A/N:- Well here we are the final chapter, there is a short epilogue to come after this and I'll get that posted as soon as possible.

Thank you so much for sticking with me this was my first ever fic and a lot of mistakes have been made along the way but I've also learnt a great deal. Thank you to everyone who has been kind enough to leave reviews and most of all thank you to Alipeeps for her invaluable betaing skills.

Chapter 19

Bad Penny

The shiny brass plaque read Lieutenant Edward James Ripley 1978-2006. Snow fell lightly as they lowered the coffin into the ground; it was the fifth funeral he had attended in three days, three of them here at Arlington. At each interment he had stood silently at the grave, watching the desolate grief of the families as they tried to come to terms with the loss of their sons and daughters, never knowing how, or where, they had died.

He had visited McCormack and Benedict's families, unable to tell them anything about what their loved ones had been doing, unable to give McCormack's family the comfort of being able to bury their son. Over the last week he had found himself repeating an endless list of platitudes; he found the words 'bravery' and 'courage' spilling from his lips over and over again until they had become empty of meaning. Ed Ripley had been a good man, smart, well-liked and had an endless supply of dirty jokes. Promotion had been beckoning for him. John had told his parents that; Ed's father had shook his hand and thanked him, his mother had barely concealed her hatred. The Air Force had taken her child and she wanted nothing more to do with them.

Walking back across the cemetery, his feet crunching on the gravel and his eyes cast downward, watching the snow melting against his uniform, he caught sight of his reflection in the tinted windows of one of the funeral cars. A tired and drawn face stared back at him and the dress uniform only served to accentuate his weight loss. He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and in the car window he could see the reflection of General Landry standing behind him.

"You look tired John, you should go back to your hotel and get some rest. Mrs Ripley has asked that only friends and family attend the wake."

"Can't say I blame them."

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow. Are you sure you up to all this, John? Believe me, you don't want to suffer the wrath of my daughter if you over do things."

"I'll be okay. It's something I need to do, Sir." The General nodded solemnly and patted him on the back.

"Get some rest."

"Thank you, Sir."

He watched everyone else leave before climbing into the car beside the young Corporal who had been assigned as his driver.

"Back to the hotel, Sir?" she asked.

"No. Um…" He held out the scrap of paper with the address on. "You know where this is?" She studied the address for a moment.

"Yes Sir." The young woman turned the key in the ignition and pulled away. Sensing his mood, she kept quiet, letting him watch the streets passing through the window. It was eerie being back on Earth, there was an almost dream-like feel to it. Atlantis was the real world for him now. What did it say about him that he could only find a home in another galaxy? Resting his head against the window, he watched as the snow fell faster and the clouds turned a bluish-grey, throwing the world into twilight. Christmas lights twinkled on shop fronts and were wound around the branches of leafless trees. It hadn't even occurred to him that it was almost Christmas until he had seen a forlorn looking artificial tree that someone had stuck on a desk in one of the SGC labs. Now, seeing signs of the holiday season all around him, he found himself feeling lonelier than ever.

ooOoo

Tiredness overwhelmed him and he struggled to keep his eyes open but at some point he must have lost the fight and he found himself being woken up by the Corporal's gentle touch on his shoulder. She smiled apologetically as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"Would you like me to wait, Sir?" John looked out of the window at the picture book suburban home, resolve fighting with the butterflies in his stomach.

"No." It was too late to change his mind now. "You can go, I'll get a taxi back. Thank you, Corporal."

"You're welcome, Sir." He got out of the car and, placing his cap back on his head, stood facing a house he'd never seen before; his father had moved yet again while he was in Antarctica. His childhood had consisted of one move after another as his father went where the air force sent him, they'd lived in a dozen different states and had spent time in England and Germany; his adult life had followed a similar path, never staying in one place for too long. Atlantis was the closest thing he'd ever had to a permanent home. Apparently his stepmother had finally convinced his father to settle down; Tom Sheppard had spent time at The Pentagon during the height of the Cold War and obviously something about the area had drawn him back.

Taking a deep and calming breath, he headed toward the front door. As he rang the bell he cursed Elizabeth under his breath for putting such a stupid idea as this into his head. A moment later the door opened and he found himself face to face with his father for the first time in five years. The older man stood with his mouth open for a few moments, a thousand different emotions playing over his face, before he finally spoke.

