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"Learning...Tilt?" - SG-1 fic
Learning Curve…Tilt?
By Lokei
Universe: Stargate SG-1, Daniel gen, PG
Disclaimer: this universe is not mine.
Author’s Note: blame sg_fignewton for encouraging the crack. Or thank her, either way.
= = =
Overheard in the SGC new recruit orientation
“And that’s Dr. Daniel Jackson. If you meet him in the hallway, don’t let the polite distraction fool you. That man opened the Stargate and has helped save the planet more times than you’ve sneezed. His brain is lethal.” A pause. “And so is that stack of paper.”
= = =
Airman Erin McNally was mesmerized.
Tilt. Wobble. Pivot. Wobble.
Really, there was no reason why the person behind that pile of books and file folders should be wandering the halls like an oblivious traffic cone. What was even more amazing was that he was actually trying to write notes on whatever sheet of paper topped the precarious pile, and carrying on a conversation over his shoulder with a shorter man trotting along behind him.
He was going to hit something, or someone. Airman McNally could just picture the way the folders would spill their contents like a thousand paper cranes all over the gray corridor.
She was still picturing it when she walked into Lieutenant Sanders coming around the corner and sent them both crashing to the floor.
And then, irony of ironies, the next thing she saw was a hand in front of her face as the paper-carrying acrobat shifted his pile easily to under one arm and hauled her up with a simple tug of the other, all without losing a single page.
“Is she all right, Daniel?”
Blue eyes flickered over her quickly and she nodded.
“Seems fine, Nyan.” The lips under those striking blue eyes curved just a little.
“You learn fast to keep your eyes open around here. Know where you’re going, airman?” Dr. Jackson asked.
It didn’t much matter. Erin was a goner.
= = =
The commissary was unusually noisy-with the base on lockdown, a number of SG teams were stuck in limbo, waiting either to head out on a delayed mission or unable to go home from the last one, and mealtimes had gotten rather crowded.
Lieutenant Fred Howard found it entertaining people-watching. He was still learning to recognize some of the high-and-mighties of the SGC, and was watching in some amazement as at least one of them stalked regally towards a corner table, dogged by another who had his entire lunch tray balanced atop a stack of books at least six high.
Howard elbowed his new compatriot, Lieutenant Sean Norton, and hissed, “Hey, isn’t that tall black guy the one that switched sides? And who’s the guy behind him?”
Norton, who was a lot better with faces and names, rolled his eyes. “That’s Teal’c, yeah, from SG-1, and that’s Dr. Daniel Jackson with him. Didn’t you pay ANY attention when they did the orientation thing?”
The odd pair were winding swiftly through the crowded aisles between tables, Teal’c expertly clearing a path and Dr. Jackson following right on his heels, exchanging greetings with others they passed. At one point Teal’c stopped and Howard was absolutely convinced Dr. Jackson was going to walk right into him and leave his bowl of soup all over the Jaffa’s black tee-shirt. Instead, Jackson swerved easily to one side and sidled past, lifting his nerve-wracking book-and-tray combo right over the bigger man’s shoulder to avoid jostling his elbow. Without even seeming to blink, Jackson sidled right into taking point and continuing across the room.
Howard, who thought he was raising his glass to his lips, tilted it to take a sip while keeping an eye on this remarkable maneuver. The next thing he knew, he had a noseful of cola, and Norton was laughing hysterically.
“Shut up!” Howard hissed through a face-full of paper napkins. Jackson and Teal’c were practically on top of them.
The linguist and his tray went by without incident, but the Jaffa stopped a moment and looked at them gravely, raised an eyebrow, and stalked on.
“Shit!” Howard said feelingly. “How does he do that?” Whether he meant Teal’c or Dr. Jackson was unclear to Norton, but Howard didn’t know which one he meant either.
Sean just shook his head. “That’s why they’re SG-1, man.”
= = =
When Daniel strolled into his office, books and notebook under one arm, box of artifacts recovered from PJ2-996 under the other, and two cups of coffee clutched in the hand with the books, he was utterly unsurprised to see Jack leaning against his table.
“Jack,” he greeted the man by passing over one of the coffee mugs.
“Daniel,” Jack replied in his favorite ‘what are you doing?’ inflection.
“I think these tablets might actually be a record of the history of the Ytendi people that apparently occupied the planet before the current human population, Jack.”
“Daniel,” Jack repeated. “You are aware that there are a brand new crop of airmen and junior officers that just went through orientation, right?”
“Hmm?” Daniel was doing a good job being vague as he settled his cargo on the table and began unpacking the box. “I did notice a few new faces around, but at least someone told them how to properly store stone tablets to minimize chipping. They did get a couple of new ones on SG-11, didn’t they?”
“Daniel,” Jack repeated with his ‘look at me and quit fooling around’ emphasis. Daniel looked up.
“There have been no fewer than five new airmen down in the infirmary recently with scalded hands, bruises, and other small injuries which they claim to have sustained from bumping into people in the halls. It’s enough people that Hammond asked me to find out if there was a spate of bullying going on, find out who was around for each of these incidents to see if there was a common factor.”
Daniel raised his eyebrows. “And?”
“There was,” Jack crossed his arms. “You, Daniel.”
Daniel crossed his own arms. “I beg your pardon?”
“All of these unfortunately clumsy airmen apparently suffered their attacks of clumsiness while in your vicinity, Dr. Jackson. Do you have anything to say for yourself? Confessions of terrorizing the new recruits, perhaps?” Jack’s eyes were twinkling, remembering the way an entire room of top military brass had once fidgeted as a geek with floppy hair careened into the room with boundless energy, an armful of charts, and a full mug of coffee.
Daniel’s face and carriage were as demure as his eyes were wicked. “Couldn’t have been me, Jack. My hands were full.”
