A/N: Just some more silly fluffy friendship. Not much Sheppard/Weir interaction… that'll come later. With the plot. (Yes, I actually have a plot. Try not to die from amazement.)
Oh yes! And the wonderful Comanche-Antigo has made fanart for the fic! Go check out Cat!John. I command it.
http:// rogueapollo923.deviantart. com/art/Crack-Art- Cat-John-70512813
A/N II: I really did struggle over this chapter. There were so many difficult decisions I had to make. Namely: is John Sheppard a soft white bread type of guy, or a whole wheat kind of guy? Yes, this dilemma gave me much thought… perhaps ciabatta would be more suitable? Finally I just decided to go with "bread", plain and simple. What type it is, you can decide for yourself. ;)
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Chapter the Second
It was the perfect turkey sandwich. Crisp lettuce, ripe tomato, and sweet red peppers crammed between two thick slices of freshly baked bread slathered with mayonnaise and mustard. And of course, the turkey, sliced into perfection and taunting him with the sheer mouthwatering beauty of it all.
Like he said, it was perfect. Any other day, it also would have already been consumed by now, reduced to a desolate pile of crumbs. But no. There it was, sitting innocently on his plate, untouched. John could practically see the dust specks beginning to gather. His ears, which seemed set on reminding him of their new cattish form, twitched as if to commiserate the waste of this culinary masterpiece.
"Are you going to eat that, or just sit there and stare at it?" Rodney took the seat across from him, placing his tray on the table – as usual, it was loaded to the point of being a hazard to anyone who happened to walk by McKay while he was carrying it – if he were to trip, well, let's just say the victim would end up looking like one big pile of food.
"I'm eating it," John replied defensively, half-heartedly poking at it with a spork. It wasn't that he was full; heck, he was starving. As if in agreement, his stomach rumbled audibly, making Rodney raise an eyebrow.
"I thought you liked turkey sandwiches," he said through a mouthful of mashed potatoes (or at least, they could have passed for ordinary Earth potatoes, except they were bright orange – a color that, strangely, did not particularly stimulate his appetite). "And by the way? That is just weird. They twitched," he complained, eyeing Sheppard's cat ears as if they had just committed some gross transgression against him.
Sheppard chose to ignore the last comment, inane as it was, instead replying, "I do like turkey sandwiches." He frowned at the sandwich, now slightly stale. "Or at least, I did."
Rodney rolled his eyes, waving his spork around as he spoke. "Whatever, Colonel Can't-make-up-my-mind. One must wonder if your finicky choices in food reflect certain James Bond-like tendencies with women."
John's ears flicked to the left; he could hear a scratching, clicking noise, soft and out-of-place. It was distracting; he had to resist the urge to turn his head and try to find out what was making the sound. "You're just jealous that I get captured by the hot aliens and you don't. Unless, of course, you still think Wraith are hot…" he trailed off, waiting for the reaction, and was rewarded when Rodney spluttered and nearly choked on his food.
Rodney scowled at him. "Don't be absurd. And come on – you thought she was hot too! At least until we found out she was Wraith. Bet you tried to charm her into letting you out of the cell, or something." He looked at John's ears, and crowed, "Ha! I'm right! You did try and Kirk her!"
"Did not," John denied automatically. But even as he said it, he felt a telltale tic of movement from above – dang it, what were those damn things doing?
McKay's smirk was satisfied and gloating. "Your ears move every time you lie. It's disturbing, but hey, could come in handy."
"Yeah, so next time when I'm trying to tell Elizabeth that my mission report is almost finished, she'll suspend me for lying," John said, grimacing. "I just hope you're working hard on fixing that device."
"Or what?"
"Or next time I'm on the Daedalus, I'll beam you to a deserted planet without a Stargate." He paused dramatically. "And I'll leave Kavanaugh there with you."
"No, you wouldn't -" Rodney frowned, watching his ears, which remained motionless. "Hey! You would! I can't believe this – all the times I've saved your sorry ass, and -"
At this point, John's attention was yanked away by the return of the noise. Scritch, scratch… it drove him crazy. It was small, so soft that he could barely hear it over the noise of the mess hall. He frowned, focusing harder… whoa, that was cool. He could filter out the other sounds he didn't want to hear – such as people talking. Namely, the person sitting across from him.
