"Let Nothing You Dismay" by planetkiller
This was originally going to be my Secret Santa fic, but about five paragraphs in, it becomes obvious who wrote it. Since I wrote it I figured I might as well go ahead and post it.
TITLE: "Let Nothing You Dismay"
RATING: PG, for language
PAIRING: Lorne/Kavanagh, Chuck the 'Gate Tech/Russian soldier (I gave her a name)
WARNING: everybody's OOC, character death, title has nothing to do with the fic,
SPOILERS: Season One finale, 'Canes at Edmonton game
SUMMARY: It's Christmas, but not everyone celebrates at the party.
Lorne scanned the room, searching for a tall, thin scientist with long brown curls. Weir had decided to throw a Christmas party for the members of the Atlantis expedition, despite the fact that Christmas was actually two weeks ago. Lorne didn’t mind as it was an excuse to wear civvies and eat a bunch of finger food. He wasn’t the only one, either.
It appeared as if most of the expedition was in the large room. It was gaudily decorated with tinsel, huge multicoloured lights, and crepe paper everywhere. Several mess tables had been lined up against a wall and were covered in a mixture of real food and Athosian variations that people had come to like. A huge tree had been dragged in from the mainland in the back of a ‘jumper and the Athosian children had decorated it.
Col. Sheppard had agreed to dress up as Santa and give the kids small toys. They hadn’t understood the point of it, but the kids had definitely enjoyed the tradition. They had all been put to bed now and the adults had free reign of the room. Fake vodka had appeared from somewhere, most likely Zelenka’s quarters, and one of the computer programmers had taken on the role of DJ. Lorne laughed at some of the drunken dancing of his comrades before deciding to search for his missing friend.
He slipped out in the corridor and decided to turn to his left. The sounds of the party behind him and the tapping of his shoes on the floor were all Lorne could hear. It would have been creepy if the airman wasn’t routinely threatened by space vampires. Deciding that made the silence scarier, he sped up. Lorne came to an intersection and listened. Vaguely, off in the distance, he could hear something. He decided to move toward that sound.
A bit of a walk later, Lorne was standing in the doorway to the recreation room. Kavanagh, the ‘Gate technician whose name Lorne could never remember, and the Russian pilot, Sarasova, were sitting on the couch watching the big screen television. All of them were wearing hockey sweaters and yelling loudly.
“Oh come on!” the technician yelled. “He was tripped! That goal doesn’t count.”
“You are pulling for the Oilers?” Sarasova asked. The technician nodded his head vigorously.
“Yeah, but I want them to win fairly. Not because some IDIOT can’t see!” the technician yelled. The pilot raised her hands in surrender as Kavanagh buried his head in his hands.
“They’re not calling fouls, we’re losing two to one, and Brind’Amour isn’t coming back in,” he muttered. “I think we may be doomed.”
“The large woman has yet to sing,” Sarasova said sagely before yelling something in Russian.
“What are you guys doing?” Lorne asked. Three heads swivelled to look at him. Lorne was leaning against the door jamb as if he was trying to keep the door frame up by himself.
“Carolina Hurricanes at Edmonton Oilers,” the technician said as he turned back to the televison. “First time they’ve played each other since the Stanley Cup.”
“You mean since we owned you,” Kavanagh pointed out. “Dammit!” An Oiler had scored. The technician whooped and hugged Sarasova.
“I take it the Oilers are winning,” Lorne half-asked, half-said. The look Kavanagh shot him would have caused a Wraith to pee its pants. “So, Sarasova, who are you pulling for?” She gave him a quizzical look as she tried to figure out what he was asking.
“I do not like either team so I am ‘pulling’ for both,” she said with a smile.
“Slashing!” the technician yelled at the televison. “What is the matter? Are these idiots blind or something?” Lorne frowned as he continued ranting.
“You do realise you’re watching a recording of a game that took place almost two months ago. Don’t you?” Lorne asked.
“That’s not the point,” Kavanagh explained. “It’s fake Christmas; we should be able to celebrate how we wish. So we’re worshipping at the alter of Lord Stanley.”
“Shut up,” the technician said. “We all know it was a fluke. North Carolina is on the same latitude as the Sahara; bastards shouldn’t be able to skate.”
“Still kicked your--” The scientist was interrupted by the technician.
