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1 –
The thing about Parrish that Evan always carefully forgets is that he's so damn cheerful. Cheerful, and smiling, and enthusiastic, and Evan can forget it for days. Sometimes for weeks even, when it's busy, because it's not like they're exactly taking up the same spaces in the sprawling city. And it means every time he sees that cheerfulness again—
"Hello, Major! Are you escorting the botany survey today?"
—it hits him like a ton of bricks.
Nodding, Evan looks down to adjust his tac vest, even though it doesn't need to be adjusted. He does it anyway, and pats his pockets to make sure they're full of the day's necessities. Snacks, sunscreen, extra ammo, and because this is the Pegasus Galaxy and he's escorting a bunch of scientists, enough C4 to level a medium-sized building. Or two. "Yep," he says when he's finished his unnecessary mental inventory. "Me and Cadman over here."
"Well," Parrish says, beaming at him in that focussed, animated way he has, "that's great! Let's hope we don't find any dead Wraith this time! Or something worse!" And with that he's walking back to his colleagues, already talking about samples and priorities and whatever the hell else it is that gets botanists hot and bothered.
Evan closes his eyes and sighs as quietly as he can. Because that's the other thing about Parrish, something that he can't quite forget.
"Holy shit, sir," Cadman says. "Did Parrish just basically guarantee we'd find at least one dead Wraith today?"
"Or worse," he mutters, opening his eyes. He squares his shoulders, radios Ronon, asks what he's up to today, and invites him along for the survey. Then he turns to Cadman and asks, "How much C4 did you bring?"
They do find a dead Wraith drone, but it's one body, long dead, just bones and face plate along with bits of armour and weaponry. Nothing to worry about, unless you wonder about how it might have died, and if those marks in the face plate are puncture wounds.
Evan doesn't think about the specific possibilities too much. Until, fifteen minutes later, when he has to.
"At least it's dead," Evan says, looking down at the…creature. It has fangs. Lots of fangs. And claws. So many claws. So many claws on so many limbs that just seem wildly improbable and impractical. And by this point, Evan has seen more improbable and impractical things than he ever could have imagined.
"Yep," Ronon says, eyeing their perimeter.
Cadman's looking up, sweeping the treetops, though Evan doubts this thing could climb trees. Though maybe that's what all the claws and limbs are for.
"Do you think," Parrish asks, looking down at the carcass, "there are more? Also, I hope we don't run into the thing that killed this!"
Evan resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, although Cadman mutters, "Parrish, what the fuck," while keeping her eyes on the trees.
"We should head back to the gate," he says, because they really, really should. He needs more people if they're going to survey a planet with creatures that are large, multi-limbed, fanged, and clawed.
There's a collective sigh of disappointment – or maybe that's relief, Evan can't quite tell – and they're just about to start walking away when Parrish crouches by the carcass, pokes it experimentally with a finger, and then looks up, grinning.
The grin is blinding.
Evan looks away, briefly glancing up at the trees.
"Wait. I'm not an expert on circulatory systems—"
"Oh, I am! Well, it's a hobby," Dr. Bonner says, stepping forward.
"—but Dr. Bonner might have some thoughts, and also, I think this creature is not precisely an animal, because look at this—"
And Parrish is bending closer, too close, because the thing looks dead, but it might not be. "Parrish, Bonner, step back," Evan barks.
Parrish stands and steps back, still talking, and Bonner is talking too, and there are words like plant-animal hybrid, and symbiosis, and evolutionary convergence followed by a loud crack.
Parrish is holding up one of the claws, snapped off from a limb, and he's grinning wildly now. "This is clearly some kind of quasi-petrified state and is not nearly as sharp as it looks, it's quite rounded at the tip which suggests some kind of predatory mimicry—"
And that's when it happens.
"Ahhh, fuck," Cadman says, and she and Ronon start firing at the thing that's dropped down from the trees.
Evan would bet good money that this thing isn't mimicking a predator at all.
"Well," Parrish says, after they've all made it back to Atlantis, "that was quite a find!"
Sure, he's huffing a little bit, and his cheeks are flushed with the exertion of his flat-out run back to the gate, and yeah, his jacket's torn and there's a shallow gash along one of his arms, but he looks…exhilarated. Happy. Almost eager.
