Christmas ficlets (part 1)
So, this year I got 14 prompts for Christmas ficlets, and while I was contemplating some kind of complicated advent style lead up to Christmas... well, basically I'm not that well organised, so half of them get posted today and the other half probably Wednesday, and we'll call 'em week of Christmas ficlets instead.
And so, in no particular order:
For miss-zedem, who asked for: Early morning San Francisco. Lorne/SG male of your choice, or Lorne!gen. You know, whatever :)
"Hey," someone said quietly from the doorway. Lorne didn't bother looking away from the view of the Golden Gate bridge, and a moment later, John came to lean on the balcony next to him. "Nice view."
Lorne nodded. It was too early for the mist to have burned off the bay yet, everything out of focus, and more unreal than the view from Atlantis had ever been in Pegasus.
John didn't say anything, just stood quietly, his bare arm not quite touching Lorne's, and when Lorne glanced over, he was looking out at the water, his face giving nothing away, as usual. "You haven't been out here all night, right?" he asked, maybe catching Lorne looking.
Lorne shook his head. "Couldn't sleep. I just...it's peaceful out here."
John shrugged one shoulder. "Wait till the IOA start descending."
"Yeah." Personal conversations with John weren't ever easy, and this one had all the makings of being worse than most, since Lorne wasn't even sure what he wanted to say. "I wanted some space to think."
He felt John tense, even though they weren't touching, and reached for his arm before John could offer to leave. "I was going to come looking for you." He took his hand back, just in case; most of Atlantis' residents were early risers. "You know things are going to... change."
John grinned, sharp and sarcastic. "Yeah, I'd say."
"What - happens?" Lorne made a vague, circular gesture between the two of them, one that meant nothing much, and all of it, at once.
John had gone tense again, the line of his shoulders betraying his discomfort. "We're not doing anything wrong. We're not doing *anything* right now."
"You know Ronon asked me what's going on?"
"Ronon's observant."
"Ronon's not the only one. Dr Somerset's a renowned diplomat, that doesn't happen without being able to..." He stopped, not wanting an argument. Not sure they could have one in the opaque terms they always used to talk about this.
"She'll be out of the city most of the time," John said. "Especially if Woolsey comes back."
"With one of our teams, at least until Wright is up to speed with Pegasus."
"What do you want me to do about it?" John asked. He sounded tired, defeated, and Lorne didn't have any answers, even though it was his *job* to have the answers when John didn't; even more so now that he'd been promoted.
They watched the bay in silence, the mist starting to lift and a couple of ships heading out to sea.
"It'll be different now," John said eventually. "We're on a level, it's - acceptable for us to be friends. We've been together - been working together for a long time."
Lorne couldn't say that friends wasn't a problem, or that being accepted as spending more time together wouldn't help. Not when he'd never learned to hide his relief when John did something daredevil and survived, not when he was there at team nights with Sheppard's team: him and Kanaan and Banks and Jennifer. Atlantis' people weren't stupid, and if they'd felt less than safe when Woolsey arrived, Somerset felt actively dangerous.
"I could ask to transfer back to the SGC," he said, very quietly. "Head up a team there. It's a logical step, if I want to make general."
"Do you?"
"I did, in the future you went to."
"In the future I went to, I was missing presumed dead, Teyla was dead, Sam and Ronon were dead, and you were all forced to leave Atlantis. Do you *want* to?"
"I want to stay here." It felt like a confession, or a declaration. Something he shouldn’t be making.
"Then stay," John said, finally turning to look at him. "It's been four years. We'll be okay."
Lorne wasn't at all sure he believed John, but he wanted to. God, did he want to, and maybe that would be enough.
For camshaft22, who asked for: John/Cam-Holidays at home
"Hello, Cameron."
Cam straightened reflexively from where he was leaning against the side of the house after taking his cousin's call. "Good evening, ma'am."
"Sarah, please," she said, laughing. "John and Kathryn made coffee."
"Thank you." Cam took the mug in both hands and watched the steam curl into the cold air, briefly obscuring the empty sidewalk.
Sarah watched him for a moment, then smiled, shaking her head. "You look like you're thinking of saluting me."
"No," Cam said, stopping before he could tack 'ma'am' on the end. "Just…"
Sarah leaned against the wall next to Cam, who did his best to relax again. "Not used to spending Christmas with a couple of middle-aged lesbians?" she asked, teasing.
Cam laughed. "Not used to spending it with someone else's parents." He burnt his mouth taking a sip of coffee, then admitted, "First time I've got to meet the parents stage."
"Oh, sweetheart." Sarah rubbed his shoulder. "If it makes you feel any better, this is the first time I've been the parent in this situation. Well, the girlfriend of the parent."
Oddly, that did make Cam feel better, as did Sarah's conspiratorial smile. "Do you think we're doing okay?" she asked.
Cam could hear John in the kitchen, laughing with his mom, sounding relaxed and happy. "Yeah, I think so."
Sarah clinked her coffee mug against Cam's. "Kathryn says John doesn't usually bring anyone home."
Cam shrugged, not sure what to say. He didn't take people home to his parents either, and still wasn't all that sure what to make of John asking him back for Christmas. The whole thing made him feel young and clueless, not at all like a recently promoted Air Force major, but weirdly, he didn't mind, even it was a pretty strange Christmas.
