At first, Mike had no idea how badly he'd crushed her.

But when she stopped eating with them at dinner, stopped meeting their eyes, and worst of all, stopped arguing with him, he knew he'd beaten her, despite that never really being his intention.

God, she'd been so annoying though! This is mine! My name is Michael! Stop acting like you're more important!

He'd been so caught up in his relief at being himself and getting back to his own life that he'd failed to put himself in her shoes. If their positions were reversed, wouldn't he be doing the same thing she was? Sure, he'd try to assert himself, to prove to everyone else that he was still the same person he always was where it counted - in his heart - despite looking completely different on the outside. But instead of encouraging her, he'd been fighting her at every corner, trying to convince her to…

To be someone else.

She'd pulled away. And every day, she seemed to get a little farther, disappearing onto the deck for hours, or sleeping long past noon. The only one who seemed to be able to talk to her anymore was Peter, and she barely had a word to spare for him.

Late one evening, with a storm blowing in from the ocean, he walked down toward the beach, flashlight in one hand and a book nestled under his arm. She sat there just off the sand on a patch of ragged grass, looking at the water, watching the lightning miles and miles offshore.

"Hey, Mike," he said. "You think it's about time we buried this hatchet?"

She looked up at him, eyes dull. He hoped the life would return to them. But if he knew himself, he certainly knew her, and he had high hopes that she'd pull herself out of this.

Looking back toward the water, she said, "Yeah, I think that'd be nice."

Sitting down next to her, he handed her the book, opening to the page he'd dog-eared earlier. "I found this."

She took it, and the flashlight. It took her a few minutes to read the entire thing before she said, "Mike, this is a poem about the Titanic."

"The title, though, y'goof. Look at the title."

"Convergence of th'— Oh."

He thought he may have seen a slight trace of a smile before she said, "Honestly, sometimes you're such a girl."

"I guess…" He hesitated, afraid the response would upset her. Eventually, he went for it anyway. "I guess you'd know."

She nodded, sighing with resignation. "Yeah, I would."

A rumble of thunder, still barely audible, reached the shore as the wind started to pick up a little. It was getting cold, and he was tempted to act like a decent human being - as well as her brother - and put his arm around her to keep her warm. But his recent soul-searching made him wonder if she'd just resent him more for that. He wouldn't, after all, want to be seen as anything less than a self-sufficient, proud young man… Except she just happened to have become a self-sufficient, proud young woman.

He finally asked, "What are you doing out here, anyway?"

"Failing."

"Yeah, I do that sometimes, too."

She shivered, then leaned toward him. Before she could make contact of any kind, though, she met his eyes, slid a couple inches away, and then wrapped her arms around herself just a little tighter.

He sighed, slumping. If he was going to affect any change between them, it seemed as if he was going to have to be the one to swallow his pride first. Clearing his throat, he said, very deliberately. "Gee, it sure is chilly out here. I wish I had some sort of friend or sibling or doppelganger or whatever to help me stay warm."

"Subtle."

"Yeah, I thought so."

Still, she scooted closer and leaned against his shoulder, and he put his arm around her. "So," he said. "About buryin' that hatchet. Ah… I haven't been very fair, and I think we should get to talkin' about that. You know, about… sharin' our life."

"Nice of you t'say," she replied. "But, you know, this whole thing's really got me thinkin'. Let's say I wanted to go swimmin'. I couldn't just put on one of the bathin' suits I got. I'd have to… I'd have to go get one meant for a woman. And when I realized that, as dumb as that sounds, I realized I gotta stop tryin' to fit into your space and … start tryin' to make my own space."

She looked up at him, finding him staring blankly back at her, and asked, "…You're picturin' yerself wearin' a girl's bathin' suit, aren't you?"

"Well, you did kind of go there."

When she smiled, he almost felt as if his heart would burst from relief. He knew that look! It meant she was going to be okay!

"See," she said, "Even you look at me an' see yourself."

Sitting back, he turned so he was facing her, raising the flashlight up so he could see her face. Her eyes were still a little dull, but he imagined his looked the same. Exactly the same. It was the one thing between them that they shared, the proverbial window to their soul. "You want the big brother talk?" he asked.

"We're the same age," she pointed out.

"Well, in that case," he began, "D'you mind terribly if I think of you as my baby sister? 'cuz it'll help me to stop bein' such a horse's ass to you."

