Fanfiction - From the Archive! September 29, 2014
Found another old one... really old! This was originally a stand-alone story but turned into the first of a trilogy called The Letter Trilogy. This one is aptly named The Letter and was written in April of 2006.
WAY back in the beginning of SGA (and some of you old timers like me might remember) Sheppard was originally described as "the son of a celebrated Cold War colonel". This was, I think on MGM's site and was the "official" description of his character, for all intents and purposes. It was only later that TPTB came in and said "no, we never established that and its not what we had in mind for his character." After that, this description disappeared, but I distinctly remember it.
Because of that, I formulated in my mind, and in some fics, a backstory for Sheppard and primarily his dad. A lot of my older fics mention his retired military father and their estrangement over his "black mark" in Afghanistan. A lot of their estrangement was based on Sheppard going to Atlantis and leaving family behind (if he had it) and by his reaction to Weir asking him if he had any personal message he wanted to send in LFP.
This story specifically was inspired by LFP and eventually I played more with that arc between him and his father (that was rendered AU in later seasons) with the rest of the trilogy.
I'll post the other two stories over the next couple weeks to complete the trilogy on my LJ :)
In the meantime, Part 1 of The Letter Trilogy: The Letter.
Story: The Letter
Word Count: ~1500
Genre: Missing Scene/Tag Story
Characters: John Sheppard, Elizabeth Weir
Warnings: None
Summary:With the Wraith less than two weeks away, John Sheppard ties up one very important loose end in his life.
The Letter
Missing scene from “Letters from Pegasus”
Part 1 of The Letter Trilogy
Dad,
I hope things are fine with you and…
John sighed and dropped his pen in disgust. Crumpling up the paper, he tossed it on the floor, where it came to rest with several other wads just like it. He once more picked up his pen and grabbed another piece of paper. Staring down at the blank whiteness, his thoughts wandered. When Weir had asked him if he’d wanted to send a personal message, no, was the first thought that came to mind. Who would he send it to? His mother was dead, and his father…
John looked away. Dad. To say things had been tense between them was an understatement. Ever since he’d left Afghanistan in disgrace, his father and he had barely shared a civil word between them. When he chose to go to Antarctica, the underlying tension between them had exploded into an all out shouting match, which had ended in John walking out the door. That had been eleven months before he’d left for Atlantis.
Leaning back in his chair, John rubbed the bridge of his nose. Maybe he should’ve sent a message, but God, what would he have said? I’m sorry? I wish things were different? He hadn’t started the fight. His retired Colonel father had laid into him from the moment he stepped through the door at home. John shook his head, frustration surfacing within him. No wonder he didn’t want to send a personal message!
His gaze wandered over his desk and to the latest deep space sensor report, Zelenka had brought by that morning. His anger dissolved. The Wraith were less than two weeks away. Facing the impending Wraith attack, somehow his fight with his father...the anger between them, lost all its importance. Regret filled him as he bowed his head, his eyes closing. He took a deep breath and swallowed hard. He’d known when he left for Atlantis that he may never return. Yet in the two weeks before he departed, he never once saw his father…he didn’t even try to see his father. He’d taken the easy way out, and left things as they were, instead of making his peace before leaving. He’d had a chance, again, with the personal notes, and again he’d backed down. Now with the Wraith closing in on them, and the reality of their desperate situation facing him, John felt the pain of regret more than ever. He rubbed his dampened eyes and blinked hard, before once more picking up his pen.
Dad,
I know things haven’t been right between us since I came back
“Damn it!” John threw down his pen and savagely crumpled up the paper before throwing it on the floor in disgust. “This is pointless.” He pushed back from his desk and stood. Running his left hand through his unruly hair he slowly paced the room, his feet crunching through a pile of discarded crumpled papers. How many times had he started this letter anyway?
John turned and faced his desk again, determination pushing away his frustration. He’d taken the easy way out twice; he wasn’t going to do it again. He crossed back to his desk, sat down, and confidently picked up his pen before grabbing another sheet of paper.
Dad,
There is nothing that I can do to change what has happened between us. I know some of the things I’ve done, and the choices I’ve made have hurt you, and for that I’m very sorry. But I don’t regret the choices I made. Each one felt right to me, and I believed were the right things to do. You raised me to believe in myself and to do the right thing, no matter how hard it could be to do it. Well, I did. And it’s been damn hard.
