Fic: In Sickness and in Health (PG)

[anyanka_eg]

Title: In Sickness and in Health
Rating: PG
Pairing: McShep
Summary: A little bit of silly fluff for all those of us who've been suffering with colds and flu over the past couple of weeks.

 

Rodney thought it was one of the greatest mysteries the universe had ever presented him. Everything he knew about Colonel Sheppard told him the man was stoic. Stoic and manly to the point of idiocy. He'd seen him run to the gate on what turned out to be a broken ankle that needed surgery and a solid cast for ten weeks. He'd chatted as though he was at a tea party rather than in an infirmary bed as he shed his blue bug-skin, even though Carson had told Rodney it was like having second degree burns. And Rodney knew most people would have howled a hell of a lot more than Sheppard did when they'd watched the Wraith feed on him.

None of this tallied with the pathetic lump that huddled under the comforter of Rodney's bed.

It seemed that the way to finally bring the mighty Lt Colonel John Sheppard to is knees was flu. Except it wasn't flu, just a bad cold that some fool on the Daedalus had introduced to the city, but he was for the moment humoring the Colonel and letting him think he too believed it was flu. Keller had laughed and muttered something about man-flu as she dropped ibuprofen into the scientist's hand when he went to beg for drugs for his miserable friend.

Another equally baffling mystery for the scientist was why he felt himself suddenly overcome by the need to play nurse to someone as highly infectious as the Colonel clearly was. Maybe it was the puffy eyed, fuzzy headed, childlike grumpiness that Rodney would deny finding endearing to his dying day. Maybe it was because being in love really had mellowed him, even though he'd fought it tooth and nail.

“...odney?” mumbled the lump on the bed as it stirred.

“Yeah, it's me,” he answered, wondering who else John's germ addled brain thought would be fussing over him. “I'm glad you're awake. I bought you this.”

He sat on the bed as John wriggled free of the twisted bedding and propped himself against the headboard, his neck bent at an awkward angle. Rodney shook his head fondly and put the mug he'd brought from the mess down on the crowded bedside table. John eyed the steaming mug, clearly confused as to why it was so very, very far away from him.

“You really are more trouble than you're worth, aren't you?” Rodney sighed, standing up and pulling Sheppard forward by the shoulder, so he could rearrange the pillows behind him.

“Thanks,” John croaked, looking like he was torn between gratitude and irritation.

Rodney pushed him back gently when the pillows were to his fluffed to perfection and handed him the mug. John sniffed at it even though Rodney knew there was no way he'd ever be able to tell what it was through all the snot. Rodney didn't roll his eyes at the stupidity of the move on Sheppard's part, just put the ibuprofen in his lover's other hand.

“It's that spiced berry drink the Velgrans make, with a splash of whiskey,” Rodney explained, nudging the hand with the pills towards John's mouth. “I thought the spices might help clear your nose.”

Rodney didn't say that he loved the drink when he was sick because it made him think he had something better than the hot lemon and honey his mother always made Jeannie when she had a cold. He also didn't say he thought it tasted like Christmas in a cup because John had laughed the first time he told him that.

It didn't really matter because John swallowed his pills with a sip of the hot drink. He relaxed back into the pillows, wrapping his hands round the mug like it wasn't seventy five degrees in the room. He smiled his affectionate, dopey smile at Rodney, probably remembering the Christmas thing, and took another sip of the drink. Rodney could do nothing but grin back.

“So,” the scientist finally said, heading for the desk and his open laptop. “You missed the, and I use the word loosely, excitement in Botany today when they found a new species of garden cress.”

John hummed in response as he took another sip of his drink. They'd been together long enough that even Rodney had worked out that for all his bickering and sniping, John liked to hear him rant. Rodney still hadn't worked out why he liked it yet, because it wasn't like he ever remembered anything the scientist had said, but he was more than happy to indulge him until he figured it out.

He told him about the Parrish's pathetic discovery and about Simpson's new obsession with Sgt Boyd, which sent shivers of horror up his spine whenever he thought about them together. He delighted in telling John how Radek's theory that they could boost the range of the city's sensors was so utterly preposterous that it would probably wind up in some appalling Hollywood movie. Then, of course, he had to move on to his well worn rant about The Core and how he still wanted those two and a half hours back.

By the time he was finished, flushed with righteous scientific indignation, John had finished his drink and Rodney had done none of the work he'd intended to when he sat at the desk. He knew he ought to be reviewing reports from his minions but really, looking after John was way more appealing. And that was either a damning reflection on the quality of his scientist's reports or a sign he had gone soft in the head.

John blew his nose loudly on a tissue, tossed it in the general direction of the waste bin, missing completely, and snuggled down the bed. Rodney knew he was clearly loosing his wits because he couldn't bring himself to care about the pile of virus soaked tissues of death that were already littering the floor.

Sighing, he stood up and went to his book shelves. He grabbed the book he wanted and headed back to the bed. He toed off his shoes, draped his jacket over the desk chair and slipped off his pants. He crawled into bed next to John, making a mental note to change the bedding in the morning. His lover hummed happily, if a little stuffily, and curled himself round Rodney.

With John's head on his shoulder, the fingers of one hand rubbing through his hair the way the pilot loved, Rodney began reading what he always considered the literary equivalent of comfort food.

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.”

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I hope all those who've been ill are feeling better or have someone like Rodney to look after them.