Fic: Making Nice Part 2 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.
( Making Nice - Part 1 of 2 )
Kavanagh was late.
Evan picked up his brush and put it down for the third time since he had arrived at the balcony, too agitated to put paint to canvas.
They hadn't met that many times, but Kavanagh had never been late before. The man was a lot of things--several of them very annoying--but he was nothing if not punctual.
Maybe this is a test, Evan thought to himself. Kavanagh had just realized at the gym that morning that Evan actually gave a shit about him. Maybe this was some messed up way to get Evan not to care. A sort-of 'hitting back first' thing.
Evan grimaced. He'd told Kavanagh before, he didn't play games. He keyed his radio.
"Communications," Sergeant Campbell responded with amazing speed.
"Hi Chuck," Evan said, trying for a neutral tone. "You got a bead on Dr. Kavanagh?"
"Kavanagh?" Chuck repeated. "You're looking for him?" Chuck's tone let Evan know exactly how strange his request was.
Evan let out a silent breath. "You know where he is?"
"Infirmary," Chuck replied immediately. Evan could hear the question in the Sergeant's voice, and he thanked him and keyed off before Chuck could initiate a discussion as to why Evan was looking for Kavanagh.
If Evan was honest, he wasn't sure why he was himself.
"Because he's late!" Evan muttered to himself as he started walking towards the infirmary. He hadn't asked Chuck why Kavanagh was there, and he refused to dwell on the reason why he was going in person rather than just calling over the radio. He also refused to notice that his heart had squeezed painfully in his chest at the idea that Kavanagh might be hurt.
A few minutes later, he was walking purposely through the door to the infirmary, feeling his eyes searching for Kavanagh's form on any of the beds.
Kavanagh wasn't in any of the beds. He was standing by one of the monitors in front of several of the medical staff, conducting what looked like...a seminar?
Evan moved closer, head cocked to one side as he tried to make out what they were discussing.
"I know it can seem confusing," Kavanagh was saying in a tone that was surprising for its only mild condescension. "But if you look at the interface as a part of the whole diagnostic parameters of the machine, it becomes easier to understand."
"So, you're saying we should read the output as a continuum rather than looking for individual signs?" One of the nurses asked.
"Exactly!" Kavanagh said with a broad smile. "You're almost smart enough to be an engineer!" And to Evan's surprise, his audience laughed. "The machine is holistic," Kavanagh continued, "and therefore doesn't make sense unless it's readings are taken as a whole." He paused, surveying the crowd. "Any more questions?"
Dr. Keller was standing near the back, shaking her head in bemusement. "And to think we've been assuming it's been broken for weeks!" She looked at Kavanagh, and her smile was very bright. "Thanks so much for your help."
Kavanagh caught her gaze, then looked away, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. "I just heard you complaining about it in the lunch line," he mumbled.
"Well, it was very nice of you, lad!" Carson said, slapping him on the back. "Now, I'm sure you've got better things to do than hang around the infirmary all night?"
"Oh, yeah," Kavanagh said, seeing Evan and stepping towards he. He stopped, and turned back to Carson. "Um, have a good evening?"
Carson chuckled at the stilted way Kavanagh said it, like the scientist was learning a new language. Which, if Evan thought about it, was probably pretty close to the truth. "Take care," Carson said and joined the rest of the medical staff.
Kavanagh came to a stop in front of Evan, one corner of his mouth curled up. "You stalking me, Major?"
It was Evan's turn to feel a rush of heat to his face. "You were late," he said quickly. "I thought--"
"That something terrible had happened to me and you were worried?" Kavanagh laughed as they started walking together back the way Evan had come.
Evan made a face. "I thought that you had stood me up," Evan said, then winced at his poor choice of words. It wasn't like painting lessons was the same as dating.
Kavanagh frowned. "I needed to help the medical staff understand how to use some of the Ancient equipment," he said. "I sent you an email."
Evan hadn't checked his email, a fact he refused to admit. "Well, I was expecting you to be on time."
"Too bad," Kavanagh said with a shrug. "I heard Keller and a couple of the nurses complaining that the equipment didn't work at lunch," he said. "And getting medical equipment functioning properly seemed more important than learning how to mix colours to make orange."
Evan was about to snap back when something occurred to him. "So they didn't ask you to help?" he said, feeling his mouth curve upwards into a smile. "You just decided to help them on your own?"
"Well, yeah," Kavanagh said. "Why wouldn't I?" Suddenly he beamed at Evan as if he'd just realized something. "There were at least eight people in the infirmary just now, and I helped all of them! Without being asked! Eight!"
"You still haven't cut your hair," Evan said with a grin.
"Spoilsport," Kavanagh said, but he was grinning, too.
It had been a surprisingly pleasant week.
Evan was smiling to himself as he returned to his quarters, painting equipment in hand. He felt he was making real progress--both with his painting and with Kavanagh.
He and Kavanagh had fallen into a routine of sorts. While Laura's injury had grounded his team, Evan and Kavanagh had ended up meeting at least once a day. Sometimes to paint, sometimes to chat, but every time Evan had felt that Kavanagh might actually be learning something about how to play well with others.
Kavanagh--when he wasn't being defensive, belligerent and nasty--was actually pretty cool to talk to. He had an interesting perspective on a lot of things, and a sense of humour so dry it crackled.
And if he ever cut his damn hair, he might actually be good-looking, Evan thought to himself. He had certainly noticed how fit Kavanagh was the few times they had met in the gym, and he could even be considered handsome when he smiled. The blue of his eyes was fairly spectacular too.
Evan flicked on the lights with a thought, propped his painting up against the wall and surveyed it critically, a small frown crossing his features. Not bad, he mused. Maybe one more night to get the gold-tones blended better, and it'd be done. It was a commissioned picture he was painting on behalf of his CO, as a birthday gift for McKay. Evan's frown turned into a smile. He hoped the notoriously picky scientist would like it.
Evan stretched and sighed, glancing at his clock. It wasn't that late--he'd gone straight to his quarters almost as soon as dusk had faded to night. But just today Laura had gotten the 'all clear' from Carson after nearly a full week on crutches, and they had immediately been put back on the off-world assignment list. His team was meeting early in the morning before they headed off to PX3-297, and he knew it was going to be a long day.
The planet was uninhabited, and his team had been tasked with investigating it as an alternate Alpha site. David was going to evaluate its potential for Athosian crops, and the rest of them were going to gather water and soil samples for the scientists back on Atlantis, take lots of pictures, and basically keep out of David's way. It should be a cake-walk, but it would also be tiring.
And Evan had stupidly agreed to meet with Kavanagh again the following night. He shook his head ruefully as he pulled on the sleep shirt and scrub pants he had 'liberated' from the infirmary last time he'd been there. Somehow, in between the talking and the painting, Kavanagh had asked him how to shade something so it looked more three-dimensional, and in the process of teaching him Evan had told him the lesson would continue the next night. And if Evan were being honest with himself, he might actually be looking forward to it, at least a little.
Kavanagh's painting was going pretty well, actually. The man might be as abrasive as hell, but it looked like he really did have talent.
And the more Evan came to know the man, the more obvious it was that Kavanagh actually did care about others, but just didn't seem to know how to show it. Every time they met, Kavanagh asked for yet another 'homework' assignment, like he needed the excuse to be nice to people. His being nice wasn't quite spontaneous yet, but still, it was a start.
If Kavanagh keeps at it, Evan thought as he crawled into bed, he might be able to really apologize to Dr. Weir, and even get to stay.
And as Evan fell asleep he realized that he actually hoped Kavanagh would.
The mission to PX3-297 had been a disaster.
Evan paced back and forth in his room, running his good hand through his hair. His other hand was in a cast from his palm to nearly his elbow, a souvenir of the fall he and David Parrish had taken while inspecting the banks of a riverbed.
He and David had been looking for a safe way down the bank to the river to collect algae and water samples when the bank had just given way and the two of them had tumbled down the steep embankment to the riverbed several feet below.
Evan had ended up with a broken wrist and stitches in his forehead. David had ended up in surgery for a punctured lung.
Evan slammed his good fist against his thigh and kept pacing. It had been a struggle to get himself and a badly wounded David back up the bank to dry land. If it hadn't been for Jeffry's towering bulk and Laura's ingenuity with ropes, they might still be there, waiting for rescue. But it still had taken far too long to get David back to Atlantis and medical care.
The botanist's face had been grey by the time they'd carried him through the gate, his lips tinged an unhealthy blue. The look of fear in Katie Brown's over-large eyes was going to haunt Evan's dreams for a long, long time.
"God damn it!" Evan swore, slamming his fist into his thigh again. He was going to bruise, but he didn't care. The guilt was churning inside him until he was sick with it, nauseous with the sense of his own failing. Why hadn't he seen that the bank was eroded? He was a geological engineer, for Christ's sake! His stupidity may have cost David his life.
He checked the clock on his desk. Only half-an-hour had passed since Dr. Keller had released him from the infirmary, promising that she'd radio him as soon as she heard anything from Carson. Evan had wanted to stay, he'd actually tried to insist on it, but Keller had won out, telling him it would be better if he went to his quarters to rest. She'd let Jeffry, Laura and Katie stay, however. Laura had promised to look after Katie, and had sworn that she would call Evan back as soon as she knew anything.
