Kylie Lee | Slash fan fiction

DAY 3

Rodney McKay stomped through the corridor, eyes straight ahead. He figured if he walked with purpose, nobody would stop to chat, and he really, really didn't want to chat, particularly after the conversation he'd just had. He was, after all, in some science fiction equivalent of drag. So far his little problem wasn't widespread knowledge, and he hoped to keep it that way. He thought it couldn't get worse, when he and Laura Cadman had been trapped together in his body, but he'd been wrong—so very, very wrong. Now, he was trapped in Cadman's body, and she in his. Not only did everybody think he was a girl, but he couldn't enlighten them, because he hoped—oh, he hoped—that this little problem was temporary.

He'd just had a very interesting encounter with one of Cadman's coworkers, a lieutenant whose name tag announced him as J. Peterson. He'd grabbed McKay's arm, pressed him against the wall, asked if he'd see him at some party tonight, touched his hair, and kissed him on the cheek. That kind of exchange could not be normal. Was that one coworker talking to another? Or was it some brand of flirting he was unfamiliar with? He wished now that he'd paid more attention to the military personnel he'd known during his stint in Antarctica, but he'd always considered them uninteresting and unimportant. If he had to spend time with anyone, he preferred scientists. "Save you a dance. I'll save you a dance, you sexual-harassing bastard," he muttered. If he ever saw Peterson at that dance, he'd stick Peterson on his dance card for something slow, then knee him in the balls when he least expected it. Revenge could be sweet. Maybe he'd go to that party after all.

By the time he arrived at the conference room, he'd scared off one more person seeking Cadman when he greeted a "hello" and a clear invitation to chat with an explosive "what? what? what could you possibly want?" that sent the woman, another security officer, running. "How do people get work done?" he demanded as he entered the conference room. "Stopping to chat. Flirting. Does no one have a work ethic? I'm all for flirting. I've been known to flirt. But there's a time and a place. What? What are you looking at? Where is everyone? Where's Dr. Weir? And don't tell me you want to flirt with me too. Because you can't."

"Uh—" Kavanagh said, who had turned around and was blinking at him behind his wire-rimmed glasses. A laptop stood open in front of him, and he'd been taking notes on a yellow pad of paper. He was the only one in the conference room. Now he put down his pen. "Dr. Weir, she's, she's, uh—"

"Oh, good god," McKay said, disgusted at Kavanagh's incoherence. He checked his watch. "I'm actually early," he marveled. That explained it. "What are you doing here? I thought you were on board the Daedalus helping the clueless engineers there revamp their naquadah generators."

"Uh, well," Kavanagh said. "Yes. Yes, that's true. I was. I was. But now I'm—now I'm back."

"I can see that." McKay sat down near Kavanagh, leaving an empty chair between them. He looked at Kavanagh expectantly, waiting for an update. "Well?" he said at last.

"Well what?" Kavanagh said. He seemed to be staring at McKay. McKay, puzzled, returned the stare.

"Are you feeling okay?" McKay asked.

"Yes, yes, yes, of course," Kavanagh said. "Dr. Weir—uh—Dr. Weir and everybody else should be here soon, if you want to wait."

"Of course I'll wait." McKay started swinging his chair from side to side. "Because there is no way I'm going out into that corridor again." He drummed his fingers against the edge of the seat. "Do you have any food? I'm feeling a bit peckish."

"Sorry, no," Kavanagh said. He closed his laptop's lid and gave McKay a big smile, and at that moment, it struck McKay that Kavanagh had no idea who he was. Of course—how could McKay have forgotten? Kavanagh, normally incessantly underfoot, had been gone for a solid week. He'd missed all the excitement. McKay returned his smile. Maybe he didn't need actual revenge on J. Peterson. Any man would do. Kavanagh continued, "Let me introduce myself. I'm—"

"I know who you are, Dr. Kavanagh," McKay interrupted. "Your reputation precedes you." He began twisting a lock of his long blonde hair between his fingers as he frankly looked Kavanagh up and down. He saw little that impressed him, but then again, he knew Kavanagh. Maybe Kavanagh was attractive to women who liked the tall, thin, ascetic look—but McKay doubted it.

"Ah," Kavanagh said. He blinked rapidly and looked pleased. "Are you a physicist? I haven't seen you before."

"I came over with the batch of newbies," McKay said. He was actually enjoying this. "I specialize in, uh, security systems."

"Really. I didn't catch your name, Doctor—Doctor—"

"You can call me Laura," McKay said, going for cliché and batting his eyelashes, and damned if it didn't work, because Kavanagh leaned forward and said, "Well, Laura, if you're hungry, do you want to join me for a snack in the commissary after the meeting?"

McKay found he was enjoying this. Flirting was ridiculously easy if you were a girl. Apparently all you had to do was make eye contact, and men were all over you, wanting to dance, asking you out for snacks. But before he could decline, Zelenka breezed into the room. "Rodney, good," he said, barely sparing McKay a glance. He carried a laptop case slung over one shoulder and an armful of disks and notes.

"Rodney?" Kavanagh said, looking around the room as if he expected McKay to pop out from underneath the podium or something.

"Some help, if you please," Zelenka ordered, and Kavanagh, as the closest, stood up and took the disks and notes from him. Zelenka ignored him, instead asking, "Rodney, how do you feel today?"

McKay considered. "Short," he decided. "Short, and annoyed."

