07/29/2007: "SGA Fic: Relentlessly Oblivious (Lorne/Parrish; PG-13)"

Title: Relentlessly Oblivious
Pairing: Lorne/Parrish, Lorne POV.
Rating: PG-13
Words: About 2700
Summary: "Oh crap," Dr. Simpson says.
Notes: Genderswitch fic, from a prompt on sga_genderfuck: "male to female switch: nobody noticed I'm a woman now". Many, many thanks to seikaitsukimizu and lyrstzha for betas and encouragement! lyrstzha also offered some awesome ideas that I included in the final draft.

It happens in a remote part of the city, on a routine search-and-catalogue patrol. Evan hears Dr. Simpson say, "Oh crap," something makes a sharp ping noise, there's a brief flash of light, and he feels his body shift. In the region of his BDUs.

Great. "Dr. Simpson," he says, trying to ignore the sensation, "I think we'd better pack that thing up and head back to the labs."

She nods without looking up, still poking at the device on the table. "The ping sounded a bit ominous, didn't it? But it doesn't seem particularly dangerous." She picks it up; it fits in her hand. "I wonder what it does?"

Evan is pretty sure he has an answer for that.

*

The walk back to the inhabited areas of the city is long and boring. His pants chafe in weird places, his chest is oddly sore, and Simpson acts like she hasn't noticed a thing. It's decent of her. Then again, she's mostly looking at the device – focussing on it so intently that she doesn't even pay much attention to walking. After the fifth time Evan reaches out and steers her around a column, a glass wall, or a piece of debris, he stops counting.

What they don't pass is a mirror, so Evan doesn't get a chance to see what he might look like. At least he's able to run his hand through his hair, reassuring himself that there isn't suddenly more of it.

He's itching to take off his shirt – just to see – and avoiding thinking about taking off his pants.

By the time they reach the first living quarters, Evan's had enough. He figures he deserves some personal time, just to acquaint himself with the changes. "Hey," he says, reaching out and stopping Simpson. "You go and talk to McKay and Beckett. I'll meet you later."

She looks up, frowning slightly. "All right. If you want to –"

He nods. "Yeah, it's just a little strange, so give me a couple of hours."

Her frown deepens, but she nods.

*

It's when he's walking down the hall that he begins to wonder if something is wrong. More wrong. Wrong in a way beyond the obvious.

Mostly, because it seems like maybe it isn't so obvious.

He passes by some of the Marines, and they nod, call him "Major," and continue walking.

Heightmeyer walks right past him, smiling, and doesn't bat an eye, or even suggest that he might benefit from a counselling session, or talking about his feelings regarding the way his body has changed.

Still, he tells himself that maybe she's become blasé about this sort of thing. Maybe she doesn't want to make assumptions.

Chuck nearly bumps into him, and only shakes his head once, then smiles in relief. "Major! I have that paperwork for you right here." He hands it over, a stack three inches thick. Evan holds it close, confused, and watches as Chuck keeps on walking.

He'd pursue it, but he's starting to crash. By the time he gets to his quarters, he's stumbling, barely able to set the paperwork down before he falls, face-first, into the bed. Goddamned Ancient sex-switch devices apparently knock the body out.

His last thought is that at least David will notice something when he comes over tonight. He regrets that he'll miss the reaction.

*

He wakes up with his faced pressed against cool dampness. "Christ, sexy," he mutters, wiping at the side of his mouth, and rubbing at his eyes.

The bed is crowded, and when he finally focuses, he sees David next to him, face pressed into a pillow, and clothes all on. Evan grins. Maybe he'll get to see the reaction after all. For now, he slides over, leans against David's side, and gets comfy.

*

In the morning, he wakes up to David falling out of bed, saying frantically, "I'll be right there, don't touch anything – no, I said don't touch anything, just get outside and – two minutes, okay?" He pulls on his boots, glances back at Evan, says, "Sorry, gotta –" waves his hand in the direction of the door, and runs out.

