New ficlet!
McKay/Sheppard, 5.000 words.
For trinityofone, who wanted “some McKay/Sheppard with one of them genderfucked”, and svmadelyn, who read my summary of “That story I’m never going to write because I have no good ending for it”, and said, “Maybe if you ever try it, try a snapshots approach? Like--just a day in the life type thing, several of them?” So that’s what I did.
Warning: This ficlet is part of a longer story that will never be written, at least not by me. The end of the story is summarized, but I’m not going to actually write it. Think of it as a teaser chapter for a book you’re never going to buy. Or maybe as an abandoned WIP.
Beta by stop, who showed amazing patience with stubborn me ignoring half her suggestions. Thank you.
A day in the life of Jona Sheppard
John woke up with someone’s hand spread warmly on his chest, Atlantis’ perpetual drafty chill for once completely held at bay by thick blankets and the warm body curled around him. It felt wonderful, and he luxuriated in the drowsy comfort of it for long minutes until his brain finally checked in to ask who the hell he thought he was in bed with, anyway.
It was a worryingly good question, and even some good hard thinking didn’t yield an answer. Actually, he was fairly sure that he’d gone to bed alone, tired from a good work-out with Ronon and a long, luxurious session of jerking off in the shower.
That was just worrying enough to overcome the cozy sleepiness that part of him really wanted to cling to. He opened an eye, just a slit, peering over his shoulder at whoever -- And then the sleepiness was so abruptly gone that a bucket of icy water couldn’t have done a better job. Rodney? He was in bed with Rodney McKay?
A naked Rodney, no less, who was just beginning to stir a little, his hand moving in a slow caress over John’s… oh god. Breast. He had a breast, a naked breast, and there was Rodney McKay’s hand on it, curling in possessively. John made a helpless whimpering sound and retreated to the corner of the bed so fast he banged his shoulder into the wall.
Rodney jerked awake, sitting up in bed and turning to him. “Wha --“ he started, and then his face got all soft and worried, the way he never looked at children, but sometimes at kittens and jumpers with broken wings. “Aww, Jona,” he said, voice tender and rough with sleep. “The nightmares again? Hey, come here, it’s all right --“ He reached out for John, trying to draw him into an embrace.
John stared, crawling deeper into his corner, practically trying to press himself right through the wall, his brain helplessly trying to make sense of all this, any sense at all. The covers had slid down with his hasty retreat, exposing the soft, curving lines of a lean feminine body with firm little breasts and narrow hips.
Rodney was naked, too, and while the sight of him -- the pale, soft stomach, the strong, solid thighs and the sparse blond hair covering his legs -- was nothing new after a dozen shared visits to the decontamination showers after especially nasty planets, it was way, way more than John could deal with in such close proximity to his strange new body.
“Sh, it’s all right,” McKay crooned, still in that soothing tone John hadn’t even known he was capable of. “It’s just a dream -- it’s over, we’re safe, she’s alive -- aww, come on, you’re safe now, we’re all safe…”
He crept closer again, one strong arm wrapping around John’s shoulders and tugging him against McKay, John’s soft, naked breasts pressing into his chest. John made a shocked, somewhat high-pitched sound, clawing his hands into McKay’s shoulders and pushing, sending him sprawling back on the bed. He scrambled out of bed and away fast enough that it felt practically like teleportation when the bathroom door banged shut behind him, closing between him and the hurt, bewildered look in McKay’s eyes.
He grabbed the edge of the sink in a white-knuckled grip, his heart hammering against his ribs as if it shared his desire to get out out out of this weird body, back into a universe that made sense. He realized he was practically hyperventilating, light-headed and dizzy, and forced his breathing to slow down.
Finally he got some kind of grip on himself, raising his head slowly to look into the mirror. Dark, frightened eyes stared at him out of a narrow, female face -- his own nose and pointy ears, but lush, curved lips, softer than his own, and a woman’s eyebrows forming a neat arch over his eyes. He looked a little like the girl from Lord Of the Rings, he thought hysterically. Not quite his type, but pretty enough.
His hair was the usual mess, although maybe a little bit longer in front, falling softly into his forehead instead of standing up. It wasn’t his face, but he could recognize himself in it, a little -- it wasn’t alien. Not like the rest of this body.
He forced his eyes down, deliberately looking at his breasts -- a little flat-chested, he thought, and hello, there was the edge of hysteria again. The soft, inviting curve of waist and hips, and long, lean, shapely legs, ending in feet that were just a little too much like his own, a little too broad and flat for a woman, and with the second toe longer than the first in what he’d always thought was a pretty weird way. And all of that completely hairless. So the female version of himself shaved her legs, didn’t she, and it was that that finally tipped him over the edge -- he started to laugh, in great, heaving gasps that shook his whole body.
“Jona?” McKay’s voice came from directly outside the bathroom door, tentative and worried. “Jona, hey, you okay?”
John bit his lip and tried desperately to suppress the laughter, shaking apart with his hands grabbing onto the sink like it was the only real thing in a world gone completely crazy.
“Can I come in? Jona?” McKay asked, and John was finally getting a grip, but not fast enough, because McKay said, in that familiar, exasperated tone: “Okay, that’s enough, I’m coming in there now, okay?”
And then the door opened and McKay was standing there, wearing nothing but a pair of completely ridiculous boxer shorts with some kind of equation on them -- aerodynamics, some part of John’s brain pointed out helpfully -- and John was suddenly painfully aware that he himself was still completely naked.
He grabbed a towel from the rack, larger and fluffier than his own -- that was probably McKay’s doing, wasn’t it, no scratchy military-issue for McKay Princess On The Pea -- and wrapped it around himself, covering the breasts and hips, hands scrabbling and shaking so bad he almost tied his own fingers into the knot.
McKay came a step closer and John’s body almost automatically tried to flatten itself against the questionable support of the sink.
“Stay there,” he said quickly. “Don’t -- don’t touch me,“ and McKay obediently retreated a little, lifting his hands appeasingly.
“Not touching,” he said. “Jona, what is up with you? Is it something I’ve -- are you mad at me?” he asked tentatively, looking flustered.
John just couldn’t deal with this right now, couldn’t stay here and talk to a McKay who clearly didn’t see anything wrong with the fact that he was suddenly a woman. Clothes, he needed clothes.
“Just -- stay away,” John repeated, eyes darting around the bathroom -- there. That pile of clothes was clearly McKay’s, a blue science team shirt and BDU pants, crumpled carelessly in a corner, probably discarded and forgotten when he’d undressed for bed -- Figures, a part of him thought detachedly. He bent down and picked them up, one hand still clutching the towel.
“Yeah, um, sorry, forgot about that, again --“ McKay laughed nervously “-- you don’t have to pick up after me, you know? I mean, I know we agreed that I’d -- but -- Jona? What are you doing?”
