A/N: This is my first SG fic ever. I came home from the A.P. exam from hell and it was just screaming to come out. AU, because the only thing I ever remember them saying about SG-10 was they were the team that got sucked into the black hole. Obviously, this SG-10 is not that team. I'm thinking that they were probably the 'lost' team's replacements. Also, if SG-10 was investigating a black hole, I doubt they were a black ops unit. This SG-10 changed functions about the same time they were replacing the old team. Yes, Manda, Dionne Warwick is the psychic lady with the friends. Also, slight spoiler for Atlantis episode "38 Minutes." Slight as in, if you haven't seen it, you won't notice the spoiler.
This is unbetaed so I'm fairly certain all the characters you know and love are gonna by OOC. Tell me. I really want to get this right, so if my Jack does something stupid, tell me. Or if you don't like something. Or anything. Since I'm new at this I want you guys to help. Just be polite about it. Several people have given me ideas, so I've reworked it and am reuploading it. It's basically the same, but it's set up the way it is on my LJ. That means don't freak about it having more chapters, it's just the same chapters in smaller pieces.
On a totally unrelated matter, aren't all fanfics AUs? I mean, if we had to write them, it obviously didn't happen on the show and as such isn't canon.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Stargate. Gekko does. (That always makes me think of the little lizard with the British accent.) Some other people own it as well. They are all much richer. The basic ideas for this fic came from Danvers and Anais. Read the SG-15 stuff and Dr. Jackson's Diary. They are hilarious. Somebody warned me so I decided to put a blanket thing on all my stories (het, slash, gen,) Please, bring an open mind. Remember, everyone's life is not the same.
When I finally found my 2IC, she was standing in the control room talking calmly with Sergeants Siler and Davis. On any normal day, that wasn't even worth mentioning. It seemed that all she, Davis, and Siler did was talk: about the 'Gate, about the computers, about any number of very complex and extremely confusing things. But, since I'm mentioning it, obviously today was not any normal day.
Slowly, using every bit of my black op training, I snuck up on her; hoping that Siler and Davis wouldn't do anything to alert her to my presence. Fortunately, they were both too busy talking to even notice that I was in the room, let alone notice my strange actions. Think clear thoughts, I kept reminding myself as I crept close enough to hear the conversation.
"...at least that's what Major Carter says..." she stopped in the middle of the sentence. Crap; she heard me. Before she could move, I lunged and pinned her arms around her waist. Have you ever tried to hold a squirming person still while attempting to duct tape their hands together? Take my word for it, it's not a fun experience. Especially, if the person in question is cursing in three different languages. I don't speak French, Arabic, or Goa'uld; but trust me, she was cursing. "Fichue Ha'taaka!" Okay, that I understood. A French word for "Damn" followed by the Goa'uld word for something I'm fairly certain is the equivalent of "Bitch." Hey, who's she calling a damn bitch? I wondered as I dragged her out of the control room. Or at least, attempted to drag out. She had managed to get her duct-taped hands around something that was more solid than I was strong.
"Sergeant, do something! I don't care which one of you! Help!" I ordered while struggling to keep her from kicking me. Siler came over and delicately began unhooking her. At which point, she did the weirdest thing I've ever seen her do. My 2IC became very calm, looked Sgt. Siler straight in the face and whispered.
"Major Carter."
"Good try, Sarge. She isn't here," and I started pulling her back toward the door. It took her a bit longer than it should have to register what was going on, but when she did, Sarge started fighting like a wild woman. As I finally pulled her out the room, Sarge began shrieking at the top of her lungs. Whatever possessed her to start yelling about raspberry yoghurt? I thought while trying to figure out how far it was to the infirmary.
"Siler and no infirmary!" Sarge interjected before going back to yelling about how close she was to finding out about raspberry yoghurt. A portion of my mind began wondering if there was even such a thing as raspberry yoghurt. If there was, I'd never seen it.
People were staring at the noise and then, as they realised who it was, turning back to their work. We both took it in stride; we're used to it. They think we don't know what they call us. We know. And honestly, none of us mind being 'the Wackos with the Grenades', even if I don't particularly care for the term 'wackos.'
"What is going on here, lieutenant?" a voice asked. I turned to the sound and stared. An extremely hot major in dress blues was staring at me and Sarge. Obviously, he'd never met SG-10 before. Sarge became curiously calm and quiet; I took the opportunity to set her feet back on the ground.
"It's a very long story, Major..."
"Major Paul Davis, Pentagon liaison to the SGC," my Adonis said. I briefly wondered about the prevalence of the name 'Davis' at the SGC before opening my mouth to tell him my name. Sarge made sure to stop all conversation before I could do that, though.
"ARGHHH! STOP THINKING, YOU DIRTY, DIRTY, LITTLE MAN!"
"Sarge, he can't stop thinking. How can you seriously ask him to stop thinking?" I asked as she settled back into a state of calm. "You know how, it is, Major Davis," I addressed my Romeo. "You go to an alien planet; play with some cool artifacts; your second-in-command becomes psychic. Pre..." Suddenly, a horrible sound like duct-tape being unstuck came from my right. As one, we turned to face my 2IC, who was unsticking the duct-tape. "Sarge, how the hell are you getting out of the duct tape?" She grinned and before she could say 'I'll never tell.' I had hold of her and was force marching her to the infirmary.
"NO! NOT THE INFIRMARY!" Sarge shrieked with renewed vigor.
"Yes, the infirmary. You still haven't had your post-mission physical and we have to figure out why you're like this," I said firmly-but-gently; showing my extreme restraint and patience, if I do say so myself.
"BUT WE DON'T WANNA WATCH JANET MOLESTEZ SG-1!" Sarge shrieked vehemently.
"Molest SG-1?" I asked amazed.
"What would you call prostate exams after every mission?"
I honestly didn't have an answer.
Please, remember: any criticism should be constructive.