Evan had gone back to his room, taken one look at his bed, and started pacing. If he didn't hear something soon he was sure he was going to go crazy.
The door chime rang.
Evan was there in a second, palming the door open. "Laura?" he said as soon as the door moved, hearing the anxiety in his own voice. "Is David okay--?"
Kavanagh was on the other side of the door.
Evan scowled. "Go away."
Kavanagh pushed past him into his room and then turned to face him. He stood, hands on hips and an extremely pissy look on his too-thin face. "Where the hell have you been?"
"Where have I been?" Evan asked, incredulous. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"We had a date!" Kavanagh snapped. "Painting, remember? If you were planning on standing me up, it would've been nice if you'd at least sent an email first!"
Evan lost it. "Kavanagh!" he bellowed. "Get the fuck out of my room!"
Kavanagh scowled. "You don't have to yell. We're meant to be nice to people, remember?"
Evan rubbed his face, trying desperately to keep his temper in check. "I can't deal with this right now."
"Oh how convenient," Kavanagh snarled sarcastically. "You stand me up, and then when I call you up on it, say you 'can't deal.' that's nice. Nice way to treat a friend."
In three long strides had backed Kavanagh up against his closed door. "God-damn it!" Evan yelled, rage nearly choking him. "David's in the infirmary right now, Kavanagh! Right now! and you're worried about painting? When the fuck are you going to learn Kavanagh? it's not all about you!"
Kavanagh's eyes were very wide behind his glasses. "Okay!"
Evan stepped back and dropped his arm. Kavanagh rubbed at his chest where Evan had jabbed him, his eyes still too large in his face. "I didn't--" he started.
"Didn't give a shit. Yeah, I got that," Evan interrupted, disgust dripping from every word. He rubbed his face with his good hand. "You only care about yourself, Kavanagh, and I'm sick of it." He keyed the door. "Get the fuck out and don't bother me ever again."
Kavanagh nodded once, a strange look on his face, his hand still pressed to his chest, and fled.
It was only hours later, when Laura radioed him and let him know that David was going to be just fine, that Evan realized Kavanagh had said they were friends.
Evan slept through his alarm.
Whatever pain medication Dr. Keller had given him the evening before must have also contained a sedative, because by the time Evan woke up his wrist was throbbing painfully and full sunlight was streaming through the windows of his quarters.
His alarm was still beeping shrilly. Evan shut it off with a graceless swipe of his hand.
"Goddamn Keller," he muttered. He should've realized she'd slip him something to get him to sleep. It wasn't not like she hadn't done it before.
His wrist was truly aching now, but he eyed the pain medication suspiciously and decided not to take any more. He was heading to the infirmary to visit David anyway, and he'd ask Carson to give him something else--something he could trust to not knock him out.
Checking the time again, Evan swore softly under his breath. Clearly his team was grounded again with his and David's injuries, but he'd hoping to go visit David first thing and it was now mid-moring. He hoped that David wasn't thinking that Evan didn't care.
He took a quick shower, grateful that Keller had put a fibreglass cast on him so he was able to get it wet. He threw on some clothes, agonizing about how hard the button on his jeans was with only one fully-usable hand, and headed towards the infirmary.
He was feeling agitated and edgy, worried about David and furious at Kavanagh. "I'll feel better when I see David," he told himself, firmly pushing all thoughts of Kavanagh out of his mind.
"Major Lorne!" someone called from behind, and the voice was so like Kavanagh's that for a moment Evan's stomach clenched. He whirled.
"Hello, Major!" Dr. McKay was grinning at him. His smile dropped. "What the hell happened to you?"
"I fell," Evan grit out impatiently. He was not in the mood for conversation right now, not when one of his team was waiting for him in a hospital bed.
"Oh. Well, I hope you're okay?" McKay asked, eyebrows raised. At Evan's terse nod, McKay cleared his throat. "Well, ah, good. That's good," he said. "Um..."
Evan looked at him, trying very hard to keep his frustration out of his eyes.
"I just wanted to tell you 'good job' with Peter. With Kavanagh," McKay blurted. "I knew you'd be the right man to ask."
Evan blinked. Kavanagh's appearance in his room yesterday had proven very clearly that Evan hadn't made any difference with Kavanagh at all.
Something must have shown on his face because McKay started talking again. "To help Kavanagh," he clarified. "He's been very easy to deal with recently. Almost nice, really." McKay made a vague gesture with his hands. "He brought me coffee."
"Glad to hear it," Evan said, knowing his tone sounded anything but. He knew McKay didn't lie, but it was really hard to believe a single word McKay was saying. "Now, if you'll excuse me--"
"Wait! It's true!" McKay said, putting out a hand to stop Evan from walking away. "Peter is one of the most brilliant electrical engineers I've ever met, much as I hate to admit that," McKay continued, and there was such sincerity in his expression that Evan paused, listening. "But his personality--well, it makes me look charming by comparison. It was impossible to work with him," McKay said. "That was, well, until you got to him. Now, now he's not so bad."
Evan blinked again. "What?"
"You've made him nice!" McKay crowed. "He's not such an asshole now! He's nice! and, um, thank you. Thank you for doing that."
"You're welcome," Evan said absently.
"He's too smart for Elizabeth just to send back to Earth," McKay said, "but until recently, he was too much of a dick to keep around. So, yeah." He shrugged. "There you go."
"You're welcome," Evan said again.
"So, um, that's it really. Carry on!" McKay said with an incomprehensible wave of his hands, and disappeared down one of the other corridors.
Evan stood still for a moment, mulling over what McKay had said. Kavanagh's not such an asshole now? McKay thinks that? Evan shook his head. There was no way Kavanagh was different. Not with last night as a perfect example of who Kavanagh really was.
And if McKay wanted to keep him now, fine. That was McKay's problem. Kavanagh was McKay's problem now, not Evan's. Not any more, and never again.
Evan hadn't realized how anxious he'd been about David until he saw his scientist, happy and mostly whole in one of the infirmary beds, smiling and holding Katie's hand. Evan's knees buckled and he nearly fell.
"Whoa! Major!" David said, pushing himself upright in the bed and wincing. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," Evan said quickly. He grinned, even though his face was flaming with embarrassment.
He moved closer to David's bed, grabbing a chair on the way and sliding it over to sit on the side opposite Katie. He raised his eyebrows at her in silent permission, and she nodded back, still gripping tightly to David's hand.
"How are you?" Evan asked quietly. David looked good, the awful blue-gray colour gone from his face. Except for the chest-tube attached to some machinery by the side of his bed, you'd never know he'd been injured. But Evan had an irrational need to hear it from the man himself.
"I'm fine, Major, just fine." David smiled. He glanced at Katie. "Good, in fact."
"We're off duty," Evan smiled back. "You don't need to call me Major."
"Right, right, right, sorry!" David said, looking momentarily crestfallen at his mistake. But then he immediately brightened. "Oh! Your boyfriend came in today!"
Evan's head bobbed back in surprise. "My boyfriend?" he said with an unsure laugh. "I don't--"
"Peter!" David insisted happily, and Evan felt his face go slack with shock. "Sorry!" David said again, sharing a quick, confused look with Katie. "You've been spending so much time with him, we just assumed..."
Evan firmed his mouth. "He's not my boyfriend."
"Well, okay," David said slowly, clearly wondering how to reclassify Evan and Kavanagh's relationship. "Anyway, Peter came by earlier this morning, wanting to see if I was okay." He grinned. "He brought me chocolate."
Evan's jaw dropped. "He came by?" he said, totally confused. "To see you?"
"Well, yeah," David said. "He said he'd learned from you last night that I'd been hurt, and he wanted to find out how I was." David smiled again. "It was really nice of him."
"He's really changed," Katie piped in, "much nicer than he's been before."
"Yeah," Evan said absently. "So I've heard." He shook his head, trying to clear it of the strange and conflicting thoughts he was having about Kavanagh. Was it possible that Kavanagh hadn't known about David's accident before coming to his room? The chance of that had never crossed Evan's mind. "Enough about him," Evan said brightly, refusing to think about it now. "How's my favourite botanist?"
And it was really easy to focus on David and how he was doing, and not think about Kavanagh at all.
Evan didn't go looking for Kavanagh until late that afternoon.
It wasn't that he wanted to see him, he reminded himself as he rounded the corner towards one of the more isolated labs, it was just that he hated unfairness of any kind. And if he'd accidentally blamed Kavanagh for being callous towards David when it wasn't true, then he needed to apologize for it.
Or then again, he might just be going to prove to himself that Kavanagh was completely and utterly like he had appeared that night in his room, and then Evan could wash his hands of him for good.
And the fact that his heart was quickening as he approached the doorway to the lab was just because he'd been walking fast, that was all.
Evan had just placed his hand over the mechanism to open the door when it flew open and several scientists burst out.
"Get away! Get away!" Dr. Simpson shrieked, pushing him away from the door with such force that he fell backwards into the opposite wall. "It's going to blow!"