"Um—" Kavanagh said, looking from McKay to Zelenka. "I thought you said your name was Laura."

"It is Dr. McKay," Zelenka said, unzipping his laptop case. "He has switched bodies with someone, that pretty girl there. Do not be deceived."

"Pretty?" McKay demanded. "I am not pretty! I am not a girl!"

"Dr. McKay?" Kavanagh squeaked. His eyes dropped to McKay's chest, stayed there for a moment too long, and then traveled back up. His opinion ("I don't think so") was clear.

McKay smiled and waved. "Still want to go get that snack?" he asked. "I like those chocolate pudding cups. Are you paying? Is this like a date?"

"Are you joking?" Kavanagh demanded, dumping Zelenka's stuff on the table.

McKay shook his head. "Alas, no. You'll no doubt be relieved to hear that you're not my type. Frankly, I'm still trying to figure out what my type is. The whole man-trapped-in-a-woman's-body thing is, as you can only imagine, confusing."

"What—what—" Kavanagh sputtered.

McKay patted his arm understandingly. "It's worse for me than it is for you," he said. "Trust me. You have no idea. No idea. You want an explanation? Tragic rematerialization accident." He pondered. That about summed it up. "Really not much to add to that."

"But we have a plan to switch Dr. McKay and Lieutenant Cadman back," Zelenka announced, just as Elizabeth Weir entered the room.

"Ah, Dr. Zelenka. You have a plan?" Weir asked, setting her coffee mug and her notes at the head of the table. She greeted McKay and Kavanagh by name, which, McKay noticed, seemed to convince Kavanagh that he wasn't the butt of some practical joke on the part of Zelenka and McKay. McKay noted that Kavanagh had a glassy-eyed, deer-caught-in-the headlights look. It made McKay feel much better about life.

"I do," Zelenka affirmed, fussing with the laptop. "Rodney will come to the lab today and help me." He switched the computer on. "I have analyzed data from Gate logs," he continued. "I have discovered no power drift from the Gate. To the same address, one person, two persons, four persons in a puddle jumper—it does not matter. There is only a slight difference in power consumption." Zelenka beamed. "No fluctuation. No confusion. To the Gate, it makes no difference. It seems that the vast energy required to permit Gate travel powers the Gate itself and sustains the wormhole. In terms of energy consumption, distance of travel is a far greater factor than the mass being transported. The mass itself—it is of little interest. It handles a single-celled microbe just as well as extremely complex matter."

Weir looked polite, but she was no physicist. McKay immediately perceived the wrong-headedness of Zelenka's excitement. He gave up his tormenting of Kavanagh to say, "But that's terrible news. All you've done is show us that you can toss me and Lieutenant Cadman through from here till Doomsday and the Gate technology will just send us through—which, by the way, we knew. It won't swap anything around—like, oh for instance, our brain patterns."

"Yes, that is it exactly," Zelenka said triumphantly.

"Wait, wait, wait," McKay said, waving a finger. He stood up and started to pace. "So it's not in the Gate demolecularization technology."

"Precisely."

"So we have to focus on the mediating device—the Wraith culling beam and storage device."

"Yes."

"Huh." McKay pondered. They'd been using Gate technology in conjunction with the Wraith technology to send McKay and Cadman through. "So you're proposing that we use the Gate technology for the actual transfer, but use the Wraith buffer, not the Gate buffer. Well, that's a good place to start. A very, very good place to start."

Zelenka didn't look up as he plugged in cords. "I thought so, Rodney."

Kavanagh cleared his throat. "So—you're a girl now?" he said.

McKay stared at him. Had he not been listening? "No, I'm not a girl," he said testily. "I am, as I have already noted, a man trapped in a woman's body." He shuddered. It sounded just terrible when stated like that, so he added, "I mean that in the most literal sense imaginable." He sat back down. "Kavanagh, do you ever get the feeling we're stuck in some weird sci-fi alternate dimension?"

"All the time," Kavanagh sighed. "All the time."

***

"You told J. Peterson you wouldn't miss the dance?" Beckett asked, waving the scanner over McKay's head.

McKay kicked his feet against the exam table. "I said that. I didn't mean that. It was just an—an example of being asked out every time I turn around. Besides, what if Cadman is stringing him along? Or is keeping him as a backup boyfriend in case the thing with you doesn't work out?"

Beckett lifted his eyes briefly from the scanner's display. "Rodney. There is no 'thing' with me and Lieutenant Cadman."

McKay sighed. "She thinks there ought to be. I'm telling you now, just give up. You don't stand a chance. Set the wedding date now. Get it over with. I'm writing the toast to the happy couple already. Can I be your best man? I think it would be appropriate."

"Helloooo," a familiar voice called—McKay's own voice.

"In here, Lieutenant," Beckett called, and a second later, Laura Cadman, wearing McKay's body, peered between two curtain panels suspended from the ceiling, then slid through. She wore jeans, McKay's favorite white scuffed tennis shoes, and an untucked Hawaiian shirt with the top three buttons undone. She also sported stubble.

"Laura," McKay said, and she responded, "Rodney." "You haven't shaved," McKay said a second later. It made her look disreputable. He resisted the urge to tell her to button up. She looked ridiculous, baring that much chest.

Cadman grinned. "I thought I'd see what having stubble felt like." She stroked her chin. "I thought it might be a good look for you, but it's starting to get itchy. I'm here for my scan. How am I doing? Or Rodney. My body. That body." She pointed.

