AUTHOR: DebiC

EMAIL: dcole6@satx.rr.com

DATE: November 27, 2000

STATUS: Finished

CATAGORY: POV

SPOILERS: None

SEASON/SEQUEL INFO: Fourth season, no sequel

RATING: G

SUMMARY: Col Jack O'Neill practices his covert skills in an unusual place. Inspired by Chris and Tanya's Word Of The Month

DISCLAIMER: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate(II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copywrite infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.

Hide, No Seek

It had always been Jack O'Neill's belief that the best place to hide was in plain sight. Just be somebody who happened to be ethier. Nobody special, just some body, some place, some time. He did his best hiding in such surroundings. And since this was one of those times where he didn't have to be somewhere, he could be anywhere...such as here.

This particular here was where anybody could be anytime. So it was a perfect somewhere to hide. He was in the mess hall dining area, right at the niche where the support beam extended out from the wall six inches, sitting with his back in the corner of the wall at the far edge of a perfectly ordinary long, pressed wood dining table. He was in his greens, he was bare headed and he had a cup of Air Force Coffee in his hands. Not French Roast, not Irish Cr'me or Juan Valdez's. It was Air Force Coffee. The rich, black kind that had cooled late the previous evening in it's aluminum coffee pot. Then, by some miracle of ineptitude, it had been repercolated back to life by an non-observant lackey who hadn't thought to check The Coffee Pot for fresh grounds before plugging it back in. Ah, heaven and Air Force Coffee.

Jack had awakened early (0430) for no apparent reason here in his quarters at Cheyenne Mountain. They were still on stand down but the team was going to start its briefings this morning for a new planet. He had opted not to return to his apartment in Colorado Springs the evening before just to save the early morning traffic headache. He doubted that anyone else on his team even knew where he was. He could just hide, sit, think and drink.

HIS team. His kids. His boys and girl. If you looked at them, the terms appeared inappropriate. But they were his family, and since he WAS the Colonel, ergo they were his kids. ERGO? He shook his head at his own thought. Too much Danny! Definitely too much.

Jack tilted his chrome legged straight-backed Government Issue gray chair back against the wall. Dr. Daniel Jackson, the archeologist, linguist, PhD+, professor, visionary, puzzle-solver, genius Space monkey, best friend. How in the world did he get along with that man so well? He was like some sort of modern day St Francis of Assisi. Sometimes (too many times) complete with undesired and undeserved stigmata. Then add to it the bare fact that he was so damned loveable (men, women, boys, girls, dogs, you name it). Yea, everybody loved Danny boy BUT Danny boy. Ah, well. Dr. Jackson couldn't be right about everything; but give the kid credit, in the past four years Danny had grown up and now...when he WAS right...he was RIGHT! And contrary to SOME people's opinion; he was not a bumbler, or an accident waiting to happen, or even a risk (well...to himself sometimes) but a real hero in spite of all of it.

Hero, huh. Don't let that word get spread around. There would be no good come of it. Jack hated the word. Too often it got used too much for the wrong people. Besides there was the other member of his team, the quiet guy that stood at his left shoulder. The alien in their midst's, the one that SOME others didn't understand, or trust or believe in. O'Neill thought of that old Jimmy Dean song, Big Bad John. "A giant of a man and his name was John." Geez, where did that come from? He peered suspiciously down at his cup. This stuff was getting to him. Jack realized he was nearing the bottom of his cup of Air Force Coffee. He warily checked the entrances for any new incursions of personnel. It was still quiet. Jack got up and executed a covert movement over to his ally, The Coffee Pot that had thus far been neglected into the production of Air Force Coffee.

He watched the slight drip of creamer that he had added to cut the force, try to escape the overwhelming strength of the re-perked caffeine. It tried to curdle, but finally gave up the effort when the pink stuff was dumped down beside it and turned the coffee into, well, Air Force Gray Coffee. Jack swirled it around in the cup for effect and mused about, Teal'c, his very own giant. No, he didn't 'have' Teal'c. Teal'c had been HAD before and the 'false gods' had come to regret that cost. He was O'Neill's teammate. The only member of the team that really understood him, what he'd been, seen, done. Because he had too. Been. Seen. Done. And he didn't like the H word either.

. O'Neill slunk quietly back to his position and reestablished his recon of the empty dining area. Still hidden. No one even cared. The best kind of hiding. Unlooked for. Unseen by. Unknown of. Sweet! Sweet Samantha Carter. No! Whoa, where did that come from? No, SHE wasn't. SOME guys might be fooled, but not him. She was a Major, his second in command. He had done that, because she was the best. Well, with the help of Major General George Hammond and the Congress of these United States. And Majors AREN'T sweet. He thought a moment and decided that maybe lieutenants were sweet but not Captains, and definitely NOT Majors! And if Sam had thought that he thought that thought...well, it would take both St Danny and Big Bad Teal'c to save him from her wrath. No, sir. Sam was not sweet! A big, brave, blonde, bright, bold Wonder Woman... but not sweet! Not, Sam. Government Issue, through and through, a PROFESSIONAL. And being a professional was, to the Military man, 'THE' compliment. She was his teammate and a damned GOOD one.

Ooops. Alert..Alert. All hands alert. Battle Stations. The Old Man had arrived. Major General George Hammond was on scene, and on a Search and Locate Mission. Jack could see it in his C.O.'s face. That man wanted Air Force Coffee and, by god, put it in a Dirty Cup! Jack briefly wondered if sometime in the General's career he had ever been called Tex. It was a common enough nickname after all and George, uh.General Hammond was a classic carrier of that particular moniker. A big, broad, tall man whom; when tired, stressed, irritated or messed with by SOME folks opened his mouth and All Of Texas just came out...cowboys and indians; outlaws and sheriffs. Jack's particular favorite was a phrase was about circling the wagons after the indians stole yer horses but some lines became a bit...esoteric. Jack made a mental note to try again to explain the phrase "what-in-the-Sam-Hill's-goin'-on" to Teal'c. after he'd figured it out for himself. Maybe Daniel could translate. He WAS the linguist after all. He watched General Hammond zero in on The Air Force Coffee Pot. Yes, the old man still had it...in spades.

And double Ooops! Here comes Dr. Janet Frasier through the mess room door. Another all nighter for the diminutive brunette, it appeared. She was still in her hospital whites and also in search of something strong, hot and in a cup. He had heard that SG6 had been in a nasty run in with some snakes, so she had most likely spent the night inventing cures, developing treatments, creating miracles and performing death-defying deeds on her patient's behalves. OH, NO! She has discovered The Air Force Coffee Pot! She's looking and smelling and sloshing it around. She will tell! She will give it away! She will have it poured out! Oh, well. The coffee was probably getting toxic by now. Something only Colonels and Generals can truly appreciate, the lesser rank and file not having developed the bellies that army's must travel on yet. Yes! General Hammond stops her before she can call the cook out. Jack smiles. Hammond got the last cup. Good for him! Faith is restored. The Old Man is GOOD!

O'Neill swiveled around at a sound burst of excited human talk coming from the other end of the mess facility. There they were. SG-1 and in full song. Daniel is talking to Sam who's laughing at his enthusiasm. Teal'c is following and looking appropriately inscrutable but wait. Yea. He DID say something and now Danny's laughing and waving his hands in front of him. This I gotta hear.

"Hey, kids. Over here!"