Carson arrived in Albuquerque five hours after leaving Atlantis. As promised, Dr. Howell waited for him near baggage claims. Carson waved off the man's offer to carry anything, hoisting his duffel bag over his shoulder and not admitting that it was all he owned. He planned to purchase new clothing soon, though his civilian clothes from Atlantis and his six months on Earth worked just fine. He'd arranged for all of his mail—including medical journals and the like—to be sent to the doctor's office in Esperanza.
As they drove, Howell filled him in on the history of Esperanza. The town was supported by two large ranches that wanted somewhere closer to get things like groceries and gasoline than a town two hours away. Even then, it was a thirty minute drive from the ranches. Carson listened as he absorbed the New Mexico landscape. It was desolate, dry, and completely opposite of his native Scotland. But the peace in the openness was undeniable, and he hoped he'd find the purpose he craved. With Atlantis stuck on Earth for the foreseeable future, his mission of helping those ravaged by Michael's Hoffan plague had ended. He needed to adjust to his new reality.
Carson's arrival in Esperanza was quiet and just as he'd like. He took a room at the bed and breakfast again, knowing that he'd only be there until he made other living arrangements. After his return to the land of the living, the SGC had arranged for his wages to be reinstated. As he'd been either living at the SGC for his six months on Earth or in Pegasus and Atlantis for the remainder of it, he had a nice chunk sitting in a savings account, earning interest. It should be enough to keep him afloat for a time.
Doc Howell met him the next day at the office. The front was bare, white, and impersonal. Carson looked around, realizing that he could make changes when the elderly doctor left. After working in Atlantis, he knew he wouldn't be able to handle these bare white or tan walls. Planning a trip to the hardware store became a priority. For now, he simply stepped around the unmanned counter and into Howell's office. He found the elderly doctor loading books into a box. "Dr. Howell?"
The man turned. "Carson." They shook hands. "I hope you don't mind me packing up a few personal things?"
"Och, not at all."
Howell grinned. "Well, with that accent, you'll be turnin' the heads of all the young women in this town within a day."
Carson flushed at that. "That's not why I came," he said. "I just want ta be a doctor."
Howell waved a hand. "I know. But I also know how this town operates." He straightened. "Now, I know you're lookin' for a place to live. I heard that Mrs. Porter over at the coffee house has a house to rent. I can cover the office for a time."
"Thanks." Carson touched the man's shoulder as he took a slower walk through the medical office. He'd spent so much time in Atlantis's infirmary and in primitive villages that he was unprepared for this place. Much of the equipment was outdated, but he knew he'd have to overcome that. It was hard to imagine not having an Ancient scanner at his fingertips, but he'd get accustomed to it. Even when he'd been traveling Pegasus, he'd been able to whip out the technology and use it. Here, however, he had no chance of that happening. Not with the Stargate Program remaining highly classified.
Leaving the building, Carson walked the two blocks over to Porter's Tea and Coffee House. The temperature had soared to just over one-hundred degrees again, and he sent a glance to the brilliant blue sky as he wondered if this town ever got rain. The tea house sat just off the strange square of the town, and he walked inside and relished the cool air conditioning.
The walls glowed a warm honey-gold that immediately put Carson at ease. The bell over the door jingled merrily, and the wonderful scent of fresh coffee overwhelmed him. A glass case held a variety of donuts, muffins, croissants, a cheesecake, and several perfectly shaped loaves of bread. The smell of yeast mingled with the aroma of the coffee as he approached the counter. Several women sat at a table to the side, but it looked as if the morning rush had ended. The women eyed him suspiciously, but he took comfort in the wedding bands on their left hands. At least they wouldn't be part of his "fan club" as Howell had indicated he'd eventually develop.
A plump woman in her late fifties appeared from the kitchen area, wiping her hands on a white towel. "Can I help you?" The curiosity in her face was obvious, and Carson was again reminded of how remote the town really was. New faces weren't common around here.
"Aye," he said, drawing glances from the women trying to appear like they weren't watching. "I was told to ask for Mrs. Porter."