Evan shakes his head and gets out of the bed slowly, stretching carefully.

He really needs a shower.

The shower is almost fun. Without his clothes, he doesn't look all that different. His hips are broader, but he hasn't got much of a waist, and hell, when he thinks about his mother's figure, that isn't much of a surprise. His breasts are really small. Some people might call them pert. When Evan pokes tentatively at them, they ache. He wonders briefly if the Ancients had a thing for small-breasted women, and what the psychological anthropologists might say about his transformation.

Then again, does it matter? They may be small, but they're still breasts – he's going to need a bra of some sort.

He misses his cock, but it's interesting to play around with what he has got. Just for the novelty of it all.

After, he takes a good look at his face. It doesn't look so different – maybe softer around the jaw, and slightly fuller around the lips. At least he doesn't have to shave this morning.

Small benefits. That's what makes situations bearable. Hell, maybe Cadman will even invite him to the all-woman poker night she runs. Rumour has it they have the best prize pots, and he figures he deserves some chocolate.

*

He towels off, gets dressed, and heads down to the infirmary. Carson always likes to keep on top of medical changes. But when he gets there, it's full of people, the medical personnel clearly juggling to keep control of everything. The place is chaos, but Evan's been around long enough to tell one kind of chaos from another. People need treatment, but no one here is going to die. Not today.

Carson glances over at him, one hand holding an oxygen mask to someone's face, the other holding another person down on the bed. "Major! Do you need something?" His face is flushed. "Were you affected by the problem in hydroponics?"

Evan shakes his head. It seems like a poor time to mention his situation. After all, it's not like it's an emergency. It'll hold. "No, I –"

"Good, good," Carson says, turning away.

He moves off to the side, scanning the area. Sure enough, David's in one corner, sitting on a bed, holding a bandage to his head, and having what looks like a vicious argument with a scientist Evan doesn't recognise. When he sees Evan, he breaks off briefly and waves jauntily.

Right. Okay. He'll come back later. When Carson has some time.

When there's a little chance of privacy.

*

He's debating whether he should try Dr. Weir or Colonel Sheppard next, when he remembers. Sheppard has escorted Weir and McKay to negotiations on a planet where they make a range of exciting and effective weapons.

He heads down to the Ancient Tech labs instead. Maybe if Simpson can reverse the change, there'll be no need to talk to Carson, Weir, or Sheppard at all. He could even avoid filling in some of the necessary forms.

It's quiet when he walks into the lab, and he's relieved. "Hey, Dr. Simpson."

She looks up, her expression vaguely puzzled. "Major?"

"I was just wondering if you'd figured out the device."

"Device?"

"From yesterday."

Her expression clears. "Oh, that. Well, I haven't really had the chance – Dr. McKay is offworld and he wanted us to refine something he's been toying with." She smiles, wry. "You know how it is. Bosses go offworld, workloads get shuffled. Any particular reason you're so interested in the device?"

Is she serious? She really looks serious. "Yeah, I thought that maybe I could get this dealt with." He waved his hand up and down his body.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Aren't scientists supposed to be observant? Evan takes a deep breath, but before he can say anything more, there's a pop in the background, a brief whirr, and Simpson is turning around, panicked, already yelling, "Shit, shit, shit."

Then she's running further into the lab, and Zelenka has appeared out of nowhere and he's running too, and there are more pops.

He's not sure if he's needed, what kind of emergency this is, so he stands by the doorway until he hears someone yell, "McKay is going to kill us all."

After that, Evan does the only thing he can think of – he goes and does that paperwork.

And he requisitions himself a bra.

*

It doesn't get any better.

Sheppard, Weir and McKay get back from the negotiations with a preliminary shipment of new and exciting weapons. Sheppard is practically glowing, and Weir and McKay both look slightly smug. They don't seem to notice Evan's situation, and after a few oblivious, awkward hours, Evan starts entertaining ideas about how to broach it – an email? Possibly by filing Form SGA-25: Notification of Official (Unintended) Sex Change? He even half-considers flashing his breasts during the dinner hour.

