Author: McJude
Title: SECRET SANTA
Pairing: Harper/male character
Rating: R
Series: Andromeda
Summary: Who is Harper's secret Santa. Why the ugly stocking. Will the contents help figure it out? Who put lube in the toe?
Date of publication: December 19, 2004
Disclaimer: I don't write for money, I write for fun.
Feedback address: McJude@sbcglobal.net
Beta: My husband Uber-Dylan. It takes a real man to beta slash.
Note: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar of 2004 at:
http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm
SECRET SANTA
For the past six years there occurred in the life of Seamus Z. Harper recurring cycles of his hating Dylan Hunt – or maybe his hating him more. He would kid himself and pretend that it had to do with the Captain's annoying cheerfulness – or was it perfection – and maybe because the hot women always ended in Dylan's bed and not his; but really it was just that imprinted in his DNA seemed to be a sensitivity to Earth holidays. It didn't help that the one he hated the most – Christmas -- was also Dylan's favorite.
Still Dylan couldn't be blamed for the fact that his perfect mother had insisted they celebrate this Earth holiday with all the festivities of a Scandinavian heritage that was obviously from Dylan's appearance buried in his genes. Generations of living in extra-terrestrial worlds had not dimmed the memories of glögg and lutefisk. Dylan would wax poetic about tiny cookies full of nuts that smelled of ammonia while they baked. Hell, Dylan Hunt even liked fruitcake.
Christmas in Boston had been different. His family and friends had tried to celebrate. Mostly Harper remembered trying to scrape together enough money to buy gifts. He never had enough. Hell, he never had any. Some of his friends would make gifts, but he wasn't very creative. Some of his friends would steal them. That struck him as just wrong. Even though there wasn't much he could do about it, he felt depressed and guilty at Christmas.
He knew that despite the time warp and reoccurring loops they had experienced living in the Seefra system Christmas was coming again – at least in Dylan's head. He had already gathered those who were formerly his crewmembers – and now nominally his friends – together to discuss holiday plans. Harper was quite surprised when the Captain suggested that because it had been a bad year, instead of trying to come up with gifts for everyone, they would “draw names” and prepare a Christmas stocking for just one person. You were supposed to make the recipient believe the gift had come from a “Secret Santa.”
Harper had breathed a sigh of relief when he drew Beka's name. He had stockpiled a lot of small items which he knew she would like. It certainly appeared that the Christmas gift exchange was going to be a no-brainer this year – until he found the stocking hanging on the door to his bar.
He remembered the heavy knit wool socks from winters in Boston . He hated them even if they were warm. They were grey with red heels. Somehow the homespun feel of the socks reminded him of his oppression in Boston , and the oppression of people everywhere.
He took the bulging sock inside and placed it on the bar. Fortunately no one had arrived for the lunchtime meal, or their daily drinks, so he could look through the stocking in privacy.
Sticking out of the top of the sock was a large wrinkled green fruit. As children they had called them Paw Paw's but the correct name for them was Osage Oranges. They were hard and fun to throw at other kids and the Dragons, but other than providing food for squirrels who loved to eat them, they were totally worthless. Furthermore where each fruit attached to the branch there was an inch long spike which could produce a nasty cut if you weren't careful picking them. The thrill of tossing Paw Paw's was something that was quickly outgrown.
Harper wondered if whoever gave it to him realized that this was not the traditional orange that was usually found in a Christmas Stocking. Trance would certainly know that as would Beka. Perhaps Dylan thought that this was as close to an orange that he could get on Seefra One. He wondered if Doyle even knew about oranges and Christmas fruits. Was Rhade making some comment about the fact that kluges threw these “fruits” at their dragon captors? Harper put the orange aside and continued to empty the stocking.
Next he extracted five red and white candies with a spiral pattern. They were wrapped in plastic but had the appearance of items that had been tucked away somewhere, like in a pocket, a purse or a back pack, for a very, very long time. That would leave out Doyle. She wasn't that old. If you couldn't get it on Seefra, she wouldn't have it. Still Doyle was smart, he had made her that way, and she might have researched this candy and traded for it. He knew it wasn't from Beka, love his as she did, she still would never give him her candy. Still he could see Beka having candy tucked away for a long time possibly Doyle had had something better to trade her for it . . it got a little complicated. Trance wasn't much for candy, but the same reasoning applied. Rhade and Dylan both might have mints tucked away. He was no closer to an answer.
Next there were several assorted nuts. He wasn't sure what any of them were, they seemed different from those he remembered on Earth. Years of Vedran horticulture had made them easy to crack between the palms of your hands and probably made them quite tasty. Dylan loved to talk about nut cookies. Beka or Rhade might just be making a snide comment on his personality. Trance was interested in plants and probably would pass on anything she thought was good to eat to her friend for Christmas.
Then he pulled out a small plastic pocket protector in which were a collection of tiny screwdrivers. Someone might think it was a fitting gift for an engineer – or a nerd; someone who didn't realize that he had almost every tool ever known to man at his beck and call on the Andromeda. It would seem that only Doyle would be uninformed enough to give him small worthless tools. Still again anyone of his so-called friends might just be trying to throw him off. Dylan or Beka might have had these tucked away. He checked them for tell-tale advertising or manufacturer's marks. Nothing.
The next item was a complete shock. He was almost to the toe of the stocking and there was something soft folded inside. He carefully drew it out and realized it was the mate to the wool sock. Christmas stockings did not have mates. Even in Boston you never included the other sock. Was someone being thrifty or foolish? Did anyone even think he would wear these socks? He'd rather go barefoot than to put them on his feet. It had to be Doyle. No one else knew so little about Christmas or his past.
