ext_4461: (lorne)
[identity profile] mos-self.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] slashing_lorne

My turn for "The 12 Days Of Lorne" was supposed to be December 19th, but due to specialness on my part the fic was delayed until now. My apologies to the [livejournal.com profile] slashing_lorne folks, and many thanks to those who filled in for me on the 19th.


Title: Gift of the Taur'i
Author: Myownspecialself
Pairing: Parrish/Lorne
Fandom/Genre: Stargate Atlantis/slash, crack!fic
Rating: PG-13/(maybe R?)
Warnings: M/M sexual innuendo and implied M/M sex
Summary: It was the worst of Christmases, it was the best of Christmases.
Disclaimer: Not intended for profit.
Author's Notes: The two items mentioned herein are Major Evan Lorne's bazooka (which makes its first appearance in Season 2, Episode 4, "Duet") and Dr. David Parrish's Williamsonia sewardiana (Season 2, Episode 3, "Runner"). "Taur'i" is the term sometimes applied to natives of Earth.

SPECIAL NOTE: Approximately 2,000 words. This fic is currently un-beta'd. Apologies to O. Henry.

* * * * * * *

Twenty dollars and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixteen dollars of it was in quarters. Quarters he had acquired-- one or two at a time-- by browbeating cashiers to accept an expired coupon or whining until they agreed to ring up an item at the lower price even though the sale had ended the day before.

Three times he counted it. Three times he sighed. Tomorrow would be Christmas.

He stood by the front window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and he had only $20.87 with which to buy Evan a present. He had been saving every penny he could for months, only to end up with this result. An early-retirement pension of two thousand dollars a month doesn't go that far, even if he was now back on Earth where the cost of living was lower than in the Pegasus Galaxy. Nevertheless, expenses these last few years had been greater than he had calculated and I don't think I need to tell you how much of a drain the mortgage is. They always are.

He walked through the kitchen and out to the greenhouse. He always did his best thinking there, and right now he was sorely in need of ideas. He hadn't watered or pruned any of the plants in his collection for a few days; he would do so now and see if any suggestion sprouted forth for presents for Evan.

Okay, so let's water the plants. He decided to start with the Williamsonia sewardiana. He drew near with the watering can in one hand.

Suddenly he whirled away from the Cretaceous plant and looked at his reflection in the greenhouse panes as if trying to see whether his other self had been struck by the same idea. He turned back to the noble Williamsonia sewardiana and ran a hand down its long, thin, branching, woody trunk covered with spirals.

Now, there were two possessions in which David and Evan both took a mighty pride. One was Evan's bazooka, an RL 99X, which had been issued to him back when he was fighting the Wraith a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. The other was David's Williamsonia sewardiana, the one most glorious souvenir of his several years with the Atlantis expedition.

"There's going to be Christmas after all," he said to the plant, which, in many ways had been a confidante ever since David had brought it back to this galaxy. "Here's what's going to happen."

* * * * * * *

"Okay, then. I'll be there in about fifteen minutes." He hung up the phone.

The beautiful gymnosperm seemed to wave its fronds gently as he eased it into the front seat of his car. He buckled the seat belt around its terra cotta pot and then dashed back into the house.

On went his old brown jacket; on went his old brown scarf and then he was out the door. He slid into the driver's seat and cautiously backed out of his driveway. In a few minutes he was parking the car in front of the mansion of the plant collector with whom he had conversed less than a half-hour ago.

"Come in," the plant collector said as he met David at the front door. "Let's have a look at it." He

David eased the Williamsonia sewardiana onto the rippled tile floor of the entry hall.

"All right," said the plant collector. He extended a delicate hand to seal the deal and then invited David to stay for tea.

The next thirty minutes flew by on rosy wings as David and the plant collector sipped tea during their animated chat about the resuscitation of extinct, fossilized plants. David had to dance diplomatically around the truth about the origins of the gymnosperm he had just sold and so the plant collector was left with the impression that there were outfits somewhere on Earth that, à la Jurassic Park, were secretly engaged in bringing back the Cretaceous period one plant at a time.

As he left the plant collector's mansion, David fingered the roll of hundred dollar bills that bulged in his pants pocket. He had just a bit of the afternoon left and then it would be Christmas Eve. He jumped in his car and drove with determination in the direction of several sporting-goods stores and guns exchanges he had seen before in his wanderings about town.

He found it fairly quickly after he entered the last exchange. It surely had been made for Evan and no one else. It was a titanium bazooka case, simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation-- as all good things should do. It was truly worthy of Evan's bazooka.

As soon as David saw it he knew that it must become Evan's. It was like him. Quietness and value-- the description applied to both. Two thousand dollars they took from David for it, and he hurried home with the twenty dollars and 87 cents still jingling in his jacket pocket.

When David reached home his elation gave way a little to prudence and reason. He quickly ran into the greenhouse and moved the plants around. There were probably almost a hundred, and he regrouped them so that tall was next to tall, short next to short.

At last David stepped back to admire his work. The next time Evan wandered through the greenhouse, it would be close to impossible for him to figure out that the Williamsonia sewardiana was no longer there.

