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Mall Madness With Da'an

by Seven

Author's Note: Dedicated to syfyman for coming up with the "If They Lived At My House." And yes, the "me" is ME. Merry Christmas!

****

Nothing is worse than holiday shopping, in my humble opinion. The stores were festooned with hundreds of feet of garland and ribbon, covered in those obscenely cheerful waving Santa statues.

I was going through a rack of children's books, looking for something that wasn't too obscure, yet my cousin wouldn't have yet. Time and patience are both in short supply, as I narrowed the search down to four books. "What do you get the three-year-old who has everything?" I muttered to myself.

Finally, I found "The Snowman" and sprinted around the store, looking for one of the salesclerks. Immediately, those blue-clad employees vanished into thin air.

As I spotted a blue-clad arm next to an array of drills, I lunged forward and grabbed it, growling, "Oh no you don't." I had no intention of letting this clerk get away from me.

And froze in my tracks, willing myself to vanish to the Dimension of the Vanished Store Clerks.

Either Leni Parker had decided to play an elaborate prank on someone, or Da'an was standing in front of me, blinking in confusion at the seemingly-insane human who had just sprung past the grills and grabbed him. As his face blushed a little blue under the alabaster, I discounted number one.

I let go of his arm like it was a red-hot pipe, and stammered out, "Oh, sorry! Sorry! I'm... really, really sorry, I thought you were a store clerk."

He smiled a little, looking over my rumpled appeareance and the heavy tote bag I'm lugging around, and I winced. "It is of no consequence. We appear to be searching for the same individual."

"Individual is right," I grumbled, momentarily forgetting my awe and sense of mild unreality. "Do they HAVE more than one salesclerk at Christmas?"

He smiled again, apparently agreeing with my rambling. "Wait a minute," I blurted before I could control my lips. "What are you doing in the mall?"

Da'an glanced at the rack of wrenches in a crestfallen sort of way. "I am searching for a gift for my protector."

"Liam... Kincaid," I said, tacking on the "Kincaid" hastily.

Da'an looked momentarily confused. "You are acquainted with the major?"

"No... I've HEARD of him," I answered in a strangled voice, inwardly convulsed by the idea of what the PhilosophySphere posters would think if they saw this. "Maybe I could help you find a gift for him."

Da'an looked up me with renewed hope. "You have knowledge of such gift-giving?"

I wanted to bite my tongue, but it would look odd. "Uh... well, no. I don't have a boyfriend or brother or anything... but I'm willing to bet he isn't expecting power tools, huh?"

Da'an looked mildly relieved, and the sudden mental image came up of him lugging a toolkit out to a shuttle. Once again I had to repress giggles—barely. "What are your suggestions?"

I frowned at the Electronics section, then started lugging myself and my big bag toward it, with Da'an in tow. I glanced over the various Walkmans and Discmans, then at an array of videos, DVDs, and CDs. "Do you know his tastes in movies and music?"

"He has related knowledge of a film called 'Schindler's List,'" Da'an said uncertainly. "And he has listened to someone called... Sarah McLachlan." "Good taste," I commented, looking around frantically for a salesclerk. If they were there, they were invisible. "Did he like them?" "I am not certain," Da'an said, picking up a copy of some jazz CD and studying the cover. I tried not to whimper audibly.

****

"I don't think a snowsuit is quite his style," I said in a restrained voice, trying to shake the image of Da'an wearing a little blue hooded jacket from my short-term memory. But I couldn't.

Da'an pulled the jacket off carefully and hung it up on the hangar again, with something akin to regret. Then he looked past me at something behind me. I looked over my own shoulder, gasped, shook, dropped my huge bag, picked it up again, and pulled Da'an down to Children's Toys. Prominently displayed on a magazine rack was a magazine, showing Da'an and Zo'or standing back to back and looking at each other.

Oh, that was close, I thought, pulling him into Sportswear. "Does Liam enjoy sports of any kind?" I asked hastily.

Da'an frowned at the ten million one-pound dumbbells in festive red and green colors. "He has displayed great skill at fencing..."

Oh... rats! I don't know anything about fencing!

"However, I believe that he has all the required equipment."

Whew!

I glanced around the area, and my eye fell on a large, bright-red punching bag standing on the floor. A grin spread over my face as I remembered scenes from EFC, of Liam beating the stuffing from a punching bag. "How about that?" I asked triumphantly.

Da'an looked at the thing, and his face lit up. Figuratively—he didn't blush. "I have heard that he uses a friend's... but possesses none of his own," he said, walking over and resting his hand on it.

"Thank God we found something," I said with genuine devoutness, expecting a little applause for not laughing or collapsing in that harrowing day of shopping. "Now all we need.... is a salesclerk."

My slightly bloodshot eye fell on a blue splotch near the kids's bikes. I prowled slowly towards the figure. I shouldn't be hasty, or I might body-tackle Zo'or. Once I determine