Yuletide Reveal! Slowly Learning That Life Is Okay (Buckaroo Banzai, PG)
Title: Slowly Learning That Life Is Okay
Author: Pouncer
Fandom: The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across The 8th Dimension
Rating: Teen
Genre: Gen
Penny Priddy, Buckaroo Banzai, Mrs. Johnson, Banzai Institute, Hong Kong Cavaliers, friendship, team, aftermath of canonical trauma
Summary: Penny finds her place.
For Missmollyetc.
Slowly Learning That Life Is Okay
by Pouncer
The post-resurrection kisses didn't last long. A flush came over Penny's body, and she thought, "Oh wow, Buckaroo." Her hands started to tremble.
Then a wave of nausea broke, and she rolled to the edge of the bed, gagging.
"I don't feel so good," Penny said.
* * *
Orange juice and peanut butter crackers brought her blood sugar back to acceptable levels. Sydney was staring at Penny as if she was both a wonder and the most intractable problem he'd ever encountered.
"You were dead, I know you were dead."
Buckaroo pinched the bridge of his nose, red-framed glasses held in his other hand. "The Eighth Dimension is a strange and miraculous place," he offered.
Penny wished they'd go away. She just wanted to sleep.
Reno knocked on the door frame, then stuck his head inside the bedroom. "Buckaroo, the President is getting impatient. He wants a report."
"Go," said Penny, and curled up under the covers.
* * *
The Banzai Institute welcomed the Hong Kong Cavaliers home with little fanfare.
Sydney insisted that Penny spend the night in the infirmary. "You need to be monitored for a while. Just to make sure -"
"I don't die again," Penny interrupted.
"Or that there are any side effects."
Penny suffered herself to be led away.
Later, lying in bed listening to her pulse beep on the monitor, she heard a tumult in the other room. Voices crying out, equipment being moved.
Penny recruited herself to patience. She'd learn what was happening even if she had to pin Buckaroo down.
Sydney poked a head in after a while.
"How are you doing?"
"I'm fine," Penny said. "What's the party?"
"It's Rawhide," Sydney said. "The Red Lectroids that took you hit him with some kind of poisoned, organic, dart. John Parker said there wasn't a cure. But Rawhide, he's not dead. We can't wake him up, but he's not dead."
"I started a trend," Penny replied.
* * *
The next morning, Penny tried to pretend that she hadn't dreamt of that hideous chamber and the terrible, painful things the two Johns had used to torment her. That she hadn't jerked awake with her breath jagged and her hindbrain screaming in fear.
Buckaroo came by while she drew trails through the oatmeal with her spoon.
"How are you?" he asked.
She shrugged. "I was never fond of oatmeal."
"Come on," he said. "We'll go to the kitchen and get you something else."
* * *
Buckaroo made her an omelet, mushrooms and cheese, with wheat toast on the side. It was delicious.
While she ate, she asked about Rawhide.
"I met him on a cattle drive," Buckaroo said. His voice went distant, and his gaze saw another time. "I was just a kid, really, even if I was going to start college in the fall. Rawhide was 18, and he seemed so grown up." Buckaroo's lips quirked in a smile.
"We stayed up at night, with the campfire blazing, and talked about physics and the cosmos and the merits of piano versus guitar."
Penny didn't say a word, too aware of the fragile mood. She took a bite of toast.
"Later, after med school, we ran into each other again and it was like no time had passed. As if we lived outside the rhythm of normal days. Except that he was the one who really ran this place." Buckaroo looked around the kitchen. "I need to figure out what to do about that."
* * *
The racks of clothing surrounded them in a maze of colors and the scent of sizing. Woodies had everything.
Penny moved hangers along the rack, examining the clothes. She didn't look at Mrs. Johnson, and kept her voice casual. "Would you tell me about Peggy?"
"Oh." The sound of other hangers moving paused. "She was … amazing. Warm and smart and funny."
Penny pulled a shirt out to try on.
"She danced," Mrs. Johnson continued. "Ballet. And gardened."
"Buckaroo thinks we were twins," Penny said. "I always thought I was sundered from something essential, that some part of me was lost. It's why I couldn't stay in one place, you know?"
"Did you travel a lot?" Mrs. Johnson asked.
"All over the place. I'd stay a month here, then there. I've worked as a waitress everywhere, a shop clerk, a secretary. But none of it felt right."
"We get that a lot at the Institute," Mrs. Johnson said. She gestured at a jacket. "Ready to try these on?"