But then the shipment of new and exciting weapons turns out to be booby-trapped, somehow hiding technology that shuts down the 'gate shield and allows a small force to invade the city. There's no time for talking about inconvenient body transformations while he's busy shooting invaders, tracking down ones that got away, and then getting a bullet removed from his calf.

That should almost be the perfect opportunity, except that the infirmary is so swamped with casualties that no one bothers to take off Evan's pants. They just roll up the leg and get to work.

"That should heal up nicely," Carson says after the final stitch, smiling and turning to the next patient.

"Good job tracking down the stragglers." Sheppard grins at him from the next bed over. "Try not to get shot next time."

"Yes, sir. You too, sir." Evan sinks back against the pillow and falls asleep.

When he wakes up, there are crutches and a note by his bed saying he's free to leave the infirmary, as long as he uses the crutches and rests his leg. He struggles out of the bed and goes looking for Carson. He finds him sprawled across his desk, face in a small puddle of drool.

Briefly, he considers waking Carson up and demanding a pelvic examination. But he wonders if Carson will just do it – possibly moving on automatic – and say absently, "Have you always been a woman, Major? I've never noticed."

Evan sighs. He'll come back later, when people are actually awake.

Heading back to his room, he passes more people than he can count. Some murmur get well wishes, Cadman winks and says, "I hear crutches are the new sexy," but doesn't mention anything about the women's poker nights.

Chuck hands him another pile of paperwork. The man is heartless. Relentless.

No one comments on Evan's distinct lack of maleness, although Ronon does look at him suspiciously.

After a few days – days where he realises that maybe the bra doesn't fit entirely well, and he should have asked for advice about sizing; days when David comes in so late at night that he barely looks at Evan before he falls asleep fully clothed; days when there is one low-level emergency after another, and Evan find himself dressing in clothes that are baggy in the wrong places, and tight in others – he starts to get pissed.

When this had happened on P4X-908, aka The Planet of the Angry Priests With Irritating Technology, Sheppard had come back with long, wavy hair, a disturbing number of curves, and a really, really bad mood.

Also, he'd come back with McKay's hand on his ass. In retrospect, Evan suspects this might have gone a long way to generating that bad mood.

The point is – no one had failed to notice that Sheppard had been turned into a woman. In fact, it had been the talk of the city for weeks. Even after he got switched back.

When it had happened to McKay, people had noticed too. Possibly because McKay had made frequent loud, irritated noises about menstrual cycles and gender stereotypes, and suddenly understanding why women hated clueless men.

It had been hard to ignore, and not just because Evan had laughed a lot.

And Zelenka had just been cute. Cute, perky and vocal about the advantages of wearing skirts. "Air flow," he'd said to anyone who would listen. "Air flow and bathroom efficiency."

Evan isn't worried about how people will respond. He just expects someone to react. Somehow.

He's contemplating the breast-flashing plan again – this time seriously – when he remembers that sometimes it's easier to do things yourself. Why wait for Simpson to tell him if the device was malfunctioning, if she has fixed it? Sure, they're not supposed to mess with unknown Ancient tech, but enough is enough.

He waits until night; he doesn't even have to sneak out of his quarters, because David is still messing around in the greenhouses – some sort of tentacle plant emergency.

"Major," Sergeant Higgins says, as they pass each other in the hall. "Leg getting better?"

Evan nods and manfully resists the urge to pull up his shirt, point to his breasts and say, "But these are beginning to be a problem." Imagining Higgins' eyes bugging out amuses him for the rest of the walk to the Ancient Tech labs.

He refuses to think about the possibility that Higgins might have just shrugged and said, "Nice rack, sir. Where'd you get the bra?"

The labs are deserted. Something is fizzing away in the corner of one room, but Evan ignores it. Scanning the shelves – thankfully, the scientists label and display things carefully – he finds the device. It's small and blocky, and he can't see any overt buttons. But it buzzes in his hand when he picks it up, and he takes that as a good sign.

