RANDOM THOUGHTS AND CONCLUSIONS

Author: Lea O'Neill

Rating: PG 13

Category: POV, thoughts, humor, romance

Season: any

Spoilers: None

Pairing: Jack/Other

Summary: Just a random snippet of thoughts, and short stories in the early relationship of Jack and Nicole

Disclaimer:
(I do not own any characters of SG-1. They belong to Gekko Film corp., RDA, Deluise, their creators, etc. Any other characters are mine and any resemblance to persons real or fictional is coincidental and unintended.)

Jack's POV: Nicole's Livingroom

I aimlessly flipped through the CD's in the wall unit while I waited for Nicki. It was quite an eclectic collection: The Rolling Stones, The Eagles, Aerosmith, Reba McEntire, Alabama, George Strait, Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline, Enya, Metallica, Boys 2 Men, Bryan Adams, Celine Dion, Luther Vandross, REM, Bonnie Raitt, The Supremes, and Van Morrison, just to name a few.

I also thumbed through the magazines on the coffee table, being naturally curious about the woman I'd now been dating for a little over three months. There were issues of Women in the Air Force, Better Homes and Gardens, Old West, Victoria's Secret (hmmm, potential) Cosmopolitan, Medic, and Guns and Ammo.

Nicole Walker was a very diversified person, I was just beginning to realize. I knew I'd just touched the surface. She was totally fascinating in a way that knocked me off my feet. She kept me in just enough suspense that I wanted to know more. "Ready?" she asked, bringing me back from my thoughts. I looked up. Had to swallow hard. From the cammo fatigues and standard issue combat boots that she'd arrived in, she'd done a compete 360. She had her hair in a pony tail, a white chemise blouse that was just short of see through, and a black leather skirt that was just an inch or two above the knee, and black heels. She looked like a teenage boy's wet dream come to life. Okay, I'll admit, I'd managed a few fantasies about a particular leather skirt in my time. But those legs….I had felt my mouth began to salivate the minute I saw her and hoped that I could contain myself, lest the drool start rolling out the side of my lips. She sauntered, rather than walked, from the bedroom. Oh, boy. She looked like she could keep me occupied for days with those long legs encased in silky stockings. Damn, she's looking at me with those eyes that seem to see right into my soul.

"Wow," was about all I could manage.
Nicki smiled. "Preferable to the cammies?" she asked.

"Definitely." She smells like vanilla and maybe peaches. Whatever it is, it's driving me nuts. It kind of wants to make me lick her neck to see if she tastes as good as she smells.

Nicki's POV- Jack's House

Though Jack and I had been seeing each other just short of three months, I was sort of surprised when he offered me a key to his place a few weeks ago. It seems like such a big step. For both of us. I was unsure at first how to take the gesture. Was he looking for a maid? A cook? A house sitter? Or was he sincerely reaching out, hoping that maybe I'd take it as a sign of something more serious. I guess I did. I gave him the key to my place as well.
Jack wasn't a particularly good housekeeper. His diet also left something to be desired. I must have thrown out seven containers of left over fast food that was rapidly becoming a science project in the refrigerator.

Since the house wasn't lived in all the time, only the layers of dust bunnies that had collected needed exterminating. I'd done that while waiting for him to get back. His laundry was another matter. It looked to me like he wore every stitch of clothing he owned before getting it laundered. There was a pile almost as high as the washing machine top in the washroom behind the closed door, which I'm sure he shut before I came over. I peeked anyway.

Okay, okay. Cooking and cleaning are not really my forte in life, but lets face it: I was head over heels about this guy. Not something that happened to me everyday. I can't remember ever doing a man's laundry, much less cleaning out his refrigerator. Hell, mine probably would have the same kind of things lurking inside it, except that I eat out. A lot. No, Jack was different. Special. I've been used, and let myself be used, by more than a few men. But something was much different here. This was nothing like what I'd felt before. Maybe that's why it sent me down the proverbial "June Cleaver" path. Maybe it's a fluke. This whole cleaning frenzy I'd suddenly spurned into might not even last a month. But, well, I was enjoying it for now. So, the machine was churning away and the scent of Tide mixed with the smell of the meatloaf in the oven. His bedroom wasn't bad, save for the disheveled rumpled queen sized bed. I was sure there were some dust bunnies hiding out in here too, but for now, I just straightened up the bed, with its gray striped sheets and cranberry colored spread. I stopped, while fluffing the pillows. I pressed his pillow to my face. It smelled like Jack. A blend of the cologne he usually wore, (I think it was Aramis, maybe Cool Water) and just the male scent I'd grown to miss.

