Because of course Jack has to have at least a slightly angsty past. :)
When Harry Maybourne had called him and said, "Hey, Jack, I've got this great job for you," Jack knew very well he should have just hung up and left the country. But he hadn't, because Harry'd had a very good point about career opportunities for a washed up hockey player with a blown out knee.
Plus, there was free rent, and probably hot college chicks, so Jack packed up his truck and tooled across the country. To find that Harry, who had left the country, the rotten bastard, had saddled Jack with a complete dump populated by lame frat boy wannabees and stoners.
The building had promise - solid brick, really kinda pretty under the overgrowth of ivy and brush, and there even an elevator someone had stuck in to comply with the ADA, though the thing was a deathtrap as far as Jack was concerned, and was high on his list for replacement.
First on that list, though, were his tenants. He evicted three quarters of them the first week, trading his silence over the pot-dealing and various lease-shattering to out-right illegal behavior for their immediate compliance. The rest of the list took six months of back-breaking work (some "donated" by former tenants, after Jack informed them he fully expected them to clean up after themselves, or else), during which he alternately cursed Harry and thanked him. He'd been wallowing in self-pity since his injury, an eight-year tantrum of "If I can't play hockey, I don't wanna do anything." It sucked to admit that Harry probably knew that, just as he knew Jack would respond to exactly the kind of challenge this job presented.
Harry was an asshole, especially when he was right.
"You have done well."
Jack looked up from the board he was placing in a patch to the hardwood floor in the stairwell. The big black guy from number five, one of the few people Jack hadn't thrown out, stood at the top of stairs. "Thanks." He pushed to his feet, wincing as his now-stiff knee protested. "Jack O'Neill. Sorry I haven't introduced myself before. Been a little busy."
"Indeed." The man grasped Jack's hand. "I am T."
"So, T., what's a nice guy like you doing in a dump like this?"
"I had my reasons." T.'s smile was enigmatic. "Though I do much prefer the current atmosphere."
"Yeah, well, you're welcome." Jack scooched over to let T. down the stairs. "Hey, I'm about to place an ad for new tenants. Any suggestions on how to word it to weed out the, you know, morons?"
"I believe I may be able to assist you. If you will allow me, I will send some potential renters your way."
Why the hell not, Jack thought. "Sounds good."
T. was halfway out the building door when Jack called after him, "And while I'm at it, you know a good place to eat around here? I'm getting pretty tired of Lean Cuisine."
"In fact I do, O'Neill. Perhaps you would like to take a break and join me."
Shoving the toolbox to the corner of the landing, Jack thumped down the stairs. "Don't mind if I do."