"Very well indeed," Beckett said. McKay moved aside so Cadman could sit next to him, and Beckett began his scan. "There was no evidence of the problems you experienced while both your consciousnesses were in Dr. McKay's body. It's my thought that because you are now divided, one consciousness to one body, the brain can deal with the new data and process it appropriately. Ah." He turned the scanner over, flashing the data at them. "Both of you are stable. I see no evidence of the incoherent brain wave pattern that led to the seizures. Do you feel all right?" When McKay opened his mouth, Beckett added hastily, "Physically, I mean. I'm sure Dr. Heightmeyer can deal with your emotional, er, issues more adequately than I can."

"Physically? I feel fine," McKay said.

"Me too," Cadman agreed. "Except I have to eat all the time or I feel weird."

McKay nodded sagely. "Blood sugar. What did I tell you?"

Beckett slid the device in his pocket. "I would like to continue to keep you under observation, with twice-daily scans, for the next three days. After that, I will consider limited duty."

McKay held up his hands. "No, no, no," he said. "Three days? It won't come to that. Dr. Zelenka and I have a promising line of inquiry. I will have us out of these bodies and switched back in no time. Mice today. No more skipping of the mice. Murine tests, very important. I'm behind the mouse model one hundred percent. And then a run tomorrow, if we can get the modifications done in time. I've got Zelenka and his team working overtime."

Beckett beamed. "Now, that is good news," he said.

Cadman shook her head. "I don't know, I'm kind of enjoying myself."

"What?" Rodney asked, glaring at her. "Oh, for heaven's sake." He could no longer help himself. He reached over and buttoned her buttons.

"So modest!" Cadman said, letting him do it.

"Something you should learn more about," McKay told her. "Of course you're enjoying yourself. You're a handsome, brilliant scientist who has the respect of her—his—peers and is beloved by all. And that reminds me. Who is J. Peterson?"

Cadman looked confused "What? Who?"

"It said that on his name tag. J. Peterson. A lieutenant. He touched your hair. He wanted me to save him a dance at Jen's tonight, whoever Jen is. And he kissed you."

Cadman's face cleared. "Oh, Pete. He's just a guy I know. He kissed me?"

"On the cheek." McKay made a circling motion with one hand. "Are you and he—"

Cadman laughed. "Oh, no. God, no! Nothing like that."

"Oh, thank god," McKay breathed. He had hoped to avoid interpersonal relationships altogether while in Cadman's body. He really did hope he'd only be in it for a day and a half. "What does the J stand for?"

"I have no idea," Cadman shrugged. "Everybody just calls him Pete. He works security with me. I hardly know him. So, cool! We can go to Jen's together."

"What, you and me? Like a—like a date?" The thought of dating Cadman while they were in each other's bodies led to thoughts so troubling that he pushed them out of his mind altogether.

"A date without dating," Cadman said. "As friends. I'll bet Katie will be there. I'll invite her, anyway."

Rodney, who had managed to banish all thoughts of Dr. Katie Brown and their doomed relationship from his mind, clutched his head. "Don't talk to me about Katie," he pleaded. "It's the only relationship I've ever been in where I've never spent any time with the person I'm supposed to be having a relationship with. And I use the term 'relationship' both advisedly and loosely." Very loosely—Cadman had been the one having the relationship, ostensibly to help McKay out with her superior understanding of a woman's psyche, but McKay was starting to think she enjoyed her task just a little too much.

"And of course, you'll be there, Carson," Cadman said, turning to the doctor, who had been making notes in a chart while they talked.

"Eh?" Beckett said, looking up. "I beg your pardon?"

"At Jen's," Cadman said. "Will you be at Jen's tonight?"

"I hadn't given it any thought," Beckett mused. "Friday already, is it? I might do. Why not?"

"Does everyone know Jen but me?" McKay wondered aloud.

Cadman leaned toward Beckett alluringly. "Save me a dance," she said, ignoring McKay.

"No! No! No!" McKay exclaimed immediately. "No dancing with men while wearing my body." He had enough to cope with as it was.

"All right, Carson, save me a group dance. You, me, Rodney, and Katie. Can I go?" At Beckett's nod, Cadman hopped off the exam table and headed for the opening in the curtain. "And Rodney, you can dance with Carson. That ought to be safe enough for you."

She waved cheerfully and swished out. McKay sighed. He'd always assumed that women walked the way they walked for physiological reasons—something to do with hips or the way their legs were attached to their pelvic girdle. Now he saw that it was apparently innate to the gender, regardless of the sex of the body they wore.

He swiveled on his butt and lay back on the exam table. "This needs to be over soon," he said. He folded his hands on his stomach. "The sooner the better. Did you see that? It'll be all over Atlantis that I'm gay. Not that I have anything against gay," he hastened to add. "Gay is fine. Live and let live, that's my motto. But the way she walks—the unbuttoned shirts—the stubble—it is so—so—so—" McKay struggled for the right word and had to finish with, "gay."

"You may learn a little something," Beckett said, apparently unmoved.

"I've learned plenty," McKay snapped. "She kind of likes being a guy because nobody comes up to her and touches her hair with no provocation whatsoever."

"Move on, Rodney," Beckett advised.

"The only up side is that I may never have to pay for a pudding cup again," McKay mused. "I mean, is it her? Is that why J. Peterson did it? Because of how Laura treats him? Or is it just because she's a woman, and J. Peterson thinks women like that kind of thing?" He sighed. "I suppose I should be analyzing this from a sociological perspective."

