Summary: Futurefic, from an odd pov. He leaves me here for ages, but he always comes back for me. McKay/Weir.
A/N: Thanks to Littleknux and Fanwoman for betareading this.
He calls me McCavity, Mac for short. She calls me Maccy, in a sing song voice, and she acts like that's why I come running. At least he was under fewer illusions – it's the food first and foremost - but then, he was a no-nonsense guy.
He packed me off to her, the cat-sitter from hell, and disappeared once more. He leaves me here for ages, but he always comes back for me. It took a lot longer this time, but here he is. Collecting me, yanking me back with an ungrateful smile when she started to ramble on about how he didn't deserve me. So in short, I let him take me back. I could have made a fuss, but somehow it’s normal to be here, and away from her. There are my old spots to haunt, terrorising the roaches and other wildlife that have accumulated since he last cleaned, while he mopes.
I've only been here a few days - back in time for some human festival. I escaped her clutches, though it would have been nice there - turkey scraps under the table - except for all the people bugging me. It's much preferable to be here with just him, or rather it would be if he'd get up off the couch. He lies on it for days in a row, watching the box and eating takeout. The leftovers are tasty, and he doesn't push me off when I use him as a cushion, but something isn't right. For one, he isn't as good of a cushion as before, but he barely complains about the necessary kneading with the claws.
For once, the day after that, he gets a visitor. He jumps up, startled by the doorbell, running round to get half dressed. Opening the door a crack, he seems further surprised, but lets a woman in and seems oddly apologetic about the state of the place.
I make my way out of the room, but he comes to get me, scooping me up and dragging me back in there like I'm for show and tell. He knows I don't go for lots of attention. His is enough, and I clearly don't need anyone else, but he bundles me up and hands me over to her while he disappears to change into something suitable for company.
She pets me gently, walking around, studying the living room, taking in the sights. It's really not much, but she appears interested. I figure she's just bored, no one usually cares about any of the stuff lying around, apart from being disgusted by the mess. Eventually she eyes the bedroom door, waiting for him to come back.
When he does, he's dressed pretty neatly, for him, smiling nervously and tiptoeing over the carefully constructed mess. I struggle slightly, but he doesn’t remove me from her arms, and she keeps on stroking me soothingly, calming me as her voice does the same to him. He trusts her, and she hasn't left yet. I can't remember anyone staying this long in ages. She even sits down on the couch without worry of what's on it, placing me down as she does – she's a braver woman than many who stray here. I feel sad that she's withdrawn, but then it looks like he's going to boot me off, so she picks me up again, placing me on her lap.
She smells of dog, but I forgive her and let her get on with it, taking up her duty to pet me as I lie comfy on her legs. They're talking, not about anything important; it's filling in for something else they won't say. I used to think he was blunt like me, honest about everything, but clearly he can't tell her whatever it is he really wants to say. But I don't care, the longer they talk, the longer I get to stay here on her lap. She's more attentive than he's been the last few days. All in all, I rather like her, and I'm pretty sure he wishes he was me.
The conversation seems to meander off into nothing much. Then she asks something, and the stress levels in his voice suddenly spike. He's not very good at answering this one, blundering into a very long explanation that manages not to address what she wants to know. The silence stretches out uncomfortably for a while, until she asks again. He doesn't answer at all this time, which is just about when she gets up and hands me back to him. He fumbles with me, attempting to get up and follow her as she heads in the direction of the door. She's civil but far less friendly as she makes her goodbyes. He tries to joke about it and deflect her anger. I see that patented lopsided grin on his face, but his eyes have no sparkle in them, except possibly the tearful kind. He's in real trouble. She doesn't take the joking kindly, repeating her farewell stonily. She's definitely going to leave. This is where I decide he needs some help.
I hiss and scratch, forcing him to drop me. He curses at me, but I really couldn't care less because now I'm free to get to the target. I rush across and circle round her legs seductively, meowing every five seconds to get make sure she gets the point. He'd better appreciate this; my pride is really suffering here. Thankfully, she picks me up and tries to sooth me again, as he goes off to get antiseptic for the damage I inflicted on him. She looks a bit concerned as he winces applying the stuff, and I think he realises I've bought him time – she's less annoyed at him, possibly sympathetic, too. He tries to explain again as she strokes me. He's not exactly doing brilliantly for a while, but I stop paying attention as I relax in her arms. I get the feeling he hit some kind of mark when her heart suddenly starts racing. I'm about to open my eyes and see just what is going on when I'm unceremoniously dumped on the couch. Looking up I see why, and am grateful I'm not between them – because there seriously isn't much room left there. Still, the couch is quite warm, and I don't think any one will be interrupting me for awhile. Plus, I bet she'll still be around tomorrow when I'm in the mood for people again. Sometimes dealing with them really takes it out of you. Time for a well deserved nap.