NOTES: Thank you, again, for all the great reviews! This took a bit longer than I'd planned because my basement flooded and ate up all my writing time for a while. Another chapter from Carson's perspective, this one has a slightly serious spot or two, but you should get a few laughs out of it, too. Thank you, 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 6

COLD GROUNDS

They made it to the infirmary without incident, and the night nurse, none the wiser, was out the door in two shakes of a lamb's tail. As smoothly as their plan had gone, by the time Rodney set Dr. Weir on the diagnostic bed, his blush had transformed into a flush of exertion. Concerned, Carson tried to take his blood pressure, but the astrophysicist waved him off.

"Fix her first, then you can fix me," he insisted while buttoning up his shirt. After a loud growl of his stomach, he added, "Do you have anything to eat?"

Carson nodded as he pulled over a pair of wheeled privacy screens to block the view into the examination area. "Power Bar not enough?"

"I'm not used to food and exercise this early." He seemed more self-conscious than concerned. "I think it's thrown me off."

"It could anyone, Rodney. I'll just see what's handy." Pulling out his earpiece, the Scotsman slipped on the labcoat he'd left there the previous night and made his way to his office.

After grabbing the box of crackers and bottle of water he kept in his desk, along with his laptop and a few other technical supplies, Carson rummaged through the nearby refrigerator. Luckily, there was still a nice slab of semisoft Athosian cheese left over from lab testing; Rodney would need the protein. Once he'd scavenged all he could, he headed back with his haul, contemplating his own need for food.

Stepping sideways through the gap between the screens, Carson found Rodney had covered Dr. Weir with a blanket and was carefully slipping a pillow under her head. Curious, he remained in the entry to see what else the Canadian might do. While watching Dr. Weir in an awkward situation might make him uncomfortable, the same was not true when it came to the CoS; Carson always appreciated new material for teasing his egotistical friend.

First, Rodney made sure the blanket and pillow were placed to his satisfaction, his hands making minute adjustments then skipping away, only to return for a slight tug here or there. Finally, after some hesitant hovering, he brushed the hair carefully from her face. "Don't worry." His voice was quiet, reassuring and very unRodney-like. "Carson will have this figured out in no time."

"I'll do my best."

Snatching his hand away like a child caught in the biscuit tin, Rodney rounded on him, his mouth opening wide, plainly intent on vocalizing his outrage. Then the Canadian noticed what Carson was carrying and switched gears, walking up to snatch the food away.

"You're welcome."

"Oh. Thanks, Carson." He waved the box of crackers absently. "I really needed this."

Setting up his laptop and other equipment, Carson settled into the monitor bay's lone chair. He always felt an odd satisfaction that, like Earth computers, there was a slight delay between activating an Ancient device that utilized complex programs and the ability to use it. Seemed even the Ancients couldn't completely overcome that issue. Once the diagnostic bed was warmed up, he began to scan Dr. Weir. Behind him hovered the munching scientist, silenced by the food.

"Hmm."

"'Hmm,' what?" demanded the CoS around a mouthful of cracker.

"Seems there's more in common with the disease from the Land of Light than I thought. These readings aren't too far off from last night, except for a slight rise in temperature and..." Carson pointed to the brightly glowing image of Dr. Weir's brain, "a further increase of activity in her frontal lobe." Using the controls, he swiveled the image around and gave his friend a worried look. "The big difference is that whatever is doing this seems to now be targeting the Broca's area, as well." She had been talking fine the night before, and there had been no unusual readings from that part of the brain responsible for the physical act of speech.

"Wait a minute!" Rodney's eyes lit up with comprehension. "Are you saying she hasn't spoken because..."

"She can't speak? Aye. Most likely." That she'd said nothing this morning and the Broca's area was now being affected couldn't be coincidental.

Cracker box clutched in one hand, the Canadian began pacing the monitor terminal. "Oh, God! Oh, God! This is no good. She..." One hand pointed at Elizabeth. "And I..." His hand swung back to touch his lips. "So that means..." Eyes wide with horror, he grabbed Carson by the shoulder to give him a shake. "What'll I do if I can't speak?"

"Give us all a wee holiday?" With effort, he managed to say it with a straight face.

The horror transformed instantly into vexation. "Fine." Rodney let him go and threw up his hand. "Make fun of the soon-to-be-mute man."

"Calm down. It's not likely permanent, and it might not come to that."