"And look," he adds, holding up one hand. He's still holding the snapped-off claw. "Souvenir!"
Evan frowns.
Parrish's expression turns serious. "Yes, of course, you're right, Major, it's a biological sample and I definitely will treat it as such, and when Dr. Bonner and I have analysed it, we'll be sure to send the report your way."
"Uh. Great. Thanks."
Grinning again, Parrish nods. "Oh, my pleasure. Maybe I'll even deliver it myself! Thanks for the escort, Major, Lieutenant, Specialist."
And then he's off, walking briskly down the hallway, chatting with Dr. Bonner, waving at everyone who passes him, and generally just being way too cheerful for someone who narrowly avoided being eaten by something on an alien planet.
"Do you ever wonder if there's something fundamentally wrong with some of the scientists?" Cadman asks quietly.
Evan doesn't wonder about it. He knows it.
Beside him, Ronon snorts. "At least he can run."
Cadman nods. "He has a nice set of shoulders, too."
"And," Ronon nods down at the carcass he and Evan are still dragging, "he led us to this. 's been a while since we had fresh meat around here."
Evan looks doubtfully at the thing. The predator thing.
"Trust me. It'll be delicious. I can tell."
Evan's going to have reserve judgment on that.
Though he will agree – privately – that Parrish has a great set of shoulders.
2 –
"Oh, Major! I just wanted to update you," Parrish says, as he strides into Evan's office holding a datapad. "The dead creature we found is probably best understood as a plant-animal hybrid, and that's a first, the botanists at the SGC will be absolutely ecstatic, and honestly? Quite jealous."
There's that smile again.
Evan's always been good at schooling his expression, at keeping a bland and serious countenance. And he's never regretted that. Not once. Including now. "That sounds...fascinating, Doctor."
"It really is! In fact," setting the datapad down on Evan's desk, Parrish slides into a chair and leans forward, elbows on his knees, "it honestly has Life Sciences abuzz, though not, of course, the physical scientists, but they are truly lacking in imagination, and anyway—"
He's still talking ten minutes later, and Evan wants to follow what he's talking about, he really does, but he's distracted by the grin, the way Parrish's mouth and hands move while he's talking, and the slightly askew neckline of his shirt.
Evan knows he's fucked. He's known it for a long time. He's just really, really good at ignoring it most days.
And he knows he's even more fucked when Parrish abruptly stands, says, "Well, Major, I really shouldn't keep you, I'm sure you're enjoying catching up on everything on this surprisingly quiet day," and walks out of the room with a little wave.
Shit. Fuck. Shit.
He's already half-way to the door, about to call Sheppard when he hears, "Lorne, the gateroom—" followed by the sound of distant gunshots coming through the comms.
He runs.
"It's a coincidence," Cadman says, her voice low. There's blood streaked across her cheek, but Evan's reasonably sure it isn't hers, and even if it is, there's not much of it. "It just has to be bad timing."
Evan grunts and looks around the corner. The hallway is still clear, if a little smoky. He clicks his radio three times.
"Can't carry bad luck in a body," Ronon says. "Superstition isn't worth the effort."
"Did he really say 'on this surprisingly quiet day'?" Cadman shifts impatiently.
Evan nods, waiting. "He did."
"Bad timing," Cadman says, though she doesn't sound convinced. "That's all. It must be."
Evan's radio clicks four times, and that's the signal they've been waiting for. "Go."
And they're moving down the hallway.
Hours later, crisis averted, he runs into Parrish outside the botany labs sector. And if Evan is in that area, it's only because he's doing a final sweep, making sure they haven't missed anything or anyone.
"Major," Parrish says, and for once, he isn't grinning. He looks a little tired, though casually pleased. "That was quite the incursion. But don't worry! We're fine down here, and Dr. Brown and I managed to keep our botanical samples safe, and also, there's only a little blood in Lab One from where I smashed a pot over the one intruder's head."
Evan carefully relaxes his jaw. "Only a little blood, huh?"
Parrish smiles as he rocks back on his heels. "Just a little. He was a rather heavy bleeder. But it should be a quiet evening, right? Would you like to grab a bite to eat? I'm sure you must be hungry, and what else could happen in one day?"