John was trying to put on the oversized shirt over the towel, the way he’d seen the shyer women do in open-air baths, struggling and graceless -- this wasn’t as easy as they’d made it look. Rodney was watching him with a bruised, vulnerable look in his eyes, nervously wringing his hands. A part of him wanted to pause, to reach out and comfort his friend, but the part of him that had woken up to find itself a woman, naked, with this man wrapped around him, just wanted to get away, and get away fast.
The pants were way too big for him, swimming around his still slender hips, but if he tightened the belt to the smallest setting, it should be enough to hold them up. He didn’t bother with underwear -- really, really not going to put on McKay’s dirty boxer shorts.
He stormed out of the room with McKay’s pleading voice still ringing in his ears -- ‘Jona? Jona, wait, come on, let’s talk about this, what the fuck have I even done?’ -- but didn’t slow down. Elizabeth, he needed to find Elizabeth, she’d know what the fuck was happening here.
He got a lot of stares on the hallways, and part of him cringed at the figure he knew he must present -- a bare-footed woman wrapped in McKay’s oversized clothes, the wild, panicked expression he could feel frozen on his face -- but he couldn’t help it, had no idea what to do or say to his men right now, if they’d even recognize him in this body.
Elizabeth’s door appeared in front of him like a refuge. He didn’t knock, just ducked inside, slammed the door closed behind him and then leaned against it, panting, trying to calm right the fuck down before he got a panic attack in front of Elizabeth, who was a great leader, but not really the best person to break down in front of.
“Sheppard? Good god, what’s happened? You look terrible -- are that Rodney’s clothes?”
John stared at her, noting the complete lack of any shock at the female body. “Oh god, not you too,” he said weakly, slumping against the door in defeat.
“Jona, tell me what’s wrong?” Elizabeth repeated, more gently now, reaching out a hesitant hand for his shoulder and then dropping it again. At least she didn’t seem to be any more touchy-feely with this female version of him than she usually was.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, high-pitched, with that almost-familiar voice that seemed to go with this new body, smoother but not much higher than his own -- the hitches and semi-hysterical tone right now were all his own, not the body’s fault. He gestured at his chest -- breasts, didn’t help to avoid it -- the legs, the face.
“What’s wrong? I’m a woman, that’s what’s wrong, and what’s worse, no one seems to mind! And my name is John! John, not Jona! Also --“ he stopped himself just in time before he blurted out that he’d woken up wrapped up in McKay. Elizabeth did not need to know that.
“Jona, you’ve -- you always -- I never knew that you felt like that,” Elizabeth said carefully, in a tone that suggested that she was beginning to think he’d gone off the deep end. “But if you wish -- I mean, I’m really not sure how the troops are going to take this, but if it means this much to you, there’s really no reason why you shouldn’t -- well, if you want us to call you John, we can certainly do that, but for the rest -- I mean, this is coming a bit out of the blue. Have you talked to Carson, or actually, maybe it would be a good idea to have a talk with Kate first --“
“Oh, for god’s sake!” yelled, John, who finally got what she was going on about. “I am not a transgendered woman! I’m a man! I’ve always been a man, I was born with a fucking penis, my name is and has always been John Sheppard, I have no idea why I’m suddenly waking up to find myself a woman, or why the hell everyone seems to be convinced that I’ve always been one!” He ground his teeth shut, trapping the angry words that wanted to escape.
“Jon -- Sheppard, I really think you should see Carson now,” Elizabeth said, abruptly all competent, worried leader again, but John suddenly couldn’t take it any more, he had to get away from here, he wasn’t crazy, damn it, everyone else was -- and god, thoughts like that were a pretty good indicator of an acute attack of the crazies, weren’t they?
But that couldn’t be, he was -- he could remember having a penis, for god’s sake, he knew exactly what it felt like to have sex as a man, and there were no memories at all of someone touching his breasts or sticking a cock inside him. That wasn’t the kind of thing you could be wrong about, was it?
He had to get out of here. Rodney would know what had caused this, or at least be able to find it out, and John would just have to get over the horrified paralysis at the mere thought of going near Rodney again. That was just ridiculous, he was taking embarrassment to a whole new level of absurdity.
“Just -- forget it, okay?” he said to Elizabeth’s concerned face, turned on his heel and stormed out again.
People were still staring at him, and he suddenly wished he’d taken the time to get dressed properly, even if it would have meant parading his half-naked body around in front of Rodney some moments longer. It wasn’t like Rodney hadn’t seen him -- her --naked before, or at least thought so, if his earlier behaviour had been any indication.
John stormed into his (their? Rodney’s?) room without even knocking. Rodney was sitting on the bed, elbows on knees and his face in his hands, a tired, defeated slump to his shoulders. When he heard the door opening, he looked up, and something in John’s stomach clenched at the flare of hope in Rodney’s eyes. He ignored it.
“Jona?” Rodney asked, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin, trying to look plucky and brave and hitting somewhere in the vicinity of scared to death. It was a look John was intimately familiar with, although he usually saw it directed at men with more guns than he was currently carrying. He hadn’t been all that harsh this morning, had he?
John sighed. How on Earth to phrase this? Okay, no, there was no way to make it sound less crazy. It sounded crazy in his own mind.
“Look, Rodney, I’m not Jona, okay? I’m a man, my name is John Sheppard, and I’m not sure what the hell has happened to me, but I woke up this morning in the wrong body, and, hell, in bed with you, and that’s definitely not my life as I know it, okay? Something’s gone wrong, and now everyone has this crazy idea that I‘ve been a woman all along, and you’ve got to help me get things back the way they’re supposed to be. Please.”
Rodney just stared at him.
“And I swear to god, if you call me Jona one more time, I am going to hit you,” John added for good measure, because people just didn’t seem to get it.
Rodney slowly shook his head. “You do know how crazy that sounds, don’t you?” he said slowly, and John clenched his jaw to hold in the spiteful things he wanted to say to that, because intellectually he realized that it wasn’t Rodney he was angry at so much as the situation.
“I’m not crazy, okay?” He finally ground out harshly. “It’s this whole situation --“
“Mommy? Are you arguing with Dad?” a tentative voice came from somewhere to his right, and he turned -- very, very slowly, because he wasn’t quite sure that he was ready to see this -- to face a little girl with a head full of sandy brown curls and big blue eyes, clutching what looked like a stuffed iguana.
“Argh,” he said.
The girl tilted her head, then dropped the stuffed animal on the floor -- not an iguana, one of those Mirgos on M7G-573, his mind felt the need to inform him -- and basically climbed up his leg to snuggle into his arms. Yeah, wonder where she gets the pushiness from, he thought viciously into McKay’s direction, putting one arm stiffly around the kid so she wouldn’t fall down and hurt herself, or something.
