07/29/2007: "SGA Fic: The Good Kind of Mystery and Anticipation (Lorne/m; PG-13)"

Title: The Good Kind of Mystery and Anticipation
Requestor: ozsaur
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairing: Lorne/m
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: About 3300
Warnings: None
Summary: Lorne finds the stone outside of his quarters.
Disclaimer: Stargate: Atlantis and all associated characters do not belong to me.
A/N: Written for slashfest round IV. My prompt was from ozsaur: "Lorne has a secret admirer who keeps leaving gifts and messages. Who does it turn out to be? Would like this to be sweet." Many, many thanks to mklutz for the super-speedy beta!

Lorne finds the stone outside of his quarters. It's sitting right in front of the door, oval in shape, and he'd almost believe it had been dropped, or kicked there, except that it's perfectly centred against the door. Reaching down, he picks it up. It's a heavy, smooth weight in his hand, and it fits his palm almost perfectly. It reminds him of river-washed pebbles. Except bigger.

And heavier. Heavier than normal stone, come to think of it. If he really had to, he could put one hell of a dent in someone's skull with it. Though that's probably not the intention.

The thought makes him shake his head. Maybe it's a sign that he's been too damn long in the Pegasus Galaxy, if he's looking at rocks and thinking about their potential as weapons.

There's no one else in the hallway. There's no note with the stone.

Shrugging, he closes his fingers around it, and takes it inside.

*

The next morning, he heads down to the geology labs on a whim. Hell, he's going past there anyway.

"You guys missing a rock?" he asks, watching the geologists play with core samples, while one of the archaeologists earnestly talks about stratigraphy and dating. Ah, rocks. He remembers those days, back before Pegasus.

"Rock?" Jaimeson looks up distractedly.

"About this big," Lorne draws a circle around the edge of his palm, "kinda smooth?"

The geologists – and the archaeologist – shake their heads, barely paying him any attention.

"Just thought I'd ask," he says, and walks out.

What the hell. It looks pretty decent sitting on his desk. And everyone needs a paperweight.

*

It's not even a week later when he stumbles into his room, vision grey with exhaustion. Maybe he's barely upright, but he still does the automatic sweep of the room, glad that it's just a box, all corners well-lit. Atlantis might be home, but that doesn't fool him into taking anything for granted.

The room is as he'd left it – bed neat, the smooth rock sitting on his small desk, holding down the latest military supply lists. Nothing looks out of place or threatening.

Except for the plant. Although it doesn't look threatening so much as decorative. And healthy. It's sitting by the windowsill, plain, broad leaves gleaming in the artificial light. There aren't any flowers, but even so, the room smells different. It smells fresh, green.

Part of him thinks he should take it outside, get rid of the thing. For all he knows, it'll transform into some kind of carnivorous creature during the night, and that'll be it. But the pot looks heavy, and his arms feel heavier, and maybe if he gets eaten in the night, it'll mean he won't have to get up in the morning.

It could be worse.

Looking at the plant, he manages, "Just make it quick," before he falls, face first, onto the bed.

*

"Hey," he says to Parrish, the next time he sees him in the mess hall. "You know anything about a plant that's almost as tall as me? Leaves are broad, kind of pointy at the ends?"

Parrish grins at him in that absent way he has. "Pale leaves or dark?"

"Pretty dark, I guess."

"How big are the leaves? Hmmm. Have you tried this soup?" Parrish is looking down at a bowl of the soup in question, half-smiling. "It's really good."

"I'm sure it is," Lorne says. "Biggest ones are about seven inches."

"Flowers?"

"Nope."

"I can't say for certain without seeing it, Major, but it sounds like one of the plants on the mainland that the Athosians have been cultivating around their settlement. They think they're attractive for the public areas." Parrish nods, thoughtfully. "I can't say I disagree. Also, they say the sap of the leaves is useful for treating burns. Not unlike the aloe species on Earth. Fascinating, isn't it?"

Well, fascinating is one word for it. "So. Any chance it'll turn into some kind of flesh-eating plant creature?"

Parrish laughs, spoonful of soup half-raised to his mouth. "I very much doubt it. But I'll let you know."

