12 Days of Lorne - Day 9 - Fic & Art: Six Photographs Lorne Keeps
Title: Six Photographs Lorne Keeps
Author/Artist: neevebrody
Pairings/Characters: Lorne/OMC, Lorne/Parrish, Lorne's family
Rating: G-PG (one photo possibly NSFW)
Content: Gen and slash
Total Word Count: ~2400
Beta: the wonderful mischief5
Disclaimer: Maj. Evan Lorne and Dr. David Parrish do not belong to me. While the other characters are my own creations, I'm still doing this solely for the love of Lorne. As to the photos, they are non-copyrighted, public domain photos and any resemblance to known persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Notes: The idea here started from one of the October prompts: do everything in sixes. I chose "six photographs Lorne keeps." It quickly became a much bigger project than anticipated (with the addition of the actual photographs) so I jumped at the chance to finish it for the 12 Days of Lorne. For the purposes of a timeline, I simply used Kavan Smith's actual birthdate and went from there. As with all mementos, there is a bittersweet quality to each, the good and the bad, the highs and lows of our lives that make us who we are. I hoped to show how each item was important enough for Lorne to have kept it and how it (with the others) worked to make Evan the man he was when we first encountered him in the Stargate program.
1. Mom and Dad
Back when Evan's grandfather was a star fullback for the local college, The Loading Dock was an old warehouse at the corner of Main and Broad Streets, a part of town known then as the Grain District. A massive structure, it stood out in the middle of Evan's hometown like the tallest girl in class. Ownership changed hands over the years as the town slowly matured around it. After sitting empty for years, some entrepreneurial genius had the good fortune to turn the place into a dance club. Lorne's parents had frequented it in its heyday as a bona fide disco. The last Evan heard, it was now a nifty community-owned co-op market.
Though the cataract-like haze of the old Polaroid had dulled some of the color, it couldn't hide his mother's rosy cheeks and starry eyes. Back at The Loading Dock for a fund-raiser benefitting local charities, someone had caught Mom and Dad out on the dance floor. Plenty of pictures of his parents existed, but none where they seemed to be having so much fun. Evan kept this photo because of his mother's smile, that open-mouthed abandon, something he didn't have enough real memory of.
2. The Brightest Star
It had taken twenty-six hours of labor and an emergency C-section to bring Jared Jackson Minter into the world - almost two years to the day as his older brother Jordan. Evan's nephews. And Evan had been right there, along with Nana Lorne, holding a sleeping Jordan in his arms as a show of support for his sister.
Teresa Anne Lorne Minter. He'd called her Rese and she'd called him Ev. When they were youngsters, Rese had been his touchstone, his protector against all bad things, some of them a little too close to home. She had understood him when his parents were convinced Aliens had conceived him and left him on their doorstep as a present. It wasn't a very popular position - having your older sister threaten to kick some bully's ass to the moon and back - not the most macho entry on his kid resume, but in some eyes, it had earned them both a measure of respect, especially when Rese skipped the threats and went right in with the ass-kicking. Once, she'd even been suspended from school for three days, which hadn't pleased their father one bit. Evan always felt he owed Rese big time for that.
When they were older, Teresa had supported Evan's choices, encouraging him with words she never seemed to be able to heed herself. She'd been the one to finally give him the courage to come out. So, when her deadbeat husband ran, leaving Rese and the boys to fend for themselves, Evan turned the tables and returned her support in spades.
The picture was just the three of them, happy, finally. Evan had taken the photo himself using one of his old hand-painted backdrops. He'd been home on a few days' leave before a very important mission. They'd made it a celebration - even his mom had seemed to enjoy herself. It wasn't Evan's birthday - yet - but then he wasn't going to be seeing them on his real birthday. In fact, though no one else knew it, there was a great possibility he wouldn't see them again at all.
3. Horace
Horace - a name Evan remembered from a book read to him as a small child - was a certified mutt. He'd followed a teen-aged Evan home one day (with a little encouragement from Evan). Neither of his parents had been happy to see the large dog nosing around the kitchen, but his mom tried to smile and make the best of it, even while his father made one excuse after another - like throwing garbage against a wall, hoping one of them would stick and make Evan see reason. Finally, his mother had spoken up and said he could keep the dog as long as he took responsibility for it. Evan had been so happy he barely heard the aside uttered under her breath: for Dad to let it go because Evan wasn't capable of following through with anything so the dog wouldn't be around long anyway.
