The world seemed shimmering hot that morning as Jack O’Neill slowly drove his way into work. The heat wave had been in evidence for three days now, drying out the picturesque countryside of Colorado Springs as quickly as it seemed to drive it’s residents towards near total anarchy.

Never before had Jack witnessed such bad displays of driving as he had that day. It was as if the toasted humans in this corner of planet earth just didn’t care anymore whether they lived or died, or how many others they took out on their way to getting wherever they were going.

He too was having a hard time of it, even though he had a history of months lived in hot climates.

The air conditioning had done it’s usual trick of breaking down the minute noon approached, forcing Jack to wind the windows of the truck down in the vain hope that the wind howling in when he was at speed would blow dry his short gray hair that was plastered to his scalp by the heat.

It was not to be. As with all great ideas in the scheme of life and things, the minute you need speed, that’s when you hit every traffic light between here and kingdom come on full red.

So Jack sat, sweating profusely and steaming quietly, waiting morosely for the light to change so he could eventually get to work.

Working deep in the bowels of Cheyenne Mountain seemed like such a good idea on days like this. A place where the air temperature was set by computers, and nobody was trying to kill him. Well, actually they might, but that was on PH whatever, and that mission was set for tomorrow. Today, even paperwork sounded good, as long as it was in his cool office.

" Mister, got a Dollar?"

Jack looked out and down at a dirty sweaty teenager who looked up at him imploringly from beside the truck. The young man was emaciated and looked half cooked by the heat; his thin body shaking as he desperately struggled to stay upright. He had seen him on occasion at this intersection, trying desperately to hawk whatever he had, and failing that, begging for whatever money he could.

Despite himself, Jack felt pity for this swaying creature.

" Are you okay?"

The smile was brief, but lit up his entire face.

" Yeah man. Just hungry." He paused, looking bashful. " Thanks for asking," he said softly.

" Here." He had no need of money on the base, and having anything besides what they issued with on 'P whatever' was completely forbidden, so, why not?

He reached into his pocket and pulled out whatever notes he had left. There wouldn’t be much after last nights Pizza delivery that SG1 had gobbled up in no time, but it would be enough for a sandwich or two. He thrust the crumpled notes at the teenager, causing him to stumble back in surprise. "Buy food, okay?"

The youngster glanced from the wad of dollars to his mystery benefactor, his eyes bright. " Wow. Thanks mister."

Jack smiled, aware that he was holding up traffic. " Just do something good with it, okay?" Then with a cheery wave he was gone, leaving a happy soul sitting on the embankment counting his windfall.

==========================================================================

One week and six hundred light years later a weary Jack O’Neill carefully drove his truck on the long trip back to his house on the outskirts of Colorado Springs.

He was feeling a bit better now, he no longer saw double, and the leg wound was healing nicely. General Hammond had ordered him home to rest, despite both Danny and Carter still being in the infirmary, but Teal’c would watch over them in his absence.

He would never admit it, but the General was right to order him off the base.

He knew that he was beginning to get on Doc Fraiser and the nursing staff’s nerves, but like the good little soldiers they were, no one dared tell him directly to his face. He was actually beginning to wonder when the sedative would be added to his coffee, as had been done to him in the past, when he had been ordered to go home by the only person on the base he had no choice but to obey.

So here he was, waiting for the inevitable red light, luxuriating in the safety of planet earth.

" Paper mister? …Whoa." The same startled teenager as before took a stumbling step back, a few grubby newspapers fluttering to his feet as Jack O’Neill sheepishly put his Beretta back in its shoulder holster.

" Sorry about that," he called. " And yes, I would love a newspaper." When the teenager didn’t move, Jack pulled to the side of the intersection and waited patiently. Eventually the youngster regained the courage to approach his car again, trepidation written all over his face.

" You into drugs mister? You a merchant to have such heavy firepower?"

Jack snorted, amused. " Hardly. He opened his driver side door and stuck out his hand. Despite the gathering darkness, he was aware that a quite respectable looking young man had replaced the grubby teenager of last week.

"Colonel Jack O’Neill USAF. And you are?"

" Wow, Air Force." The newspapers forgotten in a pile at the side of the road, the teenager took a step forwards, and shook the proffered hand.

" Juan Gomez sir. Do you fly airplanes sir?" he asked in a rush, his eyes huge, making Jack grin.

" Not recently." He drew in a deep breath aware of the bright young eyes studying him. " Sorry about the gun, Juan. It’s just…"

" Ss okay Colonel," Juan said phlegmatically. " Sooner or later I’ll most probably see one up real close anyhows, seeing as where I live." He shrugged his thin shoulders. " Live by the gun, die by the gun, that’s what they say."

