"Feel like playing again, Daniels?" Jean Aldannan asked, her thin, wiry lips curving into a satisfied, triumphant, and competitive smile. She and Jacob Daniels had just finished thier third round of pool in the officers club located in one of the bottom levels of the Cheyanne Mountain Complex which served as the SGC headquarters in Colorado. Three times Jean had challenged the linguist of SG-7 to a game of pool, and three times she'd won.
Jacob blew some of the stray black curls away from his green eyes and let out an exhausted sigh. "I dunno, Jean," he wavered, looking at his watch. "It's 12:30 in the morning, and we've got a mission briefing tomorrow at 0830 hours. I'm kind of beat to tell you the truth." Jean cast a look of pure disbelief at him. "I think you just don't want to loose again," she accused. "You're using the 'it's really late' excuse to get out of it."
Jacob shrugged.
"Tell you what," Jean continued, walking over to where her beer was sitting on a table and taking a sip of it. "You play this last game with me. If you win, it's the last game of the night." She raised her eyebrows at Jacob. "What do you say?"
The archeologist/linquist/historian/cultural-expert mulled over the deal, but wiggled his mouth in hesitation. "What if you win?"
Jean grinned. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see, huh?"
Jacob put the pool cue down on the table and reached for his jacket. "No go, Jean. See, if I walk away right now, I might have the chance at getting six or seven hours of sleep..."
Jean frowned. She was not ready to go to sleep yet, much less leave the officers club. She hadn't had a night out like this for a month at least, she was going to take advantage of it. Damn the briefing.
"You want another deal?" she asked, leaning against her pool cue and eyeing him up carefully. She wasn't worried if he did; she'd beaten him three times thus far. She was sure she could do it again. Plus, she was still going strong while he was complaining about wanting sleep. "Any deal you want. Any bet."
Jacob reguarded her carefully, his facial expression clearly showing that he was seriously considering the idea. Finally he nodded. "Alright. If you win, what would you like?" Jean smirked. IF she won? Obviously, Jacob was to tired to remember who'd won the last three games. However, she decided to humor him. "If I win..." she absentmindidly circled her finger around the top of the pool cue, her eyes loosing their focus as she thought of her prize.
"If I win," she restated, then grinned, "you have to go with me to the next football games that I get tickets to." Daniel shrugged. "Okay." Jean held up a finger though. "AND...dress up for the hometeam. The works...the jersey, the hat, face paint, body paint...everything."
Jacob wrinkled his nose. A football game, he could handle. But dressing up as some ridiculous clown? Oh well, he'd asked her what she wanted. He should have expected something like this. He nodded, picking up the pool cue again and beginning to chalk up the point. "Alright. If you win, I dress up the like the stadium clown of the home football team." He finished his chalking. "Now, if I win..." he pretended to think, although he already had in mind what he wanted Jean to do. Her confident smile was still plastered to her face, awaiting his demands.
"If I win, you have to come to my lecture series that I am doing for the Airforce Academy."
Jean's jaw dropped. "Lecture series!? What lecture series, I didn't know anything about any lecture series!"
"Have you checked your memos'?"
"What memos?'"
Jacob sighed, walking over the the side of the table and dipping down to the hole where the balls were sitting. "The memo that stated that there was a lecture series at the Airforce academy a week from today. I need to take an Airforce Officer with me. So far, everyone that I've asked is either to tied up or has run scared."
"Smart people..."
"Anyways," he continued, putting the balls in the triangle and arranging them, "I need to have an Airforce officer there. One so that I know where I'm going, two, so that that officer can answer questions about the Airforce aspect of things that I wouldn't have a clue about." He finished arranging the balls and turned to Jean. "So, if I win, you're it."
Jean nodded, chalking up her pool cue as well. "Fine. I won't have anything to worry about though..." she brushed the bright red hair away from her narrow face, taking the white ball out from it's little cubicle and placing it on the table.
"So, just to make sure...we've got a deal?" Jacob clarified. Jean looked up, locked her blue eyes with his green ones and nodded once.
"Deal."
Jacob smiled. "Just making sure," he murmured before sweeping his hand over the table. "Go ahead."
