~ Cornered At Christmas ~
Word Count: 1835
Warning: Established McKeller and Sheyla.
Merry Christmas, and thanks for reading!
Disclaimer: 'Stargate Atlantis' and its characters are not mine. I would not have left them under the aegis of those whose interest lay elsewhere.
SGA ~ SGA ~ SGA
Rodney McKay hated Christmas. Well, not Christmas exactly, but most of what went with it and he didn't exactly hate it, but it certainly wasn't on his list of Favorite Things.
As Rodney stomped his way to the mess hall ~ he'd run out of coffee and that was one more strike against the whole jolly season of excess when he was pressured by convention into sharing his carefully rationed private stash of coffee ~ he was thinking in time with his steps. What was he going to do?
Rodney had never failed at a task if he cared enough to apply his intellect, but he'd never planned a Christmas party. Jennifer loved Christmas. She'd wanted him to design a genius-inspired party. He'd been boxed in. He couldn't say no and now he didn't know where to start. Seriously, what was he going to do?
People said Christmas was for children. Hah. They hadn't had his childhood. Ulcers. Unrealistic and unrealized expectations. The build-up, then the crash. And there was always blame. Gift-exchange was torture ~ he always knew by their faces that he'd never chosen well. And no one had ever chosen well for him.
What was Christmas anyway? The date was changed to line up with some pagan ceremony and the 'hooplah' was to increase interest for commerce. All that 'Good Will Toward Men' stuff. What about the other three-hundred sixty-four days of the year?
Christmas in Pegasus was just...weird. How did one explain Wraith in the Grand Scheme of Man? Rodney had a conversation once with Teyla about the Old Ones, beings who oversaw everything, even the Ancestors. The conversation hadn't lasted long.
Rodney was a man of science. Of fact, not faith. He knew, for a fact, that the universe was expanding. Never mind that it didn't explain how 'everything' could expand into something that by definition, had to be larger than itself... And where did 'everything' come from that moment before the Big Bang? Just every once in a great while Rodney had a nightmare about being the central character in his niece's book, Horton Hears A Who!
Who. Or rather 'how'. How could anyone believe there was someone out there? Rodney had to admit that sometimes, when Sheppard pulled one of his seat-of-the-pants stunts and Rodney was sure they were all going to die, a couple times...maybe four or five...or a dozen, but who's counting, he'd found himself sending a prayer into the wind and hoping Somebody listened.
Rodney came to a stop. He'd arrived at the mess hall. And he almost groaned; the room was essentially empty. Two people lingering at tables, some staff cleaning up, and one person on a ladder hanging decorations. A mess of boxes and papers on a corner table and cleaning supplies near the serving line. And no coffee. There was always an array of fruit and drinks and snacks except, of course, during the change of shifts. Rodney checked his watch. He knew from experience it would take ten or fifteen minutes before the fresh coffee and cakes were on display.
Rodney slumped glumly into a chair. He was so screwed. He was running out of time. Christmas was coming. So was the Daedalus. Sheppard probably thought his gift was onboard and had bribed some susceptible newbie to search the cargo. Hah. Wait 'til flyboy got a look at this year's present, which had been hidden in Rodney's lab for months. Rodney smirked; he was going to outdo last year. 'Course Sheppard was pretty good at the whole gift-giving thing. Rodney now had quite a collection of articles from Isaac Newton's personal library, as well as some autographed and personally-addressed-to-Rodney memorabilia from the old 'Batman' tv series. Come to think of it, Colonel Closed-Mouth had been more uncooperative than usual this year ~ no dropping hints or rising to Rodney's challenges.
Rodney checked his watch and ran his gaze over the partially decorated room. It looked...festive, which Rodney admitted was a nice aspect of the season. And the food was always good and plentiful. Jeanie's annual box was coming on the Daedalus and that meant her special cookies. Conan far exceeded his share last year, so Rodney asked Jeanie to send a year's worth of Tootsie Rolls, which the big guy would probably eat in a week. Along with a sweet tooth Ronon had a predilection for action films. After 'Dirty Harry' and 'Walker, Texas Ranger', Rodney was giving 'Highlander' this year. Maybe those ninja turtles next year.
He couldn't manage it without his sister. That she and Rodney had become friends was a minor miracle. And gift-exchange was easy ~ Rodney needn't worry the recipients already had the item and he couldn't see the expressions on their faces if he chose wrong. He seemed to be doing okay; he'd already heard Maddie was excited and could hardly wait to open her gift.
Rodney checked his watch again and sighed. What did he know about Christmas parties? Teyla was pretty savvy about things. Last year she'd given him a wooden brain-teaser puzzle that took him two days to figure out, not that he'd admit it. She might have some party ideas because she certainly was full of surprises ~ Super-Warrior had taken to knitting! All Rodney'd had to do was ask Jeanie to send patterns and various types of yarns. Next year he'd see if Teyla might want a small loom.