"Why aren't you?"

Rodney said, "Because I won't have time to do a proper analysis. We'll be switched back tomorrow afternoon. I'm kind of preoccupied with my own problems right now. That, and trying to get us switched back."

Beckett smiled as he made a final note, stowed his pen, and flipped the file shut. "All the more reason to begin your analysis immediately. You should begin at Jen's party, and you ought to dance with everyone."

"I'm only going out of a sense of self-preservation," McKay admitted. "Laura Cadman is going to be there, and I really, really, really—and when I say really, I mean really—don't want her to get up to anything. She's had sex in my body once before, and I'd like it to stop right there. I want to keep my eye on her. You'll dance with me, right? I can trust you."

"A man always hates hearing he can be trusted," Beckett said, stacking files. "What if I have the uncontrollable urge to touch your hair?"

"I should encourage that, I suppose," McKay said, sitting up. "Since it's not really my hair—and of course, since fate has destined you to be with her, you should start now." He jumped off the exam table. "Do you have the urge to touch my hair? I mean, do I seem like a woman to you?"

Beckett put one hand on his shoulder. "You seem like yourself, Rodney," he said, giving a little squeeze, a gesture he'd made before with McKay that usually McKay found reassuring. It wasn't reassuring this time. Instead, to McKay's shock, it sent a wave of warmth hurtling down to the pit of his stomach.

McKay cleared his throat in an attempt to clear his head. "I think it's the rare person who can see beyond someone's sex."

"It doesn't usually come up," Beckett admitted. "But you have rather a force of personality. Come now, I have other patients, you know—patients who are actually ill."

McKay followed Beckett out of the exam area. He didn't think he was the only one who was rather a force of personality. He thought Cadman was the same.

***

"There you are, Laura," Cadman yelled over the loud music. "I want you to meet a friend of mine, Katie Brown. Katie, this is Laura—I told you about her."

"Katie, hi," McKay said, nodding at Brown, and she nodded back. She was holding Cadman's hand—after all, McKay and Brown were supposed to be dating. In fact, Brown thought that she and McKay were lovers, not realizing that it had been Cadman. McKay, who had been sharing his body with Cadman's consciousness, had slept through the experience. It was a little odd being introduced to her, but technically, Laura Cadman had never met Katie Brown. Brown wore a low-cut green dress and a pair of interestingly strappy sandals. "Wow, I love your shoes," McKay said, taking a closer look. "The heel—I like the way it kind of curves in like that. Very nice."

"Thank you very much," Brown said, looking honestly flattered. She lifted one leg a little behind her so McKay could take a closer look.

"They go great with that dress," McKay added. "What?" he mouthed to Cadman, because she was giving him a look, but she just shook her head.

"So you're in security?" Brown yelled.

"Yes, security, that's right," McKay yelled back, just as someone ran into him. As he stumbled forward, his Athosian wine sloshed, and a moment later, he was apologizing to a soaked Brown and trying to mop her chest with a ridiculously small napkin.

"McKay, what do you think you're doing?" Cadman hissed as she dragged him back. "You are a total freak, dancing—if you can call that dancing, and I don't—with absolutely everyone, including Major Esch. I can't dance with Major Esch! I've been trying to get rid of him for weeks now! It's like, stalk-o-rama! Psychological issues!"

"Well, excuse me for being friendly," McKay stage-whispered back. Although he didn't dance much, usually preferring to stand by the buffet and nibble, he'd found that dancing in someone else's body was incredibly freeing. And he'd very much enjoyed the way Cadman glared at him when he did his disco routine. "How about we play let's make a deal? You don't go home with Katie or anyone else, and I don't go home with J. Peterson—or Major Esch. Thanks for the tip, by the way."

"Do. Not. Fuck. Up. My. Life." Cadman pushed a fingertip into McKay's chest to punctuate her words.

"I'd say it's a little too late for that, wouldn't you?" McKay turned to Brown. "Katie, let's get you to the ladies' room and get you cleaned up."

"Thanks," Brown said gratefully, and as Cadman glared after him, McKay bundled Brown out into the corridor. "Wow. It really got crowded in there."

"Well, you know Jen," said McKay, who still had no idea who Jen was. He followed Brown into a common bathroom, where Brown grabbed a hand towel out of a cabinet, wet it, and started rubbing. "It doesn't look too bad," he said critically. "At least it's not red wine. Here. Let me." He took the towel from her and began to dab.

"I think I can salvage it, but I'll probably just go home early and soak the dress." Brown watched the wet splotch grow. "How do you know Rodney?"

"Oh, missions," McKay said vaguely. Normally, standing hunched over an incredibly attractive woman, dabbing at her chest with a hand towel, would have resulted in an immediate physical response, but he found, as he glanced up at Brown, that he felt nothing. Certainly he felt none of the panic he'd felt previously when she'd expressed her interest. But then again, he didn't feel drawn to her. She was attractive, there was no denying that, but he didn't want to, for example, kiss her. In a way, that was interesting. When coupled with the way he'd gone all warm when Beckett touched him earlier—McKay theorized that his body was having physiological responses related to his now being a woman. He'd somehow become interested in men—or at least in Beckett, no doubt thanks to Cadman's huge crush on the poor man. "I, uh, provided security for a recent mission and we, uh, we got to talking. You know. He's a, a great guy."

