Pairing: None. All gen!

Prompt: 18. Sensory loss/impairment

Words: 392

Disclaimer: Stargate is not mine, I am only borrowing.

Warnings: None.

A/N: Just a snippet, really, of what was supposed to become a longer piece. It was posted at my journal over two years ago for a H/C table I never finished. And it has been ages since I dabbled in the Atlantis world. Set season 3.


Taste, he'd learned, was a sense he'd always taken for granted. Never savored the sweet and bitter taste of dark chocolate on his tongue enough, never truly lingered on the slight hint of mint in his mum's tea. Yes, he'd always enjoyed such things, but then again, he'd always thought he could revisit them as well.

Now everything tasted exactly the same: like absolutely nothing.

Ageusia. The inability to taste.

Carson dragged his fork through the spaghetti on his tray, staring down at the noodles rather than trying to consume them. Eating was not fun when there wasn't anything was your taste buds to savor.

He'd lost some weight since it happened, he knew. Enough for people to notice, even for one or two to comment on the fact. Nurses brought him trays, gently clicking their tongues when they saw them later completely untouched. Recently, Rodney had taken to leaving a chocolate bar on his desk every couple of days. The gesture was testament to their friendship; Rodney's chocolate was sacred. At first, Carson would force down a bit or two in Rodney's presence, but that didn't last long. And despite the fact that he must know, Rodney still continued to try.

Everyone tried. He was touched. Truly and deeply. He just wished that it helped.

Prayed that it helped.

But of course, it didn't.

It also didn't help that losing one's sense of taste wasn't life-threatening, nor was it truly impairing his job on Atlantis, either. Numerous tests had revealed no cause. He was healthy, just couldn't taste a bloody thing.

Frustrating was one way of putting it, to say the least. It was hard to make yourself eat when you got nothing out of it. He might as well have been eating dirt. It would certainly taste the same if he did.

The clatter of another tray on his table made him look up. Ronon had plunked his own plate of spaghetti down and was looking at him.

Carson waited for inevitable.

"Beckett."

It didn't come. Instead, Ronon picked up his fork and ate as if it was a typical meal. There was no glancing at Carson's tray and giving him an encouraging smile or a look of pity.

That wasn't Ronon.

"You going to eat that?"

Carson couldn't stop himself from laughing as he slid his tray over.

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