Jonas Alphabet Soup
icon by samantilles
My thanks to the 25 authors who contributed to our anthology to create some 38,000 words of Jonas Quinn Alphabet Soup: q_d_o_g, rachel500, shinealightonme, resurgamlaura, thothmes, gategremlyn, eilidh7, sg_wonderland, ziparumpazoo, chocolatekettle, colej55, grav_ity, theeverdream, redbyrd_sgfic, samantilles, pepper_field, traycer_, rigel_7, fluffy_twk, lokei, ansostuff, acarlgeek, cleothemuse, sg_fignewton, and night_spear1287.
Special thanks to our back-up writers and multiple contributors, who did extra duty after the last minute! And a warm welcome to our "probie" soup contributors: Theeverdream, Resurgamlaura, Ansostuff, Shinealightonme, Rachel500, Thothmes, Mquir, and Fluffy-twk. We have now had 87 different authors contributing to these series. SG-1 fandom, you are nothing less than awesome. :)
Story lengths range from 100 words to about 7,500 words. Eras range from pre-series to post-series; expect spoilers for the entire series through Ark of Truth. Ratings range from G to a strong PG-13.
Story text is as written by the authors, but minor HTML coding has been changed (removal of smart quotes, for example) and scene breaks have been altered to allow for more uniformity in page style.
Shorter ficlets are posted here in full, with links to the author's individual LJ for feeback; due to LJ posting constraints, longer fic is excerpted, with links to the author's journal for the full story. The entire anthology is posted in full, without excerpts, over at Dreamwidth.
Readers are strongly encouraged to visit the author's individual journals and leave feedback.
A is for Assurance
by q_d_o_g
Jonas never wanted to be a soldier, not really. Even when he was arguing his way onto an SG team, he didn't picture himself waging a physical war on the Go'auld. He knew where his strengths lay, knew they weren't on the side of military tactics. He was more than physically able enough, but his mind held his most valuable skill set.
Yet here he was, standing in a line of soldiers with a smoking gun in his hand, firing round after round into an imaginary enemy. A war-hardened Colonel stood at his back, coaching him in the most effective way to incapacitate someone from fifty feet, the surest ways to secure a kill. From his own mind he heard the more basic lessons repeating themselves: Legs hip-width apart. Finger off the trigger. Hold firm. Somehow, between being horrified at the prospect of firing at anything and the comfortable grip he now held on his assigned weapon, it had become ingrained.
What shocked him most, what really surprised him - as a scholar and a scientist, a man of peace, a diplomat - is how much of a thrill he got from it. The sharp pulse of the weapon kicking back into his shoulder sent a rush of adrenaline through his veins, coursing through his body with a rare fervour. It satisfied him to have his shots land true, the round rips in his targets each a tiny piece of assurance that he was doing good here. Eyes open. Don't hold your breath. So Jonas continued to fire, each metal projectile meeting its mark in an easy and precise manner; when he stopped to reload, he registered the hand on his shoulder as the Colonel's rough voice cut into his thoughts, offering small praise for his work.
Maybe, Jonas mused, it wasn't just the well-placed holes in the crumpled paper in his hand that offered the assurance he craved. He smiled to himself, and corrected his stance. Don't smile like that when you shoot, it's creepy. He hastily applied a scowl to his face and fired.
feedback
B is for Betrayal
by rachel500
He had never wanted to be a leader.
But somehow Jonas Quinn had ended up as the leader of the Langaran Resistance so quickly after the Ori had invaded and become an occupational force that he still wasn't sure quite how it had happened. He still questioned the wisdom of it especially during missions like the one he was undertaking right that moment.
Jonas flattened himself against the wall of the old Kelownan building and peeked out, squinting in the twilight at the Langaran government facility across the square. The guards were minimal; the front door guarded by two Ori soldiers in full uniform with the strange staff weapons that they used. Just like their intelligence had confirmed. He checked his watch.
He was early. There was time before the plan went into motion; his insane plan to take back a piece of Langara. He raised his eyes to the grey sky, his fingers tightening around the gun he held. Sweat beaded under the wool of his black knit-hat and slid down his face. He ignored it, and the way his heart raced, the way worms wriggled in his gut making him nauseous. He moistened his mouth and kept his breathing shallow.
Jack O'Neill wouldn't be nervous, Jonas told himself briskly. Or Teal'c. Or Samantha Carter. He suspected even Daniel Jackson wouldn't feel as nervous as he felt right that minute. The civilian member of SG1 might have had more in common with Jonas than the others but Daniel was a seasoned soldier. They all faced battle with confidence; assurance. He would bet that they had never stood behind a wall questioning their strategy in the final moments before they executed it.
Or maybe they had. Jonas had served with SG1 for a whole year and he knew they weren't quite the fearless legends others would believe them to be. He'd seen them doubt themselves; question their actions and their results. He'd seen them strong and he'd seen them weak. But he just couldn't imagine the Colonel -- and he tried to remember again that Jack was a General -- sweating copiously about whether he had made the right decision, whether everything was going to come together and the things that had already been put in motion would bear fruit.
No.
He couldn't picture it.
It was just that so much was riding on the outcome of the plan, so many lives, not to mention the future of Langara.
'No pressure then.' Jonas mumbled to himself.
continued
C is for Crafts
by shinealightonme
"Are you sure about this?" Sam asked, amusement and apprehension equally apparent in her voice. "You could get some plants, you know. Or an aquarium; fish are supposed to be nice."
"I'm not sure that would be a very good idea," Jonas said. "How am I supposed to take care of them if I go off-world?"
"Maybe a cactus?" Sam suggested.
"No, thanks." Jonas made a face. "The nice thing about being on base is that I'm much less likely to get stabbed."
"Except when you steal the last Jello."
"Oh, Colonel O'Neill wasn't really trying to kill me. I pretty sure of it."
"Maybe he wasn't going to kill you, but this might." Sam looked dubiously at the table.
"It'll be fine," Jonas said confidently. "I used to do this all the time."
"Recently?"
Teal'c entered the room at that moment, saving Jonas from having to answer. "Am I interrupting an experiment?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the equipment that in the middle of Sam's lab.
