Chapter 4: Thirteen Years of Age

Part 1

"He turned thirteen two months ago," Delenn said to her husband.

John and Delenn Sheridan had retired to their bedroom for the night after yet another long day. While the Alliance was now out of its infancy, fourteen years, there were always feathers to be smoothed, ambassadors to be coaxed, and deals to be made. It was undoubtedly important work but also very exhausting work. But Alliance business wouldn't keep them awake this night. No, a topic much more personal and long overdue would.

"I know, honey, but I still think he's too young," Sheridan said.

Heavy down pillows propped behind their backs and a warm, blue and white comforter covering the lower half of their bodies, John and Delenn looked like any married couple preparing for bed. But the universe knew differently. It pulsed with anxiety, regret, and fear.

"You said that last year, John, and the year before that. We agreed," Delenn said, twisting in bed to face her husband. His face was ashen, eyes heavy lidded with concern and trepidation. She touched his hand with her much smaller one, finger circling his gold wedding band. "It's time, John, it must be done whether you wish it or not. You can't keep putting it off."

John Sheridan knew that. He'd always known, but David was still but a boy, too young to understand. David wasn't ready to hear the truth. And he wasn't ready to speak the truth. There wasn't a day that passed in which he didn't think it, feel it, could almost touch it. But he managed to keep it at bay, the inevitable clock monster ticking down his time.

At first, Sheridan didn't hear the subtle tick, tick, tick of the clock. And on extremely busy days, it was nearly drowned out by his state of near exhaustion. But it never left, the timepiece deathly accurate, accurately foreboding. Yet as the years went by, the hands moved slowly around the clock, the large hand ticking off each year, the smaller hand following suit, keeping it on schedule. And the once subtle tick, tick, tick started to get louder. And John knew it would only get louder still until it blared in his mind, body, and soul in an uproarious dong, dong, dong.

But he had a few rotations left on that damn clock of his. It wasn't blaring its alarm yet. He still had time, not much, but some. It would be enough, it had to be enough; he would make it enough.

"I'm not ready," John admitted in an agonizing whisper. "I'm not ready to do that to my boy. I'm not ready to break his heart, destroy his spirit. I can't do that to him, Delenn, I just can't."

Delenn's grip on Sheridan's hand tightened, giving what support she could. But it had to be done. They'd had this conversation countless times and there was simply no way to get around the inevitable. It simply had to be done. And John had to be the one to do it. It was his story to tell, his road to travel.

Delenn lovingly kissed John's left temple and pulled his head to her shoulder. He went willingly, a boat adrift, the lighthouse its only anchor to reality, its' safe harbor in an otherwise turbulent storm.

"I'm not ready for it either, John, and if we're honest, we never will. The sooner David knows the truth, the sooner we can start helping him deal with what is to come. This way, John, you still have a few more years with him and his knowledge will free you."

"Free me?" John hadn't thought about it in that way. "How?"

"You've been carrying this around with you for thirteen years like a medicine ball. You're so afraid of David learning the truth, that you've developed a guilt complex. You've done nothing wrong, but you act as if you have." Delenn smoothed his hair, Sheridan's head pillowed in the crook of her neck.

"David has a right to know and, believe it or not, John, you need to speak the words. There's power in the spoken word, it frees us, and holds us accountable, purges our soul of truths that need to be said and truths that need to be heard."

"The truth will hurt him," John said, raising his head from his wife's strong shoulders. "The truth will only bring him pain." His voice cracked. And that was a truth Sheridan couldn't ignore, for it had brought Delenn pain. Hell, they barely talked about it themselves. In fact, they avoided the topic. Painful, it was too damn painful. And now he had to share that sorrow with his only child, his son, his heart.

"It will," Delenn conceded. "That cannot be helped, but we're a family, we'll get through this together. Besides," she said, "that truth will determine what type of relationship you have with him from here on out and the memories of you he will carry with him once you've gone where no shadows fall."

Delenn faltered here, her voice and eyes dropping for a long second. John knew she was being brave for him. Her words were direct and what needed to be said, but it was killing her inside. Their little family would never be the same once the full truth was revealed. What John didn't know, however, was how it would change. And that frightened him to his very military core.

"If you wait until he's fifteen or even sixteen," Delenn said, squaring her shoulders and soldiering on, "he'll feel cheated, rushed."

"What do you mean?"

"We often live our lives, John, as if we have an innumerable amount of time. People, regardless of the species, often take their lives and the people they love for granted. We foolishly assume a sense of ennui that just doesn't exist when one understands that a life is nothing more than a fragile flicker of a flame."

"You're right. That's exactly what Anna and I did. We put our work, our careers ahead of everything else, thinking we would have time, that the world would wait for us. But the universe waits for no one," John said somberly.

