Fic: Triptych, A Checkmate 'Verse Trilogy, M/S
Title: Triptych, A Checkmate 'Verse Trilogy
Author: Beadattitude
Pairing: McShep, currently pre-slash
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Schmoop, animal transformation, some angst
Disclaimer: I am playing, happily, with these characters for the love of it, which I do for free.
Chronologically, the fifth part of the Checkmate 'Verse. Sort of meanders around the timeline. Don't worry about it.
These feel related to me. Elizabeth is hovering in all of them, as is news of whether or not John can be changed back to his human self quickly. And they're about community and how people respond to John as a cat. They jump around in time a little, but I think they work fine that way. Enjoy.
Teaser:
Carson paled and straightened his lab coat. “It won’t happen again, Colonel.”
John sat still for a moment longer, staring into Carson’s eyes to let that promise sink in a little. Carson nodded firmly.
“Prrt?” he asked, not turning.
“I’m sorry, lad?”
“Excuse me, Carson, I think that was for me.” Rodney stepped forward. “Colonel? Your chariot awaits.” He stood in John’s peripheral vision.
“Maa.” John said firmly, and leapt off the table, striding purposefully to the door. Rodney, bemused at playing the muscle for once, gave Carson a frosty nod and followed Sheppard out.
~~~
First Panel: Rounds
John and Rodney had taken position at an Ancient console to wait for Elizabeth and the negotiation team to come back through the wormhole from Gata. Rodney was under the unit, where he had been forced to fake repairs for the last half-hour. (He was taking things apart and putting them back together, so, well, it was maintenance-related and would certainly run better when he was through.)
On top of the console, nestled between two workstations, John was sleeping off the stress of the morning. Being affectionately mobbed at breakfast had been more than slightly terrifying, Rodney knew (he’d felt the trembling when John had crawled onto his shoulder and started yowling) but they’d both been horrified and bored at the series of tests Carson and Heightmeyer had decided to put John through. And that was only the beginning of the morning.
Rodney had prepared a batch of multiple choice questions to augment the Prime/Not Prime proof of Sheppard’s intact intelligence, but no, they weren’t nearly enough for the medical professionals. Rodney decided that meant, “The people we have to write reports to - proving that we’re not making this shit up - will need more documentation.”
Having terrorized John the day before, Carson and Dr. Vasha were overly careful and gentle with him, Carson speaking in the idiotic voice favored by stupid tourists hoping that loud+slow = understandable. It irritated Rodney and mostly amused John, whose ears twitched in a very familiar way.
Actually, so did Heightmeyer’s lips, when Carson wasn’t looking, which made Rodney almost like her this morning. She was kind of smart. And blonde. But still. Voodoo. Vasha, he watched like a hawk in case she pulled out the clippers again. John had his full and savage backing to disembowel her for that kind of draconian crap.
He was almost completely certain that John had waited until Carson had become engrossed in the results of some voodoo printout before he crept up behind him and let rip a bone-chilling “death to doctors” yowl. Rodney had seen it coming and the hairs on the back of his neck still stood up.
Carson screamed and fumbled his file, spilling it to the floor. He cast a wild, wary eye on John, who had assumed a pretzel-like-posture and was grooming his tail peacefully, holding it trapped under one paw as if it could get away. Rodney went for the smug/superior look, but was totally howling with laughter on the inside.
“All right, Colonel, I suppose I more than deserved that.”
John unwound himself gracefully and sat in the unnaturally straight and serious posture he seemed to favor when he wanted to make himself look impressive, which was completely unnecessary, given that every one knew Carson, in personal matters, crumbled faster than an over-baked scone. He stared silently at the doctor, the wrath of a man-handled innocent boiling in his eyes.
“Dinna look at me like that, man. I was doing my best.”
John’s tail began to lash back and forth ominously.
“Look,” Carson babbled. “Every test confirms that your brainwaves are far more human than feline and your intelligence tests are actually a bit better - picked up a wee bit of extra spatial acuity, isn’t that much, but still excellent - so you are free to go now. Sorry to take so much of your time this morning, but I just wanted to make sure…”
John continued to stare. Rodney imagined he could see sweat beginning to form on the doctor’s brow. Carson wrung his hands.
“Colonel?”
John remained motionless, except for his tail, which was picking up speed.
“John. Please. Accept my apologies, my sincerest apologies for yesterday.”
Rodney fake coughed, “KKbbbproxyh!” (A crude reminder done solely for the benefit of Sheppard’s amusement.) Rodney was enjoying being a spectator, for once, and letting John do all the heavy lifting. Or heavy tail twitching in this case.
To be honest with himself - which Rodney always was - this form of interrogation/dressing down was something he could never pull off. The argument in his head and the perfect, perfect points he had would just come spilling out as so many pearls before swine. As a master of that form (the scathing diatribe), he could recognize a master of another. John was also pretty good at the well-placed wind-up, but currently did not have the right kind of larynx for that.
“Yes, yes, the proxy. It was wrong of me not to call Rodney right away, and to examine you without him.”
The tail slowed to a slow, dirge-like drumbeat and John’s ears twitched.
“And I should not have let Elizabeth convince me to overlook your right to proxy. I should have stood firm as a doctor and a friend. Christ, man, I made an awful blunder, and I hope you can forgive me.”
John blinked slowly and curled his tail around his feet. “Mow,” he said quietly.
Relief flooded Carson’s features. “Thank you lad. I was afraid I’d destroyed our friendship.”
Sheppard half-closed his eyes, sealing the acceptance of the apology. Carson reached out to pat him (Was he addled?) John moved his head back a few centimeters.
Carson paled and straightened his lab coat. “It won’t happen again, Colonel.”
John sat still for a moment longer, staring into Carson’s eyes to let that promise sink in a little. Carson nodded firmly.
“Prrt?” he asked, not turning.
“I’m sorry, lad?”
“Excuse me, Carson, I think that was for me.” Rodney stepped forward. “Colonel? Your chariot awaits.” He stood in John’s peripheral vision.