Okay, okay. I put the pillow back on the bed before the water works started.

The closet was neatly organized; his uniforms hanging in their dry cleaning bags, shoe boxes piled high on the shelf and labeled with his bold scrawl in black marker: bills, taxes, pictures, work stuff. I had gone in to the closet with the intention of putting away his dress uniform. But as I reached to the high shelf to put away the hat, I knocked a box off the already full ledge. Crap. Dozens of photographs spilled out onto the floor. God, Jack would have a fit! I silently prayed for forgiveness as I stooped to pick up the loose photos and try to put them back in the box.

I couldn't help but notice the photos as I arranged them back into the shoebox. There was a treasure that I don't know why Jack kept hidden away; he would have his reasons, of course. And I wasn't privy to know them yet. I knew only a brief glimpse of Jack's past. I knew more of his career than of his personal life. I knew about the marriage and the son he'd buried but not put to rest. I knew about his capture in Iraq. But the real man? No, I don't think I know him yet. He's not too good at opening up. I think maybe, with time, and understanding, he might. I hope.
The photos I looked at were some I know he must value. But they also must cause him pain in some way. They were candid shots of him as a young Air Force flight jock, his training unit, Jack with his arm around another guy in flight gear, presumably his backseater at the time; Jack in a desert landscape with a far off look in his eyes; Several shot that had probably been taken by Jack of what I recognized as Baghdad and Saudi Arabia desert; mostly Iraq terrain; An F-14 fighter plane with Jack grinning from the side. I began to find pictures of an older looking Jack with a reoccurring woman. She was pretty, with long light brown hair. A party, a poolside shot of them, a formal portrait with Jack in full dress uniform and the woman in a white gown- oh god, this was Jack's ex wife Sara. Then came the pictures of Jack and Sara, a very pregnant Sara. Then some more of Sara and the newborn baby alone. When Jack reappeared in the photos, I was shocked. He looked awful, skinny and gaunt, his eyes hollow. But he looked overjoyed to see the now almost year old child, which I presumed was his son. The first picture was of Jack embracing the little boy at an airport and someone, probably Sara, had written on the back of the photo "Jack came home alive! He just met Charlie." When the little boy was about nine years old, the pictures stopped. The last thing in the box was an envelope that even I, a childless person, knew was from the prized school pictures. Inside was the last picture ever taken of Charlie O'Neill, his school photo taken, by the date printed on the outside of the school envelope, the day before he died.
I felt a lump swell in my throat and my eyes begin to tear. I was sorry that I'd spilled the box, and felt ill at ease for going through such private memories, but I did at least feel like I might have some better understanding of the man. He was so much deeper than he sometimes appears on the surface. I hurriedly put the pictures back the best I thought I'd found them them and returned the box to its place on the shelf.

I found myself hurting somewhere deep in my chest for a child I'd never known, and for a man I wished I always had known. I just hope to know him better.

Jack's POV- Jack's Kitchen

Okay, I had to admit. I was totally hung up about someone cooking for me. It was just so…great. Never mind the fact that I was sure Nicki was going to toss out my last weeks' burritos. It was a small price to pay to have my house filled with the smell of real cooking. And to top it off, I'd learned she didn't really like to cook all that much. Maybe she just feels sorry for me. Oh well. You take what you can get.

When I got there, Nicki had been busy. The food cooking smelled terrific, but I also sense the presence of …laundry detergent? She hadn't? Oh for cryin out loud. She had. She'd done my laundry! I felt redness creep into my cheeks as I though of her milling around in my three-week-old pile of dirty socks and underwear.

