A/N: Scotland beat France at rugby last weekend – hooray! Kinda gave a little inspiration for this wee morsel.

In case anyone is wondering, 'Jist Blethers' is Scottish for a lot of nonsense.

Ya Wee Beauty is an exclamation of joy at success or approval, I guess. Literally, 'you little beauty'.


Chapter Two: Ya Wee Beauty

"Rodney… I fear there is something wrong." The Czech accent cut through the low background hum of the lab.

Dr Rodney McKay looked up from the Ancient device he was studying. "Huh?"

Dr Radek Zelenka made nervous movements of his mouth, twisting his lips from side to side. "Carson has not contacted you."

McKay put the device down. "I don't get you."

Zelenka made a gesture with his hands, as if grasping an unseen object. "You told me Carson wanted you for your fitness medical this afternoon. You have not gone to the infirmary. Carson has not berated you over the radio. Even when he wanted to see you about the retrovirus, and Sanchez broke his arm, he let you know he was busy. Something is wrong."

McKay furrowed his brow. "Wrong? What kind of wrong? One decimal place wrong, or cream in coffee wrong?"

Zelenka finally cracked, and strode over to the Chief of Science. He knew McKay was in his immature mode, not his deity mode, and therefore his intended action would be acceptable. Zelenka poked McKay in the chest with one finger. "Go… and … see… what… is… wrong… with… Carson."

McKay stared down at the finger prodding his chest, and pouted. "Ouch. OK, OK, I'm going." He slipped off his stool and headed for the door, muttering, "I'm going already, jeez."

0o0o0

"Right, Carson, I'm here…" McKay blundered into Beckett's office, scanning quickly for the Scottish doctor. "Radek said I should just turn up anyway, I know I'm late… Carson? Hey, are you here?"

The Canadian had another look around the office, but didn't see anyone, so he shrugged and turned around.

"OwerhereRdney."

McKay froze, hearing the 'voice'. Frowning, he turned around. Beckett was hauling himself out from under his desk, looking extremely dishevelled.

"Carson? Are you OK?" McKay stood by the desk and studied the doctor, his arms folded.

Beckett slumped down into the chair, grinning but groaning. "Bloody hell. My head hurts."

"Carson? Are you drunk?" McKay eyed Beckett suspiciously.

The Scot's eyes flew open. "Lord, no, Rodney! Oh, ow. Give us a wee bit warning there, will you?" He rubbed his head.

"Are you OK? Do you need a nurse, or.. something?" McKay leaned over the desk, worried a little.

Beckett waved dismissively. "Naw. I'm OK. Just, got a bit carried away, I was kinda… dancing… and I think I fell over, musta hit my head."

McKay sniffed. "You have been drinking."

Beckett swallowed, glancing down sheepishly. "Maybes."

McKay stood up straight, arms crossed once more. "OK. What gives? Personal celebration? Must have been one helluva reason."

A crooked smile fell across Beckett's face. "We won. Again."

McKay cocked his head, puzzled. "Who? When?"

Beckett jiggled his head from side to side triumphantly. "Scotland. World Champions. Third year running."

"OK, Carson. Now I know you've had too much. How hard did you hit your head?"

"No. no, it's true. We did. We are."

"Yeah, right. Come on, Let's get you some coffee, we don't want Elizabeth to see you like this…" McKay made to take hold of Carson's arm.

Scrabbling around the desk with one hand, while he waved McKay away with the other, Beckett gave a shout of triumph as his hand landed on a piece of paper. "See! See! It's true!"

McKay took the proffered sheet of paper. It was a letter, stamped with the USAF clearance familiar from Daedalus-delivered mail. He looked it over quickly. He almost choked.

"Elephant polo? Scotland are the World Elephant Polo Champions?"

Beckett grinned cockily. "Aye."

"Right. That's enough." McKay took a firm hold of Beckett and hauled the Scotsman to his feet. "We need to fix you up and have a serious talk about sport, not to mention inappropriate use of alcohol." With his jaw thrust out, McKay proceeded to drag Beckett to the door.

"Third year… ya wee beauty!" Beckett let himself be led away.


A/N: Sadly, we lost, so it was only two years in a row. Such is the joy of fanfiction!

And the moral is… Please enjoy alcohol responsibly! Even when Scotland wins.