"She was thrilled when he called to ask if he could bring you back," Sarah said quietly. "He talks about you a lot, apparently."
Cam ducked his head, sure he was blushing. Sarah laughed. "Nothing like parents to make you feel like a child, is there? Not that I ever met Kathryn's, but I had my fair share." She slung her arm around Cam's shoulders, tugging him away from the wall. "Come on, let's go back inside."
John looked up, frowning slightly, until Cam smiled at him. "Everyone okay?"
"They're all fine. Send their best wishes for the holiday."
"I hope you returned them for us," Kathryn said.
"Yes, ma'am."
"So polite." Sarah laughed, crossing the kitchen to put her arm around Kathryn's waist.
"He's well brought-up," Kathryn corrected.
John laughed. "He's right there."
"Yes, dear," Kathryn said, ruffling his hair.
John ducked away, winding up next to Cam, who figured this was the one place he could actually act like John was something more than a friend, and caught John's wrist, pulling him closer. "What?" John said.
Cam shrugged, then kissed him, quick and chaste.
"Aren't they sweet?" Sarah said.
"Adorable," Kathryn agreed.
John ducked his head against Cam's shoulder. "Remind me again why I brought you here."
Cam hugged him, figuring that was as good an answer as any.
For shoshannagold, who asked for: Nate/Brad, something from the second day of their vacation in Seagulls and Sand
"Remind me again why I let you talk me into this," Nate says, telling himself that he was a marine, he's not going to huddle into himself for warmth.
"I believe there were offers of sexual favors."
Nate looks at Brad, up to his waist in the freezing sea, his wetsuit clinging to him. "I'd think I'd remember that."
"Mm." Brad glances round, a habitual thing that Nate knows very well, then ducks his head to kiss Nate. "Jogged any memories?"
"Something's coming back to me."
Brad rolls his eyes, but Nate can see the beginnings of a smile in the corners of his eyes, the softness of his mouth. It more than makes up for being in cold water on the second day of his vacation. It’s his favorite part of their stilted phone calls, the times when he can hear the smile in Brad's voice. "All right, Sergeant, show me how it's done."
Brad is a good teacher, which doesn't surprise Nate at all. Unfortunately, in surfing, Nate is not a good student. This too is not entirely a surprise.
"How can you be so bad at this?"
Well, not to him, anyway.
Nate shrugs. "My skills lie in other areas."
Brad doesn't even make any of the obvious puns, just glares at Nate over the surfboard. "I'm serious. You have decent balance, your hand-eye coordination is passable, you passed your fitness tests. How can you not be able to surf?"
"Maybe you're not a very good teacher," Nate suggests slyly.
"You wound me, sir."
"Well, you said it," Nate points out. "I can shoot, I can walk in a straight line, I can run an obstacle course, there's no reason for me not to be able to do this."
Brad's eyes widen, but it's not in enough time for Nate to brace himself, so when Brad lunges for him, he goes over backwards in the surf, barely managing to wrap his arm around Brad's neck. They both go under the water, re-emerge spluttering for breath. "Fuck, that's cold," Nate gasps.
"Also wet," Brad agrees. His arm is around Nate's waist, holding him close, and Nate imagines he can feel the heat of Brad's body through their suits. "You're really terrible at surfing, Nate."
"You'd get bored if I was brilliant at everything."
"At least you're good at the important things."
Nate ducks his head against Brad's chest, knowing his face is flushed - he still doesn't really know what to do with compliments from Brad. "Let's go back. I'll show you what I'm good at."
"I thought the sexual favors were in exchange for teaching you to surf," Brad says, snagging the surf board that's trying to float away.
"Reward for effort," Nate says, shrugging.
"Nice thing about not being a marine."
"One of them," Nate agrees, catching Brad's hand and kissing him again. Since he can, for once.
For angelofmercy, who asked for: Supernatural vs. Numb3rs general casefic or Don's team trying to catch the Winchester boys
Colby groaned when David waved the pink memo slip at him as he got back from a coffee run. "If this is another grave robbery, I'm calling out sick," he said, handing David his tea. "Also, the barrista still thinks your drink is revolting."
"What's wrong with raspberry and peppermint syrups in tea?"
"So many things," Colby said. "And I've noticed you haven't answered the grave robbery question."
"You don't want to hear the answer," David assured him. He shoved through the stack of files on his desk, pulled one out and waved it in Colby's face. "Nikki and Liz are out on a lead, Don wants us to take this one."
"I hate graveyards," Colby grumbled. "You can drive."
*
This one - the fifth in three weeks - had the added bonus of being not just robbed, but burned. "Who sets a fifty year old grave on fire?" Colby asked, staring at the dug-up, torched mess.
"That's what we were wondering," said a voice he didn't know.
He and David turned as one, only to find themselves face-to-face with a slightly vacant looking guy in a beige trench-coat, and a younger man in a dark suit. "Agents Jones and Williams from the Texas office," the younger man said, showing his badge. Apparently, he was Jones.
