Part 2 (there really wasn't suppose to be a part 2...here you go)

Sheppard leaned one shoulder against the glass doors leading to out to balcony that abutted Beckett's room. He listened half heartedly to Major Lorne's update on the findings and disappointments from the returning off world teams.

He picked absently at the new band-aid that was nestled uncomfortably in the crook of his arm.

He tried ignoring the slight struggle going on behind him.

Biro had her hands full trying to measure Beckett's temperature with an ear thermometer. He had spiked 103.2 F a few hours before sunrise, just about the same time a dry cough started irritating an already sore throat. Beckett had spiraled to a level of discomfort that leached its way to encompass both Rodney and Sheppard.

They were not leaving Beckett's quarters anytime in the near future.

At least the quarantine kept him from having to file reports.

That was a plus. About the only positive thing in this whole situation. That and having meals delivered, though honestly he'd rather walk down to the dining hall. Their breakfast trays were neatly stacked near the door. Both Rodney and his plates were empty, keeping still apparently didn't taper an appetite. Beckett had none and merely rolled over so his back faced the meal tray that rested on his bed. Sheppard nor McKay fought him on it. If he didn't want to eat, so be it. Carson knew what he needed and didn't need. They skipped lunch. Dinner would be interesting. The cooks were doing their best to entice Beckett's appetite. Both and he and Rodney might actually get to ride the coat tails of sympathy card Carson had unknowingly pulled.

"No, Major, put Ronon with Eddings, not Mitchell," Sheppard sighed and wanted to beat his forehead against the glass in frustration but feared it would spark Biro's interest. Instead, he settled for resting his forehead against the cool glass and watched the rhythmic passing of ocean swells.

Sleep remained elusive for Beckett. He bordered on exhausted but between the cough, sore throat, and aching muscles he managed only snippets of sleep and spent the rest of the time tossing and turning and moaning.

The damn man sounded like a 1-900 number, but without the potential for personal reward.

It was all very frustrating. Sheppard turned his attention back to the sea. They say watching fish swim in an aquarium was relaxing for the observer. Ocean swells were apparently no substitute and he was beginning to develop a little empathy for fish trapped in bowls.

Sheppard watched as a wave peaked into a white cap.

Lorne's voice still rattled on about potential success of attaining a wheat-like seed from a planet with a space orbiting gate.

The excitement was going to kill him. God, his thoughts were becoming sarcastic.

The Colonel could hear McKay across the small room, tapping his stylette on his computer tablet and talking to Radek. Rodney's exasperation was easily discernible with each irritable, sharp tap of his pen on the computer screen. Tap…tap…tap.

The urge to snap the stylette between his fingers was almost tangible. Watching the ocean waves roll onward wave after wave after wave was not soothing.

It made sense why people fished with dynamite.

Sheppard followed McKay's pacing and sharp circling through the reflection in the glass.

Apparently things in the labs were not running as quickly or as cleanly as Rodney had hoped. The scientist was hunched over, tapping away with one hand, waving the other and uttering short impatient staccato "No. no. no." over and over again. It matched the tap….tap…tap.

Carson continued to attempt to foil Biro's efforts at giving him a cursory physical. Not that Sheppard didn't blame the guy. He hurt. At one point Beckett had confessed even his hair hurt. The colonel couldn't be completely sure if it was due to the memories of Michael or the actual illness.

Influenza. Run of the mill influenza. If one could call such an illness ordinary. It was Earth borne, not avian, which put a pause in McKay's building panic. Not the dreaded Iowa/Swine strain, not even the Spanish flu. Just an ordinary, debilitating, ho-hum strain. The bland variety of influenza, the kind a vaccine should have handled.

Not all vaccines are 100. Imagine.

People could be contagious a day before symptoms set in and up to five days during the illness. Atlantis didn't lock down on them so it was becoming more and more obvious Carson hadn't been contagious that first day.

Beckett was contagious now. Aerosol transmission. And the way Carson had been coughing for the last six hours. Rodney and himself were sure to have been exposed.

Maybe their vaccine would offer better protection. However, Sheppard couldn't squelch his fear that perhaps the ATA gene somehow interfered with the vaccines efficacy. He hoped not, but kept his musings to himself.

He and Rodney would end up killing one another before five days were up and were more likely to take out Beckett. Well maybe not Carson, he was sick after all, but they had considered dragging his bed outside onto the balcony and closing the door on him. Luckily for Beckett his bed was wider than the balcony doors.

The cot would fit, so they at least had a back up plan. They'd rig a safety harness or something if they had to. Maybe then they'd get some sleep tonight.

