Fic: SGA: The Wrathful Gaze of Johnny Cash, Checkmate 'verse
Fic: The Wrathful Gaze of Johnny Cash
Pairing: McShep, pre-slash.
Rating: For most audiences (some cursing)
Warnings: Cat crack!fic
Spoilers: None, realy
Summary: People change and sometimes transform into something completely different. Except not. You can't go home again. The Man in Black can be kind of scary. Only the Shadow knows.
Chronologically, the second part of the Checkmate 'Verse
View excellent cover by kind reader berlinghoff79. (Please note: for your safety, does not include wrathful countenance of Mr. Cash. No posters were harmed for this illustration.)
~~~~~
Note: Dialog in italics is translated cat. John knows what he is saying, but Rodney's using his best guess/past cat experience/knowledge of John. This chapter shows us that it's a bit trickier once you're out of total-crisis mode.
~~~~~
Sheppard was trembling and hanging on to Rodney’s jacket (and Rodney’s shoulders) for dear life. They had tried to take the least populated route from the infirmary, but had still seen plenty of people, all of whom, it seemed, wanted to exclaim over Rodney's new acquisition.
John felt kinda bad about the claw marks he was drilling into Rodney shoulder, but he couldn’t help it. He missed his thumbs.
Worst of all, the people they ran into wanted to touch him, and after a day of being grabbed and man-handled it was about all he could do not to scratch and bite and take a flying leap off of Rodney’s shoulders and just run. Not a plan that had really worked for him today.
“No,” John said as clearly as he could when the enormous, meaty hand of Sgt. Johnson reached out to thump him on the head. The guy had mitts the size of dinner plates. Of course, it came out as an embarrassing, tiny, pained mew, but Rodney - thank god for Rodney - seemed to get it.
He blustered past every interested party, claiming, "Sorry, can’t stop. Mind the claws; he’s kind of cranky right now.” John totally backed him up with throaty, threatening noises and laid his head on Rodney’s shoulder, ears flat, glaring at anyone who dared to coo at him.
No wonder cats got so snooty. People were idiots. Idiots who had no idea of personal space.
They got trapped by a brace of botanists over near the turn to John’s quarters, just as they were starting to feel home free, and before he knew it, the hair on the back of his…back had stood up and he was making a noise that was freaking him out.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the stupid, handsy, oh-my god-what-is-that-smell woman had fretted.
“Yes, you should be, can you only read tea leaves and not body language? Thank you and excuse us,” Rodney sniped, edging past them. John kept his eyes on them just in case Miss Hands lunged at him again.
“Jesus,” he said, as soon as they got away.
“I know. Philistines. ” Rodney replied, genuinely contrite. He reached up and rubbed the back of John’s neck soothingly a couple of times, then jerked his hand away. “Sorry, that’s probably the last thing you want right now.”
John rubbed his head against Rodney’s and purred quietly. He didn’t mind it if Rodney touched him. At all. He had not done one single thing so far to freak him out. John was so grateful, so goddamn relieved about that he nearly ached with it.
Rodney’s hand stole back up, cupping John’s shoulder, his fingers firm and comforting on the back of his neck. John sniffed his hand a few times, smelling Rodney and coffee and plastic and something that smelled like worry. It was kind of tickly and sharp. He had another one of those weird moments where he needed to lick Rodney. It was really strong, as was the need to rub his cheek against Rodney’s hand and scent mark him.
The cat instinct thing wasn’t as completely unsettling as he would have expected. It wasn’t like the Iratus bug when he could feel himself slowly becoming alien and cold.
This was totally different; the world felt normal - if huge - but richer in a lot of ways. And bluer, which was weird. He’d never known cats were red/green color-blind, and wouldn’t have known yet if Elizabeth hadn’t come in wearing a muddy brown uniform shirt.
His eyes were sharper for distance and not so great when lights were very bright unless he was close, which was one of the reasons the infirmary had been so awful. It took the better part of his time in the storage compartment to get used to how he was seeing the world. He was having to get used to a lot of things.
He always liked to explore, make sure of his environment, and when his nose had gotten in on the act along with his eyes, man, that was cool and mostly made up for the change in his vision. It made sense, but it was still a little surprising that from the very beginning it had been involuntary. If he could see it, he smelled it; just that simple and just that unconscious.
