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"… and then to top it all off, I got a stomachache from something they fed me for lunch." Rodney plops down on their couch, arms crossed and face stormy. "I hate today."
John turns back to the teapot to hide a smile. He has no idea how Rodney being cranky became heartwarming, but he blames it on his tottering old age. He hadn't expected to make it to fifty in the Pegasus galaxy, and certainly not sixty. He's had a pretty miserable day himself; he's not cut out to be a carpenter. He may look the part, especially with a tool belt (which he knows Rodney appreciates), but his dad didn't work with his hands and never taught his sons how to, either. His back is killing him, too. He pops two Advil with his first sip of tea hoping Rodney won't notice.
"I saw that," Rodney says, and John turns around and gives him the best innocent face he can. Rodney rolls his eyes. "Don't pretend you're not an old man, Sheppard. You eat more Advil than food these days."
It's completely untrue, but John's so used to Rodney's hyperbole he doesn't bother contesting it. He just brings the tea tray over to the couch, a few lonely sugar cubes in the sugar bowl so Rodney doesn't take too many, and sits down close enough to Rodney to make him grouch about personal space while John prepares his tea.
"I want three lumps."
John smiles into the teacup. "That'll leave only one for your second cup. You really want that?"
Rodney moans miserably. "I've just had a really shitty day and I'd like something a little sweet to take the edge off. Is that so much to ask?"
John puts two cubes into the tea and hands it to Rodney, giving him a kiss on the side of the mouth. "I'll give you something sweet."
"I can't believe you won't even give me one extra lump of sugar." Rodney gulps his first cup, like he always does, and John takes it back to pour a second cup, with two more sugar cubes.
"It'd be two extra," John says, in his most infuriatingly reasonable tone of voice, "if I gave you three in the first cup and then three in the second. And then you'd want another cup because it tasted so good. So that's five extra sugar cubes."
"Hmph," Rodney says, but takes the teacup back from John, sipping more slowly this time. No more objections seem to be forthcoming, so John takes his own cup and leans back on the couch, rubbing his calf against Rodney's.
"We could bring the comforter out onto the couch and watch movies," John offers. He'll probably be asleep before the end of the first one, but that doesn't stop Rodney from watching an entire trilogy with John's head pillowed on his thigh.
"Yeah," Rodney says, in a thin-sounding half-whine that John knows he just wants a little attention. He's had to trade in some of his raging ego out here; he's known by everyone as the guy that fixes stuff, that can fix anything. They don't understand what kind of a feat that is, so Rodney's just the go-to guy, and well-liked at that. It disgruntles him to be both underappreciated and popular.
"Come on, grouchy," John says, taking the tea away before Rodney can gulp down the dregs with all the sugar. He gets the duvet, plopping it on Rodney's legs before going to their stack of DVDs. "What do you want to watch?"
He expects Rodney to ask for something with fast cars or lots of explosions or fast cars and lots of explosions, but he says quietly, "Labyrinth?"
And that's when John knows it was more than just a bad day. It's homesickness or worry or plain old stress, and John hates it when he hears that in Rodney's voice.
He doesn't say anything else, no more needling or teasing, just pulls out Labyrinth and loads it up, letting the previews run as he gets the cushion he needs to be able to support Rodney for some serious cuddling. He has no idea when he turned into a cuddler, or when he started recognizing the subtle difference between Rodney angling for some pampering and Rodney needing John to hold him for a while, but he's glad they made it here.
Rodney's already moved to the center of the couch, wrapped up tight in the duvet and waiting for John to set himself up so he can support Rodney for a couple of hours without wrenching his back. He eases himself down onto the couch, arranging the cushion for some lumbar support and putting one of his legs along the back of the couch so Rodney can curl up sideways with his head on John's chest and let John rub his back for a while.
"Come on," John says, pulling Rodney down.
Rodney digs his shoulder into John's stomach as he gets comfortable, giving John a sympathetic stomachache whether he wanted one or not. Rodney watches for a while, satisfied, and then in a whisper, too low for John to catch the start of, he starts talking about whatever it is that's really bothering him. It's mostly just mumbling at the start, and John hums wordless noises of agreement and rubs Rodney's back until he finally hears the clue that lets him piece it all together. "…and she looked just like Madison when she was that age, and…"
Homesickness, then. John lets Rodney get it all out, breathy whines that mix the little stuff with the big stuff, and plans a trip to visit Enia after Rodney falls asleep. They've got plenty of credits to make his surprise work; it's only the timing that's a bother.
Jeannie's going to need a little advance notice to get everyone here for Christmas.