SGA fic: Eighteen Things Major Lorne (More or Less) Hates About the Pegasus Galaxy
Title: Eighteen Things Major Lorne (More or Less) Hates About the Pegasus Galaxy
Rating: PG-13
Words: About 3500
Characters/Pairing: Lorne, Lorne/McKay
Summary: Sometimes things get really annoying.
Notes: Many thanks to mklutz for beta! All remaining mistakes are mine. Number 8 is based on a conversation mklutz and I had, here. Written while I was away. Spoilers for up to 3x8 (McKay and Mrs. Miller). Plus, spoilers for use of first name TPTB decided upon for Major Lorne.
1. Ants. In his pants. Literally.
After going to the infirmary, after glaring at his team, and after writing the mission report, Evan Lorne refuses to talk about it. People quickly figure out not to ask.
It's not the ants specifically, not really. The itching and burning will go away (Dr. Beckett had provided cream, discretely coughing and averting his gaze). It's not Parrish's fault - not really - that Evan had stepped on the ant nest and hadn't noticed because he was too busy trying to listen for suspicious noises over Parrish's relentless, plant-centric, chatter.
No. It's the Pegasus Galaxy, a place where stupid Earth proverbs and sayings, things from his childhood, come to life in unpleasant ways. Ants in pants. A bird in the hand might be better than two in an Earth bush. In Pegasus, that bird has poisonous feathers that lead to three days of hallucinations, disorientation, and - so Lieutenant Merricks swears - singing songs that had made Dr. Weir blush when they finally got Evan back through the 'gate.
The ill wind? Isn't just a metaphor. On P4X-412, the wind carried spores that left him and his team vomiting for days, even while the whole botany team flew about in a frenzy of excitement, asking for specifics on, "How do the spores make you feel, Major?" until he decided to puke on Parrish's boots.
Sometimes the direct route is the best one.
And hell yeah, don't teach your grandmother to suck eggs, especially when that grandmother is a toothless harridan who will spit the egg yolk in your face. And the egg yolk happens to be some kind of acid.
Normally, he has no problem talking about these things. It's a way to unwind. But he isn't talking about the ants and how far exactly they got up his pants.
2. Sex. Specifically, getting called to an emergency when things are just getting good.
"I'll be right there," he says into his earpiece, already fumbling with his pants.
It's not that he's always fucking during his downtime. It's not that Atlantis has one emergency after another. Not really.
He just has a crap sense of timing. On Earth, his timing is great. It's perfect. Sex falls into his lap when he's not even out specifically looking for it.
In the Pegasus Galaxy, sex falls into his lap, and almost immediately gets pushed off by the sound of Colonel Sheppard's voice, or a sudden controlled-tension query from Dr. Weir. Inevitably, it's just as things are getting interesting, just as his hands are remembering the feel of another's skin, sleek, warm and barely familiar. The call will come and reluctantly he'll pull away, lips covered in the lingering taste of someone else.
"Sorry," he says now, but he doesn't make promises about meeting again later. This is the Pegasus Galaxy. Neither of them might be here later. Evan doesn't believe in jinxes, not really, but he's not stupid either.
3. Subbing on Colonel Sheppard's team.
"Major," Sheppard says, smiling a bland smile.
Evan's heart sinks. Just slightly.
"Ronon's still down with that bug from M4X-421, and I need a fourth for my team. We're leaving in 20 minutes."
Evan nods and thinks about the extra gear he might need. Just in case. Because it's Sheppard's team.
Later, he walks back through the 'gate, ignoring the looks the marines and the science staff give him.
"Really," McKay is saying, his voice slightly loopy. He's probably thinking about grabbing Evan's ass. Again.
"It's a good look for you. Some men don't pull off a skirt. Have you seen Carson in a kilt? Unpleasant. Not that you're wearing a skirt in the girl sense," McKay adds hastily. "It's very manly in that brown leather, Roman Centurion way. I'm thinking Gladiator."
McKay might be as high as a kite, but he wisely doesn't mention the matching slave collar that is currently chaffing at Evan's neck. Even though Evan's sure McKay has some thoughts on how well the collar goes with the skirt, how supple the leather is, how this is nothing like the time that McKay himself got sold into slavery and was forced to wear rough burlap that left a rash that stayed for weeks.
Evan wishes he could have see that. The sold into slavery part, not the rash.
Somewhere up in the control room, someone lets out a low whistle. Evan glares.
He hates substituting on Sheppard's team.
4. "See what you can make this do," McKay says, for the eighth time. He's holding out another innocuous-looking Ancient object.
Evan hates being called down to lab duty, especially since McKay has the gene himself now. It's even worse when they're testing things in the 'Huh' box. It's the box that has Zelenka standing a few feet away, looking nervous and excitable, and so, so glad that he doesn't have the gene.