* * * * * * *

It was now almost eight o'clock, and the one Italian restaurant that was still open on Christmas Eve had just delivered their Christmas pizza (the extra-large combo, easy anchovies and double pepperoni, with complimentary holiday-season bread sticks!). A salad of baby greens, a chilled rosé, a key lime pie for dessert, and their Christmas Eve feast would be complete.

How odd, he suddenly thought. Evan was never late.

David fussed with the bright red ribbon bow that decorated the silvery bazooka case. He jumped when he heard Evan's step on the porch-- but why the side porch that led into the kitchen?-- and he cleared his throat in anticipation.

The door opened and Evan stepped in and closed it. He looked worried and very serious. Poor fellow, he was barely forty-- and to be burdened with a spouse, a family of sorts, and a household, plus the threat of a lay-off any day now! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.

Evan stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon David, and there was an expression in them that he could not read.

"Why did you come up the side stairs?" David asked.

That something in Evan's eyes-- it was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that David had been expecting. Rather, it was worry. Concern.

"I thought you might be in the greenhouse." David's heart sank. "Then I realized you were up here."

"Ah." David felt stupid for his unwitty response.

"I noticed you moved your plants around. Where did you put the Williamsonia sewardiana?"

"I sold it." David instantly wished he had found something other than the truth to blurt out.

"You. What?" Evan sounded as if he were learning those words for the first time.

"Sold it." David said. This time his voice was softer, almost fearful.

Evan looked about the room curiously.

"You say you sold the fern?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.

"That's why you didn't see it," said David. "It's sold -- sold and gone."

"It-it's gone." These words were a whisper.

David put a hand on Evan's shoulder. "It's Christmas Eve. Don't be angry with me, for it went for you. Yes, it's a rare plant and worth a lot of money," he went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but not as valuable as you are to me." Then, with forced gaiety, "Shall I break out the wine now, Evan?"

Out of his trance Evan seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his David in a hug. Two thousand dollars a month or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wise man would give you the wrong answer.

Evan suddenly straightened up.

"Don't worry, David," he said, "I'm okay. Come with me for a second to the greenhouse. Then you'll see why you had me going a while at first."

They went downstairs and out to the greenhouse. A tall package, maybe six feet tall, stood just inside the door. It was shrouded in large sheets of pale-blue tissue-like paper.

"Go on," Evan said when David extended a trembling hand towards the festive ribbon knot. "Open it."

"Oh." David let drop the ribbon as the sheets of paper slid away. "Shit."

It was a new-fangled electronic watering system. The kind that would make life easier for a botanist by relieving him of the drudgery of watering a prized plant. Soil humidity and acidity are controlled by gauges and sensors that reside in a lightweight but indestructible framework that reminded David of a futuristic space ladder. Misters turn on to soother thirsty leaves and branches when the atmospheric humidity so requires it. David had never seen one for less than three thousand dollars anywhere and now he had one, but the botanical treasure that should have resided happily inside the framework of the watering system? Well, it was gone.

But he hugged Evan anyway, and at length he was able to look up with dim eyes and a weak smile. "I saved a cutting from the original plant. I'll grow another fern. You'll see."

And then David leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"

Evan had not yet seen his beautiful present. David dragged him by the hand upstairs to the kitchen. He produced the bazooka case, festive ribbon and all, and held it out to Evan. The titanium surfaces seemed to flash with a reflection of his bright and ardent spirit.

"Isn't it a beauty? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to go to the practice range every weekend and show it off. Go get your bazooka. I want to see how it looks in the case."

Instead of obeying, Evan collapsed into a chair and let his head sink into his hands.

Evan was silent for a few seconds. Then, "I sold the bazooka to get the money to buy that watering system."

David stared at him and Evan looked at him and then away. A bark of laughter, perhaps a tad bitter-sounding, escaped from David lips. The laughter soon became genuine, and then Evan joined in with a guffaw. "You idiot," David managed to say before laughter overtook him.

"You dumb-ass," Evan replied with an amused snort and stood up. He took David's hand and headed toward the dining room. "C'mon. The Christmas pizza will get cold. And where's that damn wine? I think we both need a glass."

* * * * * * *

He was almost asleep when he heard the downstairs clock chime the hour: midnight. Evan rolled over toward him and jiggled his pillow.

"It's officially Christmas," he murmured in David's ear and then kissed David's temple.

"Merry Christmas," David said. He wriggled closer until he was almost on Evan's pillow. Evan's hand slid mischievously under his pajama top and tweaked a nipple.

The hand slipped down David's belly and did not stop until Evan said with a grin in his voice, "What creature is stirring here? Is it a mouse?"

David giggled and reached for Evan's crotch. And became aware that Evan was very, very awake. "I see you managed to find another bazooka. And it appears to be operational."

"Mmmm." Evan purred and then groped David again.

"Let's get this Christmas going properly, shall we?" David said, suddenly emboldened. "For starters, maybe I can help you fire your bazooka."

And so they did, and it was the best holiday ever.

* * * * * * *
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