Chapter Text
Madeline did not try to call Marc again after her attempt to contact him through Layla. She gave up on her routine of coming out every evening and withdrew into herself. There would still be some occasions of her being pushed forward when Marc was a wreck and she still helped him when that happened - of course she did - but other than that, she left him alone. Like he apparently wanted her to.
Madeline lost all sense of time. The files that kept appearing in her apartment became her only indicator that Marc was even still alive. Steven called her again a few times and she was always happy to hear from him. But the stories he told her sounded more and more redacted, like he didn't truly want to tell her what troubled him. And she didn't dare ask what date it was, what year.
Madeline grew increasingly hopeless. At her worst she would sometimes find herself in front, sobbing, and Layla would be there to shush her and ask her what was wrong and Madeline would flinch and withdraw and hope she hadn't caused trouble for her son.
And then, one day, Steven started calling her again. Really calling her, every day, for days and weeks. It started as usual, with him being lost and her helping him to figure out how he got there. She used to be better at this when she still kept track of where Marc was staying, but now, she was just as helpless as him. Between her, him, and the contents of his pockets though, they found their way back to Marc's last crash site, where he kept some cash and - thank God - a passport under Steven's name.
She had little hope initially that it would last. She couldn't count how many times she'd made plans with Steven to get a job only for him to be gone the next day. But this time he actually did call her back to brag about how he'd gotten a job as a museum tour guide. Money was tight, especially if you lived in the middle of London. But Madeline had shelves upon shelves of monetary information on Marc and every single one of his little cache cases. Considering how much he earned on an average job without ever really using any of it, she only felt a little guilty when she set up a rental agreement for Steven using Marc's money. Steven, who of course thought the money was from her, swore he'd pay her back once he was fully standing on his own two feet. Madeline told him not to worry about it.
A week passed with Steven calling her every day and Madeline, carefully hopeful, settled in with him properly. She started up her routine again, taking over in the evenings to do her chores. The more time passed and the longer Steven stayed, the more Madeline caught flashes of his life again. Vague, fuzzy impressions of where he was, what he did while she was dozing on the couch in her living room. It filled her with such hope and joy, that she could be at her son’s side again. She'd write him letters and postcards, hoping to reestablish some of that deeper bond she used to have with him, to learn more than just the redacted version he told her over phone. It worked, sort of. She found crumbled up paper in his bin, attempts at a reply to her letters. In it, he spoke of a deep seated fear of his own mind, of the huge memory gaps he had and how disjointed his life felt. He spoke of being lonely, of having nobody but her to talk to, and of being so afraid to disappoint or be a burden to her. He spoke of his declining sense of self-worth, how he was actually just a gift-shopist, not a tour guide and how he didn’t get along with his boss. He told her how he sometimes felt like he was just watching his own body instead of steering it and she felt so guilty when he named cooking dinner as an example of such an experience. Apparently, she was not the only one who had fuzzy memory overlap.
It was that negativity and the fear of being the cause of it more than anything that made Madeline decide she had to tell him about Marc – and about her own true nature.
It was a big moment, one she had worked toward and dreaded equally for decades. She’d thought many times how she would do it. How she would even make him believe her. In the end, there was only one way. One very obvious way.
Madeline sat on her couch in her living room, one evening after Steven was done with work and was settling down for a quiet evening of reading. The telephone was next to her, representing her most reliable line to him. And there, in front of her on the table, was a small leather-bound blue book.
It was the diary that Steven had kept as a child, or rather the copy of it she’d kept safe for him for all these years.
Taking a deep breath, Madeline raised the earpiece of the telephone to her ear and waited for Steven to respond to her mental nudging. He greeted her in his usual, carefree manner that was half pretend. She greeted him back and they went through the usual how are you’s and Steven told her a bit of his day. Madeline listened closely because she wanted to make sure she wouldn’t give him anything more to deal with when he’d had a bad day. He talked about a new exhibition at the museum, an Egyptian one he really liked and how they got the number of gods wrong on the poster. Everything was normal.
“Steven, darling, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” she said softly.
