Hello, everyone!

I have created a challenge for myself. It seems like it'll be pretty epic, yet doable in small doses (I think.) The challenge: to create a little tiny fic to go with every episode of Stargate: SG-1 that ever happened—a tag, a missing scene, or at least using some element within the episode. Each one has to be 500 words or fewer. I'm not limiting myself other than that.

The purpose of this self-challenge is not to entertain all you lovely people (though if I end up doing so in the process, all the better) but just to keep my hand in the game while I'm short on plot bunnies. Therefore, I'm not gonna beg you for reviews, for which you might be somewhat grateful, and in return for that, when (if) you do review, saying, "Please update, Emilie! We love you!" I will not feel obligated to update, necessarily, though I might feel a twinge of guilt. And, if you say that in a review, I'll also be flattered beyond belief and grin and skip and people will think I've finally lost it. But I will not ask for reviews. NOT. (/me scolds self.)

…however, for the record, I don't MIND reviews. Not at all.

Disclaimer: not mine. None of it. At all.

Summary: Exploring beyond the bounds of episodes, a ficcer is likely to find some interesting moments. An epic set of tags.

Rating: T. Probably. Mostly.

Spoilers. Everything ever. Yes, you heard me.

Title: A Sense of Obligation

Author: Emilie (AKA EmmyH)

Notes: The title comes from a favorite quote of mine:

'A man said to the universe:
"Sir, I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation."'
Stephen Crane

The commissary was quiet, most likely because it was just past 0500, but the quiet was just what Sam needed. Sitting at one of the dozen or so tables scattered around the hall, she put her head in her folded arms, and sighed. "What a disaster," she moaned.

"What's a disaster?" said a light voice from behind her.

She turned, startled, to see Dr. Jackson, a cup of coffee cradled in one hand. "Oh! Uh, hi," she said. "How's the coffee?"

"Terrible," he said, and took a sip. "But it's caffeinated. Mind if I join you?"

"Sure," she said, gesturing across the table. "Take a seat."

He did so, and asked again, "So, what's a disaster?"

"Oh, it's just this…thing with Colonel O'Neill," she said, picking glumly at a crack in the table.

"Thing? You have a thing?"

"What?—No! I mean—"

Dr. Jackson laughed softly. "Okay, okay, sorry. You were saying?"

"I—I feel like Colonel O'Neill doesn't respect me," she said, and closed her eyes. It sounded so silly when she put it like that.

Dr. Jackson smiled. "I know what you mean," he said. "He can be a little condescending sometimes."

Sam made a face. "I'm so tired of people thinking I can't deal with things because I'm a scientist, because I'm a woman, because I'm blonde…"

"You could always dye your hair," Dr. Jackson suggested.

"Tried that," she said. "In college. It didn't go well."

"For what it's worth, he probably respects you more than he lets on. He's…like that."

"He doesn't seem much like other officers I've served under," Sam mused.

"He doesn't seem much like other people," Dr. Jackson said, smiling, then looked down. "Oh, wait, here he comes."

Sam turned in her seat, and saw the Colonel coming towards them. "Morning, sir," she said.

"Morning, Carter," he said, waving. "Daniel. Talking about me?"

Sam's eyes widened. How did he know that? she thought.

"You had that furtive look," the Colonel said. "I can tell, Captain. Anyway, I've been looking for you. Wanted to tell you guys that we're booked on the firing range at 0700 hours."

Daniel frowned. "And 0700 means…?"

"Seven o'clock," Sam informed him.

Colonel O'Neill added, "It's the same as civilian time until afternoon, and then you add twelve. Don't be late, guys. Some people need to learn to shoot." He winked at Carter, jerking his head at Dr. Jackson, who blushed.

"So, Daniel," said the Colonel, sliding in to sit next to Dr. Jackson, "How's the coffee?"