“But you’re not angry at me, right, mommy?” the girl asked shyly, snuggling her face into the crook of his shoulder, and this was all just way, way too much. He was obviously not only a woman, but a mother, the mother of McKay’s child, god, could he please have his own reality back now?
He put his hands around the girl’s waist and gently but firmly set her down. “Look, kiddo, this is all just some not-fun-at-all cosmic misunderstanding. I’m not your mom, I’m no one’s mum, and why don’t you go to your room and let me talk to your dad now, okay?”
The girl looked at him out of shocked eyes, and John just couldn’t deal with this, he couldn’t. This was not even real, he was lying in the infirmary and hallucinating, he really had gone crazy -- or, god, if he was willing to admit that possibility, maybe he really was the only crazy one in this universe, maybe he was McKay’s lover Jona plus some serious delusions --
No, not possible. This wasn’t real. And that kid was still staring at him, goddamnit.
“Seriously. I’m not your mom, okay. Go away now, please.”
She stood like that for a moment longer, then her lower lip began to wobble and she turned away quickly, clutching the stuffed toy and stumbling away from him. Rodney gave John a look of pure, incendiary rage, then caught up to his daughter and lifted her into his arms, stroking the trembling little shoulders.
For a moment, John felt like the worst kind of jerk. He reminded himself that best-case-scenario, these people weren’t even real, and worst-case, they were his lover and his daughter, and all things considered, he was completely entitled to his freak-out. It didn’t help much. He bit his lip angrily.
McKay was still glaring at him. “You made her cry,” he said accusingly, awkwardly rocking the girl in his arms. “I never know what to do with her when she cries! This is so your department! Except you’ve obviously turned into a raving lunatic overnight, which is so very helpful, thanks a bunch!”
And then in a completely different tone of voice, soft and loving and completely helpless: “Um -- stop crying now, ‘kay? Come on, Mel, don’t do this to me…” And switching effortlessly back to accusing: “This is all your fault! What the hell is up with you?”
“Look, McKay --“ John started angrily, and then took a deep breath and managed to contain himself. Just. “You might want to send the kid away for this discussion. She’s already upset enough as it is.“
McKay stared at him defiantly, and for a minute, John expected him to object just on the principle of the thing, but finally he sighed and put the kid down gently. “Mel, go to your room for a moment, okay? I promise I’ll explain this to you later, and you don’t need to cry, no one’s mad at you, just -- you really need to be not here for a moment, ‘kay?”
The girl wiped her watery eyes with the back of her hand and slunk off dejectedly, shoulders hanging down tiredly. “Mommy --“ she started as she passed John, reaching out a trembling hand for his leg, and for a moment John just wanted to squat down and comfort her, but a) he really wasn’t her mother and it didn’t feel right to pretend to be, either, and b) McKay was still glaring daggers at him, just daring him to do something out of line again, and he still needed the man’s help.
So he chose to go with the safer road of avoidance, giving her a gentle little push towards the direction she’d come from. “Just go to your room for a bit, Mel, okay? We’re not mad at you. Your… father’s going to talk to you later,” and Jesus, wasn’t it weird to think of McKay as someone’s father. Not quite as weird as the mother thing, but still not something he’d get used to any time soon.
The door closed behind her with an ominous click, leaving him with a McKay who looked ready to explode at any moment.
“So who the fuck are you, then?” McKay hissed. “Because at this point, I’m perfectly willing to accept that you’re not my wife,” (Wife? John thought, shocked) “because as a general rule, my Jona is not an asshole to innocent children!”
And somehow, that was just too much.
“Your Jona?” John asked hysterically. “Well, excuse me, McKay, but I don’t know who this Jona of yours is, either. Because if she is anything at all like me, and I’d guess so, since she’s living in what’s basically a female version my body, not to mention my life, I have no fucking idea what she was thinking, letting herself get knocked up and marrying you, because my life plans certainly include something better than chaining myself to an abrasive hypochondriac with a god complex!”
Rodney flinched. He took a jerky step back and slumped heavily down onto his bed, looking for all the world as if John had punched him. He was curled defensively around his stomach, shoulders drawn in protectively. Finally he took a shuddering, hitching breath and then lifted his head to glare at John, summoning bravado the way John had seen him do in countless near-death situations, a sudden sharp reminder that this was still Rodney, or at least someone very much like him, the friend who had stood with him against countless enemies.
“She loves me,” Rodney said defiantly. “She does.”
The painful doubt in his eyes spoke louder than his words. It hurt. What the fuck had he been thinking? Rodney was his friend, the best he’d ever had. He didn’t want to see him hurt, not in any reality. He just… flew off the handle when he was desperate and angry, lashing out and doing things he regretted afterwards.
He grabbed himself a chair and plunked down, heavy and graceless. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m sure she does.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Rodney said tiredly. He shook his head as if to clear it. “Okay, let’s look at this rationally. You say your name is John Sheppard, and you’re a man. And clearly not married to me. Any other differences?”
John shrugged, grateful for the chance to relax into the rationality of this discussion. “I don’t know. Atlantis looks just like it always does, but I haven’t really had the chance to see much of anything.”
They compared memories for a bit, but it all added up to the same-- his black mark, the Wraith bug, the incident on Doranda -- minus the obvious differences. Clearly, this Jona woman was him, just… female.
Now that he was calm enough to pay attention to the little details, those purely physical differences were starting to creep him out more and more. The way the different center of gravity kept throwing off his balance, and the distracting feeling of his small breasts bouncing when he moved…
He did have his own strength, at least, which was a relief -- his muscles showed clear signs of a daily work-out, maybe more so than his own had. His authority as CO seemed to be intact, too, as far as he could tell from Rodney’s tales.
“You’ve always been ‘one of the boys’,” Rodney had said, shrugging, and that fit right in with what he knew of himself -- he’d always been good at making himself part of any given group, showing them what they wanted to see to accept him as one of their own. That was what made him good at first contact missions, and bad at any kind of long-term relationship, because people did tend to find out that he wasn’t quite like the image they had of him, after a while.
But this Rodney seemed to have stuck it out with him, for some reason. “So when did this --“ he made a gesture that encompassed the two of them, and the still rumpled bed “--start?”
“After Taran,” Rodney said, a fond, reminiscent smile snaking onto his face and pulling at the corners of his crooked mouth. “On board of the Orion.”
“That was more than six years ago,” John said, shocked. The longest relationship he’d ever been in? Nine months, with a quarter of a year of being posted on the other half of the planet in between. Rodney rolled his eyes at him.
