Summary: Short fics on classic SG-1. Humor, angst, episode tags, prison break-outs, motorcycles. A collection of unrelated stories, all less than 1,000 words. Latest ficlet:
Guidance. O'Neill's attitudes and preferences suit Teal'c best. Set in early S1, with very minor spoilers for
Enemy Within.
Categories: Gen - Team Based Characters: Daniel Jackson, Gen. Hammond, Jack O'Neill, Janet Frasier, Jonas Quinn, Other Characters, Samantha Carter, Tealc
Episode Related: 0101 Children of the Gods, 0111 Bloodlines, 0220 1969, 0315 Pretense, 0521 Meridian, 0622 Full Circle, 0717 Heroes, 0809 Sacrifices, 0816 Reckoning, 0913 Ripple Effect, 1015 The Road Not Taken
Genres: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drabble, Drama, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene/Epilogue
Holiday: None
Season: Season 1, Season 2, Season 3, Season 4, Season 5, Season 6, Season 7
Warnings: None
Crossovers: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 24
Completed: No
Word count: 16197
Read: 42314
Published: 2008.08.12
Updated: 2012.07.15
1. Guilty Pleasures by Fig Newton
2. Bittersweet by Fig Newton
3. Speeding Again? by Fig Newton
4. Multiple Uses by Fig Newton
5. The Daniel Jackson Theory of Hairy Relativity by Fig Newton
6. Dreadful Disappointment by Fig Newton
7. Something Smoother by Fig Newton
8. A Matter of Preference by Fig Newton
9. Five Fix-Its That Weren't by Fig Newton
10. Checklist by Fig Newton
11. Sports Night by Fig Newton
12. Shake Vigorously for Best Results by Fig Newton
13. All the Difference by Fig Newton
14. Vested Interest by Fig Newton
15. The Hunt by Fig Newton
16. Temper, Temper by Fig Newton
17. A Fine and Private Place by Fig Newton
18. Dial it Up, Daniel by Fig Newton
19. Seeking Definition by Fig Newton
20. A Study of Cultural Behavior by Fig Newton
21. Chug When They Reverse the Polarity by Fig Newton
22. Purple Beaches and Green Bikinis by Fig Newton
23. Your Regularly Scheduled Programming by Fig Newton
24. Guidance by Fig Newton
Guilty Pleasures by Fig Newton
Author's Notes:
Is it Sam and Jack's fault that rescuing Teal'c and Daniel is so much fun?
Written for Aurora Novarum, tireless champion of Sam and Jack friendship. No spoilers. Set sometime in early S1. Includes some minor bonding violence.
Elbow to the face, kick to the knee...
Sam allowed the weight of her momentum to carry her forward to rebound from the stone wall, placing her in just the right position to overwhelm the next Jaffa that stood between her and her missing teammates. She couldn't spare a glance to see how the colonel was faring, but the background gurgles and shouts of pain seemed to indicate that he was doing just fine.
Hand-edge to the throat, nerve-pinch to paralyze the wrist...
A tiny corner of Jack's mind added another tick to the tally, even as he focused his full concentration on the next Jaffa in his path. They'd taken down fourteen Jaffa, with another six to go. Good thing the narrow corridor didn't allow for anything more than hand-to-hand fighting.
Duck. Roll with the blow. Lash out at just the right level to send him crumpling to the ground.
Sam dodged easily past the wheezing Jaffa on the floor, and tried to sublimate that slightly shameful spark of glee into an extra surge of adrenaline to continue the fight. She'd be feeling her bruises later with a vengeance, and she suspected her left cheekbone might be fractured, but none of that mattered now.
Feint to the left. Come back at the right. Go for the blind spot. Keep reactions under wraps for later.
One of these days, Jack knew, the Jaffa would realize that as intimidating as their helmets might be to cowed slaves, they offered really lousy peripheral vision. In the meantime, though, he planned to take full advantage of their failure to assess their equipment properly.
Besides, these last four Jaffa were trying to keep him from rescuing Daniel and Teal'c. They deserved everything they got.
Judo throw. Kick to the head. Ow! Block out the pain, and take him down!
Call on black ops background. Crap! Win now, hurt later - gotcha!
Sam whirled to face the next opponent, and nearly wrenched her knee when she snapped her leg back from an abortive attack on the only person left standing in the hallway: Colonel O'Neill.
"S-sorry, sir," she gasped, massaging her leg.
"No problem." He gave her a concerned glance, even as he chivvied her forward towards the barred door at the end of the hall. "You okay?"
Sam looked back the way they'd come, and she couldn't help her smile of satisfaction at the sight of twenty unconscious Jaffa littering the floor. "Oh, yes, sir!"
His own face quirked into a wry grin as he followed her gaze. "Good job, captain." Then, all business again, he turned to face the locked door. "Now, we just have to figure out how to blow this, and we can go and find --"
A low boom sent them both diving instinctively to the floor. This turned out to be a good thing, because the splintered beams of the door rained over their heads like deadly confetti.
In the sudden, echoing silence, a single voice spoke.
"Oh! Hi, guys."
Jack lifted his head and stared incredulously at Daniel and Teal'c, framed in the now empty doorway.
"Hey!" He sprang to his feet, pointing a finger accusingly. "What do you think you're doing?"
Teal'c and Daniel looked at each other, then back at Jack.
"We are escaping from this fortress." Teal'c's voice stating the obvious seemed very calm, but his Tau'ri teammates were already experienced enough to detect the nuances that added, and I cannot believe you are asking such a stupid question, O'Neill.
"Huh." Sam brushed splinters of wood off her torn and stained uniform. "We were kinda coming to rescue you."
"Well, thank you, Sam," Daniel said with slightly strained politeness. "We appreciate that."
"We just fought past twenty Jaffa for you!" Jack glowered at Daniel and Teal'c.
Daniel crossed his arms and glared, his eyebrows drawing together. "Well, excuse us for not just sitting around and waiting!" Then he pasted an artificial smile on his face and blinked sweetly, ladling the sarcasm onto every syllable as he asked, "Would you like us to go back to our cell and wait for you? Just so you and Sam can have fun and fight some more?"
Jack and Sam looked at each other.
They looked back at the jumble of bodies.
They looked at each other again. And grinned.
It was tempting, but...
"Nah," they said simultaneously.
Bittersweet by Fig Newton
Author's Notes:
Written for Leapgate, for the prompt "Daniel, Skaara: regret." Daniel's POV of the final scene of Pretense.
Skaara slapped an exuberant hand against Daniel's arm before he practically bounced down the steps to greet the others. His face was alight with joy as he spoke to Jack, to Teal'c, to Sam - as himself, not as Klorel's host. After three years of daily, hourly torment, he was finally free.
Daniel felt the happy expression on his face congeal as he watched Skaara turn away from Jack's embrace to formally clasp hands with Teal'c in a gesture of acknowledgement and acceptance. He forced himself to keep his smile in place and fought down yet another wave of regret.
This Skaara wasn't the laughing, mischievous good brother he had known and loved in his year on Abydos, the youth who had dared to storm the very gates of heaven to battle at his sister's side and throw down the greatest of the System Lords. This was a man: wiser, graver, his knowledge infinitely expanded and his psyche almost irretrievably wounded. He wore Tok'ra clothing as casually as Klorel had donned his elaborate costumes, and Daniel wondered if Skaara would ever be as comfortable in Abydon robes again.
No, Daniel told himself firmly. You're happy for Skaara. You are.
He covered the spasm of pain with a casual rub of his nose. The smile, still a little frozen, stayed firmly on his face... and if his regret at Skaara's unseen scars was compounded a thousand fold by the wave of bitter resentment that the Tok'ra hadn't done the same thing for Sha're - well, that was no one's business but his own.
Speeding Again? by Fig Newton
Author's Notes:
Sam and Daniel friendship fic. Sam's on a roll, and Daniel is very unwillingly along for the ride. Set sometime in S4. Humorous fluff.
Daniel tightened his arms convulsively around Sam's waist as they took the curve at something over ninety miles an hour. He stared with horrified fascination at the gritty surface of the highway, which was perhaps four inches below his left knee. The sound of her delighted laughter Dopplered past him as they straightened again, and then she was accelerating even further as the road opened up in a long, smooth stretch.
She wouldn't really be able to tell if he closed his eyes, would she?
They reached the final climb, but Sam didn't slow. They roared towards Cheyenne Mountain in an abandon of speed and noise and freedom, and even as Daniel fought the urge to scream for mercy, he couldn't help but feel a kind of awed glee at the sheer power of acceleration.
The checkpoint seemed to hurtle towards them, and they were finally, blessedly slowing down. Daniel very carefully eased his cramped grip and tried to steady his breathing.
The SF at the gate grinned as Sam screeched to a perfect stop in front of him. "Afternoon, Major Carter." He nodded at Daniel, his eyebrows raising slightly. "Doctor Jackson."
"Sergeant," Daniel croaked back.
Sam fished her ID out of the breast pocket of her leather jacket and waved it in the sergeant's direction. Daniel fumbled for his own wallet with only slightly shaking fingers.
"Speeding again, Major?" the SF asked cheerily as he gave their ID cards a cursory glance.
"Good day for it," Sam said, her voice bright and breathless.
They drove through the checkpoint at a decorous pace and parked without incident. Daniel lurched off the motorcycle and staggered several feet away to lean against a pillar and try to catch his breath. Sam, on the other hand, dismounted with easy grace. She removed her helmet and sauntered over to regard him with open amusement.
"Now, Daniel," she chided, her eyes alight with laughter. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
Daniel pulled the helmet off his head and scrubbed at his hair. "Never again," he said fervently. "I mean it, Sam. I am never hitching a ride with you again."
Sam chuckled and threw a companionable arm around his shoulder. "That's what you said the last time you lost a bet," she reminded him. "Next time, don't let Teal'c call the stakes. Come on. Briefing's in half an hour."
Multiple Uses by Fig Newton
Author's Notes:
Written for Leapgate, for the prompt "Daniel, Jack: glasses." Jack and Daniel, sometime in S3 and in trouble. Glasses can come in handy sometimes. Very vague references to Need.
Thanks to Ivory Gates for the comment that inspired this. It may grow up into a full story one day.
Jack lurched back to the growing pile of wood and let the last armful drop with a clatter. It probably wouldn't be enough - night was still hours away, and the temperature was already dropping. But they couldn't afford to wait any longer. They needed heat now.
He flopped gracelessly to the ground at Daniel's side, ignoring the howl of protest from his twisted knee and the angry stab of cracked ribs. Daniel's eyes opened a little too slowly for comfort, but at least they were focused this time.
"Hey," he slurred.
"Hey yourself," Jack returned.
"What...?"
"Just relax. I'm going to start a fire."
They'd been stripped of all their equipment, including their vests and jackets; they had nothing but their T-shirts and BDU trousers. Surprisingly, Daniel's glasses hadn't been confiscated, but since he couldn't see straight at the moment, that wasn't much help.
They hadn't been left barefoot, though, which meant there was still a chance. Jack leaned over carefully and started to untie the laces of his left boot.
