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There are very few things that can break Rodney’s concentration when he’s discovered a new section of the Ancient database. John Sheppard using his fancy genes to charm his door open certainly isn’t one of them.
John Sheppard sitting at his desk with a handful of papers rather than sprawling invitingly across Rodney’s bed is a little more intriguing, but Rodney is three hours deep in new information and nowhere near ready to surface.
“They tell me you’re the man to talk to about getting a pet onto Atlantis.”
That, however, is enough to have Rodney’s full attention.
Carefully tapping out a new note—John doesn’t need the satisfaction of knowing how thoroughly he’s distracted Rodney—Rodney says, “Why would you believe them?”
John holds up a finger as he starts to count off, “Carson’s turtles, Torren’s dog—”
“Both perfectly permissible under base guidelines.” Carson’s turtles had involved a little emotional manipulation after his funeral, but eventually everyone had agreed that Rodney could bring the turtles to the city. No one had the heart to object when Carson’s clone took them back, either.
Torren’s dog had been even easier, since Torren only lives on the base part time. It helps that Mira isn’t really a dog, but some kind of Pegasus equivalent, which appeased the xenobiologists.
“—Lorne’s rabbit,” John continues, apparently willing to ignore all reason, “Miko’s hamster, Radek’s pigeons—”
“Those aren’t—” Rodney starts, because there’s no way John should know about any of them. He catches himself, though. Better to feign indifference than deny it. “Radek doesn’t have pigeons.”
“Seagulls, then, or whatever Ancient name he’s dug out of the database,” John amends easily. “Dr. Phan has a python, doesn’t she?”
“Okay, fine,” Rodney says. He absolutely does not want to know which other illicit pets John knows about. “Our colleagues are all lawbreakers. What does that have to do with me?”
John levels him with a look that means the entire game is up, which is unfortunate. There are a lot of people counting on Rodney to keep their secrets safe. A lot of innocent creatures, too.
“How did you find out?”
“I found guinea pigs in the laundry room a month ago.” Rodney winces. He’d warned Ruiz about the idiocy of owning guinea pigs. “Sergeant Ruiz had a lot of excuses.”
“You didn’t do anything to the guinea pigs, did you?” Guinea pigs might be ridiculous pets to bring to Atlantis, but they don’t deserve to be punished for it.
John rolls his eyes and says, distressingly, “I skinned them and put them in the stew—of course I didn’t do anything.”
“Good.” That’s a relief. Not that he thinks John would have actually done anything so horrific to a pair of guinea pigs, but stranger things have happened. Rodney still hasn’t forgiven him for all that talk of eating the whales on Lantea Prime. “There’s a reason no one goes to you about this.”
“And you’re a much more compassionate and relatable person.”
Rodney ignores the sarcasm. “I’m very approachable.”
That earns him another frustratingly level look.
“I am. Clearly I’m more approachable than you.” As far as he knows, no one has ever gone to Colonel Sheppard about their need for animal companionship. He can’t imagine what John would’ve done had Lorne come to him about his rabbit predicament, let alone if Miko had knocked on his door in tears. Even Teyla hadn’t gone to him about Torren’s knock-off Pegasus puppy, and they’re best friends. “We built Radek’s pigeon coop five years ago, and you’re just now finding out about it.”
John squints at him, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a smile that has Rodney fuming. “So,” John says, calm enough to set Rodney’s teeth on edge, “you are the man to see about having a pet in the city.”
“What does it matter to you?” Rodney says, biting down on his anger because he can still fall back on denial. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t admitted anything too damning yet—Radek’s seagull-pigeons hardly count as pets. More like an extended study of native wildlife. He would probably even be willing to write up a report.
“I’m interested.” John folds his hands on the desk, emphasizing his slouch all the more—and the papers he’d dropped on the desk earlier. Actual papers on Atlantis. In John Sheppard’s hands and not in the briefing room or a lab. John Sheppard’s personal papers. Puzzling.
“You’re interested,” Rodney repeats, because John can’t be serious. He’s never been interested before. As far as Rodney can tell, he’s never been interested in his entire life—unless you count his thing with horses, which Rodney does not.
“Interested in having a pet,” John says, as if Rodney needs it spelled out.
Two can play that game. “You’re not a pet kind of guy.”
John’s face screws up in an offended little frown that Rodney will never admit to finding cute. It’s a victory, especially when John snaps, “What does that even mean?”
