Tiitle: Ardhanarishvara [Part II]
Authors: Auburn & Mona aka auburnnotlisa
Email us at:  monanotlisa, or  auburnnothenna
Size: ~100, 642 words [this part],  704 KB 
Timeline: Pre-The Long Goodbye 2x16
Rating: hard R
Characters (in alphabetical order): Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagan, Rodney McKay, John Sheppard, plus supporting cast.
Pairing(s): Something for everyone...no, okay, that's a filthy lie. But something for most of you. At some point. Promise.
Warning: This fic does not contain BDSM, incest, bestiality...or wait, the last one needs a caveat. One of them might end up as a penguin, perhaps. 
Gratitude heaped upon: Sara, Zoe Rayne, and Trinityofone, le_vert_colibri, also Icarusancalion, mirabile_dictu and carolyn-claire. And Others, who know who they are. We burnt out betas on this monster.
Summary: "Tell me, Colonel, did you take a look around and think, hey, it's the Planet of Sex Changes?"

Part One

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Ardhanarishvara

"Are those teeth?"

When Ronon begins shifting forward, into a crouch, Rodney's voice pipes up behind her, again, louder than before, "By which I definitely meant, 'Please go examine the nasty creatures from up close, you strapping warrior princess, you!'"

"Hey." Sheppard's voice, mildly disapproving. In her peripheral vision, Ronon sees her turn away from Rodney and toward her. "I agree with Rodney on this one, though. Better to step back a little, you know, from the pool with the oversize frogs."

"I agree." Teyla doesn't sound as if he recognizes the ochre-colored, dark-speckled animals. There's a measure of doubt in his voice. "Let us assess the situation before our next move. I mean the latter quite literally, Ronon."

She straightens again. Ronon's pretty sure that if they haven't already, the animals aren't likely to attack now. Still, they are pretty big, and she hasn't encountered them on any of the visited worlds, either, and so can't predict their nature.

Not that this is about nature at all. It's a little suspicious that there's such a large number of these creatures, dog-sized and vicious-looking, in a fairly small body of water. Swamp, really. It's a lot suspicious that it seems to surround the stargate on all sides. Save for one pathway, of course, about three meters wide. At the end of which she can see what looks like a guardhouse.

Beyond the guardhouse, the swamp disappears and a road zigzags its way up rolling green hills dotted with trees. Not the ubiquitous 'pines' McKay complains about on most worlds. Hardwoods, Ronon thinks, broad-trunked with spreading shade and five-lobed leaves. The hills are terraced near the road and either undeveloped or given over to pastures farther out. The long grass there ripples in the wind, like the fur on some sleeping beast's back. Ronon glimpses whitewashed stone cottages and thatched roofs farther up the hills. Most distant of all, faded, blue-hazed mountains worn by ages outline the horizon. It's a pretty world, she thinks.

Developed, though, just not industrialized: the hills are terraced, with winding dikes hemming water-flooded fields of delicate green urak. Cobble-stoned roads parallel canals that wind down from terrace to terrace. There are gates and sluices in place to form locks in the canals. Ronon spots a long barge in one, waiting for the water level to raise it to the next level. A team of four large animals with single nose-horns wait patiently on the roadway, ready to begin pulling the barge again.

Ronon looks back at the guardhouse, the path. "This is some sort of test."

"No shit, Sherlock," Rodney says, high-pitched but without heat, and also without taking his eyes off the creatures. Which have teeth, indeed. Ronon can see them quite clearly when the one closest to them yawns. Small, almost translucent triangular teeth that catch the last rays of the afternoon sun. Seven years running from the Wraith through gate after gate, and Ronon wonders if she will ever lose the feeling of brief, sharp dissonance each time she steps onto a strange world, going from pitch-black night into the bright light of day, from sun to snow, poverty to riches, stone knives to pulse pistols. All in one step.

"Doesn't that make you Watson?" Sheppard, of course. When Ronon glances at her, she's trying to suppress a smirk. Not very successfully. "I never figured you for the genius's assistant, Rodney."

The answer is a snort. "And what made you figure I'd find it desirable to be a bi-polar crack and morphine addict?"

On the surface, this probably looks like all of their banter, but Ronon doesn't like the undercurrent. Sheppard sounds a little too...cool, all practiced ease and slow smiles. Rodney – and oddly enough this is harder to spot because it's Rodney – is nervous underneath his bluster and the fierce focus. It doesn't take the genius they mentioned to realize that they haven't talked. Not really, not the way they need to.

Maybe Ronon should do something – anything – but this isn't a session with Kate Heightmeyer where all of them are being pulled, tugged, and prodded out of their shells with neutrality and caution. Outside that kind of haven, under a strange sun, it's too obvious that she hasn't learned this, doesn't know how to intervene gracefully in situations that don't require either ancient verse or modern weaponry.

"Not to interrupt you," Teyla's tone is lofty yet stripped of all arrogance, making clear that's just what he's intending, "but we should decide on a course of action very soon, before darkness falls. Proceed across the path through the swamp? Call for aid? There seems to be someone inside the guardhouse. Perhaps we might contact them?" A touch of exasperation colors his voice with the final question.

Sheppard licks her lips and shifts her gun from one arm to another. "Okay," she drawls. "Just taking a minute to get the lay of the land."

"And have you not, by now?"

Sheppard shrugs. The motion makes Ronon's gaze drop into forbidden territory, down to her chest, before she remembers and blinks. Face. Looking at that doesn't help, though. The setting sun's a great ball of fire behind the naquadah ring of the stargate. It bathes all of them in reddish-golden light but is especially kind to Sheppard, softening the shadows and lines on her face, bringing out the amber in her eyes. Ronon forces herself to look away, across the swamp, at the green countryside. No visible fortification structures. No larger settlements, either, so the Xa probably hide when the Wraith come, rather than fight.

"Look, if Ronon's right and this is some kind of test of courage, they won't harm us. Probably not. We might as well yell and see if this is just...." Sheppard glances around and hesitates.

"What, an accidental moa?" Rodney rolls his eyes, but it seems more amiable again. Which makes sense. When he isn't biting back, Rodney doesn't often try to make Sheppard look dumb. That's just a by-product.

Sheppard seems to pick up on the gentler tone. Her wry grin is genuine. "Who knows? And, who cares." She clears her throat before yelling, with remarkable volume, "Hey guys! Care to tell us how this thing's supposed to work?"

Resounding silence, except for a hasty splash or two from the swamp. No one, not even Teyla, looks surprised.

"Okay." Sheppard glances back at them. "Let's go. In a careful line, middle of the road. Keep your guns steady but aimed at Kermit and friends."

She doesn't elaborate on the order. Doesn't need to. They all fall into step behind Sheppard – first Teyla, then Rodney. Ronon takes their six. Rodney breathes a little too fast, and his fingers keep sliding over the trigger of his P90. Ronon feels the muscles of her back tense. The Xa's ugly little guardians open their mouths wide when the team pass, each uttering a clicking, growling sound. But they stay put.

She's pretty sure that underneath the loose dirt the path is stone. It's suspiciously even and there are no wet patches, no mud puddles, no determined weeds sprouting up. The width is too even as well. Anyone on it is in clear view of the guardhouse. It's designed to stretch out and slow down any large group coming through the stargate. Even the Wraith wouldn't care to slog through the swamp, with its sucking mud, tangled water weeds and bubbles of stinking methane. Clever. Ronon admires clever.

Not to mention the big, hungry amphibians. The Wraith wouldn't care much for them, either. One plops into the water and swims up to the edge of the path, eyeing Rodney, who gives a little hop of his own and mutters, “Shoo, shoo, no one here wants to kiss you.”

At the end of the winding path through the swamp, back on solid ground, everybody's relieved. Rodney exhales loudly and lets his right shoulder sag against the rough stone of the guardhouse. Because his mutterings about the correlation of extreme stress and heart attacks distract Ronon, she isn't paying her usual amount of attention to possible threats and the appearance of two heavily armed sentries surprises her. Two tall, heavily armed sentries.

Ronon resents them a little. Both members of their military welcoming committee incorporate not only height but strength as well. They are wearing bleached leather and old-fashioned but well-polished revolvers in their belts. Her eyes glide over the dark cross-shapes behind one broad shoulder each, over the bright glint of metal almost down behind their knees: scimitars in back holsters. And that's just the weapons Ronon can see.

"Oh," Rodney says, voice faint, "Who dialed the wormhole to Xena's version of Ancient Greece?"

"Rodney." Sheppard's drawl isn't free from shock, either. "How about Teyla and I talk to the nice Amazons? Maybe they're interested in joining the women's NBA."

A quick glance at Teyla makes sure that no, he has no idea either if that's a description likely to get them into trouble. Or killed. Of course, Teyla would prevent that. He's good at that and has plenty of practice.

"Good evening to you." Teyla inclines his head formally, and his voice is gentle but firm. "We come in peace. This is Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard, our esteemed leader. These are Ronon Dex and Dr. Rodney McKay. My name is Teyla Emmagen."

The left warrior performs an almost-perfect imitation of Teyla's head-tilt. "Welcome to Xa."

The right one follows suit. "State your purpose, and we'll show you the way." They're eerily alike in looks, so much so that Ronon can see Rodney's gaze switching between them as a frown pleats his forehead.

They are both shifting their stances, looking at Sheppard expectantly, with an additional, assessing glance at Ronon. Huh. The Xa do think business is...women's business. On Sateda, the rules never prepared Ronon for this. Or for Heka.

"We, uh, we've come to trade with the Xa." Sheppard straightens, just a little, and gives them a smile far too sunny for the time of day. "We'd love to talk shop with – actually, with whoever will have us."

The result is a slightly perplexed look from the Xa, an apologetic one from Teyla, and an impatient one from Rodney, who looks like he wants to go ahead, finish the deal, and be home in time for lunch.

"You'll want to speak to one of the elder priestesses." The one on the right nods. "If you wait for just a moment, we'll have you escorted to your destination."

"Cool. We'll be –" Sheppard makes a vague hand motion, "standing right here, I guess."

When the Xa have disappeared back into the guardhouse, Teyla leans forward and says in a low voice. "Not to call ill fortune upon us, but this is going reasonably well."

A bell rings out from inside to a distinct rhythm. Message, Ronon realizes. After a moment, she catches the distant sound of another bell echoing the cadence. The bell in the guardhouse stills.

"You know, I'd positively love to embrace that kind of optimism, but I'm not so sure." Rodney has turned back toward the stargate, squinting against the light. "The gate is about to activate; don't you hear the sound of the circuitry?"

Ronon hasn't. She's been listening for voices and movement that would signal an ambush or some kind of trap. While the dialing process, the chevrons locking, and the actual opening of a wormhole is hard if not impossible to miss, only Rodney would be attuned to the muted buzz of a stargate coming to life. Ronon's appreciation of him goes up a notch. "Duck into the shadow of the guardhouse, now."

"You heard Ronon – go!" Sheppard's voice comes hard on the heels of her own command.

Teyla's hand locks around Rodney's wrist, pulling him around the corner from the stargate and under a thatched eave. Sheppard and Ronon join them, crouching with their weapons aimed toward the swamp they just traversed. Teyla has his back to the wall and keeps an eye out for any threats from the other direction as well.

From their covered position, they can see the flare of the event horizon across the swamp. One person steps through – one person only, if one in full armor and gear. Ronon lets go of the breath she's been holding. Just another warrior, broad-shouldered, with bright red hair. Maybe he belongs here, maybe he doesn't. Either way, he doesn't seem afraid of the frog-creatures, lifting his bearded chin and beginning to make his way down the path.

He doesn't get very far.

When he's come barely within reach, the nearest animal lets out a high-pitched hoot of alarm and retreats with a splash, powerful hind legs treading water and mud, propelling the body backwards. The hoots become howls and whoops, a regular cacophony of alarm echoing from everywhere in the swamp. The man hesitates and glances at the other creatures, all of them moving restlessly away from him. But he squares his jaw and keeps moving toward the guardhouse. Ronon glances at Sheppard, who frowns. She's opening her mouth, but already, the door of the guard-house flies open, and four Xa – including the two who welcomed them – storm out. They run past the team and stop the man before he's halfway across the swamp.

The scuffle is brief and unsuccessful. No matter how much he resists, screams and curses, the Xa have both the numbers, the arms and the strength. He's pushed back and back and held until the DHD is dialed, then through the stargate as soon as the wormhole is fully formed, leaving only four grimly satisfied Xa.