Jack frowned, suddenly oblivious to the traffic noises coming from the busy intersection.

" That sounds like gang talk Juan," he said softly.

The teenager nodded warily. " Uh huh. Dixie Americas, where I live."

Jack frowned again. There was something about this kid, a strength of purpose that shone through eyes as dark as his own that made him want to help him. He sat back on the leather seat and regarded the thin youngster thoughtfully.

" Tell me about it Juan," he commanded, his voice demanding instant obeyance.

"They want me to join." The youngster called Juan shrugged his shoulders. " I don’t wanna. I wanna do something legit, like sell things like these newspapers and stuff. Earn good money. Go to collage, get a degree."

His eyes dropped to the grassy verge of the road as Jack stared at him, mistaking the surprise in his eyes for scorn.

" Stupid huh Colonel, to think that a no good piece of scum like me could actually wanna do something right for himself." He stared at the remnants of the sunset, tears visible in his eyes. " I’m a no good son of a whore, and I mean that literally, but I thank you for what you did for me last week. You gave me dignity and allowed me to doss in a better accommodation than that in Dixie turf."

Jack stared at him, surprised. " A couple of Dollars did that?" The teenager gave him a quick smile, his eyes merry.

" Nah a Dollar did that. The other five I used to get a pizza." He started to back away, gathering up his discarded newspapers. " I tell ya man, I made that sucker last four days. You ever taste four-day-old salami? It’s wild man."

Jack sat back in his seat, quietly watching as the youngster raced across the intersection, trying to sell one of his newspapers to another motorist, his brain whirring.

That kid deserved more. Anybody that determined to succeed deserved to have a chance. But dare he broach his idea to Juan? He settled back in the truck with a sigh, quite content to watch as Juan’s street smarts rapidly sold the remaining papers. There was no harm in trying. The worst Juan could do was say no.

" Hey Colonel man, don’t you have a home to go to?"

" Yep, but first I have a proposition for you. Do you want to hear it?"

" Sure, shoot." The teenager sank to the ground in that loose-limbed way all teenagers had.

" Anything dangerous?"

" Maybe," Jack said thoughtfully. " It’s most certainly hard work, but rewarding, if you stick with it."

" Legit?"

" Very."

" And the pay?"

" Shit at first, but the meals and accommodation are free."

He had him. Jack hid a smile as Juan sat up straight.

" No Gang?"

Jack gave a grin. " Sorry Juan, but you got me there. This is a gang, one of the biggest gangs in the world. Interested?"

" In what?" Juan asked exasperatedly.

" The Air Force."

He was expecting some sort of reaction, but not the one he got. Instead of looking intrigued, Juan’s shoulder’s slumped.

" Been there man. You know that recruiting office, down on Miguel Street?"

Jack didn’t, having been recruited in Chicago decades ago, but nodded regardless. "What about it?"

" Well the snots wouldn’t even let me through the door. They laughed at me, told me that I was a whuss. They told me that I need a spon…sponsor." His voice trailed off miserably and he looked down at his dirty sneakers.

Colonel Jack O’Neill, who only answered to generals and above, saw red.

" Juan," he said, tightly reigning in his fury", that is bullshit, but seeing as they asked, let’s give them a sponsor. Me."

The youngster’s head snapped up, his face incredulous. " You?"

" Yeah. Got any objections to serving the next ten years or so in the US Air Force?"

Juan’s reaction was all Colonel O’Neill could hope for. " Hell no Colonel sir."

" Alright then. Climb in and let’s go home, and I’ll order another Pizza."

As he expected, that stopped the teenager dead. " Home, as in…?"

" My house," Jack said calmly. " You can have one of the spare rooms."

For a moment Juan froze undecidedly, then scrambled into the passenger seat.

===========================================================================

The night was spent with them devouring pizza and watching the National Playoffs. Juan had not seen a television set outside of a shop before, something Jack found quite unsettling. He had been bought up with the usual American view that the world was all milk and honey, and seeing as he had gone straight from school into the Air Force, he had seen nothing to dissuade himself of that fact. Or sure he had seen grinding poverty in other countries, but that wasn’t the good old US of A, where everything was okay.

Seeing Juan carefully walk around the television twice, his face like a beacon, pizza slice carefully cupped in one hand lest he drop a precious crumb, gave Jack O’Neill a new perspective on life. He was actually very lucky. He had never wanted for anything, unlike this teenager. All his life he had someone, or something to care for him. No grinding poverty for this Irish boy, oh no. Now he was face to face with the harsh reality of America, a teenage boy, no, young man, eighteen years old, whose only dream is to have an education and food in his stomach. And a couple of Air Force pricks in a recruiting office somewhere close by had denied him that right?

