Fic: Situation Normal (A.F.U.) 3/3
Aug. 30th, 2010 01:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
samanthahirrTitle: Situation Normal (A.F.U.)
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Word Count: 22,500 [complete]
Rating: R (violence, language)
Warning/Potential Trigger: attempted sexual assault
Spoilers: through 2.01 The Siege, Part III
Beta Thanks: to the formidable![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cinaea
Part I | Part II | Part III
~
"Four weeks," David grunted under his breath with each punch. "Four fucking weeks. Of training. And where is he."
"Parrish, turn out the lights when you're done," Mueller called.
"Yeah!" he answered with another blow. "Oh, flying to the mainland. With Ford and Sheppard. Not here with the liabilities." Once Mueller was gone he sagged against the gym bag and held on, catching his breath.
Four weeks of training and he could almost outwrestle Chernowski…if the marine only used one arm and didn't put any pressure on his double-splinted finger. But that wasn't good enough for Major Lorne. Oh hell no. He wanted Schmitz and Parrish out-boxing, out-bench-pressing, out-running, and out-wrestling their trainers. Because the alien threats he would someday encounter, during one of his many solitary adventures without backup in the Pegasus Galaxy, would have official U.S. Marine Corps training in boxing, wrestling, marathon-running…. "It's like he's training us to defend ourselves from marines," he panted, pushing off of the bag and wiping his forehead.
And how laughable was that—either of them, him or Schmitz, up against a fully-trained marine? The thought was ludicrous. They wouldn't stand a chance, even with six months of this training crap. And there was no way Schmitz would make it that long without giving up.
David was sick to death of holding Schmitz's hand every day, listening to him whine about how hard it was, how humiliating. It drove him insane to be the one siding with the marines, reassuring him it was for their own good, just a little longer. But by now…four weeks, God…. It killed his soul to have to side with Schmitz, but the man had a point. This had gone on way too long. Two weeks, fine, suck it up. Three weeks? Maybe if Schmitz were really falling behind. But four? Learning moves he'd be too afraid to use against a real opponent? "Dodge at the last moment, sweep the leg, kneel on the throat, poke out the eyes, disarm your attacker." Yeah, only when his attacker was Mueller, with a free-weight for a "weapon" and a trainer's oath not to actually hurt Parrish.
Schmitz was right about that much: this had gone way beyond 'a little basic training for their own good.'
But this last week, Schmitz had started talking about it like it was some kind of conspiracy—the soldiers trying to make the scientists quit. Us vs. Them. Squeezing "us" out to shut down the mission. And Parrish had laughed, because Schmitz was a fool to believe something so grand. It wasn't a citywide conspiracy, no matter what his friends in the lab told him. This was a much narrower grudge.
This was between Parrish and Lorne.
David had figured it out yesterday—this was Lorne's way of punishing him for M3X-474. Lorne blamed him for Lorne's own actions, and he couldn't face Parrish about it. His team leader was keeping David out of his lab, locked in a gym instead of exploring new worlds, for the sole purpose of making David quit the team. That's why the marines were going easier on Schmitz lately. Oh yeah, he'd noticed that. Schmitz got out early, Schmitz's laps were slower, he didn't have to run the two-against-one exercise until he got it right. Just to "earn a lunch break."
Well, David didn't have to take it. He'd be damned if he would quit—give up the opportunity of a lifetime because Lorne couldn't fucking cope with having David on his team anymore? Hell no! If Lorne wasn't coping, then he should be replaced as team leader. And David would have to be the one to make that happen.
He felt a moment of nausea at the thought of doing that, sabotaging somebody's career. But at this point, they couldn't both stay on the team; it was Him vs. Me, and David planned on winning. He would start with Dr. Heightmeyer; the chiefs might not listen to Lorne's victim, but they'd have to listen to the marine's psychiatrist. He'd make her see what she hadn't when she'd met with each of them after M3X-474: Major Lorne wasn't the perfect leader everyone thought.
Parrish wiped his nose and contemplated the punching bag. Even picturing Lorne's face on the leather didn't make it worth swinging again. He was done training.
~
"Thank you for coming by at such short notice, Major," Dr. Heightmeyer greeted him at the door to her office.
Not like she'd given him much choice, with the I'm sure we can work this complaint out—there's no need to take it to the chiefs yet message. "You're keeping some late office hours, Doc," Evan smiled pleasantly.
"When something is important I make time for it," she said, holding his gaze. Like that was supposed to mean something to him. He shrugged and ducked past her into the tiny office.
There weren't any diplomas or certificates on the walls, not like back home. But the chair—yeah, that was familiar in every psychiatrist's room he'd ever seen. An interrogation chair.
He sat down stiffly, keeping his shoulders back, chin up, like a good soldier. He didn't have the clout to go slouching around like Colonel Sheppard.
"Would it surprise you," Heightmeyer began, sitting in the doubtless-more-comfortable chair behind her desk, "to know that the complaint I received came from a member of your Gate Team?"
He'd figured as much. Lorne raised his eyebrows and waited for her to get on with it.
"In his own words, the complainant described your recent actions as 'persecutory. Vengeful. Maliciously keeping the team grounded.'"
Lorne snorted and muttered, "Schmitz, of course."
"What makes you think it was him?" Heightmeyer asked mildly.
"He's the one who can't keep up with training. Parrish is doing fine. Schmitz is the one who's failing."
"You haven't considered Lieutenants Mueller or Chernowski?"
Lorne ignored the probe, unwilling to justify that accusation with an answer. But…it could be. Had Mueller finally figured out that Lorne didn't know what the hell he was doing? Had he finally lost confidence in him?
"You seem to have an antagonistic attitude toward the scientists on your team, Major," she continued.
"No, it's not that," he shifted again. God damn the chair was uncomfortable. "It's just that…I understand soldiers. The doctors are different."
"Hmm, in what way?" Dr. Heightmeyer asked, one eyebrow arched.
She'd asked for it, and Lorne knew this meeting wasn't about pulling punches. "They're less reliable. Less consistent."
"Consistency and reliability," she repeated, not seeming to take offense. "Those are important to you?"
"Of course," he bluffed, not sure where to go with the topic. "Knowing the men under your command…it's vital to the success of a mission. A good leader knows his men. That's why the training has continued so long—to help the team understand each other." It sounded right. He wished he could unfold his hands and cross his fingers, but he kept his posture firm and confident.
"But you haven't been part of the training. Have you?"
Shit. It wasn't a question. "I was…assigned to support Sergeant Bates's squad for a few weeks. We've been clearing out the towers on the West Pier."
