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wordwitchA great deal of gratitude is due to Ladyholder, who encouraged me to write this, and to Callie Sullivan, who wrote the transcript from which I was working.
Thank you both.
Between one heartbeat and the next, I was awake, assessing my situation: bed, clean, safe: right. Dave's house. I opened my eyes, and the vague lump I'd seen on the bedside table last night proved this morning to be an ice bucket filled with half-melted ice and a bottle of a red viscous liquid.
My mouth tried to smile, but my whole face dissolved into a nauseated headache, so I manned up, sat up, and took my medicine. Once the room stopped spinning, I went to take care of the rest of my hygiene.
Clean and dressed, I wandered down the hall toward the sound of china and silver through a house otherwise empty, and found my brother and a higher-class version of the breakfast buffet we get on Atlantis. Davy grunted at me through a mouthful of what looked like biscuits and gravy, and I nodded cautiously, still mindful of my head. I picked up a plate, opened the first lid, and descended into a culinary bliss worthy of Rodney.
About five minutes later, the grease of a good pound of bacon on my chin, I slowed down to enjoy the second egg Benedict, virtuously ignoring Davey's snickering breaths.
"Doesn't the Air Force feed you?" Dave asked finally.
I finished my mouthful with all the attention it deserved, and replied, "You can't poach a reconstituted egg, and no cook feeding a couple hundred-odd folks is gonna waste time doing this." Both of which were absolutely true, and spoke not-at-all to the fact that non-chicken eggs tasted very different indeed, and that no goat's-milk cheese we'd come across yet ever melted.
But bacon. Oh, there had been no bacon at all for years.
Dave sat sipping his coffee while I made my way through the rest of my breakfast and finally started in on my own third cup - again, speechlessly wonderful quality.
Really, seriously: I hadn't been this hungry in years.
"I put a call in to the lawyer," Dave said quietly. "Seeing as how you're here. He said the will has gone to probate, and that he'd get in contact with us when that was done. Executors are Dad's law firm."
The coffee soured, a little, in my belly. I cleared my throat, set down my cup, and found a piece of toast to fiddle with.
"Look, Dave," I said slowly. "Let me - clarify for you my position on the will, okay?" I looked Dave in the eye. "I don't want a single thing that was Dad's." Dave opened his mouth, but I held up a hand and he stayed quiet. "No, let me finish. I don't want any of his money, down to and including the proverbial penny. I don't want any of his property, I don't want any portion of the God-damned business, I don't want a horse or a stable or a boat or a duck." Dave's face, which had started out stricken, had become unwillingly amused.
"What about the recipe for the macaroni and cheese soup?"
I snorted. "That's different. That wasn't Dad's, that was what's-her-name's, Evangeline's, and I don't think I'm in her will."
"So do you want me to act for you? What do you want me to do?"
I tightened my mouth and ducked my head. "If it goes the way I expect, you won't have to do a damned thing except say 'That's fine, John didn't want anything anyway.'" I snorted again. "If it goes the way you expect, convert any property into money and give it to charity - something for indigent military, maybe." Dave nodded, the fun gone back out of it for him. "If he leaves a letter for me - you read it. I don't want to."
"I can do that. I'll need a notarized letter for the lawyer, but that's easy. You want me to tell you what happens?"
I thought about it for a while, then shook my head. "I'll leave that to your best judgment. I really -" I took a breath, and tried again. "I don't want to be part of any more of his plans. That's all."
Dave nodded. "Okay, I won't say a thing unless I think you'll laugh. John?"
I looked at him.
"Would you be willing to talk to my psych this afternoon before you go?" I started to give him my "so sorry" smile, but he talked over it. "Just so I can - just - I'm no therapist, Johnny, I'm going to need his help finding someone who can do you any good, let alone fit the other requirements!" He downed the rest of his coffee in a gulp, and got up to get more so he wouldn't have to look at me. I fiddled with my cup, and sighed.
"Yeaaaahhh, I guess," I muttered. I heard something like "thank god" behind me, but ignored it. I was suddenly jumpy, restless, ready to - well, back home I'd check out a Jumper, or see if Ronon or Teyla wanted to knock me around, or beat up a few Marines. Dave came around to face me.
