Semper Fi

By Ann3

Writer's Note: As you can imagine, I had a great time writing that previous chapter - especially the ending ! There were a few giggles sneaking out while I wrote this one too - enjoy !!

Chapter Seven

Closet Counsel

Compared to Kate Heightmeyer's office, this improvised substitute could best be described as – cosy. For a start, it was much smaller, with just a handful of chairs – and no breathtaking view of the city.

But for the sake of his manly pride, not to mention his reputation, it suited John Sheppard just fine – the closest room into which to bundle himself, and a startled, feebly protesting Carson Beckett, out of gossipmongering ear-shot

Until now, Elizabeth Weir's request for him to join her team had topped his 'Proposal of the Century' list. Carson Beckett had just hit that contender, and probably every one in the future, clear out the ballpark.

With the return of his composure, though, came the return of a unique, flippantly irreverent sense of humour.

"Well, gee, Carson, I don't know what to say... I mean, we haven't even been on our first date yet...!"

Even in the subdued lighting, he could still feel two glaring blue eyes promising him he'd pay for that. Beyond their threat, though, John could feel something else now, that made him regret it even more.

Carson Beckett wasn't smiling, or sharing a joke which, John now guiltily realised, hadn't been that funny to begin with. He was serious. One hundred percent, bona fide, 'I'm-gonna-do-this-if-it-bloody-kills-me...' serious.

Faced with such complete, slightly hurt sincerity, all further thoughts of flippancy disappeared. Instead, John slipped a brotherly arm around Carson's shoulders, guiding his friend to the nearest chair.

"Sit..." he said simply, telling himself that such silent lack of protest was, no really was, a good sign. Just in case it wasn't, he became equally serious himself as he pulled up another chair and sank onto it

"Look, Carson, I'm sorry..." he said at last, reaching across to give Carson's arm a tentative, fence-rebuilding shake. "I'm really sorry, okay, but... jeez, you gotta admit, that was quite a bombshell you dropped on me...!"

As he'd hoped, a trace of a smile accepted his apology as Carson nodded in equally wry agreement.

"Aye, lad, I know... I really cannae believe it mysel'... I – I really can't, an'...an'... I'm – I'm sorry, too, for... well, for nearly flattenin' ye jus' now, son... I really should ha'e been mindin' where I was goin'..."

Dryly reasoning that he'd put his size twelves in it quite enough for one day, John just grinned – noting, in wisely silent amusement, how broad and thick and tumbling Carson's accent had become.

It always, did, of course, whenever he was upset, or agitated, or faced with McKay in full, hysterical outcry. And in the two years that he'd known him, John Sheppard had thought he'd gotten that accent pegged.

Still, he dryly chided himself, he was just a simple, humble fighter pilot, with an IQ in triple figures. What the hell did he know...?

Only the biggest secret ever to hit Atlantis, he now gleefully realised. And he was the first to share it...!

Carson Beckett – doctor, geneticist, drone-launcher and all round Mr Nice Guy – was getting hitched. As the blushing bridegroom himself would surely say, in words that needed no form of cross-culture translation.

"Holy crap...!"

He must have voiced those elated, excited thoughts aloud, since Carson really was blushing now. The smile on his face, though, however shy and sheepishly embarrassed, could have lit the whole city.

Genuinely delighted for his friend, John's congratulatory back-slap froze in mid thump as he glanced ruefully around them. Such fantastic, fabulous news – an event that deserved the biggest celebration Atlantis had ever seen.

And here they both were, the wonderful news as yet unshared, sitting in a cramped and stuffy closet.

"Okay, Mr Bridegroom, let's go..." he said at last, hauling a startled Carson back onto his feet. "Let's go find the lucky lady, then we can pick up Elizabeth too, and get down to the Infirmary, and let everyone else know, and..."

"Ah... aye... um... she... well, Laura disnae... um... I – I mean, I havenae actually... um... I havenae... um... actually asked her yet..."

Halfway through propelling his friend to the door, John Sheppard froze and turned, slowly, to face him. His best man's speech suddenly scuppered, he finally echoed another, equally crucial point.

"You haven't asked her yet...?"

As Carson shook his head, a study of nervous contrition, he sighed once more, somehow resisting the urge to toss his friend over the nearest balcony

The celebrations, it seemed, were going to have to wait for a little while. And since that was the case – well, John dryly reflected, there seemed little point in leaving this cosy little counselling suite just yet.

Steering Carson back into its centre, he then pointed, with dare-to-defy-me authority, back to his chair.

"Sit...!"