Fic: Childhood Memories
Title: Childhood Memories
Creator: starbuckssue
Character: David Sheppard
Rating: Gen
Warnings: None
Prompt goddess47
Summary: As I watch him riding across the paddock it’s easy to remember the boy he once was.
Notes: Written for SGA_Smooch for SGA Love 2014
Many thanks to my wonderful beta rabidfan for the helpful suggestions and comments.
As I watch him riding across the paddock it’s easy to remember the boy he once was, when we were both small, when our mother was still alive. Back when we still knew each other almost as well as we knew ourselves.
John was our mother’s child in every way, with her dark hair, hazel eyes and slim figure. They shared the same laid back temperament, the ability to just go with the flow and a love of the outdoors. Until her death, our mother and John would ride daily, they loved the freedom of racing their horses through the grounds, fields and woodland behind the house. I would join them sometimes but although I enjoyed the occasional ride I didn’t share the love of riding as they did.
I look like my father, with his fair hair and stockier build. Like him I preferred books and my studies, even now I prefer a structured regime and it always throws me when things don’t go as planned. There was never a time in my life when I didn’t want to follow my father into the family business.
Our mother was the glue which held our family together. Don’t get me wrong, there was no doubt that our parents loved one another, it was obvious whenever they were together. Our father’s business was successful so we didn’t want for anything. Our mother didn’t need to work so she was always there for us. John and I attended a private school nearby and both got good grades.
Our father worked hard from Monday to Saturday and we only saw him briefly when he got home as our parents ate separately in the evenings. Sunday’s were different, with father home all day we had to be on our best behavior. All meals were taken in the formal dining room and we had to dress up for Mass and be polite to father’s friends and business colleagues, there would have been hell to pay if either of us did anything to embarrass him in front of his peers.
On summer evenings once our homework was done our mother would swim with us, ride or play tennis. During the winter months she would encourage us to read, she taught us board games and would play the piano. She and John would even ride throughout the coldest months and return laughing, with rosy cheeks, smelling of the fresh, cold, winter air.
Our mother loved Christmas and her excitement was infectious, everyone in the house got in the spirit of the season. We always had a large ten foot Christmas tree in the front hall, with the stairs winding behind it. I remember John at a very young age hanging precariously over the banister at the top of the stairs to put the golden star on the top, reckless and daring even then! The house was always filled with fresh flowers, holly, ivy and mistletoe, garlands and wreaths; even now the scent of pine always takes me back to childhood Christmases with my mother. In the evenings we would gather around the piano and sing carols together.
School holidays seemed endless as a kid. John and I would play together as boys do, playing ball in the field behind the house, riding our bikes into town to the local diner for sodas, or messing around in the pool. Often our mother would organize day trips and picnics, even just exploring the forested area behind the house seemed like an adventure to us. Mother would teach us to recognize trees from their leaves or bark, recognize the birds from their calls or silhouettes and identify the wild flowers which grew abundantly in the fields and woods. We would inspect leaves and fallen logs for the insects hidden underneath, always being careful not to hurt or injure the tiny creatures. It never once occurred to either of us to have friends outside of the home, even those boys we were friendly with at school, our family was our world.
Mother planned all our vacations. Our favorite was always the cabin, which we all loved. During the summer father and I would fish and read and mother and John would borrow horses from a neighbor. In the winter we would ski. Father and I could ski fairly well but mother and John loved the freedom of the snow in the same way they loved riding.
It was late fall when I was 15 and John 13 when mother started losing weight and feeling tired. She laughed it off at first, saying that she was getting old, but in the end father forced her to see our doctor, who referred her to a specialist. Her cancer was aggressive and discovered too late. Father took her to the best doctors but they couldn’t do anything for her except treat the pain and make her comfortable. She went downhill quickly that winter, despite the best care of our family doctor and the nurse father hired to look after her.
We buried her in January, the week after John turned 14.
I’ll never forget the day of her funeral. Our father lectured us about our behavior and how we weren’t to disgrace him by crying or acting out. Neither of us had cried in front of him and he’d offered no comfort. I’d seen John come in from riding with red eyes but hadn’t called him on in. That day my brother stood proud and tall, emotions completely in check. By the time we returned to the house both of us had just about had enough of all the sympathy and platitudes, so with the house full of people it was easy for John to disappear upstairs and I quickly followed, just as eager to get away from everyone, pulling off my tie and jacket as I went. Feeling I should check on my brother I went into John’s room and found him sobbing on the bed, his tie, jacket and shoes abandoned in the middle of the floor. I almost turned and left, thinking he would want privacy but some instinct pushed me forward and I thought of what my mother would have done. Kicking off my own shoes I sat on the bed and pulled him into my arms, rocking him gently until he was done, just as our mother had done so many times when we were small. I’m not ashamed to say that I cried a little myself too, for my mother and for my brother, as I had never been as close to her as he had been and really couldn’t imagine the depth of his loss.