"I can do it," Daniel mumbled. He reached out with his left hand, the skin around his eyes tightening just a little, and began to tug.
Jack slumped back, grateful not to have to hunch over his ribs. They sat for a few moments in silence as Daniel awkwardly fumbled with the laces. Neither one looked at Daniel's right hand, with the makeshift splint that held his two broken fingers in place.
"There," Daniel finally grunted. He was breathing hard, in short, rapid pants that suggested another bout of vomiting was just around the corner.
"I can take it from here. Just... lie back and breathe, okay?"
Daniel flapped his left hand in assent and rolled away, closing his eyes.
Vigorous scraping against the packed earth of their little clearing soon had the boot off his foot completely. Jack ran a finger down the inner seam and carefully teased out the two slivers of metal that had saved SG-1 on more than one occasion. They'd served as lock picks to break out of prison. Daniel had used them to activate a panel that reacted badly to organic matter. Carter had once jammed them inside a doohickey's housing to complete a broken circuit.
And now, hopefully, he could use them to create sparks to start a fire.
For long, patient minutes, Jack rasped one piece of metal against the other, ignoring the screeching whine that made his teeth ache. Sparks drifted downwards, and many did alight on the kindling, but the wood remained stubborn. He licked dry lips and kept at it. If they couldn't get the fire started, there was no hope of survival until Carter and Teal'c could find them.
"Jack."
It was little more than a breath of sound, but Jack whipped his head around.
"Try this."
Daniel was holding out his glasses, his hand shaking from the effort.
Jack stared at the smeared lenses, then frowned up at the sky. Despite the bitter cold, the slightly reddish sun was only just past its zenith. There was plenty of sunlight. It might work at that.
He gave the glasses a quick polish on the ragged hem of his T-shirt before positioning them to catch the sun's rays. He tilted them by degrees, trying to find the best angle.
"S-sam... would've figured... the perfect vector... in ten seconds flat."
Jack shot Daniel a glance and snorted, secretly relieved to hear even a faint glimmer of humor in that pained whisper. "Yeah, well," he said dismissively. "Carter's a pool shark for a reason."
"She could beat you... hands down."
"She's welcome to come join us, and then we can have a contest."
"Staff weapon... fastest."
"Especially with Teal'c along," Jack agreed. Aha. A slow curl of smoke plumed upwards now.
A long silence, then, "They'll come."
"Yes." Jack carefully fed twigs to the tiny flame. "They will."
He kept the fire small - no point in wasting more fuel than necessary. When he was satisfied, he shuffled back to Daniel's side. Daniel's breathing had eased, but he was still curled in a ball, eyes closed.
"All done." Jack gently fitted the glasses back onto Daniel's face. "I knew it would be useful to have a geek with glasses around."
Daniel smiled a little, although he didn't open his eyes. "Happy to help," he whispered.
"Always wondered why you never went for laser surgery," Jack added. "Just as well under the circumstances, I guess."
Daniel did open his eyes at that, and his smile grew. "Looked into it," he said, his voice nearly drowned by the steady crackle of the fire. "After Shyla."
Jack suppressed a wince at the memory of the shattered glasses and broken body, half-buried under the rock fall in the naquadah mines. "Oh, yeah?" He kept his voice calmly neutral. "So what stopped you? SGC's insurance wasn't good enough?"
"Contra-indicated." Daniel started a shrug, then stopped, pain washing over his face to replace the smile. He took a slow breath, then continued. "LASIK... not advised for people... in contact sports."
"Contact sports?" Jack repeated blankly.
Daniel raised his brows, and the smile slowly crept back. "Blows to the face - and eyes. Contra-indicated."
Jack stared at his concussed friend and gave a reluctant laugh. "That could be a problem, yes."
"So stick... to glasses."
"Stick to glasses," Jack agreed equably. "They do have their uses."
They settled back to wait.
The Daniel Jackson Theory of Hairy Relativity by Fig Newton
Author's Notes:
Written for the 2009 Gen Battle. The prompt: team, it's all about the hair. Total cracky silliness. Set in late S4.
"No, it makes perfect sense." Daniel gestures as expansively as circumstances allow. "Back in the beginning, Sam's hair was shorter than mine."
"Yeah, you used more hair products than I did," Sam agrees cheerfully.
"But then I ended up with short hair!" Daniel slouches back against the wall, looking triumphant.
"Still not seeing the perfect sense here," Jack says.
"Remember when Sam's hair got really long and messy?"
"Hey!"
"Well, it did." Daniel points an accusing finger at Teal'c, who meets it with a raised eyebrow. "Right around the time you grew that blond chin caterpillar!"
"Daniel!" Sam tries to lean forward enough to whack him on the side of the head, but he's just out of her reach.
"I do not believe it looked like a caterpillar, Daniel Jackson," Teal'c objects.
Sam hesitates, than admits, "Well, I'm sorry, Teal'c, but it really did."
Teal'c frowns. "I see."
"But you shaved it off and Sam cut her hair back to regulation length, so everything's all right!"
"Daniel..." Jack is still wearing his patient face, but after long practice, he knows how to invest Daniel's name with an awful lot of meaning. This time, they all hear the added overtones of you have exactly ten seconds to explain yourself before I haul off and thump you, even when I'm chained up like this, and Daniel's voice starts to accelerate.
"And when I went through the quantum mirror Sam had really long hair and so did Teal'c, and the Doctor Carter who came through our mirror with Kawalsky had long hair too, and the Teal'c of that universe had a goatee!" Daniel stops just long enough to take a breath, and finishes, "Don't you see?"
Jack leans slightly to his left and mutters in Sam's ear, "Did they drug him with something else before they dragged us in here?"
"I'm not sure, sir," Sam answers. "Maybe those knock-out darts are reacting badly to his antihistamines." She pauses, then adds thoughtfully, "Or it might just be Daniel. It's sometimes hard to tell."
"Short hair is good," Daniel insists. He eyes Teal'c, then adds, "Or no hair."
Teal'c gives him a gracious nod of acknowledgment.
"How about floppy hair?" Jack asks, giving up and playing along.
Daniel hesitates, then peers, cross-eyed, up at his own hairline. "Floppy hair isn't bad," he concedes, "but short hair is better. For everyone." He nods firmly.
"Let's say you're right," Sam says. "How is that going to help us?"
Daniel opens his mouth, then closes it.
"Thought so," Jack snorts.
"It wasn't supposed to help." Daniel tries to cross his arms and fails, and the chains jingle in protest. His eyebrows take up the slack instead. "It's just an observation. Whenever we come across a universe where we have long hair, there's always trouble."
"In fact, O'Neill, if Daniel Jackson's theory is correct, then we can apply it to future encounters. It might assist us in determining whom we can trust."
"Thank you, Teal'c," Daniel beams.
"All right, all right. Fine."
Jack tries not to roll his eyes as the dungeon door rumbles open, and their evil dopplegangers march inside, waving their weapons threateningly. Carter's hair is tied back in a braid that reaches down to her knees, Jackson and O'Neill each have shoulder-length hair and flowing beards, and Teal'c sports unruly dreadlocks.
"All right," Jack sighs again. "I'll admit it. It really is all about the hair."
Dreadful Disappointment by Fig Newton
Author's Notes:
When Teal'c is distressed and angered by the shameful treatment of a legend, can SG-1 offer consolation? Slightly cracky team fic.
The music soared to a triumphant climax, the performance came to a grand, stirring close, and applause erupted from the avid watchers.
Without a word, Teal'c rose from his chair and stalked into the cheering, jostling crowd. Jack, Sam, and Daniel exchanged alarmed looks before scrambling after him, abandoning their seats in their efforts to catch Teal'c before he said or did something drastic.
"T! Wait up!"
Teal'c ignored Jack's order and shoved his way past a laughing group of men and women. Luckily, they were too preoccupied with their animated discussion of the production to notice the menacing expression of the former First Prime of Apophis. Daniel pasted a bright smile on his face and babbled a string of apologies as they edged their way past the chattering knot of people.
"We've got to catch him before he gets outside," Jack said urgently.
"I'm on it, sir," Sam assured him. She snaked through a small gap in the crowd and nearly ran up the carpeted aisle. Jack and Daniel grimly pushed forward, hoping to catch the others before Teal'c exploded into fury.
They found Sam and Teal'c standing in the elegant foyer, just inside the doors that led out to the cool night air. Sam was talking rapidly, her voice low and soothing, unfazed by Teal'c's narrowed eyes and that dangerous little tic that throbbed in his right temple.
"...and I'm sure we'll get a good explanation for it next time," she was saying earnestly as Jack and Daniel skidded to a halt.
"There will be no next time, Major Carter," Teal'c growled. "I will not lend any further support to this travesty!"
"Not a problem, T," Jack said hurriedly. "I'd be just as happy to avoid this in the future, anyway."
"Don't let this ruin everything for you, Teal'c," Daniel urged. "It's not worth it."
Teal'c glared. "That man," he hissed, "has taken an epic tale and destroyed it. Do you expect me to accept this calmly? How would you feel, Daniel Jackson, if your greatest myths and legends were so defiled?"
Daniel coughed, looking around at the milling crowds. "Not that I can go into much detail here," he said pointedly, "but I've got to point out to you, Teal'c, that it happens all the time. Nearly every time we go... on a mission, in fact."
Teal'c paused, then gave a reluctant nod of apology.
"Of course, that only helps me appreciate your frustration here," added Daniel, his brows raised.
"Maybe we should discuss this somewhere more private," Sam suggested, trying to gently ease Teal'c outside.
Teal'c wrenched his arm away. "Thank you, Major Carter," he said stiffly, "but I must refuse. We will never speak of this again."
They watched him march out.
"Oy," Jack sighed. "I knew this was going to happen. After that last time..."
"The chances weren't good," Daniel agreed. "Still, we had to make the effort."
Sam gave a rude snort. "Too bad Lucas couldn't have tried to make an effort, too. Attack of the Clones! Ha!"
"Look at the bright side," Jack said as he led them outside, heading toward his parked truck and the brooding Jaffa that waited. "After this, I doubt he'll insist that we go with him to the last Star Wars prequel."
End Notes:
For an accompanying illustration, taken from a 1997
Stargate SG-1 comic, go
here .
Something Smoother by Fig Newton
Author's Notes:
If you're going to drown your frustrations in alcohol, you might as well drink something worthwhile. Jack and Bra'tac, in a missing scene from Sacrifices in S8.
Bra'tac stared at the Totem of Bravery that Ry'ac had shoved into his hand before storming out of the Tau'ri Gateroom.
"I see why one must rehearse such events," he muttered, and helped himself to a healthy swig from the goblet. The thin, almost sour wine was hardly to his taste, but the slight euphoria induced by alcohol was one of the few advantages to using tretonin. At that moment, Bra'tac felt he could use all the encouragement he could get.
The chappa'ai rumbled into life behind him, and Bra'tac automatically moved out of the way of the hurrying soldiers. Weddings were all very well, but defense of the planet had priority.