"And before that, you spent a week off-world on a negotiation mission with Dr. Weir and Colonel Sheppard's team?"
God, she didn't even need to look at any notes. "That's right."
"And most recently?" she prompted, still in the same mild (accusatory) tone.
"Mapping some Ancient structures on the mainland."
"You've accomplished quite a bit in the last month."
Her tone was congratulatory, but Lorne didn't buy it for a second. "So has my team. They've learned a lot," he insisted.
"Have they learned the basic self-defense you requested in your mission report for M3X-474?"
He hesitated. "To varying degrees…."
"You mentioned that earlier. Did you mean that Dr. Parrish is outperforming Dr. Schmitz?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll rephrase the question. Has Dr. Schmitz completed the minimum of training you recommended?"
Lorne cleared his throat. "Barely."
"But he has?"
"Yes."
"Then I will assume that Dr. Parrish has also completed his training. So why, Major Lorne, is your team still grounded? On your orders?"
Lorne tried to put his dozen reasonable arguments in order in his head. He had to watch out for their safety. He knew the dynamic was still off, they still weren't ready–
But Dr. Heightmeyer wasn't waiting for him. "Why have you added more advanced levels of training?"
Stung, Evan jerked his eyes away from the wall, back to her face. She knew about that? Maybe it really was Mueller. "Because it's a hostile, alien galaxy out there. They need to be able to protect themselves—"
"I thought that was your job, Major. To protect them."
He blinked and stammered the first thing that came to mind, "They can never be too prepared."
"Do you feel unprepared when you're off-world, Major?"
Lorne's stomach flipped, twisting the ever-present knot a little tighter. "I'm not sure what you mean...."
And out it came. His file. His permanent record. She pulled it out of a drawer and laid it, closed, on her desk. Like a Bible, waiting to swear him in.
"This is your first command, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"This responsibility means a lot to you, doesn't it?"
"Yes. It does."
"And you hold yourself responsible for everything that happens to your team. You hold yourself responsible for what happened to Dr. Parrish, don't you?"
He nodded a fraction of an inch.
"Do you feel you've let your team down?"
Lorne choked up inexplicably, but the answer was obvious. "Yes."
"And you're worried now that you can't protect them?"
Maybe. A little. He didn't answer.
"It's perfectly normal to feel insecure in a new position," she reassured him, her expression unexpectedly soft, mothering. And then she opened his file. "Talk to me about your experience when you first came through the Gate. About the invasion."
Evan sighed and slumped down in the chair, tugging at the hair over his forehead.
~
The session left him wrung-out and exhausted: his neck and back muscles ached from the tension; his jaw and fists throbbed from clenching down through most of the conversation; his head pounded from having his brains dissected with a melon baller; and he wanted to sleep for a week. Basically, the way Wraith-victims described the experience of having their vitality sucked out through their chests.
But his stomach didn't have the sour, twisting ache he'd grown accustomed to. And for the first time in weeks, he actually felt…hopeful. Not because Heightmeyer had waved a magic wand and fixed everything for him—if anything, she'd made him aware of just how badly he'd fucked up this past month. He was not looking forward to the apologies he would have to make to his teammates. But he could look forward to finally getting off-world again, instead of dreading it.
The apologies could wait until tomorrow, after he'd slept and spoken with Sheppard about scheduling their next mission. The tough conversations would probably go over better if he brought good news to everyone.
Music echoed up the hallway that led to the science labs, and Lorne walked past it before stopping and turning back. There was one apology in particular he didn't want to make in public. If there was even a chance Schmitz was still awake and working, he'd better take it—get some things aired out in private now, so neither of them would have to go to bed angry….
Lorne shook his head at Heightmeyer's metaphor and tried to muster up some energy as he headed toward the labs.
The astrophysics and engineering labs were empty, but the Beatles music was definitely coming from the biology lab, and when Lorne walked into the room he found his teammate seated at one of the work tables.
"Parrish?"
The botanist stopped humming and looked up from his microscope, eyes widening and then narrowing in an owlish blink. "Major," he said.
Evan deflated against the doorframe, exhaling his pre-apology tension. "What're you doing here? It's almost midnight."
"This is the only time I have for my research," Parrish answered, peering into the lens again. "You know, since the rest of my time is spent in the gym."
Well, it wasn't Schmitz, but he might as well share the good news with Parrish, since he was here. The doctor looked like he could use a little cheering up. "Hey, about that. I've got good news: training's over."
"Is it?" Parrish sounded uninterested.
"Yeah. Try to contain your disappointment."
"So I guess you've had a talk with Dr. Heightmeyer."
"Y—" Lorne froze, the confirmation on his lips. Humiliation swelled under his skin and he forced it back down. "Schmitz has a big mouth," he said, trying to sound amused instead of angry. At least he knew for sure now—no way would Mueller have shared that information with Parrish.
The scientist slid his microscope to the side so he could cross his arms and lean his elbows on the tall counter. "How'd it go?"
Something about Parrish was off, more off than it had been lately; his perpetual irritation with Lorne looked a lot like open hostility tonight. For the first time, Lorne considered the possibility that Schmitz's whining had found an ally in Parrish, and his jaw muscle twitched. "It was great, thanks for asking."
"So. You came here to tell me something?"
He hadn't, but judging by that look on the scientist's face, they had a lot they needed to discuss before he left. "Yeah. Training's over, and I'm requesting another off-world assignment for us first thing tomorrow."
"What?" Parrish's expression changed to one of surprise.
Evan nodded, tried to make his lips smile as he said, "We're going back out there, as soon as Sheppard approves it."
Parrish blinked some more, looking genuinely astonished. "That's it?" he said quietly. "That's all you have to say to me?"
Parrish's whole body was broadcasting 'I am serious about this shit,' so Lorne took a moment to consider the question. "I—" he started, carefully. "I want you to know that I…I still feel terrible about what happened, what I did on M3X-474. And I want to apologize again."
According to Heightmeyer, obtaining forgiveness was something Lorne needed to do in order to let his misplaced guilt go. No one could predict or control the unexpected. He'd done his best on every mission, and that's all Sheppard and Weir expected of him—if they'd thought he was doing a crap job, they would've replaced him already.
The calming effect of Heightmeyer's reassurances faded as he watched Parrish's surprise slide back into a scowl. "You think I give a crap about that?" he demanded. "I'm not an imbecile, in case you hadn't noticed."
"I didn't say you were an—"
"What the hell did you talk to Heightmeyer about?"
"That's none of your business," Lorne snapped without thinking, his anger rising to counter Parrish's aggression.
