SGA Fic: Proof
So this is that gigantic fic I was working on for my whole week off instead of my sgabigbang fic. It's a monster size-wise, but I'm kind of proud of it.
Ugh. I also had to break it into more pieces then it was meant to be. *kicks LJ text box size*
Title: Proof
Author: MF Luder
Pairing: Madison/OMC (McShep UST)
Keywords: future!fic, death!fic, kid!fic, drama, het, pre-slash
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Spoilers: All of third season
Disclaimer: They belong to SciFi Channel and whomever the producers are.
Archive: My LJ, Wraithbait, anywhere else, let me know.
Summary: Since she was twelve, Madison has lived with her uncle, Rodney McKay. Once brilliant, Rodney fell ill and Madison has cared for him ever since. Following his death, Madison has to face her own fears and emotions, even as someone new comes into her life. Joe was a student of her uncle's and now he's sorting through Rodney's notebook legacy. But a mysterious notebook surfaces and Madison will be forced to face just how much of her family's genius-or madness-she inherited. And in the end, Joe and she may have more in common than she ever realized.
Feedback: Mulder_Loves_Scully_Forever@hotmail.com
Author's Notes: I don't know if this has been done before or not. I'm hoping not, but rather surprised if it hasn't. This entire fic is based off the play Proof by David Auburn: a truly good piece of theater. A few lines of dialogue throughout are taken directly from the play (especially just about any line referencing math and the band comments). The character Kristine, in the play is actually the main character's sister, but as Madison doesn't have an older sibling, I changed it to close friend.
Beta Thanks: The wonderful let_fate_decide who was so kind to read through this huge piece of writing.
A breeze washed over Madison, ruffling her blonde hair in its ponytail. Despite the fact that the wind was warm, she pulled her cream-colored cardigan about her shoulders tighter, sensing the bite of fall that was fast coming. The stars were twinkling above, just barely visible over the aura of Boulder's city lights. She walked to the deck chair with the last plush cushion and collapsed, tucking a few illusive strands of hair behind her ear.
“Can't sleep?”
She jumped, looking around. “Uncle Rodney. You startled me.”
“Sorry.”
By the twist of his mouth, he wasn't sorry at all. She refrained from rolling her eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“Thought I'd see why you were out here instead of in bed getting your beauty rest.”
“Your student's up there.”
“I think he can find the door himself.”
“Might as well wait.”
“You know, he's not my student anymore. He's teaching now. Lucky he was vaguely intelligent.”
“I know. Say, what time is it?”
“Past time for you to be moping around.” He looked at her for a moment. “Past two.”
“Ok.”
“So...” he trailed off for a moment, looking pained. “There. On the table. Happy birthday.”
She glanced at the spot he indicated. A bottle of champagne. “Uncle Rodney.”
“Have I ever forgotten?”
“No. Thank you.”
“Twenty-five. You're practically ancient.”
“Way to flatter a girl.”
He shrugged, pleasantries never having bothered him. “Want me to open it?”
“I'll do it. Last time you broke a window.”
“Hey, now. I'll have you know I used to work extremely sensitive equipment with these hands.”
“Once upon a time, yeah.” She reached over and grabbed the bottle, twisting off the cheap but stubborn plastic cap. “Glasses?”
“Who needs a little thing like that?”
She smiled. Her uncle had never felt the need for anything rudimentary, as though he'd spent years without using toasters or ovens. Then again, he might not have used them wherever he'd been posted for all those years. She tipped the bottle to her mouth.
“I hope it's satisfactory. I wasn't sure what to get.”
She set the bottle down making a face. “Awful stuff, actually.”
Rodney sat down in a chair across from her. “I'm proud to say I know nothing about wines. I hate people who waste their time learning 'vintages'. All I ever had to know was it wasn't lemon and that it was strong enough to knock me out for a few hours.”
She looked at the bottle. “It's not even real champagne. I didn't know they made anything but beer in Wisconsin.”
He let out a little 'tsk'. “Says the girl drinking straight from the bottle.”
She was tempted to stick her tongue out at him. Instead, she offered the bottle to him. “You want--?”
“Nah. It's your birthday.”
“Ok.”
“What are you doing on this joyous occasion?”
“It's just another day. You taught me that.”
He ignored her comment. “I hope you're not spending it alone.”
She blinked at him. The wind ruffled her hair once more and this time she licked a few fingers in an attempt to keep the curl from escaping again. “I'm not alone.”
Rodney shifted in his chair, pushing his glasses up. “I don't count.”
“You don't? The almighty Rodney McKay?”
“I'm family. You should go out with friends. Or a boyfriend. Someone.”
She let out a rather unladylike snort.
“Your friends aren't planning on taking you out?”
“To have friends take you out, that typically requires having friends to start with.”
He waved a hand, dismissively. “What about Kristine?”
“In New York.”
“What about,” he paused to think. “That boy you used to hang out with. What was his name?”
“Huh?” she questioned.
“He lives over two blocks...”
“Frank Lamby?”
“Yes!” Rodney looked triumphant.
“He was my boyfriend in ninth grade. He moved away to Florida the next year.”
He sighed. “Isn't Kristine coming in?”
“Tomorrow.”
They were both silent for a time, Madison sipping from the champagne bottle. It really was awful stuff. Tasted too bitter, too much like carbonated water.
She gazed at her uncle. He was wearing his favorite blue sweater, sleeves rolled up like he was ready to dig into whatever wonderful electronic piece of equipment was lying around just waiting for him. His small glasses were perched on his nose. She ran her eyes over the lines on his face, to his receded hairline. He'd been lucky to keep most of his hair, even as he got older, the spiky light gray fading into a snow white. He ran a blunt hand over a scar that lined his right forearm.
“My advice, when one can't sleep, is to do mathematics.”
“You're kidding,” she responded.
“We could do it together.”
“No.”
“You used to love it, you know.”
“Not now.”
“You knew what a prime number was before you could read.”
“And now I've forgotten.”
His gaze hardened, eyes suddenly sharp. “Don't be an idiot, Madison. Don't waste your time.”
“How did I know you were going to say that?” she muttered rhetorically.
“It's the simple truth. I know you've got more than two peas in that brain...don't let it go to waste.” He stopped, visibly calming himself. When he spoke again, it was softer. “Look, I know you've had a rough time...”
“Gee, thanks.”
“But it's not an excuse. Stop being so damn lazy.”
“I'm not.”
“Not what? Lazy? I've seen you. You sleep past noon, stay up all night doing God knows what; you hardly leave the house. You get groceries and magazines at that bookstore. Not even journals. Fashion magazines.” His contempt was clear. “You have no idea how much you might have lost. Ideas you could have had, whole theories by now. You know I'm right.”
“I've lost a few days, sure.”
“How many?” He leaned forward now, elbows on the table.
“I don't know.”
“Sure you do.”
“No.”
“I bet you count them. The days.”
“Do not.”
“How many?”
“A few, I said.”
“How many days?” His question was forceful now.
She sighed. “A month. About.”
“Exactly.”
“I don't--”
“You do.”
“Fine. Thirty-three days.”
“That it?”
“I slept till about noon today.”
“So thirty-three and a quarter, we'll say.” He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing his chest, looking smug.
Bastard, she thought, not unkindly.
“What a number.”
“Sure,” she nodded. “Depressing number.”
“If every day you lost were a year, it'd be a very interesting number.”
“No, it never would be. That'd just be more depressing. And highly improbable.”
“You know what I mean.”
“1,729 weeks, yes.”
Rodney's head titled up and his eyes shone with excitement. “1,729 is a great number. The smallest number expressible--”
“--Expressible as the sum of two cubes in two different ways,” she continued.
“Twelve cubed plus one cubed equals 1,729.”
“And ten cubed plus nine cubed. Yes, yes, I know.”
“See? Even your idiotic moping is mathematical. You should get to work, develop some concrete ideas...”
“I don't have anything good.”
“You're young, you've got time.”
“You called me ancient before.”
“Well, yes. I meant in comparison to...me. I'm young at heart, you know.” That lopsided smirk was back.
The man was insufferable.
“You were already famous by my age. Sooner. For Pete's sake, you built a nuclear bomb in sixth grade. You worked for the fucking CIA.”
“Yes, well.” He grew sober. “But some of my best work was accomplished, then, too. Granted, I went on to do and discover more things, but sometimes, I felt like I lost something. It couldn't stop the inevitable, no matter how good I was.”
“What about after?” she asked.
“After?”
“Once you got sick.”
He harrumphed. “If anything, I was even sharper then.”
“Uncle Rodney.”
“No, really. I saw everything clearer. More defined. Like that time...”
“Were you happy?”
“I was; I was busy.”
“Not the same.”
“Same difference, actually. Working has always made me happy. I could work on a problem for a whole day if I wanted. No interruptions. I found answers everywhere, Madison. Ones that I wish I'd known back then. I could have solved so much more. I found answers in the snow, in its pattern as it fell. I saw the answers written in the stars of this galaxy; I saw questions I'd never thought about before. It was amazing.”
“How old where you when it started?”
“Heh. Forty-five.” He paused. “What, is that what you're worried about? It being hereditary? It happening to you sooner?”
“I've considered it.”
“You're one year older. It doesn't mean a damn thing”
“It could mean a lot.”
“Clearly, you're not keeping up with medical journals. Or common sense. You should know any number of factors count into whether it occurs or not. It's not hereditary, I assure you. Just because I went a little crazy, doesn't mean you will.”
“Uncle--”
“Listen to me. Your twenties can be a pain in the ass. I know. I was getting my second PhD then, and working for the CIA. I know what tough is. You've had a hard week. An even harder few years. But you'll be ok.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do. But you've got to work. There's nothing worse for the mind than lack of use. That'll really make you crazy. Make yourself work. The very fact that we can talk about this means you'll be fine.”
“How so?”
“Do you think crazy people sit around asking themselves if they're crazy? No. They all think they're perfectly sane. They can't ask, 'am I crazy?'”
“Even if the answer is yes?”
Madison shifted, tucking her feet underneath her and pulling her sweater tighter once more. If she concentrated, she could smell the scent of rotting leaves in the air.
“Yes.”
“That doesn't make sense. It doesn't work.”
