Worth A Thousand Words, by Thothmes
Title: Worth A Thousand Words
Author: Thothmes
Word count: 2,256
Rating/Warning: One very grumpy General, inbound. Make a hole! Oh. That. PG, I guess.
Spoilers: mini-call backs to Within The Serpent’s Grasp and Fair Game
Prompt: 33. Jack and Sam. Advice upon becoming a full bird.
On Tuesday morning Jack didn’t so much stride through the halls of the Pentagon as he carved a swath through them. The lower ranks had the sense to scramble out of the way with remarkable agility and alacrity when they saw a general with a frown like that on his face coming their way. There were plenty of other generals in the halls and corridors of the Pentagon, which was, after all, practically a storage canister for flag officers, but none of them chose to place themselves in harm’s way.
And make no mistake about it, Jack O’Neill would have been delighted to harm someone, and just at that moment, he wasn’t feeling very particular as to whom. After a very busy four months with plenty of late nights and working weekends, he had finally allowed himself to take a long weekend to recharge his batteries, only to spend most of it on his cell phone speaking to I.O.C. members. The French member had come down with a particularly virulent strain of Atlantis-induced collywobbles, and had managed to pass it to all the other members in turn, and a long weekend that was supposed to be spent with pizza, Guinness, and all manner of televised sports was instead spent wandering from one end of his townhouse to the other as he tried to keep each delegate from meddling in matters that they seemed intent on making exponentially more difficult.
Now it was Tuesday, and the eternal paperwork factory was about to suck him in again, and he did not want to go gently, not gently at all. Major Andrews, his assistant, catching the General bearing down on him through the open outer office door, sighed and carefully chose the middle one of a trio of shiny steel travel mugs. Most days the General took his coffee black, but today clearly plenty of cream and sugar was clearly needed. Almost before Andrews could react, General O’Neill had grabbed the mug from his hand, growled a brisk “Andrews!” in lieu of an actual greeting, and disappeared into his private office with a resounding slam of the door. Andrews took a sip from his own mug of coffee, and opening the third container, and began to add cream and sugar to it, in case a second cup should be called for, all the while keeping an ear out for noises in the General’s office.
Thump!
So the General had gotten the memo about the need for all bases to reduce toilet paper consumption by 5% then. Hopefully it had only been the football that Andrews had accidentally-on-purpose forgotten to take with him when he left the inner office hitting the wall. Last week it had been the General’s Rubik’s cube, and the effects of not having something to fidget with during meetings had done a number on the supply of working pens in that corner of the Pentagon. Andrews thought for a moment, and then reopened the General’s second mug, and added another packet of sugar and a bit more creamer, just in case.
By the time Jack reached the bottom of the stack of memos and his second thermos of coffee, he was beyond molten anger and considering, not for the first time, the very real allure of retirement - third time’s the charm! - and a life spent fishing at his cabin. He would drop his cell phone in the pond, take the old fashioned rotary phone that was a relic of his grandfather’s tenure there off the hook, and…
That was when he actually absorbed the meaning of the final memo, the one that Andrews had carefully placed last to counterbalance the others, and soften their effect. Jack smiled. He pulled open a drawer and pulled out a small box, and opened it, gazing at the little polished metal eagles pinned into the blue satin lining of the box. Grinning now, he closed the box and replaced it in the drawer. He stood, stretched, and walked to the door to the outer office, and pulling it open, he stuck his head out and addressed his assistant.
“The Air Force seems to be showing unusual wisdom and initiative today, Andrews” he said. “This calls for some Krispy Kremes!”
So clearly, then, the General had gotten the memo about his old team member getting her promotion to full bird colonel, then.
A few days later, Samantha Carter came into her office to discover, along with the usual day’s delivery of envelopes and journals from the base mail, an unexpected package. The handwriting and the Washington return address were a dead giveaway that it was something from her old commander, but she was not expecting anything, and could not think of a holiday or occasion that would provide an opportunity for gift giving. With growing curiosity she searched in the drawer of her desk for a multi-tool, and folding out a knife blade, began to meticulously slit the tape that held it closed. Inside was a small leather box and a card in Jack O’Neill’s angular printing that said I know you’ll want to wear one of Jacob’s, but I’d be honored if you’d also use one of mine. In the box was a silver eagle pin.
Holy Hannah! A silver eagle! She’d made full bird.