The women walk slowly, one by one, up the path, stopping to extend their hands to the big amphibians that are slowly swimming back up to the path. One of the tall ones throws something that looks like dried fish to the very biggest of them. It snaps it out of the air with a long, flicker-fast tongue and emits a satisfied sounding burp.

"So."

Ronon swivels around, as does the team, straightening up and at the same time lowering their weapons. A new Xa is standing in front of them. Like the guards, she's wearing gear and various weapons; unlike the others, she's also wearing a smile. "I'm Chei, your liaison Xa. You are traders and wish to be lead to the Temple of the Goddess?"

The returning guards pass them with approving grins. One even pats Ronon's arm.

"Sure." Sheppard has found her footing again. "That'd be swell."

"Follow me, then."

Sheppard jerks her head toward the stargate.

"You toss a lot of visitors back like that guy?"

Chei raises an eyebrow. "He wasn't welcome here, as he should have known. The guth don't harm those whose gifts are welcome."

Behind, Rodney mumbles something about witches and water, but Ronon stops paying attention to him and starts watching their surroundings as they walk toward the rolling hills.


Whatever Sheppard expects, this isn't it.

~*~

"It's the Breast Temple," McKay mutters, earning a sharp elbow from Teyla and ending in, "Oof, watch it!" He snickers. "Careful when you go in there, Colonel. It might be booby-trapped!"

Sheppard groans. "Rodney, next time please leave your sense of humor in Atlantis."

The Temple of the Goddess isn't some airy, Grecian-marble creation.

It's not even really visible, because it's dug deep into a cavern system beneath two suggestively shaped hills topped by little cupolas. Sheppard has to admit McKay has a point about them. A path winds down from the town located a few miles from the stargate, through terraced urak paddies. Wide-leafed plants float upon the water, dark and glossy green. The path is white gravel and raked into an almost Japanese neatness. A small pavilion with benches and a well sits at the bottom, and beyond it is a still, crystal-clear pool that extends into a carved cave entrance. Sheppard can't tell how deep the water is, but there is just a head's worth of clearance between it and the top of the carved entrance arch.

It looks like if they want the Blessing, they're going to have to get wet. Sheppard almost laughs, because this is a new one, at least. Most of the funky religions they run across stuck their temples on top of hills, even mountains, or in the middle of a city. Not under a hill with a big pool in front. It's kind of cool.

"What? Oh, I can't believe this," Rodney is muttering, staring at the water. "Have I mentioned claustrophobic, here?"

"Don't worry about it, Rodney," Sheppard tells him. "You get to stay out here." She turns to the priestess who welcomed the team a minute ago. "Right?"

"We come from the Goddess unclad and so we return to her." The priestess nods. She's in her forties, graying hair in two plaits, dressed in simple wool trousers and a sleeveless white tunic that falls to her knees. The only thing that marks her as something different from any of the other women they've seen is a serpentine armlet around her upper arm and the tattoo of a lip imprint on her cheekbone.

Sheppard blinks at her words.

"If you would enjoy Her blessing then you must enter the Temple," the priestess explains.

"And then we'll be, uh, blessed?" Sheppard asks, thinking that this is jus the sort of thing that got them in trouble on Hermea.

"Then you may be blessed, if you choose share your gift with Her. There is no harm in choosing to refrain, and no reason you cannot return another time to offer your gift. We would treat with you then. The priestess's smile deepens, her gray eyes caught in a net of crow’s feet, tanned cheek creasing easily. It's obvious she smiles often. She nods toward Teyla and Rodney. "Your companions will have to wait. Chei will take care of them."

"Oh, great, just great. Drag me to another planet so I can sit around in an alien waiting room, McKay gripes, but he's already dropping his pack on one bench and hunching over a little to rest his back.

"Not here." Chei steps closer to McKay and Teyla. She's remained in the background during the welcome but steps up to them again now. It seems her job isn't done yet.

"Okay, when you say you're taking care of them – you mean you're taking good care of them, right?" Sheppard gives Chei a broad smile. Hopefully getting across that she'd hate seeing her team in chains or manacles. Or any discomfort, really.

A flicker of amusement on Chei's face. "I doubt there will be complaints, Colonel Sheppard." The woman grows serious pretty much instantly again. "We obviously cannot guarantee safety from attempts at culling, but I can promise no Xa will harm your males."

Well, that sounded honest enough. Sheppard glances at Teyla, who, too, nods. Of course, not having her team hurt is one thing; not running into trouble all by themselves is another. The incident at the gate has shown her the Xa don't mess around with those not welcome anymore. "Teyla, keep an eye on McKay."

Teyla nods without taking any insult.

Not so Rodney. "Yes, thank you, Colonel! Make sure all the natives think I'm an imbecile to be guarded lest he break something!"

Both Xa look pretty unimpressed by that. The priestess – Sheppard's never even learned her name – kneels and begins unlacing her boots. After her boots and socks, she shimmies out of her trousers, paying absolutely no attention to McKay and Teyla. All of it goes into a wicker basket, taken from a stack of them that stands on the near side of the pool, on a small ledge just beside a small bush covered in a myriad of bright-violet petals.

Sheppard looks from the baskets to the water and gets it. Damn. Well, it could be worse, the water is crystal clear, displaying a marked lack of piranha-like fish or man-eating giant crocodiles. Or any of those funky frog things from the stargate. "I guess we're going to get wet," she says, glancing Ronon's way.

"And naked," Ronon agrees.

The priestess is drawing her tunic over her head by now, which means Sheppard is either going to have go through with this or chicken out and, oh, Christ, Ronon's stripping, too. Teyla is turning to the side, polite as ever, looking away from her and Ronon, at the dark zig-zag of the mountainscape in the distance. With a headshake, Sheppard starts with her thigh holster.

"You're actually going through with this?" Rodney asks from behind her. His voice squeaks.

"Yeah," Sheppard tells him, and hands him her holster and pistol. Looks at her hands and the weaponry – safety, protocol, it's just that. It's not that she doesn't want to look him in the eye. "Watch this for me."

Ronon's already down to bare, caramel skin – acres of it – as Sheppard's pushing her trousers down. Of course, Ronon didn't have as much to take off. By now everyone on the team knows she goes commando. Unlike Sheppard, who is down to the skimpy black bra and panties the Hermeans modeled off the set Cadman provided that first day back in Atlantis.

She can feel Rodney staring, and when she looks over her shoulder, sure enough, his eyes are a little glazed and settled right on her ass. It's – huh, okay, it's not as annoying as she thought it would be. Mostly because he's still glued to the spot a few feet away, and not looking for a needle to tattoo his name on her ass. Still annoying enough, though.

"McKay."

Total zone out.

"McKay!" A little louder.

"What? What? Where, what is it, what?" McKay snaps, looking around wildly for some danger.

"Look, I know you're going to stare at my ass –"

"Would I do that?"

"McKay...."

McKay looks mulish and embarrassed at the same time. "Of course, I'm going to watch your ass, Colonel," he says. "It's part of watching your back."

Well. Guess it is, actually. Sheppard knows his concern for her is genuine, and sharp in moments when the team has to separate. So she doesn't roll her eyes at him. "I know there's a camera in your pack; I'm just telling you to leave it alone."

"Oh, that's unkind, Colonel. Unkind and uncalled for."

"Tell me you didn't think of it."

"I –"

"Right. If naked pictures of me show up on the Atlantis intranet, I will beat you to death with your own laptop." She means that as a joke, of course. Mostly. At least fifty-five percent. And the other forty-five percent aren't based on her fear that Rodney would share – he wouldn't do that to her – but on her suspicions regarding the IT department. Dr. Jäger and Dr. Naidu make the storing of images or videos on inter-connected computers something of a risk; it's something she's wanted to hint at in the Atlantis Handbook for a while.

Rodney looks horrified by the threat to his electronics, and a little disheartened.

"Do not worry, Colonel," Teyla adds. "Nothing of the sort will happen. Here or in Atlantis." He doesn't turn around when he says it, still studies the horizon. Sheppard thinks he's being courteous, but it's Teyla; maybe he's studying bird flight patterns that show if there are Wraith around, estimating the population based on the curvature of the planet, or doing one of a hundred other things. Teyla knows and sees more than he shares with the class.

Sheppard flashes him a smile. "Thanks. There are things the Marines just don't need to know about their commander."

Off comes the bra, and then she steps out of the panties, dropping them on top of the rest of her gear in another of the baskets, leaving it beside Ronon's. The air in the pavilion is just crisp enough to make her break out in goose bumps, but the flagstones leading from the steps to the edge of the pool are still warm under her bare feet despite the fact the sun has dipped down and disappeared.

Ronon and the priestess are waiting for her at the edge of the water. Sheppard forces herself to stroll, like she walks around in the nude every other day with the evening breeze of another planet cooling her back and shoulders.

"You are ready?" the priestess asks.

"As I'll ever be."

She walks into the water without further ceremony, down a shallow incline until it's waist deep, and then sets out for the cave entrance. And yeah, she uses a breast stroke. Her subconscious can bite her.

Ronon shrugs and follows in tandem with her.

The water is sun-warm and slides over Sheppard's limbs as she swims lazily after the priestess, and it crosses her mind that no one ever swims in Atlantis. Surrounded by water, they all do their utmost to stay dry. "You can swim, can't you?" she calls, glancing Ronon's way.

Ronon flips over, sleek as a porpoise, and begins doing something that looks suspiciously like the backstroke, answering her question. All that skin is sort of distracting, too; it's very obvious she's not a guy anymore. It's also better not to stare too hard because she'll probably be unable to look away once she starts...and yeah, there you go, Ronon has already swum past her. Sheppard blinks water out of her eyes and kicks harder to keep up.

The swim through the temple entrance isn't long. The pool ends in a series of steps once they're inside the cave entrance, and they emerge from the water into humid warmth, hundreds of candles, and the scent of incense. Terraced levels lead upward to the temple's altar, dais after dais strewn in richly colored fabrics and furs, curtained in transparent gauze that provides a spurious privacy to the occupants. Everything's rounded and curved and unmistakably female, deep red, dark and fecund with the promise of sensuality.

Sheppard swallows hard. It's probably good Rodney didn't come inside with them. This might have given him the heart attack he bitched about earlier.

She tries to avert her eyes from the tangles of long limbs and bare skin, but she can't close her ears. Sighs and soft cries are echoing through the temple and down from the high arched ceiling; there are women everywhere.

The incense burning in braziers along the sides of the temple winds through her senses, making her light-headed. She catches a glimpse of crystals below the flames. Black crystals, but the smoke is bright-white, wafting through the air in gentle spirals and loops before fading into nothingness.

"Are you ready?" Sheppard almost jumps at the voice in her ear, but of course there's a body belonging to it, that of the priestess. Right. The priestess.

"Yeah...about that blessing." She shows the priestess some teeth. "What, uh, do we do now?" She tries to focus on the woman's eyes and not the water droplets quivering on her breasts. There isn't a safe place to stare, the walls are carved in sinuous patterns that seem to mimic the lines of the bodies writhing together everywhere, and even the floor is covered in a mosaic; a masterwork of art, colorfully depicting every possible combination and contortion of two or more women.

Soft murmurs fill the air, punctuated by bells.

The priestess smiles again and touches Sheppard's arm, sliding her palm down it softly, invitingly, and Sheppard jolts back in surprise, stumbling up against Ronon. The priestess's smile fades a little, and she lets her hand fall away.

"We pray to the Goddess with our bodies and give her the gift of our pleasure," she explains quietly. "To share pleasure is the greater gift, but it is allowed to ring the bell in solitude as well."

"Ring the bell?" Ronon echoes. Her hands are still on Sheppard's hips, the heat of her body a constant sensory distraction. A distraction of the good – no, bes kind.

Another bell rings somewhere in the temple, the sound cascading over a shout of pleasure. A series of low cries from the four women tangled on the main altar is followed by another bell, this one louder, and Sheppard jerks her head toward the sound, spotting a massive bronze bell beyond the altar. Another girl, a priestess by the glint of gold on her arm, stands beside it, holding a striker nearly as tall as she is. The sound of it shivers through Sheppard's bones, clear and pitch-perfect.

"Climax," the priestess says.

"Oh." Sheppard's a little embarrassed by how small her voice is.

"Everything you may need is available," they're told, "and there are many who would pray with you." The invitation is clear in the priestess's voice, if Sheppard hadn't got it already.