"What's going to blow?" Evan demanded, regaining his balance. "What's happened?"
"The power calibrations were out!" She cried, eyes wide with fright. "The storage capacity isn't big enough and it's going to blow up!" She took off after the other scientists who were now near the end of the corridor. "We've got to get out of here!"
"Have you called for help?" he shouted at her retreating back.
"Peter did!" She called over her shoulder. "Peter's still in there! Trying to get it under control!" She ran down the corridor, hair flying.
Evan reached for his radio, cursing when he realized that since he was off-duty with an injury, he hadn't put it on. He'd have to get Peter out first and then call for help. He stepped inside the room.
He felt a terrific force strike his chest and heard a huge boom that reverberated through his body and sent him flying back through the doorway and into the wall. He hit with enough force that the wind was knocked out of him and his vision went gray. It took an eternity before he could draw air back into his lungs.
Slowly, Evan pulled himself to his feet, feeling a trickle of blood down the side of his face from where the concussive force had torn his stitches. His arm was throbbing and his back was aching from where he had been thrown into the wall, but nothing seemed to be broken and he didn't seem to be hurt too badly.
He pulled himself to his feet, wincing at what he knew would be some severe aches and pains in just a few hours, and lurched towards the lab.
It looked like a giant hand had reached in, lifted everything up, and then slammed it back down. The smell of burned and charred material was nearly overpowering, and except for the quiet flicker of a few small fires, the room was impossibly silent.
"Kavanagh!" Evan shouted as he groped his way inside. His heart was pounding sickeningly hard in his chest, as bad as when he'd seen David at the bottom of the ravine, still and cold and clearly broken. "Peter!"
"Evan?" he heard Peter cough from somewhere deeper inside the room.
"I'm coming!" Evan called, and started picking his way carefully through the debris. "Hold still!"
"I'm holding," Peter said, and Evan felt a touch of relief that Peter could still be joking. He found him in a gratifyingly short period of time. Peter was lying half on his side, arms flung out in front of him. His glasses were broken, his face far too pale. His blue eyes were just slits in his greying face. "Major," he said, and his voice wavered. "Nice of you to stop by."
There were flecks of blood on Peter's lips, and instinctively Evan grasped his hand. "You're hurt," he said, "don't move. Don't try to talk. I'll radio for help."
Gently, he reached over and took Peter's radio out of his ear and slipped it into his own. "Campbell!" he barked, "medical emergency and fires in Lab six! Send a team now!"
"Already on it," was the Sergeant's quick reply. "ETA of medical and fire-suppression teams is approximately three minutes."
Evan sighed in relief and keyed off. "They'll be here in three minutes," he repeated to Peter. "Just hold on."
"I am," Peter said, giving Evan's hand a little squeeze. His face contorted in pain. "Hurts."
"I know," Evan said, feeling a rush of helplessness. He had advanced first-aid training, all the military staff did, but he was afraid to move Peter in case he made something worse. "Don't try to move."
"I know!" Peter snapped. "I don't want to be paralysed for life! It's bad enough I'm going to be subjected to the medical team and their dubious sci--" He abruptly cut himself off with a moan of pain that left him panting.
"Don't talk!" Evan ground out. "Just stay still!"
"I'm sorry," Peter said. His breath was coming in short gasps.
"Don't talk!" Evan repeated.
"No," Peter said with a tiny shake of his head. "Need to. I'm sorry. Sorry I didn't know about David. Sorry--"
"Shhh," Evan said. "It's okay. I know you didn't know. I'm sorry."
A ghost of a smile touched Peter's lips. A small trickle of blood was drifting down from the corner of his mouth towards the floor. "I didn't save my own ass," he said.
"What?" Evan asked, horrified by the slow stream of blood. "I said don't talk!"
"Tell Weir," Peter said. "Tell her I saved Simpson and the others." His grip tightened on Evan's hand. "Please?"
"You can tell her yourself!" Evan snapped desperately. He could see Peter's eyes becoming unfocused as he lost consciousness. "Peter!"
"Tell her I care," Peter mumbled.
"She knows," Evan said. His eyes were wet. "We all do."
Peter's smile widened as his eyes closed. "You're a good teacher." His hand went slack.
"Peter!" Evan cried as the medical team burst in.
They Peter had been taken into surgery mere minutes after Carson had finished his assessment of him. "It's another bloody punctured lung!" he'd said, glaring at Evan as if David and Peter having the same injury was somehow his fault.
Evan had glared back from over Keller's shoulder as she was checking the response of his pupils for an evolving head injury. "You're lucky your skull's so thick, Major." She'd told him with a smile. Evan hadn't responded.
She'd kept him overnight for observation, and Evan had remained painfully awake on one of the brutal infirmary beds, ears straining to hear anything about how the surgery on Peter was going. He must have slept at some point, because suddenly he found himself hurtling to wakefulness, Keller shaking him gently.
"He's out of surgery," she whispered, "he did well."
"Thank you," Evan whispered back, feeling that the words were somehow inadequate to convey his relief. Keller patted his shoulder and left him, giving him the impression she'd understood.
That morning Carson told Evan he was discharged and that his light duties were extended for an additional week beyond what they had been for his broken wrist. Evan had nodded, and promptly moved from the infirmary bed to one of the chairs in the waiting area, glaring at Keller automatically. She just smiled and arranged for one of the nurses to bring him some breakfast. Evan could only force himself to have a few bites, and that was when Keller was watching.
Carson sat down with him when he was half-way through not eating his breakfast. The doctor looked tired, with deep purple bruising under his eyes and hair that looked like he'd run his fingers through it more than once.
"We're keeping him intubated," Carson said without preamble. His fatigue made his Scottish accent sound thicker than usual. "Fixing his ribs and putting the chest tube in for the puncture was a skoosh," Carson continued, "but he has a pulmonary contusion as well."
Evan looked at him blankly.
"A bruise in his lung," Carson explained with a sigh. "Not bad, mind, but enough of a worry that I'm going to keep him on the vent for at least another day." He stood up, patting Evan on the back as he did so. "Don't worry, lad," he said. "Your man's too tough-minded to die over this. He'll be fine."
"He's not my man." Evan said, but Carson just smiled gently.
A few hours went by with the nurses checking up on him every once in a while. Evan was plied with coffee and juice and his shoulders were rubbed or patted so often he was sure he'd get bruises. No one stopped to chat, however, and he was grateful for it.
At some point after Evan's mostly uneaten lunch had been taken away, Colonel Sheppard and McKay stopped by. Sheppard lowered himself gracefully into the chair beside Evan, his long body stretched out as if he lounged in the infirmary every day of the week.
"How's your boyfriend doing?" he asked, his voice about twelve different shades of 'it's no big deal.'
Evan's head snapped up. "He's not my boyfriend!"
He saw as Sheppard and McKay exchanged a speaking look. "How's your friend doing?" Sheppard asked easily, as if the previous statement had never happened.
Evan shrugged. "He has a bruised lung."
McKay winced. "Those are bad." Sheppard glared at him and McKay's mouth slammed shut.
"I'm sure he's doing fine," Sheppard said. "Kavanagh's tough. Tougher than most of the scientists. He'll pull through."
"That's what Carson said," Evan replied.
"Carson's usually right," McKay added. "He'll be fine."
"He's lucky to have you," Sheppard said, gaining his feet and patting Evan on the back. He gripped Evan's shoulder, squeezing just tightly enough that Evan met his eyes. "You let me know if you need anything, okay?" Sheppard said softly, and Evan felt the unwelcome sensation of wetness in his eyes. He coughed to cover it.
"Thanks, sir," he croaked.
Sheppard squeezed his shoulder once more, and left, McKay trailing behind him.
Jeff came to check on him after that, offering a cup of coffee and condolences. "How's your boyfriend doing?" Jeff asked, eyes bright with sympathy.
"He's not my boyfriend," Evan muttered. Jeff looked confused, but he nodded and let the matter drop.
"How're you doing, boss?" Jeff asked after a moment, looking up at him from where he was sitting on the floor, back leaning against the wall. Jeff was nearly the same size as Ronon, with the same dark colouring, but that was where the similarity ended. Jeff was soft-spoken and thoughtful whereas Ronon was taciturn to the point of near-silence. The kindness in Jeff's tone made another lump form in Evan's throat.
"Fine," he ground out, hearing the undisguised roughness in his voice. "Just tired."
"Yeah," Jeff said. "And maybe sore? Jennifer said you must have hit the wall pretty hard."
Evan nodded, grateful for the change in topic. "Yeah, I am, kind of."
"Do you want some pain medicine?" Jeff asked, "I could go ask Jennifer--"
Evan shook his head 'no' even before Jeff had finished his question. He didn't trust Jennifer to not slip him something to put him into a coma. The pain in his arm and back wasn't that bad.
It was the pain in his heart that was doing him in. And the realization of that was so shocking that for a second Evan felt like all the air had rushed out of his lungs.
"Are you okay?" Jeff asked worriedly. "You've gone all pale."
"I'm fine," Evan said, standing. "I--uh. I've got to go." And before Jeff could even react, Evan had bolted.