“You sound serious,” Steven noted immediately, his brow creasing in worry. “Is everything alright? Are you alright? Is Dad alright?”
“Oh, I’m just fine. Your Dad – let’s not talk about him, this isn’t about that,” she brushed his question away. “It’s about… well… Do you remember, when you were little you often felt like you were sometimes acting like a different person?” she asked him. She opened the little blue book, holding all of their secret letters to each other. Slowly she turned the pages, from the youngest to the oldest entry.
“I... I think so, sure, yeah,” Steven replied. “What about it?”
“Do you still remember what you were called then?” she continued quietly, stopping at a page close to the beginning. “You had a name, a name everyone called you... And then you had a secret name. At first only I called you by it, then your friends, then your teachers. But at home, you were mostly called the other name. Do you remember what that name was?”
I… I don’t…” Steven fell silent, staring at the ceiling for a long moment.
“You wrote about it in your diary,” she said softly. “You wrote to me in your diary, do you remember? I still have that book with me. I have it right now, you didn’t take it with you when you moved out. You used to take it with you anywhere. Remember, you started writing because you thought it would be interesting to look back on it later, when you were all grown up.
“Well, you’re grown up now, my darling. I think maybe it’s time we look back together.”
Madeline started to read to him... a diary entry. It was from 2006, when Steven had only been eleven years old. In the entry he spoke of a different name and how he hated the name – how he’d much rather be called Steven Grant. But that made no sense. Steven couldn’t have written that, because his name was Steven Grant, it had been given to him by his mother, not... except Steven did remember writing that. The further his Mum read, the more the memory started to return.
“Do you… Do you remember now?” she asked, pausing in her reading. “Do you remember your other name?”
“Marc…” Steven whispered, clutching the phone tightly.
“That's right,” Madeline said gently. “Marc Spector.”
“But that's not me,” Steven said immediately.
“No, that's not you,” she confirmed. “But you and Marc... You're like two sides of the same coin, I think. All those memory gaps, all those strange decisions, like joining the military? I think Marc did that. Whenever you lose time, when you're not... you. He's there.”
“But that's like... What?” Steven rubbed his forehead furiously. “That doesn't make any sense. Marc's just a made up name. A stupid nickname. I... I'm real.” He jumped to his feet, rummaging in his bag for his wallet, sighing in relief when he found what he was looking for. “See, it says Steven Grant on my ID. That's my name, it always was.”
“Steven,” she said gently, swallowing her tears, “you know my name, don't you?”
“Or course. Madeline Ulena Magison,” he said immediately.
“That's right. And do you know why we don't have the same last name, even though you're my son?” she asked.
“I...” Steven broke off, then chuckled nervously. “Heh, I never really thought about that. Did you and Dad both keep your last names after you got married?”
“What's your father's name?” she pressed on.
Steven's hands holding the phone became sweaty. “Elias...” he said slowly.
“Elias...?” she coaxed him.
Steven closed his eyes with a pained grimace. “Elias Spector,” he whispered.
XxX
14. September 2006
Dear Diary.
I'm so confused, I don't know what happened. Today was terrible.
It already started bad when I woke up and I felt really sick. Everything ached like from a bad cold and I was so tired. I wanted to stay at home but there was this important math test so I went to school anyway. I slept in so I couldn't have breakfast and I was tired and hungry when I arrived at school. First period was English, except it was not, there was a different class in the room and I checked my phone and it was Thursday. Not Tuesday. I had all the wrong books and I haven't memorized my schedule and it took me ages to find my planner and I was late for first period. Which was math. And we got the test back, I don't even remember taking it and I got a D on it and it really pulls down my average! I don't know what happened, diary. Why is it Thursday? I don't remember the last two days at all.
It's not the first time this has happened either. I've always had memory problems, I'm taking extra vitamins against it and everything. I asked Mr. Corbitt if I could repeat the test because I'm obviously coming down with some sort of sickness. He said no. Because that's also not the first time this happened, that I failed something at school and couldn't remember how or why.