"Yes and no," Sam answered. "Jonas was just about to demonstrate some traditional Kelownan metalworking, complete with the grand Kelownan tradition of losing a finger."
"It's not that bad," Jonas protested, but despite this he found that he was starting to become nervous. "I'm going to make some pieces to put in my room. To make it more personal."
"This sounds like a profitable endeavor."
"See?" Jonas grinned. "Teal'c has faith in me!"
"Not precisely, Jonas Quinn. I meant profitable for your audience."
continued
D is for Diner
by resurgamlaura
Jonas lightly tapped a finger on the table, as if testing it. The beige-flecked formica table top was cluttered with an accoutrement of plates, tall glasses, cutlery and condiments. An assortment of menus-breakfast and lunch specials, drinks--was stuffed into a holder. No tablecloth. Outside of their window booth, a bustling stream of people weaved their way past. He peered at the slightly dog-eared desserts list and thought more intently about apple pie and the existence of their so-called doggy bags than perhaps he was meant to.
Sam had called it a cultural education exercise during downtime. The unspoken reality was that it was in fact a Saturday afternoon treat designed with the sole purpose of distracting them both, and he knew this. But he also knew that she had picked a place where women in yellow dresses and strange little hats served enormous burgers, milkshakes flavours he had not tried yet, and an interesting dessert menu. The Colonel had been muttering indecipherable things about meringue, apple and cherry for some time after having been told of the plan. Failing to be charmed wasn't really an option.
Their server strolled over. Swiftly removing some of the debris left over from their lunch, she poured a coffee for Sam and deposited a chocolate milkshake in front of him, replacing the vanilla one that he had tried when they had first ordered. Sam had recommended the vanilla especially. He politely smiled and shook his head when she motioned as if to take his plate.
There had been little left on there and he could have let the lady have it, especially now that Sam had finished and was attending to her coffee. Not for the first time, he'd been briefly torn between Kelownan cultural etiquette (to finish your meals at roughly the same time) and cultural necessity (that, regardless of your parent's social standing, food was not a disposable commodity to be wasted, especially in colder weather). This time, necessity - or guilt, depending on how you saw it - won, as it had done many times before. He was unsure what that said about him. Maybe it was the more casual nature of his dining experiences here, or perhaps certain things just did not matter as much as they used to anymore. Perhaps he just liked cheeseburgers too much. He reached for a couple of leftover fries and contemplated his options. Ketchup was good, but too reminiscent of something else. He'd done mayonnaise (it had been part of the great hundred--and--one--ways--with--mayo trial). Fried potato, salt...think opposites.
continued
E is for Extrovert
by thothmes
One week after his return, when Daniel had finally stopped calling him Jim, Jack took him home to stay in his guest room, until the paperwork, filed and re-filed in triplicate (what was it about un-dead, but no-not-a-zombie that those idiots who read these forms at the Pentagon just didn't get?) would clear the way to get him his salary, his back pay, and his driver's license returned to him. His stuff wasn't a problem, having been divided between Carter's garage and his own. Well, except the piano. Turns out you could get specialized humidity and temperature controlled storage for them. Who knew?
Now both men were lounging on Jack's deck, on a Sunday morning, each with a coffee cup in his hand. Daniel's was, to Jack's eye, unappetizingly white with milk, and probably almost as sweet as his own. Daniel had made great inroads in his, being accustomed to swilling the stuff still hot on a regular basis, whether he remembered this or not. Jack was in no hurry, and was paying more attention to the Sports Section than to his steaming mug.
"Hey Jim?"
Jack looked over sharply. Daniel's eyes were twinkling, just a little. So. Just yanking his chain, then.
"Dennis?"
"Jim!"
"Denny!"
Daniel apparently decided that the chain was yanked enough.
"Jonas Quinn. I got to work with him for a bit, but at the time I was a little busy trying to figure out who the hell I was, and what it was I needed to remember to get us all through it safely and back home. I didn't really get a sense of what he was like. Tell me something about him!"
This was a familiar feeling for Jack. It felt exactly the same way when his tenth grade English teacher had handed out sheets of paper one day and told them to write a poem about something significant in their daily lives. The vast whiteness of the paper had been more intimidating than Nelson High's bruiser of an enforcer. He had no idea where to begin.
"Anything?" prompted Daniel.
"He liked bananas. A lot," said Jack.
continued
F is for Fish
by gategremlyn
Fish don't sleep. Well, no, that's not entirely true. We sleep. We just don't sleep the way you lumbering, bipedal creatures do. How you live with all those appendages flailing about is beyond me. You all look like distorted starfish. And how come you never move up or down but only side to side? But that's for another time. Fish don't sleep. We hover. We move our fins. We become one with the air. But we don't really sleep. It's great--if you're a fish.
Jonas doesn't sleep either. He's not a fish; he's just a poor bipedal who moves only sideways but never up and down. Actually, that's not true. He moves up and down using his... legs I think they're called... to crawl on rocks and retrieve big square things (books?) to put in front of him. But he doesn't sleep. He puts his head down on another square rock called desk, and he does the most bizarre thing: he loses his eyes. I'm not sure how he does it, but pieces of skin cover up his eyeballs. Yech! Then, minutes later, he's up and moving again. His fins--arms, they're called arms--move constantly. He'd make a good fish.
Sometimes his movement brings him here to our world, and when he comes we fly up to meet him. He feeds us; sometimes he talks to us. Sometimes he watches us dance for him. But he never comes to join us, although he sticks his digits in our air and makes it move. Mostly though, our protective shield keeps him separate from us. Just as well, the size he is. It's nice to have him visit but I wouldn't want him to live here.
Sometimes he disappears and the space beyond our barrier is empty of bipedals. Then I can see only weird rocks all made of eerie straight lines--which is not natural, I tell you. But Jonas... when he flies away, he's gone for a long time--a long time. The place through which he disappears is called door, and he must vanish into another universe because I can't see him. When door opens again, we usually get fed. I hate it when door opens and we don't get fed.
