SGA - Surrogate Father
I am actually quivering with the caffeine overload. I woke up on the productive side of the bed, fear me. And Ari. But that's later.
a) Hip-hop at the Smithsonian. Yeah, boyeee!!! gacked from antheia
b) This is so Narcissa
c) slodwick made Sheppard & Baby art.. Since nifra_idril had already slayed my ovaries with more Cylon Baby + 2 Daddies I said all right, you win 1000 words. Or maybe a few more than 1000.
Stargate: Atlantis AU
Sheppard/McKay
Surrogate Father
Art by Slodwick
The note only said:
His name is Hamish. Please look after him.
Please love him too.
So, John did.
*
John wouldn't have named his son Hamish. He would've named him something else. Something manly like Jake or Jack.
Maybe Ford or Carson.
If John had known he was going to become a father at any point in his life, he would've done a lot of things differently, but that became moot on the 8th of April.
John remembers that it was a Tuesday, because that day changed all the days that came after it. Everything was normal -- "normal" just meaning the same as every other day that preceded it -- and then it wasn't.
In the bathroom, John's toothpaste hadn't been any different. When he'd gotten dressed, his running sneakers had felt the same. And then John Sheppard had opened his front door to go out for his run, and there had been a baby on his doorstep.
There was this tiny person strapped in a car seat, wearing in a blue onesie and trying to stuff his fist in his mouth, and when John almost tripped over him, the baby gurgled and drooled.
The baby had these huge hazel eyes that John only tended to see when he looked in the mirror in the morning, and he smiled this toothless-gummy grin. John hadn't even stood a chance.
*
A smart man would've called the police -- which John did -- and he would've told them had had no idea who could've left the baby on his doorstep, which was also true.
A really smart man would've left out the part about how John couldn't possibly have been Hamish's father, because he hadn't slept with a woman since Lizzie Weir in college, and that was about fifteen years ago.
Yes, John had had sex recently, but that had been with another man, and the police didn't need to know about that, so, John didn't tell them. He didn't let them take Hamish away though. He didn't let Child Services take Hamish either. The note had asked John to take care of Hamish, not some random family chosen by the city.
*
Hamish's car seat didn't fit in John's Porsche. It shouldn't have been a big surprise, but in a way, it was. If John had been the sort of man to believe in signs, he would've realized that it was just an indicator of things to come. After all, Hamish didn't stay put when John sat him on the sofa, and he didn't lie still when John tried to replace his diaper with a dish towel.
In fact, Hamish did anything but stay still. He wobbled and flailed and drooled and grabbed at John's perfectly coifed hair. He vomited the formula the social worker, Ms Cadman, had brought all over John's suede sofa and then left a little puddle of urine on the carpet.
Hamish didn't fit into a lot of things in John's life; someone was going to have to change.
*
The first day that John took Hamish grocery shopping changed his life forever. The women smiling at him in wonder weren't new, nor were the indulgent grins from ladies old enough to be his grandmother, but the appraising looks from other parents were... odd.
John had been judged all his life, but now he wasn't being judged for himself, but for how he interacted with Hamish. If he hadn't been so confused about pretty much everything baby-related, it would've thrown him off. Still, John wasn't shopping for popular opinion as much as he was emptying vast quantities of baby products into his cart and hoping he would either figure out how to use them or that he could return them at a later date.
Hamish was gurgling in his seat, waving his feet in the air, and rattling John's car keys happily since John hadn't had any pacifiers just lying around his house. John had been talking more to himself than to Hamish, trying to figure out if Hamish was more of a soy formula baby or a regular formula baby, and who decided these things, and how many diapers would he need, and was Johnson & Johnson's good enough or should they go organic, and then there'd been this strange rattlethud of his keys, and someone had hollered.
"Oh my God, your baby assaulted me! What the hell kind of ninja baby are you raising? Do you know who I am? Do you know how many brain cells your kid just cost me?"
John's head had whipped around like he was back in Afghanistan and he was looking for snipers. He'd immediately blocked Hamish's body with his own, only have his keys thrust in his face by a stocky guy with bright blue eyes and a receding hairline.
"Did you hear a word I said, you over-breeding attack dog?" the guy with the receding hairline barked, and John narrowed his eyes.
Hamish gurgled underneath him, and John pulled back to eye his son. "Did you throw my keys, Puddler?"
The man snorted. "Oh my god, no wonder the child is deranged. Who calls their child Puddler? You've clearly scarred him for life with such a moronic name! What are you, a hippie?"
"His name is Hamish," John retorted sharply. "Puddler is a nickname -- not that this has anything to do with you -- and if you insult my son one more time, I will show you every last way that the Special Forces taught me to torture a man."
The stranger's mouth snapped shut for all of two seconds, and John grabbed his keys away from his grasp. "If you'll just excuse us."
