Hair and Ghosts
Title: Hair and Ghosts
Character/Pairing: Wash/Taylor, miniBAMFs
Word Count: 1583
Rating: PG
Spoiler alert: post series, but nothing specific
Summary: It's all about the hair, wherever it came from.
AN: Featuring miniBAMFs Sam (originally created bysky_kiss) and Jamie (mine). Utter complete fluff (and floof). ALSO two announcements:
1) Visit here for all my TN fics: https://sites.google.com/site/zapfchancerysfics/
2) sky_kiss have been working on a complete alternate universe: https://sites.google.com/site/theevilverse/ . Please let us know what you think. There is more in pipe for that one.
Jamie is 14 when Nathaniel teaches him how to shave.
It's silly as the only facial hair the kid has is a dusting of blond fuzz on his upper lip and two what one might generously call large sideburns, but they both handle the lesson with utmost seriousness.
Wash glances into the bathroom to see them both peering into the mirror making identical strokes down their cheeks. She knows Nathaniel doesn't have a blade in his razor, and she's not entirely sure Jamie does either, but they make an adorable pair. Unwilling to disturb them, as much as a picture would be the highlight of her year, she continues to the kitchen to start lunch.
No more than ten minutes later, Jamie comes strolling out, shaving lotion still clinging to his chin and the underside of his jaw, looking very pleased with himself.
Smiling, she beckons him over. When he's within range, Wash wipes his face with her dishtowel. She can also see that no, he hadn't used a blade; that blond fuzz is still there.
He skitters away, too late to escape the towel. "Mom!"
"You missed," she says, unable to hide her amusement.
"I was practicing." He strokes his hardly-there moustache. "Couple more days and I'll have to shave it for real."
"A couple days huh?" There is no doubt that his fawning over his facial fuzz, even though he talks about shaving, is strongly encouraged by his father. Sam keeps clean-shaven though it's not required; tidy moustaches and beards are allowed, so Nathaniel only has one son left to work with. After all, he is one of the very few men in the colony that maintains a full, and neat, beard. The man feels it is somehow his duty to foster a strong sense of pride in his son's (lack of) facial hair.
In contrast to Jamie's desire to shave his face is his hair. Besides the fact that nobody can figure out where that dark blond mop had come from, he refuses to get it cut. It's growing much like he is: as fast as a weed.
It's most amusing when he's just showered and drying it. The toweling gives it volume that should be impossible, the curl (far more pronounced than the waviness Nathaniel calls it) making him look less like a child of theirs than some crazy artist.
"You going to get that cut?"
Jamie runs his hand through his hair, antagonizing it, making it take an offensive stance, all on end in every direction.
It makes him look little more than the kid he still is, and though she knows she should demand he at least get it trimmed, Wash only smiles fondly. She knows what his answer will be.
"Nope."
"What do you think your father will say?" But she knows the answer to this as well.
The man appears from the back just in time to hear the question, and to answer: "Nothing wrong with it." He tousles his son's hair. "It's not hurting anyone."
"Yeah!"
"You plan on letting that grow until you're old and gray then?"
Jamie's dark eyes, so much like hers, narrow. "Yes." His stubborn streak is a lot like his mother's as well; very rarely does he negotiate or exercise tact. He's not more emotional than his brother, he only expresses it in a different manner. Angry Jamie is a boy Nathaniel often jokingly compares to Wash's own rare outbursts.
"Doesn't have your patience though, Wash."
It doesn't disappoint either of his parents that he's shown no desire to follow in the footsteps of his parents or brother, and in fact, Wash finds a little relief in the fact. He is a much different child than Sam, and she'd go so far as to say unsuited for soldiering. He could do it, but it would change him, she's sure. She doesn't want to see that rebellious spark in him dampened in any way, and she doesn't want to see that mop of curls he likes so much cut unnecessarily.
She knows the truth, but has never shared it with anyone, not even Jamie. No matter how much people would joke about the blond curls, they are all Nathaniel. Wash regrets, when she sees Jamie's hair getting longer, that she didn't know Nathaniel twenty years earlier, could only see his glorious hair in an old photo stored within the massive archives of the Eye.