You’re probably wondering why I wrote this letter, and to tell you the truth, so am I. I wish I could talk to you face to face, but if you’re reading this letter, then chances are, I’m dead. There’s a lot about what I’m doing I wish I could tell you, but it’s top secret, Dad, and I know you understand that. What I can tell you, is that what I’m doing is probably the most important thing I have ever done or ever will do, in my life. It’s profound, Dad, in ways you’d never believe. If you have any strings or favors left in Washington, call them in and find out what’s been going on. That’s all I can tell you, you’ll have to take it from there.
Dad,
John swallowed hard and took a deep breath. He stared at what he’d written so far and nodded to himself in satisfaction. Bending to write again, he paused, his next words grating on him. It was an admission he hated to make, but one he had to.
We’re facing death here. No matter how optimistic I am in front of everyone else, the reality is, we’ll probably not survive the next few weeks.
I’m not sure how to take that, and I’m not sure how to relate it to the people around me. Somehow, in all of this, I ended up as ranking officer. I don’t have to tell you the rules and expectations of being in command. But I can’t just casually turn away and pretend that everything is going to be okay. I wish I could talk about it with you face to face, I sure could use some experienced input right now. Everyone sees me as the confident Major, but deep down, sometimes I wonder what the hell I’m doing, and wish the hell I wasn’t in command.
Once again, John set down his pen and leaned back in his chair, collecting his thoughts. He was still for several moments, before a small, wistful smile turned up the corner of his mouth. He grabbed the pen.
Dad, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that we fought, I’m sorry that there was so much anger between us, and I’m sorry that I never tried to reconcile with you before I left. I took the easy way out, and now I’ll never have the chance to say it to you face to face. You never stopped being my dad, and I never stopped caring for you.
Take care of yourself, Dad. I love you.
John
He scribbled his signature on the bottom and gently laid down his pen. Quickly, confidently…contentedly he folded the letter and placed it in an envelope before hastily sealing it. He’d resisted the urge to go back and re-read what he’d wrote, knowing that he’d just pick it apart and probably bag the whole idea in the process.
John pushed back from his desk and stood. He grabbed his coat, sidearm and the sealed letter and quickly exited his quarters.
Entering the command center, John looked around. His gaze fixed on McKay. “Rodney? Where’s Elizabeth?”
McKay glanced up before nodding towards the outside door. “On the Deck.”
“Thanks.” John crossed the command center and tapped the door control, before walking out into the cool ocean air.
He paused, just outside the door and stared for a moment at Elizabeth’s back. She was leaning on the railing and looking out over the city. “Am I interrupting?”
Elizabeth turned and smiled. “No, not at all, John.”
He crossed the Deck. This time it was his turn to lean on the railing. Resting his hand on the top bar, John placed his right foot on the bottom bar and leaned forward, letting his weight settle on his hand and bent leg. “I need a favor.”
He could almost feel Elizabeth’s surprised expression as she crossed her arms and leaned back on the railing next to him. “Okay, what?” While agreeable, her voice was carefully neutral.
John smiled. “Don’t worry, it’s no big deal.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out the letter from his inside pocket. “I need you to hang onto this, in case…” he looked at Elizabeth, his penetrating gaze meeting hers, “something happens to me.”
Elizabeth’s eyes slowly left his, and drifted down to settle on the envelope in his hand. She nodded slightly and reached out, taking the letter. “I can do that. What is it?”
John shrugged and looked back out over the ocean. “It’s a letter to my dad.” He smiled. “I know the chances of any of us ever getting back to Earth are pretty slim, but if something happens to me, and somehow you do get back, I’d appreciate it if you’d make sure he gets that.” He smiled slightly at the questions he could see in Elizabeth’s eyes, but she never voiced them.
“I will John, I promise.” She turned and walked back indoors, leaving him alone on the Deck.
John stared at the city he was charged to protect. Realistically, he knew the chances were slim that his father would ever see that letter, but somehow, just writing it, gave him some sense of closure…of reconciliation. He turned and walked back inside.