He was still holding the Totem when he mounted the steps to the control room and witnessed the clash between Teal'c and Ish'ta. Teal'c, with the hard-earned wisdom of the years he had fought alongside Samantha Carter, handled the situation with much greater ease than his son. Nevertheless, Bra'tac could foresee more arguments in the near future.
As Teal'c and Ish'ta departed to make their preparations, Bra'tac turned to return to his own rooms. He found O'Neill standing in the shadows behind him, hands in his pockets, rocking idly on his heels. Bra'tac knew the human was capable of absolute stillness when necessary, but he seemed overly restless at the moment.
"Dress rehearsal didn't go too well, huh?" the man asked, nodding at the nearly-forgotten Totem that still dangled from Bra'tac's fingers.
"It did not," Bra'tac answered, indulging himself with an extra hint of dryness in his tone.
"And nothing to drink but that lousy grape juice." O'Neill shook his head. "C'mon, Bra'tac. I've got something smoother than that."
Bra'tac followed O'Neill up the spiraling stairs and into the general's office, stifling that little spike of regret that the room belonged to O'Neill now, and that Hammond of Texas was no longer part of the SGC.
"I am unsure you can do better than this pat'ka of an excuse for wine," Bra'tac told him as O'Neill closed the door. "Teal'c has told me of your favorite alcoholic beverage. I do not think I would care for fermented barley hops."
O'Neill waved a hand. "No, not beer. Although you're missing out on - well, never mind." He opened a drawer and withdrew a glass bottle, half-filled with an amber liquid. "Let's try another barley product. This one is called scotch."
"Scotch," Bra'tac repeated dubiously. "How does this differ from your beer?"
"Macallan," O'Neill said. "Seventeen-year-old Fine Oak." He removed two glasses from the same drawer, and poured with an air of ceremony that belied his normally casual style.
"Your words mean nothing to me, human."
O'Neill proffered one of the glasses, eyes glinting with something that Bra'tac read as somewhere between amusement and anticipation. "There's a little more skill involved in making whiskey than there is in making beer, Bra'tac - although I'll deny it if you tell anyone I said so." He took the second glass and sniffed its contents appreciatively.
Bra'tac, a little wary, followed suit. His eyebrows rose at the rich, smoky aroma of the golden liquid.
"You'll want to sip it," O'Neill advised him. "The taste is worth it."
"The young do not always understand that good things should be taken slowly," Bra'tac agreed. "Particularly when the price is so high."
O'Neill gave a long, deliberate blink, leaving their mutual understanding of those great costs unspoken. "To Teal'c and Ry'ac," he said, lifting his glass high. "May they always drive each other crazy."
"To Teal'c and Ry'ac." Bra'tac raised his own glass in salute. "May Ry'ac repay Teal'c for everything he has ever done to me."
O'Neill choked back a laugh and clinked his glass against Bra'tac's, and they both drank their whiskey in the quiet office. A new crisis was bound to demand their attention at any moment, but for now, they both savored the smooth, subtle flavors and the fleeting oasis of peace.
A Matter of Preference by Fig Newton
Author's Notes:
Inspired by my own prompt of "Sha're, water."
The gulf between Sha're's former life and her experience as Amaunet's host is vast beyond imagining. Set sometime in Season One, with no spoilers outside of Sha're's predicament.
Amaunet, queen of Apophis, is pampered and cosseted.
She rises at her leisure from bedclothes of silks and satins, instantly surrounded by female slaves who wrap her in gossamer robes and guide her languid steps to the bathing chamber. More slaves await her there, some unfolding snow-white linens, others pouring golden jugs of steaming water into the sunken pool with its mosaic of mother-of-pearl and lapis lazuli. Rose petals float on the water's surface, and the spicy scent of musk incense drifts on the currents of air. Amaunet graciously permits the slaves to divest her of her robes and escort her into the bathing pool, where she is cleansed and anointed with fragrant oils of myrrh and terebinth.
When she is satisfied with her morning ablutions, Amaunet raises a hand in lazy command, and the slaves rush to bear her from the water. She rarely has the patience to remain still as they dress her in the day's chosen finery, but she is generous enough to allow them to scurry after her as she walks out of the steamy room. They reverently lift her hands to lacquer her nails with henna, slipping rings onto her fingers and bracelets onto her wrists; they strap golden sandals, with the names of her enemies woven into the soles, onto her dainty feet; they smooth beaded brocades and sheer pleats of heavy silks against her body; they enhance the queen's natural beauty with kohl, malachite, and ochre; they arrange the thick coils of her lustrous hair with jeweled combs, taking great care not to tug on even a single strand.
A slave pulled at a snarl, once. It took the woman nearly two days to die.
Just as they fasten the clasps of her necklaces and earrings, and finish binding her calves with cords of copper, Amaunet reaches the dining chamber. With regal dignity, Amaunet sinks onto the pile of luxurious pillows. Her gaze passes lazily over the bowed heads of the slaves kneeling before her, gold and silver dishes proffered in their upraised hands. She chooses some sweet glazed walnuts and nibbles slowly, paying little mind to the cascading music of the harpists and the endless tinkling of the fountain of water in the far corner.
To the symbiote coiled against the woman's spine, all this is routine and commonplace -- perhaps even boring.
To the host, used to roughly woven linen, blowing sands, hand-ground flatbreads, and the careful rationing of water, it is luxury beyond imagining.
But Sha're would gladly abandon it all in a heartbeat, if she could only be free of the demon and walk on Abydos again.
Five Fix-Its That Weren't by Fig Newton
Author's Notes:
Five drabbles. Five fix-its that didn't happen to Sam, Daniel, Jack, Teal'c, and Jonas.
Includes specific spoilers for Full Circle, 1969, and Meridian, with a bit of random Jack and Sam friendship and pre-series Teal'c and Bra'tac thrown in for good measure.
Sam, some time in S5:"Well?" Jack hovered, peering anxiously over her shoulder. "Can you fix it?"
Sam straightened and shook her head. "Sorry, sir."
"Oh, come on! You fix the Gate all the time!"
"Fixing the Stargate, sir, involves lightning strikes, meteorites, and crashed al'keshes. But this..." She gestured at the pathetic mess in front of them. "You tried rewiring this yourself, sir. It's beyond help now."
"I've got duct tape," he offered desperately.
Her mouth twitched, but she managed to keep a straight face. "Sorry, sir," she said again. "But if you want to tape
The Simpsons, you'd better get a new VCR."
Daniel, at the end of Full Circle:He scrabbled to bond molecules together again, to hold a world between cupped hands and reshape it into reality. But his fingers turned insubstantial, and the sands of Abydos drained away.
"Let me fix this!" he gasped at Oma, wild-eyed. "Give back the --
Don't do this!"
"It's already done," she told him. "Your people will live, but the planet is dead."
"
Live? This isn't living," he said bitterly. "They didn't choose Ascension!"
"Nor do you any longer, it seems." She sighed. "I will keep them well for you, Daniel. But I see that our paths have diverged for now."
Jack, in 1969:"Well? Can you fix it?" Daniel squinted under the hood.
"Sure thing." Jack wiped his forehead with a dirty sleeve, leaving a streak of oil behind. "But I need tools we don't have."
"That's -- very helpful, Jack."
"We passed a small town about three miles back," Michael offered. "I could hike back and get what you need."
"How long will this delay us?" Daniel asked quietly as Michael moved away.
"Five hours, maybe six," Jack estimated. "We'll still reach New York on time."
"Good."
"I'm not going through the 70s twice if I can help it," Jack agreed. "Let's go."
Teal'c (and Bra'tac), pre-series:"Well? Can you fix it?"
Teal'c stared at the disassembled
zat'nik'a'tel. He wanted to protest, to complain. He wanted to shout at Master Bra'tac that it was unfair to expect a boy of eight winters to know how to repair a weapon of such power.
Instead, he straightened his shoulders, lifted his chin, and met the master's gaze. "No," he said steadily. "I cannot."
Bra'tac's scowl melted into an approving smile. "Good!" he said, clapping Teal'c on the shoulder. "You have learned to accept your limitations with honesty. Now come,
chal'ti, and I will teach you how to surpass them."
Jonas, in Meridian:"Well, Quinn? Have you fixed it?"
Jonas swallowed, feeling sick. "Councilor -- this is
wrong. Doctor Jackson saved our lives, we can't allow..."
"The people cannot know that we nearly destroyed ourselves!" the Councilor snapped. "Jackson makes the perfect scapegoat."
"But he's
dying for us. The Tau'ri are so angry. It's not fair to --"
"Just tell me you've fixed the story as I instructed!"
"I..." Jonas kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, not daring to glance at the key to the room where the naquadriah was locked away. "Yes, Councilor," he lied. "No one will ever know the truth from me."
Author's Notes:
Written as icon fic for Sela. Whatever happened to Jack's rule that the team should stick to rations off-world? Jack with evil Wonder Twins and Teal'c pwnage. Set some time in S1 after Brief Candle, but no real spoilers.
Jack cast a wistful glance over his shoulder even as he faded into the shadows of the dining hall. The whoops and cheers as the six-tiered extravagance was borne away toward the main table suggested that no one planned to wait very long to get started. If he wanted a piece, he would have to go through the dreaded checklist in a hurry.
He found Sam leaning against a pillar near the back wall. She glanced up from her quiet conversation with Daniel as he approached, the smile on her face morphing into something Jack pretended wasn't a smirk.
"Is it that time again, sir?" she asked cheerfully.
"Yes, Carter," he grumped. "And let's do it quick, because I'm pretty sure it was chocolate."
"No chocolate here, Jack," Daniel corrected. "We've only found it off-world twice so far, you know. Maybe it's carob, or something like --"
"Yeah, yeah, chocolate is the best barter in the galaxy. But whether it's carob or something else, it looks good." Jack raked an impatient hand through his hair. "So. Checklist."
"Right." With that smirk still hovering at the corners of her mouth, Sam tried to look serious and attentive. "It's not 'only for you,' right?"
"Not unless they think I can eat six tiers at once, no." Jack peered back towards the center of the room, but his view of the main table was blocked by the eager crowds. "Do I have to worry about other drugs or narcotics?"
"No, sir, that shouldn't be a problem. I asked before the feast began -- there's nothing in it that's not common ingredients for the rest of the food, and I've already tested and cleared that."
"Yeah, Sam," Daniel chimed in, his face suddenly schooled into an expression of wicked innocence. "Not like the stuff on P3X-595 that made you -- ow!"
"Oh, was that your foot, Daniel?" Sam asked sweetly. "I didn't realize it was there. I thought it was still in your mouth."
"And there's no alcohol," Jack said hurriedly as Daniel's eyes sparked for battle. "Daniel said they only drink alcohol at funerals, to escort the dead."
Daniel, suddenly diverted from his friendly squabble with Sam, blinked at him in astonishment. "You listened?"
"I listen sometimes!" Jack said defensively. "And anyway, I feel bad for anyone who never gets the chance to kick back with a cold one."
"You know, Jack, the Ancient Egyptians were also awfully fond of --"
"Yes, Daniel. So you've told me many, many times."