“Maa.” John said firmly, and leapt off the table, striding purposefully to the door. Rodney, bemused at playing the muscle for once, gave Carson a frosty nod and followed Sheppard out.
He lengthened his stride to catch up with John, who was perched on one of the chairs in the waiting room.
“Got any prisoners that need interrogating? Marines in trouble? General miscreants? Like to help me unnerve this afternoon’s project review? You could sit in front of each scientist during their presentation and just stare at them, just like that. I tell you, I think it might be even more menacing than when you start to fondle your gun during trade negotiations.”
John looked up at him and blinked his eyes affectionately.
“I mean it. I was impressed, Colonel.”
Rodney talked him into a short jaunt through the labs by pointing out that it hadn’t been the hard science staff that had been all handsy with him. John grumbled in a pro-forma kind of way, but climbed relatively clawlessly onto Rodney’s shoulders.
“Just a little imperious glaring would be nice. Hissing if you only think the situation is necessary. And I don’t think we should really scare any one quite yet. Just a little intimidation. Always the best way to start the morning.”
“Maaa,” John said, and Rodney could almost swear there was a hint of sarcasm in it.
Everything was going perfectly well until they hit Rodney’s wing. The chemists had been easy to intimidate, since Keller was allergic and began sneezing in a terrified manner.
Jensen and Ackles in Engineering were actually too dim to notice John (or acknowledge him) until he hopped off Rodney’s shoulders and sat in front of Ackles for an impromptu report on his project.
Rodney couldn’t see Sheppard’s face, but from the sweat pouring down Ackles’, he was thought John was staring him down. Rodney glanced at the whiteboard behind the hapless engineer for a moment, frowning. Something there wasn’t quite right.
“Maowr!” John said, a hint of an annoyed growl in his voice. Ackles started and John leapt from his lab table to the vacant one nearest the whiteboard. He looked back at Rodney.
“Mowr,” he said seriously, his tail thrashing.
“Colonel? Calculations off?”
“Maaa,” John affirmed, walking to the left lower quadrant of the board and staring at it like it personally offended him. (Which it had.)
“You’ve…you’ve got to be kidding me,” Jensen spluttered. Ackles had elected to go a pasty white.
“No, no, he’s not, Jensen. Colonel Sheppard has a B.A in Applied Mathematics and an M.A. in Aeronautical Engineering.”
“But, but…he’s…”
“Yes, in the armed services, I know, and they send him to go shoot things. The waste of a perfectly good brain, but what can you do, he likes flying.” Rodney shrugged. “And lucky for us that he’s here to catch your ridiculous mistakes, Ackles.”
John had hopped back to Ackles’ table and looked up at pasty-faced scientist.
“Mrrow, prrr, rrrrt,” he offered.
“Don’t give him the answer!” Rodney snapped. “How else is he going to learn? Suffice, it Ackles, to say, that if you launch the module with those calculations, you need to have your affairs in order.” He scooped John up to his shoulders.
“I’ve got meetings the remainder of the morning, so if neither of you can puzzle it out, don’t touch anything and call Radek. You’re in Atlantis, Ackles, not Princeton. Mistakes like that could sink the city.”
“Y-yes sir. A-and thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, thank the Colonel; he caught it first, though I’m sure I would have momentarily.”
“Colonel,” Ackles managed to dribble, still looking pretty pale.
“And eat something; you look like you’re about to keel over.”
“Y-yes, sir.”
They left, the two scientists gaping at them.
Rodney smacked his own forehead in dismay. “Okay, you were great, but eat something?? Call Radek? Jesus, I’m becoming my great aunt Betty!”
“Maaa.”
“No, you’re supposed to come off all mysterious and intimidating and I’m the Wrath of Science. You’ve got the mysterious and kind of creepy/astonishing thing, flaunting your math skills, but I’m…I’m…oh crap; I’m the good cop! I don’t want to be good cop! I’M the one who is supposed to pluck their mistakes out of thin air and humiliate them. You’re supposed to be the one they confide in helplessly until you trip them up with your ninja skills.”
John purred and snuffled at Rodney’s ear. “Neeea?” he asked.
“Oh, shut up.”
John snuffled some more and bumped his head against Rodney’s.
“This is very confusing!” Rodney wrung his hands. “You’re, you’re a bad influence.”
He could feel Sheppard up there on his shoulders, smirking.
His own lab was somewhat better, since Rodney had recovered enough of his bark to yell at Miko, who was totally hogging bothering Sheppard with a thorough ear scratching.
“What have you done to him, he looks drunk!”
“No, he is happy, Dr. McKay. I find his special ear spot. Makes all cats fall over and drool.”
“Well,” Rodney huffed, knowing full well what an ear spot was and slightly miffed Sheppard hadn’t drooled for him, “it’s hardly dignified, is it Colonel?”
John fought to open his eyes against the power of the scritch. “Brrwr,” he slurred, leaning his entire body-weight into Miko’s hand.
“Look at you! Have you no shame? No dignity?”
Miko giggled - actually giggled aloud - and Rodney was so surprised he stood with his mouth open for several seconds. He fought the urge to grab Sheppard and run, far, far away. She was much more dangerous than he’d ever imagined.
Slowly, Miko lowered her hand to the table and John followed it, eyes closed in kitty bliss. Once she had him stretched out on her lab table, she removed her hand, gave him one last pat, and went back to work, a very satisfied look on her face.
Sheppard lay in a puddle of limbs and fur, mostly asleep and, yes, drooling.
Rodney threw his hands in the air. “Unbelievable!”
Too flustered and irritable to remain in his lab, Rodney gathered up the unresisting (still mostly snoozing) Colonel and some tools and beat a strategic retreat to the gate room, where surely there was something that needed fixing.
~~~
Middle Panel: Hands off management
Despite her skills as a diplomat, Elizabeth cannot quite make her self believably comfortable in John’s presence for the month that he is a cat. They both know it.
