A/N: I don't own anything. This story was made by a fan. NO PROFET IS BEING MADE!!!
When Charlie was born, Jack was running late. Stuck at the airport because he had a pocket knife. This was the beginning of the short amount of time he would spend with his only son.
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First words, first steps, first goal. All missed., because of his work. Always away. He missed Sara and Charlie, he always wondered if they missed him to.
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Jack softly tossed the ball towards the eight year old boy standing fifteen feet away. Charlie. Charlie his son. The boy hit the ball with all him might with the bat he was gripping, allowing Jack to catch the ball in his special baseball glove. The only time they had together.
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The last word he heard from his son was 'sorry daddy', as he was laying in the hospital bed where he was to die in a few moments because of Jack. Charlie shot himself with Jack's personal gun. The screams. The last time Jack cried. The last time he saw Charlie.
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Jack woke nearly crying. It took a minute to register where he was, and who was with him, but it was starting to get used to it. He pulled the blonde haired woman into his arms. She barely stirred. Now he had someone. Someone who cared for him, someone who loved him, and someone who would never leave him no matter what. His Sam.