Fic: Making Nice Part 1 of 2 (Lorne/Kavanagh, 14)
Title: Making Nice.
Author: squeakyoflight
Recipient: eviljr
Pairing: Evan Lorne/Peter Kavanagh, background McShep
Rating: 14A for minor violence and coarse language.
Disclaimer: Spoilers for "38 Minutes."
Author's Notes: I wrote this after reading Eviljr's LJ and realizing how much she really likes Kavanagh... Merry Christmas, Eviljr! I hope this rocks your socks.
With great thanks to my beta Taste_is _Sweet for her amazing work
Summary: Major Lorne's dealt with Goa'uld, Wraith and disgruntled natives, but teaching Kavanagh to paint may be more than he can stand--or more than he ever hoped for.
The light was perfect for painting.
Major Evan Lorne stood on the East balcony of Atlantis, watching the sun set.
The sky was awash in hues of blue and purple, the clouds dark and deep as night. As the sun descended, the sky had blossomed with streaks of red, pink and gold, coating the outer edge of the ocean like a spilling of precious stones. Where ocean, sky and sun touched, the colours ran together, tricking the eye into thinking that the ocean and sky extended forever.
Evan sighed as he held his brush in one hand and his palette in the other. He knew he should be putting brush to paper, that the light would fade all too soon and he'd have to wait for another night to continue the painting he'd started weeks ago. But Lantea had outdone herself this time, with a visual display so stunning that he could only stare in awe.
He stood and drank it in with his eyes. The breeze rifled his hair and carried the scent of the ocean beyond. He could hear the cry of one of the native sea birds in the distance, and the gentle lapping sound as the waves brushed against the City far below.
The sun slipped further into the water, sliding the hues into even darker shades, and Evan felt his eyes widen from the impact. He smiled, dipped his brush into his paint and turned towards his canvas.
"Major Lorne! Major Lorne!"
Evan winced, pulling the tip of his brush away. He turned towards the intruder, scowling. "I'm off-duty."
"Yes, yes I can see that," Dr. Peter Kavanagh, one of McKay's scientists, said. He waved a hand dismissively as he approached. He came to a stop a little too close, and Evan found himself taking a step back. Kavanagh looked at his picture. "What's that supposed to be?"
Evan's scowl deepened. "You're meant to ask before you look at an artist's unfinished work, Kavanagh."
"Well, if you were an artist, I guess I would," the scientist said. Evan looked at him. Kavanagh clearly hadn't meant that as a joke.
Evan exhaled sharply through his nose, keeping his temper in check. He didn't know Kavanagh very well, having met him only in passing since arriving on Atlantis a few months before. He did know his reputation, though: he was a self-important bully who had gotten on the wrong side of everyone on the Expedition and--according to the Lieutenant Colonel, was only one more mistake away from ending up forcefully returned to the SGC. Purposely, Evan turned back towards his painting.
"Isn't it too dark to be doing that?"
Evan felt his eyes narrow. "What do you want?"
"Oh, oh yeah," Kavanagh said, and there was something in his tone that made Evan turn back towards him. The fading light of the sunset was reflecting in the round lenses of Kavanagh's glasses, partially obscuring the eyes beneath. His slicked-down hair shone in the light, and that, combined with the leanness of his body, gave Kavanagh the appearance of a gold-plated robot. "McKay wanted me to ask you something."
"McKay?" Evan asked, feeling himself frown. "I've got my radio on. Why he'd send you?"
"Because he did!" Kavanagh snapped.
"Uh huh," Evan said. He sighed, knowing that he'd get no more painting done tonight. The light had nearly faded completely, and Kavanagh had easily spoiled his mood. He began to clean his brush with the water he'd brought, allowing the repetitive task to soothe his temper.
It would do his career no good to get busted for punching the bastard in the nose.
"Aren't you going to ask me why?" Kavanagh asked, hands on hips.
Evan shot him a look, then turned back to his brushes. "I don't play games, Kavanagh," he said. "If I don't hear it from you, I'll just call McKay."
"McKay wanted you to help me!" Kavanagh blurted. "He said you'd help!"
Evan moved so he was facing Kavanagh. "You need help with some geological engineering?"
Kavanagh's sneer was audible. "As if."
"Yeah." Evan drawled out the syllables. He returned to his brushes, packing them away in their case. It was hand-made, lined with absorbent cotton now stained with years of paint. His mother had made it for him when he'd first entered the Air Force, making him promise to not forget who he was as he found out who he could be. He gently closed the lid, taking a moment to brush his hand over the top and send a thought towards his mother, as he did every time he put the case away. It helped him feel connected to her, to his family, even while he was so far away. It was a small thing, but it was always a comfort.
He saw Kavanagh shake his head out of the corner of his eye. "Why'd you do that?"
Evan gave him his best 'commanding officer' glare. "Are you still here?"
Kavanagh curled his lip. "What were you petting the box for?"
"My mother made it," Evan said, because that was all the explanation required.
"See?" Kavanagh said to no one in particular. "See? Now that's why McKay sent me to get your help!"
Evan turned to him. "What?"
"Help--with girls," Kavanagh said. "McKay wants you to help me with girls."
Evan was still shaking his head as he strode back towards his quarters.
Kavanagh was loping after him, easel tucked under his arm. Since it had been obvious that Kavanagh wasn't going to go away, Evan had given him something to carry.
"No," he said for what had to have been the millionth time. "I'm not going to do it."
"Come on!" Kavanagh wheedled, running a couple of steps to keep up with Evan. Kavanagh was taller, but Evan was military and used to moving fast. "Everyone knows that you were raised by your mom! Well, it's not like it's a secret!" Kavanagh said defensively as Evan shot him one of his deadlier looks, "A lot of the military contingent on this base come from dysfunctional families! Everyone knows that!"
Evan clenched his hands around his painting tools. "I really don't want to help you now." They arrived in the corridor by his quarters, and Evan stopped and snatched his easel out of Kavanagh's hands. "We're done here. Good night." He passed his hand over the door sensor and it slid open with welcome ease.
"Wait!" Kavanagh said, and there was actual desperation in his tone. "Wait, Major. Please." He visibly swallowed, as if the words were choking him. "I really need your help."
Evan paused. He put his box down gently on the floor and leaned his canvas and easel just inside his doorway. He looked at Kavanagh.
Kavanagh was looking down, as if studying something really interesting on Evan's boots. A few strands of hair had worked themselves loose from the tight braid he wore and were curling in small ringlets around his ears and forehead, and that, combined with the faint blush of colour in his pale cheeks, made his high cheekbones look less gaunt and his whole face look younger and not so harsh. Vulnerable, Evan thought. Kavanagh looked young and vulnerable, and actually afraid.
Evan sighed and leaned against the doorframe, crossing one foot over the other. "So why did McKay tell you to ask me this?"
"Because Weir is going to send me home!" Kavanagh cried. "She hates me!"
Evan rolled his eyes. "There's a surprise."
"No! You don't understand!" Kavanagh insisted. "She wants me to apologize for something, but I didn't do anything wrong!"
"I'm sure you didn't," Evan said, his tone dripping sarcasm. "Not you."
"Okay, okay, maybe I did say something," Kavanagh acquiesced, "but it was totally in self-defence!"
Evan made a face. "Self defence? From Weir? She's the most fair-minded person I know!"
"She bitch-slapped me in front of my team!" Kavanagh barked. "What else was I meant to do?"
Evan knew he must look confused. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"The time with the Jumper!" Kavanagh nearly shouted. "When Sheppard and the others were stuck on it half-way through that Gate! She told me off in front of my team! She--" he took a breath. "She humiliated me in front of them! Like I was a green undergrad! It was awful!"
"Wait," Evan said, putting one hand up. He vaguely remembered reading a report about an event like that, when Sheppard had been attacked by some sort of bug that had clung to his neck until his team had stopped his heart. The team had ended up fixing the problem with the Jumper and getting it all the way through the Gate with only seconds to spare. "I know what you're talking about. That happened over a year ago!"
Kavanagh made a face. "So?"
"So," Evan felt himself say with great patience, "if you were as charming then as you are now, then you're pretty damn overdue for an apology to her."
Kavanagh looked stung. "What do you mean by that?"
Evan tilted his head to the side. "You're a rude asshole, Kavanagh. What did you think I meant?"
"I--" Kavanagh started. His face crumpled. "Really?"
Evan blinked. "Hasn't anyone ever told you that before?"
"Well, McKay has," Kavanagh said slowly. "But he talks to everyone like that, so I thought..." He let the words trail off, and silence settled heavily between them.
"Look," Evan said when the silence had settled all the way down to 'awkward'. He made his tone sound gentler than he felt. He hadn't actually wanted to hurt the guy, but Jesus--Talking to Kavanagh felt like being hit on the head with a hammer about a zillion times. "Why don't you tell me what McKay meant by this 'talk to girls thing,' okay?"
Kavanagh nodded. He took what looked like a fortifying breath. "McKay thinks that my big problem is that I don't know how to talk to girls--women," he corrected himself before Evan had the chance. "And that if I did, I would get along better with Weir." He looked up, his eyes a brilliant blue behind his glasses. "And maybe I could figure out a way to say sorry so that she'd get over herself and let me stay."
