facility?«

Carson feared he was going to start crying any minute.

»All right, now if your facility is not combat support, you will not need as many bandages, dressings and generalized medical coverings, subcategories adhesive bandage, butterfly bandage, elastic bandage, gauze tape, gauze pads – sizes for both specified in the list, gauze...«

Carson would've stopped her from continuing sooner, but the fact she'd been enumerating all of this left him in a momentary stupor. Fortunately only momentary. »Just a moment. You can't just take these away from us. We need those. As I already told you, I wrote the requisition with our needs in mind.«

»But you don't have many situations that would result in you needing those items. I cannot give you what you will not use,« she said, pointing her pen at Carson.

»According to our experience, we will.« Carson pushed her pen away, resulting in the tip facing her. It didn't faze her.

»Very well, you will have to reform your requisition then. Write the ordinary number of bandages and related items in the main request, and then write an addendum requisitioning additional bandages. Do not forget to specify subcategories.«

Carson groaned loudly. The officer seemed concerned. »Are you alright, Dr. Beckett?«

»Alright! No, I'm not alright. I sent you a simple requisition for supplies we would need to restock our infirmary, and now I have to fight for and explain every little detail. It's a wonder you're not telling me I used the wrong font.«

»As a matter of fact, you did. Requisitions should be printed with a sans serif font; on a laser printer preferably, inkjet is also within acceptable parameters. But I am prepared to overlook that, so you needn't worry. Just correctly formulate your revised requisition.«

»Right, what's next?« Carson asked sarcastically. A fact which the officer didn't appear to notice.

»Next? Hmm... ah, here.« She stabbed at the paper.

Carson crossed his arms. »Don't tell me? Vitamin C? Tylenol?«

»There is statistical shortage of acetaminophen and acetylsalicylic acid in your requisition, but unusually large amounts of codeine phosphate, diclofenac sodium, fentanyl citrate, hydrocortisone sodium phosphate, ibuprofen, meperidine hydrochloride, midazolam hydrochloride, morphine sulphate and tramadol hydrochloride.«

Argh, I'll get the »usual« amount of Panadol and stuff it down yer throat! Carson imagined himself yelling at her. Instead, he smiled sweetly. »Like everything else, Captain, we decided it's what and how much we need. So, is it okay if I write an additional requisition for these?«

»Yes.«

»Good.« Carson stood up, turned around and walked to the door.

»Oh, Dr. Beckett...«

He turned to face the officer. »Yes?«

»Don't write the additional forms requisition as an addendum, but in the appropriate subsection of the main requisition!«

Carson managed to stop himself from yelling something inappropriate to her and only mumbled something that might have sounded like an agreement before getting out and storming down the hall.

Author's note (on the chemical terms): Acetylsalicylic acid is Aspirin. From what I found out, acetaminophen is known in the US as Tylenol and the same thing is sold under the brand name Panadol in Britain. Therefore, I assume Carson'd know that name best. The rest are stronger pain medicines.