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Ardhanarishvara Part Eight

Header & Disclaimer in Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

~*~


Hermea is as pretty as Sheppard remembers. Selh meets them with the float car at the same landing pad. Her gaze lands on the shiner still darkening Sheppard's cheekbone.

True, she felt uneasy after the debriefing, but that was because she knew they were about to walk eyes open in a clusterfuck with the Hekans. The problem being that she couldn't think of a better plan, much less a better answer to what to do about Heka – other than abandon it, which was just as unacceptable to her as it was to Teyla. And whenever she caught a glimpse of herself in a reflecting surface, or when the painkillers wore off, she'd think firebombing their fields was too good for those fuckers.

"You've encountered problems on the way, Colonel?" Selh asks as they pile into the car.

"What?" Sheppard touches her face. "No. This was from another mission."

"P3R-987. They didn't like women who talked back," Rodney comments, his mouth tightening into an unhappy line.

"Or at all," Ronon says. "Bastards."

Selh's eyes widen a little. "I'm very glad you have returned. We...worried, after you left."

"Took a little sweet talk, but Elizabeth – Dr. Weir, she's our leader – authorized our return," Sheppard tells her lightly. "And we're not stupid, you know. We'd have mentioned if this was going to get us in trouble back home." The trouble will be on Heka, when they begin flying jumper missions there; she really needs to stop thinking about it. This is Hermea, which could be fun. After all, they know what to expect, pretty much: medical exams, psych evals, then maybe some mutual technological exchanges and maybe another good meal, because the food had been excellent last time. Then they'd go back home.

Depending on how you defined home, of course. She knows for a fact Elizabeth is still sitting on the report instead of transmitting it to the SGC. It's not even the one on the latest crisis yet – although, really, she'll bet the brass will only have eyes for the ZPM part and skim the rest – but just the one regarding the first Hermea visit.

"A lot more people out and about today," Sheppard observes as they pass through the city toward the medical center, changing the subject.

Selh nods. "Yes, we asked our citizens, especially the vulnerable ones, to remain indoors if possible when you first visited."

They all turn at that, and stare, but of course Rodney has to let his incredulity show. "Whoa-whoa-whoa, what did you think, that we'd start eating your babies? Snatch them straight from their moms' strollers?"

"McKay." Just a little side-step and she's in front of Rodney, can unleash the force of her smile on Selh. "So, hey, you took a few precautions." Add a slow, easy hand-wave. "We totally get that."

Selh's face smoothes out again, but not until she's thrown a vaguely disgusted look at Rodney. "We had no idea about you, who you'd turn out to be, after all." She turns. "Here we are – the upper floors of the med center are devoted to psychological analysis and therapy; we've assigned each of you a personal counselor to evaluate your progress. Someone will direct you there after you've all been examined. After that, maybe you'd like to see more about our way of living?"

Sheppard tilts her head and slowly nods a couple of times. "Sounds great."

Sounded just great, other than being examined, again, and having their heads shrunk, again, by an alien shrink this time.


~*~


Farl just irritates Rodney, but that's hardly anything new. Almost everybody irritates Rodney.

"I could be talking with Jari about power consumption protocols right now," Rodney gripes.

"I'm sure there will be time for that later," Farl says.

Rodney rolls his eyes. Farl is silent. The silences stretches and stretches. "Oh, for Christ's sake," Rodney bursts out finally, "If you're not going to ask any questions, I'm going to take a nap."

Farl furrows his brow at that, the dark eyes behind his orange-rimmed glasses signaling mild professional disapproval. "I merely wanted to let you share your experiences at your own pace, Dr. McKay."

"Oh. Right. Don't hold your breath, then."


~*~


Sheppard props her hip against a counter and tunes the tech babble between Jari and McKay out. She can see Ronon and even Teyla's eyes are glazed by the explanation of Hermean power plant engineering. She lost the thread of what Jari's explaining about forty-five minutes ago, herself. But Rodney's in hog heaven, taking apart the theory Jari spouts and integrating it into his own knowledge of physics lightning swift. He's said something that made Jari go still and wide-eyed with admiration at least three times, too. The way she looks at him, Sheppard has no doubt Rodney could score with her any time he wanted. But he's completely oblivious, so focused on the data the Hermeans are offering he doesn't see it.

Which is just as well, because Sheppard really doesn't care for the idea of Jari getting her hands on McKay. She's not ready to think about why, but she does know. She wishes that they'd finish though, because it's almost embarrassing, but she's hungry again.

She comes around from the boredom plus thinking-about-food daze when she hears: "You have beautiful energy couplings." Which makes her choke. That's McKay's idea of a come on. Never mind etchings, in McKay-land, it's 'Want to come see my power plant?'

"McKay, do you mind?" she blurts out.

"What?" Rodney looks up, frowning. "This is beautiful work. There's virtually no impedance. They're not losing any stray energy in their transfers, Colonel."

Jari smiles. "Thank you, Dr. McKay."