"Why don't you just try saying sorry?" Evan asked.
"If it was that simple, don't you think I would've done it?" Kavanagh snapped. "I've tried that! She just sneers in my face."
"Wonder why," Evan muttered. He sighed. "And what does McKay think I can do?"
Kavanagh waved his hand. "The girl thing. You were raised by your mother, right? You know how to talk to women in power."
Evan glowered at Kavanagh. His mother had never made Evan feel powerless in his life.
"I just need to find something to say that will sound sincere!" Kavanagh exclaimed in response to Evan's expression. "Something to make her believe I'm sorry!"
"Well, are you?" Evan asked. He shifted his position so both feet were flat on the floor.
"Am I what?" Kavanagh looked confused.
"Sorry!" Evan found himself shouting. "Are you sorry?"
Kavanagh made a face. "What? No!"
Evan turned away. "Then I can't help you."
He felt Kavanagh's hand on his shoulder, gripping tightly with long fingers. "No! Why? Why not?"
"Because I can't teach you to sound sincere when you don't mean it," Evan said, feeling like he was lecturing to a child. "It would be a waste of your time, and mine." He shook off Kavanagh's hand and stepped into his quarters. "Good night."
"Wait!" Kavanagh cried, putting his hand over the doorframe so that the door would slice off his fingers if Evan let it close. "Then teach me!"
"Teach you what?" Evan demanded, rolling his eyes. "Sincerity? I'm not an actor!"
"No! Feeling!" Kavanagh said. "Teach me to feel sorry! Why I should feel sorry for what I said! Because..." He dropped his gaze for a moment. When he raised it again their eyes met, and there was an intensity in Kavanagh's face, a true sincerity that made Evan actually want to listen to what the scientist was saying. "Because I don't. I don't feel sorry."
Evan's gaze sharpened. "What happened?"
"Weir accused me of wanting to save my own ass more than saving the people in the Jumper, and she said it in front of everyone," Kavanagh supplied immediately. "And she said it like it was a bad thing. Like I shouldn't've wanted to keep myself safe!" He looked at the floor again. "And she said it right in front of my research team. And then when I called her up on it, she told me she'd send me to a planet where I could be as 'self-important as I wanted.'" He raised his hands. "What do I have to be sorry for?"
"Hm," Evan said. He figured there had to be more to the story than that, but it was obvious the man really had no idea that what he'd done that was so wrong. Evan didn't know Weir all that well, but he knew she was fiercely protective of her people, and wouldn't have taken kindly to Kavanagh doing anything that might've distracted from the rescue efforts. And knowing what he did already about Kavanagh, the man's abrasive personality may have spoken louder than his actual words. Maybe he hadn't really meant to upset Weir like that. Maybe he just didn't know how not to.
"You know I was raised by my mom," Evan said as an inkling of an idea began to form in his mind. "But I have two older sisters who kind of helped raise me as well, right?"
Kavanagh nodded. "I know. I asked your team. They, uh, like you a lot."
"Great." Evan grimaced. He'd have to have a chat with Parrish later, to get the guy to shut up about personal stuff. "So," he said, crossing his arms again. "Who raised you?"
"My grandfather," Kavanagh said. "Why does that matter?"
"Any siblings?"
Kavanagh shook his head. "No. It was just me and gramps, down on the farm. Why?"
"Isolated?" Evan asked. "Did you have friends around? Kids your own age?"
"Yes. No and no," Kavanagh said, clearly annoyed. "What are these questions for?"
"I'll explain later," Evan said, turning over the picture of Kavanagh as a child in his mind, growing up with an elderly man on an expanse of farmland, no other children in sight to play with, or even talk to. "Like, tomorrow night." He found himself smiling. "Come ready to paint."
"Paint?" Kavanagh said looking dumbfounded. "How's that going to help me?"
Evan stepped inside his room, "Oh, and cut off that damn pony-tail. Your hair's too long for Atlantis Regs."
"I'm not in the military!" Kavanagh snapped.
"Yeah, but I have to look at you!" Evan shot back. "If you want my help, cut it off!"
It was extremely satisfying to hear Kavanagh's voice get cut off by the closing of the door.
"So how is this meant to help me get on Weir's good side again?" Kavanagh asked as he smeared a line of black paint across the canvas.
Kavanagh had shown up at the exact start of sunset the following night, tight pony-tail still in place. Evan had looked at it and just shaken his head.
Evan felt his eyes narrow as he tried to focus on the sunset. "Just shut-up and paint."
"I hate painting!" Kavanagh whined. "I'm an engineer! I hate this kind of stuff!"
Evan forced out a breath. "Just do it."
"What for?" Kavanagh demanded, turning away from his nearly-blank canvas and facing Evan. "You said you were going to help me. So help!"
Evan closed his eyes for a moment, collecting his temper. "Focus on the sunset," he said, "and paint it." He glared at Kavanagh's disbelieving look. "Trust me."
"Whatever, Rembrandt," Kavanagh sneered. He turned back to his easel and swiped another black line across. "This is stupid."
Evan turned his focus back to the display before him. The colours were more muted than the night before, more like sepia than the jewel-tones of the previous evening. Deftly, he mixed some paint on his palette, trying to capture just the right mix of reds and blues to do the light justice. He began applying the mixture to his canvas, smiling to himself with the results.
Several minutes went by, then several more, until Evan suddenly realized he was painting in the near dark and he hadn't heard Kavanagh complain in a while.
He looked towards the scientist. Kavanagh was standing in front of his canvas, frowning in concentration at the red shape he had painted there. It looked like a human figure, done in shades of red with black and brown as shadows. To Evan's trained eye, it didn't look finished yet, but it was certainly a start, and it showed that Kavanagh might actually have some talent.
"It's too dark to see," Kavanagh said, turning towards Evan. "Can we go in now?"
"Sure." Evan nodded. He started cleaning his brushes, gesturing towards Kavanagh's picture with his chin. "Looks good."
Kavanagh scowled at him. "I thought you weren't meant to look at an artist's unfinished work."
"If you were an artist, I wouldn't," Evan replied blandly. Kavanagh's expression darkened and Evan laughed. "Seriously," he said, "it looks good. I like the intensity behind it."
"Yeah?" Kavanagh asked, considering his work. Then he frowned. "I don't know how to paint a face."
"I'll teach you," Evan said. "Tomorrow evening. My team's off for a few days."
Kavanagh looked at him, and his expression was almost shy behind his glasses. "We're going to do this again?"
"Yeah," Evan said. "Takes more than one night to learn this stuff." He turned back to his brushes, swishing them in the water and then carefully drying them with the soft cloth from his kit. He had chosen to use water paints for the sunset, hoping that the blending of the colours on the canvas would be a fair approximation of the blending of colours in the sky. So far he hadn't been too disappointed by the results.
"I still don't get it," Kavanagh said suddenly.
Evan looked at him. "Get what?"
"This," Kavanagh said, gesturing at his canvas. "What does this have to do with Weir?"
Evan faced him. "Painting's about emotion."
Kavanagh's face showed pure disgust. "You've got to be kidding me!"
"No," Evan said slowly. "That's what it's about."
Kavanagh curled his lip. "Your mom teach you that?"
Evan clenched a fist around the brushes he had been just about to put back into the case. "As a matter of fact, she did."
Kavanagh let out a harsh laugh. "It's a miracle you're not gay."
Evan felt his mouth curve up into a hard smile. "As a matter of fact, I am."
It was deeply satisfying to see the way Kavanagh's jaw dropped. "What?--but--what?"
"I'm gay," Evan repeated. He raised one eyebrow in a way that he knew would make Sheppard proud. "You got a problem with that?"
"Well--I--no!" Kavanagh blurted. "But--what about that DADT thing?"
Evan shrugged. "You're not military. And besides," Evan continued, thinking of his commanding officer and the CSO. "Atlantis is different." In fact, it had been a huge relief when he had arrived there and realized that the uptight rules of the American Military had been loosened by the multi-national expedition members. It was the first time in his entire career that he had actually felt free to be himself.
Kavanagh shrugged. "Well, I don't care. Not really. As long as you don't hit on me."
"Oh yeah," Evan said with a sneer, "I'm so hard-up that I'd pick you as my first off-world conquest."
Kavanagh snorted. "You should be so lucky." His eyes widened as if he'd just realized what he'd said. "Hey!" he said quickly. "You don't think anyone else will think I'm a fag if I'm with you, will they?"
"Only the ones who think I'm an asshole because I'm with you," Evan ground out. He nearly slammed his brushes back into his case before he realized what he was doing and slowed down, placing them gently into the soft material.
"Wow," Kavanagh said, dragging out the vowel. "Nice."
Evan turned to look at him. Kavanagh's expression was bleak, like Evan's words had actually hurt him. Evan shook his head. "Kavanagh," he said, "you just said that you wouldn't want anyone to think you were a 'fag' because you were with me. How did you think I was going to take that? ?"
