No, you're not seeing things! This is a replacement chapter to my story as I discovered I'd made a few errors in the original chapter so I've now amended them and hopefully can get this site to accept the change - it's already lost my first attempt to do so.

Thank you all for being so patient with me over the long wait. I've been having a hard time putting the final chapter together. I'm not that happy with the result, but my health has been a real problem this last month, making me wonder if I could still write or if I should just give it up. I don't want to do that if I can help it.

The Final chapter - a very long one - will be coming this way very soon!

THIS OLD MAN.

By LetitiaRichards.

Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate SG-1. No copyright infringements are intended. Just borrowing the characters for a little fun and imagination.

Category: Angst, AU, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Romance.

Pairings: Sam/Jack.

Spoilers: Smoke & Mirrors, Metamorphosis,

Season: AU late 6, but this story still has Daniel in it. Meridian never happened in this Alternate Universe.

Summary: Jack's series of misadventures are bad enough on their own, but deep down is there an ulterior motive behind them? Are they connected? SG-1 must find the answer before it is too late.

Notes: This story was inspired by the children's rhyme of the same name, but I've changed some of the words to fit in with my story; as you will see when you read on.

These are the original words in case you don't know the rhyme:-

This Old Man, he played one,

He played nick-nack on my drum,

Chorus:

With a nick-nack paddy whack,

give the dog a bone,

This old man came rolling home...

This old man, he played two,

He played nick-nack on my shoe...

This old man, he played three,

He played nick-nack on my tree...

This old man, he played four,

He played nick-nack on my door...

This old man, he played five,

He played nick-nack on my hive...

This old man, he played six,

He played nick-nack on my sticks...

This old man, he played seven,

He played nick-nack up to heaven...etc.

Chapter 1

This Old Man, he played one...

The removals van parked out front was the only visible sign that Jack's new neighbour was finally moving in. He'd known it for days of course. Old Mrs. Carmody a few doors along knew everything that went on in the street and she'd been quick to point out to him, when he'd been caught by her, that old Mrs. Hopkinson's nephew had inherited the house when she'd passed away several months ago and would therefore be taking up residence there.

Jack had feigned interest, but quite honestly, he wasn't in the least bit concerned. He never mingled with his neighbours much, so he wouldn't have known the difference if it was just any guy moving in. He could have had ten kids for all he knew of the matter. He'd kept himself to himself mostly, perhaps because he was hardly ever there. Being in his position, he spent most of his time down in the bowels of the earth under Cheyenne mountain, gracing the halls of the SGC; when he wasn't off-world that was.

Like now, except he was home for a few days.

It was one of those days following his involuntary exile, where he'd been stuck on a distant planet... er... moon with no-one but Harry Maybourne for company. The fact that he'd had to shoot him, twice, was a real bonus, but then he had been injured himself and that hadn't gone down too well with the General.

So, here he was recuperating with what little time he had left of his sick leave that he had been trying to catch up on some ground work in the garden, now that he could move easier again. The lawn had needed to be mown, the shrubs still needed to be trimmed, and the borders weeded. It was sort of a twisted irony really, especially after spending nearly a month on a planet filled with nothing but greenery. There were other jobs that needed doing of course, but Jack only had so much time and patience, even though his energy was at a premium at the moment, and he was itching to do something. Anything, hence the reason he was working on his garden.

Next week it would be too late to do this, he'd be back at work again and then nothing would get done at all, and the garden would become a jungle by the time he returned - whenever, if he didn't set to and sort it out now. He could have called in a professional but that would never have satisfied his need to work off his restless energy, and this way it was quite therapeutic in more than one way.

It was one of those long, hot, sunny days in June and he was enjoying the feel of a cold beer sliding down his parched throat after a morning spent on his tender knees pulling weeds from the little patch of garden out front. Now he was sitting on the steps of his porch watching the people passing by. The mail man had handed him a handful of assorted envelopes, most of which were heading straight for the trash can, the rest were either reminders of bills to be paid. He glanced through quickly, feeling the edge of disappointment bite when there was nothing at all from his family back in Minnesota. He could only correspond with his sister and then it would be a one-way effort on his part. Dad had long since gone, so had Patrick, the only brother he'd had until an accident had robbed the family of the eldest O'Neill. Miriam and his Mom was all he had left and even when Miriam had deigned to reply it had been a short note stating that Mom was okay and to remind him he was still not welcome so not to bother calling or visiting; as far as his Mom was concerned she wouldn't know him anyway, Miriam had already told him that Mom had Alzheimer's disease, so she had her hands full.

He sighed a little sadly, but straightened the envelopes up and dumped them onto the deck meaning to go through them later.

A shadow fell across him, blotting out the sun's warmth and he glanced up to see why, staring curiously at the tall stranger standing a few feet from his steps. Jack studied him in silence. He was around six feet tall, older than himself, maybe around early to mid sixties, but looking very fit for an old guy, thinking maybe ex-military. Jack assumed he had been a lot fitter at one stage in his life, but the man was running towards a middle aged spread now, and obviously enjoyed his beer. Jack looked down at the beer in his hand and stood it by his side on the porch, suddenly losing interest in it. He looked up again expectantly.

