Hammond Had No Idea
Jan. 4th, 2012 06:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stringertheoryTitle: Hammond Had No Idea; or, Five Times Hammond Had No Idea What Could Have Possibly Accounted for the State of SG-1 When They Came Back Through the Gate and SG-1 Were Less Than Forthcoming with the Information
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Characters: Jack O'Neill, Samantha Carter, Daniel Jackson, Teal'c, George Hammond
Word Count: 1666
Categories: humor, team
Spoilers/Warnings: None.
Summary: An unintentional prompt frommagibrain, who said that "Fighting Dirty" sounded like the lead-in (or -out) for this kind of fic. Lo and behold, the plotbunnies took hold.
I. That time they came back tied together.
Hammond happened to be in the control room when SG-1 returned from P74-329. Jack and Daniel appeared first through the wormhole, walking so closely together Hammond at first thought one was supporting the other. He was already reaching for the comm to call a medical team when a second glance stayed his hand.
The pair hobbled sideways down the Gate ramp, back to back, arms held rigidly at their sides. Sam and Teal'c followed close behind, moving in the same manner. With an internal sigh, Hammond hurried down to the Gate room.
When he entered, Jack and Daniel had paused at the bottom of the ramp and were staring resolutely at opposite walls. They were clearly fuming—silently, Hammond noted with some relief. At the closer distance, he could see the ropes that bound the pair together, wound tightly around their chests and stomachs. Sam and Teal'c, similarly bound, joined them. In contrast to their teammates, they seemed no worse for the wear. Sam was smiling lightly, though there was a hint of exasperation around her eyes. Teal'c met the general's gaze serenely, despite the fact that Hammond could see that the ropes that bound him were tight enough to cut into his arms.
Hammond gestured to the SF nearest them and the man stepped forward, pulling a knife from his pocket. As he worked at the ropes around Sam and Teal'c, Hammond questioned the team.
“Colonel, what happened?”
Jack didn't respond, though a muscle did twitch in his jaw.
“Ah, a little misunderstanding with the natives,” Sam said, casting an unreadable glance in Jack's direction as she pushed at the ropes around her.
Hammond looked to Jack again, but Jack averted his eyes, focusing instead on the knife in the SF's hand as he sawed at Jack's bindings.
“I would suggest that another team be sent to continue negotiations with the natives of P74-329,” Teal'c said as he calmly shrugged off his bonds.
“Any particular reason why?” Hammond asked.
“They didn't really like us,” Daniel said between gritted teeth.
As soon as the ropes were cut, he and Jack stepped apart as though burned. Jack gave Hammond a curt salute and headed for the hall. Daniel waited only for a few seconds before following at a slightly slower pace. Teal'c bowed shallowly in Hammond's direction and did the same. Sam gave him a shrug.
“Another team, sir,” she said.
Hammond nodded and waved her on after the others. “Let them know we'll debrief in one hour.”
II. That time they came back with sheepish grins.
They returned on schedule with no complications, no reported issues, no weapons fire following them back home. SG-1 strolled down the ramp like nothing out of the ordinary had happened during their time on P55-232, but Hammond knew better.
He met them at the bottom of the ramp and scrutinized them carefully.
They were all feigning ease, their casual postures at odds with the palpable tension radiating from them. And though they echoed his greeting with sincere pleasure, Hammond could tell something wasn't quite right. There was a careful distance between them as they waited for his orders or dismissal, and they were purposefully avoiding one another's eyes. The small smiles they gave him seemed sheepish, and despite all their attempts not to, they shifted from foot to foot as they waited. All except Teal'c, who merely frowned at the far wall, chin held high, which Hammond supposed was his version of nervous, or whatever it was SG-1 was going through.
On closer inspection, he noticed that Sam's hair was slightly mussed and Daniel's coat was loose, as if someone had pulled at it and he hadn't yet taken time to pull it back straight again. And Jack's hat was missing. And Teal'c's shirt was untucked. Hammond eyed them all a bit more suspiciously.
When he asked after the mission and got only more shuffling and averted gazes and—in Sam's case—a bit of a blush, he decided he didn't need to know. He sent them on, watching as they filed out of the room with a palpable sense of relief.
The only thing he could get out of them from the debriefing was that no further investigation of the planet was needed. At all. As in none. Ever.
He took them at their word.
