slashing_lorne | october 17th.John Sheppard's First Annual Pegasus Galaxy New Year's Day Polar Bear Swim

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Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Title: John Sheppard’s First Annual Peagsus Galaxy New Year’s Day Polar Bear Swim
Characters/pairing: lorne/sheppard
Prompt: Oct 17 - Coldest World Series game Yankees vs Cincinnati, 39 degrees F: write a drabble/ficlet about Lorne and his lover in extreme cold weather. Single word prompt: cold
Word Count: 799
Rating: Gen Audiences
Summary: a little personnel bonding in the Pegasus Galaxy
Author's Notes:

A fairly decent portion of the Atlantis Expedition had turned out for John Sheppard’s First Annual Pegasus Galaxy New Year’s Day (by Earth calendar’s anyway) Polar Bear Swim. It was more people than he’d expected – they’d wound up taking 6 jumpers to ferry everyone to the mainland.

Marines made up a large contingent of the group, possibly lending weight to Lorne’s theory that the USMC was insane enough to attempt just about anything. The rest was made up of a few Air Force personnel, a few civilian technicians and even fewer scientists, most of whom had insisted that higher intellect prohibited them from participating in meaningless and utterly foolhardy endeavors. Even the cooks had shown up, waiting on the beach with coffee, cocoa and a variety of pastries, having left the rest of the base entire to fend for itself for breakfast.

The 163rd Construction Battalion, Pegasus Det, had deployed a section of inflatable pontoon bridging fifty yards offshore and the Puddlejumpers had deposited everyone on it. The sky lightened slowly to a pale pink at its Eastern edge and Chuck counted down the last 20 seconds until it was daybreak. On the cry of All In!, four of the Marines rushed the front of the pontoon and took the plunge, Sheppard and Lorne at the head of the pack. Everyone else made their way in their own ways, perhaps not as insane, but certainly as uniquely themselves.

A few of the more gung-ho Marines cannon-balled in with the standard cry of “Devil Dogs”, the Air Force contingency following with an only slightly more tame “Geronimo”. Elizabeth was the first of the civilians to enter the 54° water, knifing cleanly in and stroking hard for the shoreline as soon as she broke the surface. The scientists for the most part took careful dives or just jumped, the last of the civilians opting to sit and slip in after the rest of the free-for-all had cleared.

The pull for the beach quickly settled into a race, Sheppard and Lorne holding a slight lead. As the most senior of the military there, both felt the need to make a good showing, but the highly competitive core of Marines was determined to make them work for it.

With his slender swimmer’s build and daily runs with Ronon, Sheppard was making good time and Lorne dug deep to stay with him. Lorne had spent the last month in the gym preparing for this morning and together they managed to hold off Uncle Sam’s Misguide Children until just past halfway when Kaufman overtook them. The frontrunners hit the beach minutes later, grabbed towels and waded back out bravely to cheer on the rest.

“Oooo-rah, ma’am,” Kaufman barked, offering Elizabeth a towel and a hand as she waded ashore through the chilly, knee-deep surf.

“Thank you, Sergeant,” she smiled past rattling teeth, wrapping the towel around her shoulders. She passed Lorne, squeezing his shoulder as she did. “Major,” she warned, “you’re turning blue.”

“Yes, ma’am!” he agreed. “Come on, docs!” he yelled generically at the last few bodies still in the ocean. He spotted a familiar face as she bobbed for air and called out to her. “Come on, Lindsey!”

The Marines, holding an impromptu “last man out” contest, helped the last swimmers out of the water and bundled them off to the coffee pots while Sheppard watched the crowd of 40 or so shivering and shaking, laughing and congratulating each other. A quick cup of chocolate or coffer and the pilots started firing up the jumpers and the heaters to haul folks back to the city in groups of seven or eight. The last two jumpers remaining with a handful of Marines to break down the coffee mess, the tables and portable heaters. They piled the equipment into one jumper, themselves into the other and headed for Atlantis, Sheppard and Lorne bringing up the rear in the jumper full of equipment.

Lorne secured the rear hatch, making his way past the stack of coffee urns and tables and slid into the co-pilot’s seat, his hand brushing the back of John’s neck as he did.

“This was a really good idea,” John decided.

“Yes, it was,” Evan agreed. “We should get T-shirts for next year, tap into some of the Morale and Welfare money, give one to everybody who participates.”

“Good idea,” John said, still shivering. He ran his hands up and down his arms through the sweats he’d pulled on. “Maybe sweatshirts.”

“Better idea,” Evan approved.

He closed his eyes and thought about being warmer and John felt the internal blowers kick on. John reached over, pulling Evan across the short gap between the two command chairs.

“Who’s flying this thing?” Evan teased.

“Autopilot,” John replied. “Got any plans for the next twenty minutes?”