Work Text:
Our First Thanksgiving. (History - sorta kinda yaknow )
by Darklady
It wasn't that Rodney *cared* about Thanksgiving. (It was an American holiday, for heavens sake. The November twenty-third one, at any rate. Canada had its own far superior holiday by the same name, thank you very much.) And Sheppard probably wouldn't have cared even if he had had the time to *remember* the Earth-side date. (Which he didn't, what with having to recover and repair an entire *city*, not to mention dealing the the backlash of Althosian vs. Alterran and Stargate vs. Satadea, plus when did the man ever eat so it was a moot point anyway. ) And Elizabeth - whether she cared or not - would never be so crass as to impose a chauvinist holiday on a multinational ( multi planetary, multispecies, multidimensional, multi-planes-of-existince ) expedition force.
Halling, on the other hand? The man had never meet a time consuming,elaborate, materially inconvenient ritual he hadn't loved on sight. So when Bates mentioned to Harris mentioned to Teyla mentioned to Jinto that they were missing a traditional American feast of hospitality?
Really, do I need to draw a picture?
Although apparently Cadman did. Draw a picture that is. Print one out, anyway. Which was how Halling got ahold of the Norman Rockwell vision of turkey and the Southern Living cookbook side dishes and the American Heritage Magazine explanation of how the whole mess came together and came about. In every sense of the word.
Halling, of course, saw the Athosians as the Pilgrims. If ever there was a group of people driven into exile and hoping for freedom from fear, that was the Athosians. Which made the Terrans ( and few surviving Alterrans ) the helpful Indians. Bates snorted, and said that Ronon made one hell of a poor Pocahontas - but Ronon disagreed ( he had - after all - saved Rodney's life on the planet ) and as Ronon could take Bates four falls out of three? Bates saved his dignity and saved his breath.
When they went to the Science staff, Radek was surprisingly enthusiastic. Mostly because? Czech. Food. Do I have to proof this equation for you? ( Didn't think so.) With his management? There were plenty of helpful volunteers to set things up. Parish would take any excuse to get three days in the upper woodlands. Gathering wild vegetables was as good a reason as any. (Better - actually - because unlike a ZPM hunt one could be fairly certain that none of the hard-science types would invite themselves along.) Lorne would take any excuse that would get him three nights alone in a tent with Parish. Plus hunting was a lot more creative target practice than ...say...target practice. Plus there was the whole unlike-Wraith-turkey's-don't-eat-you-back. (Well. Not unless you got careless. The Althosian `Big Bird' was half dino and half football-player ostrich-on-crack. A medium hen dressed out at fifty pounds. The kitchen asked for three toms. )
Lets not even discuss what three bricks of C-4 and two barrels of plum brandy ( Atlantis' finest bootleg) was worth on the Genii market. Really, I mean lets not. It could lead to court-martials. And restriction of jumper-borrowing privileges. And painful cold fingers on future infirmary visits. So lets just not go there. OK?
Anyway. By the time anyone in a position of `authority'... (Put in quotes, because Atlantis had all the command structure of a herd of cats. And that was on a good day.)... found out about the feast?
Well, that happened - chronologically speaking - three minutes after General Jack O'Neill looked up from the pile of `hell-yes-Sheppard-had-orders' paperwork which he was busily backdating and asked Elizabeth Weir the damning question "Smells good. What's for lunch anyway?"
The rest, as they say, is history.
Atlantian Confederation history.
Chapter twelve. Review for a test next Orins-day, children. ( And what you read there will be nothing like the truth.)