Dr. Beckett's lab mice are the only Earth animal allowed in Atlantis. Radek watches them squeaking and tumbling over one another in their cages, small, sleek, and white. In spite of all the antiseptics and cleaning chemicals, Bio Lab Five smells faintly musty from them and their bedding.

It's not entirely unpleasant; the scent makes him think of his grandmother's tiny apartment in Prague, filled with ancient overstuffed chairs, bits of lacework, and faded photographs of relatives they'd lost to wars or regimes. It makes him remember unbearably long Sunday afternoons spent there dressed in his best suit, behaving himself when he'd much rather be taking things apart and putting them back together again in his uncle Matej's shop.

He's finished with his repair work, ready to leave, but Radek sets his backpack filled with tools on one of the less-cluttered benches and steps closer to look. They are such small creatures, but ah, the potential carried within their little bodies-these are Beckett's ATA mice, his gene therapy reservoir. Radek presses his hand to the glass of one cage, and thinks, why could it not work for me?

But it is pointless to dwell on what could have been instead of what actually is, and Radek has always prided himself on being a supremely practical man. The fact is that the therapy did not succeed for him, and so he deals with Atlantis and her glorious technologies as best he can. It is like working blind in horribly thick, heavily insulated rubber gloves, but still, he manages, as he always does, as he always will. If he feels a flash of jealousy when things respond so much more quickly for Rodney, he buries it and works harder, as he does when Atlantis blooms like one of his mother's roses for Major Sheppard.

"Radek, what are you doing here?" Dr. Beckett's lilting brogue coming unexpectedly from the doorway makes Radek jump, then turn. A tingle of surprise crawls down his spine, and his heart beats rapidly beneath his ribs. Beckett is not a small man, but even in boots, his feet are almost always silent on the tiles, and so he frequently startles people who do not see him coming.

"Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean to startle you so. My nurses insist they intend to bell me, as the cat in the fable, because they say my sneaking about puts grey in their hair." His lab coat, spotlessly white, swirls around his legs as he enters. Radek has a couple of such coats in his quarters, but seldom bothers with them; he is always crawling around, over, and through things to repair or find ways to coordinate Atlantis' tech to theirs, is always covered in dust and oil and so such a garment is not suitable for him. But it looks very fine, very suitable, on Dr. Beckett.

"I think perhaps that is excellent idea." Radek offers a smile; Beckett, with his easy charm and relaxed air, is a favorite in Atlantis, and he, no less than anyone else, enjoys the natural warmth of the man. "And as for why I am here-I believe you called for repairs. Unfriendly interfaces, yes?"

"Oh, the damn bloody things. Dr. Nykanen nearly electrocuted himself last night. Got himself some fairly nasty electrical burns. But, he'll be fine. I just didn't want it to happen to anyone else."

"Not so unfriendly, now," Radek says, nodding towards one of the terminals, where data slowly scrolls over the screen. "I believe it has better manners after I give it a stern scolding." And it is indeed better-behaved after a judicious amount of swearing and threats, and after a good two hours of work half-buried in the console, figuring out where the problem lay.

Dr. Beckett laughs, and the warmth is a startling contrast to the sterile white environment. "Well, I'm glad of that, and grateful. But I rather expected you to send a tech, instead of coming down yourself. I'm certain this is a bit low on your scale of priorities."

"Ah, yes. Well. Perhaps so, in the grand scheme. But sometimes for the sake of one's sanity-and to prevent landing in the brig due to charges of homicide-it is best to remove oneself to a...less central location." He scrubs a hand through his unruly hair and offers a crooked smile.

The corners of Beckett's startlingly blue eyes crinkle in amusement. His return smile is bright and understanding. "Himself is in fine form, I take it, then. Probably a wise choice, then to get a bit of peace and quiet."

"Very much so. I am here, and it is quiet, but for squeaking. Not such a bad noise, in comparison to yelling in Lab One, of which I must claim fair share." His shoulder moves in a shrug. "Not so innocent, myself."