“Why not.”
“Because you just asked it.”
“But...oh, I see. I suppose.” Now his mouth turned down on both ends, giving him a look of great sadness.
“So how can you admit to it?” she asked.
“Well, because I'm dead. Right?”
She nodded. “For a week.”
“Heart failure.”
“They just let you die.”
“It was time. I was ready to go.”
“That's why Kristine's flying in. She's going to help me figure out the legal stuff.”
“Yes.”
“But you're sitting here. You brought me crappy champagne. Which means...” she trailed off.
“For you, Madison, that could indeed be a bad sign.”
Madison heard the porch door slam shut, and her uncle vanished.
~~~
When she was fourteen, they were visited by a very charming man introduced to her as 'John'. After the first time she met him, her uncle would always send her up to her room or over to a friends for the duration the visit lasted. She always figured it had to do with whatever military work her uncle was still doing. After all, John often showed up in the dress blues of an Air Force officer.
When they'd been introduced, she'd been taken by the gravity-defying dark hair highlighted with an artistic gray hair or two, and slight swagger. At fourteen she'd recently discovered boys, but this was no boy. This was a man, and despite being old enough to be her father, she couldn't help being a little in love with him. Whenever she saw him, on her way in as he was leaving or on her way out as Rodney pushed her out the door, John always had a smile for her. Sometimes he'd ruffle her hair and laugh with his gruff voice at something Rodney would whisper. He'd told her that first time they met how much she reminded him of her mother. She'd wanted to press him, but one look on her uncle's face and she'd let it drop.
By the time she was fifteen, John was around more often. When she asked, Rodney had simply said that he'd retired from the military and was now taking care of his son.
~~~
“Jesus--!” Madison yelled as the door slammed.
“Sorry. Did I wake you?” the man asked, stepping closer.
“Yes. No. I mean, no. You're still here?”
“I hadn't realized it had gotten so late. I'm done, for now.” He paused. “Drinking alone?”
Madison realized she was still holding the now over half empty bottle of champagne. “Yeah,” she replied, quickly setting it down.
He stepped forward and sat in the chair next to hers. She nearly stopped him, but quieted herself. Crazy or not, she didn't want to come off as crazy when she said 'don't sit there, my uncle's sitting there'.
As he sat, the moonlight caught in his hair. Joe was a handsome man. Tall, lean, ruffled black hair that was almost, but not quite, long enough to flop over his eyes. It was a good look on him. He had bright blue eyes that shone out of a face which housed a sharp nose and chiseled jawline. He was wearing a striped polo shirt and jeans.
Make that too damn good looking.
“Champagne?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you celebrating?”
“Nope. I just like champagne.”
“Oh. It's just festive.”
“Huh?”
“You know, party-like.” He made an awkward gesture.
“Oh.” She paused, then slid the bottle towards him. “Want some?”
“Sure.”
“Have it.”
He shifted as he took one drink, then set it down. “I can't. No thanks, I mean. I have to drive.”
Madison shrugged. It was getting even colder now, though the wind had died.
“Well, I'll just let myself out,” he said, making to stand.
“Ok,” she responded, tiredly.
“When can I come back?”
“Back?”
“I'm not done. Tomorrow, maybe?”
“There's a funeral tomorrow,” she said, deadpan.
“Oh, right.” He blushed, the tip of his ears turning pink. “I was going to come. If that's ok.”
“Sure.”
“So, Saturday?”
“Hmmm?” Madison was barely paying attention to him. The stars were twinkling brighter now as city lights were turned off in the dead of night. She twisted the band of cool metal that circled her right ring finger.
“To come back.”
“You've been here for three days now.”
“I'd love more time.”
“How much?”
“Another week or so.”
“You're joking, right?”
“No.” Joe's face was earnest. Definitely not joking.
She sighed. “What's there to look at?”
“I know you don't need anybody around, right now. I've got things sorted. It's mostly dated notebooks. Look, I can take them with me, then I won't need to be here and--”
“My uncle wouldn't have wanted anything moved and I don't want anything taken out of this house.”
“Ok, then. I'll work here.”
“There's nothing to see.”
“Someone should go through it all. Those notebooks.”
“I've gone through them,” Madison responded. “Nothing but gibberish.”
“You don't know that if you haven't read them.”
“He was insane. He was a graphomaniac, Joseph. You know what that is, right?”
“Yes, it means he wrote compulsively. Call me Joe.”
“There's nothing there. Just random writings, utterly nonsensical.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“I'm prepared to go through each page and make sure. Is that so bad?” Joe leaned forward towards her.
“It's crazy. And I'm not crazy.”
He sat back and chewed on his lip for a moment. It was rather cute.
“Look,” he spoke again. “I have to go. Some friends of mine are playing in a band at a bar on the other side of town. Way down on the bill. I said I'd be there.”
“Fabulous,” she drawled, sarcastically.
“They're all from the math department. They're really good. They have this song , you'd like it, called 'i'--lowercase I. They just stand there and don't play anything for three minutes.”
“Imaginary number,” she realized.
“It's a math joke,” he said sheepishly. “Like I said, they're far down on the bill.”
“Long drive just to see some geeks in a band.”
“I hate it when people say that.” He leaned back in his chair, almost pouting. Jeez, he was in his late twenties and still pouting? Did that ever actually work? “It's not that long of a drive.”
“So you admit they're geeks.” She couldn't help pointing it out.
“Totally.” He grinned now. “But this is 2026. Geeks can now dress themselves, don't need pocket protectors, and even get laid once in awhile. Makes one rethink the entire genre of geek-related terms, huh?”
She eyed him and couldn't help a matching smile from gracing her face. “You're in this band.”
“Fine, fine, you caught me.” He held his hands up in mock surrender. “I play the guitar. My dad taught me. You want to come with? I promise, I don't sing. Afraid I never inherited my mother's nice alto.”
“No, thanks.”
Joe sighed again, breath disturbing his bangs. “Alright. What do you say Monday, Madison?”
“Don't you have a life? You know, job, girlfriend?”
“No girlfriend. Full teaching load and my own research, of course.”
“Band practice, too,” she quipped.
“I don't really have the time...but I want to. I loved your uncle. I just can't believe a mind like his shut down. He had his sane moments; his lucid times. He was lucid for over a year, four years ago.”
“It wasn't that long.”
“He advised students for a whole school year. Me. I went to Boulder just to be taught by him. My father said he was the brightest man alive and he didn't say that about anyone. Dr. McKay set me straight, showed me how to find and fix my mistakes. He taught me to go for my aerospace engineering degree, too. He was like...like my own uncle, or something. He was a good man and I owe him.”
“Won't do him much good now.”
“I--” he ran his hands through his dark hair in frustration. “You're twenty-five, right?”
“And how old are you?” she snipped at him.
“That's not important--”
“How old are you, dammit!” Madison was entirely frustrated by the conversation. She was tired, cranky, and didn't want to deal with this shit right now. No matter how good Joe's intentions might be.
“Twenty-eight, ok? It's just that, by the time your uncle was our age, he'd already made huge gains in three fields: theoretical astrophysics, wormhole physics, and nuclear physics. He created a new math for Christ's sake.”
“Don't tell me what he did.”
“It's just, if I could do one sixteenth of what your uncle did in his lifetime, I could be a teacher anywhere. Or not even have to teach. I could sit and do theoretical math at MIT and fly on the weekends for the rest of my life.”
She considered that for a moment, a sneaky suspicion creeping up on her. “Give me your backpack.”
“Huh?”
“You heard me.”
“Why?”
“I want to make sure you're not taking something.”
“Come on. Would I do that?”
“You want something you can publish.”
“Of course.”
“You're not taking any of my uncle's stuff and passing it off as yours. Give me your backpack.”
Joe pulled the bag closer to him. “I would credit anything with his name. It just needs to get out there.”
“Nu-uh. You've got a notebook in there. Give it to me.”
“You're paranoid.”
“Paranoid?” she yelled, standing up now and not giving a damn if the neighbors woke up.
“A bit.”
“Fuck you, you have one!”
“Think about what you're saying, Madison!” He was looking a little desperate now, the corners of his mouth turning down, a few lines in his forehead.
“I think you're stealing!”
“Didn't you say yourself there's nothing up there?”
“Yes.”
“So what would I take?”
Now he too was standing up, getting right in her face.
“Damn it!” she hissed, then got smart. “That means you don't need to come back.”
“No, someone needs to--” Joe tried to backpedal.
“You don't understand! I lived with him. I fed him when he couldn't hold a spoon any longer. I cleaned him up. I listened to him ramble on about aliens and messages in the stars.”
“Sorry, I shouldn't have--”
“My parents died when I was twelve and he had been back from whatever godforsaken outpost he'd been at since 2003 for only a year when he had to take me in. I had to nurse him through it every time he got the news someone he knew was dead. He was already suffering from post-traumatic stress. Then I watched him fade. I would get books for him every day. I got him a telescope when he thought he'd found the answers to whatever problems he could think of.”
“What kind of things did he see?” the man asked, tentatively, raising a hand as though to comfort her.
“Math. Proofs. Beautiful proofs. Music.”
“That doesn't sound so bad.”
She stepped away from him and his comforting reach. “He also saw aliens and alternate realities. He saw who the next president of the USA would be. He saw math jokes. He was absolutely crazy.”
“He was sick, yes. But--”
“Then, then the writing. I had to order two cases of college-ruled notebook paper. His computer wasn't good enough anymore. He went through every single one of those notebooks. I dropped out of school to take care of him. You know what? I'm glad he's dead.”
She sat down with a huff, but entirely emotionally drained.
“I can see how you would think that,” Joe said in a tender voice.
“Fuck off.”
“Ok, so I can't understand. But you know what? You're not the only one whose had problems. My dad didn't know about me until he retired from the military at fifty. My mom left me-us-after only six months of living with both of them. I--”
“Don't think you know me. Don't think your life story is going to make me feel any better. I want to be left alone. I don't want him around.”
“Him?” Joe questioned and she nearly blushed.
“You. I don't want you around.”
“Why not?”
“He's dead and he's not coming back. I don't need a protege of his hanging around, getting in my way, in our stuff-his stuff.”
