Fic: Checkmate 'Verse: Bad Days
Title: Bad Days
Series:Checkmate ‘Verse
Author: Beadattitude
Pairing: John/Rodney (pre-slash)
Rating: PG-13 (language & off screen violence)
Beta: ladycat777 & sageness
Warnings: Animal transformation, angst, schmoop, romance
Author's Notes: For some reason, this one had me cross-eyed, it gave me so much trouble. Let me know if you spot any typos, yes? I tried hard to get all the lovely work that my betas put in, but like I said, got a little cross-eyed. (Also? Give me a minute to figure out where this lies. I think somewhere before day 20, but I have to really think about it.)
Summary: Not every day as a cat is sunshine and belly rubs.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
There are days that are not so great. It’s not really a surprise, given where they live, the enemies they face and, well, that John is another species at the moment.
He tries not to worry anyone if he’s feeling extra frustration. There are plenty of little everyday frustrations of things he can’t do: cut his own food, get his own food, take a shower, argue with Rodney about Batman, use his computer. Spar. Shoot. Talk. Fly.
John’s friends help him with all those things as much as they can, but sometimes…
Of course, there are trade-offs that mitigate the loss. His ability to jump is completely awesome. He and Teyla attempted catching the Frisbee, but it was too thick for his mouth and really too big for him to carry, so they stick to their bell ball game.
When he’s not using jumping for basic locomotion in a city that’s way too big for him, (getting the right spot on the transporter map is tricky) he uses it to scare the crap out of people, which never gets old. It’s especially fun to see Ronon jump. He just has to keep in mind he’ll still be sparring with Ronon when it’s all over.
Hanging out with Rodney whenever he wants is really cool. Same with falling asleep in meetings, though he does try to keep that to a minimum.
Getting Zelenka and his team out when they were trapped down in a lower-level lab was an adventure John was proud of, since he came up with the core idea for the rescue. No one was hurt too badly, but the trick was going to be getting a team into the area to rewire - or more likely - blow the door.
He listened to Rodney try to figure out what was going on and what was needed with the combat engineers, without leaving the trapped team down there too long. When ‘too long’ had passed five minutes ago, he took off at top speed for their quarters.
When he rolled back into the lab atop the skateboard, everyone turned and stared at him, wide eyed. He hopped off the skateboard and went around one end to nose it forward.
Rodney got it right away. “I hate that idea. Yes, you’re small enough to navigate but,” he counted off on his fingers, ‘ No protection other than your fur, no light, and too dangerous. And what about corners?”
“Maybe if he drags it far enough in, he can carry tools to Radek in his mouth?” Dr. Simpson ventured.
“What about air ducts?” Sgt. Gillespie asked. “From what we can tell, there’s no structural damage outside this lab and the one on the southwest side of it. The Colonel could take an easy stroll over to the lab from right over here.” She pointed to a place on the map well away from the damaged section, but close enough that it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch for him to walk pushing a load of supplies.”
Rodney looked at John and patted the top of his lab table. John leapt up.
“I want you to listen to this,” he said, sitting down and reaching a hand to his ear. John stood on his hind legs and draped himself over Rodney’s shoulder to press his cheek next to Rodney’s ear.
“Radek?” Rodney keyed his radio. “Is the air vent in your area blocked off?”
“We are breathing well, Rodney.” Despite his words, Radek sounded tired and a little wheezy.
“Not what I asked you. Is the air vent accessible?”
“Yes, but,” Radek sounded confused. “Not even Miko could fit into such a small space. Perhaps we should look for shrink ray?”
“Just get the cover off the end of the vent and sit tight. McKay out.”
John sat down on the lab table and looked at Rodney expectantly. Rodney heaved a heavy sigh. “I don’t like it, but it’s the best idea we have.”
John tried to contain his excitement, but some must have leaked out, because Rodney gave him a dirty look and reached into one of his drawers. “There’s one condition, though,” he said, deadly serious. He placed a strangely trimmed half-sphere with a strap attached on the table.
John looked up at Rodney, incredulous.
