Generally Speaking, the fish will wait

Author: Badgergater

Email: [email protected]

Season: Very early in Season 7

Category: Drama, thoughts

Summary: Jack and Hammond have an unexpected talk about the future

Rating: PG, Jack uses adult words on occasion

Sequel: None

Warnings: Those adult words that occasionally pop out of O’Neill’s brain

Disclaimer: Stargate doesn’t belong to me. If it did, S7 wouldn’t have been so awful.

Author’s Note: The lack of Jack in S7 needs a better explanation than the rare and generally unsatisfying ones we got

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It was the end of a long day.

Colonel Jack O’Neill ran a hand through his short-cropped hair, rising stiffly out of his chair to stand. He placed one hand in the small of his back, stretching, leaning backward, trying to work the tightness out of his muscles. He’d just spent way too many hours at his desk, the price of being a Colonel and the second in command of the SGC. Hammond had assigned him a stack of personnel records to review and assess as possible new recruits.

Recruits needed to fill the gaps created by casualties.

Far too many casualties.

Selecting was hard. He tried never to look at the pictures, he didn’t want to see the bright young faces, eager for adventure, and none of them having a clue about the hell they were stepping into. They were quite probably life and death decisions he was making, choosing SGC candidates. The attrition rate was awful, especially lately. More teams, fewer allies, more risks needing to be taken, more rookies. Not to mention Afghanistan and Iraq, pulling so many experienced veterans away from the pool of candidates.

The dilemma struck him anew.

Choose a young fresh face, someone new, open to new ideas posed by the Stargate program? Capable of thinking outside the box?

Or choose an old veteran, whose experience might keep him and his team alive for a few more hours or days or missions?

Who had the skills, the leadership, the guts and determination to live?

Jack stretched again, twisting from side to side, loosening tense muscles.

A quick glance at his watch told him it was 0400.

Damn.

He might as well get some coffee and just stay up now.

Too late to go home to sleep. Too late to even catch a nap on the cot in his office.

Wearily, he left his office, locking the door behind him.

The hallways were nearly empty, the nighttime crew much smaller than the daytime workforce which would soon begin to arrive.

Despite the hour, Carter was quite probably in her lab, Daniel very likely would be found in his office, and Teal’c was of course in his quarters on base. He sought out none of them, however, searching instead for solitude.

And coffee.

The cafeteria would be closed.

Daniel wouldn’t want to share at this hour.

But O’Neill knew of another top secret location where he could secure an adequate dose of caffeine.

He passed no one as he headed for the briefing room.

Trotting quietly up the stairs, O’Neill stepped into the darkened room. Soft lighting from the gateroom below showed him his way across the familiar room. The coffee pot was still hot, and gratefully he poured himself a cup. The first sip was strong, this had been brewing for a while.

"Help yourself, Colonel." The soft voice out of the darkness made him jump and spin around to see who was there.

Sitting quietly in one of the tall leather chairs was a familiar figure.

"General? I didn’t mean to disturb you, Sir, I can go," Jack waved a hand toward the doorway.

"Have a seat, Jack."

"Yes, Sir," something in the quiet tone told him that important things hung in the air this night, er, morning.

"It’s really dark up here," O’Neill started, quietly, hoping to get his commander to talk.

"Yes, it is. I come up here often, when I can’t sleep."

"Something bothering you?"

A dry, humorless chuckle rolled out of the darkness. "Always. Budgets. Personnel. Logistics. Teams out there," Jack could just see the shadow of Hammond’s hand waving in the direction of the Stargate. The voice got softer. "Old friends long gone."

Jack O'Neill knew about the ghosts that could haunt a man on a dark night. Slowly, he took a seat and sipped his coffee, waiting for Hammond to say more.

"I’m glad you came, actually. There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about."

O’Neill squirmed in his chair. "I didn’t do it, Sir…"

Hammond chuckled dryly. "You’re not in trouble, Colonel. Not this time, anyway."

"That’s good, Sir," he sighed with relief.

Silence stretched again, broken only by the barely audible tones of the graveyard shift technicians working in the control room one floor below.

"You’re a difficult man, Jack."

"Easy would just be, well, too easy, Sir," O’Neill answered glibly, uneasy.

"You’ve given me more than a few headaches over the years."

The regret in the quiet voice raised the Colonel’s worry meter another notch. "Sir?"