"Good to meet you," David said, shaking Jones' hand, then holding his out to Williams, who looked at it with the same slightly vague look, until Jones nudged him and he shook David's hand. Colby decided not to bother with the hand shakes. "You're following this case?"
"Saw the same thing there," Jones confirmed. Maybe Williams didn't speak. "Followed the case down here."
"You're fugitive recovery?" Colby asked, surprised.
Jones and Williams exchanged fast looks, then Jones shook his head. "Regular agents like yourselves. Just interested in the case."
"Long way to come for a few grave robberies," David said, and Colby heard the hint of doubt in his voice, pleased to know that he and David were more subtle than Jones and Williams.
"It was a short journey," Williams said suddenly. Jones gave him a momentary glare, then turned a bland smile back on Colby and David.
"Jet lag. He doesn't fly well."
"Actually -"
"Anyway," Jones said, talking over him, "We're interested in the case. We'd like to work together."
"Sure," David said.
*
"So, I called the Texas office," David said later, leaning on the edge of Colby's desk.
Colby tipped back in his chair and looked up. "No-one's heard of them?"
"Gold star for Agent Granger."
"You think they're our suspects?"
"Oh, yeah. And it just so happens, Agent Jones' coffee mug made its way into my possession, and from there to evidence response."
"Gold star for Agent Sinclair."
Don, sadly, was a lot less inclined to hand out gold stars, when it turned out that Agent Jones was listed as Winchester, Dean (deceased), and Agent Williams as Novak, James (missing).
Particularly after Colby and David went to check out the motel they'd said they were staying at, and found no evidence that they'd ever been there.
"I knew I should have called out sick when I had the chance," Colby grumbled.
David shrugged. "There's always Charlie."
Except that, apparently, even their genius mathematician drew the line somewhere, and grave robberies and dead and missing men impersonating FBI agents, was way over the other side of that line.
For fyrefly101, who asked for: Colby and Lorne, "Here. These are all the postcards I never actually got around to sending."
"You were in another galaxy," Colby repeats. "All the times you didn't answer your emails for weeks, all the times I couldn't get you on the phone, all the times you turned up unexpectedly… you were in another galaxy. Fighting aliens."
"I wanted to tell you," Evan says, since he's not sure whether Colby's angry or just stunned. He's got no idea how he'd feel if his boyfriend turned up on his doorstep explaining that, yeah, the alien ship in the San Francisco Bay? He just flew in on it, and he's been living in it for four years.
Colby gives him a look that strongly implies he's being really stupid. Apparently, working with scientists still has that effect when they're mathematicians. "I'm guessing you signed about five hundred pieces of paper saying you wouldn't do that."
"Approximately," Evan agrees. "If you hadn't… I would have given them your name. To recruit."
Colby's face does the same thing it did when he explained the spy thing to Evan, and Evan said, "I get it, it's okay," and Evan figures this is as good a time as any to hand over the carved wooden box he's been filling since his second day in Pegasus. Colby takes it hesitantly. "I wanted to tell you," Evan repeats. "And sometimes I just wanted to talk to you, but I couldn't, so…"
Colby lifts the lid of the box, and draws out a handful of postcards. There are a lot more. "You wrote to me?"
"Everything I wasn't allowed to say," Evan agrees. Colby looks up, and Evan holds his gaze, knows Colby can see that he isn't just talking about Atlantis and his job.
"If someone had found it…" Colby starts. He reaches behind himself and sits down on his couch.
"I'd probably have been dead," Evan says quietly. It still makes Colby shiver. "Read them."
Colby does, spreading them slowly around him as he works his way through them, sometimes asking questions, sometimes laughing or making a noise of recognition that tells Evan he's come upon a story Evan told him once, but edited. After a while, Evan goes to make dinner; there are a lot of cards. He had a lot to say.
"Henderson really got turned into a rabbit?" Colby calls as Evan's boiling water for pasta.
"He got over it," Evan calls back. "Though I swear he didn't like carrots as much before as he does now."
Colby laughs, then goes quiet. Evan assumes he's reading, that there's another question coming, but the silence drags on, way beyond the usual gap there is between one card and the next.
Evan checks nothing is going to boil over or burn if he leaves it, then moves to lean in the doorway. Colby's sitting very still, a card in his hand that Evan recognizes, and winces at having forgotten. It shows a dark wall, and bars across an empty window; he'd bought it before he left for Atlantis, meaning to send it to a friend who was getting married, but never getting around to it.
"I remember this," Colby says quietly. "You were - I couldn't figure out why you didn't reply to any of my emails, but you were in a cell, you were…"
Evan remembers, word for word, what he wrote: I thought no-one was going to come for us. They said they'd sent back burned bodies with our tags, and we failed at breaking out twice. I thought we'd die there, and I kept thinking that these cards are all for you, and no-one would know. It's the only card he addressed.
"We're fine," Evan says. "The doctors figured it out, and Sheppard came for us. It was years ago." He doesn't say that they've been through much worse, though it's true, they have. He doesn't think it will make Colby feel any better.
Colby nods, like he's shaking it off, though Evan knows he isn't. Colby still doesn't mention Dwayne Carter's name unless he absolutely has to. "Okay. You shouldn’t put my name on things, you know."