* * *
Penny tried to follow the Hong Kong Cavaliers up the stairs into the bunkhouse.
Mrs. Johnson blocked her way. "Off limits."
"Why?" Penny demanded. "Because I'm a girl?"
"No," Mrs. Johnson looked at Penny as though she were demented. "Because you're not on staff here. We have proprietary information all over the place."
* * *
Buckaroo left to investigate the possibilities of South American flora which was rumored to reanimate the dead. Anything to bring Rawhide back, he told Penny.
Mrs. Johnson approached Penny just after lunch with a stack of forms.
"If you're going to stay," Mrs. Johnson said, "you should fill out the paperwork. W-2, benefits, non-disclosure agreement, profit split on any inventions - it's all here."
Penny picked up a ballpoint pen and began to write.
* * *
The bunkhouse wasn't so special. A big room with computers, musical instruments, other pieces of technology, and games strewn around. Penny picked up a Rubik's cube and twisted the sides.
She listened to Perfect Tommy and Dr. Hikita argue over the next iteration of the jet car and oscillation overthruster. Engineering schematics were spread over a table, and they scribbled notes in the margins.
"Time for tea," the Professor finally announced. "Would you like to join me, Penny?"
* * *
"There should be a whole ceremony," Dr. Hikita said. "A sweet, and matcha whisked into hot water. But we are busy, and I take shortcuts."
The teapot was iron, and he poured the tea into exquisitely curved cups. There were no handles.
Penny sipped. The tea was scented with jasmine, and tasted pleasantly astringent on her tongue.
"Thank you," she said.
"You displayed remarkable courage," Dr. Hikita said. "You kept the overthruster from those monsters, at tremendous cost. I should thank you."
Penny drank more tea. The room was serene and uncluttered, with a print of fish on the wall. She didn't want to think about that.
* * *
Buckaroo left on a fact-finding mission to Pakistan. He was under orders from the President to liaise with a nuclear scientist who was suspected of enriching uranium to weapons-grade.
Penny wandered the grounds of the Institute. Someone had designed and planted a lovely garden, a mix of Asian and Western styles.
In the distance, she spotted Reno pruning a shrub.
"Reno!" An excited voice called. A tall, beautiful woman rushed to where Reno had turned, and they embraced. Penny blushed to see their kiss.
Later, Reno introduced Penny to Pecos, back from Tibet at last.
The next morning, she joined them in the garden to practice tai chi. They moved through the forms slowly. Penny concentrated on breathing and feeling her self inhabit every inch of her body.
* * *
Buckaroo returned, and he and Pecos compared notes about the Himalayas.
After dinner, Buckaroo and Penny walked through the garden. The setting sun cast a warm glow over the foliage. Penny was glad of the long summer days.
Buckaroo put his hand on Penny's back to guide her. She'd been thinking about this.
Best to be direct.
"Buckaroo," Penny said, "it's more than a little bit creepy that your dead wife is my identical twin."
The expression on his face turned shocked, then thoughtful.
She went on, "I'll always be -"
He stopped her. "No. You're right. You're a unique person, and I shouldn't make you feel like Peggy's spirit is always over your shoulder. The woman I really want to see."
* * *
She woke choking back a scream. Air wheezed into her lungs with her gasp.
Penny knew she wouldn't fall back asleep for a long time. She got up, and went downstairs to make a pot of tea.
The lights were on in the kitchen. Mrs. Johnson sat at the table, papers littered across the top.
"Couldn't sleep," Penny said in response to her look.
Waiting for the kettle to boil, she peered at the papers.
"I'm trying to figure out the best organization," Mrs. Johnson volunteered. "There are some categories that are self-evident: legal, correspondence. But then I think that I should go with research areas: medical, botanical, particle physics."
Penny opened the canister with the tea, and retrieved a cheerful pot from its shelf.
"How do you keep track of them?" she asked. "If someone wants to see them in the future?"
"Right now, mostly boxes of similar documents. But there are database programs for the computer. We've been talking about it for a while, and I think I want to start. The problem will be the backlog. And making sure I have all the fields I need defined, so we don't have to go back later and add information." Mrs. Johnson handed Penny a pad of paper with handwritten notes.
"Can I look at the documents too?" Penny knew Mrs. Johnson was protective in her role as archivist.
"Please."
The kettle whistled. Penny made tea, poured cups for both of them, then started to sort through papers.
* * *
The research conducted by the Institute was fascinating. Every field of science and nature was touched upon in some way. Penny didn't understand it all, but there were parts that made her imagination soar.