Sheppard rubbed the crook of his arm. If Biro drew any more blood from him, he'd consider drawing blood from her.

Quarantine was getting to him. It was making his skin crawl. Bungee jumping from the balcony with bed sheets tied around his ankle seemed almost feasible and within the realm of acceptable and reasonable.

He sighed at his uncharitable thoughts and turned his attention back to Lorne who now droned on about a Jumper that got hung up in a tree. He wasn't to worry though; Ronon, Halling and Teyla managed to get Jinto's pet pig like creature out of the engine pod.

Sheppard really didn't want the details. He was to be assured no one was gravely injured during the mishap, but they'd be eating Athosian pork for the next few days.

The colonel turned his attention back to Beckett and Biro. The pathologist fired off questions.

"Chest hurt?"

Carson simply dipped his chin.

"Where?" Sheppard had furrowed his brow at her question, thinking the chest was pretty self-explanatory. However, Beckett seemed to understand and simply rubbed at his sternum with a heavy hand, favoring the right side.

"Headache?"

A nod and a breathless, "Aye."

"Ear ache?"

A careful shake of the head and muttered 'No'.

"Sore throat?"

A nod and a whimper. The production of a culture swab had Beckett groaning and trying to roll away. Without being asked to, and hoping to speed things up and get at least one person out of the cramped quarters, Sheppard merely placed a knee on the bed near Beckett's head and prevented him from rolling away.

Biro swabbed Carson's throat. Beckett gagged and coughed. Sheppard removed his knee and went back to leaning on the glass and listen to Lorne discuss the problems that developed between the marine biology department and biochemists. It sounded like a Weir issue more than a military one. Lorne would need to learn not to borrow trouble. Scientists would squabble over the smallest things.

Sheppard silently thought they should all be thrown into a cell together and left for a few days. They'd either kill one another or work out their problems.

He stared back over to McKay who now walked in tight circles cradling the computer against his forearm and tapping irritably on its screen.

Rodney paused in his tight circling and stared at something on the floor. A rumpled shirt, probably one of Carson's. McKay toed it, furrowed his brow and then stared accusingly across the room at Sheppard.

"You cheated!" McKay declared incredulously. "I can't believe you cheated."

The Colonel raised his eyebrows with indignity, completing the look with a hand to his chest. Not a bad rebuttal for body language. It worked to irritate McKay so all was good. Besides he didn't need to cheat, perse, he was just an opportunist. Sheppard shrugged his shoulders, dismissing Rodney's claim, much to the annoyance and indignation of the scientist.

McKay's withering stare was improving. It was almost as intimidating as Sr. Johnette's. Now there was a person who could scowl. Sheppard shivered at the memory.

Lorne was still prattling on about a scuffle that erupted between the scientists yesterday.

Locking them up in a small room seemed like a favorable idea, perhaps entertaining for those on the outside.

Sheppard amended his thoughts. It would be cruel and inhuman to lock people in close quarters for too long.

The Colonel leaned against the glass, feeling the smothering weight of lethargy born of inactivity. Watching Rodney was a step above counting swells.

McKay, apparently, no longer spoke to Radek, but instead took someone else to task. Sheppard couldn't find any hint of sympathy for either party.

"No, Dr. Beckett," Biro sounded tired and put out as she redirected his hand and captured his wrist. With her boss down she was having to run the medical department.

It seemed the second in commands in Atlantis were having to put out small fires left and right. It was wearing on them.

Good.

Sheppard took some twisted joy in knowing that Lorne struggled with what he had to handle everyday.

Beckett twisted his wrist free of Biro and tried to roll over.

Something Lorne said grabbed his attention.

"No, Major, no one goes back to that planet until after the wet season." Sheppard sighed and, placing his knee back on the bed, he listened to his second in command. Lorne continued to talk, repeating the argument he had been given. Sheppard snapped, "I don't care what Smitty and his department of bugs want. You don't go." The colonel pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.

Beckett solidly bumped his shoulder and back into Sheppard's bent knee and whimpered in frustration. "Carson, just…" The colonel stopped himself. Through the clothing, Sheppard could feel the heat of the fever. Beckett continued to lean against his knee, neither fighting its presence nor maneuvering away from it.

Why did Carson have to find comfort in their presence? Why did Michael have to lurk like a dark spectre in the tenacious grip of a fever? Or the faces of the dead come to life with the setting of the sun, and deepening of shadows.

For a moment, Sheppard felt his anger boil at the physician. It receded as rapidly as it rose.