I also noticed she'd cleaned the last six months worth of dust off my TV, book shelves and pictures in the living room. Now felt guilty. I hadn't meant her to do all that when she'd offered to cook me dinner yesterday. Dinner was one thing. All that she's undertaken was a bit much. But had this gone too far, too fast? I didn't want her to feel like she was my new cook and bottle washer. I had a few moments of uncomfortable guilt that maybe I was letting her too close. I know I said she was welcome anytime. I know I invited her. I know I gave her the key. But knowing all this doesn't make me feel just a little weary about Nicki touching my things, seeing my personal possessions, wondering if she was wondering what kind of whacko she'd hooked up with. And then I felt guilty for feeling guilty. I was also secretly impressed that she'd done all that. But I'm not letting myself off the hook that easily.

I spotted her in the kitchen, cleaning up and getting food ready, and though she was just wearing shorts and an old tee shirt, I thought she'd never looked sexier. There was just something about a woman in my kitchen. The kitchen had always meant home to me. Maybe 'cause I spent so much time in that room, first with my mom, licking the mixing bowls after she'd whipped up a cake; then with Sara, helping her with dinners that we shared, laughing joking. Maybe it was sexist. Even bordering on politically incorrect. Sorry, but I can't help some things.

I watched Nicki for a while before she even realized I was there. She finally turned and found me leaning on the doorframe watching.

"What're you tryin' to do, give me a heart attack?" she asked with a laugh, her green eyes sparkling.

I grinned at her. "Just thinking."

"Well stop thinking and get your tight little ass in here and chop some tomatoes for me."

Nicki had obviously discovered my only talent in the kitchen: chopping vegetables. "Ah, sexual harassment in my own home. I love it." I didn't let on that I could get real used to it too. That, and just her being in my kitchen, in my life…yeah, I could get real used to it.

Telling Jack The Truth :Nicki's POV

After dinner, we had drinks out on the deck. Okay, time to fess up. I shift around uncomfortably.
"Jack, I need to tell you something."

He smiles a bit. "What, you're not free to do this again next week?" he kids.
I give him an awkward hint of a smile in return. "no. That's not it. I was putting away your uniform and I accidentally spilled a box of photos. Honestly, I tried to put everything back in order, but I'm not sure. I didn't loose any." I paused a moment before adding, "I'm sorry." Jack remained silent, taking a pull of his beer. Okay, so now he knows it was a mistake to give me the key. He's angry. He thinks I snooped. Invaded his privacy. Broken a trust. Became too intimate without his permission. Any number of things were probably going through his mind. But I was prepared to own up to any one of them. Jack got that far off look on his face that usually meant he was deep in thought. I wished I wasn't the cause this.
He finally looked back to me. "It's okay. They weren't really in any particular order. Just…old memories. I guess I should put them in an album or something. I'm not much of an organizer."

"You're not upset that I-"

He cut me off. "Nicki, I don't want to hide things from you. Just, some things are harder for me to talk about than others. I guess the hard ones are best saved for later. So, no, I'm not upset. And sometime, maybe we can go through them together. Maybe put them in that album." I touched the back of his hand where it rested on the railing. He wasn't ready. I knew that. But he was telling me that he might be. And that was enough for me.
"I'd like that," was all I said.

Nicki's POV- Jack's Truck

So to most men in general, their vehicle is a status symbol, also an extension of their personality. Jack drove a Ford F 250 king cab step side full size shiny black truck. Now I too am a conissure of a fine vehicle. I drive a 1966 Ford Mustang, cherry red, and in perfect condition. I can get into the fact that Jack loves his truck.

Yeah, just seeing that truck, without ever seeing the driver, made a lot of women lick their lips. It was true. All that power under the hood, and all the sleek, smooth curved lines outside.

The condition of the inside depended on the owner. Now, knowing Jack was military, I expected neatness and cleanliness. I wasn't disappointed. The carpet had no stains, nor dirt; the seats were in perfect condition though not covered. The dash and doors looked recently Armor All-ed. And it smelled like a mandarin spice air freshener, although it wasn't anywhere it could be seen.