Why does this keep happening to me? Am I sick, like Mum? I wanted to go to her, tell her, I just want to tell someone. I went to see her, I know I did. But then it was like... Like there was this thick glass plate between us. I could not see well and I felt like a fish in an aquarium, banging my fists against the glass, begging for her to hear me. But she didn't. And I turned around and went back to my room. I couldn't tell her. Why can't I tell her? I just want her to hold me. Why does she never hold me?
XxX
“I am so sorry, my darling,” Madeline whispered. “The... The people that lived in that house, they weren't good parents. They didn't take proper care of you. So I did instead. I'm your Mum and I love you very much. I don't know why or how this happened. Maybe we were mother and son in a previous life and for some reason I was allowed to keep watch over you in the next one? I... I couldn't do much since I don't... I don't have a body of my own. Mostly I could just listen to you and comfort you. I-”
But Steven had thrown the phone away, staring at it lying on his bed as if it was a poisonous snake.
“Steven? Please, I love you so much. I just want you to be happy,” Madeline said, tears welling up in her eyes again.
“Y-You’re not real,” Steven stuttered. “You're... My Mum's not real.”
“I am real,” Madeline cried. “Please don't shut me out, Steven, not like Marc did. I just want to help you. I made mistakes, I know I did. I should've told you sooner but you never stayed for long.”
“My Mum's not real,” Steven repeated, baffled more than anything as he stared at the phone. “Madeline - oh my days. Madeline Ulena Magison. M. U. M. Did I... Did I make you up?!”
“Of course not, darling,” Madeline replied, wishing so much she could hug him. “I gave my own secret name to myself, just like you did.”
Steven's eyes widened. “Was I made up?”
“Nobody is made up,” Madeline said strongly. “You... You and Marc, you just... happen to share a body.”
“With you,” Steven said hollowly. “You're in here too, that's what you're saying, isn't it?”
“I... I mean, yes, technically, but... I don't really live in your life like that,” Madeline tried to explain. “I sometimes borrow the body to do some cooking when you're not eating well or do some chores... But mostly I'm just inside... Waiting for you to call me.”
Steven drew his hand through his hair, looking frazzled. “You always preferred talking over the phone... Or in... Oh my days. My diary. Our letters. I never... I never really did show it to my real Mum, did I? That was always... That was always you?”
“That was always me”, she confirmed quietly.
She read him another entry then, dated just one day later. Steven’s first time addressing his mum in his diary and asking her why she didn’t do any of the things other mums did. All the things that his Mum had always done for him – but only, Steven realized, after he started writing to her.
“You’re in my head right now, you… What you read to me, you…” Steven stammered.
“You were getting so confused, darling. It was bothering you so much, to be treated like Marc, to be blamed or praised for things he did – you wanted to be your own person. Away from him. I thought… If I kept these memories locked away… you would be happier. And you were,” Madeline admitted quietly. “But now you’ve grown up. Marc has grown up. And you have to know.”
“You were there…. The whole time? In my head?” Steven asked weakly. “You and… This Marc person, he's... He's been stealing all this time from me?” he asked. “I remember…. Oh my days, it’s all coming back to me. I… I was lonely, I… I know you, I remember how… How much I loved writing to you but… Who the bloody hell is this Marc guy?”
Madeline hesitated. “Marc is... I don't know, Steven. Marc won't talk to me like you do. I think... No, I know he hates me. I didn't really realize that you were two until after you two left the military. I think because of that, he might think that I favor you or love him less or something. I tried to make it up to him but... He's a grown man. He doesn't need his Mum as much anymore and he... He's made it very clear he wants nothing to do with me.”
“What?” Steven chucked nervously. “This Marc is a plonker, isn’t he? You sure he meant you and not our real mum who was apparently so rubbish I had to make up a new one?”
Madeline gaped at the phone. Could that be it...?
“Mum?” Steven asked anxiously and picked the phone back up, holding it to his ear.
“Oh, I am so dense.” Madeline groaned.
Steven chuckled again a bit. “So our real mum-”
“Biological gene provider,” Madeline spat bitterly.
