Note: This is not the typical episode tag, as it actually takes place before the events in Outcast. It is, however, inspired by several elements of the episode--in particular Dave's assertion that his father had regretted the rift between them and John's statement that Dave always takes care of things.
Also, I am using George Bush as President instead of Henry Hayes, as Bush's history with oil is a better fit for the story. :-)
Dave Sheppard sipped at a glass of ice water, one eye on the report in his left hand as he wandered through the dimly lit family room on the way to his den. He'd stayed late at the office and grabbed a quick dinner on the way home, intending to work late into the night in order to free up the following morning so that he could pick his father up from the airport.
He caught a slight movement from the shadows, followed by the rattle of ice in a tumbler. The strong scent of Patrick Sheppard's favorite whiskey was heavy in the air as Dave pulled up short. "Dad! I thought you weren't due in until tomorrow."
"Change of plans," came the short reply.
"Oh. Well, welcome home. Have you eaten yet?" Dave had the distinct feeling that something was very wrong, despite the fact that Patrick had told him earlier that evening that the symposium had gone well. The last talk for the government-sponsored energy symposium had finished a short while before and the feedback his father had received had been very positive. He'd seemed quite upbeat at the time, but obviously something had changed in the last few hours.
"Not hungry." Patrick swirled the amber liquid in his glass and downed another mouthful.
Dave's frown deepened. While Patrick was far from an openly emotional man, the short, curt answers were also unlike him. He flipped the folder closed, tossing it onto a nearby table. He placed his unfinished glass of water next to it and quickly crossed the room to kneel in front of the elder Sheppard. He studied the older man's face closely in the moonlight, as if that would reveal some clue to the answers he sought. "Dad, what happened? You seemed very pleased at how things went when we spoke earlier. What's changed?"
His father didn't answer. Instead, he again swirled his whisky and downed another mouthful. Dave noticed that his tie had been pulled aside and his shirt partially unbuttoned, which again was totally unlike the elder Sheppard. Dave could count on one hand the number of times he'd ever seen his father anything less than perfectly groomed and combined with everything else, it sent his level of concern skyrocketing. He was about to prompt Patrick when the older man turned to stare out the window, but at last he spoke.
"I've spent my entire life building this company into an empire for my sons," he began. "I've made certain I know everything there is to know about the utilities business. People know my name, especially people in energy and oil. So when the nice man from the Secret Service appeared right after our call ended and informed me that my presence was requested at the White House for an informal meeting with the President, I thought, 'This is it, Patrick. The pinnacle. The President of the whole goddamn country wants to see you--you've done it. You've finally arrived.'" He shook his head, laughing derisively. "God, what an idiot."
Dave frowned, still unable to even guess at what had occurred. He tried to lighten the mood, hoping that his father would relax a little and tell him what had transpired. "Oh come on, Dad, it's not exactly a secret that old GW isn't the brightest bulb in the pack."
Patrick laughed mirthlessly, causing Dave's stomach muscles to contract. "Maybe not, but it wasn't him I was referring to this time." He continued to stare out the window, but much to Dave's relief, Patrick resumed his tale without prompting. "They took me to the White House and I was escorted to the Oval Office by the Chief of Staff himself. I went in and the President offered me a drink. I was so calm and collected on the outside, but inside? I was so damn full of myself, thinking how great it was I had finally caught the attention of George Bush himself."
He shook his head, pausing for another gulp of his whisky. Dave waited for him to swallow, afraid that if he spoke, Patrick would clam up. Another moment passed, but before he could prod him for more his father resumed his story. "So we sit down with our ridiculously expensive crystal glassware and I'm waiting for him to give me some indication of what aspect of the business he wants to discuss, right? And what does he say?" Patrick shook his head, as if he still could not believe what had happened. "He says to me, "So you're John Sheppard's father. I heard you were in town and I couldn't resist the opportunity to meet you." Then he laughs. "He's a good man and we're damn lucky to have him, but I would imagine you must have had your hands full with that one when he was growing up." I can't believe what I'm hearing."
Patrick paused again, draining the last of the amber fluid. "It was always supposed to be me forging the way, my sons at my side, but me in the forefront, you know? And I finally get an invitation to the goddamn White House, only to find that doesn't have one goddamn thing to do with me. It's because of John of all people."
At last, his father turned to look at him. Dave couldn't help but the hitch in his breathing at the sight of the elder Sheppard's hollow, red-rimmed eyes. "He's not coming back, you know. Not ever."
Dave could hardly breathe. "Oh no," he gasped, his voice cracking. "H-how? Did they at least tell you that much?"
Another shake of his father's head. "No, no. I'm sorry. It's not that. Your brother's not...he's okay, as far as I know." He tipped his head back and then returned to staring out the window. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I'm not handling this very well." He picked up the empty glass and started to lift it to his lips, obviously having forgotten that he had already drained it. He set it back down without looking, almost missing the table entirely. To Dave's relief, he again began to speak. "I was stunned. I had no idea what I was even saying when I told him that I was looking forward to having John home and taking his rightful place in the business.
"His expression changed then. His easy smile disappeared and he suddenly couldn't look straight at me. He sipped at his drink and when he finally looked at me again, his eyes were sad. And I knew then, what he was going to say, but I just..." Patrick's head dipped then and Dave wondered for a moment if he might actually cry.