That’s when everything fell apart. Without our mother at home to look after us our father decided to send us to boarding school, despite the fact that Lily, our housekeeper, offered to look after us. Naturally John didn’t want to go. Losing our mother was bad enough but losing the horses and the freedom they represented was too much for him to accept. That was the first of many fights between my brother and our father and one John didn’t win.
Every time we came home for a holiday they argued over something and I was so relieved to leave high school for Harvard, despite the guilt I felt at abandoning my brother. All I can say is thank goodness father didn’t get rid of the horses, to this day I don’t know what John would have done if he had.
I knew John planned to join the Air Force long before our father did. John’s math tutor was retired Air Force, honorably discharged after he was shot down during the Vietnam War. But John had always loved planes, even as a small child he would watch them flying over the house as they flew to and from the nearby air base.
Father had our futures planned out from birth. After high school we would attend Harvard and then join the family business, we would find nice little wives and settle down with our families. Of course John threw those plans out of the window, choosing to study math and engineering at Stanford instead, infuriating father even more by joining the Air Force. That was the last major fight they had, both of them screaming at each other for almost an hour. That night John left the house with a single bag, a spray of gravel from the spinning wheels of his car as he peeled off down the drive.
John didn’t return home again until after he finished his training and the relationship between them remained frosty. He was being posted to Iraq and had some downtime before shipping out. His return coincided with a business dinner and dance my father was holding for his business associates. My wife Laura had become friends with one of the trainee managers working for father. She introduced her to John and they hit it off immediately.
They spent most of the four weeks together before John shipped out and, surprisingly, John actually kept in touch with her while he was in Iraq. They were inseparable on his return and married soon after. I think that’s the only thing John has ever done that our father approved of; Dad always liked Nancy and remained friends with her until the end.
As John’s career progressed he spent more time overseas on special ops missions. Nancy couldn’t cope with John being out of touch and eventually asked him for a divorce. Nancy is still Laura’s best friend and is Godmother to our children.
After that John did several tours of Afghanistan without coming back home. I received the odd postcard from him, usually from Hawaii where he went to surf. He was eventually sent home from Afghanistan in disgrace after disobeying a direct order. His Commanding Officer called him reckless and insubordinate, which may be true as John has always had issues with authority figures, our father made sure of that. Personally, I think he did the right thing. It’s what I would have done. Father was furious with him though, told him he disgraced the family name and that our mother would be turning in her grave at the humiliation. I regret to say that I said nothing in John’s defense, something that still shames me today. My brother is a hero and I never did have the courage to support him when he needed it. He left that afternoon for a posting in Antarctica and we didn’t hear from him again.
It would have been my own fault if my brother had refused to return, but the fact that he came back and agreed to stay for a few days makes that little glimmer of hope that started kindling when he first returned for the funeral burn a little brighter. Things have been getting easier and less strained between us over the past few days and we’ve had some good talks. Maybe because I’m a little older, a little more distanced, but I now understand why my brother is unable to tell me more about where he is and what he does.
Another piece of the puzzle fell into place yesterday morning when Ronon Dex returned, bringing with him another member of John’s team, a Dr. Rodney McKay. Rodney blasted into our home in a whirlwind of concern and caring. The good doctor is another civilian contractor and is obviously a force to be reckoned with.
Dr. McKay really is something. Within an hour of arriving he’d won over Sarah our cook as a lifelong friend by praising her coffee and pastries. By lunchtime he had upgraded and improved our internet connection and firewall, muttering all the time under his breath about supposed experts never being up to the job. As John just rolled his eyes as he refilled Rodney’s coffee mug I came to the conclusion that this was normal behavior. As my brother caught my eye with a grin I realized that the last of the tension John had been carrying around had disappeared with arrival of his friends.
Earlier this afternoon John took Ronon out for a ride around the estate. Rodney stayed behind and over coffee he let slip that John is the Military Commander of a scientific mission in a war zone. He is responsible for the safety of a hundred or so scientists on base along with their military escort. Once again I feel in awe of my brother, if only our father were still alive today I am sure he would be proud of John.
I watch my brother and Ronon dismount and hand the horses over to Stu, who’s in charge of the stables. John has a genuine smile on his face as he walks over to Rodney who is waiting for them by the fence and I feel a slow smile start to spread across my own face. As they cross the yard, heads together as if they are sharing a secret, they keep bumping arms and I wonder just how close the friendship between these three men is. Not that it matters to me, unlike my father the only thing I want for my brother is his happiness. I may not know where he is based, or what he does, but for the first time since our mother died, I believe that my brother is content with his life and that he has found true friends and genuine happiness.
