Title: The Couch SGA

Author: Heatherf.

Disclaimers: Not mine, no money made.

Warnings: Grammar, spelling, and other trivial things.

I took Sheppard's video of the football game to be: The Nov. 1984 Orange Bowl game Boston College Vs Miami. Doug Flutie played for B.C. The Hail Mary pass was the spectacular 64 yrd pass in the last 6 seconds of the game, resulting in the defeat of Miami. (I think it was on Thanksgiving day…not too sure about that little bit).

If that is not the game Sheppard is watching, well then he's crazy.

(Personally, I would have brought the 2004 ALC series—RedSox vs Yankees! And the Sox won! They won it in Yankee Stadium! Took the ALC home!---But I digress)

Acknowledgements: Pete, the Athosian 'Dog' belongs to Dr. Dredd

Meg T. because she's a good cookie.

Characters: Beckett, Sheppard, McKay. Weir and the rest

Summary: Sometimes you're so tired you just can't stop moving.

——————————————————————

Part 1

"How'd you manage that?" Dr. Weir asked over the din in the room as she stepped around the battered, ill used infamous couch in John Sheppard's quarters. He acquired the couch from M153PX in trade. The battered, eye sore was heavy, short legged, and, at one time over stuffed. The colonel had traded one of Rodney's power bars for the sofa. At first Dr. Weir had thought that the citizens of M153PX had taken advantage of the Colonel. After, having sat in the couch a few times and dozed in it once, Elizabeth silently agreed Sheppard had a good eye for unsightly, but comfortable furniture.

Her voice floated over the sounds of the football game they had all seen more than a dozen times. People sat and reclined scattered through out the small room watching 'The Game' without the same harrowing intensity as the 'owner' of the tape.

Sheppard was draped in his 'lazy boy' chair with legs extended out and ankles crossed. The overstuffed chair was another piece of evidence to his unparallel ability to pawn off MREs and power bars to the unsuspecting words of the Pegasus Galaxy in exchange for the galaxy's most hideous looking but muscle melting, comfortable furniture.

Weir surveyed the raucous, large group which sat or lay stretched out on the floor or leaning against walls around the small quarters. The extra large clear popcorn bowl was passed between people as they took heaping handfuls and dutifully filled their mouths as much as possible. The popcorn bowl paused at Teyla.

The more conversations floated about and small talk rose the more Sheppard increased the 'volume' of the game. It was becoming a vicious cycle with neither group seemingly aware of the building crescendo of noise.

Weir let her eyes scan the room taking in the mash of bodies from all different divisions of Atlantis. It eased an invisible yoke from her shoulders to see so many different groups and nationalities in the same cramped room without being ordered. It proved that the teams of Atlantis were gelling and playing nicely. At least for now.

Her smiling eyes landed on Sheppard's notorious man eating couch. Anyone who sat in the couch was virtually trapped until someone came by and helped pull them out. It had been rumored that even the infamous Ronon Dex had been snared and held captive by the dilapidated piece of off world furniture.

Normally the couch, on 'Football night' was crowded with either, Zelenka, Ronon, Teyla, Sheppard or Rodney or any combination thereabouts. The participants of 'Football night' were not restricted to those few, however. On any given such evening a mingling of military, science or any other division could be found sprawled in Sheppard's quarters reveling in 'The World Renown' Hail Mary play of the century. And if one was lucky they got to listen to the "Doug Flutie' song afterward.

Weir cringed involuntarily at the last harrowing rendition. It had been proposed, anonymously, of course, that perhaps they should record it and play it on loud speakers should the Genii or Wraith appear unexpectedly on Atlantis soil. She took it into consideration and would present it during their next session when the threat of imminent doom by invasion occurred.

Her pleas, and the pleas of others did not stop Rodney McKay or John Sheppard from gifting their audience every once in a while with a duet of "Doug Flutie." It had surprised Weir that McKay knew of the person let alone the song, until Sheppard pointed out that Flutie played for the Canadians for some time.

A fact, he truly believed all Earthlings should be privy too.

Weir figured Rodney learned the words to the song to sing out in order to irritate as many people as possible. It seemed more plausible to her. The man could be like sandpaper against a wound, whether on purpose or not. Carson had one time remarked he would like to find the gene probably responsible and mask it or at least turn down its penetrance.