"I don't know," Kavanagh mumbled. "Not be such a dick? It was just a question."
Evan felt his eyes grow wide. "'Just a question?'" he quoted. "Are you serious?"
"Why?" Kavanagh asked, "What'd I say?" He paused. "Oh don't tell me, you're one of those 'overly-sensitive' types?"
Evan actually laughed. "Are you trying to be an ass? Or does it just come naturally?"
Kavanagh blinked. "What?"
"Oh come on!" Evan rolled his eyes. "You can't be that stupid!"
"I'm not stupid," Kavanagh said stiffly.
"Kavanagh!" Evan said sharply, "you called me a fag--bad. You said that you wouldn't want people to think you were a fag--also bad. And then you called me 'overly-sensitive' for being annoyed that you said that! Don't tell me you don't know that what you said was offensive!"
"But it's true!" Kavanagh protested. He sniffed. "You don't have to react."
Evan threw up his hands. "This is not about you!"
"Of course not!" Kavanagh retorted. "It's about you over-reacting."
"No!" Evan said, poking Kavanagh sharply in the chest. "This is about what you said, and how what you said made me feel! You don't get to say what you want if it's going to hurt other people! Understand?"
"But it was how I feel," Kavanagh said.
"You don't get to say it, if it's going to hurt someone else!" Evan repeated.
"You called me an asshole." Kavanagh crossed his arms.
"Jesus Christ!" Evan swore. "It's doesn't work like that, Kavanagh! You don't get to hurt people! Didn't your grandpa teach you that?"
Kavanagh blinked again. "He taught me to speak my mind."
"At the expense of other people's feelings?" Evan asked incredulously. "I doubt it."
"He said 'only weak people couldn't take the truth.'" It was a statement Kavanagh had clearly memorized a long time ago.
It was Evan's turn to blink. "So he taught you it was okay to say whatever you wanted, and it was the other guy's fault if they got upset?"
"Well, yeah," Kavanagh replied. "Truth hurts sometimes."
"And what about you?" Evan asked, "grandpa ever tell you the truth?"
"All the time!" Kavanagh smirked. "But I'm not weak."
Evan turned back to his easel, carefully removing the unfinished painting and collapsing the stand. "Bet you didn't like it."
He saw Kavanagh shrug out of the corner of his eye. "Truth hurts sometimes," he repeated, "like I said."
Evan finished tying up the easel so it wouldn't open while he was carrying it. He turned back to Kavanagh, hoisting the easel's strap up over his shoulder and tucking his kit under one arm. "Ever thought about telling people true stuff so that it didn't hurt?"
Kavanagh stopped from where he was trying to fold up his own easel. "As if I'd want to pander to them!"
Evan looked at him. "Why not?"
"Because...because..." He stopped.
"Like I thought," Evan said. He started walking.
"Wait!" Kavanagh said, loping to catch up. He had the half-folded easel under one arm and his canvas' hanging wire in his other hand, causing the canvas to flap up and down with his off-balance gait. "Wait!" he said again. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Evan said, pausing to allow Kavanagh to fall into step beside him, "that maybe you actually don't have a reason to be a bastard to everybody. Except for what your grandpa told you."
"But he was right!" Kavanagh exclaimed.
"No, he wasn't!" Evan said. "And besides, even if he was--which he's not--he's not here, is he?"
"Of course not!" Kavanagh said. "He died years ago!"
They had exited the balcony and were now headed back towards Evan's quarters. The stuff in Evan's hands was awkward so he decided to use the transporter instead, and he moved towards that section of corridor. "So why are you still letting him tell you how to run your life?"
Kavanagh actually stopped walking. "He's not!"
"Really?" Evan asked, turning to face him. "Because I bet that your grandpa's approach isn't working so well for you right now."
"It's working fine!" Kavanagh replied hotly.
"Right," Evan drawled. "And that's why you've got so many friends here, including Dr. Weir. Oh, wait!" he said, sarcasm in every word. "I forgot. She hates your guts."
Kavanagh licked his lips. "I have no friends here," he said quietly.
"You probably would if you didn't sound like such a jerk when you spoke to them," Evan said.
"But--" Kavanagh started.
"No," Evan said. "You sound like an asshole when you're mean to people like that. It's got to stop."
"But--" Kavanagh started again.
"No buts," Evan interrupted. "You've got to start being nice. This is something you need to do."
"But I don't know how," Kavanagh said, his eyes were downcast behind his glasses. "I've always been like this."
Evan took a deep breath. "Just--just be nice," he said again. Kavanagh looked at him blankly. "Be kind. Think of what you'd want them to say to you, and then say it. Okay?"
Kavanagh's eyes were still lowered. "I don't know if I can."
"Practise," Evan said. "It just takes practise." He thought a moment. "Be kind," he said. "To--three people before we meet again. You can do that."
Kavanagh looked up. "And this will help with Weir?"
"If you speak nicely to her, she'll be more likely to forgive you," Evan said.
"Yeah, right," Kavanagh said slowly. "That makes sense." He met Evan's gaze. "I guess I could try..."
"Good," Evan said, turning back towards the transporter. He really wanted to get back to his room. He'd had enough Kavanagh and his fucked-up ideas, and the wire of his canvas was cutting into his hand.
"Hey! Major!" Kavanagh called after him.
Evan sighed, turning around. "Yes?"
"Thanks--thanks for, well, this," Kavanagh said, gesturing vaguely with his canvas.
Evan smiled tightly. "You're welcome." He went towards the transporter. "See you tomorrow night."
"Sure! Right!" Kavanagh said behind him, and then, "Hey! I just thanked you! That was nice, wasn't it?"
"You still need three people before tomorrow night," Evan called over his shoulder as he palmed the transporter open.
"But I just thanked--"
"Three people!" Evan shouted, moving his easel out of the way and palming the transporter controls for his level. "Three!" The doors started to close. "And cut your damn hair!"
The transporter doors shut, drowning out Kavanagh's protests, and Evan sighed in relief.
Somehow, he and Kavanagh ended up eating dinner together the following night.
Kavanagh showed up at his door just as Evan was headed out to meet his team for dinner, and before he knew it, he and the scientist were in line together, discussing oil paint versus water colours while they collected their food.
It was only as he walked his tray over to the two-person table that Kavanagh had secured for him that Evan realized he'd missed his opportunity to blow the guy off to eat with his team.
Captain Laura Cadman, his 2IC, got up from where she was sitting with the botanist David Parrish and Sergeant Jeffry Koo, and headed towards him.
"Hey, Major!" she called as she limped over, long red hair swinging against her shoulders with every thump of her crutches. The awkwardness of her gate did nothing to dim the broad smile on her face.
"Hey, Laura!" Evan smiled back. He gestured at her crutches. "How's the ankle?"
Laura shrugged. "Carson says that I should be back to regular duties in about a week." She frowned. "Sorry it's benched us so long."
Evan grinned at her. "Don't worry about it." He thought about all the painting he'd gotten done in the past few nights. "It's too bad you got hurt, but it's been a nice break."
"Yeah," Laura said with a smile. "It's been kind of nice catching up on sleep." She looked back to her table for a second. "You going to join us?" She glanced at Kavanagh, "bring your friend." Then she saw who it actually was, and her smile changed to a grimace. "Or not."
Evan looked over at the hopeful faces of his teammates. David was gesturing at an empty seat and grinning, and Jeffry was looking at him expectantly. David had recently started dating Katie Brown, another botanist, and Evan figured that he had a new story to tell about how his courtship was going. He glanced back at Kavanagh.
The other man's expression was grim, and he was studiously poking at his food. His entire demeanour was broadcasting that he expected Evan to get up and leave.
Evan sighed. "Not this time, Laura, but I'll see you guys for breakfast tomorrow after I hit the gym. Okay? Let's say 0800?"
Her crestfallen expression immediately brightened. "Yes, sir! Yeah, okay!" She slapped him on the back and crutched off to her table, clearly telling the rest of the team.
Kavanagh looked at him. "You can go eat with them. I don't care."
Evan shrugged. "I'm here now."
"Huh," Kavanagh said. He took another bite. He ate like McKay, Evan noted: with a fierce determination to ensure that every bite was as efficient as possible, which meant the bites were large and he chewed fast. It made Evan wonder what had happened in the past lives of both the scientists, to make it seem like they didn't actually expect one meal to follow another.
"So, what was life like, growing up on the farm?" Evan asked, finding that he was actually curious.
Kavanagh paused in his eating to look up, sunlight from the windows above glinting off his glasses. "I don't know," he said, "about normal."
Evan thinned his lips. "I don't know what 'about normal' means."
Kavanagh shrugged. "Normal. You know--you get up, eat, go to school, come home, eat, go to bed. The usual." He took another bite.
"Did you like it? Did you hate it? Did you do anything else besides school?" Evan asked, purposely using a tone he'd usually reserve for his nephews.
Kavanagh narrowed his eyes at him. "It was fine."
Evan gave up. "Thanks," he said, an edge to his voice. "Very edifying."
