Chapter 5

"Dr. Beckett, we have another one. Where shall I put him?"

Carson sighed. Rubbing his hands across his face, he searched around the makeshift clinic, spotting a spare pallet in one corner. The previous occupant had succumbed to the plague a few short hours ago, his ravaged body swiftly moved to the grisly pile at the edge of the village.

"There's a space over there." He pointed to the corner. "I'll be over in a moment."

The young woman, Emair, guided a man barely older than herself towards the bed Carson indicated.

The people of this world were subsistence farmers, barely scratching a living from the thin soil, none of them in perfect health and they had been hit particularly hard by the Hoffan plague.

Carson made his way to the young man, kneeling down to speak to him.

"Hullo, son. I'm Dr. Beckett, what's your name?"

"Nael. Am I going to die?" The boy's dark eyes were huge in his pale face.

Carson's heart was heavy. Experience told him that Nael probably wouldn't make it, but he had to give the boy some hope.

"Not if I can help it, son. We'll do our best to get you better again."

Patting the boy on the shoulder, he turned to his assistant. "Could you get him settled in, please Emair? You know where everything is."

"Of course, Doctor." She gave a quick smile and hurried towards the small space they were using as a storage area.

Not for the first time, Carson offered a silent prayer of thanks to whoever had sent Emair to him. In the ten days since he'd arrived on this planet, she had proved a quick study and a natural nurse, easing some of the burden he carried.

If and when they got through this crisis, he was hoping to set up some sort of training programme to help the healers deal with the plague. He had no idea how, but where there's a will, there's a way, as his mum used to say.

"Nael is resting. Do you need anything at the moment?" Emair appeared at his side.

He cast a tired smile in her direction. "Thank you, love, I'm fine. You should have a rest."

Catching a look at Carson's haggard face, she snorted.

"I think you should have a rest, Dr Beckett."

Stifling a yawn, he knew she was right. He'd be no good to anyone if he collapsed from exhaustion. Hard as it was, he was going to have to hand over the reins for a short time.

"Aye, I'll just have a wee nap. But you'll wake me if you need me." He shot a stern look at her.

The young woman crossed her arms and lifted her chin. "Of course, now go!"

He took a quick glance around the clinic, nothing to immediately concern him, then left the small wooden building.

Carson made his way to the ramshackle building he was currently calling home. 'Home' was a relative term – the rickety shack reminded him of the shed in his childhood garden. It had been a tight squeeze with seven of them, but the Beckett siblings had spent many weekends and school holidays pretending the shed was anything from a dragon-guarded castle to an interstellar spaceship. Ironic that he was now camping in its cousin in a distant galaxy.

At this particular moment, he was struck by a wave of homesickness that he hadn't felt in a long time. He'd gotten better with the fact that most of his memories weren't really his own, but every now and then, the stark reality of what he really was would hit. He could really use a friend about now, but of course the few he had were back on Atlantis.

Buck up, Beckett, he thought, you're getting to be a miserable old bugger.

Reaching the hut he pulled open the door and went inside. His bedroll called to him and he lay down, trying to get comfortable on the hard floor. Within minutes he was fast asleep.

Two days later, it was looking as if the plague was easing off. Although several more villagers had passed away, Nael had been the last new case brought in. Still ill, but showing signs of improvement, Carson was cautiously optimistic that the young man would recover. Others were also fighting it and regaining their strength.

Carson looked up as he heard a muffled cough. His heart sank as he realised it had come from Emair, who was sitting with one of the patients.

"Emair, are you alright?"

She turned to him, shaking her head, trying to hide the fear in her eyes.

"I'll be fine, Doctor, don't worry about me."

"I'll be the judge of that, my dear. Let me take a look at you."

There was the tiniest sliver of hope that it was just a simple cough, but as he examined Emair, Carson confirmed what he was dreading.

"I've caught it, haven't I?" Her voice was soft and she suddenly looked far younger than her eighteen years.

"I'm sorry, love, it looks that way. Let's get you into bed and taking it easy."