III. That time they came back wrapped in togas and shreds of dignity.
Hammond distinctly heard a technician behind him whisper “toga party” when SG-1 appeared through the Gate. He would have turned to give the man a glare, but he was too busy gaping at the returned team.
They were all clothed in white fabric that reminded Hammond of the muslin his mother had used in sewing when he was a boy. Their BDUs were nowhere in sight. They padded onto the Gate ramp in bare feet, packs and weapons in hand.
The cloth was loosely wrapped around Daniel, and he clutched it to his chest with one hand, pulling at it with the other to keep from tripping on the extra material under his feet. Jack had his wrapped towel-like high around his waist, and he stared around at everyone as if daring someone to say anything. Sam's was twisted and tucked around her until it looked much like a Roman dress. She was blushing faintly, a crooked smile on her lips. Teal'c had masterfully draped his own cloth in much the same way as he wore his Jaffa robes, his bare arms the only difference.
They halted as a group at the top of the ramp and looked up at the control room. Hammond nodded to Walter, who activated the comm.
“SG-1,” he said in greeting. “Care to explain your state of dress?”
“When in Rome, General,” came Jack's reply.
“I don't remember sending you to Rome, Colonel.”
“Well, you know,” Jack said, throwing one arm wide, “it's a big galaxy.” His makeshift wrap slid a little lower on his body, and he quickly grabbed it with his free hand. “Permission to change, sir?”
“Permission granted. I'll see you in the conference room as soon as you're dressed. Dismissed.”
Once Walter had disengaged the comm and SG-1 had headed off to the locker rooms, Hammond retreated to his office, shaking his head.
IV. That time they came back completely plastered.
Teal'c had gone to visit the Jaffa, so it was a SG-1 trio that headed off to P11-369. And it was a trio that returned 37 hours later, three sheets to the wind.
Hammond was in his office when the team returned, but he quickly made his way to the Gate room when a confused-sounding Walter called for him on the comm. He strode in to find three-quarters of SG-1 standing at wobbly attention at the bottom of the ramp, watching him with bleary eyes.
Jack and Sam had Daniel propped up between them, and the sloppy salute Jack gave Hammond almost knocked all three of them to the floor. Jack kept frowning at the general, narrowing his eyes in a futile attempt to make Hammond's blurry image come into focus. Sam was biting her lip to stifle her snickers, and when Daniel's head titled onto her shoulder and he let out a soft snore, she went into a fit of giggles that made their group careen dangerously.
A medical team bustled in shortly after and hauled the soused trio away. Hammond gave them just enough time to sober up, but not enough to recover, before calling them in for the debriefing.
When Hammond entered the conference room, he found the team in a sorry state. Daniel was nursing two cups of coffee—one for each hand—and was bent so low over them that Hammond could see the cups reflected in his glasses. Sam was leaning on one elbow against the table, head clutched in her hand like she was trying to keep it from splitting open. Jack sat unnaturally still in his chair, glaring at the room in general and wincing at every sound.
Hammond questioned them extensively as to what had led to their drunken state, but to no avail. Try as they might, none of them remembered what had happened. Or at least they pretended not to.
Hammond never could tell if their blank stares were genuine signs that they didn't remember, simply a characteristic of their hangovers, or clever attempts to hide the truth. And SG-1 never told.
V. That time they came back in various states of distress.
The minute SG-1 stepped through the Gate, Hammond knew something was wrong.
Teal'c came through first, looking haunted, confused, and ashamed. He walked down the ramp with little of his usual grace and stood at the bottom, staring around blindly. Daniel was behind him. He came to the end of the ramp and clutched the railing there with both hands, sagging wearily. He wouldn't meet anyone's eyes and simply stared at the floor.
Sam came next. She was silently crying, tears rolling down her cheeks in a way that told George she had been crying much harder not long before. Jack was last, and he swept the room with a glare as he strode down the ramp. His jaw was clenched, his eyes hard and hollow. Without pausing, he herded SG-1 together and toward the door.
He met Hammond's gaze as he passed. Hammond gave him a nod and watched them go.
That time, Hammond didn't ask.
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Characters: Jack O'Neill, Samantha Carter, Daniel Jackson, Teal'c, George Hammond
Word Count: 1666
Categories: humor, team
Spoilers/Warnings: None.
