Chapter 26 – Madeleine
She sees Teyla approach her with a smile plastered on her face that for once looks fake. Too bright, too toothy for Teyla, she reflects. Then she remembers. A soldier is walking cautiously by her side, taking in his surroundings. Carson dropped by yesterday, right before she was to start her preparations for the evening meal.
He does it a couple of times a week and likes it that she knows exactly what to offer him for tea. She always sets his table in a corner and chats with him as she and the preps start chopping and dicing. She knows he doesn't like to wait until later to have dinner. Dinner is not for him. Tea is more like it. She doesn't mind. His mother gave her enough recipes to last a lifetime and it's nice for a change to cook for one. Buckley is not there yet so it's kind of like the mouse is out to play. None of the cooks from his staff have ratted on her yet thankfully. They don't seem to care one way or another anyway. As long as she doesn't increase their workload, they're pretty blind to who she invites in the kitchen.
Usually, when Carson comes, he tries to put his worries away and only talk about lighter things. Yesterday, though, he seemed to be under a lot of strain. He's worked a lot lately. So much so she's thankful he still comes to have tea at all.
He's told her they're having a bit of a problem with one of the new soldiers on base. When he tells her his name, it doesn't register. "Sorry, no, but then there are so many new people around here... I'm pretty good with faces, not names," she apologizes.
"It's OK, love. Anyway, he's lost his memory in one of our missions against the Wraith..."
She shakes her head as she continues dicing the onions and bell peppers for tonight's taco salad. "Didn't even know we had one of those in the recent weeks... Must be spending too much time in the kitchen."
One of the preps sniggers: "Guess we all do. Didn't know that either," he says to the other prep next to him.
She rolls her eyes. "Ain't you ever been told by your mama it's impolite to eavesdrop on a conversation, lest butt in?" she chides him. She's having trouble with the preps these days. Even though she's the one who's mostly trained them, they got the hang of it very fast – she's not the boss here so time and again, they defy her authority or just slack off a bit. Nothing serious but it's really getting annoying. For someone who was used to being listened to and obeyed, their attitude is really trying her patience.
"So..." she turns to Carson, raising her eyebrows expectantly. "When do I meet him?"
He chuckles. "You're pretty insightful, you know. Actually, I discussed this with Dr Heightmeyer. She thinks if he can reconnect to things we all take for granted – like food – it would probably do him good."
"Want me to what? Give him cooking lessons?" she teases him.
He looks taken aback a bit. "Oh, no. Nothing of the sort. Right now, he's just going to go around base with an escort – someone from the team and a couple of marines, I'm afraid, as we don't know yet if he could be a threat to himself or others – and see if anything looks familiar. We just want you to make him eh, let's say, rediscover the pleasure of having a hearty meal." He looks sheepish as if he were hiding something but she can't put her finger to it.
"All right then. What's his name?"
"Kenmore. Lieutenant Michael Kenmore," he says, wincing.
"Is there something I should know?" Louise asks, seeing how uncomfortable her normally good-natured friend looks today.
"No. Just – you know – do what you normally do. Work your magic trick – find what he likes. If he feels happy around normal food, we'll consider the next step," he answers, standing, obviously not wanting to say too much.
"OK... I don't know what normal means but I'll do my best." Something is definitely off.
Teyla introduces him to her. He extends his hand cautiously, looking lost here. Some people are looking their way, but most ignore them. "Hi," she greets him with a smile. "I've been told you've suffered memory loss. I'm sorry about that. I know it can be difficult to adjust to an unknown environment. I can't do much for you but anything you'd like to have, I can cook it for you. I mean," she adds with a laugh, "as long as I've got it in store." She sees Teyla cringe. Teyla hardly ever cringes. What the hell is going on?
He thanks her, embarassed by the attention, but is at a loss when it comes to quoting his favorite dish. He doesn't even know if he prefers spicy or sweet, main courses or desserts. He shakes his head as she tries to bring up memories, quoting staples and children's favorites.