By Lokei
Universe: Stargate SG-1, Daniel gen, PG
Disclaimer: this universe is not mine.
Author’s Note: blame sg_fignewton for encouraging the crack. Or thank her, either way.
= = =
Overheard in the SGC new recruit orientation
“And that’s Dr. Daniel Jackson. If you meet him in the hallway, don’t let the polite distraction fool you. That man opened the Stargate and has helped save the planet more times than you’ve sneezed. His brain is lethal.” A pause. “And so is that stack of paper.”
= = =
Airman Erin McNally was mesmerized.
Tilt. Wobble. Pivot. Wobble.
Really, there was no reason why the person behind that pile of books and file folders should be wandering the halls like an oblivious traffic cone. What was even more amazing was that he was actually trying to write notes on whatever sheet of paper topped the precarious pile, and carrying on a conversation over his shoulder with a shorter man trotting along behind him.
He was going to hit something, or someone. Airman McNally could just picture the way the folders would spill their contents like a thousand paper cranes all over the gray corridor.
She was still picturing it when she walked into Lieutenant Sanders coming around the corner and sent them both crashing to the floor.
And then, irony of ironies, the next thing she saw was a hand in front of her face as the paper-carrying acrobat shifted his pile easily to under one arm and hauled her up with a simple tug of the other, all without losing a single page.
“Is she all right, Daniel?”
Blue eyes flickered over her quickly and she nodded.
“Seems fine, Nyan.” The lips under those striking blue eyes curved just a little.
“You learn fast to keep your eyes open around here. Know where you’re going, airman?” Dr. Jackson asked.
It didn’t much matter. Erin was a goner.
= = =
The commissary was unusually noisy-with the base on lockdown, a number of SG teams were stuck in limbo, waiting either to head out on a delayed mission or unable to go home from the last one, and mealtimes had gotten rather crowded.
Lieutenant Fred Howard found it entertaining people-watching. He was still learning to recognize some of the high-and-mighties of the SGC, and was watching in some amazement as at least one of them stalked regally towards a corner table, dogged by another who had his entire lunch tray balanced atop a stack of books at least six high.
Howard elbowed his new compatriot, Lieutenant Sean Norton, and hissed, “Hey, isn’t that tall black guy the one that switched sides? And who’s the guy behind him?”
Norton, who was a lot better with faces and names, rolled his eyes. “That’s Teal’c, yeah, from SG-1, and that’s Dr. Daniel Jackson with him. Didn’t you pay ANY attention when they did the orientation thing?”
The odd pair were winding swiftly through the crowded aisles between tables, Teal’c expertly clearing a path and Dr. Jackson following right on his heels, exchanging greetings with others they passed. At one point Teal’c stopped and Howard was absolutely convinced Dr. Jackson was going to walk right into him and leave his bowl of soup all over the Jaffa’s black tee-shirt. Instead, Jackson swerved easily to one side and sidled past, lifting his nerve-wracking book-and-tray combo right over the bigger man’s shoulder to avoid jostling his elbow. Without even seeming to blink, Jackson sidled right into taking point and continuing across the room.
Howard, who thought he was raising his glass to his lips, tilted it to take a sip while keeping an eye on this remarkable maneuver. The next thing he knew, he had a noseful of cola, and Norton was laughing hysterically.
“Shut up!” Howard hissed through a face-full of paper napkins. Jackson and Teal’c were practically on top of them.
The linguist and his tray went by without incident, but the Jaffa stopped a moment and looked at them gravely, raised an eyebrow, and stalked on.
“Shit!” Howard said feelingly. “How does he do that?” Whether he meant Teal’c or Dr. Jackson was unclear to Norton, but Howard didn’t know which one he meant either.
Sean just shook his head. “That’s why they’re SG-1, man.”
= = =
When Daniel strolled into his office, books and notebook under one arm, box of artifacts recovered from PJ2-996 under the other, and two cups of coffee clutched in the hand with the books, he was utterly unsurprised to see Jack leaning against his table.
“Jack,” he greeted the man by passing over one of the coffee mugs.
“Daniel,” Jack replied in his favorite ‘what are you doing?’ inflection.
“I think these tablets might actually be a record of the history of the Ytendi people that apparently occupied the planet before the current human population, Jack.”
“Daniel,” Jack repeated. “You are aware that there are a brand new crop of airmen and junior officers that just went through orientation, right?”
“Hmm?” Daniel was doing a good job being vague as he settled his cargo on the table and began unpacking the box. “I did notice a few new faces around, but at least someone told them how to properly store stone tablets to minimize chipping. They did get a couple of new ones on SG-11, didn’t they?”
“Daniel,” Jack repeated with his ‘look at me and quit fooling around’ emphasis. Daniel looked up.
“There have been no fewer than five new airmen down in the infirmary recently with scalded hands, bruises, and other small injuries which they claim to have sustained from bumping into people in the halls. It’s enough people that Hammond asked me to find out if there was a spate of bullying going on, find out who was around for each of these incidents to see if there was a common factor.”
Daniel raised his eyebrows. “And?”
“There was,” Jack crossed his arms. “You, Daniel.”
Daniel crossed his own arms. “I beg your pardon?”
“All of these unfortunately clumsy airmen apparently suffered their attacks of clumsiness while in your vicinity, Dr. Jackson. Do you have anything to say for yourself? Confessions of terrorizing the new recruits, perhaps?” Jack’s eyes were twinkling, remembering the way an entire room of top military brass had once fidgeted as a geek with floppy hair careened into the room with boundless energy, an armful of charts, and a full mug of coffee.
Daniel’s face and carriage were as demure as his eyes were wicked. “Couldn’t have been me, Jack. My hands were full.”