"It won't?" That soothed the irate scientist...some. "How do you figure...?"

"Extreme afflictions don't tend to pop up overnight." Turning to his laptop, Carson's fingers skimmed across the keyboard as he brought up files for comparison and review. "The possibility that Dr. Weir, alone, contracted some new ailment out of the thousands of people she and Sergeant Stackhouse's team came in contact with seems rather remote. It's probable this is a condition the Valoosans are familiar with. If that's the case, and the effects are permanent, then there should have been some mention of a mute population. There wasn't." It was also the reason he suspected whatever was causing this wasn't airborne.

"So you think she'll be able to talk again?"

"I won't know anything for certain until I can do more testing and review the reports more thoroughly, but, given that there's no reference in Dr. Corrigan's extremely detailed notes, I'm thinking this is not considered life-threatening by the Valoosans." He paused in his perusal of Lieutenant Yamato's medical exams. "The real question is, what's causing these symptoms? I'd thought it was just the effects of the ale-"

"She drank ale?" The thoughtful quality to Rodney's voice caused the physician to look up.

"Aye, but if it had been the ale, her system should have processed it and her condition would have been worse then than now. Why?"

Pulling his gaze away from Dr. Weir, Rodney seemed to give himself a mental shake, like a dog coming out of water. "It's just that..." Carson wasn't sure if he should be amused or concerned that the usually articulate scientist was stumbling over his words. Had he been infected? "She seemed...a bit...off last night."

"You saw her last night?"

Didn't she say she was tired?

"Yeah. Peter called, said she was in a good mood but acting a kind of strange."

"And where was Peter?"

Rodney's brow furrowed in response to the tightness in Carson's tone. "In Control. Why?"

God, let this not be an airborne contagion!

Carson did his best to maintain a detached, analytical tone. "What else can you tell me about last night?" There was little more he could do until he had some results from Dr. Biro to help point the way, so he might as well compile as much information about the stages of this ailment as possible. "How was her behavior strange?"

"I don't know." Looking down at the box of crackers in his hand, Rodney fiddled with the opening and shrugged. "She was kind of absent-minded...her cheeks were flushed...and..."

Why is he so uncomfortable about this? "And?" Fortunately, Carson could touch type, so inputting his findings and holding a conversation at the same time was not a problem.

"She stared at me a lot." He sounded for all the world like a romantically frustrated teenager.

"Really?" Carson couldn't keep the amusement off his face.

Glancing up, Rodney noticed it and grew testy. "What?"

"Well, based on her reactions this morning, it seems whatever's affecting Dr. Weir is removing her inhibitions, but that's not to say it's impacting all of her mental functions."

With an irritated wave at their unconscious leader, the astrophysicist grumbled, "She's obviously in no condition to do her job at the moment, so I don't see the relevance of that distinction."

Turning back to the monitor and altering their perspective of her brain on the screen, Carson elaborated. "The parts of her mind involving facial recognition and emotion seem to be unaffected, and she must have passed the quarters of several dozen men to get to yours." Some part of him couldn't help but wonder at the nature of this illness. It was almost as though it was designed for such an effect.

The Canadian's eyes widened briefly, apparently picking up the implication, then they narrowed dourly and looked away.

"Rodney! I'd think you'd be happy to know that, deep down, she has more than Platonic feelings for you."

"You say this while she's under the influence of some alien virus," he muttered dejectedly, tossing aside the half-consumed box of crackers. "Nice."

"If it were a virus, I would have detected it by now," insisted Carson, all thoughts of data compilation momentarily forgotten in his curiosity, "and it's not as though you don't get along normally."

"All the more reason not to tempt fate." His friend began pacing the monitor bay again.

Why can't he appreciate the personal impact of this?

"Seems to me a very good reason to tempt fate."

"Who died and made you matchmaker?"

"You don't find her attractive?"

"I'm hetero and have a pulse; of course I find her attractive!"

"So, you find her attractive, get along and have already kissed..."

With an exasperated sigh, Rodney leaned against the desk opposite the main monitor. "What part of 'she's my boss' are you not getting?"

"That doesn't seem like a significant enough obstacle for such a self-motivated fellow."

"Okay, how about that she's involved with someone else?"

Carson tried to repress his surprise, so it came out with a patronizing lilt. "Oh, really? Who?"

"I don't know." Rodney's hands flew up in frustration. "It's not as though I've ever met the guy."

