"Second Chance" by ShipperWriter
Summary: Two teenagers are forced into a dinner together with their fathers. Boy never shows. Girl always wonders … teen!Sparky fic.
Author's Notes: This story is something I wanted to try, because it's not "we actually met before Atlantis" but it's "we almost met before Atlantis … a lot … and we never knew it" … So we'll see how this goes!
Let me know what you think!
"Dad, do I really need to go with you?"
The trim seventeen year old girl stood at the entrance to her father's study, arms akimbo with a disgruntled expression plainly showing on her face.
"Yes, you do. You would be doing me a great favor, and you might get some new beneficial acquaintances." Robert Weir sat behind his desk, reading glasses on the tip of his nose as he perused through some manila folders sitting on his desk. His daughter shook her head, soft brown curls swaying in disarray.
I have better things to do than to socialize with your potential fundraiser donors, she desperately wanted to tell him, leaving the subject at that and strutting back to her room. Her father was well respected in Washington, known for never leaving a new acquaintance without plans to play golf soon after.
"I understand how much this means to you," Elizabeth carefully worded, not making it sound as if she was in agreement at last, "but I need to finish filling out my papers for Georgetown."
Her father sighed, taking the glasses off his nose and setting them on the desk. "Can't you do that later?"
"Well, yes, but-"
"Good, it's settled," Robert concluded with a short smile before replacing his spectacles. "It'll be fine. I promise, you'll enjoy this."
The door slammed.
Again.
He ran a hand through his hair, silently contemplating breaking the door down.
"John, come out now."
"Dad, I'm not playing your pansy. I'm not going with you."
"John Patrick Sheppard, you come face me right now, or I swear I will have your Mustang towed."
That got to him.
The annoyed teen swung the door open, harshly hitting the brace on the floorboard as it did so.
John Sheppard slumped over to his father, glancing up at him. "Don't bring my car into this," he bristled sarcastically. "This is between you and me."
"John, you're a member of this family, which means you have obligations you need to fulfill."
"My obligation is to keep your shiny name scuff free. You don't need the model son. That's what you have David for."
His father almost nodded vigorously, but quickly suppressed the urge. "Yes, well, if David wasn't doing an internship in New York City, because he filled out his college applications on time, then I wouldn't be telling you to do this."
"You'd be dictating me, no matter what David or anyone else is doing!"
"That's enough!" his father bellowed, causing John to step back for a moment.
Just then, a door opened down the hallway.
Maureen Sheppard held her purse in one hand, a coat in the other. "I'm going out. I'll be back later."
Patrick Sheppard only nodded, gaze still intently concentrated on his unruly son.
John looked behind him as his mother walked away. "You treat her worse than you do me," he remarked simply, slowly turning to face his father again, almost appearing as if he expected to be slapped.
He had reason to. Patrick had let his hand fly on more than one occasion.
Instead of getting physical, he only glared harder at his son. "Get dressed. Be ready to go in a half hour."
He turned on his heel and left his son in the corridor, hands stuffed in his pockets, chewing on his lip.
Elizabeth silently protested as she entered her room, opening the closet to decide what to wear.
This is ironic, she thought to herself. I don't want anything to do with the very thing that my life revolves around.
Behind her, someone tapped on the door. "Lizzie?"
She sighed. "Come in, Dad."
Robert moved into the room, hands behind his back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pressure you into coming. Normally, your mother would come, but-"
"No, Mom's not feeling well yet. I don't want her to feel obligated to go." She rifled through a few suits that she had hanging up, trying to decide on one, then she cast a mournful glance at her desk. She had small stacks of paper for each college she was applying to. Her father had already declared, confidence flooding over, that it wasn't if she got in. The important part was picking the best one.
Through her whole life, it had been nothing but the best for her.
She was starting to feel slightly suffocated.
"What about that one?" her father asked, pointing to the back of the row.
A simple black suit hung, perfectly hemmed pants with a smart jacket to match. All that it wanted was a proper shirt for under the jacket. But which color?
"You're going to pick the red one," her father told her, knowingly with a disarming smile.