Something inside him had turned dark for a moment, dousing his happiness like water on a campfire. But just as quickly, his determination blazed up and spread in a conflagration that almost consumed him - a pattern of righteous indignation that would stay with him into adulthood. At the time, it hadn't been so much about keeping the dog as it had been proving his parents wrong, but soon Evan and Horace were inseparable. When he went off to college, Teresa kept Horace - even she wouldn't allow the dog to stay home at the mercy of their parents.
Evan missed the crazy mutt while he was away, missed the way Horace paid back Evan's kindness and love by being there to comfort him, make him laugh, or give him purpose in their late-night walks. One of Evan's roommates had taken the photo the summer following his freshman year at college. During that time, Evan shared a house with a couple of college buds and still keeping his secret. Horace was as happy as a pig in shit; he had three strapping guys to roughhouse and play with.
The Vet told Rese it was some sort of virus, but still Evan hadn't been able to get to his sister's in time. She'd waited for Evan in that callously bright room that smelled of chlorophyll and cedar shavings, waited so that he could see Horace once more. For a long time, Evan would sometimes sense the ghostly weight of his companion, swear he could feel the warm heart thumping, or hear the soft, wheezy snores, low, just out of earshot.
Having the photo meant never having to say good-bye. As long as Evan could see him, Horace was still around, nosing for a comfortable spot to rest his head in Evan's lap or tossing a slobber-laden toy around the room until Evan gave in. In his heart, Horace would always be happy and alive.
4. Philippe
By his own admission, Philippe was poor but resourceful. In his off time from waiting tables at a local bistro, where Evan was sure he scored some very big tips, Philippe modeled for the small enclave of art students out on the Sound. That summer had been a deliverance for Evan in many ways. Everything had become inspiration: the cool, expansive hallways of the stone house, the incredible natural lighting of the central studio, the rosy, unfettering glow from the abundant wine, and Philippe.
Dark, wavy hair falling in a sexy tease over endless brown eyes, sun-kissed shoulders, well-defined muscles; Philippe knew he was gorgeous. He'd also read Evan like a book. From the night he offered to pose privately right up to the day Evan stood in the airport concourse all alone, the final boarding call ringing in his ears, Philippe had shown Evan things, opened doors to a depth of emotion and creativity that allowed him to use his talent as more than just perspective and rules. The mechanics were ingrained, superfluous, the desire and need to prove himself as real as Philippe.
The photograph was Philippe - posing as usual - on their bed. Evan thought perhaps Philippe's entire life was a pose, causing him to question whether he'd ever known the real man. Evan wanted a study in black and white because Philippe in color - even in a photograph - would be too painful, too real. In monochrome, it was easier to think of all that beauty and passion in the abstract, not a real person and not one who still left a real ache.
Evan sometimes felt guilty for keeping the photo all this time. Taken with another student's old box camera, it held a purpose; it was intended to be a blatant form of possession, a way - the only way - to have Philippe forever. Guilty, because deep down, Evan knew Philippe would never belong to anyone. It wasn't carrying a torch… it was proof of Evan's strength, of decisions made in the wake of that summer, decisions that would ultimately demand more of him than his beautiful Adonis. Years later, before missions, he'd use the photo as a talisman, a charm to steel his resolve.
5. '95 Harley Davidson
Marshall had always told Evan he was crazy, but that never stopped him from climbing on back of the Harley fat bob with Evan for a trip up Highway 1. Evan loved the way Marshall would wrap his arms around his waist and hold on tight - even when he didn't need to. But then, there'd been a lot about Marshall to love.
The photo was simple, just the bike in front of their apartment in the Noe Valley. It sort of looked like a 'for sale' advert, but the bike looked damn good parked in front of the bungalow. When Evan was on the bike, everything around him changed - the sun was brighter, the colors along the scenic routes alive and jumping out at him along every mile. He'd always said riding must be like being let out of prison, getting your mind right, being one with the motherfucking asphalt beneath you. Later, he'd feel that same adrenaline rush in his first flight in a puddlejumper - the way something not part of him responded with just a thought or a breath.