Weir, more times than not, thought her chief military officer and chief scientist had a few screws loose and often acted as catalysts for one another's bizarre, unpredictable, and often times juvenile behavior. She continued to hope that Carson would remain the responsible one when any combination of the three of them gathered together. She had her fears and doubts, however. John and Rodney were a force all in of themselves.

This evening, her eyes fell to the single occupant of the man eating couch. Carson lay stretched out, arms folded crossed his chest, his jacket, unzipped and his sneakered feet were flush against the far couch arm. His head was jammed in the corner at a severe angle that promised to spasm his neck muscles when he woke up. Due to the awkward position of his head, his breath rattled harshly over slightly parted lips.

He slept oblivious to the noise and commotion around him.

The fact that he was actually asleep on the couch was astounding. It should not have been, but for the last 24 hours Weir and her other senior staff had been trying unsuccessfully to get their CMO to relax enough to sleep. Carson was nearly as bad as Rodney when over worked, underfed and too long without sleep. Okay so he wasn't as bad as Rodney, the whole hypoglycemic panic did not play into Beckett's zombie like grey state.

Weir did not pretend to understand what made the scientific and medical teams act and perform the way they did. Like the military, they pushed themselves relentlessly when a problem was faced, gnawed at it little by little, until the problem was solved, no matter how long it took. Then they would flitter off, dazed and agitated until they fell asleep. McKay was the worst, because he didn't flitter off and go to sleep, he bulldozed until he found another problem and then would try and attack that one. All the while, he would complain about his exhaustion, hunger and the lack of appreciation he perceived for all his tireless efforts.

The medical arm of the Atlantis expedition was no better, and their boss apparently had the same tenacious grasp or more appropriate bullheaded determination as Rodney McKay.

Five days ago the medical staff had been inundated with injuries from Major Lorne's team and an outbreak of fever from the mainland that had somehow bled over to some of the Atlantian teams.

McKay had fallen ill to it shortly after Sheppard some four days ago. The infirmary was swamped with the injured and the incapacitated sick.

High fever, muscle aches, and chills had knocked the victims off their feet making some of them delirious and combative. It had been frightening and disconcerting witnessing the rapid fall and descent of people who seemed healthy at dinner and delirious by breakfast.

Beckett and his team had acted quickly and efficiently, isolating the patients, and then the antigen. They effectively prevented further spread of the illness but had their hands full with the dozen or so patients that had fallen seriously ill. On the second day, Major Lorne and his team had come through the gate 'hot' with small arms fire peppering their heels.

They were battered, broken and smoking. Burns singed exposed skin. Their injuries were enough that they too were sequestered in an isolated section of the infirmary.

Medical was overwhelmed, but Beckett ran a tight ship, people knew their jobs and met the varying tasks with great efficiency and skill.

It had made Weir proud to know that she had hand picked these people and that they were capable of meeting and exceeding her expectations.

Each department on Atlantis was well run, made of exceptionally bright, hard working people and with every crisis they met, it was turned back and conquered.

These little gatherings in Sheppard's quarters also highlighted that the different departments and divisions were melding as a group, becoming a type of melting pot. Though adversity glued them together, it was not the constant binding agent needed to keep them together.

They were getting along and playing relatively well with one another.

As with the military and hard core science group--as Rodney liked to name his department--the medical wing had been hit hard with the cluster of calamities, which by themselves, were not a problem, however, occurring at the same time, threatened to overwhelm the small infirmary and its staff.

The nasty virulent bug struck indiscriminately, swiftly and left its victim needing almost constant monitoring, coupled with the admittance of a wounded team with burns and open wounds offered to swamp the medical wing and its staff. However, like the other divisions on Atlantis, the medical personal rallied around their boss and worked through the maladies.

Five days later, those struck by the 'bug' had recovered enough to be returned to their quarters once it was determined they no longer shed the disease. Major Lorne and his team were released a day later to limp their way back to their own beds to lick their wounds in private.

Five days, Beckett and his team had worked non-stop, trading a regular full night's sleep for irregular cat naps here and there when they could get them. They were just as trapped in their infirmary as their patients until they could discover how the contagion was transferred from person to person.

