Prompt: any. any. shaving for the first time.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/687901.html?thread=90361373#t90361373
Harry knew that certain important classes were not taught at Hogwarts. Science. Maths. Geography. Seeing how Ron was actually quite competent at arithmetic, Harry reckoned maybe the basics were taught at some kind of wizarding primary school (or maybe at home, no one talked about school before Hogwarts). But there were some things a young man ought to learn. Like about 'growing up'. All Harry knew about it was from a book Dudley had discarded at the beginning of summer, and it had been full of bright but vague and helpful declarations about growing up and how it all seemed strange but was perfectly normal. So Harry kept his head down, kept his mouth shut as much as possible, and hoped that, on top of the horror of Dolores Umbridge, no one would notice the way his voice kept breaking or he was getting spots.
So naturally, as he was walking down the hallway, Draco Malfoy called out to him, "Trying to grow a rat pelt on your face, Potter? Too stupid to use a shaving charm, are you?"
Harry ducked his head as soon as he heard Draco's voice, ready for a rain of embarrassment, but he pulled up short at the mention of a shaving charm. A funny look crossed Malfoy's face, but then the rest of the Slytherins swept him away.
Harry spent the rest of the day contemplating taking a pair of scissors to the wispy scruff on his face.
Oddly enough, the Slytherins didn't make hay out of Malfoy's latest insults, even though Harry woke up the next day waiting to hear jokes about being a weasel face (and other insults that would spill over to Ron - maybe something creative about using Hermione's hair on his face). But for days and days and days nothing happened, and Harry forgot all about the incident, focused as he was on starting a student rebellion under Umbridge's nose.
So he was very startled one day when he was walking past Moaning Myrtle's bathroom and Malfoy grabbed him and tugged him into said bathroom.
"Malfoy! What the bloody –"
"Shut it, Potter," Malfoy hissed. "Now, I'm only going to do this once, because you were raised by Muggles, and walking around as you are is a disgrace to wizard kind, and the Potters are an old and noble pureblood family." He spun Harry around and frogmarched him over to one of the mirrors, and then he aimed his wand at Harry's throat.
Harry opened his mouth to scream.
"Depilio," Malfoy said, dragged the tip of his wand up Harry's throat like a razor...and there was a sensation not unlike foam, and then a stripe of Harry's skin was hairless.
Malfoy let him go and shoved him away. "Now finish the job." And he stalked out of the bathroom, head held high.
Harry, gobsmacked, thought he heard Malfoy call an imperious greeting to Moaning Myrtle as he went. Then he shook himself off, peered at his reflection in the mirror, and raised his wand.
"Depilio."
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
No. 57
Prompt: Good Omens, the Them, the Them in high school
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/687901.html?thread=90346269#t90346269
In fifth form, no one was surprised when Pepper was made the women's sports captain for her house. She was a terror on the hockey pitch with her hockey stick and her endless stamina (and she was also a delight in that little skirt flaring around her thighs while she ran, but no one would say it).
No one was surprised when Wensleydale was made prefect, what with his fastidious knowledge of and adherence to the rules (although the creative ways with which he adhered to the rules and sometimes reduced other prefects to tears and defeat was something no one had ever reported to the teachers).
Everyone was surprised that Brian was still in school for fifth form after he'd blown up one of the chemistry labs during exams at the end of fourth form (he was good at destroying things deliberately and somehow making it seem like it was an unfortunate accidents, probably because he also suffered loads of unfortunate accidents due to his tendency to sort of...smudge everything around him).
As for Adam, he was neither prefect nor troublemaker, and after five years in secondary school, no one was surprised to see his dog Dog tromping after him between classes and waiting in the quad for games of fetch while the sixth form prefects were doing their rounds.
The four of them still rode their bicycles to and from school, and sometimes they could be seen around town, taller, sleeker versions of the gang they'd once been. Everyone in town was afraid for the day one of them obtained a driver's license and a car.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/687901.html?thread=90346269#t90346269
In fifth form, no one was surprised when Pepper was made the women's sports captain for her house. She was a terror on the hockey pitch with her hockey stick and her endless stamina (and she was also a delight in that little skirt flaring around her thighs while she ran, but no one would say it).
