Operation Torchwood
December 21, 2008
STARGATE COMMAND
It was a good day. No. It was a great day. His house was clean, the pies were nearly done baking, and Andrew's lonely house wouldn't be so lonely anymore. Well, it wouldn't be lonely for the next two weeks. Vi was coming home for Christmas.
She had come home over Thanksgiving, but a few days really wasn't enough for the whole 'home' experience. In the years since the death of Sunnydale, Vi and Andrew had grown close. She was the little sister he never had and nearly as geeky as him. Andrew officially became her Watcher when she graduated from the New York campus of The Joan of Arc Academy, generally referred to as Scooby School. Andrew moved with Vi to Colorado Springs when she entered the Air Force Academy.
Neither of them minded the move; it was a chance for both of them to live independently. Vi didn't have to fight twenty other girls for the bathroom and Andrew didn't have to constantly justify his existence to the Scoobies. It actually wasn't that bad for Andrew back in New York, London, or even Rome. The Scoobies still joked with him occasionally but giving him this assignment showed that he had finally earned their trust and maybe, just maybe, some respect. Letting him name it Operation Torchwood was just icing on the cake.
There was only one thing left on Andrew's list of chores: baking enough cookies to feed an army. Or an air force. Over the last week, many of Stargate Command's personnel had come to Andrew asking for some of his chocolate gingersnaps. They were his best recipe and so the mess hall usually ran out of them early in the morning. Most of the people he had spoken to just wanted a dozen or so for their kids or spouse, but after the tenth person came up to him, he decided to do it all in one batch on his first official day of vacation.
Taking his pies out of the oven, Andrew reflected on how far he had come. Seven years ago, he was a criminal mastermind, nearly an evil overlord. Now, he was fighting the good fight on two different fronts. The Goa'uld was a species of demon that had been banished from Earth eons ago. Instead of finding a new dimension to live in, they decided to use the Stargate and set up shop on other planets. Technically, Andrew was really on one front of the war, fighting with two different armies. Even more technically, Andrew wasn't actually fighting in either war; he was a cook in one and a sidekick in the other.
It wasn't that he thought his life was without meaning; he'd saved plenty of lives and taken plenty of others. It was just that he wanted to do more. He didn't think his life wasn't without any meaning. Worse, he didn't not think the others in the ICW and Stargate Command couldn't think of him as not being insignificant. Or something like that.
Half the kitchen staff was off duty over the winter holidays so when Andrew had entered the kitchen, he was met with only two of his colleagues instead of the usual five. It hadn't taken him that long to get his cookies started. Back at his house, it would have taken him ten hours to do all the preparation and cooking, but with the large ovens and the myriad of other appliances he had access to here at Stargate Command, it would only take him four. If he had Vi helping him, they could probably do it in three hours. Unfortunately, Vi wasn't allowed to come to the base – yet, he reminded himself – and even if she were, Andrew wanted to surprise her with a batch of cookies all to herself.
The cooking gave him time away from dwelling on his thoughts. Dwelling was rarely good for him, except sometimes, but he didn't dwell on that.
When he was cooking for the Scoobies and the Slayerettes, he'd always have someone interrupting him. It was always, 'Andrew, have you seen my CD?' or 'I'm hungry, Andrew. Make me a snack.' There was no peace, harmony, or goodwill towards men. Here, the other members of the kitchen staff mostly kept to themselves. They were friendly, but each was concentrating on his or her own preparations.
AHOOOGAH AHOOOGAH.
A klaxon sounded throughout the kitchen and, Andrew assumed, the whole base. The goings on by the higher ups really didn't affect him that much, so Andrew turned back to his cooking. By his count, he only had three more batches to go.
Forty minutes later, Andrew was checking on the last tray of cookies in the oven when the door sprang open and two men came through the door.
Colonel O'Neill and Daniel Jackson were frequent visitors to the mess hall; both spent more than enough time on base to have a usual order for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Andrew had read dossiers on both men before he started this job but they were both far more impressive and far more absurd up close. Had he not spent the last few years of his adult life working for the Council, he probably would have been very worried for earth.
Both appeared slightly out of breath as they stopped in front of him.
"You Andrew Wells?" Colonel O'Neill asked.
Andrew hesitated. It was probably not a good thing that the base's second-in-command was asking for him personally but it wasn't like he could deny it.
"Yes? Yes. Andrew Wells is me." Andrew wasn't sure what the proper thing to do was when meeting the command staff so he did the only thing that occurred to him.
"Cookie?" he offered.
Jackson and O'Neill shared a glance.
"Actually. . ." Jackson began.
THREE HOURS AGO, P3X-524, A.K.A. LYNAIA
"I don't think this is going so well, Jack," Daniel said during a short break for lunch.