"I'll be fine," Evan says, and that at least is true. He has good friends in Atlantis. People who'll look out for him, even after he's dead. "There's a few of us in LA right now. You should come for dinner with us one night."
"Will they have more stories?" Colby asks. Evan thinks about them: Radek and Jennifer and Katie, the things they know from him and from his team and from McKay, who can't keep his mouth shut. Colby's grin goes wicked and sly. "I'll buy the beer," he says.
Evan thinks it's just slightly possible that he might end up regretting this.
For scrollgirl, who asked for: John and Cam in the 1930s in The Year That Was verse?
"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Cam said.
"You're the one who said we needed something to do now we've saved the world."
"I meant get a dog. Or a hobby."
"This is a hobby."
"That's not the word I'd use for it."
"This is a classic," John protested. "Where's your sense of history?"
"I'm using it all to keep certain that us being here isn't changing the future in some terrible way."
"We live in the middle of nowhere," John pointed out, not for the first time. "What possible impact could us breeding horses out here be having on the rest of the world?" He'd expected his life to be weird when he fell through a wormhole into the past with his maybe-boyfriend. What he hadn't expected was that living in their own pasts would become routine.
"Depends how good we get at it," Cam said, grinning in the way he did sometimes that made John flush, warmed by Cam's faith in John's ability to do what he was doing. It made up for all the times John had wished he'd died in his original timeline; Cam's faith in him, and the thought that, if John hadn't come with him, Cam would be here on his own.
Cam's eyes drifted back to the center of the field they were standing in. "That's going to take years to fix up, assuming we even can."
"We can, and it won't take years. Eighteen months, outside."
"Like you know anything about fixing 1930s planes."
"I ran a flying school, you think I never had a hobby while I was doing it?"
"You and your hobbies," Cam said, but he said it with affection, and his face, turned to look at the wrecked shell of an airplane they'd just become joint owners of, was bright with enthusiasm, more than John had seen since they'd fallen through a wormhole and out of their time.
John moved a little closer to him, just close enough for their linked hands to be hidden between their bodies. "We'll fix it up," he said. "Paint it, name it. Learn to fly it. Take it around the state, fly it at state fairs and carnivals, and take Marilyn up and teach her. Fly."
"Got it all planned out, haven't you?" Cam said, soft.
"Yeah," John said, and held onto him.
For spillingvelvet, who asked for: Cam/Ronon, Christmas chicken[ish] cooked over a campfire
"You really know how to show a guy a good time," Cam grumbled, pulling the blanket closer around himself, and trying to keep the light rain from falling down his neck.
Ronon grinned at him from the campfire, his face shadowed by the flicker of the flames in the rain, but still warm and happy. "Food, shelter, what more do you want?"
"Oh, I don't know. To be warm, dry, and inside?"
"Thought you flyers were tough." Ronon, of course, wasn't wearing a hat, didn't seem to care that he was getting cold and wet in his shirt sleeves as he turned the roasting chicken on the spit. On the other hand, Ronon was Satedan military, originally, and no-one in the Pegasus Alliance Forces was as tough as they were, whatever Teal'c and Jolan said about the Jaffa and the Sodan militaires respectively.
"We are tough. I did my basic training in a plane made mostly of wood, if you crashed, it splintered around you and you couldn't do a thing about it." Ronon just rolled his eyes, which Cam figured was fair enough; compared to some of the tales Ronon had told since they'd been assigned the same unit eight months ago, that didn't sound very tough. "And I trained with the Sodan."
Ronon made a noise of grudging agreement - very grudging.
Cam tipped his head back, looking up at what should have been a sky full of stars over the field they'd set up camp in. All he could see were clouds against the night sky, and then he got an eyeful of water. "This just wasn't what I had in mind when you asked me to go away with you for the holidays."
"I said camping."
"You don't have a tent." Which really didn't do much for Cam's argument. "You know it's summer on my world right now?"
"Summer for turn of year isn't right. It should be snowing, really."
"For the record, if you want to go camping in the snow, you'll have to find someone else to go with you."
"How about skiing?" Ronon looked down to his chicken, poking it experimentally. "I think this is done."
"Great," Cam said absently, handing over two of the Alliance's weird fold-up plates. "I didn't know you skied."
"Since I was a kid. My mother took us to the mountains every winter. Teal'c said you ski too."
"Yeah." Cam hesitated, but he was eating roast chicken in the rain at turn of the year with the guy. "You want to go, next time we get leave?"
Ronon nodded, moving to sit next to Cam with his plate of chicken. "Lend me a corner of your blanket?"
"Thought you said you were tough," Cam said, offering the edge of the blanket to Ronon.
"I am." Ronon snuggled in far closer to Cam than he'd expected, wrapping the blanket tight around the two of them.
"Okay, there?" Cam asked. When Ronon didn't say anything, he turned slightly, and found Ronon looking at him from very close. "What?"
Ronon touched Cam's arm, then leaned in close, and kissed him, soft and damp with rain, over before Cam could do anything except accept it.
"Better now," he said, leaning back. Even in the gloom, Cam could see him smiling, slow and pleased. "Eat your chicken."
"Right," Cam said blankly, chewing on a mouthful of actually really good chicken. Maybe the rain and the cold would be worth it after all.