And Evan hates it most especially when McKay is standing too close, body radiating heat, breath brushing against Evan's neck.
"Step back," Evan says, in case the object - flat and tetrahedron and covered in some kind of blue and red enamel - explodes. And then he touches it.
It turns out to be a child's educational toy, randomly projecting images of planets and quizzing about the resources, the people, the geological properties and so on. Zelenka mutters something into his earpiece and minutes later two anthropologists and a geologist run into the room, claim the toy, and leave, talking excitedly.
It's not exactly boring, but Evan's had better days.
Object number nine turns out to be a weapon. McKay grins. Zelenka grins. Evan wants to use it again.
McKay moves closer to Evan, already talking technical talk with Zelenka. He leans into Evan, pushing the boundaries of personal space, and doesn't seem to notice. When Evan moves away slightly, McKay just follows, still talking. Eventually, he asks, "Want to try it again?"
Hell yes. Evan touches the small, oval disk and watches as it lights up, firing perfectly at a box containing pieces of non-functioning Wraith technology. It's one of two boxes. It used to be one of three.
The box disappears. Evan grins.
McKay sighs happily, still leaning against Evan's shoulder. Possibly leaning closer.
Maybe he doesn't hate this so much. At least not all of the time.
5. Documentaries.
Atlantis personnel can request copies of new shows, and they do. Hockey games. Football games. Endless episodes of people living in or working in, or destroying spaceships. And yeah, sometimes he sticks around after to listen to the scientists critique the "science" (he can hear the air quotes as they say the word) of the shows. It's a way to kill time, although honestly, sometimes the science on the shows sounds more plausible than what he hears in the labs. Not that Evan's an expert.
He watches Law and Order and CSI shows, which he's pretty sure are the same shows with different actors; he even watched something called the OC, which he's fairly certain killed a good number of his brain cells.
Doctor Who wasn't so bad.
But he hates the documentaries. Not on principle. Just the kind that get ordered: hunts for rare sea snakes; how railway tracks are made; the rising number of shark attacks in the last five years; the rate of decay for stone monuments in the desert. He doesn't know who orders these monstrosities.
He's sure he doesn't want to know.
6. Mandatory Psychological Evaluation Sessions.
Dr. Weir calls them "a way to maintain morale and detect signs of stress in the personnel." Evan just calls them a pain in his ass. Not that he dislikes Dr. Heightmeyer. She's got a great sense of humour, and she knows when to stop asking questions.
She doesn't ask about the ants.
She doesn't ask about the slavery incident.
She doesn't even ask about "interpersonal relations". At least, not after the once.
"Do you miss Earth?" she asks, leaning forward in her seat.
"Sure I do," Evan answers, grinning.
"Anything particular?"
Well. There's the sex. And not getting sold into slavery ("It was an accident," McKay still says on days when Evan gets that look on his face).
But Evan knows better than to mention any of that. Heightmeyer might want to talk about the skirt. Or Sheppard's team and how Evan feels about them. Instead, he smiles and says, "Take out food."
She writes it down.
Evan starts thinking about something to tell her the next time she asks.
7. Ronon's gun.
Specifically, he hates that he can't have it.
But at least he's not alone. He's seen the way Sheppard looks at it, out of the corner of his eyes, sly and quick enough that it almost looks like he's checking out Ronon's ass, not his gun. And Cadman sometimes makes soft, hopeful eyes in the direction of the gun. Hell, sometimes even Chuck the 'gate tech looks at that gun like it's doing a really sexy dance.
Evan's sure Ronon knows exactly how many people want that damn gun. It's probably why he looks so smug half the time.
8. Having four legs instead of two.
On paper, Evan hated getting turned into a cat (Not precisely a cat, the zoologists had told him later. Cat-like. But it didn't make much of a difference to Evan. He'd had four paws and a tail. McKay had talked about getting him belled). It was a waste of his time, it was the result of yet another diplomatic blunder made by someone who wasn't him, and he got fleas. No one knows where the fleas came from, but Evan has his suspicions.
"It must have been very odd," Heightmeyer had said later, and Evan had agreed with her. Odd. And itchy. A lot of the things Evan hates about the Pegasus Galaxy involves inappropriate itching.
But some nights, he dreams of walking soundlessly, paws padding on the cool floor. He dreams of thick, warm fur, and finding mousey little creatures to track and catch, and bring home to put on McKay's chair, or Sheppard's desk, or Parrish's pillow. And then he dreams of hiding somewhere and watching their reactions.
Sheppard had been delightfully disgusted; McKay had looked at the tiny corpse, almost smiled, said, "Huh," and brushed it away. Parrish had immediately called a xenozoologist, had it collected and then fallen asleep face-first on the pillow.