"You’ve also given me much to be proud of."

"Oh."

"But you could do so much more."

"Sir?" he was confused now.

"It’s time, Jack."

"General?" Maybe the man really needed some sleep. Maybe he did, too, come to think of it, because he was having a hard time figuring out where this odd conversation might be going.

"It’s time for the next step."

O’Neill wasn’t sure which one of them the General was talking about, but he sensed something was amiss, badly amiss. "Is everything all right? Kayla and Tessa?"

"My granddaughters are fine. I just never see enough of them…"

A sudden ache flashed across Jack’s chest, the familiar emptiness of regret, knowing he had no child and no grandchildren and never would, and it was his own fault. He had only his work, this place, the people here. What he wouldn’t give for one day, one afternoon, one moment more with his own precious child. No, there was never enough time. For anyone.

"This place, it eats you alive, if you let it. But once you have it under your skin, you can’t just walk away. You know that, don’t you?"

O’Neill’s worry grew. "General, I’m a simple man. I think you need to spell things out for me here."

"You are not so simple as you pretend to be, Colonel." There was a long pause. "Jack, what do you want to be doing a year from now?"

"Fishing," he answered automatically.

"Be serious."

"That was serious."

"No, it wasn’t. Be honest with me, Jack. Please. This is important. What do you want to be doing a year from now?"

The odd tone of the conversation was maxing out O’Neill’s worry meter. "Gloating over the defeat of the gould."

"Jack…" Hammond’s tone had changed from dark to slightly annoyed.

Deciding to play the game, Jack took a deep breath. "I want to be doing what I’m doing. Here, in the Air Force, taking my team through the gate…"

"And the reality?"

"General?"

"Answer the question, Jack…"

"I did, Sir."

"You told me what you *want* to be doing. Now tell me what you *will* be doing?"

"Sir?"

"How long do you think you can keep going, Jack, with your knees and your back?"

"Mind over matter, Sir."

"And what about the doctors?"

"What they don’t know…"

"But they *do* know. None of us is getting younger. When the SGC started, you were retired."

"And so were you."

"It’s been a hell of a ride, and the day is coming when it will be time to hand over the reins and let someone else manhandle this pony."

"Not for a long time, Sir."

"My granddaughters are growing up."

"Kids do that," he wouldn’t let himself think of his own child, gone so long now the images of his boy were fading, though the hurt of loss never did.

"I need to spend time with them."

"You’re needed here," he knew it was a selfish answer, but a true one.

"There are others who could run this place as well."

"Not a chance, Sir."

"I want it to be you, Jack."

"What?"

"No one cares about this program, these people, what we do here, more than you do."

"I’m not command material."

"You’re wrong."

"See, right there, you just proved my point. My judgement isn’t…"

"Your judgement of your potential has always been too low."

"I don’t want to be in charge!" he admitted.

"You’d rather be on the sidelines entirely, out of the loop, not knowing what was happening, not being able to help them?"

"I’m no good at the behind the desk stuff, the paper shuffling, the politics, the ass-kissing…"

"You don’t have to be. You have to understand them, the people who depend on you."

"There has to be someone else!" O’Neill insisted.

"Name one."

"Uh…ummm…"

"There is no one."

"You didn’t give me enough time!" Jack protested.

"I’ve had plenty of time. I’ve thought about this often. This place needs you."

"Not like that. Not behind a desk."

"It’s the only way you can stay. You know that as well as I do."

O’Neill didn’t have any more answers.

"I know how you feel. I didn’t always fly a desk, Jack, I thought I’d never do it. Vowed I’d retire before I’d let anyone make a paper-pusher out of me. I was a warrior, not some damned desk jockey. But it happened. I won’t lie to you. It wasn’t easy for me, and I know it won’t be easy for you, either. But you’ve never taken the easy way out."

"I tried." Jack didn’t have to spell out when or why, Hammond knew.

"But you didn’t. Because you found out you were still needed. And you *are* still needed. No one knows this place better than you. No one knows what it’s like out there, not like you do. No one understands like you do."

"It will never happen." Don’t panic, Jack, there’s a way out of this. You always find a way, he told himself.

"Not if you don’t make an effort." The General paused, then went on in a stronger voice. "I’ve still got a few favors I can call in, a few friends I can talk to. Jack, I can make sure your name can be on the next promotion list. But you have to be ready."