"None of us are wholly innocent, lad," Beckett says, and moves to stand next to Radek at the cage. Radek finds it amusing, and perhaps a little endearing, that Beckett calls everyone "lad," regardless of his age, and no one ever seems to take offense, not even hedgehog Kavanagh. He is himself a little older than Beckett, and does not mind. "Watching the mice, eh?"

"Small lives, but so important," Radek replies. He looks up and sees Beckett watching him. His face is too kind, his eyes too perceptive, and Radek cannot understand how Rodney can underestimate Beckett, be so impatient with him at times. Such close scrutiny makes him uncomfortable, and so Radek turns his attention back to the mice before him. His cheeks burn, just a little.

Beckett turns from him and opens the top of the cage. He reaches in, and captures one white mouse. It wriggles in his hand as he takes it out, but settles quickly in Beckett's gentle grasp. Its little pink-flushed ears twitch, and its nose sniffs at the air. Beckett has large, broad hands, but they are absolutely steady, his touch deft. Were he not a surgeon, with those hands, he would have been an excellent engineer.

"I keep working on the gene therapy, when I can spare the time," Beckett says softly. "I try to refine the research, but I'm afraid that at this point, I can't bring it up beyond forty-eight percent effectiveness." His thumb strokes the top of the little white wedge-shaped head. "If you'd like, we could try again, and perhaps this time...."

Radek shakes his head. "No. If it did not work after two attempts, I suspect that third time will be equally unsuccessful. There is no point in wasting your time and mine."

Those blue, blue eyes fasten on him, and Radek feels a little jolt low in his belly. He's not sure if he likes it, or not. He hasn't felt its like for a long time. "I'm incredibly sorry that the therapy didn't take, Radek," Beckett says, and Radek has to look away, because Beckett really is sorry, and Radek doesn't want to see regret shade into pity. "It would make your work so much easier, if it had."

"Yes, well." Radek makes a flapping, dismissive gesture with one hand. "It is fine. Atlantis may not love me as well as others, but she and I are still very good friends." The corner of his mouth quirks upward. "Mostly," he adds, honestly.

Beckett smiles. He turns and replaces the mouse back into its cage, then slathers his hands with gel sterilizer from a pump bottle on the lab bench. "Good friendships often turn into more, as me grandmum often said, so don't give up quite yet."

Radek picks up his backpack of tools and diagnostic equipment, and slings it over one shoulder. "Grandmothers, in spite of serving bad tea and stale biscuits and smelling too strongly of lilacs, often are very wise."

"Aye," Beckett says. "So are you back to Lab One for more yelling with Himself?"

Radek rolls his eyes. "Loud discussions are inevitable, with Rodney. Brilliant mind, but raised by wolves, I think. Does not do to show weakness. But on whole, we work very well together. I cannot complain too much."

Radek realizes that he has been watching the movement of Beckett's hands as he scrubs in the gel. He glances upward, and finds Beckett smiling at him. It is a warm expression.

"I was just about to go to the mess for lunch," Beckett says easily. "I wouldn't mind company, and you could probably use a bit of fortifying before returning to Round Two this afternoon."

"Perhaps so," Radek says slowly, and Beckett looks pleased. That little feeling in his stomach tugs more strongly, and Radek thinks that perhaps, he might like it, after all. "Thank you, Dr. Beckett, for the invitation."

"Radek," Beckett says, his lilting voice reproving, "you're almost the only one left here who calls me 'Dr. Beckett.' I'm certain I wouldn't mind if you called me by my given name. That is, after all, what friends do."

Becket--Carson--stands there with his head tipped a little to the side, waiting, his mouth curved into a smile. "Carson," Radek says, and the smile becomes a grin.

"That's a lad," Carson says, and for a moment, his hand rests lightly on the small of Radek's back, warm and strong.