"Um, yeah," she replies fast, taking another step back that has her plastered against Ronon's front, and she jumps, but Ronon's hands steady her again, "I think maybe we'll just 'pray' together."

"C'mon," Ronon breathes in her ear and she's letting herself be led to one of the empty platforms, passing several that are already occupied. At least one couple beckons them to join them, but the smiles stay indulgent as Ronon steers them past.

Up close, the platforms are round, with a half-circle headboard filled with cubbyholes, topped by more candles. Three poles of polished wood, carved and stained, dark and shining, reach up from the frame to support the drapes; gilt threads running through the almost transparent hangings, swathes of them drawn back from the pillow-strewn mattress. The sweet smelling smoke of the candles tickles at her nose, mingling with the heavy scent of the incense filling the room. It's probably drugged. Everything in this galaxy that isn't actually poisonous is drugged.

That'd explain why she's feeling so relaxed despite the pretty exciting situation.

Sheppard's eyes widen as she takes in some of the items tucked in the cubbyholes in the headboard: dildos, strap-ons, and lengths of silken cord, paddles, things she doesn't have even a clue to what they're for, bottles and jars.... Oh cripes, it's like a Pegasus sex toy shop. "Whoa."

Ronon chuckles.

"You know, we can fake this," Sheppard whispers. And sure, they can pull the drapes and pretend, but damn, even the thought of moaning in tandem with Ronon is making the tips of her ears heat up. Just imagining Ronon's rumble turning honey-soft, then louder and louder....

"No." Ronon's hand smooths over Sheppard's hip, stroking in toward her waist, then away with a last, light pat; Sheppard kind of misses it when it's gone. "We can do this."

"I just don't want you to think you have to." Maybe that sounded a little whiny, but really, she doesn't.

Ronon's voice is almost as deep as it used to be, full of amusement and what sounds distinctly like arousal. "Sheppard."

She can do this. It's not like she planned this or anything. So she isn't objecting – well, Ronon is sex-on-a-stick, but she's managed to keep her libido under control so far. Acting on her attraction would be dumb, because sleeping with team-mates is dumb, except she already broke that rule with Rodney, and...well. That hadn't been planned either. Bottom line is, Elizabeth wants the trade treaty and Ronon wants this – wants her; it's a thrill, all right.

Her eyes fall on the toys again. "But, Ronon – let's do this the natural way, okay?" The strap-on would only...confuse things.

Ronon peers over her shoulder then turns her head, while raising an eyebrow. "Looks like all natural materials to me. Wood, stone; carved, and polished. Oil, too."

Sheppard sighs and resists the urge to stamp her foot. She'd just look stupid and probably end up stubbing her toe. "You know what I mean, damn it."

Another bell rings and it makes her feel sort of squirmy, knowing what it means now. Everything inside feels tight and her skin is breaking out in a light sweat. Ronon grins at her with a knowing arch of her eyebrow and nods toward the altar. Another woman has joined the four already there. Sheppard can't quite figure who's doing what, but it looks like they're all enjoying it a lot. She knows her eyes are wide, but honestly, in thirty-seven years back on Earth she never once attended much less participated in a lesbian religious orgy. Even fantasy never got that wild.

She looks away with a little difficulty and finds herself looking at two more women nearby, one of them with her face between the other's legs. Sheppard pulls in a sharp breath, imagining what it must feel like despite herself.

"I could do that to you," Ronon whispers, her breath hot on Sheppard's ear.

Sheppard can feel the blush heat her entire body as she swallows hard at the thought. She can't to hide how much Ronon's words affect her, not when her damn nipples just tightened so much it almost hurts; she knows Ronon notices. This is something she's done – well, something that someone did to her just recently, and God, that was – she lets her eyes fall shut for a second. A shudder runs through her as Ronon strokes light fingers down her neck, then Ronon lifts her hand away to point at another couple. "Or that." Sheppard's breath hitches helplessly. "Or both," Ronon finishes.

Oh, Jesus. "Both?" The moan that slips from her lips is completely out of her control.

Ronon wraps both arms around her from behind, pressing close again, thighs, hips, and breasts against Sheppard, every point of contact ratcheting the tension in her higher, reminding her that they're both completely naked and all of that smooth, sleek toffee skin is touching her, glistening in the candlelight. She's let her eyes fall half-closed, but they snap open and she stares down as Ronon slides one big hand up her belly to her breast and cups it.

Oh. Oh. She lets her head fall back against Ronon's shoulder, her cheek rubbing against wet dreadlocks, and pants. This wasn't – this wasn't on the agenda but oh, that touch; just Ronon's thumb, rubbing around her nipple, is making her whole breast feel so incredibly tight, everything focusing on the tip, just the tip of her nipple where she wants – she wants Ronon to touch, if only she'll touch her there.... Ronon's hand makes her own skin look so pale, just tinted with pale gold, like ivory in the light; the contrast makes all the sensations more intense in her mind. She's bending back, pushing her breast into Ronon's teasing hand, and she can't imagine why she even hesitated to do this, because it's awesome. And Ronon, she's not likely to make it more complicated than that, either – Ronon takes orders in the field but shows off with the cheerful pride and grace of all the superheroes Sheppard's ever read or watched. Ronon's strong and sure and will be fine. Sheppard will be fine with her.

A full body shiver hits as Ronon starts using her finger and thumb, catching Sheppard's nipple between them, sharp sensation hitching her breath and making her clench her thighs together against the sweet lick of heat there. Hot, moist lips skim over the lobe of her ear and then tease the sensitive skin behind it. It's just...Sheppard's mouth is open, she needs to breathe, but all she can do is moan, and to hell with circumspection.

Her whole body is fevered, tensed and quivering against Ronon, and now she can only blink dazedly, trying to focus, but halos of light are shivering around the candle flames that dance and move in rhythm with her pulse, and all she can think is why Ronon's stopping. "No...."

She twists and looks into Ronon's eyes, at the little bronze glints in the irises, translucent and reflecting the candle flames. "Sheppard," she says. "You sure you don't want me to do this with someone else?" She tips her head, in a gesture that encompasses the temple. "Plenty of women willing. I'll do it."

Sheppard stares at her. Like she'd ever, ever ask one of her team to prostitute themselves for a trade agreement. And the thought of someone else's hands on Ronon, someone else making her eyes go dark with the want filling them now is not acceptable.

"If it's a problem for you or McKay," Ronon finishes.

Rodney – she's not thinking about Rodney because he's most decidedly not her boyfriend, not entitled to everything, anything; besides, this is Ronon whom Rodney's been ogling since the first day on Hermea and with whom he agreed to have what, come to think of it, would've been a threesome. Hell, he'll probably just be sorry he didn't get to watch. "Not a problem," she promises.

"Really. Don't have to show you. Other...worshippers here." Sheppard spots the glint in Ronon's eyes, the soft curve of her lips; it's a challenge if she's ever seen one. "Can still make this place resound with the loudest clangs."

Sheppard narrows her eyes. So Ronon thinks she's God's gift to women in the Pegasus galaxy? That's just – seriously. What about her? She really can't step back now. Too late to change course. "Who says you're the only one who can...can do this?" She frowns a little. "I know my way around, and I'm the leader."

Ronon snorts, and that really shouldn't be as sexy as it is. "So you're okay with this?" When Sheppard licks her lips and nods, determined, Ronon tips her head toward the bell on the altar, smirking. "I bet you'll be louder than the bell."

Sheppard has little time to think further because Ronon leans forward again, presses a kiss to the cap of her shoulder, begins drawing patterns on down her arms. She settles back into Ronon's arms and lets herself fall into a sensual haze. She really has to stop visiting folks who are into drugs. After this is done and over. "What's that?" she slurs, swaying into the contact, trying to make sense of the shapes through the weave of hot and soft, strong and careful touches.

"Satedan."

"Mmm. What?"

But Ronon doesn't answer and Sheppard doesn't care, because Ronon reaches around and cups her breasts, lifting and squeezing just enough to make her ache and want more. She exhales harshly, feeling Ronon's nipples against her back, rubbing in slow, hypnotic circles against her shoulder blades, and the picture of the two of them in her mind sends more heat flickering through her. It's all different than with Rodney; Ronon doesn't feel the same, smell the same, is folding around her, enveloping her instead of driving into her, and it's easy to let go and stop thinking.

"Hey, Ronon," she whispers and then swallows, "how's that bed looking to you just about now?"

A chuckle vibrates from Ronon into her.

Ronon's rolling Shepperd's nipples between her thumbs and fingers and Sheppard has to press her thighs together, she can't help it, it feels too good and she needs more. Her whole body is swelling with sensation, humming with it, and Ronon's right hand is gone and then back, brushing down her side, over her ribs, shaping her waist then cupping the soft curve of Sheppard's stomach. Sheppard whimpers as Ronon splays her fingers and she can't help moving, twisting into Ronon's body, into her hands, staring down and wanting that hand to move lower.

Ronon holds still, though, and Sheppard knows it's deliberate. Ronon wants her to say it. Ronon wants her to ask for it, and something clenches inside her – hard – at the knowledge that she's going to do it. Fuck. Oh, please. Just lower, damn it, lower, I need.... "Lower," she says it out loud, squirming a little now, feeling the dampness between her legs growing, like saying it was a turn-on itself. She watches avidly as Ronon drifts her hand down, resting her palm over her pussy and her breath stutters in and out unevenly. "Jesus, Ronon, any damn time now!", she groans. "Quit teasing."

One long finger plays with her delicately, and Sheppard feels another gush of wetness in response. She can't believe how fast this is going even as she stretches and tries to grind her hips forward, to soothe the ache centering inside her.

Ronon's still playing with her nipple with her other hand, the feeling going straight between her legs when Ronon tugs with the exact mixture of harshness and control; she overloads Sheppard's senses by closing her lips around one earlobe and sucking.

Her knees buckle, but Ronon catches her, holds her up, arm around her, sure and still startlingly strong. It makes Sheppard shiver, the same way Rodney's weight did, and isn't that something Kate would have a field day with? She doesn't want to be overpowered, not really, but the possibility is a turn-on. And that it's wrapped in soft, feminine hands, delicate fingers, gives it a zing Sheppard can't even figure out. It would all freak her out if she weren't so hot she can't think.

Especially when Ronon is sliding that hand down, stroking her with a feather-light pressure, slipping through her wetness, exploring the slick folds and tender flesh while Sheppard just shakes and tries to close her legs. Ronon kicks them wider though, one thigh pressed between hers from behind.

"Ronon, please," she hears herself moaning, "please." She can't even hold her head up now, can't keep her eyelids from fluttering closed as the unbearable tension coils tighter and tighter inside her, while Ronon, damn her, just keeps teasing and teasing, never giving her quite enough stimulation, never touching her clit, no matter how Sheppard twists and rocks against her hand, the one that's not flicking her nipple into bright sensation. The insides of her thighs are slick and the muscles are quivering and every part of her is over-sensitized, so that the slightest brush – even Ronon's dreadlocks tickling over her shoulders and breasts as she kisses her neck, biting at her collarbone – makes her gasp and buck. She's going to go crazy, she's going to fucking scream; the feeling is building up and up and up in a way she hadn't known it could, more diffuse, involving her entire body but just as intense, just as good. She can feel Ronon's mouth shape into a smile and then there's a wet tongue licking along the tendon in her neck – that was always a hot spot, even before – she gasps and someone makes a high, desperate noise that's animal and wild, but she's gone, gone, she needs....

"Ronon!"

Ronon's fingers draw a final, delicate circle along her inner thigh and dip inside, hard and fast, while she catches Sheppard's nipple almost too roughly, so much sensation sizzling through her she sobs and writhes down onto Ronon's hand, that keening noise rising from her throat again. Those fingers swirl inside her, pressing deeper and deeper so that she's barely aware of Ronon's other hand leaving her breast before it catches her face and twists it to meet Ronon's kiss, tilting her jaw to the perfect angle.

Sheppard whimpers into Ronon's mouth and sucks desperately on her tongue as Ronon's thumb finally, Oh God, yes, there, please, now, finds her clit and presses against it.

She comes apart.

It's like a hot tidal wave rushing through her whole body, and she screams with it, shattering, ringing, the bell echoing through the entire temple so that its vibrations merge with the aftershocks still singing through her.

She's slumped back against Ronon, both of them sunk down to the floor, soaked in sweat and still shuddering, when she picks out the sound of someone clapping enthusiastically.