This entry was originally posted at http://bluflamingo.dreamwidth.org/168784.html, where it has
comments. I'd prefer comments there, but comments here are loved just as much
And so, in no particular order:
For miss-zedem, who asked for: Early morning San Francisco. Lorne/SG male of your choice, or Lorne!gen. You know, whatever :)
"Hey," someone said quietly from the doorway. Lorne didn't bother looking away from the view of the Golden Gate bridge, and a moment later, John came to lean on the balcony next to him. "Nice view."
Lorne nodded. It was too early for the mist to have burned off the bay yet, everything out of focus, and more unreal than the view from Atlantis had ever been in Pegasus.
John didn't say anything, just stood quietly, his bare arm not quite touching Lorne's, and when Lorne glanced over, he was looking out at the water, his face giving nothing away, as usual. "You haven't been out here all night, right?" he asked, maybe catching Lorne looking.
Lorne shook his head. "Couldn't sleep. I just...it's peaceful out here."
John shrugged one shoulder. "Wait till the IOA start descending."
"Yeah." Personal conversations with John weren't ever easy, and this one had all the makings of being worse than most, since Lorne wasn't even sure what he wanted to say. "I wanted some space to think."
He felt John tense, even though they weren't touching, and reached for his arm before John could offer to leave. "I was going to come looking for you." He took his hand back, just in case; most of Atlantis' residents were early risers. "You know things are going to... change."
John grinned, sharp and sarcastic. "Yeah, I'd say."
"What - happens?" Lorne made a vague, circular gesture between the two of them, one that meant nothing much, and all of it, at once.
John had gone tense again, the line of his shoulders betraying his discomfort. "We're not doing anything wrong. We're not doing *anything* right now."
"You know Ronon asked me what's going on?"
"Ronon's observant."
"Ronon's not the only one. Dr Somerset's a renowned diplomat, that doesn't happen without being able to..." He stopped, not wanting an argument. Not sure they could have one in the opaque terms they always used to talk about this.
"She'll be out of the city most of the time," John said. "Especially if Woolsey comes back."
"With one of our teams, at least until Wright is up to speed with Pegasus."
"What do you want me to do about it?" John asked. He sounded tired, defeated, and Lorne didn't have any answers, even though it was his *job* to have the answers when John didn't; even more so now that he'd been promoted.
They watched the bay in silence, the mist starting to lift and a couple of ships heading out to sea.
"It'll be different now," John said eventually. "We're on a level, it's - acceptable for us to be friends. We've been together - been working together for a long time."
Lorne couldn't say that friends wasn't a problem, or that being accepted as spending more time together wouldn't help. Not when he'd never learned to hide his relief when John did something daredevil and survived, not when he was there at team nights with Sheppard's team: him and Kanaan and Banks and Jennifer. Atlantis' people weren't stupid, and if they'd felt less than safe when Woolsey arrived, Somerset felt actively dangerous.
"I could ask to transfer back to the SGC," he said, very quietly. "Head up a team there. It's a logical step, if I want to make general."
"Do you?"
"I did, in the future you went to."
"In the future I went to, I was missing presumed dead, Teyla was dead, Sam and Ronon were dead, and you were all forced to leave Atlantis. Do you *want* to?"
"I want to stay here." It felt like a confession, or a declaration. Something he shouldn’t be making.
"Then stay," John said, finally turning to look at him. "It's been four years. We'll be okay."
Lorne wasn't at all sure he believed John, but he wanted to. God, did he want to, and maybe that would be enough.
For camshaft22, who asked for: John/Cam-Holidays at home
"Hello, Cameron."
Cam straightened reflexively from where he was leaning against the side of the house after taking his cousin's call. "Good evening, ma'am."
"Sarah, please," she said, laughing. "John and Kathryn made coffee."
"Thank you." Cam took the mug in both hands and watched the steam curl into the cold air, briefly obscuring the empty sidewalk.
Sarah watched him for a moment, then smiled, shaking her head. "You look like you're thinking of saluting me."
"No," Cam said, stopping before he could tack 'ma'am' on the end. "Just…"
Sarah leaned against the wall next to Cam, who did his best to relax again. "Not used to spending Christmas with a couple of middle-aged lesbians?" she asked, teasing.
Cam laughed. "Not used to spending it with someone else's parents." He burnt his mouth taking a sip of coffee, then admitted, "First time I've got to meet the parents stage."
"Oh, sweetheart." Sarah rubbed his shoulder. "If it makes you feel any better, this is the first time I've been the parent in this situation. Well, the girlfriend of the parent."
Oddly, that did make Cam feel better, as did Sarah's conspiratorial smile. "Do you think we're doing okay?" she asked.
Cam could hear John in the kitchen, laughing with his mom, sounding relaxed and happy. "Yeah, I think so."
Sarah clinked her coffee mug against Cam's. "Kathryn says John doesn't usually bring anyone home."
Cam shrugged, not sure what to say. He didn't take people home to his parents either, and still wasn't all that sure what to make of John asking him back for Christmas. The whole thing made him feel young and clueless, not at all like a recently promoted Air Force major, but weirdly, he didn't mind, even it was a pretty strange Christmas.