He went straight to his room. He grabbed his easel, a blank canvas, brushes and some oils, and practically ran out to the balcony outside his quarters, setting up his equipment in record time.
It was only late afternoon, far too early for a spectacular Lantean sunset, but Evan wasn't there to paint the beauty of nature.
He started painting in a rush, nearly flinging the oils on the canvas with a desperation he hadn't felt since he'd been a young boy.
He hadn't felt this overwhelmed by anything since his father died, when he'd been hit with the powerful and crushing realization that nothing, ever, would be the same again. His mother had introduced him to painting, as a way to get in touch with emotions so big and raw that he couldn't name them. Colours had become vocabulary, images his sentences. It had become like the eye in the centre of a hurricane, a way to calm himself down when everything seemed to be violently whirling around him, too huge to control.
And right now, with Peter in the infirmary and his thoughts churning and his heart pounding, Evan felt exactly the same.
So he painted, slashing colours across the canvas until the image reflected the turmoil in his mind. He painted his helplessness at Peter's injury, his desperate hope that he would recover. He chose purple for their friendship, deep and unexpected. He used blue for caring, black for fear, and then he painted red for an explosion that may have taken away something incredible before Evan had even figured it out.
"Major?" Laura said, coming up beside him. She'd been off her crutches for over a week, and she walked with her natural grace, her red hair gleaming gold as the sun began to fade.
Evan startled. He had been so focused inside his own head that he hadn't even heard her approach.
She smiled wryly. "Door was open."
"Hi, Laura," he said, hearing the weariness in his own voice. He ran his good hand through his hair, feeling the build-up of a day without a shower. He was in his clothing from yesterday, chin stubbled, and completely unable to hide whatever emotion was probably brimming out through his eyes.
She looked at him and then at the picture that Evan made no attempt to hide. She looked back at him, her eyes full of sympathy.
Evan swallowed thickly, and very deliberately put his brushes into the jar of cleaning solution. He could feel his jaw working against the lump pushing at the back of his throat.
Laura smiled. "Come here," she said, opening her arms.
And Evan stepped into her embrace, soaking her t-shirt with his tears.
He and Laura then went back into his quarters and got very, very drunk.
"You have to tell him," she slurred, sitting on the floor with her legs crossed and pointing haphazardly at Evan with her fifth bottle of beer.
Evan was sitting on the floor with his legs outstretched and his back against the side of his bed. He shook his head at her words, which ended up making the room spin, which made him laugh. "No," he said finally, after he had managed to re-focus on what Laura had said. "No. He's straight. He's said so like, two hundred times."
Laura shrugged, a rippling movement that ended up tilting her sideways. "You're cute," she said, grinning widely. "Totally cute enough to get dude to change his mind."
Evan laughed. "You have to say that."
"That my CO is cute?" Laura laughed too, shaking her head. "That is so not part of my job description!"
"My CO is cute..." Evan said, taking another swig.
"Don't change the subject!" Laura admonished, gesturing with her bottle and managing to slosh a good portion onto Evan's floor. "Seriously," she said, her eyes large and unfocused as she looked at him. "Seriously," she repeated, getting caught up in the rhythm of the word. "Ser-ee-oos-ley."
"Seriously?" Evan repeated, just to help her out.
"Right!" Laura exclaimed. "You've got to tell him!"
Evan winced. "That will most likely end badly."
"But at least you'll know," Laura said. "And then you can stop pining."
"I am not pining!" Evan said indignantly. "I am the opposite of pine!"
"Spruce!" Laura crowed. "You're spruce!"
Evan laughed. "Maple?"
"Nope," Laura said with complete gravity. "McKay is maple."
"Right," Evan agreed. That totally made sense.
"Anyway," Laura said, probably steering her thoughts away from trees and back towards the topic, "if you tell him, and it goes badly, at least you can stop pining."
"I am not--" Evan started. Laura 'shushed' him with a finger pressed over his mouth.
"I saw your picture, Evan," she said quietly.. "You have to tell him."
Evan took another pull athis bottle, looking over her shoulder to where he'd propped the canvas up against the wall. It was a maelstrom of colour, nearly violent in its beauty and desperation, and completely eloquent as to what Evan was feeling.
"Yeah," he said finally, still looking at the picture. "Yeah, I guess you're right."
Evan had used his hangover as an excuse to go to the infirmary late the next morning.
Carson had given him some painkillers and some vitamin 'B', but no lecture at all about the perils of drinking. Instead, he had patted Evan gently on the arm and directed him over to one of the observation beds where Peter was sleeping.
"We were able to remove the breathing tube early this morning," Carson said, voice low so as not to wake Peter up. "He seems to be doing fine, but he'll be here for a few days more, to let him heal and such."
Evan grinned in relief. "That's good news."
"Very," Carson agreed. He paused, looking closely at Evan's face. "You can stay if you like," he said after a moment, and Evan found himself blushing for no reason he could discern, beyond the far-too-perceptive gaze of the doctor.
"Thanks," he mumbled, and went and sat down beside Peter's bed, watching the other man sleep.
Evan must have dozed himself, because the next thing he knew his eyes were open and Peter was calling him.
"Major?" Peter said with obvious confusion. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to see how you were," Evan said, moving his chair over and automatically offering Peter some of the water that had been left for him on his bed-side table.
Peter nodded his thanks and drank deeply, wincing as the cold water touched his throat.
"You're sore from the intubation," Evan explained. He'd been through it enough times to know how much it sucked. "Don't worry, it goes away soon."
"Thanks," Peter said. His voice was less croaky than before. "Help me sit up?"
Evan nodded, and helped move Peter into a sitting position. Peter winced, pressing his hand to his left side. "That hurts."
"That's where you broke your ribs and bruised your lung," Evan explained, and even saying it out loud was more difficult than he'd thought.
Peter nodded. "I figured it was something like that."
Evan sat back down, folding his hands across his stomach and putting one ankle on his opposite knee, trying for a pose more relaxed than he felt. Peter looked good. Bruised, tired, and far too pale, but good nevertheless. His glasses were off, and his hair was a mass of short curls around his head. It took a second for Evan to figure out what that meant.
"You cut your hair."
"Yeah." Peter smiled. "I did it the night that David got hurt. I think you were too pissed-off to notice."
Evan winced. "I'm really sorry about that."
Peter shrugged, then winced himself. "It's okay," he said. "You were really worried about David and, well, it's not like I hadn't been that selfish in the past."
Evan shook his head. "But I never even gave you the chance. I never even considered something simple like you might not have known." He forced himself to meet Peter's gaze. "I really am sorry."
"Yeah well, apology accepted and all that," Peter said. He rubbed his head, messing the curls up even more. "You like it?"
Peter's curls were matted and stuck together in unattractive clumps, dark enough with sweat to make their actual colour unrecognizable. "Yeah," Evan smiled. "It looks good."
Peter scowled then laughed. "I look like crap right now, and I know it. You're a brutal liar, Major."
Evan swallowed. "Call me Evan."
Peter blinked. "What?"
"Evan," Evan repeated. "Call me Evan." He took a breath. "I've been calling you 'Peter' for a while now, so I guess fair's fair."
Peter stared at him. "You only call me Kavanagh."
Evan smiled. "When you're awake."
Peter laughed, then flinched. "Don't make me laugh. It hurts."
"Sorry!" Evan said, sitting up and pulling his chair closer. He looked at Peter, deep into to those crystal blue eyes, and realized it was now or never. If he didn't take the chance, he knew he never would. And who knew what he'd miss out on, then?
"It's okay," Peter said, "I would've warned you before, but you're usually not that funny."
Evan smiled. Oh yeah, he really liked this guy. "So," he said, hoping he sounded cool and casual instead of nervous and breathy. "I got a question for you."
"You can't have my painting," Peter said immediately. "As soon as I finish it, I'm giving it to Weir. You'll have to wait for my next masterpiece."
"I wasn't going to ask about your painting," Evan said. "I like it but..." he shrugged. "Crazy warrior-women figures in red are really not my thing."
"So what's your 'thing?'" Peter scoffed. "Butterflies? Dogs playing poker? Oh I know!" he snapped his fingers. "Elvis on velvet!"
"No," Evan said, and then before his nerve totally failed him, "you. I've got a thing for you."
Peter went as still as he'd done in the gym when he'd realized Evan might care about him. "What?" he said, and his voice was nearly a whisper.
"I've got a thing for you," Evan said again, feeling an uncomfortable heat rush to his face. "I know you're straight, but still. I thought you should know."
"I'm not straight," Peter said. "Who told you I was straight?"
Evan blinked. "You did! At least twenty times!"
Peter shook his head. "It was only about three times," he said, "and besides, I lied."
"Lied?" Evan's head was reeling. "Why?"
"Because I really like you!" Peter exclaimed, "and there was no way in hell that was going to be reciprocal, so it was easier to pretend that I couldn't possibly be interested. Get it?"
And strangely enough, Evan did. "Well," Evan said, feeling himself beaming. "I kind of like you, too."
"Of course you do," Peter scoffed, but Evan could see the vulnerability in his eyes. "What's not to like?"
"There's nothing I don't like, Peter," Evan said, taking the other man's hand and gripping it tightly. "Nothing at all.