Reckless was a word some could justifiably use in relation to Evan Lorne, but he'd never been reckless with the bike. He respected it. Whenever he rode, he was hyper-focused. But he couldn't drive for others, couldn't be their lookout too.
The accident hadn't been his fault and there was nothing he could have done to change things… but those were just words echoing through his mind, sowing seeds of doubt. Evan moved out of their bungalow shortly after he'd gotten rid of what was left of the bike. Looking at the picture always reminded him of something his sister told him - about forgiving himself. He kept the photo because, someday, he hoped he might be able to do that.
6. Love of My Life, Naturally
To the casual viewer, the candid snap of Dr. Parrish appeared totally innocent, just one more recordation of a botany mission. Lorne had even managed to include the specimen in the shot. After all, it was shockingly similar to a species now believed to be extinct on Earth.
The climate on P2X-771 was brutal. As Evan recalled, it had been so hot he'd barely been able to breathe in all the gear. But the scientists weren't bound to stay in uniform. Just after Evan stopped filming, Doc Parrish had shed his jacket first. Then, Evan watched, almost forgetting to take a breath, as the doc unzipped the light blue shirt and dragged it over his head. His skin was surprisingly tanned, the definition across the bare shoulders and the play of muscles still made Evan sweat each time he played it over in his mind.
Where Philippe had been a sultry nude rendered at the hand of an Italian master, and Marshall an Andrew Wyeth portrait - muted austerity with its meaning couched in the obvious - David Parrish was a Picasso, beauty in complexity, a puzzle to solve, pieces to fit together.
One of the geeks in communication showed him how to edit the film and extract still shots - a handy skill helpful in filing their AARs - so it had been easy to digitize one of the stills and transfer it to his computer. He saved other short clips so as not to cause undue suspicion, but after a while, he decided to keep only one of the stills, one with Parrish still clothed bending down to touch the plant reverently. Evan saw it as sort of a metaphor for all those months he'd lain awake nights thinking of what was underneath those baggy science uniforms.
During that mission to P2X-771, Evan had finally worked up the courage to make his move. While keeping an eye on the doc, Evan noticed Parrish's shoulders beginning to pink, and knowing Parrish, he'd stay out there all day and roast like a goose if Evan didn't do something.
Unpinning his P90, he set it aside, making sure to unsnap his sidearm holster, then he shed his tac vest. He took their standard-issue sunblock and moved in to stand behind Parrish. Not sure whether or not the doc had noticed, Evan distributed the cream in both hands and began to knead Parrish's sun-kissed skin, the warmth helping ease the motion. Lorne bit his lip, conscious of what he was doing, careful not to let his hands stray though that was all he could think about, touching every inch. Parrish hadn't really seemed surprised by such a bold move. The doc's skin buzzed beneath his fingers, like a current, communicating with Evan and Evan liked the message.
Parrish leaned back and let out a breathy, "ahhhhhhh" as Lorne's hands stilled. Evan could feel the tenuous hold on his control threatening to snap. Then Parrish stood, faced Evan, and mumbled something about Evan doing his front, too. He either mumbled or the words were muffled by the blood pounding in Evan's ears. But Evan complied, smoothing the sticky white cream over perfect, sweat-slicked pecs, watching each nipple stiffen and beg for a touch. And, oh, he touched. Parrish's eyelids fluttered and a smile curled one corner of his full lips. Not for the first time, Evan found himself staring at that wide, lush mouth.
The doc's invitation was a surprise: dinner together that night and maybe a movie after, delivered in a husky voice masquerading as innocent. Yeah, Evan thought, like the Devil in a Sunday dress. His second thought had been about the sort of movies Parrish might have on hand, but as it turned out, that hadn't really mattered.
That night, Evan learned that dogged determination did pay off, that patience was a virtue often rewarded, and that dreams were attainable. And the best thing… he almost didn't recognize it as his dream at first, just that it felt right, like a destination toward which he'd been headed his entire life, and the road-weary, dusty-boot feeling of a search at its end. He knew having the picture was dangerous given his position, but Evan kept it as homage, a reminder that Parrish had given him something more tangible than old photos and memories clouded in regret.
