My teeth still hurt.
Stupid helicopters, sitting on helipads for friggin' hours.
Fic reward at the end, for the patient.
Although, for the Prison Break ( SQUEEEEEEEEEE!!! ) fans among you, here's a bit of humor:
I just processed a request for an article from The Journal of Counseling Psychology, and the author is . . .
DRUM ROLL PLEASE!!!!
. . . Michael Scofield!
Heh. In 1983, at least, that was a real person!
My supervisor and I almost fell out of our chairs, we were laughing so hard.
So this weekend, I slept almost all day Saturday, then decided on Sunday that I needed to atone for having been a lazy slug the day before. The Sci-Fi Channel was having a zombie movie marathon, so I put that on and then tore around my house like an overly industrious idiot.
I stuffed a bunch of laundry in the machine and remembered why I love my full-size washer and dryer so much . . . what would have taken me *hours* in the mini-washer at my old place is just a zzzzzzzip! of time now.
Also, I have a totally inappropriate relationship with my lovely, functional dishwasher, which does amazing things like actually clean the dishes. Yay! No more scrubbing by hand!
This could easily be true love.
My garbage disposal is making a strange noise, but I think that might be my fault. Maybe pouring bacon grease down the drain wasn't the best idea I've ever had . . . even if I *did* follow it with about a gallon of boiling, soapy water.
I vacuumed, and then I set about assembling the audio pier of my entertainment center. It took longer than I thought, and my mom had to help me finish it off when she arrived. Still, we persevered and were ultimately successful. Then we went to dinner and discovered a nice little diner nearby. Delaware diners don't look anything like proper New Jersey diners, but the owner was a Jersey transplant and so there was proper diner food to be had.
Foolishly, I then stayed up two hours late. Doing what, you may ask?
Well . . . this.
************************
When the large box marked “Dr. David Parrish / Botany / LIVE SPECIMENS HANDLE WITH CARE” arrived on the next Daedalus run, Lorne didn’t think much about it. As the de facto quartermaster, he was busy with the distribution of goods and the prevention of poaching.
McKay was especially sneaky when it came to making off with other people’s requisitions, and Lorne was keeping a close eye on his personal case of Cherry Coke.
But it was as if the man was part canine, because he sniffed the air a few times and then zeroed in on the pallet contained Lorne’s special order, calling for a crowbar at first and then demanding a hacksaw.
Lorne had him escorted from the delivery bay at gunpoint.
It was late by the time he finished his sort and signed off on the order, and he was looking forward to tumbling into bed. Grabbing his well-defended case of soda, Lorne headed for his quarters and the hot shower that was practically calling his name.
By the time he was toweling off, he was even more exhausted, and so when his radio beeped, he might have sounded a little frustrated.
Fitting in the earpiece, Lorne snapped, “What now?”
After a moment’s pause, Parrish stammered, “Er-Major, if this is a bad time, it can wait.”
Lorne relaxed more than he thought possible, just from the sound of his voice. “No, it’s no problem-I thought you were McKay, hounding me about the goddamn distribs again, that’s all,” he said warmly. “What’s up, Doc?”
Parrish made a pained noise. “That joke never gets old with you, does it, Major?”
“No, never does,” Lorne agreed, grinning cheerfully. “Hey, that Cherry Coke you wanted came in on this run-do you want to swing by and pick it up?”
Parrish coughed, a small, nervous sound. “Actually,” he said hesitantly, “I was hoping that you might like to come by my quarters. I have something I’d like to show you.”
Lorne went hot all over as he realized what that meant. His new, female underthings had arrived, and Parrish was going to show him how to put them on.
He gulped, and his voice cracked when he tried to answer, so he had to swallow a couple more times to clear it. “Sure thing, Doc,” he managed, finally. “I’ll be there in about fifteen, how’s that?”
Parrish sounded relieved when he said heartily, “Great! I’ll see you shortly, Major,” and clicked off.
