Father and Son

Author: BadgerGater

Warnings: Kleenex, Puffs, tissue (full boxes, not just a handful) and hankerchief alert. If you don’t want your tears jerked, do *not* read this. This is no idle warning.

Pairing: Jack/Sara

Season: Pre-Stargate SG-1

Rating: PG

Summary: Jack and his son spend some quality time together

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters aren’t mine, sad to say.

Author’s Note: Just seemed to be the fic to post for Father's Day weekend

-----------------------------------

She was staring at me, assessing me with that glare that could have made a four star general quake in his boots. “Jack O'Neill, are you *sure* you want to do this?”

“It’ll be fun,” I assured her.

Sara shook her head. ”I don’t know…”

She wasn’t convinced. Sara looked from me to the boy, and back to me. “Are you sure you’re up to this? I mean your knee…”

“And you’ll listen to your Father?” she stared at the boy.

She sighed. “I have a feeling I’m going to regret this…”

I limped over to where she stood by the car door, her overnight bag by her feet. “Sara, I promise. We’ll be good. Both of us. Go and have fun,” I pulled her into my arms, hugging her tightly, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. “I’m a captain in the United States Air Force. The U.S. government lets me fly multi-million dollar airplanes. They trust me with the safety of the entire free world…”

“The entire free world is one thing. Our son is another.”

I hugged her one more time, then stepped back as she hefted our boy into her arms. He hugged her. “Have fun, Mommy. I’ll make Daddy obey his orders,” he promised seriously.

She gave him a final kiss, then set him down, and he ran to me, sliding in tight against my left leg. I dropped a hand onto his shoulder. “We’ll hold down the fort until you get back, Mom,” I promised.

Charlie giggled.

With a last uncertain look at the two of us, she got into the car, shut the door, and with a final wave, drove away.

Charlie and I stood side by side on the lawn waving after her until the car disappeared from sight around the corner.

“Will Mommy be okay without us?” he asked seriously.

“She’ll be fine. Take my word for it, champ,” I raised one eyebrow, looking down at my kid, “So, what are we gonna do first?”

<><><><><>

So no, I didn’t tell him that by the time we got home I was really tired and my knee was throbbing with every step, but he didn’t seem to mind the fact that I was walking slower than usual. It just felt good, walking with him, his small hand wedged tightly into mine.

<><><><><>

Charlie answered. “Hi Mom!” I could hear the excitement in his voice. “Me and Dad had fun. I caught a fish, a really big one! And I swung on the swings, higher than I’ve ever swung before…”

I could already picture the glower starting on Sara’s face. I made a mad dash, or well, a slow hobble dash toward the living room, where Charlie stood with the phone gripped firmly in both hands. “And Mom, I rode on the bike with Dad. Yes, he made me wear my helmet.” Pause. “Yes, Mom, he drove really slow, slow enough so I could wave at all the neighbors…”

I was waving frantically at him, trying to get him to stop talking and give me the phone.

He handed the phone to me at last. I braced myself. “Hi, Sara, how’s your sister?"

“My sister is fine. Better than you’re going to be if half of what that boy told me is true.”

“Sara…”

“Don’t Sara me, Jonathon O’Neill. If you gave that boy a ride on your motorcycle, so help me, not even the President himself…”

“He was wearing a helmet…”

“What?”

“And I never went over 15 miles an hour, ummm maybe 20. And just once around the block.”

“Sara, we’re fine,” I tried to head off her tirade.

“Fine. I’ll bet you're fine. What did you feed him for supper? Twinkies?”

I stared across at Charlie, putting a finger to my lips. “Ah, no, no Twinkies. We haven’t eaten a single Twinkie. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“You are so going to die, Flyboy, if you fed him Twinkies.”

Charlie looked over at the table where the box of Twinkies sat, as yet unopened.

“Tonight we’re just going to watch movies.”

“I hope you picked something appropriate.”

“John Wayne.”

“No, he can’t watch John Wayne movies. He’s just a little boy. They’re full of violence and…”

“Sara, I watched them as a kid…”

“And look how you turned out!”