Brown chuckled. "Yeah, he really is," she said. "He has this reputation for being really abrasive, for throwing tantrums at work, but I don't see it at all. He's really…sweet."

"Sweet?" McKay said, who was trying to figure out "abrasive." And tantrums? He didn't throw tantrums.

"He's got these eyelashes—have you ever noticed his eyelashes? Long, gorgeous eyelashes. And of course he's smart. I really go for smart."

"Smart? Try brilliant," McKay added. "I'd say his mind is one of the shining beacons of our time. An intellectual giant."

"He's just so…so understanding," Brown continued, who didn't seem to be listening to him. "He's so easy to talk to. It's like he knows just how I feel, just what I'm thinking. He can really—really communicate on a level I've never experienced with anyone else. When I saw him in a professional capacity—before we started dating—he seemed, oh, I don't know, cold, like he didn't really see me or notice me. All intellect. I knew something was under that exterior. And I was right: all that changed when it was just the two of us, alone. He's just so warm, so caring."

"Really." It was clear that Brown was not paying attention. There was no stopping her.

"And Rodney is just amazing—amazing—in bed. And it's not just his hands. It's also his mouth, if you get my drift."

McKay tried to speak, but couldn't. He felt a blush creep up his cheeks, and he kept his face down as he continued wiping Brown.

"It's like he knows just what I want: how hard to push, where to touch, when to speed up, when to slow down—"

"I think that's the best I can get it," McKay broke in, his voice a little high. He didn't need to hear about how much Brown liked having sex with Cadman—in McKay's body, certainly, but he hadn't been driving. Plus, hadn't they only had sex once? What had Cadman been doing all day while McKay slaved away in the lab with Zelenka, trying to get them out of this mess? It sounded to McKay like Brown and Cadman had been busy.

Brown stroked the wet fabric. "Oh, thanks. That's much better. It shouldn't stain. And here I've been going on about my boyfriend! Are you dating anyone?"

McKay tossed the hand towel on the counter. "Well, actually, I've just started dating, uh, Carson Beckett."

"Carson Beckett?" Brown emitted an unrestrained squeal, presumably of appreciation. "Oh my god, soooo cute. Those eyes—that hair—and I love that accent. And smart. Very smart."

McKay blinked at her reaction. He imagined that women had this kind of conversation all the time. Isn't that why they went to the bathroom in groups? Clearly it was so they could compare notes and share deeply personal information. "Yes, he's something special, all right," McKay said as they headed for the door. "But nothing compared to Rodney McKay and his eyelashes, of course."

"Well, good luck—he is so, so hot," Brown said. She hit the door control. "Laura, thanks for all your help."

"No problem," McKay said, following her out and literally running into Carson Beckett. "Carson! Sorry. There you are." McKay took in Beckett's striped blue shirt and black pants, which, McKay noticed as Beckett turned to steady Brown, clung tightly to his ass. As usual, he was stubbly and his hair stuck up. Brown was right: Beckett really was good-looking, and he'd clearly spiffed himself up. It suddenly struck McKay that maybe Beckett thought he'd see someone of interest at the party tonight. Insane as it seemed, was that someone Laura Cadman, even if she was currently trapped in McKay's body? Or did Beckett always dress up to attend Jen's Friday-night event?

"Ladies," Beckett huffed. "I'm so sorry." He took in Brown's stained dress and gave her a questioning look.

"Just a minor incident with a glass of wine," Brown said ruefully, looking down at the wet splotch. "You know, Laura, I thought I'd go in and say goodbye to Jen, but I don't want to go in when I've got this huge wet spot. Can you give her my apologies?"

"Sure, I can do that, Katie," McKay said.

"Is, er, Rodney with you, Dr. Brown?" Beckett asked as he fell into step with Brown, leaving McKay to trail behind them.

"He's in there somewhere," Brown said as the door to Jen's suite slid open and a wall of sound hit them. She waved in the general vicinity of the packed room. "Dr. Beckett, can you tell Rodney I left? Just send him to my quarters when you're done with him." Without waiting for a response, she turned and grinned at McKay. "Nice slow tune playing—you guys should dance."

Beckett's eyebrows lifted. Before he could speak, McKay said, "What a good idea." He seized Beckett's arm: he'd just seen Kavanagh. McKay caught his eye and started forward, and Kavanagh immediately turned and fled. McKay had been dogging him all night, asking him to dance, popping up behind him when he least expected it, asking him out for snacks, making outré suggestions. And then there'd been the unfortunate incident with the chips and dip, and the even more unfortunate incident on the dance floor.

"Aye, I'd love to dance. Thanks so much for asking, Rod—Laura," Beckett said as McKay dragged him through the crowd, scanning the room for Kavanagh. "What are you doing? Here." He wrenched McKay onto the miniscule dance floor, so McKay lost sight of his target, and put his hands on McKay's hips. "Dance with me like a good lass. There we are. Thank you."

McKay opened his mouth to berate Beckett for calling him "lass," but the words died on his lips. Instead, he stared up at Beckett, momentarily discomfited: having Beckett hold onto him like that felt…nice. When Beckett started swaying, because after all, they were supposed to be dancing, McKay put his arms around Beckett, because it seemed to be the thing to do, and that was nice too. Beckett must have just changed, because his shirt, clean and crisp against McKay's cheek, didn't smell like him yet. McKay had been dancing all night and had had no shortage of partners, but so far, Beckett was the only man who'd made his heart pound—and who made him unable to keep track of his feet.