"Thanks," Lorne says, and looks down at his own bowl of soup doubtfully. Parrish might think it tastes decent, but it looks disgusting as hell.

*

He finds the gun lying on his bed, denting the covers he'd carefully made up that morning. The first thing he wonders when he sees it isn't how someone had gotten into his room again. No, instead he wonders when they're going to get a call about Ronon going on a rampage, mowing down everyone until he finds he stolen gun.

"This is not good," he mutters to himself, shaking his head. It'll be especially not good if Ronon thinks that Lorne's the person who stole his gun.

Still, the gun's here now, and sure, for the sake of his safety and the health of the other personnel, Lorne is going to have to give the gun back. Preferably he's going to do it in a way that doesn't get him caught. But it won't hurt for him to hold the gun for a few minutes, or look it over. Ronon isn't really the sharing type, and as far as Lorne knows, only Sheppard and McKay have been allowed to look over the gun. But most of them have been aching to get their hands on it. Not that Lorne can blame Ronon for getting twitchy about it – a man runs from the Wraith for seven years, and he's bound to become unnaturally attached to his weapons.

He picks the gun up, surprised by how relatively light it is. He's even more surprised by how new it looks. Ronon's gun, he'd figured, would have scratches around the sides, and signs of wear from years of being held. But there are no wear marks, no evidence of fingertips rubbing against metal, smoothing it minutely day after day.

It looks brand new, not something well used and cared for.

Still, he shoves the gun under his bed and starts thinking about a plan to get it to Ronon.

It's hours later – after he's gone to grab something to eat, after he's met with Sheppard about security rotations and training schedules, after he's watched the mess hall viewing of Nacho Libre – before he finds the note. It's shoved under the rock on his desk, written in small, precise, unfamiliar writing. "It's a prototype," the note reads. "Lab tested. Enjoy."

*

"Is that –?" Cadman asks, pointing at the gun as they're standing in the 'gate room, waiting for the go-ahead for their next off-world mission.

"Yep." He can't help grinning a little, especially when her eyes narrow with unconcealed envy. "New prototype. First one out there."

"Who'd you have to fuck to get your hands on it?" She asks, adjusting her vest, and turning towards the Stargate.

Lorne doesn't have an answer for her. He's starting to wonder that himself.

*

It isn't that he hasn't wondered about the gifts. The stone had been interesting, but it was still something that could be explained away. The plant wasn't quite so explainable, especially after he'd verified that Dr. Weir hadn't implemented a plant-distribution plan as part of a scheme to improve moral or décor or something that Lorne wouldn't care to try to understand.

Still, he's busy. He doesn't have time to go tracking down his mysterious benefactor, and ask what he or she is up to. After the plant, he'd wondered if it had been Parrish, but Parrish barely seems to notice the people around him half the time. And the gun had made him wonder if it was someone from Zelenka's weapons group (damned if Lorne can remember their names off hand).

Hell, by the time he'd received the gun, he'd started to wonder if he was being wooed by half of the science team.

He still has no idea, though. At meals he looks to see if anyone is watching him more closely, or if anyone is avoiding meeting his eye. But no one seems obvious, and he just shrugs it off, rolls with it. It's nice, having a little bit of mystery and anticipation. Especially when it's the kind of mystery and anticipation that probably won't lead to mayhem and death.

At least, that's what he's hoping.

*

Off-world, the gun comes in handy.

"Hell of a prototype, sir!" Cadman yells, as they roll behind the nearest rocks. P3X-991, he'll tell Colonel Sheppard, is the planet of the convenient rock cover and the inconvenient ambush.

It is a hell of a prototype. It's not exploding in his hand, and the stun setting is sending out one damn good stun.

"Who the hell are these people?" She ducks her head around the side of the rock and taking out two more shooters.

"No idea!" Three more shots with the prototype, and two more guys down. Off to one side, he can hear Stackhouse and Jaimeson the geologist, both firing. Jaimeson has turned out to be a pretty decent shot. "How many you got, Stackhouse?" he asks over his earpiece.

"Three!"

From his angle, Lorne sees five. OK, those are good odds. Especially with the gun, he thinks, glancing at it happily.

"You two want to be alone?" Cadman asks, looking over at him before she shoots another man.

"We're having fun the way things are," he replies, and stuns two women, watching them fall.