Sam cleared her throat loudly. "Not that I want to interrupt this very important conversation, Colonel," she lied, "but it seems to me that covers the regular items on the checklist. Since since this isn't a Goa'uld-occupied world, we don't have to worry about the more unusual possibilities. It should be safe to eat, sir."
"Excellent!" Jack said, ignoring Daniel's automatic eye roll. "Better come and get some yourself, kids, before it's all gone."
"That's all right, sir."
"We're good, Jack."
"Your loss!" Jack called back to them as he hurried to the center of the hall, weaving through the laughing natives and nimbly avoiding multiple collisions. He licked his lips in anticipation. When was the last time he'd had the chance to really enjoy a hefty slice of moist, delicious...?
He stopped and stared.
One piece left out of that entire monstrosity?
Only one?
Even with this eager crowd, how could they possibly devour six huge tiers of cake so quickly?
Recognizing that now was not the time to analyze the proportion of eaters to slices, he homed in on that final slice of cake. Mouth watering, Jack reached across the expanse of tablecloth --
And a hand darted from Jack's left and snatched the final plate of cake from beneath his questing fingers.
"Hey!" Jack began indignantly, whirling on the interloper, then stopped abruptly.
Teal'c, two-tined fork in hand, raised a single eyebrow in polite inquiry. "Was there something you wished, O'Neill?" he asked calmly. He very deliberately cut a corner off the slice of cake and conveyed it to his mouth.
"I just..." Jack's voice trailed off as Teal'c took a second bite. "Nothing," he sighed. He waved a hand in resigned defeat. "Enjoy the cake, Teal'c."
"Thank you, O'Neill. I believe that I will."
Jack jammed his hands into his pockets and stalked away, muttering to himself in disgust.
Stupid checklist.
Sports Night by Fig Newton
Author's Notes:
Birthday fic for Katie M., who asked for Sam and hockey.
Hockey has its good points, but Sam has her own preferences. Teamy goodness with an added dash of Jack and Daniel silliness and Teal'c pwnage. No spoilers, any season.
Sam tinkers in her lab to the soothing background music of Jack and Daniel squabbling with each other. Teal'c is there, too, but his contributions to the conversation are mostly eyebrow lifts and head tilts, which Sam mentally fills in without actually needing to see them.
This time, they're arguing about professional hockey. Jack extols the sport lovingly and thoroughly, leaving no detail unspoken; Daniel is at his most waspish, with that faux sweet innocence that no one who really knows him can take at face value. Jack gets Daniel to admit that he enjoyed their team outing last year, when they watched the Avalanche beat the Red Wings. Daniel manages to sidetrack Jack onto an anthropological tangent that includes terms like "blood sacrifice" and nearly drives Jack to sputtering incoherence. Teal'c contributes the occasional "indeed," using that dry inflection that pointedly tells them he's laughing at them without ever cracking a smile.
Both men try to drag her into the bickering to take their side, but Sam easily diverts them with a few hmms? and uh-huhs. She knows that neither of them is really invested in the argument; they just enjoy the verbal sparring. It's more fun to watch from the popcorn gallery, anyway -- especially when Teal'c provides the popcorn, as he did on three memorable occasions.
Sam doesn't think she'll ever admit it to Jack, but she actually likes hockey quite a lot. Of course, her reasons for enjoying the sport are different from his. Both of them appreciate grace and skill and speed on ice, but Sam most admires the rapid calculation of angle and vector, the hiss of the puck as it flashes across the rink to take advantage of a gap that wasn't there seconds before. There's a kind of rueful recognition, too, that the players out on the ice don't perform mathematical computations in their heads, as she would in their place; they've simply developed an instinct over years of practice at honing their skills, until they do mental geometry on the move without even realizing it.
Of course, there's one real drawback to professional hockey that doesn't seem to bother Jack at all, and that's that they can't actually take part in the game. They can only watch the players down on the rink, and where's the fun in that?
There's a sudden scuffling, and Sam glances up to absently note that Jack has Daniel pinned in a headlock. Ah -- Jack lost the argument, then.
She ignores Daniel's squawk of protest and turns back to her work, tweaking one last formula before letting the computer analysis begin. Satisfied, she turns towards her friends in time to see Teal'c step forward and rescue Daniel with a single deft move that leaves Jack yelping.
"All right, T! Ow!"
Daniel brushes off his BDUs and gives a little huff of indignation. "And don't think I'm going to watch any hockey tonight, either!"
"I wasn't going to watch hockey tonight," Jack says a little sulkily, trying to maintain his dignity even as he surreptitiously massages life back into his right wrist. "I was going to watch curling."
Daniel rolls his eyes and looks ready for a new round of the Jack and Daniel Show, but Sam interrupts and suggests, "How about a night out instead, sir? O'Malley's, maybe?"
"That would be most enjoyable, Major Carter," Teal'c says immediately, and his eyes meet hers with amused understanding.
"Steak, huh?" Jack stops rubbing his wrist and considers. "Yeah, that sounds good. So long as Daniel here doesn't drink more than one beer and get pie-eyed before we --"
Sam forestalls Daniel's indignant protest by taking his arm and steering him toward the door. "This analysis is going to run all night," she tells him, "so I'm ready to go now. Meet you by the elevators in fifteen?"
They part to change back into civvies before leaving the mountain, and as Sam pulls her leather jacket out of her locker and shrugs into it, she can't help but smile in anticipation of the upcoming evening.
Hockey is spectator sport -- enjoyable, yes, but so limiting.
But a night at O'Malleys, with good food and good friends... and a good pool table where she can cream the opposition? That's what Sam calls fun!
Shake Vigorously for Best Results by Fig Newton
Author's Notes:
When the team comes under attack, Sam uses any weapons she can get. Slightly silly teamy goodness, set sometime around S4.
As she fell onto her hands and knees, a steely grip closed around Sam's left wrist, dragging her inexorably forward. Eyes in an arrogantly beautiful face flared gold in evil anticipation. Fighting against a surge of panic, Sam tried to pull back, but the impossible strength in the Goa'uld's fingers tightened, threatening to crack the bones of her wrist. Desperate, she tried to think of something, anything she could do to defend herself.
Sam knew she couldn't expect help from her team right now. They'd been so badly ambushed it was almost embarrassing. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Daniel, sprawled in a dazed, groaning heap against the wall; Jack and Teal'c were still on the other side of the room, grappling with the enemy Jaffa. Her weapons lay scattered on the ground out of reach, together with the remains of their interrupted meal. They'd actually been sitting down to eat, woefully unprepared for attack, and she still ridiculously clutched a packet of --
Use everything and anything as a weapon, the colonel often said.
Sam flung the contents of the little paper packet into the Goa'uld's face.
***
Hammond stood at the foot of the ramp, surrounded and protected by grim soldiers with their weapons aimed at the open Stargate. O'Neill's message had said that their Goa'uld prisoner was safely restrained, but no one wanted to take any chances.
The blue ripples parted as figures stepped over the event horizon. Major Carter and Dr. Jackson came first, and Hammond quickly assessed the makeshift sling supporting her left wrist and the bloody nose that had left stains on his chin and uniform. Minor injuries, he was glad to see, although Dr. Frasier would certainly examine them carefully. Then Teal'c strode through with a wriggling, cursing figure slung over his shoulder. Teal'c's BDUs were streaked with dirt and somewhat torn, but he seemed unharmed, and Hammond knew the Jaffa well enough by now to detect the fierce satisfaction in his otherwise impassive expression. Colonel O'Neill was last, looking bruised but whole, his weapon held at the ready. His face was relaxed and... amused?
"Brought you a present, sir!" he announced brightly. "One snakehead, neatly packaged and delivered, COD. Batteries not included. Not sure how much intel he'll give us, but we ought to get something out of him before we toss him through the wormhole to Cimmeria."
As the wormhole winked out behind them, Teal'c unceremoniously dumped his burden on the ramp. Hammond was pleased to see that Dr. Lee's new Goa'uld-proof zip ties seemed to be working as advertised. The squirming Goa'uld glared up at them, his eyes strangely red and watering. The menacing threats he shouted in that deep, rumbling timbre seemed almost pathetic under the circumstances.
"Well done, Colonel," Hammond said over the spouted imprecations that he was just as happy not to understand. Jackson, he noted, was leaning over the furiously swearing prisoner with interest, apparently eager to learn some new Goa'uld curse words.
"And we discovered a new anti-Go'auld weapon!" O'Neill continued cheerfully. "Thanks to Carter." He patted her shoulder approvingly.
Hammond glanced at Carter, who shot O'Neill a glare before pasting a smile on her face and turning back to Hammond. "It was a bit improvised, sir," she said hurriedly.
"MREs," O'Neill pronounced with satisfaction. Jackson stifled a snigger.
Hammond gave a quiet sigh. "Colonel, I am relatively certain that I have heard every MRE-inspired joke over the years. But I'm not sure I'm ready to hear what happens when you force-feed a Goa'uld with --"
"We would not do such a thing, General Hammond," Teal'c said gravely. "O'Neill has explained to me your laws regarding the treatment of prisoners."
Ignoring the not-so-stifled snigger this time, Hammond held up his hands, palms out.
"All right, let's get this straight, people." He eyed the prisoner, who had been hauled to his feet by three Marines and was now being led out of the room to a holding cell. "How did Major Carter incapacitate the Goa'uld?"
A reluctant smile spread across Carter's face. "He interrupted us in the middle of a meal, sir," she started. "I'd just heated it..."
"Grilled beefsteak," O'Neill added helpfully.
"...and the Goa'uld surprised us before we could reach for our weapons..."
"Jack and Teal'c managed to fight off five Jaffa, though," Jackson said cheerfully, sounding a bit nasal.
"And Daniel Jackson damaged the crystal on the Goa'uld's hand device." Teal'c gave his teammate a nod of approval.
"That was a bit of luck," Jackson conceded. "But then he threw me across the room, so I couldn't help much."
"...so I used whatever came to hand, sir," Carter finished gamely.
"And in this case," O'Neill said gleefully, "what came to hand was red pepper."
Hammond blinked, remembering the tears that had been running out of the red-rimmed eyes, and then chuckled. "You threw red pepper into a Goa'uld's eyes, Major?"
Carter gave a shrug and a sheepish grin. "Well, yes. Sorry, sir. Couldn't reach the hot sauce."
All the Difference by Fig Newton
Author's Notes:
Backstory for S10's <i>Road Not Taken</i>: four drabbles that highlight where the darker alternate reality diverged from the SGC's timeline. Includes reference to non-canon AU major character death.
Quoted dialogue in italics is taken directly from the episode.
"Teal'c went back to the Jaffa several years ago... We barely got the chair out of Antarctica before the Russians moved in."When Daniel's vehement protests left him confined to a holding cell, Sam and Teal'c tried to find other ways to convince their superiors to preserve Jack's life.
"Moving the chair out of Antarctica disconnects the power to
everything, including the stasis chamber. The NID must want it in working condition!"
"O'Neill still carries the knowledge of the Ancients. Surely your government would find that useful."