Seeing they won't get anywhere that way, she offers him a seat and goes to the buffet to sample a few dishes then sets them in front of him. He looks equally at a loss when being handed cutlery. She shakes her head in dismay and shows him how to use it, cutting his meat for him. She's gone for simple with a turkey breast in curry sauce and wild rice they've traded for. He hums in pleasure at the first taste then finishing his meal in no time.
"You're a quick learner. That's good," she remarks with a smile. Apparently he has a sweet tooth too. He asks for seconds, making her laugh. She motions for him to go and get his second white chocolate mousse himself. "At least, he hasn't lost his taste buds, which is a good thing. It will keep him from feeling despondent," she tells Teyla who agrees. "You know, I'm really sorry for him. If Dr Beckett doesn't mind, I could maybe invite him to come to the kitchen during my break and make him discover new tastes. That might ring a bell at some point," she offers.
Teyla nods and tells her she'll keep her informed as Michael returns to the table, grinning. Obviously food seems to be something he can connect to.
It takes a little while before he returns to see her. There's that whole hushed, secrecy thing around him that bothers her, especially when she talks to John and Rodney about it and they elude her questions. She's learnt that Ronon has attacked him and bawls him out the next time she sees him in the mess hall.
"You know nothing about that, Ms Léger, so mind your own business," he barks at her, earning himself a warning glance from John.
"I might not, seeing as everyone is trying very hard to keep things from me," she retorts curtly, her eyes like daggers, "but I do know one thing though. When you came here first, you were a stranger, lost in a new environment, and I welcomed you. How come he's not entitled to the same compassion from you? You of all people should know how it feels!"
He growls then prefers to leave. Fighting with Louise will achieve nothing. "Talk to her," he tells Sheppard, raising a menacing finger at him. "This has gone on for too long!"
She puts her hands on her hips and glares at John. "Talk to me about what?!" but he too makes a hasty retreat.
She goes to see Michael at his quarters when her shift ends. He's still not allowed to leave as he wants and she doesn't get permission from Elizabeth to enter his room, only talk to him at the door. She's come with a piece of chocolate cake with custard cream. Seeing as he liked the mousse, she guesses he's soon going to be addicted to anything chocolatey. Probably used to be before his accident, she tells him. He eats his dessert standing in the doorway and talks to her. Well, actually, it's more like he eats and she talks but it's a start.
"Well, I got to go," she says when she sees he's finished his plate.
"Must you?" he asks against all odds, tilting his head to the side, regarding her curiously.
"Why? Haven't you had enough of my insufferable twittering?" she banters, knowing how chatty she can get sometimes when she feels uneasy. She's tried to connect but nothing she's said seemed to trigger anything in him. His expression is blank as is probably his memory – a white page to be written on.
He finally gives her a tentative smile. "Everyone wants to know how I'm doing – all the time. It's pretty annoying. You're quite... refreshing."
She laughs out loud. "You're the first to tell me that about my tendency to talk too much! You're a keeper!" She sobers up. "Listen, I have to go but I'll get permission to come and see you again. Maybe accompany you on a walk around the City, I don't know. But I need to ask Dr Weir or Colonel Sheppard. They're in charge here."
"You know them well, don't you?" he asks, following her facial expressions.
She smiles. "Ah, well, Dr Weir, yes, a little. And Colonel Sheppard is my friend."
He looks pensive. "You seem to like him a lot. You mentioned him several times."
She grins. "So you were listening..."
He nods. She's seen that expression – subdued, thoughtful – in the Jaffa guy she's met at the SGC a couple of times. It's different from anything she's used to but in a sense it's – how does he put it? - refreshing!
She's finally gotten permission to have him tour the kitchen and storage area one night with John, Teyla and a couple of marines by their side. She doesn't understand why they still feel the need to monitor him so closely. She's taken a liking to him. Not that he's very outgoing but he's polite and always curious to learn new things, taste everything she picks for him and listen to her.
She's lent him a couple of books he's read in no time. She can't believe he hasn't read any of the classics she quotes for him. But one thing is for sure – he's a quick learner. He likes to discuss the books she lends him and is keenly interested in human relations.