“Fine, so our gene provider was rubbish, which you knew. You never talked to Marc as a kid. When you did talk to him as an adult you told him you were his Mum. But because he didn't know you from before like I did, he naturally assumed you were his gene provider and wanted nothing to do with you. Sound about right?” Steven asked.
Madeline groaned and buried her head in her hands. “I am so stupid.”
“Not any more stupid than I am for not realizing that someone else has been living my life... Or that I'm talking to a phone that's not connecting to any number,” Steven said quietly.
“I'm sorry, I didn't know what to do,” she confessed. “I don't know how this works, with you two, when it's you and when it's Marc or for how long. It was mostly you when you were younger, I think, or at least you were there almost every day because you'd call me or write to me. But then Marc left home and you were barely there at all. I think Marc knows you exist, or at least he knows that he sometimes acts like you and calls himself your name? I tried asking him once to check on you, when you didn't show for years and he shouted at me, said the most awful things... But you're right of course, I never build the same connection with him as I did with you. It's possible, probable even that he didn't realize I wasn't his gene provider.”
“What's he like? This Marc bloke?” Steven asked.
That was a hard question. “Considering I never talked to him in person... All I know about him are things I’ve gathered over the years that slipped through,” she mused. “After leaving the military, he started to work odd jobs as a mercenary, Robin Hood style, tracking down bad guys or helping good people. I don't know if he's still doing that, it's been years since I last... Since I last saw so much as a date. He had a friend once, a Frenchman called Jean-Paul, who said Marc was good at forging identities and that he would sometimes get lost in them. Jean-Paul knew your name too, that's why I think Marc might’ve known and told him about you. Marc had a girlfriend once too. They lived together for a while.” She told him everything else she knew like how Marc was not vegetarian, his accent was different, what clothes and food he liked. There wasn't much she could say about him as a person though. The truth was that even after ten years, she still didn't truly know Marc. She would like to get to know him better, but he'd never given her any indication that he wanted that.
“I don't really like the sound of that,” Steven said worried. “A mercenary? That sounds dangerous.”
Madeline groaned. “Oh, I know, believe me I'd have preferred he do something less dangerous too! I know he's ultimately helping people, bit like a firefighter but I'm still so afraid he'll get burned. He's left the most horrible scars behind... They all healed over, thankfully but still, I wish he were more careful. Maybe you can talk some sense into him?” she plead.
“Wha- why would he listen to me?!” Steven exclaimed. “A mercenary who ran away with my life... What am I supposed to do there?”
“I don't know darling but I'm pretty sure you two are supposed to work together and get along,” Madeline said. “We're a family! What if he's only been acting out this whole time because we have been ignoring him, hm? I worry he'll destroy your liver drinking too much alcohol or get shot on a mission or even worse, what if he knocks up some random girl and you have to pay for child support all your life?! Not like I don't want to be a grandma some day, but I would at least like to get introduced, you know? It's rather obvious you're the responsible one out of the two of you so please, won't you look after him? For me, and for yourself? He won’t talk to me. I tried calling him and writing him letters but now I think he thinks I’m his gene provider stalking him or something!”
Steven stared at the phone in his hand a bit helplessly. Since when was knocking someone up worse than getting shot...? It was kinda scary to think about all the ways this other person could mess up and use Steven's body. But Marc sounded like a scary bloke and Steven was not sure he was the right person to set any boundaries with him. Especially if Marc was the original owner of this body and Steven was just... made up? But then again, Mum was apparently made up too, made up by him no less, and yet she was very, very real. Steven couldn't even imagine having any other Mum. There was a little stab of jealously, of fear, that maybe she'd prefer this other person living in his body over him. Sure, Marc had refused to talk to her thus far, but only because he didn't realize what an amazing person she was. Would Mum prefer some Robin Hood style action hero as a son over the one she'd raised herself? She wouldn't, would she? Steven had made her up to be his Mum, she was his idea, so she ought to be his Mum first.