SG-1 was two days into a three day trade summit with the Lynaians but they weren't making much headway. Ever piece technology they had to offer was swiftly refused with little explanation. They weren't Luddites; they just weren't interested in the Tau'ri technology.
Jack rubbed his face in frustration. SG-1 wasn't supposed to be doing this but, for whatever reason, the Lynaians only wanted to negotiate with Jack and his team. This was the least productive mission he'd been on all year. He'd take a Goa'uld kidnapping over this. Hell, he'd take paperwork over this. He was seconds away from taking out his P90 and shooting the whole place up when they broke for lunch.
Lunch. Everyone had stayed in the meeting hall for the meal and pulled out packed lunches. The Lynaians hadn't even provided food. Cheapskates. Jack dug into his bag for his MRE. He hesitated for a moment before grabbing a small lunchbox as well. He might be forced to sit through the worst bullshit diplomatic relations had to offer but he was going to enjoy his lunch. Chocolate gingersnaps. Mmm.
He opened the box and took a second to just enjoy their smell.
"Sir, are those," Carter leaned over to look inside his lunchbox, "chocolate gingersnaps?"
She began to reach over but Jack swatted her hand away.
"Mine."
"But?" She pouted and Jack's heart fluttered for a moment. Jack stood firm.
Secretary Raglan, perhaps the most abrasive of all the diplomats at the meeting, drew closer to SG-1. Unlike the other diplomats who kept their disdain at a distance, Raglan took joy in demeaning the Tauri face to face. Since they first arrived, Jack had been defending all aspects of their lives from Earth's gross domestic product to their clothing styles.
"Colonel O'Neill," Raglan greeted Jack brightly. "I see you have brought extra food beyond your 'Meal, Ready-to-Eat.' Is it a statement of status for the commander to have more food than his subordinates on your planet?"
Jack slowly closed his lunchbox. He could do this. His cookies were waiting for him.
"No, Secretary Raglan," Jack forced a smile. "I just happened to pack some cookies for the road."
"In fact," Carter said, a smile quivering at her lips, "Colonel O'Neill was just about to share the cookies with all of us."
Betrayed! Jack made a mental note to make Carter's life a living hell from here on out.
"Outstanding!" Raglan clapped his hands in joy. "I'll admit, however, that I do not know what a 'cookie' is. I am sure your Tauri food is very 'interesting.'"
"Yes," Jack gritted out through clenched teeth. "Please have one."
Jack opened his lunchbox again, a bit aggressively, and handed out four of his twelve cookies.
While his teammates immediately began to enjoy their ill-gotten dessert, Raglan inspected the cookie before nibbling tentatively. He tested out the flavor for a few seconds before taking a full bite. And then the whole cookie.
"Colonel O'Neill!" he cried, crumbs flying from his mouth. "This is absolutely, I mean," he trailed off. Whispering, he continued "This is better than any other foodstuff I have ever encountered."
"I'm glad you liked it," Jack grumbled. At least he had eight cookies left.
Raglan swiftly retreated back to his table and began gesturing wildly at the Under Minister. Several other diplomats stood up from the table and began to head in Jack's direction.
Jack suspected the rest of his cookies were about to be appropriated in the name of diplomacy.
CONTROL ROOM, STARGATE COMMAND
"SG-1's IDC is coming through, sir," said Sergeant Harriman. "Opening the Iris."
Sergeant Harriman sent a quick message to General Hammond. SG-1 wasn't expected back for another twenty four hours at least. This early return could be really good or really bad.
Colonel O'Neill came through first and he was visibly angry. He tossed his pack at the closest airman and stormed away from the gate.
The other three members of SG-1 soon followed but maintained a significant distance from their commander.
General Hammond arrived just moments later.
"Colonel O'Neill? Did something go wrong with the trade summit?" the General asked.
Jack sent another glare at his teammates. "You could say something went right. Horribly right, even."
General Hammond noticed guilty glances between Captain Carter and Doctor Jackson but utter impassivity from Teal'c.
"I believe Colonel O'Neill is upset about having to share his cookies," Teal'c offered
"Cookies?" General Hammond asked no one in particular. He turned toward Captain Carter. "Did something happen over there that made him regress to four years old?"
Straight-faced, Captain Carter replied, "No, sir. Not on this trip at least."
General Hammond sighed. It was one of those days.
"Briefing room in thirty," he ordered. "I'll let Doctor Fraiser give you a once-over first."
MESS HALL KITCHEN, STARGATE COMMAND
"And that's why we need you to come show the Lynaians how to bake," said Doctor Jackson. "Any questions?"
Andrew struggled to form words. This wasn't supposed to happen. Stargate Command wasn't supposed to recruit its kitchen staff for off-world missions. That's why the Council choose Andrew for this assignment rather than someone more well-versed in military operations.
Rather than voicing this thought-process, he said the only other thing that came to mind.
"Seriously?"