"No it doesn't. We must claim life vigorously and purposefully, taking and giving all that we are before our flame dims. I don't want our son feeling as if he's wasted time with you because he didn't know he wouldn't always have you. I did that with my father, Dukhat . . . even Lennier. It was a mistake each time, ones I still regret. But," she said, reaching for his cheek and gently caressing, "I savor every moment I still have with you, John. When our twenty years are no more and I lay in this bed alone, I don't want to have any regrets. I want nothing but memories of a marriage well spent, a husband well loved, and opportunities never missed. That will bring me solace, John. And we owe the same solace, the same peace of mind to David. He deserves that much, John, and we can deny him no longer."

She was right. Of course, Delenn was right. Sheridan could think of very few times in which his wife wasn't correct. It would have to be done. If he wasn't strong enough then how did he expect his son to be? Then again, they didn't all have to be strong, they only needed to accept the inevitable and love each other as fiercely as they always have. They were a tough little family. They could survive this, Sheridan assured himself, resigned to the task.

"I'll tell him tomorrow," John said. "It'll be Saturday and we're supposed to watch a baseball game together. I'll speak with him after the game. Why spoil it for him," John said, giving Delenn a weak smile and shrug of his shoulders.

Under the circumstances, it was the best he could manage.

Part 2

John Sheridan saw very little of the baseball game beamed in via satellite. Too much on his mind and not enough sleep could be blamed for his preoccupied mind. But his son, David, didn't seem to notice, too caught up in the action of the opportunity to watch his favorite Human sport.

"Run, run, run!" David yelled, jumping to his feet and cheering the Yankee slugger on. "Run, run, run, that's it, head down, now move your ass," the boy swore, the way his father had taught him. Well, John didn't actually teach his son to swear, per se, but one could hardly miss such language when he was upset or even excited. And baseball made John very excited, especially when his favorite team was winning, like they were now. Earth Yankees three, Mars Mets two.

John's normal retort would've been, "Watch your mouth, David," or "Not so loud, David, or your mother will hear you and you'll get us both into trouble." But this wasn't one of their normal father-son times, at least not for Sheridan.

"You're awfully quiet, Dad," David said, plopping back down on the sofa, long legs clad in blue jeans, a birthday gift from Uncle Michael, bare feet exposed, imprinted in the spotless, white carpet.

David Sheridan was now as tall as his mother and growing like the proverbial weed. He would eventually be as tall as his father and grandfather, both over six feet and lean. His hair, however, was dark like his mother, cut short on the sides and back where it met bonecrest. His face, normally plastered with a good-humored smile was now set in a worried frown.

"What's wrong? You've been moody all day. Did you and Mom have a fight or something?" David asked. He thought about it for a second, and then said, "No, not a fight, probably a problem with the Alliance. Did one of those ambassadors say or do something to upset you?"

There was no response from John, just a blank, hollow look, so David continued. "Did I do something?" he asked, paranoia taking hold of his teenage brain. "I swear it was Tuleer who drew that picture of Mr. Jacklon, and posted it on Templebook. I had nothing to do with it. Sure, it was my account and most of the kids at school are all friends on Templebook, but how was I to know it would get around and Mr. Jacklon would find out? Besides," David said, sounding more annoyed than apologetic, "Religious Caste instructors have no sense of humor at all, Dad. You know, donkeys are very strong and useful animals. I have no idea why he would be so insulted with a drawing that depicted him as one."

It took Sheridan a minute to register the contents of the one-sided conversation before his mind snapped back to this plane. "Wait. Tuleer drew a picture of your foreign language teacher as a donkey and you helped him post it on a site for all the kids at your school to see?" John asked, voice accusatory, dad senses back to normal.

"Wellll," he drew out, "I hit a wrong button or two and forwarded it to all my friends," David said with the realization that he'd foolishly opened a door his father wasn't already behind. "It was an accident," David reassured, face bright red, sweaty hands borne of anxiety, holding on to a light beige throw cover for dear life.

"You and Taleer basically called one of your teachers a jackass. Mr. Jacklon, a jackass of a foreign language teacher." His voice was pitched very high, as was his eyebrows.

"So, you did see the drawing," David said, quickly sliding to the other side of the sofa, putting some distance between himself and the sleeping giant he'd just awakened.

John bolted upright and gave his son a death glare. "You two actually wrote that on the picture? You actually . . ." John couldn't continue. This was typical David Sheridan behavior. So much so, he almost laughed. The sweet, innocent face, staring warily at him, with the smooth, delicate voice just beginning to deepen with the onset of puberty, was a cunning child with a devilish mind. His intention was never to hurt or harm. He wasn't a malicious or spiteful person, he was just, John reminded himself, a teenager.

Damn, was I like that when I was thirteen? Hell, I wonder if Delenn was ever this deceptively wicked as a kid. Probably. I wouldn't put it past her with those sweet emerald eyes, beguiling smile, and innocuously tiny frame. She probably got away with murder, while I, on the other hand, had my ass handed to me on more than one occasion care of dear ole Dad.

