Title: Socks
Author: Shenandoah Risu
Rating: PG-13
Content Flags: guys knitting
Spoilers: Season 2 "Epilogue"
Characters: Tamara Johansen, Everett Young
Word Count: 271
Summary: There, in a sock, is Everett Young.
Author's Notes: Written for a prompt in set #075 at the LJ Comm sgu_challenge
Disclaimer: I don't own SGU. I wouldn't know what to do with it. Now, Young... Young I'd know what to do with. ;-)
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She watches him, in the dim light of the cresset.

He's gotten really good at knitting, and he has at it with a fierce concentration that makes him forget the world around him. He sticks his tongue out between his lips, as if mimicking the movements of his hands, a constant frown between his eyebrows.

TJ stops her whittling and smiles.

If socks had any consciousness at all they would knit themselves, that's how determined he is to wrestle the uneven woolen yarn into submission. He struggles with his crippled pinkie, unable to use it to grasp the needle properly, and so it's slow going. Still, he's so much better at it than she is.

Sometimes she wonders what prompted his near-obsession with having good socks. The other day she caught him looking at one of his old socks, the ones he left Icarus with, which he had darned to the point that there was hardly any sock left – it was patch over patch, and still he never gave up.

There, in a sock, is Everett Young. His attention to detail, his desire to master a skill that was necessary, his dogged determination to never give in to defeat.

He looks up at her, flashes her a quick smile.

"What," he rumbles.

"It's nothing," she says.

He cocks his head, sighs.

She relents and gently pries the sock from his hands, kissing his stiff finger, his soft lips, and he wraps his arms around her and holds her as she breathes in his scent: a little sweat, the smoky fire, the unmistakable smell of Novus sheep on his calloused palms.


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