One Damn Fine Officer

By BadgerGater

E-mail: [email protected]

Category: drama, Janet's POV

Summary: Janet has her opinion of a certain Colonel

Season: Four

Spoilers: Little ones for any ep seasons 1-4

Pairing: None

Warnings: None, well, except Jack better look out, as usual

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I really do love the guy. And we all know you only hurt the ones you love. So I hurt him greatly, and often. And, oh yeah, I uh, don't own him (and I bet he's glad!!) or any of the other Stargate characters, for that matter. They belong to important people in suits who work for big companies like SHowtine/Viacom, MGM, Gekko, etc. No copyright infringement intended. It's all done in fun and absolutely no cash or other valuables change hands, not even right to left or back again. Story is the property of the author. Read it all you want, but please ask if you'd like to post it. Okay, campers?

Author's Note: Janet knows Jack well, we all know that. So, what does she really think of the Colonel?

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I can't decide if he's my worst patient, or my best.

Surprises you, doesn't it, that I'd be so undecided about Colonel Jack O'Neill.

Well, truth is, he's some of both, and a lot of other things.

He's a great patient at the moment, sound asleep, vitals stable, recuperation right on schedule, if not ahead of what I'd expect from most anyone else. Asleep, the worry lines leave his brow, even the tight lines of pain that marred his face a few hours ago have vanished as the drugs do their work. He'll be all right. It was a near thing, once again. Always is with him. My mind flashed back to the image of him staggering through the gate and passing out before making it to the foot of the ramp, blood soaking his BDUs, but a smile on his face because his team had made it home in front of him.

I check his vitals one more time, needing to reassure myself that he really is okay. The strong heart is beating in a steady rhythm, his temperature, blood pressure, pulse and respiration all normal. Tomorrow, I'll send him home. My infirmary will be much quieter, my nursing staff more serene, the atmosphere less tense but also less electric. And I know I'll not smile half as much. I hate to admit it, but he does make me laugh. Sometimes.

When I first came here, I reviewed everyone's records before meeting with General Hammond. The General was someone I respected, but then, well, he left me wondering. O'Neill was his handpicked choice for his Second in Command, and after reading the Colonel's medical and personnel file, I was left wondering which one was crazier, O'Neill, or Hammond for choosing him.

And then I met Jack O'Neill and I was convinced he had no business being in the Air Force, let alone a heartbeat away from command of what could very well be the most important, and certainly the most risk-filled post in the U.S. military. Colonel O'Neill: bristling, short tempered, belligerent, sarcastic, condescending and defensive. A ready-made case study for a mental health time-bomb.

Never second guess a General as astute as George Hammond. He had his reasons for choosing O'Neill.

Yes, it took me a while to unravel a bit of the mystery that is Colonel Jack O'Neill. I'm working at that and I think I always will be. I swear, the more I know about him, the less I really know. He doesn't make it easy, you know.

Okay, so he is the loudest complainer I get in my infirmary. He lets me know when he wants out, and he lets everyone else know, too. He'll try to bully my staff, intimidate young nurses, pull rank or just plain bluff his way out the door. He doesn't like it here, and I know that, and he knows I know that, and I don't take it as personal, because it's not. Not even that nasty Napoleonic Power Monger remark.

It's become almost a game between us. He pushes, I push back. He tests his limits, and mine. But I also know him well enough to know that he's often right about what he needs. He is different from most of my other patients. It's that unique history of his, that proven ability to heal himself, when he has to; the drive to be back on his feet and part of the solution, never waiting for someone else to fix things. It's that control factor. Helpless is just not his style. Back in the early days of the SGC when we'd all been in our first serious spot of trouble, when that darkside Neanderthal virus infected the base, he'd somehow fought his way through the effects to beg to be the guinea pig, to ask that I experiment on him. That was my first glimpse into the core of Jack O'Neill, the heart and soul he hides under the attitude.

