Christmas ficlets!
Ford/Keller from Hold On, Here We Go (wordsatourbacks)
It’s Sheppard who catches Aiden in the corridor, eighteen months after they got to Atlantis, and says, “Check your email, we just got some good news in the data-burst.”
Good news could be anything from ‘extra chocolate rations for everyone’ to ‘you’ve been granted a month’s leave on Earth, and you don’t have to go via the Daedalus,’ so Aiden’s not quite ready to be too excited by this. Though Sheppard’s honest to God smiling, not grinning but smiling, like whatever it is has made him happy.
“What kind of good news?” he asks, trying to figure out what could have made Sheppard happy via the data-burst and also be something he thinks will please Aiden. The first part’s easy - Holland’s been redeployed out here, they’re getting the 305s ahead of schedule, don’t ask don’t tell just got repealed, Sheppard’s been promoted - but while Aiden would obviously be happy for Sheppard in any of those cases, they’re none of them good news for him personally.
“The good kind,” Sheppard says, still smiling, pushing Aiden lightly in the direction of the junior officers’ room. “Go on.”
Aiden goes.
There isn’t, unfortunately, an email helpfully titled ‘good news’ in his inbox, but there is one from Jennifer that he really hopes is the good one, despite the lack of subject line. He clicks it open, reads, ‘I just got reassigned, they’re sending me out to Atlantis to look after Colonel Mitchell’s squadron again,’ and whoops loudly enough that Major Lorne sticks his head in the office and says, “Captain?”
“Sorry, sir,” Aiden apologizes. “Good news from Earth.”
“Glad to hear it,” Lorne says, grinning, and leaves.
*
Jennifer’s been to Atlantis once before, when Carolyn had to go out to try to figure out an infection that was spreading across the city, and snuck Jennifer with her so she could see Aiden, terrified that he was going to be one of the ones who died of it. She doesn’t really remember much about the city from that trip, so when she steps through the gate, she winds up staring in awe at the place, just like everyone else.
“Step aside, please, let the others through,” Lorne says, pushing her gently aside. Jennifer goes, not really paying attention, banging her medical case against her knees, half-listening to the pop of other people stepping through the gate.
She can’t quite believe she’s here, to stay.
Of course, her moment of quiet amazement doesn’t last long - she hears footsteps pelting down the gate-room stairs, then she’s being caught up in a hug from Captain Zhang, then Lieutenant Somers, both of them grinning. “Finally,” Zhang says. “About time we managed to steal you.”
Jennifer laughs at them. “I was always willing to be stolen.”
“Still took their sweet time about it,” Ito says, appearing behind Somers and Zhang and shaking Jennifer’s hand.
“Amen to that,” Mitchell agrees, appearing amongst the crowd to give her a one-armed hug, followed, to her amazement, by Sheppard, who doesn’t even seem awkward about it, like he did when they met. She’s surrounded by her guys and girls, the people she patched up and cared for and sat with when they couldn’t pretend they were okay any more and spilled their secrets or sobbed on her shoulder, and it feels like coming home.
Except for the one thing that’s missing.
“Is Aiden around?” she asks, trying for casual.
Somers and Zhang exchange bright grins. “Ford!” Somers yells, looking up to the control balcony, where Dr Weir is watching them all with amused, tolerant eyes. “Yo, Ford, stop pretending to be important and get down here.”
“I thought you were going to treat me with the respect accorded to my rank now I’m senior to you,” Aiden’s voice calls back, though Jennifer still can’t see him.
Somers shrugs. “Maybe when it’s been more than a couple of weeks *Captain*.”
Zhang says something to her, but Jennifer’s not paying attention any more, because Aiden’s walking down the stairs, looking right at her, his face lit up and happy. Jennifer feels herself grinning like a crazy person, going bright red in front of the squadron and Dr Weir and Colonel Caldwell and everyone, and she doesn’t care.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” Aiden says back, stopping just close enough that she can feel his body heat. Everything else fades out, except for Zhang saying quietly, “I feel like I’ve strayed into a romantic comedy.”
“Embrace the moment,” Somers chides her.
“Embrace the girl,” Zhang corrects, and apparently Aiden’s listening, because his grin widens even further, and he sweeps Jennifer close, kissing her full on the lips in front of the gate-room and everyone.
Jennifer goes even redder, starts giggling into the kiss, and hides her face against Aiden’s shoulder, feels his arms go round her.
“Welcome to Atlantis,” he says against her hair.
Cam/John + Lorne, all I want for Christmas (rubygirl29)
The run-up to Christmas on Atlantis is a triumph of hope over experience, from scheduling time-off and Earthside rotations to planning a community dinner and party. Everyone treats it like it’s really going to happen, approaching it with Scrooge- or Santa-like response.
Of course, this is Pegasus, and so Christmas day itself is more like the triumph of reality over optimism.
Case in point: Evan’s supposed to have the morning off and be spending it with Zelenka, Keller and Brown, frosting chocolate Yule logs and decorating Christmas puddings. Instead, he’s crouching in an honest-to-God closet with Sheppard. Who, given the way he’s babbling, probably did get hit with a dose of whatever the currently-unknown people trying to invade Atlantis sprayed the gate-room with in an attempt to, as far as anyone can tell, literally make them talk.
About the weather, in Sheppard’s case.
“That’s the nice thing about being on a new planet. Temperate weather, generally. No five years of sunshine then a killer storm. Of course, it’s boring as hell.”
“Yes, sir,” Evan agrees. At least Sheppard seems able to control what he says, and to stop it if someone else starts, though once he gets going on a subject, it’s more stream of consciousness rambling than a conversation. Evan tilts the life signs detector and watches the red dots of their invaders being herded towards the gate-room by Zelenka, McKay and a laptop hooked into Atlantis’ door-control system. “I think it’s working,” he says, showing Sheppard.
“Good. Great.” Sheppard looks darkly pleased, and Evan’s pretty sure their invaders will regret sneaking in under cover as desperate refugees. Particularly since they knocked Ronon out. “Everyone’s in place, right? Of course they are, this is a walk in the park. Not even a Wraith ship in sight. Home in time for tea. If we weren’t home al- Christ, Lorne, give me something else to talk about, please.”
“You have Christmas plans before this?” Lorne asks, first thing that comes into his head.
“These were my Christmas plans,” Sheppard says, fingering his stunner. “When have you ever known Christmas to go smoothly here? You know the last time my Christmas went to plan? 2001. Cam and I got leave and spent it with my mom and her partner. Best Christmas I’ve ever had.” He looks down and away, and his voice drops. “Next one sucked. We were both deployed, and Mom and Sarah’d only been gone a couple of months…”
“I’m sorry,” Evan says, just to stop Sheppard for a second. It’s not like he didn’t know about Sheppard and Mitchell - he’s been Sheppard’s XO for five years now, including their first year together when they were the only two senior officers, and they’re more like friends than C and subordinate - but not Sheppard’s mom and her female partner. He knows Sheppard will regret telling him that much, wants to stop him before he says any more. “You wish you were on Earth for Christmas?”
“You saying you don’t want to be stuck in a closet with me, Major?” Sheppard asks, grinning. “No. Cam’s seeing his family. Too many kids, I can never get their names straight. And his mom keeps telling me I’m too skinny.”