No one was surprised when Wensleydale was made prefect, what with his fastidious knowledge of and adherence to the rules (although the creative ways with which he adhered to the rules and sometimes reduced other prefects to tears and defeat was something no one had ever reported to the teachers).
Everyone was surprised that Brian was still in school for fifth form after he'd blown up one of the chemistry labs during exams at the end of fourth form (he was good at destroying things deliberately and somehow making it seem like it was an unfortunate accidents, probably because he also suffered loads of unfortunate accidents due to his tendency to sort of...smudge everything around him).
As for Adam, he was neither prefect nor troublemaker, and after five years in secondary school, no one was surprised to see his dog Dog tromping after him between classes and waiting in the quad for games of fetch while the sixth form prefects were doing their rounds.
The four of them still rode their bicycles to and from school, and sometimes they could be seen around town, taller, sleeker versions of the gang they'd once been. Everyone in town was afraid for the day one of them obtained a driver's license and a car.
No. 7
Prompt: Stargate Atlantis, Rodney McKay, not easy being the smartest kid in school
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/687901.html?thread=90348573#t90348573
The hardest part about being the smartest kid in class was the loneliness, but Rodney would never admit it. The boredom was mostly alleviated because his teachers piled advanced work on him to keep him quiet and compliant. The frustration was easily alleviated by a good tantrum. Some well-meaning numbskull offered to help Rodney with his science project like a finger-painting toddler offering to help Da Vinci, Rodney screamed, the numbskull went away, and Rodney could work in peace.
But that didn't mean he wasn't sometimes lonely, having no one to talk to during lunch breaks.
And then John Sheppard showed up. He was lanky, with stylish clothes and trendy scruffy hair. No one at school knew anything about him, except his family had just moved in, his family was super rich, he was fourteen years old, and his mother was dead. (Some of the older girls in the halls talked about his older brother, Dave, who had a really cool car.)
Rodney looked John Sheppard up and down and knew he wasn't one of those meat-headed jocks. Too slender for that. He had long-fingered hands and wore a plain black band on one wrist. Judging by his Johnny Cash t-shirt and his insufferable smirk, he was probably one of those dark, moody musicians. Guitar. Girls loved guys who played guitar. (Rodney played piano. That was dorky.)
John sat beside Rodney in math class and immediately set about doodling spaceships in his notebook instead of listening to the teacher. Not a meat-head jock, but stupid all the same. The teacher wrote a problem on the bored, one that had all the other students stumped and that Rodney wouldn't even dignify by raising his hand.
"John?" The teacher raised her eyebrows at the new kid.
John lifted his head. "Sorry, I don't know. We hadn't covered this at my old school yet." But he had the correct answer scrawled next to a particularly explosive-looking battle between aliens and soldiers.
Rodney ignored everyone around him and set about on his own math assignment, which was something the teacher could barely grasp. He was halfway done with his assignment when a paper airplane landed on his desk. Judging by its landing trajectory, it had come from the desk beside him. When Rodney glanced over, John had moved on to drawing what looked like a series of spikes but was labeled Atlantis: city in the stars.
Rodney unfolded the note, ready for anything, a prank "do you like me? Check yes or no" or an insult or joke about his hair. Instead was a string of numbers and a single question: "Prime/not prime?"
Rodney glanced at John again. John looked at him sidelong and grinned.
Rodney was still by far the smartest person in the class - in the whole school - but maybe he didn't have to be alone anymore.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/687901.html?thread=90348573#t90348573
The hardest part about being the smartest kid in class was the loneliness, but Rodney would never admit it. The boredom was mostly alleviated because his teachers piled advanced work on him to keep him quiet and compliant. The frustration was easily alleviated by a good tantrum. Some well-meaning numbskull offered to help Rodney with his science project like a finger-painting toddler offering to help Da Vinci, Rodney screamed, the numbskull went away, and Rodney could work in peace.
But that didn't mean he wasn't sometimes lonely, having no one to talk to during lunch breaks.
And then John Sheppard showed up. He was lanky, with stylish clothes and trendy scruffy hair. No one at school knew anything about him, except his family had just moved in, his family was super rich, he was fourteen years old, and his mother was dead. (Some of the older girls in the halls talked about his older brother, Dave, who had a really cool car.)