**********************************
Author’s Notes:
I thought that Sheppard’s reaction to Weir asking him if he wanted to include a personal message was, to say the least, VERY interesting. That’s where this idea came from.
WAY back in the beginning of SGA (and some of you old timers like me might remember) Sheppard was originally described as "the son of a celebrated Cold War colonel". This was, I think on MGM's site and was the "official" description of his character, for all intents and purposes. It was only later that TPTB came in and said "no, we never established that and its not what we had in mind for his character." After that, this description disappeared, but I distinctly remember it.
Because of that, I formulated in my mind, and in some fics, a backstory for Sheppard and primarily his dad. A lot of my older fics mention his retired military father and their estrangement over his "black mark" in Afghanistan. A lot of their estrangement was based on Sheppard going to Atlantis and leaving family behind (if he had it) and by his reaction to Weir asking him if he had any personal message he wanted to send in LFP.
This story specifically was inspired by LFP and eventually I played more with that arc between him and his father (that was rendered AU in later seasons) with the rest of the trilogy.
I'll post the other two stories over the next couple weeks to complete the trilogy on my LJ :)
In the meantime, Part 1 of The Letter Trilogy: The Letter.
Story: The Letter
Word Count: ~1500
Genre: Missing Scene/Tag Story
Characters: John Sheppard, Elizabeth Weir
Warnings: None
Summary:With the Wraith less than two weeks away, John Sheppard ties up one very important loose end in his life.
The Letter
Missing scene from “Letters from Pegasus”
Part 1 of The Letter Trilogy
Dad,
I hope things are fine with you and…
John sighed and dropped his pen in disgust. Crumpling up the paper, he tossed it on the floor, where it came to rest with several other wads just like it. He once more picked up his pen and grabbed another piece of paper. Staring down at the blank whiteness, his thoughts wandered. When Weir had asked him if he’d wanted to send a personal message, no, was the first thought that came to mind. Who would he send it to? His mother was dead, and his father…
John looked away. Dad. To say things had been tense between them was an understatement. Ever since he’d left Afghanistan in disgrace, his father and he had barely shared a civil word between them. When he chose to go to Antarctica, the underlying tension between them had exploded into an all out shouting match, which had ended in John walking out the door. That had been eleven months before he’d left for Atlantis.
Leaning back in his chair, John rubbed the bridge of his nose. Maybe he should’ve sent a message, but God, what would he have said? I’m sorry? I wish things were different? He hadn’t started the fight. His retired Colonel father had laid into him from the moment he stepped through the door at home. John shook his head, frustration surfacing within him. No wonder he didn’t want to send a personal message!
His gaze wandered over his desk and to the latest deep space sensor report, Zelenka had brought by that morning. His anger dissolved. The Wraith were less than two weeks away. Facing the impending Wraith attack, somehow his fight with his father...the anger between them, lost all its importance. Regret filled him as he bowed his head, his eyes closing. He took a deep breath and swallowed hard. He’d known when he left for Atlantis that he may never return. Yet in the two weeks before he departed, he never once saw his father…he didn’t even try to see his father. He’d taken the easy way out, and left things as they were, instead of making his peace before leaving. He’d had a chance, again, with the personal notes, and again he’d backed down. Now with the Wraith closing in on them, and the reality of their desperate situation facing him, John felt the pain of regret more than ever. He rubbed his dampened eyes and blinked hard, before once more picking up his pen.
Dad,
I know things haven’t been right between us since I came back
“Damn it!” John threw down his pen and savagely crumpled up the paper before throwing it on the floor in disgust. “This is pointless.” He pushed back from his desk and stood. Running his left hand through his unruly hair he slowly paced the room, his feet crunching through a pile of discarded crumpled papers. How many times had he started this letter anyway?
John turned and faced his desk again, determination pushing away his frustration. He’d taken the easy way out twice; he wasn’t going to do it again. He crossed back to his desk, sat down, and confidently picked up his pen before grabbing another sheet of paper.
Dad,
There is nothing that I can do to change what has happened between us. I know some of the things I’ve done, and the choices I’ve made have hurt you, and for that I’m very sorry. But I don’t regret the choices I made. Each one felt right to me, and I believed were the right things to do. You raised me to believe in myself and to do the right thing, no matter how hard it could be to do it. Well, I did. And it’s been damn hard.
