drabble request: Deck the Bulkheads
Uh... a few people requested wacky marines, John and Lorne failing to cope with wacky marines, and, well, something lighter after the last one. So to all of you, here is the 2009 Christmas fic.
2007 Christmas fic
2008 Christmas fic
John is in Lorne's office, debating whether his XO would notice if he started playing Minesweeper instead of working on the paperwork backlog, when a somewhat panicked Lieutenant Kagan appears in the doorway.
"Sir?"
"What is it, Jamey?" Lorne asks warily, since while Kagan's on Logistics duty and there are thus more possible difficulties than others, Daedalus just got into port and it really could be a wide variety of anything.
"The Mountain screwed up the supply list again, sir," Kagan answers and John and Lorne exchange looks because the Mountain screws up the supply list almost every time and sometimes it means Atlantis has to do without something vitally important for an extra three to five months.
"Is it one of those ha-ha screw-ups or something we have to send nasty notes to General Landry about?" John asks.
"Both, sir?" Kagan makes a face. "They sent us two tons of gingerbread mix instead of flour."
Lorne half-coughs to cover up a laugh. John totally doesn't bother.
"Awesome," he sighs. Four thousand pounds of gingerbread mix and it's nowhere near Christmas. "So we've got to figure out who's got extra wheat to trade and hope they'll take gingerbread in return."
Little Tripoli is in charge of commerce, for all intents and purposes. They'll have to tell Elizabeth, of course, but it'll be marines who are run out to look for flour substitutes and marines who'll have to make do in the kitchens until then. Which reminds him...
"We should also start telling the marines on KP duty that there's a limit to how much gingerbread they can use per week," he adds, since they are all used to the way any new pantry item is wildly overused at first and John isn't sure he wants to experience gingerbread-coated fried chicken or gingerbread near-deer bourguignon or whatever else the marines can come up with because they sometimes don't remember that other people still have working taste buds. "Weapons Company's going to rotate through at least twice before we get resupplied."
Everyone winces in understanding and dread.
"For the time being, store it all together and out of the way," Lorne tells Kagan. "We'll figure out what to do with it as soon as we can."
"Aye-aye, sir," Kagan replies and turns to go.
"On your way back, please tell Captain Polito to be prepared to send marines out on food-finding runs," Lorne adds. "Feel free to explain why."
"You have a sadistic streak," John tells Lorne once Kagan is gone. Kagan is their flakiest lieutenant and John is almost tempted to wander over to Charlie Company's offices and see how Kagan handles the task now that he knows his higher command is more amused than annoyed.
"I have cranky emails from three different department heads bitching about Matt's delusions of self-importance, arbitrary decisions, and intractibility in the face of basic logic," Lorne replies mildly. "Let him be boggled for a few minutes."
John sort of suspects that that last email might be from Rodney.
It takes them the better part of two weeks to secure alternate sources of flour, which ends up being mostly wheat but also flax, amaranth, and some kind of nut meal. They send the requisite pissed-off emails to the SGC -- including the one demanding that someone google for any sort of guidelines for substituting one kind of flour for another, which then has to be modified again to allow for galactic varietal differences. They give a couple hundred pounds of gingerbread mix to their favorite allies (Ipetia, Warrat, New Athos) and try to trade as much of it as possible, but since they are at no point actually out of flour, it goes down as a crisis averted.
On the next trip out, Daedalus brings its regular shipment of flour but leaves behind the canned fruit, M240 ammo belts, and some of the cleaning solutions, the last of which leads to Chemistry accidentally blowing up a toilet with their home-made alternative.
"When was the last time you were in D-6, Major?" John asks as he walks briskly -- not running -- into Lorne's office.
"Sir?" Lorne cocks an eyebrow, clearly confused.
"Answer the question."
Lorne, simultaneously trying to process whether John's actually pissed at him for something and actually answer the question, pauses. "I can't say with certainty, sir," he finally replies. "It can't have been recently."
D-6 is one of those sections of the city that is not permanently occupied; it has somehow survived all of the surprises Atlantis has been thrown (sieges, transplanetary flight, bombs, etc.) but nobody has offices out there and the marines don't use it as a regular training area. It's not unoccupied, but it's hardly busy. Lorne would have no reason to be out there, just as John had no reason to be out there... until he saw what he did on his way back from the mainland this morning.
