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sga_flashficBlurry Around the Edges
Author: Rhiannon -![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rhian_morwenna
Challenge: Earthside
Characters: Carson Beckett, Laura Cadman, Rodney McKay
Summary: Carson opened his eyes and realized he wasn’t in his room
Word Count: 1,782
Genre: AU?, Drama
Rating: PG
Warning: mild language
Spoilers/Timeline: Spoilers for “Poisoning the Well” (107), “Michael” (218), and if you squint, “Allies” (220). Takes place sometime after the second season.
Disclaimer: I only wish I owned any part of the Stargate Franchise…
Author's Notes: I apologize right now for any screwed up Scottish dialect/slang. American here, even if I did grow up watching British TV.
Thanks tolvs2read, my wonderful beta reader.
The first thing Carson noticed as he slowly woke up was the unfamiliar feeling bed. He groaned and slowly opened his eyes, trying to fight whatever was fogging his mind. He shut his eyes again against the bright light that assaulted his vision. He tried to mentally dim the lights, but they weren’t responding to him. Eventually the previous night’s events came back to him.
“Bloody hell! That’s the last time I try out a new batch with Radek,” he muttered to himself. “I think I managed to make bleedin absinthe this time.”
He opened his eyes again and saw he wasn’t in his room, or any other room he knew about in Atlantis. Suddenly he realized the room was completely padded and the only thing he wore was a set of scrubs.
“Oh, crap. I’m gonna kill that bastard now,” Carson swore. He stood as quickly as he could with a hangover and stared at the door. “Let me out of here, ye bloody buggers! The joke’s over!”
A few moments later the door opened and Lieutenant Cadman walked in carrying a tray of food. He wondered why she wasn’t in her uniform. She wore what looked like a nurse’s uniform from when he worked at the Glasgow Royal Infirmary. The badge she wore identified her as “Laura Cadman, RN”.
“Mornin’, Carson. How are ye feelin’ today?” she asked with an authentic Glaswegian lilt that made his heart ache for Scotland. She set the tray down in front of him.
“Lieutenant Cadman, Laura, this is all very funny but the joke’s over. Who had the brilliant idea to put me in here, an’ why dinnae I know we even had a padded room?” he asked, trying to keep the edge out of his voice.
“Well, at least ye remember my name this mornin’,” she sighed. “I’m not a Lieutenant in any military. I’m a nurse here at the Glasgow Mental Health Centre. Can ye remember that for today?”
“What?!”
“Carson, sit down please, and we’ll talk. Let me warn ye, I’ll not have any nonsense like last night, though,” she said firmly as she sat down between him and the door.
Carson sat down and leaned against the wall, facing Laura, waiting for an explanation. He pulled the tray of food closer and noticed the small cup of pills.
“Please, let’s not fight over yer medications this mornin’,” Laura sighed. “Ye can take them orally or by injection, yer choice.”
“I’m not takin’ anything other than a couple o’ aspirin.”
“Carson, we’ve been through this often enough,” she sighed. “I’m Laura, a nurse here at the Glasgow Mental Health Centre. Ye attacked one of the other patients last night, claimin’ he was a ‘Wraith’ when he stumbled an’ accidentally touched yer chest, which induced a full-blown delusional episode. We had to sedate ye then put ye in here. Again,” she said looking discouraged. “I assure you, Doctor McKay dinnae order you to be put in here as any sort of a joke.”
“Laura, this has been all sorts of fun, an’ I’m sure the photos will be all over Atlantis by midday, if they're not already. I’ll even congratulate ye on yer accent, but this is enough. I need to head to the infirmary.”
“Carson, would ye please tell me what ye do in the infirmary?” she asked neutrally.
Carson sighed, the joke rapidly growing old. “I’m the bloody Chief Surgeon! Good Lord, woman, ye’ve been one of my patients often enough.” He stood to leave when Laura quickly stood and blocked his way to the door.
“Sit back down. Now,” she ordered.
Carson considered pushing his way past Laura, but decided that going up against the Marine with a hangover would guarantee at least a short stay in his own infirmary. Grudgingly, he sat back down, pulled his knees to his chest and glared at her.
“I’m not goin’ to have any nonsense from ye today. Yer not the Chief Surgeon anywhere, Carson. Do ye remember anythin’ about yer work?”
Carson sighed and continued to glare at Laura. They stared at each other, Laura seeming to refuse to speak until Carson answered her question. Finally Carson broke the silence.
