What's in an Age? By Mandarax

Rated K

Summary - Sometimes he would do something that reminded her of his age. J/S fluff.

Disclaimer – oooo-kay!

Sometimes he would do something that reminded her of his age. To her, Jack O'Neill wasn't 50 years old. On a daily basis he was age-less. He was her CO. He was the all-knowing Colonel-then-General, always prepared, full of ideas, quick on his feet, smarter than he let on, snarky, smartass, always funny, unbelievably courageous, undeniably gorgeous.

He wasn't a middle aged man. He never was. He was full of life. He acted like he wanted nothing more than to leave the world to die and go fishing but he was bound to his duty, more committed than ever and he loved it. Loved every second of every minute of every day. Even with all his complaints about his bad knees and aching back, he was still bouncing from room to room, from mission to mission, from rock to rock.

He seemed like he'd come to terms with his issues. Some of them at least. Some were just too big and he would never be able to overcome completely, but he did learn to repress them. Everyone represses issues.

But sometimes, once in a blue moon, he would do something that would remind her that he is 50 years old. Not an old man, but not a young one anymore, either.

And this, just now, right this second, was one of those times.

They'd been talking on and off for a while. It started from his usual teasing and developed into a deeper conversation about her dad and from there meandered to families. For the first time ever he'd told her of his mom. He even brought up Charlie, and told her how much his kid enjoyed playing ball. She even expressed how much she wanted a child, only later mentally smacking herself when he gave her a tight smile and a look that said 'I would too, but only with you'.

She responded with a shy smile and the conversation kind of lulled then. In the fantasy world she delved into at that moment she imagined all the possible outcomes of them having a child together – a little blond boy with his tan skin tone and bright blue eyes; A little girl with wavy brown hair and chocolaty brown eyes and a skin as light as her own, and so on. She refused to let herself imagine what making these children would be like. She only allowed herself such self satisfying and luxurious thoughts when she was alone. But god, it would be so good.

She had been running through another child-description when she heard the soft snore and it had pulled her out of her reverie.

She glanced at him and smiled to herself. Jack O'Neill always had the right idea. And by god, he had the right one now, too. His body slid down the lawn chair he was using so that his head was pressed against the back of the chair, his long legs straightened in front of him, nearly to the end of the dock and crossed at the ankles. His hands resting lazily one on top of the other on his stomach, the fishing rod held loosely in his fingers but just barely. He'd dozed off.

And just then at that moment, Sam was reminded that he isn't 25 years old. Nor 35. Not even 40. He's 50 years old. When she was little she used to think 50 was old. Anything above was ancient. One foot in the grave. Three quarters of the way to six feet under.

Now though, 50 isn't old. But it's not young. 35, like her, is still kind of young. 50? Not so much.

She watched him sleep. It wasn't the peaceful sleep of a man in a bed, but the worry lines had softened. He seemed content in his lazy demeanor. Never one to be self conscious in the first place, this seemed to go well with her idea of him.

He's 50 years old. The realization hit her like a cold shower on a hot day.

She looked at his hands, crossed in front of him, and all of a sudden her mind conjured an image of a dark haired little boy with fair skin and his father dozing off together on a lawn chair by the dock.

She wanted a child. But only if he was the father.

She smiled to herself at her own resolve.

Without another thought, she stood up, leaving her rod attached to the chair. She closed the distance between them, standing over him, his legs between hers. She leaned down and looked at him for another moment, wondering just how the hell the black ops trained general hadn't woken with her slightest move. And then she decided to do what she came here to do before he did wake up.

She kissed him. Fitting her lips to his, she pressed a soft kiss to his lips and pulled back just a bit to look at him.

His eyes were closed but he was awake. There was a smile on his lips.

"Not sure I understand," he murmured.

She smiled and kissed him again. This time his lips opened to her and she moved right along with them.

He pulled back when the need for air rose and sighed. She smiled at him when he closed his eyes again, looking content.

She leaned down again, bringing her lips a hair away from his own, "I think we need to get a head start on this child thing," she murmured, "you are an old man after all." And she kissed him again.

She squealed in surprise into his mouth when he grabbed her hips and jumped up, never breaking the kiss.

And as he pulled her to him and kissed her harder, better, and sweeter than anyone had ever kissed her, Sam realized that age is just a number.