Nine Down
By: Bursztyn
Captain Hagman woke up in the infirmary. He was pleased to note that whatever he'd been shot with didn't seem to have any lasting effects. His head was clear, his eyes were functioning properly and he didn't seem to be in any other physical pain; but he hadn't tried moving yet so he couldn't be too sure…
He blinked when he processed the crowd of people gathered around his bed. "Hello?" He became confused when he recognized some of the people. "Lieutenant Mark? Lieutenant Makovski? Major Burns? Is there something wrong?"
Major Burns smiled at him. "Nothing captain, you have nothing to worry about. We all just wanted to make sure you were okay."
"Thanks," Hagman said, still very much confused, "but, why?" He took another second to study the faces around him. There were eight in total, and as far as he knew none of them had anything in common. Except… "Oh. So I guess I'm part of the new club then?"
Lieutenant Makovski chuckled. "Got it in one captain. Sorry, but you didn't make the cut for SG-1."
"Not even call-backs?" he asked hopefully.
Someone snorted. "Did you think you were on a trial-run Hagman? SG-1 doesn't play the 'break in the newbie gently' game. They don't have time for that. It's either all or nothing with them."
"They don't have the luxury of breaking people in," the soft voice of a woman spoke. "Either you know your stuff or your dead." Hagman looked over to her and recognized her as Dr. Laurel, the second person SG-1 had attempted to bring into their fold. Unfortunately she had messed up a translation and had broken her arm and almost got everyone killed. A blue cast secured her left forearm and had been covered with notes from well-wishers and sympathizers. Hagman winced at her statement.
"What happened on your mission captain?" Lieutenant Mark wanted to know.
It was the question everyone wanted to hear the answer to. They all knew their stories, as did the entire base, but Hagman was fresh blood and a new member of the SG-1 Reject Club and he needed someone to empathize with him. So he told them.
He told them how great the first two days seemed. SG-1 was efficient, military, but also very open and friendly. He described his fascination upon seeing an ancient temple that no one on Earth had ever laid eyes on before; and his excitement when he realized he could translate what was written on the walls.
He was very much aware that he was constantly being cast into Dr. Jackson's shadow, how every move he made was judged by his other three team members, and how they didn't seem to consciously realize what they were doing – Hagman got a round of understanding nods from his audience. It was evident in the way Colonel O'Neill had asked him seriously, "Is that going to be enough?" when Hagman told him he spoke eight different languages. It was evident in the way Teal'c had innocently asked, "Should you not be finished with this wall yet Captain Hagman?" when he was translating as fast and as best as he could on his own. It was evident in the way Major Carter had mentioned reading something the other day about how the shoe brand Nike actually got their name and logo from the Greek goddess Nike and they had all turned to him as though they expected a validation of said fact and a history lesson to go along with it. Instead Hagman had blankly said, "Who's Nike?" and shrunk away from the disbelieving looks SG-1 shared amongst themselves. He had spent the rest of the afternoon feeling inadequate even though they didn't touch on the subject again.
Least understandably, it was evident when Colonel O'Neill had told him, "Captain, it's time to pack up and move on. We've got more exploring to do."
Hagman had closed his notebook and responded with a "Yes sir" only to hear absolute silence descend upon them. He looked up, worried that they might be under attack, but instead he found himself the fixation of three sets of eyes.
Major Carter had spoken first, directing her words to Colonel O'Neill. "They all do that sir."
The colonel sighed. "Yeah I know. You'd think I'd be used to it by now."
"As should I," Teal'c agreed.
"Me too," Major Carter added in.
They returned to packing their belongings, as did Hagman, who for the life of him couldn't figure out what he did wrong.
All things considered he had been doing fairly well until they ran into the locals. Then he screwed up all by himself, without any help from Dr. Jackson's ever-present shadow. Colonel O'Neill was pissed. Hagman caught himself wondering if the colonel was right in asking him if eight languages was going to be enough. It wasn't enough to cut it in this mission, that much was clear.
"So," he concluded miserably, "Colonel O'Neill was injured saving my sorry ass and I failed in doing my job spectacularly."
Hagman's friend, Captain Ryan Matheson patted his leg sympathetically. "It's okay man. I still did the worst out of us all."
"I don't understand how Dr. Jackson did it," Dr. Laurel said. "I never really realized how much SG-1 depended on his skills until I was out there with them. I mean, I always knew he was important to the team, but he obviously gave his input on everything."
"Well, he knew pretty much everything," Lieutenant Jones pointed out. "At least, that's what it felt like." Lieutenant Jones had been mortified when it became obvious that the original members of SG-1 combined knew more than she did about certain parts of ancient lore. She had been kicked off the team on the grounds that if the three of them together could puzzle out everything she knew they didn't need her tagging along.
"He was a good man to have watching your six in a firefight too," Major Burns added.
"With all the action SG-1 sees he'd have to be," Matheson said.
They sat in contemplative silence for a while.
"Who do you think they'll take on next?" Lieutenant Makovski wondered.
"I heard the Russians want to put one of their people on SG-1," Lieutenant Mark shared.
The group of nine people who made up the unofficial SG-1 Reject Club took a moment to ponder the antagonistic attitude SG-1 had toward anyone who wanted to take their beloved archaeologist's place. Then they thought about Colonel O'Neill's opinion of Russians in general and shook their heads.
"Poor bastard."