They ate in silence for a few minutes, and Evan worked very hard to not look wistfully over to where the three members of his team were sitting and laughing about something.
Kavanagh finally scraped his plate clean, then put down his fork and picked up his cup of coffee, another McKay-like trait. "So, Major," he said. "About this 'emotion' thing--"
Evan looked up from his meal. "What 'emotion' thing?"
"Painting," Kavanagh said. "You said yesterday that painting was about emotion. What the hell does that mean, anyway?"
"Well," Evan said, considering. "Painting is an art form, right?" At Kavanagh's nod he continued, "and unlike, say, engineering, art is about conveying something deeper than the piece itself. And that part is the emotion."
Kavanagh made a face. "You're painting a sunset."
"Not only a sunset," Evan said. "I'm painting..." he paused.
"A sunset," Kavanagh repeated. "No emotion there."
"The emotion is when someone looks at it!" Evan snapped. "Whomever looks at the painting will be affected by it, feel some emotion because of it. So it's more than just the sunset. It's the sunset and the emotion behind it."
Kavanagh shook his head. "But what if I look at it, and I don't feel anything?"
Evan shook his head. "It's impossible to look at a painting and not feel anything."
"Bored," Kavanagh said. "I look at your picture and I feel bored. Does that count?"
Evan felt his jaw clench. "Yes," he said. "That's an emotion."
"Huh," Kavanagh said, as if considering it, but there was a small smile at the corner of his lips.
"Hey," Evan said after a moment. "Were you joking? Was that a joke?"
Kavanagh smiled into his coffee. "Maybe."
Evan smirked and shook his head. "Oh. Ha ha."
"But I still don't get it," Kavanagh said. "Painting equals emotion. So? What's this got to do with Weir?"
"Painting helps you connect with what you're feeling," Evan said. He thought back to the year his dad died, and how angry and scared and sad he'd been, he had been only twelve years old and feeling like his world would never be okay again. His mother, even through her grief, had noticed how lost he was and had started having him paint with her. After a while, he'd started talking when he was painting, his words finally reflecting the desperate images he was putting on the canvas. Painting had helped a lot.
"But I know how I feel about Weir," Kavanagh said. "I hate the bitch! What should I do, paint her a pretty picture? Rainbows and flowers?" he sneered. "I know! I'll make her a sunset!"
Anger flared up in Evan, hot and immediate. "You will never speak about Dr. Weir like that in my presence again. Got it?"
Kavanagh ducked his head. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure." He made an abortive gesture with one hand. "Sorry."
With difficulty, Evan reigned in his temper. "Don't do that again."
"Okay!" Kavanagh whined. "I got it! I'm meant to connect with my emotions, but not share them! I understand!"
"Kavanagh!" Evan spat. "It's not about you! You can't just say whatever the hell you want! You've got to think about what your words sound like to everyone around you! Can't you get that?"
"But I really don't like her," Kavanagh said, staring into his nearly empty coffee cup. "Can't I say that?"
"When you don't call her a 'bitch,' yeah," Evan replied. "It's not what you're saying, it's how you say it. You can feel what you like, but your emotions aren't more important than anyone else's. Understand?"
Kavanagh blinked behind his glasses. "Is that why Weir called me 'self-important?'"
Evan smiled. "Could be."
"But I know other people are important," Kavanagh said. "That's why I wanted to join the Stargate program, to help the whole world. Why doesn't anyone see that?" He played with the handle of his cup, eyes down.
"Actions speak louder than words," Evan said. "If you care, you have to show it."
Kavanagh swirled the dregs of his coffee around the bottom of his cup. "I did what you asked," he said, not looking up.
Evan paused, wondering what Kavanagh meant. The scientist's hair was still too long, and pulled back into that incredibly unattractive ponytail, so he clearly hadn't cut it the way Evan had requested. "Oh!" Evan said after a second, "you were nice to people!"
"Three people," Kavanagh said. "Like you said." He continued swirling.
Evan waited. "And...?"
Kavanagh shrugged. "It was okay."
Evan rolled his eyes. "What happened?"
"I told Simpson that she'd done a good job on one of the power fluctuation models for the solar panels," he said and looked up. "She smiled at me. It seemed sincere."
"That's good," Evan said. "And what else?"
"I held a door open for Sergeant Campbell when he came through with his hands full of files for a meeting," he said. "Campbell said thank you."
"Also good," Evan said. "And the third?"
"I met you for dinner and let you talk about painting," Kavanagh said, and he was actually grinning.
Evan laughed out loud.
Kavanagh showed up at the gym the next morning half-way through Evan's work-out.
Evan sighed, and it was more to do with seeing the scientist than the burning in his triceps from his third set of kickbacks.
Kavanagh came over just as Evan finished. Evan put his weight down and wiped the back of his neck with his towel and looked at the other man. "You stalking me now, Kavanagh?"
Kavanagh snorted. "As if."
"Then why...?" Evan indicated the gym with a wave of his hand. Without waiting for an answer he picked up the weight and got back into position for his other arm.
"Maybe I wanted to work out," Kavanagh said.
Evan looked up at him from where he was kneeling with one knee on the bench. Kavanagh was certainly dressed for exercising. He was wearing a loose-fitting tank-top and baggy shorts, both of which showed the lean definition of his limbs. Kavanagh mighty have been a scientist, but he clearly understood the importance of physical fitness. And Evan was studiously not imagining what Kavanagh's body would look like with no clothing at all. He grimaced.
"Maybe you need less weight," Kavanagh said.
Evan's grimace turned into a scowl. "I'm fine."
"Uh huh," Kavanagh said, clearly disbelieving. "You know," he said, after watching Evan work his way through another set, "you don't need to use that much weight to impress me. You know I'm straight."
"So you've said," Evan grunted. His tricep was really starting to burn now.
"I mean, not that you don't have a great body, or anything," Kavanagh continued. "I'm not gay, but I'd have to be blind not to notice--from a purely aesthetic point of view, of course."
Evan put down the weight and stood, facing the other man. Kavanagh wasn't wearing his glasses, and his eyes were a crystal blue. Evan forced himself not to stare. "What do you want?"
"Oh!" Kavanagh started, and Evan smirked as he realized that Kavanagh had been checking out his pecs underneath his t-shirt. "Um. You didn't give me any homework last night."
"Homework?" Evan repeated. "Like painting homework?"
"No!" Kavanagh made a face. "I mean like 'being nice' homework. You didn't tell me to do anything."
Evan blinked. "You wanted me to?"
"Well, yeah!" Kavanagh said. "How else am I going to learn unless I practise?"
Evan knew his confusion must be showing on his face. "You could just be nice on your own."
"If I could do it on my own, I wouldn't need your help!" Kavanagh said scornfully.
Evan rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said. "Tell you what. Go show, um, ten people that you care about them before we meet tonight." He picked up the weight again, changing his stance for a different exercise. "Think you can do that?"
Kavanagh was shaking his head. "Not ten," he said. "I don't think I can do ten. Five."
Evan glared at him. "Nine."
Kavanagh crossed his arms. "Seven."
Evan smiled. "Done." He sat on the bench and started overhead tricep extensions, feeling his muscles complain with the effort.
"So, what do I have to do?" Kavanagh asked. He moved so that he was in front of Evan, arms still crossed. Kavanagh's abs were directly in Evan's line of sight, and Evan could tell they were well-muscled even through his light tank-top.
Evan shook his head to clear the very unwelcome thoughts he was having about Kavanagh's abs. "Just--just do something nice for them," Evan said. "Easy."
"But I already did that!" Kavanagh griped.
Evan shook his head and lowered the weight to the bench. He still had to switch arms, but it would probably be okay if he rested for a moment. "No," he said. "Yesterday, you just acted nice. All that meant was that you weren't rude to people and held open a door--"
"I gave Simpson a compliment!" Kavanagh cut in, clearly indignant. "That was better than just not being rude!"
"True," Evan said with a small shrug. "But showing is different." At Kavanagh's blank look, he continued. "Showing means that these seven people can see that you care. Get it?"
Kavanagh shook his head. "No."
Evan picked up the barbell and started on the other arm. "Well, what kind of stuff did your grandfather do to show you he cared when you were growing up?"
"I don't know!" Kavanagh said. "He fed me! I had a roof over my head! What else did he need to do?"
Evan slowly lowered the barbell back to the bench, his gaze focusing on Kavanagh's face. "There must have been other stuff," he said carefully. "Things that made you feel cared for?"
Kavanagh shook his head again. "No," he repeated. His tone turned belligerent. "Why? What did your saintly mother do to make you feel like her precious flower?"
"Asked how my day was!" Evan shot back immediately. "Took me places when she was tired! Taught me how to paint!"
Kavanagh went completely silent for a moment, a myriad of emotions flickering through his clear blue eyes. His voice was quiet when he spoke, like he had just realized something important. "You're teaching me how to paint."
Evan raised the weight again. "Well yeah. Maybe I care."
"Oh," Kavanagh said, a small smile on his face.
"And the first thing you can do for me is cut your hair," Evan said.
"Right," Kavanagh scoffed. "Like I care that" much.
