Warning: This story contains nastiness, some of it physical, directed at children.
Notes: This is a Sentinel/M7 XO. I'm listing it under M7 because that fandom seems more active here.
To have things make sense, let's first play with some dates. Although we are told that Jim Ellison is 10 years old during the childhood parts of "Remembrance," the actor who played him, Ryan de Boer, was born on 21 Dec. 1985. Since "Remembrance" was broadcast in March of 1998, Ryan was probably twelve when the episode was filmed. I think this age works better for Young Jim, who certainly didn't look like a 10-year-old. So, I'm going assume that Jim was 12 or 13 during the autumn (football season) of 1973.
I can't find a DOB for Ben Baxter, the actor who played Young Steven, but I'm assuming he's around seven. We know (as much as we know anything) that Jim's mother, Mary Margaret, was born in either 1938 or 1940. I'm going with 1940, which puts her at 33 in late 1973, and makes Bill Ellison 35. (It's also my assumption that the 'Grace' we hear William speaking with in "Remembrance" is William's second wife/Stephen's mother. This isn't original with me - I think I read this on SentinelAngst, sourced to someone semi-official.)
I see this story as a prequel to the the popular Magnificent Seven ATF AU created by Mog. I'm assuming that Ezra Standish is around nine in 1973-4. In the broadcast version of M7, Ezra's mother Maude was played by Michelle Phillips, who is 19 years older than Anthony Starke (Ezra), so I imagine her as being 28 in this story.
Is that clear as mud? Great!
Oh, one more thing - usually, I try to be very consistent about point of view. In this novella, I've just tried to tell the story how it wanted to be told. I'm sorry if this is distracting! I really do know better.
First posted to the SentinelAngst email list June, 2005.
That One Is My Other Brother
by Helen W.
November, 1973
CHAPTER ONE: A Sentinel Walks Into a Bar...
"Look out, fellas, here comes Maggie!"
Something slimy in the voice of her boss and most recent meal ticket, Larry Whogivesashit, caused Maude to pause from filling pints with cheap, watery, overly carbonated beer to take in the woman who'd just entered Larry's private little gambling hole. The woman was a little older than her, and probably close to six feet tall, with short, curly brown hair. She wasn't heavy, but she could end up huge if she didn't watch herself. Dressed for a night-on-the-town with the girls, straight out of the Montgomery Ward catalog. So where were the girlfriends?
A few of the regulars swore and tossed down their cards at Larry's announcement, and Stew Mills up and went out the back, but Rick Flanagan simply rocked back and chuckled, so there couldn't be anything really wrong with the newcomer. Like he was performing a ritual of some sort, Jimmy, who helped Larry run the floor, stopped talking up Sal, the tart who often came in with Jack Harlan, and headed to the card cabinet and pulled out a bunch of cellophane-wrapped decks.
Maude delivered the round she'd prepped to Flan's table, then went to stand by Larry, who had stayed in his favorite perch observing the mood of the two-dozen men and girls who'd chosen to spend their Friday evening loosing money in his club. "What's up with her?" she asked softly.
"No use whispering, hon," said Larry. "Maggie can hear a pin drop from a hundred yards, can't cha, darlin'."
And, still at the top of the short flight of steps which led down into the club, the woman looked up from the umbrella she was trying to shake dry and flashed a full smile.
"Sees really well, too. REALLY well. Maybe even through the cards."
Across the room, the woman shrugged, then strode to Flanagan's table and took the seat that Jimmy, who'd just plopped down three fresh decks, pulled out for her. Her movements were strong and large, but with just a hint of hesitation to them, as if she was very nearsighted - as if she wasn't sure each step wasn't going to cause disaster.
"Bet she makes a killing. Why do you let her in?"
"Because two of her uncles are police officers and her dad's cousin's the fire commissioner."
The woman looked up, nodded and shrugged, then refocused her attention on Flanagan, who obviously enjoyed her presence.
As Maude made to go back to fixing drinks, Larry gripped her elbow so hard it hurt. "Get her drunk and get her out," he mouthed.
All she needed was a thousand dollars. That's what the lawyer had said. Five hundred might be enough, but a thousand would do it. She couldn't come up with a thousand dollars, not with what Wallace Drug and Grocery paid, but maybe 'Maggie' could turn two hundred into a thousand with a little luck and some close observation.
Except that she never could win a lot off of Rick Flanagan, who'd been at Larry's club four of the six times she'd come. She could read him as well as she could anyone, could tell what cards he held once she'd seen them face-up a time or two, but still Rick played her even. Rick winked at her, though, and the message was clear - clean out these other bozos.