"Like hell it isn't. If she thinks she can just ignore my complaint, tinker with your head until you're all gung-ho about missions again, and not expect me to go to Dr. McKay and Dr. Weir next, she's—"
"What?" Lorne interrupted. "Your complaint?"
"Yeah, mine. You really think Schmitz has the balls to go up against you?"
"What?"
"After everything you did to me, you think I'm gonna accept a few more missions instead of an apology?"
"I just apologized—"
"Not about that!" Parrish stood up and paced a few steps closer, vibrating with anger. This was a side of the botanist he'd never seen before, and Lorne had no idea how to deal with it. "Fuck M3X-474. Okay? Everything else; you owe me for everything else."
"What the hell are you talking about? What've I done to you?"
"What did you talk with Heightmeyer about?" Parrish asked again. "'Cause it doesn't sound like you two talked about the way you've been trying to force me off the team, or the way you've been blaming me for getting jumped on your watch and making you look bad."
"Woah, what? I'm not trying to get you off the team! Where are you getting this shit?"
"It's obvious! You've made it impossible for me to do my job here—I may as well hop the next Daedalus transport back to Earth so I can get back to some real fieldwork. That's what you want, isn't it?"
"No! I'm sorry about all the training this past month, okay? That's my fault, and I shouldn't've taken it out on you guys. It was nothing personal—"
"Oh, come on! You used me as your justification for it. I think that's plenty fucking personal."
"That wasn't about you, for god's sake! That was about me fucking up my one responsibility: to protect you. Both of you. All of you. That was me hiding. And I'm sorry if that ended up making your life harder—" he cut himself off and took a deep breath. Sarcasm was the last thing this conversation needed, no matter how raw this nerve was for him. He forced himself to rein in his anger and tried again. "I'm sorry," he said, managing a more sincere tone. "But it honestly wasn't about you."
His teammate didn't look convinced.
"I'm not trying to get rid of you, David. For Pete's sake…." Lorne scrubbed at his growing-out buzz cut and sighed.
In the long stretch of uncomfortable glaring that followed, another scientist walked into the lab, whistling along to Yellow Submarine.
Fed up with scientists for the night, Lorne snapped, "Hey, you! Out! Now!"
"Excuse me?" the man asked, turning to look at him in surprise. Recognition and disdain flashed in his eyes, and he stuck his nose up, looking down at Lorne from the lofty heights of his higher education. "I don't recognize your authority to dictate my—"
"Get the hell outta here, Winston!" Parrish snarled. "Top secret meeting; lab's closed."
Winston's head jerked around and his hands flew up. "Fine, geez. You could've just said."
Once Winston was gone, Parrish braced his hands against the back of his swivel chair and finally answered Lorne. "You weren't trying to get rid of me," he repeated, voice dripping sarcasm.
Of all the ridiculous…. "Hell no. Seriously, you're the last person I'd wanna axe. Have you seen Schmittie's coordination?"
That was the wrong thing to say; he could tell by the way Parrish's expression darkened and he started waving his hands. "God, you think you're so funny, but every time—"
"Sorry," Lorne interrupted. "I'm sorry for that. I just meant, you know, you're good. You're good at what you do, and you don't piss me off—usually, and I respect your work. So I'm not trying—"
"Respect? You respect my work? You don't know the meaning of the word respect. I've heard the jokes, okay? I've heard what the marines say about me and Schmitz, how they laugh about our little off-world 'adventures.' And who's giving them their material, huh? Who?"
The flinch was instinctive, his body recoiling from the blow. He hadn't thought….
"After you beat the shit out of me, I asked you for one thing: don't put that part of it in the report. And what did you do? You made sure the whole fucking city knew about it! Respect means you don't go making jokes about attempted rape with your marine buddies. How hard is it to keep your mouth shut? Or to fucking stand up for us once in a while, Major?"
Caught out and ashamed, Lorne tried to figure out how the hell he could've been blind-sided by this after spending an hour and a half with their psychiatrist. Sure, Heightmeyer had used the marriage metaphor, talked about respect in general terms. But if she'd known about this, that this was how he'd fucked up his friendship with David, why the hell hadn't she just said something about it? Shit like this was why soldiers never trusted shrinks, damn it. All they cared about was getting you back into the field, gun in hand, ready, willing, and able to pull the trigger.
"If you wanna start running missions again, if you want this team to fucking stay together, you're gonna have to earn our respect," David announced, steel in his voice. "How the hell can we trust you to have our backs out there when you're laughing at us back home?"
"I never made any jokes about that—that part," he said, voice pitched low so Parrish would pay attention. "No one made jokes about it." If anyone had, Lorne would've shut them up. Certain things could never be funny.
After a long moment, Parrish's eyes dropped, like he was unsure of his argument.
"I'm sorry," Lorne said, and Jesus Christ, how many times could a man say those words in one night? "You're right, I talked plenty about everything else. That was…" he sucked it up and made himself say it—"disrespectful. You're a part of my team, and you deserve better than that."
Parrish looked up at him, wary, and Lorne gritted his teeth at the lack of trust he'd caused.
"You both do," he amended. Because if he really wanted to be an 'effective team leader' as Dr. Heightmeyer put it, he had to do it right, and that probably meant respecting everyone, even the people he didn't like. Besides, he could tell Parrish wasn't going to tolerate anymore jokes about Schmitz, either. "I'll talk to Schmittie tomorrow, apologize to him, too."
"You're really gonna…" Parrish trailed off.
"Yeah, I am. And I'm gonna stop being a dick. Or at least try. Like you said, how hard can it be?" He smiled, but it was an unpleasant thing, the corners of his mouth weighed down by self-disgust.
"Yeah," the scientist agreed faintly, starting to fidget.
Lorne took advantage of the lapse in hostilities to finally get in a little defense. "Just so we're clear, though: I was never trying to force you out. The training, that was…that was my own shit."
Parrish hesitated before giving the barest fraction of a nod.
"Are we clear?" Lorne pressed, because they really needed to get this part right.
"Clear," Parrish said, and he actually looked embarrassed when he said, "So then, um…I guess I'm sorry. For uh…trying to get you fired, maybe."
"Trying to get me fired, maybe?"
"Sort of. Yeah."
It wasn't much of an apology, but it was something. "Alright," Lorne allowed, making a conscious effort to let his resentment slide.
"Alright?"
"I'm gonna talk to the colonel tomorrow about our next mission. And to everyone else, about…everything. That's a promise. And if I'm not holding up my end as team leader, you might try letting me know next time, instead of filing a complaint with Dr. Heightmeyer."