Summary: An unintentional prompt from
magibrain, who said that "Fighting Dirty" sounded like the lead-in (or -out) for this kind of fic. Lo and behold, the plotbunnies took hold.I. That time they came back tied together.
Hammond happened to be in the control room when SG-1 returned from P74-329. Jack and Daniel appeared first through the wormhole, walking so closely together Hammond at first thought one was supporting the other. He was already reaching for the comm to call a medical team when a second glance stayed his hand.
The pair hobbled sideways down the Gate ramp, back to back, arms held rigidly at their sides. Sam and Teal'c followed close behind, moving in the same manner. With an internal sigh, Hammond hurried down to the Gate room.
When he entered, Jack and Daniel had paused at the bottom of the ramp and were staring resolutely at opposite walls. They were clearly fuming—silently, Hammond noted with some relief. At the closer distance, he could see the ropes that bound the pair together, wound tightly around their chests and stomachs. Sam and Teal'c, similarly bound, joined them. In contrast to their teammates, they seemed no worse for the wear. Sam was smiling lightly, though there was a hint of exasperation around her eyes. Teal'c met the general's gaze serenely, despite the fact that Hammond could see that the ropes that bound him were tight enough to cut into his arms.
Hammond gestured to the SF nearest them and the man stepped forward, pulling a knife from his pocket. As he worked at the ropes around Sam and Teal'c, Hammond questioned the team.
“Colonel, what happened?”
Jack didn't respond, though a muscle did twitch in his jaw.
“Ah, a little misunderstanding with the natives,” Sam said, casting an unreadable glance in Jack's direction as she pushed at the ropes around her.
Hammond looked to Jack again, but Jack averted his eyes, focusing instead on the knife in the SF's hand as he sawed at Jack's bindings.
“I would suggest that another team be sent to continue negotiations with the natives of P74-329,” Teal'c said as he calmly shrugged off his bonds.
“Any particular reason why?” Hammond asked.
“They didn't really like us,” Daniel said between gritted teeth.
As soon as the ropes were cut, he and Jack stepped apart as though burned. Jack gave Hammond a curt salute and headed for the hall. Daniel waited only for a few seconds before following at a slightly slower pace. Teal'c bowed shallowly in Hammond's direction and did the same. Sam gave him a shrug.
“Another team, sir,” she said.
Hammond nodded and waved her on after the others. “Let them know we'll debrief in one hour.”
II. That time they came back with sheepish grins.
They returned on schedule with no complications, no reported issues, no weapons fire following them back home. SG-1 strolled down the ramp like nothing out of the ordinary had happened during their time on P55-232, but Hammond knew better.
He met them at the bottom of the ramp and scrutinized them carefully.
They were all feigning ease, their casual postures at odds with the palpable tension radiating from them. And though they echoed his greeting with sincere pleasure, Hammond could tell something wasn't quite right. There was a careful distance between them as they waited for his orders or dismissal, and they were purposefully avoiding one another's eyes. The small smiles they gave him seemed sheepish, and despite all their attempts not to, they shifted from foot to foot as they waited. All except Teal'c, who merely frowned at the far wall, chin held high, which Hammond supposed was his version of nervous, or whatever it was SG-1 was going through.
On closer inspection, he noticed that Sam's hair was slightly mussed and Daniel's coat was loose, as if someone had pulled at it and he hadn't yet taken time to pull it back straight again. And Jack's hat was missing. And Teal'c's shirt was untucked. Hammond eyed them all a bit more suspiciously.
When he asked after the mission and got only more shuffling and averted gazes and—in Sam's case—a bit of a blush, he decided he didn't need to know. He sent them on, watching as they filed out of the room with a palpable sense of relief.
The only thing he could get out of them from the debriefing was that no further investigation of the planet was needed. At all. As in none. Ever.
He took them at their word.
III. That time they came back wrapped in togas and shreds of dignity.
Hammond distinctly heard a technician behind him whisper “toga party” when SG-1 appeared through the Gate. He would have turned to give the man a glare, but he was too busy gaping at the returned team.
They were all clothed in white fabric that reminded Hammond of the muslin his mother had used in sewing when he was a boy. Their BDUs were nowhere in sight. They padded onto the Gate ramp in bare feet, packs and weapons in hand.
