Work Text:
"Mew."
Rodney burrowed further into the bedcovers, tugging the pillow down over his face. "Mrrrf."
"Mew?"
"'m out until three, Sheppard," he mumbled. "G'way."
"Mew!"
Rolling over, Rodney squinted into the semi-gloom of his quarters. There, a small dark shadow, slipping along the baseboards.
The lights flared up, brightening the crannies between piles of books and the end tables he'd pilfered from Supply. Rodney spotted the intruder right away: a tufty-haired kitten with dark fur, crouched under his desk chair, its ears pricked up.
"Um," Rodney said, confused, his tongue thick with sleep, "where did you come from, that is, how —"
He stared at the kitten. The kitten stared back.
"So, we know each other?" Tossing back the covers, Rodney eased out of bed and toed on slippers, then pulled on his robe. "If we know each other, then you'll have no problem with me picking you up." He knelt by the kitten and scooped it up, its little legs wobbling as it balanced on his palms.
Rodney eyed the bits of fur sticking up on its head. "Good, good... kitten. You are a feline, I hope, and not Colonel Sheppard."
The kitten looked queasy, so Rodney deposited it onto the surface of his desk. "We'll figure this out. Step one, get Sheppard on the radio. He's out there, you're in here, and hopefully you're an actual kitten and won't grow up two hundred times your current size..." He snapped his fingers. "Forget I said that last part."
The kitten set about touching its nose to various items. Its tail stuck straight up as the kitten batted lightly at a pen, which rolled away. Leaping to follow, the kitten's paws slipped around on some papers. Either the noise or the unfamiliar feeling sent it right back to Rodney, where it crouched in a miniature loaf pose near his forearm.
Putting in his earpiece, Rodney tapped it, said Sheppard's name, then waited. The kitten let Rodney massage two fingers down its spine, enjoying the attention but still tense across the shoulders. He waited another few seconds before attempting to raise Sheppard, and this time, Carter answered.
Supposedly, Sheppard had gone to the Milky Way alpha site with a team of Marines, to restock and clean up after a heavy rainstorm.
"Hmmm," Rodney hummed, scratching the kitten behind one ear. A pause, then the soft sound of purring, and Rodney grinned, delighted.
After a rushed radio conversation with Lorne, Rodney learned that Sheppard had flown in first with passengers, then returned to Atlantis for another pallet of medical supplies. Grabbing his tablet, Rodney checked through the logs from the jumper bay, which verified Sheppard had returned. Tapping his earpiece yet again, Rodney learned that according to Keller, Sheppard had picked up the stuff personally and wheeled it away. Also, Keller would prefer if Rodney did not call her on her day off for inconsequential bull— Rodney would refer to that last bit merely as 'things' for his innocent kitten's unsullied furry ears.
"Fine by me," Rodney harrumphed. He could tell who was in his corner.
The kitten shifted away, giving Rodney a wary look.
"Sorry... you," Rodney told the kitten. "Some people can be utterly useless, you know?"
The kitten sat up straight, its tail a black line on the desk. It looked attentive and dignified, like he did know.
"Okay, good," Rodney sounded pleased, looking from the kitten to his datapad. "It'll be quick, I have to look at this one thing..."
There was a final record of the bay doors opening, but no confirmation that Sheppard actually left.
"One more sec —" Rodney raised one finger in the kitten's direction, then tapped his earpiece again.
Chuck explained that the teams at the alpha site weren't due to call in for hours, and when Rodney finally got Carter on the line again, she was particularly snappish about sending out another pair of Marines to make sure Sheppard really arrived.
"If there's a problem, I'm sure we'll hear about it, McKay," she said, crabbily. "Aren't you off today?"
"If you hear from him, tell him I need to talk to him." Rodney watched the kitten yawn, its tiny sharp teeth gleaming. So cute!
"I'm not your personal messenger," Carter said in his ear. "Stop calling me."
When he tried to reconnect the call, Chuck played buffer.
"Whatever," Rodney griped. Some Head of the expedition she'd turned out to be; if Rodney was in charge, he'd be sure to pay extra attention to deserving hunches from his CSO.
The kitten rubbed its face against the back of Rodney's hand.
"Oh, hey, little guy," Rodney said, cupping its head and petting down its back in one long stroke. "What should I call you, Guy? El Gee? Maybe-Sheppard?" He shook his head, gaze wandering over the kitten's body and adorably tiny licorice tail. "You aren't wearing any socks. No socks, say it fast, Nox!"
