thanks pyrodragon for reviewing! and to nightpheonix who must... (lol, jk!) here's another chapter for you!

"Jack… I know how you feel… Jack, talk to me!"

"Charlie O'Neill was a beautiful child, brutally ripped away from us by forces we can't understand…"

"CHARLIEEEEEE!"

Jack awoke with a start and rocketed to sitting position. He couldn't sleep if his night phantoms kept this up. The colonel rubbed his eyes to find he'd been crying again. The dream had been particularly bad… first Sara came back, then the priest at Charlie's funeral, and Sara's words at Charlie's death.

How they tormented him!

He wished he could almost wash away the memories, but the experience from the crystals had reopened that wound and shoved salt into it. It hurt. He swung his legs over the bedside and sat there, waiting for something.

After a couple minutes, he decided it wouldn't be worth it to try and sleep; it was three in the morning. So he got coffee. While the machine bubbled and popped happily, Jack was strewn on the couch reflecting on what he had done wrong.

Why had he left his gun out? He was very careful about these things. How had his son gotten a hold of it? Where had he left it for such easy access?

Night sucked, he decided. There was no one to talk to and nothing to keep his mind from wandering down that lonely road. The coffee pot indicated that it was done.

Why, why, why! WHY did it happen! O'Neill sent the trash bucket skittering across the floor with one hard kick. He sat down again, coffee in hands, and mulled over the situation.

Had it been his fault? Sara had certainly told him so and it couldn't have been her fault. She didn't have a gun. It couldn't have been Charlie's fault for the gun lying around and it certainly wasn't his fault for killing himself. The kid was curious… deadly curious…. That left one other person, him.

All the blame he could think of fell on him. His gun, his mistake, his house, his kid. Jack couldn't blame it on the gun, the gun didn't do anything.

"Oh dear God, what did I do… what went wrong?" he muttered to himself. Jack needed a friend right then… a good friend. Jack realized he needed to let loose this anguish and maybe open up and talk… maybe that would do him good.

After twenty long pain-filled minutes of debating, O'Neill picked up the phone.

"Carter?" he said softly.

"Sir? It's… 3:30 in the morning!" she said confused.

"I'm sorry for waking you, I'll go…" He was about to hang up, but Sam heard the pain in his voice.

"No sir, don't. I was already up. What's wrong?" For several minutes, there was silence on the line and Sam was content to leave it like that. She was happy that he trusted her and recognized that he was needed a friendly person to talk to.

"Carter… I… I…" he started, but with no success.

"Sir, I'll be over in a minute." She hung up before he could object, he wasn't sure he could. Dejectedly, he hung up. About ten minutes later, a soft rap fell on the door.

"It's open." She walked into the dark house and locked the door behind her.

"Hi sir," she said and sat next to him. "What's up?"

"Carter, you know the energy… the… double?" He refused to say "Charlie" or "my son's double" to her, for fear of breaking down again. He was a strong soldier and didn't want Carter to see him any other way.

"Yes, what about it?"

"He… it… Carter…" he cried in pain. She moved, but hesitated, as if drawn back. Sam reluctantly put her arms around her CO and gave him a hug as he cried silently on her shoulder.

"It's okay sir," she comforted, "It's okay… Jack."