"Well, let's go, then," John exhorts. "Did you eat lunch?"
"Sir?" Lorne is now thoroughly befuddled and John has a hard time hiding his pride in flapping his unflappable deputy.
"It's all relevant, Major," John assures, turning to lead the way to the transporter. Lorne jogs to catch up.
John hits the map for D-6 and the transporter lets them out inside a building lobby. John walks purposefully toward the door to the outside and then stops.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Lorne says as he appears at John's side, stopping short and staring. "I... really?"
"They're crazy, inspired, and clearly have too much time on their hands," John says as he gazes upon what their marines have gotten up to this time. "I should have known that there was a reason why they've all been on their best behavior recently. They've been too busy to get into trouble."
Lorne is still gawping, running his hand over his face like the scene will change if he just wakes up. Which, admittedly, is close to what John's reaction had been when he'd come by earlier to investigate what he'd seen from above, since what he'd seen from above looked an awful lot like a gingerbread village. Which it is.
"I guess we know where a ton and a half of gingerbread mix went," Lorne finally says. "I'd say I'm relieved to be rid of it, but..."
"Yeah," John agrees. "I wonder what they used for the icing."
The village is just that -- at least six life-sized gingerbread cottages, complete with roofs and decorative touches (gumdrops, cookies, the usual riotous assortment of non-edible holiday decorations that swallow Little Tripoli whole between Thanksgiving and New Year's) and brick-bordered gardens (that seem to be growing candy canes). There's a village well, a church with what might be a chocolate bell in its steeple, and a building with a sign that says "general store" on it. And a tavern, since this place was built by marines.
It's all covered in clear plastic tarpaulins, although it's far-enough inland that they don't have to worry about humidity from the ocean.
"Surprise, sirs?"
John turns around to see Radner and wonders why the captains think that he and Lorne don't notice that they always send Dave when they're hoping to talk their way out of trouble.
(Answer: because Matt is usually the source of the trouble, Mike has a total inability to fake repentance, and Dave is the best talker. Also, they're marines and not very bright.)
"Yes, surprise would about cover it," John agrees mildly. "Were you planning on telling us at any point?"
"Yes, sir," Dave assures. "We were -- are? -- going to open it to the city next week. We're still finishing up some of the last-minute details."
"Such as?" Lorne prompts.
"Costumes, chocolate for the well, wrapping presents, more decorations..." Radner trails off. "It's all festive and tasteful, sirs."
Lorne snorts.
"For USMC values of festive and tasteful, Captain?" John asks.
"Elves and Santa Claus, sir," Dave answers. "We're aiming for PG-rated in case we can bring in the Athosian kids."
"What about the taproom?" Lorne challenges.
"Root beer, sir."
John knows he's going to give in, knows he's going to get Elizabeth to go along with it, but he's not ready to give that up yet.
"You do realize that this is yet another battalion-wide mutiny, right?" he asks instead. "Don't tell me that you were going to ask permission. You were going to seek forgiveness and present us with a fait accompli."
"We meant it in the best way, sir," Dave offers. "There was no disrespect intended."
"But enough to not actually ask first." John frowns because otherwise he'll start smiling.
"No excuse, sir."
John lets Dave off the hook by sending him off to tell the other captains that they've been busted.
"Five gets you ten that the gate room officers have had standing orders to call one of the captains the minute someone appeared on the life signs detector here," Lorne says when it's just the two of them again. "And to call Dave if it's us."
"That's a sucker's bet," John answers, although he hadn't actually thought of that before now. But it explains why Dave got here so quickly after they did.
The Christmas village is, as expected, the highlight of the Atlantis holiday season. The lieutenants make properly ridiculous elves, the first sergeants are surprisingly jolly Santas (in shifts, since there are probably some marines who still believe and wouldn't be able to handle more than one simultaneously), and marines in silly hats hand out dolls and toys and candy to the Athosian and Ipetian children. There is caroling, which Teyla joins in on, and cookie-eating contests, which Ronon takes part in. And hot chocolate, which John regularly samples to make sure the marines aren't spiking it.