She discusses it with Beckett, telling him how worried she is for him. "He's like a newborn, Carson. Not that we have to show him everything but it's like he's never encountered these things before. I'm no shrink but wouldn't it be wiser to send him back to his parents, see if something triggers a memory there?"
Carson looks away, embarassed. "Eh, love, I don't think this would be very wise. We still have to assess how he fares around people."
She huffs. "God, Carson, he's doing great! I don't see why you have to keep him cooped up all the time. It's not healthy. He feels like a prisoner, not a patient!"
"He told you that?" He looks surprised. Michael doesn't share his feelings that much with any of them, with the exception of Teyla, but that was before Ronon yelled at him for hitting her too hard during their sparring session.
"Not in so many words. Oh, come on, he's obviously lost and none of you seem to show genuine interest in him – except for him being a sort of lab rat for you and Dr Heightmeyer. He needs to connect, have friends... Am I the only one who is willing to spend time with him? I mean, why don't you ask the guys he came with to come and see him. I don't mind taking care of him but, really, I mean, if he spends too much time around me, he'll never get his memory back." She sighs seeing Carson is not ready to do anything about it.
"Love, I think you're doing very good with him. Right now, he might not need to remember the traumatic experience he's gone through. Right now, what he needs is to feel he belongs and he does with you, as it appears, so keep up the good work," he praises her before making a quick exit to head for a reunion he has with Elizabeth, he says.
She breathes out in exasperation. They're all very freakishly weird these days, ever since that new guy appeared on her doorstep actually. Come to think of it, it started a little earlier – late meetings to which she'd not been invited, hushed conversations in the mess hall, John looking distracted, Rodney not caring when it's her day-off and Buckley has to take over. Weird, definitely.
She sees him approach the kitchen after breakfast. It's quite late and most people have deserted the mess hall. Her prep cooks and herself are ready to leave for their well-earned mid-morning free time. One of them sniggers. "Hey, chef, your sweetheart is back!"
She rolls her eyes and lifts a menacing finger at him. "Get the hell out of here, Private, before I ground you on diswashing duty for the rest of the week."
"Can she do that?" he whispers to the guy next to him. The other one gives him a look. She's known for being kind but also tough if you get on her wrong side.
She smiles at Michael as he enters, a marine on each side. She sighs. "Come on, you guys. You know he's not going to do me any harm! Why don't you two help yourselves to a cup of coffee and a couple of muffins and then wait for him in the mess hall?" she offers.
They eye the tray of leftover apple cinnamon muffins still sitting on the island top. Their crust is glittering in the morning light from the brown sugar she's sprinkled on top before baking them. One of them shakes his head though he looks disappointed. "No, Ma'am, can't do. We're on duty."
"Well, then, can you at least give us some space?"
"It's OK, Ms Léger, I understand their concern. We can just sit here and they'll just stand near the doors," Michael reasons, looking sad. The constant surveillance is taking its toll on him. He too suspects something is definitely wrong but he still thinks he needs to play by the rules and show them he can be trusted around civilians.
The two marines settle at the door but do not relax their stance. She pouts. Trying to ignore them is becoming a hassle. "All right, Michael. Since you're here, would you like to help me prepare a little something?"
He looks up, brightening. "You mean like cooking with you?"
"Well, yeah, why not? You seem at a loss for activities and I know nothing better than cooking to make one forget their worries. Shall we?" She hands him an apron and dons hers.
"What shall we do? I have to tell you I don't remember ever cooking. I could watch you though..."
"Oh, no, that won't do. We need to keep your hands busy. You mentioned reading about those French butter cookies in one of my books. You were curious to learn what they are. Let's find out if you like them." She smiles at him and tells him what to get from the pantry and fridge – eggs, sugar, flour, salt, butter and a lemon. "See, easy peasy. Simple ingredients. I don't use vanilla extract because I don't find it natural but we'll use vanilla-flavored sugar instead," she says, grabbing a jam jar. She shows him the vanilla pods that are naturally flavoring the sugar. "When we're done, we'll just put some more in there for future use, OK?"
She shows him how to get the zest from the lemon. "Don't tell Dr McKay I put some in those," she tells him conspiratorially. "He eats them all the time and never gets sick. He's such a baby sometimes!"