Thank you, Dr. McKay. Sheppard wants to roll her eyes. Beautiful work, her ass. McKay's definitely making a play in his own egghead way, and Jari's eating it up. "McKay," she drawls, leaning over his shoulder to look at the laptop.

"Don't be so petty, Colonel, just because this is beyond your pea brain."

She feels a little affronted by that. She may not be in McKay or Zelenka's league, but she keeps up, and her knuckles don't drag when she walks. She debates whether or not to mention that high-flyin' engineering degree she got, and the MENSA test thing. As always, decides against the first and is reminded the latter will only get McKay pestering her to join the Atlantis chapter. Instead, she pokes her finger at something on Rodney's laptop screen. "This won't work on Atlantis. See? They're using indigenous minerals to increase the efficiency. It's manufactured into their equipment. None of our tech uses it." Sheppard smirks, pleased with herself. "We'd have to change over everything to implement this protocol."

Rodney stares at her, blinks rapidly then. "Oh. Right."

Sheppard's stomach grumbles audibly. She presses her fist against her stomach. "Excuse me."

Jari just smiles indulgently. "It's the change. Some of us eat like farm workers for weeks afterward."

"Yeah, it's a little embarrassing," Sheppard says. "Food's not that...we don't have a lot to waste in Atlantis."

Jari looks alarmed. Her gaze switches over the four of them and, yes, even McKay isn't carrying any extra weight these days, those shoulders are all muscle, and he can keep up on a five kilo run for the stargate and still have the breath to complain. Sheppard realizes that next to the Hermeans all four of them are thin and hardened. Even the civilians on the expedition toughened up fast, and she's grown used to Pegasus. Hermea's the first world since Olesia where they've encountered people as soft and...comfortable as back on Earth. It's more than their clothes that makes the team stick out like a sore thumb among them.

"No, no, no," Rodney assures her. "It's not like last year; we're not looking at starving or anything."

Sheppard musters a smile, tamping down the regret. There are changes that can't be reversed, unlike Completion. No one was the same who had survived that first year in Atlantis, when they wondered if they'd run out of rations before the Wraith took them.

"Right." Jari nods, still a little doubtful. "If you are – I'm sure we can find an arrangement."

Rodney brightens. "Really?"

Sheppard elbows him. "Rodney!"

"What? I like to eat."

Sheppard smiles at Jari. "Really, we're fine – " Her stomach rumbles again.

Jari stands up. "I think it's time we all had lunch."

Ronon looks pleased, too. Sheppard catches her eye and they both grin. Food is always a good idea as far as Ronon's concerned and lately, Sheppard's sympathized. Even Teyla looks relieved, but that may be just that she won't have to listen to Rodney and Jari making sex noises over power conduits.

"So, could we get some of those little crunchy things we had last time, the ones with the spicy blue sauce?" Rodney asks.


~*~


Zeah wants to know how she feels. She's a little startled when Sheppard suggests she just get a tape of the team's sessions with Kate and let her listen to that.

"What, you didn't think we have shrinks?" Sheppard asks, sitting back in one of the sinfully comfortable chairs spaced around the counselor's office.

"I'm not sure what a 'shrink' is," Zeah replies carefully. Sheppard can't peg her age. Somewhere between thirty and sixty. She's got brown hair cut in a short cap, laugh lines, and is wearing something that looks like a collection of tangerine and green scarves.

"Head shrinker? You know, 'tell me about your mother?'"

Blank stare from Zeah.

"Mental health professional," Sheppard says, nodding sagely.

"Ah."

Sheppard points at her. "And every single one of you says that."

Zeah looks a little abashed – no one prepped her for Comparative Interplanetary Psychiatry 101, it seems. But she, too, has good instincts, or maybe just the experience. "That may be true, but I doubt that's what's really bothering you."

Fair enough, and while Sheppard doesn't much feel like sharing, she obviously has to throw Zeah a bone here – they needn't have returned to Hermea if they weren't going to play nice with the natives. "Well. Guess I thought I'd be fine and that people wouldn't act much differently."

A head-tilt, curious and thoughtful. Zeah's eyes stray to the bruise, and for God's sake, if Sheppard had known it was the equivalent of a neon sign blinking I Was Mishandled Because I Was A Girl, Ask Me How I Liked It, Not, she would've slapped on some of the make-up Cadman had pushed at her, to conceal it. It's startling, new, and not in a good way; she's used to bruises as badges of honor, signs of a fight and not of what feels far too much like a defeat.

"Were you attacked due to your new sex, Colonel?"

"You could say that. Actually, I think you'd have to." There, she's drawled out the truth. Its aftertaste is a little bitter, but at least it allows her to talk not about herself but Planet Fuck Them. "Not on Atlantis but on a planet called Heka; they trade in – " She breaks off, seeing the polite but completely blank look on Zeah's face. No, the Hermeans would know nothing about commerce and exchange of goods through the stargates, of market prices for some goddamn tubers high enough for a people to force their women into poisonous fields. "Anyway, there's a corrupt government of priests who talk about religion; they really just want get rich and make others die trying, though. Women are totally at the top of that list. I opened my mouth, and some self-proclaimed guardian of propriety and tradition backhanded me." She smiles pleasantly.

