Standard fanfic disclaimerthat wouldn't last ten seconds in a court of law: these aren't my characters. I'm just borrowing them for um, er, typing practice. Yeah, that's it, typing practice. They will be returned to their original owners relatively undamaged, or at least suitably bandaged. This story was originally published in Redemption #12, and was a FanQ nominee for Best SG-1 Story. (I lost to the inimitable and prolific Sheila Paulson, noted Sentinel, Ghostbusters, B7, Master, Rat Patrol, LOTR, Grimm, etc. author.)
Teal'c in a Kilt
Stargate SG-1 (second season)
Susan M. M.
for Edward, an duine agam
Teal'c finished chewing and swallowing his Cocoa Krispies. As he reached for a packet of grape jelly to spread on his English muffin, he turned toward his best friend on this planet. "I have seen something I do not understand."
"Oh?" Lt. Col. Jack O'Neill was stirring brown sugar into his oatmeal. "What was that?"
"The MWR bulletin board had a sign up about discount tickets for the Highland Games. What are Highland Games?"
"Guys in skirts throwing telephone poles," O'Neill replied.
Captain Samantha Carter looked up from her yogurt. "It's called a kilt, not a skirt."
"What's MWR?" Dr. Daniel Jackson asked simultaneously.
"Morale, Welfare, and Recreation," O'Neill explained. He was a tall man in his late forties, with sandy brown hair that was beginning to go white. "They try to organize off-duty activities at a reasonable price, like discount tickets for Highland Games or the zoo. Things that are good, clean fun, so R & R isn't just," he lowered his voice, "I & I."
"Intercourse and Intoxication," Carter said before Daniel could ask.
"Off-duty Jaffa also engage in such activities," Teal'c informed them. "But I still do not know what Highland Games are."
"It's a cultural festival for people of Scottish descent." Daniel sipped his coffee. Although he was a civilian, he wore green fatigues, just like his companions. "In olden days, clans would gather in the Scottish highlands. There were competitions where each clan showed off the skills of their best warriors. Tossing a caber - which Jack called a telephone pole. Throwing hammers or heavy stones. Sword dancing. Races."
"Sword dancing?" Teal'c repeated.
"Nowadays, the emphasis is on the cultural aspects of Scottish heritage: music, dancing, traditional food and clothing," Daniel continued.
"I would see this," Teal'c announced.
"It's a Highland Games. You'd have to put up with bagpipes," O'Neill complained.
"I like bagpipes," Sam protested.
"What are bagpipes?" Teal'c asked.
"A musical instrument," Daniel said.
"That's a matter of opinion." O'Neill took another spoonful of oatmeal.
Teal'c raised one eyebrow. "I would see this sword dancing and hear these bagpipes."
"General Hammond might - "
"I have seen very little of your planet," Teal'c interrupted. "I would see this."
He sounded very determined.
"Indeed," O'Neill conceded.
SG-1 SG-1 SG-1 SG-1
O'Neill tapped at the half-open door. "Sir? You got a minute?"
"Come in, Colonel." General George Hammond sat behind an oak desk. "Is something wrong?"
"Well, sir, Teal'c has a request. I told him I'd ask, but I couldn't promise you'd say yes - security issues and all - but - "
"Would you get to the point, Colonel?" the middle-aged, balding general demanded.
"Teal'c wants to go to the Highland Games." O'Neill managed to get all nine syllables out in one breath. "I told him you'd probably have to say no, but - "
"The Long Peak Scottish-Irish Festival up in Estes Park?" Hammond asked.
"Uh, yeah." O'Neill was surprised by the question. It wasn't like there were seven or eight Highland Games in the area to choose from. At least, he didn't think there were. He was also surprised that the general knew the full name of the games and could rattle it off so easily.
"Of course he can go," the general declared. "He'll need you or Dr. Jackson to accompany him, of course."
O'Neill nodded.
"Come to think of it, it might be best if all of SG-1 accompanied him. Think of it as an on-world mission."
"An on-world mission, sir?"