Lorne did the same, unable to repress the shiver as the idea struck him, full force . . . David’s hands on him, helping him with straps and hooks and buttons, big and warm and competent, as knowledgeable with Evan’s body as with those ferns he loved.
Heat pooled and throbbed between Lorne’s legs, a familiar reaction at this point, but one he tried to ignore. Parrish had made it very clear in their first discussion that he had been interested in Lorne only when he had all the parts of a man’s body, and Evan still couldn’t face deliberately touching himself, even to give himself the most basic relief.
It had been three months now, and he still felt like he was somewhere that he didn’t belong, a boy peering in the girls’ locker room, a teenager afraid to cop a feel on a first date.
Sometimes he awoke in the middle of the night, full of frustration and lust, and once or twice, fingers wandering before he had a chance to think about it. Then he would encounter wet, slippery, unfamiliar folds of flesh and his brain would flash offline, utterly derailing the incipient pleasure and leaving Evan cursing the whole situation.
Parrish was his saving grace, and the only reason he hadn’t gone completely insane. Some of it was practical, like showing Lorne how to use elastic bandages to wrap his chest and give his breasts some support until the brassieres they’d ordered would arrive.
Most of the time, though, it was moral and emotional support more than anything else. On missions, Parrish behaved exactly the same as he ever had, as if Lorne had never shared his appalling secret with him.
And Lorne, whose worst-case scenario involved Parrish forgetting himself and somehow tipping off the Marines to the gender change, was immensely relieved.
Back on Atlantis, Parrish invited him down to the greenhouses several times to see some new crop seedlings and assist with their care. Lorne became accustomed to dirt beneath his fingernails and the fresh scent of damp earth and green plants.
They took turns meeting in each other’s rooms for movies on the laptops, which usually ended up in long, wandering conversations and a barefoot Parrish curled on Evan’s bed, eating popcorn or drinking Coke.
That was something else Lorne liked about Parrish-he didn’t drink, either. “Oh, occasionally,” the doc had admitted, when Evan asked him. “But to be perfectly honest with you, Major, I never could handle my liquor well, and I much prefer to avoid it.”
Lorne had shrugged. “I just can’t stand the taste,” he’d said, making a face and opening another can of soda. “Once in a while, I’ll do a shot or two of vodka, but I hate beer, and wine isn’t much of an improvement.”
Parrish had laughed. “So much for male bonding rituals,” he had said.
“Rituals work fine with Pepsi,” Lorne had huffed, and then Parrish had accidentally poked him with an elbow, which meant that Evan absolutely *had* to smother him with a pillow, and the discussion had evaporated into roaring laughter.
He and Parrish shared an affinity for words, enjoying crosswords and other puzzles, although David was completely hooked on sudoku, and Evan thought it was stupid game.
Lorne’s undergrad minor in English Lit came in handy for Scrabble arguments and heated squabbles over the historical impact of the Irish Problem in Victorian times.
Parrish taught him some Latin, and Lorne taught him bits of French.
Lorne had spent the last three months discovering that David Parrish, botanist and geek, was also witty, intelligent, attractive, entertaining, and more than just a little sexy around the edges.
And the fact that Evan was currently wearing a woman’s body just sent the concept of “unrequited romance” to entirely new levels.
He sighed, shook his head to free himself from the same old hopeless thoughts, and pulled on the roomiest pair of cargo pants he owned, which were still too tight across his ass and reminded him all over again that he was totally in hell right now.
Maybe, when Lorne found a way to reverse what had happened, maybe then there’d be a chance for something with Parrish. It was worth a try, eventually.
In the meantime, he had a good friend and a good companion, someone he enjoyed seeing during work and after hours, he told himself firmly. Really, Lorne had completely lucked out, and he just had to remember that.
The fact that David’s smile made Evan’s heart race, that a casual touch made his palms sweat and his nipples tighten . . . well, that had nothing to do with anything.
************************
I'm not sure how I feel about this section. It feels expositive, but I'm not sure if I'm happy with it. I guess I'll wait and see what Lorne and Parrish decide to surprise me with in the next chapter before I start butchering this part.
