[Stargate: Drabble] "Don't Tell Me the Odds" [SG-22, G]
Title: Don’t Tell Me the Odds
Prompt: writerverse challenge #16 ‘weekly quick fic #6’ (‘luck of the draw’)
Word Count: 684
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: Stargate SG-1 ( SG-22, original characters)
Pairings: none
Summary: Billy is convinced he’s bad luck, but SG-22 think differently.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_bookclub
Don't Tell Me the Odds
There were four SG teams that regularly took new recruits off-world, so it was pure chance that got Billy Chen sent out with SG-22.
Not that it had done him much good since them- on his first mission through the ‘gate, his team had been captured and thrown into a naquadah mine. Captain Gryffydd, Lieutenant Tobias, Gunny Vicks and Dr. Flannigan assured him that it happened to them, often, but that didn’t explain why their second mission ended with a near-fatal rockslide, the third involved all of them getting a rash from their campfire smoke, and on the fourth it rained so much that Billy swore it took him a week to properly dry out.
And now on his fifth (and probably last) off-world mission, they’d been captured by a group of Mongolian-ish native undetected by the first three teams to visit this planet. Plus, they’d gotten their butts kicked and their gear confiscated.
Billy resettled Vicks’s arm over his shoulder, looking over the Marine’s bowed head at Gryffydd, who shouldered his other arm. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said.
“What for?” she asked.
“I’m bad luck,” Billy told her, which had sounded much saner in his head. “I mean…”
He looked behind them at Tobias, limping along and leaning heavily on Flannigan, who had lost his glasses in the fight and squinted at the trees around them. Gryffydd’s left eye was swelling nicely, and she was taking more and more of Vicks’s weight as he stumbled over the uneven ground.
The captain frowned. “Seriously? Because we were all thinking what good luck we’ve had since we got you.”
“What?”
“Okay, maybe our missions haven’t been milkruns,” she said. “But we haven’t been thrown in any naquadah mines for over two months, and I think that’s a record.”
“Beat the last one by two weeks,” Tobias confirmed, tugging Flannigan around a large rock. “And Gryff’s spent less than three days in the infirmary, even with the rockslide and that rash.”
“See?” said Gryffydd. “It’s very lucky we picked you, isn’t it?”
Billy tripped over his feet, which earned him a threatening look from their captors. The guards didn’t seem to care if the members of SG-22 talked, as long as they kept moving.
“I thought new officers were assigned at random?” Billy said.
“Usually, yes,” the captain replied. “But we were good that day, so General Hammond let us pick our own newbie. And we picked good.”
“Sir…”
Vicks raised his head. “Time, sir?” he asked.
Gryffydd glanced over her shoulder at Tobias, who nodded. “Go, Jason,” she said.
The Marine went suddenly and completely limp, taking Billy with him. The guards stopped and began moving closer.
“On your feet, prisoner,” one snapped.
“He’s hurt!” Gryffydd protested. “You can’t-”
As soon as a guard was close enough, Vicks lashed out, knocking the man cold with one punch. Tobias tackled another, as Vicks lunged at a third. Gryffydd dropped two more with well-aimed fist-sized rocks, leaving three more to draw their short spear-like weapons. Billy ducked a strike and kicked the spear from his opponent’s hand. Gryffydd caught it and slammed the heavy base into the man’s skull, as Tobias and Vicks subdued the last two.
“Do you have a thing for giving concussions because you’ve gotten so many?” asked Flannigan, passing out their tac vests and weapons.
Gryffydd dug into a pocket of her vest for the hard-shelled case that held his spare glasses. “Maybe,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Billy hurried to catch up with her as they headed back toward the ‘gate. “Sir?” he asked. “I mean, ma’am-”
“Lieutenant,” she said, patiently. “Pick one and stick with it.”
“Yes, sir. That trick, pretending to be hurt. That’s not a standard tactic.”
Gryffydd nodded. “No, but standard doesn’t really work out here.”
He nodded, too, then asked, hesitantly, “Sir… did you really pick me?”
The captain grinned. “Billy, one thing I’ve learned going through the ‘gate- when you’re relying on the luck of the draw, it helps to stack the deck.”
Billy blinked at her for a moment, then grinned back. “Yes, sir.”