"I…could do that," Parrish said, reluctant.
Frustrated, Lorne sighed, "You're okay with that, right? You still wanna be on the team? 'Cause if you think we can't work together—"
"We'll make it work," Parrish cut him off hastily. "Just get us cleared to go off-world again."
If Lorne was expecting a smile, a hand shake, an agreement to start over, he was shit out of luck. But if he squinted, he could maybe see a hint of Parrish's old excitement showing through the wariness, and that would have to be good enough for now.
Lorne nodded goodnight and turned his back, determined to keep his head high on the long walk back to his quarters. If Parrish was willing to give him another chance, there was still hope for the team, for his first command. With a few successful missions under their belts, maybe things could even get back to normal.
THE END
Author's Note: I love romantic clichés—I love reading and writing them. But sometimes I meet a cliché and just want to subvert it, strip away the wish-fulfillment aspects and treat it like a real-life situation with all its attendant ugliness and the messy fallout. In that spirit, this story was inspired by all of the happy/hot sex pollen fics I've read. I really did enjoy all those stories.
And I'm really sorry about this.
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Word Count: 22,500 [complete]
Rating: R (violence, language)
Warning/Potential Trigger: attempted sexual assault
Spoilers: through 2.01 The Siege, Part III
Beta Thanks: to the formidable
cinaea Part I | Part II | Part III
Lorne wondered how long it would take for Schmitz to begin complaining about blisters. The major had seen Chernowski steal Schmitz's socks from the riverbank and pass them off to Parrish with a conspiratorial grin. They were currently buried in the bottom of Parrish's sample bag, and Lorne had a feeling they wouldn't be "found" until they'd gotten back to Atlantis. Meanwhile, every other look between the two pranksters was a smirk or a wink.
Schmitz jumped down from a small boulder and landed with a squelch in the soft grass. "Of course," he muttered, and lifted his boot out of the fresh, steaming sample.
Lorne bit back a laugh at the scientist's expense and moved ahead to where Parrish was peering through a magnifying glass at some tree bark.
"Do you mind? I need that sunlight," Parrish muttered, irritated as usual.
"Sorry," Lorne immediately took a step to the left. "What are you looking at?"
"Tree bark," Parrish answered shortly. "It's not very interesting. Why don't you go help Schmitz find whatever left his latest sample?"
Lorne stuck his hands in his pockets and shifted on the uneven terrain. "Schmitz is boring," he grinned.
Parrish ignored him. With a sigh, Lorne took the hint and walked away. Things were getting downright weird with Parrish. They'd been friends for a while—Parrish had a mean sense of humor and loved talking about his work—and then suddenly the botanist had shut down. David would hardly speak to Evan anymore, but he was still pals with Chernowski. And that rankled.
"Major, could you come look at this?" Schmitz called. He was looking at his left hand, holding it up to his face. Lorne ignored him, not in the mood to hear Schmitz complain about another bug bite. He climbed up the next steep incline and crouched down next to Mueller.
"Nice view."
Mueller just nodded, apparently dumbstruck at the expanse of forest in front of them. Lorne grinned again and looked back down the hill they'd climbed, checking up on the scientists. Chernowski had Schmitz and Parrish covered, surveying the area and studiously ignoring Schmitz's gestures for him to look at his hand. Lorne's gaze turned back to the forest. "Think we can make it down there in an hour?"
"Without distractions? Sure," Mueller agreed.
"Ha. Like that ever happens. I'll see if I can move them along a little quicker. Be right back."
When he rejoined the rest of his team, Schmitz was worriedly poking at his hand, having been rebuffed by Parrish as well. "Let's hurry it up, people," Lorne called, eager to head down the other side of the hill.
Parrish didn't spare him a glance, but Schmitz was at his side in a heartbeat. "Major, I have a problem," he announced urgently.
"What's the matter," Lorne smiled, "blisters already?" Chernowski started whistling innocently a few yards away.
"Kind of, yes," Schmitz nodded, relieved. "See, look at this."
He stuck his hand in front of the major's face, and Evan leaned back, surprised by his intensity. "Okay, what am I looking at?"
"That spot right there—that's where I got the sap on it, from those vines back a ways."
"Sure. Okay. What's the problem–"
"It's been itching. And it's getting worse," Schmitz's voice was grave.
"Poison ivy? I'm sorry, I don't have any calamine lotion on me right this second. Guess you'll have to suck it up until we're finished. Speaking of, are you finished down here? There's the whole other side of the hill I want to get to–"
"Major," Schmitz snapped, "It's discolored. Turning white. And it's starting to burn. That's not poison ivy, that's serious."
Annoyance flared at being scolded like that, but then he noticed that Schmitz's eyes were a little wild. The man was definitely freaking out.
"Okay. Okay, how serious? What do you need?"
Parrish came out of nowhere, skidding to a halt between them. "Let me see," he demanded, grabbing Schmitz's sleeve. The biologist held his arm out gratefully. "This looks like calcification," David muttered.
"Yes," Schmitz agreed, at the same time as Lorne asked, "How bad is that?"
"Bad," Parrish snapped. "Back by the river? Thirty minutes ago?"
"Yeah. Give me that canteen," Schmitz grabbed at Lorne's hip, snagging the water bottle strap.
Lorne felt his stomach knotting up and pulled out his radio. "Mueller, get down here, we have a situation."
"Wait, that'll just spread it around," Parrish protested, grabbing the bottle away from Schmitz.
"Damn it, I know what I'm doing," Schmitz insisted. "Oh, God it stings."
"What is it?" Lorne asked Parrish.
"A chemical reaction, possibly hydrofluoric acid."
"Acid. From a plant?"
"Fucking alien plants, I hate this job," Schmitz moaned. "Give me the goddamned bottle, Parrish!"
"What do we do?" Evan asked the botanist impatiently.
"If it's hydrofluoric he needs a...a calcium gel, calcium gluconate. Beckett might have some back in Atlantis. Major, he needs it now."
"All right, we're getting back to the gate. Mueller," his lieutenant reached them just in time, "Mueller, carry the bags."
"Hey!" Schmitz yelled, "No! I need water!"
Chernowski handed his canteen to the scientist, despite Parrish's protests.
Schmitz scowled at the bottle and then clenched his burned hand in a fist. "That's not gonna do it," he groaned, changing his mind. "I need a lot more water than we've got. The river we stopped at—"
"That's out of the way," Parrish argued. "The Gate's that way, just a few miles."
