What Makes Christmas Special

Author: ShaViva

Rating: T

Season: post season 5

Summary: Sometimes being a good friend means challenging the status quo ... at least that's what Jennifer always believed. Until she challenged Evan Lorne and found herself on an unexpected journey with him. Along the way they discover each other and some of the many things that make Christmas special.

Classifications: Romance

Pairings: Lorne/Keller

Spoilers for: minor for all seasons, nothing specific.

Disclaimer: I am unfortunately not associated in any way with the creators, owners, or producers of Stargate or any of its media franchises. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, equipment, etc are the property of whoever owns them. Any original characters, plot, settings, and anything else I made up are the property of me, the author. No copyright infringement is intended.

Copyright (c) 2010 ShaViva

Authors Note:

I've always loved Christmas stories and have managed to write my own fan fiction version for the past two years – which really makes it a tradition now! If you're interested in the old stories, they were 'The Ghost of an Idea' and a sequel called 'Murphy's Christmas'.

This time I'm trying something different. Chapters will be a lot shorter than my usual fare but I'll be posting one every day, with the last one on Christmas Eve. Each chapter will have at it's heart one of the many aspects that make Christmas such a special time of the year. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1: Giving gifts

"The greatest good you can do for another is not just share your riches, but reveal to him, his own." Benjamin Disraeli

Jennifer cast another furtive glance behind her before turning back to her computer and the form she was completing on-line. Evan was going to kill her when he found out what she'd done ... if he found out ... and she had to hope that he would because it would prove that she was doing the right thing.

Narrowing her eyes at the screen she considered what to put in next. She'd already completed the basic information – name, date and place of birth, and address. For the latter she'd had to put in the generic one for the SGC – 'Atlantis, San Francisco Bay' not being a valid address, despite the fact that the city of the Ancients had been essentially stranded there for almost six months.

Now she had to type in an artist's biography and she had no idea what to put. "Think Jennifer," she urged herself, staring at the blank answer box. "What would Evan put if he were filling this in?" Of course that was the problem, because Major Evan Lorne wouldn't be filling this particular form in, ever. But they were friends ... good friends ... and this was the kind of things friends did, right? They looked after each other sure, but they also encouraged each other to own and utilise all of the talents they'd been gifted with. Jennifer wanted Evan to see himself how she saw him – incredibly talented beyond what he could do in the military sense. He was more than just a pilot, team leader, and second in command and it was time he owned up to it.

"Okay, let's get creative," Jennifer murmured, putting her fingers to the keyboard and typing rapidly.

"Painting has always been a part of my life – I'm pretty sure I got my first paint brush before I could write. My Mom is an art teacher and growing up, Sunday afternoons were always reserved for painting. She would pick a place and then tell my sister and I to paint what the location made us feel. I studied some art history during college but the only instruction I've received was those weekly lessons with my Mom.

Life took me in a different direction professionally but no matter where I've been I've always found a way to allow some time and space for art. Having what my Mom taught me gives everything depth. I can see a place and assess it for its strategic importance and identify all the ways it can give us a tactical advantage, but at the same time appreciate that interpreting it in an artistic sense is more about how it makes you feel than it is about how to recreate it accurately. Nothing is black and white ... and somewhere in the shades of gray there is balance and truth."

Jennifer stopped, rereading what she'd written. It sounded like Evan – the way he'd described having what he called 'a hobby' when she'd first stumbled across him painting the view from one of the balconies. When she pointed out that it seemed contradictory for him to be both a soldier and an artist he'd laughed before talking about those shades of gray.

To her his talent was made all the more miraculous because of what he did for a living. He experienced the worst that humanity could inflict on itself but could still see magic in the sun glinting off the spires of Atlantis. The contrasts fascinated her ... he fascinated her, more than she'd care to admit to anyone.

"Right," she read aloud, getting into the spirit of her current mission. "Insert image of artwork – maximum size five megabytes." Clicking on the photo file she'd already created, Jennifer looked again at the painting she was submitting.

On the surface it seemed simple – the ocean during a storm, with abundant waves and the sky a blend of dark clouds and driving rain. But when you really looked at it, let your eyes track to the details, the brilliance of the work literally reached out and grabbed you. The waves weren't just a series of high and low points in the sea – they were alive somehow, bursting from the canvas to drench you beneath the violence and power of a mysterious ocean. You felt the danger that an angry ocean represented – the potential it had to suck you into its depths and never let you go. The sky wasn't just a series of stormy clouds either – they moved across the canvas – they felt heavy with the deluge of water they were releasing onto the sea. They were bleak and dark beyond the blacks and navy blues Evan had used to create them.