That picture is kept on her dogtags, with a host of others of her family, guiltlessly. She's retired after all, only going against this declaration for Nathaniel's benefit, when he requests her handle officer training; she can hack her tags as much as she wants. Her husband knows she has this picture where she could show it to anyone, and also knows she never will, not even to their children.
Jamie shakes his head, simply in an effort to irritate her, sending his hair flying around his face.
"Do that again and I'll cut it myself." But she's not irritated, can't even pretend to be.
Naturally, he does it again, and gets himself put into a friendly headlock by Nathaniel for his trouble.
"You're asking for trouble, kid."
Jamie struggles, but it's more of a token effort as he laughs. "You're just jealous!"
"Of your youthful disregard for personal hygiene? I'm OK with that. Fifteen minutes on the range?" He gives his son a gentle noogie before releasing him.
"Mom?" Jamie looks to his mother, who still hasn't quite gotten around to starting lunch.
"Fifteen minutes, not half an hour."
"OK!" And he's off, not waiting for his father, his hair bouncing around his face as he retreats to his room for his small sidearm.
No, not a soldier, but he was too much like his parents to ever shy away from time on the range, or even a little personal defense training (where his mother can still put him on his back with regularity).
"Race you there!" And then he was out the door.
"Not going to make him cut his hair?"
Nathaniel smiles and shakes his head. "It got me all the girls before I had to cut it."
"Ever going to show him the picture?'
"I think that would get him to cut it faster than anything either of us could say."
***
Jaime takes careful aim at the target at the far end of the range.
"How can you see anything with your hair in your face?"
A squeeze of the trigger, and the pistol jumps in Jamie's hands. The target flashes red. Direct hit. "Natural talent."
Sam snorts at the display. "Lucky shot."
The two begin their mostly friendly competition.
Nathaniel stands back, watches the two, supervises silently. Sam could supervise his younger brother, but watching them be brothers, young men together, without any pressure to be anything more than that. It brings back distant memories of Lucas, of course.
Back when he was just a boy, before he'd known real tragedy, had the freedom of youth and innocence. And that invariably leads to thoughts of Ayani (still, after so many years). Wash understands, having dealt with her own tragedies; losing his wife in such a way has made her ghost restless in his heart, unable to let go of her peacefully.
Maybe one day he'll tell his boys (not struck too early from life) about the life he lived in the future, or maybe not. Maybe he'll die with those stories untold, keeping those restless ghosts to himself so they can be free in their innocence. Or maybe Wash will tell them; she's always had a better handle on the best way to tell them news, balances hard blows with a soft touch he could never quite manage.
Nathaniel's comm beeps, and he realizes he's been wool-gathering for over ten minutes while his boys (his boys) have continued with their contest. "Jamie, that's time."
Sam grins with triumph at his little brother. "Yeah, that's time. Looks like you lose."
Without protest, Jamie retreats from the firing line and shrugs. "The only way you can win is when Mom makes lunch. Congratulations."
"Fine. Tomorrow. Thirty minutes, no interruptions, no Mom to save you."
"Or you."
Thirty minutes, Sam will win, Nathaniel knows. The fatigue will get to Jamie, his aim will slip, and Sam will have bragging rights. Probably a few years until his youngest son develops the strength and stamina to keep up with his brother, and then the competition will begin in earnest.
As the two are walking back home, Nathaniel's arm slung across Jamie's shoulders, he says quietly, "You know he'll win, right?"
"I'm just lulling him into a false sense of security. Playing the long game."
"Now that you definitely get from your mother." There is a difference between patience and playing the long game. Jamie is definitely more like his mother than the boy knows, even if he's been cursed with Nathaniel's hair.
A girl passes them, walking in the opposite direction, and gives Jamie a shy smile before looking at her feet and hurrying on. Jamie turns briefly to look at her, suddenly smiling widely.
Maybe not such a curse after all.