"Shut up!" Schmitz screamed, breaking into a full tantrum. "I've spent the last eight years in a lab, okay? Not crawling around in jungles or whatever the hell you've been doing. I think I'm the one who knows the proper procedures for handling a chemical burn. Now, I need at least 15 minutes of water flow to dilute this before the nerves completely calcify."
Lorne's mouth dropped and he looked at Parrish, unsure what to do. After a brief stare-down with his fellow scientist, Parrish finally let out a breath and nodded, and Lorne threw the canteen aside, their course clear. "All right, the river. Let's go," he ordered and they started running.
Schmitz jumped down from a small boulder and landed with a squelch in the soft grass. "Of course," he muttered, and lifted his boot out of the fresh, steaming sample.
Lorne bit back a laugh at the scientist's expense and moved ahead to where Parrish was peering through a magnifying glass at some tree bark.
"Do you mind? I need that sunlight," Parrish muttered, irritated as usual.
"Sorry," Lorne immediately took a step to the left. "What are you looking at?"
"Tree bark," Parrish answered shortly. "It's not very interesting. Why don't you go help Schmitz find whatever left his latest sample?"
Lorne stuck his hands in his pockets and shifted on the uneven terrain. "Schmitz is boring," he grinned.
Parrish ignored him. With a sigh, Lorne took the hint and walked away. Things were getting downright weird with Parrish. They'd been friends for a while—Parrish had a mean sense of humor and loved talking about his work—and then suddenly the botanist had shut down. David would hardly speak to Evan anymore, but he was still pals with Chernowski. And that rankled.
"Major, could you come look at this?" Schmitz called. He was looking at his left hand, holding it up to his face. Lorne ignored him, not in the mood to hear Schmitz complain about another bug bite. He climbed up the next steep incline and crouched down next to Mueller.
"Nice view."
Mueller just nodded, apparently dumbstruck at the expanse of forest in front of them. Lorne grinned again and looked back down the hill they'd climbed, checking up on the scientists. Chernowski had Schmitz and Parrish covered, surveying the area and studiously ignoring Schmitz's gestures for him to look at his hand. Lorne's gaze turned back to the forest. "Think we can make it down there in an hour?"
"Without distractions? Sure," Mueller agreed.
"Ha. Like that ever happens. I'll see if I can move them along a little quicker. Be right back."
When he rejoined the rest of his team, Schmitz was worriedly poking at his hand, having been rebuffed by Parrish as well. "Let's hurry it up, people," Lorne called, eager to head down the other side of the hill.
Parrish didn't spare him a glance, but Schmitz was at his side in a heartbeat. "Major, I have a problem," he announced urgently.
"What's the matter," Lorne smiled, "blisters already?" Chernowski started whistling innocently a few yards away.
"Kind of, yes," Schmitz nodded, relieved. "See, look at this."
He stuck his hand in front of the major's face, and Evan leaned back, surprised by his intensity. "Okay, what am I looking at?"
"That spot right there—that's where I got the sap on it, from those vines back a ways."
"Sure. Okay. What's the problem–"
"It's been itching. And it's getting worse," Schmitz's voice was grave.
"Poison ivy? I'm sorry, I don't have any calamine lotion on me right this second. Guess you'll have to suck it up until we're finished. Speaking of, are you finished down here? There's the whole other side of the hill I want to get to–"
"Major," Schmitz snapped, "It's discolored. Turning white. And it's starting to burn. That's not poison ivy, that's serious."
Annoyance flared at being scolded like that, but then he noticed that Schmitz's eyes were a little wild. The man was definitely freaking out.
"Okay. Okay, how serious? What do you need?"
Parrish came out of nowhere, skidding to a halt between them. "Let me see," he demanded, grabbing Schmitz's sleeve. The biologist held his arm out gratefully. "This looks like calcification," David muttered.
"Yes," Schmitz agreed, at the same time as Lorne asked, "How bad is that?"
"Bad," Parrish snapped. "Back by the river? Thirty minutes ago?"
"Yeah. Give me that canteen," Schmitz grabbed at Lorne's hip, snagging the water bottle strap.
Lorne felt his stomach knotting up and pulled out his radio. "Mueller, get down here, we have a situation."
"Wait, that'll just spread it around," Parrish protested, grabbing the bottle away from Schmitz.
"Damn it, I know what I'm doing," Schmitz insisted. "Oh, God it stings."
"What is it?" Lorne asked Parrish.
"A chemical reaction, possibly hydrofluoric acid."
"Acid. From a plant?"
"Fucking alien plants, I hate this job," Schmitz moaned. "Give me the goddamned bottle, Parrish!"
"What do we do?" Evan asked the botanist impatiently.
"If it's hydrofluoric he needs a...a calcium gel, calcium gluconate. Beckett might have some back in Atlantis. Major, he needs it now."
"All right, we're getting back to the gate. Mueller," his lieutenant reached them just in time, "Mueller, carry the bags."
"Hey!" Schmitz yelled, "No! I need water!"
Chernowski handed his canteen to the scientist, despite Parrish's protests.
Schmitz scowled at the bottle and then clenched his burned hand in a fist. "That's not gonna do it," he groaned, changing his mind. "I need a lot more water than we've got. The river we stopped at—"
"That's out of the way," Parrish argued. "The Gate's that way, just a few miles."
"Shut up!" Schmitz screamed, breaking into a full tantrum. "I've spent the last eight years in a lab, okay? Not crawling around in jungles or whatever the hell you've been doing. I think I'm the one who knows the proper procedures for handling a chemical burn. Now, I need at least 15 minutes of water flow to dilute this before the nerves completely calcify."
Lorne's mouth dropped and he looked at Parrish, unsure what to do. After a brief stare-down with his fellow scientist, Parrish finally let out a breath and nodded, and Lorne threw the canteen aside, their course clear. "All right, the river. Let's go," he ordered and they started running.
~
"Four weeks," David grunted under his breath with each punch. "Four fucking weeks. Of training. And where is he."
"Parrish, turn out the lights when you're done," Mueller called.
"Yeah!" he answered with another blow. "Oh, flying to the mainland. With Ford and Sheppard. Not here with the liabilities." Once Mueller was gone he sagged against the gym bag and held on, catching his breath.
Four weeks of training and he could almost outwrestle Chernowski…if the marine only used one arm and didn't put any pressure on his double-splinted finger. But that wasn't good enough for Major Lorne. Oh hell no. He wanted Schmitz and Parrish out-boxing, out-bench-pressing, out-running, and out-wrestling their trainers. Because the alien threats he would someday encounter, during one of his many solitary adventures without backup in the Pegasus Galaxy, would have official U.S. Marine Corps training in boxing, wrestling, marathon-running…. "It's like he's training us to defend ourselves from marines," he panted, pushing off of the bag and wiping his forehead.