She understands that he is there, in that small body. She has all the reports, and she’s seen him in action.
People relate to him - even some of the newer expedition members that don’t know Sheppard - as if he were a person. Some pet him and play with him, and lord knows that Rodney is utterly besotted, but they talk to him, even report to him just as they always did.
She can’t figure out how they understand what he’s saying. All she hears is the cry of an animal. It bothers the linguist in her. It bothers her.
Maybe it’s the idea of it all; that the Ancients constructed something that would alter a person so much for nothing better than a bit of navel-gazing. It’s distasteful and overly self-indulgent. Some of that dislike bleeds over to John, helplessly. She needs him, needs his expertise and he’s just not available, not like he should be. She can’t help but be irritated.
He feels it, she knows. Initially, he greeted her like he greeted all his friends, walking across the table to her and sniffing her hand or a giving a gentle nudge to her shoulder with his head. She smiled, but didn’t touch him if she could help it.
He bumps his head against shoulders and chests, allows people he likes to scratch his ears and stroke his back. He sprawls out across Ronon’s outstretched legs or Teyla’s lap, or snoozes on the table with one paw flung possessively over Rodney’s wrist. He respects her wishes, and no longer attempts to touch her.
She wishes that John would try one more time. She aches to touch his cool, silky fur, to hear the rumble of his happiness, and feel his small, strong weight. And maybe, if he wanted to sit with her a while, the sharp flashes of sheer, unreasonable jealousy would go away.
~~~
Life in a Small Town
News that Sheppard would be remaining in feline form for at least thirty days spread as news on Atlantis did, at light speed, though some have theorized that gossip actually travels faster. It certainly had the day he returned from Gata.
Rodney, in a fit of pique and righteous rage, locked everyone out of the email system for the evening after he discovered that the Colonel’s condition was, in fact, not private but the talk of the expedition.
“GET BACK TO WORK, YOU VULTURES”, he’d scolded. “AND PRAY YOU NEVER HAVE THE NEED FOR THE DISCRECTION OF YOUR COLLEGUES.”
He wanted to blame Radek, well-known as the hottest source of information in the city. (Rodney had a theory that he absorbed it through his wispy hair) But he was just as incensed as Rodney and cursed a lot. Whatever he said sounded pretty violent, and Rodney just didn’t think that he’d manufacture that kind of rage over an out-and-out-lie.
There was, for a half-hour or so, the rumor that Ronon and Teyla had returned without the Colonel and with a kind of a Tasmanian-devil-sounding thing in a basket. No one had actually seen it, but it's roaring was evidently pretty threatening. Evidently this tidbit was passed around verbally from gate room personnel around the city.
Within just a few minutes, traffic on the network was speculating that the Tasmanian devil was Sheppard. The guy had like the weirdest luck with that kind of stuff.
“Tasmanian Devil?” Radek had whispered to Rodney, as they hunched over his computer in Sheppard's quarters. Sheppard was asleep under the blanket on the bed.
“You never watched Bugs Bunny cartoons?” Rodney asked incredulously. “Ugly, squat little guy, moves in a small cyclone and destroys everything in his path.”
“Hmm. Missed that one. They must have seen Ronon.”
Rodney chuckled a dry, he-deserved-it sort of chuckle over the Satedan’s shredded skin and clothing. “Good.”
Personnel in the infirmary at the time of Sheppard’s arrival had corrected the devil theory and confirmed that their military commander was, indeed, a medium-sized black domestic shorthair, the result of some off-world ritual gone awry.
No one was surprised at the transformation, and the general tenor of the email and posts on the expedition discussion boards was, “A cat? Really?”
The discussion devolved into whether the choice of cat was voluntary or forced upon him, and then into what kind of animal the Colonel should have been transformed into. When Rodney got to the posts about winged horses, he clutched his head with both hands, helpless with incredulous fury. Radek made him go stand on the balcony while he shut down the social boards (until further notice) and started deleting the offending entries from the server.
“He must never, never see that,” Rodney whispered vehemently when he returned.
“Deleted, wiped from the server, and I have also disabled all networked printers,” Radek said firmly.
“Good. These people do not deserve computers. Tomorrow we issue chisels and rocks.”
“That,” Radek said, a note of steel in his voice, “sounds promising.”
Rodney looked at him gratefully. He was pretty sure there was some nefarious scheme beginning behind those mild-mannered glasses. He decided he didn’t want to know.
The last allowed communication was the official memo from Elizabeth, announcing Major Lorne’s temporary assumption of the Colonel’s duties that glossed diplomatically over the situation and told the expedition next to nothing. She did mention that she was going to Gata personally to try to reverse the situation as quickly as possible. She urged people to respect Sheppard’s privacy at this, no doubt, difficult time. And she mentioned that Rodney was his proxy, and all necessary communication with Sheppard should be directed to him. She forgot to say that Sheppard was in possession of his faculties.
“Hedging her bets,” said Rodney, bitterly, and Radek went off to the mess to get food, gather information and squash rumors. And probably eviscerate a few people, but again, Rodney wasn’t asking.
When Elizabeth returned from Gata, discouraged and grim, with the news that there was no way to reverse the process; they’d just have to let the transformation run its course.
The device the shaman used was an abandoned Ascension tool that allowed an Ancient to access his essential self, and learn from it, allow it to guide him to release his burdens.
“I ask the ancestral gods to show Sheppard his spirit guide. It is part of him,” the shaman insisted. “It is himself, without the mask of habit and fear and distraction. He must walk in the way of his spirit for the prescribed time. It is a great, great honor Sheppard has been given. Most are only are allowed to view ourselves for a week, maybe hours or days before the effect fades. The-Gata'nah-before-me spoke of a time when those gifted by the Ancestors walked in the way of their spirit for a full moon. Never any longer than that. No one has ever made the seeker light shine so brightly. It is my belief he will walk in spirit form in the full measure of time.”
Elizabeth explained the whole thing to John’s medical team, Rodney and Major Lorne. And, of course, John.