Damn, it's a great gun.

*

Back at Atlantis, the plant ends up being pretty useful too.

The burn on his palm is minor, the result of some kind of power surge from the prototype in the last few minutes before they ran through the 'gate. Guess that's why they call it a prototype, though he knows the gun would've been rigourously tested before being given out for field-testing.

Beckett looks the burn over, tells Lorne to apply some soothing cream if it hurts, and turns his attention to Jaimeson the geologist, who might be a decent shot, but who isn't so decent at staying out of the line of fire.

Or maybe she is, considering it's a leg wound, not shallow, but not deadly.

Lorne shrugs off the cream, and heads to his room for a shower. It's not until later, lying in bed, that he realizes how annoying the hot itch of the burn is. He sits up, contemplating heading down to the infirmary, when he remembers what Parrish said about the plant.

It's much closer than the infirmary. And it means not having to put on pants.

Carefully, he tears off one of the leaves, snapping it in half. The sap is thick, clear, and it smells of spring. It feels great on his skin.

More importantly, in the morning he doesn't have some kind of mutant hand. Some gifts are fantastic.

*

There aren't any more gifts for days. He tries not to feel disappointed. It's not like there's a gift shop on Atlantis, and off-world trade has been slow for a couple of weeks. Teyla has told them many of their trading partners are in the middle of harvest seasons, and don't have time for other work, or guests.

The closest thing he gets to a gift is free pie, one night in the mess hall. He'd arrived too late to grab a piece, and he mutters about it while he slid into an empty seat. "Sometimes you just want pie," he adds, when he gets odd looks.

"Here, have mine," Chuck the 'gate tech gestures at his untouched pie. "I've never been fond of these green berry things anyway."

Lorne doesn't understand how he couldn't like them – the green berry things are tart, and they make the best pie. "Thanks," he says, sliding the plate over before Chuck changes his mind.

*

Lorne doesn't think about it again until a couple of days later, after he's dragged Chuck out of the way of some kind of energy beam. "Move," he says, pushing Chuck forward, and shooting behind them.

He's set the gun to 'kill', not 'stun'. Lorne figures whoever is out there deserves it for pretending they were a trade delegation, and then trying to take over Atlantis. A four-person trade delegation had turned into an all-out rush through the 'gate, surprising everyone, and driving them out of the 'gate room.

And now he's running. Although, at least he's running with a plan.

"Listen," Chuck yells, over the sound of too-close explosions, "I was going to drag it on a little bit more, just for kicks, but hell. No time. I'm just wondering. Did you like the gifts?"

It takes Lorne a moment to figure out what Chuck's talking about, because he's mostly focussed on not dying in the next half hour or so before McKay implements the last details of his latest wildly impossible plan, and the invaders get contained. "What?" he asks, as he fires behind them, and then shoves Chuck to the right, down another hallway. He tells the hall to seal itself off, and Atlantis obliges.

"The gifts? Did you like them?"

The gifts. The stone, the plant. The gun. And apparently, the pie. "That was you?" Another right turn, another passageway sealing behind them. They're almost back to the 'gate room, but Lorne's got orders not to actually enter it until Sheppard gives the go ahead. He and Chuck aren't the only ones approaching the room – it'll be entered from all sides, and all at once, while McKay does his technical tricks. Lorne figures they've got a few minutes still, so he stops, sliding to the ground. Chuck sits down next to him. "What was that about?" he asks, taking deep breaths.

"Er. I was wooing you?"

Who the hell says 'wooing' these days? "Wow, I feel like a special lady now."

Chuck looks away briefly, rubbing at a cut along his cheek. It smears blood on his skin.

Abruptly, Lorne feels like an ass. "Sorry. Thanks for them. They're great. Especially the gun. How did you even –"

"Major," Chuck says, smirking, "I have many contacts. And you really, really don't need to know about it." His eyes widen a little, and wow, there's some kind of bizarre innocence there. "So, you liked it?"

Lorne would lay odds that it's faked innocence, and that makes him grin. "Yeah, I liked it." Maybe he likes the gun a little too much, but that's just between him and the gun. And Cadman.

