blood and water (incomplete)
Nov. 26th, 2022 07:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sidewaysTitle: Blood and Water
Rating: PG
Series: Fallout 3 (Madison Li, Lone Wanderer, past Madison/Catherine/James)
Wordcount: 1,032
Summary: "If you're my mom," says James' daughter, "you can tell me."
Remarks: I only made it as far as having one conversation with Madison Li, but boy, does that one conversation raise some eyebrows. How exactly did you know the LW's parents again, Mads? I ran out of sufficient oomph to bring it to a cosy conclusion, but I like what I did write.
"If you're my mom," says James' daughter, "you can tell me."
Madison Li has had her work interrupted by lockdowns and lasers; by raiders at the perimeter and mutants at the door. An ignorant assertion in the dark isn't enough to unsteady her hands.
Her heart may be another matter.
She finishes taking her notes, after a few short breaths; slides the dish out from under the microscope and seals it tightly, then smooths a label overtop with her thumb and fills in the specimen number. It goes in the rack with the rest, to be pushed into the preserving cold of the refrigeration unit.
Only after this does Madison turn, stripping the rubber gloves from her hands. The emptiness of the laboratory surprises her, its corners hushed into darkness with only a few lights still burning - at some point Janice has turned in for the evening, and if she made a farewell, Madison has missed it. A blessing, she supposes, that James' daughter has at least enough patience to wait for this much privacy.
"I sincerely hope you have a better reason for suggesting that than some superficial similarities." Placing the gloves down on the table, she adds, snappish, "You shouldn't be in here this late."
The quintessential motherly scold. She grimaces.
Slouched in a chair by the equipment lockers, the girl shrugs at the reprimand, stubby fingers picking at loose tape flaking from the handle of the baseball bat laid across her lap. She's almost a silhouette in the dim lighting, faceless under the synthetic woollen cap that folds flaps down over her ears, the goggles she hasn't removed even now. They accent the square planes of her face, wall away James' eyes. Leave bare Catherine's lips.
Joy is what Madison remembers, a bittersweet name only James would have been stubborn enough to cling to in the aftermath. J.J. is what she'd been given, and she admits it better suits the flat voice, the sexless padding of an oversized winter jacket with collar ruffed high.
"I'm up a lot at night," J.J. says. "It's safer moving around then. My sleep schedule's pretty fucked, honestly."
"This is a workplace, not a lounge."
The girl just shrugs again. Quintessential sullen teenager, save the fidgeting with the bat, the awkward turn of her head away to examine the row of labcoats hanging to her left. "You're never anywhere else."
The faint ache at Madison's temples is familiar, too easily attributed to mild dehydration to blame on this conversation alone, despite temptation. "Your mother was Catherine Liu. You know this." She must. It was Madison who'd spoken of Catherine by name, the girl only asking after mother, a role, an unfilled space in her history. But James would never have let Catherine fade away unremembered. It's one of the few pieces of his daughter's education she has any faith in. "Why would you ever think otherwise?"
"It's not like there's nothing. You said it," J.J. says. She leans forward, elbows on knees, posture uncomfortably stiff; the bat still juts out either side from the hollow of her lap, absurdly sheltered by the line of her spine. "The names..."
"Li and Liu." Twenty-three years and still fresh: James' wide smile on first introduction, as if it was fate, or divine ordination. Catherine's sparkling amusement at random chance. "It is nothing. It's coincidence. The names didn't even necessarily indicate the same country of origin in the old world."
The head lifts slightly. "Really?"
"Yes."
"Oh." This time when the shoulders lift, they stay there, hunched. Defensive. "I didn't know that."
A child raised in a terrarium, Madison thinks. No matter the genes, there is only so far to grow in such an environment. It's a wearisome notion.
"I'm happy to have enlightened you, then," she says shortly. Gathers together her notes from the desk, sweeps them into a folder without looking - she'll organise them in her room tonight. "Get your things, please. I need to lock up."
There's a silence just long enough to suggest agreement, but then: "It's just that you lie."
It catches her - catches her feet, her breath, the rhythm of her heart. The folder hits the desk again, papers sliding out, as Madison turns sharply. "Excuse me?"
The expressionless wall of J.J's face doesn't flinch, but neither does the tight lock of her body.
"You start to say things and then you stop yourself. Dad did that shit a lot too. About mom, and other things... I always thought it was just because it was hard to talk about, or it was something to do with the Overseer's rules." She glances down at last, leaving the obvious fact of James' greatest lie hanging unspoken. Says, quieter, "I wouldn't get mad. That's all."
Madison braces a hand against the desk, her mouth absurdly dry. "He didn't lie about- He didn't invent Catherine."
Clever Catherine. Hopeful Catherine. Pregnant Catherine, soft-faced and greasy-haired in her third trimester, head on Madison's shoulder as she groans over aching feet, a heavy body, fatigue that makes it impossible to spend as much time at her work as she wishes. Smiling delightedly even so because each complaint is a price willingly paid for a future wanted so fiercely by James and Catherine they are willing to compromise progress on the very thing needed to secure it. So fiercely there were days Madison almost wanted it too. But only almost.
Shrewd Catherine, understanding.
What about - aunt? Auntie Madison. Bright, beautiful, teasing. On the days when I'm the bad guy, she'll always have you.
She'd known, even then, that was not the way it would go.
Madison says, harshly, regretting, "I'm not your mother."
The girl is silent, hunched again.
"And I'm not- You have your experiences, your life with your father, and I…" She hears it herself now, hates each hitch of hesitation that is apparently laying her bare with every other word. Hates, just a little bit, father and daughter and, yes, even mother, the core of the family in perfect nuclear whole, for putting her in this position. Nineteen years. She hadn't expected to need to have the perfect story prepared after all this time. Damn you, James.