Evan's jaw locks right back up and he barely resists the urge to cover Parrish's mouth with his hand. "Parrish, maybe you should—"
There's a sound behind him, something just a little off, and he's turning before he's thinking about it, gun raised, and watching the guy – dark leather and scars and unfamiliar weapons – hit the floor, blood blooming out underneath him.
"Oh, wow," Parrish murmurs. "Gosh."
Evan grunts, turns, shoves Parrish inside the nearest door, says, "Lock yourself in there for now, Doc," and radios for back up.
It never hurts to be cautious.
3 –
"No, no," Parrish says, leaning back from the table.
It's a nice table, long and well-worn, good craftsmanship. It's sturdy. Evan likes it.
"I'm quite sure there's nothing hallucinogenic in the food. That's rare, Major, people think about things like ergot poisoning and assume that's a commonplace situation, but it absolutely isn't. And do you know how many mushrooms are actually hallucinogenic? Very few!"
Evan nods, and wonders how they got the perfect blend of colours swirling in the wood of the table. It's mesmerizing. He's not even sure he knows the names of some of the colours.
"And what would be the odds? That I'd make an off-hand comment to these kind, kind, generous people and it would turn out to be true?"
"Mmmm." Evan maybe has thoughts about that, except he can't look away from the colours. "Beryllow," he says, almost tasting the word, a burst of sort-of flavour on his tongue. That's what one of the colours is probably called.
"Definitely, I agree, Major. Beryllow. Also, I think, grurple. There's definitely some grurple in there. Very pretty. Delightful, really."
Yeah. Yes. Parrish knows what's up, Evan can't disagree. And he needs to see those colours more closely, right up close, so he folds forward until the table is smooth and cool under his cheek.
There's a hand patting his other cheek, and Parrish is saying, "Yes, that looks very comfortable, and I love the way the colours are flowing over you now, Major, it's quite fetching, I have to admit, you look very handsome, and honestly, this is a very nice, quiet mission, isn't? So relaxing? I feel very...centred? Yes. Centred."
Something almost makes Evan want to sit up. Something about those words, nice, and quiet, and mission. But he can't quite make himself move, not even when an unfamiliar voice says, "We have some questions about the City of the Ancestors. You'd be best to answer them."
Evan's pretty sure he's not going to be answering anything. Not for a while, anyway. No matter how much they ask.
Still, it's a relief when he hears the familiar sound of a small explosion followed by the tread of standard-issue boots walking into the room, and when Cadman says, "Seriously?"
There's a scuffle.
He's pretty sure it's brief, though the colours of the wood make it hard to follow the passage of time.
"Up you get, sir," Cadman says, an indeterminate amount of time later, hauling him away from the table.
"Beryllow," he hears Parrish mutter.
"Oh sure, sure, beryllow to you too, Parrish," Cadman says, and then Evan's feet are moving, and that's probably a good thing.
"No," Cadman says, hours later, leaning against his infirmary bed.
Evan nods.
"He said he was sure there was nothing hallucinogenic in the food and that it was a nice, quiet mission?"
He nods again, grateful that the unfathomable colours are mostly gone.
"Jesus fucking Christ," she mutters, but she's almost smiling.
"Thanks for the rescue," Evan says.
"Hey," she smiles a little wider, "it's what we do. Also, Parrish was there. I was ready for anything."
4 –
Evan has – and still actively does, if he's honest – considered putting a note in Parrish's file. Something about no offworld missions, or making sure there are extra military personnel on those missions, or maybe writing, don't let him speak, just gag him, trust me, on a piece of paper and handing it to all team leaders before they leave.
The problem with that is that Parrish doesn't seem to have the same effect on other missions. Evan's been in the gateroom when botany teams and their escorts have come strolling through the gate, their cheeks flushed from sun and fresh air, their words animated, their bodies loose and relaxed. He's read those mission reports, all bland discussions of sampling and possible food sources and interesting little chatty anecdotes. He's had marines tell him missions were, "No problem," and, "Kind of relaxing, sir," and, "Parrish is pretty decent offworld," all with straight, serious faces.
He's watched Parrish in the mess hall, laughing with scientists and military alike, over silly mishaps that he wasn't involved in but had heard about, or teasing a colleague about how they have bad luck in the lab.
"Coincidence," he mutters.