Zeah looks unsettled but doesn't ask about Heka, not at all. "And what did you feel in that moment?"

Shock. Anger. But mostly, most of all, disbelief. Which she really, truly doesn't want to be talking about with this Hermean shrink. Of course, she's not here because she wants this in the least, or even because Zeah wants this. She's here for one single reason alone, and it's one that makes this not just easier but possible to bear in the first place.

"I remember I had 'This Is Not Happening' running on a loop in my mind."

"Why?"

Too much X-Files? Sheppard wishes, desperately, for a watch to glance at, eventually settles for the window. And an answer instead of a quip Zeah wouldn't get, anyway. "Because I didn't at all expect it. I knew, rationally, there was a chance – damn, these guys obviously weren't playing around – but it was...." She breaks off, warning lights flashing in the back off her mind. It was cruel, unfair, deeply unjust. It was not what she deserved. But they thought just that. All of them. She remembers the eyes of the men at the table, the judgment in them, and the trickle of realization spreading through her veins like ice-water: To see this. Every day. All your life –

Jesus, maybe she does need a shrink. But not this one, on an alien world where they want to leave a good impression. She grimaces. "Let's just say it was pretty bad."

Zeah doesn't seem satisfied at all, and Sheppard feels a little worried. There must be something else the counselor wants to hear, something she can talk about... "Don't you need to know about, you know – my body?" she blurts out.


~*~


Okay, there's weird and there's weird and there's weird like Ronon with tits, but on the scale of strange things Rodney has experienced since arriving in the Pegasus Galaxy, nothing has quite rivaled accompanying his team mates on an alien shopping spree. For clothes.

Clothes.

It has probably something to do with what they agreed on while still in orbit. "Okay," Sheppard had reminded them, "Next mission's not gonna be half as – actually, fun is not part of the description at all. Let's make the most out of our time here on Hermea. Live a little."

Sheppard wanted boots.

Jari – who had come to the med center entrance after their counseling sessions – noticed her limping slightly, the whole new boots plus new body equals blisters thing came up, and the next thing Rodney knew, the Hermeans were talking into their radios and nodding at each other...and then the team were shushed toward an octagonal building complex frightfully similar to a mall, getting new wardrobes courtesy of the Hermean State Department, or whatever they call it here. Boots, custom-fabricated to fit Sheppard's feet.

Ronon and Teyla get new foot gear, too. The store clerk, who is actually a master cobbler, seems rather excited about the off-worlders and their oh-so-exotic feet, which Rodney finds faintly ridiculous...at least until he gets a long, good look at Sheppard, who is balancing on a little stool outfitted with blinking lights and, of course, another tiny flash scan, laughing and joking easily with the cobbler. She's rolled up her uniform pants to be measured, and Rodney's gaze wanders down the gentle slope of her calf, down to her bare ankles peeking out from underneath her uniform, slim yet strong, and there's the arch of her instep, ten perfect toes...

Rodney looks away quickly, coughs a little, which Jari seems to take as her cue. "Dr. McKay – if you'd like customized boots, too, we can definitely arrange that." Her smile is warm and inviting as always, and perhaps he should stop worrying about the whole sex switch thing and begin appreciating her; not like this has been problematic with Sheppard, although, yes, that's a whole different level of disturbing, and he better answer Jari, who is looking at him questioningly.

"No! I mean, my feet – they are fine." He conjures up a smile and hopes it looks at least a fraction as charming as Sheppard's. "If nothing else is, my boots are good."

Jari tilts her head at that, and a tiny little frown appears on her forehead. "I see. You know – I have an idea about that, about the rest of your wardrobe."

That sentence, from a woman? Never, ever means anything but a make-over.

Turns out, Rodney's right.

Of course.


~*~


Farl is still sitting there, quiet, without so much of a twitch – it's unnatural, really, to be this poised and still and getting on Rodney's nerves, although, no, wait, that comes quite naturally to far too many. Rodney would sit this out; really, he would, but he can just imagine the colonel's disappointment or, even worse, pity, the eye-roll and her slow, disapproving drawl of 'Rodney…'

"Fine, fine, I'll talk." He lifts his chin. "But only because I don't I want to be the one not honoring our agreement; I still don't see at all why you'd want to talk to me." He waves his arms to get the point across. "Still a man."

Farl nods. "Precisely."

Yes, thanks a lot, this is exactly why Rodney has felt such deep loathing for most of his therapists – vague commentaries and hazy allusions, any number of non-definite statements and questions with the only purpose of poking around in his brain, generally accepted to be his most prized possession.

"What, I'm your universal constant? Your little yardstick, your unit of measure?"

A cool gaze from these dark eyes. "Does that surprise you? Surely it has occurred to a man of your genius that we'd love your reactions to this change within your team?"