“I'm not the only one, you know,” he spoke quietly, sitting again.
“What do you mean.” She glanced at him.
“There'll be others. Someone has to look at them.”
“It's my house, now. And he was my uncle. I'll look at them.”
“How could you know? You don't have the math.”
“I know math.”
“But this would be high up stuff. Astrophysics, nuclear engineering...”
“I would know it.”
“I know your uncle taught you some stuff but...”
“He wasn't the only one. My mother was brilliant, too. Some say she was a better mathematician than him.”
“You didn't even finish school. How could you know?”
Bitter and angry now, she reached out and grabbed at the backpack he'd relaxed his hold from enough to let it fall to the porch.
“Hey!”
She started rifling through it, fending off Joe's arms.
“We're not at La Guardia, you know.” The bastard had the gall to sound amused.
Madison removed things one at a time. A water bottle. Some guitar picks. Sheet music. A PDA. Nothing else.
Mollified and slightly embarrassed, she handed the backpack to him.
“You know,” he had that tender voice again. She wanted to strangle him. “When my dad died about ten years ago, there was someone I saw. A nice doctor. She helped a lot. I could give you her--”
“I'm just fine, thanks,” she said sharply.
“Also, exercise. I take morning runs. Something my dad got me started on. Amazing how I only lived with the guy for three years and yet, I picked up all these habits of his. Anyway,” he brushed a lock of hair from his eyes. “You could come with me. Or we could swim. You wouldn't have to say anything.”
She laughed. “No, thanks.”
“Alright.” He suddenly appeared as though he didn't want to leave, shifting from foot to foot and not looking at her. “Well, I'd better go. The band's expecting me.”
“So go.”
“Sure you don't want to come along? We're awful, really, but beers free for us after and it kind of makes up for it.”
“No. Good night.”
“Night.”
He turned to walk out. Damn, he had a nice backside, too. Then she caught sight of his fall jacket on the chair.
“Wait, your coat.”
“Oh, I'll get--”
As he turned back around, she picked up the jacket and out fell a bright blue notebook. Madison could feel her muscles tense as she tried not to explode.
“Oh. My. God. I'm paranoid?”
“Wait, I can--”
“I'm fucking paranoid?! I should go running?”
“Just hold--”
“Get out.” She was seething now, sure her face was turning red, the same way Rodney's had when he got worked up.
“Madi--”
“Get out! You stole this from me!”
“If you'd let me explain...”
“You stole it from my uncle!!”
“Will you let me show you something? Calm down!”
“I am calling the cops.”
She walked over to her cellphone which had been sitting on the steps since she'd come out of the house earlier that evening.
“Yes, 911? I'd like to--”
“Madison, wait!”
“--report a robbery. A robbery in progress.”
“I read something he wrote. Not math. You should see it.” Joe was pleading with her now. She turned away from his liquid eyes.
“1013 Oakwood--”
“Would you put the fucking phone down and listen?” Even his hair seemed exasperated. “It's about you. You. Not math. You, Madison!”
“--Avenue...” she trailed off, interest piqued in spite of herself.
He began to read. “A good day. Good news from Madison.” He paused. “I didn't know what that meant but I thought...”
“When was that written?”
“Four years ago. See? The writing is steady. It had to be when he was feeling good. When he'd recovered. There's more, too.”
She clicked the phone shut, melting into the chair, staring up at Joe.
He continued. “'The mind isn't up to snuff, yet, but I can be patient. My friends were always telling me to be patient whenever they weren't telling me to hurry up and save their asses. So I'll be patient now. It helps to do things. Try the science. Go out. Eat out. Though, I miss MRE's. But doing normal stuff. Or what counts for normal stuff here. The most amazing thing, though, is Madison. What she's lost as she's taken care of me. No one else would help me. Not even Carter. But Madison, Madison refused to let me be institutionalized. I don't want to think where the SGC would have put me. I don't want to think of everything Madison hasn't been able to do because of me. I can never repay her. Today is her birthday. Her twenty-first. I will take her out for dinner.'
“It's dated September second. That's tomorrow.”
“Today,” she whispered.
He handed her the notebook, blue cover up. “You're right. I didn't mean to take it. Didn't mean to sneak. I just...it seems stupid now...”
“What?” she asked, clutching the book to her chest and glancing up at Joe.
“I was going to wrap it.” He shrugged. “Happy birthday.”
He grabbed his backpack and fled.
Madison wasn't sure what to think. All in one night. And tomorrow was the funeral. Kristine would be there in the morning.
Without her consent, tears began to stream down her face and she wiped effusively at them. Her uncle had told her to never cry unless she could afford to spend the time for one good cry that would last her a whole year. She didn't have that right now.
The sound of sirens made her stop completely.
“Aw, fuck,” she muttered.
~~~
The only other visitor they ever had was a stately woman with short blonde hair. She, too, came in the dress blues of the Air Force and once more-this time without an introduction, even-Madison was ushered from the kitchen and into her room.
It wasn't that she felt abused when her uncle did this. She knew he and the military personnel were probably talking classified information and while Madison was curious, she understood.
It was just...her mother had included her in on everything, from PTA meetings to writing her math articles before they were sent to the journals. She didn't think there was anything she couldn't understand at least the gist of and she wanted to show her uncle she was smart enough, that he could teach her.
She wanted to make him proud.
~~~
The next morning, Madison descended the stairs, blonde curls still dripping from her shower, to see her best friend bustling around the back porch, setting out Starbucks coffees, fresh fruit, and cinnamon popovers. In the middle of the porch table was a bunch of freshly bought wildflowers that Kristine had magically managed to find a vase for.
“Much better,” she heard her friend say.
“Hey, thanks,” Madison spoke up, steeping onto the porch.
Kristine turned towards her with a smile. She practically reeked of New York; it was like she'd brought the shoe shiner, dry cleaners, polluted city air, and half the population with her. It was more in her manner than anything. Kristine had grown up in Canada right next door to Madison since they'd been six, but she'd never fit in with the suburban style of the town they lived in. Now, she bustled around the table as though she had a million things to be doing. Madison caught a whiff of high class perfume each time she walked by.
“Do you feel any better?” Kristine asked, pausing for a moment, looking concerned.
“I do.”
“Good. You look much better. Your coffee's the one on the left.”
Madison couldn't help a snort at that. That was coming from the tall, slender, and incredibly well put together woman in front of her. Kristine was everything Madison wasn't. Kristine didn't sleep in past eight on her days off, she was always busy. She wore Gucci suits and her long black hair was almost always swept up in a French twist or sleek bun. Madison had always felt frumpy next to her friend.
“Do you want an apple? It's a good thing I brought food. Your fridge was empty.”
“I meant to go to the store.”
“Have some food.”
“I hate breakfast.”
Kristine tsked as she sat down, long legs crossing gracefully as she bit into a popover. “Didn't you like the dress?”
“It's fine.”
“We can go out and get a different one. I just thought that one was nice.”
“It is.”
“Halters are completely in fashion right now and with your chest, it'll look amazing.”
Madison blushed. “Ok.”
“Want to dry your hair? I brought my hair dryer. A straightener, too.”
“No, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” She paused, the popover on her fork halfway to her mouth. “We can get a different dress if this one doesn't fit.”
“I'm sure it'll be fine.”
“I'll take you out before I go back.” Kristine returned to eating.
“Ok.”
“Need anything while I'm here?”
“I don't need to be treated like a charity case, if that's what you mean.”
“I just meant--” the other woman sighed. “Fine. So, I thought we could have some people over later.”
“Sure.”
“You don't have any plans?”
“No.” Madison sat down in the cushioned chair staring absently at the food covering the table and sipping at her cup of coffee. “We're burying my uncle today.”
“I know. It's just, some of my other old friends from Canada came down since Colorado is closer than New York...”
“I said it's ok.”
Kristine gazed at her a moment before nodding. “It'll be good for you to unwind a bit, I think. Oh, Sam says hello.”
“Hello, Sam,” Madison responded, getting a roll of the eyes in response.
“We're getting married.”
“Really.”
“Yes! In January. I'm hoping you'll be my maid of honor.”
Madison thought a moment. New York in winter. Well, it couldn't be any colder than Colorado. “Of course.”
“Good! It's good timing for us because his job is going so well, and I just got promoted.”
“Promoted?”
“I made partner!” Kristine was practically radiating smugness. “The youngest DA in the city.”
“Good for you.”
Turning to her coffee, Kristine leaned back in the chair. She picked an invisible piece of lint from her immaculate black skirt. “How are you holding up?”
“I'm fine.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I think it was time, you know?”
Kristine nodded sagely. “What will you do now?”
“I don't know.”
“Go back to school?”
“I really don't know, Kristine. What's with the questions?”
Her friend pursed her lips then set her coffee cup down, leaning forward and placing a hand on Madison's arm. “Some policemen came by this morning.”
“Good for them.”
“They said they were following up from last night. They came after their shift. Wanted to make sure you were alright.”
“Yeah, so?”
“You called the police? A robbery?”
“I thought there was. I made a mistake.”
“A mistake.” One dark brow arched perfectly.
“I was trying to get one of Uncle Rodney's old students out of the house.”
“He broke in?”
“No. But he was stealing-or so I thought.”
“Wait, Rodney didn't have any students.”
“Not in the past few years. He was one of my uncle's students.”
“What the hell was he doing here?”
“Going through some of Uncle Rodney's stuff. He's trying to find math. Genius amidst madness.”
“And you thought he was stealing?”
“For himself. He was taking one of the notebooks. But he was going to return it.”
“For the love of--” Kristine calmed herself. Madison wasn't sure exactly who she was exasperated at. “What's the man's name?”
“Joe. Joseph Sheppard.”
“The police said you were the only one in the house.”
“He left before.”
“You let him go?”
“He wasn't actually stealing. He was going to return the notebook-don't ask. I let him go so he could go play in his stupid band. He wanted me to go with but it was late.”
Kristine patted her arm. “Honey, is Joseph Sheppard your boyfriend?”
“No!” Madison was horrified by the thought. No matter how cute his floppy bangs were.
“Are you sleeping with him?”
“God, no! He's a math dork, for cryin' out loud!”
“So are you, if I recall.”