She barely has the strength to climb up on the platform and sprawl there, face down on what feels like silk, reduced to a buttery, satiated puddle. Ronon joins her a moment later, grinning so smugly that Sheppard feels a lot like the proverbial canary, and the cat thing fits because God, Ronon is all hot and silky, skin and muscle, hands already wandering over Sheppard's back.

"Oh, God," Sheppard mumbles, but she rolls over and kisses Ronon hungrily, letting her hands explore, arousal already building again. It has to be something in the smoke, she thinks, tangling her legs with Ronon's, smoothing her palms over Ronon's back, lingering over the scar left when Beckett removed the Wraith tracer. Ronon purrs in what's got to be approval, and the sound she makes when Sheppard props herself up and scoots back to lick a delicate circle around Ronon's navel is sweet. The taste of her skin is headier than wine. Sheppard's not much of a wine drinker, though, and it's definitely not what she wants on her tongue right now, wants with a fierce rush of clarity. She slides down Ronon's belly, lower and lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses into the soft skin over hard, hard muscle. This, she knows how to do. Better yet, she likes it. Only one girl involved, then, but the mechanics are exactly the same, and yeah, so maybe she's missed it. Most definitely, she's hell-bent now on making Ronon like it, too. Like it a whole damn lot.

She's not about to just lie back and let Ronon do all the work this time. She can make that damn bell ring, too.

Hours, days, she doesn't know how much later, there's no way to judge inside the temple beyond the candles burned down to waxy puddles, Sheppard lies back and blinks at the shadowed ceiling. Ronon's head is lying on her stomach. The red sheets are rucked and trailing half off the bed, a wrinkle is caught under her shoulder, and there's a dark, wet stain where Ronon spilled a bottle of some sort of massage oil that smelled of cinnamon and sandalwood – the scent's still all over them.

When she catches her breath, she murmurs, "It occurs to me...."

"Mmm?"

Sheppard strokes sweaty dreadlocks away from Ronon's face and smiles almost drunkenly at the still-slick, almost-swollen mouth that's pouting at her.

"...lack of refractory period is really fucking sweet."

Ronon smiles a little, wicked smile that makes Sheppard shiver all over again. "Mmm." One hand slips up to Sheppard's breast.

Sheppard lets her head drop back onto the bed and mindlessly lifts herself into that touch, gasping, "I can't think when you do that."

"Yeah?" Ronon teases her other breast, then presses a scorching kiss to Sheppard's navel, tickling and licking with her tongue, then breathing onto the wet skin. Sheppard moans and clutches at Ronon's head, holding her there.

"Again," she demands. Ronon pulls away and slides down between Sheppard's legs, licking long lines up her inner thighs, then pushes two fingers into her while licking her again. Sheppard just whimpers through this climax, shivering, muscles twitching, barely able to breathe.

Before the damned bell is through ringing, Ronon's driving her over the top again.

Sheppard stops thinking and goes with it.

~*~

Chei. The Xa woman is muscular, wearing leather bleached so much as to almost shine – in the places not left completely bare. An ample amount of skin the color of tea, Earth-style, with a generous dollop of milk is on display. More than Athosian women show off. Very different from the comfortable, homespun clothes they have seen on most of the Xa, including the priestesses, on their way to the temple. Teyla focuses on the long, curved blade strapped to Chei's back, concluding the woman does not look much like a diplomat. But then, even before military training and running, Ronon might not have looked much like a librarian if one just considered his build.

"This," Chei is telling Rodney and her with a sweeping gesture back at the subterranean complex, "is obviously not the right place; we've already made the proper arrangements for you."

Teyla tips her head, smiles an acknowledgment, and follows Chei – not without a warning glare at Rodney, who would clearly rather stay right there as long as necessary. Still, even beyond leaving the colonel and Ronon alone, she feels a sharp pang of loss. She herself has never partaken in the Xa ritual of establishing bonds of trust, but both Charin and Charin's mother have, once upon a time, and brought back bountiful harvests in exchange for an herbal fungicide the Athosians grew in abundance. While they kept their silence about the ritual, having given such a vow to the Xa, Teyla has always known it would be anything but torturous from the secret smile tugging at the corner of Charin's mouth whenever she mentioned the Xa. Her father, of course, never even undertook the journey, so the connection between their peoples has faded slightly over the last decades. For the sake of the Athosians as much as the Atlanteans, she would have wished to – but it is not her place to wish for such things right now.

Rodney trots after them even while he's protesting, as Teyla knew he would.

"Just so we manage to avoid bloodshed later on, for once, I'd like to state that I hate to leave the temple. What if, through some freakish coincidence, Sheppard and Ronon come out early and miss us? I don't plan to have the colonel despair over some perceived abandonment again. God knows she has enough issues already, and I'm the one dealing with them first and fore– ouch!" He yelps as Teyla's foot comes down on his toes without even losing a step, a trick learned from Colonel Sheppard. "I wasn't, I just meant, because I'm her team-mate! The scientist and most vital member of this team, in fact! Always there to, you know, help with...well, helping."

Chei barely glances at him as she leads them away from the temple and up a hillside dotted with trees. Tiny yellow flowers grow wild along the edges of the path they're on. The top of a building gleams against the sunset sky beyond the tree tops. It's the first one over two stories Teyla's seen on Xa. The roof is some polished material. A glimpse of wall shines as though wet. Again different from the thatch covering most of the stone cottages.

Rodney's voice trails off, mercifully. When Teyla turns her head, she catches Chei watching Rodney intently, approvingly. Teyla has occasionally seen women look at Rodney like that, but usually they had already witnessed some grand display of his engineering or electronic skills. Chei just nods. "Don't worry, Rodney McKay. You won't lose track of them, either; from the Tower, you'll be able to see the entrance to the Temple at all times. If you wish to."

This is not an unusual arrangement, then; Teyla has already suspected that the Xa are familiar with groups of mixed sexes, allowing only the females to enter their sanctuary but hosting the men as well. The path leads between two huge, near-spherical boulders; they pass and reach the top of the hill.

The tower is, by any definition, a tower and therefore, apart from the dome on top, very much unlike the temple. It's tall and airy, made from sturdy wood and painted a light red color. Teyla narrows her eyes and is about to take a closer look, but Chei is waving them along with a touch of impatience. "Come inside," she says, so Teyla doesn't have a lot of time to examine the surface of the tower. Still, even just in passing, she realizes that the coat of paint is not fresh, as she had previously assumed. The gloss must be an inherent quality. The tower has to shine like a beacon in the green countryside. It makes her shiver involuntarily.

"Pardon the question, Chei..." She waits until their guide has turned and arched a surprisingly elegant eyebrow. "I wonder, wouldn't the Wraith instantly home in on such a visible structure? I recall most of your people live in complex cave systems beneath the mountains, but surely the ones outside are likely to get culled this way?"

"We do monitor Wraith activity," the Xa woman says briskly, "but you're not wrong; the Tower's been a target in the past. Still, everybody is aware of the danger. They continue to come."

"Thrilled beyond all measure, no doubt," Rodney mutters unhappily, "because really, who hasn't always wanted a shot at trying out how an hors d'oeuvre feels on its silver platter?" Catching Teyla's look, presumably, he huffs out an affronted breath. "Oh please, Teyla, do I have to remind you that offering the unsuspecting or unwilling in some perverse parody of an all-you-can-eat buffet seems to be an accepted practice in this galaxy?"

"Rodney...."

"Olesia? I'm just saying."

"Not here, though," Teyla says, sounding perhaps not as convinced as she should have. She does believe her people's recollection and even Chei, but she also remembers the Genii. Still, she finds himself smiling in a reconciliatory manner at Chei; what choice do they have? Dusk has fallen, and while she and even Rodney, now, would not mind sleeping on the ground in front of the temple entrance, the Xa quite obviously do.

Chei simply waits through their discussion, a half-smile on her face, eyebrows raising. "This galaxy?" she repeats.

"Never mind," Rodney mutters, flapping his hand in dismissal. "Lead on. Mustn't be late to dinner. Or to be dinner."

"Rodney," Teyla hisses at him.

Chei laughs.

She leads them through the entrance hall where a few men are gathered around square tables, talking in low voices or playing some board game she thinks might be kire. Chei does not slow her step, does not meet the men's eyes at all, but nonetheless, they all turn and stare at her. No one moves, though; Teyla doesn't know if that is due to the observation of a Xa custom or the formidable weapon strapped to her back. None of the men are carrying anything resembling weaponry, in fact, and it quickly becomes clear why: Chei leads them to an alcove at the far wall, guarded by four heavily-armed Xa who regard them with obviously trained eyes, scanning for weaponry. Even Ronon might not succeed in smuggling in her knives here, Teyla thinks.

"Your weapons." It is not a question, and Chei does not sweeten the demand with a smile.

Rodney's eyes widen, his fingers clamp around his weapon protectively. It is quite amazing, the change he's undergone; the awkwardness and fumbling reluctance has lessened over the last months. If he took compliments with just a little more graciousness, Teyla would have told him so on the spot.

"No, no, no, wait, that's not part of the deal; you can't just go and disarm us and then send us God-knows-where!" He hunches forward and doesn't flinch when two of the Xa guards step closer and put their hands on what looks like the butts of pistols.

"We can, and we will." Now, finally, Chei smiles, softens her voice in understanding. "It's the custom of this place. I'm sorry, but I thought you knew – you gave indication that you knew the rules."

Teyla nods. She, too, is anything but happy about parting with her weapon, but again, the setup shows that this is part and parcel of the deal. There was clearly a reason why Charin and his mother before her went with fellow female Athosians only; Teyla just had not realized how strictly regulated a trip to Xa was. "My grandmother traded with the Xa but did not share the details of her visits. Excuse our reluctance."

"Certainly. As long as you comply in the end." There's an ironic note in Chei's voice; that and the glint in her dark eyes make something in Teyla twist – with anger or grudging amusement, she does not know.

She hands over the gun with a formal incline of her head. Rodney reluctantly follows suit.

~*~

Teyla walks directly to the window of the room they've been given. Chei hasn't lied; it provides a clear view of the temple entrance. Behind her, Rodney tosses down his pack and the colonel's on one of the two wide beds.

"Oh, super, we've ended up in the luxury version of a holding cell," Rodney snaps. "Kill me now. Although, come to think of it, that won't be necessary, since one of these armed-to-the-teeth warrior princesses will certainly storm in here in the middle of the night to show us – up close and personal – how cutting-edge their weaponry is, Nazgûl-in-Bree style!"

"Rodney." There is no particular note of warning in Teyla's voice; she is simply attempting to halt the steady stream of words. For once, thanks to movie night, Teyla even understands the cultural reference.

"Hrm," he says, but before he can launch another tirade, the door swings open, and two Xa enter. Neither of these women are as outlandishly tall as Chei and the twin guards – guard twins? – at the stargate. One is a curvy redhead with a multitude of freckles and the other is a slight brunette, perhaps a shade darker in skin tone than Teyla.

Teyla is still lifting one curious eyebrow when the freckled one's gaze lights on her, and her face breaks into a wide, impossibly delighted smile. Teyla is not sure why she takes one instinctive step back.

"Look, mine really is pretty! Here I thought Daiae was exaggerating."

"She did last time," her companion agrees with a grin, and begins to size up Rodney. Who does not step back but gets a little flustered, color rising in his cheeks when he notices which part of his body the Xa is staring at. "So you're the smart one?"

Rodney's nod is lightning-fast and confident; Teyla is almost relieved, back on solid ground, able to focus on the rich display of emotion from Rodney rather than her own growing sense of discomfort. "You could say so. Actually, you have to say so – Dr. Rodney McKay, pleased to meet you but, uh, unable to go anywhere with you to fix whatever little mechanical problem you have; I've have to stay here – and, hey, what am I, chopped liver? I may not be a pretty boy like Teyla, but I like to think I possess a certain manly, ruggedly attractive look."

While Teyla has been gaping at both women, the brunette has crossed the room and put a hand on Rodney's arm – decisive, demanding. "Stay here is what we'll do." She tilts her head and smiles. "It's the whole point, in fact. Lie down now."

At that, the woman hooks her foot around Rodney's ankle and dumps him onto the bed.

~*~

Rodney's sour look threatens to screw with Sheppard's relaxed, happy feeling on the way back to the gate. He keeps peering at her neck and shooting venomous glances at Ronon. Teyla strides ahead of them, his face set.

