(no subject)
TITLE: It's not a matter of life and death - it's more important than that!
FANDOM: StarGate: Atlantis
RATING: PG13-ish for Beckett's mouth.
NOTES: This my first toe-dip into the SG:A world. And I only felt I had to write it, because I'd heard of some horrendous Scottish characterisation coming out of fandom, involving Beckett speaking gaelic. This pained me so much that I had to write proper Scottish fic.
As siriaeve said: You don't have to be Scottish to read this, but it helps!
And trust me, living 30 minutes from Paisley, where Beckett comes from, I can assure you Scottish people really are this crazy.
_________________________________
McKay knew he should intervene. After all, having two of their crew-members arguing so fiercely would do little for morale. It was just that… well… he was really, really short on entertainment.
Leaning against the wall, his entrance unnoticed, he couldn’t help thinking that he must be getting a bit desperate for laughs.
In the middle of the room, Doctor Beckett was waving an agitated finger up at Corporal Thompson, one of the English soldiers, his face scarlet. “You know that isn’t the point!”
“If that’s not the point,” The six-foot seven former S.A.S. soldier glared down at the Doctor. “Then maybe I should remind you who came out on top on your side last time…”
“They worked hard to be successful!” Beckett slapped a hand down on the counter he was standing close to. Several lights went on and he hastily removed his hand. “I don’t think ye’re payin’ attention to a word I’m sayin’!”
Covering his mouth with his hand, McKay couldn’t help chuckling. It took a lot to get the little Scottish doctor so outraged and there was very little on the work side of things that made him shout, so he could easily guess would had happened.
What only served to make it funnier was that Beckett barely reached Thompson’s chin, but seemed puffed it with moral indignation and excessive Scottishisms. Plus, he was bouncing on his toes and trying his best to stare Thompson down.
“Look, Beckett,” Thompson snapped. “You’re being completely hypocritical! If you stood by your convictions, you should be supporting the underdogs! As it is, you’re siding with the strongest team.”
Beckett’s mouth opened and shut a couple of times, incoherent with rage. “That is not the case! I have been loyal to them since I was introduced to them! You seem to change your mind whenever your lot get defeated!”
“That’s unfair!”
“Aye, unfair!” Beckett looked like he was on the verge of spitting nails. “But bloody true and you know it! When did you start following Ferguson and his lads? Was it when they got to the top again?”
Thompson’s expression suggested he would like nothing more than to smack Beckett hard on the nose. “Three years ago,” he gritted out through clenched teeth.
“Ha!” Beckett’s finger was practically up his nose. “See! And who happened to be the most successful in their group then? Oh, could it possibly be Fergie’s lads? Eh? I think I’ve made my point!”
“Maybe I wasn’t interested before then…”
Beckett’s expression turned cynical. “Oh, aye…” he snorted. “You don’t look like the kind of mannie who would be watchin’ cricket or somethin’ cissy like that! Where is it you’re from anyway? Eh?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Thompson’s arms were fiercely tightened over his chest, perhaps out of defence, but more likely - McKay theorised - to prevent himself from lashing out at the Doctor.
“Well, you’re bloody well not from Manchester!”
“You don’t have to support a team because they come from…”
“Yes you bloody do!” Beckett looked like he was on the verge of exploding. “You don’t just go ‘oooh, Machester United are top of the league… I think I might support them this season’! It’s about loyalty, ye great git! Ye stick with yer one team until the day you die.”
“Which looks like it may be coming up very soon,” McKay murmured to himself. “I should take bets on this; soccer-crazy doctor over six-foot-six of solid, army-trained killing machine…”
“So you’ve been a Rangers fan since when?” Thompson bent down until he was nose-to-nose with Beckett. “Since you were six? And who is almost always top of the league in Scotland? Oh, yes… Rangers.”
The wagging finger jabbed Thompson’s nose. “Ah! Don’t you try that with me! My dad was a Rangers’ fan and his dad was a Rangers’ fan! We are loyal to our team and always will be!”
Really… should be stopping this.
But it’s so funny.
Yes, but Weir won’t be thrilled if Beckett ends up plastered all over the walls.
True.
Dammit.
Pushing himself off from the wall, he cleared his throat. “Not to interrupt,” he said, hands in his pockets. “But aren’t we meant to be having a debriefing about, oh, twenty minutes ago?”
Beckett and Thompson glared at each other for a moment.
“Now, children… it’s only a game.”
Even as the words left his mouth, McKay reflected that while he was a genius, sometimes, he really wasn’t the smartest guy in the world.
