CARSON'S LAMENT
John Sheppard's face was grim as he lead his team towards the living quarters, specifically Carson's quarters. He reflected, as he moved cautiously down the corridors, that Carson had been behaving strangely since the last time the Daedelus had visited, and now, John was afraid that his behaviour had escalated into something more sinister.
The terrible din still echoed around Atlantis' intercom system defying even Rodney's attempts to turn it off, and all four of the team were sporting headaches, trying to concentrate despite the noise.
Elizabeth's voice crackled over his radio earpiece, and he struggled to hear her over the noise coming from the walls.
"Are you there yet?" she asked, sounding as strained as he himself felt.
"Almost," he replied, voice clipped as his brain plotted various scenarios and plans for getting into Carson's room.
"Keep me appraised," she advised, and Sheppard's lips curved into a thin smile as he read between the lines…"hurry up and make it stop!"
A few more minutes and he, Rodney, Teyla and Ronan were standing outside Carson's door, the noise worse than ever out here. Carefully priming his P90 he gestured at Ronan to take one side of the door while he stood at the other, and then motioned to Rodney to come forward and override the door's locking mechanism, Carson having used his medical override to keep his door securely closed even against John's ATA gene.
Sweating slightly under the weight of all his gear, Rodney came forward and gingerly removed the cover to the door mechanism, pulling crystals, then stepped carefully back out of the way and motioned to John and Ronan to go forward.
Taking a deep breath, after all - the unknown was always nerve-wracking; John focused and ordered Atlantis to open the door.
As the door slid back smoothly, John and Ronan pushed through, coming to an abrupt halt, even as the noise trailed away with a final dying wail, staring open mouthed at the spectacle of Carson in full Highland regalia, Kilt, Sporran, Skean Dhub and all, staring back at them as the bagpipes he'd been vigorously blowing into, deflated slowly with a soft sigh.
"What the Bloody Hell!" exclaimed Carson, obviously angry at the interruption, "Can a man nae have a few private moments without a troop of bloody overdressed squaddies burstin' in?"
Rodney chose this moment to shoulder his way into the room to see what the commotion was all about, and caught the last comment. "Well, that's the problem," he said acerbically, "Private wasn't what it was. And talking of overdressed…"
Beckett deflated as quickly as his bagpipes. "You mean..?"
"That's right," Rodney nodded, enjoying Beckett's discomfort just a little too much. "Everyone in Atlantis was privy to your little 'private' moment."
"Bloody Hell," Beckett was now as pale as previously he'd been red with outrage. He rallied a little as Rodney walked around him studying what he saw.
"What d'ye think you're doing?" he snapped, twirling to follow Rodney's progress.
"Just…looking," replied Rodney. "I've never seen…one of these up close before."
Snapping out of his bemusement, Sheppard ordered his team to stand down, even as Elizabeth crackled into his ear again, and tried to ignore the way Teyla was looking at Beckett with an expression he wasn't sure he'd seen before, was it…admiration?
"John?" from Elizabeth, "John, is everything all right? The noise has stopped, thank goodness."
"Yes, Elizabeth," John smirked into his radio, "Situation under control. All systems back to normal."
Later, much later, over a bottle of smooth single malt, shared between friends, Beckett confessed all. Pouring another dram of Dalwhinnie into his glass, he sat back against the wall of the balcony nearest his quarters, careful that his kilt didn't display more of his 'assets' than he thought was appropriate, though Sheppard noticed Teyla still had that 'look' about her, and was sitting closer to Carson that she normally did. Elizabeth had joined them and was absently twirling the amber liquid in her own glass, while also gazing raptly at Carson's legs, snugly encased in thick woollen socks and with the skean dhub nestled safely in the fold of same socks. What Sheppard found really disturbing was that Rodney was also gazing intently at the small dagger ensconced along Beckett's leg. Dragging his own gaze away, he tried to focus on what the good doctor was telling them.
"So when the Daedalus brought the letter and parcel from Mum," he was saying, "I felt I had to do as she asked."
"Hmmm?" asked Rodney, finally tearing his gaze away from Carson's socks and taking a small sip of whisky.
"Have ye not been listening to a word I said, Rodney?" asked Carson waspishly.
"No," replied Rodney, not a whit abashed. "I was concentrating on…other things."
"Well, as I said," repeated Carson crossly," I had a letter telling me that Uncle Angus died." He sighed gustily. "Uncle Angus stood in after Dad died, and was like a surrogate father I suppose. He taught me to play those," he pointed to the bagpipes that lay in a forlorn heap, like a cuddly toy whose stuffing had fallen out, "And we would spend hours playing together. Anyway, Mum asked that I remembered him by playing like we used to. She sent my kilt and stuff, so I suppose she wanted me to do the thing properly." He sighed again, a sigh that sounded suspiciously lie a sob, Sheppard thought, then raised his glass.
"Slainte," he stated soberly.
The others raised their own glasses and replied in kind. Then Beckett broke the spell by asking if anyone wanted to hear his Uncle Angus' favourite tune. Hastily all of them suddenly found that urgent business awaited them elsewhere, and exited the balcony just as the tortured sounds began again, this time muted by the crashing ocean far below.
END