TITLE: Switch
E-MAIL: eli @ popullus.net
RATING: PG-13
POSTED: March 21, 2004
SUMMARY: Just because you're prepared...
NOTES: My first SG-1. I finally gave in when a bit of Jack-going-Ancient wouldn't go away after S7's "Lost City II."
DISCLAIMER: Read
There was a shiny new switch in his brain and he suspected it was controlled by one of those damned death-grip hands, the ones that clenched on his head while lights spelled out the meaning of life according to the people who didn't live here anymore. On the left, on a tattered strip of duct tape, was the label "A = Jack." On the right, etched into the gray matter, was the label "B = Ancient."
He wasn't taking bets on which one would be flipped to "on" at the end of the day.
Even now he could feel the switch inching over. Tick. Tick. More like tickticktick, really, since that ride in the chair. The sensation triggered memories of the white plastic timer Sara used to keep on the stove -- counting off the seconds until fresh coffee or, sometimes, pie -- but this one didn't give him any clue when the alarm would go and take him with it.
There had been only one thing keeping him from ripping his head off and winging it at Daniel or Carter when they gave him one of those wide-eyed "Well?" looks. The blanket of the Ancient rewrite may be ready to smother him good the next time it swoops down, but he was still there, thank you very much. He had a movie with free sound to go with the ride. Of course, more than nine times out of ten he didn't know the point of the ride until one of the others popped up at his elbow to slap a name on his latest feat, but hey, he was trying for glass half full here.
Ah, fuck it. At least he wasn't still pulling the two-second blackout trick. Having Daniel parrot back whatever had fallen out of his mouth in a moment of Ancient-induced genius had gotten old real fast.
Crouched on the cargo ship floor just outside the rings, Jack let his hands fiddle with whatever the Ancient brain had wanted before he'd resurfaced. He didn't take the chance, didn't glance behind him to see if the others noticed he wasn't running on autopilot. No one was hovering, and--
Tick.
Yeah, yeah, gotcha. Get on with the program.
Last will and testament to his insanity? Updated and at the bank, and he'd confirmed that Hammond still had the safe deposit key. Not that he'd doubted the man.
The house? Clean. Or as clean as it ever was. There wasn't any evidence of his last night there, he was sure of that.
Sara? He almost hadn't. Didn't think she'd want to know. But he'd finally scrounged up a couple of stamps that he figured would meet whatever the Postal Service was demanding now and mailed the letter before returning to the SGC. She didn't have to open it.
His people--
Tick.
Okay. Fine.
He got up and crossed to the other side of the rings, stepping swiftly over the bits and gadgets cluttering the floor. When he went to his knees, bent over some no-doubt vital doohickey, yep, that gave him a clear line of sight.
Bra'tac was still at the controls, thank god. It was easier not to look him in the face. But those low voices he'd felt buzzing against his back were indeed coming from the rest of the gang. Even with the tension he could see in Teal'c's face, Carter's back, Daniel's hands, their pow-wow was carefully quiet. He focused on the nicks and bruises coloring his own hands before one of them could look over.
Super brain doesn't mean super hearing, he didn't shout.
Tick.
They'll be fine. They will. They've been fine with him out of commission thanks to pissy aliens, random rock slides, stubborn Daniels, when there's been no time to prepare, haven't they? They've had almost a week now; they should be ultra-prepared.
He'll do his thing, do his duty, and--
Bzzzt.
Shit. Not--
##
Return to my Stargate stories