10 Months Ago
Onboard a Puddlejumber
Adrift in the Intergalactic Void
The awe-inspiring sight of the Milky Way Galaxy was lost to Sheppard. His thoughts kept returning to the heart-stopping, recently fought space battle against an invading force of Wraith on Midway Station. He lost several men that day—most of them fed on by Wraith. And he lost Midway, letting it get blown to bits in the intergalactic void. Try as he might, he couldn't stop the niggling worry that more Wraith had gated through to Stargate Command.
He had to trust that Ronon and T'ealc succeeded in stopping them and that the earth was safe. That even now, the Daedalus was probably on the way to determine the fate of Midway Station.
Still…despite his own reassurances, Sheppard couldn't help worrying. Was Dave safe? Was Nancy?
Sheppard and his older brother had managed to repair a few bridges just a few short weeks ago, following that whole fiasco with the Replicator, which had forced Sheppard to leave in the middle of his father's Wake. He could only imagine the scandal that had caused among his father's friends and colleagues. Of course, it hadn't helped that the estranged brothers had exchanged a few choice words in public just before John walked out.
Instead of letting well enough alone, John had returned home to face Dave and hopefully offer an olive branch. He didn't think his brother would let him in the door, but he felt that he had to try. To his surprise, Dave not only invited him in, he also made a grudging effort to get past his personal issues with John, and the two men talked.
John again told Dave that he had no interest in the family finances, but his brother would have none of that.
"As I said earlier," Dave began, pouring them each a drink, "Dad regretted what happened between the two of you…but as you know, he was too stubborn to do anything about it. I think after what happened in Afghanistan, he thought you'd come back home, hat in hand, and ask his forgiveness. Well…that didn't happen, of course." He saluted John with his glass and smiled without humor. "As I'm sure you know…stubbornness happens to be a Sheppard family trait. Next thing, you were transferred to Antarctica, and then we lost all contact. The POC you gave us at Petersen wasn't any help. Just gave us a bunch of double-talk."
"Yeah…sorry 'bout that," Sheppard said, eyes downcast. He shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. Maybe it had been a mistake coming here after all.
"Dad did everything he could to find out where you were. At first, he tried all of his contacts in the Pentagon—but no luck. He was just told it was classified. Then he tried calling in favors from congressmen, senators…anyone who owed him big-time—even the President. But no one would help. It seemed as if you'd dropped off the face of the earth."
John flinched. Dave had no idea, he thought ironically.
"Dad was really scared, John. He thought that maybe you'd been killed on a mission so classified that the government would never inform us." Dave held his brother's eyes. "It wouldn't be the first time they'd denied knowing where you were." He shrugged, waving off whatever John was about to say. "He was more afraid that you'd been killed, thinking that he didn't love you, or that he wasn't proud of you. Which he was by the way."
John made a disparaging noise in his throat. "I doubt that," he bit out.
"It's true, Johnny! You don't know…you weren't here. But I was…I saw what the rift between you two was doing to him, and there was nothing I could do to help. You left and then a year or so later—bam! I got a message from you, saying you were fine but not much else. Dad was relieved, but I could tell he was disappointed you didn't offer to come home. After that it became an annual thing—a message from you letting us know that were still alive. It helped, but…well, you know."
John studied his drink for a long moment, and then downed the rest in a single swallow. He didn't really want to hear this. He started when Dave took the empty glass from his hand and shook his head when his brother offered him a refill. Dave made a show of pouring himself a second shot before turning back to John.
"Three months ago, Dad had his first heart attack. He recovered, but had another not long after. I think he knew he didn't have a lot of time left. He had the Will revised a few weeks ago, John. He left you a significant number of shares in the company, set you up with a trust fund…left the properties in both our names. I guess he figured we could divvy the houses whichever way we saw fit. I'm CEO of Sheppard Industries, of course, and the major shareholder, but you've got—"
"Dave, look…I meant what I said. I don't need—"
"It doesn't matter, John. It's what Dad wanted, and…it's what I want. You've been gone a long time, Johnny…I really want my little brother back in my life. That is…if you want…I mean, if it's not too late?"
John swallowed hard against a sudden lump in his throat and fought to get the words out. "No…Davey. I don't think it's too…that is…I'd kinda like, you know…" He made a vague gesture that took in Dave, the house, everything.
Dave smirked. "Articulate as ever, I see."
Sheppard gave him a grateful smile for letting him off the hook. "You were always the smooth talker, not me."