Rodney looked John Sheppard up and down and knew he wasn't one of those meat-headed jocks. Too slender for that. He had long-fingered hands and wore a plain black band on one wrist. Judging by his Johnny Cash t-shirt and his insufferable smirk, he was probably one of those dark, moody musicians. Guitar. Girls loved guys who played guitar. (Rodney played piano. That was dorky.)
John sat beside Rodney in math class and immediately set about doodling spaceships in his notebook instead of listening to the teacher. Not a meat-head jock, but stupid all the same. The teacher wrote a problem on the bored, one that had all the other students stumped and that Rodney wouldn't even dignify by raising his hand.
"John?" The teacher raised her eyebrows at the new kid.
John lifted his head. "Sorry, I don't know. We hadn't covered this at my old school yet." But he had the correct answer scrawled next to a particularly explosive-looking battle between aliens and soldiers.
Rodney ignored everyone around him and set about on his own math assignment, which was something the teacher could barely grasp. He was halfway done with his assignment when a paper airplane landed on his desk. Judging by its landing trajectory, it had come from the desk beside him. When Rodney glanced over, John had moved on to drawing what looked like a series of spikes but was labeled Atlantis: city in the stars.
Rodney unfolded the note, ready for anything, a prank "do you like me? Check yes or no" or an insult or joke about his hair. Instead was a string of numbers and a single question: "Prime/not prime?"
Rodney glanced at John again. John looked at him sidelong and grinned.
Rodney was still by far the smartest person in the class - in the whole school - but maybe he didn't have to be alone anymore.
No. 5
Prompt: Stargate Atlantis, John Sheppard/Rodney McKay, learning to share
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/687901.html?thread=90348829#t90348829
Growing up, Rodney had never had to share. As he only had a sister, he'd never had to share his room, or the bathroom, or clothes, or any of the other onerous things siblings were forced to share. In college he'd never had to share his dorm room, because putting an underage genius with a drunken frat wannabe was a legal disaster waiting to happen. In grad school he'd never had to share his research space, because he'd harangued all the other grad students within an inch of their lives if they messed up his careful arrangement of research materials and equipment. He never had to share his projects, either, because no one else understood them (although he wasn't above delegating the petty tasks to the mindless minions so his brainpower could be used on more important issues).
He'd also never had to share friends, because, well, he'd never had any. (Jeannie didn't count. She was his sister and therefore obligated to be his friend, and while she was a good friend, she wasn't the same as an actual friend who was his friend just because.)
So when Rodney happened upon John Sheppard, first colleague, then friend, then more, he had no intention of sharing. When John sparred with Teyla, that didn't count as sharing, because Rodney hated sparring. When John went running with Ford, that didn't count as sharing either, because Rodney hated running. And when Ronon replaced Ford, Rodney was okay with that.
And then there was Major Evan Lorne. He showed up on the crew of the Daedalus one day with another bunch of meat-head marines Rodney had to break in as careful pack mules, and Rodney hated him. Lorne had smooth golden skin, a quirky, easy grin, and beautiful blue eyes. Some of the social scientists - of both sexes - were speculating about his dating/marriage status and which way he swung. He was nice to them. He didn't think they were stupid. He approved of the expansion of their illicit coffee-growing scheme in greenhouse three. Everyone loved him.
Rodney hated him. Rodney hated Major Evan Lorne because he was there all the time. When Rodney dropped by John's office for a quick chat, Lorne was there, filling out John's paperwork so John could spar with Ronon. When John needed something, Lorne was right there at his elbow with, "It's already done, sir." He could always find the thing John was looking for, he always knew the location of the person John was searching for, and he always brought John a mid-afternoon snack on days when there was nothing but paperwork and meetings. (John did that sometimes for Rodney. It hadn't occurred to him to reciprocate the favor. He reciprocated all favors in bed.)
The thing was, Lorne's unnatural efficiency (he was too perfect, like that Chaya character, Rodney would have to run scans on him) allowed John more time to spend with Rodney. It might have been unseemly for the military commander of the expedition to hang around the lab as Rodney's Ancient Tech light switch, but Rodney knew the others let it go because John being around meant Rodney was nicer. Rodney hated Lorne with a passion, but there was nothing he could do about it, because no one would listen to him if he tried to complain. (He'd mentioned it offhand once to Parrish in botany and been deprived of coffee for a week.)
