A/N: Look, I don't care if you hate it, I'm still going to keep putting chappys up. This has been 'in the works' for a long time.
Just as if it looked like Colonel O'Neill was going to refuse her request for shore leave, he had turned around. Yes! Abby thought triumphantly. Not only that, but he as good as told me hat the Stargate program exists.
As the 'crazy' cadet entered the locker room, she was grateful that it was empty. She promptly marched up to a mirror and began lecturing.
"Look, I don't care if you have to change once in a while, but every few seconds doesn't count as once in a while! And, could you stick to natural colors? Blue is not a natural color. You nearly petrified Colonel O'Neill! How could you! You can say you were just getting something out, burning excess energy, but you nearly blew up the whole plan! Try a stunt like that again, and you won't have excess energy to burn, or any energy at all, for that matter! You-"
The sound of the locker room door opening cut off Abby's tirade. A head poked through the door. It was Colonel O'Neill.
"You know it is strictly against regulations for a girl to be in the boy's locker room," he was saying in his best Air Force manner. "And, you are also aware that a disregard of regulations results in a suspension of your…leave. This room becomes the boy's locker room in five…four…th-"
Abby never gave him a chance to finish. If someone who understood such things was present, they would say the cadet-now a strawberry blonde-had strapped some nacelles to her butt and taken off at warp factor 20. She was out the door at the other end of the room and halfway across the compound before the colonel could reach two.
Jack was, quite frankly, dumbfounded. He had never seen anyone move that fast in this or any other lifetime. Now that he had been "promoted" to 'paper shuffler,' albeit stripped of command of the SGC and the rank of Brigadier General (in reality the only thing that he'd started shuffling papers for), SG-1 could use another member…
Jack couldn't help remembering the events of that fateful day that had cost him his rank. One wrong word to the President, well, as screaming match wit the President (it was his fault!), and he was on the next train to nowhere.