“It sounds very Jungian, actually,” Lorne said. He hadn’t been allowed to go in case the shaman was feeling like shaking his rattle at another ATA gene carrier.
Rodney gaped at him.
“I have depths,” Lorne replied dryly, and affected an injured sniff. Rodney closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Jungian Ancients,” Kate Heightmeyer said. “That’s very interesting.”
“But it doesn’t really get us anywhere,” Rodney said.
John, who was sitting with his paws curled underneath his chest, sighed.
“I’m very sorry I couldn’t do more, Colonel. Rodney,” Elizabeth said uncomfortably.
“Mrrow,” John said, resigned. He got up and padded over to Major Lorne. “Mow?”
“Would you like to go over the duty roster, sir? Hand over the keys to the car?”
“Mrrowr,” he said with firm sadness.
“I promise I’ll give the city back with a full tank and no scratches.”
Most of the table chuckled, glad for a bit of comic relief. Sheppard twitched his ears at him and looked a little more cheerful.
Lorne looked to Dr. Weir. “If you’ll excuse me ma’am? I need to confer with my commander.”
“Um, yes,” Elizabeth said, a little dazed. “Yes. Dismissed. We’ll continue on as planned, then. Thank you.”
The Atlantis Expedition learned its lesson about intranet gossip under the watchful gaze of Rodney McKay. Despite the fact that the social bulletin boards were still shut down, improvised cat toys and accessories appeared spontaneously, as if in apology, within an hour of the news of Sheppard’s extended transformation.
A box lined with a USAF t-shirt appeared on Rodney’s lab table. A scratching pad made of cut and tightly-packed cardboard was left by Rodney’s door, along with a very fine toothed comb, and a pair of what once had been bunny slippers, cleaned, ripped apart and fashioned into a cat bed. Both John and Rodney were suitably impressed by the bed.
Rodney put it on his desk and John ignored it for two days, then began curling up in it while Rodney worked. He rested his chin on top of the lone remaining bunny head, right between the ears. It was almost cuter than Rodney could stand.
Discreet inquiries were made about the Pegasus version of catnip, which was kind of difficult since Pegasus didn’t exactly have cats like Earth cats. Arguments broke out over at the botany and xenobiology tables regularly for a few meals.
Eventually, Botany offered John some wheatgrass growing in a very nice bowl, which he nibbled politely until Rodney told him it would probably make him barf, since it was a digestive aid for hairballs. John got up abruptly and left the mess. He agreed to let Rodney brush and comb him regularly, which became more enjoyable for both of them the less they thought about hairballs.
Radek had a quiet word with the chefs and tiny molasses-flavored cookies appeared in an airtight tin, slightly greasier than Rodney would expect. Radek said gruffly, "Is feline digestive biscuit. Now do not talk to me, I am very busy." John sat guard on Radek's desk all that day, and hissed at anyone who dared to approach.
Botany remained in disgrace for over a week, but redeemed themselves with a cat tree, fully six feet high, wrapped in native sisal-like substance on the support beam, and had two sitting platforms and a cubby, all covered in padding and bright, soft Athosian cloth.
John let the botanists scratch his ears and flirted with all of them shamelessly, flopping on his side and allowing them to pet him before he took up residence in the cubby. He wouldn’t get out of it to let Rodney pick it up properly, so several of John’s botanical fan-club picked it up and shuffled all the way to Rodney’s quarters with it, laughing and cooing at John, who had the air of a rajah riding in his sedan chair. Rodney was rolling his eyes so hard he nearly walked into a wall.
The soldiers, after conspicuously not making Sheppard anything, created an even more luxurious “referee” chair, complete with bell, to referee their basketball games. Belatedly, they asked him to if he’d like to referee. He accepted graciously.
Engineering made him a skateboard. Rodney was terrified of it and started work on a small helmet, which he knew in his heart Sheppard would never wear.
The pilots lobbied Elizabeth to take him on flights. Elizabeth worried he'd convince them somehow to let him fly. Rodney wanted to take him to the mainland with the team for a picnic, and it shocked her so much that Rodney was asking for time off that she nearly said yes. Then she thought, predators and blurted the word aloud. Rodney went pale and walked out without a murmur. So, she didn't have to make a decision about that right away.
The Physics department, with the consulting services of Teyla, Ronon and the Athosian herbalist, found the Pegasus version of catnip, or merryweed, much to the chagrin of Xenobiology and Botany. They held a private party in the main lab one Friday night, got plastered, and tried smoking some of the merryweed, which was damn good.
They laughed themselves sick when John went on a crazed tear around the lab floor and then stopped, vibrating slightly, in the very center of the conversation pit of pillows Simpson had arranged in the corner.
He toppled gently over and rolled, belly up and paws flopping, and crooned long and low at the ceiling. It sounded kind of like he was singing. Rodney had to be propped up by Ronon, as he was laughing too hard to breathe. Teyla gave John a ball of wadded up paper, which he fought fiercely for a few seconds before dropping abruptly into sleep.
The assembled party blinked at him, waiting for the next act, and when nothing happened went back to their conversations, which were chiefly about childhood pets and getting stoned.
John woke up as the party ended and only the team was left, sprawled on the cushions. He crawled over to Rodney and stood on his thighs, propping his front paws on Rodney’s chest. He crooned again, very earnestly, then snuggled as far up Rodney’s chest as he could with Rodney sitting upright, and fell asleep again, purring loudly.
Teyla sighed, sounding a little moonstruck. Rodney peered at her, puzzled. She was gazing at John fondly.
“Everyone fusses over you," he said to sleeping John, stroking his back. "You’re like the town rock star.”
“There are no children here,” Ronon said.
“Mmm?”
“No children, no pets.” Teyla added.
“Ah,” Rodney replied. “Displaced affection. Parenting instincts. Favored son.”
“I do not think is displaced,” Teyla said, “it makes people happy.”
“It makes you happy,” Ronon rumbled.
