blue flamingos

Twas the night before Christmas

Fandom: Stargate Atlantis

Category/Rated: Slash, G

Year/Length: 2009/ ~633 words

Pairing: John/Lorne

Disclaimer: No, I don't own them, for which I should think they're profoundly grateful.

Summary: John/Lorne reading The Night Before Christmas to their kid

Series: set about four years after Been Five Years

Author's Notes: Christmas ficlet for broms_lullaby

Feedback: Yes please. Even if it's bad. Especially if it's bad.

hr

Evan wakes up to the sound of the bedroom door creaking open and small feet dragging on the carpeted floor. He's warm and sleepy and curled around John, and the room is still dark, but it's only their second year with their five year old daughter and he's powerless to resist her, even when half-asleep.

He rolls over and turns the lamp on low, just enough to see her standing at the side of the bed with a book in one hand. "Daddy?" she signs awkwardly round it.

Evan smiles, waits for her to smile back so he knows she's seen him, then signs, "Come to sit with us?" She nods, holds her arms up for Evan to lift her into bed, getting clonked in the arm with the book for his troubles.

Ellie waits for him to lean back against the pillows, then curls herself into the space between him and John, who's making the weird snuffing noises that usually indicate he's about to wake up. She's tiny and warm and fragile against him, and it stuns Evan all over again that she's theirs. That they're a them in the first place, after years of wanting in Atlantis, and that them includes a daughter.

"Read me," Ellie signs, pushing the book into Evan's hands. He turns it right way up and finds himself looking down at the cover of his and Zoë's battered, old copy of The Night Before Christmas.

"Where did you find this?" he asks.

Ellie bits her lip, thinking, then points in the direction of the supposed spare room, which is really more of a dumping ground for all the stuff they couldn't face unpacking. "Wake Daddy up?" she signs, already reaching out to shake John's shoulder.

He's curled away from them, but Evan can still tell when he wakes up, making a disgruntled noise and rubbing his face into the pillow like that'll make the day go away. Evan can't help grinning – it's cute as hell. "Wake up, Daddy," he says, cluing John in.

"Ugh," John says, raising one hand to sign 'good morning' to Ellie. He rolls over carefully, but Evan still sees him wince before he covers it. Evan frowns, and John catches him and looks vaguely guilty, which he should, considering the conversation they just had last week about John not pretending to be fine all the time and Evan not stressing too much about his injured leg. "Sorry," John signs, then, "Ow."

Ellie leans down immediately to kiss his knee through the blankets, and signs, "All better?"

John nods, dragging himself up to sit against the pillows, head on Evan's shoulder. "What're we reading?"

Evan shows him, gets a quirked eyebrow in response.

"It's October," John says mildly, signing it to Ellie at the same time.

"Miss Thompson says it's three months to Christmas," Ellie signs back, face set in stubborn lines. She pushes the book at Evan again. "Read, Daddy."

"Okay, okay," Evan signs resignedly. "Come here, then."

Ellie curls closer, her head against his chest where she can feel him speaking – it's her favorite way to be read to, even when they follow the words in the book for her to read along, or sign them to her, though they've managed to make a distinction between home where that's okay, and school where it's not so much.

"Twas the night before Christmas," Evan starts. Ellie nudges John, who obligingly signs the line for her, slowly so she can trace the words as he does. "When all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse..."

Ellie makes the sign for mouse, giggling, and Evan forgets, utterly and completely, that it could be anything other than Christmas morning, with his partner and his daughter, like it should be.


Read Comments | Post Comments |

| Home | Email bluflamingo |

Valid XHTML 1.0 Transitional