Those Days

Ernie loved Rodney and liked John, and seemed to tolerate everyone else. Except for Ronon, of course, whose hair still warranted an extra happy greeting, and Radek, who always had the best pens.

His behavior didn’t change very much with their suddenly five-year-old appearances either, but his “mine” and “yours” sort of gained a tolerant, almost indulgent quality that made Rodney roll his eyes. He didn’t complain out loud, though, and John suspected he secretly liked having the furry octopus follow him around, voice-box flashing blue, a pen brandished in each free tentacle except the one twisted into the hem of his shirt.

*

It didn’t take long for Carson to prescribe mandatory napping, since John got sullen and sour when he was tired, and Rodney got loud and embarrassingly wet-eyed, and Ronon started biting. Larry, well. Larry was pretty much the same, but he’d fall asleep in weird places like the crosswalk above the jumper bay or underneath the filtration pumps by the kitchens, where no one would ever think to look. So after three days of Larry-hunts and an overabundance of curiously infected bite-related injuries, and publicly shedding enough tears for John to want to off himself, Carson and Elizabeth designated an hour each afternoon for naptime. And they didn’t care where they slept – except for Larry, who was escorted to his quarters each day before he could fold his really very flexible body into some sort of crawl-hole where nobody’d find him for hours – just so long as they came back well-rested and happy, and Rodney was especially pissy that he wasn’t allowed to have coffee. Ever.

John always slept in the sun-warmed clubhouse.

Where Rodney would nap was a toss-up between the clubhouse and his quarters, and sometimes when John climbed up through the hatch, he’d find him open-mouthed and whiffling snores, lying on his belly by the long bank of windows. Those times, he’d curl up next to him, tucking his head into the crook of Rodney’s neck, snaking an arm over his side, half-sprawled on top of him.

Other times, though, John would spread out in the spill of sunlight by himself, palms up and limbs wide.

Naptimes, John decided, were very, very cool.

*

Ernie didn’t like the clubhouse, didn’t like climbing the rope, didn’t like pulling himself up through the small hole in the ceiling, and he’d wait at the bottom and coo and bleat and shout, “Mine!” every time they opened the hatch. It was sort of pathetic and really annoying.

So they fashioned him a basket.

*

John made it a point of stopping by the labs before heading towards the clubhouse, just to make sure Rodney was obeying the napping dictate. Most times, Rodney was already gone.

Some days, though, Rodney fought off sleep tooth and nail, biting into his laptop with his fingers and stubbornly screaming, “Let go!” when Radek encircled his waist, hauling him backwards off his stool with strangely soft admonishments of, “You are making mistakes,” and, “You will kill us all with your brain,” and, “Do not make me call Elizabeth,” which normally got him moving, since Elizabeth was awkward and oddly uncomfortable around them, and that made Rodney awkward and uncomfortable.

Those days, John would follow Rodney as he stomped huffily towards the clubhouse, climbing the knotted rope one step ahead of him, and Ernie would clamber into his basket, breathing out puffs of “Yours” as John slowly pulled him up.

*

Some days, John’d find Ronon back-to-back with Rodney, Ernie snuggled up to their heads, tentacles wound in Ronon’s hair and draped loose along Rodney’s neck and jaw.

Those days, John would slowly wriggle in between the two boys, flopping onto his back to stare up at the low ceiling. And Ernie would chirp once or twice and pet his forehead until his eyes drifted shut, his cheek mashed against Rodney’s shoulder blade, reveling in the shift of bone and muscle and puppy fat as Rodney breathed deep, sleepy, even breaths.

Those days were John’s favorites.