A thousand. She'd win that, and then quit.
The barmaid came over with something large and fruity-looking. The drink had one of those cute little umbrellas, two orange slices, and three cherries. It looked like a little bit of summer, out of place in November in Cascade, Washington. "On the house, Maggie," said the girl in a soft southern drawl.
"Oh, I don't go by Maggie," she replied, "I'm Mary Margaret Ellison." She didn't usually use her married name - she'd been divorced nearly a dozen years, since Jimmy was a baby - but something about being down here in an illegal club, called something that wasn't really right, made her want to wrap herself in as much normalcy, as much legitimacy, as she could. Which, come to think, wasn't much, and never had been.
"Mary Margaret," repeated the barmaid. "Fits you better, darlin'."
As she receded, Mary Margaret picked up her first hand. "That new girl looks a bit high-class for here," she commented. Like one of those girls that she knew from when she was going with William back when he was a student at Rainier, just more southernlier.
"She's just using Larry," said Rick. "None of us know why. She and her kid were living with her sister or cousin or something in East Cascade, but I think she moved in with Larry a few weeks ago. Care to bet on how long she'll stick around?"
"Oh, I don't gamble," said Mary Margaret. "Ooops! I guess I do!" and she turned as much attention as she could muster to the game.
"Good choice on the drink, doll," said Larry as he sidled up to Maude while she prepared gin-and-tonics for some of the regulars. "Maggie doesn't like the taste of alcohol."
"Think she has super tasting to go along with the super hearing and seeing?"
"No doubt about it. But she's looking to get drunk tonight, she just doesn't know it."
"Has she gotten drunk here before?"
"No, but she's never been as desperate before."
"Desperate? Whatever for? Think she's trying to flee a husband?"
"Could be," allowed Larry, "but she's never had a ring on."
As Maude watched, Mary Margaret finished her drink. Downed in ten minutes; the gal wanted to get plastered. Maude quickly prepped a replicate and brought it out with her next load.
Mary Margaret won the first hand, lost the second to Rick. She was up ten dollars, but she needed so much more. A thousand. That would be enough to get that lawyer to force William to let her see Jim whenever she wanted, maybe even force William to let her have Jim stay over every now and then, now that she had a place of her own.
A thousand, a thousand...
Wait, what was that card?
Larry'd dimmed the lights a little a moment ago, and she couldn't tell what the guy to her left was holding, though she'd gotten a good look at all most of the cards in this deck. But that had been under different light. It was almost not fair.
Concentrate...
And now, she was down 20. She needed a drink... ah, there we go! Another tall, fruity drink, this time with FOUR cherries. Maybe Larry DID like her.
At the rate Mary Margaret was downing her mai tais, Maude was glad she hadn't gone too heavy on the rum and chanced drawing the woman's suspicion.
As she delivered the third, Mary Margaret giggled, "are you sure I don't owe you anything?"
"No, still on the house," she replied. "Would you like something else next?"
"Oh, I know next to nothing about drinks," said Mary Margaret. "I've been on - uh - medi-medicashun..." she grimaced, seeming to notice for the first time the affect that downing two mai tais fast was having on her. "Valium. Uh, don't tell anyone, okay?" She looked at Flan; of course he had to be listening, he was two feet away, but he was looking away and that seemed to be enough for Mary Margaret. "William made me take Valium after I had Jimmy. I stopped when I could, but then my phys-phys-"
"Psychiatrist," supplied Maude.
"Zichrist put me back on it, and it worked. I got a job 'an everything. But I couldn't drink, that's too dangerous, and I wanted to be good so that William would let me be with Jimmy more..."
Hal Murray, a regular who'd just assumed the seat across the table from Mary Margaret, cleared his throat loudly. "Round of bourbon, sweetheart. To celebrate the vision of loveliness we have gracing us tonight."
Shitshitshit. While Hal didn't ooze Larry's creepiness, he was a thorough cad. With Rick sort of looking after Mary Margaret, presumably out of the goodness of his heart, Maude hadn't worried too much about her. But Hal had obviously noticed an easy target when he saw one, and she didn't expect Rick to be anywhere near gallant enough to head him off.
When she got back to the bar, Sal was frowning. "I don't like this," she said.
"Wouldn't think you'd care," Maude said, feeling no need to be kind to the sort of women she met at Larry's place.
Sal ignored the slight. "I've seen her here before. She stayed sober and cleaned out a couple of the guys too stupid to know she reads minds, or some-like. Something's different today."
"When does she come in?"
"She was in last year right before Christmas, and Jack says he saw her one year in early June. She told me she was getting a little extra cash for presents. Maybe there's a bunch of birthdays in June in her family or something."