Which kinda begged the question... If Steven had made up Mum to care for him and love him, who had made up Steven? Was it Marc? Was there someone else? Mum didn't mention anyone else, so it must've been Marc. But why would someone who sounded as tough and fearless as Marc make up someone like Steven? It wasn't even like Steven was an imaginary friend because he'd never even met Marc. He supposed he must've been better at school than Marc, judging from the failed tests he'd gotten back as a child that he couldn't remember taking. Was that all? Had Steven just been created as a study aid and then been send into hibernation or something when Marc had decided not to pursue any sort of scholarly career? The thought angered Steven. Marc was being reckless with the body, he caused grief to Mum and he stole years of Steven's life. Made up or not, that was not okay. Steven would never push his Mum away like that. It might be a bit weird to think he shared a body with her but that was simply a matter of setting boundaries. It wasn't that different from caring for an elderly family member that lived with you. You gave up some of your privacy and your time to make sure they were taken care of just like they took care of you. That was what a good son did and Steven was a good son. Unlike Marc, it sounded like.
“Fine, I'll talk to Marc,” Steven decided. “Err, as soon as I figure out how.”
“You could try writing him letters,” Madeline suggested. “Maybe he'll read them when they're from you.”
“Can't I... call him like you do me?” he wanted to know.
Madeline thought about that. “I'm not sure, darling. I'm...” She looked around the kitchenette helplessly. “I'm not too sure where I am right now, when I'm talking to you? It just looks like home to me and I'm using a real phone and everything. I've tried to go outside once or twice but it's just this white, empty landscape beyond. I can't even see you from here, I can just hear your voice. You don't go to a place like this when Marc takes over, do you?”
“No,” Steven admitted but his heart was beating louder. “But maybe I could come to you? And then I could use your phone to call Marc?”
How amazing would that be? He'd never have to worry about travel time or flight tickets again. If he wanted to visit his Mum, he'd just close his eyes and... be with her? Yes... He could almost imagine it. The more he thought about it, the more Steven remembered. Writing in his diary late in the evening. Talking on the phone on the way back from school only to hide it and duck his head when he came home. He must not mention their secret talks to Mum in person, that was just between the two of them. But oh, how often had he wished he could give up the pretense and just hug his Mum and be held by her. Steven... A single tear fell from his cheek. Steven didn't think he remembered a single instance of hugging his Mum. In that moment, there was nothing he wanted more in the world.
“Hi Mum.”
Madeline shrieked and dropped her phone, whirling around to see her son standing behind her. Steven gave her a watery smile and she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.
“My Steven...” she breathed out. Then she held her arms out to him hesitantly and Steven rushed forward. With a grin he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her in a tight hug as if making up for twenty long years. Mother and son just held each other for a while like that. Madeline might be crying a little while Steven was just smiling happily.
“You look different,” Steven whispered when he eventually let go of her, pushing her away slightly to get a good look. He remembered what his mother... No, his gene provider had looked like and his father too. Funny that, he couldn't remember the gene provider’s name. He faintly remembered that his relationship to ‘her’ had suddenly improved once he found the ‘trick’ of communicating via his diary. Before that she had been cold, distant, always ignoring him, always pushing him away... Now it all made sense.
His Mum's hair was darker than the gene provider’s, more like Steven's and it was cut in a bob, the locks barely curling around her ears. She had the brightest, blue eyes he'd ever seen and her face was a bit chubby. There were wrinkles in her face and a few white hairs around her temple. She was wearing a long, blue dress and Steven couldn't help but chuckle.
“What's so funny?” his Mum asked him.
“If your hair grows a bit whiter, you could pass for the fairy godmother in Cinderella,” Steven said with a soft smile.
“Oi, I'm not that old!” Madeline protested and hit his shoulder playfully. She wasn't, really. She was definitely older than Steven, but she looked more like she was in her forties, not her fifties or sixties.
“True,” he allowed. “I'd have a hard time selling you as my Mum, people would sooner think you're my sister.”
“Well,” Madeline said and self-consciously adjusted her hair, “I have some control over my self image and no woman likes to grow old, does she? It's not like I was ever expecting anyone to see, this is just for me.”
