Author:BadgerGater Email: [email protected]
Rating: G
Warning: Another Kleenex alert
Season: Anywhere you want, midway season 2 or later (the gray hair)
Summary: Jack and Sara talk about Charlie
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions; all the powers that be, not me; This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement intended. The story is the property of the author and may not be posted elsewhere without the author's consent.
Author's Note: Feedback, please (beg, plead, grovel). Let me know what you think.
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No man should outlive his child.
I miss him, and yet, I know it is ten times, a hundred times, a thousand times worse for her, for Sara, because she was with him almost every day of his too short life. When he was still here with us, I was gone so much, went days or weeks even months without seeing him, that sometimes, it�s like I expect to come home and he, and she, will still be there, like it was before that awful day.
I have buried myself in my work, tried to literally at one time, I think wryly, turned all my energy to my career, the Stargate program, the battle against the Goa�uld, enough so that sometimes I can forget. But once I leave the base, when I�m driving, when I�m alone in the night, when I wake, when I�m doing some ordinary task like mowing the lawn, the enormity of my loss, even after all this time, sometimes still hits me like a physical blow.
Today is one of those days when I can�t forget, when I fight to remember the good times of his life, to give it some meaning, to remember the good things, because I can�t let my son�s memory be only about my darkness and pain and grief and guilt.
He was a cute kid, and mostly a good kid. Okay, so yeah, he was my kid and a bit of a chip off the old block and even Sara, when she would admit it, knew he could be a little hellion. I used to think he would be a challenge as he grew up, kind of like I was to my parents. He wouldn�t have been perfect.
Today he would have been a teenager.
Oh, God, the things he missed. His first date, first girlfriend, first kiss, first car, high school sports, prom, graduation, first job, college, making love to a woman he cherished, holding his own child in his arms--
Though I�ve long ago given up on hoping for anything but darkness and an end to the pain at my own death, I pray there is a heaven, because in his innocence, he deserves it.
As I turn down the familiar street, slowly passing the too-green lawn, the trees and flowers, I see Sara�s car parked in it�s usual spot. I knew she would already be here. I think sometimes she comes here at the stroke of midnight, to spend this whole day at the only place she, we, feel close to him.
No man should outlive his child.
No man should go to the cemetery to celebrate his son�s birthday.
As I do every year, I come with a gift, something I think I would have bought for him anyway: a baseball glove, a hockey stick, a football, a model car, a video game. When I leave, I�ll take it with me, to drop off anonymously at the homeless shelter downtown, just like I do every birthday, and Christmas, too.
It is a measure of the peace I have managed to find in my own heart, that this year on this day I can walk up to Sara, put my arm around her, and stand with her. She lifts her tear-streaked face, looking at me in surprise at the gesture. A tiny smile crosses her face, and I feel her lean against me. I wish I could tell her where this newfound acceptance has come from, from the wonders of the universe I have experienced, from the crystal world and meeting the Asgard, and the knowledge of the existence of alternate universes where I know Charlie is still alive.
I gently squeeze her shoulder, because at this moment I can�t say anything past the lump in my throat. We stand, silently, for a long time.
�He�d be 13, today,� I say finally. �A teenager.�
�Driving us crazy, with all that adolescent energy, and angst,� she says softly.
�He�d think we were boring old fogies,� I say, running a hand through my gray hair.
Sara: �And too strict.�
Jack: �Never letting him have any fun.�
Sara: �Yeah, and we�d be complaining because he was playing his music too loud.�
Jack: �Listening to some god-awful band like Smashing Watermelons.�
Sara giggles. �Smashing Pumpkins, Jack.�
Jack: �Okay. Them too.� I say with a shrug.
Sara: �Spending too much time playing computer games.�
Jack: �Wanting to sleep until noon.�
Sara: �Or go to R rated movies.�
Jack: �X-rated movies,� I correct.
Sara: �Refusing to take out the garbage.�
Jack: �Hosting wild parties while we were gone.�
Sara: �The phone line would be tied up all the time, with all the girls calling.�
Jack: �He�d be wanting to drive my car.�
Sara: �Or your motorcycle.�
Jack: �Stay out late.�
Sara: �Wanting a tattoo.�
Jack: �Wanting an earring.� Sara: �Or worse, an eyebrow ring.�
Jack: �Or his tongue pierced,� I say with a shiver.
Sara: �Talking back to us.�
Jack: �Dying his hair purple.�
Sara: �Refusing to do his homework.�
Jack: �Hanging out with the wrong crowd.�
Sara: �Skipping school.�
Jack: �What would be wrong with that?�
Sara punches my shoulder affectionately �What would be wrong with skipping school? Jack!�
�I did, and look how well I turned out,� I grin at her.
�Yeah, I know how well you turned out,� she smiles. A long moment passes. She sighs. �The hurt never goes away, Jack.�
�Or the guilt,� I add.
She nods. �We were blessed to have him as long as we did.�
�Yes, we were,� I say, thinking of his smile, his laugh, the silly little kid stuff he did, his wonder at new things; of how much I had loved him, and let him down. The sudden ache in my chest takes my breath away.
No man should outlive his child.
FINIS