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trekwriter151Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, don't make money off 'em. Doctor Who is owned by RTD and the BBC. SG-1 and Stargate Atlantis are owned by MGM.
Notes: A short ditty in two parts. The Tenth Doctor meets two important people at Cheyenne Mountain. One provides him a precious link to Gallifrey, and the other reminds him that home is where the heart is.
Genres: Doctor Who (Tenth Doctor, between Martha and Donna as Companions), SG-1 (sometime 4th season), SGA (Season 4 after "The Seed".)
The Doctor has used the alias "James MacCrimmon" before. Jamie MacCrimmon was a Scotsman from the 1742 Uprising, who was a companion of one of the Doctor's old regenerations. By the way, David Tennant was born in Bathgate, West Lothian, near Edinburgh.
Rating K+
Notes: A short ditty in two parts. The Tenth Doctor meets two important people at Cheyenne Mountain. One provides him a precious link to Gallifrey, and the other reminds him that home is where the heart is.
Genres: Doctor Who (Tenth Doctor, between Martha and Donna as Companions), SG-1 (sometime 4th season), SGA (Season 4 after "The Seed".)
The Doctor has used the alias "James MacCrimmon" before. Jamie MacCrimmon was a Scotsman from the 1742 Uprising, who was a companion of one of the Doctor's old regenerations. By the way, David Tennant was born in Bathgate, West Lothian, near Edinburgh.
Rating K+
A Sudden Reminder of Home
Part I
Stargate Command, Cheyenne Mountain
Part I
Stargate Command, Cheyenne Mountain
“Doctor James MacCrimmon? I was told I could find you here.”
The Tenth Doctor looked up from his computer screen with an annoyed look. The speaker towered over him, with blond hair and intelligent blue eyes framed by a pair of glasses. He immediately recognized the man. Hm. He's not as timid as the holopictures make him out to be. That's a good thing.
He smirked and got to his feet. “Doctor Daniel Jackson, isn't it? It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Please, sit down. I've heard some...ah...rather 'interesting' things about you.”
“Thanks.” Daniel slipped into the seat across from him and added, “and whatever you've heard is probably exaggerated and more.”
He raised an eyebrow at the self-depreciating modesty. Of course, not many people would believe that Daniel Jackson had returned from the dead...three times? Or was it four now? Then again, it was more believable than an alien regenerating nine different times. At least Jackson had retained his original appearance. Nine regenerations later, the Doctor still wasn't ginger, much to his everlasting chagrin.
This man has actually seen and talked to the “Ancients”. I wonder if he'd be willing to chat about them. Are they related to the Time Lords or is it just some sort of cosmic accident? The Doctor rejected that thought. Accidents don't happen. Well...sometimes, but not all the time.
Suddenly, he was aware of Daniel's appraising look. Not hostile, just curious. “Is there a problem?”
“Scotland, West Lothian, near Edinburgh.”
“Oh, you can tell by my accent.” The Doctor thought about the assumed identities he'd taken over the years, including John Smith and James MacCrimmon. There were several English nationals working at Cheyenne Mountain, but he was the only “Scotsman” at the moment. It was safer to assume that persona. Fewer questions that way.
Daniel's grin widened a fraction. “It's pretty distinctive. The Chief Medical Officer of the Atlantis Expedition is from Glasgow.”
The Doctor nodded; he was familiar with the histories of every member of the Atlantis team. Those people got into more trouble than Daniel and Colonel Jack O'Neill combined, and that was saying something. He shook his head ruefully and thought, These Humans are always mucking about and getting into all sorts of trouble. It doesn't matter which galaxy they end up in.
Aloud, he said, “Yes, Doctor Carson Beckett. I wish I'd met him before he left for the expedition. Maybe I will, someday. I'd love to chat with him about all matters of things---”
Daniel grinned at his enthusiasm. “I'm sure Carson would enjoy that. There aren't many Scots at Atlantis at the moment.”
“True.” He casually turned off the computer and gave Daniel his full attention. “So. What I can do for you, Doctor Jackson?”
