Disclaimers: I do not own these characters; this is written for fun, I make no money etc.
Spoilers: see chapter notes.
A/N: Always have a few Carson moments hopping around aimlessly. Needed a hutch for them. Any requests? No sheep jokes, please ;)
Summary: Why don't they understand him? Carson sometimes thinks he's more alien than anything in the Pegasus. A bunch of Carson oneshots for fun.
A/N Chapter One: Written for Burn's Night – January 25th. We Scots like to celebrate our famous poet. Only spoilers for Duet.
Chapter One: Pure Poetry
Carson smiled as the pretty young woman placed a mug of steaming hot tea down in front of him.
"Thanks, lass. I'll see you later."
McKay, who had been shocked at the little interruption, now almost choked on his breakfast. "What was all that about? 'See you later'? Who's she? Why's she bringing you tea…?"
"Easy, Rodney! Remember your blood pressure. She's just a friend. She's helping me with something." The Scottish doctor flashed McKay a happy smile.
The Canadian was almost apoplectic. "Helping you? With what? Does Cadman know?"
"Keep your voice down! Of course she knows. I'm using the kitchen after lunch. Going to make haggis. Lovely Lucy there organised what I needed along with the weekly meat trade from MX-what's-it's-name."
McKay's face screwed up. "Ew. Haggis. Isn't that, like, sheep guts or something?"
"No, not technically, Rodney." Carson sipped at his tea, and sighed blissfully, "Oh, that's grand. Can't beat a good cuppa. No, see, it's Burn's night tonight. I'm going to show Laura a bit of Scottish culture. You know, haggis, Irn Bru, poetry…"
McKay snorted. "Carson, Irn Bru isn't culture. It's just consumerism. And how much of Burn's poetry have you read, exactly?"
Carson looked a little sheepish. "Some."
"Go on, then, fire away." McKay leaned back and folded his arms.
Clearing his throat, Carson began, "Let's see…em… O, my love's like a red, red, rose…"
McKay, looking away, made a rolling motion with his hand in encouragement.
"Er, I don't know any more…"
"I thought so." The Canadian leaned forward on the table and looked into his friend's eyes. "Ten out of ten for trying, I guess."
"Aw, thanks pal. S'no as if you could do any better. Look, I'm a doctor, not a Scottish Studies graduate. Listen, It's just a bit of fun. We'll have haggis and Irn Bru and it'll be good. OK?" He pouted a bit, crossing his arms.
They sat in silence, Carson huffing now and again.
"Em, Carson? Am I invited, or is it just the two of you?" McKay spoke quietly, hopefully.
The right side of Carson's mouth lifted as he eyed the scientist opposite him. "Aye, Rodney, you're invited. If you like, you could help make the haggis this afternoon. I could do with a hand. You can chop the pluck."
"I beg your pardon?" McKay gulped.
"Pluck. It's the animal parts for the haggis. You know, you use the windpipe, lungs, stuff like that. But not the guts. You save that to make a bag to stuff it into."
McKay swallowed, his face turning a shade of green. "Oh, I think I'm gonna…" He tucked his chin into his chest as he pushed himself off the chair and legged it for the door.
Carson leaned back, sighing. "Shame. It's right tasty when it's done." He shook his head, grinning, and muttered after his friend, "Ye cow'rin, tim'rous beastie."
A/N: Carson's final words are those of Burns, in "To a Mouse", describing a frightened animal, hehe. Hope you enjoyed! Sorry if I spoiled your breakfast or anything…