I've heard of a place beyond door that's called ocean, but I've never seen it. One of the big fish Jonas brought to join us told us--he was a bold colorful creature with glowing fins and a big appetite--he told us of Ocean and a world outside Door. I'm sure he was delirious because he didn't last long, poor fella. He was hovering on the edge of the barrier by the next morning. But it does give me something to think about. I'd like to travel outside of our air and into the mysterious vacuum world beyond, but not yet. Exploration is dangerous, you know, and I'm too young to die--even in a search for Ocean.
continued
F is for Finally
by gategremlyn
It's been a tough mission for all of us, but for the other members of SG-1, it's been surreal. It started when we found Doctor Jackson, found him on a planet I chose because I thought it contained information about the Lost City of the Ancients. Instead, it was the City of the Lost, and we discoved nothing I expected. I still don't know how we'll find the lost city, but I do know we found a treasure even more worthwhile: we found a living, breathing legend--and for the colonel, Sam, and Teal'c, a friend.
I've always been in awe of Doctor Jackson; I think most people at the SGC were... are. But having the opportunity to work with him was a real eye-opener. He's sharp and funny, and he's got the same tenacity and courage I remember from his first visit to Kelowna. I've never forgotten what he did for my people--and what I didn't do. I know I've spent months at the SGC trying to make amends for that. The powers that be on my world treated him like an criminal. I know better. He saved them, and I stood by and did nothing.
Teal'c called me a "probie" once, in the infirmary--just before Doctor Fraiser place him on tretonin. I had to go look it up. It means someone who is on probation or on trial. It means that the probie is still learning, but that his or her position isn't guaranteed. Boy, is that the truth. Teal'c always made me feel like a member of the team. I think as an "alien" he understood something of what I was going through. Sam, too, made me welcome. She dragged me out of the office to eat, and helped me find my way around this new world. I think she even smoothed the way for me to be on SG-1.
Colonel O'Neill, though, he's a different story. I've always been on trial with him. He's never really taken to me, never really warmed to me because I'm not Daniel. It's not surprising, given the circumstances, but I had hoped, with time, he'd come around. I wanted him to do more than let me be on the team; I wanted do more than fill a missing spot. I wanted to fit in.
When we were hiding in the armory of Aphothis' ship, Daniel told me that the colonel said I was a a good man. Could of fooled me. Daniel also told me I could keep the office. We got off the ship; we saved Kelowna (whether it deserved it or not); we made it back to Earth. And then I had time to think. As much as I love the job, I'm not sure I love it enough to stay--even for the office. Like I said, tough mission.
feedback
G is for Good Pie
by eilidh7
"You're kidding me, right? There must have been someone."
"Nope."
"What about while you were at school? I take it you did go."
Jonas raised his eyebrows at her, questioningly. "To school?"
"What? Yes, of course to school." Sam had been tracing lazy circles around the rim of her coffee cup for almost an hour now and the strong brew had gone cold. "What else would I mean?"
"I just wanted to be sure. And no, there was no one at school either. Not at school and not later at college. I never seemed to find the time."
"All study and no play?"
Jonas enjoyed the commissary at this time of the night. Though not by design, he and Sam had set a routine of meeting here on the nights she didn't go home. Pie and coffee were the norm and the conversation was easy. There was only ever the two of them though. Teal'c always said his quiet goodbyes and retired to his room, never taking up their offer of company, and Colonel O'Neill, well... Jonas still wasn't able to read the man's moods, so he gave up asking.
"More like, all study or no future," he said at last.
"What do you mean?"
The pie's crust was cold, and the cream had warmed to a sloppy mess on the plate. Jonas pushed it around with a piece of apple, but had lost interest in it.
continued
H is for Home
by sg_wonderland
Jonas Quinn looked with little real interest around the rooms to which he'd been assigned. In one of those nice, ironic twists of fate, it was very similar to the one where he'd spent nearly every night of his year on Earth. Stark, colorless, unornamented.
It took him awhile to unpack, since he was doing so with only one working arm. As he placed his meager personal belongings around, he wondered what had happened to his apartment. Most of his possessions he hadn't really cared about losing. But the still images, he yearned for those with an almost tangible ache. He expected those had been burned -- probably publicly -- and the ashes scattered to the winds of fortune.
The image of his parents on the day they took their vows, so solemn, yet with a suppressed glow of happiness. The sister whose brutally short life he could barely remember. The first girl he had ever kissed, ever loved.
The Tau'ri called them photographs and Jonas liked that word. Because weren't those images dots on a plane that could be connected to map out the story of your life?
***
They'd told him the room had been scrubbed clean, that it held no residue of radiation but Jonas still hesitated. He knew how lucky he'd been that day. What he didn't know was why. Why his life had been spared, what force kept him from being irradiated when Dr. Jackson dove unflinchingly through the protective glass.
He'd thought watching the Kelownian scientists die had been the worst thing he'd ever witnessed. But that was before he'd watched Dr. Jackson die through the flat, emotionless eyes of Colonel O'Neill and the rest of Dr. Jackson's beloved and bewildered family.
He stopped at the door and read the plaque that had been mounted there.
For men of great courage, sacrifice is not an option but a certainty.
With eternal gratitude.
Dr. Elias Keeler
Dr. Marre Fann
***
As she did every morning Ambassador Krinn Dreylock paused at the same door. Someone had adhered a small piece of paper to the plaque. She read the name that had been added, recognized the precise handwriting, smiled a bit and walked away.
feedback
I is for Intuition
by ziparumpazoo
It wasn't actually the kiss that tipped him off. Tau'ri morals might be more relaxed than those on Kelowna, but Jonas wasn't so na?ve to think that they were the gold standard across the galaxy.
Besides, acting a little blas? about the whole thing didn't seem to hurt his standing with the colonel either. Jonas had picked up that particular trick up from watching Major Carter preface her answers with an 'I don't know, sir', right before launching into a lengthy and complicated explanation that was usually interrupted by the colonel telling her to 'just make it work Carter'.