“He’s bleeding! That’s careless stick use and four minutes in the box!”
“The casualty is a Hurricane,” Sarasova reminded him. Lorne winced as he realised that was most likely one of the first words the woman had learned. A small fight broke out on the screen.
“That’s not the point,” he said. “If we’re going to win, we might as well actually deserve it. So far it’s just been a bunch of fouls that no one is calling.”
“That fight was the referees’ fault,” the announcer said. “Both teams are getting frustrated because nothing is being called.”
“So what are--” Lorne was interrupted by Kavanagh.
“Shut up or get out.” The major shrugged and sat on the arm of the couch beside the physicist.
About fifteen minutes later, they were discussing the game as the interviews played in the background. Sarasova and the ‘Gate technician were discussing some rule that Lorne didn’t understand so he turned to Kavanagh. The man was muttering darkly and staring at the floor.
“You guys do this often?” he asked. The other two stopped talking immediately as Kavanagh slowly raised his head.
“You never met him, but Grodin started it,” the scientist said. “Some religions don’t have much problem with a Christmas party; it’s not really religious. Grodin couldn’t go, though. So he grabbed a few friends and watched a hockey rerun. He’s not with us anymore, but we celebrated this way last year and we’re going to keep doing it as long as we can.”
“Even if we go home,” Sarasova said confidently. She raised a bottle with a clear liquid inside toward the ceiling. Kavanagh and the technician mimicked the movement with their coffee mugs. Lorne felt like he was intruding in a sacred moment. After a second or two, they drank. Kavanagh and the technician put their mugs back on the table and watched Sarasova down the rest of the vodka. She began humming and the technician joined in.
“God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen,” Kavanagh told Lorne. The airman nodded. It was strangely appropriate.
“Take me home, baby,” Sarasova said suddenly as she latched on to the technician. “Major, Doctor Kavanagh.”
“Kav,” the technician said with a nod as he stood up. He was almost to the door before he added, “Major Lorne, sir.” They disappeared out the door holding hands.
“Huh,” Lorne vocalised. The two men sat on the couch in comfortable silence and listening to the far off music. “Where did you come from? Where did you go? Where did you come from, Cotton-Eyed Joe?”
“What?” Kavanagh snapped.
“I’m singing along,” the airmen replied. “It’s ‘Cotton-Eyed Joe.’ We used to dance to this.” The scientist snorted. “Get up!” Lorne hopped to his feet. “I’m going to teach you how to dance.” He pulled the taller man to his feet.
“I don’t think so,” the scientist said as he pulled away. Lorne grabbed him and linked arms.
“Okay, first we skip forward.” Kavanagh opened his mouth to protest, but the smaller man was already skipping and he had to rush to keep up. “Now, you do this with your foot.” Lorne demonstrated. “And take a step back. Now do it again. And again. Now, we skip forward again.”
“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever been forced to do and I’m a Catholic,” Kavanagh snapped as he skipped. Despite all his complaining, Kavanagh was actually enjoying himself. It wasn’t often that he got to dance with a hot guy, even if it was a stupid dance. “How could you tell what that was?” he asked. “I can barely hear the music at all.”
“It’s the ears,” Lorne said. “I’m actually an elf so it makes hearing things far away easier.” Kavanagh stared at him for a moment before scoffing. “You’d be surprised how many people actually buy that crap. I’ve also convinced a couple of people that those alien penguins that got loose a few months ago were Dr. McKay and the Colonel.” Kavanagh burst out laughing. “And that little scientist with all the hair; I managed to convince him that Zelenka was a vampire and Dr. Beckett is a dragon.”
“What’s the matter with you?” Kavanagh asked as he skipped. Lorne shrugged.
“It’s a boring job. You fill out mission reports, go on missions, do P.T., and sometimes you go to target practice. The rest of the time, you just sit around and watch the geeks have all the fun.” Kavanagh thought about it for a few moments before nodding his understanding.
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“Yes, yes, I am,” Lorne admitted. Kavanagh pulled away from the skipping man.
“I’m going home.” He headed toward the door and Lorne ran to join him.
“I’m going that way, too,” Lorne said with a grin. “I’ll walk you back.”
