AN: This is my first published Stargate piece, written for the Jonas Alphabet Soup for Gen Fic Day on LiveJournal.
A is for Assurance.
Jonas never wanted to be a soldier, not really. Even when he was arguing his way onto an SG team, he didn't picture himself waging a physical war on the Go'auld. He knew where his strengths lay, knew they weren't on the side of military tactics. He was more than physically able enough, but his mind held his most valuable skill set.
Yet here he was, standing in a line of soldiers with a smoking gun in his hand, firing round after round into an imaginary enemy. A war-hardened Colonel stood at his back, coaching him in the most effective way to incapacitate someone from fifty feet, the surest ways to secure a kill. From his own mind he heard the more basic lessons repeating themselves: Legs hip-width apart. Finger off the trigger. Hold firm. Somehow, between being horrified at the prospect of firing at anything and the comfortable grip he now held on his assigned weapon, it had become ingrained.
What shocked him most, what really surprised him - as a scholar and a scientist, a man of peace, a diplomat - is how much of a thrill he got from it. The sharp pulse of the weapon kicking back into his shoulder sent a rush of adrenaline through his veins, coursing through his body with a rare fervour. It satisfied him to have his shots land true, the round rips in his targets each a tiny piece of assurance that he was doing good here. Eyes open. Don't hold your breath. So Jonas continued to fire, each metal projectile meeting its mark in an easy and precise manner; when he stopped to reload, he registered the hand on his shoulder as the Colonel's rough voice cut into his thoughts, offering small praise for his work.
Maybe, Jonas mused, it wasn't just the well-placed holes in the crumpled paper in his hand that offered the assurance he craved. He smiled to himself, and corrected his stance. Don't smile like that when you shoot, it's creepy. He hastily applied a scowl to his face and fired.