Chapter 16. Having Always Lived in a Desert.

Rodney flipped the phone closed and looked at it. No answer.

Not that he expected anybody to be in a pleasant frame of mind for the first few weeks in their new jobs, new assignments. Sheppard was predictably making the best of it, leading 'gate teams from the SGC. Rodney envied his proximity to Carson, who was as happy as situationally possible, even if he was a little bored. Even Radek had done him the favor of taking an international call. He was starting at Masaryk University in the fall, and assisting in miscellaneous research in the meantime. There was apparently a lot of non-Ancient tech to catch up on. He hadn't gotten to see his kids, yet.

As for himself, Rodney didn't want to use the term lonely, but it fit depressingly well. Even worse was the idea that he'd been leaning on his thirteen-year-old for socialization for the past three weeks.

He'd been on the phone a lot in the past three weeks, though. Not with anybody important, except one paper he'd submitted. The review went by surprisingly fast, and most of the notes were along the lines of his peers being grudgingly pleased to see him back in the game.

He'd never been out of the game, thank you very much.

All the same, he had an abstract out, and a paper about to be published. That felt good. What didn't feel good was the thirty-minute commute, and leaving Pippin home alone for the entire day while he was at work. Come fall, it would be better. Pippin would be in public school—he probably should have been now, but putting him in for the last month seemed cruel. And, anyway, he'd still beat Rodney home by hours even if he were in school.

Pippin didn't seem to feel bad about it, probably because he could play as much Halo as he wanted as long as he also got his school work done. Not that he'd neglected to finish everything for his grade level except for history already. He even did Rodney the favor of getting up every morning in time to have breakfast with him.

Rodney found himself working significantly less hours, and with entire weekends free. Incongruously, the workless Saturdays were actually interesting. He and Pippin had taken to exploring the surrounding countryside, and learning to play various card games. Innocently. There may have been some harmless gambling involved—things like who had to do the dishes that evening. Counting cards was a useful mental exercise, and unfairly illegal. They found a lot of common ground there to complain about.

Perhaps best of all, there were video rental places nearby with a selection greater than just Sky High. They were currently watching through every film and television show for Star Trek… mostly. Pippin was apparently unable to handle the original series, so they skipped that part. It was a weird detail that Riker should play trombone in two universes.

Rodney was interrupted in his musings to the sound of Pippin cantering down the stairs. Certainly not textbook teenager in terms of sleeping and waking habits. He whipped a Lucky Charms box out of the cabinet by the fridge; collected a bowl, spoon, and milk; and sat down across from Rodney at the dining room table.

Rodney had a dining room table with more than one chair. That in itself was somewhat unusual.

Pippin squinted into the box. "We're almost out."

"So you can finish the raisin bran."

Pippin's grimace told Rodney pretty well what he thought of that, and Rodney had already decided a while ago that the sugar content of both cereals, while obviously different, still left a lot to be desired. But his own eating habits did the same. He was only saved from ordering take-out every night because Pippin had memorized several not-too-terrible recipes for a slow-cooker.

Pippin was also insulted at Rodney's implication that he was liable to set the house on fire if he tried to use the stove or oven. Rodney hadn't changed his mind on that, partially because Rodney didn't know what "I'm thirteen, Dad" was supposed to mean. Either way, Pippin had decided that grilled cheese for breakfast took too long—which, perhaps, in comparison to the thirty-second preparation a bowl of cereal required, he couldn't be wrong.

There were, somehow, always leftovers. And it was usually spaghetti.

"What do you want to do this weekend?"

"Can we go to the Grand Canyon?" Pippin slurped up some milk.

"That might be a whole weekend trip." Rodney didn't know, but he was pretty sure the main part of the canyon—the really touristy spots—were a day's drive from here. "That sounds good, though. Next weekend?"

They'd decided to make the best of Nevada, Rodney was surprised to find it somehow wasn't terrible. There were a lot of other places he'd rather be, but this wasn't all bad. Besides, he was pretty sure this would only last about a year. After that, he'd get transferred to Colorado Springs with John and Carson, or he'd go back to Canada. Maybe Vancouver.

They should visit Jeannie, shouldn't they?

"Yeah, that sounds good." With a sigh, Pippin looked up over his bowl. "Doctor Weir didn't answer your call again?"

"You've gotta stop eavesdropping like that." Rodney couldn't decide if he meant that or not.

Pippin probably couldn't tell, either. Rodney was smiling. "I'm not eavesdropping; I can't help it. I just hear stuff. Do you think she's okay?"

Were any of them? Well, Rodney liked to think he was, for once, more okay than everyone else. Having Pippin on Earth made Earth oddly enjoyable. Even though Pippin wasn't so young as to make the world seem like a new experience, he was still enthusiastic to be places he'd never been before with someone who seemed happy to be spending the time with him.

And Rodney was. It wasn't put on.

"I don't know. I hope so." Either way, there wasn't anything he could do about it.

After a few minutes, Rodney wondered if Pippin was thinking about Elizabeth anymore. It was clear he'd moved on when his next words were a suggestion of what they could do this weekend. "I guess there's the art galleries and antique shops?"

