General's Musings
Author's Note: Another one-shot shortie… I've never tried writing a Jack-centered fic, and I've never felt able to write Jack's character very well, so I tried it. Implied J/S, but its not a lot, I swear.
Spoiler Warning: Season eight.
Disclaimer: The show is not owned by me, and neither is the company that manufactures "jell-o". The story, however, is mine.
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"If that's more paperwork you're carrying, you're dismissed," said General Jack O'Neill, answering a knock on his open door.
"Um, sir?" questioned the airman, his arms filled with numerous folders, papers, and reports.
"Come in, come in. I know you're not the one to blame for all these… these… gee, I would much rather be fishing right now. Cool morning breeze, my pond, Carte-"
"Sir, can I set these down?" asked the airman, who looked about ready to collapse under the weight of the stack he was carrying.
Jack absently motioned to the desk, "Sure, if you can find a spot."
The airman spent a few seconds scanning the desk for a place to put his armful, then walked around the desk, but stopped as he noticed Jack's questioning look. He then set the pile on the only clear space on the desk, right in front of the general's nose.
Jack's look turned to glare, but the airman just shrugged and replied, "I found a spot, sir."
"Get outta here. And hope you never make it to the rank of general," said Jack, waving the airman towards the door.
"Excuse me, sir?"
"You really want to be in my position right now?" Jack asked, motioning towards his desk, which had nine more piles equal, if not taller, in height than the newest stack.
"I see what you mean, sir," mused the airman as he broke into a smile.
"Have a nice day, airman."
"Thank you, sir." The airman promptly left.
Jack sighed audibly, and tried to lay his head on the desk, but found it blocked by the new stack of papers. He gave the offending pile a death glare, then decided to take a walk. He suddenly felt a new respect for General Hammond.
He strolled out of his office, strangely glad to be out. There were guards every few hundred feet, but no one in the hall that he recognized.
He walked into the elevator, intending to retrieve some food from the cafeteria. Maybe some coffee, too. He'd probably need it to clear off his desk by the end of the night. Then again, that wasn't going to happen.
Busy thinking about his new title of general, he got off the elevator when it stopped, which just happened not to be the floor he was trying to reach, but being too wrapped up in his thoughts, he didn't notice.
"General?"
The sudden pain filling his head woke him from his thoughts; he had just walked into a door.
"Wha? Where's the food?!"
"This is sub-level 25, sir. The cafeteria is on 20," replied one of the two airmen guarding the door. (Note: actually, I have no idea, if someone knows the actual levels and feels the need to correct me, go on right ahead…)
"Really?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well," he said, rubbing his head where he had collided with the door, "you two just keep, uh, doing whatever you're doing…" he muttered, heading back to the elevator. As he did so, he passed two more guards standing near another door. They were staring holes into the wall in front of them, not moving. 'I wonder what they're thinking about…' Jack mused to himself. 'What a boring job. Wow, that must be even worse than my job around here; we all get to sit around doing nothing, well, stand around in their case… but I get to sign paperwork, at least it's stimulating…'
His thoughts eventually drifted back to food and coffee as he stepped back on the elevator, making sure to pay attention this time.
He sat at a table, happily munching on, well, whatever it was, it was edible -- and good. He had just finished his cup of coffee and a dish of jell-o when his thoughts drifted back to the countless airmen guarding the halls. Maybe he could give them all a promotion. At least that way they could actually move and walk around.
The thoughts of the guards let him to think about other boring jobs in the SGC. He got another cup of coffee.
'I wonder who refills the water in these things…' In his eight years at the SGC, he had never actually seen someone refill the coffee machine. In fact, the question never even crossed his mind until now. He sat back down and took a sip.
'GEEZ that was hot. Oh, god, I'm getting to be like Danny. Come to think of it, he probably refills the coffee machine himself, just so its always there when he needs it… every hour?'
He looked up from the cup to see someone putting new food on the shelves and in the cases on the far wall. He realized that it must be close to dinnertime.
'Hmm, time flies when you're having fun,' he thought, looking lovingly at his empty jell-o dish. 'Now that would be a job, working with the food. That's not only boring, but you also get to deal with fake, um "food" all the time. Even ten stacks of paper is better than that…'
Jack then got up and left, knowing that the piles on his desk weren't going to sign themselves, as much as he wished they would… 'I wonder if I have the power to demote myself,' he thought as he stepped onto the elevator. 'I wouldn't mind being Colonel O'Neill again, being off-world again… maybe I can assign myself to SG-1… Eep, but who's going to run the place while we're being held captive by a snake? Ooh, and the Asgard.'
He could just picture it: reporting to the president about all the great things at the SGC then ZAP. He disappears in a flash of light in the middle of the oval office! He laughed out loud, earning confused looks from the nearest hall guards.
At last he reached his desk, and the thousands of sheets of paper that came with it. He grabbed his favorite pen, repositioned his picture of Sam where he could see it, and reached for the top of the nearest pile…
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Author's Second Note: Reviews are appreciated and will be recognized (on my author page)! Hey, if it were your story, and I were reading it, I would review -!