But the scent marking thing (and the licking thing) was a matter of choice, so he held off, not sure what Rodney would think. He didn’t want to take advantage of the situation.
He was totally aware of how silly that was, given he was like, one-sixth Rodney’s size. But he was a cat and Rodney liked cats, loved cats, and it wouldn’t be fair to snuggle up to him and mark him, for chrissakes, just because he had plausible deniability. He didn’t have a very good reign on his feelings or temper and he was going to have to watch it.
“Home at last,” Rodney said cheerfully and turned his head to look at John out of the corner of his eye. “Can you open it?”
John concentrated on the door and it slid open for him like any other day. Hell. Yes.
“Well,” Rodney said happily, scratching behind John’s left ear. “That’s something!”
The minute they walked into his quarters, John knew it had been a bad idea to come here. Everything was so huge. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head, propping it on Rodney’s hand to blot out the sight.
“Crap,” he moaned.
“Sheppard?”
John stayed huddled on Rodney’s shoulders as he carefully lowered himself to sit on the bed.
“Hey,” Rodney said softly, “want to hop down? Kind of hard to talk to you like that.”
“Okay,” John replied miserably.
Rodney tipped his shoulders helpfully downward and John leapt a couple of inches down. He curled up, his paws underneath his chest and just looked at the immediate area. He glanced up at his poster and quickly looked away. Wow. His pillow seemed more the right size for a bed, and the part of the bed he could see seemed like two or three king size beds all put together. Actually, that was kind of nice; for once he’d feel like he could really stretch out.
Rodney ran one finger down his back. “What’s up?”
John looked up at him and wondered how he could possibly explain this. Rodney’s face was so far away, so far up there and John’s heart just sank.
He groaned. Just a long, drawn out, heartfelt feeling-really-sorry-for-himself whine. He’d been trying not to run and hide ever since they left the infirmary and this was the last straw. He was officially overwhelmed.
Getting up, he crept over to his pillow and burrowed beneath it. That wasn’t enough cover, so he turned around and nudged his head under the sheets and blanket, creeping forward until he was in a nice, cloth-lined cave. He tucked his feet underneath himself and rested his chin on the mattress.
“That bad?”
Yeah,” John sighed.
“I don’t blame you. Listen, I’m going take a look at the stuff Radek put together.” Rodney stroked his hand down John’s cloth-covered back. He couldn’t feel it properly, but it still was nice.
John settled in for a therapeutic pout and listened to the noises of Rodney puttering around his quarters and talking quietly on his radio. After a little while, the familiar noises and smells and the sheer stress of the day crept up on him and he fell asleep.
He woke up when he registered the door opening and Rodney talking low-voiced to Radek. Also, he smelled turkey, just like Rodney promised. Boy, he had the thank you of the century after all this was over. It looked like Rodney was just dropping everything to help him out, and then there was the way he’d torn into everyone’s hide back in the infirmary. He’d never been so happy to see anyone in his life when Rodney had barreled into the room and took over.
“Hey, Lumpy,” Rodney said, stroking his back again through the covers. “Dinner’s here if you want it. Just-roasted turkey. You sleeping?”
“Nope.”
“I’ll take that as a ‘no,’” Rodney said, a thread of humor in his voice. “I’m starving, so I’m going to start on mine.”
John leaned against Rodney’s hand a little, slightly reluctant for him to go.
“You know,” his voice was soft and kinder than John had ever heard, “it’s okay with me, but I hear this whole patting thing works better if I actually touch your fur.”
“Shut up,” John replied, rolling to his side to supply Rodney with a greater area. The hell with plausible deniability; this felt great.
“Hungry now,” Rodney decreed, finding John’s head and scruffling his ears kind of wrong. John batted him away.
“Well, it’s not like I can see if I’m doing it right,” Rodney huffed.
He was totally laughing at John. Jerk.
Rodney went away and there were lots of nice smelling things over on the other side of the room, it seemed like. John thought about going out there. It was still going to be gigantic. He curled up in a ball, grumbling a little.
“The turkey’s really very good,” Rodney said, smacking his lips. "Moist." Oh god, Rodney’s terrible table manners, six times too big. Ew.