She chuckled. "I always do."
John threw himself onto the bed, kicking a foot into the empty air.
This isn't my life, he kept repeating again and again, hoping the mantra would come true. His dad had made millions, expected his perfect little family to always support him, to always follow through on every whim he had. They were to shake the right hands, to use the right silverware, to say the right things, to behave the right way.
His brother eagerly dove right in.
His mother tried to distance herself from the monster she didn't know she had married.
He wanted to disappear altogether. He wanted to disown himself from his family.
John groaned quietly, running a hand through the hair that wouldn't behave. His father always told him to have it nicely kept, but as much as he wanted it to be, it wasn't styled that way on purpose.
It fought against the family all on its own.
John smirked at the quiet words that escaped his lips. "I wanna be like my hair," he chuckled.
He sat up, giving his room a contemplative glance.
A tailored suit that his father's secretary had picked out hung behind his door. Costs way too much, was all John could think.
His desk was covered in college applications, mostly ones that his father kept dropping there.
There was one his father didn't know about. One that John actually had filled out.
It was his backup plan.
John stood from the queen size bed and walked around his room, making a mental checklist. What he could take with him, what he could bear to leave behind.
His old copy of "War and Peace" that his grandfather had given him. "Coming."
The skateboard in the corner that his father put way too much money - but not enough heart - into for Christmas a few years ago. "Stays."
The aviator sunglasses that stayed on his head, no matter how fast or how awkward he was positioned. "Coming."
The Johnny Cash poster he had bought for a dollar when he was a kid, the main priority when he moved. "Definitely coming."
He grabbed a duffel out of his closet, gathered the things he deemed essential, left a note on the desk, and easily slipped out the second story window as he had done millions of times before.
Thank God this was the last time.
The maitre d' escorted Elizabeth and her father into the upscale restaurant, leading them into a secluded area in the back near the entrance to the kitchen. This wasn't a new experience for her; her father had many business dinners here, and was a regular in any case.
A man sitting by himself caught her eye. As they navigated closer to the table, she realized that this must be the man that Robert Weir had come to meet. He had distinguished silver hair, despite only being in his late forties, she estimated. It seemed to have a pull that defied gravity, but the copious amount of product in his hair kept it in what she referred to subconsciously as the Capitol Hill cut. It was the style that all the politicians, their supporters, and the wannabes would sport, trying to fit in to that world.
As he stood with a slight smile to greet the Weirs, Elizabeth noticed the fourth seat that remained tucked under the table. Vacant.
She heard her father introduce her, saying, "My daughter, Elizabeth." Automatically, as if trained from the womb, she extended her hand, plastering her most charming yet diplomatic smile on her face.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sheppard."
With a firm grip, he released her hand. "Please. Call me Patrick."
She nodded but refrained with a polite smile as she sat down, her chair being pulled out for her.
Elizabeth kept a part of her mind in the ensuing discussion, occasionally commenting on something while a question kept aggravating her. Every time that one of them would stop talking, she started to interject her query, but the men didn't like the silence for long and would resume their conversation. She waited until the waiter returned, when the men finally paused for a split second in their discussion, then quickly asked, "Was your son unable to accompany you?"
Patrick Sheppard's face twitched strangely for a moment, so quick that if you blinked you never would've seen it. "Yes, my son David is interning in New York."
"I thought you said John was coming with you," Robert said, taking a drink of his Scotch afterwards.
Elizabeth looked back at Sheppard. The strange look was obvious on his face this time. Addressing Elizabeth with a low voice, he told her "I have another son, John, the youngest. He, um, decided to make himself unavailable tonight." He abruptly unraveled his napkin and changed the subject.
For the rest of the meeting, for that's what it was, a business meeting which happened to take place over dinner, the teenager sat in her seat, silently deciding for herself what kind of person this John Sheppard must be. He disregarded his family's wishes. Judging from his father's appearance but taking into consideration his rebellious nature, he must be a handsome, yet wearisome young man. Just from this basic opinion of him, it sounded like someone that she would hope never to encounter.
So why was she so upset inside that John Sheppard wasn't here?
TBC …