Fic reward at the end, for the patient.
Although, for the Prison Break ( SQUEEEEEEEEEE!!! ) fans among you, here's a bit of humor:
I just processed a request for an article from The Journal of Counseling Psychology, and the author is . . .
DRUM ROLL PLEASE!!!!
. . . Michael Scofield!
Heh. In 1983, at least, that was a real person!
My supervisor and I almost fell out of our chairs, we were laughing so hard.
So this weekend, I slept almost all day Saturday, then decided on Sunday that I needed to atone for having been a lazy slug the day before. The Sci-Fi Channel was having a zombie movie marathon, so I put that on and then tore around my house like an overly industrious idiot.
I stuffed a bunch of laundry in the machine and remembered why I love my full-size washer and dryer so much . . . what would have taken me *hours* in the mini-washer at my old place is just a zzzzzzzip! of time now.
Also, I have a totally inappropriate relationship with my lovely, functional dishwasher, which does amazing things like actually clean the dishes. Yay! No more scrubbing by hand!
This could easily be true love.
My garbage disposal is making a strange noise, but I think that might be my fault. Maybe pouring bacon grease down the drain wasn't the best idea I've ever had . . . even if I *did* follow it with about a gallon of boiling, soapy water.
I vacuumed, and then I set about assembling the audio pier of my entertainment center. It took longer than I thought, and my mom had to help me finish it off when she arrived. Still, we persevered and were ultimately successful. Then we went to dinner and discovered a nice little diner nearby. Delaware diners don't look anything like proper New Jersey diners, but the owner was a Jersey transplant and so there was proper diner food to be had.
Foolishly, I then stayed up two hours late. Doing what, you may ask?
Well . . . this.
************************
When the large box marked “Dr. David Parrish / Botany / LIVE SPECIMENS HANDLE WITH CARE” arrived on the next Daedalus run, Lorne didn’t think much about it. As the de facto quartermaster, he was busy with the distribution of goods and the prevention of poaching.
McKay was especially sneaky when it came to making off with other people’s requisitions, and Lorne was keeping a close eye on his personal case of Cherry Coke.
But it was as if the man was part canine, because he sniffed the air a few times and then zeroed in on the pallet contained Lorne’s special order, calling for a crowbar at first and then demanding a hacksaw.
Lorne had him escorted from the delivery bay at gunpoint.
It was late by the time he finished his sort and signed off on the order, and he was looking forward to tumbling into bed. Grabbing his well-defended case of soda, Lorne headed for his quarters and the hot shower that was practically calling his name.
By the time he was toweling off, he was even more exhausted, and so when his radio beeped, he might have sounded a little frustrated.
Fitting in the earpiece, Lorne snapped, “What now?”
After a moment’s pause, Parrish stammered, “Er-Major, if this is a bad time, it can wait.”
Lorne relaxed more than he thought possible, just from the sound of his voice. “No, it’s no problem-I thought you were McKay, hounding me about the goddamn distribs again, that’s all,” he said warmly. “What’s up, Doc?”
Parrish made a pained noise. “That joke never gets old with you, does it, Major?”
“No, never does,” Lorne agreed, grinning cheerfully. “Hey, that Cherry Coke you wanted came in on this run-do you want to swing by and pick it up?”
Parrish coughed, a small, nervous sound. “Actually,” he said hesitantly, “I was hoping that you might like to come by my quarters. I have something I’d like to show you.”
Lorne went hot all over as he realized what that meant. His new, female underthings had arrived, and Parrish was going to show him how to put them on.
He gulped, and his voice cracked when he tried to answer, so he had to swallow a couple more times to clear it. “Sure thing, Doc,” he managed, finally. “I’ll be there in about fifteen, how’s that?”
Parrish sounded relieved when he said heartily, “Great! I’ll see you shortly, Major,” and clicked off.
Lorne did the same, unable to repress the shiver as the idea struck him, full force . . . David’s hands on him, helping him with straps and hooks and buttons, big and warm and competent, as knowledgeable with Evan’s body as with those ferns he loved.