“You’re not going into a partially collapsed area without some protection. It’s the helmet or we figure out something else. Maybe the controlled demolition Gillespie suggested.”
The demo would take hours, and airflow or not, one of the science team had a broken arm and they didn’t have much water to share. John looked down at the little helmet, carved out of some sort of hard foam. Rodney had painted it black and made little holes for his ears. It wasn’t bad, really.
He was going to look so ridiculous.
“I can rig up a light to put on the front,” Rodney offered.
Batting the strap with one paw, John replied, “Fine. No pictures”
~*~*~*~*~
John consults with Jensen and Ackles every once in awhile, an intellectual situation that never would have happened if he hadn’t been riding around on Rodney’s shoulders doing rounds. The guys set up a large Zen garden thing for him to write in, using his paw to make his corrections, and somehow, it gets around that he’s an excellent proofreader.
“Um, Colonel Sheppard?,” Miko asks shyly one morning while John and Ronon are sharing some pancakes and sausage, “I would be honored if you would visit our lab today and take a look at the calculations for project I am working on with Dr. Simpson.”
”Huh?” John asks, perplexed.
Miko gives Ronon what passes in her world as a defiant glare and bends down to look earnestly at John. “It is my understanding, from…friends of mine…that you are more than proficient in higher mathematics and - she clears her throat nervously - “we would very much like you to review our calculations for proposed ‘jumper upgrades before we hand the proposal off to Dr. Zelenka and Dr. McKay.”
John blinks in astonishment a few times and then walks over to Miko and sits in front of her. “Sure,” he agrees in the most pleasant voice he can muster.
“Thank you very kindly, Colonel. Perhaps around 1100?”
“Okay.”
As Miko bows her way off, John looks back at Ronon. ”Can you believe that?” he asks.
“Your life is so strange, Sheppard,” Ronon muses, as he shoves two pancakes into his mouth. “Hey,” he adds moistly, “I hear she and Simpson hoard the good chocolate. Think you can get some?”
John steals the last sausage in reply.
~*~*~*~*~
Lorne and Ronon had an idea for a company-wide base drill - not really formal, more of a game to blow off some steam - but it’s also kind of a sneaky way to learn the city for the new guys. They had come to him, worried that he might be offended, but once they laid out the plan for him, he couldn’t wait to throw himself into it. Literally: the opening salvo was Ronon tossing him into a poker game to steal the hat of the prosperity god that presided over all military games of chance. The hat’s where they put the money.
John sailed over several heads, landed heavily, scattering cards and bet markers everywhere,. Once he had everyone’s attention, he let let out a bloodcurdling yowl, stole the hat, used Sgt. Hawkins as a launch pad, pushed off the north wall and was out the door before any soldier - Marine or Air Force - had time to do more than shout in dismay.
It took the marines five hours to catch him inside their own city. (Night vision without goggles is so cool.)
“Sir,” Hawkins grumbled good-naturedly afterwards, as he rubbed the scratches on his scalp, “if you wanted into the game you coulda just said so.”
John sprawled in the middle of the mess table and yawned as if to say that playing cards was so previous species.
~*~*~*~*~
The decisions to include him seem quite genuine; no one’s making busywork for him and he’s actually doing something, helping in little ways that make things easier for his people.
It feels good. But he misses doing his real job. He knows it’s only temporary, that in a way this is just a more-bizarre-than-usual medical stand-down. But it’s not. It’s so, so not.
John misses flying like he lost a limb, especially when he can’t use any of those skills to pull his people out of a hot situation.
It’s not like he doesn’t trust his pilots -- he does. There’s just that little nagging, proud bit of himself that knows he’s the best pilot they’ve got and maybe, just maybe, if he’d been at the controls, he might have pushed the ‘jumper a little bit faster, been there in time to bring everyone home.
Days like that are the worst. He visits the injured, like he always does, but it’s just as awkward while he’s a cat, because now there’s just nothing he can say. So he and Rodney shadow Lorne, who says all the nice words that don’t sound forced when they come out of his mouth. John envies that.
