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"Listen, I've gone through your automated system twice now and I can't find a listing for a Dr. John Sheppard. Can you transfer me to his extension, or just give it to me in case I get disconnected again?"
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Rod didn't know what he had expected when he'd followed John through the Stargate back to Earth. John didn't talk about his family—ever—and rarely spoke about his past in general. The few details Rod had learned over the years had been hard won moments of truth, honesty, and trust.
But he'd already talked Ronon down from marching through the 'gate armed to the teeth and ready to declare war against the entire Sheppard Clan all because of the twisted pain-filled expression that had filtered across John's face when Carter had delivered her news. And Rod had been forced to suppress the urge to throttle the woman for making her announcement in the middle of a busy hallway.
Teyla had been a little more difficult to convince to remain behind. But in the end, Rod had managed to make her understand that John showing up home with a pregnant woman along for the ride wouldn't be the best thing for him. There was too much tension between John and his family for Teyla and her delicate condition to be easily smoothed over.
Besides which, John was his friend, his partner. If any of them were going to follow him back home like an annoying stray, it was going to be Rod. Because of the three of them, Rod was the one who had earned John's trust and respect under the darkest possible circumstances. It was his right to be there to comfort and support him—a right he had paid for in blood and pain, broken bones and dead bodies—even if John didn't want any of them there.
Rod honestly had no idea what to expect when they drove up to the Sheppard family home. The large house at the end of a long drive way lined with bed upon bed of carefully tended flowers hadn't been on the list. The stables out behind the house, the god-knew-how-many acres stretched out behind the large home, what looked like a pond, and people whom Rod had only read about in the paper or seen on the news connected to large businesses.
The fact that John had obviously come from money—lots of money—was news to Rod, who had access to his personal records from when John was considered for a position in Atlantis. Rod clearly remembered reading that John had worked his way through school, and applied for every bursary, grant, and scholarship known to man. He'd always assumed John had come from a family existing on the lower end of the middle of the income scale.
He had been expecting the big house with the big names and the large funeral that was fucking catered, for crying out loud! He hadn't been expecting a brother to show up, had been more than a little surprised that there had been a father still in the picture actually. And Rod certainly hadn't been expecting an ex-wife.
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"I'm only an office assistant, Mr. Sheppard. I cannot give out that kind of information without following the set protocol."
"I want to speak to my brother right the fuck now!"
"If you continue to use language like that, Mr. Sheppard, I will be forced to terminate this phone call."
"How well do you think the press is going to react if I call in a favour to few friends and explain to them how the U.S. military division refuses to inform their employees and staff when someone calls with a family emergency?"
"There is no need to be making threats. We are trying our best to help you—"
"Well, you're best isn't good enough!"
"Unfortunately, sir, my best is what you are going to get. I repeat I'm only an office assistant—"
"I don't care if you're some kind of mutant space vampire that calls the Pegasus Galaxy home! I want to speak to my brother right now!"
"Can you hold a moment, please, sir?"
"No, I will not hold!"
"This will be just a moment."
"Don't you dare put me on hold!"
"..."
"Damn it!"
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Rod had finally gotten John back to their hotel a few hours after the funeral. There was a meeting set up with the late Benjamin Sheppard's lawyers for late the following day, something Rod was thankful. Trying to drag John out of bed before the sun had reached its zenith was nearly impossible on the best of days.
With the hotel door firmly closed between them and the rest of the world, Rod watched as John began to shed the various pieces of his suit. He'd never seen the other man look so uncomfortable before. But then again, the only things Rod had seen John wear before today were the expedition uniform and jeans with t-shirts. He'd never seen John in a suit before, and he'd never seen John look that uncertain in his own skin.
John was the picture of self-confidence. Even when he was wrong—wrong, so terribly, disastrously wrong—John was certain in his failings. Even after he'd blown up five sixths of a solar system in a different galaxy, John had been sure of himself, sure in is calculations and the adjustments he had made to the equations, and he hadn't been able to understand why the shit had exploded the way it had when said fecal matter had hit the intergalactic fan.
But now Rod had seen John look uncertain not only of his own welcome with those people, but uncertain of himself as well. And Rod suddenly appreciated Ronon's desire to declare war against Clan Sheppard, because his hands had itched for the cool metallic grip of his side arm (which he hadn't brought), his shoulder ached to brace against the butt of a P-90 (which the military had made him leave behind), and his tongue had twitched to spit out insults designed to make the enemy toss the first volley (which he'd bitten back). Rod would have given a small body part of have Ronon and Teyla there with them at the funeral, if only so they could form a wall of flesh, blood, bone, and muscle between John and his relations.
"Your brother's an asshole," Rod said conversationally to John as he jerked his own tie loose around his neck. "I've never met someone more insulting than you before—I didn't even think it was possible." And a lesser mortal would have died within moments of saying something like that to John Sheppard, or at least suffered in shock for having his arms ripped off. But Rod had earned the right to insult John. He'd earned it during late nights and early morning spent arguing over an equation, rainy days spent staring at a white board that refused to make sense, adrenaline filled moments of life-or-death and I-don't-fucking-know-if-this-will-kill-us-or-save-us-but-at-least-you-won't-be-alone. John didn't suffer fools gladly or otherwise, and Rod had proven he wasn't a fool.