( Making Nice - Part 2 of 2 )
Author: squeakyoflight
Recipient: eviljr
Pairing: Evan Lorne/Peter Kavanagh, background McShep
Rating: 14A for minor violence and coarse language.
Disclaimer: Spoilers for "38 Minutes."
Author's Notes: I wrote this after reading Eviljr's LJ and realizing how much she really likes Kavanagh... Merry Christmas, Eviljr! I hope this rocks your socks.
With great thanks to my beta Taste_is _Sweet for her amazing work
Summary: Major Lorne's dealt with Goa'uld, Wraith and disgruntled natives, but teaching Kavanagh to paint may be more than he can stand--or more than he ever hoped for.
The light was perfect for painting.
Major Evan Lorne stood on the East balcony of Atlantis, watching the sun set.
The sky was awash in hues of blue and purple, the clouds dark and deep as night. As the sun descended, the sky had blossomed with streaks of red, pink and gold, coating the outer edge of the ocean like a spilling of precious stones. Where ocean, sky and sun touched, the colours ran together, tricking the eye into thinking that the ocean and sky extended forever.
Evan sighed as he held his brush in one hand and his palette in the other. He knew he should be putting brush to paper, that the light would fade all too soon and he'd have to wait for another night to continue the painting he'd started weeks ago. But Lantea had outdone herself this time, with a visual display so stunning that he could only stare in awe.
He stood and drank it in with his eyes. The breeze rifled his hair and carried the scent of the ocean beyond. He could hear the cry of one of the native sea birds in the distance, and the gentle lapping sound as the waves brushed against the City far below.
The sun slipped further into the water, sliding the hues into even darker shades, and Evan felt his eyes widen from the impact. He smiled, dipped his brush into his paint and turned towards his canvas.
"Major Lorne! Major Lorne!"
Evan winced, pulling the tip of his brush away. He turned towards the intruder, scowling. "I'm off-duty."
"Yes, yes I can see that," Dr. Peter Kavanagh, one of McKay's scientists, said. He waved a hand dismissively as he approached. He came to a stop a little too close, and Evan found himself taking a step back. Kavanagh looked at his picture. "What's that supposed to be?"
Evan's scowl deepened. "You're meant to ask before you look at an artist's unfinished work, Kavanagh."
"Well, if you were an artist, I guess I would," the scientist said. Evan looked at him. Kavanagh clearly hadn't meant that as a joke.
Evan exhaled sharply through his nose, keeping his temper in check. He didn't know Kavanagh very well, having met him only in passing since arriving on Atlantis a few months before. He did know his reputation, though: he was a self-important bully who had gotten on the wrong side of everyone on the Expedition and--according to the Lieutenant Colonel, was only one more mistake away from ending up forcefully returned to the SGC. Purposely, Evan turned back towards his painting.
"Isn't it too dark to be doing that?"
Evan felt his eyes narrow. "What do you want?"
"Oh, oh yeah," Kavanagh said, and there was something in his tone that made Evan turn back towards him. The fading light of the sunset was reflecting in the round lenses of Kavanagh's glasses, partially obscuring the eyes beneath. His slicked-down hair shone in the light, and that, combined with the leanness of his body, gave Kavanagh the appearance of a gold-plated robot. "McKay wanted me to ask you something."
"McKay?" Evan asked, feeling himself frown. "I've got my radio on. Why he'd send you?"
"Because he did!" Kavanagh snapped.
"Uh huh," Evan said. He sighed, knowing that he'd get no more painting done tonight. The light had nearly faded completely, and Kavanagh had easily spoiled his mood. He began to clean his brush with the water he'd brought, allowing the repetitive task to soothe his temper.
It would do his career no good to get busted for punching the bastard in the nose.
"Aren't you going to ask me why?" Kavanagh asked, hands on hips.
Evan shot him a look, then turned back to his brushes. "I don't play games, Kavanagh," he said. "If I don't hear it from you, I'll just call McKay."
"McKay wanted you to help me!" Kavanagh blurted. "He said you'd help!"
Evan moved so he was facing Kavanagh. "You need help with some geological engineering?"
Kavanagh's sneer was audible. "As if."
"Yeah." Evan drawled out the syllables. He returned to his brushes, packing them away in their case. It was hand-made, lined with absorbent cotton now stained with years of paint. His mother had made it for him when he'd first entered the Air Force, making him promise to not forget who he was as he found out who he could be. He gently closed the lid, taking a moment to brush his hand over the top and send a thought towards his mother, as he did every time he put the case away. It helped him feel connected to her, to his family, even while he was so far away. It was a small thing, but it was always a comfort.
He saw Kavanagh shake his head out of the corner of his eye. "Why'd you do that?"
Evan gave him his best 'commanding officer' glare. "Are you still here?"
Kavanagh curled his lip. "What were you petting the box for?"
"My mother made it," Evan said, because that was all the explanation required.
"See?" Kavanagh said to no one in particular. "See? Now that's why McKay sent me to get your help!"
Evan turned to him. "What?"
"Help--with girls," Kavanagh said. "McKay wants you to help me with girls."
Evan was still shaking his head as he strode back towards his quarters.
Kavanagh was loping after him, easel tucked under his arm. Since it had been obvious that Kavanagh wasn't going to go away, Evan had given him something to carry.
"No," he said for what had to have been the millionth time. "I'm not going to do it."
"Come on!" Kavanagh wheedled, running a couple of steps to keep up with Evan. Kavanagh was taller, but Evan was military and used to moving fast. "Everyone knows that you were raised by your mom! Well, it's not like it's a secret!" Kavanagh said defensively as Evan shot him one of his deadlier looks, "A lot of the military contingent on this base come from dysfunctional families! Everyone knows that!"
Evan clenched his hands around his painting tools. "I really don't want to help you now." They arrived in the corridor by his quarters, and Evan stopped and snatched his easel out of Kavanagh's hands. "We're done here. Good night." He passed his hand over the door sensor and it slid open with welcome ease.
"Wait!" Kavanagh said, and there was actual desperation in his tone. "Wait, Major. Please." He visibly swallowed, as if the words were choking him. "I really need your help."
Evan paused. He put his box down gently on the floor and leaned his canvas and easel just inside his doorway. He looked at Kavanagh.
Kavanagh was looking down, as if studying something really interesting on Evan's boots. A few strands of hair had worked themselves loose from the tight braid he wore and were curling in small ringlets around his ears and forehead, and that, combined with the faint blush of colour in his pale cheeks, made his high cheekbones look less gaunt and his whole face look younger and not so harsh. Vulnerable, Evan thought. Kavanagh looked young and vulnerable, and actually afraid.
Evan sighed and leaned against the doorframe, crossing one foot over the other. "So why did McKay tell you to ask me this?"
"Because Weir is going to send me home!" Kavanagh cried. "She hates me!"
Evan rolled his eyes. "There's a surprise."
"No! You don't understand!" Kavanagh insisted. "She wants me to apologize for something, but I didn't do anything wrong!"
"I'm sure you didn't," Evan said, his tone dripping sarcasm. "Not you."
"Okay, okay, maybe I did say something," Kavanagh acquiesced, "but it was totally in self-defence!"
Evan made a face. "Self defence? From Weir? She's the most fair-minded person I know!"
"She bitch-slapped me in front of my team!" Kavanagh barked. "What else was I meant to do?"
Evan knew he must look confused. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"The time with the Jumper!" Kavanagh nearly shouted. "When Sheppard and the others were stuck on it half-way through that Gate! She told me off in front of my team! She--" he took a breath. "She humiliated me in front of them! Like I was a green undergrad! It was awful!"
"Wait," Evan said, putting one hand up. He vaguely remembered reading a report about an event like that, when Sheppard had been attacked by some sort of bug that had clung to his neck until his team had stopped his heart. The team had ended up fixing the problem with the Jumper and getting it all the way through the Gate with only seconds to spare. "I know what you're talking about. That happened over a year ago!"
Kavanagh made a face. "So?"
"So," Evan felt himself say with great patience, "if you were as charming then as you are now, then you're pretty damn overdue for an apology to her."
Kavanagh looked stung. "What do you mean by that?"
Evan tilted his head to the side. "You're a rude asshole, Kavanagh. What did you think I meant?"
"I--" Kavanagh started. His face crumpled. "Really?"
Evan blinked. "Hasn't anyone ever told you that before?"
"Well, McKay has," Kavanagh said slowly. "But he talks to everyone like that, so I thought..." He let the words trail off, and silence settled heavily between them.
"Look," Evan said when the silence had settled all the way down to 'awkward'. He made his tone sound gentler than he felt. He hadn't actually wanted to hurt the guy, but Jesus--Talking to Kavanagh felt like being hit on the head with a hammer about a zillion times. "Why don't you tell me what McKay meant by this 'talk to girls thing,' okay?"
Kavanagh nodded. He took what looked like a fortifying breath. "McKay thinks that my big problem is that I don't know how to talk to girls--women," he corrected himself before Evan had the chance. "And that if I did, I would get along better with Weir." He looked up, his eyes a brilliant blue behind his glasses. "And maybe I could figure out a way to say sorry so that she'd get over herself and let me stay."