But enough was enough. Rodney was going to have a very strong chat with Major Lorne - and possibly science him into submission - because John belonged to Rodney and Rodney didn't share. John was only supposed to smile like that for Rodney, not when Lorne saved him the last brownie to be had for a month.
Rodney stormed around the corner and swiped a hand over the lock into Lorne's quarters - and discovered that Major Lorne, in addition to being a very efficient XO, was also an ardent yoga practitioner, and he brought that skill to the bedroom.
With Ronon.
There was an awkward pause, the three men blinked at each other, and Rodney beat a hasty retreat.
Fine. He could learn to share John. A little bit. For the good of the expedition.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/687901.html?thread=90348829#t90348829
Growing up, Rodney had never had to share. As he only had a sister, he'd never had to share his room, or the bathroom, or clothes, or any of the other onerous things siblings were forced to share. In college he'd never had to share his dorm room, because putting an underage genius with a drunken frat wannabe was a legal disaster waiting to happen. In grad school he'd never had to share his research space, because he'd harangued all the other grad students within an inch of their lives if they messed up his careful arrangement of research materials and equipment. He never had to share his projects, either, because no one else understood them (although he wasn't above delegating the petty tasks to the mindless minions so his brainpower could be used on more important issues).
He'd also never had to share friends, because, well, he'd never had any. (Jeannie didn't count. She was his sister and therefore obligated to be his friend, and while she was a good friend, she wasn't the same as an actual friend who was his friend just because.)
So when Rodney happened upon John Sheppard, first colleague, then friend, then more, he had no intention of sharing. When John sparred with Teyla, that didn't count as sharing, because Rodney hated sparring. When John went running with Ford, that didn't count as sharing either, because Rodney hated running. And when Ronon replaced Ford, Rodney was okay with that.
And then there was Major Evan Lorne. He showed up on the crew of the Daedalus one day with another bunch of meat-head marines Rodney had to break in as careful pack mules, and Rodney hated him. Lorne had smooth golden skin, a quirky, easy grin, and beautiful blue eyes. Some of the social scientists - of both sexes - were speculating about his dating/marriage status and which way he swung. He was nice to them. He didn't think they were stupid. He approved of the expansion of their illicit coffee-growing scheme in greenhouse three. Everyone loved him.
Rodney hated him. Rodney hated Major Evan Lorne because he was there all the time. When Rodney dropped by John's office for a quick chat, Lorne was there, filling out John's paperwork so John could spar with Ronon. When John needed something, Lorne was right there at his elbow with, "It's already done, sir." He could always find the thing John was looking for, he always knew the location of the person John was searching for, and he always brought John a mid-afternoon snack on days when there was nothing but paperwork and meetings. (John did that sometimes for Rodney. It hadn't occurred to him to reciprocate the favor. He reciprocated all favors in bed.)
The thing was, Lorne's unnatural efficiency (he was too perfect, like that Chaya character, Rodney would have to run scans on him) allowed John more time to spend with Rodney. It might have been unseemly for the military commander of the expedition to hang around the lab as Rodney's Ancient Tech light switch, but Rodney knew the others let it go because John being around meant Rodney was nicer. Rodney hated Lorne with a passion, but there was nothing he could do about it, because no one would listen to him if he tried to complain. (He'd mentioned it offhand once to Parrish in botany and been deprived of coffee for a week.)
But enough was enough. Rodney was going to have a very strong chat with Major Lorne - and possibly science him into submission - because John belonged to Rodney and Rodney didn't share. John was only supposed to smile like that for Rodney, not when Lorne saved him the last brownie to be had for a month.
Rodney stormed around the corner and swiped a hand over the lock into Lorne's quarters - and discovered that Major Lorne, in addition to being a very efficient XO, was also an ardent yoga practitioner, and he brought that skill to the bedroom.
With Ronon.
There was an awkward pause, the three men blinked at each other, and Rodney beat a hasty retreat.
Fine. He could learn to share John. A little bit. For the good of the expedition.
