New fic: Ex Post Facto (SGA)
I came up with the idea for this story during the sga_flashfic "Earthside" challenge, but then I thought "Nah...."
Which goes to show that in this fandom, you should always write your flashfic ideas before the show writers get to it first. (You hear that,
the_girl_sleuth
?)
Ex Post Facto (1972 words)
Summary: "A different man might have been thinking about everything he missed, what could have been, but she knew John and he was just feeling awkward."
Spoilers: Through "Sunday" (3rd season)
Notes: Thanks to the Spike and Shana for advice, and Amy and Livia for encouragement.
Also available on my website.
The doorbell rang right after she finally got Matthew down for his nap, and Marie cursed it all the way down the stairs. It was Betsy Saunders from down the block again, she was sure of it, looking for Marie to get involved with another one of the damn Officer’s Wives Club committees. Marie did what Roy needed her to do to get along, nothing else, but Betsy used the OWC to stop from worrying about her Carl, over in Iraq. Marie couldn’t blame her for that, but she could sure as hell blame her for coming over during Marie’s one half-hour to herself all afternoon. By the time she got to the door, she was in a huff, and she’d thrown it open and snapped “What?” before she even registered that the person on the other side wasn’t Betsy.
“Good to see you too, Marie,” John said.
“John? I thought you were…” She gestured south, or what she thought was probably south. She’d heard about what happened in Afghanistan: everyone they’d known back at Lackland heard. Roy had had a drink and muttered “goddamned fool” a lot. Marie hadn’t done either.
He shrugged. “Long story.”
“Well, you look… you look good.” He did, and it was almost a relief that that, at least, hadn’t changed. He wasn’t the sweet-faced boy she’d met back East, but he was turning into a man worth noticing. Not that she’d tell Roy that. Or John.
“Thanks. Mind if I come in? Forgot how hot it gets here.”
“Oh. Oh, of course. Come in.” Roy would be weird about John Sheppard being in their house without him there, she knew, but it was a hundred degrees in the shade, if you could find shade, and she wouldn’t leave a dog outdoors in this heat. “Just, be quiet. Matthew’s sleeping.”
“Matthew?” John stepped into the kitchen, and looked around curiously. Marie couldn’t help feeling a little defensive. The place was chaos, sure, but it was cheerful chaos. Lived-in and happy. A real home.
“Oh. Yeah. Matthew Charles. Born in January.” It was hard not to go into the new-baby recitation everyone always seemed to want, but it didn’t seem like the thing to do. “I - it’s not like we sent you a card, is it. Sorry.”
John smiled at that, to himself, distant. “I wouldn’t have got it anyhow; I’ve kind of been out of touch. Congratulations. And you’ve also got…”
“Emma and Tyler. They’re fine. Just started kindergarten.”
“Well. Time flies.” John nodded, looked around some more. A different man might have been thinking about everything he missed, what could have been, but she knew John and he was just feeling awkward.
She sighed a little and threw him a lifeline. “What brings you to Edwards?”
“Oh,” he shrugged, relieved. “I was in LA. Meeting with a family.”
She gave him a meaningful look: he was wearing an oxford and a blue blazer, and his hair was even more of a mess than usual.
“Unofficially,” he added. “I didn’t want to come in all uniformed up. Play the CO. Wouldn’t have helped.”
“The CO?” She didn’t even try to keep the astonishment out of her voice, and he smiled like he was surprised by it too.
“Yeah. Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard, at your service. They make it official next week.”
“Congratulations.” When John made captain, he’d come home with roses, and champagne they drank straight out of the bottle, dancing around the living room together. “Lieutenant Colonel.” He puffed up a little when she said it, not even consciously, and she shook her head in amazement. “Your father would be very proud of you, John.”
“He’d tell me it’s a long way to full bird, is what he’d do,” John snorted, but there was something in his eyes that said he needed to hear that, from someone who’d know. Maybe that was why he’d come all this way. “Thanks.”