"You know we were forced into some – some sort of reverse brothel last night while you were doing whatever you were doing in there," Rodney mentions. For the fifth – or is it fiftieth? – time.

"Yes, Rodney," Sheppard says, with a roll of her eyes.

There's dew on the grass along the path, but the morning sun is warming the valley gently, the sky is a blue deeper and wider than any Earth vista she remembers, and she feels good. One of the elder priestesses brought them out of the temple after giving Ronon and her the Blessing. A kiss, that's all it was; a kiss from the Goddess, and the imprint of her lips left on Sheppard's cheek in an ink that would fade in a few days. The priestess promised it would not matter. The Xa would remember them.

Sheppard's pretty sure everyone in the temple last night will remember them.

"The beds were so lumpy that my back is in agony right now; I'm probably going to be crippled. And do you realize why I was unable to close my eyes for more than ten minutes?" He doesn't wait for Sheppard's answer, again, "Because there were scores of women throwing themselves at me – very attractive women; beautiful, even! Tall ones, petite ones, redheads and brunettes and oh, God, busty blondes, yet I sent them all away; do you even know why? Why do I even ask? You don't have the slightest idea, do you? I did it because of you!" Rodney takes a step closer and narrows his eyes, looking at Sheppard's neck again.

Skittish, because she doesn't want to think too much about the night before, she hitches her T-shirt neck higher. "Quit trying to look down my shirt, McKay." Keep it light, keep it all a joke, she thinks. That's her best bet. What was in that smoke anyway? Not that she has anything to apologize for, damn it, but this is not the time to explain that to Rodney. Especially when she's starting to feel like maybe she does.

"I'm not trying to look down your shirt, Colonel," Rodney hisses back. "Is that a hickey?"

"What?" Sheppard tries unsuccessfully to look at her own neck.

Rodney's quick with his hands, always has been. He grasps the edge of her T-shirt neck and peels it back. "It is!"

Sheppard slaps Rodney's hand away. "Quit," she snaps. It's the damn touching thing again, but she's never got around to telling Rodney how much it's bothering her, so she shuts down the stab of temper she feels. It's particularly disturbing this morning; she still feels...sensitized. The brush of his fingers against her neck made her shiver.

Ahead of them, Teyla and Ronon are paused, waiting, looking back with interest. A blush heats Sheppard's cheeks as she looks at Ronon, and she damns this new body for that. She hates the million and one ways it gives her away. She used to know how to keep up a front, but being a woman keeps ambushing her, surprising her, and she has to scramble to just keep up with her own responses. She's perpetually behind the curve now; it drives her crazy.

Meanwhile, Rodney's looking even sourer. "Exactly what did you do in there last night, Colonel?"

Sheppard tries for cool and drawling, despite knowing even her ears are flushed red. "Prayed."

"And that – that's what? Stigmata?" Rodney's voice is climbing higher and higher as he's stabbing a finger at the hickey.

Sheppard grabs his wrist. "Stop it."

She's seen McKay with some pretty nasty injuries, but his expression never matched the one on his face now. It isn't anger or agitation. It's betrayal. Shit. Her sharp tone seems to get to him, too, or maybe it's the harsh grip she has on him; his eyes widen, flicker down to where her fingers are digging into his skin. His mouth snaps closed and something like resignation fills his eyes.

Sheppard curses silently, pissed at herself and Rodney and the Xa, just because they happen to still be on their planet.

"Look, Rodney, we'll talk about it after we get back to Atlantis. We've got the Blessing, the Xa are going to trade with us, no one got shot. Everything else is just details, okay?"

Rodney shakes her off. "Not okay. Not okay, at all, Colonel. And you can shove your details." Before Sheppard can respond, he stalks away.

So much for the blue sky good mood. Fuck. Ronon's still watching her. She shrugs helplessly, rubs her face with one hand, and starts walking again. Ahead, Rodney is moving in that jerky, shoulders-tense way he has when he's upset. He isn't speaking, either, not even with Teyla.

Sheppard yanks her T-shirt back into place viciously. "Shit." This is why you don't fuck team mates.

It sure is why you don't fuck more than one teammate.

~*~

"Well," Elizabeth says, leaning forward a little, frowning a little. "I'd say congratulations."

Sheppard slumps a little lower in her chair, not feeling the good, successful mission glee.

Rodney's got his arms folded over his chest and is glaring at her. Except when he's looking bewildered and hurt, which makes Sheppard look away, which leads to realizing Ronon is watching her like a big, unblinking cat. The result is that she quickly avoids her gaze and focuses on Teyla, whose face is so strained that staring at him is painful. Then she has to look anywhere else, before she ends up thinking about last night, so she switches back to Rodney. Who is glaring again like he knows what she was thinking about.

"Colonel?"

She jumps and looks guiltily at Elizabeth, having no idea what she just said. "Yeah?"

"I know you'll include everything in your report." Gentle reminder to gloss over anything that would raise eyebrows back at the SGC or reprimand for not getting her paperwork done on time? She never knows with Elizabeth. "But I'd appreciate a quick overview. What was involved with receiving the Xa's Blessing?"

Sheppard looks at her hands on the table and at the words in her report. The Xa invited Specialist Dex and Colonel Sheppard to participate in their devotions. The remainder of our team (Teyla Emmagan and Dr. Rodney McKay) were encouraged to wait in a nearby guest house. After entering the Xa temple, we expressed our respect for their beliefs by taking part in a ritual form of prayer. The Xa were pleased with our efforts and agreed to enter into trade negotiations. Recommend assigning Lieutenant Cadman or other female officer and negotiators to return to PX0-069. Hey, too much detail would just be boring.

"We went into the temple –"

"They stripped naked first," Rodney interrupts.

"Purification ceremony," Sheppard continues, not taking her gaze away from Elizabeth, while praying for Rodney to just stay quiet for once. "You have to swim through a pool to get into the temple. One of the priestesses explained that we could pray with them or not, and if we did, then we would be blessed and they'd be happy to trade with us."

Elizabeth's eyes narrow. "You didn't feel that you would be deceiving the Xa, or that they would take offense if they doubted your sincerity?"

"Didn't need to fake anything," Ronon says.

"Of course not," Rodney snaps.

Sheppard glares at him. He wasn't in the temple with them. If he would just shut up so they could get through this faster, she might have time to get a shower before tackling the inbox full of reports she knows is waiting for her, not to mention writing this mission up.

"Colonel? Exactly what did the prayer ritual involve?" Elizabeth prompts.

She bites the inside of her lip for an instant, then offers, "We had to ring the bell." More than once, she reflects. She's never going to hear a bell again without being reminded.

"It's a mystery reserved for initiates," Ronon adds. "Can't say any more."

"Oh, is tha what you're calling it now?" Rodney says snidely.

"What the hell is your problem, McKay?"

"You! You, with your space slut girlfriends and hickeys, and Ronon and you were both out of radio contact all night while Teyla and I got a steady stream of propositions for stud duty!" Rodney's voice just keeps going up; he's pointing and waving his hands until Teyla grabs one.

"Dr. McKay," Teyla says at the same time Elizabeth snaps, "Rodney!" and he shuts up, even averts his eyes, looking miserable.

"Wait, you got what?" Sheppard blurts out. It only sinks in now, that thing Rodney has been complaining about so vocally: The women he mentioned didn't ogle him while he was passing through; they came to him because they wanted his little wigglers? She feels almost a little affronted – why Rodney's, why didn't the Xa…oh. Yeah. Right.

"Perhaps it would be better if I were to explain," Teyla says. He looks stressed, almost gray around the mouth, and exhausted. Or maybe that's haunted. Sheppard feels suddenly worried. Christ, if something really did happen to Teyla or Rodney....

"I wish someone would," is Elizabeth's response.

"The Xa adopt girl children from numerous worlds where they are not...prized," Teyla begins. "They trade fine goods and fresh produce in exchange, but mostly take the unwanted. The few men allowed to live on Xa aren't enough to maintain a viable population. So when they can, when they consider someone worthy, they choose partners to sire a child."

Sheppard's mouth is dry, but she makes herself ask anyway. She's suddenly afraid that that beautiful world, with its friendly, hands-on women, is hiding some terrible secret. "And if the baby's a boy?"

Teyla gives her a slight but reassuring smile. "Then the Xa give the baby to the father or, if he has no wish for a child, they send the boy to Yan. The Yan seldom have boy children and value them highly. Telem, the first woman who came and asked for my...contribution...explained. In the end." His gaze shifts a little to the side, over Sheppard's shoulder, and the weariness becomes apparent again, along with distraction.

Sheppard flicks a look toward Rodney. The nagging feeling in her stomach is back and brought reinforcements. He doesn't look like he's gotten laid the night before. But what does she know? Maybe the whole hissy fit is just a way of distracting her?

Not likely that Teyla would have accepted, either. Except...what if Teyla thought that the Xa were his only chance at having a kid now? Suddenly Sheppard isn't as sure of anything as she had been. What a shitty, shitty deal for Teyla.

"We declined, of course."

Of course. She'd pay more attention to Teyla's stiff delivery, but she's kind of busy staring at Rodney's downturned mouth. Closed or – usually, normally, most often – open, it never lies. No, Rodney didn't sleep with any of the women. And yeah, he's blaming her for that.

And yeah, she feels bad. Not as bad as Teyla, though. The calm exterior is an act. Underneath, he's hurting, bound to be, and it isn't just the baby thing, it's the Xa. Just like the Genii, they've turned out to be different than Teyla thought.

"That's – certainly an unusual custom." Elizabeth manages to say, her tone just off enough to make Sheppard's attention snap back to her. "I don't know of anything comparable on Earth. Has this been in practice for a long period of time?"

"As far as I know, the Xa record is unbroken for generations." Teyla rolls his shoulders forward; it's too graceful to be called a shrug. The play of muscles under the tan skin of his arm doesn't hurt, and crap, she absolutely didn't just notice that. It was one thing to...admire Teyla's form from minimum safe distance before, but this, now? Sheppard squeezes her eyes shut, and when she opens them again, it's all right; she can focus on his words again. What was in that temple incense? "...merely a continuation of more common customs, if one taken to extremes. Many of the Pegasus peoples are rather small in numbers. In addition to that, the Wraith cull indiscriminately, which often results in an uneven ratio of males and females."

Sheppard blinks. Okay. Sex tourism is even more widespread than they always said on TV.

Elizabeth nods at Teyla. "I understand; the influx of new DNA is a matter of necessity."

"Sounds like necessity is the mother of more than invention in Pegasus." Rodney sounds unhappy, but he's stilll got his touch for saying exactly the right thing in exactly the wrong way. Ronon lets out a snort of near laughter, then looks at him speculatively, as though Rodney's upset has suddenly become interesting.

"Either way, it's fascinating." Elizabeth looks like she means it, but she also looks like she'd rather discuss the Pegasus genetic stock exchange in a less open forum. Which is fine by Sheppard because right now, it's hard to decide which are making her more uneasy, Rodney's accusatory stares or Ronon's searing glances.

She coughs discreetly. "So, now that we've paved the way, you're free to discuss the details with Halling. The high priestess promised me personally that trade negotiations could begin promptly."

"Good." Elizabeth knows Sheppard entirely too well, because there's more than a trace of amusement in her smile. "Let's wrap this up, then. Colonel, do you have anything to add?"

"No, we're good."

She really wishes that were true.

On her way out, something occurs to her, and she stops, almost at the door. "So, hey, what happened with Grella?"

Elizabeth smiles. "Triplets. Dr. Biro is staying with her until tonight. Grella had a very hard labor."

So that's why Beckett did the post-mission exams. And wasn't that fun – not. "Oh, wow." Oh, ow, Sheppard thinks. "How is she? The babies are all okay?"

"All three babies are fine, and so is Grella," Elizabeth says, still smiling and looking a little dreamy.

"Three?" Rodney squeaks.

"Twins are good luck on Sateda," Ronon says. A flash of sweet surprise lights her face, and she smiles. "Triplets are better."

Teyla, on the other hand, looks sad. "If they live," he comments. Sheppard winces. Sateda must have had better health care and medicine than Athos did.

"But why don't you – oh." Rodney's mouth works, then he snaps it closed. He looks rebellious and more than a little angry. Sheppard feels the same way. Halling and the rest of the Athosians turning on Teyla shocked her, she still hasn't got around it in her mind. Teyla can't even visit a friend that's just had her babies. "That's – can I just say that your people are crazy?" Rodney tells Teyla. "Keeping you from, uh, your friends? This isn't your fault."

