FIC: "Career Day" (SG-1, Mini!Jack) (1/1)
A little Mini!Jack story for the masses....
Career Day
by LJ
General Spoilers for Season 8 (and everything before that, obviously); takes place circa Season 9
This was something new. And that would have made it just a little exciting if it weren't so damn boring.
Jonathan O'Neill (Junior - so no one could possibly mistake him for his much older-looking, Colorado Springs-residing twin) sighed and started scuffing his shoe against the linoleum. At this high school, the cafeteria doubled as an auditorium for large gatherings, and he could smell lunch - mystery meat, yum! - cooking in the kitchen directly behind him. It was making him hungry. For a moment he tried to blame it on the hormones, et cetera, that came with being a teenager - 'cause who in their right mind gets hungry for mystery meat? - and then he remembered that Colonel Jack had never exactly outgrown that bit. So it had to be genetic. Predisposition for stomaching MREs or something. He sighed again.
"Jonathan!" whispered Mrs. Vanier, his English teacher. She was one of the strict ones, one who often demanded absolute silence. That was something nearly impossible for him, let alone normal teenagers. On a mission, hiding from Jaffa or Iraqis - that was one thing. But here? Distinctly impossible.
Luckily the speech ended then and there was a mass exodus of twelfth graders to the corrodors outside the cafeteria, where various companies and institutions had booths and brochures for the taking. Jonathan gave Mrs. Vanier a cocky smile and then quickly followed the slathering hordes.
He passed most of the booths with the same disdain or indifference that his classmates employed. There were any number of universities - so not his thing! - as well as vocational schools (covertly dyeing his cousin's hair when they had been thirteen - and the ability to tell when Carter had gotten a new haircut - didn't exactly equate an affinity for beauty school), local retail chains (did it make him old to remember a time before the Cult of Sam Walton?), and exciting careers with UPS and FedEx. "Sorry, man," he said to the brown-clad UPS guy as the herd pushed him into that booth, "but as far as uniforms go, I think blue's more my color."
The guy scowled at him, but Jonathan shrugged it off with teenage grace. He passed three technology companies and a realtor. The Denver police department even had a little table, manned by a guy named Pete, according to his name tag. He looked bored and kept fiddling with his cell phone, like he expected someone to call. Jonathan had never seen the man before, but there was a...vibe that didn't sit right with him about the guy. He moved on.
It was at the end of the hall that he found his target. The table was shared by at least three different men, from what Jonathan could see, and the middle one was his target. "Hi," he said casually. "I'm Jack O'Neill. You're expecting me."
The lieutenant looked at him dubiously, but Jonathan gave him a sly grin - one not too different from the one he'd given Mrs. Vanier - and the man's eyes grew wide. "Uh, yes, yes, of course. Just a moment. Sir."
The lieutenant's companions frowned and looked at Jonathan and then back at the lieutenant, who was rooting through a briefcase that had been locked moments earlier. Finally the sought-after materials were found and he stood up to hand Jonathan a thick manila envelope. The Air Force Academy's seal was stamped on it in several places. "Here, sir. Everything you'll need. Just sign the necessary paperwork and send it in. It'll all been taken care of otherwise. The General is expecting your call, sir."
Jonathan grinned. "How is General Hammond?" he asked, as if it were natural for an eighteen-year-old to be inquiring after a two-star general, particularly one in charge of the nation's most top-secret project.
The lieutenant frowned. "General Hammond is no longer...there, sir."
"Dead?" Jonathan asked in surprise.
"Oh, no, no. Reassigned. I meant the other general. The one who's expecting to hear from you."
"What other general?" Jonathan was getting tired of beating around the bush. Obviously, the lieutenant knew something about what was going on under Cheyenne Mountain, and yes, top secret means not talking about things in public, but this was a little too obtuse for his taste.
The lieutenant leaned forward. "General O'Neill, sir," he said softly.
Jonathan snorted. "Yeah. Right. As if. Whatever," he said sarcastically. Jack O'Neill, a general? Like that was ever going to happen. Best to just humor the kid and move on. Hammond would probably get a good laugh out of it when he finally called him. "Look, thanks for the delivery and I guess we'll see each other around."
"Sir!" said the lieutenant, giving him a textbook salute.
Jonathan hesitated before rolling his eyes and returning the salute. "Thanks," he said, the moment over, and walked off.
"What the hell was that about?" asked the man to the lieutenant's right. The third man nodded and said, "Since when d'you salute high school kids, 'n' call 'em 'sir'?"
The lieutenant looked at his companions. "That would be classified," he said with a slightly smug expression, like they should be jealous of the right to actually say that.
The man on his left raised an eyebrow but said nothing. The one on his right narrowed his eyes. "Who the hell was that kid?" he demanded.
The lieutenant turned, as if watching the kid manuever through the crowded hallway. "That, my friends, was Jack O'Neill. A mystery of the universe." The look on the lieutenant's face was one of hero worship.
The Navy and Army recruiters looked at each other and shook their heads. It was finally official: the Air Force was insane.
