07/29/2007: "SGA Fic: A Solitary Tree (Lorne/Parrish; PG)"

Title: A Solitary Tree
Pairing: Lorne/Parrish
Rating: PG
Words: 1400ish
Summary: Lorne likes trees.
Notes: This is a sequel to mklutz's awesome story Attack of the Fifty Foot__!". This fic won't make much sense if you don't read mklutz's story first. Thanks to mklutz for letting me write a sequel and giving me a nod to post, and to ozsaur for the read through and encouragement :D

Lorne likes trees. He doesn't like them the way some of the botanists like them. Sure, he's learned a few species names, just for kicks, but he really doesn't care about names, or growth rates, or the details of the carbon sink. But trees are comforting, and forests are relaxing. Or, at least the forests on Earth, forests that probably aren't filled with potentially killer aliens and their friends.

There's something about the way light filters through layers of green leaves; and forests almost always smell good.

Lorne just likes trees.

Still, there's something disconcerting about watching someone turn into a tree. Especially when no one seems to have a solution.

"Honestly, Major," Parrish says to him, "it's not all that bad. It's interesting. My perceptions have been considerably altered."

Parrish doesn't have a face, not precisely. There's just something about the way certain branches move that suggest facial expressions. But Lorne has no idea how Parrish is speaking.

"Do you know that I'm aware of every leaf? If anyone asked – and frankly, I'm disappointed that no one has – I would posit that leaf awareness would be limited. After all, we aren't aware of each of our hairs, are we? Not that the analogy is perfect, given the vital biological function that leaves perform for the tree – Major. I'm sorry this must be terribly boring for you. Security detail for a tree and all of that."

"Nah. I'm not that jaded yet." Talking to a tree has a certain novelty to it.

Parrish's branches and leaves seem to form a grin. "Well, give it time. Soon you'll become like the rest of us."

Lorne snorts, because Parrish is the person least likely to become jaded that he's ever met. "How else is this," he gestures at Parrish's trunk, "interesting?"

"Well. I think my body thinks it's spring. I'm bursting with sap."

There's a joke in there somewhere, but Lorne can't quite wrap his head around it.

"Major? I think I need soil. Very soon. I'm lacking nutrients. And also water. I need a lot of water."

Now that he thinks about it, Parrish's leaves are starting to droop a little.

Shit. Of course.

"I'll take care of it," he says.

*

Parrish keeps talking for two days. By the end of the second day, his words are getting slower and slower, and Lorne is sure it's not a good sign.

When he stops talking, Lorne isn't surprised. Neither are the botanists, oddly.

Lorne stops by in the morning, tells the night shift security detail that they're off duty, and stands, looking up at Parrish. The soil around his roots is deep and dark, and Dr. Brown had seeded it with grasses – Parrish's favourite, she'd said – that are already starting to sprout. There's an irrigation system in the lab now too.

Parrish's branches are bent, pushing up against the roof of the room.

"I think he needs more natural light," Dr. Brown says, moving quietly to Lorne's side. "And there isn't enough room for him here. We should have moved him when we had the chance."

They both know that that chance had been too brief.

"A skylight would be nice," Lorne says, and the room shudders around them, briefly filled with metallic sounds of sliding and grinding.

The ceiling slides back, and slowly, slowly, Parrish's upper branches begin to straighten, stretching out to the sunshine.

Lorne knows he's standing with his mouth slightly open, but he can't help it. The city just made a hole so that Parrish-the-tree could get some real light.

Sometimes Lorne loves the gene.

*

It was bad enough when he was having conversations with a tree. It's even worse now that he's talking to a tree that doesn't talk back.

Still, Lorne can't quite help himself. "Just a routine mission, you know how it goes. A meet and greet. We're getting a lot of those lately." He sets his tray on the grass, and sits down, back against the trunk. "Not that I'm complaining," he adds, grinning up at Parrish's leaves. "But I think Sheppard is getting antsy. Bored."