On the day of the promotion ceremony, Sam donned her cleaned, pressed, immaculate dress blues with care and attention. She fussed over the fruit salad, making certain that everything was lined up just so, and once ready went over the suit jacket and skirt one more time with the lint brush. Cassie had been visiting for the weekend, and had brought her dog, and although he was getting on and years and didn’t move around more than was utterly necessary, somehow he managed to infest every available surface in the house with his fur. Sam wanted to look her best, not only for the sake of rank and dignity, but because there was going to be somewhat of an SG-1 reunion. Teal’c had come back from a week-long sojourn with the Free Jaffa, and Daniel was just returned that day from a few months in Malibu, well… Burbank… where he was working with an Air Force film crew and Emmett Bregman on a series of tapes to help train new SGC personnel.
Unfortunately, General O’Neill had called to express his regrets. According to him, the newly appointed British I.O.C. delegate had spent the last night reading his briefing book on the Wraith, and this meant a series of meetings with the other member nations’ delegates, the General, and some need-to-know members of the State Department to “untangle the Gordian knot he’s made of his knickers.” She’d teased him by threatening to let slip to Daniel his grip of classical allusion, and then had told him she understood, that although he’d be missed, she knew he was a busy man with a great deal of responsibility.
“I’ll make the next one, Carter, I promise!” he’d said, and ended the call.
Privately she’d thought that it was more than likely that he’d have to interrupt retirement to do so. Making General was an item on her bucket list, but she didn’t expect to check that one off any too soon!
If she’d been thinking about her previous promotion ceremonies more and her future less, she might have been a bit less startled when a chime and a blinding flash of light heralded the sudden arrival of General O’Neill just as the proceedings were about to get under way. He cheerfully grinned smugly at the startled assemblage and asked, “So… Anybody miss me?” and without waiting for an answer he bounded up the ramp to the podium in front of the gate, and awaited his chance to pin his eagle on her shoulder. His beaming expression of pride in her as he did so was the highlight of the proceedings as far as Sam was concerned.
Afterwards there was cake, and although it was fairly conventional on the outside, inside the cake proved to be blue, because the cook, a charter member of the Samantha Carter Admiration Society had made it using her favorite color of Jell-O as a flavoring. General O’Neill had been delighted to swap with the honoree for a corner piece when she explained that she wanted to have a piece with less icing so she could taste the blue better. They had all lost track of how many slices Teal’c had taken in when Dr. Felger had somehow managed to nearly fall cake-first into the newly promoted Colonel while offering his congratulations, and Vala was currently slyly enjoying egging on first Daniel and then Cam as they bickered in the corner as to whether his current piece was the sixth or the seventh.
It was Walter Harriman who was standing close enough to hear Teal’c, when he declared, “You are both wrong. It is my eighth.” Jay Felger had obtained a second piece to replace his lost original, and had been considering going over to wish Col. Carter less dramatic felicitations, but looking at the scowling mass of cake consuming Jaffa between him and his goal, he decided that maybe he would finish his own slice first.
Eventually the last piece of cake was served, and Master Sergeant Harriman won the pool that Col. Mitchell had started as to how many pieces of cake Teal’c would go through, and it was a relaxed and happy SG-1, including the General, which adjourned to Col. Carter’s lab for a private after party. It took them a while to get there, because no one wanted to leave either Jack or Sam behind, and he stopped every now and then to exchange greetings with base personnel and ask after their families, and of course members of the Sam’s fan club could not pass up a chance to wish her joy.
Much to her mingled embarrassment and delight when they finally reached their goal there were presents. Cameron had a model of the plane she’d flown in the Gulf, carefully painted with the correct numbers and her call sign, all mounted on a polished wooden base. Vala gave her a set of lovely sterling silver barrettes to help keep the hair she was growing out restrained in a regulation style. Teal’c’s gift proved to be a leather-bound copy of Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, and Daniel gave her one of the gorgeous leather-bound journals that he favored, and she had often admired.
Everyone then turned expectantly to the General. There was a moment of silence.
“What?!!” he said, noticing their stares.
“It’s okay, sir! I understand. It’s enough that you came,” Sam said, not wanting him to think that she expected anything.
He looked hurt and said, “I brought a gift!”