They're good dreams. Especially because they never include the fleas.
9. Security gaps of the most irritating kind.
The time there were two McKays was annoying. Not because one was enough (although it was), but because it showed yet another gap in their security, one that he's still not sure they can deal with.
Sure, Rod McKay had been a friendly (a too-friendly friendly), but next time? It could be anyone. It could be mad scientist Parrish. Or garrulous, touchy-feely Sheppard. Or Dr. Beckett in a kilt. Hell, it could be Wraith that want to teach 'enlightenment' or something stupidly new age. The possibilities are endless, but the science people say an inter-dimensional shield is not a priority, and would use too many resources.
It's frustrating.
10. Waiting.
He dislikes waiting. Waiting for the next volley of fire to come, waiting for the next Wraith attack, or the next infiltrator.
Mostly though, he seems to spend time waiting in the endlessly bland, sterile offices of various politicians, or religious leaders, or whoever is in charge on whatever high-tech planet they're negotiating with.
He dislikes standing and listening to Dr. Weir talk, making advances and then losing ground, alternately flattering and skewering. It's not her he hates - he admires the way she plays them, and the way she gracefully makes concessions when necessary.
It's that he knows that eventually, whatever leader they're talking to is most likely going to betray them - sell them out to the Genii, or the Wraith, or some internal faction that wants blood or technology or genius scientists. Waiting for it wastes time, and some days, Evan just wishes they'd skip all the false diplomacy and get to the threats and betrayal part. It would be more efficient.
He'll never ask, but he'd bet that Dr. Weir wishes they'd just get on with it too.
11. The décor.
The walls, the halls, the chairs, the beds, the technology - everything in Atlantis is done in the same colour scheme. Blues and beige, muted greens and greys are everywhere. At first, it had looked fresh, new, a welcome change from the dark, cold interior of the SGC.
But sometimes, when he's been in the city for too many days in a row, Evan feels like he can only see washed-out colours. On those days, he asks to make one of the supply runs to the mainland. He drinks in the bright greens and warm browns, the bright flashes of red and purple flowers in the young girls' hair.
"It's good to see you again Major Lorne," Halling says this time, as Evan helps unload some farming supplies.
"It's good to be here," Evan answers, and he means it.
12. McKay. McKay is really annoying. Repeatedly. Loud, demanding, insistent, and arrogant.
But somehow, Evan has ended up in McKay's room, his hands tugging open McKay's pants.
He doesn't even like McKay. Especially since McKay is muttering, "Knew it when I saw the skirt."
"Don't push your luck," he says, but he's undoing his own belt as he says it. McKay just smirks at him.
Evan's wondering if it's worth taking off his boots when McKay slides down to the floor. "Shit," Evan mutters, disturbed by how hot that suddenly is. Especially because McKay didn't bitch about his knees or his back or anything as he went down. "There better not be another emergency."
"Not for you, Major," McKay says, "because after that little debacle that nearly killed us all, the 'gate is down for maintenance. But if Radek's clumsy hands slip and break a crucial crystal, then we all know who they'll come running to -"
"McKay," Evan says, pained.
"Well it's true," McKay says, and then, miracle of miracles, he drops it.
Later, lying on the bed, messy, exhausted, sore, and grinning, Evan figures maybe McKay's not all that annoying after all. Sometimes. And not just when he's saving their lives.
"We should do this again," McKay says, voice low and sleepy. "You could wear that skirt."
Evan resists the urge to punch him. Barely.
13. He doesn't hate the Wraith. Hate gets in the way of doing what he has to do. It fucks up his aim.
But he hates walking into the wrecks of villages, finding survivors walking dazed and blank-eyed, searching for loved ones and neighbours. He hates finding children huddled behind makeshift shelters, their parents long gone. Even worse, he hates days like today, walking into an empty village. The houses are still standing, animals are lowing, in some cases cookfires are still smoking. Everything looks perfect, except there are no human noises.
Last week this had been a busy community, friendly and willing to trade.
"Spread out," he says to his team, "and look for survivors." He gives the order, but he knows they won't find anything. The Wraith are starting to take everyone.
They'll search anyway. And when they come back alone, Dr. Weir will send another, larger team. Just to be certain. When they don't find anyone either, she'll authorise the harvest of the fields surrounding the village.
Yes, the trade had already been agreed upon. Yes, Atlantis had traded cloth and some tools upfront. But it still feels like scavenging, like walking on the dead.
Evan hates it.
14. Disasters in the botany labs.
Sure, plants seem innocent enough. Evan enjoys eating many of them. He should hate disasters in the chemistry labs, or the labs where they test ancient artefacts. And yeah, those are a real problem.
