Author's Note: Tag for "Poisoning the Well." Also, I used an excerpt from a Robert Frost poem here. You'll know it when you see it. Enjoy! ~lg

oOo

Carson Beckett stormed into his quarters and smacked the control crystals next the door, locking himself inside. He ripped off his uniform jacket, balled it up, and threw it across the room. A framed snapshot of his mother fell over, but he couldn't bring himself to feel bad about it at the moment. He was too angry, too hurt, and too tired.

Feeling the tension in the back of his neck creep into his head, Carson let out a deep breath. He'd worked tirelessly for the last week, hoping against hope that the Hoffans would have something that would help in the fight against the Wraith. Instead, he—and Perna—created a poison. He caught sight of his diploma hanging over his desk and pulled it off the wall. The words caught his attention.

Be it known that

Carson Iain Beckett

Having satisfied in full requirements for the degree of

Doctor of Medicine

Has been admitted to that degree with all the rights
privileges, and honors pertaining thereto.

The anger faded, and Carson sat down while staring at the diploma. He'd graduated at the top of his class from the University of St. Andrews, and he'd never been one to take his responsibilities lightly. Oh, his work for the SGC had stretched his knowledge, as had his research into the unusual gene he'd discovered before he even joined the SGC. In fact, it was why he was recruited in the first place. His research, part of the requirement for obtaining his medical degree, had garnered the SGC's interest based on their classified work in Antarctica. Several years later, Carson found himself a galaxy away from home and ready to head back at the first opportunity.

Where had he gone wrong? He shook his head as he tried to put the last week into perspective. He'd gone to Hoff after being volun-told by Sheppard, more irritated at the principle of the matter than at the thought of helping someone else. In fact, he'd ranted about being pressed into service. All of that changed, however, when he met Perna. She'd been so lovely from the very beginning, gazing up at him with awestruck eyes, that he'd set aside his reservations to work with her.

And, over the course of the week, he'd fallen for her. Days in her lab, falling asleep at the computer, catnapping between simulations and sharing meals as they spoke of the medical history of their peoples only fed the attraction. He understood Perna, and she really got him. Or so he thought. Their conversation after speaking with Merell came back to Carson, and he sighed.

He and Perna had just left the sanitarium where Merell had chosen to spend his last days. They'd argued about the decision to take the Hoffan drug to live tests. She thought him afraid of making mistakes. This isn't about making mistakes, Perna—it's about the end justifying the means. And in our profession, that's a very slippery slope. But it wasn't those words that stuck in his mind. He'd also told her the guiding principle of Earth's medical community: First, do no harm." Or, as it said in Latin, Primum non nocere. He'd taken that principle—and the Hippocratic Oath—seriously. And she hadn't understood.

Getting the call about the situation in the medical center hadn't been the scariest part of the entire experience. Carson sighed. Perna's revelation that she'd been one of the first inoculated had frightened him to the core. And for good reason. His moral reservations about taking the drug to live subjects aside, he'd been concerned about how it had reacted to the Wraith—named Steve by Sheppard—and to Merell, who had been terminally ill in the first place. Then, seeing all those people suffering and trying to breathe, knowing he could do nothing more for them. . . .Carson shook his head again and pinched the bridge of his nose.

His headache had now moved into his entire head, making it hard to keep his eyes open. But his mind wouldn't shut down. He'd lost patients before. But none of them had died so uselessly. And not in so many numbers. The Hoffans had voted to continue inoculating their people, resulting in half of their population dying. Including Perna.

Her words on her deathbed came back to him, and Carson felt the press of tears against his eyes. He hadn't wept like that in ages, but the senseless sacrifice of so many people, followed by the death of a woman he loved, pushed him over the edge. I am at peace with what I have done, as you should be. Perna's words echoed in his mind, and he pushed out of his chair. How could he be at peace with creating a serum that effectively slaughtered fifty percent of an entire planet's population?

Exhausted beyond words, angry at himself, and tired of thinking, Carson went to take a shower. An hour later, he lay down on his bed and stared at the ceiling until sleep came.

oOo

One month later. . . .

Carson stood in the rear hatch of a Jumper, surveying the ruined city before him. This place had once been a citadel of knowledge and understanding, a sign of Hoffan determination to persevere over the Wraith. Now, it was in ruins. The medical center, with its red brick and cream-colored painted trim, still stood above everything. But its roof had been burned away by fire, and soot blackened the bricks.

"Hey, Doc, you okay?" Aiden Ford's question broke into his thoughts, and Carson glanced at him.

"Aye." He let out a deep breath and moved out of the middle of the path. "Sorry."

"No worries, Doc." Ford moved out of the Jumper and looked around. He let out a low whistle. "Wow."

"Aye," Carson said again. He knew the lieutenant wasn't using the word in a positive sense.

After the storm last week, Atlantis had been making contact with their allies. They weren't allied with Hoff—not after that disaster with the serum—but they'd kept tabs on the people. The chancellor's ideas of spreading the serum to other worlds had concerned Sheppard, and Carson agreed. Then, the storm happened, as well as the Wraith coming to Hoff. It didn't look like one person survived.

Sheppard returned from his quick scout, his face set in a blank mask. Which usually meant he didn't want anyone to see what he thought. Carson wished he could emulate that, but he wasn't in his infirmary. He was in the field, out of his element, and visiting the place of his deepest regret to date. Memories of a beautiful woman with eager eyes and bright smile flitted through his head, and he blinked it away. Perna had made her choice, though she hadn't known what that entailed. He was left to pick up the pieces.

Turning from the devastation, Carson followed Sheppard back into the Jumper. The major closed the rear hatch and activated the controls. "Well, we won't have to worry about that any longer."

"Aye," Carson agreed. It was all he could say. He'd tried to warn Perna of the ramifications of experimenting on human lives. He'd done his best to convince the chancellor to postpone mass inoculations. He'd given everything in him to this project, and it had failed.

A slippery slope. He'd used those exact words with Perna, and he'd meant it. The Hoffan people had been "resolute," as the chancellor called it. They'd resolutely gone down that slope, and they'd failed.

Carson just hoped he'd be smart enough to avoid the exact same slope when it came his turn to face it. As he passed through the wormhole back to Atlantis, he let out a deep breath. By visiting Hoff, he'd confirmed the suspicions they'd had since the storm. That the Wraith had destroyed the world. In visiting, however, he'd done something he'd been unable to accomplish until today. He'd released the past. He'd always remember Perna, would always wish things had been different. But he refused to dwell on it any longer. He couldn't. Not when he had Atlantis waiting for his help.

Satisfied with his decision, though still feeling a bit raw at the loss of Perna and what might have been, Carson returned to his infirmary, his work, and his people. He often thought of Hoff and the events on the world. But he found a measure of peace concerning his part in the drama. I am at peace with what I have done, as you should be. Carson finally understood.

The words of Robert Frost came back to him. "I shall be telling this with a sigh somewhere ages and ages hence: two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference." In coming to Pegasus, he'd taken a road not traveled for ten thousand years. It made all the difference in his mind. And it helped him put things into perspective.

The past was the past. The slippery slope had proven too much for him. But he could not dwell on it and hope to live for the future. And, if there was one reason beyond saving lives that Carson Iain Beckett had become a doctor, it was for the purpose of making the future a better place.