" – are you even listening to me? Hello? Sheppard?" Rodney snapped his fingers in front of John's face.
He blinked, laying his ears back slightly at the close proximity of the snaps. "Rodney. I'm trying to eat in peace, here."
Rodney snorted. "Eat? Oh, so that's what you're doing?"
"Yes." John picked up the sandwich, intending to take a bite – but hesitated. Ah, screw it all. He needed something else to eat.
Discarding the sandwich (which Rodney pounced on like a starving man) Sheppard headed back to the lineup to find something else to eat, trying to ignore the people who ogled his ears as he walked by them. Did they have to stare so much? So, he had cat ears. This was the Pegasus Galaxy – stranger things had happened.
Placing his tray on the counter, Sheppard glanced around at his options. Salad… spaghetti… tuna… Tuna?
Tuna. Why on Atlantis did the tuna look so appealing? He didn't even like fish.
Biting his lip in consideration, John immediately winced; he'd forgotten about the fangs. Now there were drops of blood running from his wounded lower lip. Hastily wiping the blood away with his sleeve, John finally relented and placed some of the tuna on his plate.
Rodney was never going to let him live this down…
Ronon and Teyla had joined Rodney at their table. John flattened his ears unconsciously; they had yet to find out about his ears, and he was not looking forward to the teasing. Perhaps it was time for a strategic retreat.
Then again… judging from the way they were both turning to look in his direction, curiously scanning the crowd for him – Rodney had probably already told them.
John took his tray and headed back towards the table. Might as well get it over with.
He'd barely had the chance to sit down, though, when Lt. Cadman approached. She cleared her throat almost timidly, fidgeting slightly with her shirtsleeve, before beginning, "Ah, sir? I was just, um, wondering… I mean… if maybe I could…?"
Sheppard sighed, resigned. "Go ahead, Lt."
Cadman let out a surprisingly girly squee, and reached out to touch the furry black ears, running her fingertips along them from base to tip. Well, at least she was gentle. The last woman had nearly yanked them off.
Having satisfied her curiosity, Cadman gave him a grin, chirping, "Thanks, sir," before running back to her girlfriends to report.
Turning back to his tuna, Sheppard valiantly tried to ignore the gapes of his teammates. When they showed no signs of regaining coherence anytime soon, he decided it was time to break the silence.
"Rodney, if your jaw falls any further, you'll be able to swallow the table."
Rodney spluttered. "You just – this – isn't there some kind of military regulation against letting another person caress your ears in a public place?!"
Ronon chuckled, reaching out a hand towards John. The Colonel ducked instinctively, expecting him to tug them; but he only touched them, very briefly, before pulling away.
"Oh GOD," Rodney said, staring at them both in horror. "That was just wrong. Wonderful, the image of Ronon fondling John's ears will be forever burned into my memory!"
Teyla laughed aloud at that, while Ronon just smirked, unrepentant. "They're fuzzy. And soft. Sure you don't want to touch them?"
"No, thank you very much!" Rodney huffed. Then he hesitated, leaned forward towards Ronon, and asked, "Well – just how soft are they?"
"Uh, hey! Don't I get any say in whether people touch my ears or not?" John said, slightly exasperated.
Ronon grinned predatorily. "Nope."
"Yeah, your consent is not required. Now stay still."
John leaned away from Rodney, glad the table was between them. "Jeez, people, cut it out!" He looked at Teyla, who was barely managing to suppress her laughter. "Let me guess, you're next."
She smiled, eyebrows raised in amusement. "No, it is alright, Colonel. I think I will refrain."
"Aw, he's disappointed," Rodney said, his tone mocking. "He wanted the pretty woman to touch his ears. Look, they're drooping!"
"They are not!" John defended, sitting up straight as if scalded.