Maybe no one else has noticed, but he's pretty sure the device knows what it did. "Look, while I appreciate this experience," it doesn't hurt to be reasonable, Evan's always found, "it's distracting. To me. Not to anyone else, of course. But to me." Particularly in terms of ill-fitting bras and awkward requisitions for women's underwear.

And one day, David is going to notice. That's a shitstorm he'd rather avoid. Although one or two times, he's found himself thinking about David fucking him. What it would feel like, cock sliding up inside him, David's mouth on Evan's breasts.

Truthfully, he's thought about it more than one or two times, mostly when he's been in the shower, hand between his legs.

But still, at this rate, David wouldn't be up for it for another six months, and sometimes you just want to have your body back. When you want clothes to fit.

Oddly, his boots still fit him perfectly. It isn't enough, though.

"Change me back," he says, even though he knows he could just think it. "Now." He closes his eyes, and tries not to worry about the device fucking with him again – maybe turning him into a dog, or a table, or something he can't even begin to imagine.

Then again, someone might actually notice if he was a dog.

"Change me back," he says again, and the device buzzes a little harder, there's a loud ping, and the world shifts again. Mostly in his pants.

Evan grins, sets the device down, pulls his shirt off, and takes off the bra. Just to be sure, he undoes his pants and has a good feel around. Everything's where it should be. He gives his cock a little 'welcome back' pat, and does his pants back up.

Then he figures he'd better get out of here before the device starts to buzz again.

He's almost at the doorway when Chuck walks through it. "Major, there you are. What are you doing down here this late? Oh – is that a bra in your hand?" Chuck smirks. "Midnight rendezvous, eh?"

Evan steels his expression. "What do you need?"

The smirk lingers. "I've been looking for you. Dr. Weir asked me to pass along this paperwork." He hands the stack of papers over. "All things that need to be dealt with before the Daedalus arrives."

Looking down at the papers, Evan sighs. Some things never change.

End.




