Stargate SG-1 Double Drabble: The Morning After
Title: The Morning After
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Jack O’Neill.
Rating: PG
Written For: Challenge 380: Amnesty 38 at drabble_weekly, using Challenge 44: When The Sun Goes Down.
Spoilers/Setting: Brief Candle.
Summary: O’Neill has no idea what the hell happened last night, but SG-1 can figure it out without him.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Stargate SG-1, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
‘Unto every man the creator gives one hundred blissful days,’ that was what Alekos had told SG-1. Blissful days, but apparently not blissful nights, unless peaceful, undisturbed sleep might be considered blissful, which O’Neill supposed it could. Still, he felt too woozy and hungover to do any serious thinking. All he knew was that when the sun had set the night before, the whole settlement had passed out, and a few minutes later, so had he.
Now here it was, morning, everyone else was awake and being all blissful again, and he felt like he’d been on a bender, which was about as far from blissful as he could imagine.
The rest of the team hadn’t succumbed to whatever had made this planet’s people conk out, so O’Neill could safely leave them to investigate the mystery while he waited for his head to stop pounding. He was the leader, and they were the scientists, he gave the orders and they… did whatever it was they did; it was a fair division of labour. Whatever the deal was, they’d figure it out.
Maybe by the time the sun set again they’d have some answers for him. If not, sleep was good.
The End
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Jack O’Neill.
Rating: PG
Written For: Challenge 380: Amnesty 38 at drabble_weekly, using Challenge 44: When The Sun Goes Down.
Spoilers/Setting: Brief Candle.
Summary: O’Neill has no idea what the hell happened last night, but SG-1 can figure it out without him.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Stargate SG-1, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
‘Unto every man the creator gives one hundred blissful days,’ that was what Alekos had told SG-1. Blissful days, but apparently not blissful nights, unless peaceful, undisturbed sleep might be considered blissful, which O’Neill supposed it could. Still, he felt too woozy and hungover to do any serious thinking. All he knew was that when the sun had set the night before, the whole settlement had passed out, and a few minutes later, so had he.
Now here it was, morning, everyone else was awake and being all blissful again, and he felt like he’d been on a bender, which was about as far from blissful as he could imagine.
The rest of the team hadn’t succumbed to whatever had made this planet’s people conk out, so O’Neill could safely leave them to investigate the mystery while he waited for his head to stop pounding. He was the leader, and they were the scientists, he gave the orders and they… did whatever it was they did; it was a fair division of labour. Whatever the deal was, they’d figure it out.
Maybe by the time the sun set again they’d have some answers for him. If not, sleep was good.
The End