He fell silent again, and she was halfway to pushing him to talk about whatever it was when she caught herself. She wasn’t going to make the same mistakes with him again: that’s what divorces were for. Instead, she went to the fridge, pulled out a pitcher of sweet tea, poured two glasses full. By the time she was done, John was sitting at the kitchen table, wearing that half-constipated look that meant he was going to try to talk about his feelings. She handed him his glass, sat down across from him, and waited.
“I’ve had a strange year,” he finally said. “Really strange. I can’t - anyhow, you’d be surprised. But… you know.”
“Yes?” she said.
“These people, the ones I’m stationed with. I had to rely on them. More than I ever had to, anywhere else. There were times - well, I can’t talk about that. But we got close.” He picked up the glass, turned it around in his hands. “It made me think. About a lot of stuff. And, well, I told myself, if I made it back, I would come see you.”
“Me?” For a sickening moment she half-expected him to get down on one knee and make a speech about undying love. That would have been awkward as hell. But no, they’d been over each other for a long time now, and John was just sitting there, concentration furrowing deep lines into his forehead, trying to find the right words to say.
“I know what it’s like, now, to make people your family,” he said. “I wasn’t like that with you. I think I should’ve been.”
She had to swallow hard at that. It was one thing to hash out where they’d gone wrong over margaritas with Jenny and Gail, all those evenings back at Lackland, but hearing it from John himself, sitting at her kitchen table with that earnest, puzzled look on his face, was something else entirely, new and strange.
“I knew who I was marrying,” she told him, amazed that her voice sounded so steady and so calm. Somewhere along the line, they became grownups. “I thought I could change you.”
“I’m real stubborn,” he said like it was news.
“I’d noticed.” That almost got her a smile, but not quite. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t screw up too.”
His expression turned blank and hard. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I got that.”
She hadn’t felt guilty about her choices, her life, since the day she and Roy made it official, but it was hard not to flinch at that. She made herself meet his eyes, stare for stare. Her mother always said they were a well-matched set.
He was the one who turned away first, though it was more like he remembered why he’d come than that she’d backed him down. “Seems like you and Roy made a go of it, anyhow,” he said, eyes to the table. “That’s good.”
“Yeah,” she said. “John, I’m…”
“Don’t.” He looked up again. “We’re good.”
“Yeah?” He nodded. “That’s good,” she said, and she meant it.
“Good.” He stood up. “I guess that’s -”
“You’re not staying for dinner?”
She made the offer out of instinct, and she felt like kicking herself when John winced. “I should be getting back,” he said. “I’ve got briefings all day tomorrow. I need to go.”
Probably one awkward reunion a day was anyone’s limit. She didn’t press. “You want a bottle of water for the road or something? We’ve got - oh! Wait. You wait right here.”
She could hear him saying “No, really, I’m fine,” as she ran back up the stairs. No noise from the baby’s room, so she tried to be extra-quiet as she pulled the large plastic bin from the shelf above the closet in her bedroom. Matthew was a good sleeper so far, but everyone had limits. She dropped the bin on the bed, and rooted through all the odds and ends of their last move -- the commendation from Roy’s last CO, the drawings Emma did in daycare, the suede skirt she’d sworn she’d fit into again eventually -- until she found what she was looking for.
When she came back downstairs, there were voices in the kitchen, John talking. A cell phone call, maybe, she told herself, but sure enough, it was Betsy Saunders. Marie gritted her teeth and tried to smile.
John had the wide-eyed, too-guileless look he got when he was bored or fucking with someone. “Really,” he said. “I had no idea a bake sale would be that much work.”
“You’d be surprised,” said Betsy. “Marie, your friend here is a case! I thought I’d come by and talk to you about next month’s fundraiser, but I don’t want to be in the way.”
“Not at all,” John said, way too smug. “I was just leaving.”
“Betsy, could you give us a minute, please?” It came out sharper than Marie intended, and Betsy went a little wide-eyed as she said quick, embarrassed goodbyes. John frowned and waited. “I’m sorry. I’m not… well, this is yours,” she said, and thrust the box into his hands.