"Oh, yeah? I seem to remember you hijacking one of my girlfriends out from under me that one time at the lake—"
"Oh, really? And how about the time you talked Dad into letting you have the Porsche for the weekend? You knew I'd been planning on taking it out—"
"You weren't old enough to drive yet, Junior—"
"That's beside the point, and you know it…!"
Sheppard smiled at the memory, happy that he and his brother had made an effort to start over.
He regretted not making amends with his father, but the Old Man had shouted hurtful words at him after his divorce. Words like "a disappointment," "a disgrace," and a few others that he didn't care to recall because they still stung even after all these years. But the words he couldn't put out of his mind were the ones that his father had shouted as he'd walked out for the last time…
"If you leave now, don't bother coming back. You hear me? A real man would never walk out on his wife after what she's gone through. You're no son of mine…!"
Of course, how could he have explained that it wasn't he who had wanted the divorce? But, Nancy had been so unhappy after losing the baby and unwilling to try counseling. Admittedly, he wasn't the poster child for talking out his troubles with others, but for Nancy he would have tried anything. In the end, he couldn't bear the look of hurt and bitterness in her eyes, a look that he knew he had unwittingly put there...
As the hours stretched with no rescue in sight, Sheppard's mind began to wander, going back to his father's Wake last year, the last time he saw Nancy…
Sheppard recalls the shock of Nancy's hugging him and giving him a light peck on the cheek. As always he feels awkward, not knowing whether to hug her back or not, or where to place his hands. By the time his brain catches up with him, Nancy has already stepped back.
He doesn't remember what they talk about, the usual empty words people speak at funerals when they don't know what to say. However, he does recall the delicate fragrance of her favorite perfume—a scent he bought her on several occasions while they were married—a scent which remained long after she was gone.
Later, when they are talking in the car, Nancy's nearness, the way her chestnut hair shimmers in the fading sunlight streaming in from the windshield, how her warm, brown eyes gaze intently into his own without flinching, make it hard for him to focus on the Replicator problem.
He remembers the softness of her cheek when he used to run his fingers across it. How her breath would suddenly catch when he gently kissed the hollow of her neck. He remembers how fulfilled he felt after a night of making love to her, taking his time, lost in her embrace. He feels ensnared by her eyes, unable to look away, compelled to lean in and seek out her lips.
The spell is abruptly broken when Nancy lightly squeezes his arm and implores him to stay safe.
"Well…you know me," he said, embarrassed.
"Yeah…I do." And with those final words, Nancy is gone again from his life, leaving him with just her lingering scent and the knowledge that tonight she'll be lying in another man's arms.
Before he gates back to Atlantis, Sheppard over-nights her a gift set of her favorite fragrance. And if Greg…or Grant has a problem with that, too bad...
Frustrated, John spun the pilot's seat around until it was facing the aft section of the puddlejumper. He sat down and put his feet up on the seat directly behind. He grabbed McKay's laptop, donned a pair of ear phones, and tuned into Johnny Cash. He then closed his eyes and tuned out the Milky Way, the nonstop arguing from the geeks locked in the jumper's rear compartment, and any wayward thoughts of Nancy.
He had to put her out of his mind, as he had before. He had to return her to the dark recesses of his mind where he'd managed to seal memories of her when they were first divorced. However, like a Pandora's Box, once released it was impossible to put thoughts of Nancy back.
As he drifted off to sleep, stray wisps of memory kept breaching his weakened barriers. One thought in particular insisted on weaving in and out of his consciousness: If Nancy was so happy with Grant (Greg?), then why was she going by her maiden name, "Stephens"?
oOo
10 Months Ago…
The 1789
Georgetown,
Washington, D.C.
While the lone puddlejumper drifted in the endless void, those on Earth continued with getting through their daily existence, unaware of the near-apocalypse that had almost befallen the population just a few short hours ago…
The background strains of soft violin music could be heard over the sounds of heavy silverware clinking on delicate china and the murmur of quiet dinner conversations. Servers wended their way among the crowded tables with quiet efficiency, taking and delivering orders. On occasion shouted commands, accompanied by metallic clangs of pots and pans, could be heard from the vast kitchen, as the chef and his assistants hurriedly conjured their culinary magic.
For a famous five-star restaurant located in the Washington, D.C., trendy neighborhood of Georgetown, 1789 exuded a somewhat laidback atmosphere rather than one of stiff formality. The management wanted their customers to feel comfortable and relaxed after a hard day of navigating the dangerous waters of Washington bureaucracy.
Of course, Nancy Stephens noted wryly as she glanced around the tasteful dining room, this was D.C. Therefore, the men were mostly in their somber business suits and power ties—many having arrived straight from the office—while the women were in a wide-range of evening dress.
