NOTES: I'm so glad you all enjoyed the last chapter so much! Some of you may wonder why Carson doesn't speak with an accent in this part when he did in earlier parts. That's because the earlier parts were from the perspectives of Elizabeth and Rodney; this one is from Carson's. From Carson's perspective, he has no accent. Thank you, fififolle, for checking my Scottishisms, and PurpleYin, for betaing this!

DISCLAIMER: Stargate: Atlantis and all things associated with it belong to other people.

SPOILERS: through Poisoning the Well

RATING: T

UNION

PART 5

SUGAR AND CREAM

Crazy hypochondriacal Canadian! Who on Earth needs sedatives at six in the bloody morning?

Dr. Carson Beckett stormed into his infirmary with all the brooding tension of a thunderhead. The night nurse offered him a cautious, "Good morning."

Drawing a deep breath, the physician managed a gruff smile. "Don't mind me, Komal. I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

During his stroll to the infirmary, Carson had figured out Rodney's curious request and secure comm line must mean something was up that should be kept private. So he didn't explain anything to his nurse as he hastily stuffed a variety items into a medical bag and left.

Located close to the generator that powered the main tower, Rodney's room was fairly isolated from the rest of the crew quarters, though it was easy enough to get to with the transporter. After a short walk through deserted halls, Carson found himself in front of the astrophysicist's door. Ever uncomfortable with using his ATA gene, he pressed the door chime and called out, "Rodney, I'm here!"

The doors opened with a quiet whoosh, and Carson stepped inside.

Is that coffee?

"Rodney?" The doors slid shut behind him.

"Over here!" A hand popped up from the far side of the couch. Carson could just see Rodney's legs hanging over one of the arms.

"What's going on?" The place was a mess. There were papers scattered everywhere and furniture out of place. Was that a gray and red jacket on the floor? One with gathers at the waist, no less. There was only one person on Atlantis who had a jacket like that...

"Elizabeth, stop that." Rodney's voice was tinged with impatience.

Carson hastened around the sofa to discover a scene that caused him to gape in surprise. Rodney was sprawled on his back with his shirt unbuttoned. A slender brunette straddled the Canadian, intent on removing his belt. "Dr. Weir!" he finally managed to sputter.

"How very astute of you." Once Rodney had successfully pulled Dr. Weir's hand away from his belt, he favored Carson with an exasperated look. "Would you get your jaw off the floor and give her the sedative already?"

"But, I..."

"But you what?" snapped the scientist as he pulled Dr. Weir's other hand away from his belt and deposited it on his shoulder. With a disgruntled noise, she bent down and began exploring Rodney's chest with kisses.

"Give me a moment to get my bearings." Carson tried not to stare.

"Bearings? What...? What bearings do you need to get?"

How can he even pay attention to me while she...

"Well, I can't go around giving people sedatives on your order."

"What do you need my order for?" Rodney waved his hands in long, quick, sweeping motions to emphasize his awkward position. "You think I'd be like this if she'd go to the infirmary willingly?"

"I should be certain of a person's condition before administering drugs."

"You need certainty? Fine." Pointing, Rodney blathered with mock enthusiasm, "Look, Elizabeth! Carson's here! Now we can have a ménage à trois like you've always wanted. If you think it's a good idea, just keep at it. If not, slap me, call me a pig and storm out." He paused for a moment to demonstrate Dr. Weir was clearly not listening before turning back with a frustrated grimace. "Now will you please give her a sedative so we can take her to the infirmary and figure out what's wrong with her before whatever it is she has spreads throughout the city?"

Setting his bag on the floor, Carson nodded, slipped on a pair of latex gloves and started preparing a dose. "You think she's been infected with something?"

"Her symptoms are similar to one of the SGC's earliest medical crises, when they first visited P3X-797."

"The Land of Light. Yes, I remember reading the file, though she doesn't seem to be showing the aggression or physical changes."

"Does it matter? We're in another galaxy. What are the chances this'd be the same disease?"

"Quite slim, naturally." Carson pulled the syringe out of the sedative bottle. "It'd probably be good if you could hold her still for me."

For a moment Rodney got a far off look in his eyes that indicated he was considering his options. "Right," he nodded. Lifting his heels to the arm of the sofa, he pushed so he stretched out further, drawing Dr. Weir along until she lay flat against him. He cradled her head away from Carson and the needle with one hand while his other spread securely across her back, leaving her right arm exposed from the elbow up. Rodney didn't seem to be aware of how carefully he did this, but watching the tenderness he used with her caused Carson to blush.