Rocket propellants. Disease-resistant crops. Mathematical proofs with elegant equations and complicated geometric shapes. Power sources and focusing lenses for lasers that were stamped "Strategic Defense Initiative." Gene markers for disease.
Diagrams of those crazy phones that didn't plug into the wall.
Penny grew up with a party line and a rotary dial. Buckaroo and Reno could pull a gadget out of their pockets and could talk to each other anywhere.
* * *
Walking the halls of the Institute one afternoon, Penny heard music. That wasn't unusual - Buckaroo and the Hong Kong Cavaliers were a rock group.
She winced to recall how low she'd been the night she stumbled into a club, not knowing that they were playing.
This music wasn't rock and roll. It was piano, intricate and beautiful.
The door was ajar, so Penny leaned inside.
Perfect Tommy sat in front of the white and black keys, sheets of music in front of him. His hands flew up and down the length of the piano, creating patterns of melody and harmony.
She moved further into the room, and settled into an armchair.
Tommy played and played and Penny never wanted him to stop. When he finally took his hands off the keys and relaxed his shoulders, she sighed.
He startled.
"Sorry," Penny said. "It's just so lovely."
"Bach," Tommy replied. "Johann Sebastian. I've been working my way through his keyboard compositions. It should be harpsichord to be authentic, but I like piano better."
"What made you start?" Penny asked. "With him?"
Tommy shrugged. "Counterpoint, theme and variations. It's mathematical and precise, yet full of mystery. When I can't get my brain to stop thinking, I come in here and play."
Penny couldn't help but smile at that. "Tai chi helps me," she offered. "Is it okay if I listen, next time you're -"
Tommy smiled back, handsome face alight. "Yeah. That'd be nice."
* * *
"Want to help make cinnamon rolls?" Mrs. Johnson asked Penny as they finished cataloguing a box of documents. She'd been quiet all day.
"I'm not that good in a kitchen." Penny was dubious.
"I'll tell you what to do," Mrs. Johnson said. "After dinner."
* * *
They rendezvoused in the Institute's kitchen. The counters gleamed and Mrs. Johnson pulled a huge stand mixer forward.
"Here's the recipe. Will you start getting out the ingredients?"
Penny hunted through the pantry for flour and sugar, cinnamon and yeast. The refrigerator yielded butter and milk.
Mrs. Johnson had gathered measuring cups and mixing bowls. "Dough first," she said.
It was like alchemy. The milk and butter melted together, then frothed as the yeast was dissolved and left to proof. "Keep the mixer on low," Mrs. Johnson instructed, "or else flour will go everywhere."
The mixer was loud, and Penny kept peeking inside the bowl. A shaggy mass was cohering around the dough hook. "While it runs," Mrs. Johnson said, voice raised, "we can get the filling ready. It'll be a while, though."
They mixed sugar and cinnamon. "My mom used to make me cinnamon toast when I was sick," Penny said. She remembered the warmth that came from a special treat, and wished that her parents hadn't died in that car crash. Adopted or not, they had loved Penny. Without them, she was lost.
"I made these for Peter," Mrs. Johnson said.
Penny's eyes widened.
Mrs. Johnson never talked about her husband, who had been diagnosed with stage 4 cancer a year after their wedding. Pecos had told Penny the story, late one night after Buckaroo and the guys had debated the nature of consciousness and the existence of souls for hours.
"When he was sick," Mrs. Johnson continued, "he wasn't hungry, but he'd always eat at least a little bit of these." Tears welled up in her eyes.
Penny moved forward, and pulled Mrs. Johnson into a hug. "Hey, it's okay," Penny said. "It's okay."
The sobs were muffled.
"I never tell anybody my first name, because it's too twee," Mrs. Johnson said finally, voice choked. "Peter and Wendy, living in Neverland. But he did grow up, and so did I, when I lost him." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and tried to smile. "It's been two years, today."
"Wendy," Penny said. "I'm honored."
Mrs. Johnson retrieved Kleenex, blew her nose, and washed her hands.
"Come on," she said. "It's not real dough until you've kneaded it by hand."
* * *
The cinnamon rolls were delicious. The denizens of the Institute consumed them in minutes at breakfast.
"What's the special occasion?" Sydney asked.
Mrs. Johnson said, "No reason," and squeezed Penny on the shoulder as she exited the room.
* * *
The garden had been designed by Peggy, Reno told Penny when she asked about it.
"She did so much research into Japanese styles," he said. "It was her engagement present to Buckaroo. We do our best to keep it up in her memory."