“Sara…”

“Jack, you promised you’d be the adult.”

“I’m trying.”

She sighed.

“Really, Sara, we’re okay. He’s fine, I’m fine. Nothing’s gotten broken, lost or damaged. We’ve had fun doing guy stuff. We’re going to have supper and then watch some movies, kids movies, and then I’ll read him a story and put him to bed.”

“I’m not sure I can stay awake that long,” I said truthfully.

“He is a handful, isn’t he?” she said softly.

“Yup.”

“Just like his Dad.”

“Yup.”

Her voice was softer. “Okay, let me say goodnight to him. And don’t mind me, Jack, really. I just…”

“You’re the Mom. It’s your job to worry.”

She sighed. “About both of you.”

<><><><><>

So we didn’t watch John Wayne movies. Charlie wanted to watch E.T. for the fifteenth or twentieth time. He crawled up in the chair with me, the big old recliner that took up half the small living room. He wiggled in next to me as I stretched my aching leg across the foot rest. The boy pulled up a blanket over both of us, and snuggled in against my chest.

“Dad?”

“Hmmm?”

“Is E.T. real?”

“No, Charlie.”

He looked sad. “He should be. I’d like to have an ET in my closet.”

“I don’t think Buddy would like that.” Across the room, the dog’s tail thumped against the floor at the mention of his name.

“Buddy could play with him, too.” The boy said earnestly, and turned thoughtful. “ET is a good guy, isn’t he Dad?”

“According to Steven Spielberg.”

“Who’s Steven Speilaburg, Dad?”

I smiled. “Never mind.”

He was quiet for a few minutes. “Dad…”

“Yeah…”

“Will Mommy be home soon?”

“Tomorrow.”

“I miss her. Just like I miss you when you go away. You won’t go away, too, will you Daddy? Before Mommy comes home?”

“No. One of us will always be here with you. Always.”

“Good.” He snuggled closer. "I miss you when you go away."

Somewhere, long before the part where ET went home, he fell asleep.

So did I.

<><><><><>

I woke in the dark house, the room lit by the flickering ‘snow’ on the tv screen. Charlie was sound asleep on my chest, his head snuggled in against my neck, my arm cradling him having gone all numb and tingly. Carefully, I lifted him and carried him up to his room, the solid feel of him in my arms comforting. I tucked him under the covers and in his sleep he reached out to clutch the stuffed dog on his bed. The real dog jumped up, curling up to lie at Charlie’s feet.

Turning off the light, I looked back into the room, lit only by the soft glow of the nightlight. I didn’t get to do this often, tuck my child into bed after spending a whole day with him. It was one I hoped he’d long remember and share someday with his own son, stories about bike riding and fishing and giggling over ice cream and Twinkies.

I slipped down the hall, brushed my teeth and pulled on an old pair of sweats to sleep in. The bed seemed big, and very empty tonight. I sank down into its warm comfort, sighed and rolled over, falling asleep…

*************

“He looks peaceful, Sir,” Dr. Fraiser looked down at her patient, still comatose more than 36 hours after returning from the mission to P4X-884. “I don’t know what he’s dreaming about, but at least they seem to be pleasant dreams, General.” Fraiser shifted her gaze to the SGC’s CO. “I just wish he would wake up. I’m beginning to worry. They said a day.”

“The days on Ellendra were 31 hours long, Janet,” Carter noted. “And when the leader, Farlow, first touched the Colonel’s forehead, he smiled. The Colonel didn’t seem worried. He willingly drank that stuff they gave him.” She looked down at her sleeping commander. His actions had surprised, no, shocked her. He was normally so distrustful of the strange cultures they encountered, yet he had willingly emptied the cup Farlow handed him, and had seemed to peacefully fall asleep. He’d looked then like he looked now, content and resting comfortably, the worry lines smoothed from his forehead.