There was one final item in the toe of the stocking – where the orange was supposed to be. It was a small plastic bottle, blue in color with writing in some language he couldn't read. He opened it and squirted a little on his hand and rubbed it between his fingers. It was slick and smelled really good. It was lube. Lube for an engineer – made sense, but it wasn't THAT kind of lube. Giving someone lube had a definite sexual connotation but the only crew member who had shown any sexual interest in him recently was Trance, and he doubted if she would know about lube. Dylan and Beka would know about it, but it would be the last thing they would give him. Rhade? Nietzscheans never used lube; they just beat you up and raped you. He shook his head and slipped it back into the stocking. He returned everything to its place except for one mint that he unwrapped and stuck in his mouth.
* * * * *
The day passed uneventfully. One by one his former crewmembers came by and some of them commented on the stockings they had received. Beka gave him a big huge kiss to thank him for the music and story flexies he had given her. He was certain that she was not the one who was his Secret Santa. By the end of the day he had narrowed it to Doyle who knew no better or Dylan who might just be trying to confuse him. Still Dylan was usually overly sentimental, so the strange stocking full of gifts didn't seem like him. Doyle was excited about her stocking full of soaps, scents and fruit gels that obviously had come from Trance. Dylan's stocking had contained a bottle of good scotch. That could have been from Beka who might have picked it up on the Black Market cargo run, or from Rhade who could have got it in trade from one of his clients. Didn't matter much to Dylan, he was getting drunk and happy. Christmas was his favorite holiday.
The as the evening ended even the last few stragglers found their way out the door. Only Rhade remained in the bar. Sometimes Harper thought that this huge hunk of Nietzschean manflesh just stayed around to taunt him. Wearing his always too tight leather pants, sometimes forgoing a shirt, he emphasized everything Harper wished he had, and was missing. He sure did look hot with the longer hair. Still, unless he left with some woman – who was probably paying for his company– Rhade was usually there to the bitter end. Tonight he had ordered several shots and carefully piled the glasses in front of him, making a rather unstable and breakable tower. He sat back on his stool and admired his handiwork.
“Did Santa come for you, Harper?” He asked with a twinkle in his dark eyes.
“Of course.”
“What did he bring you?”
“Things. . . gifts . . . little things . . . odd things?”
“Useful things?”
“Some.”
“You aught to see what my Santa gave me?”
“Maybe I did?”
“No, everyone knows you were Beka's Secret Santa. You and Trance were the easy ones. You gave gifts like you really cared for the person you were giving to. Or in Trance's case -- thing.”
“Don't talk about my Doyle Doll like that. She's as real as Rommie.”
“And . . . “ The conversation stopped. Rhade had had too much to drink to discuss the humanity of A.I.'s. Harper was still working on that. He thought he had it figured out with Rommie, but Doyle had made it more difficult. They were different. They should have been more alike. But he wasn't sure what the difference indicated in the great scheme of things.
“So what did you get, Rhade?” Harper didn't want to think about his creations anymore.
“Really strange things. A small primitive explosive. A painted egg. A small Cucurbita – probably from Trance's garden with a face drawn on it.”
“That's a jack-o-lantern. Don't you know freaking anything?”
“Sorry. I thought since most of these things had vague references to Earth holidays, that you were my Secret Santa. Then I talked to Beka. Even she couldn't explain this.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small plastic bag. Inside, freshly killed and covered with clotted blood was . . .”
“It's a heart. A real heart. From some poor creature. Who would be demented . . . “
“Doyle?” They both said together.
“She knew about earth holidays but her processing of its symbols was just off. Came close, but missed Christmas entirely.” Rhade said.
“Probably not a bad idea. I never liked Christmas.” Harper lamented.
“You don't. I hope it's not because of what your Secret Santa gave you.”
“Secret Santa put a freaking Osage Orange in my stocking. We used to throw them at the Dragons to get their attention.”
“And . . .”
“Well I sort of liked the candy and nuts.”
“What kind of candy?”
“Mints. The kind you use to hide bad breath.” Harper paused and sized up the look on Rhade's face. He could read nothing.
“Do you think someone is trying to get your attention? Ply you with candy and nuts?” Rhade must have been drunk to be talking so much. Harper believed this was the longest conversation the two of them had ever had.
“And if my Secret Santa thinks that I am going to screw with . . .”
“That IS the kind of lube you like? Water based. Lightly scented.” Rhade's eyes twinkled like the lights in Dylan's Christmas in Tarn Vedra stories.
“I was going to say with those cheap little screwdrivers. How did you know I got lube?”
“Merry Christmas, Harper.” Rhade looked around and when he realized that he was the only patron left in the bar, he walked over and put his arms around Harper and pulled him into a hug. Harper couldn't believe it, but hugged him back.
“You don't know how hard I looked to find mistletoe but no one here – with the possible exception of Good King Hunt – had any idea what I was talking about. I wanted to give you a Christmas you'd remember.”
Harper was fairly certain he was not going to forget this.
“Come on, let's go to your room and see if we can put some of your bounty to use.”
“I'm pinching myself to make sure you're not kidding.”
“I'm not kidding, Harper, get your ass in gear.”
“Just one question. Why the socks?”
“You, my earth friend have obviously never watched any Nietzschean porn videos. The men in them always wear those ugly socks.”
Harper had to restrain himself from jumping up and down with glee like a child on Christmas morning in the stories Dylan Hunt always told.
McJude
November 22, 2004