There's a small disaster off world; a simple mission to exchange trade goods turned into a firefight due to local political unrest. They lose four Marines.
Elizabeth calls Rodney with the bad news and they plan to meet Lorne at the infirmary to visit the survivors. They have to get past Carson first, though. And he meets John and Rodney and Lorne at the door when they come in, arms crossed.
Beckett makes noises about the unsanitary conditions of having a cat roaming around the infirmary. And he won’t quite look John in the eye.
“For crying out loud, it’s the Colonel!” Lorne blurts. Everyone looks at him. John wants to promote him on the spot. Lorne colors a little but doesn’t back down. He’s pretty impressive when he’s this pissed. “We just want to see our people; four of ‘em didn’t come home today and we need to see the ones that did. And they need to see us.”
“Thank you, Major,” Rodney says, his chin tilting to “victory is nigh.” “Carson, it’s not as if he’s going to be putting his paws in open wounds,” he points out.
John remains on Rodney’s shoulders with his ears back and trying to convey all of his full Military Commander displeasure, and makes a brief, threatening noise.
“Yes, well. Then. You’re right, I suppose. I’m sure they’ll be glad of a friendly face. I’ll just leave you to it, then Colonel, Major, Rodney,” Carson says, voice a bit strangled. “Don’t let Rodney tire anyone out with his jawing, now.”
John blinks solemnly and holds his position until Carson retreats.
“Ha.” Rodney says with grim satisfaction, and marches off for them to both be awkwardly sympathetic. It’s easier somehow to do in tandem.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Lorne seems to want to go over the casualty list with him and that’s fine; a burden halved is a burden shared. John sits with him while he writes the condolence letters, listens as he reads them aloud and asks his opinion. He shows Evan where the bottle of whiskey is in his desk drawer, and wishes he could have some. Evan gives him a grim smile and they have a small, two-man wake. John tries to listen as long as Lorne needs him, but pretty soon it’s obvious that John’s as good at this now as he was as a human.
“Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Meh,” John drawls his permission, and twitches both ears and his tail at him. Like he cares about that tonight.
“I have to say, sir,” Lorne muses, chin in hand, “you’re not a hell of a lot different like this. Sure, you really have the whole man-in-black special ops thing in the bag, and god, the men love you like always, but. This is not so weird.” He looks at his mug. “Maybe that’s the bourbon talking,” he adds, already shaking his head. “No, it’s not. What’s weird is? I think the unit is more…” he threads his fingers together, making a strong mesh. “You know? I do not know how you do that. You can’t even fucking talk.”
John has no idea what to say to that. Talking about himself is never a comfortable subject- except, he doesn’t have to talk, he realizes. It feels easy, even natural, as he stands up and head butts against Evan’s shoulder. Hard. “Lorne,” he scolds, and butts him again. Don’t be stupid.”
Lorne blinks at the long, meowing reply before making a scoffing sound. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, right.” Lorne demurs.
John sits up straight and half-closes his eyes, trying to radiate approval for the job Lorne is doing. He might have to head-butt him again.
Lorne gives him a little half-smile. “We do have that whole ‘bad cop, good kitty’ thing going on when we need it.”
John gives him a look and Lorne clears his throat. “Sorry, sir,‘good cat.’”
~*~*~*~*~
He does his own grieving privately. Teyla finds him - not hard because it’s her gym - with his head propped on a stack of her towels. If she’s startled at the unexpected visitor - he never arrives before her - she hides it well.
“John. May I have a towel?”
He looks at her, trying to convey just how comfortable he is with the towels exactly like they are.
She considers him a moment. “I believe there are others in my basket over….there….” she murmurs and drifts off.
John closes his eyes, relieved. A few moments later, he smells Teyla close again before she lifts his towel basket. He opens his eyes as she turns the basket toward the partially opened window and the sea. “I do not think anyone will disturb you if your back is turned and the towels are hidden,” she says kindly.
He lifts his head and looks into her warm, serene face. “Aowr,” he cries softly.