It would have, if Rodney had bothered to think about it. He wishes, desperately, for a cup of coffee; he's only had three cups before leaving in the morning. Even the Hekan stuff would come in handy right about now – he can feel the beginnings of a migraine. Heka...He deliberately shoves that thought away. Even unpleasant revelations of personal feelings to this alien Dr. Freud are preferable to the constant undertow of worry that's tugged at him since Elizabeth okayed their plans for Heka.

"They haven't actually changed – it's just their sex that's switched." Rodney stares back at Farl. "Still the same people, annoying and stubborn and braver than you could ever imagine."

"And you view them just the same?"

Rodney thinks of Ronon the librarian, Teyla with a temper, and this new Sheppard who's on his mind almost constantly, and definitely not in a platonic way…unless he radically misinterpreted Plato.

"Hrm. Mostly?"


~*~


Ronon really likes her new boots.

Soft yet firm, their color and texture reminding her of the kul hides from which Ronon manufactured the first pair of moccasins on the run – misshapen, ugly things, but basic training didn't exactly include cobbling lessons. After basic training? They were all too busy fighting for their lives. Those of their people.

Slowly, she runs her fingers over the leather, admiring the way they shape themselves around her feet, feel light but strong and sturdy. She can feel her lips curl into a small smile.

Maybe it's hormones.

Sheppard seems happy with her new foot gear, too, smiling, but Ronon's well aware Sheppard's smiles mean only as much as she wants them to mean. They're not a barometer of her mood. Ronon watches her shoulders and if she is just wearing a T-shirt, the muscles in her back. They tell the truth. When they're tense and stiff, so is Sheppard; the way she is right now, and has been since returning from Heka.

The Hekans bruised more than her face. She's relaxing a little though, now that the psych evaluations and medical exams are over. Hermea's so different from Heka it's disorienting. There's much more to the planet than they're being shown, of course, but Ronon considers the people trustworthy. Something she doesn't automatically think even the Earthers always are.

If she'd walked out of the gate to Hermea instead of that planet where Sheppard found her...she probably would have stayed with these people.

Of course, if she'd walked through the gate to Hermea's address she'd have died of explosive decompression.

Good idea to remind herself that the Hermeans have their own agendas, no matter how much she likes them. No wonder Sheppard's always tense.


~*~


Deln asks Ronon if she resents the change, considering the misunderstanding that led to it. Ronon shrugs.

"Resentment's a waste of energy." Ronon leans forward, elbows on her knees. "It's not bad, anyway. I've got a chance in this body."

Deln lifts his eyebrows. "A chance?"

Ronon nods slowly. "To start something new. No looking back."

"Look back to life as a –" A quick glance down at the screen of his computer-device, "–a Runner?" A fleeting spark of horror in Deln's eyes, but that's okay; she can deal with horror and fear and shock.

Pity would've made her stand up and leave.

"Did Teyla tell you? About Runners, and the Wraith who make them?" She tries to keep her voice even, but one look at Deln's face makes it clear it came out as too much of a growl.

"Well – she didn't tell me, precisely, but she briefly explained to Gean Tamas the story of how you came to join the Atlanteans. That the Wraith –" he hesitates, studies Ronon for a moment. "This is simply the most uncomfortable topic imaginable for you, isn't it?"

"It's okay."

It's not, not really, but Sheppard relies on her. Teyla trusts her. Even McKay didn't even spare her a second glance of doubt when they separated.

Deln waits for a moment, then nods, disbelieving but quiet, and that's a surprise. Dr. Heightmeyer's bright and friendly but rarely ever lets show the confusion and lack of understanding Ronon knows is there. "Obviously, I can't presume anything about this situation." Deln looks at her. "Completion obviously caused great confusion within your team, yet you seem to adjust remarkably, better than some of our young citizens."

Who haven't had their world shattered into ruins. Who didn't have to stare at a grainy transmission showing the ashes of thousands of their people clouding the once-bright sun. Ronon remembers almost not recognizing his home when the Atlanteans presented it to him.

"As I said. It's a chance."


~*~


Teyla taps Gean's shoulder and nods toward a young man in one of the city's many parks. His hair is past his waist. He's dancing in synch with a soft-holo light-and-music show, wearing a skintight dark blue covering. Patches of red emphasize his underarms, pectorals and crotch. Red words in Hermean Teyla can't read run in a vertical line from his throat to his groin. Teyla can't imagine wearing such clothing, whether as a man or a woman. "What does it say?"

Gean gives a dismissive shrug.

"My Dick Belongs To Me."

"Who else would it belong to?" Teyla inquires, almost amused.

Gean sighs. "There are sects that object to Completion. Presumably he's a member, or possibly just aping their mottoes."

Teyla looks at the dancer thoughtfully. Not everyone on Hermea believes in the abominable rite, apparently. This makes him feel better.


~*~


"Your body?" A long blink, and a slow nod. "Fine. You'd like to talk about how you experience the physical aspects of life as a female?"

