Sometimes he keeps a Bible with him, just as a reminder.

Colonel O’Neill has never been a particularly religious man, especially since the death of his son. He still blames himself, even though he’s been told a thousand times it was just an accident – nobody’s fault. But it was his fault. His gun, his house, his carelessness, his son.

After the accident he hid behind himself, hoping a stony façade would keep everyone out. If failed, but that didn’t keep him from wanting to retreat back into his shell. He told himself he felt nothing. Since joining the SGC he has felt the first whisper of fulfillment he’s had in years, but he still thinks of Charlie.

Now he lays awake some nights and stares at the dusty old book on the table across the room. The leather cover is worn and curled, as if it’s been read hundreds of times. Perhaps it has, but never by him. He’s flipped it open on occasion, hoping somewhere it would spell out everything he needed to know, but enlightenment never showed.

He thinks of Carter. She recited that first commandment (or whichever one it was) like it was some kind of principle she'd held all her life. And she believed it. He wonders how she came by her faith – if it came naturally or if she had to work for it.

He sighs, picking up the Bible. That levelheaded, obstinate little blond astrophysics-mumbo-jumbo captain was smarter and stronger than he was.

More spiteful than curious, he thumbs through the book. “‘If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, “Remove hence to yonder place,” and it shall remove, and nothing shall be impossible to you.’” He groans. “Why the hell can’t they just say what they mean?”

He glances at his watch. Not quite midnight. With a frustrated sigh he stands up, unlocks the door to his quarters, and pads down the hall in his pajamas. The building is surprisingly quiet at night – only the hum of the fluorescent lights kept just bright enough to see by. The guards stationed at intersections are the only others awake, it seems, but they ignore him.

He reaches her door faster than he thinks. Before he loses his nerve he raises a hand and knocks softly on the metal door.

A few seconds pass before the door creaks ajar, followed by a quiet voice. “Colonel?” Carter opens the door fully. Alarm quickly replaces the grogginess in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head. “Nothing’s wrong, relax.”

“Colonel, it’s the middle of the night,” she grumbles.

“I know. I… can I… talk to you for a sec?”

She glances down at the Bible in his hand and nods sleepily. “Sure.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Did you read it?”

“Yes.”

“Did you think about it?” she asks skeptically. That tiny smile surfaces, the one that says she knows he's not as dumb as he pretends to be. He hates that one.

“Yes!” he defends himself, then shrugs a little. “Can you just explain the damn thing?”

With a quiet sigh, she points to the verse. “Look at this. ‘If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed.’ Have you ever seen a mustard seed?”

“No.”

“Well, basically what it means is that all it takes is a little bit of faith – the size of a mustard seed, extremely small – and you can move mountains.”

“That’s impossible.”

“It’s theoretical, Colonel,” she retorts. Neither speaks for a moment, and when she continues she softens her tone. “The point is that as long as you believe, you can do anything. That’s all it takes, is a little faith.” She watches him nodding his head slowly. “Sir, I’m curious – why do you want to know? I mean, what brought this on now?”

He hesitates before answering. “I was thinking about my son.”

“Ah.” Pursing her lips, she surveys his impassive eyes, reflecting more numbness than the feigned calm he tried to affect. “You do that a lot.”

“Yeah.” He leans his head in his hands, almost afraid of what she will say. It’ll be the same as it always was. It’s not your fault, Colonel. You couldn’t have prevented it. Stop blaming yourself. It’s time to move on. He’s heard the same speech countless times. He hopes she of all people is above trying to make him forget.

A silent moment goes by before she asks gently, “Colonel, what brought you to this particular verse?”

The hands cradling his forehead rake through his silvering hair. “Opened it. That’s the one I saw.”

Her lips turn up in a small smile. “Don’t you think that’s saying something?”

He turns to face her suddenly, brow furrowed. The unasked question goes equally unanswered; she merely squeezes his arm.

He sees that smile, feels the Bible heavy in his hands, and thinks that maybe, just maybe, she has a point.