His father was a Sheppard through and through though, and he soon returned to staring out the window, his emotions firmly in check as he began again in a detached tone. "I couldn't admit it though, not even to myself. So he sets down his glass and he says to me, "Patrick--you don't mind if I call you Patrick, do you?" Like I'm going to refuse the President of the goddamn United States, you know? So I just nod, because I can't even speak at all at that point. And then he says to me, "Patrick, it would be best for all concerned if you would let go of that dream."
Dave was shaken when he noticed the gleam on his father's cheek, realizing that tears had indeed fallen. He put his hand on Patrick's knee, but his father didn't seem to notice his son's touch anymore than he noticed the moisture falling from his eyes. "But I couldn't do it, I couldn't let go. Not even for the goddamn President of the United States. So I told him that John wasn't getting any younger, that he'd have to give up flying eventually. And when he did, he'd come back and take his place in the company." He reached for the empty tumbler again and this time, Dave refilled it from the decanter that was also on the table. Patrick's only acknowledgement was to take a healthy swig before replacing the glass on the table.
"He put his hand on my shoulder. His eyes were full of regret as he said to me, "I'm very sorry, Patrick, but even if Colonel Sheppard wanted to leave, even if he put in for retirement, I'm afraid we couldn't allow it. He's far too valuable to us. He has some very...unique...talents and abilities that we just can't replace. We can't afford to let him go; his country needs him far too much." Then he patted me on the shoulder like a goddamn kid. And all I could do was sit there, trying to take in what he was telling me."
Patrick's hand was shaking as he took in another mouthful of the amber liquid, so much so that Dave had to help him set the glass back on the table afterward. "I don't really remember much of what happened next. I think he said something about us having the thanks of a grateful nation and what an honor it's been knowing your brother and what a fine man he is. I don't recall anything about the ride back to the hotel, or packing, or even telling Ramsey to get the jet ready or moving up the flight. And I have no idea how I got home; took a cab I guess."
David had no idea what to do or say by this point, but he had to try to fix things. "Dad..."
Patrick shook his head, cutting him off. "I always knew that your brother's destiny was to be something extraordinary. I would stand over his crib after he was born, you know, just watching him sleep for hours on end. And somehow as I stood there looking down at him, I could just...feel it, how someday he was going to be someone extraordinarily special. So I started then and there, to plan his future, to find the perfect way to shape him into the man who would one day step in and take the empire I was building to heights that even I couldn't imagine. So I pushed him, always insisting that he try harder and be better, never letting up for an instant. Always thinking I knew what was best." He laughed then, that same dead, mirthless laugh that sent chills down Dave's spine. "I really did believe that he'd never reach his potential unless he did things my way, you know. I thought that I'd be the one paving the way for him to meet with the President of the United States and dine with heads of state, not the other way around. I guess he got the last laugh, eh?"
"Dad..."
"No, no, it's all right." Patrick again reached for the glass of whisky, downing the entire glass before setting it heavily on the table. He shook his head, his red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes finally meeting his son's. "God, I'm such an idiot. His destiny was never mine to choose, but I was so wrapped up in my own dreams and illusions that I couldn't--wouldn't--see it. And now it's too late. I'll never have the chance to tell him."
Before he even had a chance to protest, his father reached out and patted the side of Dave's face, as if he were a small child again. "No. Don't say it. It is true and it is too late. He got promoted, despite the black mark on his record. They told us it would never happen, but it did. He's a lieutenant colonel now, did I tell you that? Over two years now, I think they said. The President told me that just before the Secret Service took me back to the hotel. Do you realize how many lieutenant colonels there are in the Air Force right now? Hundreds of them. And what do you think the odds are that the President knows each one of them by name?" Patrick shook his head. "Not very damn likely at all. And yet he knows your brother's name. And apparently he knows him well enough to realize what a handful he was while he was growing up, which means that he knows a lot more than just his name."
The elder Sheppard didn't seem to notice that he was now rambling. "It takes an extraordinary man to overcome something like that black mark of his, you know. He's exactly what I knew he'd be all those years ago. And despite all my planning and all the obstacles I tried to put in his way, he's become the man he was destined to be. I've regretted it, you know. That last argument. Every single moment of every single day since he walked out of our lives all those years ago, I've regretted it. If I'd only done something or said something differently...if I'd only reached out and tried to make it right again after he left..." He shook his head. "But I didn't know how then anymore than I do now."
Startled when Patrick suddenly stood, Dave quickly got to his feet and steadied his swaying father. Patrick reached out and messed his hair the way one would a small child's, again catching him off guard. "I'm tired. I think I'll go to bed now. Don't stay up too late," he warned. Then, suddenly looking every one of his sixty-plus years, he slowly shuffled off toward the stairs, muttering under his breath as he went.
"Good night, Dad," called Dave, helpless to do anything aside from stand there and watch him go. Patrick waved half-heartedly as he ascended the stairs and disappeared from view.
Dave stared after his father long after the old man was out of sight. His thoughts and emotions were in turmoil, spinning too fast to grasp onto any one before it changed yet again. He dropped heavily into the plush leather chair that Patrick had recently vacated, spying his father's empty tumbler on the table. Though not normally a heavy drinker, he refilled the glass and downed half the contents in one go. Anger at John morphed into sadness at the distance that had grown between them. Jealousy of John's place in their father's affections morphed into pride at his brother's accomplishments--what little he knew about them anyway. Sighing, Dave filled the tumbler again and brought the glass to his lips, this time sipping at the amber liquid as he sat back in the chair and stared out the window just as his father had done while relating the story of his visit to the Oval Office.
Hours passed and the decanter slowly emptied as he sat there, wondering how he would make things right this time. And he would find a way to handle it, of that he had no doubt.
After all, that's what he did.