Type: genfic/drama/HC

Rating: PG-15 if I was going to use that type of rating
Spoilers: set early second season

Betas: LKY and Dr. Dredd (thank you both kindly – any mistakes left are all my own)

After posting to SGAHC, Crockett clarified some points relating to the use of MRIs and CAT scans.

Contact: Sealie

Frame of Reference series.

Cusp

By Sealie

The early morning meeting was usually a thing of beauty or, more accurately, entertainment, Sheppard thought. By no sense of the word could McKay be described as a morning person. Beckett by definition could operate at any time day or night but his preferred time was the later hours of the day as the sun set and the world quieted down. Elizabeth was a morning person – through and through – too awake at 0-six hundred hours to be anything other than offensive to a confirmed night owl. Lorne, he hadn’t figured out yet, but he suspected that he was an A-type morning person. Kray, head of the newly created technical services section was a nine to fiver, excellent with the day to day administration of the City, but a bit pedantic otherwise. Sheppard knew that he was a morning person -– the cold crack of day as the sun rose couldn’t be beaten -- but today he felt sluggish and lethargic. They hadn’t been on a scouting trip or any other mission type for over a week and obviously he needed some fresh air.

Beckett poured himself into his preferred seat and reached blindly for the carafe of coffee in the centre of the table. Eyes sharp, Sheppard didn’t miss him palming a couple of Tylenol as he took his first mouthful of coffee.

“Hey, Doc.”

“Major. Sorry, Colonel.”

“You could just call me John, you know.”

“Yes,” Beckett said blearily – obviously it was far too early.

“You all right, Doc?”

“Fine,” he said immediately, but the man couldn’t even fib. “Got a headache the size of Atlantis.”

“I can sympathise.” Sheppard held out his hand. The pencil pushing geek who had not allowed them to secret their own supplies of painkillers when first leaving the SGC for Pegasus Galaxy was destined to burn in a place where the residents had pointy sticks. Even now, with the interstellar starship Daedalus carrying out semi-regular supply runs between Earth and the city of Atlantis, everyday, over-the-counter, painkillers were still prescription only.

Beckett wasn’t stupid. He pulled out a child proof canister of pills and decanted two tablets onto Sheppard’s palm.

“Thanks, Doc.”

Elizabeth sauntered into the meeting room, fresh and bright eyed and bushy tailed. Sheppard hated her instantly.

“Carson, John.”

Both man saluted her with their coffee cups.

Rodney dragged his sorry ass into the room, weighed down with two laptops and a diagnostic data tablet. “Is that real coffee?”

“Yep. Made it myself.” Sheppard refilled his own mug and poured one for McKay.

McKay worshiped at the altar.

Lorne came in with Kray.

“Good, we’re all here,” Elizabeth said. “If you could begin as normal, Carson.”

Sheppard tuned out the minutiae, registering the important details. Housekeeping was an automatic yawn. Kray got into a battle with McKay over the environmental controls, which McKay felt as an astrophysicist and not a repair man, wasn’t his remit.

The Tylenol wasn’t putting a dent in the headache. Sheppard blamed Rodney.

“Colonel?” the tone was insistent and Sheppard guessed that Elizabeth had called his name – without any response – more than once.

“Yes?”

“You have an offworld mission scheduled.”

“Tomorrow,” Sheppard said succinctly. “Teyla is taking us to the imaginatively named ‘Market World’. Apparently it’s the planet’s annual solstice and they have a massive gathering. A number of planets’ inhabitants attend. It should be good for intel and trade.”

“You will of course be careful. It is paramount that we maintain Atlantis’ secrecy.”

“Of course,” Sheppard said easily.

Elizabeth quirked her eyebrow in a distinctively head mistress manner. Sheppard met her chastisement placidly. So his attention wandered – discussions about sewage systems weren’t that interesting.

“Major Lorne,” Elizabeth began.

Sheppard rubbed the bridge of his nose and only listened to the important stuff.

The final summary of the meeting had the section heads updated and day’s duties outlined.

“We’ve finished? About time.” Rodney packed up his laptops with a little more than his usual alacrity.

“Rodney,” Elizabeth stopped him dead, “is there a problem?”

“No.”

“McKay,” Sheppard interjected.

“Things to do. Things to do.” McKay scooped up his laptops. Huffing, he stalked out of the room.

“John?” Elizabeth asked a multitude of questions.

“You know how it is when he’s got something on his mind. It can’t be important otherwise he would have told us succinctly and too the point, but somehow at great length, that we have a problem. I’ll track him down later. He probably just wants to play with some Ancient doodad.”

