Archive of Our Own

After everything that had happened—after being “special” and “super” and “amazing” and nearly dying—everything felt more then a little off. It felt clunky and odd, like jeans that didn’t quite fit, that twisted when they should have slid, that sagged when they should have molded. After his skin finished stretching and the world stopped turning quite so fast—Rodney couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit sorry for himself. There were so many things he could remember but couldn’t access from that time (he refused to dignify it with a name, although part of him still called it P.A. and A.A.). So many ways he could have made his life better.

But that hadn’t been necessary. He had been dying, and suddenly he didn’t matter as much anymore. Not compared to the others. He’d gotten rid of Ronon’s scars. He’d written an opus about Elizabeth. He’d had tea with Teyla. His own flesh hadn’t entered into the equation. They were the ones that mattered; they were the ones that had to live past that moment.

And now he was trapped in this fucking body—trapped when he’d had the chance to change everything but hadn’t; trapped and cursed and sick to death of feeling like an alien visiting from the planet Venus. And yes, okay, he was being a little melodramatic regarding the entire incident; he had chosen to do those things, chosen to make his friends lives that much better before his own life ended.

Fuck. Rodney ran a hand through his hair and mentally cursed again, and again. Taking a quick look around the med-bay, he realized nobody was within the immediate vicinity. “Fuck,” he muttered once. Then again. “Fuck.”

“You okay, McKay?” Ronon’s voice started Rodney; he’d thought he’d been alone. Thought he could angst a little in the privacy of the medical bay and then put the lid back on it, cap the thoughts and turn back into the perfect little scientist, complete with penis.

Rodney turned his head and stared at Ronon for a few seconds. Looked at the stronger body—and fuck, but there was nothing else to call him but man—and nodded. So he had to put the perfect little scientist cap back on a little earlier then expected. It wasn’t the end of the world.

“Fine,” Rodney responded, voice flat. And okay, that probably didn’t project the image of somebody who has fine, but Ronon had caught him off guard! He had been in the middle of trying to figure everything out, trying to understand why Super!Rodney had decided that rather then take the easy rode out and make herself into Meredith permanently, she had chosen to remain in this vile body that had tormented him for far too long. And Ronon had interrupted that. He’d interrupted when Rodney was still trying to understand what had happened, understand why he was still there, in Atlantis. He’d never expected to wake up, never expected to have to face his problems head-on. Instead, he’d chosen the easy way out. He hadn’t wanted too—McKay wasn’t suicidal—but there had been a certain amount of relief that accompanied the terror; a certain measure of complacency.

Ronon snorted, then pulled a chair up to the side of McKay’s bed. He turned it around and straddled the plastic, leaning forward against the hard surface. Ronon’s eyes were shimmering with worry, but his face was surprisingly stoic and calm. He looked concerned—something that Rodney hadn’t quite been expecting. “Right,” Ronon finally replied, as if he didn’t believe McKay.

Rodney closed his eyes and turned away from Ronon. Just enough so that when he opened his eyes he wouldn’t see the other man; just enough so that he could pretend he was alone. Of course it didn’t work like that: life wasn’t a cartoon, and things still existed even if he couldn’t see them.

“Rodney.” Ronon’s voice remained steady, calling Rodney back to look at him.

“What?” Rodney snapped. “I’m kind of busy at the moment, and I know that’s hard for you to understand, but when people turn away from something, well, most people consider that a clue and they leave them alone for whatever fucking reason they have. Maybe respect, or understanding, or whatever. But I guess that’s too much to ask, right? Is it to much to ask for a little time to figure things out? Time to fucking understand what happened, what I gave up? Instead of leaving me alone to figure out what the fuck I did, because apparently I could have made everything better for myself and instead decided to do fuck knows what—fix your back! Have tea with Teyla, write Elizabeth a book!”

“Rodney,” Ronon continued. The Satedan reached out, awkwardly pulling Rodney into a half-hug, abandoned seconds later. “Thank you.” Ronon let go and stood up.

“Oh,” Rodney responded.

“Yeah,” Ronon replied.

Rodney fell silent. The two looked at one another for another few minutes before Rodney asked: “Do you believe in god? Because I remember going to church when I was a kid, and they talked a lot about god not giving people more then they could handle, and I don’t know anymore.” Rodney’s face looked miserable, his entire body had curled up onto itself.

Ronon took a breath and then let it out. Then, he responded: “No.”

“Oh.”

“But that does not mean she doesn’t exist. On Sateda,” Ronon looked slightly uncomfortable. He fell silent before sitting down once more. “On Sateda, it wasn’t about the big things.”

“Okay,” Rodney said, encouragingly.

“It was about taking care of each other.” Ronon shifted restlessly. “I joined the military because it was expected, that you’d want to protect the others.”

Rodney nodded.

“God—she—you just did what was right because it was..”

“I think I understand,” Rodney interrupted. His voice had lost the edge of desperation.

“Malena believed,” Ronon whispered. “She believed and she stayed to help and she died.”

Rodney swallowed. He hadn’t expected Ronon to open up, to explain. He’d expected a quick answer that wouldn’t satisfy his curiosity. Instead: “She sounds amazing.”

Ronon didn’t respond, instead turning away and taking a deep breath, before continuing: “I don’t believe, anymore.”

Rodney didn’t respond this time, just looked at Ronon and nodded sagely.

“Why, McKay?”

Rodney hesitated; he hadn’t told anyone in Atlantis his secret, and while he didn’t think the Satedan would tell anybody...He hadn’t talked about Malena before, so he obviously knew how to keep a secret. And he didn’t talk much, so there wasn’t really any chance of his accidentally blurting it out (which McKay knew could happen, not that he would ever admit to it).

“Rodney,” Ronon growled out, impatient.

Rodney took a breath: “Could you call me Meredith, when we’re alone?”

Ronon immediately sat down and looked at the scientist. “You’re dim?”

“Dim?” Rodney looked at Ronon incredulous. “I’m not stupid! I would have thought you realized that, because, hell, genius.”

Ronon shook his head: “dim, other—“ he looked at Rodney, trying to express what he was saying. “You’re not stupid, McKay. You’ve told enough people that you’re a genius. Dim—well” Ronon sighed. “Fucking language circuits.”

“I don’t understand,” Rodney interrupted him.

Ronon shook his dreadlocks in frustration. “There were people, on Sateda, that changed. They were still family, still blood, but different. Dim.”

“Okay,” Rodney responded. “Dim.”

“Yes.” Ronon looked happy that he had gotten his point across.

“Could you call me Meredith?” Rodney repeated, once more. “I’d appreciate it.”

Ronon stood: “that’s a hard path,” he explained while walking towards the door. “I’m here,” the ‘if you need me’ went unspoken.

Rodney swallowed, maybe asking Ronon to call him Meredith was taking it a step too far. Maybe he should be happy that he hadn’t gotten beat up.

“Meredith,” Ronon called out from the doorway. “We’re family, now.”

And Meredith’s face lit up. So maybe everything was different now; maybe her skin still felt stretched a little too tightly; and maybe the jeans didn’t mold quite as well as she wanted them to—but that didn’t matter. She was dim, and it was okay, and everything else would work itself out, eventually. Besides, she was fairly sure there were some notes in the Ancient database regarding transitioning, and she was nothing if not persistent. And stubborn. And egotistical.

It would all work out.