Disclaimer: See default chapter
Chapter 7: Glances
"Oh, for cryin' out loud!" Jack shouted to what he thought was an empty debriefing room. His side pinched as he tried to maneuver his single crutch, and in annoyance, he tossed it across the floor.
"May I be of assistance, O'Neill?"
Jack hobbled the last three feet to the debriefing room table, clutching the edge to regain his balance. The damned contraption that held his leg straight was bound to make him fall on his face sooner or later. He looked to Teal'c, who stood several feet away near the observation window that looked down over the Gate room.
"Nope. Good now. Thanks," he said sarcastically, but immediately regretted it. Teal'c didn't deserve his foul mood. He just hated... well... pain.
"Indeed."
Jack yanked one of the chairs away from the table and fell into it, not caring all that much about grace or finesse. He stuck out his leg, with the ugly blue brace that wrapped him from ankle to hip, and tossed his mission folder on the tabletop.
"This. Sucks."
The door opened and Doctor Weir blew into the room, followed behind by Daniel and Doctor Malcolm. Great. His two favorite people. A pacifist scientist who suddenly thinks she knows how to run a military facility created to protect an entire planet, and a sado—masochistic lover of needles – big needles – that would have put Janet Frasier to shame with his poking and prodding. Jack raised his hand in a half-hearted hello, but a pain shot through his knee at the same time, and he winced.
*Damn it!*
"It's good to see back with us, Colonel O'Neill," Dr. Weir said as she took her seat at the head of the table.
"Thanks."
Everyone sat down, and Jack watched Doctor Malcolm sit across the table from him. Malcolm averted his eyes, not looking Jack in the face, and it made Jack curious as hell. Why would the doctor be at a mission briefing? And why did he look scared crapless?
His thoughts were interrupted when the door opened again. Jack did his damndest to suppress the smile that tugged at his lips when he saw Sam. It was dangerous to think of her as Sam. She should still be 'Major' or 'Carter', even in his head. One of these days, he'd slip up.
But really, how bad would it be if he called her Sam? Sammy? No, only her father called her Sammy...
Her gaze met his, and all other thoughts went right out of his head. Sam smiled, briefly, then glanced around at the other team members in the room. Taking the only remaining seat available, she sat down next to Jack.
Ain't life grand?
"How is your knee, sir?" she asked.
"Hurts like hell."
"All right," Doctor Weir said, drawing everyone's attention. "Since everyone is here, let's get started. Before we get into the details of the conflict with the inhabitants of P3X-453, Doctor Jackson, why don't you begin on the archaeological aspect of the mission."
"Certainly, Doctor. The ruins we found were similar to some we've found here on Earth in upper Mesopotamia..."
Jack didn't hear much after that. Daniel could've been talking like the teacher in the Peanut's Cartoon... Mwa ma mwa mwa mwaaaa... and Jack couldn't have cared any less. Course, Doctor Weir would eat it all up. It was like she and Daniel were poured from the same mold. Well, not the *same* mold...
He glanced at Sam out of the corner of his eye, watching her as she pretended to listen intently to Daniel's report. He knew better. She was bored out of her mind. Her right leg tapped out a steady rhythm beneath the table.
He tried to judge how she really was. They had come back from P3X-whatever three days before. Jack remembered her being in the infirmary when he woke up, remembered the dark circles under her eyes and the paleness of her skin. Just like on the planet. But she seemed stronger. Color back in her cheeks.
"Colonel."
Jack cleared his throat and looked to the head of the table. "Yes."
"Could you please give me your report?"
"Yeah-sure-youbetcha."
Fifteen minutes later, when every detail had been rehashed and regurgitated, Doctor Weir dismissed them. Jack was thankful. A throbbing ache had settled into his knee, and he just wanted to get somewhere so he could elevate it.
"Colonel O'Neill, could you stay for a few minutes?" Doctor Weir asked as Jack moved to push himself free of his chair.
"Sure."
"I'll save you some jell-o in the mess," Sam said, standing.
The scent of her shampoo... or something... wafted past him as she moved by. Jack cleared his throat and shifted in the chair as everyone filed out.
Everyone except Weir and Malcolm.
"What's up, Doc? ... Docs?"
Doctor Weir sighed heavily and folded her hands on the tabletop. "Colonel O'Neill, I had a long discussion with Dr. Malcolm before our debriefing today. I'm afraid we have some bad news."