Jean glanced at him, wondering what he was smiling about, then, shook her head. Probably wasn't anything important. She bent over the table, her focus soley on the white ball in front of her. Pushing the pool stick back and forth between her long, thin fingers, she finally hit the ball, smacking it into the 15 colored and striped balls. They scattered in various directions. It was a good break, really. None of the balls went in, so it was still a free table, but they were very nicely scattered about. Just what she'd wanted.
"Your go," she said, standing back from the table and allowing Jacob his space. Nodding, the linguist stepped up to the table and looked it over, looking at the positions of the balls, at some points putting the pool cue over a particular ball, then moving the stick over the table. Measuring angles, eh? Jean thought to herself. She kept quiet though, and let the man work. He would need all the help he could get, playing her.
Finally, it seemed that Jacob had chosen which ball to hit. Leaning in, pool stick in hand, he prepared to make his shot. Jean cocked her head to the side, studying him.
He hadn't taken up that kind of a position in the past three games; previously, Jacob's positioning had been fairly loose, amature-like one would say. His shots were soft, usually either too much or too little finess, and the way he held the pool cue would suggest that he didn't play much.
However, this Jacob, the Jacob that was playing now was very different. He body was positioned paralell with the ball, tense in the back, yet relaxed in his legs and arms. And the way he was holding the pool cue...it was anything but amature like.
Jean switched her pool stick from one hand to another, waiting for Jacob to make his shot. Which he did. The cue ball shot from one side of the table to the other, hitting the solid red three and sinking it into the corner pocket. Normally, Jean would have thought that it was beginners luck, but not this time. No, with the way that the red three had been sitting...the angle to getting that ball into the corner pocket was very precise. But Jacob had done it with an ease that she hadn't seen on his face the past three games.
And something else didn't make sense...but Jean shrugged that off. Beginners luck...that's all it is...that's it she told herself, watching as Jacob chalked up the pool cue again, surveying the table for his next target. This time he was quicker, taking the same position that he had during the first shot, this time, aiming for the solid blue two. It was sitting right in front of the side pocket, and Jean instantly felt a little better. Anyone would be able to hit that into the pocket. Anyone! A six year old could do it. His first shot HAD been beginners luck. Why else would he be going for such an easy shot?
"Combo, 2 side, 7 corner."
What?
Jean looked at the table again. Indeed, the 7 was sitting right next to the 2. With the white ball positioned where it was, if he got just the right angle-
CRACK
With blinding speed, the 2 sank into the side pocket with ease, while the 7 traveled the straight and narrow path to the corner pocket.
And sank.
Jeans mouth dropped. What was going on!? Jacob...he...there was no way that an amature could have made that shot! And the strength behind that hit...Jean clicked her tongue against her cheek and glared at Jacob. Who was standing next to the table, setting up for his next shot.
That little rat...that son-of-a-bitch linguist...that tricky archeologist!
He'd hustled her. Completely and fully. Utterly and totally. He'd hustled her. HER! Jean Aldannan, Queen of the Pool Tables. She watched as he sank another ball, the solid 4, into the corner pocket and shook her head, her brain still not believing what her eyes were seeing.
Finally, she got lucky. On his fourth shot, trying to sink the 1, the ball didn't hit the bumper exactly right, and instead of going in the pocket, it missed the hole by a centimeter or two. Jacob stood up and looked at Jean. "Your table," he said calmly, the slight edges of a smile visable on the ends of his lips. Jean just stared at him, struggling not to beat him over the head with her pool cue. Stiffly, she moved around the table, looking for an open shot. All of her striped balls were still on the table, but they weren't in any prime positions. Some of the solid balls were blocking her own in such a way that it would be very difficult to use them to her advantage. She did see an angle that she could use though.
Her 15 was almost dead center on the table. With the cue ball where it was though, it would be impossible to sink it into a side pocket. However, one of the solid balls was sitting at a diagonal to the 15, which the cue ball could hit fairly easily. It was just a matter of making sure that when the 15 bounced off the bumper, it didn't slam the eight ball into the corner pocket which she was aiming for. The black eight was sitting uncomfortably close to the corner pocket, almost on the edge of dropping into the hole. If Jean sank that ball now, the game would be over, and Jacob would win by a default.
She was NOT about to sit through week of lectures with Jacob because she sank an eight ball in as though she were an amature player. No way in Hell.