He knew her immediate reaction would be to reject this outright. But now that they'd nearly killed each other and then spent the past few days moping around and avoiding everything, maybe…

"Yeah. Yeah, I think that'd be okay."

"Good. So?"

She rolled her eyes. "All right then, big brother. Let's hear it."

He ran his fingers through wind-battered hair, looking from her, to the approaching storm, and back. "Well, first, the whole clothes thing. I think… I think you oughta wear what you want, so my stuff's yours. But I also think you're a pretty young lady'n maybe one day we can… Go shoppin' and…"

He trailed off, unsure how to finish. She wasn't sure what to say, either, at first, biting her lip and looking at the ground. Eventually, she replied, "When I'm ready to start bein' a girl, I think I'd like that."

"Okay. Okay, good."

"Mike, you really think I'm pretty?"

"Well yeah, of course y'are. You get all dressed up, and you look real nice. I mean, before we split - I swear if you say this to the guys, you'll regret it - I… thought I looked nice in a dress."

He could see a bit of humor return to her eyes, but he knew she couldn't comment, since she had the memory in her head, too.

"Next, I think if you're serious about makin' your own space for yourself in the world, you might think about comin' up with a name that ain't Michael."

He thought this would draw an argument, but surprisingly, her response was pretty agreeable. "I've got a couple ideas. And before y'say anything, it's none of the ones we considered before we split. If I'm gonna come up with a name, I'm gonna come up with it on my own."

He nodded. Back when he was afraid he'd be stuck as a girl forever, he couldn't stop his mind from thinking of new names for himself. Michelle seemed to come up the most since it was closest to 'Michael.' Mikayla, too. Also Bob, for some strange reason."

"Not Bob, then?"

She shook her head. "Nah, I'll letcha know."

"Third… You don't really hate yourself, do you?"

Uncomfortable, she looked away.

Having nothing else to really call her at this point, he said, "Come on, Michael, you don't, do you?"

"I do."

"Why? Why in god's name would you— "

"'cuz it's easier'n hating you for havin' the good fortune to be male, and it's easier'n hating Micky for getting us into this mess in the first place. I mean, look at me, Mike. You want me to be perfec'ly honest for a minute? Just look at me."

"I am, but I don't…"

"Ah'm gonna have to deal with this for the rest of my life. When I look down, I'm gonna see this… alien body, and I'm …" Her expression was heart-breakingly sad for just a moment, before her jaw tensed and she turned her emotion to anger. "I'm gonna look in the mirror and see just enough of your face to remind me of who I can't be. Then I have to decide what the hell love is anymore - I don't know what to do about the fact that Peter's decided he's in love with me, and if I should try to just… See where it goes or stay completely alone for the rest of my life. And I mean, I could go out and find someone else, but it ain't right to do that to a person, Mike, springin' that on them. Don't matter if it's a girl or a boy I fancy, neither. 'cuz in the end, I'd feel like I was lyin' to them, not tellin' 'em right off that I used to be a man."

The rain started to fall, slowly at first, but picking up quickly until it became a downpour. Neither of them moved to leave, though, the conversation still heavy on their shoulders. Mike couldn't think of how to wrap his head around any of it, because he'd forced himself not to think too deeply about what would happen if he was trapped forever in the wrong body. Of course, he knew that as soon as his double accepted that fact, her mind would have immediately gone into overdrive, trying to make sense out of a completely altered life. No wonder she'd tried to hit him with all this running through her brain.

But all he could think of to say was, "Well, if it makes y'feel any better, you aren't the only one sittin' in the rain that Peter kissed."

"It does, a little."

Having a shared memory was going to be weird.

The dimming light from the flashlight illuminated her face as she stared absently into it, revealing just how tired she looked. "The worst part is, you and Micky and Davy are so ready for things to be back to normal, that you're pushin' me out. I don't fit anymore. I'm the one who's sidelined from the band. I'm the one who's gotta change his name. her name? Oh, I don't even know anymore. See? I'm still you up in my mind. So I … feel like you guys are all just gonna forget me after awhile. I know it ain't true, but— "

Suddenly, without a second thought, he said, "I love you, Mike." Surprised by this, he amended, "If you don't love yourself, well then, someone ought to."

She stared at him, one corner of her lip threatening to twitch upward in a smile. The life had returned to her eyes. "I say again. You are such a girl."

He smiled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Yeah. Well. So are you.