-- END--
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.
( Making Nice - Part 1 of 2 )
Kavanagh was late.
Evan picked up his brush and put it down for the third time since he had arrived at the balcony, too agitated to put paint to canvas.
They hadn't met that many times, but Kavanagh had never been late before. The man was a lot of things--several of them very annoying--but he was nothing if not punctual.
Maybe this is a test, Evan thought to himself. Kavanagh had just realized at the gym that morning that Evan actually gave a shit about him. Maybe this was some messed up way to get Evan not to care. A sort-of 'hitting back first' thing.
Evan grimaced. He'd told Kavanagh before, he didn't play games. He keyed his radio.
"Communications," Sergeant Campbell responded with amazing speed.
"Hi Chuck," Evan said, trying for a neutral tone. "You got a bead on Dr. Kavanagh?"
"Kavanagh?" Chuck repeated. "You're looking for him?" Chuck's tone let Evan know exactly how strange his request was.
Evan let out a silent breath. "You know where he is?"
"Infirmary," Chuck replied immediately. Evan could hear the question in the Sergeant's voice, and he thanked him and keyed off before Chuck could initiate a discussion as to why Evan was looking for Kavanagh.
If Evan was honest, he wasn't sure why he was himself.
"Because he's late!" Evan muttered to himself as he started walking towards the infirmary. He hadn't asked Chuck why Kavanagh was there, and he refused to dwell on the reason why he was going in person rather than just calling over the radio. He also refused to notice that his heart had squeezed painfully in his chest at the idea that Kavanagh might be hurt.
A few minutes later, he was walking purposely through the door to the infirmary, feeling his eyes searching for Kavanagh's form on any of the beds.
Kavanagh wasn't in any of the beds. He was standing by one of the monitors in front of several of the medical staff, conducting what looked like...a seminar?
Evan moved closer, head cocked to one side as he tried to make out what they were discussing.
"I know it can seem confusing," Kavanagh was saying in a tone that was surprising for its only mild condescension. "But if you look at the interface as a part of the whole diagnostic parameters of the machine, it becomes easier to understand."
"So, you're saying we should read the output as a continuum rather than looking for individual signs?" One of the nurses asked.
"Exactly!" Kavanagh said with a broad smile. "You're almost smart enough to be an engineer!" And to Evan's surprise, his audience laughed. "The machine is holistic," Kavanagh continued, "and therefore doesn't make sense unless it's readings are taken as a whole." He paused, surveying the crowd. "Any more questions?"
Dr. Keller was standing near the back, shaking her head in bemusement. "And to think we've been assuming it's been broken for weeks!" She looked at Kavanagh, and her smile was very bright. "Thanks so much for your help."
Kavanagh caught her gaze, then looked away, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. "I just heard you complaining about it in the lunch line," he mumbled.
"Well, it was very nice of you, lad!" Carson said, slapping him on the back. "Now, I'm sure you've got better things to do than hang around the infirmary all night?"
"Oh, yeah," Kavanagh said, seeing Evan and stepping towards he. He stopped, and turned back to Carson. "Um, have a good evening?"
Carson chuckled at the stilted way Kavanagh said it, like the scientist was learning a new language. Which, if Evan thought about it, was probably pretty close to the truth. "Take care," Carson said and joined the rest of the medical staff.
Kavanagh came to a stop in front of Evan, one corner of his mouth curled up. "You stalking me, Major?"
It was Evan's turn to feel a rush of heat to his face. "You were late," he said quickly. "I thought--"
"That something terrible had happened to me and you were worried?" Kavanagh laughed as they started walking together back the way Evan had come.
Evan made a face. "I thought that you had stood me up," Evan said, then winced at his poor choice of words. It wasn't like painting lessons was the same as dating.
Kavanagh frowned. "I needed to help the medical staff understand how to use some of the Ancient equipment," he said. "I sent you an email."
Evan hadn't checked his email, a fact he refused to admit. "Well, I was expecting you to be on time."
"Too bad," Kavanagh said with a shrug. "I heard Keller and a couple of the nurses complaining that the equipment didn't work at lunch," he said. "And getting medical equipment functioning properly seemed more important than learning how to mix colours to make orange."
Evan was about to snap back when something occurred to him. "So they didn't ask you to help?" he said, feeling his mouth curve upwards into a smile. "You just decided to help them on your own?"
"Well, yeah," Kavanagh said. "Why wouldn't I?" Suddenly he beamed at Evan as if he'd just realized something. "There were at least eight people in the infirmary just now, and I helped all of them! Without being asked! Eight!"
"You still haven't cut your hair," Evan said with a grin.
"Spoilsport," Kavanagh said, but he was grinning, too.
It had been a surprisingly pleasant week.
Evan was smiling to himself as he returned to his quarters, painting equipment in hand. He felt he was making real progress--both with his painting and with Kavanagh.
He and Kavanagh had fallen into a routine of sorts. While Laura's injury had grounded his team, Evan and Kavanagh had ended up meeting at least once a day. Sometimes to paint, sometimes to chat, but every time Evan had felt that Kavanagh might actually be learning something about how to play well with others.
Kavanagh--when he wasn't being defensive, belligerent and nasty--was actually pretty cool to talk to. He had an interesting perspective on a lot of things, and a sense of humour so dry it crackled.
And if he ever cut his damn hair, he might actually be good-looking, Evan thought to himself. He had certainly noticed how fit Kavanagh was the few times they had met in the gym, and he could even be considered handsome when he smiled. The blue of his eyes was fairly spectacular too.
Evan flicked on the lights with a thought, propped his painting up against the wall and surveyed it critically, a small frown crossing his features. Not bad, he mused. Maybe one more night to get the gold-tones blended better, and it'd be done. It was a commissioned picture he was painting on behalf of his CO, as a birthday gift for McKay. Evan's frown turned into a smile. He hoped the notoriously picky scientist would like it.
Evan stretched and sighed, glancing at his clock. It wasn't that late--he'd gone straight to his quarters almost as soon as dusk had faded to night. But just today Laura had gotten the 'all clear' from Carson after nearly a full week on crutches, and they had immediately been put back on the off-world assignment list. His team was meeting early in the morning before they headed off to PX3-297, and he knew it was going to be a long day.
The planet was uninhabited, and his team had been tasked with investigating it as an alternate Alpha site. David was going to evaluate its potential for Athosian crops, and the rest of them were going to gather water and soil samples for the scientists back on Atlantis, take lots of pictures, and basically keep out of David's way. It should be a cake-walk, but it would also be tiring.
And Evan had stupidly agreed to meet with Kavanagh again the following night. He shook his head ruefully as he pulled on the sleep shirt and scrub pants he had 'liberated' from the infirmary last time he'd been there. Somehow, in between the talking and the painting, Kavanagh had asked him how to shade something so it looked more three-dimensional, and in the process of teaching him Evan had told him the lesson would continue the next night. And if Evan were being honest with himself, he might actually be looking forward to it, at least a little.
Kavanagh's painting was going pretty well, actually. The man might be as abrasive as hell, but it looked like he really did have talent.
And the more Evan came to know the man, the more obvious it was that Kavanagh actually did care about others, but just didn't seem to know how to show it. Every time they met, Kavanagh asked for yet another 'homework' assignment, like he needed the excuse to be nice to people. His being nice wasn't quite spontaneous yet, but still, it was a start.
If Kavanagh keeps at it, Evan thought as he crawled into bed, he might be able to really apologize to Dr. Weir, and even get to stay.
And as Evan fell asleep he realized that he actually hoped Kavanagh would.
The mission to PX3-297 had been a disaster.
Evan paced back and forth in his room, running his good hand through his hair. His other hand was in a cast from his palm to nearly his elbow, a souvenir of the fall he and David Parrish had taken while inspecting the banks of a riverbed.
He and David had been looking for a safe way down the bank to the river to collect algae and water samples when the bank had just given way and the two of them had tumbled down the steep embankment to the riverbed several feet below.
Evan had ended up with a broken wrist and stitches in his forehead. David had ended up in surgery for a punctured lung.
Evan slammed his good fist against his thigh and kept pacing. It had been a struggle to get himself and a badly wounded David back up the bank to dry land. If it hadn't been for Jeffry's towering bulk and Laura's ingenuity with ropes, they might still be there, waiting for rescue. But it still had taken far too long to get David back to Atlantis and medical care.
The botanist's face had been grey by the time they'd carried him through the gate, his lips tinged an unhealthy blue. The look of fear in Katie Brown's over-large eyes was going to haunt Evan's dreams for a long, long time.
"God damn it!" Evan swore, slamming his fist into his thigh again. He was going to bruise, but he didn't care. The guilt was churning inside him until he was sick with it, nauseous with the sense of his own failing. Why hadn't he seen that the bank was eroded? He was a geological engineer, for Christ's sake! His stupidity may have cost David his life.
He checked the clock on his desk. Only half-an-hour had passed since Dr. Keller had released him from the infirmary, promising that she'd radio him as soon as she heard anything from Carson. Evan had wanted to stay, he'd actually tried to insist on it, but Keller had won out, telling him it would be better if he went to his quarters to rest. She'd let Jeffry, Laura and Katie stay, however. Laura had promised to look after Katie, and had sworn that she would call Evan back as soon as she knew anything.