General Hammond sighed. "They think it's more important to keep the ZPM out of Russian hands. I've tried, but -- I'm sorry."
Two days after Jack died, Teal'c walked through the Stargate and never came back.
***
"You abandoned the Alpha Site. You cut ties with the Jaffa. You pulled back on almost everything!"Sam argued, "If we abandon the Alpha Site, we're cutting our last ties with the Free Jaffa!"
"That's right," General Vidrine replied coolly. "This planet is at war, Major. We won't waste the SGC's resources just so you can keep up with old friends."
Sam gritted her teeth. "This isn't about Teal'c, sir. We
need allies out there. We can't afford to ignore what's happening in the rest of the galaxy."
"The Tok'ra are worse than useless. The Asgard are always busy. And the Jaffa need us more than we need them." Vidrine closed the folder. "My decision is final."
***
"I'm sorry, sir. It's just a little strange. The General Hammond I know is retired from active service."
"Well, then, he's a lucky man.""Mr. President, I respectfully tender my resignation."
"Denied," Landry said immediately. "Come on, George. If the Joint Chiefs refused, what makes you think I'd agree?"
Hammond remained at attention. "Mr. President, I can't do my job when my orders are countermanded and I'm not allowed to protect my people!"
"I know you don't always like Vidrine's decisions, George," Landry sympathized. "But I need you. Think of how much worse it would be without your steady hand."
Hammond swallowed. The threat wasn't as blatant as the NID's kidnapping of Tessa and Kayla, but he knew that he'd never dare retire now.
***
"Dr. Jackson was captured by the forces of the Ori several weeks ago."They zatted Daniel in a corridor where the cameras were inexplicably off-line. When he groggily awoke, he was strapped to a gurney in a featureless room, a sneering man standing over him.
Protests were useless, but he said with acid politeness, "Did Landry get a good deal from Adria?"
"Good enough, Jackson," Colonel Maybourne gloated. "Quite frankly, it's worth it just to be rid of you."
"Too many protests about the loss of civil liberties?" Daniel asked sweetly.
Glaring, Maybourne toggled his radio. "We're in position. He's all yours, Tomin."
Daniel vanished from Earth in a flash of light.
Vested Interest by Fig Newton
Author's Notes:
The geeks make good tac vests, but they're no help if they're not actually worn. Jack and his thoughts in the wake of Heroes, with all the warning that entails.
t's a tactical vest, not a hand grenade. But Jack picks it up like it's about to explode.
It's heavier than the old kind, and that's before he loads it with the regular items on the list and the not-so-regular additions that SG teams have found so useful off-world. Jack is all too conscious of that difference in weight, and it twists his thinking onto paths where he really doesn't want to go.
The SGC scientists designed this vest. It's a good one, Jack knows.
And yet...
It's a grand old tradition for soldiers of all stripes to hold scientists and researchers in contempt. After all, what do they know about real life? They never spend days on end in rain and mud, trying to empty water out of their boots, or learn to carefully ration water so they won't collapse of dehydration in desert conditions. They know nothing about life in the field, about tears and blood and shaking hands with death, that old friend and nemesis. They only have their shiny pie charts and bright, clean numbers that tell them how things ought to be. None of them know the first thing about the way things really are.
Jack thought that way, too, in the days Before Daniel. Then the sneezy geek jumped in front of a staff weapon to spare Jack's life. It's hard to be contemptuous of scientists when one of them saves your team, helps you lead a rebellion, and then gets you and your people home.
For a while, in that first year After Daniel, Jack puts the guy into his own category. It's not as if Daniel fits neatly into any other category, anyway. So Jack still keeps his contempt for scientists, with a little asterisk labeled "except Dr. Daniel Jackson" in very small print. Daniel is different, fair enough, but all the other scientist types are just a waste of time.
Then Jack meets Samantha Carter and tries to put her in the regular scientist category, and discovers that he can't. And he's smart enough, and honest enough, to recognize that it's time to do a little reshuffling of the old categories. It's lazy thinking to assume that he just so happens to know the only two scientists that aren't useless. Besides, everything at the SGC is so dependent on science and technology that the geek factor is exponentially increased. He has to deal with them, whether he likes it or not. So he might as well learn to approach them on their own terms.
For the most part, Jack foists the scientists and researchers on Daniel and Carter. That usually works well. But Jack learns, over time, to appreciate the SGC nerds that seem to live on nerves and coffee and M&Ms. They'll never be friends of his, and it's sometimes hard to be civil with them. But they come up with better ways to kill the Goa'uld, and save his team's lives with better equipment or improved understanding of the Gate. He'd still rather keep them at arms' length, but geeks definitely have their uses.
There are exceptions, of course. Jack can't abide any kind of incompetence, whether it's military or scientific. Happily, the SGC has a very small ratio of incompetents in any shape or color, but Jack doesn't even bother to try to hide his contempt for the few that slip between the cracks and make his life miserable. The SGC is on the front lines; there's no room for incompetent stupidity. If a few choice words and gestures will get rid of the stupid types more quickly, then he's all for it.
Still, most of the SGC scientists are a decent bunch. They do good work.
But today, as Jack carefully buckles the tac vest over still-tender ribs, he isn't thinking about the geeks who created the special insert that saved his life from a point-blank staff weapon blast. For all he appreciates that competence and dedication from a bunch of scientists who never really go out in the field, his thoughts are elsewhere: on the scientist who did go out into the field, who combined smarts and skill with humor and courage, and who died in the hope that another might live.
He's glad the geeks made the vest for him.
He just wishes Janet would have put one on, too.
Author's Notes:
Off-world team silliness and Teal'c pwnage. Written as iconfic.
The staff weapon would not serve for this hunt, Teal'c decided. He lay it aside and unholstered his zat instead.
Rising with his usual grace, Teal'c moved away from the friendly, dancing light of their campfire. "I will return shortly," he assured the others, even as he armed the zat with a satisfying
spang.Daniel Jackson eyed the zat and frowned, his brows drawing together. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Of course he's sure," Major Carter snorted. She crumpled an empty bag and tossed it into the fire. "This has got to be stopped."
"Hey, I don't like it any more than you do, but do you really think it's worth...?"
There was the sound of some pummeling and a few faint yelps from Daniel Jackson as Teal'c faded back into the night shadows. He allowed himself a faint quirk of a smile.
This was the last of three nights on P4X-317, and Teal'c had already assured himself that there was no real danger. The nocturnal sounds of the woods, both insects and small beasts, were similar to those on many other planets they had visited. It took little skill for Teal'c to track the disturbed silences, the hesitant chirps or erratic squeaks, that spoke of an intruder that had blundered through the underbrush not long before. Moving noiselessly through last year's bracken and easily avoiding fallen twigs, Teal'c stalked his prey. His breath quickened with anticipation as he sensed that his quarry was nearby. In moments, his hunt would prove triumphant.
There! He was crouched behind a tree, weapon slung casually across one shoulder, foolishly confident that he had evaded pursuit. It was clear that he was unaware of Teal'c's presence. A faint, telltale crinkle of paper betrayed his callous disregard for the rightful owners of his stolen prize.
It was time to confront him.
Teal'c stepped around the tree and aimed his zat directly between O'Neill's eyes.
The confrontation was everything he might have wished. O'Neill yelped with alarm and reached for his rifle, sending a shower of wrapped confections pattering to the ground. Teal'c allowed his finger to tighten just a little on the zat's trigger, and O'Neill hurriedly lifted his hands, palms outward, away from his weapon.
"T! Warn a guy next time, would ya?"
"This is indeed a warning, O'Neill. You are not yet unconscious."
"Ah, yeah." O'Neill gave the scattered sweets a mournful look before turning back to Teal'c. "Is this really necessary, big guy?"
"I believe that it is." Teal'c took a half-step closer, the zat still aimed immovably at O'Neill's face. "There is a long-standing agreement regarding the sharing of candy off-world, O'Neill. You were most eager to partake of Daniel Jackson's M&Ms, Major Carter's Snickers bars, and my own Hershey's Kisses. Yet when you went on 'patrol' tonight, you seem to have inexplicably taken your White Rabbit Creamy Candies with you." He glanced pointedly at the candies strewn on the forest floor, then jerked his gaze back to O'Neill. "Can you explain this, O'Neill?"
"Oh. Well." O'Neill gathered the fallen treats and grumbled to his feet, still careful not to make any sudden moves towards his weapon. He was a seasoned warrior, after all.
"Split 'em with you?" he offered a little sheepishly, holding out a handful. Then, without warning, he turned and fled back towards their campsite.
Teal'c watched him go, even though the shot would have been an easy one. Despite such provocation, even on this planet devoid of large predators, Teal'c was too prudent to actually shoot O'Neill off-world.
Nor was there any true need. O'Neill would doubtless find that Daniel Jackson had accidentally finished all the coffee; Major Carter would suddenly have several technical explanations that her commanding officer must hear in great detail. And if their next workout at the SGC left the man a little more bruised than usual... Well, Teal'c could at least be sure that there would be no candy hoarding on their
next mission.
Temper, Temper by Fig Newton
Author's Notes:
Sometimes, a little crankiness comes in handy. A missing scene with Jack and Jacob from Reckoning.
Jack scrubbed a hand through his hair, allowing himself the luxury of a sigh of frustration. After years of struggle against megalomaniac snakes, it just didn't seem fair that the entire galaxy was going down to a bunch of rabid Lego blocks.
He was grateful to Jacob for ignoring the Council's directives and coming to the SGC to share Tok'ra intel. There was a strange, almost morbid fascination in watching those little red dots wink out, one by one, as the Replicators systematically wiped out the Goa'uld. Only now, of course, the Tok'ra gizmo had decided to go on the fritz, and Jacob's efforts to get it working again didn't seem to be getting anywhere.
Jack cast a sidelong glance at the balding man who sat glaring at the computer screen, grumbling to himself in a voice that occasionally shifted unexpectedly into a deeper phlanged rumble. There were too many uneasy thoughts unspoken there, frustration and fear warring with each other and leaving both man and symbiote with vile tempers. It wasn't just the deteriorating situation out there, Jack knew. Part of it was the Tok'ra's contemptuous rejection of Selmac's counsel and opinions, the one they had once called their "oldest and wisest." The simultaneous abandonment of Jacob's home planet certainly didn't help, either. But worst of all, both Jack and Jacob were all too painfully aware that the Replicators were being directed by a creature with the face and mind of Samantha Carter -- only this Sam had all the brakes off, devoid of the morals her father had taught her and the principles of the Air Force that she and Jack had served together. Watching the carnage playing out across the galaxy, part of him was secretly awed by the sheer self-control that the real Sam Carter must have on a regular basis.
All things considered, Jack admired Jacob and Selmac's shared repertoire of muttered swear words. Maybe he could come up with a few original ones of his own.
"This isn't working!" Jacob suddenly burst out, shoving his chair back. "I can't get the receiver to mesh with this cheap, shoddy --"
"Hey, that's Air Force's finest you're maligning," Jack protested with idle insincerity. Then he saw Jacob's eyes narrow, heard the hiss of indrawn breath, and suddenly realized how much both of them -- all three of them, actually -- really needed this. So he deliberately added, "Anyway, we're 28 levels underground. We can't even get cable here. If we can't get ESPN network, how do you expect to get access to your subspace network?"
