Title: His Mother's Son

Author: JaimeBlue

Fandom: SeaQuest

Pairing: Tim/Miguel

Rating: G

Disclaimer: SeaQuest and its crew don't belong to me, however, the O'Neills are gradually becoming an entity of their own in my mind :)

Summary: An important event in Tim's life from the perspective of his mother.

A/N: This story is 1st person POV of Mrs. O'Neill (Theresa in my mind).

A/N2: Thanks JoeyRZ for the advice, as always :)

His Mother's Son
byJaimeBlue
~*~*~*~

Something that never ceases to amaze me is how everything in life eventually works itself out. No matter how bad or hopeless or worrying life becomes, it *will* get better. I've never claimed to be a good mother. I didn't spend my days at home, cleaning and preparing for the return of husband and child. Women my age had to work for a living, whether they wanted to or not.

My father worked at the local GM plant and my mother was one of the last living housewives, taking her mother's lessons to heart and devoting herself completely to house and home. She loved me and my two
brothers and made certain we had all she and my father could afford to give us. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough, considering the difficult world we were brought up in.

Living near the Canadian border meant picking up Canadian channels on the television, and I grew up riveted to the French channels. In High School, I leapt at the Spanish and Latin classes, soaking up
information like a sponge and impressing my teachers with my ease with languages. It's a good thing we had such options in the Catholic school my parents sent me to, for once I graduated, there was no more
opportunity to learn. Families like ours couldn't afford college, and instead of earning a Bachelor of Arts, I found myself working for the Administration department of one of the local hospitals.

Funny enough, it was there that I met Mark, my husband. He'd come into the Emergency Ward with his mother, who was suffering chest pains and was to be kept under observation for a while, however, he kept coming back to my registration cubicle to chat. Before the night was through, he had my number, and within a year, he had my heart. My mother was ecstatic the first time I brought him home - not only was he a handsome man with a good job (he was a labourer with a local union), but his family was Catholic like ours (meaning we could get married in the church without him having to convert). And marry we did in a simple but beautiful ceremony. We were happy, managing some time together between our respective jobs.

When I found out I was pregnant, we were happy but worried. The standard of living was so much higher than when we'd been children and we wanted our child to have what we never had, but we couldn't do that without working as hard - if not harder - than we already were. Mark made the decision to have a vasectomy so we'd only have the one child to support, and my mother stepped forward, volunteering to take care of the child while Mark and I worked.

This last worried me even more than the prospect of motherhood. You see, while I love my parents, over the years my own views have grown quite different from theirs. I was, and am, extremely liberal- minded
and have not kept secret my opposition to the official line of the Church, much to my mother's dismay. I remain a Catholic woman, but I would rather see change than stagnation. I'd always thought I would get to pass my attitudes, many of which my husband shares, to my children, however, I feared that would no longer be the case.

In many ways, it wasn't.

When Timothy was born, I fell in love immediately, as did Mark. Leaving him with my mother when my maternal leave was over was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I spent as much time with him as I
could, but working so hard for so many hours was tiring. Over the years, he grew before my very eyes, and though I loved him more than my very life, I eventually wondered if I would ever have the chance to get to know the man he was quickly becoming.

He had taken many of his grandmother's lessons to heart and had almost become a priest, but despite the many ways in which he took after his grandmother, he'd obviously inherited my aptitude for languages and his father's stubbornness. He joined the navy for the education it would give him, and though my own views on the military were far from positive, I respected and accepted his decision.

He kept in touch with us as he made his way through the naval academy, and we were all proud when he became an officer, and when he was posted aboard SeaQuest. He was making many good friends, some that were as close as family, and he was happy. And I was happy for him.

Last night, he came for a visit, bringing a friend along with him. Miguel Ortiz had been his best friend for a long time and we'd met on a few occasions, and with the way my Timothy talked about him, I felt as
if I knew him as well as my son. My mother was visiting, knowing her favourite grandchild was over for a visit, and thus the family was all together when my son made his announcement.

Miguel was not just his best friend, but his lover as well.

My mother immediately lifted onto her feet and screamed at him, crying crocodile tears about how he would rot in hell for his sin, and then saying the last thing my poor son would have expected her to say.

"After all I've done, you still turned out like your mother."

You see, before Mark came into my life, I'd had my share of boyfriends... and girlfriends. Much to her dismay, love meant more to me than the package it came in. I looked at my son, watching as the new knowledge sunk in, then as he rose to look his grandmother in the eye.

"I love you, Nanny, and I appreciate everything you've done for me, but I love Miguel. He's an important part of my life now and that's not about to change, not for you, not for anybody."

He was so brave. Even when my mother turned and left, he didn't chase after her, accepting that she wasn't yet ready to change her mind. It was my turn to rise and step over to him, my little Timothy who wasn't so little anymore. I touched his cheek and looked into his eyes - so much like Mark's - and asked him but one question.

"Are you happy?" When he nodded, I said, "Then that's all I need to know."

I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him close, cradling him against my body much as I had when he was a small child, even though he wasn't a child any longer. He hugged me back, and I could feel the relief in every muscle in his body. There have been many things I couldn't give him - more of my time, a college education, the furby he wanted when he was five - but I could give him this: unconditional love and acceptance.

"Is it true?" he whispered in my ear.

I nodded against his shoulder. "Before I loved your father, I loved very few others, but yes, one of them was named Marie."

That night, as Mark held me in bed, I remembered being a young mother, watching my own mother with my son, and wondering if I would ever have any real influence in his life.

I did, and for the first time, I feel like I'm truly on the road to knowing my own son.