Elizabeth nodded, accepting the wisdom of his words. Sheppard leaned back on his chair, stretching to ease the kinks in his shoulders. More coffee and a sparring match with Teyla would put him to rights.

“Major,” Beckett said.

“Yeah, Doc?”

“Infirmary.” He pointed over his shoulder.

“Why?” Sheppard manufactured a cough as his tone rose squeakily.

“Headache.”

“It’s just a headache. You’ve got one.”

“Aye, and I’m the doctor and I’m saying infirmary, Colonel. The Tylenol coupled with your morning coffee haven’t eased your symptoms – that warrants further study.”

“I’m fine!” Sheppard winced at the slight whine in his voice.

Beckett’s bottom lip firmed. “Don’t make me make it an order, son.”

Grimacing, Sheppard picked up his pristine notebook. “This is going over the top, Doc,” he noted as he followed the man out of the room.

~*~

“Blood pressure’s fine.” Beckett released the cuff.

“I told you, Doc, I’ve just got a headache.”

“Believe it or not there’s normally an underlying reason for headaches.” Beckett shone a penlight in Sheppard’s right eye watching as the pupil constricted satisfactorily. He didn’t miss the furrow forming between his eyebrows. “Is your neck hurting?”

“It’s stiff.”

“Touch chin to your chest.” Beckett demonstrated.

Sheppard easily craned his neck.

“And to the side.”

Sheppard rolled his eyes heavenward, but complied. “Glad to see that you can do it, Doc. You going to let Dr. Biro check you out?”

“She’s a forensic pathologist. No.”

“You’ve got a headache too. And the Tylenol haven’t shifted it.”

Beckett stepped back from the bed and crossed his arms. Sheppard took the opportunity to swing his legs back and forth like a kid.

“Probably tense muscles. Take a couple of hours off. Get some exercise. Go hit Teyla with some sticks. If it hasn’t shifted in a couple of hours come back and the nurse will give you a muscle relaxant.”

“And you?” Sheppard persisted.

Beckett rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll go for a walk.”

Sheppard hopped off the bed. “You know, it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to learn some self-defence.”

“Get a way with you, lad.”

“I’m serious, Doc.” And he was. “Given the situations that we get in, learning some down and dirty self-defence techniques could save your life.”

“Son, I was a hooker throughout college and university. I know how to take a man down.”

Sheppard knew that his mouth had fell open as he processed that obviously innocent little statement from Beckett’s point of view. He started to say something, paused, knew he was gaping. He smiled a crazy smile and finally said, “It guess that’s a position. No, no, no – that’s a bad choice of words. That’s a soccer term, or something?”

“Rugby not football.”

“Right,” Sheppard drawled. “Word of advice, Doc: don’t tell anyone else that.”

The faintest of blushes touched Beckett’s cheeks. “Aye, probably sensible.”

“Seriously, Doc. You’ve got the physical strength; moving patients about can’t be easy. But, you know, I’m going to make this an order. You go off world. You need some hand-to-hand training.”

Beckett peered up at him under thick eyebrows. “When, Colonel?”

“You’ve took me off duty for a couple of hours. As the designated Military leader of Atlantis I’m saying now, at this time, today. Two hours in the gym.”

“I don’t know about this,” Beckett said worriedly.

“It’s a good idea. Tell your staff.” Sheppard executed a little shimmy to the left and then to the right. This could actually be fun.

~*~

“I’m done.” Beckett looked at the ceiling once again. His headache had been beaten into submission by the padded mat.

Sheppard leaned over, hands resting on his thighs and grinned down at him. “We haven’t even started.”

A healthy sheen of perspiration covered the colonel. Carson was sure he was a bit grey and pasty.

“You’re doing fine, Doc.”

“Do you make Rodney do this?”

“Yep. He’s not very good at it. Thinks too much, like you. He doesn’t get into the Zen of the moment.” Sheppard hauled him to his feet.

“Nooooo.”

“Let’s try it again.” Sheppard shifted his feet until shoulder width apart. He balanced on the balls of his feet. “Your centre of balance is in your gut.”

“Ileum or—”

“Doc.”

Beckett smiled at the chastisement. “Sorry, I’m listening.”

Sheppard poked his own gut just below his navel. “A woman’s centre of gravity is situated around her womb. A man’s is a little higher. When you throw a body you need to be aware of the distribution of mass. If you try and pull me from my shoulders, I’m not going anywhere unless you’re Conan the Barbarian.”

“Aye. Seems logical.”

Sheppard wiggled his fingers enticingly. “Try it.”

Gingerly, Beckett gripped Sheppard’s shoulders and gave a half hearted yank. “I see.”

“But if I.”