"Okay, here we go." With a quick jab, he injected the drug into Dr. Weir's arm.

"OW!" yelped Rodney.

"What?"

"She bit me," he muttered.

"Now you'll have proof it wasn't a dream."

Rodney glowered at him. "How long until it takes effect?" Dr. Weir had already squirmed free of his embrace and was going after his belt again.

"Oh, a few minutes." Uncomfortable seeing the leader of Atlantis in such a compromising position, Carson closed his bag and went to pick up her jacket and tidy the files on the floor. "Is that coffee I smell?"

"Yes. Do you want some? I'd just finished brewing it when Elizabeth showed up. Do you mind reheating it? I could really use a mug."

"Happy to take care of it." Carson was grateful to have something to do that gave Rodney and Dr. Weir the most privacy possible. A tea drinker by nature, he felt this morning called for something stronger. "How did you manage to get your own coffee pot? This looks-"

"I traded for it with the Athosian glassblower."

"Traded what?"

"Materials to make gold and orange colored glass. They sure do love those earth tones."

"Aye, seems that way." It took a moment to figure out the stove, but it switched on with a reliable click and a quiet breath of blue flame. "How do you get the coffee from Chef?"

"What time is it?" Rodney had that follow-my-logic tone.

Carson rummaged through Rodney's modest yet cluttered pantry for sugar and instant creamer. He wasn't about to drink coffee without whitener in it. "About quarter after six."

"Really? So late?" Rodney sounded worried.

"Yes. Why?"

What a untidy little kitchen. Mum would have a fit.

"I... Carson, I have a bit of a favor to ask of you."

"Other than making a housecall before the cock's crow?"

"Since when do we have a rooster on Atlantis?"

"Your favor, Rodney?"

It was a moment before he got a response. "I don't want anyone to know about this." Rodney's voice was unusually quiet and serious. "I'm hoping it's still early enough we can get Elizabeth to the infirmary without anyone seeing her. If you have to write a report, I don't want our names in it. She's had enough problems maintaining authority. If word of this got out..."

"I understand. Mum's the word."

"Thanks, Carson." The sincerity in Rodney's voice was nearly the most startling aspect of the morning. "So I take it no one else has come down with any symptoms?"

"Not yet, but it's still early."

Something to look forward to, he thought glumly.

"I think you should have everyone in Stackhouse's team under observation."

"As soon as we have Dr. Weir isolated, I plan to do just that." After searching every shelf, Carson came to the conclusion there was only one clean mug. Hastily washing the other one, he rationalized that using it for Rodney's coffee would reduce his chances of exposure to the contagion, assuming it wasn't airborn.

"You suspect it came from Valoosa, too?"

"Aye, unless Dr. Weir has been exploring the city by herself, there's no place else this could have come from." The coffee was nearly back to a boil, so Carson turned off the stove. "You never did tell me how you got coffee out of Chef."

"Oh, yeah." That Rodney sounded distracted was understandable. "When does the mess hall usually open?"

"Half past six... Oh, I see!" Carson nearly burned himself on the coffee pot's makeshift handle. "Aren't you the clever fellow. Milk and sugar?"

"Two sugars, one cream."

Stirring the mugs, curiosity finally got the better of him. "You know, it's not every day a bonny lass throws herself at you. What kept you from getting carried away with the moment?"

"There are any number of reasons," Rodney said offhandedly.

Oh, really? You make it sound so simple.

"Such as?" Carson asked innocently.

"Such as she's my boss." He used that isn't-it-obvious tone of his. "Who do you think would be filling the much needed role of janitor if I'd taken advantage of the situation?"

"Good point."

"Besides, this is Elizabeth we're talking about." At this, Rodney's voice lost its surly edge. "She deserves to be treated with respect..."

Ah, ha! "And?"

"...and I couldn't bear it if she hated me." He said it so quietly, Carson might have missed it if he hadn't been walking back into the living area.

"Rodney... Don't tell me you..."

His eyes locked defiantly onto Carson's. "Don't tell you what? That I'm human and appreciate companionship like everyone else? That I actually do care what some people think of me?" Rodney's gaze returned to Dr. Weir, one hand stroking her hair as she nuzzled his neck. "I finally feel like I'm where I belong. I don't want to screw that up."