"You look like crap!" All the times John had imagined this moment, playing through a thousand different scenes in his head, he'd never come up with a scenario where those would be his father's opening words.

John struggled to come up with a response and eventually settled for a sarcastic, "Thanks."

They stood looking at each other, neither sure what to say; eventually the fact that John was freezing his ass off was the deciding factor. "Can I come in, please?" Tom Sheppard shook himself out of his surprise and held the door was open wider for John and he followed his father down the hall to the lounge. They both stood there awkwardly; as though they were strangers. The change in temperature was dramatic, the cold outside replaced with a wave of heat coming from an open fire. Taking off his cap, John bent to lay it on the coffee table and couldn't help but notice the fleeting expression on his fathers face when he saw the thin scar running through his still short hair. He'd seen the same expression on other people's faces and would be grateful when his hair had grown back enough to cover it.

"Didn't think I'd be seeing you again," his father said. "Thought you really had gone and got yourself killed this time."

"You weren't the only one."

"Are you gonna to sit down? You look exhausted."

"Yeah, I am. It's been a long week." He was finding his slow recovery maddening; he'd always been an athletic person and to find himself exhausted from walking up a flight of stairs or simply standing up for any length of time was both embarrassing and frustrating. Un-buttoning his jacket and loosening his tie, he sat down on the sofa, sighing in relief.

"I know it's a little early in the evening but do you want a drink? God knows, I need one." John's father reached a bottle of Scotch down from the dresser.

"I'm still on some pretty heavy duty painkillers, got to stick to the soft stuff."

"There's coffee in the pot." John felt a bitter amusement at the forced politeness, as though they were strangers.

"I'm good, thanks."

"Do you mind if I do?"

"No, go for it." Tom Sheppard poured, paused for a moment, and poured the same in again. Looking at his son, he shrugged. "Like I said, I need a drink. When that bell rang you were the last person I expected to see on the other side of the door."

"I nearly didn't come."

"Why did you?"

"Honestly? A bunch of reasons. I was in the neighbourhood anyway." He tugged at the lapel of the jacket of his dress uniform. "Arlington." It was the only explanation he needed to give. "Elizabeth showed me the photograph you sent her. I thought maybe it meant…I thought maybe it meant… you'd want to see me."

His father took a seat in the chair opposite John. "I did…I do. I'm glad you came. So…do you think we can have a conversation without arguing?"

"I'd like to think so." He meant that. It would be nice if they could just talk. John looked around the room; familiar furniture in a strange house. "So, how is everything?"

For the next few minutes they sat and talked like strangers, exchanging pleasantries, doing everything but talking about the weather, and John felt his heart sink. There really was nothing left for him here.

"So, what happened?" the older man asked eventually. "You were captured?" He said it as if he were asking someone about their day at the office.

"Yeah."

"But you can't tell me who was holding you?" John forced an apologetic smile.

"No. You know how it is."

"Yes, I know how it is." Even so John could see the old man's frustration at not knowing. He looked John up and down. "I'm guessing whoever these people were, they hadn't heard of the Geneva Convention."

"No." You don't know how true that is, thought John.

"Was it bad, John?" He was taken aback by the softness in his father's voice.

"Yeah," he nodded. There was no point in denying it. "It was bad."

"Are you going to be okay?"

"I'm healing slowly, getting the weight back on." Tom Sheppard cleared his throat and shifted in his chair.

"That's not what I meant. Are you…" John could see his father fighting for the words, uncomfortable with the question.

"Mentally unstable?" John laughed bitterly. "Well that's the million dollar question, isn't it?" He paused, swallowing back. "There's always been a bit of a question mark over my command and this…it's just given them more reason to doubt me. There's a Colonel who knows the situation nearly as well as I do, he's a good man. I'm not supposed to know but they're considering putting him in above me. A lot of people would have had it that way from the start."

"But they gave the job to you."

"Only by default, my commanding officer was…killed." He sighed, leaning back into the sofa. "I was just the highest ranking officer in the field. And Elizabeth fought my corner, so they promoted me. No one ever intended for me to be in command. I wasn't even meant to be part of the operation, it all just kind of happened."