	Home Archives July 2007 SGA Fic: Relentlessly Oblivious (Lorne/Parrish; PG-13) [Previous entry: "SGA Fic: The Further Adventures of the Littlest Hobo in the Pegasus Galaxy (Lorne; G)"] [Next entry: "SGA Fic: The Servant in the Tower [Lorne/Parrish; NC-17]"] 07/29/2007: "SGA Fic: Relentlessly Oblivious (Lorne/Parrish; PG-13)" Title: Relentlessly Oblivious Pairing: Lorne/Parrish, Lorne POV. Rating: PG-13 Words: About 2700 Summary: "Oh crap," Dr. Simpson says. Notes: Genderswitch fic, from a prompt on sga_genderfuck: "male to female switch: nobody noticed I'm a woman now". Many, many thanks to seikaitsukimizu and lyrstzha for betas and encouragement! lyrstzha also offered some awesome ideas that I included in the final draft. It happens in a remote part of the city, on a routine search-and-catalogue patrol. Evan hears Dr. Simpson say, "Oh crap," something makes a sharp ping noise, there's a brief flash of light, and he feels his body shift. In the region of his BDUs. Great. "Dr. Simpson," he says, trying to ignore the sensation, "I think we'd better pack that thing up and head back to the labs." She nods without looking up, still poking at the device on the table. "The ping sounded a bit ominous, didn't it? But it doesn't seem particularly dangerous." She picks it up; it fits in her hand. "I wonder what it does?" Evan is pretty sure he has an answer for that. * The walk back to the inhabited areas of the city is long and boring. His pants chafe in weird places, his chest is oddly sore, and Simpson acts like she hasn't noticed a thing. It's decent of her. Then again, she's mostly looking at the device – focussing on it so intently that she doesn't even pay much attention to walking. After the fifth time Evan reaches out and steers her around a column, a glass wall, or a piece of debris, he stops counting. What they don't pass is a mirror, so Evan doesn't get a chance to see what he might look like. At least he's able to run his hand through his hair, reassuring himself that there isn't suddenly more of it. He's itching to take off his shirt – just to see – and avoiding thinking about taking off his pants. By the time they reach the first living quarters, Evan's had enough. He figures he deserves some personal time, just to acquaint himself with the changes. "Hey," he says, reaching out and stopping Simpson. "You go and talk to McKay and Beckett. I'll meet you later." She looks up, frowning slightly. "All right. If you want to –" He nods. "Yeah, it's just a little strange, so give me a couple of hours." Her frown deepens, but she nods. * It's when he's walking down the hall that he begins to wonder if something is wrong. More wrong. Wrong in a way beyond the obvious. Mostly, because it seems like maybe it isn't so obvious. He passes by some of the Marines, and they nod, call him "Major," and continue walking. Heightmeyer walks right past him, smiling, and doesn't bat an eye, or even suggest that he might benefit from a counselling session, or talking about his feelings regarding the way his body has changed. Still, he tells himself that maybe she's become blasé about this sort of thing. Maybe she doesn't want to make assumptions. Chuck nearly bumps into him, and only shakes his head once, then smiles in relief. "Major! I have that paperwork for you right here." He hands it over, a stack three inches thick. Evan holds it close, confused, and watches as Chuck keeps on walking. He'd pursue it, but he's starting to crash. By the time he gets to his quarters, he's stumbling, barely able to set the paperwork down before he falls, face-first, into the bed. Goddamned Ancient sex-switch devices apparently knock the body out. His last thought is that at least David will notice something when he comes over tonight. He regrets that he'll miss the reaction. * He wakes up with his faced pressed against cool dampness. "Christ, sexy," he mutters, wiping at the side of his mouth, and rubbing at his eyes. The bed is crowded, and when he finally focuses, he sees David next to him, face pressed into a pillow, and clothes all on. Evan grins. Maybe he'll get to see the reaction after all. For now, he slides over, leans against David's side, and gets comfy. * In the morning, he wakes up to David falling out of bed, saying frantically, "I'll be right there, don't touch anything – no, I said don't touch anything, just get outside and – two minutes, okay?" He pulls on his boots, glances back at Evan, says, "Sorry, gotta –" waves his hand in the direction of the door, and runs out. Evan shakes his head and gets out of the bed slowly, stretching carefully. He really needs a shower. The shower is almost fun. Without his clothes, he doesn't look all that different. His hips are broader, but he hasn't got much of a waist, and hell, when he thinks about his mother's figure, that isn't much of a surprise. His breasts are really small. Some people might call them pert. When Evan pokes tentatively at them, they ache. He wonders briefly if the Ancients had a thing for small-breasted women, and what the psychological anthropologists might say about his transformation. Then again, does it matter? They may be small, but they're still breasts – he's going to need a bra of some sort. He misses his cock, but it's interesting to play around with what he has got. Just for the novelty of it all. After, he