Sam rested her hands on the butt of her M5 and glared across the smoky clearing at her CO.
"Just once," she muttered under her breath, "it would be nice to go on a mission that didn't involve us getting drunk!"
She knew she was being unfair. The colonel hadn't wanted this; none of them had. But that didn't change the fact that Colonel O'Neill was matching Chief Athanagild drink for drink of the vile local brew, with Daniel stuck as his second. Because if they didn't prove themselves as part of the tribe, Athanagild wasn't going to reinstall the crystal that his people had removed from the DHD.
It made sense, in a frustrating sort of way. The Semnoni had kept their Stargate inoperative for generations by the simple expedient of taking the main control crystal out of the DHD and hiding it somewhere in their village. It did mean that Goa'uld or Jaffa could arrive through the Stargate, but they wouldn't be able to leave. And when Daniel had nervously speculated on the old Germanic tribes' tradition of human sacrifice, Athanagild had cheerfully explained that while they'd long since abandoned the ritual of the sacred grove, they did revive the custom if any demons presented themselves for their convenience.
"But you know we're not demons," Daniel had said hurriedly.
Athanagild had narrowed his eyes and regarded them carefully, his gaze lingering on Teal'c's forehead and the staff weapon he carried. "You will show us tonight," he'd announced. "Man to man, Chief Jack! If you can match me in drink, you are one of us!"
The colonel had reacted with almost violent disgust at the prospect. "I am not going to try and drink that guy under the table!" he'd sputtered at Daniel.
Daniel's hands had fluttered wildly in an almost frantic attempt to keep the colonel from pulling his weapon on Athanagild. "It's the easiest way out of this!" he'd hissed back. "What are you going to do, Jack? Mow down the entire village so Sam can play 'hunt the slipper' for the crystal?"
Reluctantly, the colonel had conceded the point. Better to go along with the ritual and get the crystal back peacefully than try and fight their way through the entire village to get home.
"You're in charge, Carter," he'd said abruptly. "I'll try to stay sober, but no guarantees. Watch our backs, and let's hope we can all go home in the morning."
The drinking contest, complete with feasting and off-key singing, had started at sunset. Sam had stayed carefully alert, lingering at the edges of the torchlit clearing so she could keep an eye on events. Despite Daniel's protests, Athanagild had decided that "Chief Jack's bard" should participate in the ritual along with the colonel. They didn't expect him to show a chief's fortitude, he'd been assured, but he did have to accept every mug of beer that Athanagild poured for him. And while Daniel wasn't exactly a lightweight - he'd managed the moonshine on Abydos, after all - he did have a weaker tolerance for alcohol than the colonel.
Given the current flow of drink, the hangovers, come morning, would be spectacular. In the meantime, though, she was trying not to get too annoyed that this was happening to them again.
It wasn't as if they ever wanted to get drunk off-world. Colonel O'Neill, despite his irreverence toward his superiors, was the quintessential professional in the field. And yet, mission after mission, SG-1 had found themselves compromised, with one or more of them hopelessly intoxicated.
P3X-441 had some kind of substance in the air that had them staggering around, punch-drunk, half an hour after their arrival. Only Teal'c was unaffected. He'd gotten them safely back to the Stargate, where the colonel had just enough presence of mind to order a detour to the Land of Light. They'd still registered high amounts of "alcohol" in their bloodstream when they gated back to Earth twelve hours later, but at least they hadn't fallen flat on their faces on the ramp.
Then there were the very friendly Merians of P3X-462, who had taken Sam's BDUs at face value and assumed she was as male as the rest of the team. As they explained apologetically afterwards, that was why they hadn't thought to warn SG-1 that the ritual toast of gooleth juice was never offered to women. At the debriefing, Janet clarified that the berries had reacted to her high levels of estrogen and metabolized as pure alcohol. Sam was lucky to still be alive, although the steady stream of gag gifts that turned up in her office in the weeks that followed had her secretly planning two murders of her own.