“Mine?” He opened the box gingerly. When he saw what it was, his face changed, got softer and more serious. “Oh.”
He and his father had almost the same watch, a big chunky metal one with glow-in-the-dark hands, and she’d always figured John thought that you had to have one to really be a pilot. She’d liked to run her fingers around it when they went to the movies, tracing the places where metal gapped from skin. When he went overseas the first time, he’d left the watch with her, like a homing signal or a good luck charm. The second time, he took it along.
When she’d packed up to leave, she’d seen the watch, carefully placed just so on his nightstand, and she’d swiped it, not even thinking, only wanting to lash back at the stone-faced stranger packing up her pots and pans for her downstairs. His lawyer had asked her, embarrassed, if she had taken it; she’d said no.
“It’s yours,” she said again.
He gave her a long look, puzzled but grateful. “Thanks,” he said.
“I shouldn’t have taken it.”
He shrugged, trying for casual. “At least it was safe here.” He pushed up the cuffs of his shirt and strapped the watch to his wrist. “It’s a little old-fashioned,” he said. “But it’s nice to have.”
“Well, good,” she said. It felt weird, admitting she’d kept it all this time, but it still looked right on him, and it was good to give it back. One less thing to carry around. “You can get a new battery in town, easy.”
“I’ll leave it for now,” he said. “I can’t really wear this, back where I’m going. Long story.”
“You’re going back? To the same posting? It sounds dangerous.”
“Not as dangerous as some other places I’ve been. Anyhow, it’s where I’m needed.” He looked around at the kitchen: the bottles drying on the dishrack, the finger-paintings taped to the walls. “You know how that goes.”
She would have kissed him for that, if he were anyone else. “Yeah, I do,” she said, and walked him to the door. “Get home safe, John.”
He gave her a sideways look, amused, although it wasn’t like she’d said anything funny. “I will,” he said. “Two more weeks. You take care too.”
She stayed at the doorway until he’d gotten into his car and drove off. Then she went back in: Matthew would be up any minute, and then the twins would need to be picked up at the Y. Roy would be home at six-thirty, and she’d have to decide what to tell him at some point. Until then, she had a job to do.
Which goes to show that in this fandom, you should always write your flashfic ideas before the show writers get to it first. (You hear that,
the_girl_sleuth
?)
Ex Post Facto (1972 words)
Summary: "A different man might have been thinking about everything he missed, what could have been, but she knew John and he was just feeling awkward."
Spoilers: Through "Sunday" (3rd season)
Notes: Thanks to the Spike and Shana for advice, and Amy and Livia for encouragement.
Also available on my website.
The doorbell rang right after she finally got Matthew down for his nap, and Marie cursed it all the way down the stairs. It was Betsy Saunders from down the block again, she was sure of it, looking for Marie to get involved with another one of the damn Officer’s Wives Club committees. Marie did what Roy needed her to do to get along, nothing else, but Betsy used the OWC to stop from worrying about her Carl, over in Iraq. Marie couldn’t blame her for that, but she could sure as hell blame her for coming over during Marie’s one half-hour to herself all afternoon. By the time she got to the door, she was in a huff, and she’d thrown it open and snapped “What?” before she even registered that the person on the other side wasn’t Betsy.
“Good to see you too, Marie,” John said.
“John? I thought you were…” She gestured south, or what she thought was probably south. She’d heard about what happened in Afghanistan: everyone they’d known back at Lackland heard. Roy had had a drink and muttered “goddamned fool” a lot. Marie hadn’t done either.
He shrugged. “Long story.”
“Well, you look… you look good.” He did, and it was almost a relief that that, at least, hadn’t changed. He wasn’t the sweet-faced boy she’d met back East, but he was turning into a man worth noticing. Not that she’d tell Roy that. Or John.
“Thanks. Mind if I come in? Forgot how hot it gets here.”
“Oh. Oh, of course. Come in.” Roy would be weird about John Sheppard being in their house without him there, she knew, but it was a hundred degrees in the shade, if you could find shade, and she wouldn’t leave a dog outdoors in this heat. “Just, be quiet. Matthew’s sleeping.”
