Prompt: The When Plot Bunnies Attack first sentence challenge, number thirty one: "No use crying..." (Take place after Sunday.)

Word Count: 428


"No use crying," Rodney muttered to himself as he stared at the stark white headstone poking up from beneath the fallen October leaves, already starting to rot.

He'd come back to Earth on the anniversary of Carson Beckett's death every year for almost a decade now, and it never got any easier to face.

He sniffed once and told himself sternly that it was just his allergies acting up, or maybe it was the wind blowing so hard it was chapping his nose. Yes, that's all that was to it. Damned Scottish winds. The man whose grave site he'd come to visit just had to have a plot without any cover from the bitter wind that was blustering about.

Rodney pulled his jacket tighter about himself as his scarf flapped behind him in the frosty breeze.

"Pardon me."

McKay turned, wincing slightly as the wind bit into his face when he spun on his heel.

Behind him, a much older woman with a bunch of flowers in her hand stood, her burgundy coat trimmed in an uncomfortably familiar tartan plaid. She took a few hobbling steps forward and laid the greenery on the grave soil; a bunch of much-too-bright daisies now standing as a stark contrast to the decaying fallen leaves before she straightened out and looked at him.

"Come to mourn, have you?" Her voice was a brisk Scottish brogue, almost as sharp as the wind itself.

Rodney felt the urge to snap at her with a tart "Well, what else would I be doing in a graveyard?" but looking at her, he felt he needed to suppress the urge and nodded solemnly instead.

"Were you one of Carson's friends?" The little old lady asked brightly, blue eyes shining with unshed tears.

Rodney cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh…yes, yes I was."

She nodded, adjusting the lapels of her coat as she did so. "I'm his mum, you know."

"I could…uh see the resemblance," he replied awkwardly, not liking the way she was scrutinizing him in the least.

She considered him for a moment, tipping her head this way and that as she stared at him, like she was weighing his worth by appearance alone and Rodney was starting to feel like an animal in the zoo.

"Would you like a cup of tea, young man?" She said finally, her wrinkles spreading into a fond smile that had the ghost of Carson in it.

"That would be…" Rodney stared at the eyes that reminded him so strongly of Beckett and found he couldn't refuse. "That would be nice."