Evan smiles. He can’t really imagine that side of Sheppard, with a partner and in-laws who fuss over him, but he likes that Sheppard seems to have it. Sheppard’s seemed pretty damned lonely since the rest of his team started settling down. “Sounds stressful,” he agrees.
“Much better to be here fighting alien invaders,” Sheppard says, nodding.
Evan nods, just as serious. “At least those, you can shoot,” he says, and that’s when Teyla’s voice comes over their radios, giving the go order.
John/Cam, Christmas traditions (gaffsie)
Emails sent by Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard to Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell, Christmas 2006:
0630: Happy Christmas. For last week, since this won’t go through till New Year’s. But anyway. Better late than never.
0830: Why was the milk at breakfast green? I thought Christmas was green *and* red. Also? Green milk is just strange.
0832: And yes, I realize that strange should be relative when I live in the lost city of Atlantis. Apparently it’s not.
1008: When I find out who rigged the radios to play Christmas songs when it’s dead air, there will be punishment. KP. Swamp planet missions. *Lab* duty. With McKay, and Kavanagh.
1214: If the turkey’s green, I’m having MREs instead. Bad enough that it was three-headed.
1442: Green would have been better. They gave all three heads Wraith hair and made Elizabeth, McKay and I decapitate them. I think it was Ronon’s idea.
1738: Mistletoe is officially banned in this city. There are some things I never need to see (please don’t ask. I plan to scour the memory from my brain before I see you again).
2001: Note to self: McKay and candy canes do not mix.
2224: Why oh why do I have Marines? What’s wrong with a nice squad of Airmen? Or Sailors. We’re an island city, after all. Going to bed - Lorne’s always saying he wants to take on more responsibility.
2358: Happy Christmas, again. Hope you like your present.
Emails sent by Colonel Cameron Mitchell to Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, Christmas 2007:
0515: My brother would hurt me if I gagged his children, right? This is not a time of day I like to see when I’m not working. Guess you’re still sleeping - and won’t get this for a week - but happy Christmas. Try not to get invaded.
0830: Aunt Jessica just gave me a twenty minute lecture on why email-enabled cell phones are the work of the Devil. Or something like that - I’m paraphrasing slightly. Who knew?
1003: Court’s kids say hi and merry Christmas. Told them you’re an Air Force friend deployed a long way away - they say: poor you, hope you’re not lonely; are you anywhere near Santa; and can they have a postcard to take into class? Thought they were a bit young to understand the Official Secrets Act and how that’s get you thrown in jail. Anyway, they’d probably just have asked if you’d send a postcard from there.
1516: Too much food. No three-headed turkeys. Grateful for small mercies (and less small ones)
1628: Should have said earlier - Sam has mince pies. If you decide to steal one, don’t mention my name.
1658: Think Jackson’s planning to ask to transfer out to you again in the new year. Please say no. I’ve got enough people in another galaxy.
1817: I am the king of Ludo. How come we never find a planet with ritual board games? Surely that’s not weirder than ritual rabbit racing (though less alliterative).
2351: Peace at last. I’m sure Court and I didn’t used to stay up this late, though Mamma disagrees with me. Happy new year, even if I’m early. See you in 2008? Cpuch is always free,
Emails sent by Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard to Colonel Cameron Mitchell, Christmas 2008:
0856: Any day that starts with unexplained fire alarms is not good. Though the science team are ecstatic - apparently they didn’t know the city had fire alarms, though since it has sensors and alarms for pretty much everything else, I’m not really getting why this is such a surprise.
1020: Also banned: creating an ice rink at the bottom of Tower 12. Keller’s not impressed, and Woolsey’s not thrilled either.
1117: Oh good. Music’s back.
1428: Sergeant Mehra is leading my NCOs in a round of Jingle Bells, complete with dance routine. I’m not sure whether I hope that they’re drunk or hope that they’re sober.
1547: Christmas is vastly improved by the addition of a small child, even if he can’t understand what’s happening. Rodney’s pretty put out that Torren’s more interested in the wrapping paper than the contents.
1701: So much for a quiet day - on way to the Haptrans, Wraith cruiser just showed. Happy Xmas, I’ll email when I’m back.
(Two days later): This holiday sucks, and so do doctors. And Wraith. And pain killers. I’m fine. Tell Carter hi and the Haptrans miss her.
Christmas 2009:
Cam woke up to the feel of something dragging across the skin over the top of his spine. When he opened his eyes and twisted his head, John was sitting across his hips, applying a green Sharpie to his skin.
“S’it say?” Cam mumbled.
“Happy Christmas,” John said, capping the pen and setting it on the nightstand, then draping himself over Cam’s back. “Felt like I should write it down.”
“Mm,” Cam agreed, closing his eyes again. “Tradition. Better like this though.”
Cam/Ronon, mature ladies' travel agency AU (I don’t know why they’re British and in the UK in this. Or maybe American and in the UK - I can’t really imagine them with British accents, though you may be able to, I guess) (spillingvelvet)
Cam’s up to his eyeballs in last-minute bookings for Christmas and new year breaks when the travel agency front door opens, bringing in another blast of icy air, though thankfully still no snow. He hates snow, everyone panics and then tries to pretend like ‘no refunds if cancelled due to weather’ doesn’t include snow.
“Yes, ma’am, Bath certainly is beautiful this time of year,” he agrees, looking up, expecting to see a harried customer. Instead, he finds himself face to face with Ronon, dressed in jeans and his dark brown wool coat, wearing his glasses and leaning on Vala’s currently vacant desk. He smiles when he catches Cam’s eye, and Cam’s heart trips over itself, same way it always does, even after two months of knowing him, and knowing he’s dating Evan Lorne, John’s assistant concierge at the Radisson.
“Yes, ma’am,” Cam says blankly into the pause in the conversation, then, when his brain catches up, “New Year’s Eve party tickets at the Baths are included, but not drinks.”
Mrs. Batcombe keeps him on the phone for another five minutes, going over everything Cam sent her when she booked her trip, and Ronon stays leaning against the desk, sipping a paper cup of coffee from the machine in the corner, and flipping through a brochure for Highland spring breaks, which he puts down as soon as Cam hangs up. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Cam says back, turning the answer machine on even though he knows hell regret it later. “Here to book a holiday?”
“Any cancellations for Lapland?” Ronon asks, same as every time.
“Nope.” Cam digs through his desk and pulls out a flyer. “But you could feed the reindeer at the Zoo next weekend.”
Ronon actually reads it, then tucks it in his pocket. “You can come with me.”
“Okay,” Cam agrees. This is pretty much par for the course ever since they bumped into each other at the hotel - Ronon delivering his cakes, Cam waiting to meet John for coffee - and Ronon started dropping by Cam’s travel agency. Ronon doesn’t so much make him do stuff as tell him to go. Not that Cam’s complaining, particularly since he always goes.
“Hotel Christmas party’s tomorrow,” Ronon adds, looking at Cam expectantly. One dark curl falls over his glasses and Cam’s brain sticks on fuck, he’s hot. “You coming?”
“What?” Cam asks stupidly. “Oh. Yes. Standing invite from John.” Vala thinks it’s weird that he goes to his ex’s work Christmas party, but he and John were friends before they were together, and they’ve always been better at that, slid easily back into it. “You?” he asks, knowing the answer.
Ronon shrugs. “Evan asked, I was waiting to see if you were. He said midnight?”
“Sounds good,” Cam agrees, and swallows down It’s a date.