Rating: PG
Series: Fallout 3 (Madison Li, Lone Wanderer, past Madison/Catherine/James)
Wordcount: 1,032
Summary: "If you're my mom," says James' daughter, "you can tell me."
Remarks: I only made it as far as having one conversation with Madison Li, but boy, does that one conversation raise some eyebrows. How exactly did you know the LW's parents again, Mads? I ran out of sufficient oomph to bring it to a cosy conclusion, but I like what I did write.
"If you're my mom," says James' daughter, "you can tell me."
Madison Li has had her work interrupted by lockdowns and lasers; by raiders at the perimeter and mutants at the door. An ignorant assertion in the dark isn't enough to unsteady her hands.
Her heart may be another matter.
She finishes taking her notes, after a few short breaths; slides the dish out from under the microscope and seals it tightly, then smooths a label overtop with her thumb and fills in the specimen number. It goes in the rack with the rest, to be pushed into the preserving cold of the refrigeration unit.
Only after this does Madison turn, stripping the rubber gloves from her hands. The emptiness of the laboratory surprises her, its corners hushed into darkness with only a few lights still burning - at some point Janice has turned in for the evening, and if she made a farewell, Madison has missed it. A blessing, she supposes, that James' daughter has at least enough patience to wait for this much privacy.
"I sincerely hope you have a better reason for suggesting that than some superficial similarities." Placing the gloves down on the table, she adds, snappish, "You shouldn't be in here this late."
The quintessential motherly scold. She grimaces.
Slouched in a chair by the equipment lockers, the girl shrugs at the reprimand, stubby fingers picking at loose tape flaking from the handle of the baseball bat laid across her lap. She's almost a silhouette in the dim lighting, faceless under the synthetic woollen cap that folds flaps down over her ears, the goggles she hasn't removed even now. They accent the square planes of her face, wall away James' eyes. Leave bare Catherine's lips.
Joy is what Madison remembers, a bittersweet name only James would have been stubborn enough to cling to in the aftermath. J.J. is what she'd been given, and she admits it better suits the flat voice, the sexless padding of an oversized winter jacket with collar ruffed high.
"I'm up a lot at night," J.J. says. "It's safer moving around then. My sleep schedule's pretty fucked, honestly."
"This is a workplace, not a lounge."
The girl just shrugs again. Quintessential sullen teenager, save the fidgeting with the bat, the awkward turn of her head away to examine the row of labcoats hanging to her left. "You're never anywhere else."
The faint ache at Madison's temples is familiar, too easily attributed to mild dehydration to blame on this conversation alone, despite temptation. "Your mother was Catherine Liu. You know this." She must. It was Madison who'd spoken of Catherine by name, the girl only asking after mother, a role, an unfilled space in her history. But James would never have let Catherine fade away unremembered. It's one of the few pieces of his daughter's education she has any faith in. "Why would you ever think otherwise?"
"It's not like there's nothing. You said it," J.J. says. She leans forward, elbows on knees, posture uncomfortably stiff; the bat still juts out either side from the hollow of her lap, absurdly sheltered by the line of her spine. "The names..."
"Li and Liu." Twenty-three years and still fresh: James' wide smile on first introduction, as if it was fate, or divine ordination. Catherine's sparkling amusement at random chance. "It is nothing. It's coincidence. The names didn't even necessarily indicate the same country of origin in the old world."
The head lifts slightly. "Really?"
"Yes."
"Oh." This time when the shoulders lift, they stay there, hunched. Defensive. "I didn't know that."
A child raised in a terrarium, Madison thinks. No matter the genes, there is only so far to grow in such an environment. It's a wearisome notion.
"I'm happy to have enlightened you, then," she says shortly. Gathers together her notes from the desk, sweeps them into a folder without looking - she'll organise them in her room tonight. "Get your things, please. I need to lock up."
There's a silence just long enough to suggest agreement, but then: "It's just that you lie."
It catches her - catches her feet, her breath, the rhythm of her heart. The folder hits the desk again, papers sliding out, as Madison turns sharply. "Excuse me?"
The expressionless wall of J.J's face doesn't flinch, but neither does the tight lock of her body.
"You start to say things and then you stop yourself. Dad did that shit a lot too. About mom, and other things... I always thought it was just because it was hard to talk about, or it was something to do with the Overseer's rules." She glances down at last, leaving the obvious fact of James' greatest lie hanging unspoken. Says, quieter, "I wouldn't get mad. That's all."
Madison braces a hand against the desk, her mouth absurdly dry. "He didn't lie about- He didn't invent Catherine."
Clever Catherine. Hopeful Catherine. Pregnant Catherine, soft-faced and greasy-haired in her third trimester, head on Madison's shoulder as she groans over aching feet, a heavy body, fatigue that makes it impossible to spend as much time at her work as she wishes. Smiling delightedly even so because each complaint is a price willingly paid for a future wanted so fiercely by James and Catherine they are willing to compromise progress on the very thing needed to secure it. So fiercely there were days Madison almost wanted it too. But only almost.
Shrewd Catherine, understanding.
What about - aunt? Auntie Madison. Bright, beautiful, teasing. On the days when I'm the bad guy, she'll always have you.
She'd known, even then, that was not the way it would go.
Madison says, harshly, regretting, "I'm not your mother."
The girl is silent, hunched again.
"And I'm not- You have your experiences, your life with your father, and I…" She hears it herself now, hates each hitch of hesitation that is apparently laying her bare with every other word. Hates, just a little bit, father and daughter and, yes, even mother, the core of the family in perfect nuclear whole, for putting her in this position. Nineteen years. She hadn't expected to need to have the perfect story prepared after all this time. Damn you, James.