They'd already watched the Bellagio fountains no less than three times, watched the strip light up, went to Red Rock Canyon, and found a show they were interested in to go see. They somehow spent ten minutes looking at the Welcome to Las Vegas sign. It was iconic, certainly, but did they need ten minutes? They ate at no less than fifteen restaurants in three weeks. If Rodney wasn't careful, he figured he was going to have a very chubby kid in short order if they ate according to his own metabolism. Not that he wasn't on the bigger side since moving back to Earth. There was something to be said for the controlled diet on Atlantis.

Rodney also wasn't made of money, even if most of the restaurants in Las Vegas were quite affordable. Cheap, even. The scam was to lure the masses in with a steak dinner, and convince them to stay for the flying bills and flashing lights.

They were comfortable. Less than Rodney had been before, because he wasn't a big spender. Or, rather, he didn't get out much. Money was for food, rent, and an internet connection. And now restaurants, drawing supplies, and video games. Still, now that he had a kid, it seemed like getting out was an important thing to do every now and again.

"The art district and antiques? Are you interested in that?" Rodney tried not to sound disdainful—just because he was not at all interested didn't mean Pippin shouldn't be.

"Not really. I mean, the art galleries, a little bit; but what else is there to do?"

"We're in Las Vegas. There must be something." Rodney looked out the window to the backyard. There was no view of anything interesting except the wall of the neighbor's house. They had two demonic Chihuahuas, and that was another thing that he and Pippin agreed on. "We haven't done the High Roller yet."

Pippin gave him a look. A look that said if Ronon wasn't here forcing him into the cabin of the highest ferris wheel in the world, he wasn't getting on it.

"Hoover Dam!" Rodney had no idea where that came from, but it just popped into his head. And he was surprised that, now that he'd said it, he wanted to go. Beat the hell out of botanical gardens or whatever. "That's near here, right? That's cool."

Pippin looked more amused than interested, having looked up from his cereal at Rodney's outburst. "Sure, yeah, that's cool." There was another long pause, and Pippin drank the rest of his milk out of his bowl. "You're gonna be late for work if you don't go soon."

Rodney didn't get up. "Work's boring."

"But they'll fire you if you don't go."

That… that was probably not true, actually. They'd let him take a thirteen-year-old to Atlantis. His job was not in danger for not showing up on a random Thursday because he was bored. "You think?" he asked anyway, hopefully.

"Dad. Who's the adult here?"

"You. I thought we agreed on that."

"I can't even drive."

Rodney glanced at Pippin, an idea flashing into his mind that died almost as quickly as it appeared. Thirteen was too early for a driving lesson, probably. Though, there was nothing but open desert in all directions in which to do it. Fourteen, definitely not. Some states allowed that kind of thing. But, hell, they'd let him into the pilot seat of a puddle jumper. There were obviously things yet more irresponsible.

"You've got a point." Rodney sighed and stood up. "Get your history homework done." He gave Pippin a pat on the shoulder as he walked to the door.

"I will." Pippin stood at the stairs leading back up to his room where, despite Rodney's misgivings, Pippin set up his Xbox. "Have a good day, Dad."

"You, too."

"Yeah. See you tonight."

Why had it taken all this angst to find out that, of all things, was so much of what he wanted?

#

"Alright, if you're so smart, you figure it out." Rodney was surprised to find he'd already hit the power button on his computer. All of his assistants—sycophants, every one of them—were staring at him like waiting for permission to breathe.

"Doctor McKay…" Mister Darving was one of those wonderful IOA members of the oversight committee. And the guy, ostensibly, in charge of staffing and project management at Area 51. Not because anyone was happy about it, though. Perhaps, including, Darving. "You have the largest lab in Area 51."

Yeah, and that too big. "Okay, I didn't ask for that." Rodney shut the two laptops he'd been working on for the last six hours. "Someone just gave it to me. Along with my choice of assistants! Whose bright idea was that? Look at these guys." Rodney cast another glance at the row of guppies: eyes wide, some mouths even gaping, and every last one with a brain size to rival. How was he supposed to know that he actually needed a Zelenka until his was on the other side of the planet?

Mister Darving looked, and, apparently, the sight confused him just as much. "You mean to say you don't want your choice of assistants? What about your choice of projects; do you not want that, either?"

Was that was he was saying? "No, of course, not. My choice of projects, I can handle."

Mister Darving looked at the line of six assistants in their lab coats, and nodded to them. "You're dismissed," he said, and then turned his attention to Rodney as they scurried away. Rodney wondered how many of them thought they were fired, because, at this point, even Rodney didn't know. "I think you should take the weekend, Doctor McKay. Start fresh on Monday. We'll make decisions about your staff then."

So now he knew.

"My staff? My staff isn't the problem." Well, not completely. Not in any way that would fix anything. Rodney scoffed and patted the top of the laptop with his fingertips. "I can't do anything with this, because there isn't anything in here that quite lives up to my skill and expertise. Any of these lab rats could look at it and reverse engineer a personal shield with enough time."

He found himself staring at Mister Darving, and one of them was definitely confused. He hoped it was Darving.

With a sigh, Rodney picked up his laptop bag, and slipped one of them into it. It didn't really matter which. "A long weekend does sound like a good idea, though. See you Monday, Kevin."

If Darving had any particular response to the first name address, Rodney didn't stop to see what it was. He turned the maze of corners and rode the series of elevators that returned him to the surface of Nevada in what felt like record time. He had an assigned parking spot in the front row, and it was a thirty-minute drive back to town. Abandoning work over an hour before the day was done hardly seemed like a responsible decision, but he worked like a maniac usually. Or, at least, he used to.

