Title: In Which John's Last Name Is Apparently Quite Literal
Series:
Checkmate 'Verse Warnings: Animal Transformation, Schmoop
Spoilers: None
Author's note: This might be a bit indulgent, even for me.
Timeline....errr....toward the end of the month. I'll think about it. This might be what sets Rodney off into suggesting John move back to his quarters. Probably around day 22-23.
Unbeta'd. Do let me know if you see anything glaringly wrong.
Summary: Rodney doesn't take care of himself; John takes charge.
ETA: Now with
illustration by
chkc, aka Art Zorro!
~~~
When Rodney stumbled into his quarters, John uncurled from a tight ball on Rodney’s pillow and started bitching in the way that let Rodney know he’d startled John awake. It was pretty funny, actually, very much a grouchy “Hey, settle down!” thing and Rodney not so secretly loved flapping the unflappable Colonel.
He took a moment to smirk, swayed on his feet and John’s pissy squint turned into a different sort of a thing and he began a whole new line of fussing - worried this time - and padded down the length of the bed, asking questions and making accusations.
“I know, I know, but I got distracted by a…” he said tiredly, wobbling on his feet and tried to figure out how his jacket worked, “thingy.” He glanced at John who was glowering up at him. “I need to, um…”
“Mwrrrr,” John growled as he hopped down and started tugging at Rodney’s shoestrings.
“Hey, you don’t have to, I mean…” John butted his head against Rodney’s leg and Rodney toed out of his shoe and wrestled with his shirt until John signaled that the other shoe was ready. “Thanks.” John kept butting at his legs, though, and finally Rodney figured out that he was being herded toward the bathroom.
“Oh,” he said, heading that direction and belatedly added. “I can get myself ready for bed, you know.”
“Mrrrrowr,” John huffed and walked over to the desk. Rodney stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out what he was doing, then gave up and stumbled into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He stood there, staring at the water running down the drain and it finally dawned on him that he wasn’t feeling so hot.
“You know,” he said slowly, “I think I might be…” And then John was on the counter beside him, mouth full of sugar packets. He dropped them and glared up at Rodney.
“Oh, hey, thanks,” Rodney mumbled, reaching for them. “I um…”
“Rrrrowr,” John nudged him.
“Right, right.” Tearing open a couple of packets, Rodney dumped them into his mouth, grimacing, and then reached for two more. He carefully did not say anything about the tooth holes or cat spit, figuring since John noticed him sliding into hypoglycemia before he did, he didn't have much room to be picky. Finally, he nodded, feeling the effects of the sugar hitting his blood stream. “Better,” he sighed, and bent down to scoop up a few handfuls of water.
“Rrrrow,” John said when Rodney straightened up and started butting his head against Rodney’s hip. “Mrrr, mrrow, mrrow.”
“Right, now for some…” but John was already off the counter and through the door before Rodney could turn around. By the time he was halfway to his bed, John was already there, this time with a packet of precious peanut butter crackers.
“Perfect,” Rodney breathed as he slumped against the headboard. He tore open the package and started munching his way through the dry, crumbly, utterly fantastic crackers. John sat in front of him, tail curled around his body, the very tip of it twitching irritably.
“I know,” Rodney sighed. “I…I just…I was onto something, I thought.”
Still glaring, John stood and bumped his head against Rodney’s knee, looked up at him and bumped it again. “Mrrrrrwrrr,” he growled.
“Okay, okay, point made. I’m eating! Go do…you-type things.”
John patrolled the room, turning off Rodney’s desk lamp and the lights in the bathroom. He lapped up a bit of water from his dish and wandered over to the balcony to look at the stars. By the time he made his way back to the bed, Rodney was under the covers and muttering over a journal.
Rodney automatically adjusted so that John could lie against his side, as per usual, and held out his arm, waiting. He looked up when John didn’t come forward. John was sitting straight as a statue at the end of the bed, disapproval radiating from every whisker.
“What?”
John said nothing. Rodney flapped his magazine irritably and went back to reading. A moment or two later, John walked up his torso, planting his hard little feet with far more force than necessary. A paw appeared at the top of the magazine and pushed down, and Rodney, surprised, let him push until rested on Rodney's belly.
“Was there something?”
John sat, paws tucked under himself, on top of the journal and stared into Rodney’s eyes. He purred, very pointedly, and put on what Rodney called his “Budda” face, radiating calm and good cheer.
“That might work on injured Marines, Sheppard, but it’s not going to work on me.”
John opened his eyes and glared at him, then rested his head on Rodney’s sternum. This time the purr sounded a little aggressive. The lights went off. Rodney thought them back on. They went back off. Rodney thought them right back on, but this time he had to fight for it a little.
“Do you mind?”
Expression softening, John sat up and gently touched one of his paws to Rodney’s jaw. “Brrrr,” he trilled sadly, waited for a long moment, then shifted as if to get up.
The fight melted right out of Rodney. He pressed a hand against John’s side. “You get up, I’m just going to start reading again,” he whispered.
John twitched his ears, but he rested his head on Rodney’s chest, then rolled to his side, chin thrust up happily. His front paw grazed Rodney’s chin as his purr thundered back full-force.
“Yes, thank you for praising the human,” Rodney huffed affectionately, and switched off the lights. He stroked John’s soft fur for awhile, then whispered, “And they call me bossy.”
“Bwrrrr!” John scoffed and nosed under Rodney’s fingers for more ear-scritching.
~~~