As badly as she wants appendicitis. But hey. Sheppard puts on her Not A Care In The World smile, throws her arm over the headrest, and goes for it.

"Yeah. I mean, it was brand-new equipment, you know?" She says it lightly, raises her eyebrow meaningfully. "I just had to take it for a test run."

Turns out she has to try harder to faze a psychologist – especially one who has most likely done exactly what Sheppard just described, back when she last switched genders: Zeah just nods sagely and scribbles yet another little symbol on her handheld-ish device.

"How was that?"

"Um. Well, it was good."

Good enough to make Sheppard wonder if choosing to talk about it was such a bright idea; just the memory of the morning after – yeah.

Waking up, his first thought was Time? Schedule for today? before he remembered that Elizabeth had given them the day off and that it was possible to stay in bed for a moment longer, limbs still heavy, and whoa, wait a moment, what..?

Fuck, right; there was the reason for the downtime: Girl now. The lack of a morning erection should have been a dead giveaway, as well as the unfamiliar weight on his chest...which was bizarre. If not all unpleasant. Curiously, he began to let his fingers – new, too, more delicate, noticeably less rough – brush over the new swell of breast: Interesting...and almost cool.

Curves, and skin so soft it made his breath hitch for a second; hardly news that all this smoothness felt good to touch, but how good it felt to be touched at the same time, instant feedback he didn't have to listen for, watch for – that was new, and delicious. His fingers on larger, lush nipples that were suddenly sensitive, so sensitive, hardening under his touch; the twinge racing down his spine made him wake up a little more, try it once more. The thrill of touching these tits was faint at first, overshadowed by bewilderment, but it grew louder: Mine, mine, mine.

Again, a soft tingle, a connection hardwired into this body, and okay, yes, here it was, down between his legs where he hadn't dared to linger in the shower last night, when he was so tired she could hardly see straight. No hard cock, maybe, but the heat was curiously similar, and the promise there, right there, the destination for his hand as obvious as it was compelling.

No hair to lazily run fingers through on the way south, true, but this, this shivery joy over silken skin, it made it more than worth it. So he was a stranger in his own body: This was a good time to get acquainted – with the soft swell of belly, ticklish still, in the same place, with the dip of navel, with the folds between his legs, beneath the rough curls where – yes, right, yes; God, impossible to miss from this side, really, and impossible not to touch himself again, taking pleasure in the hot sparks spreading and spiraling outwards, into the tips of his toes, before continuing, stroking down into where he was – wow, okay, new and strange and almost unbearably exciting – wet and hot, where nerve endings were awakening, not in a rush or an explosion but slow and sweet...

…and yeah, that was how he was going to do it, just like that; easy to remember what women had liked, good to try what worked...and, right, okay, this didn't, but oh, fuck-yes, that did, instead. Hot by then, restless, biting his lip; they were so right when they said it was all about the journey; finding new spots and angles, a little – complicated, yeah, but he wasn't about to give up; he'd always liked a little challenge, especially one as...rewarding as this one, and just the thought of himself, the slim and toned but curvy body seen in the bathroom mirror, all stretched out on the bed, twisting under the covers, now spreading these legs wide, and wider – fingers sliding, wet, and God, right there, and just a little more and a little harder, and – oh. Oh. So good, good and long and lasting, like saltwater taffy on her tongue, and when he dragged his fingers up again and opened his mouth to lick them, slowly, he thought he could taste the ocean underneath the tangy musk so familiar yet foreign.

"Colonel Sheppard?"

"Yes!" She blinks, focuses on Zeah; how she hates the fact her cheeks must be red now, the tips of her ears flaming, and has she really, seriously been stupid enough to think the time of...untimely stimulation was past just because she was in a female body where others couldn't see your reaction?

She straightens, smiles blandly. "Where were we?"


~*~


Jari's new get-up is almost fluorescent...where it isn't transparent. Rodney isn't quite sure where to look, and where not to – stare in rapt fascination, really.

If Rodney had known Hermea was where tie-dye went to die, he'd never have trusted them to do anything to him. Though why he's surprised, considering some of the buildings are plaid.

Rodney – well, actually, he doesn't quite know how he feels about this yet; it's true that the bright blue-green of his shirt looks good on him, as do the shimmering silver pants and the boots in a darker blue-green – probably has some fancy name like aqua or pacific or whatever. The shirt's extremely tight, but so are some in the Atlantis clothes rack. What's definitely new is the fact that his pants stretch over his ass, outlining it in a way that would make Rodney squirm if the pretty salesgirl hadn't assured him this was the perfect fit.

Three times.

It sure doesn't hurt that he's just caught Sheppard staring at him – until Rodney caught her gaze, which was the point where the colonel licked her lips and turned around, quickly.

Now, at least, they won't stand out so bad. The expedition uniforms made them look like blackbirds among a flock of peacocks. Hermeans like color.

And skin. Never forget the skin.

When he mentions the startling difference to their earlier attire, Jari has the grace to look embarrassed. "Oh, those awful, baggy, beige-colored things? We wore them because – well. Just so we wouldn't startle you. The psych experts advised that neutral colors and conservative clothing would be less threatening for a first contact."

