mizz_destiny: (SG1: O'Neill uniform)
[personal profile] mizz_destiny posting in [community profile] mizzds_works
for [livejournal.com profile] sg1_ripplefic claim Charlie/Jack O'Neil

“He looks pissed,” Charlie O’Neill said from his slouched position on the bench, his baseball cap pulled over his eyes.

“He looks very pissed,” stressed Cassandra Fraiser, next to him, alert, perky and leaning forward, elbows on her knees.

“Indeed,” nodded Rya’c, his back ramrod straight, hands at his sides.

Their leader continued to pace the small room, winding tighter at each turn. His hands were shoved into his BDU pants and his jacket was balled in a corner, along with a stripped tac vest.

“Jon?” Cassie braved.

“What do you want from me Cassie?!?” the teen snapped, spinning on his heel, hands balling into fists. “I got nothing alright!”

“Do not snap at Cassandra Fraiser, Colonel O’Neill.” The rangy black boy crossed his arms, “She only wished to express her concern for you. As do I.”

Jonathan O’Neill threw himself into an extra chair, sprawling out his long limbs. “Concern? Concern for me?” He stared at the ceiling and ran a hand over tired eyes. “Be concerned about yourselves! We came back through the Stargate and were put under guard by Landry for absolutely no reason. This is some seriously hot water we’re in, kids.”

Charlie glanced up. “It can’t be that bad.”

That’s when the door opened and Dr. Daniel Jackson stepped through.

Charlie sat at an empty table in the crowed mess hall. He picked at his food with one hand and every so often jotted something down on a note pad with his other hand.

A tray slapped into the empty space across from him. “Whacha doing?” Jon asked, craning his neck to read the hasty chart.

“Counting Carters.”


Charlie sighed, “I’m making a tally of how many Sam Caters- Colonel or otherwise – I can see.”

“Hun. How many you got?”

“26 Carters, 18 Daniel Jacksons, 12 Teal’c…s, 22 Jack O’Neills, 24 Cameron Mitchells – remember him? Nutcase we met in Antarctica? Anyway - 2 Catherine Langfords, 1 Janet Fraiser, a whole bunch of people I recognize but couldn’t name, and a slew I didn’t recognize.”

“Hun. Kinda bored?”

“Kinda,” Charlie ducked his head.

“I’ll see what I can do about getting your Gameboy back,” Jon nodded decisively. He turned his attention to his food.

Charlie shook his head. He returned to his food and the teens staved silent for a while.

“How many of you are there?” Jon asked, his attention on his green Jell-O.

Charlie didn’t look up. “One.”

Jon blinked. “Why?”

“Cause in most alternate realities, I’m dead,” Charlie could hear his voice breaking. He looked up at the clatter of silverware.

What!?!” came the strangled question.

“You - I mean my father - didn’t get home in time to catch me playing with his gun. I shot myself – " Charlie pooled his head in his arms.

Jon stared at the older teen in shock. He digested that tidbit for a while before reaching out. He caressed his son’s head, thankful the boy didn’t pull away.

“I wanna go home,” Charlie muttered.

“Home? Ya mean where Replicators run rampant, SG-1 is dead and the world counts on us misfits – along with a naked gray alien – to save the planet everyday? Yea me too.”

“Fuck you!” Charlie groaned, laughing.

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