The leaves rustle, and Lorne tells himself it's just the wind coming in through the skylight.

He eats here when he can, and he knows he's not the only one. Today, he's halfway through one sandwich when Dr. Brown walks through the door, holding her own tray.

"Here again, Major?" and she sits down next to him, sharing Parrish's thick trunk.

"Don't get me wrong," he says, picking up the other half of the sandwich from the tray, "the city is great. But it's a little sterile." Unlike this lab, sitting under Parrish, cushioned by fine, dense grass, and breathing in cool air.

"You should spend more time in the botany labs," Dr. Brown says, tossing him an apple. Well, an apple-like thing. "We're about as unsterile as you can get. Um. In the non-infectious kind of way." She pauses, frowning slightly. "Although not necessarily in the non-deadly way."

He grins. "You make it sound so enticing."

Later, Dr. Brown picks up her tray and leaves, waving absently at him, and patting Parrish on the trunk.

"She likes you, huh?" Lorne says, leaning his head back against the rough, brown bark.

The leaves rustle again, the scent of green mingling with the salt of the sea.

*

It ends as quickly as it began. Lorne walks into the lab, finds the tree gone, and Parrish naked and dirt-stained, lying on uprooted grass. "Medical emergency in botany lab eight," he says over his earpiece, and pulls off his jacket.

"Parrish?" He almost expects leaves to rustle in response. Instead, Parrish turns his head slightly. His lips are dry and cracked. "Weren't you getting enough water?" he asks, and then shakes his head. Stupid question. He wraps his jacket around Parrish, just as a medical team comes running in.

*

"So," Lorne says, days later, "you were a tree."

Parrish still looks dehydrated, and he's still confined to the infirmary. Lorne can't argue it – it's not every day someone gets turned into a plant. Bugs, sure, but not plants.

"It was an interesting experience." Parrish's voice is rough, underused. Maybe he's just used to rustling his leaves. "Everything was. Green. And slow. And stationary. I couldn't feel anything through my bark. But if anyone brushed by my leaves? You have no idea." He sounds both wistful and almost claustrophobic.

Lorne doesn't blame him. "How much of it do you remember?" he asks, and then realizes that Parrish has probably been asked this over and over by Dr. Beckett and Dr. Heightmeyer and who knows who else. He probably doesn't want to hear more questions, more poking at the edges of his experience.

There's a long pause, Parrish closing his eyes, before he says, "I remember that you kept talking to me. I remember that you'd come. And eat your lunch. And talk to me. About boring missions."

Lorne grins and shrugs. "I like trees. Also, I think that Dr. Brown wants you. Or at least, tree you."

Parrish smiles. "She's not really my type."

There's something in the way that Parrish smiles that might just possibly make Lorne's day. "No? She's pretty. Funny too." And she is. Surprisingly, he'd found himself liking her, enjoying sitting under Parrish with her, talking about nothing.

He liked sitting there, leaning back against Parrish, the rough bark pressing through his shirt.

"Major?"

He shakes his head. "Sorry. Just thinking. But Brown." He grins a little. "Really not your type?"

Parrish's eyes widen slightly, his cheeks flushing. "No. I. Ah. I like someone a little more, er, rough around the edges."

Yeah. He was right. This is making his day. Leaning closer, dropping his voice, he asks, "Did I ever tell you I like trees? A lot?"

Parrish's smile is slow and pleased.

"How many more days are you in here?" Lorne asks after a moment, straightening up.

"Um. I'm getting discharged at the end of the day. Apparently with orders to sleep, drink plenty of water, and resist turning back into a tree." He clears his throat, reaching for his water glass. "I think I'll need someone to watch me, make sure I follow doctor's orders."

Lorne grins. "I'll stop by at the end of my shift."

End.