Heat pooled and throbbed between Lorne’s legs, a familiar reaction at this point, but one he tried to ignore. Parrish had made it very clear in their first discussion that he had been interested in Lorne only when he had all the parts of a man’s body, and Evan still couldn’t face deliberately touching himself, even to give himself the most basic relief.
It had been three months now, and he still felt like he was somewhere that he didn’t belong, a boy peering in the girls’ locker room, a teenager afraid to cop a feel on a first date.
Sometimes he awoke in the middle of the night, full of frustration and lust, and once or twice, fingers wandering before he had a chance to think about it. Then he would encounter wet, slippery, unfamiliar folds of flesh and his brain would flash offline, utterly derailing the incipient pleasure and leaving Evan cursing the whole situation.
Parrish was his saving grace, and the only reason he hadn’t gone completely insane. Some of it was practical, like showing Lorne how to use elastic bandages to wrap his chest and give his breasts some support until the brassieres they’d ordered would arrive.
Most of the time, though, it was moral and emotional support more than anything else. On missions, Parrish behaved exactly the same as he ever had, as if Lorne had never shared his appalling secret with him.
And Lorne, whose worst-case scenario involved Parrish forgetting himself and somehow tipping off the Marines to the gender change, was immensely relieved.
Back on Atlantis, Parrish invited him down to the greenhouses several times to see some new crop seedlings and assist with their care. Lorne became accustomed to dirt beneath his fingernails and the fresh scent of damp earth and green plants.
They took turns meeting in each other’s rooms for movies on the laptops, which usually ended up in long, wandering conversations and a barefoot Parrish curled on Evan’s bed, eating popcorn or drinking Coke.
That was something else Lorne liked about Parrish-he didn’t drink, either. “Oh, occasionally,” the doc had admitted, when Evan asked him. “But to be perfectly honest with you, Major, I never could handle my liquor well, and I much prefer to avoid it.”
Lorne had shrugged. “I just can’t stand the taste,” he’d said, making a face and opening another can of soda. “Once in a while, I’ll do a shot or two of vodka, but I hate beer, and wine isn’t much of an improvement.”
Parrish had laughed. “So much for male bonding rituals,” he had said.
“Rituals work fine with Pepsi,” Lorne had huffed, and then Parrish had accidentally poked him with an elbow, which meant that Evan absolutely *had* to smother him with a pillow, and the discussion had evaporated into roaring laughter.
He and Parrish shared an affinity for words, enjoying crosswords and other puzzles, although David was completely hooked on sudoku, and Evan thought it was stupid game.
Lorne’s undergrad minor in English Lit came in handy for Scrabble arguments and heated squabbles over the historical impact of the Irish Problem in Victorian times.
Parrish taught him some Latin, and Lorne taught him bits of French.
Lorne had spent the last three months discovering that David Parrish, botanist and geek, was also witty, intelligent, attractive, entertaining, and more than just a little sexy around the edges.
And the fact that Evan was currently wearing a woman’s body just sent the concept of “unrequited romance” to entirely new levels.
He sighed, shook his head to free himself from the same old hopeless thoughts, and pulled on the roomiest pair of cargo pants he owned, which were still too tight across his ass and reminded him all over again that he was totally in hell right now.
Maybe, when Lorne found a way to reverse what had happened, maybe then there’d be a chance for something with Parrish. It was worth a try, eventually.
In the meantime, he had a good friend and a good companion, someone he enjoyed seeing during work and after hours, he told himself firmly. Really, Lorne had completely lucked out, and he just had to remember that.
The fact that David’s smile made Evan’s heart race, that a casual touch made his palms sweat and his nipples tighten . . . well, that had nothing to do with anything.
************************
I'm not sure how I feel about this section. It feels expositive, but I'm not sure if I'm happy with it. I guess I'll wait and see what Lorne and Parrish decide to surprise me with in the next chapter before I start butchering this part.