John pulled his good button-up shirt over his head and tossed it on the foot of the bed and began working on removing his pants when he responded. "Dave was always a bit of an ass while we were growing up. Being dad's favourite did that to him." Kicking of his shoes and pants, John walked with the confident sexual grace Rod was more accustomed to over to where he'd dumped his bag earlier and pulled out the previously noted jeans and clean t-shirt.
"Maybe," Rod conceded as he shrugged out of his suit jacket. He remembered his parents' favouritism games they used to play with Jeannie and he while growing up. He doubted John's childhood had been anything like his own, but this he understood. "It still doesn't excuse his behaviour towards you. Implying the only reason you showed up was because of the money." Rod could feel the sneer curling his lips back as the words slipped from his mouth.
John glanced over at him. In the end, John only shrugged as reply to the sneer, pulling on his jeans. "Not everyone can be as polite as you are, Rod."
Rod only snorted at that. Their on going argument about Rod's particular level of politeness was something they would never see eye to eye on. John thought that Rod was to considerate of others, refusing to be hard or harsh on his employees even for their own benefit. Rod pointed out that he'd had almost two dozen sexual harassment complaints filed against him. John maintained since only one complaint hadn't been dropped (but had been subsequently proven false) they didn't count as marks against Rod's politeness. It was a never ending argument that filled up the slow periods and dull, sleepless nights.
"I don't even understand why you're so upset over Dave's comments anyway," John said through the material of his red t-shirt. "What else was he supposed to think? I'd been gone almost sixteen years, and the last time he'd seen me, I'd only had twenty three dollars in my bank account."
"Not the point," Rod told him, striding over to the mini bar. He needed a stiff drink after today, and John could probably use one too. "He still didn't have the right to say something like that to you."
There was silence for a moment while Rod mixed some rum and cokes for them—generous with the rum. He didn't look over to John, already knowing that the other man was deep in thought. There were times when John was completely oblivious to the world around him and the motives of the people therein. And sometimes that obliviousness was a mark against the mathematician slash engineer. Other times that obliviousness was a blessing Rod couldn't be thankful for enough.
"Everything has always been about money with dad and Dave," John finally said in the silence. "After my mother died, it was like the two of them retreated into a world all of their own. I got left by the way side and I was thankful for that."
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"Mr. Sheppard?"
"I hope you realize that I called reverse the charges and that you'll be paying for long distance calls to Russia, Nevada, Antarctica, and now Colorado."
"I'm going to transfer you to General Landry now, sir."
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"You know you don't actually have to, right?" Rod asked, sitting in the passenger seat of their rental car.
John was sitting in the driver's seat, knuckles white against the steering wheel. He didn't say anything.
"We could always get the lawyers to arrange everything and send us notification," he offered next.
John nodded his head briefly before releasing the fake leather steering wheel and leaning back in his seat. "I know, Rod. It's kind of the point that I don't actually have to be here. I'm proving something to myself."
He didn't understand. Didn't understand at all, but he could get behind the idea and support John no matter what his choice was. It was the reason he'd come in the first place, to act as moral support to his friend and partner.
They had already suffered through the reading of the last will and testament of the late Ben Sheppard. The lawyers had been dry and boring, nearly putting everyone in the room to sleep. And in the end, Dave had inherited the controlling shares of the family business, the house, the cottage, and a shit load of money. John had gotten every piece of horseflesh the family had owned, a comfortable share in the family business, a thick sealed envelope addressed to him, and a shit load of money. There had been shit loads of money given to a shit load of people and organizations.
John hadn't wanted anything to do with the company or the money. But he'd been floored when the lawyer had told him he was the proud new owner of something like sixty heads of breeding and race horses.
They were back at the Sheppard family home. They were going to see the horses there and make arrangements with John's brother about transporting them or selling them, or whatever it was John was going to do with sixty horses. Just who the hell needed that many horses anyway?
Rod hadn't realized he'd asked that last question aloud until John answered him. "My mom loved horses. She used to breed them as a hobby for a while—race horses, show horses, a few jumpers."
And suddenly Rod understood that coming back here to see the horses had nothing to do with his brother or dead father, and everything to do with Birdie Sheppard. John wasn't returning to feel closer to a man he couldn't understand, but to a woman who taught him an appreciation riding and good horses.
"Alright, lets get this over with," Rod finally said, opening his door. "It's getting late. I don't want to accidentally step in a pile of horse shit because I can't see anything."
Rod didn't like to think about the moments and days, hell entire weeks, where he'd earned the right to order John around and actually have him obey those orders. He'd rather think about the reasons he had a right to ask John's faith in him during moments of hopelessness than why the stubborn man could and would follow Rod's lead without hesitation.
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"This is General Landry; I'm assuming you are the Mr. Sheppard that has my staff considering mutiny just to keep you from calling back?"