Jonas was pretty sure that Sam usually did know, and knew very well. He'd caught her wide-eyed 'oh' of sudden comprehension on more than one occasion. He'd watched her flip through notes and call up schematics at a pace best described as manic, while her mind jumped from thought to theory to solution in less time than it took most people to realize there even was a problem.
Jonas knew that itch. That feeling of absolute certainty that there was something more, something just beyond the tangible; if he could just turn over just one more piece of the puzzle, all the clues would slide neatly into place. The lights would come on, the fog would lift, and there would be the answer, illuminated from above like the ship in that Rembrandt painting of the storm.
Well, maybe not quite that dramatic, but being blindsided by clarity was never gentle, in his experience.
Intuition, he'd said when Reynard had asked, and that was probably closest to the truth. As close as he'd admit to in front of a gateroom full of the people whose trust he'd been trying his darnedest to earn. People who probably weren't interested in the hops and leaps his mind took; the bounce from Seberus-the-ship to Cerberus-the-three-headed dog of the underworld to Ceberus-the-prison-transport, with side trips to scenic lookouts along the way.
People who put their faith in their own intuition and trusted it to bring them home at the end of the day.
Colonel O'Neill didn't need to know how he knew that he could trust Warrick. Just that he could.
continued
J is for Jonas (and Jack and Jaffa)
by chocolatekettle
"What are you looking so smug about?" O'Neill pulled out a chair and sat down opposite Teal'c.
"I was not aware that I appeared to be smug."
"Well, you are. What's up?"
"I have been sparring with Jonas Quinn. I won."
O'Neill snorted. "How long did he last? Thirty seconds?"
"On the contrary, O'Neill, we sparred for more than half an hour. He was most -" Teal'c paused and considered his phrasing, " - resilient."
"Oh, I see where this is going." O'Neill brandished his fork like a weapon. "You're going to tell me that I'm being too hard on him; that I would like him if I got to know him; hell, you're probably going to tell me that he should be on SG-1."
Teal'c inclined his head in acknowledgement.
"Why are you so eager to have him on the team anyway, Teal'c?"
Because he sees the wonder in what we do, which we have forgotten. Because I see in him what Daniel Jackson might have been, had not his life shaped him differently. Because Daniel Jackson would have liked him and helped him, and Daniel Jackson is not here.
Because I know what it is to be an exile and a stranger here. Because you fought so that I would be given a chance to prove myself and I believe that Jonas Quinn deserves the same.
They were all good reasons and all true, but O'Neill was not yet ready to hear them. Teal'c said instead, "Because he has asked for my help and I have no reason to refuse. Why are you so strongly set against him, O'Neill?"
"He's an alien."
Teal'c raised a meaningful eyebrow.
continued
K is for Keenness
by colej55
At first, Col. Jack O'Neill would rather have killed Jonas Quinn - and tried to convince God that he had died from natural causes - than accept him as a member of SG-1. What he did to Daniel was unforgivable and the colonel didn't trust him as far as he could throw him. In fact, were it not for General Hammond, Jack would have already shown the little, dimpled, whiz kid a little mano y mano action. Besides, Daniel was irreplaceable and Jack wasn't ready to fill that void in his life or on his team -- especially with another vulnerable, fresh-faced kid he'd have to worry about.
"You know, sir, Jonas thinks that you don't like him."
"And your point is, Carter?"
Jack well remembered those early conversations with the major about why she thought he should give his team's newest member a bona fide chance to prove himself. And now with Daniel back and Jonas going home to Kelowna, he found himself reflecting on the past year and what he would say to him in parting.
Initially, the colonel wanted to kick Jonas' butt all over the galaxy. Even Carter, who isn't prone to unwarranted violence, once took pleasure in slapping him -- hard -- although it was in the line of duty.
For one thing, Jack found the kid's intelligence irritating. It wasn't that Jonas was smug about it, because he had tried to hide from him the fact that he had memorized all of Daniel's work and SG-1's mission reports. He didn't want to be thought of as strange, but still.... Who does those kinds of things? He even knew that the X-302 mission to Abydos would fail because of the instability of the naquadria driving the ship's hyperspace engines. And then, during Anubis' attack, Jonas helped create the plan to move the stargate into outer space where it could safely explode without harming Earth. He even suggested using a short burst into hyperspace to dump the gate. Furthermore, he was always reading some obscure scientific journal and had admitted to Teal'c that he had read every book in the library -- twice. Not only was Jonas able to master many ancient languages with astounding speed, but he had turned into a freakish walking encyclopedia. And what was up with his fascination with the weather? The kid was a worse geek than Daniel and Jack found him more creepy than intellectual.
continued
L is for Langara...
by grav_ity
L is for Langara
He misses home. He misses going outside whenever he wants and walking down the streets. He misses his colleagues and the projects with which he was familiar. At the SGC, everything is new and adventurous, but that wears thin after a while, and all he wants is to sit with old friends in his own house and be still for a moment. So he becomes the explorer, and takes on the universe everyday. He learns all languages and reads all the books. One day, he wakes up and doesn't wonder where he is. That makes him miss Langara even more.
L is for Learning
On Langara, it's not uncommon for a person to remember everything they read. On Earth, it's an infrequent gift that makes it harder for him to fit in. His first week in Daniel's laboratory is spent devouring every book in sight. He assumes he's picking up common knowledge. The first time he offers a suggestion they look at him like he's a cheap replacement for the man whose library he has inadvertently memorized. It's the first mistake he makes on Earth. It won't be his last, but he has an easier time of it after Teal'c introduces him to TV.
L is for Lung Capacity
After the incident on board the Mother Ship, Dr. Fraiser subjects him to a day of physical tests. He's already gone through the usual battery of tests that human aliens undergo when they reach the SGC, and come up "mostly" human in his results, but apparently what he did on board the ship was unusual enough to warrant closer examination. He's not too keen on things that set him apart. He's still new here, and feels his alien nature every day. Still, it's not like he can change it, so he waits for his cue and takes a deep breath.