“Well, duh. The five-year old in the other room should have tipped you off, maybe? Anyway, after we left the refugees on Atlantis, before we found out about the Wraith, you -- Jona -- she talked me into letting her take the Orion for a little spin. Said she wanted to test her capabilities some more, but I guess she -- we -- just didn’t want to stop playing with the cool new toy.
“Anyway, I -- well, I thought I was leaving her for dead on that planet” (John winced -- yeah, he knew about that one. He’d lived to see Rodney’s pale face and the shaky relief in his eyes even as he covered it up with a quip), “and she was -- in the kind of mood where I thought it was pretty unlikely that she’d punch me, so I just -- kissed her. And I guess this is where the timelines diverge?”
“Yeah,” John said absently, trying to remember that evening, or, more specifically, Rodney as he’d been then -- shaken with the threat of imminent death, giddy with survival, fondling the Orion’s controls like a lover’s body in between delighted little grins aimed into John’s general direction.
Yeah, he could see how it would have happened -- Rodney abandoning the consoles, pushing him up against a bulkhead, solid and strong. Maybe he’d have grabbed John’s upper arms, or locked one hand around the back of his neck, because of course Rodney would be pushy and demanding about sex like was about anything else, scared and brave and choosing attack as his favorite strategy of defense.
He pushed the image away. It hadn’t happened. Maybe Rodney just wasn’t interested in a male him, or maybe he himself came off as too straight. He was, mostly, and he’d sworn off the little interest men held for him the first time he’d sat in a plane, inertia pushing him into the seat in a last, futile attempt to hold him chained to Earth, speed and power humming all around him, catapulting him into the sky.
For one moment, he almost envied Jona, who had never had to choose between those two things. But that was ridiculous. He didn’t want McKay. This reality was pulling him along into its incessant craziness, that’s all it was.
“And, um, the kid?” he said quickly, trying to dispel the lingering images.
Rodney shrugged, one corner of his mouth quirking upward a bit. “Complete accident. That purple fruit on PFX-489? Fucks with the pill. You might want to warn your people about that, actually -- I assume you had no women on the team at the time?”
John shook his head mutely.
“You -- she -- was pretty pissed, of course, because at the time this really wasn’t the kind of environment you’d want to raise a child in, what with the Wraith and the limited supply of basically everything. But in the end, she decided to keep her. I… never quite knew what made her decide that way, actually.
“It’s -- we don’t regret it. I mean, I still don’t like kids, but, yeah. It really is different when they’re your own, I guess. I can’t believe I’m saying this. And I still maintain that Amelia is a stupid name, by the way. Earhart got killed on some kind of crazy flight thing, which is not the kind of omen you could possibly want for a kid of yours.”
John grinned. “Aww, come one. First woman to fly over the Atlantic. She rocked.”
“Yeah, that’s what she said,” Rodney grumbled.
“But you gave in, anyway.”
Rodney sighed. “Yeah, like I ever don’t. Let’s face it, she’s not the one in this relationship with the most to lose. Just -- look at you. She could have anyone. I’m the one who --“ he made a vague gesture that John was uncomfortably sure encompassed most of the things he’d thrown into Rodney’s face in his earlier fit of rage. He cringed.
“Come on, you know I didn’t mean that.”
Rodney ignored him. “Anyway, you’re clearly from some kind of mirror universe,” he said, and John sighed to himself, realizing that it was a bit late to try to undo that particular damage. Way to go, asshole.
He tuned out Rodney’s explanation -- alternate versions of every event, infinite possibilities, yadda yadda yadda, read it all before in those SGC mission reports they’d been given for an easy overview of what to expect. Strange new planets and the assorted wackiness you might encounter on them 101, O’Neill had jokingly titled the thick folder they’d been handed. It hadn’t been anywhere near sufficient to prepare him for this galaxy, with its miracles and its horrors, and sometimes all of that mixed up into one confusing package. Even after seven years in Atlantis, this place still kept throwing them for a loop on a regular basis.
“-- and now all we need to do is figure out how to return you home, and get m -- Jona back where she belongs,” Rodney concluded.
John shrugged. “Shouldn’t be too hard -- after all, we’ve probably got two McKay’s working on it. Jona is probably pushing my McKay into helping her as we speak,” he said easily, and something in Rodney’s eyes flickered.
“Yeah,” he said, sounding a little skeptical.
“You don’t think so?” John asked, and McKay shrugged, keeping his shoulders drawn up around himself.
“Maybe she doesn’t want to return -- maybe she’s happier there,” he said quietly. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve never wondered before… She’s smart, she’s hot, I really don’t have any idea what she was thinking, getting married to me. I realize that my genius is an invaluable asset in every situation, but most people don’t really consider it worth the personality -- you made it amply clear what you think, didn’t you?”
His tone was just a little bitter, but mostly tired, like someone who’s watched a long-time nightmare come true. Which this had to be for him, in a way, John realized. But then Rodney shook his head, cheering up a little. “Nah, I’m being stupid, aren’t I? If nothing else, she’s gonna come back for Mel. We’ll get you back where you belong, okay? I promise.”
John bit his lip. “If it’s any help at all, I didn’t mean half the things I said earlier, okay? I was pissed, and you were there -- hell, if she really is as similar to me as you’ve said, you know how we get when we’re angry. You’ve gotta not take her too seriously when she’s like that, and me neither. I do like you, okay? Best friend I’ve ever had,” he said, feeling stupidly sappy and inadequate at the same time. He put his hand on Rodney’s hand, rubbing a soothing little circle, and Rodney’s mouth stretched into a fragile, hopeful smile.
Jona was a pretty lucky woman, John thought. He’d never expected to have anything like this, never even missed it much, but it was comforting to know that somewhere out there, there was a universe where a version of him was loved like this.
*********
[Things happen. In Atlantis as we know it, Jona messes with Rodney’s mind a lot by constantly forgetting that she can’t just lean against this version of him, or make very obvious innuendos.
Little Amelia is comforted by the fact that her mom just went a little crazy, like that time Ronon told her about, where she turned into a bug. She thinks bugs are cool, and is sorely disappointed at the lack of blue scales.
Rodney never does quite believe John’s assurances, but when the first attempt at returning the Sheppards to their proper universes goes wrong, both Jona and John end up in her universe for a few minutes. Jona punches John for making her kid cry and her husband unhappy. Even Rodney recognizes a sappy gesture of true love when it punches him someone on the nose.
In the end, everyone is returned to his or her own universe, but John never does look at his Rodney quite the same way. Eventually, he takes a chance. There is sex. The End. ]
For an amazing drawing of a female version of John, drawn by pentapus, go here.
trinityofone, I hope this isn’t too far from what you had in mind. But there are only so many ways the traditional “Whee, breasts! Oh noes, menstruation!” approach to genderfuck can be done, and in this fandom, it’s been covered by better writers than me.
