lolmac | LOLTelepathy

Or is he just sleeping?

*g* Did you check the mouseover text?

Not until now, lol!! That's pretty funny - great minds, m'dear!

Every LOL has a mouseover, so be sure to check for them -- two jokes for the price of one.

if he reads my mind, chances are he'll request soap and water.

Either that, or he'll want to join in . . .

It had been a short, snappy, almost dull mission, with no natives, and a temple that even Daniel found dull, the only find of any interest being the cult statue, a greyish aluminum looking thing which was nevertheless surprisingly heavy when Jack tripped over it in the dim gloom of the small mud brick structure. Jack spent a moment communing with his toes to decide if anything was damaged rather than merely annoyed, and finding that everything seemed to be wiggling as normal, he set the thing back up, noting an odd little tingle in his fingertips as he did so, and called Daniel over to see it. Daniel wondered aloud why it would have been set up in the floor as opposed to raised on a plinth, contrary to any cult statue he had ever seen, pronounced it to be of little artistic value, not reminiscent of any particular known culture, and without marking. That done, even Daniel admitted it was not worth sticking around, and they all set off for home.

Jack had been delighted to receive a debriefing time first thing the next morning, had cleared medical as fast as the Tyrant of the Tongue Depressor, the Nabob of Needles would allow, and had called on his black ops skills to escape the base before any of his team had known he was gone. It was October 20th, and he wanted to be home with a Guinness, a pizza, the cake he had bought just the night before, which was awaiting him in the freezer, and as many of the hockey games his brand new Center Ice subscription package would provide that night. He wanted to manage that without any fuss, bother, delay, or (shudder) surprise parties. He did not want his kids noting that, yes, he was another year older.

Things had gone well. The Guinness was cold, dark, and went beautifully well with the pizza. The cake was moist, and sweet, and no one told him he couldn't or shouldn't have seconds. All the right teams obligingly won, and best of all, the Avalanche-Wild game, where he had divided loyalties, had been thrillingly hard fought and ended in overtime in a shot so beautifully and athletically executed that he felt that the Wild had earned their win fair and square, and that the tickets he had for their next meeting in Denver would be likely to be a great introduction for Cassie to the joys of watching NHL games live.

So it was a happy Colonel who went back to the Mountain the next morning. All was right in his world, and given that the mission had been so straightforward, he anticipated a quick pro-forma debriefing, and an even briefer report to write, and an enjoyable day wandering the base ~~annoying~~ visiting his teammates. Life was good.

SQUEE COMMENTFIC!! Birthday fic!! I got birthday fic!!!

Shhhhhh!!! Don't tell the others for whom I didn't write birthday fic this year, because REASONS (not because I don't have a high regard for them too)! They might be jealous!

He thought it was a little weird that as he passed through the first checkpoint, he suddenly, without any reason at all, started to think about fertilizing houseplants, and how to best deal with aphids on the heliotrope. Especially since, although he was aware of what an aphid was, he was completely baffled by the entire subject of heliotropes. Heliotrope? What the hell is that?

Shaking it off, he was relieved to find himself reviewing hockey and football stats at the check post for the second elevator. That was much more familiar territory.

There was a brief flitting impression of the desirability of hot black coffee as he passed Wal..ton?...no...Walter! Harriman, no doubt due to the smell of coffee drifting down from the carafes in the briefing room. It was when he bounded up the spiral staircase two steps at a time and came upon Teal'c that things got... odd.

Suddenly Jack was acutely aware - more than usually aware - of the location of all the possible entrances and exits, the sounds of the people moving about and the equipment at work in the control room below, the shuffling of paper in Hammond's office, and his own approach behind Teal'c. Then there was the sound of "It's my brother O'Neill." In Goa'uld. In his head. And he understood it.

Suddenly some of the luster had gone out of his day. Teal'c turned, and bent his head in greeting, and Jack, shaken, was just barely able to offer a weak "Teal'c" in return, before slinking over to grab a mug and pour himself some coffee for lack of the Guinness he was really beginning to crave.

Daniel bustled in, and was so busy trying to organize several folders, three tomes on architecture, and a cappuccino, that he nearly plowed into Jack. Suddenly Jack was very aware of the various ways that mud brick could be used in construction. He handed Daniel a copy of The Styles and Usages of Mud Brick in Vernacular Architecture: A Cross-Cultural Examination and beat a hasty retreat to the opposite side of the briefing table, where he could once again concentrate on the scent of his coffee, and the way it was just hot enough to almost-but-not-quite burn as it went down. Perfect.

Then Hammond came in, assailing Jack's mind with a moment of concern over the base supply of 20 lb. weight printer paper, and industrial roll toilet paper. Finally Carter bustled in, apologizing for having been delayed by a question regarding the dialing program as she passed through the control room, and she took her place beside Jack, and he was lost.