"Why don't you just try saying sorry?" Evan asked.
"If it was that simple, don't you think I would've done it?" Kavanagh snapped. "I've tried that! She just sneers in my face."
"Wonder why," Evan muttered. He sighed. "And what does McKay think I can do?"
Kavanagh waved his hand. "The girl thing. You were raised by your mother, right? You know how to talk to women in power."
Evan glowered at Kavanagh. His mother had never made Evan feel powerless in his life.
"I just need to find something to say that will sound sincere!" Kavanagh exclaimed in response to Evan's expression. "Something to make her believe I'm sorry!"
"Well, are you?" Evan asked. He shifted his position so both feet were flat on the floor.
"Am I what?" Kavanagh looked confused.
"Sorry!" Evan found himself shouting. "Are you sorry?"
Kavanagh made a face. "What? No!"
Evan turned away. "Then I can't help you."
He felt Kavanagh's hand on his shoulder, gripping tightly with long fingers. "No! Why? Why not?"
"Because I can't teach you to sound sincere when you don't mean it," Evan said, feeling like he was lecturing to a child. "It would be a waste of your time, and mine." He shook off Kavanagh's hand and stepped into his quarters. "Good night."
"Wait!" Kavanagh cried, putting his hand over the doorframe so that the door would slice off his fingers if Evan let it close. "Then teach me!"
"Teach you what?" Evan demanded, rolling his eyes. "Sincerity? I'm not an actor!"
"No! Feeling!" Kavanagh said. "Teach me to feel sorry! Why I should feel sorry for what I said! Because..." He dropped his gaze for a moment. When he raised it again their eyes met, and there was an intensity in Kavanagh's face, a true sincerity that made Evan actually want to listen to what the scientist was saying. "Because I don't. I don't feel sorry."
Evan's gaze sharpened. "What happened?"
"Weir accused me of wanting to save my own ass more than saving the people in the Jumper, and she said it in front of everyone," Kavanagh supplied immediately. "And she said it like it was a bad thing. Like I shouldn't've wanted to keep myself safe!" He looked at the floor again. "And she said it right in front of my research team. And then when I called her up on it, she told me she'd send me to a planet where I could be as 'self-important as I wanted.'" He raised his hands. "What do I have to be sorry for?"
"Hm," Evan said. He figured there had to be more to the story than that, but it was obvious the man really had no idea that what he'd done that was so wrong. Evan didn't know Weir all that well, but he knew she was fiercely protective of her people, and wouldn't have taken kindly to Kavanagh doing anything that might've distracted from the rescue efforts. And knowing what he did already about Kavanagh, the man's abrasive personality may have spoken louder than his actual words. Maybe he hadn't really meant to upset Weir like that. Maybe he just didn't know how not to.
"You know I was raised by my mom," Evan said as an inkling of an idea began to form in his mind. "But I have two older sisters who kind of helped raise me as well, right?"
Kavanagh nodded. "I know. I asked your team. They, uh, like you a lot."
"Great." Evan grimaced. He'd have to have a chat with Parrish later, to get the guy to shut up about personal stuff. "So," he said, crossing his arms again. "Who raised you?"
"My grandfather," Kavanagh said. "Why does that matter?"
"Any siblings?"
Kavanagh shook his head. "No. It was just me and gramps, down on the farm. Why?"
"Isolated?" Evan asked. "Did you have friends around? Kids your own age?"
"Yes. No and no," Kavanagh said, clearly annoyed. "What are these questions for?"
"I'll explain later," Evan said, turning over the picture of Kavanagh as a child in his mind, growing up with an elderly man on an expanse of farmland, no other children in sight to play with, or even talk to. "Like, tomorrow night." He found himself smiling. "Come ready to paint."
"Paint?" Kavanagh said looking dumbfounded. "How's that going to help me?"
Evan stepped inside his room, "Oh, and cut off that damn pony-tail. Your hair's too long for Atlantis Regs."
"I'm not in the military!" Kavanagh snapped.
"Yeah, but I have to look at you!" Evan shot back. "If you want my help, cut it off!"
It was extremely satisfying to hear Kavanagh's voice get cut off by the closing of the door.
"So how is this meant to help me get on Weir's good side again?" Kavanagh asked as he smeared a line of black paint across the canvas.
Kavanagh had shown up at the exact start of sunset the following night, tight pony-tail still in place. Evan had looked at it and just shaken his head.
Evan felt his eyes narrow as he tried to focus on the sunset. "Just shut-up and paint."
"I hate painting!" Kavanagh whined. "I'm an engineer! I hate this kind of stuff!"
Evan forced out a breath. "Just do it."
"What for?" Kavanagh demanded, turning away from his nearly-blank canvas and facing Evan. "You said you were going to help me. So help!"
Evan closed his eyes for a moment, collecting his temper. "Focus on the sunset," he said, "and paint it." He glared at Kavanagh's disbelieving look. "Trust me."
"Whatever, Rembrandt," Kavanagh sneered. He turned back to his easel and swiped another black line across. "This is stupid."
Evan turned his focus back to the display before him. The colours were more muted than the night before, more like sepia than the jewel-tones of the previous evening. Deftly, he mixed some paint on his palette, trying to capture just the right mix of reds and blues to do the light justice. He began applying the mixture to his canvas, smiling to himself with the results.
Several minutes went by, then several more, until Evan suddenly realized he was painting in the near dark and he hadn't heard Kavanagh complain in a while.
He looked towards the scientist. Kavanagh was standing in front of his canvas, frowning in concentration at the red shape he had painted there. It looked like a human figure, done in shades of red with black and brown as shadows. To Evan's trained eye, it didn't look finished yet, but it was certainly a start, and it showed that Kavanagh might actually have some talent.
"It's too dark to see," Kavanagh said, turning towards Evan. "Can we go in now?"
"Sure." Evan nodded. He started cleaning his brushes, gesturing towards Kavanagh's picture with his chin. "Looks good."
Kavanagh scowled at him. "I thought you weren't meant to look at an artist's unfinished work."
"If you were an artist, I wouldn't," Evan replied blandly. Kavanagh's expression darkened and Evan laughed. "Seriously," he said, "it looks good. I like the intensity behind it."
"Yeah?" Kavanagh asked, considering his work. Then he frowned. "I don't know how to paint a face."
"I'll teach you," Evan said. "Tomorrow evening. My team's off for a few days."
Kavanagh looked at him, and his expression was almost shy behind his glasses. "We're going to do this again?"
"Yeah," Evan said. "Takes more than one night to learn this stuff." He turned back to his brushes, swishing them in the water and then carefully drying them with the soft cloth from his kit. He had chosen to use water paints for the sunset, hoping that the blending of the colours on the canvas would be a fair approximation of the blending of colours in the sky. So far he hadn't been too disappointed by the results.
"I still don't get it," Kavanagh said suddenly.
Evan looked at him. "Get what?"
"This," Kavanagh said, gesturing at his canvas. "What does this have to do with Weir?"
Evan faced him. "Painting's about emotion."
Kavanagh's face showed pure disgust. "You've got to be kidding me!"
"No," Evan said slowly. "That's what it's about."
Kavanagh curled his lip. "Your mom teach you that?"
Evan clenched a fist around the brushes he had been just about to put back into the case. "As a matter of fact, she did."
Kavanagh let out a harsh laugh. "It's a miracle you're not gay."
Evan felt his mouth curve up into a hard smile. "As a matter of fact, I am."
It was deeply satisfying to see the way Kavanagh's jaw dropped. "What?--but--what?"
"I'm gay," Evan repeated. He raised one eyebrow in a way that he knew would make Sheppard proud. "You got a problem with that?"
"Well--I--no!" Kavanagh blurted. "But--what about that DADT thing?"
Evan shrugged. "You're not military. And besides," Evan continued, thinking of his commanding officer and the CSO. "Atlantis is different." In fact, it had been a huge relief when he had arrived there and realized that the uptight rules of the American Military had been loosened by the multi-national expedition members. It was the first time in his entire career that he had actually felt free to be himself.
Kavanagh shrugged. "Well, I don't care. Not really. As long as you don't hit on me."
"Oh yeah," Evan said with a sneer, "I'm so hard-up that I'd pick you as my first off-world conquest."
Kavanagh snorted. "You should be so lucky." His eyes widened as if he'd just realized what he'd said. "Hey!" he said quickly. "You don't think anyone else will think I'm a fag if I'm with you, will they?"
"Only the ones who think I'm an asshole because I'm with you," Evan ground out. He nearly slammed his brushes back into his case before he realized what he was doing and slowed down, placing them gently into the soft material.
"Wow," Kavanagh said, dragging out the vowel. "Nice."
Evan turned to look at him. Kavanagh's expression was bleak, like Evan's words had actually hurt him. Evan shook his head. "Kavanagh," he said, "you just said that you wouldn't want anyone to think you were a 'fag' because you were with me. How did you think I was going to take that? ?"