For trinityofone, who wanted “some McKay/Sheppard with one of them genderfucked”, and svmadelyn, who read my summary of “That story I’m never going to write because I have no good ending for it”, and said, “Maybe if you ever try it, try a snapshots approach? Like--just a day in the life type thing, several of them?” So that’s what I did.
Warning: This ficlet is part of a longer story that will never be written, at least not by me. The end of the story is summarized, but I’m not going to actually write it. Think of it as a teaser chapter for a book you’re never going to buy. Or maybe as an abandoned WIP.
Beta by stop, who showed amazing patience with stubborn me ignoring half her suggestions. Thank you.
A day in the life of Jona Sheppard
John woke up with someone’s hand spread warmly on his chest, Atlantis’ perpetual drafty chill for once completely held at bay by thick blankets and the warm body curled around him. It felt wonderful, and he luxuriated in the drowsy comfort of it for long minutes until his brain finally checked in to ask who the hell he thought he was in bed with, anyway.
It was a worryingly good question, and even some good hard thinking didn’t yield an answer. Actually, he was fairly sure that he’d gone to bed alone, tired from a good work-out with Ronon and a long, luxurious session of jerking off in the shower.
That was just worrying enough to overcome the cozy sleepiness that part of him really wanted to cling to. He opened an eye, just a slit, peering over his shoulder at whoever -- And then the sleepiness was so abruptly gone that a bucket of icy water couldn’t have done a better job. Rodney? He was in bed with Rodney McKay?
A naked Rodney, no less, who was just beginning to stir a little, his hand moving in a slow caress over John’s… oh god. Breast. He had a breast, a naked breast, and there was Rodney McKay’s hand on it, curling in possessively. John made a helpless whimpering sound and retreated to the corner of the bed so fast he banged his shoulder into the wall.
Rodney jerked awake, sitting up in bed and turning to him. “Wha --“ he started, and then his face got all soft and worried, the way he never looked at children, but sometimes at kittens and jumpers with broken wings. “Aww, Jona,” he said, voice tender and rough with sleep. “The nightmares again? Hey, come here, it’s all right --“ He reached out for John, trying to draw him into an embrace.
John stared, crawling deeper into his corner, practically trying to press himself right through the wall, his brain helplessly trying to make sense of all this, any sense at all. The covers had slid down with his hasty retreat, exposing the soft, curving lines of a lean feminine body with firm little breasts and narrow hips.
Rodney was naked, too, and while the sight of him -- the pale, soft stomach, the strong, solid thighs and the sparse blond hair covering his legs -- was nothing new after a dozen shared visits to the decontamination showers after especially nasty planets, it was way, way more than John could deal with in such close proximity to his strange new body.
“Sh, it’s all right,” McKay crooned, still in that soothing tone John hadn’t even known he was capable of. “It’s just a dream -- it’s over, we’re safe, she’s alive -- aww, come on, you’re safe now, we’re all safe…”
He crept closer again, one strong arm wrapping around John’s shoulders and tugging him against McKay, John’s soft, naked breasts pressing into his chest. John made a shocked, somewhat high-pitched sound, clawing his hands into McKay’s shoulders and pushing, sending him sprawling back on the bed. He scrambled out of bed and away fast enough that it felt practically like teleportation when the bathroom door banged shut behind him, closing between him and the hurt, bewildered look in McKay’s eyes.
He grabbed the edge of the sink in a white-knuckled grip, his heart hammering against his ribs as if it shared his desire to get out out out of this weird body, back into a universe that made sense. He realized he was practically hyperventilating, light-headed and dizzy, and forced his breathing to slow down.
Finally he got some kind of grip on himself, raising his head slowly to look into the mirror. Dark, frightened eyes stared at him out of a narrow, female face -- his own nose and pointy ears, but lush, curved lips, softer than his own, and a woman’s eyebrows forming a neat arch over his eyes. He looked a little like the girl from Lord Of the Rings, he thought hysterically. Not quite his type, but pretty enough.
His hair was the usual mess, although maybe a little bit longer in front, falling softly into his forehead instead of standing up. It wasn’t his face, but he could recognize himself in it, a little -- it wasn’t alien. Not like the rest of this body.
He forced his eyes down, deliberately looking at his breasts -- a little flat-chested, he thought, and hello, there was the edge of hysteria again. The soft, inviting curve of waist and hips, and long, lean, shapely legs, ending in feet that were just a little too much like his own, a little too broad and flat for a woman, and with the second toe longer than the first in what he’d always thought was a pretty weird way. And all of that completely hairless. So the female version of himself shaved her legs, didn’t she, and it was that that finally tipped him over the edge -- he started to laugh, in great, heaving gasps that shook his whole body.
“Jona?” McKay’s voice came from directly outside the bathroom door, tentative and worried. “Jona, hey, you okay?”
John bit his lip and tried desperately to suppress the laughter, shaking apart with his hands grabbing onto the sink like it was the only real thing in a world gone completely crazy.
“Can I come in? Jona?” McKay asked, and John was finally getting a grip, but not fast enough, because McKay said, in that familiar, exasperated tone: “Okay, that’s enough, I’m coming in there now, okay?”
And then the door opened and McKay was standing there, wearing nothing but a pair of completely ridiculous boxer shorts with some kind of equation on them -- aerodynamics, some part of John’s brain pointed out helpfully -- and John was suddenly painfully aware that he himself was still completely naked.
He grabbed a towel from the rack, larger and fluffier than his own -- that was probably McKay’s doing, wasn’t it, no scratchy military-issue for McKay Princess On The Pea -- and wrapped it around himself, covering the breasts and hips, hands scrabbling and shaking so bad he almost tied his own fingers into the knot.
McKay came a step closer and John’s body almost automatically tried to flatten itself against the questionable support of the sink.
“Stay there,” he said quickly. “Don’t -- don’t touch me,“ and McKay obediently retreated a little, lifting his hands appeasingly.
“Not touching,” he said. “Jona, what is up with you? Is it something I’ve -- are you mad at me?” he asked tentatively, looking flustered.
John just couldn’t deal with this right now, couldn’t stay here and talk to a McKay who clearly didn’t see anything wrong with the fact that he was suddenly a woman. Clothes, he needed clothes.
“Just -- stay away,” John repeated, eyes darting around the bathroom -- there. That pile of clothes was clearly McKay’s, a blue science team shirt and BDU pants, crumpled carelessly in a corner, probably discarded and forgotten when he’d undressed for bed -- Figures, a part of him thought detachedly. He bent down and picked them up, one hand still clutching the towel.
“Yeah, um, sorry, forgot about that, again --“ McKay laughed nervously “-- you don’t have to pick up after me, you know? I mean, I know we agreed that I’d -- but -- Jona? What are you doing?”