Sam shuddered, remembering her fear when they couldn’t wake him. “I don’t think those people would hurt him, not on purpose. We saved that village from those Jaffa. They seemed truly grateful. Farlow had kept insisting O’Neill would be fine after sleeping for one day."

“Farlow said O’Neill seemed sad…” Teal’c interjected, “and that, in return for saving his people, he would gift him with pleasant dreams and good memories to banish the sorrow.”

Fraiser nodded. “I hope so, for his sake.”

<><><><><>

Jack O’Neill woke slowly, drifting upward to awareness, thinking about his son asleep in his bed down the hall; missing his wife, gone to visit her sister. And then he became aware of things, disturbing things that disrupted the pleasant lassitude his dreams had left with him. The familiar sounds and smells, not of his home, but of the infirmary, of the SGC, of his life as it existed, not as it once was and as he wished it still could be. A heavy weight settled back into his heart, to know his child laughed now only in his dreams; that the small hand would never again hold his; that the perfect world he’d had and lost was truly gone forever.

With a sigh, the Colonel opened his eyes, bringing a hand up to wipe across his face.

“Sir?” a familiar voice asked.

“Doc?” he said softly.

“You gave us a bit of a scare, Colonel. You slept a long time.”

He didn’t answer, just looked away, and she saw a shadow cross his face.

“Colonel? How do you feel?”

He looked at her, and answered honestly. “Old. Tired. Lost.”

His words surprised himself, surprised her even more.

“The aliens, the Ellendra, they did something to you…”

“Gave me dreams.”

“Good dreams?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered, and said no more. He couldn’t. He needed to hoard these moments, engrave them in his mind. He’d forgotten about that weekend when he and Charlie had bached it together, a boy and his dad.

“About?

“Guy stuff, Doc,” he said, and smiled thinly.

Fraiser reached down and patted his shoulder, searching for the right words to get her patient, and friend, to tell her more. Before she could say more, her pager went off. "Colonel, I'll be back in a bit, okay?"

He nodded and watched her go.

<><><><><>

Jack tried to sleep but it seemed he had slept too much over the past two days. There was no sleep left in him, only memories, memories playing non-stop in his head. He lay on the bed, looking up at the ceiling, replaying the days of his sons' life in his head, the memories fresher than they'd been in a very long time.

He didn't realize how much time passed.

<><><><><>

Dr. Fraiser sighed. It had been a long night, working on the lab reports from the mysterious rash SG-16 had developed back on P5D-230. Turned out it was nothing serious, but with off-world medicine, you couldn't afford to underestimate anything.

Tonight, though, well, it was odd. She had walked in quietly, and to her surpris discovered that he was wide awake, his eyes open, yet not looking at her. He was staring up at the ceiling, so deeply lost in thought that he hadn't noticed her approach. Janet looked at her watch. It was nearly 2 a.m. He should be asleep.

"Colonel?" she asked softly.

He startled, looking at her with an odd expression, guilty, it seemed to her, like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't.

"Sir? It's late. You should be sleeping."

He didn't look at her, only fidgeted, his hands clasping and unclasping the edge of the blanket. "Not tired."

She stepped closer to the bed. "I can give you something to help you sleep, Colonel."

He shook his head no, and in that moment she caught a quick glimpse of his face. He looked haunted.

"No," he said softly, still looking down.

"I could stay and talk for a bit if you'd like some company," she offered.

"No need. I'm fine," he insisted, even though he didn't sound fine or look fine.

"Let me just check then, hm? Since you're awake." She bustled around his bed, checking his pulse and respiration, fiddling with his IVs, trying to figure out what was bothering him, and what she could do to help. "Cassie is really looking forward to Saturday. I'm sure by then you'll be able to take her skating, but if you're not up to it, she's happy just to spend time with you."

"Uh huh," he agreed listlessly.

Her nagging unease flared sharply into outright worry. "Sir? Please, tell me what's wrong."

He cleared his throat, and stared down at his hands, and she thought he wasn't going to answer. "I, uh," he started, his voice husky and raw. Suddenly, he raised his eyes to hers. "Doc, would you do me a favor?"