But botany lab disasters always seem to lead to embarrassing situations, bigger messes, more paperwork, and generally the semi-mysterious disappearance of some of his clothing.
"Botany labs again, Major?" Dr. Weir asks, as Evan walks down the hall minus a significant portion of his pants.
"Yes, ma'am," he replies, keeping his expression calm.
"You always seem to be the senior officer on duty when there's a botany lab problem."
Evan sees the way her lips twitch briefly. "I've noticed that, ma'am." Sometimes he wonders if it's an agreement between Sheppard - who won't have the paperwork to do - and the botanists, who seem to have an unreasonable grudge against Evan's clothes.
Dr. Weir is almost smirking now, although it's more in her eyes than her mouth. Evan would miss it if he hadn't spent so much time on her security detail when she went off-world.
He wonders if she isn't in on it too.
15. Yak milk.
"They are not yaks, Major Lorne," Teyla says, happily looking at a mugful of the stuff. "They are called mathven."
Sure, sure, call them whatever, they still look like yaks. And their milk - thick, yellowish, and unanimously declared safe for consumption by both the Athosians and the medical staff - looks about as appetising as the greenish, hairy, yak-meat that the yak-breeders had also tried to sell them.
"It is highly nutritious," Teyla continues. "When I was a child, my father ensured that I drank some every day, even when trading times were difficult." She holds the mug up closer to her face, breathing deeply. "I am very glad we have been able to secure a steady supply."
Even from across the table, Evan can smell the stuff. At every table around him, people are drinking the milk, and they don't seem to mind it. Hell, even McKay has been drinking it.
But the smell - thick and strong and oily - kills his appetite.
What the hell. It's not like he needs breakfast anyway.
16. Dried gourds. Evan hates them. And he knows he's not alone.
Taking his rapidly-acquired gourd collection - a shameful number of them - down to the incinerator had been very satisfying.
Parrish had claimed that the gourds needed to be "disposed of properly" because they were "alien to the local ecosystem" and could "wreak havoc on delicate ecological balances". Incinerators had been his suggestion. Evan can see the logic of it, but he'd also seen the satisfied, almost vengeful expression on Parrish's face as personnel had added their gourds to the fire.
Evan had known exactly how Parrish had felt.
17. The loss of familiar faces.
Sometimes he feels the absence of SG-1 on Atlantis. They're almost larger than life, and some personnel back at the SGC saw them as a good luck charm. Evan doesn't believe in luck, but he still liked to have SG-1 around. He's a practical guy, and they're practical proof that people can screw up on a regular basis and still live to talk about it.
"Are you serious?" McKay asks in a slightly shrill tone. "Those people are walking disasters! You should be glad you're away from them! I'm surprised they haven't blown up the planet five times by now."
He keeps the grin from his face. Maybe he does miss SG-1 and their controlled insanity, but it's more than made up for by fucking with McKay's head. "They're survivors, McKay. We should be so lucky."
"What the hell is wrong with you? We are that lucky! How many times have I single-handedly - well, maybe with a little help, but that pales in significance compared to what I've had to do - saved this expedition -"
Fighting a smirk, Evan sits back in his chair and watches the show.
18. Killer attack birds from the planet Zargon.
"I'm assuming that is some quaint military way of naming Wraith darts so they seem trivial." Parrish's voice is muffled, coming through the trunk of the tree where he currently has his head. Intentionally.
"No," Evan says as calmly as possible, wiping blood from his ear. He's pretty sure a bird had just given him the ear piercing he never really wanted. He throws a rock at another bird and it veers from its trajectory towards Parrish's ass.
"Where is this Zargon planet, anyway?" Parrish is oblivious.
"Dr. Parrish, do you want your ass to be a permanent target?" He throws another rock. No way is he wasting bullets on these tiny flying bastards.
Slowly, Parrish pulls his head out of the tree trunk. His hair is a mess, and dirt is streaking his face. "Major, did you just make a pass at me? Because if so, I must say that your technique is sadly - oww!" A bird has flown into his head, beak first.
Evan manages to keep a straight face. "Killer birds."
Parrish has caught the bird, which was stunned by his head. His thumb and forefinger casually keep the beak closed as he peers at it. "Hmm. The colours -" he mutters to himself, poking the bird, pushing feathers aside and muttering some more. Then he looks up, grinning widely. "Major! I think these birds are plants!"
Of course, Evan thinks, tossing more rocks as a new flock starts diving. Of course they are.
"Stop throwing rocks!" Parrish yells frantically. "We need to collect samples! Live samples! Major, this is a key find! We haven't had evidence of plant-based higher life forms since -" he ducks from a fresh volley. "Never mind! Go get nets."
Evan can think of a few things that deserve to be in nets. He's not sure the 'birds' are included. Turning, he starts jogging towards the 'jumper.