Teyla makes a soft sound that might be agreement or disdain or even a bark of laughter. Rodney's still having a hard time reading new Teyla's responses half the time. The other half there's no mistaking them – say, when he flattens two Marines twice his size.

Rodney is sitting in a little round room while holographs show them exactly what different fashions will look like on their bodies – courtesy of downloaded specs from their medical files. It is, Rodney supposes, the kind of technology that some fashion-conscious women would die for...or perhaps kill for; Rodney has precious few illusions about the female of the species. Of course, a good deal of the women he knows wouldn't care: Lab coats come in three sizes and are obtained by mail order.

Jari is trying to persuade Sheppard to get a dress, which has Sheppard laugh and shake her head and mumble something about "no chance to wear this" and "would be a waste", but Rodney strongly suspects the real reason isn't quite this cute, has a lot to do with Marines frowning upon their actually male CO wearing dresses; things could get very ugly very quickly if Sheppard were to bring one of these slinky little numbers back home.

If he weren't taking it home, though – well, when Jari suggests he try it on, just here, just for fun, Sheppard shrugs and says something about how he might as well take the new model for a spin. Damn him if she doesn't slap her thigh lightly while she says it.

Life is strange enough he might start testing the Atlantis drinking water for hallucinogens when they get back.

Certainly not before he has actually seen Sheppard in that dress, though.

Sheppard laughs and cajoles while Rodney watches, all flirty and easy and everyone, including the salesgirl, is half in love with who they think she is. The dork and the charmer are faces she puts on for strangers, Rodney's figured out. Well, the dork has a big element of truth in it, but the charmer is all about keeping everyone at a distance. "You know what's really frightening, Colonel?" he observes. "You're exactly the same as before."

Sheppard raises an indolent eyebrow at that. "What, did you expect me to suddenly wear pink and braid my hair?"

"You'd look good in pink." Ronon mumbles, then looks up when they all stare at her. "What? True."

Rodney thinks he sees, out of the corner of his eye, Teyla put his face in his hand, but he can't be sure; he's too busy remembering the all-too-vivid picture, scent, feel of another woman, another Air Force colonel. "No, please," he blurts out before he can stop himself. "Pink's bad."

Sheppard looks at him as if he's lost his mind; not an uncommon occurrence. "Jeez, take it easy, Rodney." She frowns a little, though, and touches the salesgirl gently by the elbow. "No pink, okay?"

The girl nods, speculative. "Red, maybe? You'd look lovely in it. I have this dark red ensemble…"

Damn if Sheppard doesn't visibly perk up. "Bring it on. In." An impish smile. "You know."

"Dark red?" Rodney says. "Elizabeth's color."

But the salesgirl comes back with a blood-red dress and this time it's Sheppard cajoled into a dressing room and then out once she's in the dress. She's looks good in it, Rodney decides, long and lean enough to carry it off, even if she is a good fifteen years past Hollywood's sell-by date. She's not fresh and unblemished as some candy-brained supermodel, but then, none of them can shoot and fly and perform even marginally complex mathematical calculations in their head. Most of them won't look this good when they're Sheppard's age, either.

Sheppard looks bemused. Rodney's stomach does a slow roll as he figures out it isn't really the body, this one or the old one, he's been lusting after. He leans over and whispers, "Just go with it, Colonel."

"And just what do you mean by that?" Sheppard mumbles.

Well. What exactly? Someone Rodney thinks should be eligible for sainthood sets down a pair of sandals in front of Sheppard, distracting her. High-heeled, strappy little things that tie on with red cords. Sheppard just snorts – rather unladylike, Rodney thinks in his daze. "Like I'd know how to walk in those." Still, her resistance seems more token than real, for when the salesgirl insists they go with the dress, absolutely have to be tried on along with it, she just sighs and nods.

Rodney can't, really can't hold back. "C'mon, Cinderella, put on your slippers."

"The ruby slippers were Dorothy, not Cinderella."

Teyla and Ronon share looks with the salesgirl and Jari. Bonding over a moment of cultural 'what the fuck'; it's almost sweet.

"So pushy, McKay." Sheppard does the eyebrow thing, and in this combination, it makes Rodney's mouth go dry. "You sure know how to sweet-talk a girl."

Teyla clears his throat really loudly; Sheppard jerks around, stares at Teyla. He is looking impatient and unhappy, his default expression lately. "This is not the right place, or the right time to play with shoes. Colonel, Dr. McKay?"

Sheppard clears her throat. "No, you're right, I guess. We'll just take…not this but all the other clothes and go." She ruffles her hair with one hand. Her gaze goes distant and Rodney knows she's thinking about Heka again. It's what he's found himself doing too often today, despite his best efforts to ignore the mission scheduled for the next day.


~*~


Beon asks Teyla what she objects to most about Completion. Teyla presses her lips together, then forces herself to speak...but only because she knows the rest of her team and Atlantis depend on her to do her part, to cooperate.

