TITLE: The Trouble with Jack
AUTHOR: Cyn(di)
EMAIL: custardpringle@yahoo.com
RATING: PG for language
CATEGORY: Humor, drama
SUMMARY: Jack's stapler fetish is getting worse, and Siler is developing a terrible case of corridor rage. When the two cross, it ain't pretty.
SPOILERS: none, thank goodness. (See, Jess, the Commandments remain intact for the nonce.)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry this took so long. It actually takes me only an hour or two to write each chapter (much easier than my usual angsty stuff). It's getting around to it that's the problem.
Besides, I cut myself shaving shortly after my last post and it took me a week to stop the bleeding. No, seriously.
--------------------------------------------------
Sam had just resolved that the phrase of the day would be "bloody hell." She couldn't think of anything much more appropriate to her current predicament.
If Colonel O'Neill hadn't been a superior officer, she would already have been on the way to his office, fully intending to leave him with a collection of bruises rivaling the one he already had of stolen office equipment. As it was, though, she would have to settle for telling him off thoroughly. Very, very thoroughly.
And the many unfortunate people she was efficiently bowling over in the hallways were more than able to testify to exactly how pissed off she was.
Her stapler was gone—again. And this time there was no ambiguity whatsoever about what had happened to it. He had stolen it back—picked the lock on her desk, no doubt. And now that she actually had something substantial to report on (in sharp contrast to the fiasco their last mission had become), something actually important for once, she couldn't. Because she had no way to fasten it together.
There were only two ways this could possibly end, Sam decided. One was ugly. And the other one was very ugly indeed.
She was so intent on getting where she was going that when she ran into Sergeant Siler, who was carrying a biological specimen case, and knocked him head over heels—the third time it had happened to him that day—Sam never even noticed the furious look he sent in her direction as he picked himself up.
It was soon replaced, though, by a smile—but one just as ugly as his previous scowl—as he placed a checkmark on his mental list.
Major Samantha Carter would be victim number two.
-----
Sam was nearly at a run by the time she halted in front of Daniel's door and stormed in without even knocking, let alone waiting to be invited in. He looked up, started to say something, and snapped his mouth shut again upon seeing the look on her face, settling instead for hoping that he would not bear the brunt of her wrath.
"Look at this," Sam growled, holding up a half-inch long strip of staples.
Daniel blinked up at her in utter confusion. "Did you have a point you wanted to make?"
"Colonel O'Neill took my stapler," Sam fumed.
"Thought that happened about a week ago."
"It did. And then—" she gritted her teeth—"I went and got it back from his office. Now it's gone again. This is all I've got left."
"Well," Daniel offered cautiously, "if it makes you feel any better, I think he took mine too."
Sam nodded. "I wouldn't be surprised. There were a bunch of others in the drawer with mine. Didn't recognize them, though."
"So why exactly did you come to me?" he asked. "Did you think I might have it?"
"Nah." Sam broke into a savage grin. "I just need someone there to keep me out of a court-martial for assault of a superior officer."
"Sounds like fun," Daniel decided, getting up and navigating gingerly around several enormous mounds of paper to join her. "If worst comes to worst, I can always assault him for you. Let's go."
-----
Five minutes later, they were knocking vigorously at the door of Jack's office. When it became evident he was either absent or refusing to answer, Sam heaved a sigh. "You know, Daniel," she said regretfully, "I was really hoping it wouldn't come to this." With that, she whipped a key card out of her pocket and skimmed it through the reader on the wall. A click and a beep sounded, and the door swung open without further protest, revealing an otherwise empty office.
Daniel stared at her as they walked in. "Do I even want to know why you have a key to Jack's office?"
"Probably not . . . wow. Take a look at his desk."
Far from its usual clutter, Jack's desk was now occupied by a single neat stack, towering several feet in height, of completed paperwork of all sorts: mission reports dating back as far as four years, requisition forms, and even answered memos. (Several members of this last category were old enough to be addressed from General West rather than Hammond.)
"Oh, shit," Daniel said in awe. "This cannot be good."
"Looks like we've got another potential victim for Mackenzie," Sam agreed.
"And here's the weapon," he told her grimly, passing over a bright red stapler that had been placed neatly behind the mountain of paper. "It's not mine, though."
Sam examined it briefly and determined it was wholly depleted. "Nor mine," she said sadly.
"Bottom drawer's locked three times over," Daniel reported, tugging at the handle in vain. "Don't suppose you've got keys to all these as well?"
"Not to my knowledge." She leaned over to examine the offending mechanisms.
"Hey, kids," a cheerful voice said from the doorway.
Chagrined, Daniel and Sam fell silent.
Jack's tone hardened. "Now just what the hell do you think you're doing in here?"