Penny sat on a bench and looked at the elegant vistas with new eyes.
Her sister had been a treasure, Penny understood now.
Maybe Penny could become one too.
* * *
Buckaroo left to attend the inaugural MTV Video Music Awards. Reno and Perfect Tommy went with him. They were nominated for Video of the Year, Best Male Video, Best Group Video, and a host of other technical categories.
All the Institute gathered to watch, along with friends, in the little-used TV room.
It was strange, after all this time, for Penny to see Buckaroo on television again. His skinny tie, popped shirt collar, and red glasses dominated the frame when he was shown on camera.
This was how she had known him, as a distant celebrity, a picture in the newspapers or People Magazine when he performed an astonishing surgery, or announced a brilliant scientific discovery, or released a new song.
Now he was the man with messy hair who wandered around bleary-eyed in the morning until he drank his coffee. The man who was determined to find a way to bring Rawhide back to life. The man who liked to intersperse jam sessions with exercises in solving physics equations.
Pinky Carruthers and Billy Travers kibitzed in the corner while eating potato chips and dip. Scooter Lindley didn't take his eyes off the television screen. Penny exchanged a grin with Casper.
Mrs. Johnson settled in next to Penny with a tray of cheese and crackers.
"Do you think Thriller is overrated?" Mrs. Johnson asked.
"I don't know," Penny said. "It's a movie in miniature - that's pretty impressive."
"But as a song? I just feel like Vincent Price puts it over the top. Plus," Mrs. Johnson continued, "zombies freak me out."
Penny wrinkled her nose. In some respects, she was a zombie.
Mrs. Johnson shrugged.
Casper broke in, "I like Billie Jean and Beat It more."
Dan Aykroyd, in character as Tom Snyder, introduced Madonna. She appeared atop a wedding cake, veiled, in a lacy white dress, and carrying a bouquet. "I made it through the wilderness, somehow I made it through," she sang.
As she descended the wedding cake, singing Like A Virgin, Scooter's eyes got wider and wider. Then she dropped to her knees atop the veil.
Casper said, "Let's get a drink," and hauled his son out of the room.
Pinky and Billy started to giggle, and Penny and Mrs. Johnson stared at each other.
"I think I need a drink too," Penny said.
* * *
The victory party for Video of the Year was more than a little bit tongue-in-cheek.
"He shattered the dimension barrier this year, and saved the planet from nuclear war. Winning Video of the Year is just gaudy," Perfect Tommy said.
"I don't know," Penny said. "Buckaroo is … unique."
"He's unsettled, like an electron jumping valance shells," Reno said.
"Hey now," Buckaroo called, "don't be mean."
"Would you prefer over-achiever?" Penny asked.
"Peripatetic?" Perfect Tommy offered.
"None of this would happen without all of you," Buckaroo said. His voice was full of earnest sentiment.
"You wouldn't be able to find your socks without us," Mrs. Johnson shot back.
Buckaroo quirked a brow. "That's true."
* * *
Penny dyed her hair brunette.
She practiced tai chi in the garden every morning.
Her typing skills improved as she entered box after box of documents into Mrs. Johnson's computer archive.
She started to sleep through the night on a regular basis.
She drank tea with Professor Hikita.
She listened to Perfect Tommy's march through Bach.
She read and learned and started to speak up in the frequent debate sessions where the Institute's best ideas originated.
* * *
Buckaroo left again.
He was always going to leave, Penny knew. And that was okay. For all that he had appeared like an angel of salvation to find her weeping in the dark, free her from jail, save her from the clutches of John Whorfin, she didn't need Buckaroo.
She could live her life.
She could explore her interests.
She could join Buckaroo and the rest on adventures, when she wanted.
She had friends here. Maybe some who were more than friends. Buckaroo was too vast a figure, mythological in his abilities, and he would subsume her.
But Penny Priddy would make her own way, and she would enjoy every second of it.
-end-
Notes: Title from A-Ha's Take on Me. Based mainly on the film, although when I liked bits of the extended canon (novel, DVD special features), I included them if they made sense. I did not try to reconcile this story with the entirety of the extended canon, because I would have been crazier than Emilio Lizardo at the end.
Mrs. Johnson would love relational databases and tagging. I still miss Woodward & Lothrop. I suspect that the album and song titles of Buckaroo Banzai and the Hong Kong Cavaliers rival Fall Out Boy in total word count. Madonna at the 1984 VMAs: scandalous (I'm pretty sure, having gone into a YouTube deep dive, that Tina Turner was the only one who sang live at this show. Tina Turner rules /digression).
