"Did I not tell you that General Hammond would know?" said Teal'c. He showed no obvious emotion, but everyone around the table knew he was pissed, and who he was pissed at. Nearly century-old warriors do not like to be called on the mat by their superiors, and especially not for behavior that they themselves considered to be juvenile.
Not mind you, that it was really Teal'c that had earned the General's wrath. When the rest of SG-1, led by the Colonel, using the system of finger taps that O'Neill had taught them had carried on the conversation in question, he had remained steadfastly silent. Since he was habitually silent, however, it was not clear to Teal'c whether he had been exonerated. He eyed O'Neill balefully.
Daniel Jackson was cleaning his glasses, and muttering darkly under his breath about something. Hammond thought perhaps there was something in there about Attention Deficit Disorder and "should have known", but he wasn't quite sure. Jack, who had ears like a bat, was quite sure.
Carter kept her eyes on the table, horrified and embarrassed to have been caught doing something so juvenile and unprofessional by a superior officer. Still, she couldn't help but notice that her immediate superior's never-still hands were telegraphing his distress, signaling "Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!" over and over. For a man who never, well almost never, apologized, this was a show of abject repentance. She cursed her inability to maintain a good mad at this overgrown boy. She used the term advisedly.
"I'm sorry, sir" he was saying. "It was a failure of leadership on my part, and I take full responsibility for the behavior of the others. They were only doing as I directed." He looked pleadingly at his commanding officer. "I may have been a little bored, sir."
"You know, Ritalin can do wonders for that, Jack" offered Daniel, who had, during the earlier hand taps, been signaling "Jack! Shut up!" while Sam had been signaling "Sir!"
Jack was not about to stand for Daniel's sarcasm. Gone was all sense of submission or abasement in his body language. His eyes were narrowed in accusation.
"Maybe you could have performed a minor miracle and kept your report on the Triffids--"
"The Dyffuds!"
"--down to under 90 minutes too!"
"Colonel!"
Things were getting out of hand, and Hammond reasserted his authority. Dave Dixon had approached him just yesterday about the possibility of a daycare facility for the use of the SGC staff. If the logistics were ever worked out, Hammond was beginning to wonder if perhaps his flagship team would be the first inmates enrollees.
"Anyway, kids" Jack was saying, "no more hand signals. No shots for every time the T-man says 'Indeed', no charades, no Pictionary--"
"Colonel!"
"Sorry, sir."
And George Hammond knew he was. Ever since that first day, when George had out-maneuvered Jack with his nuclear warhead bluff, Jack had granted him his rarely given respect, and with that came enormous loyalty, and submission to his commands... as long as he didn't push Jack's personal code of ethics a bridge too far.
"Dismissed!" the General said.
The rest of SG-1 rose quickly and left. Jack remained seated.
"Something you wanted, son?"
The General's demeanor had softened. Jack was a handful, and for the good order and discipline of his command he would never have admitted it even under Goa'uld torture, but he had a special soft spot in his heart for him.
"The system was new, sir. Something made up in Iraq. How did you know?"
"Maybe a fly on the wall told me."
Hammond rose, as Walter Harriman walked in, bearing coffee and a stack of forms awaiting his signature. In contravention of military custom, the Colonel remained seated.
"Jack?"
The Colonel looked up. Surely that wasn't apprehension in Jack's eye, was it? No, that wasn't quite it. He looked resigned now.
"I'm due to spar with Teal'c in the gym, sir. Jaffa revenge is a bitch."
"Fly like a butterfly, sting like a bee, Colonel" the General offered.
"I'm sure he will, sir!" drifted up from the area of the spiral staircase. "I'm sure he will!"
In Which Hammond Is Fly
Not mind you, that it was really Teal'c that had earned the General's wrath. When the rest of SG-1, led by the Colonel, using the system of finger taps that O'Neill had taught them had carried on the conversation in question, he had remained steadfastly silent. Since he was habitually silent, however, it was not clear to Teal'c whether he had been exonerated. He eyed O'Neill balefully.
Daniel Jackson was cleaning his glasses, and muttering darkly under his breath about something. Hammond thought perhaps there was something in there about Attention Deficit Disorder and "should have known", but he wasn't quite sure. Jack, who had ears like a bat, was quite sure.
Carter kept her eyes on the table, horrified and embarrassed to have been caught doing something so juvenile and unprofessional by a superior officer. Still, she couldn't help but notice that her immediate superior's never-still hands were telegraphing his distress, signaling "Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!" over and over. For a man who never, well almost never, apologized, this was a show of abject repentance. She cursed her inability to maintain a good mad at this overgrown boy. She used the term advisedly.
"I'm sorry, sir" he was saying. "It was a failure of leadership on my part, and I take full responsibility for the behavior of the others. They were only doing as I directed." He looked pleadingly at his commanding officer. "I may have been a little bored, sir."
"You know, Ritalin can do wonders for that, Jack" offered Daniel, who had, during the earlier hand taps, been signaling "Jack! Shut up!" while Sam had been signaling "Sir!"
Jack was not about to stand for Daniel's sarcasm. Gone was all sense of submission or abasement in his body language. His eyes were narrowed in accusation.
"Maybe you could have performed a minor miracle and kept your report on the Triffids--"
"The Dyffuds!"
"--down to under 90 minutes too!"
"Colonel!"
Things were getting out of hand, and Hammond reasserted his authority. Dave Dixon had approached him just yesterday about the possibility of a daycare facility for the use of the SGC staff. If the logistics were ever worked out, Hammond was beginning to wonder if perhaps his flagship team would be the first
inmatesenrollees."Anyway, kids" Jack was saying, "no more hand signals. No shots for every time the T-man says 'Indeed', no charades, no Pictionary--"
"Colonel!"
"Sorry, sir."
And George Hammond knew he was. Ever since that first day, when George had out-maneuvered Jack with his nuclear warhead bluff, Jack had granted him his rarely given respect, and with that came enormous loyalty, and submission to his commands... as long as he didn't push Jack's personal code of ethics a bridge too far.
"Dismissed!" the General said.
The rest of SG-1 rose quickly and left. Jack remained seated.
"Something you wanted, son?"
The General's demeanor had softened. Jack was a handful, and for the good order and discipline of his command he would never have admitted it even under Goa'uld torture, but he had a special soft spot in his heart for him.
"The system was new, sir. Something made up in Iraq. How did you know?"
"Maybe a fly on the wall told me."
Hammond rose, as Walter Harriman walked in, bearing coffee and a stack of forms awaiting his signature. In contravention of military custom, the Colonel remained seated.
"Jack?"
The Colonel looked up. Surely that wasn't apprehension in Jack's eye, was it? No, that wasn't quite it. He looked resigned now.
"I'm due to spar with Teal'c in the gym, sir. Jaffa revenge is a bitch."
"Fly like a butterfly, sting like a bee, Colonel" the General offered.
"I'm sure he will, sir!" drifted up from the area of the spiral staircase. "I'm sure he will!"