She strokes his ears. “Rest and find peace, my friend. You are safe here.”
John leans his cheek against her hand and purrs quietly. Teyla draws her fingers away in a slow caress. He sighs and looks out to sea, the sound of sticks striking one another rhythmic, orderly and familiar behind him. Too soon, they take on the sharp, staccato report of gunshots, and the peace is broken.
~*~*~*~
John’s curled on the bed when Rodney comes home, a tight knot of misery and self-recrimination. He still can’t shake the feeling that he might have made a difference out there today, if he was his regular self.
Rodney doesn’t say anything, just putters around taking of his jacket and shoes and putting on a pair of sweats. He sits on the bed and strokes John from head to tail, smooth firm strokes down his back, over and over, until John uncurls helplessly, wanting more of the wonderful hand smoothing the day’s pain away.
“You couldn’t have stopped it, you know.” Rodney murmurs, and puts a hand on John’s belly when he tries to curl up again, bracketing him front and back with warm hands. John lies limp and discouraged between them.
“We would have been off world on a whole other mission ourselves, if you weren’t…”
John looks up and finishes the sentence for him, ”A fucking cat.”
“Yell at me all you want. We had a return mission to PX5-432 scheduled for today. We couldn’t have gotten there in time.”
John slumps back on the bed and Rodney curls up behind him, pulling John to lean against his chest as he strokes his belly. John can hear him thinking.
“I know you, John Sheppard,” he whispers after a long, time, “and you can’t always be the big action hero or be in two places at once. Not even I can break the laws of space and time to help you do that.”
That’s enough to earn Rodney a look, so John tips his face back and twitches his ears at him.
“Okay, maybe I could, but it really causes more problems than it’s worth. Including possibly destroying the universe.”
“Meh,” John sighs, and relaxes into Rodney’s touch.
“Listen,” he whispers. “Did you get any dinner? I can go get you some turkey.”
John looks up at him again.
“Okay.” Rodney’s sweet smile doesn’t make the day’s sadness go away, but it sure as hell makes it more bearable. “Not going anywhere.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*
Series:Checkmate ‘Verse
Author: Beadattitude
Pairing: John/Rodney (pre-slash)
Rating: PG-13 (language & off screen violence)
Beta: ladycat777 & sageness
Warnings: Animal transformation, angst, schmoop, romance
Author's Notes: For some reason, this one had me cross-eyed, it gave me so much trouble. Let me know if you spot any typos, yes? I tried hard to get all the lovely work that my betas put in, but like I said, got a little cross-eyed. (Also? Give me a minute to figure out where this lies. I think somewhere before day 20, but I have to really think about it.)
Summary: Not every day as a cat is sunshine and belly rubs.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
There are days that are not so great. It’s not really a surprise, given where they live, the enemies they face and, well, that John is another species at the moment.
He tries not to worry anyone if he’s feeling extra frustration. There are plenty of little everyday frustrations of things he can’t do: cut his own food, get his own food, take a shower, argue with Rodney about Batman, use his computer. Spar. Shoot. Talk. Fly.
John’s friends help him with all those things as much as they can, but sometimes…
Of course, there are trade-offs that mitigate the loss. His ability to jump is completely awesome. He and Teyla attempted catching the Frisbee, but it was too thick for his mouth and really too big for him to carry, so they stick to their bell ball game.
When he’s not using jumping for basic locomotion in a city that’s way too big for him, (getting the right spot on the transporter map is tricky) he uses it to scare the crap out of people, which never gets old. It’s especially fun to see Ronon jump. He just has to keep in mind he’ll still be sparring with Ronon when it’s all over.
Hanging out with Rodney whenever he wants is really cool. Same with falling asleep in meetings, though he does try to keep that to a minimum.
Getting Zelenka and his team out when they were trapped down in a lower-level lab was an adventure John was proud of, since he came up with the core idea for the rescue. No one was hurt too badly, but the trick was going to be getting a team into the area to rewire - or more likely - blow the door.