Author: Pouncer
Fandom: The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across The 8th Dimension
Rating: Teen
Genre: Gen
Penny Priddy, Buckaroo Banzai, Mrs. Johnson, Banzai Institute, Hong Kong Cavaliers, friendship, team, aftermath of canonical trauma
Summary: Penny finds her place.
For Missmollyetc.
Slowly Learning That Life Is Okay
by Pouncer
The post-resurrection kisses didn't last long. A flush came over Penny's body, and she thought, "Oh wow, Buckaroo." Her hands started to tremble.
Then a wave of nausea broke, and she rolled to the edge of the bed, gagging.
"I don't feel so good," Penny said.
* * *
Orange juice and peanut butter crackers brought her blood sugar back to acceptable levels. Sydney was staring at Penny as if she was both a wonder and the most intractable problem he'd ever encountered.
"You were dead, I know you were dead."
Buckaroo pinched the bridge of his nose, red-framed glasses held in his other hand. "The Eighth Dimension is a strange and miraculous place," he offered.
Penny wished they'd go away. She just wanted to sleep.
Reno knocked on the door frame, then stuck his head inside the bedroom. "Buckaroo, the President is getting impatient. He wants a report."
"Go," said Penny, and curled up under the covers.
* * *
The Banzai Institute welcomed the Hong Kong Cavaliers home with little fanfare.
Sydney insisted that Penny spend the night in the infirmary. "You need to be monitored for a while. Just to make sure -"
"I don't die again," Penny interrupted.
"Or that there are any side effects."
Penny suffered herself to be led away.
Later, lying in bed listening to her pulse beep on the monitor, she heard a tumult in the other room. Voices crying out, equipment being moved.
Penny recruited herself to patience. She'd learn what was happening even if she had to pin Buckaroo down.
Sydney poked a head in after a while.
"How are you doing?"
"I'm fine," Penny said. "What's the party?"
"It's Rawhide," Sydney said. "The Red Lectroids that took you hit him with some kind of poisoned, organic, dart. John Parker said there wasn't a cure. But Rawhide, he's not dead. We can't wake him up, but he's not dead."
"I started a trend," Penny replied.
* * *
The next morning, Penny tried to pretend that she hadn't dreamt of that hideous chamber and the terrible, painful things the two Johns had used to torment her. That she hadn't jerked awake with her breath jagged and her hindbrain screaming in fear.
Buckaroo came by while she drew trails through the oatmeal with her spoon.
"How are you?" he asked.
She shrugged. "I was never fond of oatmeal."
"Come on," he said. "We'll go to the kitchen and get you something else."
* * *
Buckaroo made her an omelet, mushrooms and cheese, with wheat toast on the side. It was delicious.
While she ate, she asked about Rawhide.
"I met him on a cattle drive," Buckaroo said. His voice went distant, and his gaze saw another time. "I was just a kid, really, even if I was going to start college in the fall. Rawhide was 18, and he seemed so grown up." Buckaroo's lips quirked in a smile.
"We stayed up at night, with the campfire blazing, and talked about physics and the cosmos and the merits of piano versus guitar."
Penny didn't say a word, too aware of the fragile mood. She took a bite of toast.
"Later, after med school, we ran into each other again and it was like no time had passed. As if we lived outside the rhythm of normal days. Except that he was the one who really ran this place." Buckaroo looked around the kitchen. "I need to figure out what to do about that."
* * *
The racks of clothing surrounded them in a maze of colors and the scent of sizing. Woodies had everything.
Penny moved hangers along the rack, examining the clothes. She didn't look at Mrs. Johnson, and kept her voice casual. "Would you tell me about Peggy?"
"Oh." The sound of other hangers moving paused. "She was … amazing. Warm and smart and funny."
Penny pulled a shirt out to try on.
"She danced," Mrs. Johnson continued. "Ballet. And gardened."
"Buckaroo thinks we were twins," Penny said. "I always thought I was sundered from something essential, that some part of me was lost. It's why I couldn't stay in one place, you know?"
"Did you travel a lot?" Mrs. Johnson asked.
"All over the place. I'd stay a month here, then there. I've worked as a waitress everywhere, a shop clerk, a secretary. But none of it felt right."
"We get that a lot at the Institute," Mrs. Johnson said. She gestured at a jacket. "Ready to try these on?"
* * *
Penny tried to follow the Hong Kong Cavaliers up the stairs into the bunkhouse.