L is for Lunch
Lunch isn't an alien convention. Jonas has eaten lunch every day of his life, excluding a brief period in university when he was too busy to stop. On Earth, lunch is a break, a time to stop working and sit with friends to eat. Before he joins SG-1, Jonas eats lunch alone or with Sam or Teal'c. After he joins SG-1, he never lacks for table-mates. If he begins a meal alone at a table for four, three others will join him. Before he knows it, he is a lunchtime fixture, and has all the friends to go with it.
continued
M is for Mountain
by theeverdream
When Jonas was seven years old, he asked his mother to take him to the mountains. They looked so wonderful in pictures, majestic and powerful, and he had never seen anything quite like that up close.
She said no.
His family was in the habit of providing him with plenty of opportunities for expanding his horizons, and any interest in the mountains was soon subsumed in a flurry of other activity.
So he didn't think about it again for years.
Until he grew up, and he realized that the only reason that his mother would not have taken him to see the mountains was that the mountains were on the wrong side of a border between nations at war.
***
Jonas was accustomed to daily activity outside, to cloud-watching and letting the sun shine on his face. At Stargate Command he became overwhelmed with having to stay indoors, and he thought he would literally go mad.
Until he found the Weather Channel. And that helped, a bit.
***
A month after his treason, and Jonas was still waking up with huge gasps of air every morning as if he were drowning. He would go to the bathroom and shave, and try to avoid looking too deeply into his own eyes.
His nightmares faded, diluted with the shower water, and after that it was easier to put the smile on his face -- and he was even mostly good at convincing himself that he was, in fact, cheerful and optimistic.
He could mostly pretend that the stares didn't faze him, that the sheer unbelongedness he felt wasn't the most miserable thing, that everything in this entire mountain didn't remind him of Doctor Jackson and that the whispers on the very edge of his awareness spoke volumes about how he would never, ever measure up.
Until it came time to fall asleep. When the nightmares (waiting until everyone around him died before he fell into an open grave and the dirt started falling over him) would start again.
continued
N is for New
by redbyrd_sgfic
For an instant on waking, he thought he was in the temporary quarters at the ministry, where he sometimes slept after a late night at work. But the hum of the equipment that pushed air through the grate into the room, the feel of the bed underneath him, the texture of the fabric against his cheek brought it all back in a rush. The accident, the talk with Colonel O'Neill, taking the naquadria. The ecstasy-terror-excitement of stepping into the wormhole. The hollow fear when he found out they'd discovered his absence.
The gate kawhooshed, and as Jonas turned toward the general, the control room technician said. "Receiving a transmission from Kelowna, sir."
"Put it on speakers," Hammond ordered.
"This is High Councilor Wills," came the voice.
"This is General George Hammond of Stargate Command," the older man replied.
"Is Jonas Quinn there?" she asked.
Hammond surprisingly looked to Jonas for permission before saying, "Yes, he is."
"We demand that you return him and the stolen naquadria to us immediately," she replied angrily.
Jonas slumped. "I was afraid of this."
"What will happen to you if you go back?" Hammond asked.
"I'll be charged with treason," Jonas said. "Life imprisonment, probably." He straightened his spine and tried not to look as dispirited as he felt. "I knew it was a risk when I came here, General."
"You don't have to go back," Hammond said.
Jonas blinked. "You'd let me stay here?"
"Here, or we could find another world where you could live," Hammond said.
That wasn't a choice that required a lot of thought. Life imprisonment versus. the chance to learn more about this fascinating place? "I'd like to stay, general."
"Councilor Wills. Jonas Quinn has chosen to stay here." He turned back to the control room. "Disconnect the wormhole, sergeant."
continued
O is for the Ori
by samantilles
The day the Prior came through the gate, Jonas started carrying the Langaran diplomatic GDO with him at all times in his briefcase. As a chief advisor to the Joint Ruling Council, he listened as the Prior in front of him preached the inspirational word of the Book of Origin. He read the book that night, thinking often of the myriad of religious texts he'd read both on Earth and on worlds he visited through the gate. But he was no longer the eager, naive scholar who first left Kelowna for Earth almost five years ago.
The Joint Ruling Council soaked up the word of the Prior readily. They publicly announced to their peoples the changes in ther hearts as they willingly accepted the Ori. The simple fact that all three First Ministers agreed without debate, shouting, arguing or even hesitation put Jonas on edge; he'd spent the past three years cajoling and gently pushing the Council towards consensus about every little issue. They never readily agreed about anything. Then the Prior came.
Jonas was present the first time someone was condemned to burn in the altar he was directed to create by the Prior. His stomach tied itself in knots as he recorded the sentence handed down by the First Ministers. The condemned man spoke out against the Ori; he said that Langara was a world free of the imposition of the will of false gods. False gods; Jonas had met many a false god in his travels with the Tau'ri. Any god who forced public executions was false in Jonas's book. He forced himself to watch, to honor the man and his sacrifice when every ounce of his being wanted to turn away from the giant flame and the billowing smoke. That night, Kianna held him close as the phrase "Hallowed are the Ori" taunted him in his dreams.
Months passed; all outspoken resistance efforts to the Ori were handled with extreme prejudice. He couldn't escape seeing the smoke from his office, hearing the sounds of the crowd cheering the latest sentence through the windows of his home in the city. He heard whispers of the resistance moving underground, but he would never be able to align himself with them. He was watched. The Ministers sang praises of him from on high to the Prior. He was the one who saved the planet, the one who traveled the stars. Jonas was a global treasure. He transcended national limitations.
In the nearly five months the Prior had been visiting Langara, the Joint Ruling Council had long since become a figurehead organization, all real power from it drained by the Prior and the devoted. Langara had truly become united. So Jonas busied himself in his lab, content in his long-neglected projects he never had time for until now.
continued
P is for Precocious
by pepper_field
"...Dad was kind of lost for words by that point, you know, so he threw up his hands and stalked -- well, limped -- away. Mark had come out to see what all the noise was about, and he just looked at me, and shrugged, and said, 'Well, he wanted to teach you to drive'."
The others chuckled, and Sam poked at the fire with the stick in her hand, grinning.
"So you were a speed demon from an early age," said Jonas. It wasn't often that his team -- and he was only just beginning to think of them as 'his' -- talked about personal history. But tonight they were relaxed, lubricated on alien booze and recent success, and talk around the campfire had gradually drifted to adventures in their younger years.