Making her decision, she leaned in, placing the stick between her fingers and letting it flow over her fingers before she found a placement she was comfortable with. She continually let the pool cue go back and fourth, lining up her shot perfectly. If she didn't, then one of two things could happen. The ball could miss the mark completely and not go anywhere near the pocket that she wanted. Or, and Jean shuddered at this thought, the aim could be off just enough that the ball would come to close to the eight ball and nudge it just enough to make it fall in. That would not be a good thing. A couple of more test pushes with the stick and Jean finally struck the ball as hard as she could. She watched the cue ball travel into the solid, which smacked the striped 15 on target. The 15 rolled quickly towards the bumper, then bounced off, creating an angle and headed towards the corner pocket that Jean hoped it would. She breathed a sigh of relief as she watched it go in, not only not hitting the eight ball at all, but also moving it away from the pocket, thus decreasing the danger of the game being prematurely ended. She let out a shakey breath and looked up. Jacob was nodding his head in approval, his arms crossed as he watched the game. Jean could have smacked him right there.
And the game continued. Jean was able to knock in a combo before finally having to relinquish control of the table to Jacob, in which he sank two more of his solids. He had one left before he could go for the eight ball, and Jean had four striped left on the table. She watched him carefully as he pondered his next move, milling through her mind all the choice words and phrases that she had in mind for him. She couldn't believe that Jacob was this good. Where had he learned this crap!? He wasn't the kind to spend hours at a time in bars and pool halls. Maybe he'd played as a kid and it just stuck with him. She let out a breath as the ball he was aiming for missed the pocket. He shrugged and took a sip from the glass of water that he'd gotten during the game; the beer which Jean had been drinking earlier had long since gone flat.
With her next turn, Jean sank two more of her stripes, but was unable to muster up enough finesse to sink the third ball she tried for. It simply rolled across the table and stopped short of the pocket. She groaned in frustration, hanging her head as she heard Jacob walking around the table. Kneeling down, her nose now paralell with the balls on the table, she watched Jacob as he set himself up for his next shot, and she prayed with every fiber of her being that he missed it. If he did, then she would still have a chance to get her two stripes into the pockets and then start on the eight ball. She might still be able to win the game. But if Jacob made his shot here and now, he could go for the eight ball, and based on what Jean had seen previously during the game, it wouldn't be that difficult for him to make it in. She watched him closely, taking in everything that he was doing. The way his eyes were moving, the way he was holding his body, how he held the pool cue, how far apart his feet were...
A resounding CRACK was heard in the air as Jacob smacked the cue ball directly into his solid. Jean watched, her blue eyes never closing nor blinking as the solid ball traveled right on down the green and into the pocket. Jean closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the table. This was it. She was done for. She should just start packing now, save herself the trouble of trying to sink the other two balls. She couldn't believe this...she was getting beaten by a CIVILIAN for the love of God!
She heard another crack, signaling that Jacob had hit the cue ball and was hoping for the eight to make its way into a pocket. Fortunately for Jean, she didn't hear the full 'plunk' of a ball falling into the hole. She looked up and saw that the eight ball was sitting at the end of the table, bearing to the left, and almost parallel from the second marker.
Getting up, she gathered her wits to her, along with the pool cue, and set up for her next shot. An easy one, thank goodness because of where the cue ball had ended up. She easily put away her sixth stripe and turned her attention to the last one. The seventh stripe was right next to the pocket, so that was good. The white ball however, was a good distance away from the pocket, and at a rather odd angle. She twitched her mouth nervously, wondering to finess the ball or drive it straight into the stripe. If she drove it though, there was a good chance that she could scratch the cue ball, making her last shot null-in-void and giving Jacob the game on a silver platter. The only way to ensure that of happening was to hit the stripe at such an angle that there would be no way for the cue ball to go in the pocket. Which meant hitting it on the side instead of dead on. She rolled her shoulders, trying to loosen some of the tension that was in there before she began setting up. She glanced up at Jacob for a moment. His expression was contemplative, his arms crossed with one arm lifted slightly so that his finger could rest against his lips. Swallowing, Jean leaned in and aimed the pool cue towards the ball.
She would not be going on the trip.
She would not be listening to Jacob give boring lectures for eight hours a day.
She would not be spending a week at the Airforce Academy with a bunch of pups that didn't know the first thing about real combat.
No way.
0130 hours.
The officers club was still dimly lit. Everyone had vacated the premises, opting for either another location to spend time in or for sleep.