"She was thrilled when he called to ask if he could bring you back," Sarah said quietly. "He talks about you a lot, apparently."
Cam ducked his head, sure he was blushing. Sarah laughed. "Nothing like parents to make you feel like a child, is there? Not that I ever met Kathryn's, but I had my fair share." She slung her arm around Cam's shoulders, tugging him away from the wall. "Come on, let's go back inside."
John looked up, frowning slightly, until Cam smiled at him. "Everyone okay?"
"They're all fine. Send their best wishes for the holiday."
"I hope you returned them for us," Kathryn said.
"Yes, ma'am."
"So polite." Sarah laughed, crossing the kitchen to put her arm around Kathryn's waist.
"He's well brought-up," Kathryn corrected.
John laughed. "He's right there."
"Yes, dear," Kathryn said, ruffling his hair.
John ducked away, winding up next to Cam, who figured this was the one place he could actually act like John was something more than a friend, and caught John's wrist, pulling him closer. "What?" John said.
Cam shrugged, then kissed him, quick and chaste.
"Aren't they sweet?" Sarah said.
"Adorable," Kathryn agreed.
John ducked his head against Cam's shoulder. "Remind me again why I brought you here."
Cam hugged him, figuring that was as good an answer as any.
For shoshannagold, who asked for: Nate/Brad, something from the second day of their vacation in Seagulls and Sand
"Remind me again why I let you talk me into this," Nate says, telling himself that he was a marine, he's not going to huddle into himself for warmth.
"I believe there were offers of sexual favors."
Nate looks at Brad, up to his waist in the freezing sea, his wetsuit clinging to him. "I'd think I'd remember that."
"Mm." Brad glances round, a habitual thing that Nate knows very well, then ducks his head to kiss Nate. "Jogged any memories?"
"Something's coming back to me."
Brad rolls his eyes, but Nate can see the beginnings of a smile in the corners of his eyes, the softness of his mouth. It more than makes up for being in cold water on the second day of his vacation. It’s his favorite part of their stilted phone calls, the times when he can hear the smile in Brad's voice. "All right, Sergeant, show me how it's done."
Brad is a good teacher, which doesn't surprise Nate at all. Unfortunately, in surfing, Nate is not a good student. This too is not entirely a surprise.
"How can you be so bad at this?"
Well, not to him, anyway.
Nate shrugs. "My skills lie in other areas."
Brad doesn't even make any of the obvious puns, just glares at Nate over the surfboard. "I'm serious. You have decent balance, your hand-eye coordination is passable, you passed your fitness tests. How can you not be able to surf?"
"Maybe you're not a very good teacher," Nate suggests slyly.
"You wound me, sir."
"Well, you said it," Nate points out. "I can shoot, I can walk in a straight line, I can run an obstacle course, there's no reason for me not to be able to do this."
Brad's eyes widen, but it's not in enough time for Nate to brace himself, so when Brad lunges for him, he goes over backwards in the surf, barely managing to wrap his arm around Brad's neck. They both go under the water, re-emerge spluttering for breath. "Fuck, that's cold," Nate gasps.
"Also wet," Brad agrees. His arm is around Nate's waist, holding him close, and Nate imagines he can feel the heat of Brad's body through their suits. "You're really terrible at surfing, Nate."
"You'd get bored if I was brilliant at everything."
"At least you're good at the important things."
Nate ducks his head against Brad's chest, knowing his face is flushed - he still doesn't really know what to do with compliments from Brad. "Let's go back. I'll show you what I'm good at."
"I thought the sexual favors were in exchange for teaching you to surf," Brad says, snagging the surf board that's trying to float away.
"Reward for effort," Nate says, shrugging.
"Nice thing about not being a marine."
"One of them," Nate agrees, catching Brad's hand and kissing him again. Since he can, for once.
For angelofmercy, who asked for: Supernatural vs. Numb3rs general casefic or Don's team trying to catch the Winchester boys
Colby groaned when David waved the pink memo slip at him as he got back from a coffee run. "If this is another grave robbery, I'm calling out sick," he said, handing David his tea. "Also, the barrista still thinks your drink is revolting."
"What's wrong with raspberry and peppermint syrups in tea?"
"So many things," Colby said. "And I've noticed you haven't answered the grave robbery question."
"You don't want to hear the answer," David assured him. He shoved through the stack of files on his desk, pulled one out and waved it in Colby's face. "Nikki and Liz are out on a lead, Don wants us to take this one."
"I hate graveyards," Colby grumbled. "You can drive."
*
This one - the fifth in three weeks - had the added bonus of being not just robbed, but burned. "Who sets a fifty year old grave on fire?" Colby asked, staring at the dug-up, torched mess.
"That's what we were wondering," said a voice he didn't know.
He and David turned as one, only to find themselves face-to-face with a slightly vacant looking guy in a beige trench-coat, and a younger man in a dark suit. "Agents Jones and Williams from the Texas office," the younger man said, showing his badge. Apparently, he was Jones.
"Good to meet you," David said, shaking Jones' hand, then holding his out to Williams, who looked at it with the same slightly vague look, until Jones nudged him and he shook David's hand. Colby decided not to bother with the hand shakes. "You're following this case?"