Jack smirked. "Seriously, kid. Uncle Sam wants you to bake for your country."
This was awesome. No, more than awesome. This was super awesome. Fantastic even. He couldn't wait to tell Vi. Wait! Vi. He had to pick up Vi two days. Would they get back it time?
Jack watched Andrew's face go from surprised to excited to worried in less than ten seconds.
"You okay, kid?" Jack asked.
Andrew ran a hand through his hair.
"Yeah, no, it sounds great. It's just that I need to be back by the day after tomorrow. How long is this going to take?"
"Big plans?" Jack grinned, wagging his eyebrows.
"Yeah," he replied, not elaborating.
If Wells didn't want to share, Jack wasn't going to pry. "I promise we'll have you back in time. Grab whatever supplies you need for a beginner's class on baking and candy. Pack as much as you want; the guys on SG-14 will be carrying everything. Better to have too much rather than too little."
An hour later, Andrew was packed and medically cleared for off-world travel.
Andrew stood off to the side as SG-1 and SG-14 finished their preparations. Each member of SG-14 carried two duffel bags full of supplies with everything from cookie cutters to cooking spray.
The Colonel soon waved everyone over and explained the gate travel procedure.
"Danny and Teal'c will go through the gate first, followed by SG-14 and Wells. Me and Carter will bring up the rear. Donnelly, you are to stick by Wells like glue when we get there. Wells is a civilian. He is a baker. If things go south, he'll need your protection. Everyone understand?" They all nodded. "Ok. Walter? Dial Lynaia."
KITCHEN, THE GRAND HALL, LYNAIAN CAPITAL
Surrounded by seven Lynaian chefs taking notes on their pads, Andrew opened the oven and pulled the pan out.
"And now we let the crème bûlée cool for a while hours before brown the top using our torch." He gently placed the ramekins in the fridge. "While we wait, why don't we start on the chocolate fudge?"
A young man near the back raised his hand hesitently.
"Hoyland?" Andrew waved him on.
He shuffled up to the front. "Why does a 'cake' need to be decorated while a 'cookie' does not?"
By the door, Donnelly sniggered and flashed an eight and a one with his fingers.
Andrew rubbed his forehead. It was officially the eighty first question of the day. He would take babysitting the tween slayers over this any day.
"Because it tastes better," Andrew answered, smile strained. "Now for fudge, we'll need to use the double boiler."
Adding water to the pot and placing it on the burner, he made his way over to Donnelly and rummaged through one of the bags.
"Do you remember where we put the condensed milk?" he asked Donnelly.
Donnelly shrugged his shoulders and didn't even offer to help look.
Five minutes of rummaging later, Andrew returned to the pot, the water now at a simmering boil.
Shifting the crème brûlée supplies and cooking spray out of the prep area, Andrew gathered the ingredients for the fudge.
"Now that the water's boiling–" he started but was cut off by the sound of the door bursting open.
Everyone in the room turned at the noise only to see Corporal Mike Donnelly being knocked out by three armed men in masks.
"Stay quiet and no one gets hurt," one of the men said, not lowering his weapon. "We are here for the Minister only."
"Rebel scum," one of the older chefs hissed.
Andrew barely held in a burst of nervous laughter.
The rebels ignored the chef's comments. While one of the rebels kept watch over the chefs, the other two explored the back of the room.
"What are they doing?" Andrew whispered to Hoyland.
"I . . . I'm not sure," Hoyland whispered back.
Fiana, a larger female chef, leaned over Andrew's shoulder and whispered, "there's a back entrance to the Minister's quarters through the kitchen."
Uh oh.
Andrew assessed his surroundings and an idea hatched.
He slipped a few items off the counter into Hoyland's hands and whispered, "remember what I said never to do with this?"
Hoyland nodded after a second.
"These rebels look like they could use a tan."
MINISTER'S OFFICE, THE GRAND HALL, LYNAIAN CAPITAL
Jack felt his eyes slowly drooping but he was unable to stop their progress through will alone. A well-timed elbow from Carter shook him awake ten minutes ago but she had since retired to the Under Minister's office.
His eyes had almost fully closed when the door crashed open. Fully awake, Jack pulled his handgun from his boot holster and rolled behind the desk.
"Minister!" one of the men shouted. "We're in lockdown. We have to get you to a secure room right away. The Hall is under attack by rebel forces."
The Minister stood up swiftly from his desk and pushed Jack's gun away from the men. "Colonel O'Neill, these are my personal guards. They are no threat."
Jack stood up but didn't reholster his gun. Of the nine guards who entered the room together, six hustled the Minister down the hall.
"What's the situation?" Jack asked one of the remaining guards.
He grimaced. "There was a security breach. We've detained several intruders but there could be more."
Jack got on his radio immediately. "This is O'Neill. I need everyone to check in ASAP. The building's going into lockdown. Carter?"