He fished in one pocket, pulled out his wallet, and then searched in the other, and pulled out a long, thin carefully wrapped package adorned with a tiny, slightly rumpled silver bow. Inside was an elegant golden pen with Samantha Carter, U.S.A.F. engraved on it in elegant script. It was lovely, and she said so.
Jack made a fleeting moue of disgust.
“Bask in the moment while you can, Carter!” he said. “All too soon you’ll find that with each step in rank the paperwork increases geometrically!”
Everyone politely ignored this demonstration of knowledge of the workings of mathematics. He was, after all, a high ranking Air Force general, and entitled to a certain dignity.
“Any words of sage advice for her, sir?” Mitchell asked.
Jack paused for a moment to ponder this.
“I got nuthin’” he finally said.
At this point an overhead page requested the presence of General O’Neill in General Landry’s office for a call on the red phone.
“I guess the President noticed he’s a general short of a Pentagon,” said Jack, and he headed out of the lab. Just as he rounded the door jamb, he grabbed the side of the door and leaned back in to say, “When in doubt, Carter, you bite ‘em in the hand!” and with that he was gone.
“And there you have it. Jack O’Neill’s sage advice on how to handle life as a colonel in the Air Force,” said Daniel dryly.
“It was also his advice to Captain Carter,” stated Teal’c.
Colonel Samantha Carter looked at the door where her friend and commander had vanished, and smiled indulgently.
“The General isn’t at his best with words,” she said.
“Well then, do tell. What is he good with?” teased Vala, imbuing the remark with an unmistakable amount of innuendo.
Sam didn’t encourage her by attempting to answer, but later, when everyone had left and she was alone in the quiet lab, she sat on a stool, moved her computer slightly off to one side, and pulled the caramel colored butter-soft leather journal to her, turned to the first page and opened the jeweler’s box that held her new golden pen, took it out and began to write in her slender, looping script.
General O’Neill’s Sage Advice
1. Actions speak louder than words. Lead by example.
2. Don’t take credit for the achievements of your subordinates, take pride in them instead.
3. Know your people. It shows you care.
4. Be there for them, and give of yourself.
5. Humor helps.
She paused for a moment, a fond smile on her face, before taking pen in hand again to add one final item to the list.
6. When in doubt, bite ‘em in the hand.
Author: Thothmes
Word count: 2,256
Rating/Warning: One very grumpy General, inbound. Make a hole! Oh. That. PG, I guess.
Spoilers: mini-call backs to Within The Serpent’s Grasp and Fair Game
Prompt: 33. Jack and Sam. Advice upon becoming a full bird.
On Tuesday morning Jack didn’t so much stride through the halls of the Pentagon as he carved a swath through them. The lower ranks had the sense to scramble out of the way with remarkable agility and alacrity when they saw a general with a frown like that on his face coming their way. There were plenty of other generals in the halls and corridors of the Pentagon, which was, after all, practically a storage canister for flag officers, but none of them chose to place themselves in harm’s way.
And make no mistake about it, Jack O’Neill would have been delighted to harm someone, and just at that moment, he wasn’t feeling very particular as to whom. After a very busy four months with plenty of late nights and working weekends, he had finally allowed himself to take a long weekend to recharge his batteries, only to spend most of it on his cell phone speaking to I.O.C. members. The French member had come down with a particularly virulent strain of Atlantis-induced collywobbles, and had managed to pass it to all the other members in turn, and a long weekend that was supposed to be spent with pizza, Guinness, and all manner of televised sports was instead spent wandering from one end of his townhouse to the other as he tried to keep each delegate from meddling in matters that they seemed intent on making exponentially more difficult.
Now it was Tuesday, and the eternal paperwork factory was about to suck him in again, and he did not want to go gently, not gently at all. Major Andrews, his assistant, catching the General bearing down on him through the open outer office door, sighed and carefully chose the middle one of a trio of shiny steel travel mugs. Most days the General took his coffee black, but today clearly plenty of cream and sugar was clearly needed. Almost before Andrews could react, General O’Neill had grabbed the mug from his hand, growled a brisk “Andrews!” in lieu of an actual greeting, and disappeared into his private office with a resounding slam of the door. Andrews took a sip from his own mug of coffee, and opening the third container, and began to add cream and sugar to it, in case a second cup should be called for, all the while keeping an ear out for noises in the General’s office.
Thump!
