SENSE OF TH ART BY linziday [LFWS #1 ROUND 12]
Title: Sense of the Art
Author: linziday
Rating: PG-13 (cursing)
Disclaimer: Stargate belongs to Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc., no infringements of any rights is intended.
Spoilers: None
Prompt for the Round: Write a fic telling us some backstory for any member of the team. It must take place before season 1 of the show and can include any characters, canon or OCs.
SENSE OF THE ART by linziday
Meredith was 4 when they brought Jeannie home.
He was waiting at the door as they arrived, had been waiting for hours. Days. Months, it seemed. And then suddenly his mother was there, bending low so he could see the pink-swaddled bundle in her arms. “This is your sister,” she said.
Jeannie was small and delicate, but she waved her tiny fists indignantly when his mother lifted the edge of the blanket. Meredith was entranced. He stood on his tiptoes, ran a light finger over Jeannie’s chubby, baby-soft arm. Her blue eyes roamed, found his.
My sister, he thought. Mine.
He loved her instantly.
Meredith was 7 when his parents’ fighting got bad.
“C’mon, Jeannie,” he said, tugging his sister down the hall as their mother screamed at their father for being a goddamnsonofabitch. Jeannie’s face crumpled and she clutched her tattered pink blanket to her chin, and Meredith knew she was about five second away from bawling. He tugged harder. “C’mon.”
He towed her into his room and slammed the door shut, letting go of Jeannie’s hand just long enough to yank the blanket off his bed. He pulled Jeannie down to huddle in the far corner, between his bed and bookshelf, and he swept the blanket up and over their heads.
“Mer?” Jeannie asked, her voice small. She leaned against him and sniffled.
“It’s okay,” he said and held the blanket above his head so it draped around them like a tent. “Because, see, we won’t hear them in here.”
But they could hear them, could hear the shouts of jackass and bitch and the sound of something hitting a wall and shattering. Jeannie whimpered.
Meredith wished he were brave enough to go out there. Brave enough to do some yelling of his own, like stop it and you’re being stupid and you’re scaring Jeannie. Brave enough not to be scared himself.
“Mer,” Jeannie whispered, her voice low but her tone insistent. “Play, okay?”
It took Meredith a moment to understand what Jeannie was asking. His heart skipped a beat. “I can’t. The piano’s out there.”
But the yelling reached a crescendo and Meredith knew he had to do something. If Jeannie wanted music, maybe he could turn on the radio or sing or -
“Wait, wait, wait.” He snapped his fingers. “I know.”
He tossed the blanket off, the sudden chill of air raising goosebumps on his arms. He snagged his toy piano from under the bed and retreated back the corner. The toy was small, only 25 keys. He hadn’t played it since they’d gotten a real piano, the shiny upright in the living room, but now. . . .
Meredith hoisted the blanket back over their heads with one hand and tapped the faded white keys with the other. It was a tinny sound, out of tune, but he plucked out Jingle Bells and This Old Man and the theme to Sesame Street. Anything upbeat, happy. It wasn’t nearly loud enough to drown out the still-angry voices, but it was something. He played on.
Soothed, Jeannie closed her eyes and snuggled close.
Meredith - Rodney - was 12 when his piano teacher told him he was a fine clinical player but he possessed no passion.
No sense of the art.
Don’t forget to leave ONLY FEEDBACK in the comments and NOT VOTES. All comments will be screened until the voting closes.
Author: linziday
Rating: PG-13 (cursing)
Disclaimer: Stargate belongs to Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc., no infringements of any rights is intended.
Spoilers: None
Prompt for the Round: Write a fic telling us some backstory for any member of the team. It must take place before season 1 of the show and can include any characters, canon or OCs.
SENSE OF THE ART by linziday
Meredith was 4 when they brought Jeannie home.
He was waiting at the door as they arrived, had been waiting for hours. Days. Months, it seemed. And then suddenly his mother was there, bending low so he could see the pink-swaddled bundle in her arms. “This is your sister,” she said.
Jeannie was small and delicate, but she waved her tiny fists indignantly when his mother lifted the edge of the blanket. Meredith was entranced. He stood on his tiptoes, ran a light finger over Jeannie’s chubby, baby-soft arm. Her blue eyes roamed, found his.
My sister, he thought. Mine.
He loved her instantly.
Meredith was 7 when his parents’ fighting got bad.
“C’mon, Jeannie,” he said, tugging his sister down the hall as their mother screamed at their father for being a goddamnsonofabitch. Jeannie’s face crumpled and she clutched her tattered pink blanket to her chin, and Meredith knew she was about five second away from bawling. He tugged harder. “C’mon.”
He towed her into his room and slammed the door shut, letting go of Jeannie’s hand just long enough to yank the blanket off his bed. He pulled Jeannie down to huddle in the far corner, between his bed and bookshelf, and he swept the blanket up and over their heads.
“Mer?” Jeannie asked, her voice small. She leaned against him and sniffled.
“It’s okay,” he said and held the blanket above his head so it draped around them like a tent. “Because, see, we won’t hear them in here.”
But they could hear them, could hear the shouts of jackass and bitch and the sound of something hitting a wall and shattering. Jeannie whimpered.
Meredith wished he were brave enough to go out there. Brave enough to do some yelling of his own, like stop it and you’re being stupid and you’re scaring Jeannie. Brave enough not to be scared himself.
“Mer,” Jeannie whispered, her voice low but her tone insistent. “Play, okay?”
It took Meredith a moment to understand what Jeannie was asking. His heart skipped a beat. “I can’t. The piano’s out there.”
But the yelling reached a crescendo and Meredith knew he had to do something. If Jeannie wanted music, maybe he could turn on the radio or sing or -
“Wait, wait, wait.” He snapped his fingers. “I know.”
He tossed the blanket off, the sudden chill of air raising goosebumps on his arms. He snagged his toy piano from under the bed and retreated back the corner. The toy was small, only 25 keys. He hadn’t played it since they’d gotten a real piano, the shiny upright in the living room, but now. . . .
Meredith hoisted the blanket back over their heads with one hand and tapped the faded white keys with the other. It was a tinny sound, out of tune, but he plucked out Jingle Bells and This Old Man and the theme to Sesame Street. Anything upbeat, happy. It wasn’t nearly loud enough to drown out the still-angry voices, but it was something. He played on.
Soothed, Jeannie closed her eyes and snuggled close.
Meredith - Rodney - was 12 when his piano teacher told him he was a fine clinical player but he possessed no passion.
No sense of the art.
Don’t forget to leave ONLY FEEDBACK in the comments and NOT VOTES. All comments will be screened until the voting closes.