Title: OBITUARY

Author/pseudonym: Debi C

Fandom: Stargate SG-1

Pairing: None really, Jack Daniel friendship

Rating: G

Status: complete

Archive: Please include in the WWOMB Archive

Feedback: Please yes

E-mail address for feedback::dcole6@satx.rr.com

Series/Sequel: None. 3rd Season

Other websites:Alpha_Gate, TheBoy, Heliopolis, Incoming Wormhole.

Disclaimers: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate(II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions and Gekko Productions. And now the Sci Fi Channel. 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.

Notes: Thanks to my Beta reader Kelly. This is dedicated to those men and women who serve their country, our US Military Personnel everywhere.

Summary: Two old soldiers and a civilian in a bar. This came to me while driving to work and listening to a Billy Joel song.

Warnings: History lesson ensues.

Obituary

by Debi C

Colonel Jack O’Neill and Dr Daniel Jackson were off base and off the ‘clock’ for three days of R&R. After a rather strenuous mission that had involved a lot of running, shooting, sweating and ducking; SG1 had made it back to the gate and back home again without suffering anything more painful than dehydration and exhaustion. They had come home, showered, submitted to the outrageous and extensive medical tests, debriefed the General and written their reports. Now they were off duty.

O’Neill was casually dressed in faded, worn blue jeans, turtleneck and hiking boots, his image of choice. Jackson was also clad comfortably in Dockers, long sleeved v-neck sweater with an open collared shirt and his favorite tennis shoes. They were on their way to Jack’s place as Daniel’s apartment building was being ‘debugged’ by the exterminators this particular week. Dr. Fraiser had suggested that he ‘stay well away’ from all the prerequisite chemicals so that his allergies wouldn’t flare up. O’Neill had graciously offered Daniel his old room back, after he made some comments about charging him rent or claiming him on his income tax. Daniel, returned the dig with a remark about his overprotective, mother hen attitude; and knowing that it would give his friend different comedy materiel for the next week or so had genially accepted. So the two were headed for Jack’s comfortable suburban house for their next three down days.

As usual they had stopped at Jack’s favorite bar on the way to have a cold beer and for Jack to discover how the Bears had done that week and which hockey teams were playing where. Shannon’s Bar was a dark, comfortable place done in rich wood paneling and forest green upholstery. Old jazz music played softly on the muted speakers. As they entered the pub, O’Neill took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting and looked around. He then led the way to a table instead of their normal place at the bar.

"Why are we sitting down, Jack?" Daniel pulled out a chair. "I thought..."

Jack indicated the man on the barstool at the end of the polished mahogany bar with a nod of his head. "Look, over there."

Jackson glanced at the designated location then looked back at his friend. "Is that who I think it is?"

"Yea," O’Neill gazed with concern at the stocky, bald headed man firmly ensconced on the corner stool. "That’s him."

"I’ve never seen him here before." Daniel said mystified.

"Me either." The colonel nodded at the waitress who came, laid down some cardboard coasters and stood there waiting for their drink orders. "Michelob, Paula." Jack said not looking in her direction.

Jackson looked up at her and smiled to cover for his partner’s inattentiveness. "Guinness, thanks." The young woman smiled at him, scratched their order down on her pad and left.

O’Neill spared the younger man a glance and grunted. "Don’t know how you drink that stuff, Daniel."

"Et Tu, Brute." Jackson replied, nodding at the young woman again when she delivered the two bottles and glasses to them.

"Yea, well at least mine is not strong enough to crawl out of the glass." The waitress smiled at his comment. "Thanks." Jack handed her a ten and indicating the man sitting at the bar asked. "Does he come here often?" Jack asked the waitress.

"No Jack, never seen him before." Paula offered him his change; he waived at her to keep it. "But he’s been going at it for about two hours", she continued. "Jose Cuervo Gold...straight." She saw the bartender motioning at her. "Got to go boys, I’ll check back but call if you need something."

Jackson looked from Hammond to O’Neill. "Jose Cuervo, isn’t that...?"

"Yep," O’Neill replied. "Tequila, straight. He’s a better man than I am, Gunga Din."

