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There's a bit of a cold spell in Citrus Hill on this crisp Sunday morning, and Rodney's prepared. Though he'd be more than willing to cocoon himself in bed with John 'til it warms up, their Sunday morning routine calls and that means breakfast at Skeeters.
John gets out of his truck, striding up to Rodney with hands thrust into his jeans pockets and his shoulders hunched up stiffly. Rodney surveys him and opines, "You look cold."
"I'm fine, McKay," John claims, but leans into Rodney.
"Seriously bony," Rodney says, poking John in the side. "If you weighed more than seventeen pounds, you might not always be cold."
They walk in the brisk morning air, and Skeeters is in view when they're stopped by a passerby with some questions for John. After three minutes, John starts shivering ever so slightly, but doesn't complain. Always a smile with his public service.
Rodney rolls his eyes and takes off his orange fleece, draping it over John's shoulders. John looks appreciative, almost melting into the warmth. As the elderly woman finishes her questions, John sees Rodney rub his hands together, so he pulls Rodney behind him, guiding Rodney's hands into the pockets of the fleece. The woman just smiles at the pair.
"Thank you, Mister Mayor," she says, then bobs her head at Rodney. "Doctor McKay."
"Thank you, Mrs. Fratelli," John says, and then turns back towards Skeeters. He doesn't let Rodney out from behind him, just drags him along holding Rodney's hands in his, buried in the deep pockets of the fleece.
"Morning, boys!" Skeeter calls from the back as his mom guides them to a booth.
"Here's your coffee, sugar," Miss Melanie says to Rodney. "You look like you're frozen. John, didn't this one have the good sense to put a jacket on this morning?"