"Saw the same thing there," Jones confirmed. Maybe Williams didn't speak. "Followed the case down here."
"You're fugitive recovery?" Colby asked, surprised.
Jones and Williams exchanged fast looks, then Jones shook his head. "Regular agents like yourselves. Just interested in the case."
"Long way to come for a few grave robberies," David said, and Colby heard the hint of doubt in his voice, pleased to know that he and David were more subtle than Jones and Williams.
"It was a short journey," Williams said suddenly. Jones gave him a momentary glare, then turned a bland smile back on Colby and David.
"Jet lag. He doesn't fly well."
"Actually -"
"Anyway," Jones said, talking over him, "We're interested in the case. We'd like to work together."
"Sure," David said.
*
"So, I called the Texas office," David said later, leaning on the edge of Colby's desk.
Colby tipped back in his chair and looked up. "No-one's heard of them?"
"Gold star for Agent Granger."
"You think they're our suspects?"
"Oh, yeah. And it just so happens, Agent Jones' coffee mug made its way into my possession, and from there to evidence response."
"Gold star for Agent Sinclair."
Don, sadly, was a lot less inclined to hand out gold stars, when it turned out that Agent Jones was listed as Winchester, Dean (deceased), and Agent Williams as Novak, James (missing).
Particularly after Colby and David went to check out the motel they'd said they were staying at, and found no evidence that they'd ever been there.
"I knew I should have called out sick when I had the chance," Colby grumbled.
David shrugged. "There's always Charlie."
Except that, apparently, even their genius mathematician drew the line somewhere, and grave robberies and dead and missing men impersonating FBI agents, was way over the other side of that line.
For fyrefly101, who asked for: Colby and Lorne, "Here. These are all the postcards I never actually got around to sending."
"You were in another galaxy," Colby repeats. "All the times you didn't answer your emails for weeks, all the times I couldn't get you on the phone, all the times you turned up unexpectedly… you were in another galaxy. Fighting aliens."
"I wanted to tell you," Evan says, since he's not sure whether Colby's angry or just stunned. He's got no idea how he'd feel if his boyfriend turned up on his doorstep explaining that, yeah, the alien ship in the San Francisco Bay? He just flew in on it, and he's been living in it for four years.
Colby gives him a look that strongly implies he's being really stupid. Apparently, working with scientists still has that effect when they're mathematicians. "I'm guessing you signed about five hundred pieces of paper saying you wouldn't do that."
"Approximately," Evan agrees. "If you hadn't… I would have given them your name. To recruit."
Colby's face does the same thing it did when he explained the spy thing to Evan, and Evan said, "I get it, it's okay," and Evan figures this is as good a time as any to hand over the carved wooden box he's been filling since his second day in Pegasus. Colby takes it hesitantly. "I wanted to tell you," Evan repeats. "And sometimes I just wanted to talk to you, but I couldn't, so…"
Colby lifts the lid of the box, and draws out a handful of postcards. There are a lot more. "You wrote to me?"
"Everything I wasn't allowed to say," Evan agrees. Colby looks up, and Evan holds his gaze, knows Colby can see that he isn't just talking about Atlantis and his job.
"If someone had found it…" Colby starts. He reaches behind himself and sits down on his couch.
"I'd probably have been dead," Evan says quietly. It still makes Colby shiver. "Read them."
Colby does, spreading them slowly around him as he works his way through them, sometimes asking questions, sometimes laughing or making a noise of recognition that tells Evan he's come upon a story Evan told him once, but edited. After a while, Evan goes to make dinner; there are a lot of cards. He had a lot to say.
"Henderson really got turned into a rabbit?" Colby calls as Evan's boiling water for pasta.
"He got over it," Evan calls back. "Though I swear he didn't like carrots as much before as he does now."
Colby laughs, then goes quiet. Evan assumes he's reading, that there's another question coming, but the silence drags on, way beyond the usual gap there is between one card and the next.
Evan checks nothing is going to boil over or burn if he leaves it, then moves to lean in the doorway. Colby's sitting very still, a card in his hand that Evan recognizes, and winces at having forgotten. It shows a dark wall, and bars across an empty window; he'd bought it before he left for Atlantis, meaning to send it to a friend who was getting married, but never getting around to it.
"I remember this," Colby says quietly. "You were - I couldn't figure out why you didn't reply to any of my emails, but you were in a cell, you were…"
Evan remembers, word for word, what he wrote: I thought no-one was going to come for us. They said they'd sent back burned bodies with our tags, and we failed at breaking out twice. I thought we'd die there, and I kept thinking that these cards are all for you, and no-one would know. It's the only card he addressed.
"We're fine," Evan says. "The doctors figured it out, and Sheppard came for us. It was years ago." He doesn't say that they've been through much worse, though it's true, they have. He doesn't think it will make Colby feel any better.
Colby nods, like he's shaking it off, though Evan knows he isn't. Colby still doesn't mention Dwayne Carter's name unless he absolutely has to. "Okay. You shouldn’t put my name on things, you know."
"I'll be fine," Evan says, and that at least is true. He has good friends in Atlantis. People who'll look out for him, even after he's dead. "There's a few of us in LA right now. You should come for dinner with us one night."
