#tom lasky x john-117

[writeforfandoms]

Ship Cat

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Because I couldn’t resist continuing The Trouble with Tribbles. This fic is now alternately titled “How Many Sci-Fi Franchises Can I RIp Off?”

In this chapter, there is a new ship cat. Tom and John talk. Things go as they ever go.

Warnings: Lasky is done with everything. More Star Trek references. Swearing.

If Tom hadn't been in a mood, he'd have been impressed with the fact that he hadn't found out about the creature for three weeks. 

As it was, he was very much Not Amused. 

"What is that?" He asked, clinging to calm by the very tips of his fingers. 

The that in question mrrp'ed and blinked big eyes, impossibly green, from its place sheltered in Fred's arms.

"New ship cat, sir." Fred's tone was remarkably even. 

Tom was silent for a few long moments, working his jaw. "That is not a cat."

"The species is remarkably similar to Earth cats." That was Kelly, cool and composed as anything. 

Tom sighed, dropping his head for a moment. "Be that as it may. How did it get here?"

Silence. Absolute silence. All four Spartans were completely still. 

Dammit. Tom hated this. A tribble had been one thing, but this? "Roland." 

"Sir?" The AI shimmered into existence, normal grin notably absent, well attuned to his captain's moods. 

"Any other unauthorized animals brought aboard will be confiscated. Make sure everyone is aware." 

"Yes, sir." Roland didn't vanish though, watching the standoff between captain and Blue Team. 

"Chief." Tom tipped his head up, jaw tight. "Walk with me." He turned sharply, not waiting for confirmation, and started walking. A moment later long strides caught up, Chief keeping pace easily enough. "I don't care where it came from. I do care how you smuggled it in, but I suspect Roland helped you." A quick glance to the side showed Chief as impassive as ever with the armor on. "I understand Blue Team is used to making a lot of their own calls but I need to know about these kinds of things." 

"Understood, sir. It won't happen again." 

“And John?” Tom stopped, working his jaw for a moment to try and release some tension. “If any more of those appear, you’re responsible for giving them away. Dismissed.” 

He waited for Chief’s nod before he walked away. He had other things he had to take care of.

He even managed to not think about the ship cat-like-creature for another week. Until he took some coffee down to S-deck, rather hoping he’d catch John. 

The cat-thing was loose in the corridor, gray fur fortunately too dark to blend with the metal, those unnervingly green eyes focused on the captain. It meeped up at him, tail swishing from side to side, all six feet on the ground.

Tom was not one to be unnerved easily. He’d seen a lot, done a lot. 

But the thing that looked like a cat but wasn’t, staring up at him? That unnerved him. Just a little. 

Tom took a step forward, and the cat-thing perked up, stretching and then reaching out one paw to bat at his boot. 

“I should have made them take you back,” he grumbled down at the thing. “Where are they, anyway?” 

“...this way,” came a voice from down the hallway.

“I dunno, man,” a second person answered. “If it got loose on another deck Palmer will kill us.”

The two rounded the corner and stopped. Tom noted with some amusement that they both looked shocked before they snapped to attention. 

“Looking for this?” Tom glanced down at the cat-thing, which had progressed to attempting to chew on his boot. So far, his boot was winning, but he didn’t want to give the damn thing enough time to shift the odds. 

“Ah, yes sir.” One of the two stepped forward. “He, uh, slipped off.”

“So I see.” Tom eyed the two. “Try to keep a closer eye on it.”

“Yes sir, we will sir,” the Spartan hurried to agree. He stooped and picked up the cat-thing, and both of them jogged off again at Tom’s nod. 

He sighed. Apparently it was no longer a Blue Team pet, but a Spartan pet. He’d have to find out what Palmer thought of this.

Finally free, Tom made his way to John’s room and knocked. The door opened a moment later, John blinking once at him, towel draped over the back of his neck. 

“Coffee?” Tom offered up the cup. 

John’s lips twitched and he took the cup, tilting his head inside in silent invitation. Tom stepped into his room, the door closing after him. 

“I ran into your pet on the way here,” Tom said, taking the desk chair while John lowered himself to sit on the bed. 

John raised one eyebrow, taking a sip of his coffee. It had taken Tom days to figure out that John liked a couple spoonfuls of sugar in his coffee (although he’d take it any way he could get it, much like Tom himself). 

“The not actually a cat.” Tom took a sip of his own coffee. 

John shrugged. “Not mine,” he said, dry and low. 

Tom rolled his eyes. “Fred?” he guessed.

John’s lips twitched but he didn’t confirm. 

“Has he named it yet?” 

John shrugged, but his eyebrow twitched. Tom was getting better at reading him and leaned in, curious. John looked to the side for a moment. “Nothing’s been decided yet.” 

Tom narrowed his eyes, just a little. John didn’t want to tell him. Well, he’d just get the answer out of someone else, since it seemed all of S-deck was involved now. “I see.” 

John watched him carefully over the rim of his coffee, and Tom smiled a little. 

“We’ll be coming up on a colony planet in a few days,” he offered, leaning back in his chair and stretching his legs out in front of him. 

John nodded once, clearly waiting for more information. 

“And I have to go down there to play nice.” 

John’s lips twitched, a tiny expression of mirth at Tom’s wording. 

“You want to come with?” This was new. Tom wasn’t exactly the best at asking for things (as Palmer and Roland liked to remind him), and the added complications of this, of him and John, of this new… whatever this was, just added to his anxieties. But Tom didn’t let that stop him this time. 

John blinked at him once. And then nodded, slow but sure. 

That had been… easy. Easier than Tom had thought it would be. He blinked, his only outward expression of surprise. “Well. Good. Thank you.”  

Which is how Tom ended up boarding a Pelican, John right behind him, to go down to the planet. This should be easy - he just had to say hi, be nice, accept some kind of gift. Maybe go on a tour. And then he’d be done. 

Should be easy. 

And, mostly, it was. The mayor of the town was nice. A bit pompous, but nice. (Everyone here at least looked okay - no gaunt faces, no shredded clothing. Tom hated that he looked for these things, but it was too ingrained in him now.) What should have been a simple thing became a little bit of a circus, with the mayor trying to push Tom into having a meal and Tom using every excuse he could think of not to sit down for a meal. 

Finally, though, he got through it. With no small amount of relief. 

And then he was handed the gift. Or a small portion of the gift, anyway. 

“This contains quadrotriticale,” one of the mayor’s aids told him. “It grows well here, and can be used on other planets. We’ve got a few containers for you, but, well, the mayor wanted to give you some specifically.” 

“I see.” Tom looked down at the box, which was no longer than his hand and rattled gently when he moved it. “It’s a very generous gift, and I’m sure it will be a great help.” 

“One more thing, Captain.” The aid looked a bit nervous now. “I know tribbles are becoming more common, but, uh. Do not let the tribbles eat the grain. They convert it faster than most food sources. There, uh. There was an incident.” 

Tom felt John shift behind him, and he nodded. “I’ll make sure to pass the message along.” 

After that, finally, they got to leave. Tom gently tipped the box in his hand back and forth, considering. He might keep a little of it for the Infinity. They did have a garden, after all. It would be interesting, if nothing else. 

“That could have been worse,” Tom murmured once the Pelican was in the air again. 

John shifted his weight, a silent agreement. “At least he warned you about the tribbles.”

Tom sighed, though it was mostly for show. He was never going to live down that fiasco with the tribbles. “Could have been worse,” he reiterated, looking down at the grain to hide his grin. 

(He would remember his decision to grow some of the grain much less fondly after the not-a-cat got loose and hid in the garden for two days, scaring the daylights out of no fewer than ten crewmen.)