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It had already been dark when they arrived, but as he sat tucked into the corner with a beam of light from the hall just touching the toe of his outstretched boot and the very end of her bed, it was a different kind of darkness that had fallen. It was quiet and mostly still, and full to the brim with his hopes and fears and memories.
The darkness wasn’t necessarily oppressive, but it was heavy and thick and made breathing just a little more difficult. He knew he should sleep, but all he had was the hard plastic chair he was slumped in, his elbow rested on the arm with his head, heavy against his fisted hand. One of the nurses had offered him a cot, but he’d insisted the chair would be fine - hard, beige plastic and pu leather that squeaked when he shifted. He’d started out sitting upright, but he’d now slumped to an awkward, almost horizontal angle that he would regret soon enough.
But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from them, so moving wasn’t yet an option.
There were faint sounds that intruded on his solitude - a few machines in the room that made gentle beeps - nothing life preserving, but necessary nonetheless. Every now and then he could hear a phone ringing in the nurses station just down the hall, carts passing by the door, causing the beam of light to shift and flicker. He could hear access cards on lanyards, rustling against colourful scrubs, footsteps on linoleum and quiet conversations.
He could hear his own breathing, and hers - and a gentle snoring that made his lips curl up at the corners.
She was sleeping soundly, curled on her side with one arm outstretched. Her fingers were curled around the edge of the bassinet that had been tucked against the side of her bed, the way she’d always kept one hand on her P-90 whenever they made camp, off-world.
He glanced at his watch. It was nearly four in the morning.
The last nine hours felt like a dream, nonlinear, heady, without time. Every moment of it was clear as if it were only seconds ago; the beeping of the car horn as he peeled through traffic, the feel of her hand, squeezing his, the sound of her screams, the sharp, startling cry of their son as he’d made his way into the world.
He had been excited since the moment she’d told him they were going to have a baby, had felt a warmth through his entire being as he’d looked into her large blue eyes and realised they hadn’t waited too long - they still had their chance; they were going to have everything they wanted. He’d also realised in that moment that he’d never considered ever being a father again, with anyone but her.
He’d never felt the seventeen years between them more profoundly than when he realised, there was still a chance for them.
It hadn’t been until about six months down the track when she was put on bed rest and removed from duty and the doctor had laid down warnings about health risks and geriatric pregnancies - not that he’d had a clue what all that meant. But she was fine and the baby was healthy and they were asked if they wanted to know the sex. He’d felt his heart clench and his lips go dry.
In that instant, a tingling had run up his spine. His chest felt tight and his hands had fisted and he was fairly sure she’d noticed, because she was first to say that they’d like to keep it a surprise - like pretending for a little longer would protect him.
He knew it shouldn’t matter if it was a boy or a girl; any trepidation should be the same, no matter what because he knew that he was going to love either one, not a bit differently, but trauma wasn’t necessarily rational and somehow he just knew, if it had been a girl, he wouldn’t have felt the fear in quite the same way.
The first moment they had heard the cries of their son, his mouth had gone dry, his heart pounding in his ears so loud he didn’t hear the nurse ask him if he wanted to hold him.
Sam had always been incredibly observant, however, and even in her exhaustion and pain, she’d saved him again from having to be the one to say it. She’d keenly taken their son into her arms without question, without judgement, without commenting on his hesitation.
He shifted and felt a twinge in his back from the poor angle and the shockingly hard plastic chair.
Charlie would have been twenty three years old in June. And they hadn’t planned to have this baby in the exact same hospital where he died.
Jack scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the tiredness right down to his bones.
He wondered every day what Charlie would have been like, if he’d have been like him or like Sara, joined the Academy or gone to college - if he’d even be with Sam right now, if Charlie had never found his gun. And that last thought made him feel so incredibly guilty, he felt sick.
She was the best thing that had ever happened to him and Charlie was the best thing he’d ever done. But he had a son with Sam now and he didn’t have Charlie, and that churned his stomach, because what if Charlie felt like he was being replaced? If it was a girl, it wouldn’t matter; a girl would have been different, unknown.
A girl would be an adventure, not a reminder.
His son had been in the world for nearly three hours and he couldn’t yet bring himself to touch him. He felt guilty about that too.
