oOo

He looked up just in time to just miss plowing into Dr. Biro coming out of the mess hall with a brimming cup of coffee. She shrieked a little in surprise and he muttered an apology. Usually he would have stopped and made small talk with one of his staff, but he could still feel the anger fizzing and snapping around him like an electrical current.

Grateful no one else seemed intent on speaking to him, he grabbed a mug from the neatly arranged pyramid and managed to knock three more off onto the table where they rolled and clanked. He took a deep breath and ignoring the scattered mugs, banged his own against the metal spout. The clatter of porcelain against metal set his teeth on edge. He snatched several sugar packets, ripping them open and trying not to picture cramming them into Sheppard's mouth to shut him up. Fine white grains showered the table, but he ignored them as he dumped everything into the cup and tossed the crumpled packets onto the table. Several other expedition members were in the cafeteria, and he glared at them. They were carefully avoiding his eyes, though he caught one or two looking away too quickly. He sighed, leaning forward to rest his forehead in his hands. He didn't like being angry.

"Look at the little corpses strewn around. If we could just set you loose on the wraith…" and McKay plopped down a heaping tray beside Beckett, who just glared at him.

"That's a pretty good glare o' death. Almost as good as mine, but if you REALLY want to look mean, Carson, you'll have to overcome your innate sheep-romancing niceness."

"I'm not in the mood for this right now, Rodney, so why don't ye take your trough and go sit at another table."

McKay paused, Danish halfway to his mouth and dripping filling. "You must be joking. I think this is the only time I could sit with you and NOT have you criticize my diet."

"Quite honestly, Rodney, at the moment I wouldna care if ye used arsenic for powdered sugar on your doughnut."

McKay wolfed down another bite, then gently poked a muffin over towards Carson. "Here. It takes fuel to stay that pissed off." He leaned back, looked around, and spotting one of the lab techs from his department, gestured her over. Grabbing a lapel, McKay yanked the girl down and muttered something in her ear. She looked baffled. He looked annoyed, muttered a little more and then she nodded in understanding and raced off. He turned back to Beckett. "Sheppard, right? He's the only one who could piss me off that bad."

His hands were still shaking and Beckett casually swept the spilled sugar onto the floor to hide it. "Aye, we had a bit of a row," and clamping his hands around the mug, Beckett took a long drink without meeting McKay's eyes.

McKay smirked. "Thought so. I'm always right."

Beckett nearly snorted the tea out his nose. "Hardly. Ye're always whining, ye're always complaining, but ye're NOT always right. For that matter," and Beckett felt his skin prickling again at the remembered anger, "Sheppard always thinks he's right too. Bloody pair of fools," he snapped, slamming the mug down on the table. He looked at the new puddle of tea and gritted his teeth.

"See, the difference between me and Sheppard is that, despite your attempt to remind me of humility, I'm right and he's wrong. We both know he's an asshole. It's a congenital defect. How did his disability affect you this time?"

Beckett rolled his eyes. "Oh for pity's sake, Rodney. The pot calling the kettle black if I ever heard it. I mean, if I didna know better, I'd think that's what you had your doctorate in!"

McKay eyed him sideways, licked powder sugar from his lips but missed the patch on the tip of his nose. "How do you know I don't have a doctorate in it? I AM a genius."

"Oh, now it all makes sense. Major in astrophysics, minor in assholeology?" retorted Beckett. "Just shut your gaum and let me drink my tea in peace! I didna come looking to talk to anyone."

"No, you came in to slaughter harmless food packaging and spill tea all over. That'll attract ants, by the way. And you can sulk with me here too, but I need ammunition on Sheppard. Besides, if your bad attitude is likely to have a long half life I really want to know about it before my next physical. I do NOT need a homicidal sheep humper telling me to turn my head and cough."

"Good God, man, can't ye shut the bloody hell up! Just…," and Beckett got up and moved to another table, pointedly sitting with his back to McKay.

McKay moved over to beside him again. "And miss all this? Are you kidding? Seriously, he's obnoxious. I'm just trying to head off the potential massacre in reaction."