"Say again, Major," Sheppard says, through his earpiece. Evan can see him, less than hundred feet away or so, crouched down behind an outcropping.
Parrish is next to him.
"Nothing, sir." He shoots two raiders, watching them go down.
"Gate, Doctor," Sheppard says in the temporary quiet, standing, dragging Parrish to his feet, and shoving him in the direction of the small group of scientists that Ronon and Teyla are covering. "Grenades, Lorne?"
Yeah. Grenades sound good. Evan's in the mood to blow some things up.
He stops by the infirmary when they make it back to the city, ostensibly to get a couple of scrapes cleaned, but mostly to check on Parrish.
"Major!" Parrish says, when Lorne walks in. "I think this," he points at the bandages around his shoulder, "will be quite a scar. Though the bandages make it look worse than it actually is. A flesh wound, Lieutenant Cadman called it."
Evan nods, stripping off his shirt so the nurse can get at his arm more easily.
Parrish's eyes widen. "Those look painful."
"I've had worse," he replies.
"I expect you have," Parrish says. His cheeks are flushed. "All part of the job."
"Yep."
"Looks like you got lucky today, though," Parrish adds. "We both did."
It takes everything he has not to start laughing. Incredulously. In despair. At the thought of what Cadman's face would look like, right now, if she was in the room.
"Sure thing," he says, instead, wincing at the cool sting of antiseptic against his skin.
"Yes. A sure thing," Parrish murmurs slowly, still watching him.
5 –
Parrish sits across from Evan at breakfast, smiles brightly, and says, "Major! I heard through the grapevine that your diplomatic escort mission has been shelved, and I was wondering, since you're free, if you would fly me over to the mainland."
Parrish's hands are busily stirring sugar into oatmeal. His shirt has a streak of dirt along the edge of one sleeve, and there's a slight tear in his collar. He's talking, and Evan isn't really listening, because he's too busy looking.
"—and so, as I'm sure you can understand, it's actually rather urgent that I collect new samples, because it will get messy in the botany labs, let me tell you –"
Evan finds himself nodding along without really thinking about it, his eyes on Parrish's mouth, his own oatmeal forgotten.
"It's quite amazing," Parrish says, when they're about five miles off the mainland, "that so much of the Ancient technology still works! Can you imagine a bay of our tanks, or jets, sitting around for thousands of years, and still essentially being functional? With little more than a bit of a tune-up and a light polish?"
Evan's fairly certain that Radek would bristle a bit at the tune-up and polish line.
"We really are very lucky, wouldn't you say?"
Some days, Evan wonders if he's cursed. Or if he's missing a joke that's probably at his expense. He wonders if he'd unknowingly offended someone at some point, and Parrish and his mouth are the consequences. "Are you buckled up?" he asks, even though he knows Parrish is.
"Of course! Safety first, right? Why would you ask?"
"Just a hunch," Evan mutters.
They start losing altitude two miles out.
They drop like a stone one mile out.
Evan manages to send out a mayday and get them a few hundred feet from the shore before they hit the water.
"Well that was unexpected," Parrish says, once they make it to shore, each hauling a pack of emergency supplies behind them. "Thank goodness for all those childhood swimming lessons, right, Major? And for these handy emergency supply kits, isn't it wonderful that the jumpers are kept stocked like that? We'll have to thank whoever put them together."
Closing his eyes, Evan lies back on the sand, just for a moment, and thanks himself. Because he put the packs together, adding everything he could think of that might be necessary, no matter how outlandish the scenario.
"And you did an excellent job bringing us closer to shore! I really could kiss you in appreciation," Parrish adds, as he lies back in the sand next to Evan.
"Sure, Parrish," Evan manages. The sun feels good against his soaked clothes. "Sure you could." Because that's what he really needs right about now, Parrish leaning over and kissing him. The way things have gone lately, it would turn out that Parrish's lips were covered in some kind of microscopic sea parasite that would end up colonizing Evan's brain.
"Is there any food in those emergency packs?" Parrish shifts slightly beside him. "Because Major, I don't mind telling you, swimming has always made me very hungry. Frankly, I'm ravenous."
They get back to the city, thanks to Stackhouse flying out to get them. Parrish's samples are carefully collected and secured, and only one of the emergency supply bags was opened and emptied of consumables.
