Kylie Lee | Slash fan fiction

"Doctor Beckett?"

Carson Beckett tentatively opened one eye, then immediately shut it. "Oh, it's you," he said, voice thick with scorn. "And now you 'Doctor Beckett' me. It was all 'Beckett' before, like I'm some kind of—of—" He trailed off, for once at a loss for words.

Aiden Ford sounded tentative. "I was going to ask if you're feeling all right."

"Aye, a mere concussion, nothing to worry yourself with, lad," Carson said. "I'm sure I'll be up and about in two shakes of a lamb's tail." He pulled his hand away when Aiden tried to take it.

"Because you've got all these…um…bandages."

Carson cracked one eye open. Aiden looked worried. Good.

"Ah, yes, bandages," Carson said. "Mere contusions, so don't worry your pretty little head. Although it's a sad day when Rodney McKay has to bandage your wounds." Rodney had followed up by bandaging his own wounds, because Carson had felt too ill to take care of Rodney's arm. Carson had even felt too ill to remark that one should remove the clothing from the site being bandaged. Teyla had taken him to his room—just as Teyla and that ridiculously young woman with the unlikely curly blonde hair had dragged him into the control room just before Rodney McKay electrified the whole damn place, saving their lives while he was at it.

As if reading his mind, Carson said, "Teyla said that Sora got you."

Carson frowned. "Aye, that she did. Anger management counseling, that's what that little girl needs." Sora, she of the unlikely hair, one of the Genii who'd stormed Atlantis while they battened down the hatches to ride through the storm, had hit him in the face with her weapon. He'd gone down like a stunned steer. Thanks to her, he had a concussion, and a face full of cuts and bruises. He was lucky she hadn't broken any of his teeth. "Speaking of the lassie—"

"She's being held."

"Very reassuring, that." Carson shut his eyes again. "Why did you turn the light on?" The pleading in his voice was genuine, as was his headache. It may be that he only had a concussion, but he felt nauseated, and the light certainly did not help.

"I didn't. They must have come up automatically when I came in. Here."

Carson listened to Aiden move around. Underneath his eyelids, the red signifying light dimmed to a bearable level, and Carson sighed in relief. He was finally able to open his eyes. "You're as bad as Major Sheppard, turning lights on, making equipment work," Carson said. "Are you here to apologize, then, for your behavior on this last mission?" This time, when Aiden tried to take his hand, he let him.

"No," Aiden said. "You do talk too much. And too loudly. And did I mention too much? As in nonstop."

"Am I meant to apologize?" Carson asked. During the tense few hours they'd spent trying to rescue the station from the Genii, Aiden had either been a hideously officious, snide military man, or he'd done a remarkable impersonation of one.

Aiden laughed. "God, no," he said. "Like that would ever happen." He squeezed Carson's hand.

"You've got that right." Carson gave a squeeze back.

"You did some damn fine flying, and you figured out where to find Major Sheppard."

"Yes, let's just focus on the positive, shall we?" Both the events Aiden mentioned had been flukes—sheer luck.

"We're alive, aren't we?"

Carson winced. "Some more than others."

"I'll focus on the alive part." Aiden grew serious, his smile disappearing. "I just—I didn't expect—when you're being all doctor-y, you focus. You're like a laser. You cut right to it. You do what has to be done. So when you—um—when you—"

Carson tried to shake his head. He could feel his brain moving disconcertingly inside his skull. He got what Aiden was trying to say. In his area of expertise, Carson was the boss. He snapped orders, and they were instantly obeyed. Life and death were within his realm, and he knew exactly what he had to do with the tools at hand. Aiden had expected that that no-nonsense side of his personality would assert itself in a crisis situation. But it hadn't, because Carson was only confident when he knew what the hell he was doing. He remembered all too well the crisis situation he'd begun when, on Earth in Antarctica, he'd deployed a missile. He'd nearly killed Major Sheppard and that other military guy, the big, important one, the one whose name he could never remember—Jack somebody.

"It's just that when I feel…pressured—" Carson started, but he couldn't go on. It was too much work.

Aiden stroked Carson's palm. "You're not used to combat situations," he soothed, completely misunderstanding.