Nox's mouth opened on a silent mew.
"And already answering to it! Genius!" Rodney peered at the kitten. "Although, this puts you back in the — haha, cat-egory of Potentially Sheppard."
The kitten blinked at him with solemn gray-green eyes.
"Right," Rodney said with determination. "This will be easy to prove. We'll start with some standard intelligence tests, have you run a maze or two, draw a little blood— Ouch!"
The kitten rolled to one side and licked his chops lazily, as though it hadn't practically sunk its fangs into the meat of Rodney's palm mere moments ago.
"Teeth are in working order," Rodney glared at the fluffball. And, hmmm. Sheppard also disliked needles.
Rodney held out his cupped hands, wrists on the desk. Nox regarded this development with a certain aloofness, but soon stood, meandering over and stepping lightly onto Rodney's fingers. Rodney grinned down at Nox's cute, fluffy face. In a silly voice, he proclaimed, "Elevator's going down!"
Nox regarded him steadily, ears flicked forward as he listened.
Gently, Rodney deposited Nox on the carpet. "Explore, I'll be right back." Carefully stepping over his furry little potato body, Rodney beelined for the washroom, where he rushed through his usual ablutions, hurriedly pulling a brush through his hair and grabbing the first clean T-shirt he could find.
Rodney had been around his fair share of cats, but never before acted as the custodian of a kitten. Usually, his adoptees came to him already set in their ways, since their quieter, more sedate lifestyles meshed well with his own harried schedules and overnight shifts in the lab. There was simply nothing like having his nose buried in a proof, one hand working the numbers, with the other hand deep in the warm fur of a purring cat in his lap.
While he'd adjusted to life in Pegasus without a feline companion, now they were anchored in the Bay, and possibly permanently. Rodney paused halfway through zipping up his pants. How to sell this to Carter, though...
Nox's soft head bumped against Rodney's knuckles, startling him from a daydream about cats on every surface of the gateroom and puppies in the mess hall, dogs and cats living together in harmony.
"Nox! Wow, look at you, getting up here all by yourself!"
Nox balanced on the edge of the sink. "Mew."
"Yes, you're right, let's get started," Rodney said, picking up Nox and tucking him against his chest. "First one, string test."
Rummaging through the top desk drawer, Rodney found a spare piece of paracord and dangled it over Nox's head. The kitten stared at the twitching end of the cord for a few seconds, then thrust out two black paws and rapidly batted at the string.
"Lightning fast! What reflexes!" Rodney dropped the rest of the cord onto the kitten's body just to watch him wriggle and pounce. "Clean execution, decisive takedown!"
Nox growled around the piece of cord in his mouth.
"Far-superior lungs and respiratory system!" Rodney crowed.
Locating his latest rubber band creation, about the size of a ping-pong ball, Rodney carefully took aim, bouncing it lightly on the surface of the desk.
Nox immediately ceased all movement. The cord dropped from his mouth as he stared at the ball. His stout body quivered, his sticky-uppy tail swept back and forth, and then with an uncoordinated half-leap, Nox landed on the ball — only for it to roll out from under him.
"And on the first try!" Rodney complimented Nox. "Destined for professional sports."
Cautiously, Rodney touched the tip of Nox's tail. The kitten whirled around, planting his paws, then leveled a look in Rodney's direction.
"Well done," Rodney praised. "Big checkmark for situational awareness."
Making a claw with his hand, he advanced on Nox. The kitten flattened itself on the surface of the desk, legs akimbo. As Rodney's hand neared, Nox took off, running to the side of the desk that stood flush with a wall.
"Dodge and weave, athletic and strategic," Rodney said, bursting with pride.
He let his arm fall to the desktop, lying there limply. It only took a few moments for Nox to peel away from the wall and approach to investigate. The dark silky fur on Nox's underbelly brushed against Rodney's inner wrist while Nox struggled to reach Rodney's thumb, likely for a good gnawing.
Did kittens teethe? What should he provide? What did kittens even eat?
"You, my friend, are quite the specimen," Rodney told the black kitten curled up in his hand, its head resting against Rodney's thumb. "Knows when to quit. Genius."
Nox blinked sleepily at him, then licked one paw.