“Matthew?” John stepped into the kitchen, and looked around curiously. Marie couldn’t help feeling a little defensive. The place was chaos, sure, but it was cheerful chaos. Lived-in and happy. A real home.
“Oh. Yeah. Matthew Charles. Born in January.” It was hard not to go into the new-baby recitation everyone always seemed to want, but it didn’t seem like the thing to do. “I - it’s not like we sent you a card, is it. Sorry.”
John smiled at that, to himself, distant. “I wouldn’t have got it anyhow; I’ve kind of been out of touch. Congratulations. And you’ve also got…”
“Emma and Tyler. They’re fine. Just started kindergarten.”
“Well. Time flies.” John nodded, looked around some more. A different man might have been thinking about everything he missed, what could have been, but she knew John and he was just feeling awkward.
She sighed a little and threw him a lifeline. “What brings you to Edwards?”
“Oh,” he shrugged, relieved. “I was in LA. Meeting with a family.”
She gave him a meaningful look: he was wearing an oxford and a blue blazer, and his hair was even more of a mess than usual.
“Unofficially,” he added. “I didn’t want to come in all uniformed up. Play the CO. Wouldn’t have helped.”
“The CO?” She didn’t even try to keep the astonishment out of her voice, and he smiled like he was surprised by it too.
“Yeah. Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard, at your service. They make it official next week.”
“Congratulations.” When John made captain, he’d come home with roses, and champagne they drank straight out of the bottle, dancing around the living room together. “Lieutenant Colonel.” He puffed up a little when she said it, not even consciously, and she shook her head in amazement. “Your father would be very proud of you, John.”
“He’d tell me it’s a long way to full bird, is what he’d do,” John snorted, but there was something in his eyes that said he needed to hear that, from someone who’d know. Maybe that was why he’d come all this way. “Thanks.”
He fell silent again, and she was halfway to pushing him to talk about whatever it was when she caught herself. She wasn’t going to make the same mistakes with him again: that’s what divorces were for. Instead, she went to the fridge, pulled out a pitcher of sweet tea, poured two glasses full. By the time she was done, John was sitting at the kitchen table, wearing that half-constipated look that meant he was going to try to talk about his feelings. She handed him his glass, sat down across from him, and waited.
“I’ve had a strange year,” he finally said. “Really strange. I can’t - anyhow, you’d be surprised. But… you know.”
“Yes?” she said.
“These people, the ones I’m stationed with. I had to rely on them. More than I ever had to, anywhere else. There were times - well, I can’t talk about that. But we got close.” He picked up the glass, turned it around in his hands. “It made me think. About a lot of stuff. And, well, I told myself, if I made it back, I would come see you.”
“Me?” For a sickening moment she half-expected him to get down on one knee and make a speech about undying love. That would have been awkward as hell. But no, they’d been over each other for a long time now, and John was just sitting there, concentration furrowing deep lines into his forehead, trying to find the right words to say.
“I know what it’s like, now, to make people your family,” he said. “I wasn’t like that with you. I think I should’ve been.”
She had to swallow hard at that. It was one thing to hash out where they’d gone wrong over margaritas with Jenny and Gail, all those evenings back at Lackland, but hearing it from John himself, sitting at her kitchen table with that earnest, puzzled look on his face, was something else entirely, new and strange.
“I knew who I was marrying,” she told him, amazed that her voice sounded so steady and so calm. Somewhere along the line, they became grownups. “I thought I could change you.”
“I’m real stubborn,” he said like it was news.
“I’d noticed.” That almost got her a smile, but not quite. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t screw up too.”
His expression turned blank and hard. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I got that.”
She hadn’t felt guilty about her choices, her life, since the day she and Roy made it official, but it was hard not to flinch at that. She made herself meet his eyes, stare for stare. Her mother always said they were a well-matched set.
He was the one who turned away first, though it was more like he remembered why he’d come than that she’d backed him down. “Seems like you and Roy made a go of it, anyhow,” he said, eyes to the table. “That’s good.”