"Sorry," McKay muttered as their knees knocked together.

"Laura. Here." Beckett took McKay's right hand, which felt odd until McKay remembered that Beckett, as the man, would lead. Beckett's hand trailed along his waist to the small of his back, where it lay, heavy and warm. The rearrangement seemed to work, and they swayed together without treading on each other's feet. The weight of Beckett's hand burned like a brand against McKay's back. McKay found himself incredibly conscious of the touch. "Having fun?"

McKay looked into Beckett's eyes. He looked exactly like himself: earnest and slightly concerned. Before he'd been a woman, McKay had never noticed Beckett's height, or the width of his shoulders, or the way he made eye contact, looking at someone with total focus, as though she were the only person on the planet. Now that McKay was a woman, he noticed nothing but those things. Of all the people he'd interacted with since the accident, only Beckett and Zelenka seemed to truly see McKay as McKay, regardless of sex. McKay reminded himself that Beckett was a doctor, and not only a doctor, but his, McKay's, doctor. And they were friends. It wasn't Beckett's intention to drive McKay wild with his accent, his scent, his height, his…well, his masculinity. He was too professional for that. McKay knew for a fact that Beckett could masterfully deflect the most determined come-on—after all, he'd watched Beckett decline Cadman's propositions without batting an eye, and without angering her.

Temporary, it was temporary, until McKay could get switched back into his proper body. Then Laura Cadman's burning desire for Beckett could finally be fulfilled, if she could get Beckett to go along with it, and McKay had no doubts about her tenacity. This thing he felt for Beckett was not only temporary; it was also all Cadman's fault. McKay would never have enjoyed slow-dancing with Beckett were he a man. And once he was a man again, everything would go back to normal, and McKay could get on with his life.

"Laura?"

McKay snapped back. What had Beckett said? McKay leaned up so Beckett could hear him. "Uh, yes, actually, yes, Carson, I am having fun. You have no idea."

"And the research? Dr. Zelenka?" Beckett's cheek brushed McKay's, stubble against McKay's tender skin, and McKay couldn't resist a gentle nuzzle.

"Dr. Zelenka made me leave for the mouse study." Apparently McKay had been driving him insane. "Radek said the mice looked fine. Both the mice made it through okay. They did a staggered dematerialization and rematerialization. Last I heard, the bio guys were trying to figure out if the brain waves had switched. Anyway, they're monitoring the mice overnight. We can probably go tomorrow afternoon, if everything checks out, and if you say it's okay."

Someone bumped into them, and Beckett gathered McKay closer. "It's a mite crowded," Beckett said apologetically as McKay pressed against him—because Beckett was holding him, literally holding him, against his body. It was to keep him from being injured by the enthusiastic dancers next to them, but that didn't mean McKay couldn't enjoy it.

McKay turned at another bump. He should have known: there was Kavanagh, dancing with someone from the lab. "Hey, big boy," McKay called, tossing his hair. "Want to dance?" When Kavanagh, in answer, steered himself and his partner away, McKay trilled after him, "You still want to get that snack? I should get some payment for that wild night we spent together!" Kavanagh gave him the finger, and McKay smiled sunnily and waved. It felt so good, tormenting Kavanagh. If McKay couldn't be switched back tomorrow, at least he could have a good time. Most of his fun lay in the torture: it gratified him that he was now able to send Kavanagh rabbiting off with a single stare and a smile, and if Cadman was driving him crazy with her swishiness, stubble, and sockless shoes, he was driving her just as crazy by dancing with whoever asked him and flirting with anyone who spoke to him. He was getting the eyelash fluttering and hair-twisting thing down pat. He'd also made a few dates. He figured he wouldn't have to keep them, because they'd be switched back tomorrow afternoon.

He turned his attention back to Beckett. "Weren't you going to play with my hair?" he asked, trying the eyelash thing on Beckett.

"Flirtatious, aren't we?" Beckett sounded amused, but he stroked McKay's long blonde hair back from his face. He gathered a handful of it and bunched it in his hand. "Very nice." He leaned down. "Lieutenant Cadman is watching us."

"Let's give her something to see," McKay said, winding his arms around Beckett's neck. "I'll tell her I'm warming you up for her."

Beckett raised his eyebrows as he dropped McKay's hair. "But you'll really be—?"

McKay couldn't admit his true motives: he was trapped in a body that found Beckett fascinating. He was in a unique position to do whatever he wanted without suffering any consequences. Beckett and Cadman would both think he was teasing Cadman. McKay, completely unrepentant, smiled up at Beckett. "Really, I'll be getting my revenge on her for Katie Brown."

Beckett gently rubbed his stubbly chin on McKay's forehead, then tilted his head up so he could gaze into McKay's eyes. McKay found it impossible to rip his eyes away—that soulful look went right through him. He couldn't help but gaze back, aware in the back of his mind that to Beckett, it was an act. Beckett said, "That's hardly fair to me."

"Oh, you can take one for the team," McKay said. McKay, after all, had become something of an expert at it. Wasn't that what he was doing now, in Laura Cadman's body? He was setting things up for her by slow-dancing with Beckett, and incidentally having a little fun himself. "Carson, I'm confident you can handle it. Totally confident. Or—you could just stop."

"No." Beckett's hand slid down his back, sending a shiver of pleasure through McKay. He stopped decorously just above McKay's ass. "Maybe I want some revenge as well."