You’re probably wondering why I wrote this letter, and to tell you the truth, so am I. I wish I could talk to you face to face, but if you’re reading this letter, then chances are, I’m dead. There’s a lot about what I’m doing I wish I could tell you, but it’s top secret, Dad, and I know you understand that. What I can tell you, is that what I’m doing is probably the most important thing I have ever done or ever will do, in my life. It’s profound, Dad, in ways you’d never believe. If you have any strings or favors left in Washington, call them in and find out what’s been going on. That’s all I can tell you, you’ll have to take it from there.
Dad,
John swallowed hard and took a deep breath. He stared at what he’d written so far and nodded to himself in satisfaction. Bending to write again, he paused, his next words grating on him. It was an admission he hated to make, but one he had to.
We’re facing death here. No matter how optimistic I am in front of everyone else, the reality is, we’ll probably not survive the next few weeks.
I’m not sure how to take that, and I’m not sure how to relate it to the people around me. Somehow, in all of this, I ended up as ranking officer. I don’t have to tell you the rules and expectations of being in command. But I can’t just casually turn away and pretend that everything is going to be okay. I wish I could talk about it with you face to face, I sure could use some experienced input right now. Everyone sees me as the confident Major, but deep down, sometimes I wonder what the hell I’m doing, and wish the hell I wasn’t in command.
Once again, John set down his pen and leaned back in his chair, collecting his thoughts. He was still for several moments, before a small, wistful smile turned up the corner of his mouth. He grabbed the pen.
Dad, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that we fought, I’m sorry that there was so much anger between us, and I’m sorry that I never tried to reconcile with you before I left. I took the easy way out, and now I’ll never have the chance to say it to you face to face. You never stopped being my dad, and I never stopped caring for you.
Take care of yourself, Dad. I love you.
John
He scribbled his signature on the bottom and gently laid down his pen. Quickly, confidently…contentedly he folded the letter and placed it in an envelope before hastily sealing it. He’d resisted the urge to go back and re-read what he’d wrote, knowing that he’d just pick it apart and probably bag the whole idea in the process.
John pushed back from his desk and stood. He grabbed his coat, sidearm and the sealed letter and quickly exited his quarters.
Entering the command center, John looked around. His gaze fixed on McKay. “Rodney? Where’s Elizabeth?”
McKay glanced up before nodding towards the outside door. “On the Deck.”
“Thanks.” John crossed the command center and tapped the door control, before walking out into the cool ocean air.
He paused, just outside the door and stared for a moment at Elizabeth’s back. She was leaning on the railing and looking out over the city. “Am I interrupting?”
Elizabeth turned and smiled. “No, not at all, John.”
He crossed the Deck. This time it was his turn to lean on the railing. Resting his hand on the top bar, John placed his right foot on the bottom bar and leaned forward, letting his weight settle on his hand and bent leg. “I need a favor.”
He could almost feel Elizabeth’s surprised expression as she crossed her arms and leaned back on the railing next to him. “Okay, what?” While agreeable, her voice was carefully neutral.
John smiled. “Don’t worry, it’s no big deal.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out the letter from his inside pocket. “I need you to hang onto this, in case…” he looked at Elizabeth, his penetrating gaze meeting hers, “something happens to me.”
Elizabeth’s eyes slowly left his, and drifted down to settle on the envelope in his hand. She nodded slightly and reached out, taking the letter. “I can do that. What is it?”
John shrugged and looked back out over the ocean. “It’s a letter to my dad.” He smiled. “I know the chances of any of us ever getting back to Earth are pretty slim, but if something happens to me, and somehow you do get back, I’d appreciate it if you’d make sure he gets that.” He smiled slightly at the questions he could see in Elizabeth’s eyes, but she never voiced them.
“I will John, I promise.” She turned and walked back indoors, leaving him alone on the Deck.
John stared at the city he was charged to protect. Realistically, he knew the chances were slim that his father would ever see that letter, but somehow, just writing it, gave him some sense of closure…of reconciliation. He turned and walked back inside.
**********************************
Author’s Notes:
I thought that Sheppard’s reaction to Weir asking him if he wanted to include a personal message was, to say the least, VERY interesting. That’s where this idea came from.