Also, since it's kind of worrying, he asks, "By the way, how did you know I'd be –"

"Relax. You're not oozing queer vibes or anything. I just figured you were laid back enough not to freak out if you weren't interested. I was being subtle." Chuck grins. "So. Interested?"

Lorne thinks about it. They don't interact much, but so far Chuck has always come off as a decent, funny guy, and he's good at his job. He seems to get the need for discretion, and Lorne's seen him working out and in hand-to-hand practice – the guy's no lightweight. Also, thanks to seeing him work out, Lorne already knows Chuck has a great ass. "Yeah." He gets to his feet. He can hear the muffled thuds of doors being forced open, and that means it's time to get moving again. "I'm interested. Consider me saving your ass back there our first date."

Chuck laughs. "So you're a romantic, then."

*

The second date goes like this:

"Good job," Sheppard tells them all, once the 'gate room is secure, once the infiltrators are neutralized. The plan had worked, and Atlantis is theirs again, and already, Lorne can see Dr. Weir talking to Chuck and McKay about new security measures and additional 'gate room security routines.

"Clean up?" Lorne asks, looking around the room. There are a lot of bodies, and surprisingly, none of them belong to Atlantis personnel. Looks like the 'traders' had been using stunners, though Lorne figures that things wouldn't have boded well for prisoners.

"Nah, don't worry about it. Some of the marines who were trapped down by the labs didn't see any action. They can take care of it." Sheppard looks him up and down. "You look like hell."

Sheppard doesn't look so hot himself, but Lorne is a tactful man. "I'm sure I do, sir." Though his wounds are all superficial, nothing a shower, some first aid cream, and a couple of days won't fix.

He leaves the 'gate room.

Five minutes later, he's in his shower.

Ten minutes later, his door chimes. He's still in the shower. Open, he thinks, and he knows the door opens, and he hopes to hell it's who he thinks it is.

Twelve minutes later, Chuck pops his head around the corner of the shower door. "So, is this shower as roomy as mine? Hey! I see that it is. Think it's because the Ancients were kinky? I bet it is." And then he's in the shower, hands already wrapping around Lorne's hips, walking him back to the wall.

He's pushy.

Lorne likes it.

"Know what?" he asks, mouth against Chuck's jaw, taste of sweat and water on his lips. "I think the second date is going to be a lot more fun than the first." He slides his mouth down Chuck's neck, across his shoulder.

Chuck laughs, a slight gasp at the end. "But the first date was when we talked about our feelings. And there was the shooting. I'll always remember it fondly."

Lorne pulls back, grinning. The grin widens when Chuck winks and gets to his knees.

*

Three hours later, Lorne wakes up in his bed, tangled up with someone else, and sure that something's not right. Reaching to the nightstand, he grabs his earpiece and slips it on. "Colonel?"

"Lorne! We've got a couple still on the loose. McKay's tracking the signature of one of them, he's nearly outside your quarters."

Damn. Lorne slides out of the bed, doesn't bother grabbing pants, and gets the first weapon he can see. Then he's out of the room, into the hall, and sure enough, a heavily armed intruder is running towards him. "Shit," he mutters, and realizes he's not holding a gun. There's no time to do anything but make due. He reaches back, and throws.

The rock – a damn nice paperweight – connects squarely with the guy's forehead, knocking him flat. From the way his skull is knocked in, Lorne doesn't think he'll be getting up again any time soon. If ever. "Taken care of, sir," he says over his earpiece, "and you might want to send a medical team." And then turns to re-enter his room. He could really do without Sheppard seeing him naked and throwing rocks.

Inside, Chuck is sitting groggily on the bed. "What?"

Lorne shrugs, and grabs some pants. "Stray 'trader'. Knocked him flat."

Chuck grins. "The gun?"

"Nope. The rock. Some things are so multi-purpose. Paperweight, weapon…"

"Uh? Do you mean the first gift I left you?"

Lorne nods, pulling on a shirt.

Chuck starts laughing, almost silent gulps of air. "It's not a rock. Or a paperweight. It's an Athosian courting stone. Or so Teyla told me."

Lorne would lay odds that Teyla was messing with Chuck's mind. Just a little. Who picks up with rocks? "Weird people," he mutters, and steps back outside to wait for Sheppard.

End.