Saturday, January 16, 2016
No. 56
Prompt: Gilmore Girls/Criminal Minds, Rory Gilmore + Spencer Reid and/or Jennifer Jareau, Rory gets the chance to interview one or two members of the BAU.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/687337.html?thread=90294505#t90294505
Rory wasn't sure what to expect from an FBI profiler, but Dr. Spencer Reid wasn't it. When he walked into the room, Rory looked him up and down, and lyrics from a song filled her mind. I wear your granddad's clothes/ I look incredible. He was tall and lanky with long-fingered, spidery hands and wispy hair that didn't look regulation. When Rory had read his quick-sketch bio, about his three doctorates and off-the-charts IQ, she'd imagined a tidy, tweedy man, bespectacled, severe. The nervous, coltish creature opposite her looked better suited to art and poetry than catching murderers.
The way he smiled sweetly when JJ Jareau, the BAU's media liaison, ducked in and asked if he wanted coffee, made Rory want to take him home to Sookie and have her cook him all his favorite food at once.
Down, girl, she told herself. He wasn't much older than her. She flipped back to his bio. Only three years. How had she missed that detail?
"So, Agent Reid," Rory began, then corrected herself, "I mean, Dr. Reid –"
"Please, call me Spencer." He sipped at his coffee with a gentle curve of his wrist.
"Spencer," she said. "Why did you decide to join the FBI?"
"My mother used to teach medieval literature," he said, "and she told me stories about brave knights who slew monsters. I wanted to be brave."
"And do you slay monsters?"
"All monsters are people inside," he said, and Rory wondered what he saw inside her.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/687337.html?thread=90294505#t90294505
Rory wasn't sure what to expect from an FBI profiler, but Dr. Spencer Reid wasn't it. When he walked into the room, Rory looked him up and down, and lyrics from a song filled her mind. I wear your granddad's clothes/ I look incredible. He was tall and lanky with long-fingered, spidery hands and wispy hair that didn't look regulation. When Rory had read his quick-sketch bio, about his three doctorates and off-the-charts IQ, she'd imagined a tidy, tweedy man, bespectacled, severe. The nervous, coltish creature opposite her looked better suited to art and poetry than catching murderers.
The way he smiled sweetly when JJ Jareau, the BAU's media liaison, ducked in and asked if he wanted coffee, made Rory want to take him home to Sookie and have her cook him all his favorite food at once.
Down, girl, she told herself. He wasn't much older than her. She flipped back to his bio. Only three years. How had she missed that detail?
"So, Agent Reid," Rory began, then corrected herself, "I mean, Dr. Reid –"
"Please, call me Spencer." He sipped at his coffee with a gentle curve of his wrist.
"Spencer," she said. "Why did you decide to join the FBI?"
"My mother used to teach medieval literature," he said, "and she told me stories about brave knights who slew monsters. I wanted to be brave."
"And do you slay monsters?"
"All monsters are people inside," he said, and Rory wondered what he saw inside her.
No. 55
Prompt: Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice; any of the Bennett sisters in old age.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/687337.html?thread=90275817#t90275817
Mary Bennet was content with being old Aunt Mary, spinster aunt to the impressive Wickham, Bingley, Darcy, and even Collins broods as Charlotte Lucas had had no sisters. Her nieces and nephews fancied themselves grown-up and patient for indulging Mary when she played her piano concertos or read them passages from boring books. She always brought nice gifts, and her sisters felt so guilty for her spinsterhood that they didn't question where the money came from, because if she could afford such nice gifts then being a spinster hadn’t been too awful for her. Mary was too old for much excitement now, but she was content in her own knowledge, that her money came from her own work, her own two bands, playing piano in officers’ bars while dressed as a boy until that ploy no longer worked, and then writing penny dreadfuls that she saw in people’s hands all over London when she took a turn around Hyde Park with Kitty or visited Lizzie at Grosvenor Square. Boring though her relatives thought her, she could ride like a man and fight with a sword, and she could write to bring the city to a standstill, and if she took that knowledge to her grave, she would be the one having the last laugh in heaven.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/687337.html?thread=90275817#t90275817
Mary Bennet was content with being old Aunt Mary, spinster aunt to the impressive Wickham, Bingley, Darcy, and even Collins broods as Charlotte Lucas had had no sisters. Her nieces and nephews fancied themselves grown-up and patient for indulging Mary when she played her piano concertos or read them passages from boring books. She always brought nice gifts, and her sisters felt so guilty for her spinsterhood that they didn't question where the money came from, because if she could afford such nice gifts then being a spinster hadn’t been too awful for her. Mary was too old for much excitement now, but she was content in her own knowledge, that her money came from her own work, her own two bands, playing piano in officers’ bars while dressed as a boy until that ploy no longer worked, and then writing penny dreadfuls that she saw in people’s hands all over London when she took a turn around Hyde Park with Kitty or visited Lizzie at Grosvenor Square. Boring though her relatives thought her, she could ride like a man and fight with a sword, and she could write to bring the city to a standstill, and if she took that knowledge to her grave, she would be the one having the last laugh in heaven.