Author/Artist: neevebrody
Pairings/Characters: Lorne/OMC, Lorne/Parrish, Lorne's family
Rating: G-PG (one photo possibly NSFW)
Content: Gen and slash
Total Word Count: ~2400
Beta: the wonderful mischief5
Disclaimer: Maj. Evan Lorne and Dr. David Parrish do not belong to me. While the other characters are my own creations, I'm still doing this solely for the love of Lorne. As to the photos, they are non-copyrighted, public domain photos and any resemblance to known persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Notes: The idea here started from one of the October prompts: do everything in sixes. I chose "six photographs Lorne keeps." It quickly became a much bigger project than anticipated (with the addition of the actual photographs) so I jumped at the chance to finish it for the 12 Days of Lorne. For the purposes of a timeline, I simply used Kavan Smith's actual birthdate and went from there. As with all mementos, there is a bittersweet quality to each, the good and the bad, the highs and lows of our lives that make us who we are. I hoped to show how each item was important enough for Lorne to have kept it and how it (with the others) worked to make Evan the man he was when we first encountered him in the Stargate program.
1. Mom and Dad
Back when Evan's grandfather was a star fullback for the local college, The Loading Dock was an old warehouse at the corner of Main and Broad Streets, a part of town known then as the Grain District. A massive structure, it stood out in the middle of Evan's hometown like the tallest girl in class. Ownership changed hands over the years as the town slowly matured around it. After sitting empty for years, some entrepreneurial genius had the good fortune to turn the place into a dance club. Lorne's parents had frequented it in its heyday as a bona fide disco. The last Evan heard, it was now a nifty community-owned co-op market.
Though the cataract-like haze of the old Polaroid had dulled some of the color, it couldn't hide his mother's rosy cheeks and starry eyes. Back at The Loading Dock for a fund-raiser benefitting local charities, someone had caught Mom and Dad out on the dance floor. Plenty of pictures of his parents existed, but none where they seemed to be having so much fun. Evan kept this photo because of his mother's smile, that open-mouthed abandon, something he didn't have enough real memory of.
2. The Brightest Star
It had taken twenty-six hours of labor and an emergency C-section to bring Jared Jackson Minter into the world - almost two years to the day as his older brother Jordan. Evan's nephews. And Evan had been right there, along with Nana Lorne, holding a sleeping Jordan in his arms as a show of support for his sister.
Teresa Anne Lorne Minter. He'd called her Rese and she'd called him Ev. When they were youngsters, Rese had been his touchstone, his protector against all bad things, some of them a little too close to home. She had understood him when his parents were convinced Aliens had conceived him and left him on their doorstep as a present. It wasn't a very popular position - having your older sister threaten to kick some bully's ass to the moon and back - not the most macho entry on his kid resume, but in some eyes, it had earned them both a measure of respect, especially when Rese skipped the threats and went right in with the ass-kicking. Once, she'd even been suspended from school for three days, which hadn't pleased their father one bit. Evan always felt he owed Rese big time for that.
When they were older, Teresa had supported Evan's choices, encouraging him with words she never seemed to be able to heed herself. She'd been the one to finally give him the courage to come out. So, when her deadbeat husband ran, leaving Rese and the boys to fend for themselves, Evan turned the tables and returned her support in spades.
The picture was just the three of them, happy, finally. Evan had taken the photo himself using one of his old hand-painted backdrops. He'd been home on a few days' leave before a very important mission. They'd made it a celebration - even his mom had seemed to enjoy herself. It wasn't Evan's birthday - yet - but then he wasn't going to be seeing them on his real birthday. In fact, though no one else knew it, there was a great possibility he wouldn't see them again at all.
3. Horace
Horace - a name Evan remembered from a book read to him as a small child - was a certified mutt. He'd followed a teen-aged Evan home one day (with a little encouragement from Evan). Neither of his parents had been happy to see the large dog nosing around the kitchen, but his mom tried to smile and make the best of it, even while his father made one excuse after another - like throwing garbage against a wall, hoping one of them would stick and make Evan see reason. Finally, his mother had spoken up and said he could keep the dog as long as he took responsibility for it. Evan had been so happy he barely heard the aside uttered under her breath: for Dad to let it go because Evan wasn't capable of following through with anything so the dog wouldn't be around long anyway.