Not wanting to jostle him, Rodney used his tablet one-handed, doing some quick research. He called up a shopping site and added food, toys, a litterbox, and bedding to his order. He forwarded the email confirmation to one of the SGC's vetted courier services, and put a rush on it. Next he hit redial on the line-out phone, and ordered his usual day off lunch from the best diner within reasonable walking distance of Atlantis. Once more, he tried to raise Sheppard on the comms. Zilch.
Carefully sliding Nox onto the floor again, Rodney shrugged into his quote-unquote civilian uniform, the one he wore outside while the SGC worked out exactly what to share with the good citizens of Earth. Missing the Canadian flag on the arm, it also lacked an appropriate number of pockets, leading Rodney to wear a knitted cardigan over it. Professional rather than doddering, he hoped, but he'd never willingly don a fanny pack, and the fewer times the word murse passed through anyone's lips, the better. He slipped his lanyard, heavy with keys and passcards, around his neck, then patted for his wallet, checking that there was cash for a tip. The thrill of using paper money was still — well, a thrill.
"All right, kiddo, you and I are on the move," Rodney said, plucking Nox from mid-gallop as he careened around the room. Nox struggled briefly when Rodney stuffed him into the uniform's one chest pocket, then accepted his lot without further fuss, noise, or claws. Was this a display of Sheppardesian behaviour, or of all kittens?
Wrenching his gaze away from Nox's utter adorability, a glance in the mirror revealed a potentially-noticeable lump under one side of the sweater. Rodney snatched up a tablet and posed a few times, perfecting the angle at which he'd carry it. He took a baseball cap from a hook by the door, and adjusted the rim so it shaded his face. He peeked in on the kitten one more time; Nox's questioning face peered back up at him. He'd curled up inside the roomy pocket, and luckily didn't object to being lightly covered.
Rodney left via the back, so he only had to maneuver through a full height turnstile before exiting a door set far back along the private, government-owned alley. Dressed in civilian clothes, a pair of bored-looking Marines loitered outside.
The timer on Rodney's watch went off, indicating it was time to head over to Charlie's. Tapping his earbud, Rodney alerted the front-facing, all-for-show reception kiosk that he had deliveries on the way, then they set out on their journey.
After a few blocks, the furball in Rodney's pocket grew restless, squirming in protest of its current living situation. Rodney walked faster. Sweat had gathered on his forehead when he reached the line for the diner's pickup window. Without thinking it all the way through, he unbuttoned his cardigan to get a little air in, and the squirming stopped abruptly, replaced by claws.
"Ach! Ouuu—ack!"
Curious faces turned his way, so Rodney covered his exclamation by turning it into a big fake sneeze.
Nox's claws dug in even harder.
"That is just — so unnecessary — owww —"
Rodney ignored the cashier, who ignored him in return. It was one of the reasons he liked Charlie's so much: by now, the staff recognized him, and the less they talked to him, the more he tipped.
They also produced the best breakfast pastries he'd ever eaten, due in part to the pastry chef's own lifelong citrus allergy. This afforded Rodney the chance to try delicacies from the bakery case he never thought he'd be able to put his fork to. The workarounds that could be achieved with molecular gastronomy were astounding, and he wasn't too proud to say so! He planned to add a bequeathment in his will.
Even with the left side of his chest being currently turned into Swiss cheese from multiple applications of tiny stabbing needles, Rodney managed to get the take-out containers stacked up and zipped away in an insulated bag. Throwing the straps over one shoulder, he stuffed a wad of cash in the tip jar, then set off for home.
"Almost there, here we go," Rodney cajoled and soothed, trying to snag Nox's attention away from struggling out of his pocket. "Cutie cute, you're not uhhh, boot. You're soft, you're fast; your methods, whatta blast..."
Each time Rodney stopped humming, Nox twisted and wriggled harder than before. Let me out, he chirped in demand, protesting the dire conditions and the undignified manner in which he was being transported.
Disregarding some weird looks, Rodney took advantage of the wide berth being afforded to him on the sidewalk, and beat feet. He ignored the rumblings of hunger in his gut. If he was hungry, no question that Nox was, too. Maybe he should've left Nox in his quarters, but the promise of nonstop cuteness had won, overwhelmingly. Also, what if Nox was Sheppard, and he abandoned his colleague in need? He'd never hear the end of it.
Between the heat emanating from pocketed Nox, and the insulated bag of food tucked close to his side, Rodney started to perspire. He settled for a quick cooling by fanning out the sides of the knit cardigan, and walked faster. Rounding the last corner of the last block between his happy taste buds and a pile of crêpes Normande, he zoomed down the well-lit front lane and sailed past the security kiosk, shaking his lanyard at the Marine in the booth.
