Whiskers

Author: Badgergater

Email: [email protected]

Season: None, pre-SG the movie

Warning: None

Rating: For anyone

Pairing: Jack/Sara since they were married then

Category: Drama, humor and angst

Summary: Jack and his son share a guy moment

Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate, and I know it.

Author's Pledge: Accurate information honestly presented so would-be readers can make informed choices on where to spend their time.

Author’s Note: It's Father's Day weekend, so it has to be about Jack and Charlie… with special thanks to my 'traveling crew': Martina, Corine & family, Ulrike and Anja.

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Jack O'Neill was entirely oblivious to the sneak attack.

Sound asleep after a string of sleepless nights, exhaustion had worn him down, and deep sleep claimed him.

The ambush was carefully planned and stealthily carried out, the attacker approaching silently on bare feet, making not a single sound.

Down the hallway, pausing only a moment at the partially open door, peering in to discover his unsuspecting prey.

"Daddy!" a delighted voice cried as the four year old form of Charlie O'Neill raced across the room and leaped into his parents bed, landing on top of his father.

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He was my shadow.

It happened every time I came home.

I'd been gone for nearly a month this time, and it seemed like, to my son, I was someone entirely new.

Of course, he seemed like someone entirely new to me, too, since he changed so much, so fast, each time I was gone.

And, like every time I came home, it seemed he couldn’t get enough of me. From the moment he got up in the morning until I tucked him into bed at night, he’d follow me everywhere I went for the first couple of days. Glued to my heels, right there with me every minute. Maybe he was afraid I'd disappear again for days or weeks. Maybe he just missed his daddy that much.

I'd like to think so.

And I didn't mind, not in the least. Because the truth was, I missed him just as much, and if he hadn't followed me around, I'd have followed him.

/-----\

An hour after getting so abruptly awakened, I was in the bathroom standing in front of the sink. Charlie was standing beside me, staring upward to watch me intently. I bent down and picked him up, setting him down on the edge of the vanity. Running the sink full of warm water, I sorted past the clutter of Sara’s things and found the can of Barbasol. Spraying some of the white foam onto my hand, I slathered some on the left side of my face, and then the right.

"Why do you do that, Daddy?" he asked.

I stopped, face half lathered. "Do what?"

"Put that white stuff on your face?"

"It’s shaving cream."

"Does it taste good?"

I dabbed some on his nose. "No. It’s not whipped cream, it’s shaving cream."

He wiped the shaving cream off his nose with a giggle, spreading it on his chin in imitation of me. "What’s it do?"

‘Softens up my whiskers, makes them easier to shave."

"Your whiskers are scratchy, Daddy."

"Yes, they are. Mommy doesn’t like them."

"That’s why you shave?"

"That, and the Air Force."

"The Air Force doesn’t like whiskers?"

"Nope. Officers have to be neat and trim."

He nodded, watching me closely as I placed the razor against my chin and drew it carefully upward across my cheek.

"Does it hurt?"

"No." I reached down and carefully ran the razor across his smooth chin. "See."

"Mommy doesn’t shave her face."

"No, she doesn’t. Woman don’t have whiskers. That’s why they’re so nice to kiss."

My son made a small sound of boyish disgust. "Kissing is silly."

"Kissing is nice," I insisted.

"Ewww."

"Wait a few years, Tiger, and your opinion will change."

"Tommy Eckridge kissed a girl. He said it was yucky."

I stopped in mid-stroke, and looked down at him. "Tommy kissed a girl?"

"Joey dared him, and he kissed Amber." Charlie shuddered. "He dared me, too, but I wouldn’t." The boy declared proudly. "I’m *never* gonna kiss a girl."

"Oh, you’ll change your mind."

"Never," he insisted. "Women are silly."

"Sometimes." I smiled, thinking about the passionate reunion Sara and I had had the night before. There was nothing silly or yucky about it. "Sometimes they’re very nice," I admitted.

"Is that why you and Mommy cuddle on the couch and she giggles?"

"Sometimes."

He looked up at me, studying me intently. "Why don’t I have whiskers?"

"You will when you’re older."

"Why not now?"

"Because."

"Why?"

"Because you have to wait until you’re more grown up to have whiskers."

"That’s not fair," he pouted.

I reached down and tickled his ribs. "Don’t be in such a hurry, Tiger. Whiskers are a pain in the butt, like little boys who ask too many questions."

"Daddddy," he laughed.

"What are you guys doing in there?" Sara had walked into the bedroom, and heard the laughter.

"Shaving," Charlie answered, and we giggled together.

/-----\

Angrily, I banished the memory as I brushed the steam off the mirror, and stared at my half-shaved reflection. I hadn't even gotten through my morning shower and shave ritual without thinking about him. So much for another Father's Day resolution not to wallow in the past.

Maybe it was time I gave it up, and let the memories in, despite the way they hurt. They were, after all, all that was left of my son, and all the promise his young life once held. God, he was such a great kid. Funny. Smart. Curious. Boisterous. Full of energy, full of life.

Damn, it was so wrong.

I wanted to throw something, to curse, to lash out at God and the world, and yes, at myself, for my role in what happened to him.

What had been stolen from him.

He’d never gotten to shave, just like, I’m pretty sure, he never got to kiss a girl.

Oh God, he missed so much.

I missed him so much.

Charlie.

----------the end----------