A bird hits him in the shoulder, shrieking briefly. The shriek sounds like triumph. He's not surprised.
End.
Rating: PG-13
Words: About 3500
Characters/Pairing: Lorne, Lorne/McKay
Summary: Sometimes things get really annoying.
Notes: Many thanks to mklutz for beta! All remaining mistakes are mine. Number 8 is based on a conversation mklutz and I had, here. Written while I was away. Spoilers for up to 3x8 (McKay and Mrs. Miller). Plus, spoilers for use of first name TPTB decided upon for Major Lorne.
1. Ants. In his pants. Literally.
After going to the infirmary, after glaring at his team, and after writing the mission report, Evan Lorne refuses to talk about it. People quickly figure out not to ask.
It's not the ants specifically, not really. The itching and burning will go away (Dr. Beckett had provided cream, discretely coughing and averting his gaze). It's not Parrish's fault - not really - that Evan had stepped on the ant nest and hadn't noticed because he was too busy trying to listen for suspicious noises over Parrish's relentless, plant-centric, chatter.
No. It's the Pegasus Galaxy, a place where stupid Earth proverbs and sayings, things from his childhood, come to life in unpleasant ways. Ants in pants. A bird in the hand might be better than two in an Earth bush. In Pegasus, that bird has poisonous feathers that lead to three days of hallucinations, disorientation, and - so Lieutenant Merricks swears - singing songs that had made Dr. Weir blush when they finally got Evan back through the 'gate.
The ill wind? Isn't just a metaphor. On P4X-412, the wind carried spores that left him and his team vomiting for days, even while the whole botany team flew about in a frenzy of excitement, asking for specifics on, "How do the spores make you feel, Major?" until he decided to puke on Parrish's boots.
Sometimes the direct route is the best one.
And hell yeah, don't teach your grandmother to suck eggs, especially when that grandmother is a toothless harridan who will spit the egg yolk in your face. And the egg yolk happens to be some kind of acid.
Normally, he has no problem talking about these things. It's a way to unwind. But he isn't talking about the ants and how far exactly they got up his pants.
2. Sex. Specifically, getting called to an emergency when things are just getting good.
"I'll be right there," he says into his earpiece, already fumbling with his pants.
It's not that he's always fucking during his downtime. It's not that Atlantis has one emergency after another. Not really.
He just has a crap sense of timing. On Earth, his timing is great. It's perfect. Sex falls into his lap when he's not even out specifically looking for it.
In the Pegasus Galaxy, sex falls into his lap, and almost immediately gets pushed off by the sound of Colonel Sheppard's voice, or a sudden controlled-tension query from Dr. Weir. Inevitably, it's just as things are getting interesting, just as his hands are remembering the feel of another's skin, sleek, warm and barely familiar. The call will come and reluctantly he'll pull away, lips covered in the lingering taste of someone else.
"Sorry," he says now, but he doesn't make promises about meeting again later. This is the Pegasus Galaxy. Neither of them might be here later. Evan doesn't believe in jinxes, not really, but he's not stupid either.
3. Subbing on Colonel Sheppard's team.
"Major," Sheppard says, smiling a bland smile.
Evan's heart sinks. Just slightly.
"Ronon's still down with that bug from M4X-421, and I need a fourth for my team. We're leaving in 20 minutes."
Evan nods and thinks about the extra gear he might need. Just in case. Because it's Sheppard's team.
Later, he walks back through the 'gate, ignoring the looks the marines and the science staff give him.
"Really," McKay is saying, his voice slightly loopy. He's probably thinking about grabbing Evan's ass. Again.
"It's a good look for you. Some men don't pull off a skirt. Have you seen Carson in a kilt? Unpleasant. Not that you're wearing a skirt in the girl sense," McKay adds hastily. "It's very manly in that brown leather, Roman Centurion way. I'm thinking Gladiator."
McKay might be as high as a kite, but he wisely doesn't mention the matching slave collar that is currently chaffing at Evan's neck. Even though Evan's sure McKay has some thoughts on how well the collar goes with the skirt, how supple the leather is, how this is nothing like the time that McKay himself got sold into slavery and was forced to wear rough burlap that left a rash that stayed for weeks.
Evan wishes he could have see that. The sold into slavery part, not the rash.
Somewhere up in the control room, someone lets out a low whistle. Evan glares.
He hates substituting on Sheppard's team.
4. "See what you can make this do," McKay says, for the eighth time. He's holding out another innocuous-looking Ancient object.
Evan hates being called down to lab duty, especially since McKay has the gene himself now. It's even worse when they're testing things in the 'Huh' box. It's the box that has Zelenka standing a few feet away, looking nervous and excitable, and so, so glad that he doesn't have the gene.