"Thank you, Rodney." Teyla just sounds exhausted, as though he doesn't have any energy left to feel more. Numb. Sheppard's been there.

She stops and presses her hand down on Teyla's shoulder for a second. It's a little easier somehow, because Teyla's still seated and Sheppard's behind him. She still feels awkward, though. But it's easier now than it used to be.

She adds a pat and then retreats out of the briefing room as fast as she can. Behind her, she hears Rodney blurt something to Elizabeth, then his heavy, hurrying footsteps.

~*~

Of course she can outrun Rodney. Even without resorting to running, which would look too weird for the commander of Atlantis to be doing, anyway.

The door to her room shuts behind her, its click soft and comforting. In moments like these, she can never quite gauge how attuned Atlantis is being and how much is just her skewed perspective. Two years, and while she's gotten used to them, she still hasn't precisely gotten comfortable with the automatic sensors. They react to her like an organ player at a church wedding to the bride.

She has a sudden and rather unwelcome image of herself – no, damn, himself, his male body, befuddled expression and all – in a frilly white dress. His arm's linked with Rodney's, like after that session; Rodney's all stiff posture and squared jaw. And wait, wouldn't that make Rodney her father? That'd be too weird, even for her subconscious. Sheppard shakes her head and focuses on her relief at being back. Home. And alone.

Sprawling out on the bed, she realises how tired she is, not to mention a little achy in places she'd rather not think about right now. She took a hot shower before the post-mission briefing, but after spending a decent part of an Atlantis day off-world, that's not refreshing enough. Maybe a nap? It's still noon, but naps are good. She likes to think she's earned one. Trade treaty for Atlantis under her belt, hey, that's something, right?

Sheppard lets her eyes drift shut. Just for a bit.

~*~

When she opens her eyes again and glances at the custom clock Rodney shoved into her hands at some point during their first year on Atlantis, it's past midnight. Sheppard blinks, then rolls her shoulders experimentally. Okay, she's rested. Or rather, her body's rested. Definitely not able to sleep any more. She feels distinctly that there are things to take care of.

Hmm.

A few back exercises would probably be good, get those back muscles loosened up again.

Maybe read a few more pages? War and Peace is still lying on her beside table where she left it...quite a while ago. Funny how she hasn't really gotten to it since Hermea. Then again, not exactly chick lit.

There's always the shower. The adjustable water jets are quite...yeah. They are. But no, she's not in the mood.

Playing the guitar always relaxes her. Mind and body and whatever else might need it. She stands up to fetch it. At least one joint's creaking – so not a good sign, but she'll be damned if she starts worrying about her age now. She curls herself around the body of the guitar, lets her fingers pluck the strings. She hums under her breath. We got married in a fever, hotter than pepper sprout….

She's about to go on to the next line, but…okay. Slowly, she puts the guitar down again and drops back on the bed. For a few moments, she just stares at the ceiling, hands behind her head. Maybe she shouldn't have left, but stayed and explained to Rodney. Not apologized, but made him see – well, her point of view. Which was a bit limited, granted, but Rodney knows what they say about hindsight. Although he hates it. It being people's stupidity.

Sheppard rolls off the bed in one fluid movement and heads for the door. Time to go find Rodney and hash this out. He'll understand. She'll make him understand.

Instinct and experience take her straight to the labs without even trying Rodney's quarters. That this was the right decision is confirmed when she passes a sleepy-eyed Radek in the hallway. He gives her a look that's not exactly cheerful. "Colonel. Please remove Rodney from the lab."

Yeah, okay, that makes sense. She rubs the back of her neck. "He's been there for a while?"

Zelenka bobs his head slowly. "Long enough to drive everybody else away. Soon he will have no staff left."

"That bad?"

He takes off his glasses and rubs at his face. "Worse, Colonel. Very much worse tonight. He berates Bryce, mocks Kavanagh – yes, yes, we all do, but not so loudly – tore Simpson's work apart, and makes me wish for zat to knock him out."

Sheppard's not going to ask what he means by that. "Uh, right. I'll go talk to him. Don't mind the sound of gunfire, okay?"

Zelenka peers at her. "Ah, good. Still a sense of humor, Colonel. Hang onto that." One last knowing look and he's gone.

Sheppard takes what's definitely not a deep breath. Only after the transporter doors close does she walk the rest of the way to the lab.
Rodney's there, bent over a laptop, murmuring to himself. She walks over and peers over his shoulder.

"Excuse me, Colonel, I'm working."

"Kind of looks like Minesweeper to me."

Rodney snaps the laptop closed. "What if it is?"

Sheppard takes a step back. "Okay."

Rodney looks at her, and she wants to squirm. She expected a bad temper, but the truth is she's seen him much worse. He doesn't sound particularly angry, or even snippy. Just – his voice is flat, decided. This isn't going to be as easy as she thought. Though putting Rodney and easy in the same frame is probably a sign of brain damage, anyway. "Look, Rodney, I just wanted to say...."

"I'm sure you have a lot to say," Rodney states. Too much time in the lab, too many hours spent fending off Xa women, and he looks gray and tired. "Unfortunately, I'm not in the mood to listen."

"Jesus, McKay, it was Ronon, not some random woman, okay?" she blurts out. Fuck. She didn't think he'd react like – like she ran over his dog and gave his Nobel to a chimp. No, like she actually...hurt him. Crap. This is the kind of shit she's always tried to steer clear of. This is why one night stands are good.

Rodney's mouth twists a little at the corner. "I'm supposed to cheer you on? Sorry. Couldn't bring the pompoms. Only one item, remember?"

Sheppard licks her lips. "That's not what I meant. You know that."

"Yes, well, cheating on me with a friend isn't much better, now, is it?" Rodney snaps. His arms are folded over his chest and his chin is tucked down. He looks stubborn and miserable and Sheppard feels like the lowest of the low.

"I'm...." The words just won't come.

Rodney looks at her. "Don't strain yourself, Colonel."

"Damn it, Rodney." She feels slow anger uncoil in her belly – he knows, he has to know that it wasn't like that. He's the fucking genius. "You have to understand it wasn't like that. We – we had to do it, okay? The Xa needed our…cooperation, and Ronon –" She realizes she's mirroring Rodney's posture, her arms folded over her chest. She wanted to make him see her point; now she mostly wants to shake some sense into him. "Ronon offered, said she'd go and have sex so I wouldn't have to. But I told her no, I'd do it."

"I've said it before, your tendency toward self-sacrifice is remarkable." Rodney is still staring at her, still folded up and tightly defensive.

"Look, I couldn't order Ronon do that for me, okay?" Why is Rodney making this so difficult? She realizes she's biting her lip again. "Do you think I'd have left you and Teyla if I'd known what was going to happen?" She waves at Rodney. "The whole sperm donation thing?"

Rodney frowns, and something in the rigid set of his shoulders changes. "So you didn't know until it was too late. What a surprise." He doesn't look at Sheppard when he continues, quieter. "It's still a shitty way to find out you've been replaced."

"Jeez, no one's replacing anyone," Sheppard snaps. What's his problem? Ronon and he aren't in a competition.
"No?" Rodney says.

"No." And, God help her, she means it. Doesn't mean to stop this thing with Rodney, whatever it is.

"Oh." Slowly, the worry on his face fades, and what she sees there – it looks more like the Rodney she knows. The one she's hung out with, liked to hang out with. Her friend. "Right. So. If I –" Rodney stops talking and, gently, gently, takes hold of Sheppard's wrist, pulling her closer with the slightest of tugs. She goes with it, feeling a thrill run through her. "If I did this, you'd be okay with it? Still?"

Her throat feels a little dry. This is a little more than being friendly, but she's actually okay with that. Sheppard nods. It's stupid, but there's no one in the lab – she gives in and leans into Rodney. He smells like coffee, like the fine ionized dust of Ancient machinery, like himself. He smells good.

When Rodney's fingers touch her jawbone, she shivers. Slowly, with great care, he cups her cheek with one hand, and yeah, okay, she's missed his hands. It feels natural to let herself fall, forward, just a bit, and tilt her head just so. His lips brush hers, a little chapped, and it strikes her that maybe he's been biting at them, too. He shouldn't have. Really shouldn't have. She opens her mouth, then, and he lets out a sigh against it, the sound reverberating through her and traveling straight to the tips of her toes.

Rodney staggers back two steps, ending up propped against the lab counter. Sheppard follows, iron to a magnet, closing one hand on the front of Rodney's jacket. This is what she's wanted all evening. Not talking, not apologizing, just Rodney's mouth and his hands. She grinds herself against him. Kissing him is hot in a way she'd never thought to connect to Rodney, except she totally should have, because it's all about dedication and enthusiasm coupled with skill. His tongue strokes along her lower lip, tangles with hers, and now she's gasping into his mouth because Jesus, she can feel him everywhere. Hot wet kiss, hand locked hard around her wrist, chest warm and solid against the press of her breasts, thigh between hers, body humming. All she can do is suck on his tongue and hang on, trying to push herself even closer.

When she has to catch a breath, she remembers. "Wait, wait, not here, anyone could come in."

Rodney still has his grip on her wrist. He blinks down as if he just remembers that, and brightens visibly. He begins to pull her across the lab. "Closet," he tells her.

What? That's – she just stares at him.

"You – oh, don't be dense, c'mere, yes –"

Rodney's broad hands in the small of her back, guiding her, and the touch itself burns through the layers of her uniform. His grip on her arm isn't particularly gentle anymore, and maybe there's even a little too much force involved now, something from before seeping through, and Jesus, should that really make her so hot she's abruptly catching her breath? When they stumble – when Rodney shoves her – into a closet, she can feel that she's wet already, slippery between her thighs, and the realization alone makes her exhale a little raggedly. And now Rodney's backing her up against a supply cabinet, almost making her trip, and oh, fuck, this would be disturbing if it weren't such a frightening turn-on right now, and she doesn't want to think about it, just feel; if she reached down now, she knows her fingers would come away wet, glistening, and she'd find herself hot and swollen, ready to –

Oh, God. Fierce kisses. Rodney's mouth slanting over hers, and his urgency is the best fucking thing ever; she's always been fascinated by Rodney's relentless focus, but she wouldn't have thought being on the receiving end of his frantic attempts would be like this – he's panting into her ears, hot, sharp sounds that go straight to her pussy, and God, she'd never known, never –

"Please, please, let me...." Fingers on her hips, not holding but positioning, "…please, I promise, it'll be good, I want – turn around."

Oh. She can't suppress the shudder that races through her, and Rodney takes that as his cue to yank at the buttons of her pants, without his usual finesse; there's a low litany of "God," and "yes," interspersed with him nipping at her earlobe, which makes her clutch at him and feel another rush of wetness pool. It's shameful in a way sex hasn't been before, how she responds to Rodney in control, Rodney who tells and shows her what to do, but it's good, so good that she lets herself go loose and pliant, lazily biting at his lower lip, and Rodney moans "Oh, fuck, you – yes, okay, thank you, thank you –" and drags her pants down, the cool air startling on her uncovered legs. She wants to get rid of the BDUs pooling around her ankles, but Rodney's gripping her wrists, stopping her motion, with a litany of "No, no – wait," and "It's fine," and "It'll work," and taking hold of her hips – sure, efficient motions, angles and directional forces – and she's suddenly facing the shelves, with Rodney behind her, breathing hard.

He kisses the back of her neck, and fuck, that sends shivers down her spine, down, down to where she's wet and aching already and okay, this is really happening, the sound of Rodney's zipper loud in her ears and, "Bend over, bend over, now," even louder, but she does, bracing herself on a shelf at waist-height, and then Rodney's already pushing against her, cock slick, with a quick jerk forward, brushing along her length and hitting her clit in a way that makes her tremble. And then there's a hand on her hip and one in the small of her back again, and his cock is pushing inside her, rougher than ever before, with enough force to make her knees hit the lowest shelves, and it's good enough to make her see bright sparks behind her eyelids and gasp out, "Jesus, Rodney!" He stops, like that, breath harsh, and says, "I'm sorry, should I stop, did I hurt you, I'm sorry," and she says "Watch the knees, Rodney," and "No, no, don't stop," and then Rodney's teeth are marking the slope of her neck, and he's fucking into her again, and again, and when his fingers reach around and press against her hard, she comes, suddenly and with a moan that sounds strangled and wild in her own ears.