"And why would I be? I'm a doctor, not a soldier."

He relaxed into his bed as Aiden's thumb began massaging his hand. It felt wonderful. And although he wouldn't tell Aiden so, he felt bad that he hadn't been able to shut up. He didn't have the soldier's training, the soldier's ability to immediately decipher cryptic hand signals, the soldier's ability to look at a weapon and immediately divine not only how to fire it, but how to load it, and how to hold it while running without shooting one's foot off. All his fear and anxiety had come spewing out in a spate of words he had been helpless to stem. He had not been soldierly at all, which Aiden had wanted him to be. He'd wanted silence and instant obedience. But Carson wasn't a soldier, and he couldn't be other than what he was.

"I would have felt better if you'd done what I said." Aiden's voice was very low. "Because you were under my protection. I'm responsible for the safety of the civilians."

"Mmm," Carson said as Aiden's fingers moved to his wrist. He didn't buy it. Aiden hadn't seemed concerned about Carson. He'd seemed angry. And he'd been none too polite about telling Carson to be quiet. "Usually you like it when I talk."

Aiden laughed. "That's true," he said. His lips brushed Carson's knuckles in a kiss. "Carson?"

"Yes, Aiden?"

"Are you really mad at me?"

"Not really, no. Are you really mad at me?"

"Kind of. Yes. I couldn't make you shut up and it bugged me. And scared me. But mostly it bugged me."

Aiden leaned over, and those wonderfully soft, full lips tenderly touched his, then touched again, then lingered. Carson twined his fingers with Aiden's as the kiss deepened. When Aiden finally sat back, Carson felt a little breathless, the way he had when he'd first caught sight of Aiden, when they'd gathered in the Gate room on Earth, ready to come to Atlantis. He'd stared, because nobody could not stare at Aiden, and Aiden had somehow felt it. He'd had turned his head, their eyes had met, and Carson hadn't looked away. Aiden had looked him over, then smiled, slow and sweet, and Carson had inclined his head. It was the universal message, understood everywhere by men who wanted to be with men. After that, it had only been a matter of time—that, and finding privacy. And after that, it had only been a matter of time before it wasn't just about the sex.

When Aiden came up for air, Carson said, "If you're mad at me, you shouldn't kiss me in such a way. It sends a mixed message. Very confusing, that."

"I just wanted to make sure," Aiden said.

"Make sure of what?"

"That we could see the worst of each other and still want to do this."

Aiden leaned down again. Carson wasn't sure if it was his concussion or the kiss, but he felt a little dizzy, as if the room were spinning in a huge circle.

"I'm thinking we can." Carson touched the faint stubble on Aiden's cheek. "Come into bed with me," he invited. He watched with undisguised appreciation as Aiden stripped down to his underwear and socks. The mattress dipped under Aiden's weight as he climbed in next to Carson. He wasn't at all surprised to feel Aiden's penis solidify into a proper erection as Aiden began stroking his skin, reaching up under his T-shirt to touch his back. "I'm not up to it, lad," he murmured as Aiden hitched closer. Carson felt his own penis stir, but it made his head thump. He'd taken something for his headache, but he still felt awful. "I'm not a well man."

"I can't help it," Aiden said. "There's this whole hurt-comfort thing going. To see you so helpless and in so much pain—well, what can I say. I kind of like it."

Carson pulled Aiden into his chest. "Try here," he suggested, moving Aiden's hand to his temple. "Ah." He sighed in absolute bliss as Aiden rubbed. The warmth of his hands and of his body against Carson's felt heavenly. "My headache," he explained apologetically. "I feel quite ill."

"I'll take care of you," Aiden whispered. "Fetch your slippers. Bring you kippers when you're hungry. That kind of thing."

Carson put his hand on Aiden's chest as Aiden continued to rub. That's all Aiden had been doing: trying to take care of him, keep him safe, while trying to take care of everyone else at the same time. That was why Carson wasn't really angry with him. All Aiden needed was the experience of leadership to give him real authority.

"Shall I tell you about what I'd like to do to you if I felt like myself?" Carson said.

"Mmm. Yes, please," Aiden said. "Because I know I can't shut you up."