Evan had gone back to his room, taken one look at his bed, and started pacing. If he didn't hear something soon he was sure he was going to go crazy.
The door chime rang.
Evan was there in a second, palming the door open. "Laura?" he said as soon as the door moved, hearing the anxiety in his own voice. "Is David okay--?"
Kavanagh was on the other side of the door.
Evan scowled. "Go away."
Kavanagh pushed past him into his room and then turned to face him. He stood, hands on hips and an extremely pissy look on his too-thin face. "Where the hell have you been?"
"Where have I been?" Evan asked, incredulous. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"We had a date!" Kavanagh snapped. "Painting, remember? If you were planning on standing me up, it would've been nice if you'd at least sent an email first!"
Evan lost it. "Kavanagh!" he bellowed. "Get the fuck out of my room!"
Kavanagh scowled. "You don't have to yell. We're meant to be nice to people, remember?"
Evan rubbed his face, trying desperately to keep his temper in check. "I can't deal with this right now."
"Oh how convenient," Kavanagh snarled sarcastically. "You stand me up, and then when I call you up on it, say you 'can't deal.' that's nice. Nice way to treat a friend."
In three long strides had backed Kavanagh up against his closed door. "God-damn it!" Evan yelled, rage nearly choking him. "David's in the infirmary right now, Kavanagh! Right now! and you're worried about painting? When the fuck are you going to learn Kavanagh? it's not all about you!"
Kavanagh's eyes were very wide behind his glasses. "Okay!"
Evan stepped back and dropped his arm. Kavanagh rubbed at his chest where Evan had jabbed him, his eyes still too large in his face. "I didn't--" he started.
"Didn't give a shit. Yeah, I got that," Evan interrupted, disgust dripping from every word. He rubbed his face with his good hand. "You only care about yourself, Kavanagh, and I'm sick of it." He keyed the door. "Get the fuck out and don't bother me ever again."
Kavanagh nodded once, a strange look on his face, his hand still pressed to his chest, and fled.
It was only hours later, when Laura radioed him and let him know that David was going to be just fine, that Evan realized Kavanagh had said they were friends.
Evan slept through his alarm.
Whatever pain medication Dr. Keller had given him the evening before must have also contained a sedative, because by the time Evan woke up his wrist was throbbing painfully and full sunlight was streaming through the windows of his quarters.
His alarm was still beeping shrilly. Evan shut it off with a graceless swipe of his hand.
"Goddamn Keller," he muttered. He should've realized she'd slip him something to get him to sleep. It wasn't not like she hadn't done it before.
His wrist was truly aching now, but he eyed the pain medication suspiciously and decided not to take any more. He was heading to the infirmary to visit David anyway, and he'd ask Carson to give him something else--something he could trust to not knock him out.
Checking the time again, Evan swore softly under his breath. Clearly his team was grounded again with his and David's injuries, but he'd hoping to go visit David first thing and it was now mid-moring. He hoped that David wasn't thinking that Evan didn't care.
He took a quick shower, grateful that Keller had put a fibreglass cast on him so he was able to get it wet. He threw on some clothes, agonizing about how hard the button on his jeans was with only one fully-usable hand, and headed towards the infirmary.
He was feeling agitated and edgy, worried about David and furious at Kavanagh. "I'll feel better when I see David," he told himself, firmly pushing all thoughts of Kavanagh out of his mind.
"Major Lorne!" someone called from behind, and the voice was so like Kavanagh's that for a moment Evan's stomach clenched. He whirled.
"Hello, Major!" Dr. McKay was grinning at him. His smile dropped. "What the hell happened to you?"
"I fell," Evan grit out impatiently. He was not in the mood for conversation right now, not when one of his team was waiting for him in a hospital bed.
"Oh. Well, I hope you're okay?" McKay asked, eyebrows raised. At Evan's terse nod, McKay cleared his throat. "Well, ah, good. That's good," he said. "Um..."
Evan looked at him, trying very hard to keep his frustration out of his eyes.
"I just wanted to tell you 'good job' with Peter. With Kavanagh," McKay blurted. "I knew you'd be the right man to ask."
Evan blinked. Kavanagh's appearance in his room yesterday had proven very clearly that Evan hadn't made any difference with Kavanagh at all.
Something must have shown on his face because McKay started talking again. "To help Kavanagh," he clarified. "He's been very easy to deal with recently. Almost nice, really." McKay made a vague gesture with his hands. "He brought me coffee."
"Glad to hear it," Evan said, knowing his tone sounded anything but. He knew McKay didn't lie, but it was really hard to believe a single word McKay was saying. "Now, if you'll excuse me--"
"Wait! It's true!" McKay said, putting out a hand to stop Evan from walking away. "Peter is one of the most brilliant electrical engineers I've ever met, much as I hate to admit that," McKay continued, and there was such sincerity in his expression that Evan paused, listening. "But his personality--well, it makes me look charming by comparison. It was impossible to work with him," McKay said. "That was, well, until you got to him. Now, now he's not so bad."
Evan blinked again. "What?"
"You've made him nice!" McKay crowed. "He's not such an asshole now! He's nice! and, um, thank you. Thank you for doing that."
"You're welcome," Evan said absently.
"He's too smart for Elizabeth just to send back to Earth," McKay said, "but until recently, he was too much of a dick to keep around. So, yeah." He shrugged. "There you go."
"You're welcome," Evan said again.
"So, um, that's it really. Carry on!" McKay said with an incomprehensible wave of his hands, and disappeared down one of the other corridors.
Evan stood still for a moment, mulling over what McKay had said. Kavanagh's not such an asshole now? McKay thinks that? Evan shook his head. There was no way Kavanagh was different. Not with last night as a perfect example of who Kavanagh really was.
And if McKay wanted to keep him now, fine. That was McKay's problem. Kavanagh was McKay's problem now, not Evan's. Not any more, and never again.
Evan hadn't realized how anxious he'd been about David until he saw his scientist, happy and mostly whole in one of the infirmary beds, smiling and holding Katie's hand. Evan's knees buckled and he nearly fell.
"Whoa! Major!" David said, pushing himself upright in the bed and wincing. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," Evan said quickly. He grinned, even though his face was flaming with embarrassment.
He moved closer to David's bed, grabbing a chair on the way and sliding it over to sit on the side opposite Katie. He raised his eyebrows at her in silent permission, and she nodded back, still gripping tightly to David's hand.
"How are you?" Evan asked quietly. David looked good, the awful blue-gray colour gone from his face. Except for the chest-tube attached to some machinery by the side of his bed, you'd never know he'd been injured. But Evan had an irrational need to hear it from the man himself.
"I'm fine, Major, just fine." David smiled. He glanced at Katie. "Good, in fact."
"We're off duty," Evan smiled back. "You don't need to call me Major."
"Right, right, right, sorry!" David said, looking momentarily crestfallen at his mistake. But then he immediately brightened. "Oh! Your boyfriend came in today!"
Evan's head bobbed back in surprise. "My boyfriend?" he said with an unsure laugh. "I don't--"
"Peter!" David insisted happily, and Evan felt his face go slack with shock. "Sorry!" David said again, sharing a quick, confused look with Katie. "You've been spending so much time with him, we just assumed..."
Evan firmed his mouth. "He's not my boyfriend."
"Well, okay," David said slowly, clearly wondering how to reclassify Evan and Kavanagh's relationship. "Anyway, Peter came by earlier this morning, wanting to see if I was okay." He grinned. "He brought me chocolate."
Evan's jaw dropped. "He came by?" he said, totally confused. "To see you?"
"Well, yeah," David said. "He said he'd learned from you last night that I'd been hurt, and he wanted to find out how I was." David smiled again. "It was really nice of him."
"He's really changed," Katie piped in, "much nicer than he's been before."
"Yeah," Evan said absently. "So I've heard." He shook his head, trying to clear it of the strange and conflicting thoughts he was having about Kavanagh. Was it possible that Kavanagh hadn't known about David's accident before coming to his room? The chance of that had never crossed Evan's mind. "Enough about him," Evan said brightly, refusing to think about it now. "How's my favourite botanist?"
And it was really easy to focus on David and how he was doing, and not think about Kavanagh at all.
Evan didn't go looking for Kavanagh until late that afternoon.
It wasn't that he wanted to see him, he reminded himself as he rounded the corner towards one of the more isolated labs, it was just that he hated unfairness of any kind. And if he'd accidentally blamed Kavanagh for being callous towards David when it wasn't true, then he needed to apologize for it.
Or then again, he might just be going to prove to himself that Kavanagh was completely and utterly like he had appeared that night in his room, and then Evan could wash his hands of him for good.
And the fact that his heart was quickening as he approached the doorway to the lab was just because he'd been walking fast, that was all.
Evan had just placed his hand over the mechanism to open the door when it flew open and several scientists burst out.
"Get away! Get away!" Dr. Simpson shrieked, pushing him away from the door with such force that he fell backwards into the opposite wall. "It's going to blow!"
"What's going to blow?" Evan demanded, regaining his balance. "What's happened?"