"Wonder what’s going on." Daniel commented.

"Well, he’s thinking...and he’s drinking. That‘s for sure." O’Neill pushed the glass aside and sipped the cold beer from his bottle.

Daniel tilted his glass and poured his stout carefully so as to not create a head. He sipped it then sighed. "Wonder what about."

"Well, Danny. There’s only one way to find out." Jack looked at him and arched his scarred eyebrow. "Let’s go ask." He got up and headed over to the bar. Daniel picked up his glass and followed his leader.

Jack walked carefully around General Hammond until he was sure the older man could see him. "How ya doing General?"

"Jack!" Hammond greeted him warmly. Then when he noticed Jackson in the background. "Danny! How are ya? Siddown, take a load off."

"Thanks, General. Come here often?" O’Neill smiled easily at his commanding officer as he slid onto the next bar stool over. Daniel took the one on the other side of Hammond.

"No, no can’t say that I do." Hammond looked around at the decor. "But it’s a nice place. Do you?"

"Do I what? Uh, sir." O’Neill replied.

"Come here often, you and Danny-boy?" Hammond nodded towards the younger man. Jack glanced at Daniel and got a pained _expression from him referencing the use of the diminuative nickname.

O’Neill nodded. "Occasionally. It’s quiet and I can catch the scores on the Bears and the Blackhawks." He nodded at the busy bartender at the other end of the long polished surface. "Joe keeps track of them too."

"Cowboys." Hammond replied, sipping on the shot glass then looking fuzzily up at O’Neill.

O’Neill didn’t get the reference right away. "Beg your pardon?"

"Cowboys, Jack. God’s team. That’s why there’s a hole in the roof, so the All Mighty can watch his team play." The general shook his head sadly. "Haven’t been the same since Staubach and Landry left though. Not the same."

"I’ve heard that said Sir." Jack nodded and took another sip of his beer.

"How bout you, Danny?"

He had caught Jackson flatfooted. "Sir?"

"Your team boy, your team." The older man insisted.

Daniel looked helplessly at O’Neill who coughed into his hand to hide his grin at Daniel being speechless at something. "I’m afraid I’m not much for sports sir." He managed.

"ts’ok, too young to remember Staubach and Landry. You know Landry died." This seemed to sadden him greatly. "Lot’s o good men have died."

"Yes, Sir." O’Neill suddenly got a flash of insight to where this was all coming from. "A whole lot of good men have died."

Hammond pulled a small piece of newspaper out of his shirt pocket and pushed it towards O’Neill. It was the obituary column of the San Antonio Texas Express and News newspaper. O’Neill took the piece of newsprint and saw it immediately. A Colonel Thomas Fredrick, USAF, Ret., Audie Murphy VA Hospital, San Antonio Texas, had died 3 days earlier. "Friend of yours Sir?"

"Yep," Hammond finished the rest of the shot of tequila he‘d been nursing. Jack grimaced. The General refilled the shot glass from the half-empty bottle sitting on the bar. "One of my pardners. Me and Jacob, Tom and Bob. We flew F-4s out of Nakon Phanom. We were flying TopCap on the Linebacker Operation."

Daniel concentrated a moment trying to place the location. "That was in...Viet Nam, wasn’t it?"

Jack shook his head. "Thailand, flying into Vietnam."

"Yes, sir-re-bob. We were hotshot pilots takin’ it to ‘em." Hammond knocked back the shot and poured himself another. "Ya know Jack," he paused, then went on. "Ya know when you’re twenty-four years old and full a piss and vinegar, you’re damned indestructible." O’Neill nodded again, not wanting to interrupt. "You’re indestructible…then you’re dead." He looked at the Colonel. "But that id’nt always true, is it Jack?"

Jack nodded, staring at the half-empty beer bottle in his hand. He started picking at the label with his fingers. "No, Sir. Not always."

Hammond kept talking. "Sometimes you want them to be dead and sometimes you pray that they’re dead... but sometimes they aren’t dead.’

The two officers sat, not speaking for several minutes, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Daniel sat quietly next to them, waiting for the rest of the story to come out.

After a time, O’Neill asked. "How long?"

