Beckett's Journal

by Kate Kernshaw

URL: http://www.area52hkh.net/ask/kkernshaw/journal.php
Summary: An entry from Dr. Carson Beckett's personal journal

From the personal journal of Carson Beckett:

I hear the grumbling of others about having to write these personal "mental health" journals. Although I support the premise, it was never *my idea*, contrary to popular belief.

Well, I suppose in a way it is my fault.

I've kept a personal journal ever since I was a wee lad. It was quite by accident that Doctor Weir arrived one evening in the infirmary and discovered me typing my thoughts into my journal, and I told her how if oft served as a therapeutic means for me to relieve daily stress and cope with everything from fear to loneliness.

She mentioned that it might be a good idea for everyone to do the same and we discussed that idea at length. I had no idea she would make it mandatory and mention my name in the process. I told Doctor Weir I couldn't be party to invading people's private thoughts, and I reminded her of the reason. Had she not heard of the Hippocratic Oath?

What a daft notion. Aye, but it's done now and nothing can change it.

***

I hate traveling through the star gate. I don't mind visiting new worlds and cultures, per se. It's the matter of scrambling my molecules into energy and sending it millions of light years through that blasted wormhole that frightens the bejesus out of me. Bloody insanity is what it is. Nonetheless, I agreed to go to Hoff and work with their researchers on a possible immunity drug that could defeat the Wraith.

There I met Perna.

I don't know what came over me, but when I first set eyes on Perna I lost all common sense, as well as the ability to speak in a sensible fashion. That never happened to me before, at least, not with a woman. Then again, Perna was a medical research scientist--a kindred spirit. I'd never loved a woman before, and technically I still haven't as Perna and I never shared intimate relations. What we had was more a mutual mindset than anything else.

Her death was devastating, but it freed me from the guilt of having to tell her we could never have a future together. How could I tell her that what I felt for her was nothing more than a lustful attraction? How could I explain that I couldn't give her the true love she deserved as I'd already given my heart to another?

Yes, I love someone else.

I suppose now is as good a time as any to admit that I'm homosexual. Perhaps I should consider myself bisexual now; after all, I was attracted to Perna, who was quite the feminine woman. Not a bit mannish, in looks or demeanor. Not a bit like the man who even now stirs feelings of desire and love within me.

Therein lay the paradox--lusting for Perna after falling in love with the most wonderful man.

***

I was attracted to his handsome face and boyish charm in Antarctica, where we met quite by accident. Since coming to Atlantis, our respective positions often threw us together, and we became friends. Before long I came to respect and admire him for his intelligence, dedication, and courage.

He has a natural ability to brighten my day and lighten my mood. He listens, not only to my words, but also to all the unspoken signals, and knows when to offer advice over a cup of coffee, or silent support through a reassuring touch.

And when he looks at me, or calls me by my given name, a thrill passes through me, making me feel all tingly inside, making me feel special, like I was the center of his universe.

Of course, I know better. We're casual friends, nothing more than expedition colleagues, and he's never given me cause to believe he feels more than mere friendship.

After the first time he nearly died, I realized my feelings of friendship for him had turned to love. I can't tell him how I feel, although I wonder if he's guessed and now feels awkward about it. He still treats me as his friend but spends less time with me, always finding an excuse to be elsewhere. In the presence of others, we converse and share a laugh or two but nothing more. He visits the sick and injured but otherwise can't stand to be in my infirmary a second longer than necessary.

My love hasn't lessened but it remains unrequited.

***

I miss home. Not just Earth, but my home in Scotland. I miss Mum and her cooking. I miss the wee comforts: real tea, fresh scones, and warm shortbread. I miss coming home on a cold winter's eve after a long shift and getting into my baffies, feeling my toes get all warmed and relaxed. But the fewer personal items I brought with me meant that much more space for medical supplies, and I felt the minor sacrifice was worth it. I miss the odd night out with the lads down at the local, enjoying a bellywasher or two over a few matches of darts.