Daniel tapped his computer tablet and slid it across the table to him. “SG-13 found this writing sample off-world, but I can't make heads or tails out of it. It looks like it could be related to Ancient, but there aren't enough examples to be sure. Your credentials say you're more of an expert in astrophysics, which puts you more in Colonel Carter's department---”
“Yes. Very intelligent woman,” the Doctor murmured. “Grasps advanced concepts faster than almost everyone I've seen---”
“She told me you might be able to help.”
“Really?” The Doctor's tone was not quite sarcastic as he pushed his spectacles further up his nose. “I thought you were the extraordinary linguist who could translate dead languages without too much effort.”
Daniel sighed and rolled his eyes. “This is different. I'm not sure this is an Earth language or Ancient, or Go'auld---”
“Mmm. The Go'auld, nasty creatures,” the Doctor agreed as his eyes passed over the symbols inscribed on the tablet. He managed to get through the first line before the shock hit him. What...this isn't possible! He resisted the urge to take off his spectacles and rub his eyes. Again, he stared at the text and tried to downplay his surprise.
Unfortunately for him, Daniel read his body language perfectly. “You know what it is?”
Yes! His mind screamed. This isn't possible! Old High Gallifreyan?! It took him an effort to keep his tone steady, but the eagerness spilled into his voice. “Where did you find this? You said off-world?”
“SG-13 was on MJM-395 a few days ago, doing a planetary survey. No people, but there were signs of an old civilization, very advanced.” Daniel gave him a strange look. “Doctor MacCrimmon?”
“You're correct in that it isn't Go'auld. It looks like it could be related to the language of these...Ancients, possibly an earlier dialect?”
Daniel nodded, completely professional now. “It could be. I noticed these symbols, here and here, that I've seen in Ancient texts before. They're used as diacritical marks—like the Spanish tilde or the French circumflex.”
“But they're also here and here, at the very end of a sentence. Rather like...I don't know. An ending particle of some sort?”
“Adverbial? Time or place?”
“Perhaps. It could also be a post-preposition. 'Skies-in' as opposed to 'in the skies'. A roundabout way to do things, but it's possible. Then again, if these people did things in a roundabout way, it'd show in their speech, wouldn't it.”
Daniel grinned. “You sure you haven't seen this before?”
The Doctor snorted and deliberately answered,“Not this.” It was the truth. Sort of. He'd gone through all the classes at the Academy, when he was still the young Sigma Theta. Old High Gallifreyan was rather like a derivative of Ancient Greek, times twenty. He knew it enough to read a short text or two, but he was a bit out of practice.
But once one learned the alphabet, one never forgot it. The ache under the Doctor's heart at the reminder of his destroyed homeworld never went away, not completely. Seeing this precious link to the Time Lords made it even harder to forget the memories, no matter how he tried.
Nevertheless, he didn't show that pain to Doctor Jackson. He couldn't. Jackson would never understand.
“I did a frequency analysis of those specific particles to see if there was any pattern---” Daniel brought up a second window on the tablet, “and it looks their frequency rates are pretty much distributed like most Ancient texts I've looked at. Now these two I've never seen before, but they're pretty much in almost every line of text.”
The Doctor murmured, “Indeed.” The word brought a snort of laughter from Daniel and he glanced at him. “What?”
“You sounded just like---never mind. Anyway, if we compare this to the second sample SG-13 brought back...”
Together, they built up some sort of rough reference to the language. A lot of it was hypothetical, and based on Daniel's knowledge of Ancient and the Doctor's of Old High Gallifreyan. Before long, they were both chattering away at high speed, gesturing to make their points, and debating solutions. The Doctor was impressed at Daniel's linguistic repertoire.
That could come in handy if he ever became a Companion. Hm. Better keep that in mind. The Doctor doubted that would ever come to pass; Jackson was needed here, to make sure that these Humans didn't get into too much trouble. After all, the Ancients had the penchant for leaving...unexpected presents behind.
“This would be quite a project, cataloging and translating this. I know that exolinguistics isn't your first specialty. Besides, I know Colonel Carter needs your help in the astrophysics department.”
“It would be my honor, Doctor Jackson. As for the colonel, I'll talk with her.”
“You sure? I don't want to overload you with this. You look sorta tired right now.”