Beckett winced as Sheppard stepped closer, leaned his hip into his side and pivoted. The world flew around him and realigned with the ceiling where the walls had previously been.

“You’re what twenty-thirty pounds heavier than me?” Sheppard grinned.

“Don’t rub it in, son, ‘cause I’m doing your next medical.”

Sheppard hauled him to his feet. “You saw what I did. You try it.”

Biting his bottom lip in concentration, Beckett carefully placed his foot between Shepard’s, swung his hip up against Sheppard’s providing the fulcrum which he levered the soldier’s body over. Sheppard sailed ever so satisfyingly head over heels to land flat on the floor.

“Good one, Doc.” Sheppard bounced to his feet. “Try it again.”

Beckett could learn to like this.

~*~

Beckett’s ear piece chirruped. Both men stopped dead and looked at it on the bench against the far wall.

A tiny voice said, “Dr. Beckett, to the infirmary, please.”

“Sorry, Major.” Beckett picked himself up off the floor and ran from the room. Sheppard collected their bags, wrapped a towel around his neck and set off after the man.

Beckett turned a few heads as he ran past, barefooted in baggy black shorts and old, soft-washed white rugby top.

Beckett had already pulled on a white coat and was checking over his first patient by the time Sheppard reached the infirmary. The man could shift with enough incentive. Medical bedlam reigned. There were at least fifteen sopping wet casualties coughing into buckets or curled up in balls around oxygen masks.

“I need some information,” Beckett bellowed.

“Containment leak in the chemistry labs. Aerosol inhalation of chlorine gas,” a marine supporting a coughing scientist supplied

“Concentration?” Beckett rapped out.

“52ppm,” McKay supplied from the doorway. Sheppard started having missing his arrival.

“How long?” Beckett focussed a scarily intense gaze on the astrophysicist.

“Short term. The room was contaminated by a leaking pipe and then Atlantis initiated emergency responses. Air extraction took place and water ducts opened to shower the inhabitants. Kay and Tremayne were closest to the source.”

Beckett cocked his head to the side, looking as if he were reading from a text book. “Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve been exposed to a chemical at levels which will make you feel uncomfortable but will not cause permanent damage. Medical staff will help you providing oxygen where necessary and saline eye washes.”

“Doc?” Sheppard called. “You need extra help?”

Carson had already counted heads and hands. “No.”

The dismissal was obvious and Sheppard didn’t take it personally. He withdrew pulling McKay with him.

“Were you there?” Sheppard asked.

McKay only spared him a fragment of his attention as he pulled up schematics on his data tablet. “No. I helped with the aftermath.”

“How?”

“Got the door open. Helped the walking wounded to the infirmary,” McKay said absently, fingers clicking against the LCD screen. “Perhaps, I should become a repair man, it’s seems as if Atlantis is falling down around our ears. Hah.”

Sheppard craned his head to look at the screen, but upside down it was all gobbledegook.

“We have system phase modulation errors cropping up in the system,” McKay grumbled. “I suspect that it relates to our interfaces with ancient power conduits. We have created some fairly sophisticated calculations to allow our naquada generated power to align efficiently with the Ancients’ system. It’s an energy transformation problem. We’re probably looking at a maladjusted link which is setting up a cascade error. A little often over time.” McKay shook his head. “It shouldn’t be happening. The Ancient redundancies should counteract the problem. It’s very random.”

“Can it be fixed?”

“Hmm, Chair Room.” McKay flicked a glance at him and screwed up his nose. “You’re very sweaty. Go away. Shower. I have work to do.”

It was proving to be a pretty typical day in Atlantis.

~*~

“You look tired,” McKay observed as Beckett approached their preferred table in the commissary.

“Knackered more like.” Beckett dropped his tray on the table and plopped down on a seat. Every molecule of his bearing screamed tired.

“What’s up?” McKay twirled his finger in the air. “There’s been no emergency.”

“Remember the chlorine incident?”

“That was minor, wasn’t it? Bit of saline. Some O₂.”

“Essentially yes,” Beckett said. “But Lieutenant Hillier took a fall and sustained a serious fracture to his hip and pelvis. There was an outbreak of food poisoning--”

McKay spat out his mouthful of tofu burger.

Beckett continued without pausing, “From an incident where a couple of environmental scientists stored their chocolate in a biohazard refrigerator. Idiots.”

McKay retrieved his piece of burger and popped it back in his mouth.

“Now, that is disgusting, Rodney.”

“Well,” McKay mumbled, “it actually tastes okay. Why waste it?”

