"Pink is a manly color!" insisted Rodney, scowling up at John from the floor of Jeannie's dining room. Madison had him trapped in a blanket fort under the table, swathed in sparkly scarves. John grinned down through the opening.
"I like the wings," said John. They were sparkly too. Rodney snarled and twisted, but his hands were tied to the table legs with jump-ropes.
John crawled towards Rodney, smirking. "Hey, buddy, your halo's gone crooked."
"Yeah?" muttered Rodney, "and whose fault is that?" But he let John cup his face in the dim light inside the covers, and kiss him.
John came to lying on the grass near the gate. Teyla and Ronon looked woozy, and Rodney was jabbering at them. Teyla shook her head, bemused, and Rodney scooted over to John.
"We need frogs for mixed drinks," said Rodney worriedly. "Butterfly music breeds Armenians!"
John squinted. Maybe he had a head injury? "What? You're talking nonsense."
Rodney's mouth twisted angrily, "Ants!" he cursed, then grabbed his laptop and typed furiously. "GATE'S FUCKED. NOT TRANSLATING!"
"But we speak the same language," protested John, hoping Rodney could lip-read.
Rodney glared at him, then at the gate, and typed: "NOT ANY MORE!"
"It's okay, little fella," crooned John, thinking the door shut. "We're in my room and that's my bed." He put Rodney down.
Rodney vanished under the pillows. John tried to coax him out, but only got angry squeaking.
"Radek'll fix this," John tried. "You'll see." More squeaking. "I got a cookie, if you'll come out?" He put it on the bed.
A questing, whiskered nose poked out from the pillow, followed by the rest of a small rat. It sidled up and started nibbling.
"Yeah, buddy," said John, stroking a finger down Rodney's back, feeling him quiver. "Oreos – your favorites."