He listened to Rodney try to figure out what was going on and what was needed with the combat engineers, without leaving the trapped team down there too long. When ‘too long’ had passed five minutes ago, he took off at top speed for their quarters.
When he rolled back into the lab atop the skateboard, everyone turned and stared at him, wide eyed. He hopped off the skateboard and went around one end to nose it forward.
Rodney got it right away. “I hate that idea. Yes, you’re small enough to navigate but,” he counted off on his fingers, ‘ No protection other than your fur, no light, and too dangerous. And what about corners?”
“Maybe if he drags it far enough in, he can carry tools to Radek in his mouth?” Dr. Simpson ventured.
“What about air ducts?” Sgt. Gillespie asked. “From what we can tell, there’s no structural damage outside this lab and the one on the southwest side of it. The Colonel could take an easy stroll over to the lab from right over here.” She pointed to a place on the map well away from the damaged section, but close enough that it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch for him to walk pushing a load of supplies.”
Rodney looked at John and patted the top of his lab table. John leapt up.
“I want you to listen to this,” he said, sitting down and reaching a hand to his ear. John stood on his hind legs and draped himself over Rodney’s shoulder to press his cheek next to Rodney’s ear.
“Radek?” Rodney keyed his radio. “Is the air vent in your area blocked off?”
“We are breathing well, Rodney.” Despite his words, Radek sounded tired and a little wheezy.
“Not what I asked you. Is the air vent accessible?”
“Yes, but,” Radek sounded confused. “Not even Miko could fit into such a small space. Perhaps we should look for shrink ray?”
“Just get the cover off the end of the vent and sit tight. McKay out.”
John sat down on the lab table and looked at Rodney expectantly. Rodney heaved a heavy sigh. “I don’t like it, but it’s the best idea we have.”
John tried to contain his excitement, but some must have leaked out, because Rodney gave him a dirty look and reached into one of his drawers. “There’s one condition, though,” he said, deadly serious. He placed a strangely trimmed half-sphere with a strap attached on the table.
John looked up at Rodney, incredulous.
“You’re not going into a partially collapsed area without some protection. It’s the helmet or we figure out something else. Maybe the controlled demolition Gillespie suggested.”
The demo would take hours, and airflow or not, one of the science team had a broken arm and they didn’t have much water to share. John looked down at the little helmet, carved out of some sort of hard foam. Rodney had painted it black and made little holes for his ears. It wasn’t bad, really.
He was going to look so ridiculous.
“I can rig up a light to put on the front,” Rodney offered.
Batting the strap with one paw, John replied, “Fine. No pictures”
~*~*~*~*~
John consults with Jensen and Ackles every once in awhile, an intellectual situation that never would have happened if he hadn’t been riding around on Rodney’s shoulders doing rounds. The guys set up a large Zen garden thing for him to write in, using his paw to make his corrections, and somehow, it gets around that he’s an excellent proofreader.
“Um, Colonel Sheppard?,” Miko asks shyly one morning while John and Ronon are sharing some pancakes and sausage, “I would be honored if you would visit our lab today and take a look at the calculations for project I am working on with Dr. Simpson.”
”Huh?” John asks, perplexed.
Miko gives Ronon what passes in her world as a defiant glare and bends down to look earnestly at John. “It is my understanding, from…friends of mine…that you are more than proficient in higher mathematics and - she clears her throat nervously - “we would very much like you to review our calculations for proposed ‘jumper upgrades before we hand the proposal off to Dr. Zelenka and Dr. McKay.”
John blinks in astonishment a few times and then walks over to Miko and sits in front of her. “Sure,” he agrees in the most pleasant voice he can muster.
“Thank you very kindly, Colonel. Perhaps around 1100?”
“Okay.”
As Miko bows her way off, John looks back at Ronon. ”Can you believe that?” he asks.
“Your life is so strange, Sheppard,” Ronon muses, as he shoves two pancakes into his mouth. “Hey,” he adds moistly, “I hear she and Simpson hoard the good chocolate. Think you can get some?”
John steals the last sausage in reply.