Beckett folded his arms on the table and slumped forward. "Oh for the love of God," he moaned. "Why can't ye just leave me alone, Rodney. Go eat," and he shifted to eye McKay's tray, "whatever the hell that mess is, and just leave me alone!"

McKay perused a muffin. "I knew you couldn't resist commenting on my meal." He hovered a hand then snatched up the sandwich that actually had protein and pushed the muffin back over, shooting a surprisingly sympathetic look at Carson. "Though I must say, the Colonel appears to have outdone himself this time. If it helps, I can lure him into a highly uncomfortable encounter with what might be an Ancient nose hair trimmer." Rodney sighed. "Though knowing you, you'll probably be a pacifist who believes that reform can only occur through gentle persuasion. You should take my word for it. The Colonel's like a bad puppy. You need physical force. I was always a cat man myself, but I understand how to reinforce conditioning. Same thing works with lab techs."

Beckett hesitated for a moment, then picked up the muffin and began systematically to disintegrate it. "It's not like ye're setting the world on fire with your people skills, Rodney," he mumbled, "so ye'll understand if I don't adopt your techniques."

McKay snorted. "There's a difference between the world and the Colonel. But okay, if spilling tea and abusing food products works for you . . . though myself, this concerns me. I do take an interest when key personnel on whom my health and comfort rely are affected."

Beckett scowled in disgust. "And God forbid your comfort might be affected. Besides, it's not like there isn't an infirmary full of medical personnel to cater to your every whim and imagined symptom."

"Of course, I do realize that it can be difficult to communicate. He's military. You, for all your reliance on pseudo-science, are a fairly competent practitioner of something like science. The culture gap is huge. I can offer my services as a translator . . . I've noted that the anthropologists don't have the right range of grunts and crotch scratching to convey military concepts. But really - " McKay eyed him again. "Just sucking up caffeine and sugar and abusing inanimate objects usually isn't quite enough. Sheppard goes and lets Teyla hurt him when he gets pissed. Myself, I prefer a more effective and less masochistic method. In the spirit of friendship, therefore, I am here to offer you my services as a teacher and listening ear."

"'As teacher,'" Beckett echoed, slightly incredulous. "Aye, and ye've had such a rewarding relationship with the colonel. I personally like to think of when he left ye hanging in the tree as a shining example of how well YE communicate with him."

McKay looked up, took a well-wrinkled brown paper lunch sack from the tech who'd come back in, and looked Beckett in the eye. "At least I could tell him to his face that I was pissed off, Carson. How about you?"

"Mind your own bluidy business, McKay," Carson retorted. His hands started shaking again and he scrubbed viciously at the stubble on his jaw line where his skin was prickling.

McKay was eyeing him. "Huh. You sound like Scotty when you get really wound up. Between you doing Scotty and the colonel's Captain Kirk, we've almost got a cast reunion! Now we just need to see if we can get Biro to do Spock." McKay looked down at his tray, then sighed and dropped his sandwich. "Carson, in case you haven't noticed, you are my business. Everybody on Atlantis is my business, same way all of us are your business." He looked up. "So what happened?"

"Have I told you that you're an asshole, Rodney? Ass-hole. It's a medical term."

McKay smiled widely. "Thank you! So kind of you to notice! I work hard at my craft."

"Oh, God. I may have to become Buddhist. God couldn't possibly be cruel enough to be visiting you on me as a trial, so you must be revenge for a dissolute past life. You and the colonel."

"Yeah, the colonel." McKay's smile faded. He poked at his meal again. "You were talking about responsibility, weren't you, Carson?"

Beckett shrugged, felt heat passing up into his face. It was foolish to be so angry, just because the colonel didn't understand, or because he did understand, and still didn't care. He didn't want to talk to Rodney about this. Didn't want to talk about it at all. And like a drench of cold water, he realized he was ashamed.

McKay wasn't watching him. He had opened the paper bag the tech had brought, and was chortling as he pulled out a bottle. "Oh yeah, Radek, you are good."

He wrenched the bottle open and leaned over to pour a generous tot in Beckett's tea. "Here. The shrinks are full of shit when they say this stuff doesn't help."