“I can’t believe they made dressing, too. Technically you probably shouldn’t have that, but I guess since they use grain products in dry cat food…” He made more smacking noises.
God, he was such a jerk, using a man’s turkey love against him. And he would eat it all, too, if John didn’t step on it.
John slithered out from under the covers and crouched by his nightstand. Rodney was sitting at his desk (his enormous desk) making happy food noises at his dinner. John only had to cross, like, a football field, to join him.
He looked guardedly around the room again, exploring to see if it felt any less freaky. It didn’t. Not one bit less freaky. This. No. He had to -
Jumping off the bed, he went to stand next to the door. “Out!” he yelled at Rodney. “Come on?”
“Mmm? Sheppard?”
John opened the door and stood in it, willing Rodney to please come with him. Rodney’s eyes popped open wide.
“Oh, that’s bad. That’s very bad. Please don’t go running all over the city. I’ve been thinking maybe a collar GPS thing, but oh, please don’t do that.”
“Now!” How much more simple could he make it? Jeez. He turned and headed down the hall to McKay’s quarters.
“Shit,” he heard Rodney say behind him as he scrambled for the door.
Jogging down the hallway felt great until he heard footsteps coming from in front of him. He wheeled around and ran full-tilt back to Rodney and jumped straight for his chest, hoping that he’d have the presence to catch him. This was going to be really awkward if he just hit Rodney and slid down his chest. Maybe he should -
“Ow, claws!!” Rodney yelled, surprised, but his hands were steady and sure around his ribs. John’s legs were left dangling uncomfortably and he tried to scramble with sheathed back paws against Rodney’s stomach and wiggled far enough that he could get his front paws hooked over his shoulder and by that time, Rodney was pressing him against that shoulder, redistributing his weight so he could get a hand underneath John to support him and John relaxed, resting his head against Rodney and Jesus that had been a bad idea.
“What the hell was that?” Rodney whisper-yelled at him, his voice cracking in two places. “What?”
John turned to him with his best puppy-dog apologetic look, because oops, claws and said very softly, “Sorry?”
“Oh, don’t you even try that look on me when you’re an actual animal.” Rodney fussed, stroking his back with nervous firmness. “You’re like a cartoon of the Little Match Girl or something and yes, I’m mixing my metaphors but seriously, John, what the hell?
John? Well, that was a very interesting time to choose to call him by his first name. He purred and head-butted Rodney’s chin.
“Okay, did you just go from scared out of your tiny little mind to ridiculously happy? Are you having mood swings? Do I need to take you to, god forbid, Carson?”
Way to ruin a moment, McKay.
“No” John said sullenly.
“Now, let me get this straight before dinner becomes entirely inedible. You don’t want to be in your room.”
“No.” He used the “two meows for no,” method, laboriously swallowing between words.
“You were heading west, toward…my quarters?”
“Yes,” he added a head-butt of approval for that.
“Thank you for praising the human.” Rodney replied half-snippily, his fingers finding that perfect spot behind his ears again. John hitched himself more comfortably against Rodney’s shoulder and braced a paw around his neck.
“I don’t suppose we could go back for the food?”
John growled.
“Right. I’ll come back for it.” He started trudging toward his quarters. John looked around, listening for the person he’d heard walking toward them. Nothing. He’d freaked over someone heading to their room. Great.
“Why don’t you want to be in your quarters?” Rodney wondered aloud, absently scratching John’s neck. “Hmm? What’s wrong with it?”
“Big,” John replied. “It’s just wrong.” Wow, he could say that in all one meow if he just changed the pitch. Cool.
“Yes, thank you, I know I shouldn’t ask open ended questions. Hmmm. Also? Where is everyone? We were getting mobbed earlier.”
“Dinner,” John offered.
“Sorry, Sheppard, didn’t get that.”
“Dinner,” John said slowly and touched a paw to Rodney’s mouth.
His answering smile was brilliant. “What?”
John grumbled, turned his head and sniffed Rodney’s fingers. Turkey. He licked them delicately, then turned and touched his paw to Rodney’s mouth. “Dinner.” He licked his lips and smacked a few times for emphasis.
Rodney hugged him lightly and babbled, “Okay, I’m going to try not to do this very often, but, oh my god, you are the cutest, cat, ever. I mean, you’re very you, but fuzzy and I’m so sorry, but wow. Cat Charades.”