John was trying to put on the oversized shirt over the towel, the way he’d seen the shyer women do in open-air baths, struggling and graceless -- this wasn’t as easy as they’d made it look. Rodney was watching him with a bruised, vulnerable look in his eyes, nervously wringing his hands. A part of him wanted to pause, to reach out and comfort his friend, but the part of him that had woken up to find itself a woman, naked, with this man wrapped around him, just wanted to get away, and get away fast.
The pants were way too big for him, swimming around his still slender hips, but if he tightened the belt to the smallest setting, it should be enough to hold them up. He didn’t bother with underwear -- really, really not going to put on McKay’s dirty boxer shorts.
He stormed out of the room with McKay’s pleading voice still ringing in his ears -- ‘Jona? Jona, wait, come on, let’s talk about this, what the fuck have I even done?’ -- but didn’t slow down. Elizabeth, he needed to find Elizabeth, she’d know what the fuck was happening here.
He got a lot of stares on the hallways, and part of him cringed at the figure he knew he must present -- a bare-footed woman wrapped in McKay’s oversized clothes, the wild, panicked expression he could feel frozen on his face -- but he couldn’t help it, had no idea what to do or say to his men right now, if they’d even recognize him in this body.
Elizabeth’s door appeared in front of him like a refuge. He didn’t knock, just ducked inside, slammed the door closed behind him and then leaned against it, panting, trying to calm right the fuck down before he got a panic attack in front of Elizabeth, who was a great leader, but not really the best person to break down in front of.
“Sheppard? Good god, what’s happened? You look terrible -- are that Rodney’s clothes?”
John stared at her, noting the complete lack of any shock at the female body. “Oh god, not you too,” he said weakly, slumping against the door in defeat.
“Jona, tell me what’s wrong?” Elizabeth repeated, more gently now, reaching out a hesitant hand for his shoulder and then dropping it again. At least she didn’t seem to be any more touchy-feely with this female version of him than she usually was.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, high-pitched, with that almost-familiar voice that seemed to go with this new body, smoother but not much higher than his own -- the hitches and semi-hysterical tone right now were all his own, not the body’s fault. He gestured at his chest -- breasts, didn’t help to avoid it -- the legs, the face.
“What’s wrong? I’m a woman, that’s what’s wrong, and what’s worse, no one seems to mind! And my name is John! John, not Jona! Also --“ he stopped himself just in time before he blurted out that he’d woken up wrapped up in McKay. Elizabeth did not need to know that.
“Jona, you’ve -- you always -- I never knew that you felt like that,” Elizabeth said carefully, in a tone that suggested that she was beginning to think he’d gone off the deep end. “But if you wish -- I mean, I’m really not sure how the troops are going to take this, but if it means this much to you, there’s really no reason why you shouldn’t -- well, if you want us to call you John, we can certainly do that, but for the rest -- I mean, this is coming a bit out of the blue. Have you talked to Carson, or actually, maybe it would be a good idea to have a talk with Kate first --“
“Oh, for god’s sake!” yelled, John, who finally got what she was going on about. “I am not a transgendered woman! I’m a man! I’ve always been a man, I was born with a fucking penis, my name is and has always been John Sheppard, I have no idea why I’m suddenly waking up to find myself a woman, or why the hell everyone seems to be convinced that I’ve always been one!” He ground his teeth shut, trapping the angry words that wanted to escape.
“Jon -- Sheppard, I really think you should see Carson now,” Elizabeth said, abruptly all competent, worried leader again, but John suddenly couldn’t take it any more, he had to get away from here, he wasn’t crazy, damn it, everyone else was -- and god, thoughts like that were a pretty good indicator of an acute attack of the crazies, weren’t they?
But that couldn’t be, he was -- he could remember having a penis, for god’s sake, he knew exactly what it felt like to have sex as a man, and there were no memories at all of someone touching his breasts or sticking a cock inside him. That wasn’t the kind of thing you could be wrong about, was it?
He had to get out of here. Rodney would know what had caused this, or at least be able to find it out, and John would just have to get over the horrified paralysis at the mere thought of going near Rodney again. That was just ridiculous, he was taking embarrassment to a whole new level of absurdity.
“Just -- forget it, okay?” he said to Elizabeth’s concerned face, turned on his heel and stormed out again.
People were still staring at him, and he suddenly wished he’d taken the time to get dressed properly, even if it would have meant parading his half-naked body around in front of Rodney some moments longer. It wasn’t like Rodney hadn’t seen him -- her --naked before, or at least thought so, if his earlier behaviour had been any indication.
John stormed into his (their? Rodney’s?) room without even knocking. Rodney was sitting on the bed, elbows on knees and his face in his hands, a tired, defeated slump to his shoulders. When he heard the door opening, he looked up, and something in John’s stomach clenched at the flare of hope in Rodney’s eyes. He ignored it.
“Jona?” Rodney asked, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin, trying to look plucky and brave and hitting somewhere in the vicinity of scared to death. It was a look John was intimately familiar with, although he usually saw it directed at men with more guns than he was currently carrying. He hadn’t been all that harsh this morning, had he?
John sighed. How on Earth to phrase this? Okay, no, there was no way to make it sound less crazy. It sounded crazy in his own mind.
“Look, Rodney, I’m not Jona, okay? I’m a man, my name is John Sheppard, and I’m not sure what the hell has happened to me, but I woke up this morning in the wrong body, and, hell, in bed with you, and that’s definitely not my life as I know it, okay? Something’s gone wrong, and now everyone has this crazy idea that I‘ve been a woman all along, and you’ve got to help me get things back the way they’re supposed to be. Please.”
Rodney just stared at him.
“And I swear to god, if you call me Jona one more time, I am going to hit you,” John added for good measure, because people just didn’t seem to get it.
Rodney slowly shook his head. “You do know how crazy that sounds, don’t you?” he said slowly, and John clenched his jaw to hold in the spiteful things he wanted to say to that, because intellectually he realized that it wasn’t Rodney he was angry at so much as the situation.
“I’m not crazy, okay?” He finally ground out harshly. “It’s this whole situation --“
“Mommy? Are you arguing with Dad?” a tentative voice came from somewhere to his right, and he turned -- very, very slowly, because he wasn’t quite sure that he was ready to see this -- to face a little girl with a head full of sandy brown curls and big blue eyes, clutching what looked like a stuffed iguana.
“Argh,” he said.
The girl tilted her head, then dropped the stuffed animal on the floor -- not an iguana, one of those Mirgos on M7G-573, his mind felt the need to inform him -- and basically climbed up his leg to snuggle into his arms. Yeah, wonder where she gets the pushiness from, he thought viciously into McKay’s direction, putting one arm stiffly around the kid so she wouldn’t fall down and hurt herself, or something.