"Atlantis is not that big..."

"Not someone here," he huffed, "someone back on Earth."

How could he know such a thing unless... "Don't tell me she shot you down back in Antarctica!"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "If anything like that had happened, do you really think she'd have included me in the expedition? Besides, it's not as though I hit on every beautiful, intelligent woman I meet."

"If you say so." Carson leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms in his skepticism. "How do you know, then?"

He jutted his chin and twiddled his fingers beneath it. "The pendant she wears all the time."

"Pendant?"

"The heart shaped one with the diamond." He said it as though it were as obvious as the sky being blue.

Carson shook his head.

Rodney jabbed a finger at the edge of one screen. "She's wearing it now. How have you never noticed?"

"Come to think of it, she was wearing a necklace during her exam yesterday, but I wasn't aware she had a particular habit."

"Well she does."

"But that does not necessarily mean..."

"It's heart shaped with a diamond. Might as well be carrying a sign that says 'off limits.'"

"Seems like circumstantial evidence to me. She's never actually said anything?"

"No. She's a very private person."

Carson could tell he was holding back. "Surely, there must be more for you to be so certain."

Rodney looked away. Was that a guilt in his eyes? "Once I walked into her office while she was on the phone with him."

Oh.

"Have you not thought living in Atlantis makes for a rather trying long-distance relationship?"

"She wears it every day, Carson."

"And if she were to stop wearing it?"

This caused the scientist to look past the monitors to Dr. Weir's sleeping face, his expression softening from a scowl into something more thoughtful. "I don't know."

The sound of voices wafted through the infirmary. Glancing at his wrist, Carson realized that, in the morning's haste, he'd forgotten his watch. "Rodney, do you have the time?"

Blinking, the CoS pulled his gaze from the woman on the diagnostic bed. "Damn! It's three after eight." Ignoring Carson, he walked to the far side of the examination area, tapped his ear twice and asked to speak to Dr. Peter Grodin. While his friend made arrangements with the younger scientist, Carson grabbed his earpiece and decided, now that it was safe to do so without raising too many suspicions, it was time to set his own plan in motion.

Slipping on a fresh pair of gloves, he moved to Dr. Weir's side, wrapped a tourniquet around her arm and tapped her vein, though she was so thin that he didn't really need to. She didn't stir as he drew a sample of her blood. After labeling it with the time, he set her up with an I.V. and pulled out another syringe to make his way to Rodney, who seemed to be having an animated conversation with the wall.

"What does it matter?" insisted the CoS. "It needs doing, and I need you to do it. Consider it practice."

Carson had to hold Rodney's arm still in order to prep him to have his blood drawn. Other than a slight flinch, his patient had little reaction to the procedure, though only being able to use one arm to gesture with seemed to quiet him a bit.

"So you understand what you have to do?" Rodney nodded to the person on the other end of the radio. "Good, good. So you'll take care of it?"

"You might say, 'Thank you.'" suggested Carson.

"Thank you, Dr. Zelenka." There was a pause, then Rodney added, a bit of paranoia in his voice, "No, I'm not ill. Why would you say that?"

Carson's snigger gained him a glare from the astrophysicist.

"Right, then. McKay out." Tapping his earpiece to end the connection, the CoS turned his full attention on Carson, ticking off elements of his scheme on one hand. "Tamura will be examining the ale first, just to be sure. Zelenka's covering my meetings, and Peter will come up with excuses for Elizabeth's absence. So long as there are no emergencies, he figures he can take care of things in Control. He's also going to bring down my laptop, so could you bring it to me when it gets here? That way I can keep up with everything I don't need to do in person."

"So you've told Peter?" He pulled the full syringe from Rodney's arm and taped a cotton ball over the spot.

"Not all the details, but he knows Elizabeth's sick and is more than happy to keep it under wraps."

"Aye, he's a good lad." Looking up from applying the label to the vial, he wondered. "You be telling the Major, then?"

"No."

"No?"

"No." This was said slightly more emphatically than the first.

Is he worried the Major will find out he...? Carson grinned. "Really?"

"Do I need to say 'no' again?"

He held up a hand to ward off the Canadian's ire. "I was thinking, given the possible risk to the city, the Major should-"

"You said yourself this probably isn't a threatening situation." He swept a hand in the direction of the diagnostic bed. "So far, Elizabeth's the only one with symptoms. When it becomes a known danger, I'll tell him, but until then, he doesn't need to know." There was a tight certainty to Rodney's words that precluded argument, let alone jest.