“I am more than capable of walking myself home,” Kavanagh said as he stepped into the corridor. Lorne stopped moving and watched as the man took off toward the scientists’ quarters. After a few steps, Kavanagh stopped. “I know you’re back there.” Lorne came jogging up.
“Creepy, isn’t it?” he asked with a grin.
“Shut up,” Kavanagh growled. The two men walked down the hallway in companionable silence, though from time to time one or the other would glance around just to be sure there wasn’t a Wraith sneaking up behind them. One could never be to careful in the city of the Ancients.
They arrived at Kavanagh’s quarters too soon. The two men stood outside the door and shifted back and forth awkwardly.
“Well, thanks,” Kavanagh said. “For walking me back,” he added awkwardly.
“I had fun,” Lorne said as he bounced up on the balls of his feet. “Maybe we could do this again sometime.”
“What do you think this is, a date?” Kavanagh asked with a smirk. He stopped when he realised Lorne was shuffling his feet. “This wasn’t a date!”
“Maybe we could make it one?” Lorne asked hopefully with a grin.
“Fine, it’s a date,” Kavanagh said. He turned and opened the door. “I had a nice time. See you tomorrow.” Lorne rose an eyebrow.
“This may be the fake vodka talking, but don’t I get a kiss?” he asked. Kavanagh sighed.
“The real stuff has been talking for me for quite some time,” the scientist admitted. “I don’t kiss on the first date.” Lorne’s smile dropped and for a moment, Kavanagh felt bad; then Lorne grinned and nodded his head.
“Okay. Go inside.” Kavanagh looked at Lorne like he had grown another head. “Trust me. Just go inside.” Kavanagh walked into the room and the door shut behind him. He shook his head and began getting undressed. He had gotten his shoes and one sock off when there was a knock on the door. Kavanagh opened it to look at Lorne who was slightly out of breath.
“I jogged to the corner and back,” he said with a smile. “That makes this our second date.” He stepped one foot across the threshold and pressed his lips against Kavanagh’s in a chaste kiss. “See you later.” Lorne turned around and walked off back toward his quarters. The scientist poked his head out into the hall to watch the other man leave.
“Freak!” he called after. Lorne threw a hand up in a wave and kept on walking. Kavanagh stepped back into the room and let the door slide shut. There was a smile on his lips when he slipped between the sheets a few moments later.
TITLE: "Let Nothing You Dismay"
RATING: PG, for language
PAIRING: Lorne/Kavanagh, Chuck the 'Gate Tech/Russian soldier (I gave her a name)
WARNING: everybody's OOC, character death, title has nothing to do with the fic,
SPOILERS: Season One finale, 'Canes at Edmonton game
SUMMARY: It's Christmas, but not everyone celebrates at the party.
Lorne scanned the room, searching for a tall, thin scientist with long brown curls. Weir had decided to throw a Christmas party for the members of the Atlantis expedition, despite the fact that Christmas was actually two weeks ago. Lorne didn’t mind as it was an excuse to wear civvies and eat a bunch of finger food. He wasn’t the only one, either.
It appeared as if most of the expedition was in the large room. It was gaudily decorated with tinsel, huge multicoloured lights, and crepe paper everywhere. Several mess tables had been lined up against a wall and were covered in a mixture of real food and Athosian variations that people had come to like. A huge tree had been dragged in from the mainland in the back of a ‘jumper and the Athosian children had decorated it.
Col. Sheppard had agreed to dress up as Santa and give the kids small toys. They hadn’t understood the point of it, but the kids had definitely enjoyed the tradition. They had all been put to bed now and the adults had free reign of the room. Fake vodka had appeared from somewhere, most likely Zelenka’s quarters, and one of the computer programmers had taken on the role of DJ. Lorne laughed at some of the drunken dancing of his comrades before deciding to search for his missing friend.
He slipped out in the corridor and decided to turn to his left. The sounds of the party behind him and the tapping of his shoes on the floor were all Lorne could hear. It would have been creepy if the airman wasn’t routinely threatened by space vampires. Deciding that made the silence scarier, he sped up. Lorne came to an intersection and listened. Vaguely, off in the distance, he could hear something. He decided to move toward that sound.
A bit of a walk later, Lorne was standing in the doorway to the recreation room. Kavanagh, the ‘Gate technician whose name Lorne could never remember, and the Russian pilot, Sarasova, were sitting on the couch watching the big screen television. All of them were wearing hockey sweaters and yelling loudly.
