It Never Turns Out Well
Disclaimer: Don't own the Stargate franchise or any of the characters. I'm only playing with them and will return them undamaged to Double Secret when I am through.
Spoilers: Epilogue for Collateral Damage.
Daniel Jackson found Cameron Mitchell in the locker room, again staring at the picture of himself with his father. The guy still looked shell-shocked, even after a couple of days. Having to live repeatedly through two horrible memories, even if one wasn't real, had taken a huge toll on the normally ebullient man. Mitchell had looked better when Daniel had visited him in the hospital after Antarctica.
Sam was right. It was time for the new version of SG-1 to carry on some old traditions.
"Come on, Mitchell. Sam and Teal'c are waiting. It's time for a team night."
Mitchell looked up at Daniel and sighed. "Thanks for the offer, Jackson, but I'm just not up for it. I'm gonna head home. I need to think."
Daniel pulled Mitchell up by the arm and urged him toward the door. "No, Mitchell, that is the last thing you need. What you really need is a plateful of nachos and some Johnny Walker Blue. Luckily your teammates know just the place for it."
"No thinking, no dwelling on where the mission went wrong. You've already done that in your report. Tonight it's just SG-1 traditions; way too much alcohol, cholesterol laden munchies, and fighting over what to play on the jukebox. If we're really lucky Sam will find some unsuspecting Marines to hustle at nine ball and we can make a few bucks."
Daniel couldn't say Mitchell smiled, but his expression did lighten. "Traditions, huh?"
Daniel patted Mitchell's back as they left the locker room. Yeah, traditions. The things we do when one of us gets the emotional crap kicked out of him.
The bar at O'Malley's had quieted down and it wasn't long now til last call. SG-1 sat at their usual table, the booth in the darkest corner. Sam had utilized the mini-jamming device she'd created years ago, so they could talk freely without fear of security breeches.
Marines had been humiliated. A couple Cheyenne Mountain groupies had been fended off. Mitchell had worked his way through a lot of good scotch before he'd finally cracked a genuine smile. But he seemed mellow now, just shy of the stage that Daniel recognized as sentimental drunken flyboy. With Jack O'Neill that was usually followed quickly by passing out if they were lucky, puking if they weren't.
Teal'c was the only one with quarters left for the jukebox and Johnny Cash sang of walking the line in the background as another round was delivered. It would be country music for the rest of the night. It was time for the last of the traditions, and sharing with Mitchell the final unwritten rule of SG-1.
Daniel cleared his throat and raised his glass. "Lady and gentlemen, a toast to the SG-1 traditions. They may suck the big one at times, but they make us who we are."
Sam and Teal'c echoed "The traditions." The three tossed back their drinks.
Mitchell just looked confused. "Guys, this doesn't suck. This is nice. Good friends, good booze, great tunes, it's all good. We need to do this more often."
"Team night isn't the tradition we're talking about, Mitchell. You see, we've all been where you are now. That kicked-in-the-gut, what-the-hell-was-I-thinking feeling is no stranger to the members of SG-1. You've lost your last SG-1 virginity. If Jack were here, we'd have a cake." Daniel lost his train of thought as he contemplated cake. He was drunker than he'd realized.
Samtook a pull on the beer that had accompanied her shot and brought things back on track. "The fact is, Cam, we're all more than passably attractive. People off world are going to make moves. Dr. Varrick was smart and charming and there was an obvious spark. Unfortunately, for SG-1, sparks just seem to lead to getting burned."
"I know you've heard the gossip, Sam Carter and the dead boyfriends club. Every darned word is true. Jonas Hanson, Martouf, Narim, Orlin in his first incarnation, they all died, a couple of them in my arms. For a while I was afraid I was cursed."
"I know some people," Sam cast a dark look in Daniel's direction, "claim it was fate taking drastic measures to redirect my attention elsewhere. But come on, I've got more exes than Jennifer Lopez. And at least hers are all still breathing."
Teal'c spoke up next. "I too have had unfortunate experiences, Col. Mitchell. The first light of my heart, Shan'auc, was murdered by the Goa'uld she had nurtured like her child. My attempt at a relationship with a Tau'ri woman resulted in my being accused of murder. Even with Ishta, we were so different in our views that we were more likely to spend our time together in battle rather than intimacy."
"Jack got the mother of all STDs the first time he got involved with a woman off-world and ended up looking like his own grandpa. He left a woman on Edora heartbroken when he chose to return to Earth rather than stay with her." Daniel glanced quickly at Sam. He knew that deep inside of her Edora still hurt.
"And then there's me, Daniel Jackson, the walking talking, tragedy. Beloved wife – goa'ulded. Ex-girlfriend – goa'ulded. Sarcophagus junkie, Hathor's boy toy, one night stand for The Destroyer of Worlds. Vala kicked my ass on the Prometheus, and then spent weeks grabbing it at the SGC. And just when she started to settle down and act like a person I might want to know … Sucked through a wormhole into another galaxy while saving said ass along with everybody else's."
"So you see, Mitchell, you've got to learn from our history. And always remember the final rule of being on SG-1."
"Interplanetary dating NEVER turns out well."