Beckett opened, then closed his mouth. Looked at the mug and took a long pull. It was hot and bitter and after he swallowed, he could feel the heat spreading out through his body. The taste on his tongue was smoky and reminded him of home. He took another long drink, burning his mouth and welcoming the pain.

McKay smiled, a tiny quirk of the corner of his mouth and poked at the wreckage on his tray. When he spoke, his voice was warm, more sympathetic than Carson could believe. "I always hated feeling like that myself. So pissed off if felt like I was choking on my own guts but I had to keep quiet because it's not like it mattered, not like anyone cared." McKay glanced up and then away. "I don't think it always has to be that way, Carson, that dog-eat-dog rationale for brute force. Whatever pissed you off does matter."

Beckett shook his head, gut burning. "This isna' some stupid schoolboy fight, Rodney. I don't know what the hell you think yer talking about, and neither do you. Just back away now." He glowered at McKay. "I know ye're tryin' to help, but ye can't understand wha' this is about!" He downed the rest of his tea and wished McKay would just go away. The rattle of his silverware as he shoveled in his food was like sandpaper on Beckett's nerves.

"Oh please," scoffed McKay. "Stop being such a drama queen!" Beckett stared at him and started to speak, but McKay raised a finger. "Just . . just . . WAIT. Look, Carson. This is Atlantis. We have soul sucking vampires and shit-faced Nazi-wannabes. I don't know what you and Sheppard got into but what do you expect him to do? Cause if it's sit and have a nice little chat and a cry, you better start going out with Cadman instead. No, wait, scratch that. She wouldn't do that either. Look, just TELL me what you want and I'll tell you why they can't and translate it for you, okay?" He tipped the bottle and dumped another healthy portion into Beckett's empty mug before Beckett could move it away.

"Rodney, would you shut the HELL up? You THINK you understand but you have not got a fooking CLUE. You don't have a clue and the Colonel doesn't want to see the clue he's got and I am PISSED OFF."

McKay huffed. "Fine. Stew in your own juices if you like, Carson. But remember the offer stands if you decide you'd like to know what is actually going on in that pointy little head of Sheppard's."

Another full tray thumped down next to them and Beckett startled. It was Ronon Dex, McKay's gastronomic soul mate. He looked at the sandwich McKay had dropped on his tray.

"You gonna eat that?"

McKay snatched it up and crammed half into his mouth, glaring at the big man who just shrugged and dug into his own plateful of leftovers.

"What's that?" and he inclined his head toward the bottle by McKay's plate.

"Moonshine," answered McKay. "Liquor," he continued at Dex's questioning look.

"Really?"

McKay looked a little startled at the enthusiastic tone. "From that response I'm assuming you would like to try some?" Ronon just emptied his mug and held it out to McKay. The Canadian filled it and sloshed a little more into Beckett's for good measure.

Ronon sniffed the contents before drinking and McKay snapped, "What is it with you sniffing everything? It's like having a German Shepherd around!"

Ronon just stared at him over the rim of his cup and then held it out again to be refilled. McKay rolled his eyes but filled it up again. Beckett could feel himself relaxing. His face didn't feel stiff with anger anymore and he tossed back the liquor, holding his own cup out for a refill. McKay poured the last of the bottle out, shaking the drops from the neck.

"Nothing gold can stay," he said obliquely and Beckett glanced at him, surprised.

"Poetry, Rodney?"

McKay shrugged. "I needed a few credits in the touchy feelies. That's the last of the booze, either way." Ronon downed his again and spoke up unexpectedly.

"I have some. In my quarters." They both regarded him with astonishment. "What?" he asked. McKay looked at Beckett and seemed to make a quick decision.

"Let's go," he said, grabbing Beckett by the arm and hoisting him to his feet. The room spun around Beckett for a moment but he had the pride of Scotland riding on his shoulders and straightened quickly. He grinned at Ronon.

"Lead on, MacDuff." Quirking an eyebrow, Ronon picked up his tray and they followed him.

"It's 'lay on, MacDuff,'" corrected McKay as they went. "Try to have a little national pride, Carson."

"What do you know, you poncy Canadian git?"

"I know you're drunk and I know my Shakespeare, Carson. Don't worry, we'll get you more soon."

TBC