*
The hotel party is a strange experience: held in the windowless staff canteen, pizza instead of Christmas dinner because the chef’s refuse to either cater their own party or let anyone else in their kitchen, and half the staff in uniform because they’re on the overnight shift. Cam kind of likes it for its quirkiness, and also because everyone gets very drunk, very quickly, then tries to dance. Since he’ll be going straight back to work from the party in the morning, he’s sober enough to find it pretty entertaining, even more so when Ronon pulls the chair next to him close enough for his arm to press against Cam’s.
“Having fun?” Ronon asks.
Cam nods, watching Sam and Teyla, the co-managers, spin each other drunkenly between the tables. “Where’s Evan?”
Ronon shrugs. “Off somewhere with John.” He watches the dancers for a minute, then drains the last of his glass of wine and stands up. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” Cam asks, abandoning his orange juice and following him towards the doors. “Leaving already?”
“Nope,” Ronon says. He detours round a group of porters singing along to the stereo and swaying, and grabs Cam’s arm to pull him along. Cam’s not expecting it and bumps into Ronon instead, backing up as far as he can when Ronon doesn’t let go.
“In here,” Ronon says, opening a side door.
Cam has about three seconds to take in boxes of napkins and piles of table cloths before Ronon’s pushing him back against the wooden shelves, crowding close and - Cam’s brain shuts down for a few seconds as Ronon kisses him, his beard scratchy against Cam’s skin, one hand still on Cam’s arm. Then he gives himself a mental sap and starts kissing back, tasting red wine and trying not to shiver at the feel of Ronon pressed against him in all the best ways.
And then his brain really starts up again, and he leans back and says, “Evan.”
Ronon blinks his eyes open, and Cam has to try really hard not to fall back into kissing him. ”What?”
“Evan. Your boyfriend.”
“What?” Ronon asks again. He leans away from Cam a little. ”He’s not my boyfriend. Where’d you hear that?”
“I saw you together. Couple days after we met.” Just long enough for the attraction to have started, so it had been really uncomfortable to see Ronon lean down and kiss Evan’s waiting mouth, Evan’s arms round his neck.
Ronon looks confused for a moment, then says, “We used to. Broke up right before I got the contract here.”
“And you kiss all your ex-boyfriends like that?”
“Nah, just Evan.” Ronon catches Cam’s disbelieving look and adds, “You buttoned John’s jacket for him last week. He lets you hug him. Evan and me are like that. There wasn’t even tongue,” he adds, grinning.
Cam’s not sure Ronon and Evan are actually that much like him and John, who definitely don’t kiss any more, but he’s willing to admit jealousy might have colored his perception of things a little. And Ronon wouldn’t lie about them being broken up.
“So I should feel special, then?” he asks.
“Very,” Ronon agrees, and leans in to kiss him again. With tongue.
John/Cam, lip balm (I’m sorry, this was going to be comic misunderstanding, and it really…isn’t) (miss-zedem)
“You taste weird,” Cam says, pulling away.
John blinks, readjusting - he was expecting the along part of ‘long time, no see; to go on longer and end with them naked in bed together. “That… might be the strangest thing you’ve said to me today.”
“No.” Cam scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip, stepping a little further back from John. That’s definitely not how this is supposed to go. “Strawberry or something.”
“Strawberry,” John parrots. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, feeling off-balance and vaguely stupid in the middle of Cam’s kitchen. “Strawberry jello at lunch?”
Cam shakes his head. He looks worried, even when he smiles. “You been kissing someone else behind my back?” he asks, not quite hitting teasing.
“What?” John demands. “Who? I flew in six hours ago. Unless you’re accusing me of having a girlfriend in Bosnia.”
Cam winces, and John’s not sure if it’s guilt for the accusation or just the mention of John’s deployment flying med-evac while Cam was safe at home in training. So maybe guilt either way. “You’ve just never struck me as the strawberry lip balm type,” Cam says, fair amount of accusation still in the words.
John rolls his eyes. “One of the docs gave it to me. It never got above freezing my entire deployment, she took pity on me. On a bunch of us, she got her girlfriend to send out a care package.” He snatches his coat up, digs out the tube to show Cam. “Okay? She thought a bunch of macho pilots wearing strawberry lip gloss was funny.”
Cam has the grace to look ashamed. “Sorry.”
“Sure,” John says quietly, turning away. He wants to leave, but his car’s outside his own apartment on the other side of town. “I’m gonna call a cab, I think.”
“Don’t,” Cam says. John feels him move closer, but he doesn’t touch. “I’m sorry. Don’t leave.”
“If you don’t trust me -“ John starts, but Cam cuts him off.
“I do. I do, it’s just…” He trails off, and John waits for Cam to say something he’s heard before: you’re bi, you’re impulsive, I’ve seen the way people look at you, you’ll sleep with anyone. John wants to hate the last one most for being the only one that’s untrue in both words and underlying meaning, but they all hurt, he’s sick of hearing all of them. “It’s just that you were married,” Cam says quietly.
John closes his eyes, feeling wounded. “And now I’m divorced and with you.”
“I know,” Cam says. “But that was easier.”
“Yes,” John agrees, because what’s the point of pretending otherwise, when this could still get them both dishonorably discharged. There’s a long pause while John feels Cam’s anxiety like a third person. “Please don’t do this,” he says eventually.
“I’m sorry,” Cam says again, then, “I’m trying.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” John says. He remembers turning the tube of lip balm over in his hand, waiting for Cam to give him a ride, and wishes he’d just put it back in his pocket. This isn’t how he wanted it to go.
“I'm sorry,” Cam says, which John doesn’t doubt when he sounds as miserable as John feels. “I’m not used to… this. Having someone.”
“That’s not why you don’t trust me,” John says.
“I trust you,” Cam says immediately. John shakes his head, and Cam says, “I just think maybe you’ll realize this is too much trouble.”
John hates that he can feel himself caving under Cam’s truth. He hates that how much Cam cares about him matters more than Cam’s hesitance to trust in John’s faithfulness. “I’d break it off with you first,” John says, which he’s aware probably isn’t exactly what Cam wants to hear. “I didn’t cheat on my wife, I won’t cheat on you. I need you to believe that.”
“Okay,” Cam says. He touches John’s back very lightly. “Can we start this again?”
It’s not a promise, it’s barely acceptance, but it’s what John’s got, and maybe it’s as much how much he cares for Cam as the reverse that’s making him crumble. He doesn’t want it to be over.
He turns into Cam’s embrace, breathes in his scent, and says, “Yeah. We can start this again.”
A Christmas Colby and Lorne spend together (bergann)
When Colby gets back from a five day patrol that’s turned up a whole lot of nothing and left him with sand everywhere he doesn’t want it, there’s a small brown postal box sitting on his cot.
Shoving down the - totally rational - urge to get EOD to come take a quick look, he approaches cautiously until he can read the label: To: Any Soldier, and then the camp’s address.
“Already?” he asks, rhetorically, since there’s no-one in the tent but him, then pops out his knife and slits it open. The contents are well packed with newspaper and, at the bottom, blue cloth like someone ran out and resorted to an old shirt. They’re worth the newspaper print all over his hands, warm and sticky,: chocolate, shower gel, two $5 phone cards, deodorant, a CD of the Rolling Stones Greatest Hits, a pack of cards, and, folded on top, a postcard of the Statue of Liberty.