Jean on the other hand, was on her hands and knees, crawling around on the carpet inspecting the legs of the pool table. "Something...somethings got to be off...it's got to be...no other damn explanation for it!" she muttered, running her hands along the carpeting, checking for raised creases, or any other device that may have tilted the table slightly.
She'd lost. She'd lost big time. She hadn't been able to sink her last stripe, and it was down hill from there. The first time Jacob had tried to sink the eight ball, his aim and angle had been off slightly, which had given Jean another chance to try to sink her last ball. The ball though...it just didn't want to go in the damn pocket! She knew after that last try that it was all over. Jacob had sized up the table perfectly, had executed almost every shot with the utmost professionalism.
Yep. She was getting a trip to the Airforce Academy for this one.
"Jean?"
Startled, Jean instinctively looked up, but banged her head on the bottom of the pool table. She winced, letting out a grunt and, holding her head, scooted out from underneath the table. She looked up in the low lighting, seeing Jocob there, and glowered at him.
"What?" she muttered, getting up, rubbing the area of her head which had been hurt.
"What are you still doing here?" he asked, half concerned, half perplexed. Jean huffed and looked at the pool table.
"How did you do it?" she asked. "No, forget that. Why didn't you TELL me that you were that good a pool player!?"
Jacob shrugged. "The subject never really came up..." Jean's eyes widened.
"Never came UP!? Excuse me? Jacob, we played three games together. Each time, I kicked your ass. Then, suddenly, on the fourth game, you turn all pro on me? Where and when did you learn to play like that, and where and when did you learn to hustle like that?"
Jacob grinned, almost proudly, which annoyed Jean even more. "Actually...I learned the hustling part from alot of different places. All my excursions around the world, all the different cultures...they've all got different ways of getting something they want or turning something to their advantage...I just picked it up somewhere, I guess."
"You just picked it up somewhere."
Jacob nodded. "The hustling, and getting-what-you-want/need-thing...yea. I had to do that while I was on a dig in northern Afghanistan. That was the only way to get food sometimes from the local markets."
Okay. That, she could buy, but ONLY because she was military. She knew that there were tactics like that to get things needed from people that didn't always want to give in right away.
"What about the pool?"
"The pool?"
"Yea, the pool, you know, the game that you just beat the crap out of me in?"
"Oh, the pool...," he ran a hand nervously through his hair, now careful to avoid Jeans face, her eyes, her entire body. She would not be liking his answer. In fact, if he was smart...
"We've got an early morning tomorrow. Bed time, don't ya think?" He started to make for the door, but Jean blocked his path.
"Jacob..."
"Yes?" he answered, looking over her head rather than at her.
"What did you do?"
"What do you mean 'What did I do?'"
"Did you rig the table?"
"What? No, I didn't rig the table!"
"Put magnets in the balls?"
"No!"
"Mess with the bumpers?"
"Jean, this is ridiculous!"
"Then how did you do it!?"
Jacob sighed. There would be no sleep for him. The answer was simple, anyone could do it.
"I've been playing for a long time that's all...that and...umm..."
"AND what?" Jeans eyes flashed. "Come on Jacob...you can tell me. How'd you beat me?" she crossed her arms and tried to make herself seem less threatening. Jacob cleared his throat.
"Alright...you really want to know?"
Jean nodded, her red hair falling into her eyes.
"You're sure."
"Yes."
"Positive?"
"Jacob..."
He closed his eyes and rubbed them with his fingers then looked at her again.
"Simple geometry." Jean just stared at him. Not a good sign. "Simple geometry?" she repeated, disbelievingly. Jacob nodded.
"Math...you beat me with math? With running formula's through your head? That's how you won!?" She shook her head in shock. "I...I don't believe this...I don't think I can take this."
Jacob nodded and gently put his hands on her shoulders, turning her around to face the exit of the officers club. "I know...I know, women and math don't exactly click, research tells us...."
"No...no it doesn't...that's...that's unbelievable...I just don't get it."
"I know," Jacob agreed, leading her towards the door.
"Simple geometry...I...that..."
Jacob continued to nod, soothe, and lead Jean all the way back to the living quarters that had been made up for the SGC personel. He shook his head. Right now, Jean Aldannan was in shock. Tomorrow however would be a different story. She had to fly all the way to the Airforce Academy. She would have to listen to him for a week, eight hours a day, lecturing on things that she could care less about.