“Yeah,” she said. “John, I’m…”
“Don’t.” He looked up again. “We’re good.”
“Yeah?” He nodded. “That’s good,” she said, and she meant it.
“Good.” He stood up. “I guess that’s -”
“You’re not staying for dinner?”
She made the offer out of instinct, and she felt like kicking herself when John winced. “I should be getting back,” he said. “I’ve got briefings all day tomorrow. I need to go.”
Probably one awkward reunion a day was anyone’s limit. She didn’t press. “You want a bottle of water for the road or something? We’ve got - oh! Wait. You wait right here.”
She could hear him saying “No, really, I’m fine,” as she ran back up the stairs. No noise from the baby’s room, so she tried to be extra-quiet as she pulled the large plastic bin from the shelf above the closet in her bedroom. Matthew was a good sleeper so far, but everyone had limits. She dropped the bin on the bed, and rooted through all the odds and ends of their last move -- the commendation from Roy’s last CO, the drawings Emma did in daycare, the suede skirt she’d sworn she’d fit into again eventually -- until she found what she was looking for.
When she came back downstairs, there were voices in the kitchen, John talking. A cell phone call, maybe, she told herself, but sure enough, it was Betsy Saunders. Marie gritted her teeth and tried to smile.
John had the wide-eyed, too-guileless look he got when he was bored or fucking with someone. “Really,” he said. “I had no idea a bake sale would be that much work.”
“You’d be surprised,” said Betsy. “Marie, your friend here is a case! I thought I’d come by and talk to you about next month’s fundraiser, but I don’t want to be in the way.”
“Not at all,” John said, way too smug. “I was just leaving.”
“Betsy, could you give us a minute, please?” It came out sharper than Marie intended, and Betsy went a little wide-eyed as she said quick, embarrassed goodbyes. John frowned and waited. “I’m sorry. I’m not… well, this is yours,” she said, and thrust the box into his hands.
“Mine?” He opened the box gingerly. When he saw what it was, his face changed, got softer and more serious. “Oh.”
He and his father had almost the same watch, a big chunky metal one with glow-in-the-dark hands, and she’d always figured John thought that you had to have one to really be a pilot. She’d liked to run her fingers around it when they went to the movies, tracing the places where metal gapped from skin. When he went overseas the first time, he’d left the watch with her, like a homing signal or a good luck charm. The second time, he took it along.
When she’d packed up to leave, she’d seen the watch, carefully placed just so on his nightstand, and she’d swiped it, not even thinking, only wanting to lash back at the stone-faced stranger packing up her pots and pans for her downstairs. His lawyer had asked her, embarrassed, if she had taken it; she’d said no.
“It’s yours,” she said again.
He gave her a long look, puzzled but grateful. “Thanks,” he said.
“I shouldn’t have taken it.”
He shrugged, trying for casual. “At least it was safe here.” He pushed up the cuffs of his shirt and strapped the watch to his wrist. “It’s a little old-fashioned,” he said. “But it’s nice to have.”
“Well, good,” she said. It felt weird, admitting she’d kept it all this time, but it still looked right on him, and it was good to give it back. One less thing to carry around. “You can get a new battery in town, easy.”
“I’ll leave it for now,” he said. “I can’t really wear this, back where I’m going. Long story.”
“You’re going back? To the same posting? It sounds dangerous.”
“Not as dangerous as some other places I’ve been. Anyhow, it’s where I’m needed.” He looked around at the kitchen: the bottles drying on the dishrack, the finger-paintings taped to the walls. “You know how that goes.”
She would have kissed him for that, if he were anyone else. “Yeah, I do,” she said, and walked him to the door. “Get home safe, John.”
He gave her a sideways look, amused, although it wasn’t like she’d said anything funny. “I will,” he said. “Two more weeks. You take care too.”
She stayed at the doorway until he’d gotten into his car and drove off. Then she went back in: Matthew would be up any minute, and then the twins would need to be picked up at the Y. Roy would be home at six-thirty, and she’d have to decide what to tell him at some point. Until then, she had a job to do.