Hi, it says when he flips it over. I feel sort of weird writing to you when I don’t even know who you are, but I hope you like this. Take care, be safe, and have a good Christmas. Love, Amanda.
She’s about a week early, but that’s okay. Colby’s family mostly pretend Christmas isn’t happening - his dad died three days before, and it’s never been the same since.
Lorne’s already in the mess tent when Colby gets there, sitting alone, but with a couple too many empty mugs on the table for that to have been the case for very long.
“Hey,” Colby offers, sitting opposite him.
Lorne blinks at him, then smiles. ”Thought you were out until Tuesday,” he says, pleased.
“It is Tuesday,” Colby says mildly. “What’ve *you* been doing?”
Lorne rubs his eyes, looking tired. “Long story. Tell you later. Everything go okay?”
“Boring but fine,” Colby says. Lorne doesn’t look injured, so he figures he can let the rest go till later, when they can maybe snatch a few minutes alone together. They’re getting pretty good at that. “Oh,” he says, remembering, and digs in his pocket. “Here. Happy Christmas.”
Lorne takes the chocolate bar slowly, turning it to read the label and seeming more confused that it really warrants, even if he has been deployed for six months longer than Colby already, long enough to lose track of American holidays in the desert. “You’re early.”
“Care package,” Colby says. “Anonymous one. Apparently someone thinks I’m lonely and unloved.”
He’d vaguely wondered if Lorne had picked him out, but the answer’s obviously no from the look on his face. “Don’t know how you can be lonely with a couple hundred soldiers and airmen to keep you company,” Lorne says.
“Me either,” Colby agrees, digging into his food.
“It’s your package, though,” Lorne says, nudging the chocolate bar back over. “You should keep it.”
Colby pokes it back with the handle of his fork. “It’s good to share,” he says.
John/Lorne, reading The Night Before Christmas to their kid (set about four years after Been Five Years (broms_lullaby)
Evan wakes up to the sound of the bedroom door creaking open and small feet dragging on the carpeted floor. He’s warm and sleepy and curled around John, and the room is still dark, but it’s only their second year with their five year old daughter and he’s powerless to resist her, even when half-asleep.
He rolls over and turns the lamp on low, just enough to see her standing at the side of the bed with a book in one hand. “Daddy?” she signs awkwardly round it.
Evan smiles, waits for her to smile back so he knows she’s seen him, then signs, “Come to sit with us?” She nods, holds her arms up for Evan to lift her into bed, getting clonked in the arm with the book for his troubles.
Ellie waits for him to lean back against the pillows, then curls herself into the space between him and John, who’s making the weird snuffing noises that usually indicate he’s about to wake up. She’s tiny and warm and fragile against him, and it stuns Evan all over again that she’s theirs. That they’re a them in the first place, after years of wanting in Atlantis, and that them includes a daughter.
“Read me,” Ellie signs, pushing the book into Evan’s hands. He turns it right way up and finds himself looking down at the cover of his and Zoë’s battered, old copy of The Night Before Christmas.
“Where did you find this?” he asks.
Ellie bits her lip, thinking, then points in the direction of the supposed spare room, which is really more of a dumping ground for all the stuff they couldn’t face unpacking. “Wake Daddy up?” she signs, already reaching out to shake John’s shoulder.
He’s curled away from them, but Evan can still tell when he wakes up, making a disgruntled noise and rubbing his face into the pillow like that’ll make the day go away. Evan can’t help grinning - it’s cute as hell. “Wake up, Daddy,” he says, cluing John in.
“Ugh,” John says, raising one hand to sign ‘good morning’ to Ellie. He rolls over carefully, but Evan still sees him wince before he covers it. Evan frowns, and John catches him and looks vaguely guilty, which he should, considering the conversation they just had last week about John not pretending to be fine all the time and Evan not stressing too much about his injured leg. “Sorry,” John signs, then, “Ow.”
Ellie leans down immediately to kiss his knee through the blankets, and signs, “All better?”
John nods, dragging himself up to sit against the pillows, head on Evan’s shoulder. “What’re we reading?”
Evan shows him, gets a quirked eyebrow in response.
“It’s October,” John says mildly, signing it to Ellie at the same time.
“Miss Thompson says it’s three months to Christmas,” Ellie signs back, face set in stubborn lines. She pushes the book at Evan again. “Read, Daddy.”
“Okay, okay,” Evan signs resignedly. “Come here, then.”
Ellie curls closer, her head against his chest where she can feel him speaking - it’s her favorite way to be read to, even when they follow the words in the book for her to read along, or sign them to her, though they’ve managed to make a distinction between home where that’s okay, and school where it’s not so much.
“Twas the night before Christmas,” Evan starts. Ellie nudges John, who obligingly signs the line for her, slowly so she can trace the words as he does. “When all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…”
Ellie makes the sign for mouse, giggling, and Evan forgets, utterly and completely, that it could be anything other than Christmas morning, with his partner and his daughter, like it should be.
Lorne and Cadman friendship - Christmas traditions (ionaonie)
Cadman starts it, their first Christmas together at the SGC.
“A scarf,” Lorne says, unwrapping a six-foot long blue and pink striped scarf. “Just what I always wanted.”
Cadman rolls her eyes. “Didn’t your parents ever teach you how to accept a gift gracefully?”
“I spend most of my time in uniform and on other planets,” Lorne points out. “This is me being graceful.”
“You need to work on it.”
“Sorry,” Lorne says, folding the scarf back into its wrapping. “Thank you for the thought. Whatever it was.”
Cadman shrugs. “You’re always complaining you’re cold. And the color matches your eyes.”
“Oh,” Lorne says. “Okay, I thought it was a serious gift.”
“Remind me again how you ever got promoted past lieutenant,” Cadman says, despairing.
*
The next Christmas, Lorne buys her a foot tall stone statue of a witch.
“That would have been in really poor taste if they’d killed me before you’d rescued me from being burned as a witch,” Cadman says, arranging a strand of garland round the witch’s neck. At least it’s an attractive witch.
Lorne shrugs. “I could have used it as a grave marker instead.”
“Waste not, want not,” Cadman agrees. “Though for future reference, if I am killed n the line of duty, please don’t.”
“Only if you’re killed off duty, got it,” Lorne says.
*
Their first Christmas on Atlantis, Cadman gives him a mini-skateboard, too small to ride.
“Why?” Lorne asks.
“I can find out anything,” Cadman says loftily, then, “You told me you skateboarded as a kid when your team got drugged with truth serum back in October.”
Lorne’s eyes go a little wild. “What else did I tell you?”
Cadman smiles. “A girl’s got to have some secrets. Where’s my present?”
“Who says I got you anything?”
“I can find out anything,” Cadman reminds him.
The small package turns out to contain a small wooden charm that looks vaguely like a rose, hung on a leather cord. “Thank you,” Cadman says, a little stunned to have something real, and pretty.
Lorne says, “It’s from P3X 492. Apparently, it prevents your spirit from leaving your body. And kissing the CMO. At least, I’m guessing on that part.”
Cadman laughs and hangs it around her neck. “Every little helps, right?”
*
Cadman’s first year back on Earth, Lorne sends her a Pegasus survival kit, complete with lemon, and a note that says Just in case.
Cadman sends him plane tickets to LA, with a note that reads 2-for-1, and an FBI key-ring.