“Hey!” He gave Rodney a completely deserved swat on the nose. No claws, but a warning.
“I know, I know, totally deserved. My boorish behavior crosses species boundaries with ease. Anyway. Let me guess. You said, ‘eating.’ Everyone’s eating.”
John sighed internally. Close enough. “Kinda,” he said and bumped Rodney’s chin with his head.
“You know?” Rodney mused as they breezed through his door, “And I realize that I’m speaking as the one who is not a cat, but this isn’t going to be so bad. I mean, you’ve always sort of squeaked and grunted and I’ve gotten it, mostly.”
John launched himself off Rodney’s shoulder onto the bed and turned to glare up at him.
“You seem to be rolling with the situation really well, and I know you totally hid under the covers when you were in your quarters, but my god, who wouldn’t with Johnny Cash staring down at them like the Wrath of God?”
He wasn’t wrong. Johnny Cash was fucking HUGE, and he hadn’t even been fully regular-people sized. What had he been thinking? He padded around Rodney’s several-acre bed, getting the lay of the land. Nice bed. He sniffed a sweet-smelling corner of Rodney’s blanket. Chocolate, what a surprise.
Yeah, this was better. Rodney’s place was still way out of proportion to what he was used to but John wasn’t looking at things that were his that were all wrong and strange. Much better. He hopped off the bed and explored underneath it, finding a couple of socks and some powerbar wrappers.
And Rodney would probably be happier here with all of his laptops and stuff. Also, face it, he was kind of messy and that would drive John absolutely crazy if someone was messing up his stuff. He really missed his thumbs.
“Sheppard? I’m going to go get the food now, okay? Just make yourself at home.”
John looked out from underneath the bed. “Okay.”
Rodney grinned that “OMG, so cute” grin again and John made his “don’t fuck with me,” noises right back, which made him grin even harder.
John was totally putting a paw in his dressing for that.
“You are going to get me for calling you cute, aren’t you?”
He glowered and twitched his ears ominously at Rodney while he headed out the door.
Actually, he kind of liked making Rodney smile like that. He licked his paw nervously. He was in way over his furry little head.
Pairing: McShep, pre-slash.
Rating: For most audiences (some cursing)
Warnings: Cat crack!fic
Spoilers: None, realy
Summary: People change and sometimes transform into something completely different. Except not. You can't go home again. The Man in Black can be kind of scary. Only the Shadow knows.
Chronologically, the second part of the Checkmate 'Verse
View excellent cover by kind reader berlinghoff79. (Please note: for your safety, does not include wrathful countenance of Mr. Cash. No posters were harmed for this illustration.)
~~~~~
Note: Dialog in italics is translated cat. John knows what he is saying, but Rodney's using his best guess/past cat experience/knowledge of John. This chapter shows us that it's a bit trickier once you're out of total-crisis mode.
~~~~~
Sheppard was trembling and hanging on to Rodney’s jacket (and Rodney’s shoulders) for dear life. They had tried to take the least populated route from the infirmary, but had still seen plenty of people, all of whom, it seemed, wanted to exclaim over Rodney's new acquisition.
John felt kinda bad about the claw marks he was drilling into Rodney shoulder, but he couldn’t help it. He missed his thumbs.
Worst of all, the people they ran into wanted to touch him, and after a day of being grabbed and man-handled it was about all he could do not to scratch and bite and take a flying leap off of Rodney’s shoulders and just run. Not a plan that had really worked for him today.
“No,” John said as clearly as he could when the enormous, meaty hand of Sgt. Johnson reached out to thump him on the head. The guy had mitts the size of dinner plates. Of course, it came out as an embarrassing, tiny, pained mew, but Rodney - thank god for Rodney - seemed to get it.
He blustered past every interested party, claiming, "Sorry, can’t stop. Mind the claws; he’s kind of cranky right now.” John totally backed him up with throaty, threatening noises and laid his head on Rodney’s shoulder, ears flat, glaring at anyone who dared to coo at him.
No wonder cats got so snooty. People were idiots. Idiots who had no idea of personal space.
