A/N: This initially started as a one-shot, but I've decided to make it into a weekly series. For each episode, we'll get a fresh perspective on the events from Dr. Schwartz. Please R&R, tell me if you like or if I'm wasting electrons. ;-)

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

My father was a much-loved rabbi and was often asked to visit the dying and comfort the grieving. He took this duty to heart, but I know it weighed heavily on his soul at times. The most difficult visits were with widows or widowers whose spouses died of Alzheimer's disease. How do you console a person who essentially lost a loved one long before that person's body died?

In a sense, that's the situation we have here with Lieutenant Ford. Only in his case, he's lost to us both physically and mentally. I don't know what happened on that planet, but I did see Carson when he returned. He looked like he went to one of those old Scottish castles and saw a ghost. Oh, he blustered and carried on like he normally does, but his eyes were haunted. And later that evening, over a cup of hoarded tea, he revealed what was really bothering him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I was cleaning up the medical supply room after Hurricane Beckett went through it. He hadn't known what to expect when he got the call to perform surgery in the middle of nowhere on an alien world, so he brought the proverbial kitchen sink with him. I was more than a little jealous. Since we got here, we haven't had all that much need for a surgeon. I would have loved the opportunity to stretch my legs, so to speak. Although the whole hostage thing might have been a little disconcerting.

At least the Daedalus had recently replenished our medical supplies and drug inventories. We didn't have to worry about running out anytime soon. So I wasn't too worried until I left the supply room and found the light still on in Carson's office. It was in the middle of the night shift, so nobody should have been around except a few nurses and the on-call doc. Why was the CMO still here? If he were staying up late to do research, he would normally be in one of the empty labs down the hall.

I hesitated, then knocked quietly on the door. When I entered, the office was in its usual state of disaster. But instead of being immersed in a text or research report, Carson was simply sitting at his desk and staring into a cup of tea. "Evening, lad. Done for the night?"

"Yeah, I'm done," I answered, folding my arms across my chest. "But what about you?" I know that our battles to get each other to take breaks are a source of amusement to the rest of the expedition. Peter Grodin, when he was still alive, had included them in his betting pools. I think Dr. Zelenka has taken over now.

Carson fixed his ice-blue eyes on mine for a minute. Sometimes that stare could make you feel like a bug on a microscope slide, particularly if you'd been sloppy or lazy. (Or if you happened to be Rodney McKay.) At other times it invited patients to relax and put their trust in him. He's an amazing clinician that way.

But tonight his eyes just looked tired and sad.

"What's wrong?" I asked him. He obviously needed to talk, so I wasn't going to let him get away with saying "nothing" or "everything's fine." I'm not above bullying the man.

Carson sighed and looked down into his tea again. Finally he said, "Have a seat if you can find one in that mess. And grab a cup of tea if you like." That's when I knew that something was seriously wrong. He normally kept that stuff locked up tighter than Fort Knox. I wasn't going to argue with the offer, though. I enjoy a good cup myself.

"John and Rodney saw Lieutenant Ford on the planet today."

That hit me right in the gut; I wasn't expecting it. The last time I'd seen Ford he was holding a gun on Carson, demanding the supply of the Wraith enzyme. He almost didn't seem human at that moment, yet there appeared to be a part of him that was struggling not to lose his identity. Unfortunately the Wraith drug appeared to be stronger. "How was he?"

"I didn't see him. I was too busy playing Androcles with our friend from the brute squad." We shared a quick smile over the designation. "However, Rodney said that he looked terrible. He was delusional, alternating between trying to "save" John and Teyla and thinking they were out to get him. He might have also been hallucinating; John said that Ford looked like he was hearing voices."

"Oh, boy. What else?"

"Apparently his thinking was very confused. He wanted to come back home, but at the same time was afraid of what we'd do to him. And worst of all... he actually tried to kill Rodney. Then he escaped by allowing himself to be beamed onto a Wraith dart."

I just shook my head. What the hell had gone wrong? Ford was a great guy. He had been fighting to defend the city and almost lost his life, only to be saved and lose his sanity in the process. "We have to get him back," I whispered.

"Aye, that we do. If nothing else but to keep Colonel Caldwell from eliminating him out of hand as a security risk," Carson added bitterly. "This is the thanks we give the idealistic kids who try to make a difference?"

"Well. Maybe we will be able to bring him in. What do we do then, though?"

"Try again to wean him off the drug, I guess. But we'd have to monitor him much more closely this time, maybe even put him into a complete coma until he got over withdrawal. As it is, it'll probably be agony. Steve, if you have any ideas or thoughts on what else we can do, I'd love to hear them."

Unfortunately, I didn't. All I could think of was how much Ford must be suffering now, and that we would be hurting him even worse until he recovered. And there was still the very real possibility that nothing we did would help. I didn't want to think about what that might mean.

"Carson..." I hesitated. "What happens if we can't do anything for Ford?"

He briefly closed his eyes, an expression of grief and anger on his face. "I don't know, son. Up until now I thought we might just synthesize a constant supply of the enzyme and maintain him on it. But after today..."

I didn't need to be a mind-reader to finish his thought. Would we be forced to let Ford die? Or, worse, asked to help the process along? I had no doubt that Caldwell was capable of demanding something like that. What were the other options, though? Have Caldwell or one of his men shoot Ford? Allow Ford to potentially alert the Wraith of our weaknesses so many other people might be killed?

I'm sure the expression on my face mirrored the sick look on Carson's, and neither of us said anything for a long time afterward.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I honestly don't know how my father would have handled this. In addition to providing comfort, he had been able to resolve conflicts in his congregation with diplomatic skill to rival Dr. Weir's. I'd like to think that he'd succeed in resolving this one. Unfortunately, I'm not so sure what the right answer is.