"Three years, Jack. Three long years." The General stared at the golden liquor in the shot glass. "We didn’t know. We thought he was dead. Jacob and I saw them both go down into the trees. Bob was dead, but Tom...Tom wasn’t. We didn’t know til the Cong gave him back in a prisoner exchange."

Daniel looked a little confused. Jack shook his head indicating that he’d explain later. The General had started talking again.

"I saw him gettin’ off that plane, and my heart just jumped." The General looked at Jack. "Thought we’d got him back, but too much had happened. Wasn’t never the same after that."

O’Neill took another pull on his bottle. "No George." He said quietly. "It’s not ever the same."

"Oh he was happy to see us." Hammond continued. "He cried, we cried, his family cried, but it was too late." He held the shot glass up to the soft light to look at tequila, then set it back down on the bar. "Too late for cryin'."

O’Neill laid a gentle hand on Hammond’s arm. "What was it?"

"Cancer. He already had it, eatin’ away at him." He looked at Jack’s hand, then up at Jack. "After we rotated back to the world, he stayed in for a while. He’d call and we’d talk. We didn’t say nothin‘, but we’d talk. Jacob too. Then the Air Force retired him. Medically unfit, they said. Too et up. Too much Agent Orange." The General was silent for a moment. "Then Jacob got cancer too."

O’Neill nodded. He glanced over at Jackson. The younger man was sitting quietly; knowing that his place was to listen, not to question.

"Does Jacob know yet?" Jack asked the older man gently.

"No," Hammond took a deep breath. "I’ll contact the Tok’ra later, see if he’s there." He glanced over at Jack. "First Bob, then Jacob and now Tom. Then there’s me." He sighed and stared back into his glass. "Why not me?"

"You were lucky, George." Jack said quietly, staring the brown bottle he held in his hands. "There’s no explaining it. You were lucky, they weren’t. No reason. It just is."

"I’m lucky." The General seemed to think about it for a minute, then looked at O’Neill. "You’re lucky, Jack."

"Yes, Sir. I’m very lucky." The colonel agreed quietly.

Hammond looked over at Daniel. "Danny, you’re lucky too."

He answered the older man in a soft voice. "Yes, sir. I know that." He looked over at O’Neill, who gave him a small smile.

"You know why?" The General asked seriously.

Daniel shook his head. "No, No I don’t."

"Neither do I." Hammond sighed deeply. Then looked at the two men, his subordinates and friends. "But you boys keep it up. Keep on being lucky. You hear me. That’s an order." He looked at O'Neill. "You got that Jack?"

O’Neill smiled gently at him. "Yes, sir. I’ll do my best."

Hammond turned in his seat towards Jackson. "Danny-boy. You got that, son?"

"Yes Sir." Jackson nodded gravely at the General.

Hammond filled his shot glass one more time, then raised it to the ceiling. "To Tom, Bob, Jacob and old F-4 jockeys everywhere."

Daniel lifted his glass. "To absent friends."

Jack raised his bottle with theirs. "To Luck!" After the three men had finished their drinks, he slid off the stool and put his hand on Hammond’s arm. "Now, General, I’m going to drive you home."

The older man looked at him quizzically. "Are you saying that I’m drunk, Jack?"

O’Neill smiled at his friend and commander. "No, George, I’m just saying the best way to stay lucky is to stay careful." He pitched his keys to Daniel who nodded his comprehension and approval of the plan. "Since I met you, my luck has been good. I just don’t want anything to happen to you."

Hammond nodded reasonably. "Okay, if you put it that way."

He aimed the General towards the doorway. "Come on Daniel. Sometimes luck is not where you find it, but how you make it."

As he started to follow the two men, Daniel Jackson noticed that the General had left some papers on the bar. He picked them up and looked at them; one was the obituary; the other was an old black and white snapshot of four young men in flight suits. If he looked very carefully he could tell a young George Hammond and Jacob Carter. The other two in the photo had the same look about them. All four were grinning at the camera with boldness and audacity. He put the pieces of paper in his shirt pocket and smiled to himself as he followed the two officers to the parking lot, thinking about luck and friends and how careful you had to be with both of them.

finish