"Yes, they are! Oh god, you're so hopeless," Rodney snorted. Ronon and Teyla were laughing, although Teyla smiled gently at John to let him know she did not mean it in a malicious way. (Ronon just laughed.)
Pretending to sulk, John muttered, "Just for the record, I hate all of you."
Ronon slapped him on the back. "We hate you too, buddy."
"No more fondling, though," Rodney said with an exaggerated shudder. "That was just disturbing."
Shaking his head, John glanced at his plate (tuna untouched until now) and took a tentative bite. And lo and behold – what he had previously considered to be nasty, gross stuff had been miraculously transformed into the tastiest thing he'd ever sampled.
Maybe the chefs had done something special to it? Something to make it taste better than… well, all the tuna he'd ever tried in his life?
Deciding to test out the idea, he asked Teyla, "How do you like the tuna?"
She sent him a quizzical glance. "It is fine. Although personally I think it might be overcooked."
Right. Forget that theory.
Maybe he should go see Carson.
- -
"I dunno know what to say, lad. You're fine." Carson said, looking over his blood test results again. When Sheppard began to protest, he held up a hand. "Yes, I know, you suddenly like tuna. What's wrong with that? Maybe it was just an acquired taste for you, so to speak."
"Tuna, Doc," John repeated. "Cats like tuna. I get cat ears. And I like tuna. It's not just a coincidence. That – machine – must have changed more of me than just my ears."
Carson sighed and crossed his arms. "John, you're perfectly healthy. And you show no signs of change since I last evaluated you with the – new additions." He gestured to the ears. "It could be physiological, though."
"What, so since I got cat ears, I just think I like tuna?" John shook his head in disbelief. "I don't think so. There was definite chemistry between me and that tuna."
Rodney, who was waiting in the hallway, called, "You're telling me. He practically ate three plates of it! Most food I've ever seen the bird-man have."
The ears flicked irritably. "I am not a bird man."
"The way you eat, skinny legs, you could be."
"Alright, that's enough! Both of you are fine, now get out of my infirmary!"
- -
After fleeing from Carson's wrath, John and Rodney headed to the labs, where Rodney claimed he had "very important work to do". John came along; he wanted to make sure that his being restored to normal was the first thing on Rodney's 'important work' list.
Predictably enough – it wasn't.
"I can't believe I'm less important to you than the plumbing system," John grumbled as he watched Rodney type away at his laptop.
The scientist spared a moment to roll his eyes. "Oh, please. Stop acting like a hurt fifteen-year-old girl. If this were a life-and-death situation, then maybe you'd come before the plumbing and maybe even before the Zed PM regeneration."
John frowned, picking up the list (which was basically a scrap of paper on which Rodney had scrawled a bunch of things he had to do) and looking it over. "I'd still be behind the nanite research thing, though… and the exploration of the rest of Atlantis… and asking Katie out? Whoa, so you two are officially an "item" now, huh?"
Rodney snatched away the list, stuttering, "What? No, I just – it's just a little thing we have going – dinner together occasionally. That's all."
"Right," John drawled, smiling. "Whatever you say, Rodney." He was about to tease him further when he heard the noise again – scritch, scratch, skitter. John froze, turning his whole body to where the noise was coming from; ears cocked forward, he fixed his eyes on a spot on the floor. That was where it was coming from…
But then the noise faded away, and he felt his ears flatten in frustration and disappointment. He'd been so close…!
Rodney was staring at him. "What?" John said, suddenly aware of how he must've looked staring intently at a spot on the floor.
Rodney shook his head slowly. "You look just like my old cat whenever he heard an interesting noise. Wait – let me just try something…" He went to the other side of the lab, muttering as he rummaged through some drawers. When he found what he was looking for, he let out a triumphant "A-ha!" and returned.
It was a ball of string.
"Here – fetch!" Rodney tossed the ball of string to Sheppard. It bounced at his feet and rolled away.
John stared at the string. Then he stared at Rodney. "Sorry to disappoint you, Rodney – but I'm not THAT far gone."
… …
…somewhere far overhead…
Oh, but you will be, Sheppard. You will. –author cackles-
-TBC-