This entry was originally posted at http://bluflamingo.dreamwidth.org/128248.html, where it has
comments. I'd prefer comments there, but comments here are loved just as much
It’s Sheppard who catches Aiden in the corridor, eighteen months after they got to Atlantis, and says, “Check your email, we just got some good news in the data-burst.”
Good news could be anything from ‘extra chocolate rations for everyone’ to ‘you’ve been granted a month’s leave on Earth, and you don’t have to go via the Daedalus,’ so Aiden’s not quite ready to be too excited by this. Though Sheppard’s honest to God smiling, not grinning but smiling, like whatever it is has made him happy.
“What kind of good news?” he asks, trying to figure out what could have made Sheppard happy via the data-burst and also be something he thinks will please Aiden. The first part’s easy - Holland’s been redeployed out here, they’re getting the 305s ahead of schedule, don’t ask don’t tell just got repealed, Sheppard’s been promoted - but while Aiden would obviously be happy for Sheppard in any of those cases, they’re none of them good news for him personally.
“The good kind,” Sheppard says, still smiling, pushing Aiden lightly in the direction of the junior officers’ room. “Go on.”
Aiden goes.
There isn’t, unfortunately, an email helpfully titled ‘good news’ in his inbox, but there is one from Jennifer that he really hopes is the good one, despite the lack of subject line. He clicks it open, reads, ‘I just got reassigned, they’re sending me out to Atlantis to look after Colonel Mitchell’s squadron again,’ and whoops loudly enough that Major Lorne sticks his head in the office and says, “Captain?”
“Sorry, sir,” Aiden apologizes. “Good news from Earth.”
“Glad to hear it,” Lorne says, grinning, and leaves.
*
Jennifer’s been to Atlantis once before, when Carolyn had to go out to try to figure out an infection that was spreading across the city, and snuck Jennifer with her so she could see Aiden, terrified that he was going to be one of the ones who died of it. She doesn’t really remember much about the city from that trip, so when she steps through the gate, she winds up staring in awe at the place, just like everyone else.
“Step aside, please, let the others through,” Lorne says, pushing her gently aside. Jennifer goes, not really paying attention, banging her medical case against her knees, half-listening to the pop of other people stepping through the gate.
She can’t quite believe she’s here, to stay.
Of course, her moment of quiet amazement doesn’t last long - she hears footsteps pelting down the gate-room stairs, then she’s being caught up in a hug from Captain Zhang, then Lieutenant Somers, both of them grinning. “Finally,” Zhang says. “About time we managed to steal you.”
Jennifer laughs at them. “I was always willing to be stolen.”
“Still took their sweet time about it,” Ito says, appearing behind Somers and Zhang and shaking Jennifer’s hand.
“Amen to that,” Mitchell agrees, appearing amongst the crowd to give her a one-armed hug, followed, to her amazement, by Sheppard, who doesn’t even seem awkward about it, like he did when they met. She’s surrounded by her guys and girls, the people she patched up and cared for and sat with when they couldn’t pretend they were okay any more and spilled their secrets or sobbed on her shoulder, and it feels like coming home.
Except for the one thing that’s missing.
“Is Aiden around?” she asks, trying for casual.
Somers and Zhang exchange bright grins. “Ford!” Somers yells, looking up to the control balcony, where Dr Weir is watching them all with amused, tolerant eyes. “Yo, Ford, stop pretending to be important and get down here.”
“I thought you were going to treat me with the respect accorded to my rank now I’m senior to you,” Aiden’s voice calls back, though Jennifer still can’t see him.
Somers shrugs. “Maybe when it’s been more than a couple of weeks *Captain*.”
Zhang says something to her, but Jennifer’s not paying attention any more, because Aiden’s walking down the stairs, looking right at her, his face lit up and happy. Jennifer feels herself grinning like a crazy person, going bright red in front of the squadron and Dr Weir and Colonel Caldwell and everyone, and she doesn’t care.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” Aiden says back, stopping just close enough that she can feel his body heat. Everything else fades out, except for Zhang saying quietly, “I feel like I’ve strayed into a romantic comedy.”
“Embrace the moment,” Somers chides her.
“Embrace the girl,” Zhang corrects, and apparently Aiden’s listening, because his grin widens even further, and he sweeps Jennifer close, kissing her full on the lips in front of the gate-room and everyone.
Jennifer goes even redder, starts giggling into the kiss, and hides her face against Aiden’s shoulder, feels his arms go round her.
“Welcome to Atlantis,” he says against her hair.
Cam/John + Lorne, all I want for Christmas (rubygirl29)
The run-up to Christmas on Atlantis is a triumph of hope over experience, from scheduling time-off and Earthside rotations to planning a community dinner and party. Everyone treats it like it’s really going to happen, approaching it with Scrooge- or Santa-like response.
Of course, this is Pegasus, and so Christmas day itself is more like the triumph of reality over optimism.
Case in point: Evan’s supposed to have the morning off and be spending it with Zelenka, Keller and Brown, frosting chocolate Yule logs and decorating Christmas puddings. Instead, he’s crouching in an honest-to-God closet with Sheppard. Who, given the way he’s babbling, probably did get hit with a dose of whatever the currently-unknown people trying to invade Atlantis sprayed the gate-room with in an attempt to, as far as anyone can tell, literally make them talk.
About the weather, in Sheppard’s case.
“That’s the nice thing about being on a new planet. Temperate weather, generally. No five years of sunshine then a killer storm. Of course, it’s boring as hell.”
“Yes, sir,” Evan agrees. At least Sheppard seems able to control what he says, and to stop it if someone else starts, though once he gets going on a subject, it’s more stream of consciousness rambling than a conversation. Evan tilts the life signs detector and watches the red dots of their invaders being herded towards the gate-room by Zelenka, McKay and a laptop hooked into Atlantis’ door-control system. “I think it’s working,” he says, showing Sheppard.
“Good. Great.” Sheppard looks darkly pleased, and Evan’s pretty sure their invaders will regret sneaking in under cover as desperate refugees. Particularly since they knocked Ronon out. “Everyone’s in place, right? Of course they are, this is a walk in the park. Not even a Wraith ship in sight. Home in time for tea. If we weren’t home al- Christ, Lorne, give me something else to talk about, please.”
“You have Christmas plans before this?” Lorne asks, first thing that comes into his head.
“These were my Christmas plans,” Sheppard says, fingering his stunner. “When have you ever known Christmas to go smoothly here? You know the last time my Christmas went to plan? 2001. Cam and I got leave and spent it with my mom and her partner. Best Christmas I’ve ever had.” He looks down and away, and his voice drops. “Next one sucked. We were both deployed, and Mom and Sarah’d only been gone a couple of months…”
“I’m sorry,” Evan says, just to stop Sheppard for a second. It’s not like he didn’t know about Sheppard and Mitchell - he’s been Sheppard’s XO for five years now, including their first year together when they were the only two senior officers, and they’re more like friends than C and subordinate - but not Sheppard’s mom and her female partner. He knows Sheppard will regret telling him that much, wants to stop him before he says any more. “You wish you were on Earth for Christmas?”
“You saying you don’t want to be stuck in a closet with me, Major?” Sheppard asks, grinning. “No. Cam’s seeing his family. Too many kids, I can never get their names straight. And his mom keeps telling me I’m too skinny.”