"I don't know," Kavanagh mumbled. "Not be such a dick? It was just a question."
Evan felt his eyes grow wide. "'Just a question?'" he quoted. "Are you serious?"
"Why?" Kavanagh asked, "What'd I say?" He paused. "Oh don't tell me, you're one of those 'overly-sensitive' types?"
Evan actually laughed. "Are you trying to be an ass? Or does it just come naturally?"
Kavanagh blinked. "What?"
"Oh come on!" Evan rolled his eyes. "You can't be that stupid!"
"I'm not stupid," Kavanagh said stiffly.
"Kavanagh!" Evan said sharply, "you called me a fag--bad. You said that you wouldn't want people to think you were a fag--also bad. And then you called me 'overly-sensitive' for being annoyed that you said that! Don't tell me you don't know that what you said was offensive!"
"But it's true!" Kavanagh protested. He sniffed. "You don't have to react."
Evan threw up his hands. "This is not about you!"
"Of course not!" Kavanagh retorted. "It's about you over-reacting."
"No!" Evan said, poking Kavanagh sharply in the chest. "This is about what you said, and how what you said made me feel! You don't get to say what you want if it's going to hurt other people! Understand?"
"But it was how I feel," Kavanagh said.
"You don't get to say it, if it's going to hurt someone else!" Evan repeated.
"You called me an asshole." Kavanagh crossed his arms.
"Jesus Christ!" Evan swore. "It's doesn't work like that, Kavanagh! You don't get to hurt people! Didn't your grandpa teach you that?"
Kavanagh blinked again. "He taught me to speak my mind."
"At the expense of other people's feelings?" Evan asked incredulously. "I doubt it."
"He said 'only weak people couldn't take the truth.'" It was a statement Kavanagh had clearly memorized a long time ago.
It was Evan's turn to blink. "So he taught you it was okay to say whatever you wanted, and it was the other guy's fault if they got upset?"
"Well, yeah," Kavanagh replied. "Truth hurts sometimes."
"And what about you?" Evan asked, "grandpa ever tell you the truth?"
"All the time!" Kavanagh smirked. "But I'm not weak."
Evan turned back to his easel, carefully removing the unfinished painting and collapsing the stand. "Bet you didn't like it."
He saw Kavanagh shrug out of the corner of his eye. "Truth hurts sometimes," he repeated, "like I said."
Evan finished tying up the easel so it wouldn't open while he was carrying it. He turned back to Kavanagh, hoisting the easel's strap up over his shoulder and tucking his kit under one arm. "Ever thought about telling people true stuff so that it didn't hurt?"
Kavanagh stopped from where he was trying to fold up his own easel. "As if I'd want to pander to them!"
Evan looked at him. "Why not?"
"Because...because..." He stopped.
"Like I thought," Evan said. He started walking.
"Wait!" Kavanagh said, loping to catch up. He had the half-folded easel under one arm and his canvas' hanging wire in his other hand, causing the canvas to flap up and down with his off-balance gait. "Wait!" he said again. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Evan said, pausing to allow Kavanagh to fall into step beside him, "that maybe you actually don't have a reason to be a bastard to everybody. Except for what your grandpa told you."
"But he was right!" Kavanagh exclaimed.
"No, he wasn't!" Evan said. "And besides, even if he was--which he's not--he's not here, is he?"
"Of course not!" Kavanagh said. "He died years ago!"
They had exited the balcony and were now headed back towards Evan's quarters. The stuff in Evan's hands was awkward so he decided to use the transporter instead, and he moved towards that section of corridor. "So why are you still letting him tell you how to run your life?"
Kavanagh actually stopped walking. "He's not!"
"Really?" Evan asked, turning to face him. "Because I bet that your grandpa's approach isn't working so well for you right now."
"It's working fine!" Kavanagh replied hotly.
"Right," Evan drawled. "And that's why you've got so many friends here, including Dr. Weir. Oh, wait!" he said, sarcasm in every word. "I forgot. She hates your guts."
Kavanagh licked his lips. "I have no friends here," he said quietly.
"You probably would if you didn't sound like such a jerk when you spoke to them," Evan said.
"But--" Kavanagh started.
"No," Evan said. "You sound like an asshole when you're mean to people like that. It's got to stop."
"But--" Kavanagh started again.
"No buts," Evan interrupted. "You've got to start being nice. This is something you need to do."
"But I don't know how," Kavanagh said, his eyes were downcast behind his glasses. "I've always been like this."
Evan took a deep breath. "Just--just be nice," he said again. Kavanagh looked at him blankly. "Be kind. Think of what you'd want them to say to you, and then say it. Okay?"
Kavanagh's eyes were still lowered. "I don't know if I can."
"Practise," Evan said. "It just takes practise." He thought a moment. "Be kind," he said. "To--three people before we meet again. You can do that."
Kavanagh looked up. "And this will help with Weir?"
"If you speak nicely to her, she'll be more likely to forgive you," Evan said.
"Yeah, right," Kavanagh said slowly. "That makes sense." He met Evan's gaze. "I guess I could try..."
"Good," Evan said, turning back towards the transporter. He really wanted to get back to his room. He'd had enough Kavanagh and his fucked-up ideas, and the wire of his canvas was cutting into his hand.
"Hey! Major!" Kavanagh called after him.
Evan sighed, turning around. "Yes?"
"Thanks--thanks for, well, this," Kavanagh said, gesturing vaguely with his canvas.
Evan smiled tightly. "You're welcome." He went towards the transporter. "See you tomorrow night."
"Sure! Right!" Kavanagh said behind him, and then, "Hey! I just thanked you! That was nice, wasn't it?"
"You still need three people before tomorrow night," Evan called over his shoulder as he palmed the transporter open.
"But I just thanked--"
"Three people!" Evan shouted, moving his easel out of the way and palming the transporter controls for his level. "Three!" The doors started to close. "And cut your damn hair!"
The transporter doors shut, drowning out Kavanagh's protests, and Evan sighed in relief.
Somehow, he and Kavanagh ended up eating dinner together the following night.
Kavanagh showed up at his door just as Evan was headed out to meet his team for dinner, and before he knew it, he and the scientist were in line together, discussing oil paint versus water colours while they collected their food.
It was only as he walked his tray over to the two-person table that Kavanagh had secured for him that Evan realized he'd missed his opportunity to blow the guy off to eat with his team.
Captain Laura Cadman, his 2IC, got up from where she was sitting with the botanist David Parrish and Sergeant Jeffry Koo, and headed towards him.
"Hey, Major!" she called as she limped over, long red hair swinging against her shoulders with every thump of her crutches. The awkwardness of her gate did nothing to dim the broad smile on her face.
"Hey, Laura!" Evan smiled back. He gestured at her crutches. "How's the ankle?"
Laura shrugged. "Carson says that I should be back to regular duties in about a week." She frowned. "Sorry it's benched us so long."
Evan grinned at her. "Don't worry about it." He thought about all the painting he'd gotten done in the past few nights. "It's too bad you got hurt, but it's been a nice break."
"Yeah," Laura said with a smile. "It's been kind of nice catching up on sleep." She looked back to her table for a second. "You going to join us?" She glanced at Kavanagh, "bring your friend." Then she saw who it actually was, and her smile changed to a grimace. "Or not."
Evan looked over at the hopeful faces of his teammates. David was gesturing at an empty seat and grinning, and Jeffry was looking at him expectantly. David had recently started dating Katie Brown, another botanist, and Evan figured that he had a new story to tell about how his courtship was going. He glanced back at Kavanagh.
The other man's expression was grim, and he was studiously poking at his food. His entire demeanour was broadcasting that he expected Evan to get up and leave.
Evan sighed. "Not this time, Laura, but I'll see you guys for breakfast tomorrow after I hit the gym. Okay? Let's say 0800?"
Her crestfallen expression immediately brightened. "Yes, sir! Yeah, okay!" She slapped him on the back and crutched off to her table, clearly telling the rest of the team.
Kavanagh looked at him. "You can go eat with them. I don't care."
Evan shrugged. "I'm here now."
"Huh," Kavanagh said. He took another bite. He ate like McKay, Evan noted: with a fierce determination to ensure that every bite was as efficient as possible, which meant the bites were large and he chewed fast. It made Evan wonder what had happened in the past lives of both the scientists, to make it seem like they didn't actually expect one meal to follow another.
"So, what was life like, growing up on the farm?" Evan asked, finding that he was actually curious.
Kavanagh paused in his eating to look up, sunlight from the windows above glinting off his glasses. "I don't know," he said, "about normal."
Evan thinned his lips. "I don't know what 'about normal' means."
Kavanagh shrugged. "Normal. You know--you get up, eat, go to school, come home, eat, go to bed. The usual." He took another bite.
"Did you like it? Did you hate it? Did you do anything else besides school?" Evan asked, purposely using a tone he'd usually reserve for his nephews.
Kavanagh narrowed his eyes at him. "It was fine."
Evan gave up. "Thanks," he said, an edge to his voice. "Very edifying."
They ate in silence for a few minutes, and Evan worked very hard to not look wistfully over to where the three members of his team were sitting and laughing about something.