“I’m Doctor Carson Beckett, MD, specialty in genetics. I’m the Chief of Medicine for the Atlantis Expedition where, between patchin’ up injuries sustained by the other members of the Expedition, includin’ yerself, Lieutenant, I work on my genetics research.”
“No, Carson, yer not a surgeon. Until a month ago you worked for the Scottish Ambulance Service as a paramedic an’ attended classes at the University of Glasgow,” she paused, flipping through her notes, “studying Genetics at the undergraduate level. Do ye remember why yer here?”
“I got phished last night an’ now Radek, an’ probably Rodney, are gettin’ a good laugh out of this.”
“Do ye see anyone laughin’? Carson, ye worked a mass casualty incident at Glasgow International Airport when a flight crashed on approach durin’ a severe storm. There were over 350 people on Flight 107. Do ye remember that?”
“107? No…” Carson trailed off, his heart pounding. “P1M-107 is Hoff. Oh, Lord, I killed half of those people because of the anti-Wraith drug I developed. Please, Laura, leave it be,” he begged, horrified. “Ye weren’t even on Atlantis at that point.”
“Ye were in charge of triage of Flight 107 as senior paramedic on the scene,” Laura said kindly, sympathy working its way into her voice. “Ye didn’t kill anyone, ye did a brilliant job makin’ sure those who could be saved were transported. We know ye saw many of the unsalvageable patients die, and ye had to decide who could be saved and who was too badly injured. Aye, nearly half of the passengers and crew died, but ye must remember half of them lived, thanks to ye an’ yer crew. It was a week later that you were admitted to this facility due to post traumatic stress disorder. Atlantis is a delusion ye created as a coping mechanism.”
Carson was shaking, curling tighter in to a ball, tears threatening to fall. His head was still foggy from the alcohol he’d had the night before or the sedative he’d been given. He wasn’t sure which it was anymore. He sat quietly, staring at the floor. This is all a dream, I’ll wake up any time now. Please let me wake up.
“Carson, look at me.” He looked up at Laura reluctantly. “Good, ye need to stay with us. I’m goin’ to go tell Dr. McKay how yer doin’ this mornin’. If ye take yer meds an’ eat, ye can probably go back to yer own room. Ye’d like that, right?”
Carson nodded numbly and swallowed the pills. Laura was apparently satisfied and suddenly he was left alone with his thoughts. He picked at his food, wondering what was happening to him. Which was real, Hoff or Flight 107? Have I gone mad?
Maybe Flight 107 was real. The thought that only a few hundred had died in a terrible accident instead of tens of thousands as a result of his research was comforting. He’d done his best to save their lives but it wasn’t his fault that a storm crashed the plane. Carson tried to sift through his memories; Atlantis, Glasgow, a Puddle Jumper, his ambulance, they all blurred together. He jumped, startled, when he heard the door open and Rodney McKay stepped in, accompanied by Laura.
“Well, Carson. Nurse Cadman tells me that you’re doing better. Do you know who I am?”
Carson hesitated as the only memory of the man in front of him surfaced. “Doctor Rodney McKay, PhD in astrophysics and engineering. Chief of Science on Atlantis and one of my best friends,” Carson said quietly, then paused. “Wait a minute, yer not Scottish.”
Carson flinched under Dr. McKay’s Rodney’s gaze, pulling himself in to a tighter ball. He kept his eyes down, afraid to meet the piercing stare that had never been directed at him before. Now I know how he manages to keep the entire Sciences Department working and in tears half the time.
“How very perceptive. I was born in Edinburgh and grew up in Toronto. I moved here to teach at the University. I have a MD, specialty in psychiatry. At least you’re getting our names right, although I suspect you gave us all roles in your world. Now, tell me about the incident with Stephen.”
He suppressed a shudder at the thought of the experiments he’d performed on the Wraith John had named Steve and Michael. Carson decided to play along hoping he could leave the padded room, even if meant a little humiliation if this was all an elaborate prank.
“I honestly donnae remember anythin’ concrete. I remember bein’ scared, maybe shocked, then I woke up in here,” he said with as much sincerity as he could muster.
Rodney looked at him suspiciously and Carson was afraid he’d seen through the lie.
“Hmm. I’m going to allow you to go back to your room. I don’t like to put patients in here for longer than necessary. Nurse Cadman will arrange for some new therapy sessions.”