They got trapped by a brace of botanists over near the turn to John’s quarters, just as they were starting to feel home free, and before he knew it, the hair on the back of his…back had stood up and he was making a noise that was freaking him out.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the stupid, handsy, oh-my god-what-is-that-smell woman had fretted.
“Yes, you should be, can you only read tea leaves and not body language? Thank you and excuse us,” Rodney sniped, edging past them. John kept his eyes on them just in case Miss Hands lunged at him again.
“Jesus,” he said, as soon as they got away.
“I know. Philistines. ” Rodney replied, genuinely contrite. He reached up and rubbed the back of John’s neck soothingly a couple of times, then jerked his hand away. “Sorry, that’s probably the last thing you want right now.”
John rubbed his head against Rodney’s and purred quietly. He didn’t mind it if Rodney touched him. At all. He had not done one single thing so far to freak him out. John was so grateful, so goddamn relieved about that he nearly ached with it.
Rodney’s hand stole back up, cupping John’s shoulder, his fingers firm and comforting on the back of his neck. John sniffed his hand a few times, smelling Rodney and coffee and plastic and something that smelled like worry. It was kind of tickly and sharp. He had another one of those weird moments where he needed to lick Rodney. It was really strong, as was the need to rub his cheek against Rodney’s hand and scent mark him.
The cat instinct thing wasn’t as completely unsettling as he would have expected. It wasn’t like the Iratus bug when he could feel himself slowly becoming alien and cold.
This was totally different; the world felt normal - if huge - but richer in a lot of ways. And bluer, which was weird. He’d never known cats were red/green color-blind, and wouldn’t have known yet if Elizabeth hadn’t come in wearing a muddy brown uniform shirt.
His eyes were sharper for distance and not so great when lights were very bright unless he was close, which was one of the reasons the infirmary had been so awful. It took the better part of his time in the storage compartment to get used to how he was seeing the world. He was having to get used to a lot of things.
He always liked to explore, make sure of his environment, and when his nose had gotten in on the act along with his eyes, man, that was cool and mostly made up for the change in his vision. It made sense, but it was still a little surprising that from the very beginning it had been involuntary. If he could see it, he smelled it; just that simple and just that unconscious.
But the scent marking thing (and the licking thing) was a matter of choice, so he held off, not sure what Rodney would think. He didn’t want to take advantage of the situation.
He was totally aware of how silly that was, given he was like, one-sixth Rodney’s size. But he was a cat and Rodney liked cats, loved cats, and it wouldn’t be fair to snuggle up to him and mark him, for chrissakes, just because he had plausible deniability. He didn’t have a very good reign on his feelings or temper and he was going to have to watch it.
“Home at last,” Rodney said cheerfully and turned his head to look at John out of the corner of his eye. “Can you open it?”
John concentrated on the door and it slid open for him like any other day. Hell. Yes.
“Well,” Rodney said happily, scratching behind John’s left ear. “That’s something!”
The minute they walked into his quarters, John knew it had been a bad idea to come here. Everything was so huge. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head, propping it on Rodney’s hand to blot out the sight.
“Crap,” he moaned.
“Sheppard?”
John stayed huddled on Rodney’s shoulders as he carefully lowered himself to sit on the bed.
“Hey,” Rodney said softly, “want to hop down? Kind of hard to talk to you like that.”
“Okay,” John replied miserably.
Rodney tipped his shoulders helpfully downward and John leapt a couple of inches down. He curled up, his paws underneath his chest and just looked at the immediate area. He glanced up at his poster and quickly looked away. Wow. His pillow seemed more the right size for a bed, and the part of the bed he could see seemed like two or three king size beds all put together. Actually, that was kind of nice; for once he’d feel like he could really stretch out.
Rodney ran one finger down his back. “What’s up?”
John looked up at him and wondered how he could possibly explain this. Rodney’s face was so far away, so far up there and John’s heart just sank.
He groaned. Just a long, drawn out, heartfelt feeling-really-sorry-for-himself whine. He’d been trying not to run and hide ever since they left the infirmary and this was the last straw. He was officially overwhelmed.
Getting up, he crept over to his pillow and burrowed beneath it. That wasn’t enough cover, so he turned around and nudged his head under the sheets and blanket, creeping forward until he was in a nice, cloth-lined cave. He tucked his feet underneath himself and rested his chin on the mattress.