In that time, the cat naps that the very few remaining medical staff stole off and on were frequently interrupted and cut relentlessly short by small frantic emergencies that needed immediate attention. McKay wandering aimlessly around the infirmary with a P-90 looking for the Wraith who had Sheppard, had Beckett on his feet and talking in circles trying to wake up enough to stop intermingling Gaelic and English and to 'talk down' his friend while the rest of the staff slowly moved patients away from the Canadian's line of sight. In the end, Carson retrieved the P-90, Rodney wandered back to his assigned bed and slept and Elizabeth thought for sure she had developed an ulcer.

The fever was relentless in its grip and unnerving in its sudden potent effect on its victims. It was Sheppard who had become combative and sucker punched poor Carson sending the doctor ass over tea kettle over a desk onto the floor amongst paper, a laptop and microscope. Apparently Sheppard was mistaking the medical staff for Genii. Carson escaped with only a partially bitten tongue and knotted bruise to his jaw and microscope that would need its lenses checked and stage fixed. Laptops apparently bounced quite well.

Forty-eight hours into combating the illness, the doctors and nurses started falling ill. They were following proper quarantine but something was being missed.

Weir watched as the remaining unaffected doctors grew more angry and frustrated at trying to solve a problem that was well with in their range of expertise. If anything, they became more focused, more determined and a lot more driven.

By five days it was only three medical people on their feet to treat and care for all those that filled every bed in the infirmary.

It always struck fear into outsiders when the medical staff fell to an illness, somehow giving the 'bug' super status. Carson and Biro managed to avoid contracting the sickness. The bug had not managed to knock down the two heads of medical thus diminishing its standings as 'The Super Bug'. However, the two crises at the same time, Major Lorne's teams injuries and the sickness, had managed to drain the two doctors to the point of near blind exhaustion.

After five days, they had become so adapted to their working exhaustion that they were unable to settle down and sleep even when the crisis was over.

As a pair, they were anxious, fidgeted, some what irritable and had no appetites despite the nauseating, gnawing hunger that had them unconsciously rubbing at their stomachs periodically. They were constantly chilled-- the sapping, bone deep cold that always seemed to accompany sleep deprivation.

It drove Weir and her other executive officers crazy. Their CMO was apparently as bad as Rodney when it came to recognizing what might be best for his own personal health. Though Beckett had managed to get most of his staff back to their quarters, schedules rearranged and small inconsequential minute emergencies taken care of, the man himself was as exhausted and on edge as his still recovering staff.

Left to his own devices, he paced in his lab, achieving nothing but irritating his laboratory crew. He was banned from the infirmary but it really didn't work since he was, after all the CMO and he was only one of the few doctors on his feet. Biro had finally succumbed to her overwhelming weariness and slinked off to her quarters to sleep.

It was almost like giving in for them; admitting a type of bizarre defeat.

Like most medical professionals, the ability to work on a lack of sleep, to work days on end with minimal rest was a badge of honor. Though they all disliked it, they all embraced it. The dearth of sympathy between fellow medicos about the lack of sleep amazed Weir. It was almost like a hazing. None of them enjoyed it but it was part of the job, and separated them from their other peers.

When a crisis was over, the military got to stand down, the hard scientists got to relax and revel in their ability to save the world or galaxy, with the exception of McKay and occasionally Zelenka. Those two were worse than any five overtired nursery school age children at bed time and would not voluntarily go to sleep or even admit they were tired. Oh no. They fought and denied their overtiredness like battle wary four year olds afraid to shut their eyes in fear they might miss something important.

Weir had learned recently Carson was no different and in his field perhaps worse than the lot of them. At least Biro, Morrison and the others all eventually resigned to their quarters, and eventually surrendered to their fatigue. She knew, because she had checked on them personally.

Sometimes she felt more like a mother than she did the leader of an exceptionally brilliant and gifted expedition.

Beckett, on the other hand, was in the infirmary, working. Putting stitches in Jinto's head and playing with 'Pete' Jinto's dog in the 'waiting' area.

Carson denied his exhaustion though the complexion around his eyes was the same grey as a raining sky. He denied he was tired despite the fact his balance was no better than a sailor on a three day bender and he muttered he was fine but his attention span was shorter than a child's cartoon segment.