Her eyes flew wide open. He never asked for help; she knew he hated to ask for anything. "Anything I can."

"Certainly, Colonel," she patted his hand. "I'll be just a few minutes."

Fraiser walked quickly through the quiet halls of the SGC, using the key he'd given her to open his office, and then the drawer. There it was, an old worn cigar box, the kind of thing people used to keep their most precious possessions in. She had a pretty good idea what was in the box, Sam had told her of that day, shortly after the Stargate program started, when Carter had walked in on O'Neill, well, the copy of O'Neill, sorting through the contents of this box.

Janet resisted the all but overwhelming urge to look inside, and carried it carefully down to the infirmary.

<><><><><>

O'Neill was sitting up on the bed when she reached the ward. "Here it is, Sir."

"Thank you." He threw her a wan smile, his hands reaching out to take the box, his long, slender fingers sliding across the cover like it was some holy relic.

She knew that to him, it was.

He opened the box, and the look on his face nearly stopped her heart.

She didn't know if she should stay, or go. She was afraid to breathe. He seemed to have forgotten she was there as he reached into the box and pulled out a photo, an old, small snapshot, the kind every family had hundreds or thousands of.

All of his were in this one little box, all of his life resided there, what little was left of it.

Suddenly, he took a deep, shuddering breath, fighting for control.

"He was the greatest kid," O'Neill said in a small, quiet voice.

Janet stepped forward, to look down at the photo he held, a picture of a towheaded boy with an oversized smile. "Yes, Sir."

"A little terror, though," he added. "He couldn't sit still for a moment."

"His father's son, then, Colonel," she said gently.

His eyes lifted and met hers for a brief instant, then drifted back to the pictures he held. Picture by picture, memory by memory, he pulled the items from the box, and told her briefly about each one of them: fishing, riding his bike, in his hockey uniform, in his baseball uniform, his school pictures, riding on his Dad's shoulders, smiling, laughing.

At the bottom of the box was a picture of the young Jack O'Neill holding a tiny blanket wrapped bundle, a look of delighted amazement on his face, a smile so wide it seemed like it would break his face in half. Janet stared at it for a long moment, wishing she had known that man, that O'Neill, the one who had existed before his life had turned ugly and unforgiving. He seemed to sense her intensity, and raised his eyes to meet hers. For that one brief second, she saw something there, in those brown eyes, a moment of understanding passing between them. The power of that look, the immensity of his loss, staggered her.

He held the photo a long time, staring down at it, silently. "Farlow's gift was a memory, a day I'd forgotten, a weekend when Sara visited her sister and it was just me and Charlie. Nothing special happened, at least that's how it seemed, then... nothing very memorable." His voice drifted to silence, one long finger hovering over the photo of a father and the son he would never hold again. A tiny tremble in his chin betrayed the battle he waged with his grief, and regret.

Finally, she reached out her hand and touched his cool one. "Thank you for sharing these with me, Sir." Janet hoped he understood how deeply she meant that, hoped he understood that she realized what an unexpected gift of himself he had given to her by sharing these few precious memories with her.

He nodded.

It was all she needed.

He understood.

So did she.

The alien leader had given him the most precious and yet most simple of gifts, a long forgotten memory of a day so ordinary he had forgotten it lingered there, in the recesses of his mind, a day he would give his life to relive one single moment of again.

She watched as ever so carefully he stowed the precious momentos back in the plain, worn box where his heart resided.

"Put it back, please?" he asked.

She nodded, unable to speak. All the way to his office, walking alone through the dim, silent hallways, she battled to control her tears, and finally, lost. Unashamedly, she let the salty drops trail down her cheeks as she placed the box back in its drawer, locked the lock, and walked away.

By the time she returned to the infirmary, he was asleep, or pretending to sleep, and she decided to let him rest, soothed by the memories, the one thing no one could take from him. From the doorway, she looked back at him.

"Good night, sir," she whispered. "Sweet dreams." This night, at least, she knew they would be.

--------The End---------