And how laughable was that—either of them, him or Schmitz, up against a fully-trained marine? The thought was ludicrous. They wouldn't stand a chance, even with six months of this training crap. And there was no way Schmitz would make it that long without giving up.
David was sick to death of holding Schmitz's hand every day, listening to him whine about how hard it was, how humiliating. It drove him insane to be the one siding with the marines, reassuring him it was for their own good, just a little longer. But by now…four weeks, God…. It killed his soul to have to side with Schmitz, but the man had a point. This had gone on way too long. Two weeks, fine, suck it up. Three weeks? Maybe if Schmitz were really falling behind. But four? Learning moves he'd be too afraid to use against a real opponent? "Dodge at the last moment, sweep the leg, kneel on the throat, poke out the eyes, disarm your attacker." Yeah, only when his attacker was Mueller, with a free-weight for a "weapon" and a trainer's oath not to actually hurt Parrish.
Schmitz was right about that much: this had gone way beyond 'a little basic training for their own good.'
But this last week, Schmitz had started talking about it like it was some kind of conspiracy—the soldiers trying to make the scientists quit. Us vs. Them. Squeezing "us" out to shut down the mission. And Parrish had laughed, because Schmitz was a fool to believe something so grand. It wasn't a citywide conspiracy, no matter what his friends in the lab told him. This was a much narrower grudge.
This was between Parrish and Lorne.
David had figured it out yesterday—this was Lorne's way of punishing him for M3X-474. Lorne blamed him for Lorne's own actions, and he couldn't face Parrish about it. His team leader was keeping David out of his lab, locked in a gym instead of exploring new worlds, for the sole purpose of making David quit the team. That's why the marines were going easier on Schmitz lately. Oh yeah, he'd noticed that. Schmitz got out early, Schmitz's laps were slower, he didn't have to run the two-against-one exercise until he got it right. Just to "earn a lunch break."
Well, David didn't have to take it. He'd be damned if he would quit—give up the opportunity of a lifetime because Lorne couldn't fucking cope with having David on his team anymore? Hell no! If Lorne wasn't coping, then he should be replaced as team leader. And David would have to be the one to make that happen.
He felt a moment of nausea at the thought of doing that, sabotaging somebody's career. But at this point, they couldn't both stay on the team; it was Him vs. Me, and David planned on winning. He would start with Dr. Heightmeyer; the chiefs might not listen to Lorne's victim, but they'd have to listen to the marine's psychiatrist. He'd make her see what she hadn't when she'd met with each of them after M3X-474: Major Lorne wasn't the perfect leader everyone thought.
Parrish wiped his nose and contemplated the punching bag. Even picturing Lorne's face on the leather didn't make it worth swinging again. He was done training.
~
"Thank you for coming by at such short notice, Major," Dr. Heightmeyer greeted him at the door to her office.
Not like she'd given him much choice, with the I'm sure we can work this complaint out—there's no need to take it to the chiefs yet message. "You're keeping some late office hours, Doc," Evan smiled pleasantly.
"When something is important I make time for it," she said, holding his gaze. Like that was supposed to mean something to him. He shrugged and ducked past her into the tiny office.
There weren't any diplomas or certificates on the walls, not like back home. But the chair—yeah, that was familiar in every psychiatrist's room he'd ever seen. An interrogation chair.
He sat down stiffly, keeping his shoulders back, chin up, like a good soldier. He didn't have the clout to go slouching around like Colonel Sheppard.
"Would it surprise you," Heightmeyer began, sitting in the doubtless-more-comfortable chair behind her desk, "to know that the complaint I received came from a member of your Gate Team?"
He'd figured as much. Lorne raised his eyebrows and waited for her to get on with it.
"In his own words, the complainant described your recent actions as 'persecutory. Vengeful. Maliciously keeping the team grounded.'"
Lorne snorted and muttered, "Schmitz, of course."
"What makes you think it was him?" Heightmeyer asked mildly.
"He's the one who can't keep up with training. Parrish is doing fine. Schmitz is the one who's failing."
"You haven't considered Lieutenants Mueller or Chernowski?"
Lorne ignored the probe, unwilling to justify that accusation with an answer. But…it could be. Had Mueller finally figured out that Lorne didn't know what the hell he was doing? Had he finally lost confidence in him?
"You seem to have an antagonistic attitude toward the scientists on your team, Major," she continued.
"No, it's not that," he shifted again. God damn the chair was uncomfortable. "It's just that…I understand soldiers. The doctors are different."
"Hmm, in what way?" Dr. Heightmeyer asked, one eyebrow arched.
She'd asked for it, and Lorne knew this meeting wasn't about pulling punches. "They're less reliable. Less consistent."
"Consistency and reliability," she repeated, not seeming to take offense. "Those are important to you?"
"Of course," he bluffed, not sure where to go with the topic. "Knowing the men under your command…it's vital to the success of a mission. A good leader knows his men. That's why the training has continued so long—to help the team understand each other." It sounded right. He wished he could unfold his hands and cross his fingers, but he kept his posture firm and confident.
"But you haven't been part of the training. Have you?"
Shit. It wasn't a question. "I was…assigned to support Sergeant Bates's squad for a few weeks. We've been clearing out the towers on the West Pier."
"And before that, you spent a week off-world on a negotiation mission with Dr. Weir and Colonel Sheppard's team?"
God, she didn't even need to look at any notes. "That's right."
"And most recently?" she prompted, still in the same mild (accusatory) tone.
"Mapping some Ancient structures on the mainland."
"You've accomplished quite a bit in the last month."
Her tone was congratulatory, but Lorne didn't buy it for a second. "So has my team. They've learned a lot," he insisted.
"Have they learned the basic self-defense you requested in your mission report for M3X-474?"
He hesitated. "To varying degrees…."
"You mentioned that earlier. Did you mean that Dr. Parrish is outperforming Dr. Schmitz?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll rephrase the question. Has Dr. Schmitz completed the minimum of training you recommended?"
Lorne cleared his throat. "Barely."
"But he has?"
"Yes."
"Then I will assume that Dr. Parrish has also completed his training. So why, Major Lorne, is your team still grounded? On your orders?"
Lorne tried to put his dozen reasonable arguments in order in his head. He had to watch out for their safety. He knew the dynamic was still off, they still weren't ready–
But Dr. Heightmeyer wasn't waiting for him. "Why have you added more advanced levels of training?"