Jack frowned on eating in his truck, I found that out the first time we were pressed for time and swung by a drive through fast food place. As I popped a French fry in my mouth, (I was starving), I noticed him glancing over out of the corner of his eye. He was too polite to say anything (at least to me). I made it the last fry until we got to the ballpark where we were going to watch a local team play baseball.
Jack likes to wash his truck on his downtime. I think it's as much as a stress reliever as it is because he likes it clean. I enjoy watching him wash, dry and wax it. I say watching, because to me, a car wash has its place. My car will probably never see another hand washing unless it's a group of high school kids raising money with a car wash. My father on the other hand, used to get up before dawn and wash and wax that car. Maybe that's another reason I love it so much. It reminds me of him.

But there is something to be said about a man in a tank top and shorts, with stunning muscle tone washing a really sexy truck. Yeah, I can sit on Jack's porch, watch him wash, and sigh.

At least until he tires of me sitting on my ass while he does all the work and turns the hose on me.

Jack's POV- Letter to Nicki

Hey you,
I know I've only known you a few months, but it feels like more. Maybe I'm way out of line here, but I have to tell you, you're the best thing that's happened to me in a long time. I miss you when I'm gone. I miss you even when I'm right next door. See, you even have me using my office computer for 'personal' reasons. Thank God for spell check. Did I tell you how beautiful you looked lat night? If I didn't, I meant to. Sometimes my brains just don't work right when you're around. I can't find the words to tell you what I'm really thinking. Hey, what can I say, you make me mush. Okay, I'll quit now before I make a total fool out of myself. So you want to see a movie on my next long stretch home? Just no science fiction, and nothing too 'girly.' If I were there right now, I'd kiss you right in that spot on the back of your neck that makes you shiver all over.

Jack

Daniel's POV- Jack's Office

Now I've known Jack O'Neill for a number of years. I thought I'd about had him figured out. He's a simple guy, likes simple things. Not to say he's dumb. On the contrary, I think Jack is one of the smartest men I know. He just...hides it well.

Like today, I go into his office to give him an update on our latest MALP probe. We're not real busy, so Jack's usually playing video games on the computer. Today through, I see him typing on it. In fact, he's so intent on what he's doing, he doesn't hear me knock or come in.
I stand there. I shuffle around. I glance over his shoulder.
Now, if I didn't know better, I'd say Jack was writing a…well, a love letter. As I've said, I think I know Jack as well or better than most. The only poetry I think he knows is something about a girl from Nantucket. But I swear, before he caught me, it looked like a love letter.
He spun around on his chair, hitting the button on the monitor, making it go dark.

"Daniel, what are you doing in my office?" he bellows, but underneath his façade of anger, I think I detect a hint of…embarrassment?

"Uh, I knocked. You looked busy."

"I am busy," he said.

I hand him the report. "Well, I just came to give you this."

He glances at it. "Oh," he says, calmer now. I turn to leave.

"Daniel, wait," he calls me back.

"I was wondering if you could maybe, give me your opinion on something."

"Sure," I say, glad he's not perturbed. I sit on the edge of his desk.
"You think women like all that, well, girl stuff? Flowers, candy-" "Love letters?" I ask with a grin. I'm pushing my luck.

He glares. "Yeah. That stuff," he growls. "Or do you think there's a time when they get over it?"

I have to laugh. "I don't think they ever 'get over it'. I think an eighty six year old great grandmother would be impressed with a bouquet of roses."

Jack nodded. "That's kinda what I thought."

I wondered who the woman was. Jack hadn't mentioned anybody new in his life if there was. Good for him. It was about time. Maybe it would get him out of "Grumpy Bastard Land" for a while.

"Thanks Daniel," he said then, effectively dismissing me.

I left his office, and decide to find Sam. I wonder if she knows what's going on.

Teal'c- A Conversation

The relationship between Tau'ri men and women is fascinating. I never fail to be enlightened when I see a meaningful exchange between them, whether it be confrontational or pleasant. There always seems to be a certain tension between the two . It is sometimes easier for me to ascertain when there is something other than a platonic meaning between two people. Perhaps it is because I view them unbiased.