So the General had gotten the memo about the need for all bases to reduce toilet paper consumption by 5% then. Hopefully it had only been the football that Andrews had accidentally-on-purpose forgotten to take with him when he left the inner office hitting the wall. Last week it had been the General’s Rubik’s cube, and the effects of not having something to fidget with during meetings had done a number on the supply of working pens in that corner of the Pentagon. Andrews thought for a moment, and then reopened the General’s second mug, and added another packet of sugar and a bit more creamer, just in case.
By the time Jack reached the bottom of the stack of memos and his second thermos of coffee, he was beyond molten anger and considering, not for the first time, the very real allure of retirement - third time’s the charm! - and a life spent fishing at his cabin. He would drop his cell phone in the pond, take the old fashioned rotary phone that was a relic of his grandfather’s tenure there off the hook, and…
That was when he actually absorbed the meaning of the final memo, the one that Andrews had carefully placed last to counterbalance the others, and soften their effect. Jack smiled. He pulled open a drawer and pulled out a small box, and opened it, gazing at the little polished metal eagles pinned into the blue satin lining of the box. Grinning now, he closed the box and replaced it in the drawer. He stood, stretched, and walked to the door to the outer office, and pulling it open, he stuck his head out and addressed his assistant.
“The Air Force seems to be showing unusual wisdom and initiative today, Andrews” he said. “This calls for some Krispy Kremes!”
So clearly, then, the General had gotten the memo about his old team member getting her promotion to full bird colonel, then.
A few days later, Samantha Carter came into her office to discover, along with the usual day’s delivery of envelopes and journals from the base mail, an unexpected package. The handwriting and the Washington return address were a dead giveaway that it was something from her old commander, but she was not expecting anything, and could not think of a holiday or occasion that would provide an opportunity for gift giving. With growing curiosity she searched in the drawer of her desk for a multi-tool, and folding out a knife blade, began to meticulously slit the tape that held it closed. Inside was a small leather box and a card in Jack O’Neill’s angular printing that said I know you’ll want to wear one of Jacob’s, but I’d be honored if you’d also use one of mine. In the box was a silver eagle pin.
Holy Hannah! A silver eagle! She’d made full bird.
On the day of the promotion ceremony, Sam donned her cleaned, pressed, immaculate dress blues with care and attention. She fussed over the fruit salad, making certain that everything was lined up just so, and once ready went over the suit jacket and skirt one more time with the lint brush. Cassie had been visiting for the weekend, and had brought her dog, and although he was getting on and years and didn’t move around more than was utterly necessary, somehow he managed to infest every available surface in the house with his fur. Sam wanted to look her best, not only for the sake of rank and dignity, but because there was going to be somewhat of an SG-1 reunion. Teal’c had come back from a week-long sojourn with the Free Jaffa, and Daniel was just returned that day from a few months in Malibu, well… Burbank… where he was working with an Air Force film crew and Emmett Bregman on a series of tapes to help train new SGC personnel.
Unfortunately, General O’Neill had called to express his regrets. According to him, the newly appointed British I.O.C. delegate had spent the last night reading his briefing book on the Wraith, and this meant a series of meetings with the other member nations’ delegates, the General, and some need-to-know members of the State Department to “untangle the Gordian knot he’s made of his knickers.” She’d teased him by threatening to let slip to Daniel his grip of classical allusion, and then had told him she understood, that although he’d be missed, she knew he was a busy man with a great deal of responsibility.
“I’ll make the next one, Carter, I promise!” he’d said, and ended the call.
Privately she’d thought that it was more than likely that he’d have to interrupt retirement to do so. Making General was an item on her bucket list, but she didn’t expect to check that one off any too soon!
If she’d been thinking about her previous promotion ceremonies more and her future less, she might have been a bit less startled when a chime and a blinding flash of light heralded the sudden arrival of General O’Neill just as the proceedings were about to get under way. He cheerfully grinned smugly at the startled assemblage and asked, “So… Anybody miss me?” and without waiting for an answer he bounded up the ramp to the podium in front of the gate, and awaited his chance to pin his eagle on her shoulder. His beaming expression of pride in her as he did so was the highlight of the proceedings as far as Sam was concerned.