He’d watched Sam learn, watched her diligently listen to the nurses as they showed her the correct way to cradle his head; how to swaddle him, how to nurse him and he had shared her joy every time she had looked up at him with that sense of wonder in her eyes he’d loved since the moment he’d watched her touch her fingertips to the event horizon, the first time she stepped through the Stargate.
She’d never had a baby before, everything was new and wonderful and scary, but it was also exciting and weightless for her, something amazing. And that look in her eye had kept his demons at bay, at least for a few hours.
At least until they were both asleep and he was sitting there alone, in the dark, watching them - listening to their soft breaths and little murmurs and light snores, wondering if he had the strength to try again.
The papers lay on the table beside him, the first and last name scratched in his near-illegible scribble, but he’d set them aside before he’d completed them. The nurse had said they didn’t need them back until the following day - their administrative offices weren’t open anyway, a few more hours to ponder over their options, was perfectly fine - necessary, even, given his ponderings.
They were in complete agreement on his first name - they’d talked about it at length, they’d known their son’s name months before they’d needed to write it down on any official documents. And while Sam continued as Colonel Carter at work, they were all O’Neills now, at least on paper.
She’d left the middle name to him.
He’d tried to write it several times, tried to think of what would suit, tried to sound out some options in the room by himself, but nothing seemed to make sense - nothing seemed quite right. People had made suggestions - he’d thought maybe Daniel or Teal’c or George, people he respected, admired, loved. But even they didn’t fit.
The colour of the walls hadn’t changed in thirteen years; the same sterile smell in the air, the same light. The memory of those moments were as clear as the last few hours when he’d held Sam’s hand, as he’d wiped her brow, as he’d witnessed their son coming into the world in the same place his had left it.
Across the room he heard a faint sound, a little squeak and a rustle.
He felt his spine crack and his knee twinge as he stood up and took three strides across the room, only realizing when he was standing over the bassinet, that he hadn’t hesitated like he did in the delivery room - he heard a sound from his son and he moved to it; instinct.
He found him awake, but quiet - he looked content. He had hoped, at least, that if they were to have a boy, he’d look like Sam - but he’d spent too much time with scientists over the last decade to delude himself into believing her rare blue eyes were going to win out over his dominant brown.
Sam had told him, statistically, babies look like their fathers for the first few years of their life - something about evolutionary something to prevent rejection, or something. He didn’t really understand all of it, but he could see himself in the large brown eyes staring back up at him. But it also meant he could see Charlie too.
“Hey, buddy.” He whispered, glancing from the baby to Sam who was still, thankfully, sound asleep.
The baby continued to stare up at him, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and pushing it out again, blinking slowly as he considered him.
“So I'm your Dad.”
Of course, the baby didn’t respond, except to squirm just a little in his swaddle.
“Sorry about the grey hair,” He gestured to his own hairline and the baby blinked and Jack took a deep breath, like he was struggling to maintain small-talk. “Hey, you know what though, you have got yourself a really great Mom.” He pointed to Sam. “She’s super smart, so even with me as your Dad, you’re still gonna do okay, I think.”
The baby wriggled and his face scrunched up a little and Jack tensed, ready for him to start wailing but he settled again, still pondering the man looking down at him.
“Close one.” he smirked. “So I guess you’re probably hungry, huh?”
Sam shuffled in the bed, her hand slipping from the edge of the bassinet and Jack watched her for a moment, but she didn’t wake - almost like she knew he was standing closer now, like he was right there if they needed him and she could ease back from being at the ready. Kind of like how she’d roll over and snuggle deeper into her sleeping bag, when he’d return from his watch and sit down beside her by the fire.
He’d never been allowed to acknowledge those subtle changes in her back then; how her brow would smooth in her sleep or how her grip would loosen from her weapon, but he could appreciate it now.
He just stood there for a few minutes, and he wondered what the baby could be thinking - if he could puzzle him out at all just yet, or if he was just fascinated by something new to look at, someone who wasn’t Sam. His tiny world had expanded by one person in the first three hours - it was probably a lot for the little guy to take in.
“Hey Dad,”
The voice from the door startled him and Jack spun around, instinctively stepping in front of the bassinet just a little, putting his body between the baby and this new intruder. Except, it wasn’t an intruder. Jack knew him the moment he looked into his eyes - he was a man, tall, with broad shoulders and dark eyes and sand coloured hair.
But he knew him.