“Thank ye, Doctor McKay.”
Laura led Carson out of the padded room. The hallway most definitely wasn’t Atlantis. It was a typical medical facility from Earth. Once in his room, Carson looked out the window at the gardens and the Glasgow skyline beyond, no longer certain what was real.
Days passed in what became a routine. He woke, ate in the communal dining room, carefully avoiding Stephen Steve the Wraith with his long, blond hair, and attended therapy sessions where he tried to uncover his lost memories. He’d been assured he was recovering, although he would probably never remember the events of Flight 107, and would have “memories” of Atlantis for the rest of his life.
When he was on Atlantis he had longed for Scotland, but now he found he longed for Atlantis with all of its dangers and uncertainty. He realized that Atlantis had become home, not Earth. When did Atlantis become home? After taking his evening dose of medications, Carson lay in bed, thinking of everyone he missed, wishing he could live in his fantasy again. He closed his eyes and drifted back to Atlantis.
Carson woke in his own quarters, the familiar smell of sea air filling the room. He sat up and looked around, mentally brightening the lights. Smiling, he pulled the blanket over himself and drifted back off to sleep, pushing the Glasgow Mental Health Centre out of his mind, not caring if Atlantis was a delusion, as long as he could live it. Home at last.
Fin.
~~~
The Glasgow Mental Health Centre is fictional.
The University of Glasgow and its degree courses, the Glasgow Royal Infirmary, Glasgow International Airport, and the Scottish Ambulance Service are all real.
Author: Rhiannon -
rhian_morwennaChallenge: Earthside
Characters: Carson Beckett, Laura Cadman, Rodney McKay
Summary: Carson opened his eyes and realized he wasn’t in his room
Word Count: 1,782
Genre: AU?, Drama
Rating: PG
Warning: mild language
Spoilers/Timeline: Spoilers for “Poisoning the Well” (107), “Michael” (218), and if you squint, “Allies” (220). Takes place sometime after the second season.
Disclaimer: I only wish I owned any part of the Stargate Franchise…
Author's Notes: I apologize right now for any screwed up Scottish dialect/slang. American here, even if I did grow up watching British TV.
Thanks to
lvs2read, my wonderful beta reader.The first thing Carson noticed as he slowly woke up was the unfamiliar feeling bed. He groaned and slowly opened his eyes, trying to fight whatever was fogging his mind. He shut his eyes again against the bright light that assaulted his vision. He tried to mentally dim the lights, but they weren’t responding to him. Eventually the previous night’s events came back to him.
“Bloody hell! That’s the last time I try out a new batch with Radek,” he muttered to himself. “I think I managed to make bleedin absinthe this time.”
He opened his eyes again and saw he wasn’t in his room, or any other room he knew about in Atlantis. Suddenly he realized the room was completely padded and the only thing he wore was a set of scrubs.
“Oh, crap. I’m gonna kill that bastard now,” Carson swore. He stood as quickly as he could with a hangover and stared at the door. “Let me out of here, ye bloody buggers! The joke’s over!”
A few moments later the door opened and Lieutenant Cadman walked in carrying a tray of food. He wondered why she wasn’t in her uniform. She wore what looked like a nurse’s uniform from when he worked at the Glasgow Royal Infirmary. The badge she wore identified her as “Laura Cadman, RN”.
“Mornin’, Carson. How are ye feelin’ today?” she asked with an authentic Glaswegian lilt that made his heart ache for Scotland. She set the tray down in front of him.
“Lieutenant Cadman, Laura, this is all very funny but the joke’s over. Who had the brilliant idea to put me in here, an’ why dinnae I know we even had a padded room?” he asked, trying to keep the edge out of his voice.
“Well, at least ye remember my name this mornin’,” she sighed. “I’m not a Lieutenant in any military. I’m a nurse here at the Glasgow Mental Health Centre. Can ye remember that for today?”
“What?!”
“Carson, sit down please, and we’ll talk. Let me warn ye, I’ll not have any nonsense like last night, though,” she said firmly as she sat down between him and the door.
Carson sat down and leaned against the wall, facing Laura, waiting for an explanation. He pulled the tray of food closer and noticed the small cup of pills.
“Please, let’s not fight over yer medications this mornin’,” Laura sighed. “Ye can take them orally or by injection, yer choice.”
“I’m not takin’ anything other than a couple o’ aspirin.”