"Going to the Highland Games will be good for Teal'c. Let him see some of this world at its best. You get the tickets from the MWR office, and I'll arrange for some funds for petty cash so you can get some shortbread and meat pies." Hammond returned his attention to his paperwork. Half a minute later, he looked up. "Dismissed, Colonel."
"Sir." O'Neill left the room, shaking his head. He just couldn't imagine Teal'c in a kilt.
SG-1 SG-1 SG-1 SG-1
The second weekend of September was bright and sunny. A cool breeze blew down off the mountains, keeping the sun from being too hot.
SG-1 had left their jackets in the car. All four were wearing blue jeans and T-shirts. Teal'c wore a baseball cap to hide the golden tattoo that marked him as the former First Prime of Apophis.
Carter glanced down at the program booklet. "What would we like to see first? Athletics, dancing, sheepherding exhibitions, music, what?"
"Well, we're hearing the bagpipes, as requested," O'Neill pointed out to Teal'c. The sound of the pipes had permeated the air since before they pulled into the parking lot. "So what's next, sword dancing or caber tossing?"
"Sword dancing," Teal'c decreed.
Carter checked the map in the program. "We need to go past the Glen of the Clans to get to the dance competitions." She wore a gray NASA T-shirt, which was covered with mathematical and scientific formulas, and the question, 'Just what part of' followed by twelve formulas (only two of which O'Neill could recognize or comprehend), and then 'don't you understand?' On the back, it said, 'It's only rocket science' and identified the formulas for escape velocity, Newton's second law of motion, etc.
Even with the explanations on back, O'Neill still couldn't understand the equations on the front. Nm = v/c; F = q x Ve + (Pe - Pa) x Ae; FD = C (v2 /2) x A. However, he had no complaints about the way she filled the T-shirt ... not that he was about to tell her that. The colonel may not have been a rocket scientist, but he wasn't that stupid. He himself wore an white T-shirt with the letters USAF on it in red, white, and blue striped letters.
Teal'c wore a plain black T-shirt. Daniel, however, had gotten more into the spirit of the day. His T-shirt showed Spock holding his fingers in a Vulcan salute, and the words 'saoghal fada is soirbheas' at the top, and the English translation 'live long and prosper' at the bottom.
Gaily colored tents stretched as far as the eye could see. Most were just poles and roofs without sides. Folding tables in the front of the tents were covered with pamphlets, posters, and flags. Plastic storage containers were under the tables. Folding chairs and more tables were in the back. Some of the larger tents had an additional tent or tents behind the main tent. Some had scale models on display - Dunvegan Castle for Clan MacLeod, Blair Atholl for Clan Murray. There were life-size cardboard cut-outs of Mel Gibson from Braveheart at Clan Wallace and Liam Neeson from Rob Roy at Clan MacGregor.
Teal'c turned his head from side to side, examining everything. The Celtic crosses on top of some tables, the toy Scottish terriers and stuffed Loch Ness monsters on others. Flags blowing in the wind: the Stars and Stripes, the blue and white St. Andrew's flag, the red lion on the yellow banner that theoretically should only be flown by Queen Elizabeth but hung from nearly half the clan tents, the Irish tricolor. Shortbread in bright red Walker's wrapping. Bowls of candy. Baskethilt swords.
"Mommy! Dog!" a little girl cried out in sheer terror.
"It's on a leash, Megan. It can't hurt you," her mother replied in a weary tone. "C'mon, we need to get to the clan tent."
The four looked to see what had frightened the little girl so much. Carter grinned when she saw the ferocious canine was a tiny West Highland White Terrier, no bigger than a toy poodle.
"Is correct spelling of such importance to the Scots?" Teal'c asked.
"Standardized spelling is a fairly modern invention. Most of these clans have two or three alternate spellings of their surnames," Daniel explained. "Why?"
"Nearly every tent has dictionary." Teal'c pointed to the large, dictionary-sized book on the nearest table, which was being used as a paperweight to hold down membership applications.
"That's not a dictionary. It's Black's," O'Neill said.
" Black's?" Carter repeated.
" Black's Surnames of Scotland," O'Neill told her.