“Oh come on!” the technician yelled. “He was tripped! That goal doesn’t count.”
“You are pulling for the Oilers?” Sarasova asked. The technician nodded his head vigorously.
“Yeah, but I want them to win fairly. Not because some IDIOT can’t see!” the technician yelled. The pilot raised her hands in surrender as Kavanagh buried his head in his hands.
“They’re not calling fouls, we’re losing two to one, and Brind’Amour isn’t coming back in,” he muttered. “I think we may be doomed.”
“The large woman has yet to sing,” Sarasova said sagely before yelling something in Russian.
“What are you guys doing?” Lorne asked. Three heads swivelled to look at him. Lorne was leaning against the door jamb as if he was trying to keep the door frame up by himself.
“Carolina Hurricanes at Edmonton Oilers,” the technician said as he turned back to the televison. “First time they’ve played each other since the Stanley Cup.”
“You mean since we owned you,” Kavanagh pointed out. “Dammit!” An Oiler had scored. The technician whooped and hugged Sarasova.
“I take it the Oilers are winning,” Lorne half-asked, half-said. The look Kavanagh shot him would have caused a Wraith to pee its pants. “So, Sarasova, who are you pulling for?” She gave him a quizzical look as she tried to figure out what he was asking.
“I do not like either team so I am ‘pulling’ for both,” she said with a smile.
“Slashing!” the technician yelled at the televison. “What is the matter? Are these idiots blind or something?” Lorne frowned as he continued ranting.
“You do realise you’re watching a recording of a game that took place almost two months ago. Don’t you?” Lorne asked.
“That’s not the point,” Kavanagh explained. “It’s fake Christmas; we should be able to celebrate how we wish. So we’re worshipping at the alter of Lord Stanley.”
“Shut up,” the technician said. “We all know it was a fluke. North Carolina is on the same latitude as the Sahara; bastards shouldn’t be able to skate.”
“Still kicked your--” The scientist was interrupted by the technician.
“He’s bleeding! That’s careless stick use and four minutes in the box!”
“The casualty is a Hurricane,” Sarasova reminded him. Lorne winced as he realised that was most likely one of the first words the woman had learned. A small fight broke out on the screen.
“That’s not the point,” he said. “If we’re going to win, we might as well actually deserve it. So far it’s just been a bunch of fouls that no one is calling.”
“That fight was the referees’ fault,” the announcer said. “Both teams are getting frustrated because nothing is being called.”
“So what are--” Lorne was interrupted by Kavanagh.
“Shut up or get out.” The major shrugged and sat on the arm of the couch beside the physicist.
About fifteen minutes later, they were discussing the game as the interviews played in the background. Sarasova and the ‘Gate technician were discussing some rule that Lorne didn’t understand so he turned to Kavanagh. The man was muttering darkly and staring at the floor.
“You guys do this often?” he asked. The other two stopped talking immediately as Kavanagh slowly raised his head.
“You never met him, but Grodin started it,” the scientist said. “Some religions don’t have much problem with a Christmas party; it’s not really religious. Grodin couldn’t go, though. So he grabbed a few friends and watched a hockey rerun. He’s not with us anymore, but we celebrated this way last year and we’re going to keep doing it as long as we can.”
“Even if we go home,” Sarasova said confidently. She raised a bottle with a clear liquid inside toward the ceiling. Kavanagh and the technician mimicked the movement with their coffee mugs. Lorne felt like he was intruding in a sacred moment. After a second or two, they drank. Kavanagh and the technician put their mugs back on the table and watched Sarasova down the rest of the vodka. She began humming and the technician joined in.
“God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen,” Kavanagh told Lorne. The airman nodded. It was strangely appropriate.
“Take me home, baby,” Sarasova said suddenly as she latched on to the technician. “Major, Doctor Kavanagh.”
“Kav,” the technician said with a nod as he stood up. He was almost to the door before he added, “Major Lorne, sir.” They disappeared out the door holding hands.
“Huh,” Lorne vocalised. The two men sat on the couch in comfortable silence and listening to the far off music. “Where did you come from? Where did you go? Where did you come from, Cotton-Eyed Joe?”
“What?” Kavanagh snapped.