"The power calibrations were out!" She cried, eyes wide with fright. "The storage capacity isn't big enough and it's going to blow up!" She took off after the other scientists who were now near the end of the corridor. "We've got to get out of here!"
"Have you called for help?" he shouted at her retreating back.
"Peter did!" She called over her shoulder. "Peter's still in there! Trying to get it under control!" She ran down the corridor, hair flying.
Evan reached for his radio, cursing when he realized that since he was off-duty with an injury, he hadn't put it on. He'd have to get Peter out first and then call for help. He stepped inside the room.
He felt a terrific force strike his chest and heard a huge boom that reverberated through his body and sent him flying back through the doorway and into the wall. He hit with enough force that the wind was knocked out of him and his vision went gray. It took an eternity before he could draw air back into his lungs.
Slowly, Evan pulled himself to his feet, feeling a trickle of blood down the side of his face from where the concussive force had torn his stitches. His arm was throbbing and his back was aching from where he had been thrown into the wall, but nothing seemed to be broken and he didn't seem to be hurt too badly.
He pulled himself to his feet, wincing at what he knew would be some severe aches and pains in just a few hours, and lurched towards the lab.
It looked like a giant hand had reached in, lifted everything up, and then slammed it back down. The smell of burned and charred material was nearly overpowering, and except for the quiet flicker of a few small fires, the room was impossibly silent.
"Kavanagh!" Evan shouted as he groped his way inside. His heart was pounding sickeningly hard in his chest, as bad as when he'd seen David at the bottom of the ravine, still and cold and clearly broken. "Peter!"
"Evan?" he heard Peter cough from somewhere deeper inside the room.
"I'm coming!" Evan called, and started picking his way carefully through the debris. "Hold still!"
"I'm holding," Peter said, and Evan felt a touch of relief that Peter could still be joking. He found him in a gratifyingly short period of time. Peter was lying half on his side, arms flung out in front of him. His glasses were broken, his face far too pale. His blue eyes were just slits in his greying face. "Major," he said, and his voice wavered. "Nice of you to stop by."
There were flecks of blood on Peter's lips, and instinctively Evan grasped his hand. "You're hurt," he said, "don't move. Don't try to talk. I'll radio for help."
Gently, he reached over and took Peter's radio out of his ear and slipped it into his own. "Campbell!" he barked, "medical emergency and fires in Lab six! Send a team now!"
"Already on it," was the Sergeant's quick reply. "ETA of medical and fire-suppression teams is approximately three minutes."
Evan sighed in relief and keyed off. "They'll be here in three minutes," he repeated to Peter. "Just hold on."
"I am," Peter said, giving Evan's hand a little squeeze. His face contorted in pain. "Hurts."
"I know," Evan said, feeling a rush of helplessness. He had advanced first-aid training, all the military staff did, but he was afraid to move Peter in case he made something worse. "Don't try to move."
"I know!" Peter snapped. "I don't want to be paralysed for life! It's bad enough I'm going to be subjected to the medical team and their dubious sci--" He abruptly cut himself off with a moan of pain that left him panting.
"Don't talk!" Evan ground out. "Just stay still!"
"I'm sorry," Peter said. His breath was coming in short gasps.
"Don't talk!" Evan repeated.
"No," Peter said with a tiny shake of his head. "Need to. I'm sorry. Sorry I didn't know about David. Sorry--"
"Shhh," Evan said. "It's okay. I know you didn't know. I'm sorry."
A ghost of a smile touched Peter's lips. A small trickle of blood was drifting down from the corner of his mouth towards the floor. "I didn't save my own ass," he said.
"What?" Evan asked, horrified by the slow stream of blood. "I said don't talk!"
"Tell Weir," Peter said. "Tell her I saved Simpson and the others." His grip tightened on Evan's hand. "Please?"
"You can tell her yourself!" Evan snapped desperately. He could see Peter's eyes becoming unfocused as he lost consciousness. "Peter!"
"Tell her I care," Peter mumbled.
"She knows," Evan said. His eyes were wet. "We all do."
Peter's smile widened as his eyes closed. "You're a good teacher." His hand went slack.
"Peter!" Evan cried as the medical team burst in.
They Peter had been taken into surgery mere minutes after Carson had finished his assessment of him. "It's another bloody punctured lung!" he'd said, glaring at Evan as if David and Peter having the same injury was somehow his fault.
Evan had glared back from over Keller's shoulder as she was checking the response of his pupils for an evolving head injury. "You're lucky your skull's so thick, Major." She'd told him with a smile. Evan hadn't responded.
She'd kept him overnight for observation, and Evan had remained painfully awake on one of the brutal infirmary beds, ears straining to hear anything about how the surgery on Peter was going. He must have slept at some point, because suddenly he found himself hurtling to wakefulness, Keller shaking him gently.
"He's out of surgery," she whispered, "he did well."
"Thank you," Evan whispered back, feeling that the words were somehow inadequate to convey his relief. Keller patted his shoulder and left him, giving him the impression she'd understood.
That morning Carson told Evan he was discharged and that his light duties were extended for an additional week beyond what they had been for his broken wrist. Evan had nodded, and promptly moved from the infirmary bed to one of the chairs in the waiting area, glaring at Keller automatically. She just smiled and arranged for one of the nurses to bring him some breakfast. Evan could only force himself to have a few bites, and that was when Keller was watching.
Carson sat down with him when he was half-way through not eating his breakfast. The doctor looked tired, with deep purple bruising under his eyes and hair that looked like he'd run his fingers through it more than once.
"We're keeping him intubated," Carson said without preamble. His fatigue made his Scottish accent sound thicker than usual. "Fixing his ribs and putting the chest tube in for the puncture was a skoosh," Carson continued, "but he has a pulmonary contusion as well."
Evan looked at him blankly.
"A bruise in his lung," Carson explained with a sigh. "Not bad, mind, but enough of a worry that I'm going to keep him on the vent for at least another day." He stood up, patting Evan on the back as he did so. "Don't worry, lad," he said. "Your man's too tough-minded to die over this. He'll be fine."
"He's not my man." Evan said, but Carson just smiled gently.
A few hours went by with the nurses checking up on him every once in a while. Evan was plied with coffee and juice and his shoulders were rubbed or patted so often he was sure he'd get bruises. No one stopped to chat, however, and he was grateful for it.
At some point after Evan's mostly uneaten lunch had been taken away, Colonel Sheppard and McKay stopped by. Sheppard lowered himself gracefully into the chair beside Evan, his long body stretched out as if he lounged in the infirmary every day of the week.
"How's your boyfriend doing?" he asked, his voice about twelve different shades of 'it's no big deal.'
Evan's head snapped up. "He's not my boyfriend!"
He saw as Sheppard and McKay exchanged a speaking look. "How's your friend doing?" Sheppard asked easily, as if the previous statement had never happened.
Evan shrugged. "He has a bruised lung."
McKay winced. "Those are bad." Sheppard glared at him and McKay's mouth slammed shut.
"I'm sure he's doing fine," Sheppard said. "Kavanagh's tough. Tougher than most of the scientists. He'll pull through."
"That's what Carson said," Evan replied.
"Carson's usually right," McKay added. "He'll be fine."
"He's lucky to have you," Sheppard said, gaining his feet and patting Evan on the back. He gripped Evan's shoulder, squeezing just tightly enough that Evan met his eyes. "You let me know if you need anything, okay?" Sheppard said softly, and Evan felt the unwelcome sensation of wetness in his eyes. He coughed to cover it.
"Thanks, sir," he croaked.
Sheppard squeezed his shoulder once more, and left, McKay trailing behind him.
Jeff came to check on him after that, offering a cup of coffee and condolences. "How's your boyfriend doing?" Jeff asked, eyes bright with sympathy.
"He's not my boyfriend," Evan muttered. Jeff looked confused, but he nodded and let the matter drop.
"How're you doing, boss?" Jeff asked after a moment, looking up at him from where he was sitting on the floor, back leaning against the wall. Jeff was nearly the same size as Ronon, with the same dark colouring, but that was where the similarity ended. Jeff was soft-spoken and thoughtful whereas Ronon was taciturn to the point of near-silence. The kindness in Jeff's tone made another lump form in Evan's throat.
"Fine," he ground out, hearing the undisguised roughness in his voice. "Just tired."
"Yeah," Jeff said. "And maybe sore? Jennifer said you must have hit the wall pretty hard."
Evan nodded, grateful for the change in topic. "Yeah, I am, kind of."
"Do you want some pain medicine?" Jeff asked, "I could go ask Jennifer--"
Evan shook his head 'no' even before Jeff had finished his question. He didn't trust Jennifer to not slip him something to put him into a coma. The pain in his arm and back wasn't that bad.
It was the pain in his heart that was doing him in. And the realization of that was so shocking that for a second Evan felt like all the air had rushed out of his lungs.
"Are you okay?" Jeff asked worriedly. "You've gone all pale."
"I'm fine," Evan said, standing. "I--uh. I've got to go." And before Jeff could even react, Evan had bolted.
He went straight to his room. He grabbed his easel, a blank canvas, brushes and some oils, and practically ran out to the balcony outside his quarters, setting up his equipment in record time.