“Mmm,” Rodney said dreamily. “It does.”
~~~~~
Author: Beadattitude
Pairing: McShep, currently pre-slash
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Schmoop, animal transformation, some angst
Disclaimer: I am playing, happily, with these characters for the love of it, which I do for free.
Chronologically, the fifth part of the Checkmate 'Verse. Sort of meanders around the timeline. Don't worry about it.
These feel related to me. Elizabeth is hovering in all of them, as is news of whether or not John can be changed back to his human self quickly. And they're about community and how people respond to John as a cat. They jump around in time a little, but I think they work fine that way. Enjoy.
Teaser:
Carson paled and straightened his lab coat. “It won’t happen again, Colonel.”
John sat still for a moment longer, staring into Carson’s eyes to let that promise sink in a little. Carson nodded firmly.
“Prrt?” he asked, not turning.
“I’m sorry, lad?”
“Excuse me, Carson, I think that was for me.” Rodney stepped forward. “Colonel? Your chariot awaits.” He stood in John’s peripheral vision.
“Maa.” John said firmly, and leapt off the table, striding purposefully to the door. Rodney, bemused at playing the muscle for once, gave Carson a frosty nod and followed Sheppard out.
~~~
First Panel: Rounds
John and Rodney had taken position at an Ancient console to wait for Elizabeth and the negotiation team to come back through the wormhole from Gata. Rodney was under the unit, where he had been forced to fake repairs for the last half-hour. (He was taking things apart and putting them back together, so, well, it was maintenance-related and would certainly run better when he was through.)
On top of the console, nestled between two workstations, John was sleeping off the stress of the morning. Being affectionately mobbed at breakfast had been more than slightly terrifying, Rodney knew (he’d felt the trembling when John had crawled onto his shoulder and started yowling) but they’d both been horrified and bored at the series of tests Carson and Heightmeyer had decided to put John through. And that was only the beginning of the morning.
Rodney had prepared a batch of multiple choice questions to augment the Prime/Not Prime proof of Sheppard’s intact intelligence, but no, they weren’t nearly enough for the medical professionals. Rodney decided that meant, “The people we have to write reports to - proving that we’re not making this shit up - will need more documentation.”
Having terrorized John the day before, Carson and Dr. Vasha were overly careful and gentle with him, Carson speaking in the idiotic voice favored by stupid tourists hoping that loud+slow = understandable. It irritated Rodney and mostly amused John, whose ears twitched in a very familiar way.
Actually, so did Heightmeyer’s lips, when Carson wasn’t looking, which made Rodney almost like her this morning. She was kind of smart. And blonde. But still. Voodoo. Vasha, he watched like a hawk in case she pulled out the clippers again. John had his full and savage backing to disembowel her for that kind of draconian crap.
He was almost completely certain that John had waited until Carson had become engrossed in the results of some voodoo printout before he crept up behind him and let rip a bone-chilling “death to doctors” yowl. Rodney had seen it coming and the hairs on the back of his neck still stood up.
Carson screamed and fumbled his file, spilling it to the floor. He cast a wild, wary eye on John, who had assumed a pretzel-like-posture and was grooming his tail peacefully, holding it trapped under one paw as if it could get away. Rodney went for the smug/superior look, but was totally howling with laughter on the inside.
“All right, Colonel, I suppose I more than deserved that.”
John unwound himself gracefully and sat in the unnaturally straight and serious posture he seemed to favor when he wanted to make himself look impressive, which was completely unnecessary, given that every one knew Carson, in personal matters, crumbled faster than an over-baked scone. He stared silently at the doctor, the wrath of a man-handled innocent boiling in his eyes.
“Dinna look at me like that, man. I was doing my best.”
John’s tail began to lash back and forth ominously.
“Look,” Carson babbled. “Every test confirms that your brainwaves are far more human than feline and your intelligence tests are actually a bit better - picked up a wee bit of extra spatial acuity, isn’t that much, but still excellent - so you are free to go now. Sorry to take so much of your time this morning, but I just wanted to make sure…”
John continued to stare. Rodney imagined he could see sweat beginning to form on the doctor’s brow. Carson wrung his hands.
“Colonel?”
John remained motionless, except for his tail, which was picking up speed.
“John. Please. Accept my apologies, my sincerest apologies for yesterday.”
Rodney fake coughed, “KKbbbproxyh!” (A crude reminder done solely for the benefit of Sheppard’s amusement.) Rodney was enjoying being a spectator, for once, and letting John do all the heavy lifting. Or heavy tail twitching in this case.
To be honest with himself - which Rodney always was - this form of interrogation/dressing down was something he could never pull off. The argument in his head and the perfect, perfect points he had would just come spilling out as so many pearls before swine. As a master of that form (the scathing diatribe), he could recognize a master of another. John was also pretty good at the well-placed wind-up, but currently did not have the right kind of larynx for that.
“Yes, yes, the proxy. It was wrong of me not to call Rodney right away, and to examine you without him.”
The tail slowed to a slow, dirge-like drumbeat and John’s ears twitched.
“And I should not have let Elizabeth convince me to overlook your right to proxy. I should have stood firm as a doctor and a friend. Christ, man, I made an awful blunder, and I hope you can forgive me.”
John blinked slowly and curled his tail around his feet. “Mow,” he said quietly.
Relief flooded Carson’s features. “Thank you lad. I was afraid I’d destroyed our friendship.”
Sheppard half-closed his eyes, sealing the acceptance of the apology. Carson reached out to pat him (Was he addled?) John moved his head back a few centimeters.
Carson paled and straightened his lab coat. “It won’t happen again, Colonel.”
John sat still for a moment longer, staring into Carson’s eyes to let that promise sink in a little. Carson nodded firmly.
“Prrt?” he asked, not turning.
“I’m sorry, lad?”
“Excuse me, Carson, I think that was for me.” Rodney stepped forward. “Colonel? Your chariot awaits.” He stood in John’s peripheral vision.