“Exactly. I don't date other geeks.”
“But he's in a band.”
“Yes, in fact. It's a a pep band,” Madison returned sarcastically, knowing where Kristine was leading.
“What's the name of this band?”
“How the hell should I know?”
“'Joseph Sheppard' didn't tell you the name of the band he's supposedly in?”
“No, he didn't. And would you quit using his full name? It's irritating as fuck.”
“Are you sure...”
“Oh, my, God! Joe exists, thank you! He teaches for the math department at the university. Look him up if you don't believe me.” Madison was annoyed herself now.
“I'm just trying to understand. I mean, it's one thing if a weird ex-student of your uncle broke in and tried to steal something. Another if you and your boyfriend were partying. But it doesn't make sense put together.”
“Because he's not my boyfriend and he's not weird.” She paused. “Well, not really. And we certainly weren't partying.”
Kristine picked up the champagne bottle from the porch floor. “Then who were you drinking with?”
Madison though of Rodney and his blue sweater. “Myself. No one.”
Kristine sighed, standing up and began to collect the food. “The police said you were...rude.”
“They were annoying me.”
“They said you called them 'fuckers'.”
“Yeah, well. I didn't want them here.”
“But you called them.”
“Before. Before I knew what Joe was doing.”
“The one said you hit him.”
Madison tilted her chin up, knowing how much she looked like her uncle when she did it. “They were trying to come in the house. I only pushed him.”
“You called them, Madison!”
“Yes, but then they came in and started acting like the owned the place; fucking American hick cops. I bet they eat doughnuts all day along.” She glowered.
“They were perfectly nice to me.” Kristine tilted her head, considering. “Though I do think I saw powdered sugar on the one's lips.”
“Ew. Besides, everyone's nice to you.”
“That's because I didn't grow up with the rudest man who ever lived.”
Madison pouted.
Kristine bustled into the kitchen and back out before sitting on the edge of the table. “Have you thought about moving to New York?”
“No.”
“You should. You could come stay with Sam and I for a while. He's a great cook, I tell you. Loves it. And you could start school out there. NYU is fantastic, I hear, for math. Or you could find a job.
“I'd rather not.”
“It's beautiful in the fall.”
“It's nice here.”
“Boulder is dead, if it ever had anything. New York is so much more fun. More upbeat. You could use some downtime, you know.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just that, you took care of your uncle for almost ten years. You put your whole life on hold for him.”
“He was a genius.”
“He was. It's time to move on. You know I came here to help you with the will. Deal with his financial affairs.”
“I'm fine, dammit!”
“You're upset and--”
“Madison?” a voice called from within.
“Now who could that be?” Kristine wondered as a man walked out back.
“Joseph Sheppard!” Madison yelled in triumph, pointing at him. Today he was wearing a nice gray suit, no jacket or backpack in hand.
“Umm, hi.” Joe looked confused, but Madison didn't care.
“See? I'm just fine. I'm not crazy, I don't want to go back to New York with you, the police here are jerks, and I'm fine!”
“Hello, I'm Kristine Wiltman. Madison's best friend.” Kristine interjected, oozing charm, and in that moment Madison wanted to kill her.
“Hi. Sheppard. I mean, uh, Joe. Nice to meet you. Here for the funeral?”
“Yes. And the various affairs of estate. I'm an attorney.”
“Cool.” He shifted his feet. “Anyway, I was just going try to do a little work before--”
“Go,” Madison waved at him, indifferent.
Joe headed upstairs, with only one glance back at the two women.
“That's Joseph Sheppard?” Both of Kristine's finely manicured eyebrows were raised.
“Yes.”
“He's a mathematician?”
“Yes...” Madison spoke like she though her friend was dumb. Which at the moment seemed apt.
“He's cute.”
“Ugh. Would you stop that.”
“I'm just saying...”
“Kristine, I think you owe me an apology.”
“Look, we have things to discuss, but I don't want to do it now. The funeral's in three hours. Go get dressed. Maybe Joe would like a piece of fruit?”
She ignored her and finally Kristine shrugged, grabbing a banana and heading in and up the stairs herself.
Madison buried her face in her arms.
~~~
She came home early from school one day when she was fifteen and came in through the backyard, only to stop when she saw her uncle and John standing very close to one another, Rodney speaking fast and expressive, hands flying about so much, Madison was afraid he'd give John a black eye.
She crept closer.
“John, why are you still helping them? You're retired! They shut us out!”
“So are you, McKay. I'm not stupid enough to think that Carter's getting all these ideas on her own. She's smart, but I know your flair. The top brass might be dumb enough to not recognize it, but then, you've never had much faith in them anyway, have you?”
“I did when O'Neill was running the place, advocating for us in Washington. Before Landry retired, even...”
“Yeah, well, it's a new wave of SGC explorers and there isn't a damn thing to be done about it. Only Carter, Mitchell, Lorne, and Zelenka are left. Everyone else has retired or died. It isn't fair but that's the way it is. Just like you've got to help Carter, I can't let Mitchell handle it all on his own. He's in with new recruits and he's never been the administrator type. Hell, I think I have better negotiating skills than he does. Besides, he only visited Atlantis once. He doesn't know enough. I only go to help the new CO learn the ropes. Consultation.”
Her uncle snorted, crossing his arms, like he was going to argue for another while, but then John laid a hand on his shoulder and he crumpled. Madison had never seen her uncle look so defeated.
“It's just...I miss it, you know? The city, the way it felt underneath my fingertips, Weir, Teyla, and Beckett, hell, even Ronon, and...”
“I know. I do, too,” John spoke, softer now, and she could barely hear. She didn't hear the next few words he whispered into Rodney's ear, but then to her surprise, Rodney's hands came up to frame John's face and they were kissing.
She knew she shouldn't be watching, should quietly leave. But she'd always wondered why Rodney didn't talk about anyone like a former lover, or of a wife, or of the people he'd lost. A few times she'd heard him speak the name 'Teyla' in his sleep, but it had always been more devastated and never like a lover's caress. Now she thought she knew.
The kiss was light at first, hesitant, questioning. But then John stepped into Rodney's space, placing one hand above the older man's head, the other on his hip and leaned into it. The kiss was dirty and frantic, and full of something Madison couldn't label. She just knew even the most 'in love' couples at school never kissed like that.
Just as she was about to leave, considering she didn't want to see two older men getting it on, they pulled back from one another.
“John, we can't.”
“Why the hell not, Rodney?” John hissed, rubbing his body against her uncle's.
Whoa, now that, she didn't need to see.
“I realize you're retired and all but...”
“That's right, I am.”
“But after everything. Teyla and Pegasus...We can't. I can't.”
Madison watched as John stared hard at her uncle for long moments before finally sighing and backing off. The moment his back was turned, she saw Uncle Rodney's face fall and knew then it was only pretense. Rodney didn't want to stop, but rather, felt he had to. Or he was putting John to the test.
“Ok, ok, I understand, Rodney. I'll go. Just...” the dark-haired man laid a hand on her uncle's shoulder, pulling him into a big hug. “Be ok, alright? You know I miss seeing you everyday.”
Uncle Rodney nodded and it was clear there was something more he wanted to say.
After a minute of nothing though, John walked away, hands in his pockets, without a glance back. Her uncle stood up against the wall until John rounded the corner and his car started, then he sat down at the table and his shoulders shook, silently.
Madison backed out of the yard and stayed at a friend's house until late that night.
~~~
Madison felt numb the entire service. She stood next to Kristine who delicately wiped at tears with a tissue before they could slip past her oversized Prada sunglasses and leak onto her cheek. Joe stood across from her and she watched as his face grew more stoic as the service went on. Other students of Uncle Rodney's were filtered in the small crowd. There were few other people there, but everyone else who was, was in military dress and though Uncle Rodney hadn't been in the US military, or even a citizen, he got a three-volley salute and a marine handed her an American flag as though Rodney had truly been a soldier who died in the field. She supposed she should be grateful for it, but she imagined Rodney would be in Purgatory laughing his ass off at the pomp and circumstance.
She didn't shed a tear the entire service.
Afterward, a woman with steely gray, short hair approached her.
“I imagine wherever he is, he's laughing at us all right now.”
Madison stared blankly.
“I'm sorry,” the woman laughed, “you don't know me.”
“Wait, yes, I do,” Madison spoke up. “I've seen you before. You visited Uncle Rodney once or twice before he fell ill.”
“Yup.” The lady held out her hand. “Colonel Samantha Carter. I worked with your uncle for many years. I met your mother a few times, as well.”
“Oh.” She shook Colonel Carter's hand.
“And what I meant was that, Rodney would be laughing, seeing all this done for him. But I couldn't help myself. He deserved it. He really was a soldier-even if he never obeyed orders.” The colonel's smile was slightly sad, but still pleasant.
“I never knew what he did for you guys.” Madison smoothed out a crease in her dress.
The colonel looked her up and down for a moment before replying, “Someday you will. You know, he was immensely grateful for you. As am I. I would have hated to see him in one of the hospitals the government would have offered. He deserved more than that. I really wish he could have stayed where he was happiest-not that he wasn't happy with you,” the woman amended quickly. “Just that...I think he would have preferred to be buried where he'd been working. But unfortunately, it wasn't up to him and it wasn't up to me.”
“Sam,” a warm tenor spoke up and both women started. “You ready to go?”
“Oh, Cam. I was just talking to--”
The green-eyed man smiled winningly at Madison. “You must be Madison. Let me say, the only time Rodney wasn't talking about physics, he was talking about you. Trust me, we much preferred when he did.” Madison blushed. “He said you had great potential. I'm General Cameron Mitchell. You'll have to excuse us, and I wish we could stay longer, but Sam and I have been called back on important business.” He turned to Colonel Carter. “Daniel and Vala are waiting for us.
“My condolences,” he said to Madison. He smiled again and patted Madison's arm before tipping his hat at her. He kissed Sam on the cheek before heading to a government car.
“Yes, I am sorry about our sudden departure, but I have a feeling we'll be seeing you again soon.”
Madison saw a twinkle in the colonel's eyes before she leaned forward and gave her a quick, surprising hug, and left toward the general.
