Stargate SG-1 ficlet: Mission Omission
Mission Omission [Stargate SG-1, Cameron, Daniel, G, 400 words, set early season 8.]
"I will kill you if any word of this gets back to SGC," Mitchell whispers, as menacingly as he can make a whisper. They're alone in the tent, but he doesn't want to spark a diplomatic incident just because of a little misunderstanding. Some cultures take death threats between team members quite seriously, or so he's heard.
"You're not ordering me to lie in my mission report, are you, Colonel?" Jackson asks, and Mitchell doesn't know the man that well yet, but he's fairly sure Jackson is deeply amused.
"Lie, no. Omit? Hell, yes."
Jackson calmly leans against the central tent pole. "It's very important that records, historical and anthropological, are as detailed and accurate as possible," he says pedantically. "You never know what information might prove essential in the future."
Now Jackson's just messing with him.
"I hardly think that the future of the Earth, or mankind for that matter, will ever depend on knowing that we were forced to wear dresses - mini-dresses - for a ceremony."
"Technically, it isn't a dress, it's a Tragel," Jackson says, carefully smoothing down the front of his dress-Tragel, whatever. "The garment originated centuries ago, when the Medans were tribal, and needed to keep their legs free and unencumbered for battle. You'll notice that none of the Medan women will wear a Tragel - they all wear Mallarchas, which closely resemble baggy trousers, taped around the bottom to protect them against harmful insects that flourished in times of war."
Mitchell tunes out most of the lecture, apart from the bit about women wearing trousers. "Damn it, why can't I be a woman?" he asks.
He looks at Jackson. Jackson looks back at him. There's a hint of a grin in the corner of Jackson's mouth. He definitely said that out loud.
"I have to say," Jackson muses, "you do look better in a Tragel than Jack did."
"You mean you-You knew about the custom? In advance? And you didn't warn me?" Mitchell's aware he's spluttering, and that it's not dignified, but then he's wearing a dress - he and dignity parted ways hours ago.
"I think there might have been some-omissions in an earlier mission report," Jackson says, and smirks.
"I don't suppose there were photos?" Mitchell fishes hopefully.
Jackson smiles. "Jack's Tragel was pink," is all he says, but Mitchell thinks he and Jackson are going to get on just fine.
//
"I will kill you if any word of this gets back to SGC," Mitchell whispers, as menacingly as he can make a whisper. They're alone in the tent, but he doesn't want to spark a diplomatic incident just because of a little misunderstanding. Some cultures take death threats between team members quite seriously, or so he's heard.
"You're not ordering me to lie in my mission report, are you, Colonel?" Jackson asks, and Mitchell doesn't know the man that well yet, but he's fairly sure Jackson is deeply amused.
"Lie, no. Omit? Hell, yes."
Jackson calmly leans against the central tent pole. "It's very important that records, historical and anthropological, are as detailed and accurate as possible," he says pedantically. "You never know what information might prove essential in the future."
Now Jackson's just messing with him.
"I hardly think that the future of the Earth, or mankind for that matter, will ever depend on knowing that we were forced to wear dresses - mini-dresses - for a ceremony."
"Technically, it isn't a dress, it's a Tragel," Jackson says, carefully smoothing down the front of his dress-Tragel, whatever. "The garment originated centuries ago, when the Medans were tribal, and needed to keep their legs free and unencumbered for battle. You'll notice that none of the Medan women will wear a Tragel - they all wear Mallarchas, which closely resemble baggy trousers, taped around the bottom to protect them against harmful insects that flourished in times of war."
Mitchell tunes out most of the lecture, apart from the bit about women wearing trousers. "Damn it, why can't I be a woman?" he asks.
He looks at Jackson. Jackson looks back at him. There's a hint of a grin in the corner of Jackson's mouth. He definitely said that out loud.
"I have to say," Jackson muses, "you do look better in a Tragel than Jack did."
"You mean you-You knew about the custom? In advance? And you didn't warn me?" Mitchell's aware he's spluttering, and that it's not dignified, but then he's wearing a dress - he and dignity parted ways hours ago.
"I think there might have been some-omissions in an earlier mission report," Jackson says, and smirks.
"I don't suppose there were photos?" Mitchell fishes hopefully.
Jackson smiles. "Jack's Tragel was pink," is all he says, but Mitchell thinks he and Jackson are going to get on just fine.
//