*FIN*
Career Day
by LJ
General Spoilers for Season 8 (and everything before that, obviously); takes place circa Season 9
This was something new. And that would have made it just a little exciting if it weren't so damn boring.
Jonathan O'Neill (Junior - so no one could possibly mistake him for his much older-looking, Colorado Springs-residing twin) sighed and started scuffing his shoe against the linoleum. At this high school, the cafeteria doubled as an auditorium for large gatherings, and he could smell lunch - mystery meat, yum! - cooking in the kitchen directly behind him. It was making him hungry. For a moment he tried to blame it on the hormones, et cetera, that came with being a teenager - 'cause who in their right mind gets hungry for mystery meat? - and then he remembered that Colonel Jack had never exactly outgrown that bit. So it had to be genetic. Predisposition for stomaching MREs or something. He sighed again.
"Jonathan!" whispered Mrs. Vanier, his English teacher. She was one of the strict ones, one who often demanded absolute silence. That was something nearly impossible for him, let alone normal teenagers. On a mission, hiding from Jaffa or Iraqis - that was one thing. But here? Distinctly impossible.
Luckily the speech ended then and there was a mass exodus of twelfth graders to the corrodors outside the cafeteria, where various companies and institutions had booths and brochures for the taking. Jonathan gave Mrs. Vanier a cocky smile and then quickly followed the slathering hordes.
He passed most of the booths with the same disdain or indifference that his classmates employed. There were any number of universities - so not his thing! - as well as vocational schools (covertly dyeing his cousin's hair when they had been thirteen - and the ability to tell when Carter had gotten a new haircut - didn't exactly equate an affinity for beauty school), local retail chains (did it make him old to remember a time before the Cult of Sam Walton?), and exciting careers with UPS and FedEx. "Sorry, man," he said to the brown-clad UPS guy as the herd pushed him into that booth, "but as far as uniforms go, I think blue's more my color."
The guy scowled at him, but Jonathan shrugged it off with teenage grace. He passed three technology companies and a realtor. The Denver police department even had a little table, manned by a guy named Pete, according to his name tag. He looked bored and kept fiddling with his cell phone, like he expected someone to call. Jonathan had never seen the man before, but there was a...vibe that didn't sit right with him about the guy. He moved on.
It was at the end of the hall that he found his target. The table was shared by at least three different men, from what Jonathan could see, and the middle one was his target. "Hi," he said casually. "I'm Jack O'Neill. You're expecting me."
The lieutenant looked at him dubiously, but Jonathan gave him a sly grin - one not too different from the one he'd given Mrs. Vanier - and the man's eyes grew wide. "Uh, yes, yes, of course. Just a moment. Sir."
The lieutenant's companions frowned and looked at Jonathan and then back at the lieutenant, who was rooting through a briefcase that had been locked moments earlier. Finally the sought-after materials were found and he stood up to hand Jonathan a thick manila envelope. The Air Force Academy's seal was stamped on it in several places. "Here, sir. Everything you'll need. Just sign the necessary paperwork and send it in. It'll all been taken care of otherwise. The General is expecting your call, sir."
Jonathan grinned. "How is General Hammond?" he asked, as if it were natural for an eighteen-year-old to be inquiring after a two-star general, particularly one in charge of the nation's most top-secret project.
The lieutenant frowned. "General Hammond is no longer...there, sir."
"Dead?" Jonathan asked in surprise.
"Oh, no, no. Reassigned. I meant the other general. The one who's expecting to hear from you."
"What other general?" Jonathan was getting tired of beating around the bush. Obviously, the lieutenant knew something about what was going on under Cheyenne Mountain, and yes, top secret means not talking about things in public, but this was a little too obtuse for his taste.
The lieutenant leaned forward. "General O'Neill, sir," he said softly.
Jonathan snorted. "Yeah. Right. As if. Whatever," he said sarcastically. Jack O'Neill, a general? Like that was ever going to happen. Best to just humor the kid and move on. Hammond would probably get a good laugh out of it when he finally called him. "Look, thanks for the delivery and I guess we'll see each other around."
"Sir!" said the lieutenant, giving him a textbook salute.
Jonathan hesitated before rolling his eyes and returning the salute. "Thanks," he said, the moment over, and walked off.
"What the hell was that about?" asked the man to the lieutenant's right. The third man nodded and said, "Since when d'you salute high school kids, 'n' call 'em 'sir'?"
The lieutenant looked at his companions. "That would be classified," he said with a slightly smug expression, like they should be jealous of the right to actually say that.
The man on his left raised an eyebrow but said nothing. The one on his right narrowed his eyes. "Who the hell was that kid?" he demanded.
The lieutenant turned, as if watching the kid manuever through the crowded hallway. "That, my friends, was Jack O'Neill. A mystery of the universe." The look on the lieutenant's face was one of hero worship.
The Navy and Army recruiters looked at each other and shook their heads. It was finally official: the Air Force was insane.
*FIN*