Now O'Neill, is rarely one to have feelings this way. He is a professional, a warrior, like myself. I was quite surprised when I noticed him to be behaving in a very un-O'Neill like fashion, almost 68 days ago. He was in a meeting being managed by Major Walker, the Training Director.

I don't believe I have ever seen O'Neill so intent during what he usually refers to as "nap time". I then turned my attention to Major Walker. She too behaves differently, if only slightly, around O'Neill than usual.. I am pleased. I believe that O'Neill deserves peace in his life.

There are regulations governing the fraternization between military personnel and matters of rank. I think O'Neill and Major Walker wish not to reveal their fraternization. I am not sure how the regulations exist between the SGC and NORAD. I will attempt to find out. But until then, I believe this is well. I will not dishonor my brother-in-arms by revealing what I have discovered, so that he may find happiness.

Samantha Carter- Doubts

I found out about Colonel O'Neill and Major Walker. At least, I finally confirmed what I had been suspecting. They were together at his house and we all went for pizza. She seems nice enough. I do have some concerns though.
I don't like to think of myself as jealous…I don't think that's what it is…is it? The truth hurts sometimes doesn't it?

. I was standing alone on a bridge in a remote area of Colorado Springs. There was a stream running under the bridge, maybe a ten-foot drop down. The air was pleasantly warm and the sun shown on my back. I was thinking. I'd been doing a lot of that lately.
There had been rumors for weeks that Colonel O'Neill was dating the new NORAD Training Operations Director, Major Nicole Walker.

Of course there were similarities between the two of us Majors; both pilots, both career Air Force; but there were large differences as well. I'd discovered enough about Walker to know that. Nicole had medical as well as combat training. She listened to country music and collected antiques, for heaven's sake! She had tattoos (so I'd heard) and a bad track record when it came to men, especially breaking ranks regulations. But no matter her flaws, she seemed to come out smelling like a rose.

Anyway, people talk. Especially men. Especially military men. Especially pilots. I overheard a conversation the other day, and I didn't like it much. It was between two flyboys, well past their glory days. But they remembered Major Walker in her "good old days".
I'd also caught snippets of other 'shop talk'. Supposedly she'd been involved with a senator in Washington. This was not so ancient history. And there was a high profile doctor when she served in Beirut. And a reporter in Baghdad. Then there was the Marine she was engaged to who was killed in the Gulf War. Oh all right! Maybe there's a little jealousy. But she has a tattoo! A rose on her thigh. Just high enough to miss her regulation Air Force blues. (Daniel confessed he's seen another one she has on her back, some kind of tribal design just above her rear; I asked how he found out, but wouldn't tell. I'll make him talk one of these days.) Women in the military have to struggle hard to gain respect by men. It seemed to me that Nicole Walker didn't try to gain their respect. She joined in with the men. And blew off anyone who didn't like it.
I'm worried about him. What if she hurts him?…………… What if she doesn't?
Teal'c learns to ride a bike

Teal'c was having strong feelings that he should not be participating in the sport he'd undertaken. The Jaffa was mounted on a Trailblazer ten-speed bicycle. He wore a scull cap and Nike warm ups. His feet were firmly planted on the ground.

Nicole Walker stood beside him, next to her own bike.

"Teal'c, it's just a matter of balance," she explained for the hundredth time.

When he had mentioned to her one day after a class that he'd never experienced riding a bike, Nicki had made it her personal goal to teach him.

"So you say Major Walker," Teal'c said uncertainly. After several unsteady attempts at the bicycle, he was ready to toss it into the nearest receptacle.

"Come on. Just give it another try."

"This may be a sport that Jaffa were not meant to master."

"Anyone can master it," Nicole assured him. She pointed at a six year old further away in the park. "Just look. If that little kid can do it, I'm sure an accomplished warrior like yourself can."

Teal'c, spurred on by the jab, tried again. He made a shaky start, finally getting both feet off the ground and onto the pedals. Gradually, he began peddling.