They'd made it halfway down the aisle before the man called after them, "Hey, wait a minute! I want your name in case I have to sue you for devaluing a national treasure!"
And that was how John met Rodney McKay.
*
Hamish wasn't a fussy baby. He didn't cry unless his diaper was wet, or he was hungry, or he wanted John to play with him, which John was always willing to do, because John was just that whipped.
Rodney said it wasn't healthy the way that John kept cutting dates short to run home to check on Ronon and Hamish, but Rodney also questioned the judgment of letting an ex-NAVY Seal baby-sit, so John didn’t listen to him. He trusted Ronon with his life; he could trust him with his son.
Besides, it wasn't as though John hadn't seen Rodney cooing and talking gibberish to Hamish, too.
*
John had a life before Hamish. It was a good life, with a black Porsche Carrera and weekends spent working on Lucille, his red '57 Chevy Bel Air. There were parties and vacations and friends. There was a house that he lived in and worked from, because being ex-USAF wasn't the worst thing ever. It wasn't the best thing either, but John had a brain, and he had a few friends at Boeing, so even if he couldn't fly, he could still be around planes.
John traded that all in for strapping Hamish in his Baby Bjorn and showing him the plane blueprints John was working on for his latest client, and taking Hamish for drives in Lucille.
John gave up everything just to fly Hamish around the room like he was an airplane, and never missed his old life when Hamish giggled and gurgled and drooled in John's hair the entire time.
*
It took the state a year to recognize what John had realized the first time Hamish had fallen asleep in his arms; and the day that John signed the adoption papers that legally made Hamish his son, he was just doing what a random note had asked of him a long time ago.
John was the one who cut short his business dinners so he could pick up his son from Teyla's and bathe him before bed. He was the one who had baby vomit on 60% of his shirts and who stroked Hamish's hair when he was gassy and slobbered all over John's neck.
John didn’t give birth to Hamish, but he couldn't imagine a life without Cheerios and baby food and diapers and a little boy who smelled like Desitin.
It didn't matter who brought Hamish into this world, or who gave him life, Hamish was John's son. Not biologically -- definitely not biologically -- but John was the one who changed Hamish's smelly diapers and sang 'Ring of Fire' and 'A Boy Named Sue' to Hamish when he couldn't sleep. And John did all these things not because he was obligated to, but because he wanted to, and it was this that made him Hamish's father.
-end-
Dedicated to the fabulous slodwick from who all fabulous art flows. She named the baby, too. And as always for serialkarma, who pimps all the fandoms.
a) Hip-hop at the Smithsonian. Yeah, boyeee!!! gacked from antheia
b) This is so Narcissa
c) slodwick made Sheppard & Baby art.. Since nifra_idril had already slayed my ovaries with more Cylon Baby + 2 Daddies I said all right, you win 1000 words. Or maybe a few more than 1000.
Stargate: Atlantis AU
Sheppard/McKay
Surrogate Father
Art by Slodwick
The note only said:
His name is Hamish. Please look after him.
Please love him too.
So, John did.
*
John wouldn't have named his son Hamish. He would've named him something else. Something manly like Jake or Jack.
Maybe Ford or Carson.
If John had known he was going to become a father at any point in his life, he would've done a lot of things differently, but that became moot on the 8th of April.
John remembers that it was a Tuesday, because that day changed all the days that came after it. Everything was normal -- "normal" just meaning the same as every other day that preceded it -- and then it wasn't.
In the bathroom, John's toothpaste hadn't been any different. When he'd gotten dressed, his running sneakers had felt the same. And then John Sheppard had opened his front door to go out for his run, and there had been a baby on his doorstep.
There was this tiny person strapped in a car seat, wearing in a blue onesie and trying to stuff his fist in his mouth, and when John almost tripped over him, the baby gurgled and drooled.
The baby had these huge hazel eyes that John only tended to see when he looked in the mirror in the morning, and he smiled this toothless-gummy grin. John hadn't even stood a chance.
*
A smart man would've called the police -- which John did -- and he would've told them had had no idea who could've left the baby on his doorstep, which was also true.
A really smart man would've left out the part about how John couldn't possibly have been Hamish's father, because he hadn't slept with a woman since Lizzie Weir in college, and that was about fifteen years ago.
Yes, John had had sex recently, but that had been with another man, and the police didn't need to know about that, so, John didn't tell them. He didn't let them take Hamish away though. He didn't let Child Services take Hamish either. The note had asked John to take care of Hamish, not some random family chosen by the city.
*
Hamish's car seat didn't fit in John's Porsche. It shouldn't have been a big surprise, but in a way, it was. If John had been the sort of man to believe in signs, he would've realized that it was just an indicator of things to come. After all, Hamish didn't stay put when John sat him on the sofa, and he didn't lie still when John tried to replace his diaper with a dish towel.