"Jack, could you just try not to be stupid for long enough to--"
"Aluminum foil to boost the signal, maybe? I could probably find some in the kitchen. I specifically remember signing the requisition for some."
"Maybe you could make a tin foil hat for yourself!" Jacob snapped. "Use it to keep all the fairies out."
Jack tried to look hurt. "Hey, don't blame me for this! You'd think your doohickey could at least get The Simpsons..."
Things got a little incoherent after that. Jack soon lost sight of the deliberate provocation thing and charged enthusiastically into the all-out-argument thing. He vaguely remembered a three-way shouting match and some crashing furniture, although no one lost it enough to try to actually throw a punch. And afterward, with the air still sizzling from the pungency of some choice phrases and the SFs at the door very carefully pretending deafness, Jacob calmly picked up his chair, sat down at the computer console, and went back to work.
The red dots popped back onto the screen a few minutes later. Their Tok'ra satellite dish was back in business.
"Nice work, Jacob," Jack said cheerfully. "And Selmac too, of course."
Jacob eyed him with well-deserved skepticism, then blinked his eyes gold. "Thank you, General O'Neill," Selmac replied acerbically for them both. "That was quite therapeutic. I must remember to lose my temper with you more often in the future."
"Ah, thank you," Jack said, and he could feel his smile slowly leaking away. "I'll look forward to that... I think."
A Fine and Private Place by Fig Newton
Author's Notes:
In the wake of Descension, Daniel considers the nature of memories, with an extra dose of angst. Centered around S7, but assume spoilers for anything from the beginning of the show through Ripple Effect in S9.
After Daniel's spirit fled infinity to settle back within the normal dimensions of flesh and bone, he struggled with memory for a long time.
It wasn't just the amnesia, although that was troubling enough in all its embarrassing exposure. His friends' disturbed reactions to those initial gaps and lapses stopped him from ever telling them the deeper, more frightening confusion of a memory that wasn't just fragmented, but couldn't be trusted. A failure to remember was nothing in comparison to the terror of remembering too much.
It was unnerving to realize that time and mind had been cast adrift so many times before. But as he faced the tangled, criss-crossed webs of his own brain, Daniel had no choice but to accept that Oma was only the last in a long line of people who had tampered with the threads of his life, twisting memories along different realities or false pasts.
Before his Ascension, Daniel's mortal thoughts had managed to slot the multiple layers of self and space into relatively tidy niches. Now, though, Daniel struggled to reconcile a decade lived twice -- once under the Aschen, once in respooled time. He tried to ignore his mind's insistence that he had been a child of four and a man of thirty at one and the same time in 1969. His identity screamed soundlessly under the weight of so many contradictions: he was simultaneously Daniel and Carlin, a ravening Touched and an arrogant princeling, mindless beloved and nishta-soaked acolyte, haunted schizophrenic and suicidal addict, doctor of archeology and doctor of psychology. He remembered saving Sha're and watching her die as equal truths. He had to examine his files to learn whether or not he had actually quit his job at the SGC after Sha're had been killed. Moscow loomed in his nightmares, insisting it wasn't really there. Trying to assimilate some 300 repetitions of the same ten hours in a single plane of existence nearly drove him insane.
It took over a year for Daniel to carefully restructure the strata of memory, spacetime, and reality. The occasional slip or stumble -- sometimes literally, when he forgot that he wasn't really out of phase and couldn't just wander through the closest wall -- raised an occasional eyebrow, but he managed to avoid revealing the truth. Once or twice, he found himself speculating that it might be better to learn how to be his multiple selves in all their iterations. But then he decided that he'd already dropped Ascension once, and didn't need to try it again on a more human scale.
Then he did end up trying Ascension again, courtesy of the human form replicator that wore the face of one of his best friends. When he returned to himself that second time, he was grateful to discover that his memories weren't as relentlessly confused as they'd been on the first occasion. He still retained flashes of other pasts and realities, but it was more dream-like and didn't threaten to overwhelm his mortal senses. If he'd had to deal with reconciling the identities of twelve different people after his experience on the Stromos...
Now time and space had twisted on their axes again, even if their confusion wasn't locked within the confines of his mind. As they readied to send the different SG-1 teams back to their own realities, Daniel stepped forward to give a final goodbye to the woman he'd missed so dearly since her irrevocable death three years before.
He wrapped his arms around her slight frame and hugged her tightly, allowing himself the guilty pleasure of inhaling the scent of her hair. Janet Frasier -- physically here. Breathing. Alive. Well. Whole.
"It was good to see you again," he breathed.
She smiled up at him, brown eyes alight. "You, too," she said.
But as he returned the smile and stepped back from her, his mind flashed on two other goodbye hugs he had shared in a time that didn't really exist. Then, he'd said his goodbyes to Sam and Jack when he left the SGC after Sha're died. And with a sudden rush of anguish, Daniel knew that for all that it might feel otherwise, this embrace with Janet was every bit as much of a false mirage.
***
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
-- To His Coy Mistress, by Andrew Martell
Dial it Up, Daniel by Fig Newton
Author's Notes:
Daniel idly speculates on Ancient influence on the human psyche. Very vague references to events through much of the show, but no real spoilers.
Daniel can't help it: he's always looking for traces of the past, wondering how the now has been influenced by the then.
Back at the beginning, as they stumble through the Stargate like blindfolded children, the Tau'ri only know of the Goa'uld's connections with Ancient Egypt mythology. Missions go by, the years pass, and their knowledge slowly accumulates. The Asgard and the Norse; Greek mythology, Japanese, Chinese. But even before Oma Desala becomes such a prominent figure in his own life, Daniel is particularly fascinated by the Ancients.
He never gets confirmation that the aliens were the Ancient Ones who instructed the Romans in the art of viae, but events during Jack's first exposure to the Ancient Repository do prove that they built the Stargates. Then there are the finds in Antarctica: the second Stargate, poor Aiyana, the Ancient Outpost. There's even Arthurian legend, which can arguably trace back to Roman England to maintain a tenuous connection with Daniel's developing theories. The Ancients clearly have a strong influence on Earth's past; how much of that influence still lingers in the human race?
Daniel considers the Stargate. Back in the early days, it is Sam who first suggests the obvious analogue of a telephone -- press the right sequence of symbols, make a connection. Teal'c informs them that the Jaffa refer to the alry'sai of the chappa'ai, and Daniel is fascinated to discover the similarities to the Ancient Egyptian word for "key." But in the SGC, with the Air Force's innate fondness for acronyms, the device quickly becomes known as the DHD -- the Dial Home Device. References to "dialing the Gate," "cold-calling," and "wrong number" abound. Daniel is absurdly charmed by this example of humanity's penchant for taking soaring wonder and relegating it to the commonplace.
But there's something there, Daniel thinks. Something that simmers below the level of actual consciousness, but is still part of their lives. The constellations are connect-the-dots, a product of human imagination, yet those same shapes stand in proud relief on Gate and DHD. Do Orion and Centaurus owe their design to idle speculation and visualization, or is there a deeper connotation to the Ancients and their own visions?
And the DHD's shape, with the symbols arcing in a ring to let them "dial" -- is it mere coincidence, or something more that makes them so similar to the classic rotary dial of the common telephone? When Almon Brown Strowger patents his design in 1891, is he simply choosing a form and shape that is pleasing and efficient, or is he responding to an Ancient echo buried deep in his psyche?
It's all idle speculation on Daniel's part, and he never gets around to discussing it with anyone. So when they first find the ship on Maybourne's planet with its built-in DHD, and he later learns that Atlantis has a similar set-up in its Gate room, he never bothers to explain the small grin that sneaks onto his face whenever he thinks about them.
From rotary dials to touch-tone keypads. Too bad the Ancients went glowy before they could advance to voice recognition.
Seeking Definition by Fig Newton
Author's Notes:
Sam reflects on her working relationship and friendship with Teal'c. Set in early S2, with some spoilers for COTG and Bloodlines.
The more they learn about Jaffa culture and lifestyles, the more Sam appreciates that Teal'c consistently treats her as an equal.
It's not until they travel to Chulak for the second time and meet Drey'auc and Ry'ac and Bra'tac that Sam begins to understand how very unusual Teal'c's egalitarianism actually is. Drey'auc is fierce and fights like a wildcat when her son is threatened, but she is clearly subordinate to Teal'c -- not only as his wife, but also as a woman. The dripping contempt in Bra'tac's voice when he sneers at Sam tells her the same thing: among the Jaffa, women are second-class and do not fight side-by-side with the men.
They change his mind before they leave, or at least plant the seeds of a grudging respect. She thinks Bra'tac is more impressed than he cares to admit that she and Daniel dared to steal a symbiote from the temple. And while Bra'tac is still impatient and abrasive when they meet him again in their own solar system, he works with them willingly and departs from Earth with what seems to be a genuine respect for every member of SG-1.
It takes time for Bra'tac to make that transition, though, and Sam wonders what causes Teal'c to see her as a fellow warrior rather than a female. It's certainly not from typical Jaffa upbringing, and Bra'tac's initial response to her presence on the team shows that Teal'c didn't learn it from his canny old mentor, either. She idly speculates with Daniel on the subject, and he suggests that Teal'c might not have actually realized that she's a woman when they first met. Most cultures, he says, determine the status of strangers by evaluating their dress and behavior.
"You wear the same uniform and carry the same weapons as everyone else," Daniel points out. "And your hairstyle is short enough to pass for male in Jaffa culture -- every woman we met on Chulak was long-haired."
"With your hair, you might be considered a woman," Sam teases him, and chuckles as he snorts at this regular joke between them. "And anyway, wouldn't I have to be bald to qualify as a Jaffa-type warrior?"
Daniel quirks his eyebrows at her. "Oh, very funny."
"I thought so," Sam says cheerfully.
"You certainly fight as well as everyone else, Captain Carter -- or better," he adds with a wry grin, and ducks her friendly swat at his head. "So in that crazy scramble to get off Chulak, why should Teal'c imagine that you're a woman?"
"He had a good look when he came through the Gate to the SGC and I met him on the ramp," Sam objects.
"But by that point," Daniel says triumphantly, "his opinion of you as a warrior was already established. Why should that change just because you're female?"
Sam gives him an affectionate poke. It's very Daniel to think like that. She doesn't bother to point out that even in academia, where credentials are technically more important than gender, there's still a regular undercurrent of patronization to women. The military... well, official policy is one thing, and she will readily concede that a lot of soldiers certainly try, but skills and accomplishments will never remove the stigma of being female in the eyes of too many officers.
She doesn't approach the colonel and ask him to help her explain it, even though he and Teal'c have a definite rapport of brother warriors and he might have some deeper understanding into Teal'c's attitude. It wouldn't be fair. Any question regarding Teal'c's opinion of her will automatically demand that he also specify the degrees of woman and soldier that he perceives. Her professional relationship with Colonel O'Neill is a good one right now; she doesn't want to jeopardize it with unnecessary awkwardness.