"Wanna go play some golf while I'm calling?" he asked with a knowing smirk.
Bastard.
Thank you both.
Between one heartbeat and the next, I was awake, assessing my situation: bed, clean, safe: right. Dave's house. I opened my eyes, and the vague lump I'd seen on the bedside table last night proved this morning to be an ice bucket filled with half-melted ice and a bottle of a red viscous liquid.
My mouth tried to smile, but my whole face dissolved into a nauseated headache, so I manned up, sat up, and took my medicine. Once the room stopped spinning, I went to take care of the rest of my hygiene.
Clean and dressed, I wandered down the hall toward the sound of china and silver through a house otherwise empty, and found my brother and a higher-class version of the breakfast buffet we get on Atlantis. Davy grunted at me through a mouthful of what looked like biscuits and gravy, and I nodded cautiously, still mindful of my head. I picked up a plate, opened the first lid, and descended into a culinary bliss worthy of Rodney.
About five minutes later, the grease of a good pound of bacon on my chin, I slowed down to enjoy the second egg Benedict, virtuously ignoring Davey's snickering breaths.
"Doesn't the Air Force feed you?" Dave asked finally.
I finished my mouthful with all the attention it deserved, and replied, "You can't poach a reconstituted egg, and no cook feeding a couple hundred-odd folks is gonna waste time doing this." Both of which were absolutely true, and spoke not-at-all to the fact that non-chicken eggs tasted very different indeed, and that no goat's-milk cheese we'd come across yet ever melted.
But bacon. Oh, there had been no bacon at all for years.
Dave sat sipping his coffee while I made my way through the rest of my breakfast and finally started in on my own third cup - again, speechlessly wonderful quality.
Really, seriously: I hadn't been this hungry in years.
"I put a call in to the lawyer," Dave said quietly. "Seeing as how you're here. He said the will has gone to probate, and that he'd get in contact with us when that was done. Executors are Dad's law firm."
The coffee soured, a little, in my belly. I cleared my throat, set down my cup, and found a piece of toast to fiddle with.
"Look, Dave," I said slowly. "Let me - clarify for you my position on the will, okay?" I looked Dave in the eye. "I don't want a single thing that was Dad's." Dave opened his mouth, but I held up a hand and he stayed quiet. "No, let me finish. I don't want any of his money, down to and including the proverbial penny. I don't want any of his property, I don't want any portion of the God-damned business, I don't want a horse or a stable or a boat or a duck." Dave's face, which had started out stricken, had become unwillingly amused.
"What about the recipe for the macaroni and cheese soup?"
I snorted. "That's different. That wasn't Dad's, that was what's-her-name's, Evangeline's, and I don't think I'm in her will."
"So do you want me to act for you? What do you want me to do?"
I tightened my mouth and ducked my head. "If it goes the way I expect, you won't have to do a damned thing except say 'That's fine, John didn't want anything anyway.'" I snorted again. "If it goes the way you expect, convert any property into money and give it to charity - something for indigent military, maybe." Dave nodded, the fun gone back out of it for him. "If he leaves a letter for me - you read it. I don't want to."
"I can do that. I'll need a notarized letter for the lawyer, but that's easy. You want me to tell you what happens?"
I thought about it for a while, then shook my head. "I'll leave that to your best judgment. I really -" I took a breath, and tried again. "I don't want to be part of any more of his plans. That's all."
Dave nodded. "Okay, I won't say a thing unless I think you'll laugh. John?"
I looked at him.
"Would you be willing to talk to my psych this afternoon before you go?" I started to give him my "so sorry" smile, but he talked over it. "Just so I can - just - I'm no therapist, Johnny, I'm going to need his help finding someone who can do you any good, let alone fit the other requirements!" He downed the rest of his coffee in a gulp, and got up to get more so he wouldn't have to look at me. I fiddled with my cup, and sighed.
"Yeaaaahhh, I guess," I muttered. I heard something like "thank god" behind me, but ignored it. I was suddenly jumpy, restless, ready to - well, back home I'd check out a Jumper, or see if Ronon or Teyla wanted to knock me around, or beat up a few Marines. Dave came around to face me.
"Wanna go play some golf while I'm calling?" he asked with a knowing smirk.
Bastard.