It didn't look like Mary Margaret was cleaning up tonight.
Mary Margaret rose to her feet and headed toward the ladies lounge in the rear, brushing against chairs and nearly colliding with the support column in the middle of the club. After a quick glance to Sal, Maude decided she'd take a powder break herself. She plopped a bottle and four shot glasses down in from of Hal and headed towards the back of the establishment.
Mary Margaret felt odd. Things were too bright, but out of focus, not hyper-clear like when her senses were out of control. Her clothes weren't scratchy for once, and she felt like she could say or do anything she pleased.
So this was what being a little tipsy felt like. It was pretty nice. And the neat thing was, she was as sharp and as coordinated as ever. Looking in the small mirror above the sink wedged between the stall and the gray wall, she brought up her right hand and touched her nose with her index finger. See, no problem. She was nowhere near being drunk.
The door swung open and the barmaid came in. "You okay, hon?" she asked, her drawl soothing.
"Fine," Mary Margaret answered. "Never been finer."
"I think Hal's sweet on you. You okay with that?"
Hal? Oh, the guy across from her. Gross, but neat. Neatly gross. "You really think?"
"I think he'd like to take you home."
"I was going to take a taxi. I only live four blocks from here, but I don't like walking after about 11," Mary Margaret felt compelled to explain.
"Home with him."
"Like share a taxi? But I don't know how late I'll be staying."
"Like, he wants to take you to HIS home."
"Oh!" Oh. "I'm not that sort of girl!"
"Well, just be careful, okay?" drawled the barmaid. "If he starts getting too fresh, you be firm with him, okay sugar?"
"Uh... okay," said Mary Margaret. Anyway, she was sure she could turn that littler-than-her man into a pretzel. A crunchie munchie pretzel, no, maybe soft like at the ball park...
By the time Maude finished up in the ladies room, Margaret had re-entered her table's game. "I think she'll be okay," Maude told Sal, who seemed to have completely given up hanging off of Jack in favor of chatting at the bar.
"Don't be too sure," Sal said. "She's downed two shots of Hal's bourbon."
"Thought she didn't like the taste of alcohol."
"I don't think she's tasting much anymore."
Larry joined them. "Doing great, girl," he said, giving Maude's bottom a pinch she'd have loved to have dodged. "Hal will have Maggie out in a half-hour. She doesn't seem to have that super vision thing going anymore anyway, and I doubt she can hear us, though Rick's being an ass and is steering some dough to her to keep her going. I should have tried this years ago."
"You DID try last Christmas," said Sal. "She hardly touched her one an' only beer."
Okay, so Sal was brighter than she looked.
Maude checked the clock she kept behind the bar. Mary Margaret had only been there for about 90 minutes. Five drinks in 90 minutes.
Another round, another shot. This was going to get ugly.
Hal pulled the pile of cash towards himself and smiled. "Let me spend this on the table. Hon, another round of whatever these folks want."
Rick and the other man placed their orders but Mary Margaret suddenly realized she felt a little off. Maybe another trip to the powder room was a good idea. She started to get up but the chair seemed to be on a slippery bit of floor because she almost fell flat on her face. Hal was at her elbow, though, steadying her. "You feeling okay, Maggie?" he asked. "Would you like some fresh air?"
"Don't call me..." she tried to say, but the words sounded a little garbled.
"Let's walk outside, okay?" said Hal.
Maybe that was a good idea. Her jacket appeared from somewhere. Oh, the manager'd fetched it. How nice of him. "My umbrella..." she managed, and Hal showed that he had that also. Larry was sure being good to her, first all the free drinks then getting her stuff for her.
"You coming back?" asked Rick, rising too. "Maggie, would you like me to come too?"
Wow, TWO suitors. At least, she could pretend, if only for a little while. Rick was old enough to be her father but he was so kind to her always, it almost made her cry. She sniffed and said, "No, Rick, Hal, I'm okay."
Rick sat back down. "Hal, behave yourself," he said.
Well, there you had it. No way would Hal try anything if Rick told him not to. Everyone here listened to Rick, you'd think it was his club, not Larry's.
She took three wobbly steps and paused. "I forgot," she said. "I have to win a thousand..." and she realized she'd better get to the powder room fast. Hal was steering her the opposite direction, though, and the urge to be sick faded a little. Yeah, she'd be better off if she just got home. They'd be there in 5 minutes. With Hal with her, there was no reason to even wait for a taxi.