takes a good look at his face. It doesn't look so different – maybe softer around the jaw, and slightly fuller around the lips. At least he doesn't have to shave this morning. Small benefits. That's what makes situations bearable. Hell, maybe Cadman will even invite him to the all-woman poker night she runs. Rumour has it they have the best prize pots, and he figures he deserves some chocolate. * He towels off, gets dressed, and heads down to the infirmary. Carson always likes to keep on top of medical changes. But when he gets there, it's full of people, the medical personnel clearly juggling to keep control of everything. The place is chaos, but Evan's been around long enough to tell one kind of chaos from another. People need treatment, but no one here is going to die. Not today. Carson glances over at him, one hand holding an oxygen mask to someone's face, the other holding another person down on the bed. "Major! Do you need something?" His face is flushed. "Were you affected by the problem in hydroponics?" Evan shakes his head. It seems like a poor time to mention his situation. After all, it's not like it's an emergency. It'll hold. "No, I –" "Good, good," Carson says, turning away. He moves off to the side, scanning the area. Sure enough, David's in one corner, sitting on a bed, holding a bandage to his head, and having what looks like a vicious argument with a scientist Evan doesn't recognise. When he sees Evan, he breaks off briefly and waves jauntily. Right. Okay. He'll come back later. When Carson has some time. When there's a little chance of privacy. * He's debating whether he should try Dr. Weir or Colonel Sheppard next, when he remembers. Sheppard has escorted Weir and McKay to negotiations on a planet where they make a range of exciting and effective weapons. He heads down to the Ancient Tech labs instead. Maybe if Simpson can reverse the change, there'll be no need to talk to Carson, Weir, or Sheppard at all. He could even avoid filling in some of the necessary forms. It's quiet when he walks into the lab, and he's relieved. "Hey, Dr. Simpson." She looks up, her expression vaguely puzzled. "Major?" "I was just wondering if you'd figured out the device." "Device?" "From yesterday." Her expression clears. "Oh, that. Well, I haven't really had the chance – Dr. McKay is offworld and he wanted us to refine something he's been toying with." She smiles, wry. "You know how it is. Bosses go offworld, workloads get shuffled. Any particular reason you're so interested in the device?" Is she serious? She really looks serious. "Yeah, I thought that maybe I could get this dealt with." He waved his hand up and down his body. "I'm sorry, what?" Aren't scientists supposed to be observant? Evan takes a deep breath, but before he can say anything more, there's a pop in the background, a brief whirr, and Simpson is turning around, panicked, already yelling, "Shit, shit, shit." Then she's running further into the lab, and Zelenka has appeared out of nowhere and he's running too, and there are more pops. He's not sure if he's needed, what kind of emergency this is, so he stands by the doorway until he hears someone yell, "McKay is going to kill us all." After that, Evan does the only thing he can think of – he goes and does that paperwork. And he requisitions himself a bra. * It doesn't get any better. Sheppard, Weir and McKay get back from the negotiations with a preliminary shipment of new and exciting weapons. Sheppard is practically glowing, and Weir and McKay both look slightly smug. They don't seem to notice Evan's situation, and after a few oblivious, awkward hours, Evan starts entertaining ideas about how to broach it – an email? Possibly by filing Form SGA-25: Notification of Official (Unintended) Sex Change? He even half-considers flashing his breasts during the dinner hour. But then the shipment of new and exciting weapons turns out to be booby-trapped, somehow hiding technology that shuts down the 'gate shield and allows a small force to invade the city. There's no time for talking about inconvenient body transformations while he's busy shooting invaders, tracking down ones that got away, and then getting a bullet removed from his calf. That should almost be the perfect opportunity, except that the infirmary is so swamped with casualties that no one bothers to take off Evan's pants. They just roll up the leg and get to work. "That should heal up nicely," Carson says after the final stitch, smiling and turning to the next patient. "Good job tracking down the stragglers." Sheppard grins at him from the next bed over. "Try not to get shot next time." "Yes, sir. You too, sir." Evan sinks back against the pillow and falls asleep. When he wakes up, there are crutches and a note by his bed saying he's free to leave the infirmary, as long as he uses the crutches and rests his leg. He struggles out of the bed and goes looking for Carson. He finds him sprawled across his desk, face in a small puddle of drool. Briefly, he considers waking Carson up and demanding a pelvic examination. But he wonders if Carson will just do it – possibly moving on automatic – and say absently, "Have you always been a woman, Major? I've never noticed." Evan sighs. He'll come back later, when people are actually awake. Heading back to his room, he passes more people than he can count. Some