Gigi Sinclair

Christmas was going to be a low-key affair on Atlantis.

This was Elizabeth's idea. She said it was out of respect for their Jewish, Muslim, Hindu and otherwise non-Christmas-celebrating team members, not to mention the Athosians themselves, but John thought it had more to do with Elizabeth. She didn't strike him as the kind of person who'd ever really loved Christmas.

Unlike Aiden Ford, who was skirting the boundaries of insubordination with his reindeer antlers, flashing red nose and clip-on plastic Santa Claus, which played a tinny version of "Jingle Bells" when someone pressed it. As Aiden had done constantly for the last week and a half.

"You look like an idiot," was John's assessment, as Aiden joined him and Carson for lunch, accompanied by the ever-present "Jingle Bells."

"It's my form of non-violent resistance," Aiden replied.

"You keep pressing that thing, it's not going to stay non-violent," was Carson's opinion, with which John agreed. If Colonel Sumner was here, Santa would have been shoved down Aiden's throat---or perhaps up some other, even less appealing, orifice---the moment it made its appearance. Of course, if Colonel Sumner was here, John thought, it wouldn't have been a problem. John had spent more than one Christmas deployed overseas and the COs had always done something to make it special. While, admittedly, this was a little far for the USO to come, John knew a little effort from the top brass was more than worth it in the end.

Elizabeth was a good commander, John was learning that, but she still had a way to go when it came to being a leader.

Of course, Rodney took a different view. "I hate Christmas," was his opinion, which he shared, yet again, with John when John arrived in his lab. "It's a complete waste of time."

"'You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch.'"

"Maybe," Rodney continued, doing something with a microscope, "If it was meaningful, I'd feel differently. But it's just an excuse to overspend, overeat and overindulge."

"Since when has that bothered you?" John was going to cite examples, such as the last time they'd had forty-eight hours off together and had spent all of it in bed with turkey sandwiches, power bars, and a particularly memorable banana, but Rodney stopped him with a glare. "Or," he continued, "Is this a Canadian thing?"

"Hardly." Rodney sniffed. "It's a Pot of Gold holiday."

John frowned. "Now, that's got to be a Canadian thing."

"They're a kind of chocolates," Rodney replied, irritably and obscurely, peering into his microscope. "The ultimate 'look, I got you a gift' gift. Meaningless. "

John's frown grew deeper. "Are you feeling all right?"

Rodney glanced up at him. "At home," which John took to mean Canada, or perhaps Mars judging from the way Rodney was acting at the moment, "People give Pot of Gold chocolates to other people when they have no desire to buy them a present, but feel culturally obligated to do something. That's what Christmas is nowadays. Pointless gestures made by pointless people to reinforce pointless relationships. Who needs it?"

John blinked. "Well, tidings of comfort and joy to you, too." Rodney snorted absently and John left.

***

Aiden was organizing a Secret Santa gift exchange, with all the covert enjoyment, John thought, of a misbehaving fifth-grader. A surprising number of people were getting into it, including the last person John would have expected.

"According to Lieutenant Ford, I must provide a gift for Dr. Zelenka," Teyla informed John, when he found her the morning of what, if they'd been on Earth and in the Eastern time zone, Christmas Eve. "While I am not overly familiar with the doctor's interests, I believe that everyone would enjoy a sampling of Athosian delicacies." She showed him a wooden box, intricately patterned and full of what looked like miniature cakes. A Pot of Gold gift, John thought, before he could stop himself.

"That's nice." Then, because it sounded more condescending than he'd intended, John continued: "I need to find something for McKay."

Teyla looked at him quizzically. "It was my impression that Dr. McKay did not wish to participate in this 'Silent Santa' ritual."

"Secret Santa," John corrected automatically. "And he didn't." Naturally. "But I want to give him something anyway." Because they'd been sleeping together for a few months now, and because John wanted that to continue. Because even if Rodney hated Christmas, John liked Rodney, although at the moment he wasn't quite sure why, and when he liked people, he gave them presents. Usually more along the lines of flowers and chocolates, but Rodney was different from everyone John had been with before. Very, very different.

"You care for Dr. McKay." Teyla's voice was as neutral and diplomatic as always, but John could have sworn he heard undercurrents of "for some unknown reason." "And this is a traditional celebration for your people to express their affection in material form."

"You could say that."

"As I did." Teyla blinked innocently.

"Right." John wondered if she'd been taking lessons from Rodney, when she said:

"I have an appropriate gift. Follow me." John did, wondering when Teyla had added "personal shopper" to her already extensive list of skills. Then he saw what she had to offer, and decided she was as qualified at that as she was at everything else.

***

Elizabeth was allowing a Christmas Eve party after all. Aiden, naturally, took this as proof his "non-violent resistance" had been successful, and was at this moment decking the halls with what looked like homemade tinsel. John didn't know what it was made from, but apparently it delivered a nasty scratch if touched. John, his hand on Rodney's present in his pocket, avoided the cheer and the dangerous tinsel and headed for Rodney's lab.

Rodney was where he always was, sitting at his computer. For a second, John was seized by a sudden nervousness, something he'd never had around Rodney. Rodney turned in his chair and, before he could change his mind, John thrust the coin-shaped gold charm at him, said: "Teyla says it's an amulet. People give them to warriors to protect them in battle. And I figured since you're a hell of a lot braver than people think, it was a good thing to give you. You're supposed to wear it around your neck, but since you wear those damn tight shirts," not that John had noticed that, constantly, since they'd arrived, "I thought that might not be the best idea. Anyway, it's not a Pot of Gold gift, right?"

John took a breath. Rodney was staring at him like he'd come completely unhinged which, right at this moment, John couldn't exactly deny. "Well, I guess I'll..." He was about to say "go help Ford" when Rodney stood up, yanked John to him and kissed him. Hard. For a considerable amount of time.

When Rodney finally released him, John was out of breath again. Rodney, on the other hand, said: "Now I feel bad I don't have anything for you."

John shrugged, trying to be the picture of nonchalance, even though he was panting. "It's better to give than to receive."

Rodney's eyebrows went up. "And I know how much you like...receiving." A hand came around John's waist and squeezed his ass. "I don't really feel like going to Ford's party," Rodney continued, "do you?"

"Not at all," John answered, completely truthfully.

Rodney turned off his computer and, as they headed down the hall in the opposite direction from the festivities, John heard a bass voice merrily accusing: "Ho, ho, ho!"

Not really, John thought defensively, as he slung an arm around Rodney's shoulders. Only when Rodney was around.

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