A/N: I have once again been converted, this time to a rather unusual pairing originally thought up by Seanait, who wrote a lovely fic centered around the relationship of Carson Beckett and The Chair of Atlantis. Yeah, "The Chair" like the Chair that Carson accidentally used to shoot a drone at then-Major Sheppard back on Earth at the Antarctica base. However. This 'fic, hopefully and probably a one-shot, has a different personality for the Chair. Therefore it is a different AU than Seanait's. But hopefully as good. Enjoy!

A/N2: "Sunday" did not happen. BECKETT LIVES!!!


The door to the Chair room opened smoothly, and the man outside it peeked inside cautiously. Seeing that no one was there, he chuckled slightly and entered the room, waving the door closed behind him. He approached the Chair, but held back from sitting in it, rubbing his hands together apprehensively.

"The gene inoculation worked," he mused to himself, "I could open the doors and operate the lights, so I should be able to work the Chair. Maybe not as well as that idiot Sheppard, but it doesn't take natural talent to figure out how to work the weapons system."

Satisfied with his logic, the man flicked his ponytail over his shoulder and sat gingerly in the Chair. He waited apprehensively for a moment or two, then a blue light slowly spread through the room.

"Hah!" Kavanagh crowed in triumph. "I knew I could do it!"

The Chair, which had been in the middle of reclining, stopped, then straightened back upright. Kavanagh frowned and whacked the armrest.

"No, you stupid Chair, you're supposed to recline so I can figure out how to work the drones!" he groused at it, just before a large electric shock ran through his body and he jumped out of the Chair.

"OW!" he yelled, rubbing his sore behind. He glared at the Chair, which was still glowing innocently, then he muttered a few choice expletives and sat back down in it.

Nothing happened.

"Well?" he asked the air. "Okay, start working!"


Kavanagh looked wildly around to find the source of the voice that had spoken, but it continued.

It's me, you idiot.

He looked down at the Chair he was sitting in.

"The . . . the Chair talks!" he squeaked in disbelief.

The voice uttered a sigh.

Yes I can talk, it said, sounding vaguely miffed and unmistakably female. I once thought that speech was a talent reserved to intelligent beings, but apparently you disprove that theory.

Kavanagh didn't know whether to be righteously annoyed or not. He settled on imperiousness.

"Chair," he began sternly. "I command you to tell me how to operate the drone system."


"Chair," he tried again, "You do not know who you are dealing with."

Yes I do. You're even worse than Dr. McKay.

"I beg to differ!" Kavanagh spluttered. "That . . . so-called scientist is a disgrace to this mission!"

Hm. That's what he said about you, the Chair replied.

Kavanagh opened and closed his mouth like a fish for a minute or two, then regained his composure and was about to order the Chair to help him when she interrupted him.

I won't do it, you know. I won't let you use any of my systems.

"Why not!" Kavanagh burst out. "I've got the gene, you're supposed to work for people with the gene!"

You did not come by it naturally, and, I sense, not legally either.

"Well," Kavanagh hemmed, thinking semi-guiltily of the smashed cabinet in the infirmary and the missing bottle of the inoculation.

That's what I thought. You stole the gene, came the voice, now sounding angrier. Where did you get it?

The light in the room was pulsing now, and Kavanagh could feel the energy of the Chair. He was now barely touching it at all, his body in a sort of half-squat as he struggled to maintain contact with the Chair but have enough distance between it and himself to prevent further shocks.

"I . . . I got it from Beckett's office," he stammered, almost immediately regretting that comment.

You WHAT! exploded the Chair. Now Kavanagh had had enough. He sprang to his feet and rushed towards the door, waving his hand frantically at it. It would not budge.

I am not finished with you, Doctor Kavanagh, the Chair said murderously, her voice still resonating in Kavanagh's head. Now. Tell me if I understand you correctly – you stole the gene from Carson

Kavanagh, staring wild-eyed at the Chair, nodded mutely, then squeaked in fear as the room began to shake.

How, asked the Chair, sounding as if she were barely holding back from venting her anger, could anyone steal something from that wonderful man?

Kavanagh stopped his shrinking away from the Chair just long enough to ponder that last statement, and the Chair pounced.

A beam of blue light shot out at Kavanagh's wrists from the left armrest of the Chair, holding him still. He struggled against it, but it pulled him steadily towards the Chair.

Hold still, she said venomously. This may hurt a bit.

The tractor beam expanded to envelop Kavanagh's entire body, which went rigid, then a small stream of matter flowed out from his arm and floated towards the Chair.

Thank you, the Chair said smugly as it released his body. A whimpering Kavanagh fell limply to the floor, then scrambled up and ran to the door. He waved his hand at the control panel, but nothing happened.

It won't work, I've just recovered the gene you stole from Carson, said the Chair, but Kavanagh wasn't listening. He ripped the control console off of the wall and removed one of the crystals. The doors opened an inch. Bleating in relief, he scrabbled at the door, finally getting a grip on it and forcing it open. Throwing one last wild look at the Chair, which had deactivated, Kavanagh ran off into the night.


"Hey, doc," Colonel Sheppard said as he came into the infirmary. "I understand you had a break-in last night?"

"Aye," came the reply, thick with Scottish brogue. "But it's been solved, thanks very much."

Sheppard raised a surprised eyebrow.

"Solved, eh?"

"Aye. Take a look over at that cot."

Sheppard did so.


"I agree. Look at th' poor man, I had to sedate him to calm him down, he was gibbering abou' bein' attacked by a chair."

"Looks like Kavanagh's finally lost it."

"Aye, he broke into my office las' night and stole a bottle of the gene inoculation – I think he was probably trying to give himself the ATA gene, but for some reason, he didnae use any of it. This mornin' I found him here and the full bottle was on my desk. Strange though," Carson mused, his brow crinkling in mild confusion.

"What's strange?" John asked.

"Well there was a note wi' the bottle, but I'm fairly sure that idiot didnae write it," the doctor shrugged, indicating the nearly-comatose form of the ponytailed scientist.

John raised his eyebrows, smiling slightly. "Why, what did it say?" he asked.

Carson coughed slightly, and John could see a faint blush creeping up into his cheeks.

"Doc . . . ?" John pressed, his smile growing. It must have been something pretty strange to shake the Scottish doctor's calm so much. Carson opened his mouth to speak, but closed it, shook his head, and took a small piece of paper out of the pocket of his lab coat.

Sheppard snatched it eagerly, his eyes quickly scanning the neat letters of the note. As he read, his eyebrows rose higher and higher, until Carson was fairly sure they would disappear into the man's messy hair, then John shook his head slightly like a wet dog and handed the note back to the doctor, his eyes round in astonishment.

"W . . . wow," was all he could say, still staring at the letter.

"Aye," Carson agreed. The two men stood that way for a minute, then John shook off the remnants of his surprise and went back to his normal joking manner.

"Looks like someone on this base really wants to . . . get to know you, Doc," he said, winking at the bemused Scot as he left the infirmary.

Carson watched his friend go, then repeated, "Aye," in a low voice and reached back into his pocket to bring out the bottom of the note that he had torn off so that John couldn't see it.

I know that you dislike controlling me, but that is one of the reasons I love you. You sell yourself short and think that you will make a mistake and hurt someone, but you won't, because you really are a brilliant man, Carson Beckett. With a nice posterior. Much love - Atlantis


A/N: -snerk- Well that was fun to write! Heh. Kavanagh getting pwned by a semi-inanimate object. Priceless. Thanks again for the idea, Shay, hope it lived up to your standards!