The Colonel needs control. Early on, I recognized that, and that has helped us work together. I explain his options, like with his chronic bad knee, and let him decide. Surgery was my first choice, but not his, and I finally agreed to let him try something less invasive. Frankly, I didn't think it would work, but he convinced me otherwise, employing a totally unexpected work ethic, extensive rehab through workouts and strength building exercises, and a few key changes in routine like substituting swimming for jogging. The knee isn't perfect, it never will be, and even surgery won't cure that in the end, but it's serviceable and it lets him do his job, and that's what counts.

He needs to be a part of his own treatment, even more so when it's his team that's under my care. He was underfoot constantly when Daniel was in withdrawal, when Kawalsky was infested by the Goa'uld, when Teal'c had that oversized mosquito bite, when Jolinar died inside Sam. He's here for his people, all the time. Whether on his own treatment, or his team's, I've come to realize it's best to tell him everything I'm doing. I make him part of the decisions, let him think he's making them, and he plays along, all part of our little pact. He makes his token resistance, and when he really means no, he makes that clear.

He's not always right of course, sometimes he tries to do more than the human body, even his obstinate, will-driven one, can do. Like after the radiation exposure when the team went after the Crystal Skull and Daniel was missing. He wouldn't listen when I told him he wasn't ready to leave his bed, only proving it to himself when he was so weak he couldn't even gracefully hit the floor.

And yeah, I suppose I've forgiven him for that "Napoleonic Power Monger" remark. He was only kidding. I think.

Odd thing, though, when he's really hurting, when you'd think he'd complain, he doesn't. He gets so quiet you wouldn't know he was there, and that's when I really start to worry. He never asks for things he doesn't need, never wants to be coddled, never wants pity or sympathy. Sometimes that means he denies himself comfort he needs; we all need the human touch. But it is part of his nature to be harder on himself than he is on anyone else, more demanding of himself than others. He quite simply would never ask anyone to do something he wouldn't do himself.

As his doctor, I find his wounded animal approach is more than a little scary, because he has a tendency to want to hide his wounds, and go off to lick them in private. That can be a bad thing, even a disastrous thing in this job. It's also incredible, his ability to put his physical pain aside, concentrate on what needs to be done while completely ignoring his own need for medical care.

His powers of concentration are phenomenal. That's how he ended up here in my infirmary this time. SG-1 had been ambushed, Sam, Teal'c and Daniel all pinned down and unable to reach the Stargate. So O'Neill had moved from his own secure spot, putting himself into a vulnerable position to give the others covering fire, drawing the native's attention and weapons fire, providing the diversion that enabled the others to make a break for the Stargate. O'Neill been the last man off the planet, backing out of the wormhold, stumbling, turning to face us and falling flat on his face, out cold. He'd been hit in the first round of shots fired during the ambush, and hadn't said a word. Claimed he hadn't even felt the blow. As if that was possible. I'm a doctor and I know better. You don't take a half dozen pieces of shrapnel the size of a quarter and more, clear through your hip and thigh, and not feel it. He'd just shrugged and, to use his own phrase, "sucked it up and did what needed to be done." And he said it like it was an act as ordinary as taking out the garbage. For him, maybe it is.

His pride demands he stand alone, be a tower of strength, be the toughest SOB on the block, and never let anyone see how he hurts, inside and out. No, I don't want pain meds. No, I don't want something to help me sleep. No, I don't want or need anything. Sometimes, I've learned, the thing to do is just ignore what he says and do what needs to be done for his own comfort, because he sees asking, or even quiet acceptance, as weakness. So I've learned don't ask, just order. In my infirmary, I outrank even grumpy, sarcastic, hard-assed Colonels.

Every time I send him home to heal, quite frankly, I worry, worry a lot, unless I can convince one of his team to go with him. Thank God for Daniel. How many times has he played nursemaid for O'Neill? Of course, the Colonel has returned the favor as well, so maybe they're even. Their friendship is phenomenal. It's part of what makes SG-1 tick, a key to what makes them survivors, that sense of family.

