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talked about you and Frank Cromwell.”
    He kept his gaze firmly fixed on the rip in his jeans. “No, sir, we didn’t.”
    “I’m not interested in prying,” Hammond continued. “Your private life is private and I respect that. But allow me to say this: I realize Cromwell’s death was very hard for you. And I understand having Colonel Dixon on base might well be uncomfortable, even after so long. That’s why I came over here tonight, so we could talk about this… unofficially. As friends.”
    As friends
. O’Neill looked up, surprised and moved. Hammond had never been so blunt before. He really must be desperate. “I appreciate that, General.”
    “I have every confidence the SGC will weather this latest storm,” said Hammond. “If the last three years have taught me anything it’s never to underestimate the courage, strength and resourcefulness of the people under my command. But if bringing in this Pentagon strike team means we weather the storm faster, with less collateral damage, then I don’t have a choice. I have to do it. Even if that means putting you in a difficult position.”
    He nodded. “Of course you do, sir. The SGC comes first. What, you think I don’t know that?”
    Hammond’s smile was gently wry. “No. But I didn’t want you to think I was taking you for granted.”
    “Okay,” he said, after a moment. “For the record, I would never think that. But also for the record? If taking me for granted is what you need to do to get the job done, then take away. With my blessing.”
    Silence fell between them, then, crowded with complicated feelings that two lifetimes of military service would not allow to be spoken. Not that speaking was necessary. In fact most times words only got in the way.
    O’Neill sat back. “
Soil samples
? Carter’s after
soil samples
now?
Oy vez mamma mia
.”
    “And plant samples,” said Hammond, grinning. “Let’s not forget the plants.”
    He pulled a face. “She talks to them, you know. She talks to plants. Shouldn’t that, I don’t know,
disqualify
her from romping in alien pastures picking flowers?”
    “Now, now,” said Hammond reprovingly. “That’s just sour grapes because the last plant samples she gathered — over your vigorous complaints, if memory serves — look like they’re turning the world of pharmacology on its head.”
    “Oh. Yes. That,” he said, and rolled his eyes. “Well if you’re going to count
that
as an excuse for her to run around the galaxy impersonating Maria von Trapp…”
    Laughing, Hammond stood. “I should head home. It’s late and tomorrow’s a busy day.”
    He stood too. “When do Dixon and his team arrive on base, sir?”
    “Nothing’s finalized, but if it’s going to happen I’d say within forty-eight hours,” said Hammond, heading for the door.
    Walking with him, O’Neill felt an unwelcome twist in his gut. “The sooner the better, sir, if this oversight committee crap is as real as you say.”
    Some of the warmth died out of Hammond’s face. “Trust me. It is. I’m going to have to sit down and re-evaluate the mission slate, Jack. We’ve got some fancy juggling to do in the next few days. I’d appreciate your input on that.”
    “Of course, sir. Whatever you need.”
    “What I need is those incomplete missions reports completed, Colonel,” said Hammond, only teasing a little bit. “On my desk by 1100 tomorrow, understood?”
    O’Neill stared.
Y’know, he’s like a dog with a bone. He needs to learn to let go
. “Understood.”
    “Good,” said Hammond, nodding. “Thanks for the meal and the beer, Jack. I’ll see you in the morning.”
    “Yes you will, sir,” he said, and watched until the general’s car had pulled clear of the driveway. Then, unsettled and restless, he returned to the television and what turned out to be a marathon-rerun of Cheers season three.
    He fell asleep in front of it, to wake just after dawn with a cricked neck, an MSG hangover and a tedious sensation