Title: Kitty-god
Rating: K
Summary: PET ME, IT WILL CERTAINLY MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER. (Crack. So very much 001-crackiness. You have been warned.)
Warnings: inebriation, mild dubcon psychic manipulation, crack-fic, I don't know what I'm doing, unBeta'd, written on lack of sleep
A/N: Once again written because of axl-fox. This is the kind of thing that you get out of me at 1 in the morning, apparently. I hope it makes you giggle.
It does not take much to get an infant body inebriated.
Guys, guys, hey guys!
"Yes, Ivan?"
Do it, come on. Do it, do it, doitdoitdoit!
"Do… what, exactly, Iv—Gah, Ivan, we've talked about this before! You can't just take control of people's subconscious reflexes like—ooh. I. Well then. Huh."
Seeeeee? You liiike it, don't'cha?
"… I do. Much more than I should." There was a rather more pregnant pause than any that had been had in the last (eventful) two hours. "Why?"
I'mma hurt, Al, truly-really-honest I am. That was sus-puss-i-nuss sounding.
"Suspicious? Good. I was going for that. Answer my question, please, Ivan."
Ahem. PET ME, IT WILL MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER!
It really, really doesn't… And in this particular moment, Geronimo and Albert were both finding themselves glad that because of Ivan's altered biology it wasn't like an accidental overdose of Nyquil was going to do much more than just get Ivan a bit sauced.
Geronimo took one look at the twitch developing beneath Albert's right eye, in spite of the unnatural waves of calm that the ironic Ivan was projecting in time with Albert's (unwilling? Geronimo wasn't sure at this point.) stroking, and took over the questioning.
"… What?" Okay, so he wasn't doing very much better on the patience department. Usually he was the most level-headed among them. But when his day started after someone (it was the subject of a house-wide investigation now; nobody was ready to deal with an inebriated psychic with occasional infantile impulses) mixed up the Nyquil and Ivan's formula… He wasn't the only pushing irritation.
The cats told me. It works, though! I'mma kitty-god! Ivan dissolved in giggles that were so hard they became physical instead of mental. That had been happening more and more often in the last two hours.
Albert's only response was to sigh heavily and close his eyes.
Geronimo decided to rescue the German, and picked up with petting Ivan. Albert shot him a grateful glance, and then began backing cautiously out of the room. So far, Ivan hadn't cared when they switched 'babysitting' shifts, but he was turn-on-a-dime unpredictable right now.
Case in point: Before Albert could cross the threshold, Ivan's giggle-fit cut off abruptly. Geronimo and Albert both froze. Ivan turned his head to gaze at Albert with wide blue eyes, surprisingly focused for his current state of mind.
It was Dr. Gilmore. Don't be mad; he had a migraine, and wanted to sleep it off, and Françoise had just asked him to make me up a bottle. I didn't know what had happened until I was already here. And the Doc's still holed up in his room – that's why you haven't figured it out, yet. It wasn't too much; should wear off in a couple hours more. 's a shame I can't sleep it off, though. Sorry.
After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Ivan began giggling again, as though he'd never had that brief moment of clarity. The giggles became progressively more maniacal as Jet slipped into the room, his face a blank mask, and objects began floating around the room.
Conductor of the world, conductor of your lives; I've seen the Ghostie come'n'go, I've seen the minds of mice!
Geronimo had woken to every object in his room whirling around his head. He lived on the other side of the house from the nursery. And the random snippets of rhyme and song dancing in his brain, those had been regular for about an hour now. That was the trouble with psychic acquaintances; when they lost control, they really lost control.
Idly, he began to stroke Ivan's hair again – it had made him feel better – and turned his mind to cats. Specifically, lazy cats doing little more than sunbathing. If he could get Ivan's mind focused on soothing and inane…
Almost on cue, the mental melody evened out into a fair approximation of purring. A touch in the back of his mind – meant for him specifically, then, and not being broadcast across their team – was (primarily) dizzy, but also (just under the surface) grateful. Ivan knew.
That was another thing about psychic teammates: sometimes they knew exactly what you were trying to do, and they let you get away with it anyway.
'Kitty-god' just needed an uncharacteristic push in the right direction this time, in deference to his drunken state.
… Just as he and the rest of the house were beginning to relax under the influence of the petting (and purring), Ivan began to mew pitifully, incessantly. Geronimo passed his bundle off to Jet, exchanged places with a haggard-looking Pyunma, and (with little concern for dignity, long beyond that point) fled to the far reaches of the forest. Ivan-under-the-influence seemed to have a very concentrated, very short mental reach.
The silence was practically blessed by God.