End
Creator: starbuckssue
Character: David Sheppard
Rating: Gen
Warnings: None
Prompt goddess47
Summary: As I watch him riding across the paddock it’s easy to remember the boy he once was.
Notes: Written for SGA_Smooch for SGA Love 2014
Many thanks to my wonderful beta rabidfan for the helpful suggestions and comments.
As I watch him riding across the paddock it’s easy to remember the boy he once was, when we were both small, when our mother was still alive. Back when we still knew each other almost as well as we knew ourselves.
John was our mother’s child in every way, with her dark hair, hazel eyes and slim figure. They shared the same laid back temperament, the ability to just go with the flow and a love of the outdoors. Until her death, our mother and John would ride daily, they loved the freedom of racing their horses through the grounds, fields and woodland behind the house. I would join them sometimes but although I enjoyed the occasional ride I didn’t share the love of riding as they did.
I look like my father, with his fair hair and stockier build. Like him I preferred books and my studies, even now I prefer a structured regime and it always throws me when things don’t go as planned. There was never a time in my life when I didn’t want to follow my father into the family business.
Our mother was the glue which held our family together. Don’t get me wrong, there was no doubt that our parents loved one another, it was obvious whenever they were together. Our father’s business was successful so we didn’t want for anything. Our mother didn’t need to work so she was always there for us. John and I attended a private school nearby and both got good grades.
Our father worked hard from Monday to Saturday and we only saw him briefly when he got home as our parents ate separately in the evenings. Sunday’s were different, with father home all day we had to be on our best behavior. All meals were taken in the formal dining room and we had to dress up for Mass and be polite to father’s friends and business colleagues, there would have been hell to pay if either of us did anything to embarrass him in front of his peers.
On summer evenings once our homework was done our mother would swim with us, ride or play tennis. During the winter months she would encourage us to read, she taught us board games and would play the piano. She and John would even ride throughout the coldest months and return laughing, with rosy cheeks, smelling of the fresh, cold, winter air.
Our mother loved Christmas and her excitement was infectious, everyone in the house got in the spirit of the season. We always had a large ten foot Christmas tree in the front hall, with the stairs winding behind it. I remember John at a very young age hanging precariously over the banister at the top of the stairs to put the golden star on the top, reckless and daring even then! The house was always filled with fresh flowers, holly, ivy and mistletoe, garlands and wreaths; even now the scent of pine always takes me back to childhood Christmases with my mother. In the evenings we would gather around the piano and sing carols together.
School holidays seemed endless as a kid. John and I would play together as boys do, playing ball in the field behind the house, riding our bikes into town to the local diner for sodas, or messing around in the pool. Often our mother would organize day trips and picnics, even just exploring the forested area behind the house seemed like an adventure to us. Mother would teach us to recognize trees from their leaves or bark, recognize the birds from their calls or silhouettes and identify the wild flowers which grew abundantly in the fields and woods. We would inspect leaves and fallen logs for the insects hidden underneath, always being careful not to hurt or injure the tiny creatures. It never once occurred to either of us to have friends outside of the home, even those boys we were friendly with at school, our family was our world.
Mother planned all our vacations. Our favorite was always the cabin, which we all loved. During the summer father and I would fish and read and mother and John would borrow horses from a neighbor. In the winter we would ski. Father and I could ski fairly well but mother and John loved the freedom of the snow in the same way they loved riding.
It was late fall when I was 15 and John 13 when mother started losing weight and feeling tired. She laughed it off at first, saying that she was getting old, but in the end father forced her to see our doctor, who referred her to a specialist. Her cancer was aggressive and discovered too late. Father took her to the best doctors but they couldn’t do anything for her except treat the pain and make her comfortable. She went downhill quickly that winter, despite the best care of our family doctor and the nurse father hired to look after her.
We buried her in January, the week after John turned 14.
I’ll never forget the day of her funeral. Our father lectured us about our behavior and how we weren’t to disgrace him by crying or acting out. Neither of us had cried in front of him and he’d offered no comfort. I’d seen John come in from riding with red eyes but hadn’t called him on in. That day my brother stood proud and tall, emotions completely in check. By the time we returned to the house both of us had just about had enough of all the sympathy and platitudes, so with the house full of people it was easy for John to disappear upstairs and I quickly followed, just as eager to get away from everyone, pulling off my tie and jacket as I went. Feeling I should check on my brother I went into John’s room and found him sobbing on the bed, his tie, jacket and shoes abandoned in the middle of the floor. I almost turned and left, thinking he would want privacy but some instinct pushed me forward and I thought of what my mother would have done. Kicking off my own shoes I sat on the bed and pulled him into my arms, rocking him gently until he was done, just as our mother had done so many times when we were small. I’m not ashamed to say that I cried a little myself too, for my mother and for my brother, as I had never been as close to her as he had been and really couldn’t imagine the depth of his loss.