When Jennifer looked at the painting she felt breathless – like she was actually there in the rain and the waves, the wind snatching the air away before she could breathe it. She was convinced that Evan had chosen a place somewhere in the city while a storm literally raged all around him and painted the picture. He'd been in danger of being taken by the storm himself but he'd fought to capture that feeling on canvas before it could conquer him.

When he'd gifted her with the painting on her previous birthday she'd been speechless.

"This is too much," she said in a voice made almost vague with awe. "You can't just give something like this to me."

"Sure I can," Evan replied with a casual half smile. "It's just a picture Jenn," he added with a shrug.

"No it isn't," Jennifer protested. "This is a work of art Evan."

"Ah ... by definition, yeah, it is," Evan looked at her with confusion in his eyes. "Because I painted it for you so ...," he trailed off.

"No, I mean you could sell this," Jennifer persisted. "People pay good money to go and see art this good."

"No offence Jenn, but how many art galleries have you actually been to?" Evan grinned, the teasing twinkle making his eyes look suddenly bluer.

"A few," Jennifer defended her opinion stubbornly. "Enough to know that this picture would fit right in. You should send it to an agent or something."

"It's not mine anymore," Evan pointed out. "What you do with it is entirely up to you. Just say 'Thank you Evan' and I'll help you hang it up somewhere, if you want?"

Jennifer hesitated, looking down at the picture with longing. She had felt it to be too much, but she also really wanted it to be hers. Looking up at Evan she smiled earnestly. "Thank you Evan."

"You're welcome Jennifer," he replied seriously.

"What you do with it is entirely up to you," she reminded herself now. With a few purposeful clicks she'd attached the picture file to the form and was moving on to the next part.

"About this art work," she read in a murmur. Looking further on she saw that she also had to give it a title as well. "Right," she muttered, her brow crinkling as she thought. "Ah ... Acrylic on canvas, plein air –" thank God she'd paid attention when Evan had let her watch him paint while patiently answering all her questions about the process – "painted May 2009," she guessed, deciding Evan would have completed the gift close to her June 2nd birthday.

"Title ... title," she thought, running through some ideas and just as quickly rejecting them. Anything that included the words storm or ocean seemed too obvious – anyone looking at it could see that's what it was. No, she needed something less obvious, something that hinted at why Evan had painted it. Not because he'd wanted to give her a birthday gift – he could have painted any number of scenes all with the same purpose. Why had he painted this particular scene?

The picture was ocean and sky in turmoil but Jennifer didn't think that was the message Evan wanted her to take from the image. The force of nature at play depicted in the painting wanted to absorb her into it, but like the artist during it's creation, it couldn't. In fact, Jennifer had faced many dangers in the Pegasus galaxy and none had succeeded in conquering her. She had remained ...

"Resolute," Jennifer typed the title with a pleased smile. Yes, it fit – firm of purpose and belief. Casting her eyes down the form she groaned. She had to measure the actual painting which was currently on the wall in her quarters, across from the couch she routinely relaxed on most evenings before bed. "An estimate will do," she thought, quickly deciding on some appropriate dimensions.

The last piece of information required was an interesting one. "Price?" Jennifer frowned. Why would they want that? Clicking onwards she saw the terms and conditions link – scrolling through the details she was relieved to see that each work of art submitted remained the exclusive property of the artist. There were certain things she was committing Evan to, should his work be selected amongst the finalists, but nothing she thought he'd really object to. Scrolling back up she grinned before typing "Not for sale."

Completing the form she happily paid the entrance fee, adding her own email address for the confirmation message she'd get back. And then it was crunch time ... she could still change her mind, leave things as they were, or she could risk shaking them up, risk damaging a friendship she valued greatly.

"Just do it," she muttered, wincing even as she clicked the submit button. A wave of what felt too much like panic washed over her as soon as it was done and she read the message that appeared on the screen.

"Thank you for submitting your entry for Arte Laguna. Finalists will be notified on December 1st. Good luck."

She couldn't take it back now ... and could only hope she could live with the consequences.