He eventually became aware of the time and stood with a groan, trying desperately to "unkink" painful muscles. He really was getting too old to go traipsing around unknown planets anymore… " Come on kid. Bed. Take that pizza box upstairs with you if you like."

Tomorrow was going to be a very interesting day.

==========================================================================

It turned out to be cool and blustery, the heat wave of a week ago a distant memory. Sergeant Kaminski stared out of the glass windows of the recruiting office as an especially vicious gust of wind rattled the building, only to see a tall Mexican teenager heading towards the door. An unfamiliar gray haired man dressed in jeans and a thick jersey accompanied him.

The sergeant stared at the kid, a frown on his face as he recognized him.

" Hey Saunders, isn’t that the kid from last Saturday?"

A small woman, her hair pulled back into a tight bun stared over her computer monitor at the kid, eyes widening. " Yes sir. You want me to get rid of him again?"

The sergeant smiled cruelly. "Nah, I’ll call the Loot, let him deal with the Dago this time." He knocked on a flimsy door that lead into a small office. " Hey Lieutenant. It’s that Mex street kid again."

A tall man with washed out light blue eyes immediately opened the door, glaring at the Sergeant. " So? Deal with him."

The sergeant’s reply was lost in the tinkle of the door opening.

===========================================================================

Jack O’Neill’s eyes swept the room for a moment before he folded his lanky frame into a small plastic chair. His initial thoughts were encouraging. The room was neat, consisting of a large desk with two chairs, and small cubicle complete with a pleasant faced female airman ready and waiting for successful applicants to be bought to her. There was nothing to suggest any wrong doing at all. Nevertheless, he watched carefully as Juan approached the desk.

Two men were standing at the door to a small cluttered office, a solid looking sergeant, and a tall Lieutenant. They had obviously been interrupted in the middle of a conversation, and scowled at him.

" Yeah kid?"

" Sirs I wanna enlist."

The sergeant’s quick glance towards Jack wasn’t lost on him, and he slumped further into the hard chair, looking as harmless as he could. He and Juan hadn’t made up any plans on how to handle things, besides him telling Juan not to divulge his rank.

" Kid, I told you last time that you couldn’t."

Juan looked stubborn. " But why?"

The sergeant gave a sigh, mainly for Jack’s benefit, he was sure.

" ‘Cos kid, you have no money, no education and you’re not American."

Juan stuck out his chin. " Am too, and I have a birth certificate to prove it.

The lieutenant spoke for the first time, unrolling and sticking a piece of gum in his mouth as he did so. " Listen kid, we don’t want your type in the USAF, and what we says goes." He gave a thin smile, which his sergeant copied.

"You might say we’re the net that filters out all the undesirables, like you. On the other hand…" He perched on the edge of the desk. "On the other hand, we could be financially persuaded to let you in, if you or the Father have the means?" He raised his eyebrows at Jack suggestively.

Oh ho, so Juan was right, something was indeed very rotten in this particular office. Schooling his face into a resigned expression, he rose to his feet.

" How much?

He didn’t miss the quick glance the sergeant gave the lieutenant, nor the miserable expression on the young airman’s face as she sat unobtrusively behind her computer.

" Five hundred Dollars, non-negotiable, priest man."

Jack had heard enough. Smiling thinly at them, he rose and walked outside. Once away from the stench of corruption, he dug out his cell phone and conducted a brief conversation. He returned in time to see the sergeant herding Juan towards the door.

" Mind telling me what you’re doing?" he asked softly.

Kaminski looked at him petulantly. " Father, unless you have the cash, he doesn’t belong here, and neither do you." He held open the glass door, his intent obvious. " Goodbye."

To his consternation, the gray haired man didn’t move.

" Indeed, goodbye." he said softly, his expression making Kaminski begin to sweat. Maybe they were wrong about this man. Suddenly he looked far too dangerous to be the kids priest.

" Who are you?" he blustered.

"The death of your career," the man said softly, pushing the kid towards Saunders.

" Please process him, airman."

" Hey, what are ya doing, old man?" a familiar voice snapped.

About time, thought the sergeant, as Lieutenant Peters strode towards them purposefully. The problem was, instead of being intimidated by the Loot, the old man looked even more furious.

" Lieutenant…" he peered closely at the name badge "…Peters, I’m getting a potential new recruit processed into the Air Force, something you should have done a week ago."

To his credit, the gum-chewing Lieutenant merely rocked back on his heels thoughtfully.