"I'm okay. I'm still in the Under Minister's office."
"Teal'c?"
"Daniel Jackson and I are confined to the library for the time being."
"Major Bryce?"
"I have Granger and King with me in our quarters but Donnelly is in the kitchen with Wells."
"Donnelly? Wells?"
There was no answer. Damn.
"I'm headed to the kitchen." One of the Minister's guard's moved briefly to stop Jack but thought better of it when he caught sight of the colonel's face.
KITCHEN, THE GRAND HALL, LYNAIAN CAPITAL
Jack turned down the hall and cut through the crowd milling in front of the door to the kitchen.
Entering the room, his eyes quickly fell on Wells and Donnelly. The corporal lay against the wall while Wells knelt beside him, holding an ice pack to his head.
"Sitrep," Jack ordered.
Wells looked to the still-unconscious Corporal Donnelly and back to Jack.
"Er, good. I mean, I'm good. Mike's not so good." Wells took a deep breath and continued. "The rebels knocked Mike unconscious and he probably has a concussion. There isn't much bleeding but he should get checked out by a real doctor sooner rather than later. I wasn't hurt at all."
Not that bad.
"What happened here?" Jack asked.
Wells opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by Raglan's approach.
"Colonel O'Neill," Raglan said, "I must thank you and Master Baker Wells on behalf of the entire planet of Lynaia. Without his quick thinking, who knows what might have happened! I will most certainly be recommending he be considered for the highest commendation we can bestow upon foreign civilians."
"Really? You don't say?" Jack said, eying Wells.
"I do say," Raglan replied. "I wonder how powerful your armies might be if even the men charged with food preparation can defeat armed opponents with just baking supplies."
"Baking supplies?"
"Young Hoyland," Raglan called. "Please recount your tale again for Colonel O'Neill so that he may know of his man's bravery."
"Yes, Secretary Raglan," Hoyland said. "Master Baker Wells was about to teach us how to make a delicacy called 'fuj' when three rebel insurgents broke through the door over there. They knocked out the Tauri guard immediately and sought to confine us. We suspected the rebels were searching for the secret entrance to the Minister's office. Master Baker Wells devised a plan to fight off the rebels utilizing various kitchen implements.
"Master Baker Wells drew the rebels close by simulating sickness." Hoyland feigned throwing up. "I was charged with blinding the rebels with a small fire cannon improvised from a pressurized oily spray." He pointed to a slightly-scorched can of PAM. "The others armed themselves with heavy pots and pans to disable the rebels. After the rebels approached, we managed to incapacitate two but the third reacted too quickly for us to harm him sufficiently."
"But fortune was on our side!" a large female chef broke in. "Master Baker Wells charged the last rebel and jumped on his back. He wrapped his arm tightly around the rebel's neck, restricting the flow of air and blood. Soon the last rebel was unconscious as well."
"We sounded the alarm right away," Hoyland continued, "while Master Baker Wells tended to his guard."
Raglan, Hoyland, and the other chefs looked at Jack expectantly. He looked at the small man still holding an icepack to Donnelly's head and back at the large rebel fighters.
Rather than voicing his thought-process, including various combinations of 'seriously?' and 'really?' Jack said the only other thing that came to mind.
"Huh."
MEDICAL BAY, STARGATE COMMAND
"Mr. Wells, I have to say that I am impressed," General Hammond said, clapping Andrew on the shoulder. Now that Doctor Fraiser was finished with her exam, they could get down to business. "Not only did you demonstrate a level of courage beyond our expectations, but due to your actions, we have now established a favorable trade relationship with Lynaia."
"Ya done good, kid," Colonel O'Neill added as Andrew slipped off the examination table.
General Hammond rolled his eyes but continued. "We believe this could open up avenues for trade on several other worlds. Our public affairs unit believes that you could be a major asset moving forward with this proposal."
The three men started to walk down the hallway, towards the cafeteria.
"We're thinking a series of books and videos in addition to the Master Baker Wells line of products," Colonel O'Neill said. "Maybe the occasional goodwill visit. You could very well be the first intergalactic celebrity."
"All these plans currently revolve around your participation, Mr. Wells," the General said. "What are your thoughts, son?"
"My thoughts?" Andrew slowly began to smile. "What do you think about The Tauri Chef for my first cookbook?"
"I was thinking more Mastering the Art of Tauri Cooking," Colonel O'Neill said, moving his hand in an arc.
"Andrew Wells's Kitchen."
"Baking with Andrew."
As they continued down the hall, General Hammond began to seriously regret the fact that he lived in a universe where Wells and O'Neill worked together. Then again, could Wells really be as big a pain in his ass as O'Neill?
The universe smiled.
A/N: I would recommend you also read my story, A Meeting of the High Council. It is vaguely connected to this short.