"I’ll never be ready!"

"Use your head, not your heart, Jack. I can’t stay forever. And you can’t stay in the field forever. Time catches up to all of us."

O’Neill decided to take another tack, deflect the subject back to the General. "You love this job. You’re good at this job."

"And you will be."’

"Bull."

"No bull, Jack, just plain truth. It’s time. I’m going to start handing over more of the command tasks to you. The same skills that you use to make good decisions in the field, you’ll use to make good decisions here. Risk assessment. Personnel assessment. Mission assignments. And yes, you can handle the diplomatic end, too. Remember, you don’t ever have to rely only on yourself. Surround yourself with good people, and delegate responsibilities to them. Don’t try to do it all yourself, because no one can. Sure, the bottom line is, the buck stops with you. But make use of the talented people around you, Jack, just like you use the skills and knowledge of your team in the field. It’s the same, really. Just the surroundings are different."

"Sir…" He hoped that wasn’t a whine in his voice.

"Jack, for six years you’ve commanded the most unique unit in the most unique program in the history of the United States military. You’ve done and seen things no one else in the United States military ever imagined. You’ve earned the respect of humans and aliens…"

"Not all of them…"

"I didn’t say you were perfect. You’re smart. You keep your opinions close to the vest. You see through subterfuge. You’re a superb judge of people, you see their talents and their flaws. You understand the dangers the teams face out there. And you have the courage to do the dirty jobs that have to be done. Yes, you’ll ruffle some feathers. But then, some feathers need ruffling. Often. Think of it as expanding your team, to include not just the four of you on SG-1, but all of the teams, all of the personnel who step through that monster," Hammond waved a hand at the dark alien object that towered over the gateroom.

"What about SG-1?"

"For now, you’ll simply get a reduction in mission assignments. Major Carter has a dozen projects she doesn’t have enough time to work on. Dr. Jackson is always in demand for his translation skills, and for mentoring other civilian personnel. And Teal’c, too, can assist with the technology and the team training. You all have skills that the SGC needs here as much as they’re needed in the field."

"General…" he tried once more to object.

"Jack, my mind’s made up. You’ll be a great commander of the SGC. If you want the job."

"I don’t!" he objected immediately.

"Think on it, Jack, seriously. Time waits for none of us, no matter how much we want it to stand still. It’s inevitable."

He heard Hammond leave then, the subtle rustling sounds as the General climbed out of his chair and walked slowly across the floor.

Jack O’Neill sat alone in the briefing room, staring out the window and down at the gate, wishing it was eight years ago and he could start all over again. That was one place where the General had been right on target… it had been a hell of a ride, a bigger adrenaline rush than his first HALO jump or his hottest Special Ops missions or dogfighting in an F-16. He didn’t want to give it up, he wasn’t ready to concede that the years had taken their toll.

But, deep down inside, in that spot in his soul where he faced up to the ugly truths of his life, he knew he couldn’t do what he’d once done. He knew that all those adrenaline rush adventures he craved, still craved, had taken a terrible toll on him. He knew that the spirit was still willing, but the back and the knees just couldn’t hack it anymore, day after day.

Hell, it had been nearly 20 years ago now that that doctor had told him he wouldn’t last three months; that his back, injured in that parachute accident along the Iran-Iraq border, was never going to stand up to active duty. He'd proved that ass wrong, way wrong. Never underestimate the magnitude of bullheaded O'Neill stubbornness.

And, though his cabin and the pond and a whole world full of pesky fish beckoned, he also knew in his heart of hearts that he couldn’t walk away from the SGC, couldn’t leave behind this place and these people, couldn’t be on the outside, out of the loop and not knowing. Disconnected.

Here, he could contribute. Here, he was needed. Here, he still mattered. Out there, in the world outside of the Air Force, he had failed miserably. But here, here he was someone.

He had a family, not the traditional one, but a group of people who needed him and looked up to him and respected him and counted on him.

Here, he belonged.

He still wasn’t convinced it could, or would, happen. Not even Major General George Hammond had enough pull to get him a star. Did he?

Oiy.

General Jack O’Neill… there’d been a General O’Neill in that other universe Daniel had visited. Could there be one in this dimension, too?

He sipped his coffee, and looked down at the gate, and decided that if George Hammond wanted him to try, he’d try.

Those pesky fish could end up waiting one hell of a lot longer.

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