Right now, he just wasn't in the right frame of mind. He didn't imagine anyone was. He wondered if everyone else was as professionally depressed as he was. There was a lot Atlantis had to offer that he knew he couldn't get anywhere else… and he wasn't making any friends even at Area 51—which meant the only stop lower than this was to be transferred to help the Russians with their own spacefaring and power generating objectives.

Rodney was sure the DOD wouldn't transfer him to Siberia with a thirteen-year-old kid.

He slammed himself into his car and turned the key. Even in April, this place was hellishly hot, and the faux leather seats took on the temperature of magma. And, if magma was sticky, maybe some of the consistency, too. It was a long, desolate drive back to Las Vegas from here. Not that Las Vegas itself wasn't also desolate, but at least it was more alive than whatever this nothing was out here.

Maybe the Grand Canyon would be a good idea this weekend, after all. Pippin surely wouldn't mind deferring a day of history… though, forcing him outside of his own will to double up on another day seemed cruel.

Rodney's mind wandered over the landscape of Pippin's school work, the fact that the carpet needed vacuumed, and three or four of the more interesting directories translated out of the Ancient database today. They could be addressed any other day, but they were interesting enough to stand like mountains behind everything else in his life.

The neighborhood they lived in was old enough to have lost all the grass trying to impress new buyers, and the concrete sidewalks matched the dusty yards almost perfectly. Rodney pulled into the otherwise empty two-car garage, and then wondered at what point he'd be okay with Pippin having a car of his own. He could hear the Chihuahuas next door losing their tiny minds at the fence between them.

Pippin met him at the door from the garage into the kitchen. "Why are you early?"

Rodney glanced past him to the rest of the house. It was, predictably, just as he'd left it. Pippin hadn't put the cereal box from this morning away. The newspaper that Rodney had ordered under the delusion he'd read it sat folded on the table. His dad read the paper when he was small, so…

"Decided to take a long weekend," Rodney said, stepping past Pippin to the kitchen table where he deposited his laptop. "What do you say? Grand Canyon tomorrow?"

Pippin looked mildly shocked, but shrugged. "Okay?"

"Cool. I'll get started on dinner."

Giving him a sidelong glance, Pippin stepped toward the stairs. "Okay. I'll help. Can I—?"

"Oh, yeah, finish the level or whatever." Rodney waved Pippin away, wondering if stages in video games were called that anymore. He played some version of Mario as a kid, which he'd learned on a recent trip to GameStop was one of perhaps a thousand or more entries. Mario was a Nintendo property, and they didn't have any such console.

Pippin ran up the stairs while Rodney perused the two cookbooks he'd bought. He was pretty good at following instructions. Measuring. The stove didn't get much use, so, since he was here, he may as well.

He was flipping through chicken recipes when the doorbell rang. It was a bad enough day that Rodney sincerely hoped it was Girl Scout cookies. He didn't know when those sold but…

It wasn't a Girl Scout, and the day was probably only going to get worse from here.

The woman that looked back at him was smiling, but that thin red line of her lips looked as disappointed as always. Her hair was the same mousy brown color of his own, though with more gray. Really, she hadn't changed a bit in the intervening five or six years since he'd last seen her.

Rodney finally caught his voice back and managed to croak, "Mom?"

"Meredith. Are you going to invite me in?"

Rodney wanted to say, no, he wasn't, but that word didn't quite make it all the way to his tongue. At least not before, "What are you doing here? Actually, better question, how are you here?"

"I saw the abstract you had published, and I made a few phone calls. Alright, a lot of phone calls," she said, stepping into the house even though she hadn't actually been invited. She glanced around, like she was missing something, and then looked back at him, clutching her purse in front of her in a gesture almost indicating apology. "I was pleased to see you've finally published again."

"Oh." Rodney rolled his eyes, but didn't get a chance to say more.

"Now, where is my grandson?"

"Upstairs. You don't seriously want me to believe you're here just to say congratulations for an abstract and to see my son." Rodney blinked, and glanced toward the stairs. "Are you?"

"Why would I lie about this?"

Rodney didn't know why, but the smallest spring of hope opened up somewhere in the middle of his chest. He was able to quash that before it got out of hand. His mother didn't like children. She wasn't interested. On the other hand, she seemed to have at least communicated something worthwhile when she was raising Jeannie, so… Maybe she wasn't like that with other children. Maybe it was just Rodney she didn't like.

"No, I'm sorry, he's doing homework." That was obviously false. Unless he'd hurried upstairs to do history in anticipation of tomorrow.

Yeah, right. "Why are you here?" Rodney asked again.

"To help you. Come on, Meredith." Mom left him standing in the atrium, crossing into the kitchen without an introduction, shocking Rodney out of asking what he could possibly need help with. Mom continued, "I know we haven't been on the best of terms…"

"I would have been willing to improve those terms at Dad's funeral." He, to his surprise, found himself snapping. He sighed and waved that away before she could respond. "Look, Mom, can you just tell me why you're actually here? Because it's not to see me and it's not to see Pippin."

"Actually, it is." She paused at the kitchen table, a steely blue eye pausing on a box of Lucky Charms, a newspaper, and a cup full of mechanical pencils. A few papers with Pippin's sketches were stacked nearby. "Look at you, Meredith, you've become domestic."