And Evan hates it most especially when McKay is standing too close, body radiating heat, breath brushing against Evan's neck.
"Step back," Evan says, in case the object - flat and tetrahedron and covered in some kind of blue and red enamel - explodes. And then he touches it.
It turns out to be a child's educational toy, randomly projecting images of planets and quizzing about the resources, the people, the geological properties and so on. Zelenka mutters something into his earpiece and minutes later two anthropologists and a geologist run into the room, claim the toy, and leave, talking excitedly.
It's not exactly boring, but Evan's had better days.
Object number nine turns out to be a weapon. McKay grins. Zelenka grins. Evan wants to use it again.
McKay moves closer to Evan, already talking technical talk with Zelenka. He leans into Evan, pushing the boundaries of personal space, and doesn't seem to notice. When Evan moves away slightly, McKay just follows, still talking. Eventually, he asks, "Want to try it again?"
Hell yes. Evan touches the small, oval disk and watches as it lights up, firing perfectly at a box containing pieces of non-functioning Wraith technology. It's one of two boxes. It used to be one of three.
The box disappears. Evan grins.
McKay sighs happily, still leaning against Evan's shoulder. Possibly leaning closer.
Maybe he doesn't hate this so much. At least not all of the time.
5. Documentaries.
Atlantis personnel can request copies of new shows, and they do. Hockey games. Football games. Endless episodes of people living in or working in, or destroying spaceships. And yeah, sometimes he sticks around after to listen to the scientists critique the "science" (he can hear the air quotes as they say the word) of the shows. It's a way to kill time, although honestly, sometimes the science on the shows sounds more plausible than what he hears in the labs. Not that Evan's an expert.
He watches Law and Order and CSI shows, which he's pretty sure are the same shows with different actors; he even watched something called the OC, which he's fairly certain killed a good number of his brain cells.
Doctor Who wasn't so bad.
But he hates the documentaries. Not on principle. Just the kind that get ordered: hunts for rare sea snakes; how railway tracks are made; the rising number of shark attacks in the last five years; the rate of decay for stone monuments in the desert. He doesn't know who orders these monstrosities.
He's sure he doesn't want to know.
6. Mandatory Psychological Evaluation Sessions.
Dr. Weir calls them "a way to maintain morale and detect signs of stress in the personnel." Evan just calls them a pain in his ass. Not that he dislikes Dr. Heightmeyer. She's got a great sense of humour, and she knows when to stop asking questions.
She doesn't ask about the ants.
She doesn't ask about the slavery incident.
She doesn't even ask about "interpersonal relations". At least, not after the once.
"Do you miss Earth?" she asks, leaning forward in her seat.
"Sure I do," Evan answers, grinning.
"Anything particular?"
Well. There's the sex. And not getting sold into slavery ("It was an accident," McKay still says on days when Evan gets that look on his face).
But Evan knows better than to mention any of that. Heightmeyer might want to talk about the skirt. Or Sheppard's team and how Evan feels about them. Instead, he smiles and says, "Take out food."
She writes it down.
Evan starts thinking about something to tell her the next time she asks.
7. Ronon's gun.
Specifically, he hates that he can't have it.
But at least he's not alone. He's seen the way Sheppard looks at it, out of the corner of his eyes, sly and quick enough that it almost looks like he's checking out Ronon's ass, not his gun. And Cadman sometimes makes soft, hopeful eyes in the direction of the gun. Hell, sometimes even Chuck the 'gate tech looks at that gun like it's doing a really sexy dance.
Evan's sure Ronon knows exactly how many people want that damn gun. It's probably why he looks so smug half the time.
8. Having four legs instead of two.
On paper, Evan hated getting turned into a cat (Not precisely a cat, the zoologists had told him later. Cat-like. But it didn't make much of a difference to Evan. He'd had four paws and a tail. McKay had talked about getting him belled). It was a waste of his time, it was the result of yet another diplomatic blunder made by someone who wasn't him, and he got fleas. No one knows where the fleas came from, but Evan has his suspicions.
"It must have been very odd," Heightmeyer had said later, and Evan had agreed with her. Odd. And itchy. A lot of the things Evan hates about the Pegasus Galaxy involves inappropriate itching.
But some nights, he dreams of walking soundlessly, paws padding on the cool floor. He dreams of thick, warm fur, and finding mousey little creatures to track and catch, and bring home to put on McKay's chair, or Sheppard's desk, or Parrish's pillow. And then he dreams of hiding somewhere and watching their reactions.
Sheppard had been delightfully disgusted; McKay had looked at the tiny corpse, almost smiled, said, "Huh," and brushed it away. Parrish had immediately called a xenozoologist, had it collected and then fallen asleep face-first on the pillow.
They're good dreams. Especially because they never include the fleas.