“Maa.” John said firmly, and leapt off the table, striding purposefully to the door. Rodney, bemused at playing the muscle for once, gave Carson a frosty nod and followed Sheppard out.
He lengthened his stride to catch up with John, who was perched on one of the chairs in the waiting room.
“Got any prisoners that need interrogating? Marines in trouble? General miscreants? Like to help me unnerve this afternoon’s project review? You could sit in front of each scientist during their presentation and just stare at them, just like that. I tell you, I think it might be even more menacing than when you start to fondle your gun during trade negotiations.”
John looked up at him and blinked his eyes affectionately.
“I mean it. I was impressed, Colonel.”
Rodney talked him into a short jaunt through the labs by pointing out that it hadn’t been the hard science staff that had been all handsy with him. John grumbled in a pro-forma kind of way, but climbed relatively clawlessly onto Rodney’s shoulders.
“Just a little imperious glaring would be nice. Hissing if you only think the situation is necessary. And I don’t think we should really scare any one quite yet. Just a little intimidation. Always the best way to start the morning.”
“Maaa,” John said, and Rodney could almost swear there was a hint of sarcasm in it.
Everything was going perfectly well until they hit Rodney’s wing. The chemists had been easy to intimidate, since Keller was allergic and began sneezing in a terrified manner.
Jensen and Ackles in Engineering were actually too dim to notice John (or acknowledge him) until he hopped off Rodney’s shoulders and sat in front of Ackles for an impromptu report on his project.
Rodney couldn’t see Sheppard’s face, but from the sweat pouring down Ackles’, he was thought John was staring him down. Rodney glanced at the whiteboard behind the hapless engineer for a moment, frowning. Something there wasn’t quite right.
“Maowr!” John said, a hint of an annoyed growl in his voice. Ackles started and John leapt from his lab table to the vacant one nearest the whiteboard. He looked back at Rodney.
“Mowr,” he said seriously, his tail thrashing.
“Colonel? Calculations off?”
“Maaa,” John affirmed, walking to the left lower quadrant of the board and staring at it like it personally offended him. (Which it had.)
“You’ve…you’ve got to be kidding me,” Jensen spluttered. Ackles had elected to go a pasty white.
“No, no, he’s not, Jensen. Colonel Sheppard has a B.A in Applied Mathematics and an M.A. in Aeronautical Engineering.”
“But, but…he’s…”
“Yes, in the armed services, I know, and they send him to go shoot things. The waste of a perfectly good brain, but what can you do, he likes flying.” Rodney shrugged. “And lucky for us that he’s here to catch your ridiculous mistakes, Ackles.”
John had hopped back to Ackles’ table and looked up at pasty-faced scientist.
“Mrrow, prrr, rrrrt,” he offered.
“Don’t give him the answer!” Rodney snapped. “How else is he going to learn? Suffice, it Ackles, to say, that if you launch the module with those calculations, you need to have your affairs in order.” He scooped John up to his shoulders.
“I’ve got meetings the remainder of the morning, so if neither of you can puzzle it out, don’t touch anything and call Radek. You’re in Atlantis, Ackles, not Princeton. Mistakes like that could sink the city.”
“Y-yes sir. A-and thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, thank the Colonel; he caught it first, though I’m sure I would have momentarily.”
“Colonel,” Ackles managed to dribble, still looking pretty pale.
“And eat something; you look like you’re about to keel over.”
“Y-yes, sir.”
They left, the two scientists gaping at them.
Rodney smacked his own forehead in dismay. “Okay, you were great, but eat something?? Call Radek? Jesus, I’m becoming my great aunt Betty!”
“Maaa.”
“No, you’re supposed to come off all mysterious and intimidating and I’m the Wrath of Science. You’ve got the mysterious and kind of creepy/astonishing thing, flaunting your math skills, but I’m…I’m…oh crap; I’m the good cop! I don’t want to be good cop! I’M the one who is supposed to pluck their mistakes out of thin air and humiliate them. You’re supposed to be the one they confide in helplessly until you trip them up with your ninja skills.”
John purred and snuffled at Rodney’s ear. “Neeea?” he asked.
“Oh, shut up.”
John snuffled some more and bumped his head against Rodney’s.
“This is very confusing!” Rodney wrung his hands. “You’re, you’re a bad influence.”
He could feel Sheppard up there on his shoulders, smirking.
His own lab was somewhat better, since Rodney had recovered enough of his bark to yell at Miko, who was totally hogging bothering Sheppard with a thorough ear scratching.
“What have you done to him, he looks drunk!”
“No, he is happy, Dr. McKay. I find his special ear spot. Makes all cats fall over and drool.”
“Well,” Rodney huffed, knowing full well what an ear spot was and slightly miffed Sheppard hadn’t drooled for him, “it’s hardly dignified, is it Colonel?”
John fought to open his eyes against the power of the scritch. “Brrwr,” he slurred, leaning his entire body-weight into Miko’s hand.
“Look at you! Have you no shame? No dignity?”
Miko giggled - actually giggled aloud - and Rodney was so surprised he stood with his mouth open for several seconds. He fought the urge to grab Sheppard and run, far, far away. She was much more dangerous than he’d ever imagined.
Slowly, Miko lowered her hand to the table and John followed it, eyes closed in kitty bliss. Once she had him stretched out on her lab table, she removed her hand, gave him one last pat, and went back to work, a very satisfied look on her face.
Sheppard lay in a puddle of limbs and fur, mostly asleep and, yes, drooling.
Rodney threw his hands in the air. “Unbelievable!”
Too flustered and irritable to remain in his lab, Rodney gathered up the unresisting (still mostly snoozing) Colonel and some tools and beat a strategic retreat to the gate room, where surely there was something that needed fixing.
~~~
Middle Panel: Hands off management
Despite her skills as a diplomat, Elizabeth cannot quite make her self believably comfortable in John’s presence for the month that he is a cat. They both know it.
She understands that he is there, in that small body. She has all the reports, and she’s seen him in action.