"Yeah, that'll happen… when you turn forty." Rodney snatched the box of cereal to replace it in the cupboard and folded the newspaper in on itself. He wasn't even sure whether he was forty, but he was close enough. "And what do you mean by that, exactly?"

"Don't be defensive. But, I would very much like to meet the boy. Call him down, please, Meredith?"

Rodney couldn't help but feel a trap somewhere in here, but he couldn't see clearly enough to identify it. That, and, he had no idea what he needed help with. Still, he took a few steps back to the bottom of the stairs and called up without taking his eyes off his mother.

"Pippin? Could you come down here a minute, please?"

Pippin appeared less than a second later, quietly descending the stairs. Rodney didn't wonder whether he'd been listening since the door opened—because of course he had. It was always in his best interest to know what was going on in the house just in case he had to adapt his strategy to stay invisible. It wasn't necessarily needed anymore, but old habits lived long. He leaned on the railing overlooking the kitchen table from the last four stairs and looked. Pippin, like the McKays before him, looked unimpressed.

"Mom, this is Pippin. Pippin, your grandmother." Rodney looked at her. "What do you want him to call you?"

She, in turn, looked at Pippin. Rodney could see the appraisal happening from here. Even though he didn't know what or why she had come to in conclusion, he could see that she looked at Pippin like she looked at Rodney. She thought Pippin was a mistake. "What do you want to call me?"

Wow. If Rodney knew those exact words would come out of his mother's mouth just less than six months later, he never would have said them the first time.

Pippin glanced at Rodney for help, and Rodney didn't have any.

"Call her Margaret," he said, deciding it probably wouldn't hurt anything except, perhaps, her feelings. If she had any. He didn't have anything else to say by way of introduction, and he didn't want Pippin to be friendly with her because Rodney decided to lie in word and demeanor about how he felt about her.

"Nice to meet you, Margaret," Pippin said with a nod, not going down the rest of the stairs to approach for a handshake.

Mom rose, though, and walked to the banister, not looking at all displeased about Rodney's suggestion of the first-name address. She gave him a long look, from blond hair to black shoes, and then at Rodney. "He needs a haircut."

"He likes it the way it is." That, and, it was apparently the way all the kids were wearing their hair these days. Not that Rodney would have noticed without Pippin pointing it out. "And, I don't know, do you want to maybe say hello before you start pointing out faults?" Rodney turned his eyes to Pippin before she could respond. "You can go back upstairs."

"No, you're right. I'm sorry, Pippin. Please, Meredith, let me try again. I'm very happy to meet you, Pippin; just a little bit sore that Meredith didn't call me himself to tell me about you." Mom held her hands up in apparent defeat, and then indicated her small purse. "Can we go get ice cream?"

Rodney desperately wanted to ask who the hell this woman was, but held himself back. With a sigh, he shrugged. Tried to remember that people could change. Tried to remember that he hadn't exactly painted the most generous picture of her in his memory. Tried to remember that she was happier after Jeannie was born, happier after the divorce, happier when Rodney went to college. It was possible she was different.

"I'll drive. I rented a BMW." Mom brushed past Rodney on her way back to the front door, and Rodney knew they were supposed to follow. Every rehearsal of what to do should something like this moment happen said to stay right here and shut the door after she left.

But she was his mother. Pippin was her grandson. And maybe, just maybe, Rodney had made a mistake.

Yeah, right.

Pippin looked at the door for a long second before finally looking at Rodney. "I thought you said Aunt Jeannie was the only other person who calls you Meredith?"

"Yeah." Rodney sighed. "Yeah, she is." Even as he said it, he regretted it a little. Wished Pippin were not old enough to get that. All the same, he gabe Pippin a gentle push toward the door. "I'm not about to turn down free ice cream, anyway."

Pippin nodded knowingly, and went out the door. Rodney imagined he'd left Halo paused upstairs, but Rodney wasn't about to quibble about electric bills, either. As promised, Mom had rented a bright blue BMW sedan. Rodney only knew she was teaching math at some university in Ottawa—but it wasn't even actual math. It was something like college algebra. Either way, the car had all the flash and interest of a woman lingering in a midlife crisis that was about as old as however old Rodney was now.

It took a significant portion of Rodney's brainpower to remind himself that he was, in fact, not responsible for his mother's unhappy life. It was hard to do, a habit ingrained so deep it seemed written on his DNA at times. Rodney cast a glance at Pippin behind him, in the back seat, and couldn't help but feel like he'd probably passed that on.

"How is Las Vegas, Pippin?" Mom asked, perhaps as an ice breaker.

Pippin diverted his stare out the window to meet her eyes in the rearview mirror stuck to the middle of the car. "Fine. Boring."

Mom smiled toward Rodney without taking her eyes off the road. "Sounds just like you."

Rodney wasn't sure she meant that in a kind way, but he was pretty sure Pippin would take it like that. At least, he hoped. "Tell her about your classes, Pip." Or something. Anything so Rodney didn't have to talk to her.

Pippin gave him a glance a full second long that he did not appreciate being offered up on the altar of social interaction with a woman he didn't know. Still, he started talking. He went through his entire schedule enumerating his current grade, upcoming assignments and tests, and the teacher for each. His animation in describing art class was, to Rodney, typical, but he doubted his mother had picked up on that.