"I want to speak to my brother. Put him on the phone."
"Unfortunately, I can't do that, son."
"Then I guess the military doesn't really need the research I had spoken about with General O'Neill."
"Don't get yourself all riled up over nothing. We can't put your brother on the phone because he's not here and there's no way to patch through a phone call to where he is."
"Then I suggest, General Landry, that you find a way to produce my brother within three days. Or I really will have our aeronautic research moved to our Canadian location."
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"You didn't know he could ride, did you?"
Rod turned around to face John's brother. The man looked nothing like the sibling Rod knew. It was difficult to wrap his mind around the idea that John hadn't sprung fully formed from a test tube, but had come into the world the old fashioned way.
"It's never come up in conversation," Rod finally said.
Dave nodded as though he understood. And maybe he did. It still didn't change anything for Rod though. He still thought Dave was an asshole. They turned their attention back to John out in the field on the back of some white spotted horse Rod couldn't have picked out from a million others like it.
He couldn't have said what it was about watching John ride that damn horse that kept him watching. He just knew that for the first time in years, Rod knew what John looked like when he was at peace. The way his body relaxed, bones and muscles melting into the rocking, bouncing gate of racing horse-flesh, the way he seemed to turn outward instead of inward to find that peace.
"There's no place you guys could stable Dancer close by to wherever it is you are?" Dave asked, startling Rod's attention away from man and beast.
"No."
Rod didn't turn back to John this time, instead turning his full attention and body towards the other Sheppard. Standing close enough that Rod bumped his shoulder with Dave, forced the other man to take a step back, give ground. Whatever it was that was between John and Dave, whatever it was that had happened in their respective childhoods to have created the rift between brothers, between John and his family, was none of Rod's business until John told him.
But Rod was aware enough that John's moment of peace could easily be broken, shattered, if he saw his brother standing there watching him. Dave was a part of a past John didn't talk about. Part of a family that had decided they didn't want him any more. They gave up his loyalty and devotion and never once tried to get him back. Dave no longer had the right to witness John's peace and find comfort in it.
Something dark and cold filtered behind Rod's expression; he could feel it in the twist of lips, the tightening of skin about his eyes, and Dave could see it. It was the realization that John had brought him here, let him watch him on the back of that horse, racing about a field that probably hide a countless numb of dips and holes that could trip up the horse and break John's fool neck. But he'd brought Rod there. He'd never even called Dave to let him know they were going up to see the horses.
Dave left then.
And it wasn't until the sun was starting to set that John finally came back towards the stables. His hair was a mess, in desperate need of a cut, he was breathing hard, with sweat beading along his hair line and upper lip. The horse was in a lather, but looked just as bright eyed and relaxed as his rider.
John didn't say anything while he unsaddled the horse and brushed him down. He didn't say anything while they walked back to the car, John's gate still loose and limber. He didn't speak as they drove away from the big house and back towards the hotel.
It wasn't until they were looking through the phone book for a place to order out that John finally broke the silence. It took Rod a moment before he understood what he was talking about.
"I kind of wish I could bring them back with us," John said while he frowned at the menu listings in the phone book. "I want Thai. There's a lot of open space out on the mainland where I could coral them. We could probably even make a booming trade if I could get my hands on a handful of sturdy draft horses..."
"Greek food," Rod countered. "A what kind of horse? And I never knew you were into husbandry."
John shrugged a little and pointed at the ad for an Italian place that delivered. "Doesn't matter," John told him. "I can't take them with us when we go back home. I'll probably have to sell them all off, or else buy a bunch of land and let them go feral."
Rod stopped and turned a puzzled look back to John with his hand halfway to the phone. "Let them go what? Look, if you want a hobby that badly in Atlantis, I'll help you set up a competitive chess club."
When John laughed, a sort of dry chuckle, Rod wondered how hard it could be to talk the SGC helping them transport sixty some-odd horses out to Atlantis. They had Midway now, and he was sure that the horses wouldn't cause too much trouble out in the black of space for twenty four hours, but that getting them through the Earth gate might be a problem. Maybe they could offer to clean up the horse shit themselves? He knew he could get Ronon and even Teyla out here with shovels and gloves and quick flirty smiles if it meant making John happy.
"Doesn't matter, Rod," John told him again. "You guys keep me busy enough that I wouldn't have time for a hobby on top of all the work I do, plus missions, plus heading the Mensa Chapter."
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"You don't actually have to leave, you know."
"Yes, I do."
"Dad regretted the way things ended between the two of you. There wasn't a day that went by when he didn't wish he could take back those words. He'd have taken you back if you'd have just called."
"I wasn't the one in the wrong, Dave. It wasn't for me to take him back. I didn't owe him the apology. Besides that, it wasn't like he couldn't have found me if he'd wanted to. I've always had at least one listed number, no matter where I was living. I left my forwarding address and phone number every time I moved. He never once made the effort to try and talk to me."
"...Why did you bring McKay to dad's funeral?"
"...He's part of my family. Why wouldn't I have brought him?"