Title: Artist
Author: MissAnnThropic
Summary: Sam discovers one of Jack's hidden talents.
Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Stargate but my rabid fan behavior. Alas.
A/N: This came to me mostly from watching "Window of Opportunity" too many times and wondering why Jack, when he thought he wouldn't have to answer for his actions, would choose to throw clay of all things.

Holy Hannah, the colonel's an artist!

Okay, well, maybe not 'artist', but from someone who excels at stick-figures he may as well be Rembrandt.

I never, never suspected that from Colonel Jack O'Neill. I don't know why, but it never once crossed my mind.

I found out so innocently, one of those out of the blue discoveries. We were in a briefing, again, and Daniel was going on about some ancient burial ground on one of the new planets we'd recently reconnoitered. Most of the time Daniel's briefings fascinate me just because I find his enthusiasm contagious, but that day even I was bored. I call it having an 'O'Neill Day', and luckily for Daniel I don't have too many of those where I'm just staring glassy-eyed as he's talking about his passion. So it was an O'Neill Day, which meant there were two of us at the briefing room table completely MIA, at least mentally. Teal'c was listening, as he always does, but his expression never changes and having given my fair share of briefings I know that unchanging face doesn't do much for one's sense of being attended to. General Hammond at least was paying attention, and within the first ten minutes Daniel was talking pretty much only to Hammond.

I felt bad but not enough to get into the burial site, so I was biding my time until I could get back to my lab. I really, really tried not to look bored, but I know I must have. One arm flat on the table, the other crooked so my elbow was perched on the table top and my chin in my hand as I stared vapidly in Daniel's direction.

I looked over at the colonel, directly across from me, and it was a pose well-familiar. He was reclined back in his chair, one leg bent and crossed over the other, knee to ankle, a note pad in his lap, and his eyes down-turned and his forearm moving as he doodled. Colonel O'Neill doodles a lot. It never occurred to me to wonder what he was drawing, I guess I always imagined nondescript geometric shapes or little black square of ink. I guess that's what I imagined coming out of a bored Jack's mind.

As I was staring idly at him he looked up, right at me, and he didn't actually smile but a playful light flickered just momentarily in his eyes and then I felt really bad for Daniel because now we were all humoring him.

I made a more concerted effort to pay attention to Daniel and didn't look at the colonel the rest of the meeting.

When we were dismissed Colonel O'Neill was first on his feet, pen capped and in his breast pocket, but Hammond thwarted his escape by asking to speak with him privately in his office. I hoped he wasn't in trouble as he seemed to wince on principle, left his note pad on the table, and followed after Hammond.

Teal'c left (it was past time for his Kel'no'rem), and Daniel was gathering up his notes and I happened to glance at Colonel O'Neill's note pad. Just lying there, abandoned.

I just intended to do the nice thing and take it down to his office for him (even though that would be the last place on Earth and several other planets where he would look for it). I reached over, picked it up, and as I was heading out of the room with the yellow stationary in hand I glanced down at it and my step faltered.

I had the insane idea that I had grabbed someone else's note pad, even though I'd just seen the colonel using it.

It wasn't triangles or squares or little black holes on his notes, it was me!

It might not have been the best drawing, nothing that would end up in the Louvre, but it was close enough for me to know it was me. It was me looking bored, one hand propping up my chin as I sat behind the briefing room table. It had to be the way I'd looked from the colonel's point of view during the meeting. He'd been stealing glances at me the whole time because he was drawing me. I was his doodle.

For some ungodly reason I got really embarrassed, like the colonel had drawn me in my underwear instead of a fully-clothed, real-life reflection of ten minutes ago, and I tucked it close to hide it from prying eyes and went to the first place that came to mind... Daniel's office.

I beat him there so he took on a look of naive bewilderment when he arrived from the briefing room to find me waiting for him.

"Uh... Sam?"

"Daniel... did you know the colonel can draw?"

Daniel stared at me like I'd asked him the color of the moon but he frowned, pursed those lips in a pout only Daniel could master, and he moved to his desk to lay down his work as he answered, "Yeah..."

And my insane reaction was to wonder why I hadn't been told.

Daniel looked at me, noted my apparent shock, and he asked, "What, you didn't?"

"I had no idea!" I returned abruptly, then I shyly handed over the note pad. "I took this off the table; I thought I'd just give it back to him later, but I saw..." and I gestured at the note pad.

Daniel took it, looked down at it, and smiled.

"How could I not know about this?" I demanded, rather petulantly if I do say so myself. I don't know what was my reasoning, but surely that was something a 2IC should know about their commanding officer.

Daniel seemed amused. "I don't know, I thought you did. I guess it's not something a macho Air Force guy would want to be common knowledge."

"Daniel, he's good!"

Daniel chuckled and I wanted to stamp my foot at the audacity he had to do... well, his thing. Damn Daniel for being so... Daniel.

"I know he is, Sam... sometimes I can talk him into doing the field note sketches of ruins and temple writings for me when we're off-world, at least the pictograph ones, but he usually gets pretty bored and I end up with hieroglyphics that look like the Simpsons characters or they're wearing sunglasses."

I smiled, despite my indignation, because that was definitely something Colonel O'Neill would do, and I shook my head. "Wow... I just, that's amazing. I never would have suspected the colonel of all people."

Daniel looked down at the drawing of me again and he hefted the pad a few times. "You should give this back to him," Daniel extended to pad in my direction, "he'll probably want to add that one to his book."

"Book?" I asked as I reclaimed my own likeness.

Daniel smiled knowingly. "Yeah, he has a... well, scrapbook, I guess, of his briefing-room doodles, the good ones, anyway."

"He does?"

"Uh huh, but don't tell anyone, as far as I know I'm the only one who knows about it."

"Has he let you look at it?"

"Sure... he showed it to me the first time, right after I got back from Abydos... he... he wanted to give me the drawing he did of Sha're."

"Wow," is all I could muster, and I wracked my brain trying to remember if I'd seen but dismissed this sketch of Daniel's wife, etched by my CO's hands. I came up empty, and it occurred to me that Daniel must guard the drawing as vigilantly as Colonel O'Neill did. Crafty, secretive bastards, the both of them.

Daniel quickly said, "Look, Sam, um, don't give him a hard time about it. He's kind of... touchy on the subject."

Of that I have little doubt. If he revealed its existence solely to Daniel, his best friend, then that alone spoke volumes.

"Then maybe you should give this to him," I held out the note pad again, "I mean, you already know about it, it won't be as bad coming from you."

"Good idea," Daniel said, and retook the note pad with a close likeness of me on the top sheaf.

"Does he," I began, awkward and fumbling, and since it was Daniel I just decided to spit it out, "has the colonel drawn me before?" I felt justified in asking, because from the way Daniel let on I was never going to see this scrapbook myself and besides the colonel Daniel is the only person who might know the answer.

Daniel tried not to smile, he really did, but we clean him out on poker nights for a reason. "Let's just say," he finally conceded, "that my guess is Jack could draw you freehand without even having to look at you."

I blinked, stunned, and left. It was more than I could digest as it was.

My CO, the artist, my own portrait drawer.

And I cursed because I knew the next briefing I would be aware of his glances, his movements, his every little action. Colonel O'Neill, the artist.

I also knew I would develop a renewed fascination with his hands.

END