Title: Telling Charlie
Author: Jemma
Story Status: Complete
Series/Sequel Info: None
Season: One
Spoilers: Mild Cold Lazarus
Categories: Friendship
Pairings: Mild Sam and Jack
Rating: K
Content Warnings: None in particular
Summary: Carter needs to know more.
Archive Permissions: Please ask
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters relating to Stargate. They belong to MGM and any of their associates. I'm just playing around with them for a little while!
Authors Note: This is not ship fic. It is friendship only. My first fic in a while! Enjoy.
Date: 28/09/2003

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If there was one thing that I ever wondered about from the time I met Colonel Jack O'Neill, it was his past.

When I found out I was being assigned to the Stargate project, I did everything I could to find out all about it.
Who was running things, what the purpose of the mission was and who my team would be.

When the name Colonel O'Neill had come up, it had struck a chord in me.

From what I had been able to gather, he had just been recalled to active duty following roughly a year out of duty, and last time he went on a mission, it had been a suicidal endeavour.

To say my interest at meeting this man had been peaked was an understatement.

Now, its five months after meeting 'him' and my interest in him is just as high.

'Him' being one of the most complexed people that I know makes this not altogether surprising.

And let me tell you something; he is far from being the Colonel "Crazy" that he is known as at the Pentagon.

To be honest, I still haven't figured him all out, and it's just a feeling, but I don't think I ever will. He's gonna keep everyone guessing.

However, after a chat with Doctor Jackson, I feel I know him a little better. To the extent, where I feel almost a little guilty around him.
You see, I didn't know that the Colonels son had killed himself. No one at the Pentagon knew. Otherwise I don't think Colonel "Crazy" would have existed.

Part of me wishes that I could just sit down with the Colonel and ask him straight out about his son and what really happened. It's my belief that a team should know everything about each other if they're gonna survive in the field.

But this is very much harder said than done.

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It's late.

Close to everybody has gone home, yet I am still here, working. As usual.

However, I am very aware that Colonel O'Neill is the highest-ranking officer due on duty tonight.

As I sit at one of the computer terminals in the gate room, vaguely thinking about the new computer program I'm supposed to be installing, I wonder if I'll ever get the real Colonel to talk to me.

In the distance I hear footsteps approaching along the corridor. I resume my work, thinking it wouldn't be too great if some airman walked in to find me daydreaming.

The footsteps crescendo until they are right in the room with me.

Before I can turn around to acknowledge the visitor, they speak. And it's the voice I had been hoping to hear.

"Evening Captain," the voice says to me.

I turn and find its owner.

"Evening Colonel," I reply with a smile.

"Mind if I keep ya company for a while? Things are pretty quiet tonight."

"Of course not Sir, have a seat," I answer whilst gesturing to a seat near me, quickly removing the file folders from it.

He grins as he sits.

"So what ya up to?" he queries with genuine interest.

I look from him to the computer screen and back again. "Just installing a new computer program Sir. Nothing important."

"Now now Captain. If you've got anything to do with it then it has to be important."

I blush slightly at his disguised praise, giving him a small smile as I do so.

There is silence for a little while, except for the tapping of my fingers on the keyboard, which isn't as fast as it would be due to the "should I, shouldn't I" debate going on in my head about talking to the Colonel about...things.

As I hit delete for the 5th time in a row, he speaks.

"You alright Captain?"

I glance over at him. "Yes Sir, I'm ok." I pause for a second, with my mind racing, most of the time screaming at me 'ask him ask him!'

Just as he's about to look away I take the surely fatal plunge.

"Sir?"
He raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement for me to continue.

I feel frozen in time, the words coming out, but now faced with the situation I find myself unable to voice them. With a deep breath I try once more.

"Do you mind...if I ask you something…about you?"

I tense as though waiting for him to get up and tell me I'm out of line. I'm sent into shock when he actually answers me with words instead.

"Sure. What would you like to know?"

I take a deep breath, then swivel my chair around to face him fully, leaning forward and then rest my elbows on my knees.

"I was talking to Doctor Jackson," I begin slowly. He sits patiently. "And he told me about...your past. What happened to...your son..."

I cringe at the tone of my voice, which to me sounded by far not enough sympathetic and far more nosey.

He continues to look at me steadily, while I can only imagine I look like a rabbit about to be mown down on the highway.

"My son died about a year and a half ago, in my house. In my bedroom…he was at the wrong end of my own gun."

I don't seem to be able to find any words to reply with. I just look at him. I had already known that Jack's son had shot himself, but hearing from him own lips made the whole thing more real.

"What was his name?" I ask quietly.
The Colonel smiles. "Charlie."
Something clicks in my head. "As in...Kawalsky?"
"Yeah, as in Kawalsky. He was Charlie's god father."
"How old was he when...it happened?"
"He was 11. Had just come back from school that afternoon with his year photo."

At this point I hear the hurt in the Colonel's voice and I consider dropping the subject, but I want to know more. I want to understand. To help.
"What did he like doing?"
"He loved baseball," is the immediate answer. "He and I would play all the time in the back yard. It was pretty big. Although I remember one or two balls that he managed to hit through the kitchen window."

I see him smile at the memory, and I am glad that I was able to help bring back something happy to him.
"Bet he beat you every time Sir," I reply cunningly.
"Yeah, pretty much. He was good. Was on the team at school."
"You must have been very proud of him."

He sighs a little. "Yeah, I was."

The quiet seems to overbear us once more, but it's not an uncomfortable one. It is one of companionship, friendship.

He appears to be lost in his memories, so I let him stay there, hoping that they are happy ones like those he has just recited to me.

Turing back to the computer screen, I resume my work. With one difference.

I'm no longer using the delete key.

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