Evan smiles. He can’t really imagine that side of Sheppard, with a partner and in-laws who fuss over him, but he likes that Sheppard seems to have it. Sheppard’s seemed pretty damned lonely since the rest of his team started settling down. “Sounds stressful,” he agrees.
“Much better to be here fighting alien invaders,” Sheppard says, nodding.
Evan nods, just as serious. “At least those, you can shoot,” he says, and that’s when Teyla’s voice comes over their radios, giving the go order.
John/Cam, Christmas traditions (gaffsie)
Emails sent by Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard to Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell, Christmas 2006:
0630: Happy Christmas. For last week, since this won’t go through till New Year’s. But anyway. Better late than never.
0830: Why was the milk at breakfast green? I thought Christmas was green *and* red. Also? Green milk is just strange.
0832: And yes, I realize that strange should be relative when I live in the lost city of Atlantis. Apparently it’s not.
1008: When I find out who rigged the radios to play Christmas songs when it’s dead air, there will be punishment. KP. Swamp planet missions. *Lab* duty. With McKay, and Kavanagh.
1214: If the turkey’s green, I’m having MREs instead. Bad enough that it was three-headed.
1442: Green would have been better. They gave all three heads Wraith hair and made Elizabeth, McKay and I decapitate them. I think it was Ronon’s idea.
1738: Mistletoe is officially banned in this city. There are some things I never need to see (please don’t ask. I plan to scour the memory from my brain before I see you again).
2001: Note to self: McKay and candy canes do not mix.
2224: Why oh why do I have Marines? What’s wrong with a nice squad of Airmen? Or Sailors. We’re an island city, after all. Going to bed - Lorne’s always saying he wants to take on more responsibility.
2358: Happy Christmas, again. Hope you like your present.
Emails sent by Colonel Cameron Mitchell to Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, Christmas 2007:
0515: My brother would hurt me if I gagged his children, right? This is not a time of day I like to see when I’m not working. Guess you’re still sleeping - and won’t get this for a week - but happy Christmas. Try not to get invaded.
0830: Aunt Jessica just gave me a twenty minute lecture on why email-enabled cell phones are the work of the Devil. Or something like that - I’m paraphrasing slightly. Who knew?
1003: Court’s kids say hi and merry Christmas. Told them you’re an Air Force friend deployed a long way away - they say: poor you, hope you’re not lonely; are you anywhere near Santa; and can they have a postcard to take into class? Thought they were a bit young to understand the Official Secrets Act and how that’s get you thrown in jail. Anyway, they’d probably just have asked if you’d send a postcard from there.
1516: Too much food. No three-headed turkeys. Grateful for small mercies (and less small ones)
1628: Should have said earlier - Sam has mince pies. If you decide to steal one, don’t mention my name.
1658: Think Jackson’s planning to ask to transfer out to you again in the new year. Please say no. I’ve got enough people in another galaxy.
1817: I am the king of Ludo. How come we never find a planet with ritual board games? Surely that’s not weirder than ritual rabbit racing (though less alliterative).
2351: Peace at last. I’m sure Court and I didn’t used to stay up this late, though Mamma disagrees with me. Happy new year, even if I’m early. See you in 2008? Cpuch is always free,
Emails sent by Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard to Colonel Cameron Mitchell, Christmas 2008:
0856: Any day that starts with unexplained fire alarms is not good. Though the science team are ecstatic - apparently they didn’t know the city had fire alarms, though since it has sensors and alarms for pretty much everything else, I’m not really getting why this is such a surprise.
1020: Also banned: creating an ice rink at the bottom of Tower 12. Keller’s not impressed, and Woolsey’s not thrilled either.
1117: Oh good. Music’s back.
1428: Sergeant Mehra is leading my NCOs in a round of Jingle Bells, complete with dance routine. I’m not sure whether I hope that they’re drunk or hope that they’re sober.
1547: Christmas is vastly improved by the addition of a small child, even if he can’t understand what’s happening. Rodney’s pretty put out that Torren’s more interested in the wrapping paper than the contents.
1701: So much for a quiet day - on way to the Haptrans, Wraith cruiser just showed. Happy Xmas, I’ll email when I’m back.
(Two days later): This holiday sucks, and so do doctors. And Wraith. And pain killers. I’m fine. Tell Carter hi and the Haptrans miss her.
Christmas 2009:
Cam woke up to the feel of something dragging across the skin over the top of his spine. When he opened his eyes and twisted his head, John was sitting across his hips, applying a green Sharpie to his skin.
“S’it say?” Cam mumbled.
“Happy Christmas,” John said, capping the pen and setting it on the nightstand, then draping himself over Cam’s back. “Felt like I should write it down.”
“Mm,” Cam agreed, closing his eyes again. “Tradition. Better like this though.”
Cam/Ronon, mature ladies' travel agency AU (I don’t know why they’re British and in the UK in this. Or maybe American and in the UK - I can’t really imagine them with British accents, though you may be able to, I guess) (spillingvelvet)
Cam’s up to his eyeballs in last-minute bookings for Christmas and new year breaks when the travel agency front door opens, bringing in another blast of icy air, though thankfully still no snow. He hates snow, everyone panics and then tries to pretend like ‘no refunds if cancelled due to weather’ doesn’t include snow.
“Yes, ma’am, Bath certainly is beautiful this time of year,” he agrees, looking up, expecting to see a harried customer. Instead, he finds himself face to face with Ronon, dressed in jeans and his dark brown wool coat, wearing his glasses and leaning on Vala’s currently vacant desk. He smiles when he catches Cam’s eye, and Cam’s heart trips over itself, same way it always does, even after two months of knowing him, and knowing he’s dating Evan Lorne, John’s assistant concierge at the Radisson.
“Yes, ma’am,” Cam says blankly into the pause in the conversation, then, when his brain catches up, “New Year’s Eve party tickets at the Baths are included, but not drinks.”
Mrs. Batcombe keeps him on the phone for another five minutes, going over everything Cam sent her when she booked her trip, and Ronon stays leaning against the desk, sipping a paper cup of coffee from the machine in the corner, and flipping through a brochure for Highland spring breaks, which he puts down as soon as Cam hangs up. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Cam says back, turning the answer machine on even though he knows hell regret it later. “Here to book a holiday?”
“Any cancellations for Lapland?” Ronon asks, same as every time.
“Nope.” Cam digs through his desk and pulls out a flyer. “But you could feed the reindeer at the Zoo next weekend.”
Ronon actually reads it, then tucks it in his pocket. “You can come with me.”
“Okay,” Cam agrees. This is pretty much par for the course ever since they bumped into each other at the hotel - Ronon delivering his cakes, Cam waiting to meet John for coffee - and Ronon started dropping by Cam’s travel agency. Ronon doesn’t so much make him do stuff as tell him to go. Not that Cam’s complaining, particularly since he always goes.
“Hotel Christmas party’s tomorrow,” Ronon adds, looking at Cam expectantly. One dark curl falls over his glasses and Cam’s brain sticks on fuck, he’s hot. “You coming?”
“What?” Cam asks stupidly. “Oh. Yes. Standing invite from John.” Vala thinks it’s weird that he goes to his ex’s work Christmas party, but he and John were friends before they were together, and they’ve always been better at that, slid easily back into it. “You?” he asks, knowing the answer.
Ronon shrugs. “Evan asked, I was waiting to see if you were. He said midnight?”
“Sounds good,” Cam agrees, and swallows down It’s a date.