The natives on P4X-394 had actually demanded that Daniel drink himself nearly into a stupor before they allowed him to examine their temples. It was a tradition, they'd insisted. Only the inebriated were allowed inside their holy sites, although they allowed Teal'c to accompany Daniel as far as the temple entrance as a sort of designated Jaffa. Sam hadn't laughed so much after Daniel came staggering back and blurrily informed her that he'd found some very interesting Goa'uld machinery under the altar, and would she please hurry up and get drunk enough to come and check it out?
Colonel O'Neill, Sam remembered sourly, had been obnoxiously loud and cheerful the next morning, dragging them out of their sleeping bags extra early for the trip back to the Stargate. He'd whistled extra loudly the whole way home, too. Daniel had accused him of enjoying their misery. Come to think of it, the colonel hadn't even tried to deny it....
That memory made her eye him now, and wonder just how hungover he was going to feel in the morning. In the meantime, though, she had a job to do. And that meant staying sober, staying calm, and watching everyone's six.
Not that Teal'c needed her help. She couldn't help but watch with admiration as he deftly parried Athanagild's fourth attempt of the evening to get him to join in the festivities.
"Come now! You must join us!" Athanagild insisted. His beard bristled with indignation. "Would you have us take insult?"
"I mean no offense," Teal'c said calmly.
"Are you demon or Vandal, then?" the chieftain demanded. "Legends tell that they mocked our customs!"
Teal'c tucked his hands behind his back. "Were you to visit another culture, and their practices contradicted yours, would you profane your own customs to accommodate theirs?"
Athanagild opened his mouth to retort, then hesitated. Teal'c waited patiently as the man struggled to formulate a reply.
"How will you show friendship, then?" he finally challenged.
"I respect your rituals, and intend no offense," Teal'c gravely assured him. "I stand here with my teammates in celebration of alliance. Yet that very respect also compels me to safeguard my own customs. And it is the manner of my people to refrain from drinking alcohol."
Athanagild's mouth twisted, and his harsh bark of laughter told Sam that Teal'c had won the argument.
"Well spoken!" Athanagild declared. "We still call you not-enemy, odd one. At least you show friendship by breaking bread with us!"
"Indeed I do," Teal'c agreed. Sam noted that he not did mention that his symbiote had been unusually active for nearly twenty minutes after he consumed the ritual dishes.
"And Chief Jack drinks for both of you." Athanagild glanced behind him, and a reluctant hint of admiration crept into his tone. "He's matched me well."
Sam wanted to roll her eyes at the ridiculous tribute to testosterone, but she quickly schooled her features into a polite expression when Athanagild turned to her. "And what of you, Captain?" he asked. "Will you drink more with us this night?"
Sam pasted a stiff smile on her face and took a surreptitious step backward. The alcoholic fumes on Athanagild's breath couldn't quite mask his rather pungent body odor.
"I have already shared drink with you, Chief Athanagild," she said hastily. She held up her empty cup as proof. He didn't need to know that she'd taken barely a sip of the potent stuff before stealthily dumping the rest of it into a straggly bush.
Athanagild beamed, displaying teeth that had been carefully sharpened into points. "You can honor us with another toast, then!" He was already reaching for the earthenware jug on the nearest table.
"I'm sorry, Chief Athanagild." Sam kept her tone brisk but firm. "My own, uh, customs allow me to respect your rituals, but I can't have more than a single cup. I'm sure you understand."
Athanagild stopped, looking surprised. "Are you not of the same culture as your chieftain and bard?" His gaze flickered to the roughly-hewn table across the clearing, where two slumped figures were arguing loudly and gesturing wildly over their cups.
Sam hurriedly leaped on the all-too-familiar refrain that they'd experienced on mission after mission. "Ah, but among the Tau'ri, women do not drink more than a token amount of alcohol," she lied. If she had to deal with sexism on nearly every planet, she could at least get some use out of it.
Unfortunately, it didn't seem to help this time. Athanagild's eyes widened. "Truly?" He leaned forward to examine her more closely.
Sam barely stopped herself from leaning away. "Ah... yes?"