That’s when everything fell apart. Without our mother at home to look after us our father decided to send us to boarding school, despite the fact that Lily, our housekeeper, offered to look after us. Naturally John didn’t want to go. Losing our mother was bad enough but losing the horses and the freedom they represented was too much for him to accept. That was the first of many fights between my brother and our father and one John didn’t win.
Every time we came home for a holiday they argued over something and I was so relieved to leave high school for Harvard, despite the guilt I felt at abandoning my brother. All I can say is thank goodness father didn’t get rid of the horses, to this day I don’t know what John would have done if he had.
I knew John planned to join the Air Force long before our father did. John’s math tutor was retired Air Force, honorably discharged after he was shot down during the Vietnam War. But John had always loved planes, even as a small child he would watch them flying over the house as they flew to and from the nearby air base.
Father had our futures planned out from birth. After high school we would attend Harvard and then join the family business, we would find nice little wives and settle down with our families. Of course John threw those plans out of the window, choosing to study math and engineering at Stanford instead, infuriating father even more by joining the Air Force. That was the last major fight they had, both of them screaming at each other for almost an hour. That night John left the house with a single bag, a spray of gravel from the spinning wheels of his car as he peeled off down the drive.
John didn’t return home again until after he finished his training and the relationship between them remained frosty. He was being posted to Iraq and had some downtime before shipping out. His return coincided with a business dinner and dance my father was holding for his business associates. My wife Laura had become friends with one of the trainee managers working for father. She introduced her to John and they hit it off immediately.
They spent most of the four weeks together before John shipped out and, surprisingly, John actually kept in touch with her while he was in Iraq. They were inseparable on his return and married soon after. I think that’s the only thing John has ever done that our father approved of; Dad always liked Nancy and remained friends with her until the end.
As John’s career progressed he spent more time overseas on special ops missions. Nancy couldn’t cope with John being out of touch and eventually asked him for a divorce. Nancy is still Laura’s best friend and is Godmother to our children.
After that John did several tours of Afghanistan without coming back home. I received the odd postcard from him, usually from Hawaii where he went to surf. He was eventually sent home from Afghanistan in disgrace after disobeying a direct order. His Commanding Officer called him reckless and insubordinate, which may be true as John has always had issues with authority figures, our father made sure of that. Personally, I think he did the right thing. It’s what I would have done. Father was furious with him though, told him he disgraced the family name and that our mother would be turning in her grave at the humiliation. I regret to say that I said nothing in John’s defense, something that still shames me today. My brother is a hero and I never did have the courage to support him when he needed it. He left that afternoon for a posting in Antarctica and we didn’t hear from him again.
It would have been my own fault if my brother had refused to return, but the fact that he came back and agreed to stay for a few days makes that little glimmer of hope that started kindling when he first returned for the funeral burn a little brighter. Things have been getting easier and less strained between us over the past few days and we’ve had some good talks. Maybe because I’m a little older, a little more distanced, but I now understand why my brother is unable to tell me more about where he is and what he does.
Another piece of the puzzle fell into place yesterday morning when Ronon Dex returned, bringing with him another member of John’s team, a Dr. Rodney McKay. Rodney blasted into our home in a whirlwind of concern and caring. The good doctor is another civilian contractor and is obviously a force to be reckoned with.
Dr. McKay really is something. Within an hour of arriving he’d won over Sarah our cook as a lifelong friend by praising her coffee and pastries. By lunchtime he had upgraded and improved our internet connection and firewall, muttering all the time under his breath about supposed experts never being up to the job. As John just rolled his eyes as he refilled Rodney’s coffee mug I came to the conclusion that this was normal behavior. As my brother caught my eye with a grin I realized that the last of the tension John had been carrying around had disappeared with arrival of his friends.
Earlier this afternoon John took Ronon out for a ride around the estate. Rodney stayed behind and over coffee he let slip that John is the Military Commander of a scientific mission in a war zone. He is responsible for the safety of a hundred or so scientists on base along with their military escort. Once again I feel in awe of my brother, if only our father were still alive today I am sure he would be proud of John.
I watch my brother and Ronon dismount and hand the horses over to Stu, who’s in charge of the stables. John has a genuine smile on his face as he walks over to Rodney who is waiting for them by the fence and I feel a slow smile start to spread across my own face. As they cross the yard, heads together as if they are sharing a secret, they keep bumping arms and I wonder just how close the friendship between these three men is. Not that it matters to me, unlike my father the only thing I want for my brother is his happiness. I may not know where he is based, or what he does, but for the first time since our mother died, I believe that my brother is content with his life and that he has found true friends and genuine happiness.
End