But even as Sam rejects the possibility of talking to the colonel, she wonders if her CO's attitudes might explain Teal'c's as well. Colonel O'Neill accepts not only a woman, but also a civilian as a teammate. For Teal'c, maybe accepting the Tau'ri, with their slow healing and susceptibility to disease and lesser strength, is all of a whole. There's a much greater degree of weakness between Teal'c and the colonel than there is between the colonel and herself, after all.
One day, Sam hopes, she'll be comfortable enough with Teal'c to ask him point-blank. She can just picture the slight tilt to his head, that extra gleam of amusement that will come into his eyes as he answers her with grave courtesy. For now, though, Sam will treasure the warmth of the memory of walking back up the ramp towards Teal'c on that first tumultuous day, and his steady scrutiny of her face before gravely and wordlessly offering her his staff weapon.
It was a grand beginning to a most unusual friendship. And Sam feels sure that it's only going to get better.
A Study of Cultural Behavior by Fig Newton
Author's Notes:
Teal'c and Daniel discuss the relative merits of cultural knowledge. No spoilers, but set at least in S3-4 to give Teal'c time to accumulate his knowledge of pop culture.
This was written for Aelfgyfu, who requested, "Teal'c actually explains something in American culture to Daniel (who is, let's face it, not always the most clued-in guy)."
Daniel, busy scribbling in his journal by firelight, was vaguely aware that Jack seemed to be in harangue mode. Since he was seated on the other side of the campfire and he wasn't shouting, Daniel chose to ignore him. On some subconscious level, his brain mapped the simple logic: Jack wasn't snatching away his journal and demanding that he pay attention; Sam was on watch, pacing the perimeter; ergo, it must be Teal'c who was getting the lecture. That also explained the lack of any audible response -- Teal'c was probably letting his eyebrow do all the talking.
The sound of Jack's voice faded after a while. He'd probably turned in; he was scheduled to take the second watch that night. Daniel turned a page, thought for a moment, and continued to catalog his observations on the interesting variations to Linear B that he'd filmed in the ruins two klicks away.
Teal'c must have moved with his usual cat-footed silence, for Daniel's first warning of his presence was when Teal'c settled down next to him. Daniel slanted a glance at his friend, noting the cross-legged posture, straight back, closed eyes, and raised chin. To anyone outside the team, Teal'c would've presented the perfect picture of kel no reem. Daniel, however, noted the slight twitch in the jaw that suggested that Teal'c was struggling with something.
"All right?" he asked mildly. He closed the journal to show he was ready to talk, but kept his pen in place as a bookmark to show that he could return to his writing if Teal'c preferred not to discuss whatever was bothering him.
After a moment, Teal'c opened his eyes and turned to look at him. "O'Neill has very strong views regarding the Springfield Isotopes," he observed.
"He does, huh?" Daniel waited, hoping for another clue. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he had no idea if the Springfield Isotopes were Jack's hockey team, baseball team, or basketball team. Or possibly chess club.
"I can understand the joy of seeing one warrior challenge another, even if it is more satisfying to partake in the challenge myself," Teal'c continued. "But the purpose for this particular obsession escapes me."
Daniel absently traced the spine of his journal. "Lots of people feel a special connection with their hometown or state, even after they've moved away," he offered. He knew that Teal'c had no such emotional tie to his birthplace; perhaps that was why he was so baffled by Jack's enthusiasm. "I know Jack is a Minnesota boy at heart, but after so many years in Chicago, it's understandable that he wants to cheer for the..."
His voice trailed off under the weight of Teal'c's unbelieving stare. "What?" he asked uncertainly.
"Daniel Jackson." Teal'c tilted his head to one side. "What are you talking about?"
"Ah, the Springfield Isotopes?" Daniel flipped a hand. "This team of Jack's from the capital of Illinois."
Teal'c's eyebrow arched high, and he regarded Daniel with something that looked almost like pity. "Springfield," he explained patiently, "is the fictitious city in which the Simpson family resides. The Isotopes are the local minor league baseball team."
"Oh," Daniel said blankly. "Well, then."
Teal'c laced his fingers together and contemplated Daniel, much the same way Daniel himself contemplated an alien artifact. "Daniel Jackson, this is not the first time we have learned that I possess a greater knowledge of Tau'ri popular culture than you."
"I took you to see The Fellowship of the Ring," Daniel said defensively.
One side of Teal'c's mouth tipped upward in a gently mocking smile. "I believe that is 'geek' pop culture. It does not count."
Daniel huffed a little. "Look, you know things get pretty busy for us. I have a life outside the SGC. I just don't choose to spend it watching The Simpsons!"
"And yet it is part of American culture, is it not?"
"Certainly," Daniel replied readily. "I'm not embarrassed to admit that I don't keep up with pop culture. I have my own interests."
"Yet could it not be said that much of the mythology and legends you so avidly pursue were based upon the popular culture of their time?" Teal'c turned his head to gaze into the dancing flames of their campfire. "In the end, Daniel Jackson, it seems to me that the ancient cultures you study were equally obsessed with sports and entertainment, just as the Tau'ri are today. I do not understand why you so value ancient mythology, yet reject The Simpsons and O'Neill's teams."
Daniel chuckled. "Or tabloids?" he suggested.
"Indeed." Teal'c's eyes warmed.
Daniel scrambled to his feet and stretched. "You have a point," he said. "Ancient entertainments weren't any better than today. At least blood sports have evolved to include protective padding, and we've done away with sacrifices -- the literal kind, anyway." He suppressed a yawn. "On the other hand, Teal'c, let's be honest. My knowledge of ancient cultures can help us off-world. I seriously doubt that pop culture will come in handy when we're dealing with the Goa'uld."
"Not necessarily," Teal'c disagreed. "On P3X-871, we might have put some of Doctor Alan Grant's knowledge to good use."
"Who?" Daniel's brows drew together. "That was the planet with the dinosaurs, right? Is Alan Grant someone at the SGC? I don't recognize the name..."
Teal'c allowed himself a small, rueful sigh. "Never mind, Daniel Jackson," he said. "You have the final watch tonight. I suggest you get some rest."
"Good idea, Teal'c." Daniel yawned again. "'Night."
Teal'c watched him go, then turned his attention back to the flames. He needed to kel no reem before relieving Major Carter.
Still, as his heartbeat slowed and his breathing grew shallow, Teal'c reflected that while Daniel Jackson remained woefully ignorant of some of the greater joys of modern Tau'ri life, at least he was spared the worst of O'Neill's diatribes. Perhaps there was merit in his position, after all.
Chug When They Reverse the Polarity by Fig Newton
Author's Notes:
Sam, Janet, and movie choices.
Sam turned smoothly into the parking lot of Blockbuster Videos and parked the red Mustang. As she switched off the ignition, she cast a sidelong glance at the woman in the passenger seat. Janet had already kicked off her shoes, propped her stockinged feet on the dashboard, and was studying the label of the bottle of vodka they'd purchased at their previous stop. Sam could almost see little coils of tension unwinding themselves as Janet's mouth tipped up into a smile.
Yes, this was a good idea. After a week of lockdown, fighting an alien infection that rampaged through the SGC, Janet deserved some down time. She sent a mental message of thanks to Jack and Daniel for volunteering to take Cassie for the day as their contribution to the cause.
"What kind of movie should we get?" Sam asked after a minute of peaceful silence.
Janet tilted the seat back as far as it could go, closing her eyes against the afternoon sunshine that slanted across her face. "It depends," she answered sleepily. "What kind of entertainment are we looking for?"
Sam absently twirled the key ring on her finger. "You mean chick flick, action flick, science fiction, or what?"
"No, not that." Janet opened one eye as her smile morphed into a wicked grin. "We have to decide if we want to enjoy the movie, or enjoy mocking it."
"What...? Oh!" Sam, catching on, felt an equally evil smile spread across her own face. "So, we either avoid any movie that's about anything medical..."
"...or military..." Janet chimed in.
"...or scientific," Sam continued. "Or we deliberately pick up some movies that do pretend to be good at the medical or military or scientific, and spend the whole time pointing and laughing at the screen."
The two women looked at one another for a moment.
"He flatlined!" Janet suddenly squeaked in a falsetto. "Get the defibrillator!"
"Really loud explosions in space!" Sam countered. "With lots of shooting flames!"
"Doctors that feel for pulses in the wrong place, and perform CPR at the wrong speed."
"Shot by a revolver and thrown backward ten feet," Sam said, rolling her eyes.
They looked at each other again and laughed.
"I know which option gives us more choices," Janet said, moving her chair back to a sitting position.
"It's not as if we'll find a movie that actually portrays any of those subjects with even the slightest bit of accuracy," Sam agreed.
"And if we go with Option One, we won't have the opportunity for drinking games whenever someone breaks the laws of physics or physiology," Janet added, with the air of scoring a point.
Sam snorted. "Is that supposed to be an advantage or a disadvantage? Speaking as my doctor, I mean. With you, it's sometimes hard to tell."
"Speaking as your doctor," Janet drawled, taking her feet off the dashboard and fumbling for her shoes, "we are both in dire need of a good drink or five. So I'd put that in the 'advantage' category."
"I'll take that prescription, thank you." Sam opened her car door, then paused as a sudden thought struck her. "Hey, do you think we could find a movie that mangles all three subjects at once?"
"We can certainly try," Janet said cheerfully. "Come on, let's go!"
Purple Beaches and Green Bikinis by Fig Newton
Author's Notes:
SG-1 brings its unique touch to everything, even a day at the beach. Jack and Teal'c friendship, teamy goodness, Hammond awesomeness.
Team building comes in many different guises. War games, competitions, carefully encouraged rivalry -- those were the official kinds. Then there were the less official ones, where the lines got blurred just a little and you could only try them out when the team was already solid. Barbecues, poker nights, even the occasional bar brawl -- you wouldn't find those listed in any manual, but those were the kind of events that took what was already a close-knit unit and helped forge it into an unbreakable whole, greater than the sum of its parts.
Of course, it was keeping each other alive under live fire that really built a team. If he asked Teal'c, Jack thought, he would probably raise that eyebrow of his just a fraction before blandly informing him that the Jaffa had team building exercises like that all the time. But Jack preferred the non-lethal type of team building. The kind that came with potential fatalities usually presented itself more often than he'd like, anyway.
So they had to look for different ways to build the team. Jack had to admit that matching one-piece swimsuits in BDU olive drab wouldn't have been on his personal list of options. Then again, no one on SG-1 would've been on his personal list before he'd met them: not the geek, the woman, or the alien who used to be the enemy. But there was that "keeping each other alive under live fire" thing, which they'd already done more than once -- sometimes with death included, even if that death happily didn't take. By now, Jack wouldn't trade Daniel or Carter or Teal'c for anyone or anything.