9. Security gaps of the most irritating kind.
The time there were two McKays was annoying. Not because one was enough (although it was), but because it showed yet another gap in their security, one that he's still not sure they can deal with.
Sure, Rod McKay had been a friendly (a too-friendly friendly), but next time? It could be anyone. It could be mad scientist Parrish. Or garrulous, touchy-feely Sheppard. Or Dr. Beckett in a kilt. Hell, it could be Wraith that want to teach 'enlightenment' or something stupidly new age. The possibilities are endless, but the science people say an inter-dimensional shield is not a priority, and would use too many resources.
It's frustrating.
10. Waiting.
He dislikes waiting. Waiting for the next volley of fire to come, waiting for the next Wraith attack, or the next infiltrator.
Mostly though, he seems to spend time waiting in the endlessly bland, sterile offices of various politicians, or religious leaders, or whoever is in charge on whatever high-tech planet they're negotiating with.
He dislikes standing and listening to Dr. Weir talk, making advances and then losing ground, alternately flattering and skewering. It's not her he hates - he admires the way she plays them, and the way she gracefully makes concessions when necessary.
It's that he knows that eventually, whatever leader they're talking to is most likely going to betray them - sell them out to the Genii, or the Wraith, or some internal faction that wants blood or technology or genius scientists. Waiting for it wastes time, and some days, Evan just wishes they'd skip all the false diplomacy and get to the threats and betrayal part. It would be more efficient.
He'll never ask, but he'd bet that Dr. Weir wishes they'd just get on with it too.
11. The décor.
The walls, the halls, the chairs, the beds, the technology - everything in Atlantis is done in the same colour scheme. Blues and beige, muted greens and greys are everywhere. At first, it had looked fresh, new, a welcome change from the dark, cold interior of the SGC.
But sometimes, when he's been in the city for too many days in a row, Evan feels like he can only see washed-out colours. On those days, he asks to make one of the supply runs to the mainland. He drinks in the bright greens and warm browns, the bright flashes of red and purple flowers in the young girls' hair.
"It's good to see you again Major Lorne," Halling says this time, as Evan helps unload some farming supplies.
"It's good to be here," Evan answers, and he means it.
12. McKay. McKay is really annoying. Repeatedly. Loud, demanding, insistent, and arrogant.
But somehow, Evan has ended up in McKay's room, his hands tugging open McKay's pants.
He doesn't even like McKay. Especially since McKay is muttering, "Knew it when I saw the skirt."
"Don't push your luck," he says, but he's undoing his own belt as he says it. McKay just smirks at him.
Evan's wondering if it's worth taking off his boots when McKay slides down to the floor. "Shit," Evan mutters, disturbed by how hot that suddenly is. Especially because McKay didn't bitch about his knees or his back or anything as he went down. "There better not be another emergency."
"Not for you, Major," McKay says, "because after that little debacle that nearly killed us all, the 'gate is down for maintenance. But if Radek's clumsy hands slip and break a crucial crystal, then we all know who they'll come running to -"
"McKay," Evan says, pained.
"Well it's true," McKay says, and then, miracle of miracles, he drops it.
Later, lying on the bed, messy, exhausted, sore, and grinning, Evan figures maybe McKay's not all that annoying after all. Sometimes. And not just when he's saving their lives.
"We should do this again," McKay says, voice low and sleepy. "You could wear that skirt."
Evan resists the urge to punch him. Barely.
13. He doesn't hate the Wraith. Hate gets in the way of doing what he has to do. It fucks up his aim.
But he hates walking into the wrecks of villages, finding survivors walking dazed and blank-eyed, searching for loved ones and neighbours. He hates finding children huddled behind makeshift shelters, their parents long gone. Even worse, he hates days like today, walking into an empty village. The houses are still standing, animals are lowing, in some cases cookfires are still smoking. Everything looks perfect, except there are no human noises.
Last week this had been a busy community, friendly and willing to trade.
"Spread out," he says to his team, "and look for survivors." He gives the order, but he knows they won't find anything. The Wraith are starting to take everyone.
They'll search anyway. And when they come back alone, Dr. Weir will send another, larger team. Just to be certain. When they don't find anyone either, she'll authorise the harvest of the fields surrounding the village.
Yes, the trade had already been agreed upon. Yes, Atlantis had traded cloth and some tools upfront. But it still feels like scavenging, like walking on the dead.
Evan hates it.
14. Disasters in the botany labs.
Sure, plants seem innocent enough. Evan enjoys eating many of them. He should hate disasters in the chemistry labs, or the labs where they test ancient artefacts. And yeah, those are a real problem.
But botany lab disasters always seem to lead to embarrassing situations, bigger messes, more paperwork, and generally the semi-mysterious disappearance of some of his clothing.