Chapter 7: Glances
"Oh, for cryin' out loud!" Jack shouted to what he thought was an empty debriefing room. His side pinched as he tried to maneuver his single crutch, and in annoyance, he tossed it across the floor.
"May I be of assistance, O'Neill?"
Jack hobbled the last three feet to the debriefing room table, clutching the edge to regain his balance. The damned contraption that held his leg straight was bound to make him fall on his face sooner or later. He looked to Teal'c, who stood several feet away near the observation window that looked down over the Gate room.
"Nope. Good now. Thanks," he said sarcastically, but immediately regretted it. Teal'c didn't deserve his foul mood. He just hated... well... pain.
"Indeed."
Jack yanked one of the chairs away from the table and fell into it, not caring all that much about grace or finesse. He stuck out his leg, with the ugly blue brace that wrapped him from ankle to hip, and tossed his mission folder on the tabletop.
"This. Sucks."
The door opened and Doctor Weir blew into the room, followed behind by Daniel and Doctor Malcolm. Great. His two favorite people. A pacifist scientist who suddenly thinks she knows how to run a military facility created to protect an entire planet, and a sado—masochistic lover of needles – big needles – that would have put Janet Frasier to shame with his poking and prodding. Jack raised his hand in a half-hearted hello, but a pain shot through his knee at the same time, and he winced.
*Damn it!*
"It's good to see back with us, Colonel O'Neill," Dr. Weir said as she took her seat at the head of the table.
"Thanks."
Everyone sat down, and Jack watched Doctor Malcolm sit across the table from him. Malcolm averted his eyes, not looking Jack in the face, and it made Jack curious as hell. Why would the doctor be at a mission briefing? And why did he look scared crapless?
His thoughts were interrupted when the door opened again. Jack did his damndest to suppress the smile that tugged at his lips when he saw Sam. It was dangerous to think of her as Sam. She should still be 'Major' or 'Carter', even in his head. One of these days, he'd slip up.
But really, how bad would it be if he called her Sam? Sammy? No, only her father called her Sammy...
Her gaze met his, and all other thoughts went right out of his head. Sam smiled, briefly, then glanced around at the other team members in the room. Taking the only remaining seat available, she sat down next to Jack.
Ain't life grand?
"How is your knee, sir?" she asked.
"Hurts like hell."
"All right," Doctor Weir said, drawing everyone's attention. "Since everyone is here, let's get started. Before we get into the details of the conflict with the inhabitants of P3X-453, Doctor Jackson, why don't you begin on the archaeological aspect of the mission."
"Certainly, Doctor. The ruins we found were similar to some we've found here on Earth in upper Mesopotamia..."
Jack didn't hear much after that. Daniel could've been talking like the teacher in the Peanut's Cartoon... Mwa ma mwa mwa mwaaaa... and Jack couldn't have cared any less. Course, Doctor Weir would eat it all up. It was like she and Daniel were poured from the same mold. Well, not the *same* mold...
He glanced at Sam out of the corner of his eye, watching her as she pretended to listen intently to Daniel's report. He knew better. She was bored out of her mind. Her right leg tapped out a steady rhythm beneath the table.
He tried to judge how she really was. They had come back from P3X-whatever three days before. Jack remembered her being in the infirmary when he woke up, remembered the dark circles under her eyes and the paleness of her skin. Just like on the planet. But she seemed stronger. Color back in her cheeks.
"Colonel."
Jack cleared his throat and looked to the head of the table. "Yes."
"Could you please give me your report?"
"Yeah-sure-youbetcha."
Fifteen minutes later, when every detail had been rehashed and regurgitated, Doctor Weir dismissed them. Jack was thankful. A throbbing ache had settled into his knee, and he just wanted to get somewhere so he could elevate it.
"Colonel O'Neill, could you stay for a few minutes?" Doctor Weir asked as Jack moved to push himself free of his chair.
"Sure."
"I'll save you some jell-o in the mess," Sam said, standing.
The scent of her shampoo... or something... wafted past him as she moved by. Jack cleared his throat and shifted in the chair as everyone filed out.
Everyone except Weir and Malcolm.
"What's up, Doc? ... Docs?"
Doctor Weir sighed heavily and folded her hands on the tabletop. "Colonel O'Neill, I had a long discussion with Dr. Malcolm before our debriefing today. I'm afraid we have some bad news."