When Rodney makes it home from his final lab check, he goes straight to the bedroom. John is slumped in the armchair sleeping, his glasses sliding down his nose, his book sliding down his lap. The lamp light glints on John's greying hair, and casts a softened light over the bed. Rodney quietly drops his reports on the little dresser. Sheets twisted and rumpled, Rodney reaches out to smooth and straighten, bends down to press a kiss to their daughter's sweaty temple.
"Her fever broke a couple of hours ago" John's voice is raspy, relieved. Rodney drifts his hand across her damp hair, looking at still-flushed cheeks, at her bottom lip still curled out in a sleepy toddler's pout. He turns from the bed, hand pushing into John's hair now, pushed up on one side from sleeping in the chair. "I brought results back to go over. Why don't you sleep in bed for a while. I'll stay up."
John's eyes narrow for a moment in disagreement, but he's betrayed by a yawn and a twinge in his back. Pushing himself up from the chair he brushes a quick kiss against Rodney's lips before slipping out.
Rodney settles into the chair, still warm from John's body. He watches their girl sleep for a moment, and then turns his eyes to the pages, still listening to her breath.