The woman's lips turned up in a smile, giving Carson a strange sense of dejávu. He felt as if he'd seen that smile before, and her blue eyes were familiar. "I'm Margaret Porter." She walked stuck out a hand. "You must be Doc Beckett. Doc Howell told me about you a day or two ago, making sure to mention that you're Scottish."
Carson chuckled as he shook her hand with a strong grip of his own. "That's me," he said. He heard whispers behind him and ignored them.
Mrs. Porter glanced at them disapprovingly and then turned back to Carson. "What'll it be? On the house."
Carson turned his attention to the menu and ordered a large coffee. As she reached for a sturdy insulated plastic cup, he met her eyes. "I was told ye had a house for rent."
"I do." She poured his coffee. "Are you interested?"
"Yes."
"Good." She handed the cup to him and added the lid. "You bring that cup back, and you'll get free refills all day long."
Carson held it up. "Thank you."
She glanced at her watch. "I have a young girl come in around two-thirty in the afternoon, so I can meet you then. I'll take you over to the place and show you around."
Carson noted the time and realized he had five hours to kill. "That would work." He lowered his voice. "And where would I find the hardware store?" he asked conspiratorially. A wink told Mrs. Porter that he wanted to tease the women still trying to look like they weren't staring.
She leaned forward and whispered, "Out the door, to the left. Two doors down. Tell Bobby I sent you."
"Thank you, Mrs. Porter." Carson moved to the left side of the shop, adding several packets of sugar and some half-and-half to his coffee. After stirring it, he left the coffee house and followed Mrs. Porter's directions. The hardware store appeared just as promised, and Carson felt immensely more comfortable when he pushed through the door. One other customer stood at the counter, and a man with "Bobby" prominently displayed on his name badge simply glanced up. Carson waited his turn, sipping his coffee and finding it a touch strong for his tastes but excellent anyway.
Bobby finally finished with his first customer and turned. "Can I help ya?"
"I'm looking for paint."
Bobby moved out from behind the counter and held out a hand. "You're new to town?"
"Aye, just arrived." Carson grinned as he shook the man's hand. "Gettin' settled and plannin' ta paint the doctor's office after Dr. Howell retires."
Bobby laughed. "Yeah, he always liked those blank walls." Motioning, he headed down an aisle. "We don't have much, but we can mix colors. Everything's back here. And we sell samples, too."
"Great." Carson spent some time looking over the colors and kept coming back to a warm rust-brown. He knew it had something to do with his time in Atlantis, but the familiarity would be a nice touch. Purchasing a sample of it, plus some blue for his office, he headed back to the medical office. Howell had slipped next door to the pharmacy, and Carson took the chance to look over that small business. It was completely different from anything he'd known for the last few years, but he loved the laid-back feel of the town.
At two-thirty, he walked back to the coffee house, this time carrying a bottle of water he'd grabbed from the pharmacy. Howell also kept a few health food supplies such as Slim Fast in the pharmacy, and Carson had helped himself to the cold drinks. Mrs. Porter met him in the empty dining room of her shop and motioned out the back door. "The house is on the other side of town. Since I know you walked over here, I'll drive."
Carson breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't mind walking, but this heat was oppressive. Mrs. Porter drove an old Cadillac that rocked when she came to a stop. The air conditioner worked, though, and she didn't chatter the entire way to the house. Carson asked about rent and was surprised at the low price, especially when she told him it would include all utilities. She waved aside his concern, saying she wanted to help him out since the town couldn't pay the doctor much. She pulled to a stop in front of a bungalow with a small stoop. The house had a carport on the right side and a massive plate glass window on the left side of the door. The yard was modest and green, a surprising feature given the dryness of the climate.