Rodney didn't know which ice cream place his mother had in mind when they started, but immediately regretted not asking when she pulled up at an ice cream shop located strategically outside a mini golf course. Rodney didn't know how Pippin felt about mini golf… but Rodney knew how he felt about it. Not good.

Mom got out of the car, commenting on Rodney's own foray into the arts at a young age. The first in a long line of spectacular disappointments. She didn't actually say that, but Rodney heard it anyway.

"Alright!" Rodney slammed his door—perhaps a little louder than he had intended to, but it got everyone's attention.

Pippin stopped at the back corner of the car in slight surprise, looking at him. Whatever he saw on Rodney's face made him hurry to his side. Even Mom looked at him over the roof of the BMW as if he'd almost caught her hand in the door. Her mouth even opened the slightest bit to scold him for his behavior.

"Chocolate!" Rodney spoke up before she could say anything. It wasn't at all what he'd intended to say, but he'd managed to think better of the argument he wanted to have in front of half a dozen families and their kindergartners at the mini golf course. "I will take chocolate ice cream."

Mom squinted at him, then at Pippin, and then at the hilariously long menu of flavors offered at the place. "Well, alright then. Feel free to put in your order. Do you know what you'd like, Pippin?"

Pippin's eyes slowly drifted down the list of flavors as he shook his head. "Not yet."

Rodney didn't even look at the flavors, since, even if he wanted something else there was no way he was changing. But he glanced at the board just long enough to see there were no less than five varieties of ice cream all headed by the word chocolate, so he gave those a quick glance. None of them were just labeled chocolate.

Everyone managed to order without much drama. Mom ordered green tea and coffee, two scoops crammed into the same waffle cone. Pippin got red velvet cake and chocolate fudge in the same manner, topped with chocolate syrup and a cherry. Even though Pippin's selection was an obvious work of art, Rodney restrained himself to a single scoop of chocolate strawberry.

They sat at a concrete table under an umbrella in silence for a few minutes before Mom spoke up again. "How are you liking Las Vegas?"

Pippin looked at Rodney, as if the question were for him. Rodney did the same.

With a small sigh, Pippin looked at Mom and shrugged. "It's pretty hot. But it's okay."

Yeah, definitely unfair using his kid like a shield this way. Rodney nodded his agreement. "The weather is pretty miserable, but I don't work too far away."

"Yes, what is it you do, Meredith?"

Well, he certainly had walked right into that one. "Research." He had a decision to make… He could not tell her for whom he was doing research, which would irritate her. Or he could tell her who he was researching for and disappoint her. Both options were tempting, and Pippin was watching him to see what he'd say. "For the US government."

Mom leaned back ever so slightly and sighed, laying a hand on the table between them. "Meredith."

"It's a good job." Rodney regretted having said anything at all, so focused on what remained of his ice cream cone. There wasn't much. Maybe he should go get another one.

"But for the US Government? When you could be working at—I don't know? Wherever you wanted?"

"I am working wherever I want." He meant to put an emphasis on I, but it didn't work.

Rodney stood and surveyed the state of the other ice cream cones until Pippin stood up next to him. He'd been carefully working around his cone in a clockwise manner, painfully slowly. He was only going fast enough to rescue his hands from great melted drops of ice cream coming down the sides.

"I'm just getting another one," he said.

Pippin looked at the ice cream in his hand and then at the board again with wide eyes as if to ask, You can do that?

And if he'd said it out loud, Rodney would have told him that Rodney sure could get another ice cream if he wanted to, thank you very much. As far as whether Pippin could get another one, well… Rodney was still leaning on indulgence at this point in their relationship. His mother wouldn't approve. So, of course, Pippin could have another.

"Can I have another one?" Pippin asked.

"Finish that one. Then, sure."

"Meredith?"

Rodney shot her a glare and added, "Just one scoop, though."

Pippin sat down and started licking his ice cream much more aggressively. Mom followed Rodney to the line to wait for his next ice cream cone. He didn't know what he was getting. Probably two scoops this time, and nothing to do with chocolate.

"Meredith, I think we need to talk about this," Mom said in a low voice. If she thought that was going to keep Pippin from listening, well…

"About what? The ice cream?" Rodney responded in a normal volume.

"The ice cream, your job. Are you in some kind of trouble?" Mom waited only long enough for Rodney to have made some sound to indicate he was responding when she charged ahead. "I haven't seen anything or heard from you in five years—I'm worried."

"About what?" Rodney asked. "You know where I am, you know what I'm doing, and you know I'm happy. What could you possibly be worried about?"

"You have a child, for one thing."

"Seriously?" He couldn't have forced his tone into a more disapproving lilt if he'd tried. She may not have known Pippin could hear, but the fact that he could—Rodney knew Pippin trusted him with little reservation anymore. Rodney liked to think some of that was built on a Rodney that felt strong enough to throw an old man out a second-story window. "Yes, I have a kid. I love him. Nothing to worry about."

"It doesn't seem like you."

"Yeah, well, maybe you don't know me very well. It's been a while." And Rodney had come so very far in more ways than one, sometimes he didn't think he knew himself very well, anymore, either. "But just in case you're picking up on my slight irritation today, yeah, I'm not thrilled at living in Las Vegas right now. It was a bad day. It's only temporary."