Afterwards there was cake, and although it was fairly conventional on the outside, inside the cake proved to be blue, because the cook, a charter member of the Samantha Carter Admiration Society had made it using her favorite color of Jell-O as a flavoring. General O’Neill had been delighted to swap with the honoree for a corner piece when she explained that she wanted to have a piece with less icing so she could taste the blue better. They had all lost track of how many slices Teal’c had taken in when Dr. Felger had somehow managed to nearly fall cake-first into the newly promoted Colonel while offering his congratulations, and Vala was currently slyly enjoying egging on first Daniel and then Cam as they bickered in the corner as to whether his current piece was the sixth or the seventh.
It was Walter Harriman who was standing close enough to hear Teal’c, when he declared, “You are both wrong. It is my eighth.” Jay Felger had obtained a second piece to replace his lost original, and had been considering going over to wish Col. Carter less dramatic felicitations, but looking at the scowling mass of cake consuming Jaffa between him and his goal, he decided that maybe he would finish his own slice first.
Eventually the last piece of cake was served, and Master Sergeant Harriman won the pool that Col. Mitchell had started as to how many pieces of cake Teal’c would go through, and it was a relaxed and happy SG-1, including the General, which adjourned to Col. Carter’s lab for a private after party. It took them a while to get there, because no one wanted to leave either Jack or Sam behind, and he stopped every now and then to exchange greetings with base personnel and ask after their families, and of course members of the Sam’s fan club could not pass up a chance to wish her joy.
Much to her mingled embarrassment and delight when they finally reached their goal there were presents. Cameron had a model of the plane she’d flown in the Gulf, carefully painted with the correct numbers and her call sign, all mounted on a polished wooden base. Vala gave her a set of lovely sterling silver barrettes to help keep the hair she was growing out restrained in a regulation style. Teal’c’s gift proved to be a leather-bound copy of Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, and Daniel gave her one of the gorgeous leather-bound journals that he favored, and she had often admired.
Everyone then turned expectantly to the General. There was a moment of silence.
“What?!!” he said, noticing their stares.
“It’s okay, sir! I understand. It’s enough that you came,” Sam said, not wanting him to think that she expected anything.
He looked hurt and said, “I brought a gift!”
He fished in one pocket, pulled out his wallet, and then searched in the other, and pulled out a long, thin carefully wrapped package adorned with a tiny, slightly rumpled silver bow. Inside was an elegant golden pen with Samantha Carter, U.S.A.F. engraved on it in elegant script. It was lovely, and she said so.
Jack made a fleeting moue of disgust.
“Bask in the moment while you can, Carter!” he said. “All too soon you’ll find that with each step in rank the paperwork increases geometrically!”
Everyone politely ignored this demonstration of knowledge of the workings of mathematics. He was, after all, a high ranking Air Force general, and entitled to a certain dignity.
“Any words of sage advice for her, sir?” Mitchell asked.
Jack paused for a moment to ponder this.
“I got nuthin’” he finally said.
At this point an overhead page requested the presence of General O’Neill in General Landry’s office for a call on the red phone.
“I guess the President noticed he’s a general short of a Pentagon,” said Jack, and he headed out of the lab. Just as he rounded the door jamb, he grabbed the side of the door and leaned back in to say, “When in doubt, Carter, you bite ‘em in the hand!” and with that he was gone.
“And there you have it. Jack O’Neill’s sage advice on how to handle life as a colonel in the Air Force,” said Daniel dryly.
“It was also his advice to Captain Carter,” stated Teal’c.
Colonel Samantha Carter looked at the door where her friend and commander had vanished, and smiled indulgently.
“The General isn’t at his best with words,” she said.
“Well then, do tell. What is he good with?” teased Vala, imbuing the remark with an unmistakable amount of innuendo.
Sam didn’t encourage her by attempting to answer, but later, when everyone had left and she was alone in the quiet lab, she sat on a stool, moved her computer slightly off to one side, and pulled the caramel colored butter-soft leather journal to her, turned to the first page and opened the jeweler’s box that held her new golden pen, took it out and began to write in her slender, looping script.
General O’Neill’s Sage Advice
1. Actions speak louder than words. Lead by example.
2. Don’t take credit for the achievements of your subordinates, take pride in them instead.
3. Know your people. It shows you care.
4. Be there for them, and give of yourself.
5. Humor helps.
She paused for a moment, a fond smile on her face, before taking pen in hand again to add one final item to the list.
6. When in doubt, bite ‘em in the hand.