	Home Archives July 2007 SGA Fic: The Good Kind of Mystery and Anticipation (Lorne/m; PG-13) [Previous entry: "SGA Fic: Fitting In (Lorne/everyone; R)"] [Next entry: "SGA Fic: A Solitary Tree (Lorne/Parrish; PG)"] 07/29/2007: "SGA Fic: The Good Kind of Mystery and Anticipation (Lorne/m; PG-13)" Title: The Good Kind of Mystery and Anticipation Requestor: ozsaur Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis Pairing: Lorne/m Rating: PG-13 Wordcount: About 3300 Warnings: None Summary: Lorne finds the stone outside of his quarters. Disclaimer: Stargate: Atlantis and all associated characters do not belong to me. A/N: Written for slashfest round IV. My prompt was from ozsaur: "Lorne has a secret admirer who keeps leaving gifts and messages. Who does it turn out to be? Would like this to be sweet." Many, many thanks to mklutz for the super-speedy beta! Lorne finds the stone outside of his quarters. It's sitting right in front of the door, oval in shape, and he'd almost believe it had been dropped, or kicked there, except that it's perfectly centred against the door. Reaching down, he picks it up. It's a heavy, smooth weight in his hand, and it fits his palm almost perfectly. It reminds him of river-washed pebbles. Except bigger. And heavier. Heavier than normal stone, come to think of it. If he really had to, he could put one hell of a dent in someone's skull with it. Though that's probably not the intention. The thought makes him shake his head. Maybe it's a sign that he's been too damn long in the Pegasus Galaxy, if he's looking at rocks and thinking about their potential as weapons. There's no one else in the hallway. There's no note with the stone. Shrugging, he closes his fingers around it, and takes it inside. * The next morning, he heads down to the geology labs on a whim. Hell, he's going past there anyway. "You guys missing a rock?" he asks, watching the geologists play with core samples, while one of the archaeologists earnestly talks about stratigraphy and dating. Ah, rocks. He remembers those days, back before Pegasus. "Rock?" Jaimeson looks up distractedly. "About this big," Lorne draws a circle around the edge of his palm, "kinda smooth?" The geologists – and the archaeologist – shake their heads, barely paying him any attention. "Just thought I'd ask," he says, and walks out. What the hell. It looks pretty decent sitting on his desk. And everyone needs a paperweight. * It's not even a week later when he stumbles into his room, vision grey with exhaustion. Maybe he's barely upright, but he still does the automatic sweep of the room, glad that it's just a box, all corners well-lit. Atlantis might be home, but that doesn't fool him into taking anything for granted. The room is as he'd left it – bed neat, the smooth rock sitting on his small desk, holding down the latest military supply lists. Nothing looks out of place or threatening. Except for the plant. Although it doesn't look threatening so much as decorative. And healthy. It's sitting by the windowsill, plain, broad leaves gleaming in the artificial light. There aren't any flowers, but even so, the room smells different. It smells fresh, green. Part of him thinks he should take it outside, get rid of the thing. For all he knows, it'll transform into some kind of carnivorous creature during the night, and that'll be it. But the pot looks heavy, and his arms feel heavier, and maybe if he gets eaten in the night, it'll mean he won't have to get up in the morning. It could be worse. Looking at the plant, he manages, "Just make it quick," before he falls, face first, onto the bed. * "Hey," he says to Parrish, the next time he sees him in the mess hall. "You know anything about a plant that's almost as tall as me? Leaves are broad, kind of pointy at the ends?" Parrish grins at him in that absent way he has. "Pale leaves or dark?" "Pretty dark, I guess." "How big are the leaves? Hmmm. Have you tried this soup?" Parrish is looking down at a bowl of the soup in question, half-smiling. "It's really good." "I'm sure it is," Lorne says. "Biggest ones are about seven inches." "Flowers?" "Nope." "I can't say for certain without seeing it, Major, but it sounds like one of the plants on the mainland that the Athosians have been cultivating around their settlement. They think they're attractive for the public areas." Parrish nods, thoughtfully. "I can't say I disagree. Also, they say the sap of the leaves is useful for treating burns. Not unlike the aloe species on Earth. Fascinating, isn't it?" Well, fascinating is one word for it. "So. Any chance it'll turn into some kind of flesh-eating plant creature?" Parrish laughs, spoonful of soup half-raised to his mouth. "I