McKay stroked his fingertips against the nape of Beckett's neck, feeling the short hairs there, the soft skin. Beckett's body felt solid and large against McKay's—big and manly. McKay wasn't used to being so much smaller, and he suddenly saw the appeal. From a sociological perspective, he could see that it would be exciting to lose control, to be the one enfolded, just as he was now enfolded in Beckett's arms, versus being the one doing the enfolding. Beckett's broad chest seemed the perfect place to lay his cheek. He felt rather than heard Beckett say something, a low rumble, and then one of Beckett's hands dropped a little lower, so it cupped McKay's buttock.

The touch, intimate and weirdly illicit there on the crowded dance floor, knowing Cadman was watching, knifed through McKay. Suddenly, the bra he'd struggled into that morning seemed too small: it cut into him. The heat of Beckett's body, already warm because of the crowded dance floor and the closeness of the room, sent his scent right to the back of McKay's brain. If he'd been a man, he'd have been hard, but he was a woman, so Beckett couldn't tell how McKay's body was responding: McKay's breasts felt heavy, and his skin, like his clothes, felt too tight. Instead of the familiar, pointed pleasure centered on his groin, he felt sensitized all over. When Beckett rubbed McKay's ass, like he was doing now, McKay felt it in his nipples.

Beckett was putting on a show for Cadman. He had no idea that McKay reveled in his touch. McKay lifted his head from Beckett's broad chest, only to find Beckett gazing down at him with a kind of serious tenderness that McKay had never seen before—the kind of look Beckett would give a woman he was interested in. As the music reached an overwrought crescendo and their bodies swayed together, McKay gave into his impulse to touch: he gently stroked Beckett's cheek, feeling the rough stubble. His fingers traced the top edge of Beckett's beard, then circled around to caress the tender, hairless hollow just behind Beckett's ear. He'd seen Beckett's face a thousand times, but never like this, close, expressive, full of contrasts—and totally focused on McKay.

Beckett captured his hand, brought it to his lips, and gave it a kiss, the chasteness of which was at odds with the heat of their bodies, with the wild beating of McKay's heart. McKay laid his fingers on Beckett's mouth as the song ended. Their feet stopped moving, but they continued to stand on the dance floor as McKay's thumb traced Beckett's soft lips—soft, warm lips. McKay couldn't rip his eyes away.

"Oh," McKay said when Beckett's tongue brushed his finger, and he lifted his head as Beckett bent down.

The kiss was just as fantastic as the one they'd shared before, when Cadman's consciousness had been in McKay's body, but now, McKay was much shorter, much smaller, and much, much more aroused. Beckett wound his free hand in McKay's hair—apparently he really did have an urge to touch it, and McKay had to say he approved. Beckett's other hand stayed on McKay's ass and stroked as he kissed, until McKay felt himself grow hot and liquid. Beckett kissed with the same total concentration he paid to people when he spoke with them. McKay couldn't help but respond to such earnestness, to such warmth. He clung to Beckett, winding his arms around Beckett's neck as their kisses deepened. As their tongues caressed, McKay was dimly aware that this whole situation ought to feel wrong, but it didn't. It really, really didn't.

"Get a room," someone hissed, and McKay and Beckett opened their eyes simultaneously. The music had started up again, something faster. One or two people watched them with interest, smiling.

"Rodney," Beckett said to Cadman. "Er—there you are."

Cadman put her hands on her hips and glared. "First the thing with poor Dr. Kavanagh and the chips and dip. Then I find out, Rod—Laura—that you've made a date with Major Esch. And now this?"

"Yes. Well." McKay released Beckett and took a step back. He didn't want to let Beckett go. He wanted to kiss Beckett some more. He wanted to crawl inside Beckett's body. Wait, scratch that. He was a girl now, after all. It was the other way around: he wanted Beckett to crawl around inside his body. He wanted—he wanted to take Beckett home with him and see what would happen if they didn't have an audience.

"Let's take this into the corridor," Beckett suggested, and McKay found himself trailing Beckett and Cadman out of the crowded room. "I'll walk you both to your rooms," Beckett said once they were clear. "I think we should call it a night, don't you?"

"Rodney first," Cadman said promptly. "Do you realize what people were saying?"

"I would be surprised if anyone noticed, or cared," McKay said. He tugged at the neckline of his black T-shirt. Just thinking about the kiss made him feel a bit too warm. "But they're probably saying that Lieutenant Cadman and Dr. Beckett seem to be dating."

"Oh," Cadman said in a different tone of voice. "That's—that's true."

"I was just trying to help you out," McKay said, going for noble. "Taking one for the team."

Beckett cleared his throat. "I, er, I wanted to remind both of you to check in with me tomorrow first thing, for your scans. And Rodney tells me that a run may be scheduled for the afternoon."

"Dr. Zelenka will let us know the time," McKay added. "What?" he demanded when Cadman suddenly stopped short.

Cadman said in explanation, "Katie. I just left her at the party."

"Actually, she left and—" Beckett began, and McKay elbowed him in the ribs to shut him up. He didn't want Cadman sharing more personal time with Brown—sharing more experiences that McKay would know nothing about. Once he got his own body back, he'd be dating Brown, after all, just as, no doubt, Cadman and Beckett would take up together. Beckett soldiered on, despite the poke. "She left. She told us to tell you she'd be in her quarters."