Steven regarded her again with a pang of sadness. Madeline had Dad’s hair and a statue slightly smaller than Steven. Her slight chubbiness hid any overly similar facial structure, and her eyes were quite different. There was definitely a resemblance between them. The one thing he couldn't find were similarities between her and... the gene provider.
“Do you know why... that woman... never loved me?” Steven asked quietly. It was Madeline who'd asked him each evening what he wanted to have on his sandwich the next day. It was her who'd lovingly baked him a birthday cake fit of a professional store - she'd bragged to him all about how she learned and practice the skills just for him after all. It was her who gave him his birthday gifts because he tended to get exactly what he told her he wished for. She had loved him like any mother should. But that also meant... that someone else hadn't. And the more he thought about it, the more the veil over his memories lifted. All those times his mum… no, that other woman had glared at him, had insulted him, had ignored him. All those times he’d cried himself to sleep.
A cloud passed over Madeline's expression.
“That woman,” she spat. “She was useless, Steven. Useless in the house, useless in the garden and useless with her child. She'd drink. Ugh, would she drink. I know she went to therapy, or maybe AA, I don't know but it sure as hell didn't look like it helped any! She'd just... ignore you and when she was there, Elias would be all about her and ignore you too and I just couldn't stand watching it. If you ask me, that woman never should've gotten any children. Not that I'm not - elated to have you, of course, but I mean, in principle. Some people just aren't cut out to be parents. Maybe she had issues, who knows, I never bothered asking. There's no excuse for that kind of neglect if you ask me.”
“So...” Steven took a deep breath, “it wasn't anything I did?”
“Of course not, darling!” Madeline cupped his cheek, gazing into his eyes. “There's nothing you did - or could've done for that matter - that would justify a parent not giving their all to make sure you have the best possible life. She's just a useless person. Please don't think about her anymore - you have me after all, don't you?”
Steven nodded and gave her a watery smile. “Yeah... I guess you're right.”
He let his gaze wander around the room. Over the light brown wooden kitchen counter, the windows with sunlight shining through them and the sight of the garden beyond, to the TV and set of couches and two armchairs with dark green covers that he vividly remembered from his childhood.
“Is this the whole house?” he wondered.
“No... All the doors are in the right place but only lead to broom closets. The garden is as it should but beyond it’s just... like a stone desert or something,” Madeline said. She sighed. “Honestly, I thought this was limbo or part of the afterlife or something. It doesn't make sense for you to be able to come here though.”
“Maybe it's like a mindscape?” Steven thought. “Like in Sherlock Holmes, the mind palace?” Steven started to wander around, opening doors. The basement door led to a closet. The bathroom door too. The stairs leading up opened to a corridor. His parents’ bedroom, a closet. The guest room, a closet. His childhood bedroom - oh well would you look at that.
“Huh,” Madeline made, peaking over his shoulder. “I couldn't even get to the corridor upstairs.”
Steven's room looked just like he remembered it. As a teenager he'd been a big fan of smart heroes such as Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Who. Several posters littered the walls. One of his favorite TV series, ‘Leverage’ about a band of con artists that stole stolen goods or information to give them back to their original owner as well as ‘Babylon 5’, an amazing science fiction show with a focus on interspecies diplomacy. There were others as well that he didn't much remember really being a fan of - Star Wars and Jurassic Park and Mad Max and something that looked like an Indiana Jones Rip off that he didn't remember at all. He brushed his fingertips over the latter, wondering if this was a franchise Marc had liked.
“If we're both down here, Marc should be up, right?” he mused. “Should we try calling him now?”
“Oh, right! Let's do that”, Madeline agreed and together they went back down into the kitchen, where there was their old fashioned cable telephone. Steven was sure he'd have a hundred and one questions for this other person, but he'd likely need time to think of them. For now, the only goal he set himself was to convince the other to let him keep the body for longer duration. As much as he liked seeing his Mum again, he was a bit uncomfortable at the thought of moving back in with her full time and being stuck in a two room house possibly for years. There wasn’t even a bathroom, it really was just the living room/kitchen and his bedroom. Maybe he should've thought about this for more than a second before he came down here...