Biro stole a quick glance upward and briefly caught Sheppard's tired eyes. Her look only conveyed understanding and empathy. She smartly trapped Carson's hand again, extended the arm, pushing up the sleeve of his sweatshirt, slapped the tourniquet around it and drew her blood sample in smooth well practiced motions.

"Only a few more days, Colonel." The tourniquet was released with a snap and the new blood sample was dropped into the igloo container with the other full blood tubes, contributed by McKay and himself. "You're in day two. Symptoms are usually the worst the first three days, then it's a long recovery with plenty of sleep. If you show no signs of virus after tomorrow, we'll get you and Dr. McKay back to your respective quarters."

"Why not now?" Sheppard's question was uttered before he gave it thought.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed McKay had stopped moving, clicked his radio off and stared from Biro to Beckett up to Sheppard.

The pathologist paused, hesitating. She then carefully and methodically snapped the igloo cooler closed and slowly stood from the edge of Beckett's bed. The bulky orange containment suit unfolded with dull snaps.

"His fever will climb again tonight," she intoned quietly.

Carson merely curled onto his side, breathing through his mouth, further chapping dry lips and hunkered back down into his blankets. A chain of raw soft coughs seared its way free, forcing a dull moan and a tightening curl.

Biro didn't pat his shoulder this time, or offer reassurances or even look at the two men who stood waiting for her answer.

This morning's mention of Michael had placed a pall over the early morning debriefing. Ronon scowled a little more angrily. Teyla hovered near the entrance to the corridor which led here. Lorne had simply thinned his lips and wanted ordinances checked. It was nothing concrete, no forewarning of danger to come. The news had leached its way to the city's inhabitants. It simply rekindled a sense of loss, frustration, sympathy and the fear of not truly knowing what had happened over a two day time period. Rumors flew like wild fire through a small boat, despite attempts to keep things quiet. For as large and extensive as the city was, the expedition was relatively small and close knit.

There were no real secretes in Atlantis, but there was a respect for privacy.

There was no loss that wasn't felt by everyone in the city. There was no pain or misfortune that wasn't shared by all on some level.

The comedic like humor that captured the city last night at the thought of its three department heads quarantine together had slipped and taken on a darker more concerned air this day.

Biro turned and headed for the door. She carefully stepped over Dr. McKay's boots, avoided a King of Diamonds partially obscured by a discarded shirt and ignored the discarded blue shorts in the corner. A playing card, a club of some sort, peeked out from under the sole of another shoe.

"Biro?"

Sheppard and McKay followed after her. Sheppard kicked irritably at Beckett's right boot, the left one had yet to be found. Not that they looked, or at the moment really cared. The boot skidded a few feet before coming to rest at the bathroom door, its energy transferred and absorbed by the pile of damp discarded towels.

They were out of towels.

McKay took longer in a bathroom than a girl going to the prom.

Sheppard didn't think he had another five minutes in him let alone another day.

Why had Biro kept them here? What had she been thinking? They could have donned disposable containment suits and returned to their own quarters. Why the games?

Sheppard felt his blood boil.

He purposely stepped on a pair of McKay's discarded boxers. It gave him little satisfaction, especially after Rodney had wiped the steamed mirror clean with Sheppard's missing t-shirt this morning.

And what's the big deal about using the wrong toothbrush anyway? First one up got the pick of dry toothbrushes. Beckett's had been carefully removed from the bathroom earlier.

Rodney had some weird quirks. Sheppard really couldn't face another night of Beckett moaning, groaning and coughing or McKay. The scientist never slept. He was up and down, all night long, tapping on his computer, talking on his radio, pacing back and forth and then telling Carson to quiet down, because people were trying to sleep.

The colonel followed the pathologist/internist to the door. There had better be a good explanation for keeping them all trapped together, when they could do it alone in their own space.

Completely alone and unbothered. Isolated. Castaways, well maybe Ginger or Mary Ann could join his cast of castaways. Cut off. Kept apart….Alone. Trapped.

The fight left Sheppard's face as understanding was realized.

At the door to the quarters Biro stopped, turned and after a moment raised her head. As she began to nod her concession to allow them to suffer quarantine alone in their own quarters, she recognized the spark of understanding in Sheppard's eyes.

"Try to get him to drink more. I'd rather not have to use an IV." Her voice held the hint of relief. "Give the antihistamine tonight. It might help him sleep easier."

"What?" McKay stammered. "Why do we have to stay here cooped up?"

"We don't, Rodney. If you want to leave, I'm sure Biro's group has suit you can use to get back to your quarters."