People relate to him - even some of the newer expedition members that don’t know Sheppard - as if he were a person. Some pet him and play with him, and lord knows that Rodney is utterly besotted, but they talk to him, even report to him just as they always did.
She can’t figure out how they understand what he’s saying. All she hears is the cry of an animal. It bothers the linguist in her. It bothers her.
Maybe it’s the idea of it all; that the Ancients constructed something that would alter a person so much for nothing better than a bit of navel-gazing. It’s distasteful and overly self-indulgent. Some of that dislike bleeds over to John, helplessly. She needs him, needs his expertise and he’s just not available, not like he should be. She can’t help but be irritated.
He feels it, she knows. Initially, he greeted her like he greeted all his friends, walking across the table to her and sniffing her hand or a giving a gentle nudge to her shoulder with his head. She smiled, but didn’t touch him if she could help it.
He bumps his head against shoulders and chests, allows people he likes to scratch his ears and stroke his back. He sprawls out across Ronon’s outstretched legs or Teyla’s lap, or snoozes on the table with one paw flung possessively over Rodney’s wrist. He respects her wishes, and no longer attempts to touch her.
She wishes that John would try one more time. She aches to touch his cool, silky fur, to hear the rumble of his happiness, and feel his small, strong weight. And maybe, if he wanted to sit with her a while, the sharp flashes of sheer, unreasonable jealousy would go away.
~~~
Life in a Small Town
News that Sheppard would be remaining in feline form for at least thirty days spread as news on Atlantis did, at light speed, though some have theorized that gossip actually travels faster. It certainly had the day he returned from Gata.
Rodney, in a fit of pique and righteous rage, locked everyone out of the email system for the evening after he discovered that the Colonel’s condition was, in fact, not private but the talk of the expedition.
“GET BACK TO WORK, YOU VULTURES”, he’d scolded. “AND PRAY YOU NEVER HAVE THE NEED FOR THE DISCRECTION OF YOUR COLLEGUES.”
He wanted to blame Radek, well-known as the hottest source of information in the city. (Rodney had a theory that he absorbed it through his wispy hair) But he was just as incensed as Rodney and cursed a lot. Whatever he said sounded pretty violent, and Rodney just didn’t think that he’d manufacture that kind of rage over an out-and-out-lie.
There was, for a half-hour or so, the rumor that Ronon and Teyla had returned without the Colonel and with a kind of a Tasmanian-devil-sounding thing in a basket. No one had actually seen it, but it's roaring was evidently pretty threatening. Evidently this tidbit was passed around verbally from gate room personnel around the city.
Within just a few minutes, traffic on the network was speculating that the Tasmanian devil was Sheppard. The guy had like the weirdest luck with that kind of stuff.
“Tasmanian Devil?” Radek had whispered to Rodney, as they hunched over his computer in Sheppard's quarters. Sheppard was asleep under the blanket on the bed.
“You never watched Bugs Bunny cartoons?” Rodney asked incredulously. “Ugly, squat little guy, moves in a small cyclone and destroys everything in his path.”
“Hmm. Missed that one. They must have seen Ronon.”
Rodney chuckled a dry, he-deserved-it sort of chuckle over the Satedan’s shredded skin and clothing. “Good.”
Personnel in the infirmary at the time of Sheppard’s arrival had corrected the devil theory and confirmed that their military commander was, indeed, a medium-sized black domestic shorthair, the result of some off-world ritual gone awry.
No one was surprised at the transformation, and the general tenor of the email and posts on the expedition discussion boards was, “A cat? Really?”
The discussion devolved into whether the choice of cat was voluntary or forced upon him, and then into what kind of animal the Colonel should have been transformed into. When Rodney got to the posts about winged horses, he clutched his head with both hands, helpless with incredulous fury. Radek made him go stand on the balcony while he shut down the social boards (until further notice) and started deleting the offending entries from the server.
“He must never, never see that,” Rodney whispered vehemently when he returned.
“Deleted, wiped from the server, and I have also disabled all networked printers,” Radek said firmly.
“Good. These people do not deserve computers. Tomorrow we issue chisels and rocks.”
“That,” Radek said, a note of steel in his voice, “sounds promising.”
Rodney looked at him gratefully. He was pretty sure there was some nefarious scheme beginning behind those mild-mannered glasses. He decided he didn’t want to know.
The last allowed communication was the official memo from Elizabeth, announcing Major Lorne’s temporary assumption of the Colonel’s duties that glossed diplomatically over the situation and told the expedition next to nothing. She did mention that she was going to Gata personally to try to reverse the situation as quickly as possible. She urged people to respect Sheppard’s privacy at this, no doubt, difficult time. And she mentioned that Rodney was his proxy, and all necessary communication with Sheppard should be directed to him. She forgot to say that Sheppard was in possession of his faculties.
“Hedging her bets,” said Rodney, bitterly, and Radek went off to the mess to get food, gather information and squash rumors. And probably eviscerate a few people, but again, Rodney wasn’t asking.
When Elizabeth returned from Gata, discouraged and grim, with the news that there was no way to reverse the process; they’d just have to let the transformation run its course.
The device the shaman used was an abandoned Ascension tool that allowed an Ancient to access his essential self, and learn from it, allow it to guide him to release his burdens.
“I ask the ancestral gods to show Sheppard his spirit guide. It is part of him,” the shaman insisted. “It is himself, without the mask of habit and fear and distraction. He must walk in the way of his spirit for the prescribed time. It is a great, great honor Sheppard has been given. Most are only are allowed to view ourselves for a week, maybe hours or days before the effect fades. The-Gata'nah-before-me spoke of a time when those gifted by the Ancestors walked in the way of their spirit for a full moon. Never any longer than that. No one has ever made the seeker light shine so brightly. It is my belief he will walk in spirit form in the full measure of time.”
Elizabeth explained the whole thing to John’s medical team, Rodney and Major Lorne. And, of course, John.