AUTHOR: Cyn(di)
EMAIL: custardpringle@yahoo.com
RATING: PG for language
CATEGORY: Humor, drama
SUMMARY: Jack's stapler fetish is getting worse, and Siler is developing a terrible case of corridor rage. When the two cross, it ain't pretty.
SPOILERS: none, thank goodness. (See, Jess, the Commandments remain intact for the nonce.)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry this took so long. It actually takes me only an hour or two to write each chapter (much easier than my usual angsty stuff). It's getting around to it that's the problem.
Besides, I cut myself shaving shortly after my last post and it took me a week to stop the bleeding. No, seriously.
--------------------------------------------------
Sam had just resolved that the phrase of the day would be "bloody hell." She couldn't think of anything much more appropriate to her current predicament.
If Colonel O'Neill hadn't been a superior officer, she would already have been on the way to his office, fully intending to leave him with a collection of bruises rivaling the one he already had of stolen office equipment. As it was, though, she would have to settle for telling him off thoroughly. Very, very thoroughly.
And the many unfortunate people she was efficiently bowling over in the hallways were more than able to testify to exactly how pissed off she was.
Her stapler was gone—again. And this time there was no ambiguity whatsoever about what had happened to it. He had stolen it back—picked the lock on her desk, no doubt. And now that she actually had something substantial to report on (in sharp contrast to the fiasco their last mission had become), something actually important for once, she couldn't. Because she had no way to fasten it together.
There were only two ways this could possibly end, Sam decided. One was ugly. And the other one was very ugly indeed.
She was so intent on getting where she was going that when she ran into Sergeant Siler, who was carrying a biological specimen case, and knocked him head over heels—the third time it had happened to him that day—Sam never even noticed the furious look he sent in her direction as he picked himself up.
It was soon replaced, though, by a smile—but one just as ugly as his previous scowl—as he placed a checkmark on his mental list.
Major Samantha Carter would be victim number two.
-----
Sam was nearly at a run by the time she halted in front of Daniel's door and stormed in without even knocking, let alone waiting to be invited in. He looked up, started to say something, and snapped his mouth shut again upon seeing the look on her face, settling instead for hoping that he would not bear the brunt of her wrath.
"Look at this," Sam growled, holding up a half-inch long strip of staples.
Daniel blinked up at her in utter confusion. "Did you have a point you wanted to make?"
"Colonel O'Neill took my stapler," Sam fumed.
"Thought that happened about a week ago."
"It did. And then—" she gritted her teeth—"I went and got it back from his office. Now it's gone again. This is all I've got left."
"Well," Daniel offered cautiously, "if it makes you feel any better, I think he took mine too."
Sam nodded. "I wouldn't be surprised. There were a bunch of others in the drawer with mine. Didn't recognize them, though."
"So why exactly did you come to me?" he asked. "Did you think I might have it?"
"Nah." Sam broke into a savage grin. "I just need someone there to keep me out of a court-martial for assault of a superior officer."
"Sounds like fun," Daniel decided, getting up and navigating gingerly around several enormous mounds of paper to join her. "If worst comes to worst, I can always assault him for you. Let's go."
-----
Five minutes later, they were knocking vigorously at the door of Jack's office. When it became evident he was either absent or refusing to answer, Sam heaved a sigh. "You know, Daniel," she said regretfully, "I was really hoping it wouldn't come to this." With that, she whipped a key card out of her pocket and skimmed it through the reader on the wall. A click and a beep sounded, and the door swung open without further protest, revealing an otherwise empty office.
Daniel stared at her as they walked in. "Do I even want to know why you have a key to Jack's office?"
"Probably not . . . wow. Take a look at his desk."
Far from its usual clutter, Jack's desk was now occupied by a single neat stack, towering several feet in height, of completed paperwork of all sorts: mission reports dating back as far as four years, requisition forms, and even answered memos. (Several members of this last category were old enough to be addressed from General West rather than Hammond.)
"Oh, shit," Daniel said in awe. "This cannot be good."
"Looks like we've got another potential victim for Mackenzie," Sam agreed.
"And here's the weapon," he told her grimly, passing over a bright red stapler that had been placed neatly behind the mountain of paper. "It's not mine, though."
Sam examined it briefly and determined it was wholly depleted. "Nor mine," she said sadly.
"Bottom drawer's locked three times over," Daniel reported, tugging at the handle in vain. "Don't suppose you've got keys to all these as well?"
"Not to my knowledge." She leaned over to examine the offending mechanisms.
"Hey, kids," a cheerful voice said from the doorway.
Chagrined, Daniel and Sam fell silent.
Jack's tone hardened. "Now just what the hell do you think you're doing in here?"