"But Semnoni women always drink more than Semnoni men!" he protested. "All know that women were created with strength of iron to carry great burdens, and are thus unaffected by drink!"
Just her luck. Sam glanced at the knot of native women clustered around one of the fires. Sure enough, they were chugging steadily, with frequent snickers in the direction of the two drunken members of SG-1. They'd invited her to join them at the beginning of the evening, she remembered. She'd politely refused. Right now, though, the idea of drinking herself insensible seemed incredibly attractive.
"Tau'ri women do not drink more than small amounts of alcohol," Sam repeated.
Athanagild sighed heavily and shook his head in sad resignation. Then he wheeled abruptly and strode across the clearing. "Another one, Chief Jack!" he bellowed. "Our last one this night. And leave the bard be, this time. He's had enough, and more!"
As a roar of cheers and laughter greeted Athanagild's announcement, Sam looked at Teal'c. "Last call. Finally!"
"Indeed," Teal'c agreed. "We have done well tonight, Captain Carter. We shall be able to retrieve the crystal tomorrow morning and safely return to the SGC."
Sam jerked her head in the direction of their other teammates. "Time to get those two off to bed, you think?"
"That would be wise, yes."
They made their way to the dais, dodging some of the more weaving natives. Sam could hear Daniel's rambling voice as they approached.
"...too dark for that," he was saying, his tone insistent. "You c'n make beer from lotsa things. Lots." He nodded emphatically.
"Tastes like apples," the colonel said stubbornly.
"Lotsa things," Daniel repeated. His finger dragged through the puddle of spilled beer next to his cup. "S'only mostly apples."
"No hops?" The colonel blinked owlishly at his cup, then drained it.
"No barley," Daniel told him. "Some kinda potato." He licked his finger thoughtfully. "And apples. Maybe some tomato."
"Better than the stuff from Bidakan. All that sparging made it too weak."
"I liked that stuff," Daniel protested, his voice plaintive and his eyebrows bouncing furiously. "It was the beer on Queldif that wasn't so good."
"Hey! I wanted to take some of that home!"
"Sam wouldn't let you." Daniel finally seemed to notice she was standing by his elbow, and he leaned back precariously, listing to one side as he tried to peer up at her. "You wouldn't let him bring back the Queldif beer, Sam."
"No, Daniel, I wouldn't." Sam sighed as she carefully moved the cup out of his reach. "Why can't we ever find a culture that drinks water for a change?"
"Small beer," Daniel helpfully said in answer to her rhetorical question. "Ev'ryone drank it. Water might not be clean. Boil the stuff into small beer, so's it safe."
"Safe. Thank you, Daniel." Sam gritted her teeth at the memory of P3X-595. They'd told her the drink was "safe" then, too. Stupid rituals.
He blinked slowly, his eyes a little too heavily-lidded for her comfort. "You could make my hair into a Suebian knot," he confided. "Athanagild'd like it. I think my bangs are long enough."
"Okay, that does it." She maneuvered him sideways, then hauled him into a standing, swaying postition. "Teal'c?"
Teal'c nodded at her and used his free hand to grip the colonel by the elbow. "Come, O'Neill," he rumbled, lifting him effortlessly to his feet. "It is time to retire."
"Hey, I wasn't finished!"
"Yes, sir, you were. Sir," Sam told him, exasperation leaking into her voice.
"No, I wasn't!"
"But Sam says you're finished." Daniel's hair flopped into his eyes as his head drooped forward. He added sadly, apparently addressing the ground, "She hasn't liked drinking offworld much since that time she took off her -"
"You're finished now," Sam said, very loudly.
"Am not," the colonel grumbled, even as Teal'c turned him away from the table, steering him gently but firmly.
"Are too," Daniel taunted as he stumbled along with Sam.
"Am not."
"Are too."
"Not!"
"Too!"
"Not!"
"Too, too, too..." Thankfully, Daniel's off-key singsong trailed off into silence. His head sagged onto Sam's shoulder.
