Lessons Learned

Author: BadgerGater

Email: [email protected]

Category: Drama, Learning Curve missing scene, shortly after Merrin goes back to Orban

Rating: G

Spoilers: Learning Curve, that's about it.; teeny mentions of a couple of earlier episodes

Warning: None, but keep the hankies handy

Season: Three

Summary: O'Neill faces Hammond and his punishment, for his actions in Learning Curve

Disclaimer: Stargate and it's character belong to MGM/Showtime/Gekko/Double Secret, you know the drill. I'm just borrowing them for a scene or two, a little angst, and maybe that hug the Colonel needs.

Author's Note: I couldn't get the scene out of my head: O'Neill's face as he talked to Hammond in the control room, as they were sending Merrin home-- So, what happened after? I don't think Jack is gonna have a good night. (I beg, I plead, I grovel, all for a few words of feedback. So send me some mail, okay, campers?)

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"You wanted to see me, sir?" Colonel Jack O'Neill said, pausing before entering General Hammond's office and rarity of rarities, standing stiffly at attention. I guess he knows that tonight he's not on my list of favorite people, Hammond thought. Damn near started an interplanetary incident, all by himself.

The Commanding Officer of Stargate Command stared a moment at his Second in Command, unsure if he was doing the right thing. "I wasn't sure if you would still be on the base, Colonel." But then, he thought, O'Neill wasn't one to run away from a problem. Or a fight. Hammond let the Colonel stand at attention for a moment, wondering just where to start. "You were completely out of line, today, Colonel O'Neill."

"Yes Sir," no argument, this time. O'Neill's eyes were fixed straight forward, staring at a spot on the wall just above Hammond's left shoulder.

"You disobeyed orders, violated a trust, and risked serious consequences for a major scientific project with great potential benefit to this planet."

"Yes, Sir."

"Do you have anything to say for yourself, Colonel?"

"Nothing, General, except I would do it again. Sir."

Yes, thought Hammond wearily, he would. "Officers have been courtmartialed for less."

"Yes Sir," the Colonel answered smartly. It was always a bad sign when O'Neill played the perfect soldier.

"You were well, rude isn't even an adequate word, Colonel. Kalan is the leader of another planet we are attempting to form an alliance with, an important technological alliance. You of all people, Colonel, know that personal feelings have no place in such a discussion."

"And so we make an alliance with a race that destroys its own children for that very knowledge, Sir?"

"We do not judge the actions of other cultures, Colonel. You know that."

"Yes Sir. I know that Sir." Oh, oh, looked like O'Neill was in martyr mode.

"Your outburst at Kalan was totally uncalled for."

That got a reaction. The eyes flickered downward to Hammond's face. "It was the truth, Sir."

Hammond nodded. "Yes, it was. But that didn't mean you had to say it. And in that tone of voice."

O'Neill's eyes were stone cold. "It had to be said." A long pause, "Sir."

George sighed. Resignedly, he said, "sit down Colonel."

O'Neill stayed stiffly at attention. "I'd rather not, Sir."

"Colonel O'Neill, I said sit," snapped Hammond. "That's an order, not a suggestion." He looked hard at his 2IC. "Sit. Colonel."

"Yes Sir." There was anger in the response this time, but he obeyed.

Hammond stared at this soldier who, most times, he respected and admired. He and O'Neill had butted heads before, and they certainly would again. It was one of the things that made this program work, that the two of them could see different sides to an issue, could be on different sides and yet find a way to work together. It was just that the Colonel made things so damned difficult, sometimes. On some occasions, like this one, O'Neill needed a firm hand on the reins, a steadying voice to keep him on the straight and narrow. As his commanding officer, Hammond couldn't let this one slide, even if he had understood O'Neill's motivations and his anger and even sympathized with the man's stand. It was just that as commander of this base, and answerable to the president, George couldn't be the friend and mentor tonight. At least, not to start with.

O'Neill sat stiffly on the chair, none of his usual ease or humor showing. He looked tired and worn, and Hammond knew it had nothing to do with the threat of a courtmartial. You couldn't scare O'Neill with something like that. He wouldn't be swayed by a lecture or a dressing down either.

Hammond thought back to their earlier conversation in the control room, after O'Neill had brought the girl back. No belligerance, no defiance, just the bleak visage of reluctant acceptance. The General knew O'Neill brought Marin back, not out of any sense of duty, but because the child wanted it. And then he recalled O'Neill's straightforward, painfilled answer. "If you want to punish me, go ahead." Not that the Colonel wouldn't punish himself enough, for getting involved in this, Hammond knew. But there was still the matter of discipline. Sometimes, in this job, you did things you didn't want to do, but knew you had to. Like this.

"So, Colonel, what do you think your punishment ought to be?"

"That would be up to your discretion, Sir," O'Neill answered, his voice again emotionless.

Hammond paused. He had wanted a second in command with some backbone, and God forbid a man should get what he asked for, because there was always a price.

"I would like an answer, Colonel."