"That's it!" Nicki shouted. She got onto her bike to catch up with him.

"Damn, I hope I told him how to stop," she muttered under her breath.

Jack O'Neill had finished changing the oil in his truck, a project he liked to undertake himself to ensure it was done right, when Nicki and Teal'c came bicycling up. Nicki braked in front of the drive and Teal'c came to an abrupt halt by over applying the dual brakes on the handlebars.
O'Neill had to smile. "Hey, looks like you're getting the hang of it," he told Teal'c, who gladly stepped off the bike.

"I find foot travel to be preferable," the Jaffa said firmly. "But I am pleased to have the experience."

"I don't think Teal'c will be the next Lance Armstrong," Nicki said grinning, "But he's definitely getting better."

"Well, come on in. I think we might even have enough food to feed Teal'c."
NICKI's POV – Flowers and things

I hadn't gotten flowers in a long time. That kind of stuff doesn't fly too far on a military base, a air craft carrier, or in the battlefield. I'd gotten some when I was hospitalized several times in my life, the most recent after getting shot off world, but I don't count those times. I guess the last time I got flowers, without being in pieces some doctor put back together, was in high school. And that was a few years and battle scars ago.

So imagine my surprise when, alone at my house trying to get a course syllabus finished, the doorbell rang. On my own front porch stood a delivery guy. He held a box that I knew ,only from seeing on TV, held flowers.

"Delivery for Major Walker," he said, and held out a clipboard.

I signed for them, blushing a little.

I took the long ,wide box inside and put it on my dining table. It was heavier than I had imagined. I admit, my hands were shaking a little when I opened the box. The first thing that hit me was the pleasantly fresh perfume of the rose scent.

Inside, were the most beautiful long stemmed dark red roses I'd ever seen!
I searched for a card and found a small one inside. "American Beauties for the most stunning American Beauty I know. Jack."

I had to search high and low for a vase to contain them, finally finding a deep crystal vase. As I arranged the perfect deep red flowers, I fought the butterfly- fluttery feeling in my chest. This was certainly more than a thank you for cooking him dinner.

The roses looked and smelled stunning, sitting there in my dining room. Then I read the card again.

Damn, that man sure did know how to get to a girl.
JACK's POV- Wondering

Okay, she must have gotten the flowers by now. But a honkin' lot of good it does me. I'm stuck here on PX7-434, shooting at gigantic reptile-bird creatures who tried to eat Daniel while he was translating a scroll that must have said "get the hell out of here," or "if you're reading this, you're about to get eaten."

Shoot the creatures, collect the scrolls, get the heck out of Dodge. I just want to go home and make love to the woman who has occupied most of my free time lately.

'Girlfriend', that's an awkward word, I think, sitting in the briefing room while Carter drones on about the lizard birds. Sounds like we should be in high school. What should I call her? Lover? Significant other? Partner? Hell, who knows what's politically correct these days.

I'm never gladder to leave SGC. I'm sure a speeding ticket wouldn't look good on my driving record, but I don't care as I gun my Ford toward home. I wonder if she's there.

I go inside. The house is dark and quiet. Damn. I should have stopped by her place. I sigh. I start taking off clothing; boots, jacket. I head for the bedroom without turning on the lights. Just the hall lamp is enough light to see by.

I go into the bedroom. What the….?

Candles illuminate the room. The bed is turned down and upon it lays a goddess. At least what I figure a goddess would look like.

Nicole is there, lying seductively on her side, one hand on her hip, the other supporting her head. Her light auburn hair is damp and loose around her shoulders. She wears an ivory silk gown with a low V-neck and a high slit in the side. One gorgeous long leg is peeking out.

"Hey," is all I can manage. Right now its difficult to manage not ripping the front of my pants. I have to shift my standing position. Hadn't expected to react that fast.

"You, uh, got the flowers?"

Nicki smiles. "I did. And I was impressed."

I start taking off more clothes. "Well, I aim to please."

"It's my turn to please tonight," she says, erotically turning my every last effort at restraint into mush.

Oh yeah, I gotta send her roses more often.