"Oh, yeah," said Sam. "Always." She glanced sideways at him. "What about you, Jonas? We've heard about Teal'c and his little crush--"
"It was not--"
"And the Colonel's experiments in the judicious application of high explosives," she carried on, ignoring Teal'c's protest. "What did you get up to when you were a kid? What were you like?"
Jonas stared into the fire, a million memories running through his mind. "Precocious," he said, eventually. The Colonel huffed a laugh, and when Jonas gave him an enquiring look, he shrugged.
"Not really a surprise," he said.
"Yes, well. Um, I suppose I was considered geeky -- although that doesn't have quite the same connotations on Kelowna. I liked to read, and my family always believed that books were the best gifts. A friend and I used to have reading competitions. When I was fifteen, my parents petitioned for me to have access to the university's library. I'd, um... kind of read everything in the school library by then." He smiled, remembering. "That was a great day. I remember walking in, and seeing all these books -- wall to wall, floor to ceiling. They seemed to stretch on forever, more books than I could ever read..."
When he surfaced from the memory, the other three were looking at him with varying degrees of amusement.
"You're weird," said the Colonel, but the words were without malice. Teal'c nodded.
Sam reached up and ruffled Jonas's hair. "Welcome to the club," she said, smiling.
feedback
Q is for Quest
by traycer_
He was on a mission. A quest to find that fine line between trust and loyalty, and perhaps even the acceptance he craved so much. The members of SG-1 did not trust him, nor, it seemed, did anyone else on Earth. Jonas hated feeling like an outsider, but becoming one of them seemed like a distant mirage - a near impossible feat.
He knew why they were reluctant to trust him, yet it still bothered him that they wouldn't even give him a chance to prove himself. Colonel O'Neill making him stay behind instead of accompanying him and Major Carter to the mother ship only proved to Jonas that he didn't have a chance.
"There are still many battles left to be fought, Jonas Quinn." Jonas reflected on these words, knowing that Teal'c was right, yet still worrying that he may never get the opportunity to be in one of those battles. It was important to him now.
All he needed was a chance.
***
The tension in the room was thick, and Jonas made a huge effort to chase away the fear that was clawing at him. The members of SG-1, his team, were in danger of dying, a fact that scared him far more than anything he had ever encountered. He had come to like them, despite their reluctance to accept him as a team member, and now he was left to stand idly by, in fact ordered to leave them there - an order he had no intention of obeying. He had the knowledge and the ability to help them, and he had to at least try even if it meant he would die trying.
"Don't wait for me," he told Jacob Carter as he raced out the door. Images of the schematics of mother ship auxiliary control panels flashed through his mind as he ran down the corridor to fulfill yet another quest. He formulated plans to reroute the power as he stood at the doorway of the room that housed the control panel. He took a deep breath, pushed the button that would open the door and pushed off.
He swam toward the auxiliary control panel, adrenalin propelling him forward. He knew this system. He had studied the mechanics of Goa'uld mother ships, committing to memory every detail to prepare himself for missions he would embark on. Now he had the opportunity to prove his worth to Colonel O'Neill, and to himself. Despite the doubts that he expressed to Teal'c, Jonas knew that he could be an asset to SG-1.
He switched the crystals, stopping once to make sure he was making the correct adjustments, then pushed the buttons to finalize the procedure. It worked, he knew it did. But he was running out of air. Floating upward toward the ceiling, he was unprepared for the rings that surrounded him, yet grateful for the chance to survive.
Denying mortality never felt so good.
continued
R is for Retrograde
by rigel_7
Life must be understood backwards; but... it must be lived forward.
--Soren Kierkegaard
When he held himself perfectly still, he could feel the pent-up warmth from the day slowly leeching back towards the sky. The full dark of night was still to come; the ridges of the mountains were shadows looming into view, but the first stars could be seen; seemingly blinking into existence as the light continued to fade.
It was hard to keep himself from fidgeting, he was aware of a thrum of excitement that made his whole body feel tense. Mostly, it was due to being on the surface; away from the labyrinthine sprawl of the SGC and its sterile, claustrophobic rooms without windows. It was his home now, buried half a mile underground and hidden from the rest of the world.
It was a place filled with technological marvels that he had never seen, let alone imagined, but there were times when he missed his old laboratory on Kelowna. There weren't walls of plate glass to let in the streaming afternoon sun; instead they were painted a regulation white that the overhead fluorescents dulled to a cold grey.
Dr Jackson's office was more appealing; every spare space was crammed with artefacts and books, and there were enough unfinished translations to keep a person occupied until the end of time. But he still felt like an interloper, treading in dead man's shoes that pinched.
For one afternoon, he had carefully examined the last notebook that Daniel had left behind, hoping to glean some sense of the man that he had so briefly known. The scrawled writing was cryptic though, mostly dry descriptions that were quickly jotted down and to the point. He had bit back his disappointment and felt even guiltier when he finished, as though he had failed once again to see what was right in front of him.
It wasn't quite morbid curiosity that drove him to seek out the remnants of Daniel Jackson. He couldn't help obsessing over whether there was some hidden meaning in the way that a grouping of figurines had been arranged next to a shallow bowl carved from a fine-grained wood. Or if the circled date on the calendar still two months away was a significant one.
continued
S is for Stay
by fluffy_twk
"Someone remind me what the Kelownan for 'stay' is, because the word I'm using sure isn't working."
Jonas could imagine this was being said with fingers drumming against the side of the rifle, as if Colonel O'Neill was two subconscious steps from fixing the situation by shooting something. Presumably not him, considering the angle.
Sam's face peered over the edge above him.
"Don't move," she said. Rather unhelpfully he thought. He could see, behind the concern, Sam automatically working through the equation of weight, distance and planet's gravitational pull, and subtracting it from a century old tree root. "Jonas, don't move we'll get you up."
"I wasn't planning to," muttered Jonas.
"Oh, does 'don't move' work? Because I was thinking that means the same damn thing."