They soon left the noisy celebration behind them as they headed for the quieter parts of the village. Sam and Teal'c shepherded the staggering colonel and the nearly catatonic civilian into the musty-smelling hut the Semnoni had provided for the night. They tried to be gentle, but the two drunks ended up in a tangled heap, with Daniel sprawled face down across both sleeping bags and the colonel's legs propped on his back. Daniel mumbled something incoherent, then passed out. Colonel O'Neill glared blearily at a spot some three feet to her left, slurred, "Take the first watch, captain," and promptly followed Daniel into dreamland.
Sam huffed with exasperation and looked across the snoring pair at Teal'c, who raised a bemused eyebrow.
"They're going to regret this in the morning," she announced.
Teal'c tilted his head, frowning. "Have we not accomplished our goals?"
"Oh, we have," she assured him. "I meant that they're both going to be hungover tomorrow. Big time."
"As you and Daniel Jackson were on P4X-394."
Sam shot him a sharp glance. "Yes," she said, a little sourly. "Just like that."
"O'Neill seemed to find it amusing," Teal'c observed. The glint in his eye would have gone unnoticed by anyone who did not know him well, but Sam spotted it easily. "I am unsure why this was so."
"It's... a ritual, I suppose," she said slowly, feeling almost as if she was following a script that Teal'c was writing. "Friends and colleagues like to tease people about getting drunk, and how much they regret it afterwards."
Teal'c's eyebrow lifted again. "Daniel Jackson and O'Neill did not explain their reasons for the many small gifts they gave you after our return from P3X-462. You did not seem to enjoy them at the time." He paused. "Was that another example of this ritual?"
She snorted. "Oh, yeah."
"It is a common Tau'ri practice, then?"
Sam blinked. "You could say that. I guess."
"I am always pleased to learn more of Tau'ri costums," Teal'c announced, his voice supremely bland.
Sam stared at Teal'c, not quite sure she believed what he seemed to be suggesting.
He gave her the tiniest of nods.
Sam choked down the urge to laugh. Colonel O'Neill had always complained that Teal'c didn't have a sense of humor. It was high time he learned otherwise.
"It hardly seems fair to Daniel, though," she suggested reluctantly. She thought about it for a moment, and remembered that awful blue dress on Simarka. "But I owe him a little payback," she amended. She recalled the recipes for Ancient Egyptian hangover cures that she'd found taped to her office door during the gag gift incident. "Make that a lot of payback."
"I will be honored to assist you, Captain Carter," Teal'c promised. He ducked out of the hut, then turned to face Sam as she followed him. "What would you propose?"
Sam tapped her fingers thoughtfully on the barrel of her M5. Then she thought of that list again, and she brightened. "Didn't Daniel say that the herbs the Semnoni use are safe for human use?"
Teal'c gave her a conspiratorial nod. "He did indeed. He also mentioned that their taste was unusually foul."
"I think he used the expression 'more disgusting than camel dung,'" Sam said reflectively. "I didn't want to ask how he knew to make that particular comparison."
They looked at each other. Sam bit her lip to stop from grinning. Teal'c allowed himself a slight twitch of the mouth.
"I could create a Jaffa remedy," he suggested, his features schooled into perfect blandness. "An ancient recipe that Drey'auc taught me, which has always proved most effective for curing the ills of intoxication."
"Substituting native ingredients for the herbs from Chulak, naturally," Sam nodded. "We wouldn't tell them that part until after they'd drank it, of course."
"Of course," Teal'c agreed.
"And you'll be deeply hurt if they don't finish it after all the work you put into it, won't you?"
"Indeed, Captain Carter."
"Oh, I think that will work out very nicely." Sam finally allowed her wicked grin to fully surface. "It really is good to have a respect for ritual, right?"
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Respect for Ritual
by Fig NewtonStory Bemerkung:
Written for ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
secbeth for the Fall Fandom Free-for-all, for the prompt SG-1: too much alien beer. Season One fic. Very vague spoilers for a few early eps.randomfreshink helped me avoid the crack and keep the team in character. Thanks, Random, for the brainstorming and your usual stellar beta!
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