Lost, but not in the usual way, the pleasant and invigorating awareness of the feminine nature of the figure by his side. No. This was a wash of mild anxiety about her lateness, followed by a calming wash of numbers. Beautiful numbers, interacting, differentiating, integrating, flowing, forming shapes, intricate delicate shapes, stunning in their depth, their meaning, their reduction of chaos to simplicity. He let his eyelids droop and turned within, the better to appreciate the glory that was streaming through him.

"COLONEL!!!"

Oh.

"Sir?" Jack offered, trying to bluff it out.

"Were you falling asleep before the briefing can even begin?!!!"

The General was not a happy man. Time to fess up.

"I think maybe I touched something I shouldn't have," offered Jack weakly. "And pi is orgasmically beautiful."

"Pie?"

Now the General was worried, and a bit confused.

"No. Pi."

Puzzled silence.

"3.141592..." Jack offered.

"65358979323846264338327" chimed in Carter, clearly prepared to continue, but reigning herself in reluctantly.

They shared a smile at the glorious panoply of irregularity in all its singular beauty spreading out between them.

Then there was a wash of concern.

"Perhaps he should see Dr. Fraiser, sir," she said.

Clearly the telepathy did not run both ways, or Carter would have staggered back from the massive thrust of her colonel's aggravation. There would be penlights. And thermometers. A blood pressure cuff. And plenty of needles.

It didn't take a mind reader to know that General Hammond was going to insist on it.

"Can I ask you to clear the corridors, sir?" Jack asked, resignedly. "I've got enough going on in here" (he tapped his forehead with his right index finger) "without getting everybody else's."

So Jack O'Neill, followed by a clangor of concern from the rest of his teammates made his way up through empty concrete halls to the infirmary, where his eyebrows nearly achieved orbit when he passed a new young nurse and suddenly heard "Dat ass!" as he did.

He blushed. He turned and peered at her for a moment in astonishment. She blushed and fumbled her pen at the attention, and he hurried into the safety of the main bay of the infirmary double timing it.

And now his team, poker-faced the lot of them, was laughing at him, even though they were not at all certain just exactly what had happened.

Then Dr. Fraiser bustled in, asking if General Hammond was correct that Jack had been suddenly been turned telepathic, and wanting to hear him describe it in his own words. And there was the damned pen light. And a thermometer. And a blood pressure cuff. She felt for his pulse manually, tested his reflexes - Okay, so looking in his eyes might have something to show about his brain, but how would hearing what people were thinking affect his reflexes? Oh. Well that explains it. - and then started in with her needles. Many, many, many needles.

And Jack sat still. He didn't whine. He didn't complain. He didn't try to bargain his way out of it. Not once, because through all of it, there was the flow of the reasons why each test needed to be done, and deep stream of concern for a favorite patient she felt like she might not be able to fix. No pity. No superiority in that quick, sharp mind. Just fondness and concern. He was going to sit back and let her do her job for once.

Which worried her still more.

"Doc!!!" he whined. "Are you gonna bleed me dry? When are you going to let me outta here? I'm gonna miss the Simpsons!"

There. That was better. Irritation was better than worry, even if she was - he now realized - utterly aware of the game.

Huh. She thought he was gallant. How utterly off base.

Edited 2013-10-25 07:21 (UTC)

Finally she looked over her tests and her results and opened her mouth to speak.

"You're going to suggest I stay on base, and let's see if it will wear off in a day or so."

Amusement.

"Yes, I was."

"Can I have a V.I.P. room with a TV hook-up for the Simpsons?

Fondness.

"Certainly, Colonel."

"And will you tell my team I'm otherwise fine?"

"Don't you want to tell them yourselves?"

"I'd kind of like to avoid the..."

"Static?" she offered.

"Yeah."

A good woman, Doc Fraiser. He told her so. She was startled to hear him say so.

So the food wasn't too good, the Guinness was totally lacking, but the bed was comfy, and the Simpsons episode was a new one, and witty, and when he woke in the morning there was nothing in his mind but his own usual - or maybe unusual, he hadn't gotten enough chances for comparison to really know - thoughts.

They went back to recover the statue in an attempt to find out how it worked, but by the time they brought it through the gate, it didn't. Work, that is. Apparently that almost unnoticeable tingle that Jack had felt was the last gasp of the statue's power source.

As she gave her report to her teammates in her lab, Carter said that it was quite possible that if he had gotten a full dose, the effect might have been permanent.

Shudder.

Still, he was going to miss the pulsing orgasmic beauty of pi.

Carter gazed at him with mild concern.

"Mmmmm.... Pie!" he drooled with his best Homer Simpson impression, covering his tracks, and gestured to the door.

Carter smiled.

"You buying sir?"

"Sure."

They set off for the commissary, Carter at his side, once again leaving him simply feeling aware and invigorated, Teal'c and Daniel discussing the likely uses a Goa'uld would have made of the device just a few strides behind.

And then there was pie. It wasn't so beautiful, but it certainly was good eatin'.

Simply wonderful! :-D

LOLTelepathy

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