Something inside him had turned dark for a moment, dousing his happiness like water on a campfire. But just as quickly, his determination blazed up and spread in a conflagration that almost consumed him - a pattern of righteous indignation that would stay with him into adulthood. At the time, it hadn't been so much about keeping the dog as it had been proving his parents wrong, but soon Evan and Horace were inseparable. When he went off to college, Teresa kept Horace - even she wouldn't allow the dog to stay home at the mercy of their parents.
Evan missed the crazy mutt while he was away, missed the way Horace paid back Evan's kindness and love by being there to comfort him, make him laugh, or give him purpose in their late-night walks. One of Evan's roommates had taken the photo the summer following his freshman year at college. During that time, Evan shared a house with a couple of college buds and still keeping his secret. Horace was as happy as a pig in shit; he had three strapping guys to roughhouse and play with.
The Vet told Rese it was some sort of virus, but still Evan hadn't been able to get to his sister's in time. She'd waited for Evan in that callously bright room that smelled of chlorophyll and cedar shavings, waited so that he could see Horace once more. For a long time, Evan would sometimes sense the ghostly weight of his companion, swear he could feel the warm heart thumping, or hear the soft, wheezy snores, low, just out of earshot.
Having the photo meant never having to say good-bye. As long as Evan could see him, Horace was still around, nosing for a comfortable spot to rest his head in Evan's lap or tossing a slobber-laden toy around the room until Evan gave in. In his heart, Horace would always be happy and alive.
4. Philippe
By his own admission, Philippe was poor but resourceful. In his off time from waiting tables at a local bistro, where Evan was sure he scored some very big tips, Philippe modeled for the small enclave of art students out on the Sound. That summer had been a deliverance for Evan in many ways. Everything had become inspiration: the cool, expansive hallways of the stone house, the incredible natural lighting of the central studio, the rosy, unfettering glow from the abundant wine, and Philippe.
Dark, wavy hair falling in a sexy tease over endless brown eyes, sun-kissed shoulders, well-defined muscles; Philippe knew he was gorgeous. He'd also read Evan like a book. From the night he offered to pose privately right up to the day Evan stood in the airport concourse all alone, the final boarding call ringing in his ears, Philippe had shown Evan things, opened doors to a depth of emotion and creativity that allowed him to use his talent as more than just perspective and rules. The mechanics were ingrained, superfluous, the desire and need to prove himself as real as Philippe.
The photograph was Philippe - posing as usual - on their bed. Evan thought perhaps Philippe's entire life was a pose, causing him to question whether he'd ever known the real man. Evan wanted a study in black and white because Philippe in color - even in a photograph - would be too painful, too real. In monochrome, it was easier to think of all that beauty and passion in the abstract, not a real person and not one who still left a real ache.
Evan sometimes felt guilty for keeping the photo all this time. Taken with another student's old box camera, it held a purpose; it was intended to be a blatant form of possession, a way - the only way - to have Philippe forever. Guilty, because deep down, Evan knew Philippe would never belong to anyone. It wasn't carrying a torch… it was proof of Evan's strength, of decisions made in the wake of that summer, decisions that would ultimately demand more of him than his beautiful Adonis. Years later, before missions, he'd use the photo as a talisman, a charm to steel his resolve.
5. '95 Harley Davidson
Marshall had always told Evan he was crazy, but that never stopped him from climbing on back of the Harley fat bob with Evan for a trip up Highway 1. Evan loved the way Marshall would wrap his arms around his waist and hold on tight - even when he didn't need to. But then, there'd been a lot about Marshall to love.
The photo was simple, just the bike in front of their apartment in the Noe Valley. It sort of looked like a 'for sale' advert, but the bike looked damn good parked in front of the bungalow. When Evan was on the bike, everything around him changed - the sun was brighter, the colors along the scenic routes alive and jumping out at him along every mile. He'd always said riding must be like being let out of prison, getting your mind right, being one with the motherfucking asphalt beneath you. Later, he'd feel that same adrenaline rush in his first flight in a puddlejumper - the way something not part of him responded with just a thought or a breath.
