The bunnies have been a real pain in the ass lately. They love starting things, but do they follow through? Na'oooo. This probably would have made a great beginning to a full-length fic; but after dumping this scene on me, they left to go do whatever bunnies do when they're not gleefully interrupting my slumber. I apologize to my fellow h/c folks for not exploiting this to its full potential. :-)

THE HOUSE CALL

The sun in his face, along with the freezing temperature, woke Sheppard from a fitful sleep. He blinked against the bright rays and turned toward his bedside table, looking for his watch and groaning as his neck muscles vehemently protested the movement. After two tries he managed to snag it from the nightstand and blinked at it blearily -- eleven o'clock in the morning. Granted, he liked to sleep in whenever possible, but that was late, even by his standards.

He tried to sit up but failed, falling back on his pillow as the room swam dizzily around him and the rest of his muscles took up complaining in earnest. After a few minutes of inactivity he felt a little better and reached out blindly, fingers scrabbling across the bedside table until they found what he was looking for. He turned on the radio and held it to his ear. "Doc?" He grunted and flipped the radio around so that the mouthpiece was pointed the right direction this time. "Doc, you there? This is Sheppard."

"Colonel, what can I do for you?" replied the cheerful Scottish brogue.

Sheppard kicked out petulantly at the twisted blanket but his icy right foot remained stubbornly uncovered. He sighed and gave it up as a lost cause. "Mind if I drop in on you?"

Beckett's tone instantly turned professional. "Is there something amiss?"

"I feel like I've been worked over with a baseball bat and tossed in a freezer…does that count?" He could almost picture the doctor's gears turning.

"When did you start feeling poorly?"

"I woke up just now, feeling like crap."

"I see. Try not to interact with anyone on your way down, will you? The last thing we need is a flu epidemic working its way through the base."

"Thanks for the sympathy," remarked Sheppard dryly as he clicked off the radio and reached over to put it back on the nightstand. He missed the small table and the radio dropped to the floor with a soft thunk. Damn it. Sighing, he levered himself up on one elbow and reached down for it, and was hit by another wave of dizziness that threatened to tip him out of bed. On second thought. He rolled over onto his back and closed his eyes tightly, waiting for it to pass.

"Colonel?"

Blinking a couple of times to clear his vision, he realized he was no longer alone. His mind quickly labeled the intruder as friend, not foe. "Oh...um...hey, Doc," he rasped, a little confused to find Beckett in his room.

"I thought you were coming down to see me," said Carson. He was sitting on the edge of the bed and frowning in concern.

"That was the plan…" The angle of the sunlight streaming into his room indicated it was probably past noon which explained the doctor's presence. "I guess I fell asleep though," he added lamely.

Beckett gave a noncommittal grunt and patted his pockets for a moment before pulling out a thermometer and slipping it into Sheppard's ear. "Muscle aches, you said…any dizziness or nausea?"

"Yes on the dizziness, no nausea though."

"Well that's something," said the doctor as he removed the now beeping thermometer. "Thirty-nine."

"What's that translate to in real temperature?"

Snorting in amusement, Beckett did a rough calculation in his head as he prepared to take a blood sample. "A hundred and two degrees. You, Colonel, are most definitely sick." He tied a piece of rubber around Sheppard's upper arm.

"Really? What gave it away?" he snapped sarcastically, wincing as the needle entered his skin.

Carson untied the elastic band and gave him a wry smile, watching the tube fill slowly with blood. "Your sweet disposition, for one. Have you been taking lessons from Rodney?"

Sheppard caught the gentle reprimand. "Sorry, Doc," he said, sheepishly.

"It's alright," said the doctor, withdrawing the needle and taping a small bandage in place over the puncture before tucking the blood sample safely away into his bag. "A few of the scientists, including Rodney, were a bit under the weather last week with similar symptoms, but they threw it off quickly enough. I wouldn't be surprised if you caught the same bug." He palpated the glands in Sheppard's neck and was apparently satisfied with the results. "I see no need to drag you all the way down to the infirmary at the moment. How about I send a nurse down to check on you at regular intervals instead?"

"Really?" Sheppard perked up hopefully. "That would be great."

"Provided you don't acquire any additional symptoms, your fever remains manageable, and I like the look of your test results," the doctor qualified. He picked the radio up off the floor and placed it back within easy reach on the nightstand and glanced around the room. "Do you have a glass or a cup?"

"In the bathroom."

The doctor rose and returned a few seconds later with a full glass of water, handing it to Sheppard along with a couple of Tylenol from a bottle he had procured from the depths of his labcoat. He kept one hand on the glass and one on Sheppard's back to steady him while the colonel swallowed down the white tablets.

While Beckett refilled the glass, Sheppard scrunched down in the bed, trying to get comfortable.

Returning, the doctor placed the water on the table beside the radio. With a practiced flick of his wrist, the bed clothes fell to order, settling over the colonel in an even layer and finally covering the errant foot. After glancing at the table one last time to assure himself that anything the sick man might need was in easy reach, he rose to leave.

"Hey, Doc?" Sheppard blinked at him drowsily from his warm cocoon.

Carson paused in the doorway and turned with a questioning look.

"Thanks for the house call," he said, sincerely.

The doctor gave him a quiet smile. "You're quite welcome, Colonel."

END