Christmas morning, John is not very surprised to find almost all of Atlantis in the village, more than a few opening their presents. It's absolutely nothing like Earth, but remarkably everything like home.
2007 Christmas fic
2008 Christmas fic
John is in Lorne's office, debating whether his XO would notice if he started playing Minesweeper instead of working on the paperwork backlog, when a somewhat panicked Lieutenant Kagan appears in the doorway.
"Sir?"
"What is it, Jamey?" Lorne asks warily, since while Kagan's on Logistics duty and there are thus more possible difficulties than others, Daedalus just got into port and it really could be a wide variety of anything.
"The Mountain screwed up the supply list again, sir," Kagan answers and John and Lorne exchange looks because the Mountain screws up the supply list almost every time and sometimes it means Atlantis has to do without something vitally important for an extra three to five months.
"Is it one of those ha-ha screw-ups or something we have to send nasty notes to General Landry about?" John asks.
"Both, sir?" Kagan makes a face. "They sent us two tons of gingerbread mix instead of flour."
Lorne half-coughs to cover up a laugh. John totally doesn't bother.
"Awesome," he sighs. Four thousand pounds of gingerbread mix and it's nowhere near Christmas. "So we've got to figure out who's got extra wheat to trade and hope they'll take gingerbread in return."
Little Tripoli is in charge of commerce, for all intents and purposes. They'll have to tell Elizabeth, of course, but it'll be marines who are run out to look for flour substitutes and marines who'll have to make do in the kitchens until then. Which reminds him...
"We should also start telling the marines on KP duty that there's a limit to how much gingerbread they can use per week," he adds, since they are all used to the way any new pantry item is wildly overused at first and John isn't sure he wants to experience gingerbread-coated fried chicken or gingerbread near-deer bourguignon or whatever else the marines can come up with because they sometimes don't remember that other people still have working taste buds. "Weapons Company's going to rotate through at least twice before we get resupplied."
Everyone winces in understanding and dread.
"For the time being, store it all together and out of the way," Lorne tells Kagan. "We'll figure out what to do with it as soon as we can."
"Aye-aye, sir," Kagan replies and turns to go.
"On your way back, please tell Captain Polito to be prepared to send marines out on food-finding runs," Lorne adds. "Feel free to explain why."
"You have a sadistic streak," John tells Lorne once Kagan is gone. Kagan is their flakiest lieutenant and John is almost tempted to wander over to Charlie Company's offices and see how Kagan handles the task now that he knows his higher command is more amused than annoyed.
"I have cranky emails from three different department heads bitching about Matt's delusions of self-importance, arbitrary decisions, and intractibility in the face of basic logic," Lorne replies mildly. "Let him be boggled for a few minutes."
John sort of suspects that that last email might be from Rodney.
It takes them the better part of two weeks to secure alternate sources of flour, which ends up being mostly wheat but also flax, amaranth, and some kind of nut meal. They send the requisite pissed-off emails to the SGC -- including the one demanding that someone google for any sort of guidelines for substituting one kind of flour for another, which then has to be modified again to allow for galactic varietal differences. They give a couple hundred pounds of gingerbread mix to their favorite allies (Ipetia, Warrat, New Athos) and try to trade as much of it as possible, but since they are at no point actually out of flour, it goes down as a crisis averted.
On the next trip out, Daedalus brings its regular shipment of flour but leaves behind the canned fruit, M240 ammo belts, and some of the cleaning solutions, the last of which leads to Chemistry accidentally blowing up a toilet with their home-made alternative.
"When was the last time you were in D-6, Major?" John asks as he walks briskly -- not running -- into Lorne's office.
"Sir?" Lorne cocks an eyebrow, clearly confused.
"Answer the question."
Lorne, simultaneously trying to process whether John's actually pissed at him for something and actually answer the question, pauses. "I can't say with certainty, sir," he finally replies. "It can't have been recently."
D-6 is one of those sections of the city that is not permanently occupied; it has somehow survived all of the surprises Atlantis has been thrown (sieges, transplanetary flight, bombs, etc.) but nobody has offices out there and the marines don't use it as a regular training area. It's not unoccupied, but it's hardly busy. Lorne would have no reason to be out there, just as John had no reason to be out there... until he saw what he did on his way back from the mainland this morning.