O'Neill's silences can be good and bad, too. He fails to tell me things he should, and spares all of us things we don't want or need to know. But there are times he could make things easier for himself by loosening up a little, by sharing the hurt or the pain. I know he carries a burden that would break most men, what happened in Iraq, what happened with his son, some of the things he did at the behest of his country in the shadowy realm of black ops. A weaker man would have folded long ago. A stronger man? I doubt one exists.

And then, of course, I've seen him with kids. He shines. When he showed up with that dog for my daughter Cassie, without asking me, I could have strangled the man. But you know, that little mutt was exactly the adoring, non-judgemental, comforting friend a lonely and scared little girl needed. There was Merrin, and the little things he did for her, his ability to talk to her and show her how to have fun. There was the reetu-cloned child, Charlie, yet another time I thought the Colonel's heart would break. I watched him with that little boy, saw how the child took to O'Neill like he'd known him all his life; how the man spent every spare minute with the child; how the Colonel put aside his own pain to console the boy when his reetu mother was killed; and I will never forget the Colonel's face when I told him I couldn't save the kid. I never want to see such despair again.

His compassion extends beyond children, though, to the innocent, the helpless, the otherwise undefended, anyone he feels need his protection. He'll never willingly admit it, but on that medieval planet, the Colonel was plenty worried about that supposedly possessed girl, Mary, or he'd have never let Daniel persuade him to let SG-1 get involved. Then there were the Vyans. The Nox, before we knew they didn't need anyone's help. The people in the Land of Light. That young hippie couple who helped SG-1 get home from 1969. Catherine Langford and her beloved Ernest. Bringing Nyan home and seeing to it he found a place and a job here. Hell, we all know he took Daniel under his wing, turning a lost civilian into a vital member of SG-1, treating him like an often annoying but always beloved younger brother.

There was that young soldier Captain Kyle Rogers, too. Count on the Colonel to find a humorous way to break through the young man's defenses. Tuna torture, only O'Neill could come up with something that silly, and then make it work.

He risked his neck for that Lt. Tyler, too, who it turned out wasn't really a member of SG-1 or a lieutenant or even a human. Even after O'Neill knew the truth, he wouldn't leave 'Tyler' behind.

And though he puts on that gruff 'I don't need anyone' front, he's actually very good at getting through to people, when he tries. It's one of those quiet leadership skills he possesses and never flaunts, but it's there, and it makes him something special.

And as passionate as he is about defending those he believes deserve his compassion and assistance, he's equally as passionate about battling those he regards with contempt, those who don't play by the rules, who use power to harm, not help. It's the hypocrisy of those who think they're better than others, who use others for their own ends, who harm others purposely, that drives him crazy, that makes him react to the Tollan like he does; to fanatics like the Bedrosians; to the adults on Orban; the unprincipled ruthlessness of mercenaries like Aris Boch once was; the evil at the core of Kira; the thoughtless cruelty of Shyla; even those of his own people, like Maybourne, that he sees as traitors. And yes, of course, he hates the Goa'uld, and makes no pretense of hiding it. They've hurt him and his 'family,' they threaten his home, and he takes that very, very personally.

I got a taste of how deeply he could hate when we had Apophis here in the infirmary. I'd never seen him so implacable, smug, harsh, unforgiving and filled with contempt. So filled with satisfaction to see his enemy laid low. I'd always known there was that dark side to him, but I'd never come face to face with it before then. And I didn't much like it. It's downright scarey.

He doesn't like to take orders. That's rather legendary around here. Hard to believe, sometimes, that he ever made it to Colonel, what with that rebellious, independent streak. But the truth is, there are some shadowy segments of the U.S. military that need people like that, officers unafraid to grab the initiative, men who will go the wall and beyond to complete a mission. I don't know for sure what he did before he came to the SGC, and I think mostly I really wouldn't want to know, but I have a couple of pretty good guesses, based on what's in his medical records.