"No no no," McKay ordered when Cadman did an about-face. "After what you've been doing all day—"

"Oh, and just how do you know about that?" Cadman demanded, shaking off his hand.

McKay crossed his arms and stared her down. "Women share things in the ladies' room. I was shocked—shocked, I tell you. I had no idea. And here I thought the torch you carried for Carson was eternal."

Cadman actually blushed. McKay, interested, watched his face turn red. "It is. I mean, it's just because I'm a man right now." She scuffed a foot. "Look. I'll just run by Katie's to say goodnight. That's all. I couldn't stay anyway. She has to work tomorrow—some experiment she's running. It's for you, Rodney."

McKay doubted that very much. "Taking one for the team?" he said ironically. But getting rid of Cadman, even if she ran to Brown's room and stayed there all night, had suddenly become of compelling interest. And McKay had to face facts: he couldn't make Cadman do anything she didn't want to do, regardless of whose body she was wearing. Well, that worked both ways. "Fine. I'll see you tomorrow in the infirmary."

"Fine. Okay." Cadman looked at McKay for a long second, then at Beckett. Then, to McKay's shock, she stepped to Beckett, put her hands on his head, and kissed him on the mouth. McKay had the weird experience of watching himself kiss another man. "You still smell great," she told Beckett. "Goodnight."

McKay stared after her until she disappeared around the corner. When he turned back to Beckett, Beckett avoided his eyes. So that was it, then. Beckett really was interested in Cadman. When he looked at McKay in Cadman's body, he saw Cadman, even though he talked to McKay. Both times they'd kissed, Beckett had kissed Cadman, not McKay. But then, what did McKay expect? When he started down the corridor toward Cadman's room, where he was staying to keep up their cover, Beckett fell into step next to him.

"You don't have to walk me home," McKay said. "In fact, why don't you go back to the party?"

"I don't mind." Beckett put his hands in his pockets.

"I really can't wait to get switched back," McKay said after a minute. "I am very…confused." The enormity of the understatement staggered him.

"Oh?"

"I think I'd prefer to talk about it with Dr. Heightmeyer, if you don't mind."

"Not at all," Beckett said hastily. "Good. Good."

McKay stopped by Cadman's door. "Do you want to come in?"

Beckett ducked his head. "I don't think—no, thank you."

McKay looked at Beckett. He still looked great—hot, even. McKay reached up and toyed with Beckett's collar. "So I suppose a goodnight kiss is out of the question?"

Beckett didn't pull away. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

McKay hesitated. He would regret it if he didn't say something, but on the other hand, once he got switched back, he might regret wanting what he now wanted. He made his decision. "I would really like it if you came in," he said. He cleared his throat. "Came in and spent the night. With me."

"Rodney—"

"Consider it a—a sociological experiment. I'm curious about what sex is like for women. The whole body taking control thing—"

"Rodney, I think—"

McKay grabbed Beckett's collar, pulled Beckett down, and kissed him. Beckett made a "mmfff" of surprise, but McKay opened his mouth, and there it was again, the body taking control, and maybe it was taking control of Beckett too, because after a second, Beckett kissed him back, and it was all tongue and teeth and lips and licking and nipping and McKay's legs turned to rubber, which was actually okay because Beckett held him up, his arms flexing under Rodney's hands.

McKay managed to kiss while poking at the door control, and once they'd stumbled inside, Beckett pressed him against the wall right next to the door. One of his legs pushed between McKay's, and McKay leaned into Beckett's thigh. He felt liquid inside, molten, and when Beckett moved his leg, it pressed against the center of McKay's heat, sending a jolt of pleasure through him so intense that he moaned. He undid the buttons on Beckett's shirt, because he needed to touch, until he could run his hands along Beckett's chest, until he could put his mouth on Beckett's skin and lick his collarbone, until he could bite gently.

Beckett groaned and shifted, sending another lance of pleasure through McKay. Beckett's hand slid under his T-shirt and cupped a breast. When Beckett's thumb started circling, McKay stopped thinking. He needed to be closer. He pulled Beckett into him, body against body. Beckett's erection poked McKay's stomach. Beckett's hand moved, shoving McKay's bra aside, and McKay fell back against the wall when Beckett slid up McKay's T-shirt and put his mouth on his nipple and began to suck and lick, deep and hard, rolling the hard ball with his tongue. McKay had never felt anything like that, like the sharp, pointed pleasure that knifed through him, stopping at the hot stickiness between his legs, where it bloomed outward. He needed Beckett to touch him there, between his legs, to shove in, to—

"Ah," Beckett said, and he put his hands on the wall behind McKay and held himself back, panting. "I must go. If I don't go now—" He kissed McKay, open-mouthed and hard, then pushed off.

"God damn it," McKay said in disbelief as the door shut behind Beckett. "God damn it." He looked down at himself—clothes rucked up, bra askew, and a body so needy that lack of touch physically hurt. He didn't care about any kind of sociological experiment. He wanted Beckett. He wanted Beckett on top of him, heavy body pressing into him until they merged, until Beckett was inside him, because only that would defuse the pressure that made his clothes, his very skin, too tight.

He stumbled in the dark to the unmade bed. He struggled out of his clothes, the unfamiliar bra giving him some trouble, then, nude, lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling. His body pulsed with his heartbeat. He closed his eyes, and as his hand stroked, learning this body that wasn't his, he imagined concerned eyes, totally focused on him; the roughness of stubble against skin; a scent that wound its way through his mind; and bodies rocking together.