"Aye." The physician nodded to further demonstrate support for the decision. "For now, it's still a private matter."

There was the tiniest hint of relief in the Canadian's eyes before they glanced to the vials in Carson's hands. "How long until you get the results?" He pointed at the items in question, adding emphasis to the change of subject.

"A few hours, seeing as we do not quite know what we're looking for. I'll just be along to drop these off with Dr. Biro. She should be in her lab by now." Stashing the vials in his labcoat pocket, he nodded around the examination area. "Mind you don't touch anything. If you cannot wait for your own laptop, at least wash your hands and put on gloves before using mine."

"Yes, yes." Muttered Rodney as he made his was to the bathroom.

Beyond the privacy screens, Carson ran into a primary shift nurse before he was halfway across the infirmary.

"Good morning, Dr. Beckett." It was the blond one Rodney was always pestering. "Komal said you had an early call. Do you need help with anything?"

"Good morning, Sarah. Aye, I've been busy, but I'll manage. Please let Dr. Martin know I'll be working on an experiment today and require exclusive access to the examination area. He'll have to cover any regular work that might come through."

"Okay." She seemed slightly puzzled but didn't say anything else.

Carson waved as he walked out the door, relieved to escape without further discussion. Once alone, he popped his earpiece in and tapped it twice.

"Control, here."

Is that the American or the Canadian?

"Is Dr. Grodin there?"

"No, sir."

"Please patch me through to him and make the connection secure."

"Yes, sir."

The American? Wonder if he'll think to mention this to the Major. As if I haven't played 007 enough this morning!

"This is Grodin." There was a faint click to indicate the connection was secure. "Really, Rodney, I can only walk so quickly."

"It's me, Peter."

"Oh! Sorry, Carson." The younger man's voice was sincerely apologetic. "Is Dr. Weir all right?"

"For the time being. So Rodney's got you hopping?"

"Actually, fetching him food and his laptop is the least of my worries. Do you have any idea of how much work Dr. Weir does?"

"I can imagine. I know you're going to have a tough day and hate to add to your burdens..."

"But you need help, too?" Peter laughed. "Well, it's not as though you'd want to recruit more people. What can I do for you?"

"While you're getting food for Rodney, do you mind adding enough for me? I've had naught but coffee and feel right peckish." Carson's stomach growled in affirmation.

"Already done." Smugness flavored the observation.

"Aren't you the clever fellow!"

"Anything else?"

Carson sighed. "I need to get Sergeant Stackhouse's team into the infirmary and isolated. Another secure call might draw too much attention, and as this is likely their day off, they probably aren't on the comm anyway. Of course, my visiting each man in turn would be even more conspicuous..."

Peter's voice was thoughtful. "You could always email Stackhouse."

"There's no guarantee he would get it any time soon." Not everyone checked their email as religiously as did most of the scientific staff.

"Which ones would you like me to talk to?" There was no resignation in Peter's tone, just the matter-of-fact attitude Carson had always appreciated.

"I was thinking Dr. Corrigan and the Lieutenant; I'll handle the Marines."

"You know where their rooms are?"

"Aye. We'll tell them we need to do some more testing."

"I'm almost to the infirmary-"

"Speedy! Just drop everything in my office. Try to avoid anyone else, if you can."

"Right. Is that all?"

"That's more than enough, I think! Good luck, lad. I'll email you later when I know anything certain."

"Thank you. Grodin out."

Stashing the radio in his pocket, Carson rang the chime to Dr. Biro's lab.

"Come in!" Her voice was far too cheerful for so early in the morning, but it was always that way. Of course, he'd chosen her for her qualifications, not her demeanor. The combination of experience, a broad spectrum of expertise, security clearance and minimal family had made her the ideal candidate. That she worked with others as well as she could run a lab solo was an added bonus.

The door opened and Carson entered the cluttered yet neatly arranged workroom of Atlantis' head pathologist. Amongst the antiseptic odors that filled the place was a fresh, minty smell he soon realized was Dr. Biro's herbal tea.

One can only imagine how much energy she'd have if she drank caffeine.

"Good morning, Dr. Biro."

