Des is flabbergasted, opening and closing his mouth in an attempt to speak, but words are failing him. He's staring, wide-eyed, at his son, the one and only fruit of his loins, his beautiful (not-quite-so) baby boy, his shining star, whose once luscious black locks have been shorn off into an odd emo punk hairdo. One half of Jack's head is completely bald and dear god, shiny, while his remaining hair has all been combed forward and gelled down so that it shrouds his eye.

Jack is beaming proudly at his horrified father. "Well, Dad, what do you think?"

The most that Des can manage in answer is to wildly flail his arms and sputter incoherently.
notaballad: (Smiling)
Father. It was a word that Desmond thought would never be applied to him, in any sense, but here he is, standing beside his son's bed, watching the three year old sleep. It's not as creepy as it sounds; he's seated on the edge of the foot of the bed. He'd thought he'd heard a noise in Jack's room, a cranky whine or a terrified whimper, but when he'd come into the room, Jack had been peacefully sleeping, the covers kicked away.

Desmond had smiled softly and tucked his little boy back in, placing a tender kiss on his forehead. Jack had shifted a little in his sleep, smacking his lips together, but hadn't awoken. That had gotten another chuckle out of Desmond; it looked like his son was going to be just as heavy a sleeper as him. Desmond recalls his mother and brother both telling him that he could sleep through a bomb going off right next to him.

He'd taken a seat on the bed, just marveling at Jack, at how much he resembles Desmond. He'd expected the novelty to wear off by now, but he has to admit, he loves the little kid. He loves watching Jack discover things, he loves seeing that little face light up with wonder. He also loves spoiling him, probably a bit too much, if Desmond is honest with himself.

He knows there's more to being a father than just buying his kid presents and playing with him. There have been a few times that he's had to scold Jack for doing something that he shouldn't, and he's sure there are going to be rough patches when Jack gets older. He only hopes that he can be a good dad to Jack.

"I love you, kiddo," he whispers as he stands up and gives Jack another forehead kiss before slipping out of the room and heading back to his own.

Being a father isn't something that Desmond ever expected he'd want out of life, but now he's glad he's getting the opportunity.
Des chuckled as he stretched, flopped on the couch while he watched TV. Gabriel was in the kitchen, cleaning up the dishes from dinner. Des had tried to help him, but he'd just kept getting in the way and distracting Gabriel by grabbing his ass. Gabriel had finally had to banish Des to the living room, citing the fact that he wanted to get the work done before it was morning.

He arched an eyebrow as he heard a knock at the door, and he tossed the remote onto the couch as he sat up. "Hey, Gabriel, were you expecting somebody?" he called toward the kitchen as he got to his feet.

"What? No," Gabriel called back. "Who is it?"

"I have no idea!" Des yelled. "Gimme a chance to answer the door, babe!" He laughed lightly and then crossed over to the door, glancing through the peephole. He sucked in a startled breath, completely shocked by the sight of a petite brunette, a toddler balanced on her hip. He recognized her, but it had been a good two, almost three years since he'd last seen her. Part of him wanted to turn away from the door and just pretend that nobody was home, but he knew that she would probably knock again, and then Gabriel would come out and answer the door himself, making things even more awkward.
His mouth was dry, and he tried to swallow... )


Desmond Molloy

September 2011

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