~*~*~*~*~
Lorne and Ronon had an idea for a company-wide base drill - not really formal, more of a game to blow off some steam - but it’s also kind of a sneaky way to learn the city for the new guys. They had come to him, worried that he might be offended, but once they laid out the plan for him, he couldn’t wait to throw himself into it. Literally: the opening salvo was Ronon tossing him into a poker game to steal the hat of the prosperity god that presided over all military games of chance. The hat’s where they put the money.
John sailed over several heads, landed heavily, scattering cards and bet markers everywhere,. Once he had everyone’s attention, he let let out a bloodcurdling yowl, stole the hat, used Sgt. Hawkins as a launch pad, pushed off the north wall and was out the door before any soldier - Marine or Air Force - had time to do more than shout in dismay.
It took the marines five hours to catch him inside their own city. (Night vision without goggles is so cool.)
“Sir,” Hawkins grumbled good-naturedly afterwards, as he rubbed the scratches on his scalp, “if you wanted into the game you coulda just said so.”
John sprawled in the middle of the mess table and yawned as if to say that playing cards was so previous species.
~*~*~*~*~
The decisions to include him seem quite genuine; no one’s making busywork for him and he’s actually doing something, helping in little ways that make things easier for his people.
It feels good. But he misses doing his real job. He knows it’s only temporary, that in a way this is just a more-bizarre-than-usual medical stand-down. But it’s not. It’s so, so not.
John misses flying like he lost a limb, especially when he can’t use any of those skills to pull his people out of a hot situation.
It’s not like he doesn’t trust his pilots -- he does. There’s just that little nagging, proud bit of himself that knows he’s the best pilot they’ve got and maybe, just maybe, if he’d been at the controls, he might have pushed the ‘jumper a little bit faster, been there in time to bring everyone home.
Days like that are the worst. He visits the injured, like he always does, but it’s just as awkward while he’s a cat, because now there’s just nothing he can say. So he and Rodney shadow Lorne, who says all the nice words that don’t sound forced when they come out of his mouth. John envies that.
There's a small disaster off world; a simple mission to exchange trade goods turned into a firefight due to local political unrest. They lose four Marines.
Elizabeth calls Rodney with the bad news and they plan to meet Lorne at the infirmary to visit the survivors. They have to get past Carson first, though. And he meets John and Rodney and Lorne at the door when they come in, arms crossed.
Beckett makes noises about the unsanitary conditions of having a cat roaming around the infirmary. And he won’t quite look John in the eye.
“For crying out loud, it’s the Colonel!” Lorne blurts. Everyone looks at him. John wants to promote him on the spot. Lorne colors a little but doesn’t back down. He’s pretty impressive when he’s this pissed. “We just want to see our people; four of ‘em didn’t come home today and we need to see the ones that did. And they need to see us.”
“Thank you, Major,” Rodney says, his chin tilting to “victory is nigh.” “Carson, it’s not as if he’s going to be putting his paws in open wounds,” he points out.
John remains on Rodney’s shoulders with his ears back and trying to convey all of his full Military Commander displeasure, and makes a brief, threatening noise.
“Yes, well. Then. You’re right, I suppose. I’m sure they’ll be glad of a friendly face. I’ll just leave you to it, then Colonel, Major, Rodney,” Carson says, voice a bit strangled. “Don’t let Rodney tire anyone out with his jawing, now.”
John blinks solemnly and holds his position until Carson retreats.
“Ha.” Rodney says with grim satisfaction, and marches off for them to both be awkwardly sympathetic. It’s easier somehow to do in tandem.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Lorne seems to want to go over the casualty list with him and that’s fine; a burden halved is a burden shared. John sits with him while he writes the condolence letters, listens as he reads them aloud and asks his opinion. He shows Evan where the bottle of whiskey is in his desk drawer, and wishes he could have some. Evan gives him a grim smile and they have a small, two-man wake. John tries to listen as long as Lorne needs him, but pretty soon it’s obvious that John’s as good at this now as he was as a human.
“Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Meh,” John drawls his permission, and twitches both ears and his tail at him. Like he cares about that tonight.