*
The hotel party is a strange experience: held in the windowless staff canteen, pizza instead of Christmas dinner because the chef’s refuse to either cater their own party or let anyone else in their kitchen, and half the staff in uniform because they’re on the overnight shift. Cam kind of likes it for its quirkiness, and also because everyone gets very drunk, very quickly, then tries to dance. Since he’ll be going straight back to work from the party in the morning, he’s sober enough to find it pretty entertaining, even more so when Ronon pulls the chair next to him close enough for his arm to press against Cam’s.
“Having fun?” Ronon asks.
Cam nods, watching Sam and Teyla, the co-managers, spin each other drunkenly between the tables. “Where’s Evan?”
Ronon shrugs. “Off somewhere with John.” He watches the dancers for a minute, then drains the last of his glass of wine and stands up. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” Cam asks, abandoning his orange juice and following him towards the doors. “Leaving already?”
“Nope,” Ronon says. He detours round a group of porters singing along to the stereo and swaying, and grabs Cam’s arm to pull him along. Cam’s not expecting it and bumps into Ronon instead, backing up as far as he can when Ronon doesn’t let go.
“In here,” Ronon says, opening a side door.
Cam has about three seconds to take in boxes of napkins and piles of table cloths before Ronon’s pushing him back against the wooden shelves, crowding close and - Cam’s brain shuts down for a few seconds as Ronon kisses him, his beard scratchy against Cam’s skin, one hand still on Cam’s arm. Then he gives himself a mental sap and starts kissing back, tasting red wine and trying not to shiver at the feel of Ronon pressed against him in all the best ways.
And then his brain really starts up again, and he leans back and says, “Evan.”
Ronon blinks his eyes open, and Cam has to try really hard not to fall back into kissing him. ”What?”
“Evan. Your boyfriend.”
“What?” Ronon asks again. He leans away from Cam a little. ”He’s not my boyfriend. Where’d you hear that?”
“I saw you together. Couple days after we met.” Just long enough for the attraction to have started, so it had been really uncomfortable to see Ronon lean down and kiss Evan’s waiting mouth, Evan’s arms round his neck.
Ronon looks confused for a moment, then says, “We used to. Broke up right before I got the contract here.”
“And you kiss all your ex-boyfriends like that?”
“Nah, just Evan.” Ronon catches Cam’s disbelieving look and adds, “You buttoned John’s jacket for him last week. He lets you hug him. Evan and me are like that. There wasn’t even tongue,” he adds, grinning.
Cam’s not sure Ronon and Evan are actually that much like him and John, who definitely don’t kiss any more, but he’s willing to admit jealousy might have colored his perception of things a little. And Ronon wouldn’t lie about them being broken up.
“So I should feel special, then?” he asks.
“Very,” Ronon agrees, and leans in to kiss him again. With tongue.
John/Cam, lip balm (I’m sorry, this was going to be comic misunderstanding, and it really…isn’t) (miss-zedem)
“You taste weird,” Cam says, pulling away.
John blinks, readjusting - he was expecting the along part of ‘long time, no see; to go on longer and end with them naked in bed together. “That… might be the strangest thing you’ve said to me today.”
“No.” Cam scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip, stepping a little further back from John. That’s definitely not how this is supposed to go. “Strawberry or something.”
“Strawberry,” John parrots. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, feeling off-balance and vaguely stupid in the middle of Cam’s kitchen. “Strawberry jello at lunch?”
Cam shakes his head. He looks worried, even when he smiles. “You been kissing someone else behind my back?” he asks, not quite hitting teasing.
“What?” John demands. “Who? I flew in six hours ago. Unless you’re accusing me of having a girlfriend in Bosnia.”
Cam winces, and John’s not sure if it’s guilt for the accusation or just the mention of John’s deployment flying med-evac while Cam was safe at home in training. So maybe guilt either way. “You’ve just never struck me as the strawberry lip balm type,” Cam says, fair amount of accusation still in the words.
John rolls his eyes. “One of the docs gave it to me. It never got above freezing my entire deployment, she took pity on me. On a bunch of us, she got her girlfriend to send out a care package.” He snatches his coat up, digs out the tube to show Cam. “Okay? She thought a bunch of macho pilots wearing strawberry lip gloss was funny.”
Cam has the grace to look ashamed. “Sorry.”
“Sure,” John says quietly, turning away. He wants to leave, but his car’s outside his own apartment on the other side of town. “I’m gonna call a cab, I think.”
“Don’t,” Cam says. John feels him move closer, but he doesn’t touch. “I’m sorry. Don’t leave.”
“If you don’t trust me -“ John starts, but Cam cuts him off.
“I do. I do, it’s just…” He trails off, and John waits for Cam to say something he’s heard before: you’re bi, you’re impulsive, I’ve seen the way people look at you, you’ll sleep with anyone. John wants to hate the last one most for being the only one that’s untrue in both words and underlying meaning, but they all hurt, he’s sick of hearing all of them. “It’s just that you were married,” Cam says quietly.
John closes his eyes, feeling wounded. “And now I’m divorced and with you.”
“I know,” Cam says. “But that was easier.”
“Yes,” John agrees, because what’s the point of pretending otherwise, when this could still get them both dishonorably discharged. There’s a long pause while John feels Cam’s anxiety like a third person. “Please don’t do this,” he says eventually.
“I’m sorry,” Cam says again, then, “I’m trying.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” John says. He remembers turning the tube of lip balm over in his hand, waiting for Cam to give him a ride, and wishes he’d just put it back in his pocket. This isn’t how he wanted it to go.
“I'm sorry,” Cam says, which John doesn’t doubt when he sounds as miserable as John feels. “I’m not used to… this. Having someone.”
“That’s not why you don’t trust me,” John says.
“I trust you,” Cam says immediately. John shakes his head, and Cam says, “I just think maybe you’ll realize this is too much trouble.”
John hates that he can feel himself caving under Cam’s truth. He hates that how much Cam cares about him matters more than Cam’s hesitance to trust in John’s faithfulness. “I’d break it off with you first,” John says, which he’s aware probably isn’t exactly what Cam wants to hear. “I didn’t cheat on my wife, I won’t cheat on you. I need you to believe that.”
“Okay,” Cam says. He touches John’s back very lightly. “Can we start this again?”
It’s not a promise, it’s barely acceptance, but it’s what John’s got, and maybe it’s as much how much he cares for Cam as the reverse that’s making him crumble. He doesn’t want it to be over.
He turns into Cam’s embrace, breathes in his scent, and says, “Yeah. We can start this again.”
A Christmas Colby and Lorne spend together (bergann)
When Colby gets back from a five day patrol that’s turned up a whole lot of nothing and left him with sand everywhere he doesn’t want it, there’s a small brown postal box sitting on his cot.
Shoving down the - totally rational - urge to get EOD to come take a quick look, he approaches cautiously until he can read the label: To: Any Soldier, and then the camp’s address.
“Already?” he asks, rhetorically, since there’s no-one in the tent but him, then pops out his knife and slits it open. The contents are well packed with newspaper and, at the bottom, blue cloth like someone ran out and resorted to an old shirt. They’re worth the newspaper print all over his hands, warm and sticky,: chocolate, shower gel, two $5 phone cards, deodorant, a CD of the Rolling Stones Greatest Hits, a pack of cards, and, folded on top, a postcard of the Statue of Liberty.