Mrs. Johnson blocked her way. "Off limits."
"Why?" Penny demanded. "Because I'm a girl?"
"No," Mrs. Johnson looked at Penny as though she were demented. "Because you're not on staff here. We have proprietary information all over the place."
* * *
Buckaroo left to investigate the possibilities of South American flora which was rumored to reanimate the dead. Anything to bring Rawhide back, he told Penny.
Mrs. Johnson approached Penny just after lunch with a stack of forms.
"If you're going to stay," Mrs. Johnson said, "you should fill out the paperwork. W-2, benefits, non-disclosure agreement, profit split on any inventions - it's all here."
Penny picked up a ballpoint pen and began to write.
* * *
The bunkhouse wasn't so special. A big room with computers, musical instruments, other pieces of technology, and games strewn around. Penny picked up a Rubik's cube and twisted the sides.
She listened to Perfect Tommy and Dr. Hikita argue over the next iteration of the jet car and oscillation overthruster. Engineering schematics were spread over a table, and they scribbled notes in the margins.
"Time for tea," the Professor finally announced. "Would you like to join me, Penny?"
* * *
"There should be a whole ceremony," Dr. Hikita said. "A sweet, and matcha whisked into hot water. But we are busy, and I take shortcuts."
The teapot was iron, and he poured the tea into exquisitely curved cups. There were no handles.
Penny sipped. The tea was scented with jasmine, and tasted pleasantly astringent on her tongue.
"Thank you," she said.
"You displayed remarkable courage," Dr. Hikita said. "You kept the overthruster from those monsters, at tremendous cost. I should thank you."
Penny drank more tea. The room was serene and uncluttered, with a print of fish on the wall. She didn't want to think about that.
* * *
Buckaroo left on a fact-finding mission to Pakistan. He was under orders from the President to liaise with a nuclear scientist who was suspected of enriching uranium to weapons-grade.
Penny wandered the grounds of the Institute. Someone had designed and planted a lovely garden, a mix of Asian and Western styles.
In the distance, she spotted Reno pruning a shrub.
"Reno!" An excited voice called. A tall, beautiful woman rushed to where Reno had turned, and they embraced. Penny blushed to see their kiss.
Later, Reno introduced Penny to Pecos, back from Tibet at last.
The next morning, she joined them in the garden to practice tai chi. They moved through the forms slowly. Penny concentrated on breathing and feeling her self inhabit every inch of her body.
* * *
Buckaroo returned, and he and Pecos compared notes about the Himalayas.
After dinner, Buckaroo and Penny walked through the garden. The setting sun cast a warm glow over the foliage. Penny was glad of the long summer days.
Buckaroo put his hand on Penny's back to guide her. She'd been thinking about this.
Best to be direct.
"Buckaroo," Penny said, "it's more than a little bit creepy that your dead wife is my identical twin."
The expression on his face turned shocked, then thoughtful.
She went on, "I'll always be -"
He stopped her. "No. You're right. You're a unique person, and I shouldn't make you feel like Peggy's spirit is always over your shoulder. The woman I really want to see."
* * *
She woke choking back a scream. Air wheezed into her lungs with her gasp.
Penny knew she wouldn't fall back asleep for a long time. She got up, and went downstairs to make a pot of tea.
The lights were on in the kitchen. Mrs. Johnson sat at the table, papers littered across the top.
"Couldn't sleep," Penny said in response to her look.
Waiting for the kettle to boil, she peered at the papers.
"I'm trying to figure out the best organization," Mrs. Johnson volunteered. "There are some categories that are self-evident: legal, correspondence. But then I think that I should go with research areas: medical, botanical, particle physics."
Penny opened the canister with the tea, and retrieved a cheerful pot from its shelf.
"How do you keep track of them?" she asked. "If someone wants to see them in the future?"
"Right now, mostly boxes of similar documents. But there are database programs for the computer. We've been talking about it for a while, and I think I want to start. The problem will be the backlog. And making sure I have all the fields I need defined, so we don't have to go back later and add information." Mrs. Johnson handed Penny a pad of paper with handwritten notes.
"Can I look at the documents too?" Penny knew Mrs. Johnson was protective in her role as archivist.
"Please."
The kettle whistled. Penny made tea, poured cups for both of them, then started to sort through papers.
* * *
The research conducted by the Institute was fascinating. Every field of science and nature was touched upon in some way. Penny didn't understand it all, but there were parts that made her imagination soar.
