Touched By An Ancient

By Ann3

Writer's Note: I'm using a wee bit of writer's licence here, and giving Carson the same birthday as Paul McGillion. Mind you, since the poor lad was unconscious for the day itself, I'm also borrowing another famous Scot's birthday for some belated celebrations. Oh, and for those with nervous stomachs - haggis alert ! ;o)

Just a quick reference to Hope Re-Born, to explain Carson's baby god-daughter, but nothing other than that. Oh, and just another bit of writer's licence for Carson's final birthday pressie. As always, I hope you enjoy !

Chapter Thirty One

The celebrations for their CMO's birthday had, for various reasons, been rather late in coming. Nineteen days late, in fact. All things considered, though, no-one was complaining. Those celebrations had been well worth the wait.

There was a poetic timeliness about them, too, which the great man himself would have approved. For Carson Beckett to be celebrating his birthday, one they'd all once feared he'd never see, on Burns Night… oh yes, Elizabeth now contentedly reflected, you had to give John Sheppard his rightful due. Her chief pilot, ranking military officer and, now, honorary Scot, could also throw one hell of a party.

Whether suffering heads would feel quite so happy tomorrow remained to be seen, of course, but – well, even if they didn't, Elizabeth doubted that their owners would be bearing too many grudges. After all, as John had so assuredly told her, hangovers were 'what B12 shots had been invented for.'

Needless to say, she'd immediately asked him where such surefire knowledge had come from – the devilish glint in his eye convincing her, to further amusement, that she was better off not knowing.

Instead, filing that little gem of intel away for further use, she stood with him on her office balcony – sharing the relieved pleasure of watching their CMO celebrate his birthday in the best way possible.

Surrounded by friends, his surrogate family, Carson Beckett was the study of settled contentment – his famously infectious laughter rivalled only by his god-daughter's giggling squeals as he gently swung Dochas above his head.

McKay was entering into the spirit of the occasion too, explaining its origins to Teyla and Ronon – their polite, slightly glazed expressions suggesting he'd hit another kind of spirit a little too freely. If not for Teyla's innocent curiosity over another of its traditions, they'd have been there all night.

"And this delicacy, Rodney, this… haggis… you say that everything is included in its preparation…? The heart, lungs and liver…? They are all cooked together, in the stomach of the sheep itself…?"

"Sounds good… makes full use of the animal…" Ronon nodded approvingly, clearly impressed.

In stark contrast, McKay's enthusiasm and facial colour both now took a visible down-turn. If he'd not hated sheep before, their place in Scottish culture… well, he certainly hated them now.

"Oh, God…" he moaned, making a shaky bolt through readily parting crowds for the nearest balcony.

Once the celebrations had drawn to a close, just a core of tiredly contented, reflective friends remained. In companionable silence, John, Rodney and Carson stood side by side against the balcony railing – this private moment between them observed, in quiet pride, as Elizabeth replenished their glasses.

It wasn't the first time, of course, that she'd watched them share this quiet, brotherly bonding. And, she proudly reflected as she, Teyla and Ronon returned to re-join them, it wouldn't be the last – just as she knew it would be John Sheppard who'd softly, and gently, break the silence between them.

"Hey, Carson… you okay…?"

Startled for a moment, Carson then smiled and nodded before turning his eyes skywards once more.

"Aye, lad…" he replied softly, unable to resist tossing a wicked grin in a certain scientist's direction. "I'd have used the 'w' word, but... well, I think Rodney's had enough sheepy talk for one night…"

"Oh yes, thank you, for your overwhelming concern…" a still rather pasty-faced McKay shot back – pointedly ignoring the vainly stifled chuckles of laughter around him as he glared daggers at his friend. "I see those finely honed voodoo manners of yours are still as sharp as ever…"

"Almost as sharp as your wit, Rodney…"

All joking aside, though, Carson couldn't resist resting a solicitous hand against McKay's forehead – the now familiar soft glow which surrounded it drawing a succession of suitably awed responses.

"Oh, in your dreams, you voodoo prince of… hey…! Hey, my – my headache…! It's – It's gone…!"

"Holy crap…"

"Hey, doc, cool move…! Way cooler than B12 shots in the butt…"

The final word, though, heard by one person and one person alone, drew the happiest response of all – Carson's inexplicable fit of giggles met, at first, with puzzled stares then relieved, humouring glances. Fortunately, it didn't take too much alcohol-addled thought to work out where the day's final, very special birthday present had come from.

Ye need all the healing help ye can get with this one, son… and it's a wee bit late for ye, I know, but… well, better late than ne'er… and by God, ye deserve it… happy birthday, Carsie… happy birthday…