“It means you aren’t interested in pets.” Rodney carefully sets his laptop aside. There’s no reason to pretend he’s thinking of the database anymore. “You don’t even like animals.”
“Sure I do,” John says. He’s still annoyed—on the back foot, as it were. “Mira loves me.”
The lack of self-awareness in that statement is absurd. “Are you serious?” Rodney can’t believe he has to say it. “You hate that dog. I can think of at least ten times you’ve complained about her in the past week—eleven, actually.”
John glares at him. “You don’t like her, either.”
“Of course not,” Rodney says. No one likes Torren’s dog, Torren excluded. And Ronon, on particularly nostalgic occasions—something about his grandfather and Satedan hunting legends. “I’m the first to admit it. Dogs are barely tolerable as it is, and that one is more obnoxious than most.”
John takes a long, slow breath. He says, once again perfectly calm and collected, “Are you going to help me or what?”
Rodney can pivot, too. “What kind of pet?” he asks, eyeing the papers under John’s hands. He can still only think of one animal John talks about with any degree of fondness. “You can’t possibly think I would be able to hide a horse somewhere on the Daedalus. They barely count as pets, anyway, but that’s an argument for a different time.”
Ignoring the bait, John taps his papers. “A cat.”
That stops Rodney completely—dries up any of the cutting remarks on the back of his tongue. Rodney loves cats. John knows this. He must know it, even if they’ve never spoken about it directly. There’s a framed photo of Muffin right there next to John’s elbow on the desk.
A cat. John wants to bring a cat to Atlantis. A cat for himself.
“There are rules, you know. Guidelines,” Rodney says cautiously, because rules are easier to comprehend than the notion that John Sheppard is getting himself a cat. “Especially since this will all be under the table.”
John slides the papers towards Rodney, but doesn’t let go of them. “I figured you would have that covered.”
“I need to see the vet papers about vaccinations and health before we even consider it.” He’s fairly certain that’s what John’s papers are about, anyway. “And you have to agree to pay for food and supplies—and keep it in your quarters at all times. Any inspections are your responsibility as well.”
“Sure,” John says, with some degree of focus—like he’s taking mental notes. “What about veterinary care while she’s here?”
It’s a good question, one that not everyone thinks to ask. Rodney refuses to be impressed.
“If your supposed cat makes it here,” he says, because he still can’t quite wrap his head around it, “I’ll get you in contact with the right people.”
“Fair enough.” John leans back in his chair, apparently satisfied.
Rodney, on the other hand, needs some clarifications. “A cat?”
“A cat,” John repeats, like this is something completely normal—which they’ve already established it is not.
“You’re bringing a cat to Atlantis,” Rodney says, partly for himself and mostly for John, so he’ll be forced to hear how crazy it sounds. “You.”
“Yes, Rodney,” John says, as patient as can be, damn him. “I’m bringing a cat to Atlantis.”
“To live in your quarters.” Maybe if Rodney just paints a detailed enough picture, John will snap out of whatever flight of fancy has possessed him.
“I thought I’d put her in the Control Room—” It’s almost a relief to hear the annoyed sarcasm return to John’s voice—“but I don’t think Woolsey will go for it.”
“Your quarters are tiny. You barely fit in there by yourself.” Rodney doesn’t even like to spend the night in John’s cramped room.
“Our quarters are the same size,” John says, like he always does. “I’m sure it’s better than whatever she’s got at the shelter.”
“Don’t get me wrong, the fact that you’re getting a cat definitely speaks to your intelligence—I’m just having a hard time picturing it.” And Rodney’s trying—he’s really trying. “You with a cat.”
“I like cats.” John’s pout does nothing to support his credibility.
“No,” Rodney says, because the pieces still aren’t lining up, “I like cats.”
John’s eyebrows go up, which means Rodney’s missed something—something obvious, by the looks of it. It’s a look Rodney hates, because it means that John’s figured something out before he has, which is insulting enough on its own, but it’s also a look that’s saved their asses on countless occasions because Rodney recognizes it. John is just smart enough to fill in some of the gaps between Rodney’s areas of expertise, however much Rodney is loath to admit it. He’s also smart enough to clue Rodney in whenever he’s missed something.
If this is one of those times—
“Wait,” Rodney says, finally grabbing the papers out of John’s hands. There’s a picture of a nondescript tabby at the top, looking playful and cute—and Rodney puts the papers back down before he gets distracted. “You don’t like cats, but I do. You know this. I know this. You’re definitely not getting a cat for yourself, so you must be getting a cat for me.”