Thursday, January 14, 2016
No. 6
Prompt: Stargate Atlantis, any, they always tell the new arrivals not to touch the Ancient gender-swapper, but there's always one who doesn't listen...
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/686659.html?thread=90226755#t90226755
Warning new expedition recruits away from the Ancient gender-swapping device was an exercise in futility and amusement. Ninety percent of the greenies hadn't previously served with Stargate command, so they didn't believe just how weird life could be on the other side of the gate, and they didn't quite know what alien technology was capable of, so when someone said a device did something beyond belief, those little marines just had to test it out.
Also, it was some kind of fallacy of fantasy, that a good-looking man would turn into a beautiful woman. John and Rodney had a scrap-book full of incriminating Polaroids that demonstrated how reality operated very much to the contrary. Rodney insisted the photos were for scientific posterity. John knew the photos - his and Rodney's included, as they'd been the device's first victims - were for troop morale. Not every weird thing that happened in Pegasus Galaxy was borderline apocalyptic. And marines made damn ugly girls.
Surprisingly few of the women in the expedition had been lured in by the mystique of the device, and most of them had just made for eerily androgynous or odd-looking little men.
So when the call went out on the radio, Code Tireseias, John wasn't too surprised. The newest wave of recruits had only been in Atlantis for a week. John tapped his radio.
"Major Lorne," he said, "bring the poor offending marine to me."
Someone cleared her throat in the doorway. "Sir."
John lifted his head and stared. The woman in the doorway was beautiful. She had wide blue eyes and full pink mouth, silky dark hair – and an ill-fitting uniform with dark grey patches on the jacket. "Lorne?"
"Sir," she said, "there was a fight between some of the new marines and our veterans. It was in the device storage room. Dr. McKay is very upset. We need your assistance immediately."
"Lorne," John said, "they just called a Code Tireseias. Report to the infirmary." But he stood up and pulled on his jacket, prepared to do his duty as the military commander of the expedition. Brawls that resulted in his XO being gender-swapped were unacceptable.
"If you don't mind, sir," Lorne said, "we know this condition isn't life-threatening. I think I'd prefer to sit in here and cry for a little bit." And she sank down in her usual chair, which now dwarfed her (and Lorne wasn't even a very big guy to being with).
John balked at the mention of crying. "Lorne," he began, but she shook her head.
"I'll be fine, sir. I just need a moment."
"Are you sure? I –"
The radio crackled on. "Colonel," Zelenka said, "we need your assistance in device storage room one. Dr. McKay is about to disembowel an entire platoon of marines with his laptop."
John winced. "Be right there." To Lorne he said, "Hang tight, Major. I'll be back as soon as I can."
It was a stupid promise to make. John was awful at dealing with crying women. He was good at dealing with an angry Rodney and unruly marines, though. All he had to do was promise Rodney awful punishment upon the marines to appease his anger and inflict the awful punishment on the marines to remind them about the chain of command and respecting the scientists. Thus internal peace was restored to the City of Atlantis.
He remembered his promise to Lorne, and for one awful moment he prayed for a Wraith invasion, but Lorne had been an exemplary XO since he'd set foot on Atlantis, and John was grateful for that. So he headed back to the office they shared with some chocolate ice cream he'd demanded from the KP marines and was ready for a crying girl-Lorne.
Except the sound of her soft, gut-wrenching sobs nearly broke him. He'd never dealt well when Nancy had cried, and usually when he was dealing with a man crying, it was because he was dying. John didn't do well with his own men dying.
He paused beside the door and took a deep breath, searching for comforting words.
And then he heard Dr. Hightmeyer say, "You know everything you tell me is confidential."