	Home Archives July 2007 SGA Fic: A Solitary Tree (Lorne/Parrish; PG) [Previous entry: "SGA Fic: The Good Kind of Mystery and Anticipation (Lorne/m; PG-13)"] [Next entry: "SGA Fic: Four Ridiculous Lorne AU Snapshots (McKay, Parrish, Ford, Lorne, Lorne/McKay; PG-13)"] 07/29/2007: "SGA Fic: A Solitary Tree (Lorne/Parrish; PG)" Title: A Solitary Tree Pairing: Lorne/Parrish Rating: PG Words: 1400ish Summary: Lorne likes trees. Notes: This is a sequel to mklutz's awesome story Attack of the Fifty Foot__!". This fic won't make much sense if you don't read mklutz's story first. Thanks to mklutz for letting me write a sequel and giving me a nod to post, and to ozsaur for the read through and encouragement :D Lorne likes trees. He doesn't like them the way some of the botanists like them. Sure, he's learned a few species names, just for kicks, but he really doesn't care about names, or growth rates, or the details of the carbon sink. But trees are comforting, and forests are relaxing. Or, at least the forests on Earth, forests that probably aren't filled with potentially killer aliens and their friends. There's something about the way light filters through layers of green leaves; and forests almost always smell good. Lorne just likes trees. Still, there's something disconcerting about watching someone turn into a tree. Especially when no one seems to have a solution. "Honestly, Major," Parrish says to him, "it's not all that bad. It's interesting. My perceptions have been considerably altered." Parrish doesn't have a face, not precisely. There's just something about the way certain branches move that suggest facial expressions. But Lorne has no idea how Parrish is speaking. "Do you know that I'm aware of every leaf? If anyone asked – and frankly, I'm disappointed that no one has – I would posit that leaf awareness would be limited. After all, we aren't aware of each of our hairs, are we? Not that the analogy is perfect, given the vital biological function that leaves perform for the tree – Major. I'm sorry this must be terribly boring for you. Security detail for a tree and all of that." "Nah. I'm not that jaded yet." Talking to a tree has a certain novelty to it. Parrish's branches and leaves seem to form a grin. "Well, give it time. Soon you'll become like the rest of us." Lorne snorts, because Parrish is the person least likely to become jaded that he's ever met. "How else is this," he gestures at Parrish's trunk, "interesting?" "Well. I think my body thinks it's spring. I'm bursting with sap." There's a joke in there somewhere, but Lorne can't quite wrap his head around it. "Major? I think I need soil. Very soon. I'm lacking nutrients. And also water. I need a lot of water." Now that he thinks about it, Parrish's leaves are starting to droop a little. Shit. Of course. "I'll take care of it," he says. * Parrish keeps talking for two days. By the end of the second day, his words are getting slower and slower, and Lorne is sure it's not a good sign. When he stops talking, Lorne isn't surprised. Neither are the botanists, oddly. Lorne stops by in the morning, tells the night shift security detail that they're off duty, and stands, looking up at Parrish. The soil around his roots is deep and dark, and Dr. Brown had seeded it with grasses – Parrish's favourite, she'd said – that are already starting to sprout. There's an irrigation system in the lab now too. Parrish's branches are bent, pushing up against the roof of the room. "I think he needs more natural light," Dr. Brown says, moving quietly to Lorne's side. "And there isn't enough room for him here. We should have moved him when we had the chance." They both know that that chance had been too brief. "A skylight would be nice," Lorne says, and the room shudders around them, briefly filled with metallic sounds of sliding and grinding. The ceiling slides back, and slowly, slowly, Parrish's upper branches begin to straighten, stretching out to the sunshine. Lorne knows he's standing with his mouth slightly open, but he can't help it. The city just made a hole so that Parrish-the-tree could get some real light. Sometimes Lorne loves the gene. * It was bad enough when he was having conversations with a tree. It's even worse now that he's talking to a tree that doesn't talk back. Still, Lorne can't quite help