"Yet you've been doing this for two and a half years and, according to Doctor Weir, you're damn good at it."

"I'm just not sure I'm the right man for the job anymore; not sure I ever was." His father sighed heavily.

"And here was me thinking you'd finally stopped running away from your responsibilities." John leaned his head back and looked at the ceiling.

"I'm not running away!" He raised his voice without meaning to. He should have known they couldn't last a whole conversation without an argument. "I don't have any control over this."

"Like hell you don't. You prove to them you're the right man."

"What if I'm not?" The words came out harsher than John intended and he lowered his eyes, meeting his fathers gaze.. "I never asked for any of this, I just got lucky. I'm still the same screw up you always said I was." He felt his voice faltering. "I'm not the man they think I am."

"Since when did you give a crap what anyone else thought?"

"It matters what these people think. They rely on me, trust me, care about me. When I make a mistake, bad things happen to a lot of people."

"Then don't make mistakes."

"It's not that simple. I…I don't know if I can do it anymore." He scrubbed his hand through his short hair. "They changed me…took something away and I don't know how to get it back."

"You can't. You've just got to learn to let it go."

"Well, gee, thanks Dad. That makes me feel so much better." John couldn't keep the venom from his voice.

"What do you want from me, John?" Tom Sheppard leaned forward in his chair.

"Tell me what to do, tell me how I fix this." John thumped his good hand against his chest, still feeling the healing ribs.

"I can't."

"Dad, I'm broken." His voice was almost pleading.

"And the only one who can fix you is you." John lent forward and put his head in his hands, wondering what the hell he was doing here and fighting back the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. "Tell me this, if you go back to wherever the hell you've been and three of your men are trapped behind enemy lines and this Colonel tells you to return to base without them, what are you going to do, John? I'll tell you what you'll do; exactly what you did in Afghanistan, consequences be damned." The older Colonel Sheppard sat back in his chair. "Can you really go back and take orders from this guy without question?"

"No." He didn't need to think about the answer, it was just there; he knew that if it came down to a choice between doing what he thought was right and disobeying a direct order, he'd make the same choices again.

"Then you've got two options. You go back and you do your job, or you walk away. Which one is it going to be, Colonel?"

OoOoo

John stood at the door watching the snow fall in front of the headlights of the taxi. Big heavy flakes still drifted down and the ground was now covered with a thick layer. His stepmother had come home to find them both sitting silently in the lounge. There'd been a few tears on her part and she had busied around them with forced jollity, sensing the uncomfortable atmosphere. In truth, John just felt drained and detached. He had answered her questions and smiled patiently when she emptied the contents of the refrigerator in an attempt to force feed him as much food as possible.

Now he stood outside the front door, adjusting his cap back onto his head; the snow had proven a good excuse to not stay late. He turned back to his father, still standing at the door.

"I had a pretty high security clearance back in the day, you know that?" he said.

"Yes, Sir." John answered. Tom Sheppard had been involved in classified operations during the Cold War, a fact he was immeasurably proud of.

"I still have a lot of friends in high places, The Pentagon for example." John resisted the temptation to zone out, he'd heard this all before. "I tried to call in a few old favours, find out what exactly you've been doing these last few years. I figured that it was some UN 'lets all be friends' kind of gig." He waved his hand dismissively.

"What did you find out?" John asked, genuinely curious. His father frowned and fixed him with a stare, the first time he'd looked him full in the face since he'd first opened the door.

"Nothing," he admitted reluctantly. "Whatever the hell you've got yourself into, it's big isn't it?" John couldn't help but smile. It felt good to have one over on the old man for a change, it was petty of him he knew, but for a moment he was going to enjoy the feeling.

"Doesn't come any bigger." His father studied him intensely for a moment.

"You know, over the years I've heard some pretty crazy conspiracy theories."

"Yeah, me too but you know what they say, truth is stranger than fiction." They stood looking at one another for a moment longer, the taxi's engine the only sound.

"I'm not going to see you again, am I?" his father asked.

"No. Probably not." Tom Sheppard nodded sadly in understanding. The old man swallowed back and smiled.

"You know, I'm proud of you, Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard."

"Yeah," John said bitterly. "But I never wanted you to be proud of my rank, I wanted you to be proud of your son. Goodbye, Dad." He walked away without looking back.