In fact, Hamish did anything but stay still. He wobbled and flailed and drooled and grabbed at John's perfectly coifed hair. He vomited the formula the social worker, Ms Cadman, had brought all over John's suede sofa and then left a little puddle of urine on the carpet.
Hamish didn't fit into a lot of things in John's life; someone was going to have to change.
*
The first day that John took Hamish grocery shopping changed his life forever. The women smiling at him in wonder weren't new, nor were the indulgent grins from ladies old enough to be his grandmother, but the appraising looks from other parents were... odd.
John had been judged all his life, but now he wasn't being judged for himself, but for how he interacted with Hamish. If he hadn't been so confused about pretty much everything baby-related, it would've thrown him off. Still, John wasn't shopping for popular opinion as much as he was emptying vast quantities of baby products into his cart and hoping he would either figure out how to use them or that he could return them at a later date.
Hamish was gurgling in his seat, waving his feet in the air, and rattling John's car keys happily since John hadn't had any pacifiers just lying around his house. John had been talking more to himself than to Hamish, trying to figure out if Hamish was more of a soy formula baby or a regular formula baby, and who decided these things, and how many diapers would he need, and was Johnson & Johnson's good enough or should they go organic, and then there'd been this strange rattlethud of his keys, and someone had hollered.
"Oh my God, your baby assaulted me! What the hell kind of ninja baby are you raising? Do you know who I am? Do you know how many brain cells your kid just cost me?"
John's head had whipped around like he was back in Afghanistan and he was looking for snipers. He'd immediately blocked Hamish's body with his own, only have his keys thrust in his face by a stocky guy with bright blue eyes and a receding hairline.
"Did you hear a word I said, you over-breeding attack dog?" the guy with the receding hairline barked, and John narrowed his eyes.
Hamish gurgled underneath him, and John pulled back to eye his son. "Did you throw my keys, Puddler?"
The man snorted. "Oh my god, no wonder the child is deranged. Who calls their child Puddler? You've clearly scarred him for life with such a moronic name! What are you, a hippie?"
"His name is Hamish," John retorted sharply. "Puddler is a nickname -- not that this has anything to do with you -- and if you insult my son one more time, I will show you every last way that the Special Forces taught me to torture a man."
The stranger's mouth snapped shut for all of two seconds, and John grabbed his keys away from his grasp. "If you'll just excuse us."
They'd made it halfway down the aisle before the man called after them, "Hey, wait a minute! I want your name in case I have to sue you for devaluing a national treasure!"
And that was how John met Rodney McKay.
*
Hamish wasn't a fussy baby. He didn't cry unless his diaper was wet, or he was hungry, or he wanted John to play with him, which John was always willing to do, because John was just that whipped.
Rodney said it wasn't healthy the way that John kept cutting dates short to run home to check on Ronon and Hamish, but Rodney also questioned the judgment of letting an ex-NAVY Seal baby-sit, so John didn’t listen to him. He trusted Ronon with his life; he could trust him with his son.
Besides, it wasn't as though John hadn't seen Rodney cooing and talking gibberish to Hamish, too.
*
John had a life before Hamish. It was a good life, with a black Porsche Carrera and weekends spent working on Lucille, his red '57 Chevy Bel Air. There were parties and vacations and friends. There was a house that he lived in and worked from, because being ex-USAF wasn't the worst thing ever. It wasn't the best thing either, but John had a brain, and he had a few friends at Boeing, so even if he couldn't fly, he could still be around planes.
John traded that all in for strapping Hamish in his Baby Bjorn and showing him the plane blueprints John was working on for his latest client, and taking Hamish for drives in Lucille.
John gave up everything just to fly Hamish around the room like he was an airplane, and never missed his old life when Hamish giggled and gurgled and drooled in John's hair the entire time.
*
It took the state a year to recognize what John had realized the first time Hamish had fallen asleep in his arms; and the day that John signed the adoption papers that legally made Hamish his son, he was just doing what a random note had asked of him a long time ago.
John was the one who cut short his business dinners so he could pick up his son from Teyla's and bathe him before bed. He was the one who had baby vomit on 60% of his shirts and who stroked Hamish's hair when he was gassy and slobbered all over John's neck.
John didn’t give birth to Hamish, but he couldn't imagine a life without Cheerios and baby food and diapers and a little boy who smelled like Desitin.
It didn't matter who brought Hamish into this world, or who gave him life, Hamish was John's son. Not biologically -- definitely not biologically -- but John was the one who changed Hamish's smelly diapers and sang 'Ring of Fire' and 'A Boy Named Sue' to Hamish when he couldn't sleep. And John did all these things not because he was obligated to, but because he wanted to, and it was this that made him Hamish's father.
-end-
Dedicated to the fabulous slodwick from who all fabulous art flows. She named the baby, too. And as always for serialkarma, who pimps all the fandoms.