“That bad?”
Yeah,” John sighed.
“I don’t blame you. Listen, I’m going take a look at the stuff Radek put together.” Rodney stroked his hand down John’s cloth-covered back. He couldn’t feel it properly, but it still was nice.
John settled in for a therapeutic pout and listened to the noises of Rodney puttering around his quarters and talking quietly on his radio. After a little while, the familiar noises and smells and the sheer stress of the day crept up on him and he fell asleep.
He woke up when he registered the door opening and Rodney talking low-voiced to Radek. Also, he smelled turkey, just like Rodney promised. Boy, he had the thank you of the century after all this was over. It looked like Rodney was just dropping everything to help him out, and then there was the way he’d torn into everyone’s hide back in the infirmary. He’d never been so happy to see anyone in his life when Rodney had barreled into the room and took over.
“Hey, Lumpy,” Rodney said, stroking his back again through the covers. “Dinner’s here if you want it. Just-roasted turkey. You sleeping?”
“Nope.”
“I’ll take that as a ‘no,’” Rodney said, a thread of humor in his voice. “I’m starving, so I’m going to start on mine.”
John leaned against Rodney’s hand a little, slightly reluctant for him to go.
“You know,” his voice was soft and kinder than John had ever heard, “it’s okay with me, but I hear this whole patting thing works better if I actually touch your fur.”
“Shut up,” John replied, rolling to his side to supply Rodney with a greater area. The hell with plausible deniability; this felt great.
“Hungry now,” Rodney decreed, finding John’s head and scruffling his ears kind of wrong. John batted him away.
“Well, it’s not like I can see if I’m doing it right,” Rodney huffed.
He was totally laughing at John. Jerk.
Rodney went away and there were lots of nice smelling things over on the other side of the room, it seemed like. John thought about going out there. It was still going to be gigantic. He curled up in a ball, grumbling a little.
“The turkey’s really very good,” Rodney said, smacking his lips. "Moist." Oh god, Rodney’s terrible table manners, six times too big. Ew.
“I can’t believe they made dressing, too. Technically you probably shouldn’t have that, but I guess since they use grain products in dry cat food…” He made more smacking noises.
God, he was such a jerk, using a man’s turkey love against him. And he would eat it all, too, if John didn’t step on it.
John slithered out from under the covers and crouched by his nightstand. Rodney was sitting at his desk (his enormous desk) making happy food noises at his dinner. John only had to cross, like, a football field, to join him.
He looked guardedly around the room again, exploring to see if it felt any less freaky. It didn’t. Not one bit less freaky. This. No. He had to -
Jumping off the bed, he went to stand next to the door. “Out!” he yelled at Rodney. “Come on?”
“Mmm? Sheppard?”
John opened the door and stood in it, willing Rodney to please come with him. Rodney’s eyes popped open wide.
“Oh, that’s bad. That’s very bad. Please don’t go running all over the city. I’ve been thinking maybe a collar GPS thing, but oh, please don’t do that.”
“Now!” How much more simple could he make it? Jeez. He turned and headed down the hall to McKay’s quarters.
“Shit,” he heard Rodney say behind him as he scrambled for the door.
Jogging down the hallway felt great until he heard footsteps coming from in front of him. He wheeled around and ran full-tilt back to Rodney and jumped straight for his chest, hoping that he’d have the presence to catch him. This was going to be really awkward if he just hit Rodney and slid down his chest. Maybe he should -
“Ow, claws!!” Rodney yelled, surprised, but his hands were steady and sure around his ribs. John’s legs were left dangling uncomfortably and he tried to scramble with sheathed back paws against Rodney’s stomach and wiggled far enough that he could get his front paws hooked over his shoulder and by that time, Rodney was pressing him against that shoulder, redistributing his weight so he could get a hand underneath John to support him and John relaxed, resting his head against Rodney and Jesus that had been a bad idea.
“What the hell was that?” Rodney whisper-yelled at him, his voice cracking in two places. “What?”
John turned to him with his best puppy-dog apologetic look, because oops, claws and said very softly, “Sorry?”
“Oh, don’t you even try that look on me when you’re an actual animal.” Rodney fussed, stroking his back with nervous firmness. “You’re like a cartoon of the Little Match Girl or something and yes, I’m mixing my metaphors but seriously, John, what the hell?