Carter looked up at O'Neill, a curious expression in her blue eyes. For someone who called a kilt a skirt and who openly doubted that the bagpipes were a musical instrument, the colonel knew enough about Highland Games to recognize a book nearly every clan tent had when he was too far away to read the cover.
The wind kicked up. At every clan tent, people rushed to grab papers that were blowing away. Bowls of Tootsie Rolls and stuffed Scottish terriers were pressed into service as makeshift paperweights. Hats blew off, and people ran chasing after them. Some of the clan tents started to blow away.
Teal'c and O'Neill saw that the nearest tent was being uprooted, and grabbed hold before the wind stole it away. Teal'c and O'Neill held it down as the clan tent cavaliers hammered the stakes back in, more securely this time.
"Tapadh leibh," a man in the blue and green Murray of Atholl kilt thanked them in mispronounced Gaelic.
" 'Preciate the help," added a man in blue jeans, wearing a black T-shirt with an embarrassingly well-endowed mermaid. "Have some M&Ms."
"M&Ms are our clan candy. Hi, Pamela Murray," a woman wearing a red kilted skirt in the Murray of Tullibardine tartan introduced herself. "The initials stand for Mars and Murrie. We also have cookies, if you're hungry." She gestured at molasses cookies shaped like thistles and red packages of Walker's Shortbread. She looked familiar, and after a moment Teal'c recognized her as the mother of the child who'd been frightened by the dog.
Carter and Daniel were at the Clan Fraser tent, helping two men - one in blue jeans and a T-shirt, one in a red Fraser of Lovat kilt and a Jacobite shirt -hold down the tent while a dark haired man in a RCMP uniform hammered the tent stakes back in.
"Thank you kindly," the Mountie told Carter and Daniel.
SG-1 continued walking through the Glen of the Clans. Teal'c glanced at each tent: clan societies, sister-city tents, Highland Heather Travel Agency, the Scottish-American Military Society, the Royal Scottish Country Dance Society. Unsure which questions to ask first, he said nothing.
When they reached the dance stage, five little girls in kilted skirts were dancing. None of them were above thirteen. A lone piper stood on the corner of the stage, playing "Mairi's Wedding." The judges sat behind a folding table. The audience was made up of parents and grandparents, either in folding chairs or sitting on the grass.
In the audience was General George Hammond. He was out of uniform, wearing khaki slacks and a white polo shirt with a clan crest for Clan Buchanan embroidered on the front. He saw them and waved.
SG-1 walked up to him and greeted him quietly.
"I see you made it safely."
"Yes, sir," O'Neill agreed.
"That's my granddaughter Tessa, the one in red." The general pointed to the second girl on the left, the one wearing a red velvet vest over a white blouse and a red and white plaid skirt. She held her arms high above her head and leapt nimbly from one foot to the other.
Teal'c glanced at the other dancers waiting for their turns. Most were girls dressed in a similar fashion to Tessa. None were out of high school. None were warriors. Indeed, he very much doubted that any of them were even in training to become warriors.
The girls danced circles around each other in a figure eight pattern. The music drew to a halt. They bowed to each other, then to the audience. The parents and grandparents applauded wildly. SG-1 clapped politely.
"I had hoped to see the sword dancing," Teal'c admitted.
Hammond checked a schedule. "That's not until eleven o'clock, at least not for the competition. I believe they're having a demonstration of different types of dancing on the main stage later. I'm not sure if that will include sword dancing or not."
SG-1 exchanged glances. None of them had anticipated a children's competition for the dancing, and general's granddaughter or not, none of them were very much interested.
Carter glanced at the program book. "Why don't we check out the caber toss, and maybe get some shortbread, then come back later?"
"The caber toss." Teal'c thought a moment, remembering. "That is what you described as throwing a telephone pole."
O'Neill nodded.
"Very well," Teal'c agreed.
"Okay by me," Daniel agreed, although no one had asked him.
"General, we'll see you later," O'Neill said.
General Hammond merely nodded a goodbye. SG-1 walked off. Checking the map, Carter directed them through the vendors' tents to get to the athletics field.