“Ready to head back to the house?” Kristine's voice came up from behind her and she nodded, still staring after the colonel and general.
~~~
Part 1b
Ugh. I also had to break it into more pieces then it was meant to be. *kicks LJ text box size*
Title: Proof
Author: MF Luder
Pairing: Madison/OMC (McShep UST)
Keywords: future!fic, death!fic, kid!fic, drama, het, pre-slash
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Spoilers: All of third season
Disclaimer: They belong to SciFi Channel and whomever the producers are.
Archive: My LJ, Wraithbait, anywhere else, let me know.
Summary: Since she was twelve, Madison has lived with her uncle, Rodney McKay. Once brilliant, Rodney fell ill and Madison has cared for him ever since. Following his death, Madison has to face her own fears and emotions, even as someone new comes into her life. Joe was a student of her uncle's and now he's sorting through Rodney's notebook legacy. But a mysterious notebook surfaces and Madison will be forced to face just how much of her family's genius-or madness-she inherited. And in the end, Joe and she may have more in common than she ever realized.
Feedback: Mulder_Loves_Scully_Forever@hotmail.com
Author's Notes: I don't know if this has been done before or not. I'm hoping not, but rather surprised if it hasn't. This entire fic is based off the play Proof by David Auburn: a truly good piece of theater. A few lines of dialogue throughout are taken directly from the play (especially just about any line referencing math and the band comments). The character Kristine, in the play is actually the main character's sister, but as Madison doesn't have an older sibling, I changed it to close friend.
Beta Thanks: The wonderful let_fate_decide who was so kind to read through this huge piece of writing.
A breeze washed over Madison, ruffling her blonde hair in its ponytail. Despite the fact that the wind was warm, she pulled her cream-colored cardigan about her shoulders tighter, sensing the bite of fall that was fast coming. The stars were twinkling above, just barely visible over the aura of Boulder's city lights. She walked to the deck chair with the last plush cushion and collapsed, tucking a few illusive strands of hair behind her ear.
“Can't sleep?”
She jumped, looking around. “Uncle Rodney. You startled me.”
“Sorry.”
By the twist of his mouth, he wasn't sorry at all. She refrained from rolling her eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“Thought I'd see why you were out here instead of in bed getting your beauty rest.”
“Your student's up there.”
“I think he can find the door himself.”
“Might as well wait.”
“You know, he's not my student anymore. He's teaching now. Lucky he was vaguely intelligent.”
“I know. Say, what time is it?”
“Past time for you to be moping around.” He looked at her for a moment. “Past two.”
“Ok.”
“So...” he trailed off for a moment, looking pained. “There. On the table. Happy birthday.”
She glanced at the spot he indicated. A bottle of champagne. “Uncle Rodney.”
“Have I ever forgotten?”
“No. Thank you.”
“Twenty-five. You're practically ancient.”
“Way to flatter a girl.”
He shrugged, pleasantries never having bothered him. “Want me to open it?”
“I'll do it. Last time you broke a window.”
“Hey, now. I'll have you know I used to work extremely sensitive equipment with these hands.”
“Once upon a time, yeah.” She reached over and grabbed the bottle, twisting off the cheap but stubborn plastic cap. “Glasses?”
“Who needs a little thing like that?”
She smiled. Her uncle had never felt the need for anything rudimentary, as though he'd spent years without using toasters or ovens. Then again, he might not have used them wherever he'd been posted for all those years. She tipped the bottle to her mouth.
“I hope it's satisfactory. I wasn't sure what to get.”
She set the bottle down making a face. “Awful stuff, actually.”
Rodney sat down in a chair across from her. “I'm proud to say I know nothing about wines. I hate people who waste their time learning 'vintages'. All I ever had to know was it wasn't lemon and that it was strong enough to knock me out for a few hours.”
She looked at the bottle. “It's not even real champagne. I didn't know they made anything but beer in Wisconsin.”
He let out a little 'tsk'. “Says the girl drinking straight from the bottle.”
She was tempted to stick her tongue out at him. Instead, she offered the bottle to him. “You want--?”
“Nah. It's your birthday.”
“Ok.”
“What are you doing on this joyous occasion?”
“It's just another day. You taught me that.”
He ignored her comment. “I hope you're not spending it alone.”
She blinked at him. The wind ruffled her hair once more and this time she licked a few fingers in an attempt to keep the curl from escaping again. “I'm not alone.”
Rodney shifted in his chair, pushing his glasses up. “I don't count.”
“You don't? The almighty Rodney McKay?”
“I'm family. You should go out with friends. Or a boyfriend. Someone.”
She let out a rather unladylike snort.
“Your friends aren't planning on taking you out?”
“To have friends take you out, that typically requires having friends to start with.”
He waved a hand, dismissively. “What about Kristine?”
“In New York.”
“What about,” he paused to think. “That boy you used to hang out with. What was his name?”
“Huh?” she questioned.
“He lives over two blocks...”
“Frank Lamby?”
“Yes!” Rodney looked triumphant.
“He was my boyfriend in ninth grade. He moved away to Florida the next year.”
He sighed. “Isn't Kristine coming in?”
“Tomorrow.”
They were both silent for a time, Madison sipping from the champagne bottle. It really was awful stuff. Tasted too bitter, too much like carbonated water.
She gazed at her uncle. He was wearing his favorite blue sweater, sleeves rolled up like he was ready to dig into whatever wonderful electronic piece of equipment was lying around just waiting for him. His small glasses were perched on his nose. She ran her eyes over the lines on his face, to his receded hairline. He'd been lucky to keep most of his hair, even as he got older, the spiky light gray fading into a snow white. He ran a blunt hand over a scar that lined his right forearm.
“My advice, when one can't sleep, is to do mathematics.”
“You're kidding,” she responded.
“We could do it together.”
“No.”
“You used to love it, you know.”
“Not now.”
“You knew what a prime number was before you could read.”
“And now I've forgotten.”
His gaze hardened, eyes suddenly sharp. “Don't be an idiot, Madison. Don't waste your time.”
“How did I know you were going to say that?” she muttered rhetorically.
“It's the simple truth. I know you've got more than two peas in that brain...don't let it go to waste.” He stopped, visibly calming himself. When he spoke again, it was softer. “Look, I know you've had a rough time...”
“Gee, thanks.”
“But it's not an excuse. Stop being so damn lazy.”
“I'm not.”
“Not what? Lazy? I've seen you. You sleep past noon, stay up all night doing God knows what; you hardly leave the house. You get groceries and magazines at that bookstore. Not even journals. Fashion magazines.” His contempt was clear. “You have no idea how much you might have lost. Ideas you could have had, whole theories by now. You know I'm right.”
“I've lost a few days, sure.”
“How many?” He leaned forward now, elbows on the table.
“I don't know.”
“Sure you do.”
“No.”
“I bet you count them. The days.”
“Do not.”
“How many?”
“A few, I said.”
“How many days?” His question was forceful now.
She sighed. “A month. About.”
“Exactly.”
“I don't--”
“You do.”
“Fine. Thirty-three days.”
“That it?”
“I slept till about noon today.”
“So thirty-three and a quarter, we'll say.” He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing his chest, looking smug.
Bastard, she thought, not unkindly.
“What a number.”
“Sure,” she nodded. “Depressing number.”
“If every day you lost were a year, it'd be a very interesting number.”
“No, it never would be. That'd just be more depressing. And highly improbable.”
“You know what I mean.”
“1,729 weeks, yes.”
Rodney's head titled up and his eyes shone with excitement. “1,729 is a great number. The smallest number expressible--”
“--Expressible as the sum of two cubes in two different ways,” she continued.
“Twelve cubed plus one cubed equals 1,729.”
“And ten cubed plus nine cubed. Yes, yes, I know.”
“See? Even your idiotic moping is mathematical. You should get to work, develop some concrete ideas...”
“I don't have anything good.”
“You're young, you've got time.”
“You called me ancient before.”
“Well, yes. I meant in comparison to...me. I'm young at heart, you know.” That lopsided smirk was back.
The man was insufferable.
“You were already famous by my age. Sooner. For Pete's sake, you built a nuclear bomb in sixth grade. You worked for the fucking CIA.”
“Yes, well.” He grew sober. “But some of my best work was accomplished, then, too. Granted, I went on to do and discover more things, but sometimes, I felt like I lost something. It couldn't stop the inevitable, no matter how good I was.”
“What about after?” she asked.
“After?”
“Once you got sick.”
He harrumphed. “If anything, I was even sharper then.”
“Uncle Rodney.”
“No, really. I saw everything clearer. More defined. Like that time...”
“Were you happy?”
“I was; I was busy.”
“Not the same.”
“Same difference, actually. Working has always made me happy. I could work on a problem for a whole day if I wanted. No interruptions. I found answers everywhere, Madison. Ones that I wish I'd known back then. I could have solved so much more. I found answers in the snow, in its pattern as it fell. I saw the answers written in the stars of this galaxy; I saw questions I'd never thought about before. It was amazing.”
“How old where you when it started?”
“Heh. Forty-five.” He paused. “What, is that what you're worried about? It being hereditary? It happening to you sooner?”
“I've considered it.”
“You're one year older. It doesn't mean a damn thing”
“It could mean a lot.”
“Clearly, you're not keeping up with medical journals. Or common sense. You should know any number of factors count into whether it occurs or not. It's not hereditary, I assure you. Just because I went a little crazy, doesn't mean you will.”
“Uncle--”
“Listen to me. Your twenties can be a pain in the ass. I know. I was getting my second PhD then, and working for the CIA. I know what tough is. You've had a hard week. An even harder few years. But you'll be ok.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do. But you've got to work. There's nothing worse for the mind than lack of use. That'll really make you crazy. Make yourself work. The very fact that we can talk about this means you'll be fine.”
“How so?”
“Do you think crazy people sit around asking themselves if they're crazy? No. They all think they're perfectly sane. They can't ask, 'am I crazy?'”
“Even if the answer is yes?”
Madison shifted, tucking her feet underneath her and pulling her sweater tighter once more. If she concentrated, she could smell the scent of rotting leaves in the air.
“Yes.”
“That doesn't make sense. It doesn't work.”
“Why not.”
“Because you just asked it.”