Reckless was a word some could justifiably use in relation to Evan Lorne, but he'd never been reckless with the bike. He respected it. Whenever he rode, he was hyper-focused. But he couldn't drive for others, couldn't be their lookout too.
The accident hadn't been his fault and there was nothing he could have done to change things… but those were just words echoing through his mind, sowing seeds of doubt. Evan moved out of their bungalow shortly after he'd gotten rid of what was left of the bike. Looking at the picture always reminded him of something his sister told him - about forgiving himself. He kept the photo because, someday, he hoped he might be able to do that.
6. Love of My Life, Naturally
To the casual viewer, the candid snap of Dr. Parrish appeared totally innocent, just one more recordation of a botany mission. Lorne had even managed to include the specimen in the shot. After all, it was shockingly similar to a species now believed to be extinct on Earth.
The climate on P2X-771 was brutal. As Evan recalled, it had been so hot he'd barely been able to breathe in all the gear. But the scientists weren't bound to stay in uniform. Just after Evan stopped filming, Doc Parrish had shed his jacket first. Then, Evan watched, almost forgetting to take a breath, as the doc unzipped the light blue shirt and dragged it over his head. His skin was surprisingly tanned, the definition across the bare shoulders and the play of muscles still made Evan sweat each time he played it over in his mind.
Where Philippe had been a sultry nude rendered at the hand of an Italian master, and Marshall an Andrew Wyeth portrait - muted austerity with its meaning couched in the obvious - David Parrish was a Picasso, beauty in complexity, a puzzle to solve, pieces to fit together.
One of the geeks in communication showed him how to edit the film and extract still shots - a handy skill helpful in filing their AARs - so it had been easy to digitize one of the stills and transfer it to his computer. He saved other short clips so as not to cause undue suspicion, but after a while, he decided to keep only one of the stills, one with Parrish still clothed bending down to touch the plant reverently. Evan saw it as sort of a metaphor for all those months he'd lain awake nights thinking of what was underneath those baggy science uniforms.
During that mission to P2X-771, Evan had finally worked up the courage to make his move. While keeping an eye on the doc, Evan noticed Parrish's shoulders beginning to pink, and knowing Parrish, he'd stay out there all day and roast like a goose if Evan didn't do something.
Unpinning his P90, he set it aside, making sure to unsnap his sidearm holster, then he shed his tac vest. He took their standard-issue sunblock and moved in to stand behind Parrish. Not sure whether or not the doc had noticed, Evan distributed the cream in both hands and began to knead Parrish's sun-kissed skin, the warmth helping ease the motion. Lorne bit his lip, conscious of what he was doing, careful not to let his hands stray though that was all he could think about, touching every inch. Parrish hadn't really seemed surprised by such a bold move. The doc's skin buzzed beneath his fingers, like a current, communicating with Evan and Evan liked the message.
Parrish leaned back and let out a breathy, "ahhhhhhh" as Lorne's hands stilled. Evan could feel the tenuous hold on his control threatening to snap. Then Parrish stood, faced Evan, and mumbled something about Evan doing his front, too. He either mumbled or the words were muffled by the blood pounding in Evan's ears. But Evan complied, smoothing the sticky white cream over perfect, sweat-slicked pecs, watching each nipple stiffen and beg for a touch. And, oh, he touched. Parrish's eyelids fluttered and a smile curled one corner of his full lips. Not for the first time, Evan found himself staring at that wide, lush mouth.
The doc's invitation was a surprise: dinner together that night and maybe a movie after, delivered in a husky voice masquerading as innocent. Yeah, Evan thought, like the Devil in a Sunday dress. His second thought had been about the sort of movies Parrish might have on hand, but as it turned out, that hadn't really mattered.
That night, Evan learned that dogged determination did pay off, that patience was a virtue often rewarded, and that dreams were attainable. And the best thing… he almost didn't recognize it as his dream at first, just that it felt right, like a destination toward which he'd been headed his entire life, and the road-weary, dusty-boot feeling of a search at its end. He knew having the picture was dangerous given his position, but Evan kept it as homage, a reminder that Parrish had given him something more tangible than old photos and memories clouded in regret.