Cadman is waiting for them in the jumper bay.
"I see you made it," she says dryly, her arms crossed over her chest.
Evan's about to say something, something like, 'Back to your post, Lieutenant,' when Parrish starts talking.
"We did, Lieutenant, yes! It was quite amazing how Major Lorne handled the jumper failure! Though I must say, after the last few missions, I am starting to wonder if the Major might have terrible luck. Something always seems to go wrong on our missions together, have you noticed?"
And then he smiles at both of them and walks out of the jumper bay, his almost-dry jacket dangling from one hand, his shirt stretched tight across those goddamn nice shoulders.
"Is he serious right now?" Cadman asks incredulously.
Unfortunately, Evan suspects he really is.
6 –
Things get busy. There are no botany surveys, or encounters with Parrish, for weeks. The Daedalus arrives with new personnel who need to get oriented and trained. There are minor upsets, little emergencies, even some downtime.
Sometimes he sees Parrish from a distance, and sometimes Parrish sees him, and that's about it. For a good long time.
Evan's fine with it.
It's peaceful.
There are no distractions.
But it can only last for so long, and he knows it. And sure enough, a few days later the botanists request an offworld escort. It's to an uninhabited planet they've been to before, hosting a series of hybrid crop test plots that need to be regularly monitored. There's never been even a hint of trouble there. By all reports, the planet is pretty, quiet, and has weather so nice it almost seems to have been designed that way. It's like a walk in a groomed park, relaxing and rejuvenating, and the air apparently smells great.
How much could go wrong?
He starts putting together a list of necessary supplies.
For any contingency.
"Oh!" Parrish says as they walk through the gate and into the sunshine. "Will you look at that!"
Evan looks, P90 already raised, and sees – something that looks like wheat, maybe. Swaying, a few hundred meters away from the gate.
"It's grown so much!" Parrish is more or less running to the maybe-wheat.
All Evan can think about is what might be hiding among those tall, thin stalks. Large, fanged things. Small, tenacious things. Wraith. A large sinkhole leading to an underground cavern full of fast-moving water and creatures with tentacles. "Parrish!" he yells, but Parrish is already at the edge of the plants, he's reaching out, and he's gasping. Evan says, "Move!" to Cadman and Reed, because who knows what is about to happen—
Parrish is turning.
He looks a little shocked, staring down at something in his hand, and there's red there, streaked across his palm and arm.
Oh, fuck.
"Major!" Parrish yells. "Look!"
"Dial the gate," he orders as he breaks into a run, ready for whatever is hiding in the stalks, ready to pull Parrish away, to drag him if he has to—
—only to be brought up short by Parrish's smile
"Look! Look at the colour of this pollen, Major! Have you ever seen anything so red?"
And then he and Dr. Brown, who has caught up to them, are talking quickly about possible dyes and did Evan know how difficult it is to find a true, natural red dye? The trade value alone – of just the pollen, never mind the crop, which looks quite healthy, healthier than all the botanists could have hoped – will be immense.
Evan lets the words just wash around him until the two of them stop talking about dye, and start talking about crop yields instead. Eventually, Dr. Brown heads off to another test plot, flanked by Cadman and Reed, leaving Parrish and Evan behind.
He ignores the doubtful look Cadman gives him just before she walks away. Instead, he focusses on the job. And this means determinedly not looking at Parrish's ass when he bends over to dig up a root sample, or to collect a soil sample. And carefully not looking at Parrish's shoulders when he reaches up to gather more heads of almost-wheat.
Instead, he watches the perimeter and keeps an eye on the gate.
He checks in with Cadman and Reed.
He thinks about how the planet really does smell great, and the sun on his face feels good, and maybe everyone was right. Maybe this is a quiet planet, nothing more than a nice day out, watching botanists get excited about all things botanical.
Maybe today will be some well-earned almost-down time.
"Well," Parrish says, after a while, stepping towards Evan. "I think that's all for now." His hair and shirt are streaked with red pollen.
Evan almost wants to reach out and carefully brush some of it away.
"I need to check plot 3A," Parrish adds. "But that's a 20-minute stroll away. Shall we break for a quick snack first?"