Jonas looked down, and immediately regretted it. It was a funny thing that he could happily sit in a spaceship miles above the nearest piece of land without any problem, but put him a hundred feet up, dangling from on the side of a mountain? Actually, it wasn't very funny at all. And the tree root didn't look as sturdy as he first thought. Still, from the snatched observation of his position the drop probably wouldn't kill him. Permanent disability wouldn't too amusing though. He wondered how much it would hurt.
Okay. He really needed to take his mind off his situation.
"There isn't a direct translation for the word 'stay'," he replied, "and I did stay in the area. The area just kinda moved."
Colonel O'Neill replaced Sam over the edge of the mountain. He was lightly holding on to his P90. Ready for action. "Whad'ya mean there isn't a word for 'stay'?"
"Not a single word which means exactly the same thing." There was a solid looking piece of rock sticking out of the mountain. If Jonas stretched he could probably use it to reach that ledge on his far right. "You know, English is quite complicated."
"There isn't a word for.... Are you telling me that you never stay in one place on your planet?"
"No." Jonas eased himself along the root. "It's just there isn't a word we use in the same way you do."
"So, when I tell you to stay you have no idea what I'm saying?"
"I can grasp it from the context." And your facial expressions, Jonas added to himself.
continued
T is for Temptation
by lokei
Jonas doesn't think of himself as terribly clever. Intelligent, sure, and possessed of a good memory which helps him to facts on fast-recall. But that doesn't make him a quick thinker. A quick thinker wouldn't have stood there gawking and let an alien crash through a glass wall to save a planet that wasn't his own. In Jonas's defense, he's gotten better, working with Colonel O'Neill and the rest of SG-1. Their reflexes are incredible, and he feels like he's made some real contributions to the team. Of course, then there are days like this one, where he finds a crashed ship on a supposedly empty planet and then forgets to tell O'Neill where he is so that the Colonel can check it out for himself.
Minor setback.
So when Hammond comes to the lab to tell him that Reynard appears to have tried to hack into the base's computers, Jonas is giddy with relief--not because O'Neill's distrust in the shipwrecked crew has been well placed, but because he has an idea. Those folks have been stuck on that planet for a long time, so clearly any option for escape would be welcome, but there's real hunger in Reynard's gaze when Jonas talks about traveling through the Stargate. Jonas understands that--the Gate is like the ultimate siren to any curious nature. Whether Reynard's hunger is anything more than greed is yet to be determined, but Jonas suddenly feels like laying out a little trap. Reynard can sweet-talk all she likes, but as Jonas gathers his motley assortment of treasures, he grins. Compared to being part of this team, she's little temptation.
feedback
U is for Up
by ansostuff
Daniel walked slowly up to the entrance of the infirmary. In the doorway he hesitated, not wanting to disturb any of the patients in the beds lined up along the walls. Was he allowed to just enter the infirmary and seek out the person he wanted to see? Could he come and go as he pleased? Daniel remembered the infirmary from before he ascended, but the memory was hazy at best, confusing him more than it helped him figure out how to act. His first days back were clearer to him, but so much had happened during a short time that he still was working on making sense of all that as well. Despite the haziness of his memories related to this place, Daniel clearly remembered that he had rarely been alone when waking up here. It should be safe for him to enter.
Spotting the close-cut blond head of the man he was seeking out, Daniel slowly walked up to the bed. The patient lying there was awake, watching Daniel's approach with a small smile on his face, eyes clear and focused on Daniel as he came closer.
"Daniel," Jonas said, indicating for Daniel to sit down. Daniel spotted a stool and rolled it over before seating himself beside the bed.
"Hi," Daniel answered, giving a little smile of his own. Jonas smiled a lot, Daniel had noticed while on Anubis' ship. He relaxed at the fact that Jonas was awake and let his smile turn into a warm greeting. "How are you?" Daniel asked, gesturing to Jonas' injured side.
"I'm fine. They say I'll be ready to get out of here in a day or two."
"That's good," Daniel nodded and felt his smile stretched wider. "That's great." He suddenly felt a pang of uncertainty. What would Jonas do? Jonas was on SG-1, occupying the place Daniel had learned he'd had. He couldn't remember much of his life as a member of SG-1 yet, but he'd been told he'd been on the team for several years. Would Jonas continue his work here? Or go home? Would he even be allowed back at Kelowna? What would Daniel himself do? A frown replaced Daniel's smile as the questions popped into his head.
"Hey," Jonas said, "I mean what I said earlier. You can have your office back. I really don't mind."
"I remember." Daniel said. "What about your place on SG-1?"
continued
V is for Voracious
by acarlgeek
The feeling of reverent anticipation that Jonas always experienced when entering Dr. Jackson's former office filled him with its usual spark of excited yearning as he arrived for another evening of reading. Jonas had been living at the SGC for nearly a month now, but the treasure-trove of knowledge contained in this office still tended to overwhelm him, like a banquet set before a starving man. So much information, most of it complete with a proper context, right there at his fingertips, and all of it available any time he wanted or needed it! Like that wondrous channel devoted solely to environmental conditions on this planet, this office not only provided detailed information for specific locations, but gave the overall pattern of which the local details were a part.
Jonas hungrily surveyed the shelves filled with books and artifacts, the new television, and the computer that was the link to even more answers about the peoples of not only this planet Earth, but scores of additional cultures on planets scattered throughout the galaxy. What should he explore next? Even with all this information to be digested, Jonas suspected he'd never sate his appetite for learning about new places and the peoples that lived in them. With a smile, he selected a book and began the next course of his knowledge banquet.
feedback
W is for Worlds
by cleothemuse
Lower lip sucked in and being gently worried by his upper teeth, Jonas Quinn carefully applied a dab of green paint to the blue sphere, then sat back to admire his work.
"You made Andari too big," Revis Sorrel complained.
"No, I didn't," he replied immediately, opening an atlas and showing his classmate the picture he used as a mental reference.
Revis craned his head to look. "That's wrong! Where'd you get that?"
"It's not wrong," Jonas defended. Forgetting the bit of paint still clinging to his right hand, he accidentally smeared it across his nose, sighed, and wiped his hand off on his dad's old shirt. "It's my mom's book."