Returning her attention to the other occupants of the table, Nancy privately added that if you were Malcolm and Hilary Duncan, one of D.C.'s premier power couples, you made it a point to aim for the illusion of being relaxed to give your clients a false sense of ease. A powerful lobbyist and consummate Washington insider, Malcolm Duncan had the ear of dozens of sitting congressmen and senators. He was also CEO of the law firm of Duncan, Sayles, and Franklin—and her husband Grant's boss.
Nancy smiled stiffly at her hosts, listening and observing. Tonight was Grant's evening. Malcolm Duncan had been impressed with Grant's deposition on the part of one their clients. Grant's legal expertise and hard work saved their client millions of dollars and, as a result, earned Duncan, Sayles, and Franklin a sizable commission. Tonight was a celebration of that win.
Grant was also sure that this evening was the prelude to something bigger—a possible promotion, perhaps even a partnership. He reminded Nancy that morning before she left for work of the importance of tonight's dinner. Nancy promised not to be late, and she even took her favorite black dress and pearl necklace to change into after work. Seeing Hilary's diamond earrings and necklace twinkling in the subdued lighting made Nancy glad she had taken the time to do so.
In the half hour since she and Grant met the Duncans for dinner, Nancy had watched as Malcolm was greeted by no less than two local congressmen, one senator, and the current Chief Justice. She just managed not to roll her eyes. The next moment her lips twitched, knowing full well what her ex-husband's reaction would have been at the obvious glad-handing.
"So, Nancy," Hilary simpered. "Grant tells us that you're a Director with Homeland Security." She smiled encouragingly. "My…that must be very exciting!"
"Hilary, please," Malcolm interrupted. "Nancy isn't some kind of gun-toting federal agent." He grinned condescendingly. "She's more of an intelligence analyst—you know, a desk jockey. No kicking in doors…no going in guns blazing on midnight raids, right?"
"That's right, Malcolm," Grant quickly replied. "The guns blazing part, I mean…That's more along the lines of what her 'ex' would've done." Nancy shot Grant a warning glance, but he kept on talking. "Yeah, the last Nancy heard from him, he disobeyed a direct order—I'm not sure about the details—in Afghanistan and got himself transferred to the Antarctic." Smirking, he turned to Nancy. "You tell 'em, Nance…what exactly did whatisname—John—do to get sent to the ass-end of nowhere?"
Nancy shook her head, while doing her best to keep up her brightest smile. She had not informed Grant that she'd attended Patrick Sheppard's Wake while he was in Phoenix, nor that she had spoken with John, nor more specifically, that she'd received a mysterious, FedEx'd gift box of her favorite perfume with no return label. Of course, she knew right away who had sent it. What she didn't know or understand was why, instead of getting rid of it, she chose to keep it.
"Grant…I don't really think Malcolm and Hilary are interested—"
"Oh, but you're wrong, dear," Hilary interrupted. "It all sounds so terribly exciting."
"It was so long ago," Nancy demurred. "And I've put the episode behind me. Please…I'd rather not discuss it."
Looking disappointed, Hilary nodded reluctantly. "Of course, dear...if it's too painful."
Unfortunately, the evening wore on in the same vein. Malcolm and Grant talked "inside the beltway" politics—who was likely to take the House in the upcoming mid-term elections. Whom would President Hayes probably nominate to the federal bench? Who was sleeping with whom and with whose wife or husband (not their own), which caused Hilary to burst into girlish giggles.
"Oh, you boys are so bad!" Hilary protested. She looked over at Nancy, her cheeks bright pink with embarrassment. "Don't you agree, Nancy?"
Drawing a mental sigh, Nancy smiled and nodded politely. "Yeah…they're very bad."
Never had Nancy felt so bored out of her skull. What she would do for a national emergency right about now. Ironically, this was exactly the type of social occasion she would have killed to be a part of when she was married to John. But, despite her ex-husband's wealthy upbringing, John had always been more of a beer and steak man—and definitely no jacket and tie.
I could go for a beer right about now, she thought, grimacing as she sipped her fine wine. Not that Nancy didn't enjoy an occasional glass of wine with her dinner. But when she saw the price tag on the bottle that Malcolm had ordered, she cringed. It was almost enough for a down payment on a house in some of the D.C. suburbs, she thought wryly. As Grant and Malcolm's conversation disappeared into a vague background drone, Nancy's mind wandered to thoughts of John.
Before long, she wondered what he was doing at that moment….
oOo