It was only late afternoon, far too early for a spectacular Lantean sunset, but Evan wasn't there to paint the beauty of nature.
He started painting in a rush, nearly flinging the oils on the canvas with a desperation he hadn't felt since he'd been a young boy.
He hadn't felt this overwhelmed by anything since his father died, when he'd been hit with the powerful and crushing realization that nothing, ever, would be the same again. His mother had introduced him to painting, as a way to get in touch with emotions so big and raw that he couldn't name them. Colours had become vocabulary, images his sentences. It had become like the eye in the centre of a hurricane, a way to calm himself down when everything seemed to be violently whirling around him, too huge to control.
And right now, with Peter in the infirmary and his thoughts churning and his heart pounding, Evan felt exactly the same.
So he painted, slashing colours across the canvas until the image reflected the turmoil in his mind. He painted his helplessness at Peter's injury, his desperate hope that he would recover. He chose purple for their friendship, deep and unexpected. He used blue for caring, black for fear, and then he painted red for an explosion that may have taken away something incredible before Evan had even figured it out.
"Major?" Laura said, coming up beside him. She'd been off her crutches for over a week, and she walked with her natural grace, her red hair gleaming gold as the sun began to fade.
Evan startled. He had been so focused inside his own head that he hadn't even heard her approach.
She smiled wryly. "Door was open."
"Hi, Laura," he said, hearing the weariness in his own voice. He ran his good hand through his hair, feeling the build-up of a day without a shower. He was in his clothing from yesterday, chin stubbled, and completely unable to hide whatever emotion was probably brimming out through his eyes.
She looked at him and then at the picture that Evan made no attempt to hide. She looked back at him, her eyes full of sympathy.
Evan swallowed thickly, and very deliberately put his brushes into the jar of cleaning solution. He could feel his jaw working against the lump pushing at the back of his throat.
Laura smiled. "Come here," she said, opening her arms.
And Evan stepped into her embrace, soaking her t-shirt with his tears.
He and Laura then went back into his quarters and got very, very drunk.
"You have to tell him," she slurred, sitting on the floor with her legs crossed and pointing haphazardly at Evan with her fifth bottle of beer.
Evan was sitting on the floor with his legs outstretched and his back against the side of his bed. He shook his head at her words, which ended up making the room spin, which made him laugh. "No," he said finally, after he had managed to re-focus on what Laura had said. "No. He's straight. He's said so like, two hundred times."
Laura shrugged, a rippling movement that ended up tilting her sideways. "You're cute," she said, grinning widely. "Totally cute enough to get dude to change his mind."
Evan laughed. "You have to say that."
"That my CO is cute?" Laura laughed too, shaking her head. "That is so not part of my job description!"
"My CO is cute..." Evan said, taking another swig.
"Don't change the subject!" Laura admonished, gesturing with her bottle and managing to slosh a good portion onto Evan's floor. "Seriously," she said, her eyes large and unfocused as she looked at him. "Seriously," she repeated, getting caught up in the rhythm of the word. "Ser-ee-oos-ley."
"Seriously?" Evan repeated, just to help her out.
"Right!" Laura exclaimed. "You've got to tell him!"
Evan winced. "That will most likely end badly."
"But at least you'll know," Laura said. "And then you can stop pining."
"I am not pining!" Evan said indignantly. "I am the opposite of pine!"
"Spruce!" Laura crowed. "You're spruce!"
Evan laughed. "Maple?"
"Nope," Laura said with complete gravity. "McKay is maple."
"Right," Evan agreed. That totally made sense.
"Anyway," Laura said, probably steering her thoughts away from trees and back towards the topic, "if you tell him, and it goes badly, at least you can stop pining."
"I am not--" Evan started. Laura 'shushed' him with a finger pressed over his mouth.
"I saw your picture, Evan," she said quietly.. "You have to tell him."
Evan took another pull athis bottle, looking over her shoulder to where he'd propped the canvas up against the wall. It was a maelstrom of colour, nearly violent in its beauty and desperation, and completely eloquent as to what Evan was feeling.
"Yeah," he said finally, still looking at the picture. "Yeah, I guess you're right."
Evan had used his hangover as an excuse to go to the infirmary late the next morning.
Carson had given him some painkillers and some vitamin 'B', but no lecture at all about the perils of drinking. Instead, he had patted Evan gently on the arm and directed him over to one of the observation beds where Peter was sleeping.
"We were able to remove the breathing tube early this morning," Carson said, voice low so as not to wake Peter up. "He seems to be doing fine, but he'll be here for a few days more, to let him heal and such."
Evan grinned in relief. "That's good news."
"Very," Carson agreed. He paused, looking closely at Evan's face. "You can stay if you like," he said after a moment, and Evan found himself blushing for no reason he could discern, beyond the far-too-perceptive gaze of the doctor.
"Thanks," he mumbled, and went and sat down beside Peter's bed, watching the other man sleep.
Evan must have dozed himself, because the next thing he knew his eyes were open and Peter was calling him.
"Major?" Peter said with obvious confusion. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to see how you were," Evan said, moving his chair over and automatically offering Peter some of the water that had been left for him on his bed-side table.
Peter nodded his thanks and drank deeply, wincing as the cold water touched his throat.
"You're sore from the intubation," Evan explained. He'd been through it enough times to know how much it sucked. "Don't worry, it goes away soon."
"Thanks," Peter said. His voice was less croaky than before. "Help me sit up?"
Evan nodded, and helped move Peter into a sitting position. Peter winced, pressing his hand to his left side. "That hurts."
"That's where you broke your ribs and bruised your lung," Evan explained, and even saying it out loud was more difficult than he'd thought.
Peter nodded. "I figured it was something like that."
Evan sat back down, folding his hands across his stomach and putting one ankle on his opposite knee, trying for a pose more relaxed than he felt. Peter looked good. Bruised, tired, and far too pale, but good nevertheless. His glasses were off, and his hair was a mass of short curls around his head. It took a second for Evan to figure out what that meant.
"You cut your hair."
"Yeah." Peter smiled. "I did it the night that David got hurt. I think you were too pissed-off to notice."
Evan winced. "I'm really sorry about that."
Peter shrugged, then winced himself. "It's okay," he said. "You were really worried about David and, well, it's not like I hadn't been that selfish in the past."
Evan shook his head. "But I never even gave you the chance. I never even considered something simple like you might not have known." He forced himself to meet Peter's gaze. "I really am sorry."
"Yeah well, apology accepted and all that," Peter said. He rubbed his head, messing the curls up even more. "You like it?"
Peter's curls were matted and stuck together in unattractive clumps, dark enough with sweat to make their actual colour unrecognizable. "Yeah," Evan smiled. "It looks good."
Peter scowled then laughed. "I look like crap right now, and I know it. You're a brutal liar, Major."
Evan swallowed. "Call me Evan."
Peter blinked. "What?"
"Evan," Evan repeated. "Call me Evan." He took a breath. "I've been calling you 'Peter' for a while now, so I guess fair's fair."
Peter stared at him. "You only call me Kavanagh."
Evan smiled. "When you're awake."
Peter laughed, then flinched. "Don't make me laugh. It hurts."
"Sorry!" Evan said, sitting up and pulling his chair closer. He looked at Peter, deep into to those crystal blue eyes, and realized it was now or never. If he didn't take the chance, he knew he never would. And who knew what he'd miss out on, then?
"It's okay," Peter said, "I would've warned you before, but you're usually not that funny."
Evan smiled. Oh yeah, he really liked this guy. "So," he said, hoping he sounded cool and casual instead of nervous and breathy. "I got a question for you."
"You can't have my painting," Peter said immediately. "As soon as I finish it, I'm giving it to Weir. You'll have to wait for my next masterpiece."
"I wasn't going to ask about your painting," Evan said. "I like it but..." he shrugged. "Crazy warrior-women figures in red are really not my thing."
"So what's your 'thing?'" Peter scoffed. "Butterflies? Dogs playing poker? Oh I know!" he snapped his fingers. "Elvis on velvet!"
"No," Evan said, and then before his nerve totally failed him, "you. I've got a thing for you."
Peter went as still as he'd done in the gym when he'd realized Evan might care about him. "What?" he said, and his voice was nearly a whisper.
"I've got a thing for you," Evan said again, feeling an uncomfortable heat rush to his face. "I know you're straight, but still. I thought you should know."
"I'm not straight," Peter said. "Who told you I was straight?"
Evan blinked. "You did! At least twenty times!"
Peter shook his head. "It was only about three times," he said, "and besides, I lied."
"Lied?" Evan's head was reeling. "Why?"
"Because I really like you!" Peter exclaimed, "and there was no way in hell that was going to be reciprocal, so it was easier to pretend that I couldn't possibly be interested. Get it?"
And strangely enough, Evan did. "Well," Evan said, feeling himself beaming. "I kind of like you, too."
"Of course you do," Peter scoffed, but Evan could see the vulnerability in his eyes. "What's not to like?"
"There's nothing I don't like, Peter," Evan said, taking the other man's hand and gripping it tightly. "Nothing at all.
-- END--