Disclaimer: Oh, come ON! You must all know this part word perfect by now. I don't own Stargate, if I did I'd hire writers and tell them what I wanted to happen coz they write sssooo much better than me. Don't sue me coz you'll just get a jumbo-jet sized legal bill. (Flutters eyelashes… damn, doesn't work… pulls out 18" machete and grins maniacally).
A/N: Set in season six (I think that fits.)
Chapter One: The Quiet before the storm.
It was a quiet day. The birds were singing, and the breeze rustled through the trees. (Yes it's a corny, cliché, but stick with it GET YOUR FUCKING EYES BACK HERE!I SAID STICK WITH IT! Glares while reatching for 18" machette.)
The sun shone brightly down onto the grass and tarmac, warming the dawns dew. In short, it was the Mary-Sue of summers days. Not that that mattered to General George Hammond, as he was many hundreds of feet underground, inside a mountain, in Stargate command, a place so classified that it didn't exist. And what was Gen. Hammond doing in this exceptionally classified place? Worrying. Now what exactly was worrying General Hammond, no-one knew, for there had been no attacks, be it by NID, Goa'uld, replicators or otherwise. The President understood how important the Stargate program was and had increased its budget as opposed to cutting it, as a majority of the budget committee had been expected to vote for. There had been no strange new alien devises causing unfortunate, or unexpected reactions, nor had Dr Jackson fallen in love with an alien (or anyone else). In short the base was running like it had been planned by Miss Mary-Sue herself.
This is what was confusing the SGC staff. What was Gen. Hammond so worried about? It was so quiet, what could go wrong?
Those who had worked at the SGC for more than seven days (that is, everyone except the new commissary cook. His predecessor had forgotten to order blue Jell-O and when he offered Major Carter red Jell-O instead, her patented 'Teal'c style' death-glare™ scarred him so much he dropped said red Jell-O. He then turned, ran and slipped on the gelatinous desert and broke his leg. He was still in traction under the care of Dr Fraiser.) So everyone but him knew that the question 'what could go wrong?' should never be thought, let alone said. The last person to have actually asked it- when SG-1 had dialled home on-time (what happened next is to gruesome and embarrassing -for some to mention here) had been promptly re-assigned to Antarctica once the indecent was over, and was still there.
Woot! I re-started this! And I like it even better than my first draft. Longer too.