On the loading ramp sat his transport cubby, stuffed to the gills with shrink-wrapped cat beds and other kitty sundries. Unloading the bag of brunch foods, Rodney tugged a blanket over everything and crammed down the lid. He overrode the controls on the cubby, instructing the box to deliver itself to his quarters.
He checked his pocket again. Craning his head to see Rodney, Nox looked a thousand percent done with their excursion.
"Same, little guy," Rodney said. After setting up Nox's gear, he'd be more than ready to make a pot of coffee, tune into whatever was new on the datastream, and stuff his face full with tender, honeyed, cinnamon-y apples stuffed into crisp, thin crêpes and drizzled with maple caramel. His stomach growled again, more insistently.
With Nox in his pocket, Rodney chose to go the long way; they could duck in the back entrance, not drawing as much attention. Nearing the turnstile, Rodney nearly tripped over his own shoes as he came to a surprised stop. A tall figure, cloaked in black from his hooded balaclava to the heels of his boots, stood not thirty metres away. It seemed very likely he'd exited the ramp from Atlantis, mere moments before. What the hell?
Nox squeaked insistently. Quickly, Rodney uncrossed his arms, embarrassed that he'd forgotten his furry little charge for a moment. All his attention had been on the mystery literally at hand: who was this masked man?
He scritched one side of Nox's throat, watching intently as the figure looked both ways, bent over, then came back up having heaved two large sacks onto his shoulders. Had Atlantis been robbed? Rodney preened for a moment, imagining the party they'd have to throw in his honour for having caught the thief red-handed.
On that note, where the hell was Security? In fact, where was Atlantis' security? Somehow this stranger had left intact.
Nimbly, the figure set off, only to disappear down the next alleyway.
Against his better judgement, Rodney felt compelled to check things out; at the least, he could follow this light-fingered loser to see where he went, then report back. Maybe Atlantis couldn't always tell when someone had the right intentions.
Maintaining a discreet distance, Rodney scowled as he was forced to step over piles of actual garbage on the ground. Was this where the slovenly kleptos congregated? Was he about to foil a malodorous international thievery ring?
Adrenaline zinged through Rodney when he caught sight of the figure melting into the mouth of a dingy backlane. Dead End, proclaimed the sign. Approaching slowly, Rodney heard clattering, then rustling, the sound of thick paper shuffled around. High-pitched noises, and a buzz, almost. It sounded as though the figure was speaking to someone else, or himself? Thrice as curious, Rodney stood up straight, tugged his clothing into place, then walked directly into whatever shady situation the miscreants had brewing.
The scene laid out in front of him was that of cats. Little, round and striped, big and fluffy, cats with blazes and patches and socks, calico and gray, black, browns, tails twitching. Their heads stayed down as they feasted on kibble at a raised metal trough.
Rodney stood there, eyes wide, goggling. His flabber, gasted.
Off to one side, the black-clad figure bent, ripping open another bag of food, then poured it into a blue plastic ten-gallon barrel strapped to a dolly.
Rodney squinted into the shadows. The mysterious figure's back, shoulders, and the shape of his head; all looked very similar to the back and shoulders he should recognize anywhere, having trekked around after them on many, many planets, some even in a different galaxy.
Nox let out a piteous mew right as the furtive stranger raised his head.
Rodney gasped with excitement, then immediately enjoyed the calm smugness of being right. The thief was John Sheppard.
He and Rodney stared at each other for what felt like a long time, then John weakly offered up, "Hi, Rodney."
Like an egg cracked over the crown of his head, relief ran through Rodney. "You're not a cat!"
"Uhhh... nope," John said, glancing down at himself. He rubbed one hand down over his face as though checking for errant whiskers.
As Rodney chewed John out for scaring him, for scaring Nox, for "disappearing like that," and other notions as they came to him, he felt the prickle of Nox's claws extending into the already-rather-tender skin on his chest.
John looked very concerned, Rodney noted, when Rodney cupped one hand around the Nox in his pocket.
"Are you — is it your —?"
John looked much less concerned when Rodney pulled back one side of his sweater to show the fuller situation, and then John started laughing. Several of the cats looked up at the noise, then went back to crunching their food when no threat seemed imminent.