"I was good," Lorne sobbed. "I was so good. I listened. I didn't go near the machine. Not once. Didn't even look at it when they took me on the initial tour. I heard what they said about it, and I listened. If only those stupid marines had kept their damn egos in check –"
"Major," Dr. Hightmeyer said, "it's perfectly fine to be upset about being forced to be the wrong gender –"
"No," Lorne said forcefully. "You don't understand."
"What don't I understand?" Dr. Hightmeyer kept her tone soothing and gentle.
"This is the right gender." Lorne's voice hitched. "This is who I'm supposed to be. But I always wanted to fly, and so I pushed it away, pushed it down, and when I heard about the Ancient device I wanted – but I knew I couldn't – and now I know what it feels like and I want it forever and they're going to make me change back."
"Have you thought about asking Dr. Beckett –?"
"I can't ask," Lorne said, "and I can't tell. If I ask, they'll know, and they'll send me away, and if I don't have Atlantis, if I don't have flying the puddle jumpers or the 302's, I don't have anything. No one will take me if I'm dishonorably discharged." Her breath shuddered with more sobs. "And they'll change me back before I go."
John stepped back from the door, tapped his radio to a private channel. "Lieutenant Cadman," he said.
"Sir?"
"You're an explosives expert, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"I need you to see to it that the Ancient gender-swapping device has an irreparable accident without any of the other devices in storage being harmed."
"Sir? But Major Lorne –"
"Is fine. I'll protect you from McKay. Get it done. Tell no one."
"Yes, sir."
John took another deep breath and knocked on the door. "Hey! I'm here to reinforce a cliché." He hefted the tub of ice cream for Lorne to see.
Lorne scrubbed a hand over her face. "Sir, this is your office. You don't need to knock."
But Dr. Hightmeyer cast John a grateful look. "I'll be in my office if you need me, Major. We can finish this discussion later." She departed quickly.
John set the little pint of ice cream down on Lorne's desk. "So, what's your new name?"
Lorne, who'd reached for the spoon, was wide-eyed. "What do you mean?"
"When Rodney and I first got zapped, Teyla temporarily gave us new names," John said. "I was Joan, which wasn't very creative. Rodney was 'Meredith', for some reason. What should we call you?"
"Those names don't sound very Athosian."
"Well, she let us choose our own names, but she insisted we had to have new names for a while."
"Oh." Lorne picked up the spoon, eased open the carton of ice cream. "Um...Stephanie, I guess. My sister's middle name."
"I didn't know you had a sister," John said. He sat down in his own chair and leaned back. "Tell me more."
Lorne started to smile. "Well, she's a little older than me..."
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Warning new expedition recruits away from the Ancient gender-swapping device was an exercise in futility and amusement. Ninety percent of the greenies hadn't previously served with Stargate command, so they didn't believe just how weird life could be on the other side of the gate, and they didn't quite know what alien technology was capable of, so when someone said a device did something beyond belief, those little marines just had to test it out.
Also, it was some kind of fallacy of fantasy, that a good-looking man would turn into a beautiful woman. John and Rodney had a scrap-book full of incriminating Polaroids that demonstrated how reality operated very much to the contrary. Rodney insisted the photos were for scientific posterity. John knew the photos - his and Rodney's included, as they'd been the device's first victims - were for troop morale. Not every weird thing that happened in Pegasus Galaxy was borderline apocalyptic. And marines made damn ugly girls.
Surprisingly few of the women in the expedition had been lured in by the mystique of the device, and most of them had just made for eerily androgynous or odd-looking little men.
So when the call went out on the radio, Code Tireseias, John wasn't too surprised. The newest wave of recruits had only been in Atlantis for a week. John tapped his radio.
"Major Lorne," he said, "bring the poor offending marine to me."
Someone cleared her throat in the doorway. "Sir."
John lifted his head and stared. The woman in the doorway was beautiful. She had wide blue eyes and full pink mouth, silky dark hair – and an ill-fitting uniform with dark grey patches on the jacket. "Lorne?"
"Sir," she said, "there was a fight between some of the new marines and our veterans. It was in the device storage room. Dr. McKay is very upset. We need your assistance immediately."
"Lorne," John said, "they just called a Code Tireseias. Report to the infirmary." But he stood up and pulled on his jacket, prepared to do his duty as the military commander of the expedition. Brawls that resulted in his XO being gender-swapped were unacceptable.
