I started this story almost a year ago. It was my first foray into SG-1 fic. It was just a little story that popped into my head while I was planning out my NaNo project. I decided to just finish it up and post it in my endeavor to finish one “in progress” fic a month.
Doing It Wrong
by jennickels (aka Jen Connelly)
Jack’s on a mission and he’s, “doing it wrong,” so says his little side kick. Just a little snippet into Jack’s retirement.
don’t own… wish I did, but I don’t. No infringement intended.
Jack stared intensely at the offending distraction on the table. A room away he could barely make out the sounds of the hockey game he was trying unsuccessfully to watch. With a sigh he picked up one of the objects laid out before him turning it in his hands. Front, back, sides? This shouldn’t be so complicated, he thought; it’s not rocket science, and despite outward appearances, Jack wasn’t an idiot.
And it wasn’t like he had never done this before. After staring at the object in his hands a few more moments he set it down and tapped his fingers on the side of the table before beginning to undress the little bundle in pink.
A few minutes of fumbling with snaps and buttons and he was ready. Or, at least, he thought he was until a soft, “tsk,” distracted him. He glanced across the table at the small boy perched on an overturned laundry basket. Jack reached for the powder and the boy’s head shook slowly, his eyes rolling up dramatically.
“You’re doing it wrong.”
Jack stopped mid-reach and glared at the kid. “I know what I’m doing.”
The kid snorted in reply and Jack couldn’t help but let a half grin slide across his face. He quickly schooled his features and tried to ignore the kid who watched intently, his chin resting on a chubby hand.
Daniel had once told him that he thought if Jack and Sam ever had kids it would be a sign of the coming apocalypse and those kids would be at the center. Jack had snorted in response, but as he watched his son, he was beginning to believe Daniel was pretty dead on with his depiction. The combination of Sam’s hyper-intelligence and Jack’s penchant for mischief blended seamlessly into a pint-sized package topped with untamed brown hair and piercing blue eyes that Jack swore could bore into his soul. He was pretty sure it was wrong to be terrified of a three year old, precocious or not.
Jack shook the thought from his head and continued with his diaper changing duties hoping to catch the end of the second period.
Another huff from the munchkin grated his nerves, and he felt a growl of irritation forming in the back of his throat. He quickly coughed to cover but when he looked into his son’s face he was pretty sure he hadn’t fooled either of them.
“You’re doing it wrong,” the boy simply said again without accusation or malice.
Jack gritted his teeth and tried to hold down his squirming daughter.
“That’s not how Mommy does it,” Jake stated matter-of-factly. “You’re doing it wrong.” This time he put increased emphasis on the last word.
Jack took a deep breath trying to maintain his cool. No need to lose face in front of the kid and blow his, “awesome dad,” persona.
“Just because I do things different than Mommy doesn’t mean I’m doing it wrong.”
Jake snorted and shook his head. Jack finished putting on the diaper with a satisfied smile to his son. He was rewarded with the biggest eye roll he had ever seen. Must get that from his mother, Jack muttered to himself as he tried to untangle the baby’s stretchy leggings.
“Don’t you have some toys to decapitate or ants to stomp?” Jack asked in annoyance as he lost his battle with Sam’s choice of leg coverings for the baby.
Jake hopped down from the basket and skipped out of the room humming a tune Jack didn’t recognize. Peace at last, he thought, tossing the leggings onto the floor with the rest of the dirty clothes Jake had emptied from the basket. It wasn’t that cold anyway.
Carefully, he picked Faith up from the changing table and held her against his chest. She curled into a little ball, cooing softly. Her little fingers curled around the wrinkles in his shirt. She smelled like lavender and baby powder and Jack was sure it was the most beautiful smell in the world.
The baby squirmed in his grip and with a sigh he lowered her back to the table. So maybe it was a little too cold for a baby. He rummaged in the drawers and found a pair of flower pants. Pink flowers go with pink and brown stripes right? With a shrug he started to corral the little legs into the pants.
“You’re doing it wrong,” came a voice from the hall before a shot of blue and gray streamed by, a red cape flapping behind.
Jack briefly wondered if his son also inherited his wife’s innate ability to know just when he was about to screw up. He was about to call the changing a success when he noticed the tag on the pants was most definitely not on the right side. With another sigh, one he realized had to be at least his hundredth of the day, he pulled the pants off and righted them. In his head he could hear Jake’s chant of, “doing it wrong,” and it sounded a lot like Sam’s voice in his head.