"Hi!" the stranger said. "My name's Gene Thomas. I'm moving in next door. Pleased to meet you Mr...?"

"O'Neill," Jack sighed after a while. He stood up, staying on the bottom step to tower over the man. Jack looked down on him then gave up the pretence. It wouldn't hurt him to appear friendly. "Jack O'Neill."

Gene had thrust out his hand to shake Jack's but hesitated a little when Jack had revealed his identity.

"Do I know you?" Gene asked with a puzzled frown. "I've heard your name before. Fairly recently too, I'm sure."

Jack shrugged and feigned indifference.

"It's a pretty common name. I would guess there are probably hundreds of us Jack O'Neill's, with two 'L's, across the country."

"No. I've seen your face, now I come to think of it." he studied Jack's features while Jack felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny and turned away, ready to return to the house. "I know now!" Thomas cried with what Jack could only describe as glee. "You're Air Force aren't you!" he crowed with a smile. "You're that guy who was supposed to have shot Senator Kinsey a while back. Colonel Jack O'Neill. I knew I'd seen your face somewhere. Your picture was in all the papers. Wow, that was some undercover mission," he sighed contentedly, giving Jack a sharp appraising look. "If it had been me," Gene added wistfully, "I would have shot him for real. Conniving bastard."

Jack couldn't deny it of course. This Gene Thomas was right on all counts. It was about him and Kinsey was a conniving bastard. Proving it though, was the real problem. Jack wasn't particularly happy to be recognised as a hired assassin as such, feeling that his privacy had been invaded by his unwarranted notoriety. He tried to push the unpleasant memory of that time he'd spent in jail to the back of his mind; Kinsey had played him for a fool and he'd fallen right into the trap through no fault of his making. If it wasn't for his honesty and integrity, he'd have killed the man himself after that damn handshake. Even now he could feel the abhorrent hot slippery hand of that slime-ball as it gripped his more tightly than was necessary. He wished that he could wash his hand once more to rid himself of that man's touch. He felt tainted by that touch.

"Yes, well," Jack sighed. "I have to go now Mr. Thomas. Nice to meet you," he said waving a hand in a gesture of goodbye, and turned his back to the man, only to be halted by his next words.

"Please call me Gene," Thomas insisted. "I hope we can be friends Jack? May I call you Jack?"

"Sure. Whatever," Jack turned to face him once more, shrugging, still wanting desperately to escape. He took his chance and spun round quickly, swooping up the mail in his hand and quickly disappearing indoors before Gene Thomas could respond. He could still move when he put his mind to it, despite the stiffness in his aching knees.

Jack watched him from the safety of his hallway, hidden from view behind the blinds at the window.

Gene Thomas stood open mouthed at Jack's abrupt departure, a slight frown furrowing his brow, then he shrugged and retreated, hurrying back to his own yard where the removals personnel were just finishing up. He looked back at Jack's house and smiled. Jack O'Neill wasn't particularly friendly, but he was determined to make him think of him as a friend in the near future. He needed to do this, it was a god given opportunity and he wasn't going to waste it.

OoOoOoOoO

Over the following weeks Jack had encountered Gene Thomas several times more, and each time, Gene had gone out of his way to show he wanted to become a friend. Eventually Jack gave up the idea of shunning him and found that they really had several things in common, chiefly that they had both lost their sons.

Gene had been in the Air Force too, but had never risen above the rank of Master Sergeant, and joked that he should be saluting Jack whenever they met.

Jack brushed that off with a laugh and bowed to the 'senior citizen's' experience, treating him as the revered veteran that he was. They became friends which surprised his team when Jack made excuses for missing the occasional team get-together; he had found a kindred spirit in his neighbour which both pleased and dismayed his team who had yet to meet the man who had befriended their CO; Jack rarely ever mixed work with leisure.

OoOoOoOoO

Jack rapped on the door, bouncing on his toes as he waited impatiently for Gene to answer it. The door swung open.

"Jack?"

"Look. I'm going out of the country for a few days. I wondered if you would look after the place for me? Ya know, take the mail in; check the place over, make sure the place is okay?"

Gene smiled at his friend.

"Sure I will Jack. You don't have to ask you know."

Jack grinned and dropped the key into Gene's palm.

"Will you be gone for long?"

"Nah! Coupla days tops. I can't give you a phone number of where I'm going, sorry, it's classified; but, if you need to contact me, you can ring this number and ask to speak to General Hammond. He's my CO. He'll know how to get a hold of me."

Jack handed over a scrap of paper with a phone number written on it.

Gene held up his hand to stop Jack from saying anything he didn't want to.

"I understand Jack. Air Force, remember? Don't worry, I'll take great care of the place while you're gone."

"Thanks Gene. See ya in a few days!"

"Sure. Take care and dare I say, keep your head down?"

"I will! Thanks!" Jack smirked though he didn't acknowledge the thinly veiled warning about avoiding any enemy fire.

Gene watched Jack walk off, he'd looked worried over something, probably the mission to wherever it was. Still, it didn't matter to Gene where it was, just so long as Jack came back again in one piece. He'd been on countless missions where some of his friends never came home again. And still ached at the one that included his son, and he didn't want to count Jack among those who never returned.

This old man, he played one,

He played nick-nack with my gun...

TBC