Looking up from her microscope, she gave Carson a smile. "Good morning! I've just started on the samples from the second Valoosa trip." She nodded at the rack of blood-filled vials Nurse Anderson had dropped off the night before. The hint of condensation on the them indicated they'd been removed from refrigeration for some time, suggesting Dr. Biro had started work before eight, as was her tendency.

"Anything interesting?"

She shook her head, her straight, blond hair wagging like a dog's ears. "Not so far. Why?"

How to phrase this?

"Well, there's been a bit of a reaction that has brought up questions about the food." Pulling the still-warm vials from his pocket, he continued, "So I'd like to add these to those you're testing."

"Not a problem." She placed the vials in the rack with the others. "Is there anything specific I should be looking for?"

"Chemicals that effect the brain," he said vaguely.

"All chemicals affect the brain. Could you be more specific?" Her gaze was guileless and honestly curious.

"Of course." He shifted from one foot to the other in nervous contemplation. "Some of the tests showed elevated activity in the frontal lobe. I'd like to isolate the cause so Dr. Tamura can specifically address the issue." It wasn't a complete fabrication; something in the food could well be responsible. He added with a smile, "You know how much she and Chef are looking forward to fresh produce."

"Along with the rest of us!" Dr. Biro laughed; she was one of Atlantis' vegetarians. "But there are lots chemicals that could elevate activity in the frontal lobe. Knowing the symptoms would help me narrow it down."

There was no way around it. "The effects are similar to inebriation only without impaired motor functions. Intense yet distracted focus, impaired articulation and personal restraint..."

"So I should be testing blood alcohol?"

"Aye. That could be a factor, but it looks to be something we've never come across before."

"A challenge!" She seemed genuinely pleased.

"I'm glad you see it that way." Carson debated asking Dr. Biro to keep the results confidential, but as only he and Anderson knew which samples belonged to which people, there was no need. "Please send me your results as you get them."

"Will do."

"Thank you, Dr. Biro." With a nod, Carson turned to leave.

"Any time!" she called after him.

One down, two to go.

With a determined stride that deterred those he passed from trying to stop him for a chat, Carson made his way to the hall the Marines had claimed as their own. He was surprised to find a pair of potted plants at one end and hear Mozart coming from an open door. Naturally, he wasn't fortunate enough to find Sergeant Stackhouse and his teammate in their quarters, though he ran into Sergeant Markham, who suggested looking for them in the gym.

The Marines' gym was rather different from the one the Athosians had used, which Teyla now employed to teach her people's martial arts to all those interested in learning it. This gym was long and rectangular, with a high ceiling and colorless glass windows along one wall, tingeing the place with the hues of the ocean that dominated the spectacular view. Half a dozen men populated the place, one pair playing one-on-one with a basketball Carson imagined must have been someone's personal item from Earth. Unfortunately, none of them were the Marines he was looking for.

"Hi, doc."

Carson turned to find Lieutenant Ford beside him, dressed in an old T-shirt and shorts. "Oh, good morning."

"Come to shoot some hoops?" Atlantis' second in command gave him a cheeky grin that suggested he'd like to see the Scottish doctor try his hand at the fast-paced American sport.

Sometimes, he can be as cheerful as Dr. Biro. "No. I'm just looking for Sergeant Stackhouse and Corporal Lumano."

Without batting an eye, the Lieutenant turned and bellowed, "Hey! You guys seen Stackhouse and Lumano?"

So much for being inconspicuous!

"Showers," grunted the Marine using the makeshift weights. The man spotting him nodded in agreement.

"Well, then." Carson made his way to the bathroom attached to the gym.

"Sure you don't want to give it a shot?" The young man was perhaps a bit too enthusiastic about the prospect. "I'll spot you five points."

"Thank you, Lieutenant, but I've got a lot on my plate today. Maybe another time."

"You just say when!"

As one of the larger public bathing facilities in the city, the bathroom had no trouble keeping up with the moisture produced by two of its many showers. The lack of haze allowed him and the Sergeant to spot each other at the same time.

Looking up from tying his boots, the young Marine's face grew immediately concerned. "Something wrong?"

Ach! Does it show?

Not wanting to alarm either of them, Carson applied a bit of misdirection. "Only that I've had to wander over half of Atlantis to find the two of you."

Sergeant Stackhouse didn't seem to buy his diversion, but, before he say anything, Corporal Lumano piped up.

"So what brings you here, doc?" If he had any concerns, they didn't show as he turned off his shower and vigorously toweled his head dry.