very much doubt it. But I'll let you know." "Thanks," Lorne says, and looks down at his own bowl of soup doubtfully. Parrish might think it tastes decent, but it looks disgusting as hell. * He finds the gun lying on his bed, denting the covers he'd carefully made up that morning. The first thing he wonders when he sees it isn't how someone had gotten into his room again. No, instead he wonders when they're going to get a call about Ronon going on a rampage, mowing down everyone until he finds he stolen gun. "This is not good," he mutters to himself, shaking his head. It'll be especially not good if Ronon thinks that Lorne's the person who stole his gun. Still, the gun's here now, and sure, for the sake of his safety and the health of the other personnel, Lorne is going to have to give the gun back. Preferably he's going to do it in a way that doesn't get him caught. But it won't hurt for him to hold the gun for a few minutes, or look it over. Ronon isn't really the sharing type, and as far as Lorne knows, only Sheppard and McKay have been allowed to look over the gun. But most of them have been aching to get their hands on it. Not that Lorne can blame Ronon for getting twitchy about it – a man runs from the Wraith for seven years, and he's bound to become unnaturally attached to his weapons. He picks the gun up, surprised by how relatively light it is. He's even more surprised by how new it looks. Ronon's gun, he'd figured, would have scratches around the sides, and signs of wear from years of being held. But there are no wear marks, no evidence of fingertips rubbing against metal, smoothing it minutely day after day. It looks brand new, not something well used and cared for. Still, he shoves the gun under his bed and starts thinking about a plan to get it to Ronon. It's hours later – after he's gone to grab something to eat, after he's met with Sheppard about security rotations and training schedules, after he's watched the mess hall viewing of Nacho Libre – before he finds the note. It's shoved under the rock on his desk, written in small, precise, unfamiliar writing. "It's a prototype," the note reads. "Lab tested. Enjoy." * "Is that –?" Cadman asks, pointing at the gun as they're standing in the 'gate room, waiting for the go-ahead for their next off-world mission. "Yep." He can't help grinning a little, especially when her eyes narrow with unconcealed envy. "New prototype. First one out there." "Who'd you have to fuck to get your hands on it?" She asks, adjusting her vest, and turning towards the Stargate. Lorne doesn't have an answer for her. He's starting to wonder that himself. * It isn't that he hasn't wondered about the gifts. The stone had been interesting, but it was still something that could be explained away. The plant wasn't quite so explainable, especially after he'd verified that Dr. Weir hadn't implemented a plant-distribution plan as part of a scheme to improve moral or décor or something that Lorne wouldn't care to try to understand. Still, he's busy. He doesn't have time to go tracking down his mysterious benefactor, and ask what he or she is up to. After the plant, he'd wondered if it had been Parrish, but Parrish barely seems to notice the people around him half the time. And the gun had made him wonder if it was someone from Zelenka's weapons group (damned if Lorne can remember their names off hand). Hell, by the time he'd received the gun, he'd started to wonder if he was being wooed by half of the science team. He still has no idea, though. At meals he looks to see if anyone is watching him more closely, or if anyone is avoiding meeting his eye. But no one seems obvious, and he just shrugs it off, rolls with it. It's nice, having a little bit of mystery and anticipation. Especially when it's the kind of mystery and anticipation that probably won't lead to mayhem and death. At least, that's what he's hoping. * Off-world, the gun comes in handy. "Hell of a prototype, sir!" Cadman yells, as they roll behind the nearest rocks. P3X-991, he'll tell Colonel Sheppard, is the planet of the convenient rock cover and the inconvenient ambush. It is a hell of a prototype. It's not exploding in his hand, and the stun setting is sending out one damn good stun. "Who the hell are these people?" She ducks her head around the side of the rock and taking out two more shooters. "No idea!" Three more shots with the prototype, and two more guys down. Off to one side, he can hear Stackhouse and Jaimeson the geologist, both firing. Jaimeson has turned out to be a pretty decent shot. "How many you got, Stackhouse?" he asks over his earpiece. "Three!" From his angle, Lorne sees five. OK, those are good odds. Especially