Putting an arm around her shoulders, he helped her up from the floor and over to another spare pallet. She settled into the blankets and he went to the stores for painkillers and a vial of the anti-viral drug that the team had developed. It still wasn't particularly effective, but he would try everything he could for the victims.

"I'm sorry, Carson. I hoped I had escaped, but it seems not."

"It's not your fault. Try to rest." He smiled, patting her hand.

It wasn't her fault, but it was certainly his. Carson hadn't mentioned his part in the creation of the plague, but not for the first time he wondered if he should tell people the whole truth. Was it hypocritical of him to let them think he was the caring healer when, in fact, it was mostly his fault they were ill?

Carson gazed around the clinic. It wasn't too busy now – the remaining half dozen patients were in the final stages of recovery, almost ready to return to their homes. Of course, no-one knew whether any of them would then pass the plague on to the rest of the population, but they couldn't be cut off for the rest of their lives.

He shook his head, trying to clear the dark thoughts that threatened to take over. He realised that the current situation was making things worse than usual, but he was going to have to talk to the psychologist again. Not his favourite activity, but needs must and all that.

Emair appeared to be taking his advice and had fallen asleep, her face pale and drawn. He settled next to her, thinking the least could do was sit with her, as she had done for so many of the other patients. Only time would tell if she would be one of the ones to make it.

Three days later, Carson stood at the last of the funeral pyres. The clinic was now empty, the recovered patients well enough to return home and no new cases. It looked as though the plague had run its course and Carson was returning to Atlantis as soon as the funeral was over. His heart was heavy as the older man conducting proceedings finished his speech and two of the villagers stepped forward, setting light to the wood.

"I was going to marry her."

Carson looked in surprise at Nael standing next to him. The young man had recovered, although he was still weak and had a thin blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

"I'm sorry, son. I didn't know you were engaged."

Nael shook his head. "Actually, we were not. I was hoping to court her. I was gathering my courage to ask her just before I became ill. I never got that chance."

"Aye, life is full of missed chances. I truly am sorry."

Carson placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. They stood together, bearing witness to Emair's final journey.

The gate room was dim as Carson emerged through the event horizon of the Atlantis gate. He was thankful that it was night here; not too many people to run into. Richard Woolsey approached Carson as he made his way down the steps.

"Dr Beckett, I'm glad to see you back. I gather it didn't go so well?" The diplomat's face was impassive.

"Aye, you could say that."

Woolsey nodded. "I'll let you get on then. I'll expect your report as soon as it's ready."

Carson returned the nod, turning and leaving the gateroom in the direction of his quarters.

His plan was to dump his equipment there, grab a quick sandwich from the mess, shower and then crash for as long as he needed.

The plan was going well until the final part. Having spent an hour turning the events of the last two weeks over in his mind, sleep was proving elusive. He rose from the bed, pulled on jeans and a sweater and left his quarters. Perhaps a walk would clear his mind.

Half an hour later, Carson found himself in another residential section of the city. Leaving his own quarters, he'd just put his head down and walked. He couldn't remember who he knew that lived on this corridor and thought that maybe he'd taken a wrong turn somewhere. Gazing around, trying to get his bearings, he realised this was Tamsin's corridor.

Why have I ended up here? he wondered. They'd shared lunch a few times since that initial dinner and he found he enjoyed her company, but they weren't exactly what he would call close friends.

He waved his hand across the doorbell, hearing the chimes faintly on the other side. There was a muffled thud and a curse that sounded distinctly like bugger it, and the door slid open.

Too late he realised she was probably in bed and also, possibly, not alone.

"Carson, what's wrong? Is there an emergency? No-one's paged me. Is there a radio problem?"

"No. No emergencies, nothing to worry about. Sorry, I was just walking and ended up here. I'm sorry I disturbed you." He turned to leave, but she must have caught something in his voice or body language.

"Carson, something's up or you wouldn't be here. Come in."

"No, I'd better not. It's late."

She smirked. "Worried I might behave improperly? Don't worry, your virtue's safe with me."

Carson felt inexplicably disappointed by that statement.