The cloth was loosely wrapped around Daniel, and he clutched it to his chest with one hand, pulling at it with the other to keep from tripping on the extra material under his feet. Jack had his wrapped towel-like high around his waist, and he stared around at everyone as if daring someone to say anything. Sam's was twisted and tucked around her until it looked much like a Roman dress. She was blushing faintly, a crooked smile on her lips. Teal'c had masterfully draped his own cloth in much the same way as he wore his Jaffa robes, his bare arms the only difference.
They halted as a group at the top of the ramp and looked up at the control room. Hammond nodded to Walter, who activated the comm.
“SG-1,” he said in greeting. “Care to explain your state of dress?”
“When in Rome, General,” came Jack's reply.
“I don't remember sending you to Rome, Colonel.”
“Well, you know,” Jack said, throwing one arm wide, “it's a big galaxy.” His makeshift wrap slid a little lower on his body, and he quickly grabbed it with his free hand. “Permission to change, sir?”
“Permission granted. I'll see you in the conference room as soon as you're dressed. Dismissed.”
Once Walter had disengaged the comm and SG-1 had headed off to the locker rooms, Hammond retreated to his office, shaking his head.
IV. That time they came back completely plastered.
Teal'c had gone to visit the Jaffa, so it was a SG-1 trio that headed off to P11-369. And it was a trio that returned 37 hours later, three sheets to the wind.
Hammond was in his office when the team returned, but he quickly made his way to the Gate room when a confused-sounding Walter called for him on the comm. He strode in to find three-quarters of SG-1 standing at wobbly attention at the bottom of the ramp, watching him with bleary eyes.
Jack and Sam had Daniel propped up between them, and the sloppy salute Jack gave Hammond almost knocked all three of them to the floor. Jack kept frowning at the general, narrowing his eyes in a futile attempt to make Hammond's blurry image come into focus. Sam was biting her lip to stifle her snickers, and when Daniel's head titled onto her shoulder and he let out a soft snore, she went into a fit of giggles that made their group careen dangerously.
A medical team bustled in shortly after and hauled the soused trio away. Hammond gave them just enough time to sober up, but not enough to recover, before calling them in for the debriefing.
When Hammond entered the conference room, he found the team in a sorry state. Daniel was nursing two cups of coffee—one for each hand—and was bent so low over them that Hammond could see the cups reflected in his glasses. Sam was leaning on one elbow against the table, head clutched in her hand like she was trying to keep it from splitting open. Jack sat unnaturally still in his chair, glaring at the room in general and wincing at every sound.
Hammond questioned them extensively as to what had led to their drunken state, but to no avail. Try as they might, none of them remembered what had happened. Or at least they pretended not to.
Hammond never could tell if their blank stares were genuine signs that they didn't remember, simply a characteristic of their hangovers, or clever attempts to hide the truth. And SG-1 never told.
V. That time they came back in various states of distress.
The minute SG-1 stepped through the Gate, Hammond knew something was wrong.
Teal'c came through first, looking haunted, confused, and ashamed. He walked down the ramp with little of his usual grace and stood at the bottom, staring around blindly. Daniel was behind him. He came to the end of the ramp and clutched the railing there with both hands, sagging wearily. He wouldn't meet anyone's eyes and simply stared at the floor.
Sam came next. She was silently crying, tears rolling down her cheeks in a way that told George she had been crying much harder not long before. Jack was last, and he swept the room with a glare as he strode down the ramp. His jaw was clenched, his eyes hard and hollow. Without pausing, he herded SG-1 together and toward the door.
He met Hammond's gaze as he passed. Hammond gave him a nod and watched them go.
That time, Hammond didn't ask.
no subject
on 2012-01-22 01:35 am (UTC)I loved the first one, and I can just imagine the natives getting fed up with the Jack'n'Daniel show and kicking the whole bunch through the 'gate, lol. At least that's my interpretation!
no subject
on 2012-01-22 02:52 am (UTC)And, yes, that's exactly what I had in mind with the first bit, a Jack and Daniel argument that peeved the natives just a bit too much. :D
no subject
on 2012-02-06 10:17 pm (UTC)Oh, Hammond. I pity him a lot more than SG-1, for most of these – yeah, they might get tied together and pitched through the 'gate, but they probably did something to deserve it.
And oh, kids. That last one. :<
no subject
on 2012-02-06 11:02 pm (UTC)Thanks! I'm glad you liked it.