"Well, let's go, then," John exhorts. "Did you eat lunch?"
"Sir?" Lorne is now thoroughly befuddled and John has a hard time hiding his pride in flapping his unflappable deputy.
"It's all relevant, Major," John assures, turning to lead the way to the transporter. Lorne jogs to catch up.
John hits the map for D-6 and the transporter lets them out inside a building lobby. John walks purposefully toward the door to the outside and then stops.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Lorne says as he appears at John's side, stopping short and staring. "I... really?"
"They're crazy, inspired, and clearly have too much time on their hands," John says as he gazes upon what their marines have gotten up to this time. "I should have known that there was a reason why they've all been on their best behavior recently. They've been too busy to get into trouble."
Lorne is still gawping, running his hand over his face like the scene will change if he just wakes up. Which, admittedly, is close to what John's reaction had been when he'd come by earlier to investigate what he'd seen from above, since what he'd seen from above looked an awful lot like a gingerbread village. Which it is.
"I guess we know where a ton and a half of gingerbread mix went," Lorne finally says. "I'd say I'm relieved to be rid of it, but..."
"Yeah," John agrees. "I wonder what they used for the icing."
The village is just that -- at least six life-sized gingerbread cottages, complete with roofs and decorative touches (gumdrops, cookies, the usual riotous assortment of non-edible holiday decorations that swallow Little Tripoli whole between Thanksgiving and New Year's) and brick-bordered gardens (that seem to be growing candy canes). There's a village well, a church with what might be a chocolate bell in its steeple, and a building with a sign that says "general store" on it. And a tavern, since this place was built by marines.
It's all covered in clear plastic tarpaulins, although it's far-enough inland that they don't have to worry about humidity from the ocean.
"Surprise, sirs?"
John turns around to see Radner and wonders why the captains think that he and Lorne don't notice that they always send Dave when they're hoping to talk their way out of trouble.
(Answer: because Matt is usually the source of the trouble, Mike has a total inability to fake repentance, and Dave is the best talker. Also, they're marines and not very bright.)
"Yes, surprise would about cover it," John agrees mildly. "Were you planning on telling us at any point?"
"Yes, sir," Dave assures. "We were -- are? -- going to open it to the city next week. We're still finishing up some of the last-minute details."
"Such as?" Lorne prompts.
"Costumes, chocolate for the well, wrapping presents, more decorations..." Radner trails off. "It's all festive and tasteful, sirs."
Lorne snorts.
"For USMC values of festive and tasteful, Captain?" John asks.
"Elves and Santa Claus, sir," Dave answers. "We're aiming for PG-rated in case we can bring in the Athosian kids."
"What about the taproom?" Lorne challenges.
"Root beer, sir."
John knows he's going to give in, knows he's going to get Elizabeth to go along with it, but he's not ready to give that up yet.
"You do realize that this is yet another battalion-wide mutiny, right?" he asks instead. "Don't tell me that you were going to ask permission. You were going to seek forgiveness and present us with a fait accompli."
"We meant it in the best way, sir," Dave offers. "There was no disrespect intended."
"But enough to not actually ask first." John frowns because otherwise he'll start smiling.
"No excuse, sir."
John lets Dave off the hook by sending him off to tell the other captains that they've been busted.
"Five gets you ten that the gate room officers have had standing orders to call one of the captains the minute someone appeared on the life signs detector here," Lorne says when it's just the two of them again. "And to call Dave if it's us."
"That's a sucker's bet," John answers, although he hadn't actually thought of that before now. But it explains why Dave got here so quickly after they did.
The Christmas village is, as expected, the highlight of the Atlantis holiday season. The lieutenants make properly ridiculous elves, the first sergeants are surprisingly jolly Santas (in shifts, since there are probably some marines who still believe and wouldn't be able to handle more than one simultaneously), and marines in silly hats hand out dolls and toys and candy to the Athosian and Ipetian children. There is caroling, which Teyla joins in on, and cookie-eating contests, which Ronon takes part in. And hot chocolate, which John regularly samples to make sure the marines aren't spiking it.
Christmas morning, John is not very surprised to find almost all of Atlantis in the village, more than a few opening their presents. It's absolutely nothing like Earth, but remarkably everything like home.