Mrs. Porter unlocked the front door and ushered Carson inside. He slipped past her and looked around, smelling the musty scent of a home not opened in a while. The house was old, and Carson smiled. He stood next to a wall that stretched down a hallway. The living room opened to his right, its tan carpet broken by the old ceramic tile in front of the door and around a corner fireplace. Furniture had been draped with plastic sheeting, but he easily identified a couch, easy chair, coffee table, and end tables. Behind the couch, a peninsula with cabinets above it separated the kitchen from the living room. The huge plate glass windows in the front of the house poured light into the area while a sliding glass door brightened the kitchen.
Carson walked to those doors and looked outside. They were crowded by a dining table, and the patio opened onto a modest back yard. Or side yard, as the case was. The kitchen sink sat directly across from the doors, and hooks for wine glasses had been added under the cabinets. A stove and fridge were opposite the kitchen peninsula, leaving the counter top empty. It was small but functional.
A tiny laundry room was tucked behind the kitchen, the gas hook-ups for the stove also serving for the dryer. Down the hallway, Carson first glanced into the smaller of the two bedrooms, which bordered the carport outside. It would make a nice study, and he made plans to find a good desk and some bookshelves. Directly across the hall, the small washroom boasted cream-colored tile halfway up the walls, light tan paint, and an old-fashioned radiator heater. A high frosted window looked onto the side yard, and the bathtub was cast iron overlaid with porcelain. A pedestal sink and chrome-rimmed medicine cabinet completed the room.
At the back of the house, the large bedroom surprised Carson. It stretched the full width of the house, easily hosting the king-sized iron-framed bed. Carson stared, not entirely sure he knew how to handle a bed that big. Not after the tiny beds on Atlantis and the pallets on floors as he'd traveled Pegasus. The iron headboard and foot board put him in mind of Hoff and Perna, and he smiled. It was actually a perfect accent to the rest of the house. A large closet, dresser, chest of drawers, bedside tables, and second glass door completed the bedroom. Carson glanced outside again, surprised that the side yard curved around the house to form a back yard. A six-foot cinder block fence provided privacy from the neighbors.
Returning to the living room, he found Mrs. Porter waiting anxiously. "It's charming," he said warmly. "How would you feel if I moved the furniture from the second bedroom to make an office?"
Her face lit as she smiled at him, and her blue eyes seemed familiar somehow. "I can make room in my storage shed. Just give me a few days."
"Och, it'll be at least a week before I can find the desk and bookshelves." Carson smiled at her. "When would I be able to move in?"
"Let's head back to the coffeehouse, and I'll get the contract ready." Mrs. Porter's eyes sparkled. "Then, you can have the keys today. I'll have utilities hooked up tomorrow."
"Sounds wonderful." Carson gave the charming, vintage house another glance as she locked the door behind him. The peaceful neighborhood, complete with a young lad running home from school, was straight out of the 1950s. He took a deep breath and let it out. He had a feeling he'd like it here.
oOo
The following afternoon, Carson received a call from Mrs. Porter that everything was ready at the house. He arrived at his new home to see lights glowing from the front window. Walking to the door, he found it unlocked and Mrs. Porter pulling a casserole from the oven. The spicy aroma teased his appetite, and he laughed as he walked over to the kitchen. "Och, ye dinnae need ta do all this!"
She gave him a pointed glance as she set the casserole on the stove to cool. "It's our way to welcome people to Esperanza, especially since Doc Howell's been trying to retire for three years."
Carson accepted that and looked around. The furniture had been uncovered, adding bright spots of color to the otherwise bland room. No pictures hung on the walls, but two table lamps glowed on either side of the couch. Throw pillows and a crocheted afghan adorned the couch, and the easy chair had been positioned to comfortably see the small television and stand she'd added to the living room. He suddenly wanted to explore the house for other touches but wouldn't be so rude. Meeting her eyes, he nodded. "Thank you," he said sincerely.
She smiled. "You're welcome, Doc."
"Just 'Carson.'" He looked around. "You'll spoil me if you're not careful, Mrs. Porter."
"Just 'Margaret.'" She grinned. "And good. You look like you need someone takin' care of you. And, while you may be a few years older than my daughter, I don't mind taking that place."