"I spent many years training my body to respond exactly as I needed it to," she explains. "I learned my own strengths, my balance, my weaknesses. I knew the days when I would have to compensate because I had cramps or was just tired. And that has been ripped from me.

"I do not know this body. It is bigger, but weaker. Dr. Beckett explained that he believes that your procedure uses muscle mass to become bone as part of the change. I do know that this body does not have the muscle definition that my body had."

"You don't consider this to be your body?" Beon asks.

Teyla narrows her eyes. "Indeed, I do not. It cannot be my body when it was not my choice." She lets the acid anger color her tone.

Beon nods. "This is a difficulty we did not anticipate. No one here undergoes Completion unknowingly. That is not our way, and we regret the misunderstanding deeply. We were reassured when your Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay were both willing to undergo it after discovering the failure to communicate."

Teyla clenches her hands. "Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay are both generous and kind men. I did not advise my people to ally with the Atlanteans without knowing that. But they are also not Athosian – they do not find this procedure as distasteful as my people would. They have even, I have learned, some similar resort on their original home planet, though one that is uncommon. I had not believed such a thing could be – or should be – done."

"I am sorry for the trauma you've obviously experienced as part of this, Teyla."

"Among my people, children are the most treasured part of our lives. They are our future. To lose a child, to lose my ability to bear a child, is...." She looks away, blinking hard. She had not meant to reveal this; it is a choice she thought she had already made when she accepted her father's responsibilities as leader – and again when she chose Atlantis. To not have children. But still, in the back of her mind, in her heart, he had still held to the knowledge that she might. If she chose.

When she chose.

"Teyla, Completion does not render you sterile," Beon says gently. "As a male, you could sire a child and when your body is once more stable and strong enough, we will return you to your female sex. You will be able to conceive, should you wish to."

Teyla shakes her head.

"No," she explains. "None of my people will have me after this."

Beon flinches. "Your people? The...Athosians?" She waits until Teyla nods jerkily.

"You would not consider conceiving with a Lantean or anyone from another world?" Beon's voice is gentle but firm.

Teyla jolts to her feet and moves restlessly to one of the windows, looking out at the manicured gardens surrounding the medical center. The Hermeans have time for such crafts, to grow things for their beauty rather than for their usefulness. It is almost foreign to her. Her people endeavor to make their lives as beautiful as they can, but always in the service of survival. She had not encountered frivolity often before following then Major Sheppard to Atlantis, and even among the Lanteans, pragmatism seems to rule most often. She admires them, likes them, but would she have chosen such to father a child? There are times they still seem like children to her.

And others, she reflects, when she must seem like a child to them, angrily railing against something that is not even a permanent effect.

She pulls in a deep breath and considers her team. A smile crosses her face. She can imagine the stuttering, red-faced response of any of the men if she asked one of them for a child.

"Teyla?" Beon prompts her.

She turns. "I would have to."


~*~


She is never, ever going to live it down, but honestly, her feet say it's worth it.

"Colonel, you are now officially a girl," McKay announces.

"What?" She frowns at him, then glances all the packages they're lugging around with them, courtesy of Jari and the Hermean Council's carte blanche credit chit. Okay, maybe it doesn't look quite like your ordinary mission any more.

"Two words: Shoe. Shopping."

She feigns ignorance. "I have no idea what you're talking about, McKay."

It's immensely satisfying, the way Rodney's eyes widen. "You're wearing new boots! That you – dare I say it; yes, I dare – cooed over!"

Sheppard just tilts her head and gives him a sweet smile, the one that's got just the right amount of indulgence and patience. "That? All part of the Hermean psychological counseling, McKay."

"What?"

"Yeah." She nods, all seriousness. "Retail therapy."


~*~


When they pass a wide, oval archway that's been painted black – crude strokes of a wide brush, unlike the careful decorations of the surrounding buildings – Ronon can hear music coming from somewhere inside: not the tinny, magnified sounds most people in Atlantis seem to like and not the deep, rolling rhythms of her youth, either. This is something else altogether. She stops and tilts her head thoughtfully. By her side, Deln comes to a halt as well. Once more, Ronon's acceptance of him grows a little because the man doesn't tug at her sleeve, doesn't hassle her to keep going, doesn't even say anything. Instead, he, too, turns toward the entranceway.

Ronon's never been too interested in music, at least not the kind you have to listen to; words were enough to fill her head, enough to make it resound like the most perfectly constructed concert hall, but this – this intrigues her.

“What is it?”

“I don't know.” Deln looks interested, too, and not just out of politeness. “But see the words above the arch?”

Ronon studies the wide-spaced, cursive letters in a language she can't read; the tug at her heart, her memory, is surprisingly strong, and painful still. “Yeah. Can't read them, though.”

“Center for the Youth. We can probably take a look inside.” Deln glances at her. “How old are you, anyway?”

She smiles a little. Not because it's so funny but because Deln is older than her but not very good at interrogation. “Twenty-seven circles.”