Stung, Evan jerked his eyes away from the wall, back to her face. She knew about that? Maybe it really was Mueller. "Because it's a hostile, alien galaxy out there. They need to be able to protect themselves—"
"I thought that was your job, Major. To protect them."
He blinked and stammered the first thing that came to mind, "They can never be too prepared."
"Do you feel unprepared when you're off-world, Major?"
Lorne's stomach flipped, twisting the ever-present knot a little tighter. "I'm not sure what you mean...."
And out it came. His file. His permanent record. She pulled it out of a drawer and laid it, closed, on her desk. Like a Bible, waiting to swear him in.
"This is your first command, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"This responsibility means a lot to you, doesn't it?"
"Yes. It does."
"And you hold yourself responsible for everything that happens to your team. You hold yourself responsible for what happened to Dr. Parrish, don't you?"
He nodded a fraction of an inch.
"Do you feel you've let your team down?"
Lorne choked up inexplicably, but the answer was obvious. "Yes."
"And you're worried now that you can't protect them?"
Maybe. A little. He didn't answer.
"It's perfectly normal to feel insecure in a new position," she reassured him, her expression unexpectedly soft, mothering. And then she opened his file. "Talk to me about your experience when you first came through the Gate. About the invasion."
Evan sighed and slumped down in the chair, tugging at the hair over his forehead.
~
The session left him wrung-out and exhausted: his neck and back muscles ached from the tension; his jaw and fists throbbed from clenching down through most of the conversation; his head pounded from having his brains dissected with a melon baller; and he wanted to sleep for a week. Basically, the way Wraith-victims described the experience of having their vitality sucked out through their chests.
But his stomach didn't have the sour, twisting ache he'd grown accustomed to. And for the first time in weeks, he actually felt…hopeful. Not because Heightmeyer had waved a magic wand and fixed everything for him—if anything, she'd made him aware of just how badly he'd fucked up this past month. He was not looking forward to the apologies he would have to make to his teammates. But he could look forward to finally getting off-world again, instead of dreading it.
The apologies could wait until tomorrow, after he'd slept and spoken with Sheppard about scheduling their next mission. The tough conversations would probably go over better if he brought good news to everyone.
Music echoed up the hallway that led to the science labs, and Lorne walked past it before stopping and turning back. There was one apology in particular he didn't want to make in public. If there was even a chance Schmitz was still awake and working, he'd better take it—get some things aired out in private now, so neither of them would have to go to bed angry….
Lorne shook his head at Heightmeyer's metaphor and tried to muster up some energy as he headed toward the labs.
The astrophysics and engineering labs were empty, but the Beatles music was definitely coming from the biology lab, and when Lorne walked into the room he found his teammate seated at one of the work tables.
"Parrish?"
The botanist stopped humming and looked up from his microscope, eyes widening and then narrowing in an owlish blink. "Major," he said.
Evan deflated against the doorframe, exhaling his pre-apology tension. "What're you doing here? It's almost midnight."
"This is the only time I have for my research," Parrish answered, peering into the lens again. "You know, since the rest of my time is spent in the gym."
Well, it wasn't Schmitz, but he might as well share the good news with Parrish, since he was here. The doctor looked like he could use a little cheering up. "Hey, about that. I've got good news: training's over."
"Is it?" Parrish sounded uninterested.
"Yeah. Try to contain your disappointment."
"So I guess you've had a talk with Dr. Heightmeyer."
"Y—" Lorne froze, the confirmation on his lips. Humiliation swelled under his skin and he forced it back down. "Schmitz has a big mouth," he said, trying to sound amused instead of angry. At least he knew for sure now—no way would Mueller have shared that information with Parrish.
The scientist slid his microscope to the side so he could cross his arms and lean his elbows on the tall counter. "How'd it go?"
Something about Parrish was off, more off than it had been lately; his perpetual irritation with Lorne looked a lot like open hostility tonight. For the first time, Lorne considered the possibility that Schmitz's whining had found an ally in Parrish, and his jaw muscle twitched. "It was great, thanks for asking."
"So. You came here to tell me something?"
He hadn't, but judging by that look on the scientist's face, they had a lot they needed to discuss before he left. "Yeah. Training's over, and I'm requesting another off-world assignment for us first thing tomorrow."
"What?" Parrish's expression changed to one of surprise.
Evan nodded, tried to make his lips smile as he said, "We're going back out there, as soon as Sheppard approves it."
Parrish blinked some more, looking genuinely astonished. "That's it?" he said quietly. "That's all you have to say to me?"
Parrish's whole body was broadcasting 'I am serious about this shit,' so Lorne took a moment to consider the question. "I—" he started, carefully. "I want you to know that I…I still feel terrible about what happened, what I did on M3X-474. And I want to apologize again."
According to Heightmeyer, obtaining forgiveness was something Lorne needed to do in order to let his misplaced guilt go. No one could predict or control the unexpected. He'd done his best on every mission, and that's all Sheppard and Weir expected of him—if they'd thought he was doing a crap job, they would've replaced him already.
The calming effect of Heightmeyer's reassurances faded as he watched Parrish's surprise slide back into a scowl. "You think I give a crap about that?" he demanded. "I'm not an imbecile, in case you hadn't noticed."
"I didn't say you were an—"
"What the hell did you talk to Heightmeyer about?"
"That's none of your business," Lorne snapped without thinking, his anger rising to counter Parrish's aggression.
"Like hell it isn't. If she thinks she can just ignore my complaint, tinker with your head until you're all gung-ho about missions again, and not expect me to go to Dr. McKay and Dr. Weir next, she's—"
"What?" Lorne interrupted. "Your complaint?"
"Yeah, mine. You really think Schmitz has the balls to go up against you?"
"What?"
"After everything you did to me, you think I'm gonna accept a few more missions instead of an apology?"
"I just apologized—"
"Not about that!" Parrish stood up and paced a few steps closer, vibrating with anger. This was a side of the botanist he'd never seen before, and Lorne had no idea how to deal with it. "Fuck M3X-474. Okay? Everything else; you owe me for everything else."
"What the hell are you talking about? What've I done to you?"
"What did you talk with Heightmeyer about?" Parrish asked again. "'Cause it doesn't sound like you two talked about the way you've been trying to force me off the team, or the way you've been blaming me for getting jumped on your watch and making you look bad."
"Woah, what? I'm not trying to get you off the team! Where are you getting this shit?"