“But you’re not angry at me, right, mommy?” the girl asked shyly, snuggling her face into the crook of his shoulder, and this was all just way, way too much. He was obviously not only a woman, but a mother, the mother of McKay’s child, god, could he please have his own reality back now?
He put his hands around the girl’s waist and gently but firmly set her down. “Look, kiddo, this is all just some not-fun-at-all cosmic misunderstanding. I’m not your mom, I’m no one’s mum, and why don’t you go to your room and let me talk to your dad now, okay?”
The girl looked at him out of shocked eyes, and John just couldn’t deal with this, he couldn’t. This was not even real, he was lying in the infirmary and hallucinating, he really had gone crazy -- or, god, if he was willing to admit that possibility, maybe he really was the only crazy one in this universe, maybe he was McKay’s lover Jona plus some serious delusions --
No, not possible. This wasn’t real. And that kid was still staring at him, goddamnit.
“Seriously. I’m not your mom, okay. Go away now, please.”
She stood like that for a moment longer, then her lower lip began to wobble and she turned away quickly, clutching the stuffed toy and stumbling away from him. Rodney gave John a look of pure, incendiary rage, then caught up to his daughter and lifted her into his arms, stroking the trembling little shoulders.
For a moment, John felt like the worst kind of jerk. He reminded himself that best-case-scenario, these people weren’t even real, and worst-case, they were his lover and his daughter, and all things considered, he was completely entitled to his freak-out. It didn’t help much. He bit his lip angrily.
McKay was still glaring at him. “You made her cry,” he said accusingly, awkwardly rocking the girl in his arms. “I never know what to do with her when she cries! This is so your department! Except you’ve obviously turned into a raving lunatic overnight, which is so very helpful, thanks a bunch!”
And then in a completely different tone of voice, soft and loving and completely helpless: “Um -- stop crying now, ‘kay? Come on, Mel, don’t do this to me…” And switching effortlessly back to accusing: “This is all your fault! What the hell is up with you?”
“Look, McKay --“ John started angrily, and then took a deep breath and managed to contain himself. Just. “You might want to send the kid away for this discussion. She’s already upset enough as it is.“
McKay stared at him defiantly, and for a minute, John expected him to object just on the principle of the thing, but finally he sighed and put the kid down gently. “Mel, go to your room for a moment, okay? I promise I’ll explain this to you later, and you don’t need to cry, no one’s mad at you, just -- you really need to be not here for a moment, ‘kay?”
The girl wiped her watery eyes with the back of her hand and slunk off dejectedly, shoulders hanging down tiredly. “Mommy --“ she started as she passed John, reaching out a trembling hand for his leg, and for a moment John just wanted to squat down and comfort her, but a) he really wasn’t her mother and it didn’t feel right to pretend to be, either, and b) McKay was still glaring daggers at him, just daring him to do something out of line again, and he still needed the man’s help.
So he chose to go with the safer road of avoidance, giving her a gentle little push towards the direction she’d come from. “Just go to your room for a bit, Mel, okay? We’re not mad at you. Your… father’s going to talk to you later,” and Jesus, wasn’t it weird to think of McKay as someone’s father. Not quite as weird as the mother thing, but still not something he’d get used to any time soon.
The door closed behind her with an ominous click, leaving him with a McKay who looked ready to explode at any moment.
“So who the fuck are you, then?” McKay hissed. “Because at this point, I’m perfectly willing to accept that you’re not my wife,” (Wife? John thought, shocked) “because as a general rule, my Jona is not an asshole to innocent children!”
And somehow, that was just too much.
“Your Jona?” John asked hysterically. “Well, excuse me, McKay, but I don’t know who this Jona of yours is, either. Because if she is anything at all like me, and I’d guess so, since she’s living in what’s basically a female version my body, not to mention my life, I have no fucking idea what she was thinking, letting herself get knocked up and marrying you, because my life plans certainly include something better than chaining myself to an abrasive hypochondriac with a god complex!”
Rodney flinched. He took a jerky step back and slumped heavily down onto his bed, looking for all the world as if John had punched him. He was curled defensively around his stomach, shoulders drawn in protectively. Finally he took a shuddering, hitching breath and then lifted his head to glare at John, summoning bravado the way John had seen him do in countless near-death situations, a sudden sharp reminder that this was still Rodney, or at least someone very much like him, the friend who had stood with him against countless enemies.
“She loves me,” Rodney said defiantly. “She does.”
The painful doubt in his eyes spoke louder than his words. It hurt. What the fuck had he been thinking? Rodney was his friend, the best he’d ever had. He didn’t want to see him hurt, not in any reality. He just… flew off the handle when he was desperate and angry, lashing out and doing things he regretted afterwards.
He grabbed himself a chair and plunked down, heavy and graceless. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m sure she does.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Rodney said tiredly. He shook his head as if to clear it. “Okay, let’s look at this rationally. You say your name is John Sheppard, and you’re a man. And clearly not married to me. Any other differences?”
John shrugged, grateful for the chance to relax into the rationality of this discussion. “I don’t know. Atlantis looks just like it always does, but I haven’t really had the chance to see much of anything.”
They compared memories for a bit, but it all added up to the same-- his black mark, the Wraith bug, the incident on Doranda -- minus the obvious differences. Clearly, this Jona woman was him, just… female.
Now that he was calm enough to pay attention to the little details, those purely physical differences were starting to creep him out more and more. The way the different center of gravity kept throwing off his balance, and the distracting feeling of his small breasts bouncing when he moved…
He did have his own strength, at least, which was a relief -- his muscles showed clear signs of a daily work-out, maybe more so than his own had. His authority as CO seemed to be intact, too, as far as he could tell from Rodney’s tales.
“You’ve always been ‘one of the boys’,” Rodney had said, shrugging, and that fit right in with what he knew of himself -- he’d always been good at making himself part of any given group, showing them what they wanted to see to accept him as one of their own. That was what made him good at first contact missions, and bad at any kind of long-term relationship, because people did tend to find out that he wasn’t quite like the image they had of him, after a while.
But this Rodney seemed to have stuck it out with him, for some reason. “So when did this --“ he made a gesture that encompassed the two of them, and the still rumpled bed “--start?”
“After Taran,” Rodney said, a fond, reminiscent smile snaking onto his face and pulling at the corners of his crooked mouth. “On board of the Orion.”
“That was more than six years ago,” John said, shocked. The longest relationship he’d ever been in? Nine months, with a quarter of a year of being posted on the other half of the planet in between. Rodney rolled his eyes at him.