with the gun, he thinks, glancing at it happily. "You two want to be alone?" Cadman asks, looking over at him before she shoots another man. "We're having fun the way things are," he replies, and stuns two women, watching them fall. Damn, it's a great gun. * Back at Atlantis, the plant ends up being pretty useful too. The burn on his palm is minor, the result of some kind of power surge from the prototype in the last few minutes before they ran through the 'gate. Guess that's why they call it a prototype, though he knows the gun would've been rigourously tested before being given out for field-testing. Beckett looks the burn over, tells Lorne to apply some soothing cream if it hurts, and turns his attention to Jaimeson the geologist, who might be a decent shot, but who isn't so decent at staying out of the line of fire. Or maybe she is, considering it's a leg wound, not shallow, but not deadly. Lorne shrugs off the cream, and heads to his room for a shower. It's not until later, lying in bed, that he realizes how annoying the hot itch of the burn is. He sits up, contemplating heading down to the infirmary, when he remembers what Parrish said about the plant. It's much closer than the infirmary. And it means not having to put on pants. Carefully, he tears off one of the leaves, snapping it in half. The sap is thick, clear, and it smells of spring. It feels great on his skin. More importantly, in the morning he doesn't have some kind of mutant hand. Some gifts are fantastic. * There aren't any more gifts for days. He tries not to feel disappointed. It's not like there's a gift shop on Atlantis, and off-world trade has been slow for a couple of weeks. Teyla has told them many of their trading partners are in the middle of harvest seasons, and don't have time for other work, or guests. The closest thing he gets to a gift is free pie, one night in the mess hall. He'd arrived too late to grab a piece, and he mutters about it while he slid into an empty seat. "Sometimes you just want pie," he adds, when he gets odd looks. "Here, have mine," Chuck the 'gate tech gestures at his untouched pie. "I've never been fond of these green berry things anyway." Lorne doesn't understand how he couldn't like them – the green berry things are tart, and they make the best pie. "Thanks," he says, sliding the plate over before Chuck changes his mind. * Lorne doesn't think about it again until a couple of days later, after he's dragged Chuck out of the way of some kind of energy beam. "Move," he says, pushing Chuck forward, and shooting behind them. He's set the gun to 'kill', not 'stun'. Lorne figures whoever is out there deserves it for pretending they were a trade delegation, and then trying to take over Atlantis. A four-person trade delegation had turned into an all-out rush through the 'gate, surprising everyone, and driving them out of the 'gate room. And now he's running. Although, at least he's running with a plan. "Listen," Chuck yells, over the sound of too-close explosions, "I was going to drag it on a little bit more, just for kicks, but hell. No time. I'm just wondering. Did you like the gifts?" It takes Lorne a moment to figure out what Chuck's talking about, because he's mostly focussed on not dying in the next half hour or so before McKay implements the last details of his latest wildly impossible plan, and the invaders get contained. "What?" he asks, as he fires behind them, and then shoves Chuck to the right, down another hallway. He tells the hall to seal itself off, and Atlantis obliges. "The gifts? Did you like them?" The gifts. The stone, the plant. The gun. And apparently, the pie. "That was you?" Another right turn, another passageway sealing behind them. They're almost back to the 'gate room, but Lorne's got orders not to actually enter it until Sheppard gives the go ahead. He and Chuck aren't the only ones approaching the room – it'll be entered from all sides, and all at once, while McKay does his technical tricks. Lorne figures they've got a few minutes still, so he stops, sliding to the ground. Chuck sits down next to him. "What was that about?" he asks, taking deep breaths. "Er. I was wooing you?" Who the hell says 'wooing' these days? "Wow, I feel like a special lady now." Chuck looks away briefly, rubbing at a cut along his cheek. It smears blood on his skin. Abruptly, Lorne feels like an ass. "Sorry. Thanks for them. They're great. Especially the gun. How did you even –" "Major," Chuck says, smirking, "I have many contacts. And you really, really don't need to know about it." His eyes widen a little, and wow, there's some kind of bizarre innocence there. "So, you liked it?" Lorne would lay odds that it's faked