A movement from the corner table caught Rodney's eye. He looked carefully. Small feet were just visible from his location, and with every swing-and-kick-the-table-leg, lights danced in the soles of small shoes. Surely Torren wasn't alone...?
Rodney approached the table and waited to be noticed. He peered over the pile of cardboard. One small hand was close to a nearly full glass of milk, which meant some member of the kitchen staff had very recently delivered the refreshment. Rodney considered going into the kitchen and asking for another glass of cold milk and then seeing if he could exchange it for hot coffee.
Rodney was still waiting to be acknowledged. He crossed his arms. And waited. He cleared his throat and Torren slowly looked up. "Hey, TJ, uh, should you be here alone?" That didn't sound like the adult in control of the situation. Rodney received The Look, in miniature, despite no actual blood relation.
Before returning to his all-consuming project Torren replied very patiently, "I'm not here alone. You're here, Uncle Rodney." It was an odd mix of Teyla's lilting intonation and Sheppard's deadpan delivery. From a four-year-old.
Rodney tried again, addressing his question to the top of TJ's spikey head. "Does anyone else know you're here?" After a closer look at the objects on the table he added, "And do they know what you're doing?" What was the kid doing? Boxes of various sizes, miscellaneous papers, small, rounded scissors, tape, three straws. The kid was coloring the paper with dry-erase markers.
TJ hadn't answered, he only licked his lips and worked harder at ignoring the questions. Was 'uncooperative' a learned trait?
No coffee and no answers; Rodney considered returning to his lab. He persevered and asked, "What are you making?"
"Somethin'."
Colonel Closed-Mouth in training! "What kind of somethin'?"
With exaggerated patience Torren stopped coloring and stared up at him. It was unnerving to see the same look, the same eyebrow lift, the nearly-same unruly hair. "Just somethin'."
Rodney clenched his teeth. Extracting information from the facsimile four-year-old was as frustrating as getting it from the original forty-four-year-old. But Rodney was too curious to let it go, and he was older and wiser, he told himself. "You know, I could be a big help if I knew what you were making..." he slyly suggested. "With my expertise, we could make it perfect."
"It will be perfect. Mama said whatever I make, if I make it with love, it will be perfect," TJ replied, returning to coloring.
"And what does your father say?" Rodney was dying to hear. He picked up a straw and examined it.
"I should give a lady what she wants."
Rodney almost snorted. So, that's all it took. With a child's faith, if he did his best, he couldn't fail.
"A person should always be his best. That's why we're here. To try our hardest to be our best." Torren spoke with authority.
Rodney didn't need a deity with a Master Plan to follow common sense. Ask anyone running a business ~ if people didn't perform at the top of their ability, the company folded. If everyone sat around wasting their potential, then nothing moved forward; entire civilizations stagnated and fell into ruin. If a person didn't continue to do his best, someone else would win the Nobel Prize. Rodney put back the straw and reached for the tape.
Rodney's hand stopped, mid-motion. Jennifer loved Christmas, the spirit, she said, of the hope and promise of possibilities, of how it could be if everyone were at their best. There was something about the season that did bring out the best. Even when he missed the mark with a gift or Jennifer gave him something he couldn't believe she expected him to wear, a look and a giggle and- Rodney glanced around, certain he was blushing.
Rodney sat down with a plop. TJ leaned over and in a child's whisper, loud enough to be heard in every corner of the mess, he explained the importance of the upcoming day, the celebration to recognize when the Old Ones brought a Christmas Tree for the Baby Jesus, who arrived in Santa's sleigh with gifts for everyone who was doing their best. Rodney wasn't really listening.
Do your best. Do it with love. It made perfect sense. The date didn't matter. The gift didn't matter. The reason was there, in any galaxy. He was at his best with people who knew him best and that relationship made all things possible. Possibilities. He had to believe he could make a difference, that they could succeed against the Wraith, or he wouldn't be there. There was hope and promise for mankind...though he wasn't sure how Wraith fit in.
Rodney listened to Torren's instructions for his contribution to the project. A Christmas gift, made with love. He didn't even know what TJ was making, but Rodney knew it would be perfect. And as the genius who was going to orchestrate The Best Christmas Party Ever, Rodney knew he'd soon wheedle complete details out of the half-pint Sheppard.
SGA ~ SGA ~ SGA
"What do you think they are making?"
John Sheppard looked away from the corner of the mess hall and down at his wife and raised an eyebrow. "I don't know, but I don't want to be the judge who determines the winner. Rodney is a very bad loser." *~*