Hi, it says when he flips it over. I feel sort of weird writing to you when I don’t even know who you are, but I hope you like this. Take care, be safe, and have a good Christmas. Love, Amanda.
She’s about a week early, but that’s okay. Colby’s family mostly pretend Christmas isn’t happening - his dad died three days before, and it’s never been the same since.
Lorne’s already in the mess tent when Colby gets there, sitting alone, but with a couple too many empty mugs on the table for that to have been the case for very long.
“Hey,” Colby offers, sitting opposite him.
Lorne blinks at him, then smiles. ”Thought you were out until Tuesday,” he says, pleased.
“It is Tuesday,” Colby says mildly. “What’ve *you* been doing?”
Lorne rubs his eyes, looking tired. “Long story. Tell you later. Everything go okay?”
“Boring but fine,” Colby says. Lorne doesn’t look injured, so he figures he can let the rest go till later, when they can maybe snatch a few minutes alone together. They’re getting pretty good at that. “Oh,” he says, remembering, and digs in his pocket. “Here. Happy Christmas.”
Lorne takes the chocolate bar slowly, turning it to read the label and seeming more confused that it really warrants, even if he has been deployed for six months longer than Colby already, long enough to lose track of American holidays in the desert. “You’re early.”
“Care package,” Colby says. “Anonymous one. Apparently someone thinks I’m lonely and unloved.”
He’d vaguely wondered if Lorne had picked him out, but the answer’s obviously no from the look on his face. “Don’t know how you can be lonely with a couple hundred soldiers and airmen to keep you company,” Lorne says.
“Me either,” Colby agrees, digging into his food.
“It’s your package, though,” Lorne says, nudging the chocolate bar back over. “You should keep it.”
Colby pokes it back with the handle of his fork. “It’s good to share,” he says.
John/Lorne, reading The Night Before Christmas to their kid (set about four years after Been Five Years (broms_lullaby)
Evan wakes up to the sound of the bedroom door creaking open and small feet dragging on the carpeted floor. He’s warm and sleepy and curled around John, and the room is still dark, but it’s only their second year with their five year old daughter and he’s powerless to resist her, even when half-asleep.
He rolls over and turns the lamp on low, just enough to see her standing at the side of the bed with a book in one hand. “Daddy?” she signs awkwardly round it.
Evan smiles, waits for her to smile back so he knows she’s seen him, then signs, “Come to sit with us?” She nods, holds her arms up for Evan to lift her into bed, getting clonked in the arm with the book for his troubles.
Ellie waits for him to lean back against the pillows, then curls herself into the space between him and John, who’s making the weird snuffing noises that usually indicate he’s about to wake up. She’s tiny and warm and fragile against him, and it stuns Evan all over again that she’s theirs. That they’re a them in the first place, after years of wanting in Atlantis, and that them includes a daughter.
“Read me,” Ellie signs, pushing the book into Evan’s hands. He turns it right way up and finds himself looking down at the cover of his and Zoë’s battered, old copy of The Night Before Christmas.
“Where did you find this?” he asks.
Ellie bits her lip, thinking, then points in the direction of the supposed spare room, which is really more of a dumping ground for all the stuff they couldn’t face unpacking. “Wake Daddy up?” she signs, already reaching out to shake John’s shoulder.
He’s curled away from them, but Evan can still tell when he wakes up, making a disgruntled noise and rubbing his face into the pillow like that’ll make the day go away. Evan can’t help grinning - it’s cute as hell. “Wake up, Daddy,” he says, cluing John in.
“Ugh,” John says, raising one hand to sign ‘good morning’ to Ellie. He rolls over carefully, but Evan still sees him wince before he covers it. Evan frowns, and John catches him and looks vaguely guilty, which he should, considering the conversation they just had last week about John not pretending to be fine all the time and Evan not stressing too much about his injured leg. “Sorry,” John signs, then, “Ow.”
Ellie leans down immediately to kiss his knee through the blankets, and signs, “All better?”
John nods, dragging himself up to sit against the pillows, head on Evan’s shoulder. “What’re we reading?”
Evan shows him, gets a quirked eyebrow in response.
“It’s October,” John says mildly, signing it to Ellie at the same time.
“Miss Thompson says it’s three months to Christmas,” Ellie signs back, face set in stubborn lines. She pushes the book at Evan again. “Read, Daddy.”
“Okay, okay,” Evan signs resignedly. “Come here, then.”
Ellie curls closer, her head against his chest where she can feel him speaking - it’s her favorite way to be read to, even when they follow the words in the book for her to read along, or sign them to her, though they’ve managed to make a distinction between home where that’s okay, and school where it’s not so much.
“Twas the night before Christmas,” Evan starts. Ellie nudges John, who obligingly signs the line for her, slowly so she can trace the words as he does. “When all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…”
Ellie makes the sign for mouse, giggling, and Evan forgets, utterly and completely, that it could be anything other than Christmas morning, with his partner and his daughter, like it should be.
Lorne and Cadman friendship - Christmas traditions (ionaonie)
Cadman starts it, their first Christmas together at the SGC.
“A scarf,” Lorne says, unwrapping a six-foot long blue and pink striped scarf. “Just what I always wanted.”
Cadman rolls her eyes. “Didn’t your parents ever teach you how to accept a gift gracefully?”
“I spend most of my time in uniform and on other planets,” Lorne points out. “This is me being graceful.”
“You need to work on it.”
“Sorry,” Lorne says, folding the scarf back into its wrapping. “Thank you for the thought. Whatever it was.”
Cadman shrugs. “You’re always complaining you’re cold. And the color matches your eyes.”
“Oh,” Lorne says. “Okay, I thought it was a serious gift.”
“Remind me again how you ever got promoted past lieutenant,” Cadman says, despairing.
*
The next Christmas, Lorne buys her a foot tall stone statue of a witch.
“That would have been in really poor taste if they’d killed me before you’d rescued me from being burned as a witch,” Cadman says, arranging a strand of garland round the witch’s neck. At least it’s an attractive witch.
Lorne shrugs. “I could have used it as a grave marker instead.”
“Waste not, want not,” Cadman agrees. “Though for future reference, if I am killed n the line of duty, please don’t.”
“Only if you’re killed off duty, got it,” Lorne says.
*
Their first Christmas on Atlantis, Cadman gives him a mini-skateboard, too small to ride.
“Why?” Lorne asks.
“I can find out anything,” Cadman says loftily, then, “You told me you skateboarded as a kid when your team got drugged with truth serum back in October.”
Lorne’s eyes go a little wild. “What else did I tell you?”
Cadman smiles. “A girl’s got to have some secrets. Where’s my present?”
“Who says I got you anything?”
“I can find out anything,” Cadman reminds him.
The small package turns out to contain a small wooden charm that looks vaguely like a rose, hung on a leather cord. “Thank you,” Cadman says, a little stunned to have something real, and pretty.
Lorne says, “It’s from P3X 492. Apparently, it prevents your spirit from leaving your body. And kissing the CMO. At least, I’m guessing on that part.”
Cadman laughs and hangs it around her neck. “Every little helps, right?”
*
Cadman’s first year back on Earth, Lorne sends her a Pegasus survival kit, complete with lemon, and a note that says Just in case.
Cadman sends him plane tickets to LA, with a note that reads 2-for-1, and an FBI key-ring.
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