“I’m singing along,” the airmen replied. “It’s ‘Cotton-Eyed Joe.’ We used to dance to this.” The scientist snorted. “Get up!” Lorne hopped to his feet. “I’m going to teach you how to dance.” He pulled the taller man to his feet.
“I don’t think so,” the scientist said as he pulled away. Lorne grabbed him and linked arms.
“Okay, first we skip forward.” Kavanagh opened his mouth to protest, but the smaller man was already skipping and he had to rush to keep up. “Now, you do this with your foot.” Lorne demonstrated. “And take a step back. Now do it again. And again. Now, we skip forward again.”
“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever been forced to do and I’m a Catholic,” Kavanagh snapped as he skipped. Despite all his complaining, Kavanagh was actually enjoying himself. It wasn’t often that he got to dance with a hot guy, even if it was a stupid dance. “How could you tell what that was?” he asked. “I can barely hear the music at all.”
“It’s the ears,” Lorne said. “I’m actually an elf so it makes hearing things far away easier.” Kavanagh stared at him for a moment before scoffing. “You’d be surprised how many people actually buy that crap. I’ve also convinced a couple of people that those alien penguins that got loose a few months ago were Dr. McKay and the Colonel.” Kavanagh burst out laughing. “And that little scientist with all the hair; I managed to convince him that Zelenka was a vampire and Dr. Beckett is a dragon.”
“What’s the matter with you?” Kavanagh asked as he skipped. Lorne shrugged.
“It’s a boring job. You fill out mission reports, go on missions, do P.T., and sometimes you go to target practice. The rest of the time, you just sit around and watch the geeks have all the fun.” Kavanagh thought about it for a few moments before nodding his understanding.
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“Yes, yes, I am,” Lorne admitted. Kavanagh pulled away from the skipping man.
“I’m going home.” He headed toward the door and Lorne ran to join him.
“I’m going that way, too,” Lorne said with a grin. “I’ll walk you back.”
“I am more than capable of walking myself home,” Kavanagh said as he stepped into the corridor. Lorne stopped moving and watched as the man took off toward the scientists’ quarters. After a few steps, Kavanagh stopped. “I know you’re back there.” Lorne came jogging up.
“Creepy, isn’t it?” he asked with a grin.
“Shut up,” Kavanagh growled. The two men walked down the hallway in companionable silence, though from time to time one or the other would glance around just to be sure there wasn’t a Wraith sneaking up behind them. One could never be to careful in the city of the Ancients.
They arrived at Kavanagh’s quarters too soon. The two men stood outside the door and shifted back and forth awkwardly.
“Well, thanks,” Kavanagh said. “For walking me back,” he added awkwardly.
“I had fun,” Lorne said as he bounced up on the balls of his feet. “Maybe we could do this again sometime.”
“What do you think this is, a date?” Kavanagh asked with a smirk. He stopped when he realised Lorne was shuffling his feet. “This wasn’t a date!”
“Maybe we could make it one?” Lorne asked hopefully with a grin.
“Fine, it’s a date,” Kavanagh said. He turned and opened the door. “I had a nice time. See you tomorrow.” Lorne rose an eyebrow.
“This may be the fake vodka talking, but don’t I get a kiss?” he asked. Kavanagh sighed.
“The real stuff has been talking for me for quite some time,” the scientist admitted. “I don’t kiss on the first date.” Lorne’s smile dropped and for a moment, Kavanagh felt bad; then Lorne grinned and nodded his head.
“Okay. Go inside.” Kavanagh looked at Lorne like he had grown another head. “Trust me. Just go inside.” Kavanagh walked into the room and the door shut behind him. He shook his head and began getting undressed. He had gotten his shoes and one sock off when there was a knock on the door. Kavanagh opened it to look at Lorne who was slightly out of breath.
“I jogged to the corner and back,” he said with a smile. “That makes this our second date.” He stepped one foot across the threshold and pressed his lips against Kavanagh’s in a chaste kiss. “See you later.” Lorne turned around and walked off back toward his quarters. The scientist poked his head out into the hall to watch the other man leave.
“Freak!” he called after. Lorne threw a hand up in a wave and kept on walking. Kavanagh stepped back into the room and let the door slide shut. There was a smile on his lips when he slipped between the sheets a few moments later.