Evan nods. He has food in his pack, protein bar flavours and the dried fruit that he'd watched Parrish happily devour on the mainland. They walk a short distance, setting up under tall trees that Evan has been assured have nothing living in them except small, insectivorous, mammals. It's cool in the shade, the leaves rustling, and it's…not unlike a picnic.
Especially when Parrish sits and Evan starts unpacking the food and handing it to him. Parrish fusses over it, saying things like, "Have you tried these dried green citrus fruits, Major? Rodney says they're a waste of space, but they're delicious and a micronutrient powerhouse," and, "Oh, this is my favourite flavour, did you know that?"
And then he's eating slowly, humming happily to himself, and Evan is definitely not watching Parrish as he licks his lips, or as he leans his head back against the trunk of the tree behind him, his eyes closed as he chews.
"Well," Parrish says, after a while, opening his eyes. "That was refreshing. Atlantis is magnificent, but I miss being on land sometimes. It's nice to have a moment to breathe, isn't it?"
Evan can't disagree, so he says, "It is."
"But! Time to get back to it, I suppose." He pushes himself up from the ground, brushing his hands on his thighs and gathering up his pack. "Plot 3A, here we come," he says, and walks briskly in what Evan presumes is the right direction.
"Cadman, we're heading for 3A," he radios, following a few steps behind Parrish.
"Understood, sir. We're at 4B now. Another 30 minutes and we're moving to 5A."
It's a quiet walk for about five minutes. Evan begins to feel cautiously optimistic. Something between his shoulders loosens, just a little bit.
And then it happens.
"This is the best mission I've had in a long time, Major," Parrish says, glancing briefly back at Evan. "Everything is so calm here. So peaceful."
The looseness between Evan's shoulders tightens right back up.
"Parrish—" he starts, wondering why he hadn't kept Cadman or Reed here. With them.
"It's always like that here, did you know that? Every single time. It's why we picked this planet for the test plots," Parrish continues. Cheerfully. Obliviously.
"Parrish, can you—"
"Well, that and the optimal growing conditions, of course, which, you might be interested to know, are rarer than you'd think."
"Dr. Parrish, stop and—"
Parrish stops and turns towards Evan, "And, I must thank you for the snacks, they were just the thing I needed. Oh." He frowns slightly. "You look worried. Is something wrong?"
"No." Technically there's nothing wrong.
The frown turns into a pleased smile. "That's a relief! Because this is truly a pleasant stroll on a beautiful day and I would hate for something to ruin it."
Oh, for fuck's sake.
"In fact, Major, I just wanted to say that—"
Evan steps closer, intending to tell Parrish to stop talking about their nice, easy mission. Or to put his hand over Parrish's mouth. Or maybe, to grab Parrish's pollen-stained shirt and drag him back to the gate. Pre-emptively.
Parrish's eyes widen, and a faint blush blooms across his cheeks. He takes a deep breath, the tip of his tongue licking out along his bottom lip. And before Evan can do or say anything, Parrish is reaching out, his hands gripping the edges of Evan's tac vest.
"Finally," Parrish says, as he pulls Evan closer, "I was beginning to wonder if I was imagining things."
And he's not talking anymore, because his mouth is on Evan's, and one of his hands is curved behind Evan's neck, and holy shit. This is not what Evan was expecting.
At all.
Parrish tastes like dried fruit and power bars; he tastes too sweet, but good, better than Evan has never quite allowed himself to imagine. And when Parrish pulls back, they're both breathing a little harder. Evan knows he's as flushed as Parrish is, and he's tempted to lean in for more, maybe push Parrish up against the nearest tree and really go for it.
He shakes the urge off, does a quick visual sweep of the area instead, and says, "We should definitely continue this. But later."
Parrish grins at him again, wide and happy, just for a moment, before he nods, turns, and starts walking again, talking about what he hopes to find at test plot 3A, and the unique fauna of this planet, and did Evan know that the planet has a 30-hour rotation? With at least 8 hours of sunshine per day?
Evan relaxes slightly. This kind of talk is safe. He could listen to it for hours, if he had too. Safe, quiet, low-key hours.
And then—
"You know," Parrish says, "forget what I said about this being the best mission I've had in a while. I think this is the best day I've had in weeks. Maybe even months. In fact, I'd say today's been pretty much perfect."
Damn it. Sighing, Evan tightens his grip on his P90.
Just in case.
End