"But as I gather you usually humor him. You seem to be pretty thoughtful with him though he's not always with you. Is that a personality trait or is it just because it's your job?" he asks as she shows him how to measure the dry ingredients.
She chuckles. "A little bit of both. I'm really fond of Dr McKay actually – shortcomings and all. You just need to take time to know him."
"I wouldn't mind but he doesn't seem to be interested in knowing me," he points out. It's funny, she reflects, how matter-of-fact he is about everything around him, taking things as they come, evaluating situations but not judging most of the time.
"Ah ah, do I hear some underlying sarcasm here, Lieutenant Kenmore?" she teases him.
He turns to her, still holding the measuring cup. He looks nonplussed. "You mentioned this the other day but I still don't grasp the meaning of it."
She shakes her head and smiles. "I guess not. You were just stating a fact. If you had meant that as an unpleasant remark to make fun of Dr McKay's inability to connect to most people, that would have been sarcasm."
He shakes his head too, looking thoughtful. "I guess it's going to take me a little more time to adjust to these subtleties."
"Ah, don't worry. You're not the only one to think human relations are a bitch," she says, thinking of Rodney but also John. "So anyway, madeleines it is," she says, pointing at one of the food processors. "You're allowed to use one of these."
He smiles at her, curious to see how it works. He looks very serious, too serious actually, as he pours the different ingredients in the bowl. On the spur of the moment she acts, not thinking, and throws a pinch of flour at him that hits him on the side of his face. He looks down at her not knowing what to do about it. She elaborates. "Some people find that amusing – to throw food at each other..." She sees his look of amazement and shakes her head. "Forget about it. It was just plain stupid. You're a grown up and..." She never finishes her sentence. She looks with amazement at the handful of flour that's just hit her straight on her chest.
He tilts his head and narrows his eyes. "You said it was fun..." he deadpans.
She snorts and is ready to retaliate when she hears John bark behind her. "What the hell is going on here?" She cringes. John is in a foul mood these days.
"Nuthing," she answers innocently as she turns to him with a toothy smile. "Nothing illegal, at least."
He doesn't like it at all when she goofs around. It happens more these days and don't get him wrong, he's happy she's happy but boy, is she annoying when she tries to wriggle out of it.
He ignores her and orders the two marines to get Michael to his quarters.
She glares at him, hands on her hips. "We're not finished here, FYI, Mister! He'll get back when we've finished baking the cookies. Period."
He glares back and walks to her nonchalantly but the glare belies his gait. "He will get back to his quarters when I say so, sweetie." He motions for the marines to get going, his gaze still intend on her, but she refuses to lose the staring match.
"Michael, I'm sorry," she says, not daring to look away, still hoping foolishly John will relent.
"It's perfectly fine, Ms Léger. Don't worry about me. Thank you for your company." His voice is strained though he still manages to remain civil and cool.
They leave and she is still refusing to budge, too pissed to admit she's lost that one.
"What was that all about?" she hisses when they're not within hearing distance anymore.
He combs his hands through his hair and huffs. "We need to talk." It's short enough that she knows there is something terribly wrong he's not told her.
"OK..." she drawls, folding her arms on her chest. "What gives?"
"Can we sit?" He usually knows how to talk to her but this is going to be difficult. She doesn't budge. He breathes out in frustration. "It's complicated..."
She raises her eyebrows expectantly and waits.
"How dare you do that to me, Mister "I need to know if you're hiding something from me"?" she yells at him after remaining exceptionally quiet during his whole explanation. He knew it didn't bode well to see her so collected. "You jerk! You let me befriend a freakin' Wraith? What were you thinking?" Before he has time to reply, she flies into a rage again. "And how dare you all do that – experiment on people without their consent? Do you realize how immoral that is?"
He snorts. "As for the idea of suggesting you spend time with him, I do agree it's certainly not my best move..." He sees her stare him down, her arms still folded on her chest in a defensive stance. "But for my defense, it was a collective decision, ya' know."
She gives him a disdainful smile. "Except for me, Colonel!"