murmur get well wishes, Cadman winks and says, "I hear crutches are the new sexy," but doesn't mention anything about the women's poker nights. Chuck hands him another pile of paperwork. The man is heartless. Relentless. No one comments on Evan's distinct lack of maleness, although Ronon does look at him suspiciously. After a few days – days where he realises that maybe the bra doesn't fit entirely well, and he should have asked for advice about sizing; days when David comes in so late at night that he barely looks at Evan before he falls asleep fully clothed; days when there is one low-level emergency after another, and Evan find himself dressing in clothes that are baggy in the wrong places, and tight in others – he starts to get pissed. When this had happened on P4X-908, aka The Planet of the Angry Priests With Irritating Technology, Sheppard had come back with long, wavy hair, a disturbing number of curves, and a really, really bad mood. Also, he'd come back with McKay's hand on his ass. In retrospect, Evan suspects this might have gone a long way to generating that bad mood. The point is – no one had failed to notice that Sheppard had been turned into a woman. In fact, it had been the talk of the city for weeks. Even after he got switched back. When it had happened to McKay, people had noticed too. Possibly because McKay had made frequent loud, irritated noises about menstrual cycles and gender stereotypes, and suddenly understanding why women hated clueless men. It had been hard to ignore, and not just because Evan had laughed a lot. And Zelenka had just been cute. Cute, perky and vocal about the advantages of wearing skirts. "Air flow," he'd said to anyone who would listen. "Air flow and bathroom efficiency." Evan isn't worried about how people will respond. He just expects someone to react. Somehow. He's contemplating the breast-flashing plan again – this time seriously – when he remembers that sometimes it's easier to do things yourself. Why wait for Simpson to tell him if the device was malfunctioning, if she has fixed it? Sure, they're not supposed to mess with unknown Ancient tech, but enough is enough. He waits until night; he doesn't even have to sneak out of his quarters, because David is still messing around in the greenhouses – some sort of tentacle plant emergency. "Major," Sergeant Higgins says, as they pass each other in the hall. "Leg getting better?" Evan nods and manfully resists the urge to pull up his shirt, point to his breasts and say, "But these are beginning to be a problem." Imagining Higgins' eyes bugging out amuses him for the rest of the walk to the Ancient Tech labs. He refuses to think about the possibility that Higgins might have just shrugged and said, "Nice rack, sir. Where'd you get the bra?" The labs are deserted. Something is fizzing away in the corner of one room, but Evan ignores it. Scanning the shelves – thankfully, the scientists label and display things carefully – he finds the device. It's small and blocky, and he can't see any overt buttons. But it buzzes in his hand when he picks it up, and he takes that as a good sign. Maybe no one else has noticed, but he's pretty sure the device knows what it did. "Look, while I appreciate this experience," it doesn't hurt to be reasonable, Evan's always found, "it's distracting. To me. Not to anyone else, of course. But to me." Particularly in terms of ill-fitting bras and awkward requisitions for women's underwear. And one day, David is going to notice. That's a shitstorm he'd rather avoid. Although one or two times, he's found himself thinking about David fucking him. What it would feel like, cock sliding up inside him, David's mouth on Evan's breasts. Truthfully, he's thought about it more than one or two times, mostly when he's been in the shower, hand between his legs. But still, at this rate, David wouldn't be up for it for another six months, and sometimes you just want to have your body back. When you want clothes to fit. Oddly, his boots still fit him perfectly. It isn't enough, though. "Change me back," he says, even though he knows he could just think it. "Now." He closes his eyes, and tries not to worry about the device fucking with him again – maybe turning him into a dog, or a table, or something he can't even begin to imagine. Then again, someone might actually notice if he was a dog. "Change me back," he says again, and the device buzzes a little harder, there's a loud ping, and the world shifts again. Mostly in his pants. Evan grins, sets the device down, pulls his shirt off, and takes off the bra. Just to be sure, he undoes his pants and has a good feel around. Everything's where it should be. He gives his cock a little 'welcome back' pat, and does his pants back up. Then he figures he'd better get out of here before the device starts to buzz again. He's almost at the doorway when Chuck walks through it. "Major, there you are. What are you doing down here this late? Oh – is that a bra in your hand?" Chuck smirks. "Midnight rendezvous, eh?" Evan steels his expression. "What do you need?" The smirk lingers. "I've been looking for you. Dr. Weir asked me to pass along this paperwork." He hands the stack of papers over. "All things that need to be dealt with before the Daedalus arrives." Looking down at the papers, Evan sighs. Some things never change. End.