Sorry, forgot. Been a tough week. Thanks for reminding me, whoever
it was who reminded me. Can't remember your name. Sorry. Again.
The officer stood silent for a couple of minutes staring incredulously at the man splayed on the front lawn. In the beginnings, he might add, of what will probably be a very cold, Colorado, winter. The biting wind was already whipping around his face and hands.
The man tapped his tongue against the roof of his mouth for a few moments, making an odd clicking and clocking sound while he thought.
"Is this your house, sir?" he asked through the furry animal on his lip.
Pete twisted his head to inspect his girlfriend's home then craned his neck up towards 'sunglasses and moustache' again.
"Uh no," he answered in a meek voice.
"You have the right to remain silent, anything you say….,"
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
The cell door screeched shut in front of Pete's nose. He leaned his head forward against the cold metal bars and closed his eyes. Pete could feel his… 'guest's' annoyance emanating from the back of his mind.
"Gardening!" Jack screamed.
"It's all I could think of!" Pete defended himself.
"But 'gardening'?" Jack asked, then added for good measure "Don't end your sentences with prepositions, it makes you look stupid,"
"I panicked! I don't do well under pressure!" he said "And what do prepositions have to do with any of this!"
"You're a cop! Pressure is your thing by definition!" Jack retorted "Bad grammar has no excuse,"
Pete shut up and took a seat on the bench provided for them in the cell. There were three other occupants of the cell; all of them were regarding Pete with wary glances.
Jack thought it was rather unfair of them as they weren't exactly what you'd call 'normal' themselves. One kid looked like he hadn't seen the sun for the past five years, another looked like he hadn't left the seventies yet. He was complete with shaggy beard, head band and the permanent glazed, red-eyed look.
The third was the most terrifying. He was a large man with a beefy chest and tree trunk sized arms. Attired with a purple tank top that didn't even come close to covering the guy's stomach that made it possible to spot a very fetching tummy piercing. The light shined both off the delicate, tiny diamonds and off his cleanly shaven head, illuminating the tattoo directly in the middle of his forehead.
It was a large pink heart no bigger than a golf ball with the word 'MOTHER' written in black capitals across it.
Normally Jack would think that was an unusual place to put a tattoo but a whole galaxy of people who would argue with him. He wondered whether there was a Goa'uld called MOTHER and should he tell the SGC that she had infiltrated Earth. Imagining a whole army of Jaffa with pink hearts on their foreheads, Jack gave a loud snort…out of Pete's nose.
MOTHER's jaffa's head snapped his attention and aimed it directly at Pete's short form. He abandoned the act of pulling thread from his garish tank top and stood, puffing himself out to his full build and height.
"Wha' are ya laughin' a'?" the giant bellowed at him.
"What did you do?" Pete whispered to himself.
"It's not my fault, you should be more careful of who you lend your nose to!" Jack shouted.
"My fault!" Pete shrieked.
"SHU' UP!" 'Shrek' charged at the Jack/ Pete combo.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
Sam woke up startled from a troubled nap to be met by a crick in the neck and a bruise on her shoulder from where she was being poked persistently by Daniel.
"You should get some rest," Daniel said.
"You woke me up to say that?" she chuckled. She knew what he meant though. Sleeping in a plastic chair in the infirmary was no place to get some sleep. Daniel just smiled tiredly at her and squeezed her shoulder.
"Go home," he said "SG-1 is on downtime, you shouldn't be here,"
"I know that, Daniel but I can't just leave him like this," she said stealing a glance at her fallen commander.
Daniel nodded and turned to look at his friend. People on base would joke that SG-1 would always end up in the infirmary, that it was inevitable as rain. However, what these people never seemed to realise was that it was hardly a light-hearted matter and it was rarely ever Jack hooked up to the machines. He looked vulnerable. Jack O'Neill never looked vulnerable.
OoOoOoOoOoO
Pete's head hit the concrete floor of the cell before he could even register being punched. He could feel it though burning and pulsing around his jaw. The loud clanging in his head was a dead give away too. He vaguely heard the cell door opening and a scuffle as the guy was restrained before Pete spiralled in to darkness.
"Pete?" Jack called as he lifted Pete's body off the floor. Jack wiped his bloodied nose on Pete's jacket and turned to see MOTHER being handcuffed and shoved off down a corridor.
"Hey crazy!" One of the cops called from the entrance of the cell. Jack rose his eyebrows and darned a 'who me?' expression. "Yeah you. You've got one call," he said and moved to the side to let Jack through.
Jack walked awkwardly out of the cell. He hadn't had much practice with Pete's legs and never under good circumstances and he imagined looked kind of like a demented penguin as he got used to the length and build. The cop who called for him gave Jack and odd look and handed him money for the pay phone.
Jack picked up the receiver and took a moment to get used to seeing Pete's thicker hands. They were so different to his own. He missed his long fingers and angled thumb. As Jack's hands were long and thin, Pete's were short and stumpy. They looked like strong, sturdy hands. Working hands. Jack mother had always said that Jack had fingers fit for musical instruments and working with delicate things. Instead he had chosen to use them for battle and guns. Did Carter prefer Pete's hands to his? Why choose Pete? From what Jack had seen this guy was one disaster after another.
Ignoring pestering thoughts, Jack brought the receiver to Pete's ear and dialled the only number he'd ever memorised.