"Living in Las Vegas or your lack of interest in living in Las Vegas?"

Both, probably. He'd be happier tomorrow in the car on the way to the Grand Canyon.

Oh, no. "How long are you here for?" Rodney asked, glossing over the last question partly because the answer didn't matter. It certainly didn't matter in comparison to the one he'd asked.

Mom shrugged. "That depends."

How generous of her.

Rodney ordered bubble gum and birthday cake ice cream. Not because it was what he wanted, but because Mom's eyebrow was arched like he'd lost his mind. Maybe he had. He was mostly okay with living in Las Vegas and he had a kid. He loved that kid. He wasn't the Meredith she knew—finally.

They went back to the table, where Pippin was giving him a curious look past a half-eaten ice cream cone. Rodney slid him a five-dollar bill for the next ice cream cone, but the look didn't go away. Because Pippin had heard everything, and Mom hadn't exactly made any friends at this table in the past three or four minutes.

"What do you say to miniature golf?" Mom glanced at the sign behind them, a giant gorilla roaring over hole six.

"Smooth," Rodney observed, and then shrugged, looking at Pippin.

Pippin didn't respond, took his five dollars, and went to stand in line on his own. Rodney watched him walk away with a slight smirk, and was glad he hadn't verbalized his question of whether Pippin wanted to spend the next hour putting brightly-colored golf balls past facsimiles of the Statue of Liberty and the Great Pyramids. Which, he happened to know now, were actually alien landing pads. They could rebrand this place with Area 51 aliens, and keep the pyramids without a problem.

"Sure, Mom. Thirteen-year-olds love mini golf in eighty-degree weather."

Mom huffed. "Well, I don't know; what does Pippin like to do? It's been a long time since I interacted with a thirteen-year-old boy. And let's be honest, Meredith, you were never really like the other boys your age."

What that had to do with anything, Rodney didn't know. Also, he knew what Pippin liked to do… and that was pretty much anything. He seemed to enjoy everything they did, even if it was just standing outside the Bellagio watching water jump in the white sun. He knew because everything they'd done had been Pippin's idea—except for the Hoover Dam. But if Pippin didn't want to go to the Hoover Dam, then they wouldn't go.

"You could ask him, you know," Rodney said.

Pippin pointed at the menu as he ordered from the girl at the window. Just one scoop. Rodney guessed her at sixteen or seventeen, and found himself idly wondering if Pippin would one day be serving ice cream like this.

Mom obviously didn't want to ask Pippin what he wanted to do. Instead, she asked Pippin about his hobbies, and seemed shocked at the revelation that, like every thirteen-year-old probably on the entire planet, he played lots of video games. He was, however, happy to tell her that he drew a lot, as well.

When Mom suggested he pick up the piano, Rodney stood up and looked at his watch. "The next Bellagio fountain show is in about fifteen minutes. We could probably walk there from here."

Pippin smiled. Rodney wondered if that meant he was right in his guess that Pippin didn't like mini golf. Not that he was an indication of what other thirteen-year-olds wanted to do. "Have you seen it, Margaret?"

"No."

"Have you seen Ocean's Eleven?"

Mom paused, and looked at Rodney, as if to ask him if he'd seen it. Probably because that didn't sound like him. "No."

Without a word, Pippin walked off in the direction of the Bellagio. Mom walked next to Pippin, walking next to Rodney. They got to the fountains with about five minutes to spare, the empty space mostly filled with Rodney filling Mom in on the colleagues he had around the globe. He had to make up a lot about them, because he hadn't been paying attention the first time. Pippin helped him out a little with Radek, though Mom was confused about why Pippin should know anything about a physicist Rodney worked with. As far as Rodney knew, the only relationships in his mother's life were professional. Even the relationships she had with her family.

They watched the fountains, and walked along the strip. Rodney figured it was only decent of him to feel ashamed when Pippin started laying out the rules for all the card games he knew—because that was how he and Rodney often filled their evenings even when they were watching movies. And, yes, that might have been inspired by Ocean's Eleven.

Mom was horrified, though, so that helped a little.

They stopped at a restaurant—a very expensive restaurant that Mom insisted she would pay for—and ate dinner. Pippin continued to carry the conversation with black jack and chess, only one of which Mom was happy with. It turned out there just wasn't a lot to talk about in his life except for whatever Pippin was interested in. Maybe because everything Rodney had ever been interested in didn't matter.

Should Rodney pick up piano again…? Mom didn't suggest it.

In fact, as the night went on, Mom became more and more interested in Pippin. She asked him questions, and she seemed happy. So did Pippin. Rodney was surprised to find he was almost pleased with the way the evening was going.

Only every now and again would she comment that Pippin should try something else, or suggest he wasn't making the best use of his gifted mind. Whenever Mom made a snide comment, Pippin would look at him like he knew exactly what Mom meant by it. Rodney just shrugged, because he knew, too.

But maybe she didn't actually mean it that way and he was just imagining it. But, then again, he'd heard it enough from her. As far as he knew, that was what she always meant.

Now and again she would give Rodney a look that made him feel quite sure she wasn't actually interested in anything Pippin had to say. Or, perhaps that she was worried that Rodney wasn't really interested in anything Pippin had to say.

Rodney consoled himself with the fact that Mom didn't know him very well anymore. Anyone who knew him at all knew. He loved that kid. He was pretty sure one of those people who knew him well was Pippin. He knew.