The Doctor chuckled without humor. Daniel was more perceptive than he thought. “Not physically tired, really. Besides, I think this is a very important piece of know what's out there---” He made a wave in the general direction of the cosmos, “---in the universe.”
Daniel grinned. “Okay, I'll talk with Sam too. Thanks, Doctor MacCrimmon. I think we're gonna be a great team.” He got up, waved and left the Doctor's office.
The Doctor watched him go and whispered, “Thank you, Daniel.”
The Tenth Doctor looked up from his computer screen with an annoyed look. The speaker towered over him, with blond hair and intelligent blue eyes framed by a pair of glasses. He immediately recognized the man. Hm. He's not as timid as the holopictures make him out to be. That's a good thing.
He smirked and got to his feet. “Doctor Daniel Jackson, isn't it? It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Please, sit down. I've heard some...ah...rather 'interesting' things about you.”
“Thanks.” Daniel slipped into the seat across from him and added, “and whatever you've heard is probably exaggerated and more.”
He raised an eyebrow at the self-depreciating modesty. Of course, not many people would believe that Daniel Jackson had returned from the dead...three times? Or was it four now? Then again, it was more believable than an alien regenerating nine different times. At least Jackson had retained his original appearance. Nine regenerations later, the Doctor still wasn't ginger, much to his everlasting chagrin.
This man has actually seen and talked to the “Ancients”. I wonder if he'd be willing to chat about them. Are they related to the Time Lords or is it just some sort of cosmic accident? The Doctor rejected that thought. Accidents don't happen. Well...sometimes, but not all the time.
Suddenly, he was aware of Daniel's appraising look. Not hostile, just curious. “Is there a problem?”
“Scotland, West Lothian, near Edinburgh.”
“Oh, you can tell by my accent.” The Doctor thought about the assumed identities he'd taken over the years, including John Smith and James MacCrimmon. There were several English nationals working at Cheyenne Mountain, but he was the only “Scotsman” at the moment. It was safer to assume that persona. Fewer questions that way.
Daniel's grin widened a fraction. “It's pretty distinctive. The Chief Medical Officer of the Atlantis Expedition is from Glasgow.”
The Doctor nodded; he was familiar with the histories of every member of the Atlantis team. Those people got into more trouble than Daniel and Colonel Jack O'Neill combined, and that was saying something. He shook his head ruefully and thought, These Humans are always mucking about and getting into all sorts of trouble. It doesn't matter which galaxy they end up in.
Aloud, he said, “Yes, Doctor Carson Beckett. I wish I'd met him before he left for the expedition. Maybe I will, someday. I'd love to chat with him about all matters of things---”
Daniel grinned at his enthusiasm. “I'm sure Carson would enjoy that. There aren't many Scots at Atlantis at the moment.”
“True.” He casually turned off the computer and gave Daniel his full attention. “So. What I can do for you, Doctor Jackson?”
Daniel tapped his computer tablet and slid it across the table to him. “SG-13 found this writing sample off-world, but I can't make heads or tails out of it. It looks like it could be related to Ancient, but there aren't enough examples to be sure. Your credentials say you're more of an expert in astrophysics, which puts you more in Colonel Carter's department---”
“Yes. Very intelligent woman,” the Doctor murmured. “Grasps advanced concepts faster than almost everyone I've seen---”
“She told me you might be able to help.”
“Really?” The Doctor's tone was not quite sarcastic as he pushed his spectacles further up his nose. “I thought you were the extraordinary linguist who could translate dead languages without too much effort.”
Daniel sighed and rolled his eyes. “This is different. I'm not sure this is an Earth language or Ancient, or Go'auld---”
“Mmm. The Go'auld, nasty creatures,” the Doctor agreed as his eyes passed over the symbols inscribed on the tablet. He managed to get through the first line before the shock hit him. What...this isn't possible! He resisted the urge to take off his spectacles and rub his eyes. Again, he stared at the text and tried to downplay his surprise.
Unfortunately for him, Daniel read his body language perfectly. “You know what it is?”
Yes! His mind screamed. This isn't possible! Old High Gallifreyan?! It took him an effort to keep his tone steady, but the eagerness spilled into his voice. “Where did you find this? You said off-world?”