I miss my old life.

***

I've made many friends, or perhaps I should amend that to acquaintances, but it's not quite the same. Now it seems all I do is work. It's a good thing I love what I do because I spend long hours in the infirmary taking care of patients. In my spare time I'm immersed in research in the medical laboratory.

After discovering the Ancients' Technology Activation gene, I began research to refine an artificial ATA gene that would allow our expedition members who do not have the natural gene to use the Ancients' technology. Despite my warnings that something could go awry, Rodney volunteered to be the first human test subject, anxious to see if the gene would work while worrying about what could go wrong.

The gene therapy was a success, and I hoped that my beloved would recognize that I do more than dispense medications, give inoculations, and bandage wounds, but he barely acknowledged my accomplishment. Instead, he and his love ran off together, a right gleeful pair of lads, to play with their shiny new toy.

Yes, the man I love has found love with another man here in Atlantis.

It hurts when they go off world together on their dangerous missions, and I worry, wondering if my beloved will return safe and unharmed, or if I'll be faced with the inevitable task of patching him up once again.

I feel the sexual tension that runs rampant between my beloved and his love while they fuss at each other. I observe from a distance as they exchange warm glances and gentle touches, while I watch offside and keep silent. It hurts knowing my beloved can't feel for me what he feels for him.

We're in a galaxy far away, cut off from our friends, family, and loved ones. We may never be able to return home. To compensate, we seek out contact with others for friendship and love. As we say in Scotland, "Love of our neighbor is the only door out of the dungeon of self." It's good that the men and women of Atlantis are able to find love, joy, and perhaps even happiness wherever, and with whomever, they can.

I'm disappointed for myself, but I don't begrudge them a life together.

***

Rumours abound that I'm reading everyone's most intimate thoughts on a daily basis. Heaven's above, it astounds me that anyone would think I have so little to do that I need to fill my days invading their privacy. It's the reason I'm treated differently now than before Doctor Weir requested everyone keep a personal journal for the sake of his or her mental health.

Where Rodney regularly stopped by for a coffee and a chat, he now ignores me. I miss our talks and his teasing ways. I even miss his self-absorbed ramblings and chronic snacking. He'd hate me all the more if I were to suggest he join me in the diet and exercise regime I recently prescribed for myself. Best not push my luck. I feel I've already lost my best friend, which saddens me.

The other scientists and engineers follow Rodney's lead. Unless it's a medical problem that needs tending, Zelenka, Grodin, Simpson--hell, even Kavanagh--avoid me. Young Lieutenant Ford always had an easy smile and a ready joke; now he glares at me, sulky and solemn--traits I thought impossible for the gregarious youngster. He's polite about it, though, unlike Markham, Stackhouse, Bates, and a few of the other military members.

I won't even mention how my beloved major treats me these days. Suffice it to say the man's eyes flash mental daggers that cut right to the quick.

I'm not sure I can survive many more of those.

Wherever I go in Atlantis, I face barely suppressed anger and suspicion. No doubt everyone wonders how I'll use the information I glean from their diaries, and whose secrets I'll divulge or make sport of, despite my not being a part of this *mental health program*.

Even my own medical staff treads a wee bit wary around me. I feel like I'm a pariah, *persona non grata*. I understand and share their concerns, but I can't seem to make anyone believe that no one, including Doctor Weir, is going to wield their innermost thoughts like a weapon against them, especially me.

People will believe what they want to believe.

***

As the chief medical officer of this expedition, I am everyone's doctor and must adhere to the tenets of the medical association. That includes the rule about sexual relationships between doctors and their patients compromising the professional relationship. It ranks in importance with patient-doctor trust and confidentiality.

What it really means in the context of our situation is that I will experience firsthand the true depths of loneliness. The reactions of my fellow expedition members to this mandatory *mental health program* have given me an inkling of what to expect.

I pray we find a way home before I go mad.

Fin