innocence, and that makes him grin. "Yeah, I liked it." Maybe he likes the gun a little too much, but that's just between him and the gun. And Cadman. Also, since it's kind of worrying, he asks, "By the way, how did you know I'd be –" "Relax. You're not oozing queer vibes or anything. I just figured you were laid back enough not to freak out if you weren't interested. I was being subtle." Chuck grins. "So. Interested?" Lorne thinks about it. They don't interact much, but so far Chuck has always come off as a decent, funny guy, and he's good at his job. He seems to get the need for discretion, and Lorne's seen him working out and in hand-to-hand practice – the guy's no lightweight. Also, thanks to seeing him work out, Lorne already knows Chuck has a great ass. "Yeah." He gets to his feet. He can hear the muffled thuds of doors being forced open, and that means it's time to get moving again. "I'm interested. Consider me saving your ass back there our first date." Chuck laughs. "So you're a romantic, then." * The second date goes like this: "Good job," Sheppard tells them all, once the 'gate room is secure, once the infiltrators are neutralized. The plan had worked, and Atlantis is theirs again, and already, Lorne can see Dr. Weir talking to Chuck and McKay about new security measures and additional 'gate room security routines. "Clean up?" Lorne asks, looking around the room. There are a lot of bodies, and surprisingly, none of them belong to Atlantis personnel. Looks like the 'traders' had been using stunners, though Lorne figures that things wouldn't have boded well for prisoners. "Nah, don't worry about it. Some of the marines who were trapped down by the labs didn't see any action. They can take care of it." Sheppard looks him up and down. "You look like hell." Sheppard doesn't look so hot himself, but Lorne is a tactful man. "I'm sure I do, sir." Though his wounds are all superficial, nothing a shower, some first aid cream, and a couple of days won't fix. He leaves the 'gate room. Five minutes later, he's in his shower. Ten minutes later, his door chimes. He's still in the shower. Open, he thinks, and he knows the door opens, and he hopes to hell it's who he thinks it is. Twelve minutes later, Chuck pops his head around the corner of the shower door. "So, is this shower as roomy as mine? Hey! I see that it is. Think it's because the Ancients were kinky? I bet it is." And then he's in the shower, hands already wrapping around Lorne's hips, walking him back to the wall. He's pushy. Lorne likes it. "Know what?" he asks, mouth against Chuck's jaw, taste of sweat and water on his lips. "I think the second date is going to be a lot more fun than the first." He slides his mouth down Chuck's neck, across his shoulder. Chuck laughs, a slight gasp at the end. "But the first date was when we talked about our feelings. And there was the shooting. I'll always remember it fondly." Lorne pulls back, grinning. The grin widens when Chuck winks and gets to his knees. * Three hours later, Lorne wakes up in his bed, tangled up with someone else, and sure that something's not right. Reaching to the nightstand, he grabs his earpiece and slips it on. "Colonel?" "Lorne! We've got a couple still on the loose. McKay's tracking the signature of one of them, he's nearly outside your quarters." Damn. Lorne slides out of the bed, doesn't bother grabbing pants, and gets the first weapon he can see. Then he's out of the room, into the hall, and sure enough, a heavily armed intruder is running towards him. "Shit," he mutters, and realizes he's not holding a gun. There's no time to do anything but make due. He reaches back, and throws. The rock – a damn nice paperweight – connects squarely with the guy's forehead, knocking him flat. From the way his skull is knocked in, Lorne doesn't think he'll be getting up again any time soon. If ever. "Taken care of, sir," he says over his earpiece, "and you might want to send a medical team." And then turns to re-enter his room. He could really do without Sheppard seeing him naked and throwing rocks. Inside, Chuck is sitting groggily on the bed. "What?" Lorne shrugs, and grabs some pants. "Stray 'trader'. Knocked him flat." Chuck grins. "The gun?" "Nope. The rock. Some things are so multi-purpose. Paperweight, weapon…" "Uh? Do you mean the first gift I left you?" Lorne nods, pulling on a shirt. Chuck starts laughing, almost silent gulps of air. "It's not a rock. Or a paperweight. It's an Athosian courting stone. Or so Teyla told me." Lorne would lay odds that Teyla was messing with Chuck's mind. Just a little. Who picks up with rocks? "Weird people," he mutters, and steps back outside to wait for Sheppard. End.