Beckett stirred his tea, absently watching the eddies. McKay took the silence. Beckett finally sipped on his tea, settling back in the uncomfortable plastic chair and finding comfort. The inhabitants of Atlantis moved around them, selecting food, finding tables, eating as they read or chatted with their friends and colleagues.

Sheppard appeared, edging along the bank of heated catering trays. Food chosen, he meandered between the rank and file of tables to where they were sitting.

“Hey,” he greeted and then sat.

“Sheppard.”

“Major,” Beckett said and eyed the contents of the tray. “Is that all that you’re having?”

Sheppard hummed introspectively. “Yes,” he finally drawled.

“Did you have breakfast?”

“I always have breakfast, mom.” Sheppard dug into his evening meal bowl of cereal.

Beckett quirked a tiny smile. “That doesn’t constitute a real meal, especially after the type of days that you have.”

“I’m not hungry. It was a paperwork day. I wasn’t running away from T-Rexes or Wraith. I’ve been sitting working, apart from this morning when we sparred for a couple of hours.” His discontent at spending a day in front of a laptop, report writing was evident.

“It’s nice that it’s been quiet,” Weir volunteered as she sat.

“Oh, no.” McKay thudded his head on the tabletop. “Now you’ve done it.”

“I never took you as being superstitious,” she said.

“Ha. I don’t believe in fate and I don’t believe in karma. But that’s just asking for it.”

Sheppard laughed lowly. “That’s a contradiction.”

McKay shrugged, deciding not to get into that coffee table discussion. They needed a late night, alcohol and preferably an impending Wraith attack to dissect religion and mysticism and logic. McKay eyed his table mates. Actually as a group, Carson, Weir and Sheppard were probably intelligent enough that they could have a discussion without too much emotionalism. Although Carson might get a little overwrought.

“What?” Sheppard probed as McKay cogitated.

“Hmmm?” McKay pondered on the fact that he was actually considering chewing over that hoary old chestnut with people in a casual setting.

“McKay?” Sheppard tried again.

“I just remembered that I need to check the phase invariance on the final naquada generator.” He stuffed the final mouthful of burger in his mouth and scooped up his banana and Athosian punt cake for dessert.

“Do you want some company, McKay?”

“No. Finish your cereal.” McKay stood. “Carson, Elizabeth.”

“Rodney.”

Mouth full, Elizabeth simply nodded.

Pocketing his supplies, McKay beat a hasty retreat. He really did need to check the naquada generator on the fifth pier.

Radek peeked up from his behind his laptop screen as Rodney barrelled into their lab.

“McKay,” he acknowledged.

“I’m going over to the fifth pier.” He grabbed his laptop, control screen and the required interface cables.

“Is the naquada generator on the north east pier causing a problem?” Radek called up the power schematics on his computer.

“So Dopy--”

“Dopiachsky,” Radek corrected.

“--says. The idiot said that the reactor’s acting up. There’s nothing wrong with the generator since I configured it myself. It’s probably the interface with the city’s power conduits. Dopyshy must had misaligned the power modulation when he reintegrated it into the system. It could be causing the error I’m picking up.”

Radek closed his own laptop and stood. “There is nothing wrong with the interface.”

“Yes. Yes, Yes. But no. There’s a 0.00002% shift which I can’t account for.”

“Yes, we will check.”

“I don’t need--”

“Any help. I know. But I will come. I need to stretch my legs. And I wish to show that the interface is working correctly,” Radek said.

“It could be the interface.”

“It is not the interface. I designed the interface with the Ancient technology.”

“And I helped design the mark two reactor,” McKay said pompously.

Both scientists smiled.

“So Dopy’s obviously mucked up our brilliance.”

Radek smiled impishly. “We shall check.”

~*~

“The Naquada generator is not malfunctioning,” Radek said.

“Your interface is okay,” McKay returned.

“Have you thought of--”

“Yes, yes. We have checked each others’ work. The fault isn’t here.”

Zeleneka rubbed his chin as he pondered the problem.

“Generator.” McKay pointed. “Cable. Transformer. Interface. Ancient power pathways.”

“The generator is working,” Zelenka said.

“So is the interface-transformer.”

“Cable.” Zelenka moved to the scroll work panelling protecting the power conduits. “Or the pathways.”

“Which one do you want?” McKay asked.

“I am here.” Zelenka prised of the decorative façade revealing the light flexes entwined around crystal matrixes.

McKay crouched by the heavy duty black cabling. “You do realise that this is a profound waste of my valuable time. Checking cabling.”

Zelenka hummed under his breath, ignoring him.

McKay tapped is earpiece. “Operations tower?”

“Heaton, here.”

“McKay. I’m powering down the naquada generator at north east pier for three minutes.”

“Acknowledged. I’ll…”