Chapter 2

After two days of reworking his requisition and more dealings with the supply officer, Carson was ready to schedule an appointment with Dr. MacKenzie. Or skip the whole process and just saturate himself with all the sedatives he could get his hands on. But he did it – the revised requisition was filed and approved, and he was going back to Atlantis with a full load of medical supplies they desperately needed.

He wearily dropped into a chair in the SGC's commissary and sighed. He hadn't eaten in at least ten hours either. He just wasn't sure whether he'd rather start with the blue jello, one of his favorite dishes that Atlantis ran out of all too soon, or the steak. One bite of the latter made up his mind for him - it was nearly inedible. He dug his spoon into the jello.

Just as he was blissfully scratching an itch on his wrist, he heard a voice he recognized almost immediately. »Dr. Beckett?« Colonel Caldwell.

»Aye?«

»Can I join you?« the Daedalus commander waved his tray at the table.

»Absolutely.« Carson motioned to the seat across the table, but had to move his arm immediately to scratch his wrist again.

Colonel Caldwell went straight to the point: »I need to ask you something.«

»Aye?«

»You're in charge of requisitioning the medical supplies we'll be bringing back to Atlantis?«

»Aye.«

»Are these numbers correct?« He gave Carson a list on a clipboard.

Carson mumble-read it with mouth full of blue jello. »Aye. Except this. We have a hundred of these, not ten.«

The Colonel leaned back against the back of the chair. »Doctor, do you realize how much storage space we'll need for all of this?« he said between bites, subtly waving a lettuce leaf at Carson.

»Aye. But it doesn't matter. It's what we need.« To avoid scratching with his finger, Carson now attacked the table's edge with his wrist. The Colonel only stared at him in confusion.

»I completely understand your point, Doctor,« he said, expertly avoiding dripping gravy from his fork, »but I have to take into consideration everything else we'll need to take with us.«

»Need or want?« Carson almost regretted this as soon as he said it, but he was mentally exhausted to the point where he didn't really care anymore. Without thinking, he resumed scratching his wrist with his finger. »Medical supplies are essential. Many other things probably aren't.«

»To you, perhaps. But your stock will take up three storage rooms.«

»But you have more room than that, don't you?« Carson ground out, desperately wishing to drop some of the jello on his wrist to cool the itchy spot. He couldn't do it right there in the SGC commissary, though, so he only put the spoon in his mouth.

»Yes, but as I said, there's much more we'll need.« Caldwell didn't look up from his plate.

»Isn't there anything that you can store elsewhere? Or any way to give me enough room?« Carson asked.

»Well, perhaps we could squeeze together a few other things. The ammo alone will take one storage,« Caldwell said patiently, hunting for a piece of a pepper on his plate with a little less patience.

»I understand. But there are other things we'll need less than medical supplies and ammunition. Can't you store something in the hangars?« Carson finished his jello, wishing the etiquette would allow him to lick the inside of the cup.

»I guess so. If you only saw how much equipment the scientists claim is 'vital' we'll have to transport!« Caldwell dropped his stout military manner for a moment and let his frustration show.

Carson grinned against his will. He could imagine the entire Atlantean science community descend upon McKay to explain what they needed and why, with Rodney getting pretty upset, but then pleading enthusiastically with everybody who had any say in what they got. Also, Carson knew for a fact that even before McKay so much as dreamed of doing anything of the sort, Radek was already arranging things.

»Maybe that can be stored in the hangars,« Carson commented between bites of an apple, knowing full well how miffed the scientists would be. This time he tried to scratch his wrist with the pad of the little finger. Despite the vigorous rubbing the itch didn't go away.

Caldwell didn't say anything, but his expression told Carson he got the joke.

»Listen, Colonel. I'd gladly give up some of these,« the doctor pointed at the list, »but we don't have any assurance you'll be able to return to Atlantis often enough. Even so, I made allowances, in the hope that these supplies will last us eight to ten months, save for the machines and the OR equipment. To tell you the truth, last year made me reassess a lot of what I knew of medical logistics, and in part, this is the result of that. I'm not ready to give up anything else, Colonel.«

»I understand.«

And Carson could tell he did. If only the itchy spot understood that Carson wanted it to stop! »Listen, Colonel, if you'll wait a day or so, I'll even help you rearrange the storage, but I won't give up anything my patients need.«

»Okay. I'll see what I can do.«

They ate in silence for a while. Specifically, Colonel Caldwell was eating and Carson trying to scratch away the skin on his wrist. The officer gave him a concerned look.

»Dr. Beckett, are you alright?«

»Aye; it's just an itch,« Carson cringed. »It's getting worse instead of better.« A few moments later he added with a frustrated tone: »I suspect it's psychosomatic.«