"Will they have more stories?" Colby asks. Evan thinks about them: Radek and Jennifer and Katie, the things they know from him and from his team and from McKay, who can't keep his mouth shut. Colby's grin goes wicked and sly. "I'll buy the beer," he says.
Evan thinks it's just slightly possible that he might end up regretting this.
For scrollgirl, who asked for: John and Cam in the 1930s in The Year That Was verse?
"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Cam said.
"You're the one who said we needed something to do now we've saved the world."
"I meant get a dog. Or a hobby."
"This is a hobby."
"That's not the word I'd use for it."
"This is a classic," John protested. "Where's your sense of history?"
"I'm using it all to keep certain that us being here isn't changing the future in some terrible way."
"We live in the middle of nowhere," John pointed out, not for the first time. "What possible impact could us breeding horses out here be having on the rest of the world?" He'd expected his life to be weird when he fell through a wormhole into the past with his maybe-boyfriend. What he hadn't expected was that living in their own pasts would become routine.
"Depends how good we get at it," Cam said, grinning in the way he did sometimes that made John flush, warmed by Cam's faith in John's ability to do what he was doing. It made up for all the times John had wished he'd died in his original timeline; Cam's faith in him, and the thought that, if John hadn't come with him, Cam would be here on his own.
Cam's eyes drifted back to the center of the field they were standing in. "That's going to take years to fix up, assuming we even can."
"We can, and it won't take years. Eighteen months, outside."
"Like you know anything about fixing 1930s planes."
"I ran a flying school, you think I never had a hobby while I was doing it?"
"You and your hobbies," Cam said, but he said it with affection, and his face, turned to look at the wrecked shell of an airplane they'd just become joint owners of, was bright with enthusiasm, more than John had seen since they'd fallen through a wormhole and out of their time.
John moved a little closer to him, just close enough for their linked hands to be hidden between their bodies. "We'll fix it up," he said. "Paint it, name it. Learn to fly it. Take it around the state, fly it at state fairs and carnivals, and take Marilyn up and teach her. Fly."
"Got it all planned out, haven't you?" Cam said, soft.
"Yeah," John said, and held onto him.
For spillingvelvet, who asked for: Cam/Ronon, Christmas chicken[ish] cooked over a campfire
"You really know how to show a guy a good time," Cam grumbled, pulling the blanket closer around himself, and trying to keep the light rain from falling down his neck.
Ronon grinned at him from the campfire, his face shadowed by the flicker of the flames in the rain, but still warm and happy. "Food, shelter, what more do you want?"
"Oh, I don't know. To be warm, dry, and inside?"
"Thought you flyers were tough." Ronon, of course, wasn't wearing a hat, didn't seem to care that he was getting cold and wet in his shirt sleeves as he turned the roasting chicken on the spit. On the other hand, Ronon was Satedan military, originally, and no-one in the Pegasus Alliance Forces was as tough as they were, whatever Teal'c and Jolan said about the Jaffa and the Sodan militaires respectively.
"We are tough. I did my basic training in a plane made mostly of wood, if you crashed, it splintered around you and you couldn't do a thing about it." Ronon just rolled his eyes, which Cam figured was fair enough; compared to some of the tales Ronon had told since they'd been assigned the same unit eight months ago, that didn't sound very tough. "And I trained with the Sodan."
Ronon made a noise of grudging agreement - very grudging.
Cam tipped his head back, looking up at what should have been a sky full of stars over the field they'd set up camp in. All he could see were clouds against the night sky, and then he got an eyeful of water. "This just wasn't what I had in mind when you asked me to go away with you for the holidays."
"I said camping."
"You don't have a tent." Which really didn't do much for Cam's argument. "You know it's summer on my world right now?"
"Summer for turn of year isn't right. It should be snowing, really."
"For the record, if you want to go camping in the snow, you'll have to find someone else to go with you."
"How about skiing?" Ronon looked down to his chicken, poking it experimentally. "I think this is done."
"Great," Cam said absently, handing over two of the Alliance's weird fold-up plates. "I didn't know you skied."
"Since I was a kid. My mother took us to the mountains every winter. Teal'c said you ski too."
"Yeah." Cam hesitated, but he was eating roast chicken in the rain at turn of the year with the guy. "You want to go, next time we get leave?"
Ronon nodded, moving to sit next to Cam with his plate of chicken. "Lend me a corner of your blanket?"
"Thought you said you were tough," Cam said, offering the edge of the blanket to Ronon.
"I am." Ronon snuggled in far closer to Cam than he'd expected, wrapping the blanket tight around the two of them.
"Okay, there?" Cam asked. When Ronon didn't say anything, he turned slightly, and found Ronon looking at him from very close. "What?"
Ronon touched Cam's arm, then leaned in close, and kissed him, soft and damp with rain, over before Cam could do anything except accept it.
"Better now," he said, leaning back. Even in the gloom, Cam could see him smiling, slow and pleased. "Eat your chicken."
"Right," Cam said blankly, chewing on a mouthful of actually really good chicken. Maybe the rain and the cold would be worth it after all.
This entry was originally posted at http://bluflamingo.dreamwidth.org/168784.html, where it has
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