“But...oh, I see. I suppose.” Now his mouth turned down on both ends, giving him a look of great sadness.
“So how can you admit to it?” she asked.
“Well, because I'm dead. Right?”
She nodded. “For a week.”
“Heart failure.”
“They just let you die.”
“It was time. I was ready to go.”
“That's why Kristine's flying in. She's going to help me figure out the legal stuff.”
“Yes.”
“But you're sitting here. You brought me crappy champagne. Which means...” she trailed off.
“For you, Madison, that could indeed be a bad sign.”
Madison heard the porch door slam shut, and her uncle vanished.
~~~
When she was fourteen, they were visited by a very charming man introduced to her as 'John'. After the first time she met him, her uncle would always send her up to her room or over to a friends for the duration the visit lasted. She always figured it had to do with whatever military work her uncle was still doing. After all, John often showed up in the dress blues of an Air Force officer.
When they'd been introduced, she'd been taken by the gravity-defying dark hair highlighted with an artistic gray hair or two, and slight swagger. At fourteen she'd recently discovered boys, but this was no boy. This was a man, and despite being old enough to be her father, she couldn't help being a little in love with him. Whenever she saw him, on her way in as he was leaving or on her way out as Rodney pushed her out the door, John always had a smile for her. Sometimes he'd ruffle her hair and laugh with his gruff voice at something Rodney would whisper. He'd told her that first time they met how much she reminded him of her mother. She'd wanted to press him, but one look on her uncle's face and she'd let it drop.
By the time she was fifteen, John was around more often. When she asked, Rodney had simply said that he'd retired from the military and was now taking care of his son.
~~~
“Jesus--!” Madison yelled as the door slammed.
“Sorry. Did I wake you?” the man asked, stepping closer.
“Yes. No. I mean, no. You're still here?”
“I hadn't realized it had gotten so late. I'm done, for now.” He paused. “Drinking alone?”
Madison realized she was still holding the now over half empty bottle of champagne. “Yeah,” she replied, quickly setting it down.
He stepped forward and sat in the chair next to hers. She nearly stopped him, but quieted herself. Crazy or not, she didn't want to come off as crazy when she said 'don't sit there, my uncle's sitting there'.
As he sat, the moonlight caught in his hair. Joe was a handsome man. Tall, lean, ruffled black hair that was almost, but not quite, long enough to flop over his eyes. It was a good look on him. He had bright blue eyes that shone out of a face which housed a sharp nose and chiseled jawline. He was wearing a striped polo shirt and jeans.
Make that too damn good looking.
“Champagne?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you celebrating?”
“Nope. I just like champagne.”
“Oh. It's just festive.”
“Huh?”
“You know, party-like.” He made an awkward gesture.
“Oh.” She paused, then slid the bottle towards him. “Want some?”
“Sure.”
“Have it.”
He shifted as he took one drink, then set it down. “I can't. No thanks, I mean. I have to drive.”
Madison shrugged. It was getting even colder now, though the wind had died.
“Well, I'll just let myself out,” he said, making to stand.
“Ok,” she responded, tiredly.
“When can I come back?”
“Back?”
“I'm not done. Tomorrow, maybe?”
“There's a funeral tomorrow,” she said, deadpan.
“Oh, right.” He blushed, the tip of his ears turning pink. “I was going to come. If that's ok.”
“Sure.”
“So, Saturday?”
“Hmmm?” Madison was barely paying attention to him. The stars were twinkling brighter now as city lights were turned off in the dead of night. She twisted the band of cool metal that circled her right ring finger.
“To come back.”
“You've been here for three days now.”
“I'd love more time.”
“How much?”
“Another week or so.”
“You're joking, right?”
“No.” Joe's face was earnest. Definitely not joking.
She sighed. “What's there to look at?”
“I know you don't need anybody around, right now. I've got things sorted. It's mostly dated notebooks. Look, I can take them with me, then I won't need to be here and--”
“My uncle wouldn't have wanted anything moved and I don't want anything taken out of this house.”
“Ok, then. I'll work here.”
“There's nothing to see.”
“Someone should go through it all. Those notebooks.”
“I've gone through them,” Madison responded. “Nothing but gibberish.”
“You don't know that if you haven't read them.”
“He was insane. He was a graphomaniac, Joseph. You know what that is, right?”
“Yes, it means he wrote compulsively. Call me Joe.”
“There's nothing there. Just random writings, utterly nonsensical.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“I'm prepared to go through each page and make sure. Is that so bad?” Joe leaned forward towards her.
“It's crazy. And I'm not crazy.”
He sat back and chewed on his lip for a moment. It was rather cute.
“Look,” he spoke again. “I have to go. Some friends of mine are playing in a band at a bar on the other side of town. Way down on the bill. I said I'd be there.”
“Fabulous,” she drawled, sarcastically.
“They're all from the math department. They're really good. They have this song , you'd like it, called 'i'--lowercase I. They just stand there and don't play anything for three minutes.”
“Imaginary number,” she realized.
“It's a math joke,” he said sheepishly. “Like I said, they're far down on the bill.”
“Long drive just to see some geeks in a band.”
“I hate it when people say that.” He leaned back in his chair, almost pouting. Jeez, he was in his late twenties and still pouting? Did that ever actually work? “It's not that long of a drive.”
“So you admit they're geeks.” She couldn't help pointing it out.
“Totally.” He grinned now. “But this is 2026. Geeks can now dress themselves, don't need pocket protectors, and even get laid once in awhile. Makes one rethink the entire genre of geek-related terms, huh?”
She eyed him and couldn't help a matching smile from gracing her face. “You're in this band.”
“Fine, fine, you caught me.” He held his hands up in mock surrender. “I play the guitar. My dad taught me. You want to come with? I promise, I don't sing. Afraid I never inherited my mother's nice alto.”
“No, thanks.”
Joe sighed again, breath disturbing his bangs. “Alright. What do you say Monday, Madison?”
“Don't you have a life? You know, job, girlfriend?”
“No girlfriend. Full teaching load and my own research, of course.”
“Band practice, too,” she quipped.
“I don't really have the time...but I want to. I loved your uncle. I just can't believe a mind like his shut down. He had his sane moments; his lucid times. He was lucid for over a year, four years ago.”
“It wasn't that long.”
“He advised students for a whole school year. Me. I went to Boulder just to be taught by him. My father said he was the brightest man alive and he didn't say that about anyone. Dr. McKay set me straight, showed me how to find and fix my mistakes. He taught me to go for my aerospace engineering degree, too. He was like...like my own uncle, or something. He was a good man and I owe him.”
“Won't do him much good now.”
“I--” he ran his hands through his dark hair in frustration. “You're twenty-five, right?”
“And how old are you?” she snipped at him.
“That's not important--”
“How old are you, dammit!” Madison was entirely frustrated by the conversation. She was tired, cranky, and didn't want to deal with this shit right now. No matter how good Joe's intentions might be.
“Twenty-eight, ok? It's just that, by the time your uncle was our age, he'd already made huge gains in three fields: theoretical astrophysics, wormhole physics, and nuclear physics. He created a new math for Christ's sake.”
“Don't tell me what he did.”
“It's just, if I could do one sixteenth of what your uncle did in his lifetime, I could be a teacher anywhere. Or not even have to teach. I could sit and do theoretical math at MIT and fly on the weekends for the rest of my life.”
She considered that for a moment, a sneaky suspicion creeping up on her. “Give me your backpack.”
“Huh?”
“You heard me.”
“Why?”
“I want to make sure you're not taking something.”
“Come on. Would I do that?”
“You want something you can publish.”
“Of course.”
“You're not taking any of my uncle's stuff and passing it off as yours. Give me your backpack.”
Joe pulled the bag closer to him. “I would credit anything with his name. It just needs to get out there.”
“Nu-uh. You've got a notebook in there. Give it to me.”
“You're paranoid.”
“Paranoid?” she yelled, standing up now and not giving a damn if the neighbors woke up.
“A bit.”
“Fuck you, you have one!”
“Think about what you're saying, Madison!” He was looking a little desperate now, the corners of his mouth turning down, a few lines in his forehead.
“I think you're stealing!”
“Didn't you say yourself there's nothing up there?”
“Yes.”
“So what would I take?”
Now he too was standing up, getting right in her face.
“Damn it!” she hissed, then got smart. “That means you don't need to come back.”
“No, someone needs to--” Joe tried to backpedal.
“You don't understand! I lived with him. I fed him when he couldn't hold a spoon any longer. I cleaned him up. I listened to him ramble on about aliens and messages in the stars.”
“Sorry, I shouldn't have--”
“My parents died when I was twelve and he had been back from whatever godforsaken outpost he'd been at since 2003 for only a year when he had to take me in. I had to nurse him through it every time he got the news someone he knew was dead. He was already suffering from post-traumatic stress. Then I watched him fade. I would get books for him every day. I got him a telescope when he thought he'd found the answers to whatever problems he could think of.”
“What kind of things did he see?” the man asked, tentatively, raising a hand as though to comfort her.
“Math. Proofs. Beautiful proofs. Music.”
“That doesn't sound so bad.”
She stepped away from him and his comforting reach. “He also saw aliens and alternate realities. He saw who the next president of the USA would be. He saw math jokes. He was absolutely crazy.”
“He was sick, yes. But--”
“Then, then the writing. I had to order two cases of college-ruled notebook paper. His computer wasn't good enough anymore. He went through every single one of those notebooks. I dropped out of school to take care of him. You know what? I'm glad he's dead.”
She sat down with a huff, but entirely emotionally drained.
“I can see how you would think that,” Joe said in a tender voice.
“Fuck off.”
“Ok, so I can't understand. But you know what? You're not the only one whose had problems. My dad didn't know about me until he retired from the military at fifty. My mom left me-us-after only six months of living with both of them. I--”
“Don't think you know me. Don't think your life story is going to make me feel any better. I want to be left alone. I don't want him around.”
“Him?” Joe questioned and she nearly blushed.
“You. I don't want you around.”
“Why not?”
“He's dead and he's not coming back. I don't need a protege of his hanging around, getting in my way, in our stuff-his stuff.”
“I'm not the only one, you know,” he spoke quietly, sitting again.