~*~

Fuck.

Back to earth – Atlantis – and she didn't like the touchdown. Crash, burn. She's burning, all right, and not in a good way. She just screwed Rodney in a fucking supply closet. Le Rodney screw her in there. Anyone could have walked in and seen them in the lab, or heard them – heard her – moaning like a fucking porn star. She can't go on letting him take control. This has to stop. It's a terrible idea, it isn't her, she's not really like this – doesn't want to be like this. Sheppard sure as hell doesn't want be hung up on Rodney.

She fumbles and jerks her pants up.

"Sheppard?" Rodney says. There's a note of confusion in his voice, and just for that, she hates him just a little bit.

"Not again. We're not doing this again."

"What?"

He acts like this is – normal, when really, it's not. Getting turned on by him holding her down, bending her over, no, no. No. Not okay.

"Leave me alone." She jerks her hand away. "I'm not doing this again. Not with you, not with Ronon. Just, back off, Rodney." She really hates the way her voice is shaking now.

"But –" Rodney stares at her, and the sheer disbelief on his face makes her almost want to hit him. "But you wanted it – you liked it!"

She pauses with her hands on the hem of her T-shirt. "I'm saying...just, not again."

"Did I hurt you?" Now Rodney looks horrified. "Do you need to see Biro or Carson –"

"You didn't hurt me." She cuts him off, repeats it, louder. "You didn't hurt me, Rodney. I just...I'm done."

"But you can handle Ronon," he says tonelessly.

"No!" It's too close to a shout. "Jesus, would you forget about Ronon! This isn't about Ronon!"

She kicks a box of electrical components across the floor. "We're in a fucking closet, Rodney." She points at him. "Your dick's still hanging out of your pants, and we're in a fucking closet, and this is a ticket back to Earth for me if someone catches us."

With a sigh, she slumps back against the shelves. Another box of parts wobbles, then falls to the floor with a crash. Neither of them pays any attention. "I can't do this." She thunks her head back against the shelf and adds, "I don't know how to do this."

Rodney blinks at her, oddly deflated, so out of his depth it isn't even remotely funny. "But – we can figure it out. I'm – I'm good at figuring out things, you know me, Sheppard. Trust me, I'll find some way, and...."

Sheppard shakes her head. "No. I'm sorry."

And she is. She is damned sorry, and not just because the sex itself was spectacular. She needs Rodney as a friend and this...this has probably wrecked that forever. But it's – the panic is still there, a heavy ball in her guts, and just thinking about what will happen when people learn about this is enough to make her ill, no matter the cast-iron stomach.

"This ends here, Rodney. Don't –" She stares at him, forces him to look at her. Hell, forces herself to look at him. "Don't make this harder on both of us. I'm leaving now. Wait a little before you go to your quarters." With a look down, in a softer tone of voice, "And, seriously, Rodney – put it back in your pants and button up."

He flushes at that, and hastens to do so. He's hasn't taken his eyes off her, but his face twists a little, and he looks bereft again. "Okay."

"Really?"

"No, but...." Finally, he looks away from her. "What else can I say?"

She wants to respond, but really, there's nothing left, Rodney's right. So she just nods. Yanks the hem of her shirt down, then opens the door and steps out, head high, like there's no reason she shouldn't be leaving a supply closet in the middle of the night.

The lab is still empty. Thank God for small – the smallest – of favors.

~*~

Sheppard usually wakes before her alarm. Not this morning; it's blaring before she blinks awake. All she can think is how much she just wants to go back to sleep. Her entire body feels like lead, as if moving out of bed took far more energy than she has. The temptation to smack the alarm and pull her pillow over her head is almost overwhelming until it percolates through her brain that it's light: the sun is up and pouring through her windows. Normally, she'd be up and meeting Ronon on the East Pier before now.

With a groan, she rolls out of bed and pulls on her running gear. She's already out the door when she realizes she must've pulled her sports bra on inside out; it feels tighter and more irritating than usual. Just the thought of trying to keep up with Ronon, who has probably circled the entire city by now, makes her tired this morning.

Maybe she can beg off. She checks her watch. She has – Ronon too, she remembers – that check-up scheduled with Biro that Beckett mumblingly reminded them of yesterday. In addition, she has about a week's worth of paperwork to finish before the Daedalus gets back, a staff meeting with Elizabeth, security team rosters to go over with Lorne, a flight to the mainland with Palecki, and an interview with Private Michaelson. There is no doubt the kid is going home on the Daedalus, but as his commanding officer, she can't just send him away without saying anything. Too bad her social skills aren't a little bit sharper, but as it is, she'll stick to the truth: some people just aren't meant for offworld duty. Michaelson is one of those people.

She passes Sergeant Reyes in the corridor. He gives her a nod, since she's not in uniform. "Running late, ma'am?" he asks.

Sheppard gives him a half-hearted glare.

"Nothing's going to be left in the mess except oatmeal and that stuff that tastes like salted cottage cheese," Reyes adds cheerily.

The way she feels, she'll just skip breakfast anyway. There's an added benefit to that plan: no Rodney. "You like living dangerously, don't you, Sergeant?" she says and keeps moving. Reyes just laughs.

She reaches the overlook where she usually meets Ronon and looks around, squinting against the entirely too bright sunshine flashing off the water. Okay. Looks like Ronon took off without her. Just as well. She's got a weird, tight ache going on in her gut that would probably get worse if she went racing after her freakishly fit, mutant running machine team mate.

With a sigh of near relief, Sheppard leans against the railing with her back to the sun and taps on her radio, tuning it to Ronon's assigned channel. The Atlantis radios are better than cellphones since Zelenka interfaced them with the city's comm system. Every radio set has an individual channel as well as public ones, so conversations are as private as anyone wants them to be. Of course, mistakes happen. Sheppard pushes the memory of Goodwin and Parkhurst aside.

"Ronon, this is Sheppard," she says. "You take off without me?"

No answer. She isn't alarmed, Ronon doesn't like the radios much. Getting her to wear one regularly, especially on missions, has been a pain. Ronon still takes her time answering, so she tries again. "Hey, Ronon. Come on. Where are you?"

Nothing. Now, Sheppard frowns. She's draggy and achy, and Ronon's not answering the radio. Not good signs. What if Beckett missed something during the post-mission exam? She pushes off the railing and heads for the nearest transporter at a trot.

The cramp twists through her abdomen when she steps into the corridor leading to Ronon's quarters. It makes her suck in her breath, but she doesn't miss her stride, though she does press her hand over her belly for a moment. For about a second, she's thinking alien illness, until she remembers Biro's gleeful 'fully functional female'.

"Aw, crap," she mutters as she triggers Ronon's door. That's just perfect. Biro or someone couldn't have mentioned this sooner?

"Go away," Ronon growls from inside the room.

Sheppard takes her life in her hands and steps inside anyway. "Hey, Ronon," she says. "You didn't answer your radio."

"Go. Away."

The windows are shaded against the morning sun, but Sheppard finds Ronon by voice. She's on the bed, curled in a near-fetal position. It makes Sheppard blink, until Ronon groans softly. Then she's got it figured out. She walks over to the bed and switches on a light. Sure enough, Ronon's sweaty and clearly miserable. She glares at Sheppard weakly and mutters something only half audible about bleeding.

It would almost be funny, if Sheppard wasn't suddenly noticing a creeping stickiness – not in conjunction with bleeding, anyway. She supposes it's a good thing this didn't start the day before on Xa, or when she and Rodney screwed like minks in the supply closet, because she can just imagine his reaction to finding blood on his dick. It wouldn't be pretty. But it's still one facet of being female she could have done without experiencing, oh, forever. It's not like she's planning on having a kid this way. She's seen Ronon with an arrow in the leg, even going into withdrawal, but never this obviously miserable. It would be funny if it wasn't happening to her too.

Really, she should ask and find out what. Only, she just doesn't want to know. Not right now.

"Cramps?" she says to Ronon.

"Unh."

One of her own does something that feels like her internal organs are being torqued. Something in her face must give her away because Ronon gives her a feral sort of snarl-smile. "You too?"

Sheppard gingerly sits down on the edge of Ronon's bed and bends over a little. It doesn't really help. She pats Ronon's hip. "Yeah." There's almost a rhythm to it, the cramps cresting and then easing back. She waits until the latest one is slacking off and says, "Come on. You've got to get up. We've got an appointment with Biro, remember?"

"Don't need a doctor," Ronon insists through gritted teeth.

"We're both going."

"No."

"Yes."

"I'll be fine."

"Don't be such a big – stoic," Sheppard says. She grimaces, suddenly imagining anyone hearing about this or, Christ, the wetness she can now feel seeping into her underwear. "Besides, we both need...supplies." This won't be over for days, she realizes, remembering something else from a brief cohabitation with one girlfriend.

Ronon bats her hand away. "Plenty of toilet paper in here."

Sheppard winces. That is just wrong. "Seriously, Ronon, we can do better than that." A breath. "I hear. I mean, I know the expedition brought...stuff for the women. The Daedalus brought resupplies, too." Ow. Another cramp. "And painkillers."

Ronon rolls onto her back and looks at the ceiling. "Painkillers?"

"C'mon."

"Thought you had a high pain threshold?" Ronon comments, finally moving to get out of bed.

She's jaybird naked under the sheet, and Sheppard quickly stares out of the windows, wondering if everything they did in the Xa temple makes them lesbians. Kate would know. Right. Like she's going to talk about this with Kate. Talking about Rodney was agony enough; she's not laying out any more of her emotions for Kate to dissect.

She turns to check if Ronon's dressed yet and gets an eyeful of two bare, barely jiggling breasts as Ronon buttons up her pants. Of course, at the moment, Sheppard feels so cruddy they aren't even a turn on. Being a woman sucks.

Ronon's completely dressed when Sheppard snaps back to reality.

"Teyla actually spars when she feels like this," Ronon says. Her hand is over her abdomen.

Sheppard rises from the bed. "Well, yeah, but we both know she's tougher than either of us," she tells Ronon.

Ronon looks thoughtful, then nods.

~*~



"You'll both be glad to hear that everything appears to working the way it's supposed to," Biro says after examining them both. They're in her little office, which is smaller even than Carson's and probably doubles as a supply closet. The shelves behind her desk are filled with sheets, blankets, scrubs, and towels. There are things on her desk. "Carson was supposed to mention this to you earlier."

"Well, he didn't," Sheppard says. "He just mumbled something."

Now that the latest ordeal is over, Sheppard notices Biro looks a little rumpled and a lot tired. Not that there isn't a lot of that going around Atlantis, but Biro usually comes across as disturbingly enthusiastic, a mixture of black humor and energy keeping her going when others are drooping. Helping Grella have those triplets must have exhausted her.

Biro makes a sound that sounds suspiciously like a snort, then goes on, "The fascinating thing is that all the women in Atlantis have synched to a twenty-eight day cycle. I would have expected you and Ronon to take up to a couple of months to match it, but apparently your bodies' adaptation to Atlantis carried over. You're both a couple of days late, but right on schedule with the rest of us."

Sheppard gulps. "I didn't want to know that," she says, a little faintly. She's never going to be able to scrub any of this from her brain. Even when she's a guy again, she's going to look at the date and know that Teyla and Miko and Cadman are all.... She frowns and calculates, trying to draw a correlation between the dates of some sterner lectures.

Biro looks interested. "Colonel?"

She shakes her head. "Never mind."

"So, are we done?" Ronon demands. Sheppard took a chair, but Ronon is leaning against the closed door. Her arms are wrapped around herself; she's obviously still in pain.

"Almost," Biro tells her with a sympathetic smile. She points at the blue and white boxes sitting on her desk. "Pads or tampons?"

Ronon perks up, looking interested for the first time. Sheppard just cringes. "Tampons?" Ronon asks.

Biro grins at Sheppard, so obviously amused by the embarrassed blush that's coloring her cheeks – again! – that Sheppard hams it up. She slaps her hands over her cheeks and gives Biro a mock wide-eyed look. "What?"

A maniac's grin lights Biro's face. "Tampons!" she says to Ronon and holds one up. "Shall I demonstrate how to use one?"

Please, God, not on yourself, Sheppard thinks. Or me.

Ronon's staring at the tampon with suspicion. "How does it work?"

"It's a cylindrically-shaped piece of absorbent tissue with a gently rounded tip in a plastic wrapper." Biro looks at her as if she were a teacher and Ronon a not-particularly-apt pupil. "Just out of curiosity, how do you suppose it works, Ronon Dex?"