"Yeah? Isn't your mom Andari?"
"So?"
"So obviously an Andari book is going to show Andari bigger than Kelowna," the other boy groaned, rolling his eyes.
Jonas stared at him in confusion. "Why?"
"What?"
"Why would an Andari book show it bigger? Cartographers use the same measurement systems around the world, so the measurements are the same no matter who makes the map."
"'Cause they pretend they're better than everyone else, that's why," Revis replied with a disdainful sniff. "Just like the Teranians always claim to have a bigger population than Kelowna."
continued
X is for X-Files
by sg_fignewton
During those first three months when Jonas was confined to the mountain, he spent most of his time voraciously absorbing history and culture. For the most part, his preferred tools were journals and textbooks. But Sam suspected that Teal'c was directing his television viewing when Jonas asked her why the government allowed Wormhole X-treme! to reveal so many secrets of the Stargate program, and why most of the details were wrong.
"It's just a TV show, Jonas," she explained, stifling her amusement at the innocent question.
He blinked at her. "I don't understand."
"It's fiction," she clarified. "Based on the SGC, yes, and that's a long story in itself, but it's true only in the vaguest..." She stopped and studied his puzzled expression. "Fiction. Made-up stories? Didn't you have those on Kelowna?"
"Well, yes," Jonas said slowly. "Morality tales told to children. Values taught through parables." He hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, Major Carter. I guess I'm missing a cultural perception here, but I don't see what lesson children are supposed to learn from --"
"No, it's not like that at all. It's not supposed to teach a lesson. It's just supposed to entertain."
"But it's shown as real!" Now Jonas seemed genuinely shocked. "Surely the government doesn't allow the presentation of lies here on Earth?"
Now it was Sam's turn to blink. "Most governments do lie, Jonas. And anyway, it's not something that's 'allowed' -- it's not government programming, you know. It's just for fun."
"So all the programs I've been watching are untrue?"
"Not all of them." Sam gave an inward sigh as she wished, not for the first time, that there was someone else to explain Earth culture and norms to Jonas. She also tried not to think about who she wanted that someone to be.
continued
Y is Yesterday
by gategremlyn
Yesterday, I had a home, a job, and a purpose among people I believed in. Yesterday, I also believed my world to be alone in the universe. When the visitors from Earth came to us, I learned how small and sheltered my world is, and how petty. We thought to go to war with a weapon that would kill us all with its power.
Then Doctor Jackson, a scholar like me, went through a window to his death. Yesterday, I learned how hard telling the truth is--because no one would hear it.
Yesterday, I loved my world, and left it.
Yesterday.
feedback
Y is for Yes Man
by thothmes
Jonas had been surprised when Colonel O'Neill had come into Dr. Jackson's office to seek him out. Since leaving Kelowna, it had seemed that the Colonel had been strenuously attempting to avoid him. It was easy to see that he associated Jonas with the loss of his friend, and while that loss was still fresh, Jonas had no trouble understanding that just the sight of him would be painful. The Colonel did not discuss such things, but both his anger and his pain had shone through during that last discussion he'd had with O'Neill on Kelowna, when O'Neill had tried to warn of the dangers of proceeding with the construction of the bomb. But here he was, in Dr. Jackson's office, asking if Jonas had a moment to speak with him.
Jonas smiled, invitingly of course, and offered the Colonel a seat. The Colonel declined, and when his gaze fell upon the nearby desk, he had moved swiftly to gather up a pottery bowl, a coffee mug, and a pair of glasses that were there, placing them carefully on one of the higher shelves nearby.
"Some of these things need to be packed up for storage," he said somewhat stiffly. "Let's go to my office for this."
So Jonas trailed him down to his office, where O'Neill had told him that both Teal'c and Major Carter had put in a good word for him, and suggested him for the open position on SG-1. Carter had said he was a genius with an unparalleled ability to digest and retain new material, and that he was already familiar with most of the contents of Daniel's journals. He was offering him the spot on the team. That is, if he wanted it?
Jonas had assured him immediately that yes, yes he would be honored, and that he still regretted his actions on Kelowna in not standing up for Dr. Jackson's reputation, and that he would be delighted to be in a position to make a difference.
"Okay, then," Jack said, and that was all the dismissal Jonas got. After a rather protracted and pointed silence, Jonas had gotten the hint and left, returning to Dr. Jackson's office with only two wrong turns on the way.
continued
Z is for Zat
by night_spear1287
His life at the SGC started with a hesitation. That was the one he would never forget--even when it got fixed later, there was that moment when he'd frozen and...
And. And then, that.
Colonel O'Neill had taken him to the shooting range when he'd first gotten the assignment to SG-1. Major Carter had spoken up for him, and so had Teal'c, but he knew that wasn't why he was there. Jonas spent some time wondering if his place on SG-1 meant that Jack hated Russians more than he hated Kelowna--unlikely, considering what had brought Jonas here--or just preferred the devil he picked over the devil he was assigned. It wasn't a lack of trust in Jonas's abilities, he thought; the colonel just put more stock in trusting people than he did in trusting their abilities.
"Nope," O'Neill said when they'd arrived at the armory and Jonas reached for a weapon--pistol--that he saw most of the personnel carry.
Jonas hesitated again, and then reached for the other one most of the personnel carried--the bigger one--only to be stopped before his hand could reach it as a Goa'uld weapon was pressed into his hand.
"This is a zat," O'Neill said shortly. "It has a longer name that I don't care about. First shot stuns; second kills. You carry this off-world. Don't screw up."
"Yes, sir," Jonas said, and immediately screwed up by priming it while it was pointing at himself and then nearly dropping it in surprise.
It didn't take long to learn how to use it the right way. There weren't many weapons simpler, he supposed, at least from the operator's standpoint. And the first shot didn't kill--Jonas rather liked that part. He wasn't a warrior, and while he was willing to be in order to make up for what he hadn't done, it was heartening to know that there was something he could use as an effective weapon that wouldn't kill someone. He'd hesitate if he thought he had to kill someone.
continued