However, ask him how to treat a V-tach and he'd come to life and rattle off treatments, possible risks, reactions and differentials. Ask him how to heat pop tarts in a toaster and he stared at you as if you asked him to equate the elliptical orbit of Earth around the sun.

Sheppard and by default McKay had been with her when she had tracked Beckett down and found him still working in the infirmary despite all attempts to get him some down time.

It wasn't that he was being belligerent or disrespectful. It was because he could not stop. Rodney and John both understood it. Weir did not. Beckett understood it but couldn't make himself to stop. He had tried. She knew he had, just as McKay had after the Genii stormed Atlantis, or the Wraith tried to obliterate their existence shortly after. McKay had tried to rest after those harrowing days and found he could not stop moving. He paced frantically back and forth, worrying and fixing anything that came to mind. He had become hyperactive, moving about like a pinball from place to place, with no real pattern or true reason. Sheppard had watched from a short distance and shadowed him until McKay simply melted into the very couch Carson now occupied and slept for two straight days.

It was then that Weir had come to truly appreciate John Sheppard's hands off style of leading people, especially the science divisions. It was those two days that McKay slept oblivious to the world around him, entrapped and curled within the horrific eye sore of Sheppard's couch, that Elizabeth Weir understood that Sheppard cared for and watched over all the personnel of Atlantis in his own seemingly back handed way.

And it seemed once again, Sheppard and probably with the help of McKay once again stepped up to the plate and protected Atlantis from her over worked and over tired new citizens and protected said citizens from themselves.

Weir watched her CMO sleep, head and neck twisted at a painful angle, insensible to the world around him. His breathing was harsh bordering on the cusp of becoming an out right snore. Beckett slept the sleep of the dead and Weir was thankful for it.

It had to be the couch. The science and medical senior staff hardly drifted quietly off to sleep after a calamity. If she was honest with herself, they hardly did anything quietly, except perhaps cause trouble.

They got too keyed up, they became too exhausted. They functioned on rote memory, worked on instinct and moved because muscles couldn't relax. It was an oxymoron in a physical, physiological and psychological sense.

With that in mind, Weir had listened to Sheppard and McKay, earlier this morning, and heeded their advice when it came to dealing with Beckett.

Don't push him. Let Beckett go, his mind was sharp enough, his skills honed enough that he would do no harm in treating mundane cases in the day. His crew was also smart enough to keep their overtired boss away from anything complex and they were still so severely short handed that they needed his help.

If Weir pushed, then Beckett would balk and fight back without truly realizing what he was fighting for or why.

Weir followed the dynamic duo's advice and let the CMO alone. Sheppard and McKay assured her he would eventually just pass out and sleep when it was vitally needed.

Trusting their advice, but doubting her own common sense, she followed the troubled trio as they headed for Beckett's office. It seemed the good doctor had misplaced something of some importance. Weir followed, listening half heartedly as McKay asked Beckett medical questions in which Beckett rattled off clear concise treatment protocols, while he searched his cluttered desk, lifting piles of paper, pushing discs aside and tilting his microscope in search of the elusive item. As he searched, he delved into answering McKay's question, absently digging into the pathophysiology as to the cause of said medical conditions and probable outcome and side of effects of treatment. She watched as Beckett easily answered McKay's inquiries missing the fun McKay and Sheppard were having at his expense. Beckett was focused on finding his misplaced pocket version of a well creased and tea stained genetics book which he had placed in the pocket of the lab coat he wore only moments earlier. She had chuckled when Sheppard stumped the doctor with simple mundane questions such as 'How one would go about cooking toast in an oven?" It seemed John and Rodney found a way to amuse themselves which did not involve ancient technology or shoving one another off of balconies. Weir would let them have their fun for now. She left Beckett searching for his elusive well read book and John and Rodney lounging in his office having their fun while providing a type of safety net for all concerned.

It sometimes worried her about the intelligence of her crew. They were abnormally smart in most things, however, she feared Atlantis would remain in the dark if a light bulb should ever blink out. Weir silently thanked the powers above that the ancients did not utilize conventional electricity.

So it was with some surprise that she stood in John Sheppard's quarters to watch The Football game of the Century, to find Dr. Carson Beckett soundly sleeping stretched out and half swallowed in the infamous couch. He still wore his kickers, and tan and yellow jacket. His ear piece, she noticed, had been removed.