“SG-13 was on MJM-395 a few days ago, doing a planetary survey. No people, but there were signs of an old civilization, very advanced.” Daniel gave him a strange look. “Doctor MacCrimmon?”
“You're correct in that it isn't Go'auld. It looks like it could be related to the language of these...Ancients, possibly an earlier dialect?”
Daniel nodded, completely professional now. “It could be. I noticed these symbols, here and here, that I've seen in Ancient texts before. They're used as diacritical marks—like the Spanish tilde or the French circumflex.”
“But they're also here and here, at the very end of a sentence. Rather like...I don't know. An ending particle of some sort?”
“Adverbial? Time or place?”
“Perhaps. It could also be a post-preposition. 'Skies-in' as opposed to 'in the skies'. A roundabout way to do things, but it's possible. Then again, if these people did things in a roundabout way, it'd show in their speech, wouldn't it.”
Daniel grinned. “You sure you haven't seen this before?”
The Doctor snorted and deliberately answered,“Not this.” It was the truth. Sort of. He'd gone through all the classes at the Academy, when he was still the young Sigma Theta. Old High Gallifreyan was rather like a derivative of Ancient Greek, times twenty. He knew it enough to read a short text or two, but he was a bit out of practice.
But once one learned the alphabet, one never forgot it. The ache under the Doctor's heart at the reminder of his destroyed homeworld never went away, not completely. Seeing this precious link to the Time Lords made it even harder to forget the memories, no matter how he tried.
Nevertheless, he didn't show that pain to Doctor Jackson. He couldn't. Jackson would never understand.
“I did a frequency analysis of those specific particles to see if there was any pattern---” Daniel brought up a second window on the tablet, “and it looks their frequency rates are pretty much distributed like most Ancient texts I've looked at. Now these two I've never seen before, but they're pretty much in almost every line of text.”
The Doctor murmured, “Indeed.” The word brought a snort of laughter from Daniel and he glanced at him. “What?”
“You sounded just like---never mind. Anyway, if we compare this to the second sample SG-13 brought back...”
Together, they built up some sort of rough reference to the language. A lot of it was hypothetical, and based on Daniel's knowledge of Ancient and the Doctor's of Old High Gallifreyan. Before long, they were both chattering away at high speed, gesturing to make their points, and debating solutions. The Doctor was impressed at Daniel's linguistic repertoire.
That could come in handy if he ever became a Companion. Hm. Better keep that in mind. The Doctor doubted that would ever come to pass; Jackson was needed here, to make sure that these Humans didn't get into too much trouble. After all, the Ancients had the penchant for leaving...unexpected presents behind.
“This would be quite a project, cataloging and translating this. I know that exolinguistics isn't your first specialty. Besides, I know Colonel Carter needs your help in the astrophysics department.”
“It would be my honor, Doctor Jackson. As for the colonel, I'll talk with her.”
“You sure? I don't want to overload you with this. You look sorta tired right now.”
The Doctor chuckled without humor. Daniel was more perceptive than he thought. “Not physically tired, really. Besides, I think this is a very important piece of know what's out there---” He made a wave in the general direction of the cosmos, “---in the universe.”
Daniel grinned. “Okay, I'll talk with Sam too. Thanks, Doctor MacCrimmon. I think we're gonna be a great team.” He got up, waved and left the Doctor's office.
The Doctor watched him go and whispered, “Thank you, Daniel.”
A Sudden Reminder of Home
Part II
Stargate Command, Cheyenne Mountain
Part II
Stargate Command, Cheyenne Mountain
He looked like a splitting copy of the original man, down to the dark hair and the startling blue eyes. The rumors flew around Cheyenne Mountain like wildfire. Some accused the United States Air Force of a false identification, others claimed a cover-up, and still others said that the man was some sort of alien, like a Replicator. No matter what the rumor, the fact was that Doctor Carson Beckett had risen from the dead.
The brilliant geneticist sat alone in the base's Commissary, under suspicious and pitying glances. He stared down at his plate, barely eating a bite.