"I thought you preferred blonds," Carson corrected slyly, setting the mugs down on the end table.

"Shut up."

Rodney's voice was so dejected, Carson almost felt guilty for pursuing that particular train of thought, so he changed tracks. "Looks like she's nearly out."

"Here." Rodney reached behind his head and pulled out a blanket. "Spread this on the floor."

Carson did as he was bid and helped Rodney lower the groggy Dr. Weir onto it. She didn't want to let go of her Chief of Science, so he knelt beside her, holding her hand as the sedative slowly pulled her under. Carson offered him a mug, which he grasped with all the determination that a drowning man might a rope.

After a long draught, Rodney sighed. "Why me?"

"That's a very good question."

Rodney gave him a sharp look. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's not as though you have the most accessible room in the city." Carson sipped his coffee.

Needs more creamer.

"Mind you, Rodney, I'm only speculating, but it seems doubtful she came here by chance."

"You think she knew she was sick and wanted to minimize the spread of her illness?"

"Or perhaps she knew you'd be awake but still in your quarters. Or perhaps she knew you'd figure out what was wrong."

Or perhaps she came because she always turns to you in a crisis.

"So maybe she won't be mad..." Some of his normal confidence leaked into Rodney's voice. That was enough to indicate he needed no more breaks.

"Time will tell." Carson unwrapped a Power Bar he'd scavenged from the cupboard. "Here, eat this. We've still got a bit to do yet, and I don't want you fainting on me before we get to the infirmary."

With a glare, Rodney set down his coffee, but he took it without comment. "My plan is for you to scout ahead to make sure no one sees us." Bar in hand, he gestured as he talked, seemingly oblivious that his other hand was still clutched in Dr. Weir's grasp. "First will be the hall between here and the transporter; then the hall at the other end of the transporter; then the infirmary itself. For each segment, you'll radio when the coast is clear."

Carson leaned over to pick Rodney's earpiece off the floor, "You might be needing this, then?"

Setting down his half-eaten food, the astrophysicist hastily wiped the receiver on his shirt and popped it in his ear. He gave it a tap, "Hello? Anyone there besides Beckett?"

The result was an off-kilter stereo, hearing live Rodney on the right and synthetic Rodney on the left. "Seems like the channel's still there and secure," offered Carson.

"Good. So how do you plan on making sure the infirmary is empty?" He spoke around a mouthful of Power Bar.

"Oh, that's easy." Carson took another sip of his coffee and tried not to make a face. "The next shift doesn't start until eight, and Komal already knows I'm up. I'll just tell her she can leave early. Night shift almost never gets a break like that, so I'm sure she'll jump at the opportunity."

Rodney bolted down the rest of his coffee, popped the last bit of bar into his mouth then began scooping up the barely conscious Dr. Weir, blanket and all.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Rodney huffed as he lifted her off the floor. Carson hastily offered a hand to keep him steady as he stood with their boss cradled in his arms.

"Shouldn't you wait a minute to digest?"

"We don't have time, Carson. In another half hour, the halls will be full of people going to breakfast and work. We have to go now."

"All right, all right." He began stripping off his gloves.

"Before you do that, could you tip the corner of the blanket over her head?" Rodney gestured with his chin. "Just in case we do get spotted, there'll be less chance of anyone recognizing her unless they're close. Oh, and don't forget her jacket. I wouldn't want to have to explain what it's doing in my quarters."

Carson did as he was asked, adding Dr. Weir's jacket to Rodney's load. The Canadian seemed to be unfazed by his task. Perhaps, after all that hauling of equipment on away missions, his current burden was not so difficult. The physician couldn't help but wonder if certain chemicals more natural than caffeine might also be responsible for his friend's level of energy this morning. After all, despite his matter-of-fact attitude, there was still a noticeable blush to Rodney's cheeks.

"Anything else?"

The scientist glanced around, comically spinning in place before looking back up. "I think that's everything."

The door opened on its own, causing Carson a momentary spike of panic before he realized Rodney had activated it with his mind. Removing his gloves, the physician grabbed his bag. Feeling a bit ridiculous, like a child playing 007, he poked his head into the hallway. There was no one nor any sound of footsteps.

"All clear."