THE END
Current Mood:
mellow
Prompt: writerverse challenge #16 ‘weekly quick fic #6’ (‘luck of the draw’)
Word Count: 684
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: Stargate SG-1 ( SG-22, original characters)
Pairings: none
Summary: Billy is convinced he’s bad luck, but SG-22 think differently.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_bookclub
Don't Tell Me the Odds
There were four SG teams that regularly took new recruits off-world, so it was pure chance that got Billy Chen sent out with SG-22.
Not that it had done him much good since them- on his first mission through the ‘gate, his team had been captured and thrown into a naquadah mine. Captain Gryffydd, Lieutenant Tobias, Gunny Vicks and Dr. Flannigan assured him that it happened to them, often, but that didn’t explain why their second mission ended with a near-fatal rockslide, the third involved all of them getting a rash from their campfire smoke, and on the fourth it rained so much that Billy swore it took him a week to properly dry out.
And now on his fifth (and probably last) off-world mission, they’d been captured by a group of Mongolian-ish native undetected by the first three teams to visit this planet. Plus, they’d gotten their butts kicked and their gear confiscated.
Billy resettled Vicks’s arm over his shoulder, looking over the Marine’s bowed head at Gryffydd, who shouldered his other arm. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said.
“What for?” she asked.
“I’m bad luck,” Billy told her, which had sounded much saner in his head. “I mean…”
He looked behind them at Tobias, limping along and leaning heavily on Flannigan, who had lost his glasses in the fight and squinted at the trees around them. Gryffydd’s left eye was swelling nicely, and she was taking more and more of Vicks’s weight as he stumbled over the uneven ground.
The captain frowned. “Seriously? Because we were all thinking what good luck we’ve had since we got you.”
“What?”
“Okay, maybe our missions haven’t been milkruns,” she said. “But we haven’t been thrown in any naquadah mines for over two months, and I think that’s a record.”
“Beat the last one by two weeks,” Tobias confirmed, tugging Flannigan around a large rock. “And Gryff’s spent less than three days in the infirmary, even with the rockslide and that rash.”
“See?” said Gryffydd. “It’s very lucky we picked you, isn’t it?”
Billy tripped over his feet, which earned him a threatening look from their captors. The guards didn’t seem to care if the members of SG-22 talked, as long as they kept moving.
“I thought new officers were assigned at random?” Billy said.
“Usually, yes,” the captain replied. “But we were good that day, so General Hammond let us pick our own newbie. And we picked good.”
“Sir…”
Vicks raised his head. “Time, sir?” he asked.
Gryffydd glanced over her shoulder at Tobias, who nodded. “Go, Jason,” she said.
The Marine went suddenly and completely limp, taking Billy with him. The guards stopped and began moving closer.
“On your feet, prisoner,” one snapped.
“He’s hurt!” Gryffydd protested. “You can’t-”
As soon as a guard was close enough, Vicks lashed out, knocking the man cold with one punch. Tobias tackled another, as Vicks lunged at a third. Gryffydd dropped two more with well-aimed fist-sized rocks, leaving three more to draw their short spear-like weapons. Billy ducked a strike and kicked the spear from his opponent’s hand. Gryffydd caught it and slammed the heavy base into the man’s skull, as Tobias and Vicks subdued the last two.
“Do you have a thing for giving concussions because you’ve gotten so many?” asked Flannigan, passing out their tac vests and weapons.
Gryffydd dug into a pocket of her vest for the hard-shelled case that held his spare glasses. “Maybe,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Billy hurried to catch up with her as they headed back toward the ‘gate. “Sir?” he asked. “I mean, ma’am-”
“Lieutenant,” she said, patiently. “Pick one and stick with it.”
“Yes, sir. That trick, pretending to be hurt. That’s not a standard tactic.”
Gryffydd nodded. “No, but standard doesn’t really work out here.”
He nodded, too, then asked, hesitantly, “Sir… did you really pick me?”
The captain grinned. “Billy, one thing I’ve learned going through the ‘gate- when you’re relying on the luck of the draw, it helps to stack the deck.”
Billy blinked at her for a moment, then grinned back. “Yes, sir.”
THE END
Current Mood:
mellow