"Do clue me in on exactly what is sooo funny," Rodney demanded, glaring daggers at John's annoying, stretchy face. He freed Nox, who was thrilled to be released, and cradled him. "I thought you were a criminal! You could have been in trouble! Or coerced! Or, you were out here doing something really dumb, like — like selling your hair, you twit!"
John wheezed, he was laughing so hard. "Rodney, what!"
"You heard me, you — you — felonious feline feeder!"
"McKay," John said, firmly, wiping tears from his eyes. "We didn't have plans until this afternoon. I know how much you like Charlie's; I know you like the walk, and the view, even when you gripe about it."
"That's true," Rodney acknowledged. He raised Nox up to inspect him, then gave him a smooch on the head. "So where did this little guy come from?"
"Couldn't say," John responded. He patted the top of the plastic barrel. "Listen, I've gotta get this over to Lorne on the lower pier. He and Radek look out for some of the local stray dogs."
Even though Rodney was wholly a cat person, he could still feel his heart melting. "Aww, that's actually kind of — Nox, careful —"
Turning, Nox hunched, then peed in Rodney's hands.
"No, no no no, no no, no —" Rodney thrust the kitten toward John, who put both hands up and took a big step backwards.
"Sorry, like I said, gotta go," John said, sounding contrite, but he was smiling. Mirth, at Rodney's suffering!
"Ahhhhhhh — whyyyy —"
Gently, John took Rodney by the shoulders and turned him around. "There's a tap at the end of the lane. You can do it!"
"You suck," Rodney grumbled, turning away.
His brow knotted, and he started walking. Crêpes Normande had never felt so far away.
Gingerly, Nox turned again in Rodney's hands, keeping his balance even as they moved. Rodney took one look at Nox's loveable face and instantly forgave him. It was his own fault, truly. The walk to Charlie's was nice, and Rodney did like it; in hindsight, it was a lot to ask from an itty baby with a pea-sized bladder.
There was an instantaneous peace to be found with cats. Rodney swallowed, hard. Some days, he desperately missed all of his old cats. Ex-cats? Still-loved cats. Heck, he wouldn't even mind seeing a dog now and then. His mind whirred ahead with potential problems, and their possible solutions.
Already he could picture dozens of cats — and kittens! — running through the halls of Atlantis, curling up in her warmest nooks, and watching sea life frolicking from the vantage of underwater portholes. He could easily see himself working at his desk, one hand poised for scratchwork on a problem, the other deep in the fur on Nox's belly. As the picture built, he could almost feel the steady thrum of Nox's purr under his palm, steady and soothing, helping Rodney concentrate. Making him feel appreciated, trusted.
After a quick rinse under the tap, Rodney awkwardly dried Nox using one sleeve of the cardigan. Being treated to the sight of Nox's dark fur sticking out in all directions gave Rodney a literal serotonin boost. Thanking Ronon, he fashioned a sling out of the sweater, then tucked his sleepy-looking kitten inside.
Under Rodney's ministrations, Nox began to purr.
"Yes," Rodney whispered, joyfully pumping his free arm. "Yeessss."
.Coda.
Several days later...
Rodney stabbed the last slice of bacon, doubled it over with his fork, and added it to the last piece of tomato from his BLT. Chewing happily, he tipped back the dregs of his coffee mug, then let out a satiated sigh.
Nearby, Nox raised his messy face from a plate of kitten paté.
"On your whiskers even? Impressive," Rodney told him.
Across the table, John shook his head. "Mister Compliments, all of a sudden."
"What are cats if not for indulging," Rodney said, indignant. "It's easy, because it's the truth. Nox is brilliant, sleek, fast, snuggly, need I go on?"
"No," John muttered, chasing after the last few fries in the bag. "You really thought it was me?"
"Probably not really," Rodney conceded, ignoring the increasingly-smug look on John's face. "During physical testing, Nox captured my finger in point-three seconds flat. You're not that fast."
John's expression descended rapidly into one of doom. "Ha-ha."
"And let's be honest, that lazy alley cat you want to keep sometimes can't even focus its eyes!"
John glared. "Because she's street tough, jaded. Worn down by life on the grift."
"Hah," Rodney scoffed. "She does that to confuse her enemies; I'm so sure."
"You don't like Mina?"
Rodney glanced at Nox, who looked disappointed in him too.
He replied, heartfelt, "Of course I do. They're all worthy cats, Sheppard."
And then they adopt all the stray / shelter cats and dogs onto Atlantis, the end!
Bonus - Nox through the years :)