"If you don't mind, sir," Lorne said, "we know this condition isn't life-threatening. I think I'd prefer to sit in here and cry for a little bit." And she sank down in her usual chair, which now dwarfed her (and Lorne wasn't even a very big guy to being with).
John balked at the mention of crying. "Lorne," he began, but she shook her head.
"I'll be fine, sir. I just need a moment."
"Are you sure? I –"
The radio crackled on. "Colonel," Zelenka said, "we need your assistance in device storage room one. Dr. McKay is about to disembowel an entire platoon of marines with his laptop."
John winced. "Be right there." To Lorne he said, "Hang tight, Major. I'll be back as soon as I can."
It was a stupid promise to make. John was awful at dealing with crying women. He was good at dealing with an angry Rodney and unruly marines, though. All he had to do was promise Rodney awful punishment upon the marines to appease his anger and inflict the awful punishment on the marines to remind them about the chain of command and respecting the scientists. Thus internal peace was restored to the City of Atlantis.
He remembered his promise to Lorne, and for one awful moment he prayed for a Wraith invasion, but Lorne had been an exemplary XO since he'd set foot on Atlantis, and John was grateful for that. So he headed back to the office they shared with some chocolate ice cream he'd demanded from the KP marines and was ready for a crying girl-Lorne.
Except the sound of her soft, gut-wrenching sobs nearly broke him. He'd never dealt well when Nancy had cried, and usually when he was dealing with a man crying, it was because he was dying. John didn't do well with his own men dying.
He paused beside the door and took a deep breath, searching for comforting words.
And then he heard Dr. Hightmeyer say, "You know everything you tell me is confidential."
"I was good," Lorne sobbed. "I was so good. I listened. I didn't go near the machine. Not once. Didn't even look at it when they took me on the initial tour. I heard what they said about it, and I listened. If only those stupid marines had kept their damn egos in check –"
"Major," Dr. Hightmeyer said, "it's perfectly fine to be upset about being forced to be the wrong gender –"
"No," Lorne said forcefully. "You don't understand."
"What don't I understand?" Dr. Hightmeyer kept her tone soothing and gentle.
"This is the right gender." Lorne's voice hitched. "This is who I'm supposed to be. But I always wanted to fly, and so I pushed it away, pushed it down, and when I heard about the Ancient device I wanted – but I knew I couldn't – and now I know what it feels like and I want it forever and they're going to make me change back."
"Have you thought about asking Dr. Beckett –?"
"I can't ask," Lorne said, "and I can't tell. If I ask, they'll know, and they'll send me away, and if I don't have Atlantis, if I don't have flying the puddle jumpers or the 302's, I don't have anything. No one will take me if I'm dishonorably discharged." Her breath shuddered with more sobs. "And they'll change me back before I go."
John stepped back from the door, tapped his radio to a private channel. "Lieutenant Cadman," he said.
"Sir?"
"You're an explosives expert, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"I need you to see to it that the Ancient gender-swapping device has an irreparable accident without any of the other devices in storage being harmed."
"Sir? But Major Lorne –"
"Is fine. I'll protect you from McKay. Get it done. Tell no one."
"Yes, sir."
John took another deep breath and knocked on the door. "Hey! I'm here to reinforce a cliché." He hefted the tub of ice cream for Lorne to see.
Lorne scrubbed a hand over her face. "Sir, this is your office. You don't need to knock."
But Dr. Hightmeyer cast John a grateful look. "I'll be in my office if you need me, Major. We can finish this discussion later." She departed quickly.
John set the little pint of ice cream down on Lorne's desk. "So, what's your new name?"
Lorne, who'd reached for the spoon, was wide-eyed. "What do you mean?"
"When Rodney and I first got zapped, Teyla temporarily gave us new names," John said. "I was Joan, which wasn't very creative. Rodney was 'Meredith', for some reason. What should we call you?"
"Those names don't sound very Athosian."
"Well, she let us choose our own names, but she insisted we had to have new names for a while."
"Oh." Lorne picked up the spoon, eased open the carton of ice cream. "Um...Stephanie, I guess. My sister's middle name."
"I didn't know you had a sister," John said. He sat down in his own chair and leaned back. "Tell me more."
Lorne started to smile. "Well, she's a little older than me..."