Carson blinked at her blunt words. He'd been adopted? "Well, in that case, would ye join me for dinner?"
"Thought you'd never ask," she said.
"Cheeky," Carson muttered just loud enough for her to hear as he carried his duffel bag to the rear bedroom. He was unable to stop the chuckle, however, when he saw the Braided Diamond quilt draped over his bed. The blues contrasted perfectly with the lace-edged white pillow shams. Small lamps adorned the bedside tables, as well, and he made a mental note to get the woman something as a thank-you gift for taking such good care of him.
Returning to the kitchen, he found Margaret placing two servings of the casserole on the table next to glasses of iced tea, silverware, and napkins. The dishes were real, and he spotted wine glasses hanging from beneath the cabinets. He revised his plans for a thank-you gift to a thank-you-very-much gift. He just wished he knew what the woman really liked.
Margaret settled across from him at the table and bowed her head to pray softly. Carson waited while she finished and picked up his fork to eat only after she had. The food was excellent, the southwestern spices toned down considerably but still delicious. He complimented the cook and loved how she waved him off. As they ate, Carson asked her about her coffee house, and she shared how she and her husband had opened it while their daughter was in college. Her husband had passed several years ago, and her daughter now worked somewhere in Colorado. She asked him about his family but looked a bit sheepish when he told her that he had none. And it was technically true. While his mum and siblings still lived, he'd decided to leave them to their lives. They'd buried him, grieved for him, and returning would stir up emotions he wasn't ready to handle. Not to mention the inevitable questions of whom they'd buried in his stead. No, it was simpler and infinitely more heartbreaking this way.
After Margaret left for the evening, Carson took a few moments to wander his home. He absorbed the silence, enjoying the idea that he had all this space to call his own. He'd brought a laptop with him, and he settled in the easy chair to connect to the internet and email Rodney. His friends on Atlantis would want an address, and he intended to give them more than that. Seeing that he had several emails from Rodney already in his inbox, he read them before replying. Then, he slipped into the shower and prepared for bed.
oOo
He'd been moved. He groaned as he opened his eyes, feeling the sting of the cuts still healing on his face. His head ached, though not from falling over that piece of rubble. He had his knee to do that for him. And his vision was blurry.
Taking a few moments to sit up, he rubbed his eyes and took stock of his surroundings. Another cell. Why hadn't his friends come for him? He'd been a prisoner for two weeks, based on what he could tell. Of course, that didn't count the amount of time between the planet and when he'd awakened. They should have found him by then.
The absolute silence bothered him. He was accustomed to sound: beeps, whirs, and other signals of his trade. This absolute silence with a draft blowing in the window unnerved him more than anything. He shivered and tried to ignore the pain that sliced through his knee. He'd be dragged back to work in no time, and he wanted to allow the joint to heal.
When no one came for him that day, he drifted to sleep as he held back tears.
Carson woke alone, in a massive bed, and trying to shake the residual loneliness. He blinked at the ceiling and sat up. Walking into the washroom, he splashed cold water on his face and heard the house's swamp cooler kick on. The cool air felt wonderful, and he wandered into the living room.
It wasn't even one in the morning. There was no way he could justify a morning run at this hour. Instead, he switched on a lamp and picked up the medical journal he'd brought with him. It had kept him company on the plane, pushing away the conversation of the woman next to him even though he didn't read. Tonight, he allowed his mind to be drawn into the world of genetics, the one thing that had led to his greatest nightmare.
Michael was dead. He reminded himself of that fact even though the emptiness in his mind confirmed it with every passing day. He'd thought he'd become accustomed to it, but he'd always had some sort of chaos hanging over his head. Epidemic clinics, Hoffan plague survivors, or threat of Wraith attack kept him from thinking about it. Here, in Esperanza, he couldn't begin to push it away. Scrubbing a hand over his face and feeling the beginnings of a beard, Carson shook his head. For just a moment, he began to doubt his decision to leave Atlantis.
The sun rose that morning with him having gotten three hours of sleep for the night.
~TBC