Authors Note:I am trying an experiment of sorts, here. I recently found myself re-watching Seasons 1-3, well up until Sunday, which I still haven't been able to watch. Frankly, Carson is my favorite character (followed by Rodney) and...well, yeah. (I have seen Kindred, Part 2 and The Seed and need to see the other 3 eppys Carson is in Season 5).
Anyways, after having my laptop stolen (long story there), I was loading my backed-up files onto my new laptop, when I found a few snippets of started SGA stories, all Carson-fics. I posted them at my livejournal, but decided to post em here as well, partly because we need more Carson fic and mainly, perhaps to get a reader to kick my butt and get me to finish one, or frankly, all of them. There are five currently and they vary in length from 200 words to 1,300 words.
For now, I am leaving this story as incomplete. If any are continued and finished, they will be removed, titled, and added back to ff dot net as a separate story.
Now, onward to the snippets.
Unfinished Snippet #1
Set early Season 2. Very slight spoiler mentions of The Eye, the Gift, and major spoilers for The Seige (Part 3).
Pointless Carson whump. 1,358 words.
"Colonel, its infected! You should have brought this my attention days ago!"
"Sorry, doc. I didnt think it was really that bad."
"Not that bad?" Carson threw his hands up in frustration. "It's red, Colonel. It hurts when you touch it. And pus is never, ever, a good thing. Not one of those symptoms clued you that something could be wrong?"
Sheppard looked sheepishly to his feet.
Carson sighed. "You also have a temperature of thirty-eight point five degrees."
"That's only one-oh-one point three Fahrenheit. See, not too bad."
"Not too bad? Colonel, did you listen to a word I said?" Carson shook his head. "Of course you didn't. As it stands, this needs to be drained and irrigated. And before you ask, it's overnight at the very least."
"Oh, come on, doc. I've got plans." Sheppard gave Carson his very best pleading look.
"That look may work with Elizabeth or even Rodney, Colonel, but it won't with me. You need at least one course of IV antibiotics. You forget that I always get the last word around here."
Sheppard stared down at his arm. "Oh, I dont think anyone forgets, doc. My question is who gets to overrule you? I mean, if you get sick?"
Carson motioned to the nurse. "Doctors dont get sick. We have wonderful immune systems thanks to spending our days around patients. How do you think I managed to escape that flu last month?"
"Okay, I'll give you that, then. But therere other things that could land you in your own infirmary. Like that concussion after the Genii incident. Or the one Teyla gave you."
One of his favorite nurses Rachel come over, and bless her, brought what he needed. He had a wonderful staff. "Both minor, Colonel. I was up and about almost immediately."
"Oh, so that puking all over the control room floor was just for kicks then?"
Carson picked up a needle, making a point to wave it around slightly. "You have a point, Colonel?"
Sheppard eyed the syringe a bit warily. "Um, yeah. I just think that youd be enlightened if you spent a little more time on the other side of the bed."
Carson sighed, deeper this time. "What little time I did spend there let me know I prefer this side. Heaven knows, you and Rodney certainly keep me busy." He brought the needle down to Sheppards arm.
Sheppard hissed. "I think you need a refresher course."
Carson pulled out the syringe. "I'll keep that in mind, Colonel. Now, you need to sit still."
Two days later, Carson rubbed at his eyes and tried to focus on the computer screen when it started to blur in front of him. He hadn't really caught up on his sleep since the Wraith siege and now he was spending almost every night working on a new retrovirus he hoped may be able to help Lieutenant Ford. That is, *if* they ever found him again and managed to convince him that Atlantis wasnt foe.
To be honest Carson wasn't sure he could help much in that respect and his recently failed research simulations didn't give that much help. Additionally, it had taken nearly two weeks for the bruises on his neck to fade and having Ford hold him to the wall by the neck wasn't something he cared to relive again. He reached up and rubbed the area subconsciously.
His mug was empty. Hed been drinking tea earlier in the day and preferred it really, but it lacked the true caffeine punch he currently needed to keep going. This late hour was the only time he ever truly got a moment to himself. His position in Atlantis had him often feel like he was always on duty so he relished the fact that no one had poked their head in and asked for his opinion on this or that (or in Rodney's case, also to touch and turn on this and that) and hed been able to discharge Major Sheppard the day before. And for once, the infirmary had not a single patient in it. For him it meant more time for research. At least until sunrise when he was certain the quiet would end and the cycle would start all over again.
He shifted from the screen and towards a few beakers. Perhaps a slight break from the computers glow might help. He picked up an empty beaker.
He didn't notice his hands were shaking until the object crashed to floor, sending glass everywhere. He immediately turned to see if anyone heard it. But his lab was still silent. In the far distance he saw one of his nurses glance up, but he shot her a smile and she relaxed and went back to her book.
He started carefully scooping up the glass.
It wasn't until he finally shut off his computer two hours later that he realized he was bleeding.
Exhausted, he gave the slice on his forearm a quick cleaning and bandaging, then wondered to his quarters to get a couple hours of sleep.
The aches should have been his first clue. Maybe even the slight pain in his arm. But to be honest, when flu outbreak number two hit Atlantis, Carson didn't have a free moment to process the warning signs.
Instead he was working double shifts. This flu strain was a nasty one, and most of those affected needed IV fluids and anti-emetics. In soon penetrated his own staff and he was left short-handed and running low on beds.
Zelenka was patient zero, and the worst affected. For whatever reason, those lucky enough to catch the virus from the engineer suffered less severe symptoms. That still didn't stop Rodney from complaining.
Of course, even Rodney could only get in so many words between bouts of vomiting.
After two days, the worst was abating and Carson finally stole a couple hours sleep on the couch in his tiny office.
It was when he woke up, however, and rolled onto his arm and gasped that he realized something was up.
Cursing in Gaelic softly under his breath, he slyly pilfered some supplies and took them into his office. A quick temperature revealed a moderate fever, the slice in his arm was puffy and oozing, and when he stood up to complete a further course of action, he was hit with vertigo so intense he needed to brace himself on his desk with both hand to keep from toppling onto the floor.
As he took a few deep breaths and tried unsuccessfully to stop the room from spinning around, he wondered if he'd even be able to make it back out into the main infirmary without stumbling.
Lovely. Sheppard's words – and his own, for that matter – were coming back to haunt him. Just two weeks previous, hed yelled at the Colonel for ignoring an injury much like the one he was suffering. He was a doctor. He should have listened to his body.
He closed his eyes and carefully slumped back down into his chair in defeat. Nausea was starting to creep in now that he was starting to let his body give in. He knew that he needed antibiotics, irrigation, pain relief. All those things were readily available in the next room. Yet, he suddenly didn't want to move. In fact, the couch was suddenly very comfortable and if he could just...
Carson turned his head sluggishly. He recognized the voice, but couldn't quite place it. Hands reached to shake him and one came in contact with his arm. He hissed. He felt someone roll up the sleeve and tried to bat the intrusion.
"Shit. Carson, sit tight."
He vaguely heard the sound of footsteps and knew he needed to get up. He reached a hand out blindly to push himself up from the desktop.
And felt a line a intense pain creep up his arm as it collapsed from the task. He cracked his eyes open, shutting them immediately when his head protested. He was going to be sick, he realized, and swallowed, trying to summon all of his willpower to not let that happen.