"It's obvious! You've made it impossible for me to do my job here—I may as well hop the next Daedalus transport back to Earth so I can get back to some real fieldwork. That's what you want, isn't it?"
"No! I'm sorry about all the training this past month, okay? That's my fault, and I shouldn't've taken it out on you guys. It was nothing personal—"
"Oh, come on! You used me as your justification for it. I think that's plenty fucking personal."
"That wasn't about you, for god's sake! That was about me fucking up my one responsibility: to protect you. Both of you. All of you. That was me hiding. And I'm sorry if that ended up making your life harder—" he cut himself off and took a deep breath. Sarcasm was the last thing this conversation needed, no matter how raw this nerve was for him. He forced himself to rein in his anger and tried again. "I'm sorry," he said, managing a more sincere tone. "But it honestly wasn't about you."
His teammate didn't look convinced.
"I'm not trying to get rid of you, David. For Pete's sake…." Lorne scrubbed at his growing-out buzz cut and sighed.
In the long stretch of uncomfortable glaring that followed, another scientist walked into the lab, whistling along to Yellow Submarine.
Fed up with scientists for the night, Lorne snapped, "Hey, you! Out! Now!"
"Excuse me?" the man asked, turning to look at him in surprise. Recognition and disdain flashed in his eyes, and he stuck his nose up, looking down at Lorne from the lofty heights of his higher education. "I don't recognize your authority to dictate my—"
"Get the hell outta here, Winston!" Parrish snarled. "Top secret meeting; lab's closed."
Winston's head jerked around and his hands flew up. "Fine, geez. You could've just said."
Once Winston was gone, Parrish braced his hands against the back of his swivel chair and finally answered Lorne. "You weren't trying to get rid of me," he repeated, voice dripping sarcasm.
Of all the ridiculous…. "Hell no. Seriously, you're the last person I'd wanna axe. Have you seen Schmittie's coordination?"
That was the wrong thing to say; he could tell by the way Parrish's expression darkened and he started waving his hands. "God, you think you're so funny, but every time—"
"Sorry," Lorne interrupted. "I'm sorry for that. I just meant, you know, you're good. You're good at what you do, and you don't piss me off—usually, and I respect your work. So I'm not trying—"
"Respect? You respect my work? You don't know the meaning of the word respect. I've heard the jokes, okay? I've heard what the marines say about me and Schmitz, how they laugh about our little off-world 'adventures.' And who's giving them their material, huh? Who?"
The flinch was instinctive, his body recoiling from the blow. He hadn't thought….
"After you beat the shit out of me, I asked you for one thing: don't put that part of it in the report. And what did you do? You made sure the whole fucking city knew about it! Respect means you don't go making jokes about attempted rape with your marine buddies. How hard is it to keep your mouth shut? Or to fucking stand up for us once in a while, Major?"
Caught out and ashamed, Lorne tried to figure out how the hell he could've been blind-sided by this after spending an hour and a half with their psychiatrist. Sure, Heightmeyer had used the marriage metaphor, talked about respect in general terms. But if she'd known about this, that this was how he'd fucked up his friendship with David, why the hell hadn't she just said something about it? Shit like this was why soldiers never trusted shrinks, damn it. All they cared about was getting you back into the field, gun in hand, ready, willing, and able to pull the trigger.
"If you wanna start running missions again, if you want this team to fucking stay together, you're gonna have to earn our respect," David announced, steel in his voice. "How the hell can we trust you to have our backs out there when you're laughing at us back home?"
"I never made any jokes about that—that part," he said, voice pitched low so Parrish would pay attention. "No one made jokes about it." If anyone had, Lorne would've shut them up. Certain things could never be funny.
After a long moment, Parrish's eyes dropped, like he was unsure of his argument.
"I'm sorry," Lorne said, and Jesus Christ, how many times could a man say those words in one night? "You're right, I talked plenty about everything else. That was…" he sucked it up and made himself say it—"disrespectful. You're a part of my team, and you deserve better than that."
Parrish looked up at him, wary, and Lorne gritted his teeth at the lack of trust he'd caused.
"You both do," he amended. Because if he really wanted to be an 'effective team leader' as Dr. Heightmeyer put it, he had to do it right, and that probably meant respecting everyone, even the people he didn't like. Besides, he could tell Parrish wasn't going to tolerate anymore jokes about Schmitz, either. "I'll talk to Schmittie tomorrow, apologize to him, too."
"You're really gonna…" Parrish trailed off.
"Yeah, I am. And I'm gonna stop being a dick. Or at least try. Like you said, how hard can it be?" He smiled, but it was an unpleasant thing, the corners of his mouth weighed down by self-disgust.
"Yeah," the scientist agreed faintly, starting to fidget.
Lorne took advantage of the lapse in hostilities to finally get in a little defense. "Just so we're clear, though: I was never trying to force you out. The training, that was…that was my own shit."
Parrish hesitated before giving the barest fraction of a nod.
"Are we clear?" Lorne pressed, because they really needed to get this part right.
"Clear," Parrish said, and he actually looked embarrassed when he said, "So then, um…I guess I'm sorry. For uh…trying to get you fired, maybe."
"Trying to get me fired, maybe?"
"Sort of. Yeah."
It wasn't much of an apology, but it was something. "Alright," Lorne allowed, making a conscious effort to let his resentment slide.
"Alright?"
"I'm gonna talk to the colonel tomorrow about our next mission. And to everyone else, about…everything. That's a promise. And if I'm not holding up my end as team leader, you might try letting me know next time, instead of filing a complaint with Dr. Heightmeyer."
"I…could do that," Parrish said, reluctant.
Frustrated, Lorne sighed, "You're okay with that, right? You still wanna be on the team? 'Cause if you think we can't work together—"
"We'll make it work," Parrish cut him off hastily. "Just get us cleared to go off-world again."
If Lorne was expecting a smile, a hand shake, an agreement to start over, he was shit out of luck. But if he squinted, he could maybe see a hint of Parrish's old excitement showing through the wariness, and that would have to be good enough for now.
Lorne nodded goodnight and turned his back, determined to keep his head high on the long walk back to his quarters. If Parrish was willing to give him another chance, there was still hope for the team, for his first command. With a few successful missions under their belts, maybe things could even get back to normal.
THE END
Author's Note: I love romantic clichés—I love reading and writing them. But sometimes I meet a cliché and just want to subvert it, strip away the wish-fulfillment aspects and treat it like a real-life situation with all its attendant ugliness and the messy fallout. In that spirit, this story was inspired by all of the happy/hot sex pollen fics I've read. I really did enjoy all those stories.
And I'm really sorry about this.