John scowls—another nail in his coffin. “That’s a stretch.”
“But I’m not wrong,” Rodney says, amazed that he isn’t. It’s sinking in, the idea that John has gone through the trouble of getting him a cat—that he’s taken the time to find one and has figured out how to get it here to Atlantis. That he’s done all of that for Rodney.
“Maybe I’m getting the cat for someone else.” John takes the papers back, shuffling through them without purpose.
“Who else do you know who likes cats?” Rodney asks, because really, John could do better with just a little effort.
“I’m not getting you a cat just because you like them,” John snaps, exasperated.
“Hah!” Rodney barely stops himself from smacking the table in celebration. It’s one thing to find the solution to a problem and another thing entirely to get John to admit Rodney’s right. “I was right. I knew it.”
Looking sour and defeated and like the biggest sore loser of all time, John slumps and crosses his arms over his chest. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”
“If you wanted it to be a secret, you shouldn’t have asked me about it.” Rodney’s too smart to miss something like this when it’s been placed right under his nose. Or, he hopes he is. Obviously he is, since he figured it out.
“I didn’t really have a choice,” John mutters, truly sulking now, “seeing as you’re the one in charge of the underground Atlantis pet society.”
“True,” Rodney admits, but he’s still winning. He’s positioned himself in a place on Atlantis where nothing can get past him. “We almost had to give up the whole thing when Bryant resigned last year—we weren’t sure the new Quartermaster would be as amenable to bending the rules.”
John rolls his eyes. “Good thing Clemente is such a shady, law-breaking kind of guy.”
Rodney can ignore that because—“You’re getting me a cat.”
“Already got her, actually,” John says, softer than before. It’s always a surprise to be reminded just how much of a sap he is at heart. “Just waiting for instructions on how to get her here.”
Rodney’s on his feet before he thinks, grabbing the papers again to read them more thoroughly. Cleo, 2 year old female. Domestic shorthair. Loves cuddling, tuna flavored treats, and sunshine. “You really got her?” He almost adds the for me again, but it gets caught in his throat this time.
“Yes, Rodney,” John says, leaning back in his chair. He takes Rodney’s hand, his thumb pressing gently into Rodney’s palm. There’s nothing else to do, then, besides pull John up out of his seat and kiss him.
John meets him, smile for smile, his other hand coming up to Rodney’s jaw and Rodney wraps his arms around him, the papers falling to the floor.
“You sure you want a cat in your quarters?” John asks, breaking the kiss just long enough to get the words out, his fingers sliding back into Rodney’s hair.
Rodney’s ready to ignore him, but the words trigger a cascade of potential problems in his brain and he pulls back, glancing over his shoulder at the windows. “I need to cat-proof the balcony.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” John says, pressing kisses along Rodney’s jaw.
It would be the perfect distraction under normal circumstances, but since this—he’s getting a cat. On Atlantis. There are reasons this is against base guidelines—is anything but normal. Rodney says, “What am I thinking?”
“Something we’ve been wondering for eight years,” John mutters, but it’s softened by his fingers running over Rodney’s shoulders.
“Yes, ha ha,” Rodney says, stepping away from John to get a better look at his room. Even insults can’t disrupt the tangle his mind is unravelling now. “My quarters are too small—I’ll have to make her some perches to climb on.”
John runs a hand over his face before bending to grab the papers off the floor. “Or we could find bigger quarters. They’ve just cleared those two bedroom apartments on the northwest pier.”
That stops Rodney in his tracks. He stares—he can’t do anything else, besides watch John fumbling the papers on the floor before straightening up, looking everywhere except at Rodney—
Rodney pulls John in by his shirt and kisses him again, revels in the way John lets him get his way, how he sighs something almost like a moan when Rodney shoves him back towards the bed. John catches him as they collapse onto the bed, because he always does. Of course he does.
“Yes, I’ll move in with you,” Rodney says, knocking his forehead against John’s before kissing him again. “I can’t believe you got me a cat instead of just asking.”
John hums, busying himself with Rodney’s jacket, which does nothing to hide the way he’s blushing. “Don’t forget to get me instructions on how to actually get her here for you.”
Rodney kisses John again. He doesn’t know how else to say thank you, and he’s pretty sure John wouldn’t accept anything else, either.
“I’ll email you tomorrow,” Rodney says, reaching out to the nightstand blindly to lower the lights. There are more important things than paperwork.