" You a cop?" he finally asked.

Jack’s smile was totally feral. " A civilian law officer? Hell no, I’m something much worse, something far, far worse."

He could see Juan perched on the edge of his seat behind them, totally enjoying seeing them get their come-uppence.

" What?" the Lieutenant asked belligerently, but Jack decided to answer in his own way. Walking to the window, he stared out at the couple of vehicles that had screeched to a halt outside, disgorging a whole lot of beefy people

" When Juan Gomez here told me that the only way he would be accepted into the Air Force was by having a person sponsor him, I almost didn’t believe him. Nevertheless, when he told me of this sorry state of affairs, I decided to leave my job at Cheyenne Mountain and find out for myself."

" Cheyenne…" Jack was pleased to see the Lieutenant turn a pasty white color.

" You…err military?"

Jack turned to Juan. The youngster deserved to do this. " Gomez, tell them."

Juan didn’t need to be told twice. " Gentlemen, and lady," he said bowing to the female airman, " may I present Colonel Jack O’Neill."

A bit theatrical, but it would do, he thought, as the Military Police he had summoned from the base stormed in, the Major in charge thundering to a halt in front of him.

"Colonel O’Neill sir, Major Simon reporting as ordered sir." She would have saluted the jeans-clad Colonel, but caught herself just in time.

Jack smiled at the quaking former recruiters. " Major, the charges are accepting bribes, disorderly conduct unbecoming of officers, and anything else I can think up between here and the base."

He stood back as they were hustled out of the office, then turned to the young airman.

" I want you and your immediate superior in my office at 14H00 tomorrow, you got that?"

She nodded, wide eyed.

He pointed at Gomez. " Now, do your job."

With that he gently squeezed Juan’s shoulder and left.

==========================================================================

Jack was working on innocuous requisition reports when the hesitant knock came on his door at precisely 14H00. He had spent the last couple of hours briefing General Hammond on what had happened that morning, and then notifying General Mending at Peterson AFB of the situation. The recruitment office was set up and run by Peterson, making what happened a political as well as an ethical issue.

To his surprise, he found notifying Peterson’s crusty Brigadier General to be an easy task. As the conversation unfolded, Jack began to comprehend that the General had been harboring suspicions about a couple of personnel for some time, just lacking that final proof that would send them towards a court marshal.

Thanks to him, the powers that be not only had the evidence of corruption they needed, they also had a high-ranking officer as a material witness. The happy General assured Jack O’Neill that he would be commended highly for his actions, something he took with good grace. It was always nice to have as many generals as he could in his camp, for that day when his shadowy enemies moved against him, led by Senator Kinsey no doubt.

" Enter."

A stocky Irish American entered his office followed by Airman Saunders. When they halted in rigid attention in front of his desk, Jack O’ Neill threw down his pen and looked them over.

"Major Mc Coy, where the hell were you whilst your men were taking graft? Waiting for your cut?"

He had the satisfaction of seeing the Major sag and turn a sickly pale color before straightening again. " No sir," he squeaked. " Sir I had absolutely no idea that the personnel were taking bribes sir."

" Oh that I can very well believe Major," Jack hissed, rising to his feet and walking around his desk, " seeing as you have not been near the place in months."

A deafening silence greeted his remarks, confirming his suspicions.

" And as for you Airman," he said, pinning the woman with an intense gaze. " I’m still not to convinced that you were the helpless pawn in this that you seem to be. Nor for that manner is General Mending." He came to a halt directly behind the rigid pair, knowing that protocol forbid them to move an inch. " There is no rule, no regulation that forbids you from taking your concerns to your senior officer, and if you suspect him too, there is no rule that states that you can’t jump the chain of command."

He leaned forwards, his breath moving the small hairs at the back of her neck. " Airman, I have been in the Air Force for almost thirty years, and I know this for a fact, you report corruption. Always."

He slowly resumed his pacing until he was once more behind his desk facing the nervous pair.

" It is out of my hands now. The Judge Advocate General’s office will be speaking to you shortly. Dismissed."

==========================================================================

The Air Force was a place of action, where one couldn’t dwell on one subject for too long. So it was with Colonel Jack O’Neill, the most senior active duty Colonel in the SGC. He had missions to plan, and places to go, all which took up time. He nevertheless took the time to attend the court martial of Lieutenant Peters and Sergeant Kaminski, and the demotion of Major Mc Coy. What he didn’t have time for was to keep track on the new Airman Juan Gomez, much to his regret. But he would, he promised himself. Like people had taken interest in him and his career, so he would take an interest in Juan Gomez.

* EINDE *

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