"Botany labs again, Major?" Dr. Weir asks, as Evan walks down the hall minus a significant portion of his pants.
"Yes, ma'am," he replies, keeping his expression calm.
"You always seem to be the senior officer on duty when there's a botany lab problem."
Evan sees the way her lips twitch briefly. "I've noticed that, ma'am." Sometimes he wonders if it's an agreement between Sheppard - who won't have the paperwork to do - and the botanists, who seem to have an unreasonable grudge against Evan's clothes.
Dr. Weir is almost smirking now, although it's more in her eyes than her mouth. Evan would miss it if he hadn't spent so much time on her security detail when she went off-world.
He wonders if she isn't in on it too.
15. Yak milk.
"They are not yaks, Major Lorne," Teyla says, happily looking at a mugful of the stuff. "They are called mathven."
Sure, sure, call them whatever, they still look like yaks. And their milk - thick, yellowish, and unanimously declared safe for consumption by both the Athosians and the medical staff - looks about as appetising as the greenish, hairy, yak-meat that the yak-breeders had also tried to sell them.
"It is highly nutritious," Teyla continues. "When I was a child, my father ensured that I drank some every day, even when trading times were difficult." She holds the mug up closer to her face, breathing deeply. "I am very glad we have been able to secure a steady supply."
Even from across the table, Evan can smell the stuff. At every table around him, people are drinking the milk, and they don't seem to mind it. Hell, even McKay has been drinking it.
But the smell - thick and strong and oily - kills his appetite.
What the hell. It's not like he needs breakfast anyway.
16. Dried gourds. Evan hates them. And he knows he's not alone.
Taking his rapidly-acquired gourd collection - a shameful number of them - down to the incinerator had been very satisfying.
Parrish had claimed that the gourds needed to be "disposed of properly" because they were "alien to the local ecosystem" and could "wreak havoc on delicate ecological balances". Incinerators had been his suggestion. Evan can see the logic of it, but he'd also seen the satisfied, almost vengeful expression on Parrish's face as personnel had added their gourds to the fire.
Evan had known exactly how Parrish had felt.
17. The loss of familiar faces.
Sometimes he feels the absence of SG-1 on Atlantis. They're almost larger than life, and some personnel back at the SGC saw them as a good luck charm. Evan doesn't believe in luck, but he still liked to have SG-1 around. He's a practical guy, and they're practical proof that people can screw up on a regular basis and still live to talk about it.
"Are you serious?" McKay asks in a slightly shrill tone. "Those people are walking disasters! You should be glad you're away from them! I'm surprised they haven't blown up the planet five times by now."
He keeps the grin from his face. Maybe he does miss SG-1 and their controlled insanity, but it's more than made up for by fucking with McKay's head. "They're survivors, McKay. We should be so lucky."
"What the hell is wrong with you? We are that lucky! How many times have I single-handedly - well, maybe with a little help, but that pales in significance compared to what I've had to do - saved this expedition -"
Fighting a smirk, Evan sits back in his chair and watches the show.
18. Killer attack birds from the planet Zargon.
"I'm assuming that is some quaint military way of naming Wraith darts so they seem trivial." Parrish's voice is muffled, coming through the trunk of the tree where he currently has his head. Intentionally.
"No," Evan says as calmly as possible, wiping blood from his ear. He's pretty sure a bird had just given him the ear piercing he never really wanted. He throws a rock at another bird and it veers from its trajectory towards Parrish's ass.
"Where is this Zargon planet, anyway?" Parrish is oblivious.
"Dr. Parrish, do you want your ass to be a permanent target?" He throws another rock. No way is he wasting bullets on these tiny flying bastards.
Slowly, Parrish pulls his head out of the tree trunk. His hair is a mess, and dirt is streaking his face. "Major, did you just make a pass at me? Because if so, I must say that your technique is sadly - oww!" A bird has flown into his head, beak first.
Evan manages to keep a straight face. "Killer birds."
Parrish has caught the bird, which was stunned by his head. His thumb and forefinger casually keep the beak closed as he peers at it. "Hmm. The colours -" he mutters to himself, poking the bird, pushing feathers aside and muttering some more. Then he looks up, grinning widely. "Major! I think these birds are plants!"
Of course, Evan thinks, tossing more rocks as a new flock starts diving. Of course they are.
"Stop throwing rocks!" Parrish yells frantically. "We need to collect samples! Live samples! Major, this is a key find! We haven't had evidence of plant-based higher life forms since -" he ducks from a fresh volley. "Never mind! Go get nets."
Evan can think of a few things that deserve to be in nets. He's not sure the 'birds' are included. Turning, he starts jogging towards the 'jumper.
A bird hits him in the shoulder, shrieking briefly. The shriek sounds like triumph. He's not surprised.
End.