Once she remembered that, he would not be a happy camper. An angry Major Jean Aldannan was not the best thing to have on base.
And if you were the one that made her angry, that was even worse.
Jacob blew some of the stray black curls away from his green eyes and let out an exhausted sigh. "I dunno, Jean," he wavered, looking at his watch. "It's 12:30 in the morning, and we've got a mission briefing tomorrow at 0830 hours. I'm kind of beat to tell you the truth." Jean cast a look of pure disbelief at him. "I think you just don't want to loose again," she accused. "You're using the 'it's really late' excuse to get out of it."
Jacob shrugged.
"Tell you what," Jean continued, walking over to where her beer was sitting on a table and taking a sip of it. "You play this last game with me. If you win, it's the last game of the night." She raised her eyebrows at Jacob. "What do you say?"
The archeologist/linquist/historian/cultural-expert mulled over the deal, but wiggled his mouth in hesitation. "What if you win?"
Jean grinned. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see, huh?"
Jacob put the pool cue down on the table and reached for his jacket. "No go, Jean. See, if I walk away right now, I might have the chance at getting six or seven hours of sleep..."
Jean frowned. She was not ready to go to sleep yet, much less leave the officers club. She hadn't had a night out like this for a month at least, she was going to take advantage of it. Damn the briefing.
"You want another deal?" she asked, leaning against her pool cue and eyeing him up carefully. She wasn't worried if he did; she'd beaten him three times thus far. She was sure she could do it again. Plus, she was still going strong while he was complaining about wanting sleep. "Any deal you want. Any bet."
Jacob reguarded her carefully, his facial expression clearly showing that he was seriously considering the idea. Finally he nodded. "Alright. If you win, what would you like?" Jean smirked. IF she won? Obviously, Jacob was to tired to remember who'd won the last three games. However, she decided to humor him. "If I win..." she absentmindidly circled her finger around the top of the pool cue, her eyes loosing their focus as she thought of her prize.
"If I win," she restated, then grinned, "you have to go with me to the next football games that I get tickets to." Daniel shrugged. "Okay." Jean held up a finger though. "AND...dress up for the hometeam. The works...the jersey, the hat, face paint, body paint...everything."
Jacob wrinkled his nose. A football game, he could handle. But dressing up as some ridiculous clown? Oh well, he'd asked her what she wanted. He should have expected something like this. He nodded, picking up the pool cue again and beginning to chalk up the point. "Alright. If you win, I dress up the like the stadium clown of the home football team." He finished his chalking. "Now, if I win..." he pretended to think, although he already had in mind what he wanted Jean to do. Her confident smile was still plastered to her face, awaiting his demands.
"If I win, you have to come to my lecture series that I am doing for the Airforce Academy."
Jean's jaw dropped. "Lecture series!? What lecture series, I didn't know anything about any lecture series!"
"Have you checked your memos'?"
"What memos?'"
Jacob sighed, walking over the the side of the table and dipping down to the hole where the balls were sitting. "The memo that stated that there was a lecture series at the Airforce academy a week from today. I need to take an Airforce Officer with me. So far, everyone that I've asked is either to tied up or has run scared."
"Smart people..."
"Anyways," he continued, putting the balls in the triangle and arranging them, "I need to have an Airforce officer there. One so that I know where I'm going, two, so that that officer can answer questions about the Airforce aspect of things that I wouldn't have a clue about." He finished arranging the balls and turned to Jean. "So, if I win, you're it."
Jean nodded, chalking up her pool cue as well. "Fine. I won't have anything to worry about though..." she brushed the bright red hair away from her narrow face, taking the white ball out from it's little cubicle and placing it on the table.
"So, just to make sure...we've got a deal?" Jacob clarified. Jean looked up, locked her blue eyes with his green ones and nodded once.
"Deal."
Jacob smiled. "Just making sure," he murmured before sweeping his hand over the table. "Go ahead."
Jean glanced at him, wondering what he was smiling about, then, shook her head. Probably wasn't anything important. She bent over the table, her focus soley on the white ball in front of her. Pushing the pool stick back and forth between her long, thin fingers, she finally hit the ball, smacking it into the 15 colored and striped balls. They scattered in various directions. It was a good break, really. None of the balls went in, so it was still a free table, but they were very nicely scattered about. Just what she'd wanted.