“Carson, we’ve been through this often enough,” she sighed. “I’m Laura, a nurse here at the Glasgow Mental Health Centre. Ye attacked one of the other patients last night, claimin’ he was a ‘Wraith’ when he stumbled an’ accidentally touched yer chest, which induced a full-blown delusional episode. We had to sedate ye then put ye in here. Again,” she said looking discouraged. “I assure you, Doctor McKay dinnae order you to be put in here as any sort of a joke.”
“Laura, this has been all sorts of fun, an’ I’m sure the photos will be all over Atlantis by midday, if they're not already. I’ll even congratulate ye on yer accent, but this is enough. I need to head to the infirmary.”
“Carson, would ye please tell me what ye do in the infirmary?” she asked neutrally.
Carson sighed, the joke rapidly growing old. “I’m the bloody Chief Surgeon! Good Lord, woman, ye’ve been one of my patients often enough.” He stood to leave when Laura quickly stood and blocked his way to the door.
“Sit back down. Now,” she ordered.
Carson considered pushing his way past Laura, but decided that going up against the Marine with a hangover would guarantee at least a short stay in his own infirmary. Grudgingly, he sat back down, pulled his knees to his chest and glared at her.
“I’m not goin’ to have any nonsense from ye today. Yer not the Chief Surgeon anywhere, Carson. Do ye remember anythin’ about yer work?”
Carson sighed and continued to glare at Laura. They stared at each other, Laura seeming to refuse to speak until Carson answered her question. Finally Carson broke the silence.
“I’m Doctor Carson Beckett, MD, specialty in genetics. I’m the Chief of Medicine for the Atlantis Expedition where, between patchin’ up injuries sustained by the other members of the Expedition, includin’ yerself, Lieutenant, I work on my genetics research.”
“No, Carson, yer not a surgeon. Until a month ago you worked for the Scottish Ambulance Service as a paramedic an’ attended classes at the University of Glasgow,” she paused, flipping through her notes, “studying Genetics at the undergraduate level. Do ye remember why yer here?”
“I got phished last night an’ now Radek, an’ probably Rodney, are gettin’ a good laugh out of this.”
“Do ye see anyone laughin’? Carson, ye worked a mass casualty incident at Glasgow International Airport when a flight crashed on approach durin’ a severe storm. There were over 350 people on Flight 107. Do ye remember that?”
“107? No…” Carson trailed off, his heart pounding. “P1M-107 is Hoff. Oh, Lord, I killed half of those people because of the anti-Wraith drug I developed. Please, Laura, leave it be,” he begged, horrified. “Ye weren’t even on Atlantis at that point.”
“Ye were in charge of triage of Flight 107 as senior paramedic on the scene,” Laura said kindly, sympathy working its way into her voice. “Ye didn’t kill anyone, ye did a brilliant job makin’ sure those who could be saved were transported. We know ye saw many of the unsalvageable patients die, and ye had to decide who could be saved and who was too badly injured. Aye, nearly half of the passengers and crew died, but ye must remember half of them lived, thanks to ye an’ yer crew. It was a week later that you were admitted to this facility due to post traumatic stress disorder. Atlantis is a delusion ye created as a coping mechanism.”
Carson was shaking, curling tighter in to a ball, tears threatening to fall. His head was still foggy from the alcohol he’d had the night before or the sedative he’d been given. He wasn’t sure which it was anymore. He sat quietly, staring at the floor. This is all a dream, I’ll wake up any time now. Please let me wake up.
“Carson, look at me.” He looked up at Laura reluctantly. “Good, ye need to stay with us. I’m goin’ to go tell Dr. McKay how yer doin’ this mornin’. If ye take yer meds an’ eat, ye can probably go back to yer own room. Ye’d like that, right?”
Carson nodded numbly and swallowed the pills. Laura was apparently satisfied and suddenly he was left alone with his thoughts. He picked at his food, wondering what was happening to him. Which was real, Hoff or Flight 107? Have I gone mad?
Maybe Flight 107 was real. The thought that only a few hundred had died in a terrible accident instead of tens of thousands as a result of his research was comforting. He’d done his best to save their lives but it wasn’t his fault that a storm crashed the plane. Carson tried to sift through his memories; Atlantis, Glasgow, a Puddle Jumper, his ambulance, they all blurred together. He jumped, startled, when he heard the door open and Rodney McKay stepped in, accompanied by Laura.
“Well, Carson. Nurse Cadman tells me that you’re doing better. Do you know who I am?”