"Why are you staying then?" And as he asked the question, his mind processed all the extenuating the data that had been heard, observed and left unspoken. It was broken down to bare components, segregated, digested, shuffled, reprocessed and numerous answers availed themselves from most likely to least. It was all done before Sheppard finished speaking.

He snapped his gaze to across the room and stared at the single blanketed bump in the bed.

Beckett shouldn't have to face Michael alone again, or the loss of Perna, or feel the sting of Barroso's death.

McKay had been the only one with Gall when Gall had….McKay gritted his teeth against the memory. He didn't want to live Beckett's trials and failures or whatever you called them, but even more, he wouldn't want to live through the loss of Gall, or Grodin, or Dumais or Griffin or any of them again.

He wouldn't want Sheppard or Beckett or Teyla or Ronon, no one actually, to relive those moments either. Not even his worst enemy.

Rodney hadn't been alone when Grodin had died, but had wished he had been alone. He had been alone when Griffin sacrificed himself, but had wished he hadn't been.

It was a paradox he had done his best to ignore. It was extraneous and emotional and not necessary to unravel in order to keep Atlantis running.

But truth was, if he had to face any of those losses again, maybe there would be some comfort in having friends nearby.

Or maybe not.

He didn't know. He'd want to think that he could handle it alone, again. He wouldn't want Sheppard or any of the others to bear witness to his private pain born from his own perceived personal failures. Failures he equated with his own tailored brand of weakness. Right or wrong.

He did not want anyone to bear witness to them. In fact, Rodney was confident, that he would not want to share those burdens because it would mean he'd have to relive them. It was a pain he wished not to revisit or have anyone witness, for fear they would judge him harsher than he judged himself.

He stared at Beckett or more accurately the back of Beckett's exposed ankle and heel.

Carson, often, bared his pain on his sleeve, the shallow cuts and disappointments. They were easily read in his expressions, mannerisms and even speech. But the deeper wounds, those he coveted for himself. They were private. The loss of Perna was never brought to conversation by him and they respected his silence. The interrogation under Michael's control was still all but a mystery. They had pried then. For the sake of Atlantis, maybe even for Carson's benefit, but in reality it was for the good of the expedition that they had dug into Beckett and searched for clues of Michael's meddling. Not that Carson tried to hide anything from them, or at least the information that might have been potentially garnered from him that concerned Atlantis security. Michael had covered his tracks so to speak. The loss of Barroso wasn't mentioned except in the official report. There were countless other losses as well. Those in the surgery suites, the gate room, even in the corridors during the siege. Truth was you can't save them all. Rodney had to wonder, however, if Carson had ever lost so many before coming to Atlantis. Probably not.

Rodney never concerned himself about what people held private and why. It didn't concern him, and in all honesty he really didn't care. If it made him callous, so be it.

However, it was the privacy of the individual he respected more.

If someone wanted to speak about a personal trial, chances were he truly didn't want to listen, but it didn't mean he wouldn't if he found himself trapped or cornered. Worse, he feared that whatever was said would affect him later when his mind took a sharp turn left instead of right.

Often times it did affect him when he least expected it. He didn't want other people's problems or pains jumping to the forefront of his mind while he needed to concentrate on more important things. He didn't need to borrow anyone else's baggage. He had enough of his own, thank you very much.

Let Heightmeyer deal with that stuff, it's what she did.

However, if he could prevent someone from reliving a past nightmare alone, then perhaps he would act. For one of his teammates, and for Carson, yes, yes he would intervene.

He wouldn't like it but he'd do it.

Rodney didn't need to know why Beckett kept his deeper losses and fears silent. McKay really didn't care to know what really went on in the medical polluted brain of Carson's. However, he did understand about being there for someone.

"I might as well keep you company, Colonel." McKay mentally kicked himself for his act of charity.

He strode away from the duo, tapping his communication device. "Radek? What useless thing has McDermit done now? And tell Langholtz he is not allowed near the Jumpers."

Rodney dismissed Biro and Sheppard's presence.

He swooped up his tablet from the desk top, knocking a tattered, washed out tan hat from the corner of the desk to the floor. McKay ignored it and once again tried to untangle the knotted mess his lesser scientists had made of all his careful work over the last day.

Sheppard offered Biro a crooked grin, "I guess we're staying."

Biro's whispered; "thank-you" was almost missed but completely ignored. It wasn't necessary.

"Oh and we're going to need another deck of cards." Sheppard spoke loud enough for his voice to carry across the room. "McKay keeps trying to tuck them into his boot and losing them."

"The King of Clubs was in your boot, Colonel," Biro quietly intoned, as she stepped out the opening door and through the plastic containment curtain. Her grateful smile never dipped.