FANDOM: StarGate: Atlantis
RATING: PG13-ish for Beckett's mouth.
NOTES: This my first toe-dip into the SG:A world. And I only felt I had to write it, because I'd heard of some horrendous Scottish characterisation coming out of fandom, involving Beckett speaking gaelic. This pained me so much that I had to write proper Scottish fic.
As siriaeve said: You don't have to be Scottish to read this, but it helps!
And trust me, living 30 minutes from Paisley, where Beckett comes from, I can assure you Scottish people really are this crazy.
_________________________________
McKay knew he should intervene. After all, having two of their crew-members arguing so fiercely would do little for morale. It was just that… well… he was really, really short on entertainment.
Leaning against the wall, his entrance unnoticed, he couldn’t help thinking that he must be getting a bit desperate for laughs.
In the middle of the room, Doctor Beckett was waving an agitated finger up at Corporal Thompson, one of the English soldiers, his face scarlet. “You know that isn’t the point!”
“If that’s not the point,” The six-foot seven former S.A.S. soldier glared down at the Doctor. “Then maybe I should remind you who came out on top on your side last time…”
“They worked hard to be successful!” Beckett slapped a hand down on the counter he was standing close to. Several lights went on and he hastily removed his hand. “I don’t think ye’re payin’ attention to a word I’m sayin’!”
Covering his mouth with his hand, McKay couldn’t help chuckling. It took a lot to get the little Scottish doctor so outraged and there was very little on the work side of things that made him shout, so he could easily guess would had happened.
What only served to make it funnier was that Beckett barely reached Thompson’s chin, but seemed puffed it with moral indignation and excessive Scottishisms. Plus, he was bouncing on his toes and trying his best to stare Thompson down.
“Look, Beckett,” Thompson snapped. “You’re being completely hypocritical! If you stood by your convictions, you should be supporting the underdogs! As it is, you’re siding with the strongest team.”
Beckett’s mouth opened and shut a couple of times, incoherent with rage. “That is not the case! I have been loyal to them since I was introduced to them! You seem to change your mind whenever your lot get defeated!”
“That’s unfair!”
“Aye, unfair!” Beckett looked like he was on the verge of spitting nails. “But bloody true and you know it! When did you start following Ferguson and his lads? Was it when they got to the top again?”
Thompson’s expression suggested he would like nothing more than to smack Beckett hard on the nose. “Three years ago,” he gritted out through clenched teeth.
“Ha!” Beckett’s finger was practically up his nose. “See! And who happened to be the most successful in their group then? Oh, could it possibly be Fergie’s lads? Eh? I think I’ve made my point!”
“Maybe I wasn’t interested before then…”
Beckett’s expression turned cynical. “Oh, aye…” he snorted. “You don’t look like the kind of mannie who would be watchin’ cricket or somethin’ cissy like that! Where is it you’re from anyway? Eh?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Thompson’s arms were fiercely tightened over his chest, perhaps out of defence, but more likely - McKay theorised - to prevent himself from lashing out at the Doctor.
“Well, you’re bloody well not from Manchester!”
“You don’t have to support a team because they come from…”
“Yes you bloody do!” Beckett looked like he was on the verge of exploding. “You don’t just go ‘oooh, Machester United are top of the league… I think I might support them this season’! It’s about loyalty, ye great git! Ye stick with yer one team until the day you die.”
“Which looks like it may be coming up very soon,” McKay murmured to himself. “I should take bets on this; soccer-crazy doctor over six-foot-six of solid, army-trained killing machine…”
“So you’ve been a Rangers fan since when?” Thompson bent down until he was nose-to-nose with Beckett. “Since you were six? And who is almost always top of the league in Scotland? Oh, yes… Rangers.”
The wagging finger jabbed Thompson’s nose. “Ah! Don’t you try that with me! My dad was a Rangers’ fan and his dad was a Rangers’ fan! We are loyal to our team and always will be!”
Really… should be stopping this.
But it’s so funny.
Yes, but Weir won’t be thrilled if Beckett ends up plastered all over the walls.
True.
Dammit.
Pushing himself off from the wall, he cleared his throat. “Not to interrupt,” he said, hands in his pockets. “But aren’t we meant to be having a debriefing about, oh, twenty minutes ago?”
Beckett and Thompson glared at each other for a moment.
“Now, children… it’s only a game.”
Even as the words left his mouth, McKay reflected that while he was a genius, sometimes, he really wasn’t the smartest guy in the world.