“Charlie?”
“Yeah, Dad, it’s me.”
He watched him as he made his way across the room, stepping around the foot of Sam’s bed to move right up beside where Jack stood, looking down over the baby that was still looking straight up at Jack.
“So this is my little brother, hey?”
Jack swallowed before he answered softly. “Yeah.”
“What’s his name?”
“Jacob. Or, well, Jake really.”
“Jake’s a good name.”
“Yeah, it was Sam’s dad’s name, so…”
Charlie nodded, smiling and they both stood there in silence for a long moment - Charlie was looking down at Jake with a soft smile, and Jack was watching him. “How are you here?”
“You need to forgive yourself, Dad.”
“Can’t do that.”
“You need to do it for him.”
Jack took a deep breath. “Charlie,”
“It was an accident.”
“It was my gun.”
“Yeah,” Charlie answered softly. “It was. But you need to forgive yourself.”
Jack just stared at him for a long moment, looking into his eyes, studying him.
“I really like her, by the way.” Charlie gestured to Sam, who had shuffled in the bed a little, her face angled toward them.
When Jack turned to look up at him, he startled awake, twinging his back as he twisted in the horribly uncomfortable plastic chair. He groaned, trying to pull himself into a sitting position slowly, so he didn’t do any permanent damage to his back.
Sitting up straight, he blinked against the single beam of light through the room and noted Sam and the baby were still sound asleep and there was no one else there with them.
He must have dozed off.
He felt something loosen in his chest - the tightness that was there earlier was ebbing away and while he was still terrified, it wasn’t the same sense of dread from before.
“You need to forgive yourself, Dad.”
Jack took a deep breath and stood up, slowly shuffling over to the bassinet, smirking at the way Sam’s fingers still gripped the edge of it.
“Hey buddy,” He smiled down at the baby who was blinking up at him. “I guess I need to introduce myself again, huh.”
But the baby was looking at him almost like he was repeating himself, like they’d had this conversation before and Jack glanced around the room, feeling a warmth move through him against the cool, sterile air that recycled through the hospital air conditioning.
“Or not.”
Jake’s little face twisted and scrunched and his little brow pinched and Jack knew what was coming next. “Okay, hang on buddy, none of that.” He soothed as he quickly scooped him up, tucking him into the crook of his arm and brushing the back of his finger against his rosy cheek. “Your mom is still sleeping.”
“Nah,” With her eyes closed, Sam cut in quietly. “She’s awake.”
“Oh is she?” Jack smirked.
She groaned a little as she twisted toward him in the bed, pushing up from the mattress to sit up a little straighter. “Yes, I'm a bit achy - makes it hard to sleep.”
Jake took that moment to let out a cry in earnest, twisting in Jack’s arms. “Good timing, I guess.” He winced, shuffling around the now-empty bassinet to get closer to Sam as she adjusted her top before he handed the baby over. “You okay getting him on?”
“Yes,” She smiled up at him sleepily. “The nurse showed me.”
Jake whined and grumbled for a little bit as she jostled and repositioned him before Jack heard him start to suckle and his cries turned to whimpers, turned to soft little sighs as he fed.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked quietly, reaching out for his wrist with her hand that wasn’t cradling her son. “You were so quiet earlier.”
“I was just thinking through some things.”
He moved to sit down on the bed, at her hip, slipping his wrist from her hand so that he could entwine their fingers and brush his thumb across her knuckles gently.
“And you’re okay that he’s…”
“He’s perfect, Sam.” Jack whispered, meeting her eye. “I need you to understand it was never about him, or you.”
“I know, but,”
“It’s okay,” He cut her off gently. “I’m okay and I love both of you.” He ran his thumb across her hand again. “I’m happy. You make me happy.”
Sam blushed, dipping her eyes down to rest on the baby quietly making the sweetest little sighs and suckling sounds. “Did you come up with a middle name yet?”
Jack smiled slowly, watching them, letting the thought set in. “Yeah, I did.”
“Oh?”
“Well I thought it wouldn’t be so bad to have his grandpa and his big brother, looking out for him. What do you think?”
“Jacob Charlie O’Neill?”
“It has a ring.”
Sam smiled, leaning forward just as much as she could to offer him a kiss that he had to lean the rest of the way for, both of them smiling as he leaned back again.
“Yes it does.”