Ronon is usually so hard to goad that even the Marines have caught on and stopped flattening themselves against Atlantis's delightedly-blinking walls when she passes, but today, she jumps for the bait like a kitten for a mouse on a string. Well. Like a lioness for a goat on a tether.

"Unwrap and insert it?" Ronon isn't Californian, not even American, but Sheppard can hear the 'duh' in these two words. Impatiently, Ronon leans forward and stretches out her hand in order to take the thing from Biro's fingers.

Only to have Biro pull back just as quickly, "Oh no, I really don't advise you take it and run with it, no pun intended." It should be illegal for doctors to display such amusement. Sheppard briefly considers prodding Elizabeth for the necessary an amendment to the Good Behavior clause.

"Why not?" Ronon's voice is slowly but surely approaching a growl. Sheppard begins to marvel at Biro's sang froid; this is the point where grown men tend to start groveling in the dust.

"Because," Biro nods gravely, "it's not quite as easy as it sounds. Many young girls have troubles at first, and experience great discomfort."

No, there are no words in the English language worse than what she just said. The only question is, shoot Biro or shoot herself? Sheppard isn't sure, and would have to kill Ronon, too; she's a witness to this undying shame, after all. All three of them, then.

She must've made a sound of distress, as Biro turns and peers at her. "There, there, Colonel Sheppard. Rest assured that it's not hard, either – if you observe the basic rules."

"Basic. Rules." The look of bewilderment on Ronon's face is oddly comforting. Misery doesn't just love company; it wants to fucking marry her, as far as Sheppard is concerned.

"Oh yes. First, you wash your hands, but I assume that one is a given; I don't suspect you're fond of infections? It's rare that they spread to your uterus, true, but trust me that you don't want cystitis."

Not her imagination: Ronon is looking a little pale around the eyes. Sheppard finds herself curling a protective hand over her aching belly.

"Then, you crouch down, or at least lift one leg onto a ledge or chair, and relax your vaginal muscles." When Ronon's frown deepens, Biro quickly continues, "Yes, you have them, and you will find out how to do it. You've probably practiced them already, if not as the primary target."

Great. What this conversation needed, really needed, was an allusion to masturbation. She resists the urge to cover her eyes.

Obviously pleased with the attention, Biro smiles at both of them. "Tug at the string, just to make sure. And finally, when pushing the tampon inside, make sure you insert it as far as you can reach, past the initial ring of muscle. It's only deep enough inside when you can't feel it any more."

That's...more than Sheppard ever wanted to know, and was afraid to ask as well. But Biro's not finished yet: "And, very important warning, don't leave it in more than six to eight hours – toxic shock syndrome is no laughing matter." She seems to ponder this for a moment. "Not that the term wouldn't be quite telling already. So, remember to change regularly, and don't leave the last one in after you've stopped bleeding."

Now – now! – she holds out her arm with the tampon again. "So?" There's a twinkle in her eyes, and hey, so nice to provide the day's entertainment, while the inner lining of a major goddamn organ sluffs out of her body, making a sticky, bloody mess between her legs.

"No, no thanks," Sheppard says. Ronon's shaking her head no, too. "Really, we'll stick with the pads." Another glance at the tampon Biro's still holding. "Just – no way."

Biro gives her a very pointed eyebrow, and Sheppard bites her lip and looks away because that eyebrow says, I did just examine you, Colonel – what's the big deal? The fact that Biro or, hell, anyone outside the team or Kate knows about...about what happened between her and Rodney makes her wish to die now. A Wraith could show up, and she'd throw herself at it. Or she could spontaneously discorporate. Ascend. Right now.

"It's your call," Biro goes on. "I'll get you a supply of pads to take with you. You too, Ronon. And something for the cramps."

"Thanks," Sheppard croaks.

Biro schools her face into something approaching seriousness. She pulls a blue-and-white box off a lower shelf. "Here."

Sheppard takes it, twitching at just the thought of strolling down the corridors and being seen with it. Biro hands another one to Ronon.

As she heads out the door – finally – Biro calls out cheerfully enough that a passing nurse hears and looks up, "Well, if you change your mind, come by the morgue. I'll keep these here for you, just in case."

Of course, the nurse spots the damned box in Sheppard's hands.

Of course.

~*~

Tap.

"Rodney."

Tap, tap.

He lifts one hand and flaps it, signaling shut up, genius working here. A slightly off-the-wall search through the Ancient database has uncovered some new files that seem to be about ZPM research. Either that or some branch of science Rodney has never conceived of yet. He squints at the screen, awkwardly translating Ancient to English. It's fascinating and frustrating and does a very satisfactory job of distracting him from Sheppard, him and Sheppard, and Sheppard and Ronon.

Tap, tap.

"Rodney."

Tap, tap, tap.

"What?" Rodney barks out without looking up for even a second.

Could they possibly have charged the ZPMs with a – his thoughts stray again. To Sheppard and – No, no, no. He'll think about anything else. The planetary invisibility cloak, that's fascinating enough to hold his attention. How does that work? The Hermeans need to start showing them some of their vaunted technology. He's going to insist, the very next time the team visits.

Tap, tap, tap. Tap.

Rodney frowns and taps the stylus in his hand against the lab bench again. The next time they go to Hermea...that's their next mission. Sheppard will probably find someone to sleep with this time, too, maybe a hermaphrodite since she's suddenly into 'experimenting.' Meanwhile, he, Rodney McKay, will be enduring some cockamamie lesson in Enlightenment, since he hasn't had all his equipment switched. Like changing sexes will provide the secrets of the universe. It certainly hasn't given Sheppard, Teyla, or Ronon the wisdom of the Dalai Lama. In fact, it's just made Teyla fucking miserable. If he sees Halling, he may have to sock him. Of course, Halling's built like a tree, so Rodney would have to get him to bend over first, but if he does...well, then Ronon will probably give the big jerk a boot to the ass. He really hopes this Path to Enlightenment isn't painful. He doesn't deal with pain very well. He had explained that to the Hermeans, hadn't he? He taps the stylus again. Yes, yes, he did. And they weren't sadists, just, well, peculiar, so it probably wouldn't be some terrible ordeal. Of course, if it were, Sheppard would rescue him. He taps faster and faster. Only, if Sheppard has to rescue him, that will no doubt annoy the Hermeans and then Sheppard, Ronon and Teyla may be in trouble, because they need the Hermeans to put them back to the way they were.

Taptaptaptaptaptap.

"Rodney! The flux capacitor is about to explode!"

Rodney shoots to his feet, his stool spinning away on its rollers and hitting Miko in the hip, startling a bleat from her.

"What!?" He stares wildly around the lab. Nothing more or less dangerous than usual catches his eye. "Flux capacitor?" he demands of Zelenka, who looks too satisfied to be a man in a lab with anything more potentially explosive than Rodney's temper. Rodney narrows his eyes. "You little weasel."

"Rodney, if you do not stop tapping, someone will put that stylus up your – "

"What tapping?"

Zelenka rolls his eyes. He points at the stylus in Rodney's hand. "Do not take that to the staff meeting, Rodney. You will give Dr. Weir a headache."

Rodney looks at the stylus blankly, then tosses it at the laptop. "Staff meeting?" The idea of facing Sheppard again is about as appealing as praising Kavanagh for his good attitude.

Zelenka consults his watch. "Yes, McKay. You are supposed to be there in twenty minutes."

"Oh. Well, that gives me plenty of time to go over this data a second time," Rodney says. He pulls the stool back over. "Miko!"

"Yes, Dr. McKay?"

He snaps his fingers. "Coffee."

Really, they couldn't have charged the ZPM using –

"Miko is not your personal, what do you call it, gopher," Zelenka observes.

Rodney squints at another equation. No, that just can't be right, can it? It contradicts...everything most of the Earth-based physicists have thought for the last ten years. Hmm. Maybe it is right. After all, he knows they're all idiots back on Earth. Excepting Sam Carter and Larry Fleinmann.

He grabs up the stylus and bounces the tip off the lab bench.

Somewhere behind him, Zelenka makes an exasperated sound.


"Why don't you go do something," Rodney says. "Like, oh, say, let me go out on a limb here, your work?"

Tap.

"Do not blame me when you forget the meeting and Dr. Weir sends very large Marines to carry you out of the lab, Rodney."

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Whatever."

Tap.

"And do not forget to tell Colonel Sheppard the modifications on the jumpers are not fully tested. Several of the pilots have mentioned problems with the modified drone-firing interface."

"Fine. Fix it," Rodney tells him.

"Fix it, he says," Zelenka tells the rest of the lab. "Between analyzing ZPM, city maintenance, myresearch, and overseeing others when the Mighty McKay goes offworld. Not to mention all the jumpers are in rotation."

"Ground them."

"Rodney – "

"Busy."

"Do not blame me when jumpers fall from the sky like bricks," Zelenka mutters.

Rodney taps the stylus again. He really doesn't want to be the one to ground Sheppard's jumpers. She'll think it's a petty revenge thing. He checks the proportions of the Hekan ZPM again. That doesn't make sense. To be exact, it doesn't fit. He's still frowning over the problem, the jumpers forgotten, when his radio earpiece pops and Chuck in the gateroom reminds him, "Staff meeting in five minutes, Dr. McKay."

~*~

Halfway back to their quarters, Ronon stops and swings around.

"What?" Sheppard calls.

"We forgot the painkillers."

"Deal with it, Ronon," she snaps. Okay, fine, she's cranky, and Ronon is not a happy camper judging from the way her spread-out fingers are clenching over her belly, but Sheppard is not marching back and asking Biro for drugs because she has cramps. Women have gone through this every month – she cringes – since the dawn of time. Most of them didn't have access to high-class pharmaceuticals.

Ronon gives her a look, one that she either picked up from Teyla or Elizabeth: It's very disapproving. There's quite a bit of resentment due to pain, too. Sheppard ignores it – she has practice – and tugs Ronon back into motion. "C'mon."

Luck is with her for the moment. They don't run into anyone else in the halls. She takes them to her quarters; she really needs a shower and change of clothes now. The clothes go with her into the bathroom because she's not ready to get naked with Ronon again under any circumstances – seriously, no.

Fast shower, give the hair a rough toweling, dress, situate the damn pads – and doesn't that feel entirely to much like a fucking diaper – and she's out, hair still dripping on the shoulders of her T-shirt. She's grateful that second set of BDUs she got out of supply aren't tight; a loose fit is definitely preferable today. She's about to find some socks and pull on her new boots when she notices Ronon.

Ronon is standing in front of the window, plucking at the leather vest she's using as a shirt, tugging it up only to stare at her exposed stomach. At first, Sheppard thinks it's the cramps, but then Ronon bites her lip and tries to grab a fold of skin; she manages, with some effort, to find a little roll. She also leans down and pokes her upper thigh, hard and critically and, it seems, with grim satisfaction.


Sheppard just stands and stares as Ronon executes a perfect half-turn and ass-check while looking over her bare shoulder. It's not hot. It's deeply, deeply disturbing. Sheppard's last girlfriend did that, back when he let her drag him into Nordstrom's dressing rooms.

Ronon tugs at the waist of the pants, then pokes at her waist. She looks glum. Despite herself, knowing she's going to regret it, Sheppard asks. "What is it?"

"Am I fat?"

It's a nightmare. It has to be. Sheppard's team mate, the big, lethal alien warrior who tosses Marines around like confetti, did not just utter those words. But Sheppard remembers the proper response anyway. "Of course not!"

"I look fat."

"No, you don't," Sheppard hastily reassures her. "You really don't."

"You're lying." Ronon's voice is flat. She pokes at the bare skin just under her navel again. "I'm getting soft." She looks up and blinks, waiting for an answer. "Sheppard?"

I'm in hell, Sheppard realizes. Hell.

"I do." Ronon grunts. She lets herself fall onto Sheppard's bed, scowling fiercely at the ceiling.


Sheppard instinctively checks the ceiling, then looks back at Ronon and remembers to close her mouth. "Christ, Ronon –"

"I couldn't outrun McKay right now," Ronon mumbles. She half-turns toward the wall. It doesn't help how disturbed Sheppard feels, seeing Ronon on her bed. Again, like that first night. "I feel like a bloated kubrum."

"No, damn it, wait, you're not –" Sheppard squeezes her eyes shut. Says it. "You're