"Your go," she said, standing back from the table and allowing Jacob his space. Nodding, the linguist stepped up to the table and looked it over, looking at the positions of the balls, at some points putting the pool cue over a particular ball, then moving the stick over the table. Measuring angles, eh? Jean thought to herself. She kept quiet though, and let the man work. He would need all the help he could get, playing her.
Finally, it seemed that Jacob had chosen which ball to hit. Leaning in, pool stick in hand, he prepared to make his shot. Jean cocked her head to the side, studying him.
He hadn't taken up that kind of a position in the past three games; previously, Jacob's positioning had been fairly loose, amature-like one would say. His shots were soft, usually either too much or too little finess, and the way he held the pool cue would suggest that he didn't play much.
However, this Jacob, the Jacob that was playing now was very different. He body was positioned paralell with the ball, tense in the back, yet relaxed in his legs and arms. And the way he was holding the pool cue...it was anything but amature like.
Jean switched her pool stick from one hand to another, waiting for Jacob to make his shot. Which he did. The cue ball shot from one side of the table to the other, hitting the solid red three and sinking it into the corner pocket. Normally, Jean would have thought that it was beginners luck, but not this time. No, with the way that the red three had been sitting...the angle to getting that ball into the corner pocket was very precise. But Jacob had done it with an ease that she hadn't seen on his face the past three games.
And something else didn't make sense...but Jean shrugged that off. Beginners luck...that's all it is...that's it she told herself, watching as Jacob chalked up the pool cue again, surveying the table for his next target. This time he was quicker, taking the same position that he had during the first shot, this time, aiming for the solid blue two. It was sitting right in front of the side pocket, and Jean instantly felt a little better. Anyone would be able to hit that into the pocket. Anyone! A six year old could do it. His first shot HAD been beginners luck. Why else would he be going for such an easy shot?
"Combo, 2 side, 7 corner."
What?
Jean looked at the table again. Indeed, the 7 was sitting right next to the 2. With the white ball positioned where it was, if he got just the right angle-
CRACK
With blinding speed, the 2 sank into the side pocket with ease, while the 7 traveled the straight and narrow path to the corner pocket.
And sank.
Jeans mouth dropped. What was going on!? Jacob...he...there was no way that an amature could have made that shot! And the strength behind that hit...Jean clicked her tongue against her cheek and glared at Jacob. Who was standing next to the table, setting up for his next shot.
That little rat...that son-of-a-bitch linguist...that tricky archeologist!
He'd hustled her. Completely and fully. Utterly and totally. He'd hustled her. HER! Jean Aldannan, Queen of the Pool Tables. She watched as he sank another ball, the solid 4, into the corner pocket and shook her head, her brain still not believing what her eyes were seeing.
Finally, she got lucky. On his fourth shot, trying to sink the 1, the ball didn't hit the bumper exactly right, and instead of going in the pocket, it missed the hole by a centimeter or two. Jacob stood up and looked at Jean. "Your table," he said calmly, the slight edges of a smile visable on the ends of his lips. Jean just stared at him, struggling not to beat him over the head with her pool cue. Stiffly, she moved around the table, looking for an open shot. All of her striped balls were still on the table, but they weren't in any prime positions. Some of the solid balls were blocking her own in such a way that it would be very difficult to use them to her advantage. She did see an angle that she could use though.
Her 15 was almost dead center on the table. With the cue ball where it was though, it would be impossible to sink it into a side pocket. However, one of the solid balls was sitting at a diagonal to the 15, which the cue ball could hit fairly easily. It was just a matter of making sure that when the 15 bounced off the bumper, it didn't slam the eight ball into the corner pocket which she was aiming for. The black eight was sitting uncomfortably close to the corner pocket, almost on the edge of dropping into the hole. If Jean sank that ball now, the game would be over, and Jacob would win by a default.
She was NOT about to sit through week of lectures with Jacob because she sank an eight ball in as though she were an amature player. No way in Hell.