“It sounds very Jungian, actually,” Lorne said. He hadn’t been allowed to go in case the shaman was feeling like shaking his rattle at another ATA gene carrier.
Rodney gaped at him.
“I have depths,” Lorne replied dryly, and affected an injured sniff. Rodney closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Jungian Ancients,” Kate Heightmeyer said. “That’s very interesting.”
“But it doesn’t really get us anywhere,” Rodney said.
John, who was sitting with his paws curled underneath his chest, sighed.
“I’m very sorry I couldn’t do more, Colonel. Rodney,” Elizabeth said uncomfortably.
“Mrrow,” John said, resigned. He got up and padded over to Major Lorne. “Mow?”
“Would you like to go over the duty roster, sir? Hand over the keys to the car?”
“Mrrowr,” he said with firm sadness.
“I promise I’ll give the city back with a full tank and no scratches.”
Most of the table chuckled, glad for a bit of comic relief. Sheppard twitched his ears at him and looked a little more cheerful.
Lorne looked to Dr. Weir. “If you’ll excuse me ma’am? I need to confer with my commander.”
“Um, yes,” Elizabeth said, a little dazed. “Yes. Dismissed. We’ll continue on as planned, then. Thank you.”
The Atlantis Expedition learned its lesson about intranet gossip under the watchful gaze of Rodney McKay. Despite the fact that the social bulletin boards were still shut down, improvised cat toys and accessories appeared spontaneously, as if in apology, within an hour of the news of Sheppard’s extended transformation.
A box lined with a USAF t-shirt appeared on Rodney’s lab table. A scratching pad made of cut and tightly-packed cardboard was left by Rodney’s door, along with a very fine toothed comb, and a pair of what once had been bunny slippers, cleaned, ripped apart and fashioned into a cat bed. Both John and Rodney were suitably impressed by the bed.
Rodney put it on his desk and John ignored it for two days, then began curling up in it while Rodney worked. He rested his chin on top of the lone remaining bunny head, right between the ears. It was almost cuter than Rodney could stand.
Discreet inquiries were made about the Pegasus version of catnip, which was kind of difficult since Pegasus didn’t exactly have cats like Earth cats. Arguments broke out over at the botany and xenobiology tables regularly for a few meals.
Eventually, Botany offered John some wheatgrass growing in a very nice bowl, which he nibbled politely until Rodney told him it would probably make him barf, since it was a digestive aid for hairballs. John got up abruptly and left the mess. He agreed to let Rodney brush and comb him regularly, which became more enjoyable for both of them the less they thought about hairballs.
Radek had a quiet word with the chefs and tiny molasses-flavored cookies appeared in an airtight tin, slightly greasier than Rodney would expect. Radek said gruffly, "Is feline digestive biscuit. Now do not talk to me, I am very busy." John sat guard on Radek's desk all that day, and hissed at anyone who dared to approach.
Botany remained in disgrace for over a week, but redeemed themselves with a cat tree, fully six feet high, wrapped in native sisal-like substance on the support beam, and had two sitting platforms and a cubby, all covered in padding and bright, soft Athosian cloth.
John let the botanists scratch his ears and flirted with all of them shamelessly, flopping on his side and allowing them to pet him before he took up residence in the cubby. He wouldn’t get out of it to let Rodney pick it up properly, so several of John’s botanical fan-club picked it up and shuffled all the way to Rodney’s quarters with it, laughing and cooing at John, who had the air of a rajah riding in his sedan chair. Rodney was rolling his eyes so hard he nearly walked into a wall.
The soldiers, after conspicuously not making Sheppard anything, created an even more luxurious “referee” chair, complete with bell, to referee their basketball games. Belatedly, they asked him to if he’d like to referee. He accepted graciously.
Engineering made him a skateboard. Rodney was terrified of it and started work on a small helmet, which he knew in his heart Sheppard would never wear.
The pilots lobbied Elizabeth to take him on flights. Elizabeth worried he'd convince them somehow to let him fly. Rodney wanted to take him to the mainland with the team for a picnic, and it shocked her so much that Rodney was asking for time off that she nearly said yes. Then she thought, predators and blurted the word aloud. Rodney went pale and walked out without a murmur. So, she didn't have to make a decision about that right away.
The Physics department, with the consulting services of Teyla, Ronon and the Athosian herbalist, found the Pegasus version of catnip, or merryweed, much to the chagrin of Xenobiology and Botany. They held a private party in the main lab one Friday night, got plastered, and tried smoking some of the merryweed, which was damn good.
They laughed themselves sick when John went on a crazed tear around the lab floor and then stopped, vibrating slightly, in the very center of the conversation pit of pillows Simpson had arranged in the corner.
He toppled gently over and rolled, belly up and paws flopping, and crooned long and low at the ceiling. It sounded kind of like he was singing. Rodney had to be propped up by Ronon, as he was laughing too hard to breathe. Teyla gave John a ball of wadded up paper, which he fought fiercely for a few seconds before dropping abruptly into sleep.
The assembled party blinked at him, waiting for the next act, and when nothing happened went back to their conversations, which were chiefly about childhood pets and getting stoned.
John woke up as the party ended and only the team was left, sprawled on the cushions. He crawled over to Rodney and stood on his thighs, propping his front paws on Rodney’s chest. He crooned again, very earnestly, then snuggled as far up Rodney’s chest as he could with Rodney sitting upright, and fell asleep again, purring loudly.
Teyla sighed, sounding a little moonstruck. Rodney peered at her, puzzled. She was gazing at John fondly.
“Everyone fusses over you," he said to sleeping John, stroking his back. "You’re like the town rock star.”
“There are no children here,” Ronon said.
“Mmm?”
“No children, no pets.” Teyla added.
“Ah,” Rodney replied. “Displaced affection. Parenting instincts. Favored son.”
“I do not think is displaced,” Teyla said, “it makes people happy.”
“It makes you happy,” Ronon rumbled.
“Mmm,” Rodney said dreamily. “It does.”
~~~~~