Meringue by mdime [sickness challenge]

[mdime02.livejournal.com]

Title: Meringue

Rating: PG

Category: drama with a dash or two of angst (for added zing!)

Spoilers: not a one

Summary: Sharing, Rodney mused as he gasped for air that seemed just out of reach, was vastly overrated.

Disclaimer: If you had yourself a quantum mirror, perhaps you’d find a reality where SG:A belonged to me…alas, this one isn’t it.

Notes: This fits with my story Touched, though it is a companion of sorts rather than a sequel/continuation (and yes, to my utter shame I have not yet added to that fic…but I will). I would recommend you read that first, since this story rests on the premise of Rodney’s superpower.

 

 

 

Rodney loved chocolate. Milk chocolate, dark chocolate, chocolates filled with peanut butter or caramel or those little cordial cherries, chocolate truffles and chocolate covered pretzels and, oh, a steaming cup of cocoa with a handful of marshmallows on top…it was all good, and he’d learned at an early age to hoard his stash from Easter or Halloween and ration it out slowly -- small rewards for completing experiments or conquering a new math concept or refraining from telling his teachers how wrong, wrong, very wrong they were and that their students (his so-called peers) were stupid, stupid, stupid.

 

(It wasn’t that he thought speaking his mind was a bad idea, per se, it was more he’d learned that telling adults of their shortcomings resulted in parent conferences, which led directly to a lot of yelling – both at and about him – and on to being grounded and stern talkings-to and “learning discipline.”)

 

When Rodney was younger, and his mother more indulgent, he’d always asked for chocolate cake for his birthday. They’d pull out the mixer and Rodney would read out the directions carefully, handing his mother the ingredients and measuring everything out with scientific precision, each cup and teaspoon leveled off exactly. Of course, licking the beaters and the mixing bowl was his favorite part, and he attended that duty as precisely as the baking, scraping up every last drop as his mom laughed at his chocolate-smeared face and hands.

 

He’s older now, more mature, and while he certainly wouldn’t turn down a chocolate cake, it’s been replaced as the Best Dessert Ever (Jeannie still favors chocolate, and Rodney likes to think that he gives her the same indulgent smiles that his mother used to give him and now gives to no one at all).

 

Rodney’s grandma and grandpa McKay came to stay with him when Jeannie was born, and those were the best two weeks of his then six-year-old life. His grandpa was surely the smartest man in the whole world, never at a loss to answer Rodney’s myriad questions, and his grandma – a smart lady in her own right – made him feel warm and safe and well-loved, encouraging him at every turn.

 

After they took him to the hospital where he got to see Jeannie for the first time (and hold her…so small and soft and wonderful and utterly, completely perfect – though he may be a bit biased) they went to a diner for lunch. Rodney, despite his weak protests that he wasn’t allowed to have dessert at lunchtime, was pushed towards the large glass case and encouraged to pick whatever he wanted. He lingered over the display, not wanting to waste this opportunity on a poor selection, and while tempted by several forms of chocolate cake and pie he felt daring, pointing decisively at his choice before scampering back to the booth.

 

It was brought out a few minutes later, deposited in front of him and pronounced to be lemon meringue pie. It was tart and smooth and sweet, cool but rich with sunshine and summer; a simple, delicious flavor that he meant to savor, to linger over, but all too soon Rodney found nothing but crumbs on his plate.

 

It had been his favorite ever since.

 

Lemon meringue wasn’t often among the desserts at the restaurants his family ate at from time to time, and his mother was disinclined to make it herself (Rodney’s own attempts at recreating the beloved treat never quite worked out – and the resulting mess lead to a nearly unbearable loss of “lab” privileges more than once), so it was a rare and special occasion when he could get it.

 

On this day, it was nothing less than serendipity. Rodney had needed to go to the library (not an uncommon event) and his mother was unable to pick him up (also not uncommon) unless he was done within half an hour – an idea which Rodney vetoed both immediately and loudly. Seeing as Rodney was a boy of ten years (and two months), as well as the growing futility of actually dealing with him, his mother conceded that he could walk home himself…provided that, along the way, he picked up Jeannie from preschool. To sweeten the deal, his mother offered some pocket change to get himself and his sister cookies from the bakery; no such additional temptation was necessary, but Rodney was not a genius for nothing and accepted the money with a solemn promise to remember Jeannie.