But they were still expected to take part in officially-sanctioned SGC team building events. So when Hammond mentioned that the Joint Chiefs had arranged for a summer outing to Morse Park for all SGC personnel and their families, Jack had pointed out a certain SG-1 complication: to wit, one Jaffa complete with symbiote pouch. How could Teal'c show up at the beach in swimming trunks, especially when civilian families would be present?
Hammond looked apologetic. He'd already thought of that, apparently, and voiced a quiet objection. The higher-uppers seemed to think that Teal'c wouldn't mind sitting this one out.
Jack rocked back on his heels, put on his best "technically respectful but about to be disrespectful" expression, and wondered aloud how they were supposed to build a team when the team wasn't allowed to be together.
Hammond had put on his best "insubordination might be fun, Colonel, but you can get a lot more accomplished by working within the rules" face. "If you have any suggestions, I'd be glad to hear them," he said with deceptive mildness, and Jack caught the undercurrent of Please find a solution so I can give Teal'c the courtesy he deserves.
So Jack went to his team and asked for input. Teal'c first requested some clarification regarding beach etiquette, and then asked why he couldn't wear a swimsuit that covered his abdomen the way that women do -- "Unless Major Carter plans to wear a bikini," he added with apparent seriousness, and Jack had nearly choked at the mental image of Teal'c striking a pose in a sweet little two-piece number. That was when Daniel facetiously suggested they all wear matching one-piece bathing suits, preferably in BDU green. Before Jack knew it, Daniel was sketching several possible designs on the back of Jack's latest mission report while Carter leaned over his shoulder, offering helpful suggestions. Teal'c looked mostly amused, in that you-can-barely-see-it way of his, so Jack let them have their fun until Carter actually logged onto his computer to run an internet search for local specialty tailors. Then he called a halt to art class and demanded some real answers.
It was Carter who proposed the obvious solution. Jack was all for it, although she and Daniel had to tag-team Hammond before he agreed to the idea. The general raised the obvious questions, in the clear expectation that they'd forestall any later objections by outsiders. In their typical, thorough fashion, Carter and Daniel wore him down with the details: they'd chosen a planet that wasn't on the Abydos cartouche, in a sector of the galaxy removed from the major Goa'uld power struggles, possessed of few resources that would make it attractive to any passing raiders. It had a temperate climate -- in the Stargate's vicinity, at least -- and no fauna larger than a squirrel. Air and soil samples came back clean. It wasn't completely risk free, of course, but then, even Earth could be dangerous. And this way, the team could be together.
Hammond gave each of them a long, steadying look before leaning back in his chair. "Very good, SG-1," he said at last, and the warm light in his eyes bespoke his approval of their loyalty for one another. "You have a go."
So while nearly everyone at the SGC went to Denver for the weekend, leaving only a skeleton crew to keep an eye on Earth's back door, SG-1 went off on a private little team building exercise of their own.
The sand between his toes was purple. The water that foamed up the beach in gentle waves was bright yellow. The bright green seagull-like birds wheeled against a cloudless, orange sky.
But Jack didn't care. SG-1 was together, happy and safe. No one was shooting at them. And Carter had smuggled Guinness through the Stargate.
Yep, as far as he was concerned, all was right with the world. Even if that world was P3X-whatever.
Your Regularly Scheduled Programming by Fig Newton
Author's Notes:
Another prison breakout, another squabble. Sam and Teal'c friendship with background Jack and Daniel friendship (sort of). Written for the Ficathon Frenzy of 2012's
sg1friendathon.
As Sam placed a foot in Teal'c's cupped hands and felt him lift her upwards with his usual powerful grace, she allowed the acerbic sound of The Jack and Daniel Show to fade into an almost soothing background murmur.
"Would it kill you to listen for once, Jack?"
"Why, yes, Daniel, it would. Because I'd die of starvation before you got to the end of part one!"
Balancing easily on Teal'c's broad shoulders, Sam walked her fingers up the wall to the panel set above the door with its humming force field. She chipped only one nail before she managed to the cover off, exposing the crystals within.
"Oh, I'm so sorry that my warnings about cultural taboos took so long that you didn't have time to eat a third piece of pie before we went through the Gate. Too bad you'll never have the chance to make it up, because you'll be dead!"
Sam glanced down at Teal'c. "They venerate the sun, right?"
"So Daniel Jackson said." Teal'c, supporting her weight with no apparent effort, inclined his head in the direction of the arguing pair on the other side of their prison cell. "Indeed, he said it repeatedly."
"...think I really care about their different fairytales and creation myths? Why couldn't you just say, 'Jack, don't cast a shadow on any of the monkeys'? I would've remembered that much."
"So the crystals that match the same color spectrum as their sun are probably the power source." Sam leaned forward, and Teal'c obligingly compensated for the shift in weight. "I think I can disconnect this, even without my tools."
"-- didn't know they were giving out master's degrees for watching The Simpsons, but that would probably explain how a colonel could --"
"Perhaps my jacket can serve as insulation, Major Carter."
"Thanks, Teal'c, but I took one of Daniel's spare bandanas. He didn't even notice."
"-- the bottom line for a change, Daniel!"
"He is somewhat distracted at the moment," Teal'c agreed gravely, and Sam huffed a laugh before returning to her inspection of the crystals.
"The bottom line is they want to kill us because you thought it would be funny to stop the indri from sunning themselves!"
"Daniel, there was no way for me to know that they think their pet monkeys are sun worshippers."
It was a little awkward to manipulate the crystals with the bandana wrapped around her hand to insulate her from any shocks, but Sam needed only two minutes to pull the right crystal out of its socket. The sudden cessation of the force field's hum confirmed her success. Teal'c met her gaze and allowed his eyes to crinkle in shared triumph.
"-- that the indri are sacred to these people. I told you that. You ignored it. And now you're going to get killed!"
"Trust me, Daniel, I won't be the first to go."
Sam jumped lightly down from her perch on Teal'c's shoulders, allowing him to balance her landing.
"-- an island off the coast of India."
Teal'c leaned through the now empty doorway and glanced in both directions, then pulled back to give her a nod. "There are no guards, Major Carter."
"-- worshipping snakes instead of monkey, Daniel, I don't --"
"We need to find our weapons. Our GDOs, too." Sam pursed her lips and glanced at Jack and Daniel, who were practically nose-to-nose by now. "Which means being quiet. Hm."
The Jack and Daniel Show continued, with no sign that either one of them had noticed that Sam and Teal'c had broken through the force field.
"We could leave them here," Sam suggested, her voice almost wistful. "Come back for them later."
"It is indeed most tempting," Teal'c conceded.
They exchanged wry glances.
"Think they'd notice we were gone?"
"For crying out loud! Daniel, if you'd --"
"Not for some time." Teal'c peered out at the corridor again. "Nevertheless..." He raised his voice, and the commanding tone of the former First Prime effortlessly cut through the squabbling. "O'Neill! Daniel Jackson! It is time to go."
Jack and Daniel stopped, blinking. Their heads turned in unison to stare as Teal'c strode out the door without a second glance, Sam at his heels.
"Hey! Wait for us!"
Author's Notes:
O'Neill's attitudes and preferences suit Teal'c best. Set in early S1, with very minor spoilers for Enemy Within.
Teal'c always valued O'Neill's advice on how to conduct himself on Earth.
He remembered the first time O'Neill corrected an error. It was the very moment when he had officially joined SG-1, striding into the large chamber that housed the chappa'ai to take his place at his fellow warriors' side. He had carefully donned the odd green cloth of his uniform (so strange, to wear a garb that served as neither warding nor warning), retaining only his own staff weapon rather than using the Tau'ri projectile weapons they called "guns." Back straight, staff weapon held at precisely the right angle, Teal'c faced his new commander and formally announced, "Reporting as ordered."
O'Neill leaned slightly towards him and said quietly, "Sir. It's sir."
Concealing his surprise, Teal'c accorded General Hammond with the proper honorific. "Sir," Teal'c repeated obediently, receiving a faint smile in return.
Later, at a more auspicious moment, Teal'c pondered the apparent contradiction. His word choices had been carefully patterned after O'Neill's own exchanges and interactions with others at the SGC, which had led him to assume that the Tau'ri were uninterested in the formality of acknowledging rank and status. After further observation, however, Teal'c concluded that O'Neill had his own methods for determining which persons were deserving of respect -- one that had little to do with formal rank, but everything to do with skill and genuine valor. O'Neill's general irreverence bespoke an impatience with incompetence, an attitude that Teal'c both understood and approved. General Hammond was one of those rare few whom O'Neill genuinely respected, and after his own interactions with the SGC's commander, Teal'c had no difficulty in giving the man all the courtesy he did indeed deserve.
Captain Carter behaved differently, he noticed. She might disapprove of the actions of superior officers, but that dislike was restricted to a certain tightening of the skin around her eyes and a slight increase in the sharpness of her tone. Her diction and behavior remained impeccable, no matter what the provocation. Teal'c understood this, and even respected her determination to adhere to the demands of rank. But such a course of action was not for him. Teal'c might have accepted General Hammond's leadership and O'Neill as his immediate commander, but he could never forget that he had once led vast armies before he chose to give the Tau'ri his allegiance. He could not act servile, even if such formalized courtesy might help his cause. O'Neill's blunter methods suited him well.
His preference for O'Neill's guidance did not lessen his appreciation for Captain Carter's advice or Daniel Jackson's conversations. He enjoyed discovering the science behind the "magic of the gods" (false gods) with Captain Carter, and valued Daniel Jackson's in-depth discussions regarding culture and Tau'ri history. Nevertheless, he found that he learned the most from O'Neill's laconic direction -- and not just regarding the SGC and their struggle against the Goa'uld. He was most pleased on those rare occasions when he ascended from the depths of the mountain to breathe the fresh air of Earth in O'Neill's company, even if their purpose was nothing more than the nonsense of The Simpsons or a professional hockey game. From O'Neill, he learned how to answer a telephone, shop at a supermarket, play a video game, order a pizza. Perhaps these were not survival skills, but they were an important part of life on Earth, and thus Teal'c cherished them.
Teal'c could not truly reciprocate, although he tried. Knowing that his experience with Goa'uld thinking and Jaffa tactics were invaluable, he provided all such information freely. O'Neill readily followed his advice regarding Jaffa ambushes, anticipated movements, off-world expectations, and military thinking. But this did not carry the same intimacy, the same open trust, as O'Neill's sharing of the wonders of Earth and its teeming, noisy hordes of human beings untainted by slavery to the Goa'uld.
Teal'c dreamed that he would truly be able to return the favor someday, in some glorious future when Apophis was dead, the rest of the System Lords were thrown down, and the Jaffa were free. He would take O'Neill to Chulak and show him the open-air markets where one could barter for honey-glazed pak'til, explain how to wager at the kindi'it races on the mountain slopes, and invite him to spend an evening with Bra'tac and others in the barracks, where they would swap stories of valor and daring. There would be no alcoholic drinks, to be sure, but the steaming mugs of cider from the tapi groves, rich with spices that exploded on the tongue, would suit them well.
O'Neill had shown Teal'c his world. Teal'c hoped, in the fullness of time, that he could do the same for O'Neill.
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