Anyway, here is some fluff I wrote a while ago and never got round to spell checking or posting. Enjoy.
Title: A Touch Of The Panthophobia.
Written For: slash_me_twice, for the prompt; Love.
Summary: John knows the world is ending. Really. Rodney isn't so sure.
John buried deeper into the covers, shivering violently. He was dying, no question about it. Any moment now, John Sheppard would be no more, wiped out by a deadly bug. A loud snort interrupted his musings and he opened his eyes, a half hearted scowl already on his face as he looked over at Rodney.
“Oh please,” Rodney said with another snort, giving John a dismissive hand wave. “How long are you going to be doing this for?”
“I'm dying,” John answered, his voice little more than a croak. Because yeah, ok, he was supposed to be all stoic and manly about his upcoming death but he deserved some sympathy, especially from Rodney. And wasn't Rodney supposed to be doing something? Like moping his brow?
On the other hand, this was Rodney he was thinking about, so maybe not. Still, Rodney should be working hard to try and find a cure, snarking away a mile a minute and finally coming up with a solution that would save the day.
“Colonel, you have a cold. Nothing more and nothing less,” Rodney said slowly, as if speaking to a partially dumb child. “You have to stay in this room because Teyla and the rest of that lot have never been subjected to a man's cold before. Now don't be such a baby. You'll recover.”
“I'll recover?” John whispered before descending into a fit of coughs. He fumbled about on the table by the bed, grasping the inhaler he had demanded Carson give him. The coughing fit had all but subsided now as he breathed in, pressing the plunger as he did so. “I look like death warmed up. I have no strength! How will I recover?”
“Because you just have a little cold?” Rodney suggested, picking up some clothes from the floor. He dumped them on a chair, his nose wrinkling with disgust.
“You could kiss me better?” John asked hopefully, yawning as he spoke. Rodney made a snorting sound, shaking his head.
“What and let you infect me? I don't like you that much Colonel,” he said lightly, an amused look on his face. John frowned at him, his mind moving slower than normal. Suddenly a light seemed to snap on inside his mind and his mouth dropped open even as his eyelids fluttered in sleep.
“No, you don't like me. You... you love me,” John slurred, staring at Rodney with something akin to wonder. Rodney opened his mouth to snap back an answer before pausing, a look of shock and then horror on his face. He slowly turned, his eyes making a circlet of the room, taking in the ill Colonel and the mounds of used tissues littering the bed and the floor.
“Oh my God...” Rodney muttered, his eyes wide. “I've willingly surrounded myself with germs. I do love you.”
John grinned up at him, the smile sloppy and unguarded. Rodney shook his head and carefully stepped over some tissues, his mouth a thin tight line as if annoyed about something. John wasn't fooled.
“I love you too Rodney,” John said happily before sneezing again and again, his eyes watering painfully. A tissue appeared in his limited line of sight and he grabbed at it, wiping his runny nose and giving a loud sniff.
“The things I do for you,” came Rodney's voice from in front of him and he squinted, trying to see past the blurry vision. He blinked a couple of times, trying without success to fully clear the water from his eyes. A hand lightly touched his forehead, cool against the burning heat and he pressed into it, giving a slight sigh at the contact. All too soon the hand moved away and he gave a little whimper, trying to lift his head up to follow the cool hand.
“Honesty Colonel,” Rodney said with a huff. “Don't be such a baby.”
“I'm cold,” John answered with a pout. “But my forehead feels like it was on fire and your hand made it better.”
“So... you're hot and cold at the same time?” Rodney asked, gaining a small nod as an answer. He hovered next to the bed for a couple of moments, as if thinking about what to do next. Then with a groan and some mutterings about stupid Lt. Colonel's and weird hair, he climbed into the bed as well, flicking an odd tissue away. John shifted slightly to keep him in blurry view, the grin still present.
“Not one word Colonel,” warned Rodney as he settled around John, curling up against him. His arms found there way around John's waist, grounding him. “Not a single word. Now, go to sleep.”
John closed his eyes obediently and felt himself slipping into the ordered sleep.
(AN: Panthophobia is the fear of "Disease and suffering".)
Thank you to Nethy for the title ideas.
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