Kavanagh finally scraped his plate clean, then put down his fork and picked up his cup of coffee, another McKay-like trait. "So, Major," he said. "About this 'emotion' thing--"
Evan looked up from his meal. "What 'emotion' thing?"
"Painting," Kavanagh said. "You said yesterday that painting was about emotion. What the hell does that mean, anyway?"
"Well," Evan said, considering. "Painting is an art form, right?" At Kavanagh's nod he continued, "and unlike, say, engineering, art is about conveying something deeper than the piece itself. And that part is the emotion."
Kavanagh made a face. "You're painting a sunset."
"Not only a sunset," Evan said. "I'm painting..." he paused.
"A sunset," Kavanagh repeated. "No emotion there."
"The emotion is when someone looks at it!" Evan snapped. "Whomever looks at the painting will be affected by it, feel some emotion because of it. So it's more than just the sunset. It's the sunset and the emotion behind it."
Kavanagh shook his head. "But what if I look at it, and I don't feel anything?"
Evan shook his head. "It's impossible to look at a painting and not feel anything."
"Bored," Kavanagh said. "I look at your picture and I feel bored. Does that count?"
Evan felt his jaw clench. "Yes," he said. "That's an emotion."
"Huh," Kavanagh said, as if considering it, but there was a small smile at the corner of his lips.
"Hey," Evan said after a moment. "Were you joking? Was that a joke?"
Kavanagh smiled into his coffee. "Maybe."
Evan smirked and shook his head. "Oh. Ha ha."
"But I still don't get it," Kavanagh said. "Painting equals emotion. So? What's this got to do with Weir?"
"Painting helps you connect with what you're feeling," Evan said. He thought back to the year his dad died, and how angry and scared and sad he'd been, he had been only twelve years old and feeling like his world would never be okay again. His mother, even through her grief, had noticed how lost he was and had started having him paint with her. After a while, he'd started talking when he was painting, his words finally reflecting the desperate images he was putting on the canvas. Painting had helped a lot.
"But I know how I feel about Weir," Kavanagh said. "I hate the bitch! What should I do, paint her a pretty picture? Rainbows and flowers?" he sneered. "I know! I'll make her a sunset!"
Anger flared up in Evan, hot and immediate. "You will never speak about Dr. Weir like that in my presence again. Got it?"
Kavanagh ducked his head. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure." He made an abortive gesture with one hand. "Sorry."
With difficulty, Evan reigned in his temper. "Don't do that again."
"Okay!" Kavanagh whined. "I got it! I'm meant to connect with my emotions, but not share them! I understand!"
"Kavanagh!" Evan spat. "It's not about you! You can't just say whatever the hell you want! You've got to think about what your words sound like to everyone around you! Can't you get that?"
"But I really don't like her," Kavanagh said, staring into his nearly empty coffee cup. "Can't I say that?"
"When you don't call her a 'bitch,' yeah," Evan replied. "It's not what you're saying, it's how you say it. You can feel what you like, but your emotions aren't more important than anyone else's. Understand?"
Kavanagh blinked behind his glasses. "Is that why Weir called me 'self-important?'"
Evan smiled. "Could be."
"But I know other people are important," Kavanagh said. "That's why I wanted to join the Stargate program, to help the whole world. Why doesn't anyone see that?" He played with the handle of his cup, eyes down.
"Actions speak louder than words," Evan said. "If you care, you have to show it."
Kavanagh swirled the dregs of his coffee around the bottom of his cup. "I did what you asked," he said, not looking up.
Evan paused, wondering what Kavanagh meant. The scientist's hair was still too long, and pulled back into that incredibly unattractive ponytail, so he clearly hadn't cut it the way Evan had requested. "Oh!" Evan said after a second, "you were nice to people!"
"Three people," Kavanagh said. "Like you said." He continued swirling.
Evan waited. "And...?"
Kavanagh shrugged. "It was okay."
Evan rolled his eyes. "What happened?"
"I told Simpson that she'd done a good job on one of the power fluctuation models for the solar panels," he said and looked up. "She smiled at me. It seemed sincere."
"That's good," Evan said. "And what else?"
"I held a door open for Sergeant Campbell when he came through with his hands full of files for a meeting," he said. "Campbell said thank you."
"Also good," Evan said. "And the third?"
"I met you for dinner and let you talk about painting," Kavanagh said, and he was actually grinning.
Evan laughed out loud.
Kavanagh showed up at the gym the next morning half-way through Evan's work-out.
Evan sighed, and it was more to do with seeing the scientist than the burning in his triceps from his third set of kickbacks.
Kavanagh came over just as Evan finished. Evan put his weight down and wiped the back of his neck with his towel and looked at the other man. "You stalking me now, Kavanagh?"
Kavanagh snorted. "As if."
"Then why...?" Evan indicated the gym with a wave of his hand. Without waiting for an answer he picked up the weight and got back into position for his other arm.
"Maybe I wanted to work out," Kavanagh said.
Evan looked up at him from where he was kneeling with one knee on the bench. Kavanagh was certainly dressed for exercising. He was wearing a loose-fitting tank-top and baggy shorts, both of which showed the lean definition of his limbs. Kavanagh mighty have been a scientist, but he clearly understood the importance of physical fitness. And Evan was studiously not imagining what Kavanagh's body would look like with no clothing at all. He grimaced.
"Maybe you need less weight," Kavanagh said.
Evan's grimace turned into a scowl. "I'm fine."
"Uh huh," Kavanagh said, clearly disbelieving. "You know," he said, after watching Evan work his way through another set, "you don't need to use that much weight to impress me. You know I'm straight."
"So you've said," Evan grunted. His tricep was really starting to burn now.
"I mean, not that you don't have a great body, or anything," Kavanagh continued. "I'm not gay, but I'd have to be blind not to notice--from a purely aesthetic point of view, of course."
Evan put down the weight and stood, facing the other man. Kavanagh wasn't wearing his glasses, and his eyes were a crystal blue. Evan forced himself not to stare. "What do you want?"
"Oh!" Kavanagh started, and Evan smirked as he realized that Kavanagh had been checking out his pecs underneath his t-shirt. "Um. You didn't give me any homework last night."
"Homework?" Evan repeated. "Like painting homework?"
"No!" Kavanagh made a face. "I mean like 'being nice' homework. You didn't tell me to do anything."
Evan blinked. "You wanted me to?"
"Well, yeah!" Kavanagh said. "How else am I going to learn unless I practise?"
Evan knew his confusion must be showing on his face. "You could just be nice on your own."
"If I could do it on my own, I wouldn't need your help!" Kavanagh said scornfully.
Evan rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said. "Tell you what. Go show, um, ten people that you care about them before we meet tonight." He picked up the weight again, changing his stance for a different exercise. "Think you can do that?"
Kavanagh was shaking his head. "Not ten," he said. "I don't think I can do ten. Five."
Evan glared at him. "Nine."
Kavanagh crossed his arms. "Seven."
Evan smiled. "Done." He sat on the bench and started overhead tricep extensions, feeling his muscles complain with the effort.
"So, what do I have to do?" Kavanagh asked. He moved so that he was in front of Evan, arms still crossed. Kavanagh's abs were directly in Evan's line of sight, and Evan could tell they were well-muscled even through his light tank-top.
Evan shook his head to clear the very unwelcome thoughts he was having about Kavanagh's abs. "Just--just do something nice for them," Evan said. "Easy."
"But I already did that!" Kavanagh griped.
Evan shook his head and lowered the weight to the bench. He still had to switch arms, but it would probably be okay if he rested for a moment. "No," he said. "Yesterday, you just acted nice. All that meant was that you weren't rude to people and held open a door--"
"I gave Simpson a compliment!" Kavanagh cut in, clearly indignant. "That was better than just not being rude!"
"True," Evan said with a small shrug. "But showing is different." At Kavanagh's blank look, he continued. "Showing means that these seven people can see that you care. Get it?"
Kavanagh shook his head. "No."
Evan picked up the barbell and started on the other arm. "Well, what kind of stuff did your grandfather do to show you he cared when you were growing up?"
"I don't know!" Kavanagh said. "He fed me! I had a roof over my head! What else did he need to do?"
Evan slowly lowered the barbell back to the bench, his gaze focusing on Kavanagh's face. "There must have been other stuff," he said carefully. "Things that made you feel cared for?"
Kavanagh shook his head again. "No," he repeated. His tone turned belligerent. "Why? What did your saintly mother do to make you feel like her precious flower?"
"Asked how my day was!" Evan shot back immediately. "Took me places when she was tired! Taught me how to paint!"
Kavanagh went completely silent for a moment, a myriad of emotions flickering through his clear blue eyes. His voice was quiet when he spoke, like he had just realized something important. "You're teaching me how to paint."
Evan raised the weight again. "Well yeah. Maybe I care."
"Oh," Kavanagh said, a small smile on his face.
"And the first thing you can do for me is cut your hair," Evan said.
"Right," Kavanagh scoffed. "Like I care that" much.
( Making Nice - Part 2 of 2 )