The Doctor watched Beckett from afar with a grim expression. It wasn't fair, not fair at all, that they had locked up this man as if he was a prisoner. After all, it hadn't been Beckett's fault. As far as Beckett was concerned, he had spent the past 2 years as a prisoner, forced to work for Michael, the Wraith-turned-Human. His accidental rescue from Michael's lair was just one shock after another, after another.
This Beckett was a clone of the original, who'd died and been buried six months before. Blown up by an explosive tumor, for Gallifrey's sake! Even the Time Lords couldn't have dreamed up something so stupid. The effects of it sat a few tables away. A man who wasn't quite dead, but not quite alive, either. A man in limbo. A prisoner cut off from his friends, in far-off Atlantis, and among hostile strangers. It wasn't fair. And the Doctor couldn't abide by an injustice, especially one like this.
“These people are idiots,” he muttered to himself, “to treat a man like this, especially that one. All right, then, let's go do a bit of cheering up, then.”
He straightened up in his chair, picked up his food tray, got to his feet and marched across the commissary to Beckett's table. Deliberately, he sat across from Beckett, much to the dismay of the nearby guard. Beckett looked up and raised his eyebrows at the brazen approach.
“I'm sorry, sir, you can't sit with him,” stammered the young corporal.
“I don't see anyone else sittin' with him,” He deliberately adopted the Scottish accent he had used when he and Rose Tyler met Queen Victoria, a long time ago. He suppressed the painful twinge that came with the thought of his Rose. The sound of the musical cadence brought a wide smile to Beckett's face.
“But, sir---”
“And don't you worry; it's not like I'm gonna hurt him or he's gonna hurt me. Just a fellow Scotsman wantin' to chat with someone from his homeland. I'm not askin' him to betray secrets or anythin' that crazy. You can sit there and watch, if you'd like.”
The corporal sighed and said, “It's against the rules, sir.”
Beckett waved a hand. “Ach, 'tis all right, lad. I do feel a bit homesick. Besides, who knows if I'm ever gonna see Scotland ever again.”
The Doctor frowned at Beckett's gloomy tone. The corporal sighed again, sympathy warring with his sense of duty. Finally, he said, “All right. I'll be right over there.”
“You look like you need a friend, lad, and don't naysay me,” The Doctor said, as soon the corporal moved to a nearby table, well within visual range.
“I'm not objectin'. Thank you. I am feelin' a wee bit homesick.”
He grinned and stuck out a hand. “James MacCrimmon, at your service, sir. Doctor James MacCrimmon.”
“Doctor Carson Beckett. Then again, I suppose you knew that already.” Beckett's grin widened a little. “You sound like you're from, what, Edinburgh?”
“Bathgate, actually.” The Doctor returned the smile and thought, Close enough. “Glaswegian, aren't you.”
“Aye.” Beckett sighed and shook his head. “Though I don't think I'll be going home at all.”
The Doctor managed to sound both sympathetic and sarcastic. “Ah, the minor problem of being dead.”
“Technically, I am. I'm just a copy of the original Carson Beckett. A damned copy.” He stabbed a fork into his steak with more force than was necessary. “I cannae go home and not back to Atlantis.”
“Now that is a problem.” The Doctor bit his lip and considered it. “They can't just keep you here indefinitely.”
“Sure, they can. I know too much about---things.”
“The Wraith.” The Doctor frowned. These Humans, always stumbling about and getting into trouble, no matter which dimension they were in! The Atlantis expedition had accidentally roused them from slumber and unleashed them on the Pegasus Galaxy. Unlike the Daleks or the Cybermen, the Wraith only needed to feed. Their diet was just...rather unusual.
Beckett raised his eyebrows and said in a low tone, “You'd better keep your voice down, MacCrimmon.”
“You mean him?” The Doctor nicked his head towards the guard. “Dinnae worry.”
“You know about the Wraith?”
“Aye. Got enough security clearance to know about 'em. Fascinatin' species, though I wouldn't want to get too close to 'em. I know you have.”
Beckett's eyes reflected his pain. “Too close for comfort.”
“You were forced to help 'em, weren't you?”
His shoulders slumped. “Yeah.”
“'Twasn't your fault, lad. You can't hold yourself responsible for things you had absolutely no control over.” The Doctor held his gaze longer than he meant to. “Believe me, I understand the feeling.”