Rocket propellants. Disease-resistant crops. Mathematical proofs with elegant equations and complicated geometric shapes. Power sources and focusing lenses for lasers that were stamped "Strategic Defense Initiative." Gene markers for disease.
Diagrams of those crazy phones that didn't plug into the wall.
Penny grew up with a party line and a rotary dial. Buckaroo and Reno could pull a gadget out of their pockets and could talk to each other anywhere.
* * *
Walking the halls of the Institute one afternoon, Penny heard music. That wasn't unusual - Buckaroo and the Hong Kong Cavaliers were a rock group.
She winced to recall how low she'd been the night she stumbled into a club, not knowing that they were playing.
This music wasn't rock and roll. It was piano, intricate and beautiful.
The door was ajar, so Penny leaned inside.
Perfect Tommy sat in front of the white and black keys, sheets of music in front of him. His hands flew up and down the length of the piano, creating patterns of melody and harmony.
She moved further into the room, and settled into an armchair.
Tommy played and played and Penny never wanted him to stop. When he finally took his hands off the keys and relaxed his shoulders, she sighed.
He startled.
"Sorry," Penny said. "It's just so lovely."
"Bach," Tommy replied. "Johann Sebastian. I've been working my way through his keyboard compositions. It should be harpsichord to be authentic, but I like piano better."
"What made you start?" Penny asked. "With him?"
Tommy shrugged. "Counterpoint, theme and variations. It's mathematical and precise, yet full of mystery. When I can't get my brain to stop thinking, I come in here and play."
Penny couldn't help but smile at that. "Tai chi helps me," she offered. "Is it okay if I listen, next time you're -"
Tommy smiled back, handsome face alight. "Yeah. That'd be nice."
* * *
"Want to help make cinnamon rolls?" Mrs. Johnson asked Penny as they finished cataloguing a box of documents. She'd been quiet all day.
"I'm not that good in a kitchen." Penny was dubious.
"I'll tell you what to do," Mrs. Johnson said. "After dinner."
* * *
They rendezvoused in the Institute's kitchen. The counters gleamed and Mrs. Johnson pulled a huge stand mixer forward.
"Here's the recipe. Will you start getting out the ingredients?"
Penny hunted through the pantry for flour and sugar, cinnamon and yeast. The refrigerator yielded butter and milk.
Mrs. Johnson had gathered measuring cups and mixing bowls. "Dough first," she said.
It was like alchemy. The milk and butter melted together, then frothed as the yeast was dissolved and left to proof. "Keep the mixer on low," Mrs. Johnson instructed, "or else flour will go everywhere."
The mixer was loud, and Penny kept peeking inside the bowl. A shaggy mass was cohering around the dough hook. "While it runs," Mrs. Johnson said, voice raised, "we can get the filling ready. It'll be a while, though."
They mixed sugar and cinnamon. "My mom used to make me cinnamon toast when I was sick," Penny said. She remembered the warmth that came from a special treat, and wished that her parents hadn't died in that car crash. Adopted or not, they had loved Penny. Without them, she was lost.
"I made these for Peter," Mrs. Johnson said.
Penny's eyes widened.
Mrs. Johnson never talked about her husband, who had been diagnosed with stage 4 cancer a year after their wedding. Pecos had told Penny the story, late one night after Buckaroo and the guys had debated the nature of consciousness and the existence of souls for hours.
"When he was sick," Mrs. Johnson continued, "he wasn't hungry, but he'd always eat at least a little bit of these." Tears welled up in her eyes.
Penny moved forward, and pulled Mrs. Johnson into a hug. "Hey, it's okay," Penny said. "It's okay."
The sobs were muffled.
"I never tell anybody my first name, because it's too twee," Mrs. Johnson said finally, voice choked. "Peter and Wendy, living in Neverland. But he did grow up, and so did I, when I lost him." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and tried to smile. "It's been two years, today."
"Wendy," Penny said. "I'm honored."
Mrs. Johnson retrieved Kleenex, blew her nose, and washed her hands.
"Come on," she said. "It's not real dough until you've kneaded it by hand."
* * *
The cinnamon rolls were delicious. The denizens of the Institute consumed them in minutes at breakfast.
"What's the special occasion?" Sydney asked.
Mrs. Johnson said, "No reason," and squeezed Penny on the shoulder as she exited the room.
* * *
The garden had been designed by Peggy, Reno told Penny when she asked about it.
"She did so much research into Japanese styles," he said. "It was her engagement present to Buckaroo. We do our best to keep it up in her memory."
Penny sat on a bench and looked at the elegant vistas with new eyes.