An answering smile, one that makes his face look younger than his middle-age. “Then you probably still qualify, and the kids won't throw us right out.”

They pass through a hallway with scribbles – words, again, so many of them – on the walls, mostly black, thick strokes again. They look angry but, Ronon thinks, not artless. Not all of them.

Following the melody to its source isn't hard, and becomes easier with each step they take. When they reach the room, it is small and not sound-proofed. The ceiling's so low she has to slouch a little bit. Ronon doesn't care, but she knows these things don't make it a perfect place for music.

The children at the far end are hunched over instruments, fingers pulling strings and hitting keys, palms smacking taut, taut leather. It's hard to tell with the overhead lighting turned to dim, but the kids' garments seem to be dark but still distinctly Hermean…except for the clothes on the girl closest to them. They seem to be gray, dull, without shine…or almost without; the white scribbles on her t-shirt of the are shimmering even in the low light. Ronon looks at her, at the long hair and shapeless gray skirt, the dainty sandals on her feet that wouldn't survive a day out in the wilderness.

Deln, too, is looking at the girl, and sighs as if in recognition, so Ronon turns to him. "What does it say? The t-shirt?”

“The one the girl wears? I Am My Sex.”

Ronon lifts an eyebrow, and Deln hastens to add, "Only a few kids are actually against Completion, of course. You know how teenagers are, all about rebellion, at a certain age, you know?"

Ronon recalls a blackened metal disc, framed by stone walls, held by steel wires. The oval shadow it threw onto the schoolyard below. How, after the mallet had made contact, the vibrations resounded in their bones, calling them out to the roll call as much as the sound did. Into perfect rows of students, still and attentive, backs straight and chins held high.

"I guess", she says.


~*~


They are walking through yet another park. It's all very pretty, but…

“So, um.” Sheppard ducks her head a little, smiles. “I’ve been wondering – how often do people switch, on average?”

Zeah looks at her. “I wouldn’t use the term ‘switch’, but to answer your question: The majority does it twice or three times, a few only once. Still a large percentage more than three times.”

Interesting enough, for a start. “And…people who don’t, in the sense of not at all? What happens to them?”

“The ones who never undergo Completion? They are denied Enlightenment, unless they chose a different, much more difficult path.”

Okay, she’ll need a dentist appointment by the time she’s through with this whole spiel. “Right, and that’s it? I mean – you don’t, you know, make sure they…get enlightened?”

A curious stare. “Do we – are you asking if we’d use force on those unwilling to seek Completion in the first place?”

Yeah. But that’s a Bad Envoy, No Cookie answer.

“I was just wondering,” she gives Zeah a bright, bland smile, “because it just seems like a pretty big step, even when you’re young…especially when you’re so young and all.”

For a moment, Sheppard feels a twinge of worry; Zeah isn’t stupid. She also isn’t easy to anger, though. “Well, the choice is an individual one – there is no fixed age. But it is not done before puberty, for medical and psychological reasons.”

Where are Heightmeyer and Beckett when you need them? She’s totally not qualified for this, but then again, who else on this team is? McKay? “I was just wondering, these reasons, what would they be?”

“Hmm.” Zeah tugs at her scarf, thoughtful, a little absent. “In a layperson’s terms, Completion requires that one has already developed a certain foundation for sexual identity. Depending on personal factors, one can also wait until later, of course.”

Why not wait it out? “Call me a little old-fashioned, but why would a teenager want to undergo completion? I dimly remember they weren’t the most…emotionally stable years of my life.”

So, this whole personal revelation thing? She’ll have to watch it before it becomes a habit.

Zeah looks a little surprised. "Well, all teenagers strive for maturity – don't they do that everywhere?"

"Mature? Teenagers? Doesn't always seem that way, you know?" Sheppard scratches her head. "But if you mean you want to be grown up, be your own person? Yeah, I'd say that's universal."

Zeah smiles a little. "Yes, I thought so. And I guess we take this for granted: You aren't an adult before you've undergone Completion." She looks at her, almost beseeching. "You're just not considered mature enough without the experience, the true knowledge."

Not a legal obligation, then. More like a rite of passage. Into adulthood. "Of course," Sheppard says.


~*~


Elizabeth, who's been waiting for them in the jumper bay, raises an eyebrow when the hatch opens.

There are a lot of parcels not supplies or gear, as neither of those is conventionally wrapped in pink, neon yellow, or royal blue paper and fastened with sparkly strings and ornate bows.
"Shopping trip, ladies, gentlemen?"

When Sheppard looks around, their whole team looks a little sheepish. They stare at Elizabeth…who lets the small smile she's hid appear. It's clear the trip to Hermea has gone well. That's a relief after the rising tension in the last week. Between the scheduled return to Hermea and their plan for burning off the skour fields on Heka, Atlantis' first team has been strung so tight they almost vibrated. Now, they look a little embarrassed and much more relaxed than any of them have been since the change.

"And you didn't get me anything?"



~*~



Part Nine