Beckett's blue eyes searched his brown ones for the space of heartbeat, but there was a wealth of sympathy in the look. The man was actually trained in medical matters, and the Doctor heard about his extraordinary bedside matter. It didn't matter that this was a genetic clone of the original. He believed he was Carson, and so he was.
And no mindless clone would feel guilty for things he shouldn't. Just like no new regeneration should feel responsible for the actions of the previous ones. And that's a bunch of malarkey. The Doctor dryly considered that he and Beckett shared more in common than he had first thought.
“Cogito ergo sum,” The Doctor murmured with a smirk.
“'I think, therefore I am',” Beckett translated with a slight smile. “So, Q.E.D. Quad erat demonstrandum.”
“Thus it has been shown.” The Doctor made a face and added, “The proof is right there in front of their bloody faces. If they can't admit it or accept it, they're idiots.”
The blunt words brought a startled laugh from Beckett. “You don't mince words.”
“Why should I? It's the truth.” He shrugged and regarded his uneaten meal. He didn't really have to eat, but after a moment, he poked at it a little. “And truth is, I'm bettin' you'll see Glasgow again someday.”
Beckett took a deliberate sip of his drink. “You seem pretty convinced of that, and I'm inclined to believe you.”
The Doctor chuckled and took a bite of his food; he really didn't know just what it was. “Good. You need to keep believing that, Carson. Don't lose that hope.”
They settled into a comfortable silence for a while, as they both finished their lunches. Finally, Beckett saw the corporal's signal and sighed, “That's my cue. It's been good talkin' with you, James. I hope I'll see you around again sometime.”
“Yeah, I'm sure you will. I'll be around.”
The Doctor watched as Beckett disappeared with his young watchdog. Another Latin expression came to mind, one that definitely applied to Beckett. The man's heart—and his spirit—was bigger than anyone gave him credit for.
“Maius intra quo extra,” he murmured to himself. Bigger on the inside than on the outside.
The brilliant geneticist sat alone in the base's Commissary, under suspicious and pitying glances. He stared down at his plate, barely eating a bite.
The Doctor watched Beckett from afar with a grim expression. It wasn't fair, not fair at all, that they had locked up this man as if he was a prisoner. After all, it hadn't been Beckett's fault. As far as Beckett was concerned, he had spent the past 2 years as a prisoner, forced to work for Michael, the Wraith-turned-Human. His accidental rescue from Michael's lair was just one shock after another, after another.
This Beckett was a clone of the original, who'd died and been buried six months before. Blown up by an explosive tumor, for Gallifrey's sake! Even the Time Lords couldn't have dreamed up something so stupid. The effects of it sat a few tables away. A man who wasn't quite dead, but not quite alive, either. A man in limbo. A prisoner cut off from his friends, in far-off Atlantis, and among hostile strangers. It wasn't fair. And the Doctor couldn't abide by an injustice, especially one like this.
“These people are idiots,” he muttered to himself, “to treat a man like this, especially that one. All right, then, let's go do a bit of cheering up, then.”
He straightened up in his chair, picked up his food tray, got to his feet and marched across the commissary to Beckett's table. Deliberately, he sat across from Beckett, much to the dismay of the nearby guard. Beckett looked up and raised his eyebrows at the brazen approach.
“I'm sorry, sir, you can't sit with him,” stammered the young corporal.
“I don't see anyone else sittin' with him,” He deliberately adopted the Scottish accent he had used when he and Rose Tyler met Queen Victoria, a long time ago. He suppressed the painful twinge that came with the thought of his Rose. The sound of the musical cadence brought a wide smile to Beckett's face.
“But, sir---”
“And don't you worry; it's not like I'm gonna hurt him or he's gonna hurt me. Just a fellow Scotsman wantin' to chat with someone from his homeland. I'm not askin' him to betray secrets or anythin' that crazy. You can sit there and watch, if you'd like.”
The corporal sighed and said, “It's against the rules, sir.”
Beckett waved a hand. “Ach, 'tis all right, lad. I do feel a bit homesick. Besides, who knows if I'm ever gonna see Scotland ever again.”
