His skin was covered with itchy hives. He scratched at the side of his neck and huffed in annoyance. The old allergy didn't pop up very often since he'd mournfully given up crab legs, but once in awhile a bit of shellfish would be lurking in a recipe and he'd have a mild reaction. It must have been the soup, he decided. The corporal in the mess had sworn there was no shellfish in the chowder, and that was the last time he'd believe the word of someone who didn't quite look old enough to shave.

No matter, these attacks were uncomfortable, but not dangerous. A generous dose of antihistamine would fix him right up.

He was halfway to the drug cabinet when the tickle began in his throat, and within two steps his airway began to close. Panicked, he staggered the remaining distance and turned the key in the lock with shaking hands. Antihistamines wouldn't do it now, he needed adrenaline, and quickly.

He found the bottle of epinephrine and stripped the wrapper from a disposable syringe. His breath whistled thinly, as though he were sucking air through a coffee stirrer. Squinting against the spots dancing before his eyes, he drew half a milliliter into the syringe.

"That's not going to be enough, lad." A hand closed over his, drawing hard on the plunger. His darkening gaze was suddenly filled with a familiar face – Donuch Munro, the man who had made his first year of residency an absolute nightmare. Long days and sleepless nights made life difficult enough for a budding doctor without adding a supervisor intent on criticizing his every action. "You've not done your homework, have you? Skipped the reading again!"

"Too much," he wheezed, his voice lost in the battle for breath.

"I continue to be astonished at the new depths of incompetence you consistently plumb," Munro sniffed. Grasping the wrist that held the syringe, Munroe lifted it in front of his face.

It contained .5 ml.

"Would you like to continue arguing, or would you rather save your patient?"

He blinked at the syringe. The dosage remained correct. His airway closed completely. Carson shifted his grip on the syringe and held it out to his side, needle aimed at the large muscle in his thigh.

SGA

"Are you back with us?"

Teyla opened her eyes and blinked. Across from her, Kate Heightmeyer regarded her with patient concern. "I am well," she finally announced. "But very confused." With the help of Kate's hypnosis, she'd remembered the dream that had sent her to Carson's side. But how could she dream of things she had not experienced?

"I'm pretty confused myself," Sheppard announced from where he leaned against the wall. "Since when are you having Beckett's dreams?"

"I have not been sleeping well for the last few nights," Teyla admitted. "However, I have not remembered any details until this evening. How can this happen?"

"I'd like to know what Dunne's role in all this is," Sheppard stated. "He ought to be coming around any time now."

Elizabeth cocked an eyebrow. "Shall we adjourn to the infirmary?"

SGA

Carmen Ruiz met them at the door with her report. "Carson's scans indicate he didn't exacerbate his injuries, but this is definitely not going to help his recovery. I've increased his pain medication to keep him comfortable, so he'll be out for a while yet. Rick has a concussion, but no skull fracture and no sign of complications. He hasn't regained consciousness yet."

Jeff Dunne, however, was awake, and protesting his restraints energetically. "Doctor Weir, thank God," he called. "Can you please tell these people to let me go? I haven't done anything wrong!"

It was Sheppard who addressed him. "I don't know about that. Teyla and Ronon walked in to find you fighting with Beckett. That doesn't exactly earn you the good neighbor award."

Dunne made an exasperated sound and flung his head back against the pillow. "How many times do I have to tell you people? I don't want to hurt Doctor Beckett!"

"So what happened?"

"When I walked in, Baker was on the floor and Beckett was standing in front of the drug cabinet with his ass hanging out of his gown. I knew he shouldn't be out of bed yet, so I called him. He didn't even blink – I don't think he heard me at all. I got closer and saw he was holding a syringe." Dunne shook his head. "Man, there was something wrong with him. His eyes were weird."

"Weird how?" Sheppard prompted.

"Distant, like he was looking through me. I was standing right in front of him, talking right in his face, and I don't think he knew I was there."

The similarity between Dunne's description and Rodney's earlier account weren't lost on those listening.

"All of a sudden he raises the syringe –"

"Like this?" Teyla asked, holding her fist out to the side.

"Yeah! I didn't know what was in it, but he wasn't in any state to be medicating anyone, so I grabbed his arm. He's stronger than he looks," Dunne, who was probably ten years younger than Beckett, admitted ruefully.

Kate had stepped to the side and was conferring with Doctor Ruiz. A moment later, Carmen moved to Beckett's side and began attaching soft restraints.

Elizabeth felt a lump rise in her throat. "Doctor?"

Heightmeyer was frowning, a sure sign she was worried. "Based on what I've heard here, I think Carson is a danger to himself."

"Wait a minute," Sheppard drawled, "yesterday you agreed he didn't have a death wish."

"And I stand by that judgment. But something is compelling Carson to harm himself against his will. Whatever it is, he can't protect himself against it. We have to do it for him."