himself. "Just a routine mission, you know how it goes. A meet and greet. We're getting a lot of those lately." He sets his tray on the grass, and sits down, back against the trunk. "Not that I'm complaining," he adds, grinning up at Parrish's leaves. "But I think Sheppard is getting antsy. Bored." The leaves rustle, and Lorne tells himself it's just the wind coming in through the skylight. He eats here when he can, and he knows he's not the only one. Today, he's halfway through one sandwich when Dr. Brown walks through the door, holding her own tray. "Here again, Major?" and she sits down next to him, sharing Parrish's thick trunk. "Don't get me wrong," he says, picking up the other half of the sandwich from the tray, "the city is great. But it's a little sterile." Unlike this lab, sitting under Parrish, cushioned by fine, dense grass, and breathing in cool air. "You should spend more time in the botany labs," Dr. Brown says, tossing him an apple. Well, an apple-like thing. "We're about as unsterile as you can get. Um. In the non-infectious kind of way." She pauses, frowning slightly. "Although not necessarily in the non-deadly way." He grins. "You make it sound so enticing." Later, Dr. Brown picks up her tray and leaves, waving absently at him, and patting Parrish on the trunk. "She likes you, huh?" Lorne says, leaning his head back against the rough, brown bark. The leaves rustle again, the scent of green mingling with the salt of the sea. * It ends as quickly as it began. Lorne walks into the lab, finds the tree gone, and Parrish naked and dirt-stained, lying on uprooted grass. "Medical emergency in botany lab eight," he says over his earpiece, and pulls off his jacket. "Parrish?" He almost expects leaves to rustle in response. Instead, Parrish turns his head slightly. His lips are dry and cracked. "Weren't you getting enough water?" he asks, and then shakes his head. Stupid question. He wraps his jacket around Parrish, just as a medical team comes running in. * "So," Lorne says, days later, "you were a tree." Parrish still looks dehydrated, and he's still confined to the infirmary. Lorne can't argue it – it's not every day someone gets turned into a plant. Bugs, sure, but not plants. "It was an interesting experience." Parrish's voice is rough, underused. Maybe he's just used to rustling his leaves. "Everything was. Green. And slow. And stationary. I couldn't feel anything through my bark. But if anyone brushed by my leaves? You have no idea." He sounds both wistful and almost claustrophobic. Lorne doesn't blame him. "How much of it do you remember?" he asks, and then realizes that Parrish has probably been asked this over and over by Dr. Beckett and Dr. Heightmeyer and who knows who else. He probably doesn't want to hear more questions, more poking at the edges of his experience. There's a long pause, Parrish closing his eyes, before he says, "I remember that you kept talking to me. I remember that you'd come. And eat your lunch. And talk to me. About boring missions." Lorne grins and shrugs. "I like trees. Also, I think that Dr. Brown wants you. Or at least, tree you." Parrish smiles. "She's not really my type." There's something in the way that Parrish smiles that might just possibly make Lorne's day. "No? She's pretty. Funny too." And she is. Surprisingly, he'd found himself liking her, enjoying sitting under Parrish with her, talking about nothing. He liked sitting there, leaning back against Parrish, the rough bark pressing through his shirt. "Major?" He shakes his head. "Sorry. Just thinking. But Brown." He grins a little. "Really not your type?" Parrish's eyes widen slightly, his cheeks flushing. "No. I. Ah. I like someone a little more, er, rough around the edges." Yeah. He was right. This is making his day. Leaning closer, dropping his voice, he asks, "Did I ever tell you I like trees? A lot?" Parrish's smile is slow and pleased. "How many more days are you in here?" Lorne asks after a moment, straightening up. "Um. I'm getting discharged at the end of the day. Apparently with orders to sleep, drink plenty of water, and resist turning back into a tree." He clears his throat, reaching for his water glass. "I think I'll need someone to watch me, make sure I follow doctor's orders." Lorne grins. "I'll stop by at the end of my shift." End.