"My resignation will be on your desk in the morning, General." Not a flicker, eyes still focused on the wall behind the General's desk.

"You've played that card before, Colonel, and it's still not gonna win the hand, not with me. So, that's not what I asked for, and you know it."

"Confine me to quarters? Throw me in the brig? Demote me to Airman? Send me home for a week? It's been a while since I scrubbed a latrine, Sir, but I still remember how."

Good, the sarcasm was back. It meant O'Neill was starting to think like O'Neill again. A step forward, that. "No, Colonel, I was actually thinking that I've got a mountain of paperwork sitting here. There are six months worth of requisition forms to be reviewed and justified. Then there's a quarterly report on equipment loss; that would be right up your alley Colonel, since a lot of that missing equipment went missing with your team. And there's three months worth of personnel reports that are due next week. Every one needs to be read, annotated and signed by a senior officer. It's all the scut work I'd really rather not have to do myself. And it will keep you busy, in addition to your regular duties. So no, Colonel, you're not confined to base. But I think this will keep you occupied so you won't have time to even think about taking another little extracurricular jaunt with an off-world visitor."

O'Neill's expression had not flickered. "Yes Sir."

Hammond let a little of his affection for his Second in Command leak through into his voice. "Jack, look, I understand..."

O'Neill was not yet ready to let bygones be bygones. "No General, you don't...."

"Son..."

O'Neill flinched, and Hammond suddenly knew he shouldn't have used that word, not right this moment, right now. This thing with the children had brought Jack's worst nightmare back to the surface. Damn, he hadn't thought. Most of the time the man went on and led his life and did his job, and you wouldn't know the tragedy in his past. But if Jack O'Neill had one thin spot in that otherwise foot thick armor, it was the fate of a child. "Jack, I'm a father, I know how ..."

The belligerence had gone out of the Colonel's voice. "General, with all due respect, no, you don't know. Your..." He shook his head, couldn't finish the thought, 'your children are still alive.' His head dropped, and he looked down at his hands, shoulders sagging, thinking of his son, of that other boy named Charlie, of Merrin, and the other Urrone children on Orban. He had failed them, failed them all. Again.

God, he'd tried so hard. And it didn't make a difference. "Nothing I do makes a difference. It's never enough."

He didn't realize he'd said the words aloud until Hammond's quiet voice answered. "That's not true, Jack. You've made a difference here, over and over."

Hammond pulled open his bottom desk drawer, slid out a bottle and two glasses, poured a stiff shot into each. He shoved one glass across the desk, toward O'Neill.

"Here," he said, his voice soft. "Drink it."

O'Neill looked up, his face and his eyes bleak and dark. "No Sir. Not tonight. I don't think that would be a good idea. If I start, I don't think I'll be able to stop."

"Jack..."

The Colonel washed a hand across his face, tiredly. "Please, no, Sir."

"Okay," Hammond let his voice go soft. "I understand your motives, Jack, and I do... appreciate... where they come from. As your commanding officer, I cannot approve of or condone your actions. But I know you did what you thought you had to do. And that I can respect."

O'Neill looked up, his face still resigned. "May I go now, Sir?"

"Yes, Colonel."

As O'Neill turned to walk away, Hammond asked, "Colonel, are my car windows safe tonight?"

Jack turned back to his CO, a small smile flitting across his features. "Yes, Sir. Safe enough."

It all turned out better than anyone could have imagined. When the message came through, that Kalan wanted SG-1 back on Orban, Hammond wasn't sure he ought to comply. It could be throwing gasoline on a fire, to send O'Neill and his team back there, well, O'Neill at least. But Kalan had sounded so excited, something he'd never heard in the man's voice before. And then Kalan had given the General a brief explanation, and Hammond knew SG-1 would be going back.

The General hadn't much liked the look on his Colonel's face as O'Neill's team prepared to return to that planet, but he was much happier with the Colonel's expression when SG-1 came home six hours later. The somber, wounded look was gone, replaced by something that seemed to indicate a glimmer of hope had returned. Thank God, thought Hammond. "I'll look forward to your debriefing, SG-1."

An hour later, the changes on Orban discussed, Hammond dismissed the briefing team. Colonel O'Neill remained in the room, standing with his back to the door and the others, staring down at the Stargate.

"Colonel?"

"Sir," said O'Neill, turning around to face the General.

"Jack, I'm glad things worked out well on Orban. For those children. And for you."

"Thank you General."

"It doesn't change your assignment, however, Colonel."

"I know Sir. I didn't expect it would," said O'Neill, with a smile.

The Colonel picked up the stack of paperwork Hammond had left waiting on the briefing table, Jack's special assignment. It was okay, though, he thought, as he headed down the corridor. There would be quite a few long nights here on the base, going through all these reports, but it wouldn't be so bad. At least when he finally did get home, he would be able to sleep.

Once back in his office, he pulled from his pocket a sheet of paper, unfolded it carefully, and tacked it to his bulletin board where he could see it as he worked: a child's scrawled crayon drawing of a red flower, a long-tailed purple dog beside it.

FINIS