Carson hesitated as the only memory of the man in front of him surfaced. “Doctor Rodney McKay, PhD in astrophysics and engineering. Chief of Science on Atlantis and one of my best friends,” Carson said quietly, then paused. “Wait a minute, yer not Scottish.”
Carson flinched under Dr. McKay’s Rodney’s gaze, pulling himself in to a tighter ball. He kept his eyes down, afraid to meet the piercing stare that had never been directed at him before. Now I know how he manages to keep the entire Sciences Department working and in tears half the time.
“How very perceptive. I was born in Edinburgh and grew up in Toronto. I moved here to teach at the University. I have a MD, specialty in psychiatry. At least you’re getting our names right, although I suspect you gave us all roles in your world. Now, tell me about the incident with Stephen.”
He suppressed a shudder at the thought of the experiments he’d performed on the Wraith John had named Steve and Michael. Carson decided to play along hoping he could leave the padded room, even if meant a little humiliation if this was all an elaborate prank.
“I honestly donnae remember anythin’ concrete. I remember bein’ scared, maybe shocked, then I woke up in here,” he said with as much sincerity as he could muster.
Rodney looked at him suspiciously and Carson was afraid he’d seen through the lie.
“Hmm. I’m going to allow you to go back to your room. I don’t like to put patients in here for longer than necessary. Nurse Cadman will arrange for some new therapy sessions.”
“Thank ye, Doctor McKay.”
Laura led Carson out of the padded room. The hallway most definitely wasn’t Atlantis. It was a typical medical facility from Earth. Once in his room, Carson looked out the window at the gardens and the Glasgow skyline beyond, no longer certain what was real.
Days passed in what became a routine. He woke, ate in the communal dining room, carefully avoiding Stephen Steve the Wraith with his long, blond hair, and attended therapy sessions where he tried to uncover his lost memories. He’d been assured he was recovering, although he would probably never remember the events of Flight 107, and would have “memories” of Atlantis for the rest of his life.
When he was on Atlantis he had longed for Scotland, but now he found he longed for Atlantis with all of its dangers and uncertainty. He realized that Atlantis had become home, not Earth. When did Atlantis become home? After taking his evening dose of medications, Carson lay in bed, thinking of everyone he missed, wishing he could live in his fantasy again. He closed his eyes and drifted back to Atlantis.
Carson woke in his own quarters, the familiar smell of sea air filling the room. He sat up and looked around, mentally brightening the lights. Smiling, he pulled the blanket over himself and drifted back off to sleep, pushing the Glasgow Mental Health Centre out of his mind, not caring if Atlantis was a delusion, as long as he could live it. Home at last.
Fin.
~~~
The Glasgow Mental Health Centre is fictional.
The University of Glasgow and its degree courses, the Glasgow Royal Infirmary, Glasgow International Airport, and the Scottish Ambulance Service are all real.
Review
Date: 2006-07-09 11:59 am (UTC)Re: Review
Date: 2006-07-09 05:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-09 03:02 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-09 06:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-09 03:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-09 06:43 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-09 05:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-09 06:51 pm (UTC)I'm glad you enjoyed that twist.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-10 01:25 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-10 02:26 am (UTC)And there may have been a little bit of a meta in the comment about Rodney/voodoo and Dr. McKay, MD.... *grin*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-10 01:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-10 02:28 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-10 02:24 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-10 02:38 am (UTC)Regardless, Carson really does need to be a little more careful about what he adds to his home-brew...
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-10 02:27 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-10 02:50 am (UTC)*coughs*I might have seen that episode a
fewcouple of times*coughs* I swear that was not the inspiritaion, on a concious level, for this fic.(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-10 06:31 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-10 07:05 am (UTC)I wasn't sure if this would work until a few people read it.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-12 12:24 am (UTC)I bet he's really strapped down in the infirmary, with Dr. Biro trying to cope as he shifts from one place to the next, never really acknowledging them. McKay, Sheppard Weir, and everyone are going batshit trying to figure out what caused his psychotic breakdown, but we know. Slim hold on ethical reality!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-12 12:56 am (UTC)I'm glad I managed to blur the realities. Your guess is as good as mine as to what is really happening, my Muse only gave me Carson's POV.
I adore Carson as a character, but he has some very questionable medical ethics. He's definitely laid a few paving stones along the road to Hell.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-14 03:46 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-14 03:55 am (UTC)