Her sister had been a treasure, Penny understood now.
Maybe Penny could become one too.
* * *
Buckaroo left to attend the inaugural MTV Video Music Awards. Reno and Perfect Tommy went with him. They were nominated for Video of the Year, Best Male Video, Best Group Video, and a host of other technical categories.
All the Institute gathered to watch, along with friends, in the little-used TV room.
It was strange, after all this time, for Penny to see Buckaroo on television again. His skinny tie, popped shirt collar, and red glasses dominated the frame when he was shown on camera.
This was how she had known him, as a distant celebrity, a picture in the newspapers or People Magazine when he performed an astonishing surgery, or announced a brilliant scientific discovery, or released a new song.
Now he was the man with messy hair who wandered around bleary-eyed in the morning until he drank his coffee. The man who was determined to find a way to bring Rawhide back to life. The man who liked to intersperse jam sessions with exercises in solving physics equations.
Pinky Carruthers and Billy Travers kibitzed in the corner while eating potato chips and dip. Scooter Lindley didn't take his eyes off the television screen. Penny exchanged a grin with Casper.
Mrs. Johnson settled in next to Penny with a tray of cheese and crackers.
"Do you think Thriller is overrated?" Mrs. Johnson asked.
"I don't know," Penny said. "It's a movie in miniature - that's pretty impressive."
"But as a song? I just feel like Vincent Price puts it over the top. Plus," Mrs. Johnson continued, "zombies freak me out."
Penny wrinkled her nose. In some respects, she was a zombie.
Mrs. Johnson shrugged.
Casper broke in, "I like Billie Jean and Beat It more."
Dan Aykroyd, in character as Tom Snyder, introduced Madonna. She appeared atop a wedding cake, veiled, in a lacy white dress, and carrying a bouquet. "I made it through the wilderness, somehow I made it through," she sang.
As she descended the wedding cake, singing Like A Virgin, Scooter's eyes got wider and wider. Then she dropped to her knees atop the veil.
Casper said, "Let's get a drink," and hauled his son out of the room.
Pinky and Billy started to giggle, and Penny and Mrs. Johnson stared at each other.
"I think I need a drink too," Penny said.
* * *
The victory party for Video of the Year was more than a little bit tongue-in-cheek.
"He shattered the dimension barrier this year, and saved the planet from nuclear war. Winning Video of the Year is just gaudy," Perfect Tommy said.
"I don't know," Penny said. "Buckaroo is … unique."
"He's unsettled, like an electron jumping valance shells," Reno said.
"Hey now," Buckaroo called, "don't be mean."
"Would you prefer over-achiever?" Penny asked.
"Peripatetic?" Perfect Tommy offered.
"None of this would happen without all of you," Buckaroo said. His voice was full of earnest sentiment.
"You wouldn't be able to find your socks without us," Mrs. Johnson shot back.
Buckaroo quirked a brow. "That's true."
* * *
Penny dyed her hair brunette.
She practiced tai chi in the garden every morning.
Her typing skills improved as she entered box after box of documents into Mrs. Johnson's computer archive.
She started to sleep through the night on a regular basis.
She drank tea with Professor Hikita.
She listened to Perfect Tommy's march through Bach.
She read and learned and started to speak up in the frequent debate sessions where the Institute's best ideas originated.
* * *
Buckaroo left again.
He was always going to leave, Penny knew. And that was okay. For all that he had appeared like an angel of salvation to find her weeping in the dark, free her from jail, save her from the clutches of John Whorfin, she didn't need Buckaroo.
She could live her life.
She could explore her interests.
She could join Buckaroo and the rest on adventures, when she wanted.
She had friends here. Maybe some who were more than friends. Buckaroo was too vast a figure, mythological in his abilities, and he would subsume her.
But Penny Priddy would make her own way, and she would enjoy every second of it.
-end-
Notes: Title from A-Ha's Take on Me. Based mainly on the film, although when I liked bits of the extended canon (novel, DVD special features), I included them if they made sense. I did not try to reconcile this story with the entirety of the extended canon, because I would have been crazier than Emilio Lizardo at the end.
Mrs. Johnson would love relational databases and tagging. I still miss Woodward & Lothrop. I suspect that the album and song titles of Buckaroo Banzai and the Hong Kong Cavaliers rival Fall Out Boy in total word count. Madonna at the 1984 VMAs: scandalous (I'm pretty sure, having gone into a YouTube deep dive, that Tina Turner was the only one who sang live at this show. Tina Turner rules /digression).