"There have been some results that have me worried about the food you ate yesterday."

"More testing?" asked the Corporal.

"I'm afraid so."

The team leader was already packing his gym bag. "When do you need us?"

"As soon as you can get to the infirmary, though I'd pick up something to keep you busy on the way. You might be there for a while."

"Yamato and Corrigan?"

"They've already been contacted, Sergeant." When Carson's stomach growled, he added, "You've both had breakfast?"

They nodded.

"Good. I'll see you there."

Once he returned to the infirmary, Carson had to commandeer a medical cart to carry all the food and equipment Peter had left on his desk, as well as a chair for Rodney. Dr. Martin was occupied with his own research, and the nurses were busy doing the weekly inventory, the medical staff's means of making sure the pressure of Atlantis wasn't causing anyone to look for chemical stress aids. So even with all the noise he made, no one paid him any mind.

Pushing the cart through the gap in the privacy curtains, Carson found Rodney had moved his laptop and chair so he might sit beside Dr. Weir while he worked. Without looking up, the scientist waved a gloved hand.

"Carson, did you read how obsessed with babies these people are?"

"Aye. Dr. Corrigan says it's their cultural response to the Wraith." Carson set up the folding chair on the other side of Dr. Weir, using the cart as a desk for Rodney's laptop. "The more children they have..."

"...the more people will survive the next culling. Yes, but did you read about this 'birthing season'? It seems that the vast majority of Valoosans are born during a certain time of the year to maximize food and labor output."

"That makes sense, given their planet's extreme seasons." Sitting down, the hungry physician tucked into the toast and sausage Peter had brought down for him, ignoring that both were now cold.

"Yes, very sensible. But how do you manage," Rodney looked over at him, gesturing to the woman between them, "to get the majority of your child bearing women pregnant at the same time? More importantly, were you aware that it's about nine months before the birthing season?"

Carson stopped, food halfway to his open mouth. Setting down his fork, he hastened around the diagnostic bed to peer over Rodney's shoulder at the report on the computer. "You think it's intentional?"

"It would explain a lot."

"But I just saw two of the team members, and they were fine."

"Perhaps, whatever they do, it only affects the women?"

"I'll have a better idea once Dr. Biro's test results start coming in."

"Some may have already." The Canadian pointed to an icon in one corner of the screen. "Your account shows new email."

Typing in his password, Carson found Dr. Biro had already finished testing for blood alcohol, but the results showed more, not less, alcohol in Dr. Corrigan's blood than Dr. Weir's. So maybe the ale had nothing to do with it, after all. Dr. Corrigan hadn't been acting too strangely the night before, and today...

Hastily, Carson emailed Peter, taking the seat Rodney vacated so he might work on his computer directly. Peter replied in under a minute; he'd had no trouble with Dr. Corrigan, who seemed to be behaving normally. This reminded him four men in need of isolation should be arriving at any moment. He stood, but Rodney put a hand on his shoulder, encouraging him to sit.

"Is this all you've had today?" The CoS held Carson's breakfast plate with disapproval. "You may not be hypoglycemic, but you still need food. We're not going anywhere, and you'll do a better job of fixing us on a full stomach. I'd prefer to be cured sooner rather than later, so eat."

Despite the professed selfish motivation, Carson was touched by Rodney's concern. Sitting, he took the plate and finished his breakfast while Rodney mumbled complaints as he reviewed his email and read reports.

Once he'd secreted Dr. Weir and Rodney into an isolation room, the rest of the day was spent with interviewing and retesting Sergeant Stackhouse's team, another round of blood work and coordinating Dr. Tamura's efforts with Dr. Biro's tests.

It wasn't often he got to see the CoS in action, and it surprised Carson how Rodney succeeded in getting the most of his people, even in the midst of a surly mood. There were less than two dozen medical staff members, so it was relatively easy to keep track of everyone individually. But the scientists outnumbered the medical and military personnel combined, giving Rodney at least twice the work he or the Major had to deal with. In his visits to their room--Rodney had rationalized he was the only one who could watch Dr. Weir in the physician's absence --Carson heard him coerce, cajole and con his various staff members into following his vision of where their research should be headed. While Rodney's management style wasn't one he'd choose for himself, he couldn't deny its effectiveness. He'd always wondered if Dr. Weir had made Rodney the CoS merely because she needed him and he wouldn't work well under someone else. Now he knew better, but Carson wasn't completely sure how much of Rodney's skills were an extension of his naturally officious manner and how much were the result of trying to justify Dr. Weir's faith in him.