“What do you mean.” She glanced at him.
“There'll be others. Someone has to look at them.”
“It's my house, now. And he was my uncle. I'll look at them.”
“How could you know? You don't have the math.”
“I know math.”
“But this would be high up stuff. Astrophysics, nuclear engineering...”
“I would know it.”
“I know your uncle taught you some stuff but...”
“He wasn't the only one. My mother was brilliant, too. Some say she was a better mathematician than him.”
“You didn't even finish school. How could you know?”
Bitter and angry now, she reached out and grabbed at the backpack he'd relaxed his hold from enough to let it fall to the porch.
“Hey!”
She started rifling through it, fending off Joe's arms.
“We're not at La Guardia, you know.” The bastard had the gall to sound amused.
Madison removed things one at a time. A water bottle. Some guitar picks. Sheet music. A PDA. Nothing else.
Mollified and slightly embarrassed, she handed the backpack to him.
“You know,” he had that tender voice again. She wanted to strangle him. “When my dad died about ten years ago, there was someone I saw. A nice doctor. She helped a lot. I could give you her--”
“I'm just fine, thanks,” she said sharply.
“Also, exercise. I take morning runs. Something my dad got me started on. Amazing how I only lived with the guy for three years and yet, I picked up all these habits of his. Anyway,” he brushed a lock of hair from his eyes. “You could come with me. Or we could swim. You wouldn't have to say anything.”
She laughed. “No, thanks.”
“Alright.” He suddenly appeared as though he didn't want to leave, shifting from foot to foot and not looking at her. “Well, I'd better go. The band's expecting me.”
“So go.”
“Sure you don't want to come along? We're awful, really, but beers free for us after and it kind of makes up for it.”
“No. Good night.”
“Night.”
He turned to walk out. Damn, he had a nice backside, too. Then she caught sight of his fall jacket on the chair.
“Wait, your coat.”
“Oh, I'll get--”
As he turned back around, she picked up the jacket and out fell a bright blue notebook. Madison could feel her muscles tense as she tried not to explode.
“Oh. My. God. I'm paranoid?”
“Wait, I can--”
“I'm fucking paranoid?! I should go running?”
“Just hold--”
“Get out.” She was seething now, sure her face was turning red, the same way Rodney's had when he got worked up.
“Madi--”
“Get out! You stole this from me!”
“If you'd let me explain...”
“You stole it from my uncle!!”
“Will you let me show you something? Calm down!”
“I am calling the cops.”
She walked over to her cellphone which had been sitting on the steps since she'd come out of the house earlier that evening.
“Yes, 911? I'd like to--”
“Madison, wait!”
“--report a robbery. A robbery in progress.”
“I read something he wrote. Not math. You should see it.” Joe was pleading with her now. She turned away from his liquid eyes.
“1013 Oakwood--”
“Would you put the fucking phone down and listen?” Even his hair seemed exasperated. “It's about you. You. Not math. You, Madison!”
“--Avenue...” she trailed off, interest piqued in spite of herself.
He began to read. “A good day. Good news from Madison.” He paused. “I didn't know what that meant but I thought...”
“When was that written?”
“Four years ago. See? The writing is steady. It had to be when he was feeling good. When he'd recovered. There's more, too.”
She clicked the phone shut, melting into the chair, staring up at Joe.
He continued. “'The mind isn't up to snuff, yet, but I can be patient. My friends were always telling me to be patient whenever they weren't telling me to hurry up and save their asses. So I'll be patient now. It helps to do things. Try the science. Go out. Eat out. Though, I miss MRE's. But doing normal stuff. Or what counts for normal stuff here. The most amazing thing, though, is Madison. What she's lost as she's taken care of me. No one else would help me. Not even Carter. But Madison, Madison refused to let me be institutionalized. I don't want to think where the SGC would have put me. I don't want to think of everything Madison hasn't been able to do because of me. I can never repay her. Today is her birthday. Her twenty-first. I will take her out for dinner.'
“It's dated September second. That's tomorrow.”
“Today,” she whispered.
He handed her the notebook, blue cover up. “You're right. I didn't mean to take it. Didn't mean to sneak. I just...it seems stupid now...”
“What?” she asked, clutching the book to her chest and glancing up at Joe.
“I was going to wrap it.” He shrugged. “Happy birthday.”
He grabbed his backpack and fled.
Madison wasn't sure what to think. All in one night. And tomorrow was the funeral. Kristine would be there in the morning.
Without her consent, tears began to stream down her face and she wiped effusively at them. Her uncle had told her to never cry unless she could afford to spend the time for one good cry that would last her a whole year. She didn't have that right now.
The sound of sirens made her stop completely.
“Aw, fuck,” she muttered.
~~~
The only other visitor they ever had was a stately woman with short blonde hair. She, too, came in the dress blues of the Air Force and once more-this time without an introduction, even-Madison was ushered from the kitchen and into her room.
It wasn't that she felt abused when her uncle did this. She knew he and the military personnel were probably talking classified information and while Madison was curious, she understood.
It was just...her mother had included her in on everything, from PTA meetings to writing her math articles before they were sent to the journals. She didn't think there was anything she couldn't understand at least the gist of and she wanted to show her uncle she was smart enough, that he could teach her.
She wanted to make him proud.
~~~
The next morning, Madison descended the stairs, blonde curls still dripping from her shower, to see her best friend bustling around the back porch, setting out Starbucks coffees, fresh fruit, and cinnamon popovers. In the middle of the porch table was a bunch of freshly bought wildflowers that Kristine had magically managed to find a vase for.
“Much better,” she heard her friend say.
“Hey, thanks,” Madison spoke up, steeping onto the porch.
Kristine turned towards her with a smile. She practically reeked of New York; it was like she'd brought the shoe shiner, dry cleaners, polluted city air, and half the population with her. It was more in her manner than anything. Kristine had grown up in Canada right next door to Madison since they'd been six, but she'd never fit in with the suburban style of the town they lived in. Now, she bustled around the table as though she had a million things to be doing. Madison caught a whiff of high class perfume each time she walked by.
“Do you feel any better?” Kristine asked, pausing for a moment, looking concerned.
“I do.”
“Good. You look much better. Your coffee's the one on the left.”
Madison couldn't help a snort at that. That was coming from the tall, slender, and incredibly well put together woman in front of her. Kristine was everything Madison wasn't. Kristine didn't sleep in past eight on her days off, she was always busy. She wore Gucci suits and her long black hair was almost always swept up in a French twist or sleek bun. Madison had always felt frumpy next to her friend.
“Do you want an apple? It's a good thing I brought food. Your fridge was empty.”
“I meant to go to the store.”
“Have some food.”
“I hate breakfast.”
Kristine tsked as she sat down, long legs crossing gracefully as she bit into a popover. “Didn't you like the dress?”
“It's fine.”
“We can go out and get a different one. I just thought that one was nice.”
“It is.”
“Halters are completely in fashion right now and with your chest, it'll look amazing.”
Madison blushed. “Ok.”
“Want to dry your hair? I brought my hair dryer. A straightener, too.”
“No, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” She paused, the popover on her fork halfway to her mouth. “We can get a different dress if this one doesn't fit.”
“I'm sure it'll be fine.”
“I'll take you out before I go back.” Kristine returned to eating.
“Ok.”
“Need anything while I'm here?”
“I don't need to be treated like a charity case, if that's what you mean.”
“I just meant--” the other woman sighed. “Fine. So, I thought we could have some people over later.”
“Sure.”
“You don't have any plans?”
“No.” Madison sat down in the cushioned chair staring absently at the food covering the table and sipping at her cup of coffee. “We're burying my uncle today.”
“I know. It's just, some of my other old friends from Canada came down since Colorado is closer than New York...”
“I said it's ok.”
Kristine gazed at her a moment before nodding. “It'll be good for you to unwind a bit, I think. Oh, Sam says hello.”
“Hello, Sam,” Madison responded, getting a roll of the eyes in response.
“We're getting married.”
“Really.”
“Yes! In January. I'm hoping you'll be my maid of honor.”
Madison thought a moment. New York in winter. Well, it couldn't be any colder than Colorado. “Of course.”
“Good! It's good timing for us because his job is going so well, and I just got promoted.”
“Promoted?”
“I made partner!” Kristine was practically radiating smugness. “The youngest DA in the city.”
“Good for you.”
Turning to her coffee, Kristine leaned back in the chair. She picked an invisible piece of lint from her immaculate black skirt. “How are you holding up?”
“I'm fine.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I think it was time, you know?”
Kristine nodded sagely. “What will you do now?”
“I don't know.”
“Go back to school?”
“I really don't know, Kristine. What's with the questions?”
Her friend pursed her lips then set her coffee cup down, leaning forward and placing a hand on Madison's arm. “Some policemen came by this morning.”
“Good for them.”
“They said they were following up from last night. They came after their shift. Wanted to make sure you were alright.”
“Yeah, so?”
“You called the police? A robbery?”
“I thought there was. I made a mistake.”
“A mistake.” One dark brow arched perfectly.
“I was trying to get one of Uncle Rodney's old students out of the house.”
“He broke in?”
“No. But he was stealing-or so I thought.”
“Wait, Rodney didn't have any students.”
“Not in the past few years. He was one of my uncle's students.”
“What the hell was he doing here?”
“Going through some of Uncle Rodney's stuff. He's trying to find math. Genius amidst madness.”
“And you thought he was stealing?”
“For himself. He was taking one of the notebooks. But he was going to return it.”
“For the love of--” Kristine calmed herself. Madison wasn't sure exactly who she was exasperated at. “What's the man's name?”
“Joe. Joseph Sheppard.”
“The police said you were the only one in the house.”
“He left before.”
“You let him go?”
“He wasn't actually stealing. He was going to return the notebook-don't ask. I let him go so he could go play in his stupid band. He wanted me to go with but it was late.”
Kristine patted her arm. “Honey, is Joseph Sheppard your boyfriend?”
“No!” Madison was horrified by the thought. No matter how cute his floppy bangs were.
“Are you sleeping with him?”
“God, no! He's a math dork, for cryin' out loud!”
“So are you, if I recall.”
“Exactly. I don't date other geeks.”
“But he's in a band.”