The blast of November air felt wonderful for a moment, but then Hal was tugging her the wrong direction and around the side of the building, then pushing her up against the wall and he had his hand inside her coat and inside her blouse and his lips were attacking her mouth...
"Subtle, Hal," said a voice - the barmaid. "If you'd waited 'til you got her inside somewhere you'd probably be scoring tonight."
"Maggie and me are just heading to my car now," he said, pulling back a little.
"Mare, do you want to go with this creep?" the barmaid asked.
Mary Margaret shook her head, then wished she hadn't because the world wouldn't stop moving. Had Hal really been trying to...
She looked at the barmaid, but couldn't quite bring her into focus. "I don't feel well," she said.
Hal swore and continued the way they'd been headed. The barmaid gripped her arm where Hal's fingers had pressed in; it hurt, and she pulled back.
"'Sokay, sugar," said the barmaid, "Didn't take much to scare him away, did it? Would you like me to see you home? You said you live nearby?"
"Yeah, up on Prospect..." she looked around. Which way was it? But the barmaid was pulling her toward a car. Hal's? No, there was a thing on top of it, it was a taxi. The barmaid opened the door for her and guided her in, then went around to the other side and joined her in the back seat.
Taxis were always hard, but her sense of smell seemed to be broke.
A minute later, the barmaid was paying for the taxi out of Mary Margaret's pocketbook and then guiding her, umbrella and all, out of the vehicle and toward the entrance to her building. The keys didn't seem to want to lie right in her hand; without Mary Margaret really willing it to happen, the barmaid had taken them and opened the outer door to her building, then guided her in and, after asking her for her apartment number, led her down and into her little basement place.
"You think you're going to be sick, sugar?"
Mary Margaret shook her head. She hated being sick - hated the loss of control, the sensations, the overpowering taste.
The next thing Mary Margaret knew, she was sprawled across her sofa and the barmaid was handing her a couple of aspirin and a glass of water. "Take these, at least," she said.
Mary Margaret complied, then, before her brain even registered why, she was across the living area and lunging for the toilet. The pills came out first, ripping their way up her throat, followed by a burning stream of awfulness. "That's it, hon," said the barmaid, "bring it all up. You'll feel 100 better." Mary Margaret doubted it.
A moment later, she was back on the couch watching the barmaid take in her little apartment. Casing it? Trying to decide what color curtains the high-set windows needed?
No, just trying to find something to drape over her, it seemed. As the barmaid lightly tucked her pink afghan around her, Mary Margaret realized she didn't even know the woman's name. "You should get back to work," she said, hoping the words sounded clearer to the barmaid than they did to her.
The other woman shook her head. "I'm done for tonight," she said. "Maybe forever. Can't take much more of that sort of work."
"How long..."
"How long have I been working at that particular den of inequity?" she drawled. "About a month. Usually I do bookkeeping, but I thought it would be fun to learn how to run a card game, and Larry was sweet enough at first. Didn't think I'd be spending all my time getting drunks drunker."
"I don't know what got into me," said Mary Margaret, blushing at the thought of being one of the barmaid's 'drunks'. "I usually... uh, it's just that I needed the money. So that I can save my son. I didn't mean to drink much at all."
"Your son's Jimmy, right? You mentioned him earlier. I understand. I haven't seen my son much since I moved in with Larry. I'm afraid Larry doesn't have much patience for children."
"Then why do you live with him?"
The barmaid laughed and settled onto the floor next to her. "Tell me about your boy, hon."
Mary Margaret reached and snagged a tissue from the box on the coffee table and dabbed her eyes. She'd worn eyeliner tonight for the first time in years, and a bit had run and was starting to sting. "Jimmy sees real well, just like I do," she said. "William doesn't let me visit him but four times a year, and I've been okay with that, ya know, because I've - I've had my own problems. But last month Jimmy, he saw, he saw..."
The barmaid was kneeling inches away, listening to her like nobody ever did. "What'd your boy see?" she asked.
"A mur-mur-" and Mary Margaret realized she was crying. "A murderer running away. He found a body and knows who did it and William wouldn't let him tell the police what he saw and William says he'll have me committed if I say anything..."
"Oh, that sounds awful," said the barmaid, gripping her arm. "Listen, hon, I want to hear all about this, but you've got to sleep this off now. I'll stay here, okay, in case you need me?"
Mary Margaret nodded and accepted the fresh tissue the barmaid handed her. "I'm okay. I'll be okay."
"'Course you will be," said the barmaid. "But let me stay, okay?"
"'Kay," said Mary Margaret, feeling the drag of sleep. "Thanks. I - I don't even know your name..."
"Maude. Maude Standish," the barmaid said with a smile.
TBC