He throws his hands up, aggravated. "Stop calling me that when you're not happy with what I did! I feel like I'm still ten and my father is giving me a dressing down for preferring skateboarding to polo!"
She sniggers. "Poor pretty, rich boy!" He glares at her. She has to admit, she's being a bitch but he deserves it for hiding the truth from her. "Point is, John, you said it yourself – we're supposed to trust each other because we're friends. And after all we've been through, you still lie to me when it's more convenient?! Bad choice, really, really bad choice!" She heads for the door then on second thoughts, turns back to him. "How am I supposed to "unlike" him now, John? This whole situation is going to give me nightmares, for sure. And I'm not even talking about how wrong all this is for all of us!" She glares at him one last time and stomps to the door, leaving the kitchen counter in a mess for probably the first time ever.
He comes by around midnight. She's already settled in bed but can't sleep.
She's pondering returning to the kitchen to make those madeleine cookies after all. They always warm her heart with fond memories of her aunt who had showed her how to make those. They were a staple at family reunions and a great source of fun for kids as they grew up when they realized she had the same name as the cookies she baked. She pictures the shell-like molds and smiles at the surprise she could prepare for Michael – wishing they could, like in Proust's book, trigger a fond memory of times gone by. She pouts. But of course, they can't. She'd hoped food would help him remember. That's why she'd told him about the cookies. Now she knows his memory as a human is just an empty shell. Food doesn't mean anything to him because he's simply never tasted it before.
John passes his hand over the sensor, making her know he's there, disrupting her wandering thoughts. She's a hundred percent certain it's him and doesn't even care to ask before letting him in. He, like herself, cannot sleep when something remains unsettled between them – not now, not after all the efforts they've made to connect. Her grandmother used to say "never get to bed angry or you might never get a chance to undo the things you've said or done". She told him once. He agreed and finally told her about his father and how they haven't talked to each other in years.
He pouts, not knowing where to start. Telling the truth and apologizing seems like a good start. "I'm sorry," he simply says. No puppy looks but she sees he really is sorry.
She sighs. "Apologies accepted. Go to bed, John. It's late and I'm tired too." No one is watching so he can drop the mask and show her how tired and worried he is.
He shrugs. "If that's what you want."
"Well, no. I mean, yeah. I'm definitely tired but if you wanna talk..." She doesn't know what to tell him that won't start another fight because she still doesn't understand what went through their thick heads to come up with such a screwed up plan. Now is not the time or place to voice out her protests.
He closes the distance between them. "Actually, I was more like going for a quiet moment together. No complains, no bickering, just two friends watching a movie together maybe..." he offers, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
She smiles. At least they're in synch on that. "Do I get to choose the movie?" she barters.
"Sure, as long as it's not a chick flick."
She snorts. "You wish! No war movie though." He nods, letting her win that one. "Capra?" she suggests and is rewarded with his trademark grin.
"That's my girl!" he says as the door closes behind him.
He leaves when she's fallen asleep on his shoulder for the second time and he's tucked her in, not bothering to wake her up, hoping she won't have another nightmare like the one that's just woken her up screaming in his arms. It's the first time he witnesses it. She never really talks about why she's so tired sometimes but now he can imagine why.
As he leaves the room he has an uncanny feeling and looks up and down the corridor but sees nothing, no one. Everything is quiet at that time of night, except for the ghosts that haunt his friend's dreams. Those, he realizes, are hard to ignore.
TBC
Extract from Louise's Cookbook
This White Chocolate Mousse was the first dessert Michael ever tested and he asked for seconds.
For two people you need:
2 ounces high-quality white chocolate, chopped
one large egg
1 tsp vanilla-flavored sugar
1/3 cup heavy cream
Melt the chocolate and whisk in the egg yolk then let stand until tepid.
Whisk the egg white with a pinch of salt until stiff.
Whip the heavy cream with the sugar until stiff.
Fold in the whipped cream in the chocolate preparation then add the whites.
Leave at least three hours in the fridge.
You can add raspeberries and white chocolat curls on top or a mint leaf for decoration.