“Yes, in fact. It's a a pep band,” Madison returned sarcastically, knowing where Kristine was leading.
“What's the name of this band?”
“How the hell should I know?”
“'Joseph Sheppard' didn't tell you the name of the band he's supposedly in?”
“No, he didn't. And would you quit using his full name? It's irritating as fuck.”
“Are you sure...”
“Oh, my, God! Joe exists, thank you! He teaches for the math department at the university. Look him up if you don't believe me.” Madison was annoyed herself now.
“I'm just trying to understand. I mean, it's one thing if a weird ex-student of your uncle broke in and tried to steal something. Another if you and your boyfriend were partying. But it doesn't make sense put together.”
“Because he's not my boyfriend and he's not weird.” She paused. “Well, not really. And we certainly weren't partying.”
Kristine picked up the champagne bottle from the porch floor. “Then who were you drinking with?”
Madison though of Rodney and his blue sweater. “Myself. No one.”
Kristine sighed, standing up and began to collect the food. “The police said you were...rude.”
“They were annoying me.”
“They said you called them 'fuckers'.”
“Yeah, well. I didn't want them here.”
“But you called them.”
“Before. Before I knew what Joe was doing.”
“The one said you hit him.”
Madison tilted her chin up, knowing how much she looked like her uncle when she did it. “They were trying to come in the house. I only pushed him.”
“You called them, Madison!”
“Yes, but then they came in and started acting like the owned the place; fucking American hick cops. I bet they eat doughnuts all day along.” She glowered.
“They were perfectly nice to me.” Kristine tilted her head, considering. “Though I do think I saw powdered sugar on the one's lips.”
“Ew. Besides, everyone's nice to you.”
“That's because I didn't grow up with the rudest man who ever lived.”
Madison pouted.
Kristine bustled into the kitchen and back out before sitting on the edge of the table. “Have you thought about moving to New York?”
“No.”
“You should. You could come stay with Sam and I for a while. He's a great cook, I tell you. Loves it. And you could start school out there. NYU is fantastic, I hear, for math. Or you could find a job.
“I'd rather not.”
“It's beautiful in the fall.”
“It's nice here.”
“Boulder is dead, if it ever had anything. New York is so much more fun. More upbeat. You could use some downtime, you know.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just that, you took care of your uncle for almost ten years. You put your whole life on hold for him.”
“He was a genius.”
“He was. It's time to move on. You know I came here to help you with the will. Deal with his financial affairs.”
“I'm fine, dammit!”
“You're upset and--”
“Madison?” a voice called from within.
“Now who could that be?” Kristine wondered as a man walked out back.
“Joseph Sheppard!” Madison yelled in triumph, pointing at him. Today he was wearing a nice gray suit, no jacket or backpack in hand.
“Umm, hi.” Joe looked confused, but Madison didn't care.
“See? I'm just fine. I'm not crazy, I don't want to go back to New York with you, the police here are jerks, and I'm fine!”
“Hello, I'm Kristine Wiltman. Madison's best friend.” Kristine interjected, oozing charm, and in that moment Madison wanted to kill her.
“Hi. Sheppard. I mean, uh, Joe. Nice to meet you. Here for the funeral?”
“Yes. And the various affairs of estate. I'm an attorney.”
“Cool.” He shifted his feet. “Anyway, I was just going try to do a little work before--”
“Go,” Madison waved at him, indifferent.
Joe headed upstairs, with only one glance back at the two women.
“That's Joseph Sheppard?” Both of Kristine's finely manicured eyebrows were raised.
“Yes.”
“He's a mathematician?”
“Yes...” Madison spoke like she though her friend was dumb. Which at the moment seemed apt.
“He's cute.”
“Ugh. Would you stop that.”
“I'm just saying...”
“Kristine, I think you owe me an apology.”
“Look, we have things to discuss, but I don't want to do it now. The funeral's in three hours. Go get dressed. Maybe Joe would like a piece of fruit?”
She ignored her and finally Kristine shrugged, grabbing a banana and heading in and up the stairs herself.
Madison buried her face in her arms.
~~~
She came home early from school one day when she was fifteen and came in through the backyard, only to stop when she saw her uncle and John standing very close to one another, Rodney speaking fast and expressive, hands flying about so much, Madison was afraid he'd give John a black eye.
She crept closer.
“John, why are you still helping them? You're retired! They shut us out!”
“So are you, McKay. I'm not stupid enough to think that Carter's getting all these ideas on her own. She's smart, but I know your flair. The top brass might be dumb enough to not recognize it, but then, you've never had much faith in them anyway, have you?”
“I did when O'Neill was running the place, advocating for us in Washington. Before Landry retired, even...”
“Yeah, well, it's a new wave of SGC explorers and there isn't a damn thing to be done about it. Only Carter, Mitchell, Lorne, and Zelenka are left. Everyone else has retired or died. It isn't fair but that's the way it is. Just like you've got to help Carter, I can't let Mitchell handle it all on his own. He's in with new recruits and he's never been the administrator type. Hell, I think I have better negotiating skills than he does. Besides, he only visited Atlantis once. He doesn't know enough. I only go to help the new CO learn the ropes. Consultation.”
Her uncle snorted, crossing his arms, like he was going to argue for another while, but then John laid a hand on his shoulder and he crumpled. Madison had never seen her uncle look so defeated.
“It's just...I miss it, you know? The city, the way it felt underneath my fingertips, Weir, Teyla, and Beckett, hell, even Ronon, and...”
“I know. I do, too,” John spoke, softer now, and she could barely hear. She didn't hear the next few words he whispered into Rodney's ear, but then to her surprise, Rodney's hands came up to frame John's face and they were kissing.
She knew she shouldn't be watching, should quietly leave. But she'd always wondered why Rodney didn't talk about anyone like a former lover, or of a wife, or of the people he'd lost. A few times she'd heard him speak the name 'Teyla' in his sleep, but it had always been more devastated and never like a lover's caress. Now she thought she knew.
The kiss was light at first, hesitant, questioning. But then John stepped into Rodney's space, placing one hand above the older man's head, the other on his hip and leaned into it. The kiss was dirty and frantic, and full of something Madison couldn't label. She just knew even the most 'in love' couples at school never kissed like that.
Just as she was about to leave, considering she didn't want to see two older men getting it on, they pulled back from one another.
“John, we can't.”
“Why the hell not, Rodney?” John hissed, rubbing his body against her uncle's.
Whoa, now that, she didn't need to see.
“I realize you're retired and all but...”
“That's right, I am.”
“But after everything. Teyla and Pegasus...We can't. I can't.”
Madison watched as John stared hard at her uncle for long moments before finally sighing and backing off. The moment his back was turned, she saw Uncle Rodney's face fall and knew then it was only pretense. Rodney didn't want to stop, but rather, felt he had to. Or he was putting John to the test.
“Ok, ok, I understand, Rodney. I'll go. Just...” the dark-haired man laid a hand on her uncle's shoulder, pulling him into a big hug. “Be ok, alright? You know I miss seeing you everyday.”
Uncle Rodney nodded and it was clear there was something more he wanted to say.
After a minute of nothing though, John walked away, hands in his pockets, without a glance back. Her uncle stood up against the wall until John rounded the corner and his car started, then he sat down at the table and his shoulders shook, silently.
Madison backed out of the yard and stayed at a friend's house until late that night.
~~~
Madison felt numb the entire service. She stood next to Kristine who delicately wiped at tears with a tissue before they could slip past her oversized Prada sunglasses and leak onto her cheek. Joe stood across from her and she watched as his face grew more stoic as the service went on. Other students of Uncle Rodney's were filtered in the small crowd. There were few other people there, but everyone else who was, was in military dress and though Uncle Rodney hadn't been in the US military, or even a citizen, he got a three-volley salute and a marine handed her an American flag as though Rodney had truly been a soldier who died in the field. She supposed she should be grateful for it, but she imagined Rodney would be in Purgatory laughing his ass off at the pomp and circumstance.
She didn't shed a tear the entire service.
Afterward, a woman with steely gray, short hair approached her.
“I imagine wherever he is, he's laughing at us all right now.”
Madison stared blankly.
“I'm sorry,” the woman laughed, “you don't know me.”
“Wait, yes, I do,” Madison spoke up. “I've seen you before. You visited Uncle Rodney once or twice before he fell ill.”
“Yup.” The lady held out her hand. “Colonel Samantha Carter. I worked with your uncle for many years. I met your mother a few times, as well.”
“Oh.” She shook Colonel Carter's hand.
“And what I meant was that, Rodney would be laughing, seeing all this done for him. But I couldn't help myself. He deserved it. He really was a soldier-even if he never obeyed orders.” The colonel's smile was slightly sad, but still pleasant.
“I never knew what he did for you guys.” Madison smoothed out a crease in her dress.
The colonel looked her up and down for a moment before replying, “Someday you will. You know, he was immensely grateful for you. As am I. I would have hated to see him in one of the hospitals the government would have offered. He deserved more than that. I really wish he could have stayed where he was happiest-not that he wasn't happy with you,” the woman amended quickly. “Just that...I think he would have preferred to be buried where he'd been working. But unfortunately, it wasn't up to him and it wasn't up to me.”
“Sam,” a warm tenor spoke up and both women started. “You ready to go?”
“Oh, Cam. I was just talking to--”
The green-eyed man smiled winningly at Madison. “You must be Madison. Let me say, the only time Rodney wasn't talking about physics, he was talking about you. Trust me, we much preferred when he did.” Madison blushed. “He said you had great potential. I'm General Cameron Mitchell. You'll have to excuse us, and I wish we could stay longer, but Sam and I have been called back on important business.” He turned to Colonel Carter. “Daniel and Vala are waiting for us.
“My condolences,” he said to Madison. He smiled again and patted Madison's arm before tipping his hat at her. He kissed Sam on the cheek before heading to a government car.
“Yes, I am sorry about our sudden departure, but I have a feeling we'll be seeing you again soon.”
Madison saw a twinkle in the colonel's eyes before she leaned forward and gave her a quick, surprising hug, and left toward the general.
“Ready to head back to the house?” Kristine's voice came up from behind her and she nodded, still staring after the colonel and general.
~~~
Part 1b