"Come on, it's fine. I've got tea."

He sighed. "Aye, alright. Tea sounds lovely."

He stepped into Tamsin's room, the door sliding shut behind him.

"How did you get a kettle in here?" he asked in surprise, noticing a small electric model on a shelf.

Tamsin tapped the side of her nose. "Let's just say I've got a contact in engineering and leave it at that."

As she walked across to the bathroom to put water in the kettle, Carson took a sneaky look around the room. Apart from a small collection of photographs on the desk, everything in the room seemed to be standard-issue, even down to the bed covers. His eye tracked down, noticing a running shoe and what looked like a bunched-up t-shirt poking out from under the bed. He smiled to himself. Not as tidy as she makes out then, he thought.

"Have a seat, no need to stand on ceremony."

Carson started as she called out from the bathroom. He crossed to the small couch near the window. Although it was dark, two of the moons hung in the sky, the third just dipping below the horizon. The ocean was calm tonight, gentle ripples in the moonlight. The lights of the city twinkled in the distance.

"There you go." Tamsin was holding a mug out to him. "No biscuits, I'm afraid. I ate them all my first week." She gave a shrug.

"Not to worry, just the tea is fine." He took the cup, noticing the university crest as he did so.

"You went to Edinburgh, then?"

"Mm-hm, but we're not talking about me. What's bothering you?"

Carson gripped the cup, letting the warmth seep into his fingers. He wasn't cold, but it reminded him of countless other times that he'd sat much like this, emotions and thoughts tumbling together.

He gave a soft snort.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"I was just thinking what a stereotype this is – tea and sympathy."

Tamsin echoed the snort. "If you're British and there's a crisis you put the kettle on. I'd bet there's more than a few anthropological studies on the phenomenon. Usually works though."

Carson snuck a look at Tamsin. She was perched on the arm of the couch, arms wrapped around herself, looking into the middle distance. He was struck by how much younger she looked out of uniform and with her hair freed from the usual practical bun she wore on duty. It brought home how young Emair had been, what a senseless waste it was.

"So many of them, too many. So young, so bloody pointless." His words were bitter.

"What's pointless, Carson?"

"Trying to beat this plague, that's what's bloody pointless."

"It's never pointless trying to save lives."

"Aye, but this is. Nobody should have died in the first place."

"You can tell me." He felt her shift to sit beside him, her hand on his shoulder. Even in this mood, he was surprised – he'd thought she wasn't a tactile person, given her response the couple of he'd automatically touched her that first time they'd met.

Tamsin's touch seemed to release whatever was holding back his emotions. He told her about everything that had happened back on the planet, words rushing out of him, feelings in turmoil.

SGA

Sometime later Carson came to. Had he fallen asleep? No, he didn't think so, but he was sharply aware that Tamsin's arms were now fully around his shoulders and he seemed to have an arm around her waist. He pulled back quickly, bumping into the arm of the couch.

"I'm sorry, lass, I didn't mean to do that."

"Do what? You zoned out on me, I wasn't sure what else to do." She looked concerned.

"Good lord, what must you think of me? Coming to your room, late at night, touching you.."

She held up a hand, cutting him off. "It's fine, you just seemed to need some comfort. Believe me, if you'd tried anything I wasn't okay with, you'd be in serious physical pain right now. Anyway, I touched you first, that was pretty inappropriate."

Relieved that nothing untoward appeared to have happened between them, he scrubbed at his face, trying to collect his scattered thoughts.

"Tamsin, I'm sorry, this is incredibly unprofessional of me. I hope our working relationship won't be affected."

"I should apologise to you - I don't usually hug men I don't know very well late at night."

He gave her a long, searching look. "I think I'd better go, it's very late."

He rose from the sofa, and walked over to the door. Tamsin joined him, activating the door.

He stepped out, turning back to her.

"Thank you, love, whatever this was."

"You're welcome. Anytime. I mean it."

"Oh, and thanks for the tea." He raised a hand in farewell.

"Take care, Carson," she murmured softly as he walked away down the corridor.