“Well, duh. The five-year old in the other room should have tipped you off, maybe? Anyway, after we left the refugees on Atlantis, before we found out about the Wraith, you -- Jona -- she talked me into letting her take the Orion for a little spin. Said she wanted to test her capabilities some more, but I guess she -- we -- just didn’t want to stop playing with the cool new toy.
“Anyway, I -- well, I thought I was leaving her for dead on that planet” (John winced -- yeah, he knew about that one. He’d lived to see Rodney’s pale face and the shaky relief in his eyes even as he covered it up with a quip), “and she was -- in the kind of mood where I thought it was pretty unlikely that she’d punch me, so I just -- kissed her. And I guess this is where the timelines diverge?”
“Yeah,” John said absently, trying to remember that evening, or, more specifically, Rodney as he’d been then -- shaken with the threat of imminent death, giddy with survival, fondling the Orion’s controls like a lover’s body in between delighted little grins aimed into John’s general direction.
Yeah, he could see how it would have happened -- Rodney abandoning the consoles, pushing him up against a bulkhead, solid and strong. Maybe he’d have grabbed John’s upper arms, or locked one hand around the back of his neck, because of course Rodney would be pushy and demanding about sex like was about anything else, scared and brave and choosing attack as his favorite strategy of defense.
He pushed the image away. It hadn’t happened. Maybe Rodney just wasn’t interested in a male him, or maybe he himself came off as too straight. He was, mostly, and he’d sworn off the little interest men held for him the first time he’d sat in a plane, inertia pushing him into the seat in a last, futile attempt to hold him chained to Earth, speed and power humming all around him, catapulting him into the sky.
For one moment, he almost envied Jona, who had never had to choose between those two things. But that was ridiculous. He didn’t want McKay. This reality was pulling him along into its incessant craziness, that’s all it was.
“And, um, the kid?” he said quickly, trying to dispel the lingering images.
Rodney shrugged, one corner of his mouth quirking upward a bit. “Complete accident. That purple fruit on PFX-489? Fucks with the pill. You might want to warn your people about that, actually -- I assume you had no women on the team at the time?”
John shook his head mutely.
“You -- she -- was pretty pissed, of course, because at the time this really wasn’t the kind of environment you’d want to raise a child in, what with the Wraith and the limited supply of basically everything. But in the end, she decided to keep her. I… never quite knew what made her decide that way, actually.
“It’s -- we don’t regret it. I mean, I still don’t like kids, but, yeah. It really is different when they’re your own, I guess. I can’t believe I’m saying this. And I still maintain that Amelia is a stupid name, by the way. Earhart got killed on some kind of crazy flight thing, which is not the kind of omen you could possibly want for a kid of yours.”
John grinned. “Aww, come one. First woman to fly over the Atlantic. She rocked.”
“Yeah, that’s what she said,” Rodney grumbled.
“But you gave in, anyway.”
Rodney sighed. “Yeah, like I ever don’t. Let’s face it, she’s not the one in this relationship with the most to lose. Just -- look at you. She could have anyone. I’m the one who --“ he made a vague gesture that John was uncomfortably sure encompassed most of the things he’d thrown into Rodney’s face in his earlier fit of rage. He cringed.
“Come on, you know I didn’t mean that.”
Rodney ignored him. “Anyway, you’re clearly from some kind of mirror universe,” he said, and John sighed to himself, realizing that it was a bit late to try to undo that particular damage. Way to go, asshole.
He tuned out Rodney’s explanation -- alternate versions of every event, infinite possibilities, yadda yadda yadda, read it all before in those SGC mission reports they’d been given for an easy overview of what to expect. Strange new planets and the assorted wackiness you might encounter on them 101, O’Neill had jokingly titled the thick folder they’d been handed. It hadn’t been anywhere near sufficient to prepare him for this galaxy, with its miracles and its horrors, and sometimes all of that mixed up into one confusing package. Even after seven years in Atlantis, this place still kept throwing them for a loop on a regular basis.
“-- and now all we need to do is figure out how to return you home, and get m -- Jona back where she belongs,” Rodney concluded.
John shrugged. “Shouldn’t be too hard -- after all, we’ve probably got two McKay’s working on it. Jona is probably pushing my McKay into helping her as we speak,” he said easily, and something in Rodney’s eyes flickered.
“Yeah,” he said, sounding a little skeptical.
“You don’t think so?” John asked, and McKay shrugged, keeping his shoulders drawn up around himself.
“Maybe she doesn’t want to return -- maybe she’s happier there,” he said quietly. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve never wondered before… She’s smart, she’s hot, I really don’t have any idea what she was thinking, getting married to me. I realize that my genius is an invaluable asset in every situation, but most people don’t really consider it worth the personality -- you made it amply clear what you think, didn’t you?”
His tone was just a little bitter, but mostly tired, like someone who’s watched a long-time nightmare come true. Which this had to be for him, in a way, John realized. But then Rodney shook his head, cheering up a little. “Nah, I’m being stupid, aren’t I? If nothing else, she’s gonna come back for Mel. We’ll get you back where you belong, okay? I promise.”
John bit his lip. “If it’s any help at all, I didn’t mean half the things I said earlier, okay? I was pissed, and you were there -- hell, if she really is as similar to me as you’ve said, you know how we get when we’re angry. You’ve gotta not take her too seriously when she’s like that, and me neither. I do like you, okay? Best friend I’ve ever had,” he said, feeling stupidly sappy and inadequate at the same time. He put his hand on Rodney’s hand, rubbing a soothing little circle, and Rodney’s mouth stretched into a fragile, hopeful smile.
Jona was a pretty lucky woman, John thought. He’d never expected to have anything like this, never even missed it much, but it was comforting to know that somewhere out there, there was a universe where a version of him was loved like this.
*********
[Things happen. In Atlantis as we know it, Jona messes with Rodney’s mind a lot by constantly forgetting that she can’t just lean against this version of him, or make very obvious innuendos.
Little Amelia is comforted by the fact that her mom just went a little crazy, like that time Ronon told her about, where she turned into a bug. She thinks bugs are cool, and is sorely disappointed at the lack of blue scales.
Rodney never does quite believe John’s assurances, but when the first attempt at returning the Sheppards to their proper universes goes wrong, both Jona and John end up in her universe for a few minutes. Jona punches John for making her kid cry and her husband unhappy. Even Rodney recognizes a sappy gesture of true love when it punches him someone on the nose.
In the end, everyone is returned to his or her own universe, but John never does look at his Rodney quite the same way. Eventually, he takes a chance. There is sex. The End. ]
For an amazing drawing of a female version of John, drawn by pentapus, go here.
trinityofone, I hope this isn’t too far from what you had in mind. But there are only so many ways the traditional “Whee, breasts! Oh noes, menstruation!” approach to genderfuck can be done, and in this fandom, it’s been covered by better writers than me.