They strolled the strip some more after dark, since the lights were spectacular. Somehow, the bustle and brightness was one of Pippin's favorite sights on Earth—or, that was what he said. Rodney wondered if maybe both of them needed to get out more. Or maybe Pippin was growing into someone entirely unlike Rodney. Someone who liked to be surrounded by people and activity, and someone people liked to be around and do things with. As one of the people, Rodney thought that might be true.

Somehow, the night came to a close without too much trouble. Back at the house, Pippin excused himself to go upstairs and finish his homework.

Rodney watched him go up the stairs and wondered what he was supposed to do with this, the constantly-listening kid upstairs and the mother down here from whom he desperately wanted answers. Because Mom wasn't here to buy dinner and play mini-golf.

"Alright, Mom, can you drop the act now?" Rodney crossed the room to see out onto the lamp-lit street.

"What act? I want to help you."

"Yeah, so you've said. What do you want to help me with, exactly?"

Mom waited for a long second, watching him carefully. Then, to his surprise, she crossed the room, sat on the couch, and looked at him directly. Meant business. "You're better than this, Meredith."

Rodney didn't know what to do, so he just sort of… froze. What did she mean by that? Hadn't he always been better? It was, it seemed, the entire point of his life, to her, and for her to say it like that, like he wasn't fulfilling his life's singular goal… She expected a lot of him, and part of him appreciated that. But he didn't know what he was supposed to be doing better, at least not that she could have divined in a short day involving mostly eating. Which, for the record, he also excelled at.

"I'll take Pippin back to Ottawa with me," she said, suddenly, with a pat on her knee, as though the decision were already made and he'd agreed. "He'll go to the best schools, join all the same clubs you did, he'll be very well taken care of, and you can get back to publishing and researching without the distraction."

Rodney spun away from the window. "Excuse me?"

"He's the reason you've not published in so long, isn't he?"

Rodney took a deep breath and arranged all the words in his head to say something coherent. He knew he wasn't working at that fast enough, but…

"I want you to achieve your full potential, Meredith. It's obvious Pippin is keeping you from doing that."

"No." He didn't know what to object to first anymore, so he just settled with simplest objection of all. Why was it that he could rattle off all the insults and reasoning he wanted when it was for the scientists he worked with—most of which he actually liked—but when he was in the same room as his mother, it was like his brain ceased to function? "Obvious? You—?"

"I thought you'd be happy."

Rodney laughed. He didn't know why, as he put his fingers through his thinning hair and cackled like a maniac. Because she didn't get it at all. And heaven forbid Rodney should know what it was, but he knew he had a firmer grasp of that than she did.

He was happy. Maybe he wasn't always, but that wasn't the point. And she didn't get it. "And that's why the only way you take Pippin home with you is over my dead body." And maybe not even then. If he was ever dying, he would beg Jeannie to take Pippin if that was what it took.

Even Rodney could see she was surprised, but she shouldn't have been. She had to know Rodney hated her, as much or more than she hated him. Rodney got in her way, stepped between her and whatever perfect life she'd been imagining for herself as a young twenty-something, and forced her to attend to another human being for hours at a time. And Rodney had been insane to think she'd changed at all, even if it was only for a minute.

"Sit down and listen to me."

"No." With a snap, Rodney pointed at her. "No, you listen to me. You never liked me, right?"

She blinked, like maybe the thought had never crossed her mind before.

"I was a mistake. You didn't mean to have me. In fact, I'm probably your biggest regret."

Finally, she showed some shadow of hurt by the idea. She gave a little sigh and reached out. "That doesn't mean I don't like you, Meredith."

"Yeah, well—"

He paused long enough to hear, and it was like he'd been shot. Her objection certainly wasn't a denial. He was a mistake. And her biggest regret. That hurt much more than he thought it should. He quickly diverted off that topic. He knew who he was. Brilliant. Insecure. Hostile. But he had a son he loved, perhaps, in part because he knew to do otherwise would be a mistake. Maybe even his biggest regret.

He didn't quite recover, but he started speaking again, anyway. "Well, the point is that Pippin isn't keeping me from happiness or success or whatever it is you think I'm missing."

"I don't think you have the time to—"

"You're not listening. Pippin is the best thing that ever happened to me. I know you don't get that. I really—" Rodney paused and took a small breath. "I really wish you did. But, you don't, so… so you can go now."

"Meredith."

"Please, Mom, just leave."

If he was going to start crying, he would have liked to do that in an empty room. He wasn't going to, but not hearing an absolute denial—that she didn't regret him, that maybe he wasn't a mistake after all—was never going to happen. He'd always known that. But that was different from hearing it.

"I do love you, Meredith. You're my son, and I'm very proud of you."

Rodney didn't say anything, and neither did she. Quietly, Mom gathered her things and went to the door. There was a long pause between her getting there and the door opening, but eventually she did leave. It wasn't fast enough. Rodney sank down into the couch, took a deep breath, and stared at the wall.

To his surprise, he didn't feel much of anything. A lot of the anger and resentment and grief for a life he didn't know he wanted went with her. Not all of it, but some. Probably because he already had some of the life he didn't know he wanted. He wished Pippin had a grandparent worth a damn, but lots of kids didn't. He had a good aunt and uncle and a sweet little cousin. It wasn't much, but it was family.