But when things get rough, the truth is, the Colonel's a great patient. He never ever quits. He's made me look like a miracle worker more than once already, what with his confounding ability to recuperate. He's astonishingly resilient. Remember the Antarctica thing? He should have been dead three times over, but he defied the odds and pulled through.

Don't worry, I don't hero worship him or anything. He's a difficult man to deal with and for sure he has his flaws, like that smart mouth, his reserve, his silences, his anger, his unforgiving nature. But I'll forgive him all of those just because I have seen his loyalty. That is something he takes to extremes. All or nothing. If you are one of his people, you know he will be there beside you no matter what; you know he will do his best, and his best is damn good; and you know he will never, ever give up. It's not in his nature.

I have seen him sit beside a wounded teammate and simply will that person his strength. I have seen him here, in my infirmary in the middle of the night, long after everyone else has gone home, with Teal'c or Sam or Daniel. His presence is comforting, a strange thing it would seem from such a hard, sometimes dark and often sarcastic man. He'll never tell you with words how much he thinks of you, but he will show you.

As my commanding officer, I'd follow him into hell. No question. His team literally did follow him to hell and back. I've watched him save this planet, at great personal risk, of his career, and his life, with Apophis' attack and the black hole and those creepy mechanical replicator bugs. I know he will fight with every ounce of his being, every drop of his blood and every beat of his heart. Think it's an accident Thor and the Asgard picked him to speak for the human race, or that the Tollan demanded he be the one to uncover the traitors in their little sting operation? Strange as it may seem, I don't. Jack O'Neill is the sort of quiet, self-effacing, real-life leader we'd all like to be.

I have followed Colonel O'Neill through the Stargate, a scary thing, that. I can't imagine how he did it, being the first, back when Dr. Jackson initially figured out how to open the gate. That took courage, maybe suicidal courage at the time, but courage nonetheless.

That's another thing you need to know about Jack O'Neill. He was suicidal once, he's even told me that, calmly and quietly, I think as much as anything just to see how I'd react to it, but mostly to let me know that he's not there in that dark place anymore. Sometimes, he's still on the brink, looking down into that dark abyss, but since our first year here, I haven't worried about him crashing. I have come to see that he has found himself, in what he does here: found peace in the good things the SGC has accomplished; can live with the bad that he and this program has been forced to do; and has found a new family in these people he calls friends, people with whom he has found acceptance and trust. I know it's not easy for him, I know he has his bad days, I know he has his doubts and his fears, like the rest of us, but he's found a path.

He gives new meaning to the phrase self-made man. Not that he hasn't had some help in putting his life back together, going back to when he first joined the SGC. I don't know exactly what it was that Daniel Jackson said to him back on Abydos that turned things around, but whatever it was, it worked. Maybe it wasn't the words, maybe it was just the friendship, the understanding, the act of another human being reaching out, someone who needed him, and thus filled a gaping hole left in his heart by the loss of his child.

And then there's the General. Hammond treats him with a tolerant affection that's avuncular, if not down right paternal. He defends O'Neill and looks out for him and sees past the walls to the weary soul that hides inside. They share an understanding, one found between strong men who must hide their compassion; brave men who spend their lives looking out for the weak; and honorable men who must sometimes do distasteful things to fulfill their vows to protect and serve.

The General is the only one around here who knows more about O'Neill's history that I do, though most of what I know is what I've inferred from his medical records. The Colonel doesn't reveal much about himself, ever, to anyone, not even his doctor. He guards his privacy, holds close his inner demons, and hides his scars. He's a complicated, complex, challenging human being. And beneath the bluff, the bluster and the bravado, he really is very, very human.

If along the way here I've given you the impression that I like the man, you're right. Admire? Yes. Respect? Yes. Understand? Not even close.

Colonel Jack O'Neill: an enigma wrapped in a mystery, cloaked in shadows, hiding in the dark...

One damn fine officer.

And my friend.

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