While visiting to take a sample from Dr. Weir's stomach, Carson was given a bit of a surprise.

"Rodney!" He set down his tray so he might use his disgruntled physician pose to maximum effect. "What have you done with yourself?"

The Canadian looked up from his laptop, confused. "What?"

"You're bleeding."

"What!" Rodney shot from his chair and spun around, looking for some sign of a wound. "Where?"

"Sit down, or you might make it worse." The CoS meekly obeyed, still glancing around himself while Carson fished out the necessary supplies to address the problem. "Looks like she bit you a bit harder than I realized. Have you scratched it recently?"

Reaching a hand to his ear, Rodney let out an unhappy huff when he pulled it away bloody. Then he tugged at his shirt to discover the stains on his collar. "Damn! This was one of my good shirts."

Carson could hardly condemn the man for vanity when resources were so precious. After all, he'd been down for two days over breaking the China teacup he'd smuggled from Earth. "Hold still." With quick, efficient moves, he swabbed the trio of tiny cuts and taped up his friend's ear.

"Great. Now I'm stuck wearing this until who knows when."

"Just ask Peter to bring you a pullover."

"I don't like his cologne."

"Then I'll lend you one of mine."

"White makes me look pudgy."

It was difficult not to laugh. "And who's going to see you but me?"

Rodney's gaze skimmed quickly across Dr. Weir, then away. "What's the latest?"

"Well, we keep adding to the things it's not," he moved to the other side of Dr. Weir and prepared a local anesthetic, "but no breakthroughs so far. Anything on your end?"

"No narcotics, though Tamura thinks one of the plants would be good for making soap." The scientist turned away as Carson pulled up Dr. Weir's shirt to give her the shot.

"Doesn't sound too appetizing." With a quick jab, he injected the drug, causing his slumbering patient to let out a little noise of pain.

That got Rodney to turn back around. "What was that for?" His voice and posture were confrontational.

"So she won't feel this." Carson held up the long-needled syringe he'd be using. "I need a sample of what's in her stomach. Would you rather I go down her throat for it?"

Blanching, Rodney backed off and turned around again. "Will you be doing that to all of us?"

"Aye. More than likely."

"This day just keeps getting better."

Despite Rodney's misgivings, the uncomfortable procedure turned out to be the most useful. Once he got Dr. Weir's sample under a microscope, the problem practically leapt out at him. After recalibrating the diagnostic bed's scans and running a few tests, his course of action was clear. Having finally discovering the culprit, it was time to administer a cure.

He found the lads in isolation were in the middle of a poker game for M&Ms. After passing out medication and instructing them to be extra careful, as though they had a contagious flu, he sent them on their way. Everyone but Yamato, who was winning by a fair margin, jokingly protested at their physician's poor timing.

Upon arriving in the other isolation room, Carson was a bit surprised that Rodney could read his expression so easily. The CoS actually stood up in his anticipation. "You've figured it out?"

"It's a bacteria."

"A bac..." Rodney began pacing. "Wouldn't that be in her blood? Why didn't it show on the initial exam? Don't you have tests for that sort of thing?" It came out as a jumbled rush.

"The equipment is primarily set up to detect viruses, not bacteria. After all, there are hundreds of benign and beneficial varieties. And no, it's not in her blood; it's in her digestive tract, where most bacteria in the human body live. This particular strain is giving off anandamide and phenylethyamine and is somehow inhibiting the production of seratonin."

"Bacterial chocolate?"

Carson couldn't help but laugh at his friend's quick food analogy, its cleverness assuring him Rodney's infection was probably not going to be an issue. "You could call it that, but only if you could concentrate the chemical effects of twenty kilos into a few grams."

The Canadian whistled appreciatively. "So where did it come from?"

"We haven't quite figured that out, yet, but I'm confident it was in something she ate."

"She? So the others-"

"They have it, but in significantly lower amounts."

"And me?"

"Aye. You have it, too."

"What about you? And Peter and that nurse?"

"No evidence so far."

At this, the CoS nodded thoughtfully. "Looks like we might have dodged a bullet. So the plan is to...?"

"Put us all on antibiotics for now and keep testing." He handed Rodney a bottle of water and pills in a plastic cup. "Bottoms up."