After about five minutes brushing the rest of the unpleasant feeling leftover into an unused corner of his head, he turned out the lights and went up the stairs quietly. He didn't know if Pippin was asleep, but he hoped. It was too much to hope, but he did.

Rodney almost made it to his door at the end of the hallway when he heard Pippin's tenuous tone call from inside his dark room. "Dad?"

Rodney took a few steps back and opened the door to find the lights inside were off. "Yeah?"

Rodney watched the blankets rustle in the dusty light from the street lamp beyond the drawn curtains, and Pippin sat up in bed. "You okay?"

"Yeah, of course." Rodney nodded, even though he wasn't sure he meant it. Judging by the silence and the way he could feel Pippin's eyes on him even if he couldn't quite see… Pippin wasn't sure, either. "Thanks," Rodney added.

The quilt wrung in his hands and Pippin took a deep breath working on what to say. Rodney wasn't in the habit of rushing him or ignoring him, even though the only thing he wanted to do at the moment was go to bed… He didn't know if it would be all that productive, though, so he stepped into the door frame and leaned on it to wait. Hoped he hurried, so Rodney didn't have to think about it too much.

"I think I know how you feel…" Pippin finally whispered.

Rodney didn't doubt he did, at least something like it. One major difference was, of course, that Rodney had perspective, or something like it. So what if his parents blamed him for something that wasn't his fault? So what if they thought he was a mistake? There were plenty of people who would have probably been screwed a dozen times over without him. Even if it was a mistake, it was a good one. An important one.

To say Pippin wasn't an accident or a mistake was just as categorically untrue. It was one of the lies he told for Pippin's benefit. But maybe being a mistake wasn't the worst thing. Because, at least at this point, Rodney was pretty sure it was a mistake he'd make again. He'd do a few things differently, but not that. Because, like Rodney did, Pippin belonged here. And wasn't that the difference? Wasn't it an important one?

But that was who he'd been since before he could really remember. A mistake, and a regret. He missed out on being a technical bastard only by the narrowest margin. Mom might have loved him, in her own way, but he still knew that if she could have, she would have erased Rodney. She'd never make the same mistake twice.

With a sigh, Rodney went to the foot of Pippin's bed and sat down. "I think she means well. She's just really bad at it." At least, he figured he'd come by his abrasive personality honestly.

"Well… maybe she should have tried a little harder to understand about the microwave. That's her fault." Pippin took a deep breath when Rodney looked at him, trying to figure out what in the world he was saying. "Not the microwave's."

Rodney barely remembered a rambling speech to that effect in a hotel room in Toronto, though he never would have expected Pippin to remember it. Something about random readings from a distant corner of the galaxy… He remembered it didn't make much sense. But maybe he'd said the right thing for once.

Pippin recovered from his confusion, probably the same confusion Rodney had that he didn't really know what he was saying, and added, "You're the microwave in this analogy."

Rodney suppressed a chuckle, or maybe it was a sob. He couldn't tell with the tears in his eyes, thankful for the low light level as he held out an arm of invitation in Pippin's direction.

Pippin leaped into the hug, his arms wrapping around Rodney and his face pressed into Rodney's shirt. How Rodney was possibly related to a kid with this predisposition for a more physical mode of displaying affection, he'd never know. It certainly didn't come from him.

On the other hand, there was little better than an eager hug from his kid. Even Rodney could admit that.

"Thanks…" Rodney said, for lack of anything else to say.

"I love you, Dad."

Well, damn. Why bother, at this point? Rodney pressed a kiss onto the top of Pippin's head and hoped Pippin heard the words that got stuck in his throat. The words he desperately wanted to say, even though they both had to be pretty used to them by now. He'd taken the professional advice quite seriously that there was no reason McKays couldn't say it.

Unless, of course, McKays were too choked up to get out any words at all.

Pippin backed off, but didn't seem concerned at the lack of reciprocity. "Want to watch a movie?"

Rodney chuckled. "It's eleven, you have history homework to do, and we're driving to the Grand Canyon in the morning." On the other hand, having things to do in less than eight hours had never really stopped him from late- to all-nights before. Of course, he usually was working then, not watching movies.

"Yeah, but I can do history whenever, and school is boring, anyways."

"So is work, but you don't hear me complaining."

Pippin backed up, and Rodney couldn't help his grin at Pippin's expression screwed up in confusion. "Yes, you do. You complain all the time."

"Alright, so I'm not a very good role model for silent suffering, but at least I'm responsible." But… but, then again, Pippin was right. He didn't really need school as much. He'd been doing just fine on his own. And Rodney knew for sure his mother never would have watched a movie with him in daylight, never mind at midnight.

Rodney heaved a sigh and shoved on Pippin's shoulder playfully. "Do we have popcorn?"

"Yes!" Pippin jumped up from the bed and all but sprinted for the door. "Can we watch Alien?" He didn't wait for an answer as he clattered down the stairs. A moment later, Rodney heard his bare feet slapping on the linoleum.

Rodney dried his eyes on his sleeve, pressed up from the bed, and found his way to the doorway. Pippin was listing off other movies, ones lacking that distinct horror element that Rodney would have foregone for in a film bringing them past midnight… "God, I love you, Pippin," he said, too quietly for anybody to hear.

But maybe he was wrong. Pippin could always hear it.