John? Well, that was a very interesting time to choose to call him by his first name. He purred and head-butted Rodney’s chin.
“Okay, did you just go from scared out of your tiny little mind to ridiculously happy? Are you having mood swings? Do I need to take you to, god forbid, Carson?”
Way to ruin a moment, McKay.
“No” John said sullenly.
“Now, let me get this straight before dinner becomes entirely inedible. You don’t want to be in your room.”
“No.” He used the “two meows for no,” method, laboriously swallowing between words.
“You were heading west, toward…my quarters?”
“Yes,” he added a head-butt of approval for that.
“Thank you for praising the human.” Rodney replied half-snippily, his fingers finding that perfect spot behind his ears again. John hitched himself more comfortably against Rodney’s shoulder and braced a paw around his neck.
“I don’t suppose we could go back for the food?”
John growled.
“Right. I’ll come back for it.” He started trudging toward his quarters. John looked around, listening for the person he’d heard walking toward them. Nothing. He’d freaked over someone heading to their room. Great.
“Why don’t you want to be in your quarters?” Rodney wondered aloud, absently scratching John’s neck. “Hmm? What’s wrong with it?”
“Big,” John replied. “It’s just wrong.” Wow, he could say that in all one meow if he just changed the pitch. Cool.
“Yes, thank you, I know I shouldn’t ask open ended questions. Hmmm. Also? Where is everyone? We were getting mobbed earlier.”
“Dinner,” John offered.
“Sorry, Sheppard, didn’t get that.”
“Dinner,” John said slowly and touched a paw to Rodney’s mouth.
His answering smile was brilliant. “What?”
John grumbled, turned his head and sniffed Rodney’s fingers. Turkey. He licked them delicately, then turned and touched his paw to Rodney’s mouth. “Dinner.” He licked his lips and smacked a few times for emphasis.
Rodney hugged him lightly and babbled, “Okay, I’m going to try not to do this very often, but, oh my god, you are the cutest, cat, ever. I mean, you’re very you, but fuzzy and I’m so sorry, but wow. Cat Charades.”
“Hey!” He gave Rodney a completely deserved swat on the nose. No claws, but a warning.
“I know, I know, totally deserved. My boorish behavior crosses species boundaries with ease. Anyway. Let me guess. You said, ‘eating.’ Everyone’s eating.”
John sighed internally. Close enough. “Kinda,” he said and bumped Rodney’s chin with his head.
“You know?” Rodney mused as they breezed through his door, “And I realize that I’m speaking as the one who is not a cat, but this isn’t going to be so bad. I mean, you’ve always sort of squeaked and grunted and I’ve gotten it, mostly.”
John launched himself off Rodney’s shoulder onto the bed and turned to glare up at him.
“You seem to be rolling with the situation really well, and I know you totally hid under the covers when you were in your quarters, but my god, who wouldn’t with Johnny Cash staring down at them like the Wrath of God?”
He wasn’t wrong. Johnny Cash was fucking HUGE, and he hadn’t even been fully regular-people sized. What had he been thinking? He padded around Rodney’s several-acre bed, getting the lay of the land. Nice bed. He sniffed a sweet-smelling corner of Rodney’s blanket. Chocolate, what a surprise.
Yeah, this was better. Rodney’s place was still way out of proportion to what he was used to but John wasn’t looking at things that were his that were all wrong and strange. Much better. He hopped off the bed and explored underneath it, finding a couple of socks and some powerbar wrappers.
And Rodney would probably be happier here with all of his laptops and stuff. Also, face it, he was kind of messy and that would drive John absolutely crazy if someone was messing up his stuff. He really missed his thumbs.
“Sheppard? I’m going to go get the food now, okay? Just make yourself at home.”
John looked out from underneath the bed. “Okay.”
Rodney grinned that “OMG, so cute” grin again and John made his “don’t fuck with me,” noises right back, which made him grin even harder.
John was totally putting a paw in his dressing for that.
“You are going to get me for calling you cute, aren’t you?”
He glowered and twitched his ears ominously at Rodney while he headed out the door.
Actually, he kind of liked making Rodney smile like that. He licked his paw nervously. He was in way over his furry little head.