Making her decision, she leaned in, placing the stick between her fingers and letting it flow over her fingers before she found a placement she was comfortable with. She continually let the pool cue go back and fourth, lining up her shot perfectly. If she didn't, then one of two things could happen. The ball could miss the mark completely and not go anywhere near the pocket that she wanted. Or, and Jean shuddered at this thought, the aim could be off just enough that the ball would come to close to the eight ball and nudge it just enough to make it fall in. That would not be a good thing. A couple of more test pushes with the stick and Jean finally struck the ball as hard as she could. She watched the cue ball travel into the solid, which smacked the striped 15 on target. The 15 rolled quickly towards the bumper, then bounced off, creating an angle and headed towards the corner pocket that Jean hoped it would. She breathed a sigh of relief as she watched it go in, not only not hitting the eight ball at all, but also moving it away from the pocket, thus decreasing the danger of the game being prematurely ended. She let out a shakey breath and looked up. Jacob was nodding his head in approval, his arms crossed as he watched the game. Jean could have smacked him right there.
And the game continued. Jean was able to knock in a combo before finally having to relinquish control of the table to Jacob, in which he sank two more of his solids. He had one left before he could go for the eight ball, and Jean had four striped left on the table. She watched him carefully as he pondered his next move, milling through her mind all the choice words and phrases that she had in mind for him. She couldn't believe that Jacob was this good. Where had he learned this crap!? He wasn't the kind to spend hours at a time in bars and pool halls. Maybe he'd played as a kid and it just stuck with him. She let out a breath as the ball he was aiming for missed the pocket. He shrugged and took a sip from the glass of water that he'd gotten during the game; the beer which Jean had been drinking earlier had long since gone flat.
With her next turn, Jean sank two more of her stripes, but was unable to muster up enough finesse to sink the third ball she tried for. It simply rolled across the table and stopped short of the pocket. She groaned in frustration, hanging her head as she heard Jacob walking around the table. Kneeling down, her nose now paralell with the balls on the table, she watched Jacob as he set himself up for his next shot, and she prayed with every fiber of her being that he missed it. If he did, then she would still have a chance to get her two stripes into the pockets and then start on the eight ball. She might still be able to win the game. But if Jacob made his shot here and now, he could go for the eight ball, and based on what Jean had seen previously during the game, it wouldn't be that difficult for him to make it in. She watched him closely, taking in everything that he was doing. The way his eyes were moving, the way he was holding his body, how he held the pool cue, how far apart his feet were...
A resounding CRACK was heard in the air as Jacob smacked the cue ball directly into his solid. Jean watched, her blue eyes never closing nor blinking as the solid ball traveled right on down the green and into the pocket. Jean closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the table. This was it. She was done for. She should just start packing now, save herself the trouble of trying to sink the other two balls. She couldn't believe this...she was getting beaten by a CIVILIAN for the love of God!
She heard another crack, signaling that Jacob had hit the cue ball and was hoping for the eight to make its way into a pocket. Fortunately for Jean, she didn't hear the full 'plunk' of a ball falling into the hole. She looked up and saw that the eight ball was sitting at the end of the table, bearing to the left, and almost parallel from the second marker.
Getting up, she gathered her wits to her, along with the pool cue, and set up for her next shot. An easy one, thank goodness because of where the cue ball had ended up. She easily put away her sixth stripe and turned her attention to the last one. The seventh stripe was right next to the pocket, so that was good. The white ball however, was a good distance away from the pocket, and at a rather odd angle. She twitched her mouth nervously, wondering to finess the ball or drive it straight into the stripe. If she drove it though, there was a good chance that she could scratch the cue ball, making her last shot null-in-void and giving Jacob the game on a silver platter. The only way to ensure that of happening was to hit the stripe at such an angle that there would be no way for the cue ball to go in the pocket. Which meant hitting it on the side instead of dead on. She rolled her shoulders, trying to loosen some of the tension that was in there before she began setting up. She glanced up at Jacob for a moment. His expression was contemplative, his arms crossed with one arm lifted slightly so that his finger could rest against his lips. Swallowing, Jean leaned in and aimed the pool cue towards the ball.
She would not be going on the trip.
She would not be listening to Jacob give boring lectures for eight hours a day.
She would not be spending a week at the Airforce Academy with a bunch of pups that didn't know the first thing about real combat.
No way.
0130 hours.
The officers club was still dimly lit. Everyone had vacated the premises, opting for either another location to spend time in or for sleep.
Jean on the other hand, was on her hands and knees, crawling around on the carpet inspecting the legs of the pool table. "Something...somethings got to be off...it's got to be...no other damn explanation for it!" she muttered, running her hands along the carpeting, checking for raised creases, or any other device that may have tilted the table slightly.