 

Two hours later, Rodney was checking out several books for himself (astronomy, compositional theory, and a sci-fi novel for him, and a few texts on early Canadian history for school) and several for Jeannie (two graded readers and one picture book – because letting Jeannie make up a new story to fit the pictures was a good exercise for her imagination and vocabulary). Ten minutes after that, Rodney was holding tightly to his sister’s hand as she skipped beside him and chattered non-stop about her day.

 

She barely noticed as they entered the shop – at least until the sweets caught her eye and she plastered herself to the display. Rodney just chuckled and set himself to finding cookies with the optimum distribution of chocolate chips. Then he saw the pies: apple, cherry, chocolate silk, a raspberry tart, pecan…but he only had eyes for the lemon meringue.

 

The change in his pocket would yield the siblings two cookies – or one slice of pie.

 

He hesitated only because of Jeannie, fearing he wouldn’t be able to withstand a quivering lower lip at the thought of not only the loss of the cookie, but at having to then share the replacement treat with her brother. In the end, though, Rodney reasoned that it wasn’t really selfishness to get his favorite since he had every intention of sharing; besides, he just knew Jeannie was going to love it.

 

Pie slice boxed and money handed over, Rodney once again took hold of Jeannie’s hand, this time headed towards the park. Mom wouldn’t be home for another hour or so, and it was always good to get rid of some of Jeannie’s excess energy through exercise.

 

True to form, his sister took off running as soon as they were on the park grounds and it was a good twenty minutes before she slowed down enough even to beg for Rodney to push her on the swings (her standard circuit was monkey bars to slide to wooden bridge to merry-go-round and back again, with the occasional see-saw or swing set detour thrown in for variety).

 

Eventually, Jeannie flung herself to the ground in exhaustion, demanding Rodney (though of course, it was actually Mer she wailed for) bring her their snack. Rodney sat down beside her (after first checking for ants or broken glass or any other potential hazards), opened the small bakery box, and explained patiently that no, he didn’t get cookies and yes, this really was even better – his very favorite, in fact – and even, magnanimously, offered her the first bite.

 

Rodney took the next, slowly savoring the tart burst of lemon on his tongue, then scooped up another for his sister. He turned to offer it, but Jeannie was gasping softly as she clutched at her throat, eyes large and frightened on a scrunched-up face that was rapidly turning red.

 

Rodney looked but there were no grown-ups nearby, and he had to settle for screaming as loud as he could as he lowered Jeannie to the ground. She wasn’t choking – there wasn’t anything to have choked on – and Rodney’s mind raced through the other possibilities, all the while screaming for help and thinking, she can’t breathe she can’t breathe she can’t breathe…

 

No one had shouted back yet, no adult had appeared to save the day, and Jeannie’s reddened face was now purpling as her eyes fluttered and oh God, oh God, she’s dying, Jeannie’s dying and I killed her, I don’t know what to do I can’t –

 

But he could.

 

Almost before he realized what he was doing Rodney had placed his hands on Jeannie’s chest, closing his eyes and concentrating on pulling her pain into himself, hoping against hope that whatever strange power he had over bumps and bruises (and one terrible, horrible ear infection) would still work on this, still take from him and give to her and…

 

Sharing, Rodney mused as he gasped for air that seemed just out of reach, was vastly overrated. Black spots danced across his vision, unconsciousness calling, his last sight of Jeannie – haloed by sunshine and the bright blue sky…

 

Later, Rodney would realize just what he had done, and just how close he – and Jeannie – had come to dying. He was released from the hospital with an EpiPen, an allergy to citrus, and a shadow in the form of his sister. After a few weeks, she no longer crawled into his bed at night to lay her head on his chest and check for breathing; she also, after time, stopped insisting that she was the one who couldn’t breathe, accepting Rodney’s version that she had just been scared for her brother, that they were only nightmares and not half-remembered truths.

As for Rodney, he learned to live without orange juice and lime Jell-o, grapefruits and clementines and marmalade.  The rest of it wasn't so hard, but he held a special, bitter place in his heart for the lemon's betrayal.