“I have to say, sir,” Lorne muses, chin in hand, “you’re not a hell of a lot different like this. Sure, you really have the whole man-in-black special ops thing in the bag, and god, the men love you like always, but. This is not so weird.” He looks at his mug. “Maybe that’s the bourbon talking,” he adds, already shaking his head. “No, it’s not. What’s weird is? I think the unit is more…” he threads his fingers together, making a strong mesh. “You know? I do not know how you do that. You can’t even fucking talk.”
John has no idea what to say to that. Talking about himself is never a comfortable subject- except, he doesn’t have to talk, he realizes. It feels easy, even natural, as he stands up and head butts against Evan’s shoulder. Hard. “Lorne,” he scolds, and butts him again. Don’t be stupid.”
Lorne blinks at the long, meowing reply before making a scoffing sound. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, right.” Lorne demurs.
John sits up straight and half-closes his eyes, trying to radiate approval for the job Lorne is doing. He might have to head-butt him again.
Lorne gives him a little half-smile. “We do have that whole ‘bad cop, good kitty’ thing going on when we need it.”
John gives him a look and Lorne clears his throat. “Sorry, sir,‘good cat.’”
~*~*~*~*~
He does his own grieving privately. Teyla finds him - not hard because it’s her gym - with his head propped on a stack of her towels. If she’s startled at the unexpected visitor - he never arrives before her - she hides it well.
“John. May I have a towel?”
He looks at her, trying to convey just how comfortable he is with the towels exactly like they are.
She considers him a moment. “I believe there are others in my basket over….there….” she murmurs and drifts off.
John closes his eyes, relieved. A few moments later, he smells Teyla close again before she lifts his towel basket. He opens his eyes as she turns the basket toward the partially opened window and the sea. “I do not think anyone will disturb you if your back is turned and the towels are hidden,” she says kindly.
He lifts his head and looks into her warm, serene face. “Aowr,” he cries softly.
She strokes his ears. “Rest and find peace, my friend. You are safe here.”
John leans his cheek against her hand and purrs quietly. Teyla draws her fingers away in a slow caress. He sighs and looks out to sea, the sound of sticks striking one another rhythmic, orderly and familiar behind him. Too soon, they take on the sharp, staccato report of gunshots, and the peace is broken.
~*~*~*~
John’s curled on the bed when Rodney comes home, a tight knot of misery and self-recrimination. He still can’t shake the feeling that he might have made a difference out there today, if he was his regular self.
Rodney doesn’t say anything, just putters around taking of his jacket and shoes and putting on a pair of sweats. He sits on the bed and strokes John from head to tail, smooth firm strokes down his back, over and over, until John uncurls helplessly, wanting more of the wonderful hand smoothing the day’s pain away.
“You couldn’t have stopped it, you know.” Rodney murmurs, and puts a hand on John’s belly when he tries to curl up again, bracketing him front and back with warm hands. John lies limp and discouraged between them.
“We would have been off world on a whole other mission ourselves, if you weren’t…”
John looks up and finishes the sentence for him, ”A fucking cat.”
“Yell at me all you want. We had a return mission to PX5-432 scheduled for today. We couldn’t have gotten there in time.”
John slumps back on the bed and Rodney curls up behind him, pulling John to lean against his chest as he strokes his belly. John can hear him thinking.
“I know you, John Sheppard,” he whispers after a long, time, “and you can’t always be the big action hero or be in two places at once. Not even I can break the laws of space and time to help you do that.”
That’s enough to earn Rodney a look, so John tips his face back and twitches his ears at him.
“Okay, maybe I could, but it really causes more problems than it’s worth. Including possibly destroying the universe.”
“Meh,” John sighs, and relaxes into Rodney’s touch.
“Listen,” he whispers. “Did you get any dinner? I can go get you some turkey.”
John looks up at him again.
“Okay.” Rodney’s sweet smile doesn’t make the day’s sadness go away, but it sure as hell makes it more bearable. “Not going anywhere.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*