She'd lost. She'd lost big time. She hadn't been able to sink her last stripe, and it was down hill from there. The first time Jacob had tried to sink the eight ball, his aim and angle had been off slightly, which had given Jean another chance to try to sink her last ball. The ball though...it just didn't want to go in the damn pocket! She knew after that last try that it was all over. Jacob had sized up the table perfectly, had executed almost every shot with the utmost professionalism.
Yep. She was getting a trip to the Airforce Academy for this one.
"Jean?"
Startled, Jean instinctively looked up, but banged her head on the bottom of the pool table. She winced, letting out a grunt and, holding her head, scooted out from underneath the table. She looked up in the low lighting, seeing Jocob there, and glowered at him.
"What?" she muttered, getting up, rubbing the area of her head which had been hurt.
"What are you still doing here?" he asked, half concerned, half perplexed. Jean huffed and looked at the pool table.
"How did you do it?" she asked. "No, forget that. Why didn't you TELL me that you were that good a pool player!?"
Jacob shrugged. "The subject never really came up..." Jean's eyes widened.
"Never came UP!? Excuse me? Jacob, we played three games together. Each time, I kicked your ass. Then, suddenly, on the fourth game, you turn all pro on me? Where and when did you learn to play like that, and where and when did you learn to hustle like that?"
Jacob grinned, almost proudly, which annoyed Jean even more. "Actually...I learned the hustling part from alot of different places. All my excursions around the world, all the different cultures...they've all got different ways of getting something they want or turning something to their advantage...I just picked it up somewhere, I guess."
"You just picked it up somewhere."
Jacob nodded. "The hustling, and getting-what-you-want/need-thing...yea. I had to do that while I was on a dig in northern Afghanistan. That was the only way to get food sometimes from the local markets."
Okay. That, she could buy, but ONLY because she was military. She knew that there were tactics like that to get things needed from people that didn't always want to give in right away.
"What about the pool?"
"The pool?"
"Yea, the pool, you know, the game that you just beat the crap out of me in?"
"Oh, the pool...," he ran a hand nervously through his hair, now careful to avoid Jeans face, her eyes, her entire body. She would not be liking his answer. In fact, if he was smart...
"We've got an early morning tomorrow. Bed time, don't ya think?" He started to make for the door, but Jean blocked his path.
"Jacob..."
"Yes?" he answered, looking over her head rather than at her.
"What did you do?"
"What do you mean 'What did I do?'"
"Did you rig the table?"
"What? No, I didn't rig the table!"
"Put magnets in the balls?"
"No!"
"Mess with the bumpers?"
"Jean, this is ridiculous!"
"Then how did you do it!?"
Jacob sighed. There would be no sleep for him. The answer was simple, anyone could do it.
"I've been playing for a long time that's all...that and...umm..."
"AND what?" Jeans eyes flashed. "Come on Jacob...you can tell me. How'd you beat me?" she crossed her arms and tried to make herself seem less threatening. Jacob cleared his throat.
"Alright...you really want to know?"
Jean nodded, her red hair falling into her eyes.
"You're sure."
"Yes."
"Positive?"
"Jacob..."
He closed his eyes and rubbed them with his fingers then looked at her again.
"Simple geometry." Jean just stared at him. Not a good sign. "Simple geometry?" she repeated, disbelievingly. Jacob nodded.
"Math...you beat me with math? With running formula's through your head? That's how you won!?" She shook her head in shock. "I...I don't believe this...I don't think I can take this."
Jacob nodded and gently put his hands on her shoulders, turning her around to face the exit of the officers club. "I know...I know, women and math don't exactly click, research tells us...."
"No...no it doesn't...that's...that's unbelievable...I just don't get it."
"I know," Jacob agreed, leading her towards the door.
"Simple geometry...I...that..."
Jacob continued to nod, soothe, and lead Jean all the way back to the living quarters that had been made up for the SGC personel. He shook his head. Right now, Jean Aldannan was in shock. Tomorrow however would be a different story. She had to fly all the way to the Airforce Academy. She would have to listen to him for a week, eight hours a day, lecturing on things that she could care less about.
Once she remembered that, he would not be a happy camper. An angry Major Jean Aldannan was not the best thing to have on base.
And if you were the one that made her angry, that was even worse.