"We didn't get into any trouble," David readily supplied. "He didn't even know it was us. I don't think he knows who did it but that's old news, Dad. Tell me what's up with you," David said, trying to shift the conversation and pull his hand away from the fire.

Sheridan simmered, figuring it would do him little good to blow his top. There was a more important topic for them to discuss. Besides, John reasoned, once he told Delenn what happened, she would handle it in such a way that David would never ever engage in such a disrespectful act again. She definitely had a way with him. And for that, John was immeasurably pleased. David would need his mother in the years to come, as she would need her son.

"There's something important I need to speak with you about, David," John said without preamble. "Your mother and I have talked about it for a good long time and we believe you're now old enough to handle the truth."

David shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, sitting up straight, green eyes heavily fixed on his father. His father had taken on a serious tone, the one David only heard him use during Alliance business. He'd never taken that tone with him. It was strong and forceful, but something else as well. And it was this something else in his father's voice that frightened the boy. He knew immediately, whatever truth his father had to reveal, he didn't want to hear it. Ever.

Part 3

Damn, he looks like he's about to wet his pants and I haven't even told him yet. He knows it's bad. Shit. Poison pill, John, it's like taking a poison pill. Just do it and get it over with before you lose your nerve.

Sheridan got up and closed the distance between himself and his son. Sitting down on the sofa, John angled his body so he was facing the nervous teen.

"I'm not going to like this, am I, Dad?"

A solemn, "No," and a shake of the head was his answer.

"Does it have anything to do with Mom?" David asked.

"No." Another whispered response.

"You?" The question was but a muffle, a silent cry of realization.

"Yes. It's about me, son," John replied.

And then there was silence. It floated in the air like a balloon, drifting on wind currents, waiting to hit the inevitable obstruction and be destroyed with a familiar pop.

Sheridan watched his son, his body tense, eyes already flooded with tears and it practically undid him. But there was no turning back now. Pandora's box had already been propped on the table, now it simply had to be opened and its ghastly contents displayed. But all didn't have to be told. Not tonight, John reasoned. Just the bare facts would do, the rest could wait. What did it matter anyhow, the what, who, how, and why. The bottom line was all that needed to heard, all that needed to be shared.

"I'm dying, David," John said. "I only have a few years left to live, and then I have to leave you and your mother. I wish it was otherwise, but life doesn't always grant us our wishes. Although," John acknowledged, "it has granted me a beautiful and loving wife and a brilliant and brave son."

And then the dam burst. It started with one sob, then two, a third, and then a tidal wave of tears. David's body shivered and shook, his entire body jerking wildly out-of-control. John quickly grabbed his son in a fierce whole body embrace, pulling the boy onto his lap as if he was nothing more than a two-year old toddler who'd just fallen and skinned his knee.

David continued to shake and screech his pain, soaking his face and John's shirt with his tears. Sheridan had never heard another human being wail so, the grief bone deep. And it hurt like hell that the sound was coming from his own son. Then his own resolve shattered and he too cried uncontrollably, hugging David as tight as he could to his chest.

He stroked his son's bonecrest soothingly, while laboring under his own grief. David's lean arms wrapped around his neck, the boy's breath ragged against Sheridan's neck.

How much time had passed, neither of them knew. But by the time the tears had ceased and breathing evened out, the Sheridan men felt like two big babies, embarrassed at their breakdown; yet, knowing it wouldn't be the last time.

David had retaken his seat next to his father on the couch, John's handkerchief snuggly in his hand.

"It isn't fair," David finally managed to say.

"I know, but . . . You're right, David, life isn't fair and sometimes it just downright stinks. But know this, son," John said, taking David's hand into his own, "my love for your mother is the only reason I'm here today. Her love granted me twenty years, gave me the will to live, gave us a chance to have a family, and have you. Life can be unfair, David, but I could have had nothing and for that I will always be eternally grateful to the universe."

Sheridan knew his son didn't understand most of what he said, but he would. There would be more talks, further explanations, and even more tears. But the first hurdle had been cleared and they both were still standing. A little winded and dizzy, but still standing.

"It's not fair," David mumbled again, tears beginning their descent. "It's not fair, not fair." And the tears began again in earnest, but this time there was no violent shaking, John noticed. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

John hugged David to him once more, telling him how proud he was to be his father, how much happiness he'd brought to his life, and how he'd always be with him in his heart.

"I love you, David. You are my star and your mother my moon. You two own my heart, my spirit, my soul. We are three, but we are also one. Don't ever forget that, son. You are my one, the one."

"I love you too, Dad. I don't want to lose you. Not now, I'm not ready."

"No, not now, David. We still have some time yet. Not now, son, thank God, not now."

But soon, his inner clock whispered. Tick, tick, tick.