The Doctor frowned at Beckett's gloomy tone. The corporal sighed again, sympathy warring with his sense of duty. Finally, he said, “All right. I'll be right over there.”
“You look like you need a friend, lad, and don't naysay me,” The Doctor said, as soon the corporal moved to a nearby table, well within visual range.
“I'm not objectin'. Thank you. I am feelin' a wee bit homesick.”
He grinned and stuck out a hand. “James MacCrimmon, at your service, sir. Doctor James MacCrimmon.”
“Doctor Carson Beckett. Then again, I suppose you knew that already.” Beckett's grin widened a little. “You sound like you're from, what, Edinburgh?”
“Bathgate, actually.” The Doctor returned the smile and thought, Close enough. “Glaswegian, aren't you.”
“Aye.” Beckett sighed and shook his head. “Though I don't think I'll be going home at all.”
The Doctor managed to sound both sympathetic and sarcastic. “Ah, the minor problem of being dead.”
“Technically, I am. I'm just a copy of the original Carson Beckett. A damned copy.” He stabbed a fork into his steak with more force than was necessary. “I cannae go home and not back to Atlantis.”
“Now that is a problem.” The Doctor bit his lip and considered it. “They can't just keep you here indefinitely.”
“Sure, they can. I know too much about---things.”
“The Wraith.” The Doctor frowned. These Humans, always stumbling about and getting into trouble, no matter which dimension they were in! The Atlantis expedition had accidentally roused them from slumber and unleashed them on the Pegasus Galaxy. Unlike the Daleks or the Cybermen, the Wraith only needed to feed. Their diet was just...rather unusual.
Beckett raised his eyebrows and said in a low tone, “You'd better keep your voice down, MacCrimmon.”
“You mean him?” The Doctor nicked his head towards the guard. “Dinnae worry.”
“You know about the Wraith?”
“Aye. Got enough security clearance to know about 'em. Fascinatin' species, though I wouldn't want to get too close to 'em. I know you have.”
Beckett's eyes reflected his pain. “Too close for comfort.”
“You were forced to help 'em, weren't you?”
His shoulders slumped. “Yeah.”
“'Twasn't your fault, lad. You can't hold yourself responsible for things you had absolutely no control over.” The Doctor held his gaze longer than he meant to. “Believe me, I understand the feeling.”
Beckett's blue eyes searched his brown ones for the space of heartbeat, but there was a wealth of sympathy in the look. The man was actually trained in medical matters, and the Doctor heard about his extraordinary bedside matter. It didn't matter that this was a genetic clone of the original. He believed he was Carson, and so he was.
And no mindless clone would feel guilty for things he shouldn't. Just like no new regeneration should feel responsible for the actions of the previous ones. And that's a bunch of malarkey. The Doctor dryly considered that he and Beckett shared more in common than he had first thought.
“Cogito ergo sum,” The Doctor murmured with a smirk.
“'I think, therefore I am',” Beckett translated with a slight smile. “So, Q.E.D. Quad erat demonstrandum.”
“Thus it has been shown.” The Doctor made a face and added, “The proof is right there in front of their bloody faces. If they can't admit it or accept it, they're idiots.”
The blunt words brought a startled laugh from Beckett. “You don't mince words.”
“Why should I? It's the truth.” He shrugged and regarded his uneaten meal. He didn't really have to eat, but after a moment, he poked at it a little. “And truth is, I'm bettin' you'll see Glasgow again someday.”
Beckett took a deliberate sip of his drink. “You seem pretty convinced of that, and I'm inclined to believe you.”
The Doctor chuckled and took a bite of his food; he really didn't know just what it was. “Good. You need to keep believing that, Carson. Don't lose that hope.”
They settled into a comfortable silence for a while, as they both finished their lunches. Finally, Beckett saw the corporal's signal and sighed, “That's my cue. It's been good talkin' with you, James. I hope I'll see you around again sometime.”
“Yeah, I'm sure you will. I'll be around.”
The Doctor watched as Beckett disappeared with his young watchdog. Another Latin expression came to mind, one that definitely applied to Beckett. The man's heart—and his spirit—was bigger than anyone gave him credit for.
“Maius intra quo extra,” he murmured to himself. Bigger on the inside than on the outside.
