Trigger Finger (The Eleven O'Clock Remix) [Stargate SG-1; Jack O'Neill, Daniel Jackson, et al; PG]
Title: Trigger Finger (The Eleven O'Clock Remix)
Author: Mistral Amara (mistraltoes)
Summary: Daniel has an unexpected brush with danger, and his team members find out.
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Characters: Jack O'Neill, Daniel Jackson, Teal'c, Samantha Carter
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None, really. General background for the first season.
Disclaimer: The SG-1 characters are not mine, and belong to their legal owners. No infringement is intended.
Original story: Trigger Finger, by Kathryn Andersen
Notes: The opinions of the characters should not be construed to be those of the author.
Trigger Finger
(The Eleven O'Clock Remix}
by Mistral Amara
(Based on the original story Trigger Finger by Kathryn Andersen)
It was a weary SG-1 that emerged from the Stargate. A planned half-day reconnaissance had turned into a five-day ordeal that left the team bruised and exhausted. General Hammond took one look at them and decided the debriefing could wait until the morning.
"I want the four of you to get some rest," said the general. "That's an order."
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."
"Dismissed."
O'Neill felt the tension in his body begin to ease as he led his team to the armory to turn in their weapons. "Well, gang," he said. "You heard the general. Let's get out there and relax."
"Sounds good to me, Sir," said Carter. "I could use a shower."
"I'll be glad to sleep in my own bed," said Daniel. "I think a tree grew a root right under my back last night."
"While I have a date with a bag of burritos and a beer," said O'Neill. "What about you, Teal'c?"
"I shall continue my study of your culture."
O'Neill grinned. "You mean you're going to watch television."
"It is most instructive."
"Television as a mirror of our culture," said Daniel. "Considering the inflated incidence of televised violence, that's a frightening thought. What are we teaching our kids?"
"You worry too much, Danny," said O'Neill. "I grew up on Roy Rogers and Eliot Ness; you don't see me running around with a gun, shooting people."
The other three looked pointedly at O'Neill's rifle.
"Hey! I'm working, here! Different thing."
"Mm-hm," said Daniel.
"Whatever you say, Sir," added Carter.
***
Daniel tossed his keys into the bowl on the table as the door closed behind him. He shrugged off his jacket and rolled his shoulders, easing the tight muscles. It was good to be home. Field rations in a cold camp were a poor substitute for a warm supper and clean sheets.
He was tempted just to crawl into bed, but the rumble in his stomach decided him otherwise. Digging in the fridge, he discovered that most of his fresh food hadn't survived in his absence. The strawberries were fuzzy, the leftover chicken was going green, and the milk . . . well, if he didn't want his breakfast cereal covered in stinky curdled globs of a vaguely cheeselike substance, he was going to have to go down to the corner and buy some more.
Well, better to do it now than in the morning. He sighed and reached for his jacket.
***
After an efficient shower and a simple, nutritious meal in the mess, Teal'c returned to his quarters and switched on the television. Whatever O'Neill and the others might think, Teal'c had learned a great deal about Earth culture from careful observation of what they chose to broadcast. Their entertainment programs were an illuminating view into their collective psychology. Of even more interest was what they chose to consider newsworthy. His preferred newscast had just begun; he tuned it in and sat down to watch.
"This is Andrea Banks, reporting on location for KMVQ Channel 4 News. Behind me you can see the Qwikstop Mart where, moments ago, a robbery was thwarted by a local resident. According to witnesses, the crazed gunman justified his attack, citing corporate greed and an alien invasion. KMVQ has obtained amateur video of the attack that was taken by a passerby. We'll show you that footage in a moment--"
There was a commotion off to the side of the shot, as a pair of uniformed policemen brought the suspect out to a black-and-white.
"--but first, let's see if we can talk to the officers in charge." Andrea Banks hurried over to the nearest policeman, the camera following her with barely a wobble. "Officer! Can you tell us what happened? Does it bother you that this is the third robbery this year to be thwarted by an ordinary citizen? In your opinion, does this part of the city need a stronger police presence?"
The policeman gave no reply but a sour look, and attempted to bundle the suspect into the back of the squad car. The suspect began struggling, straining to get to the microphone.
"Beware!" he cried. "Don't let them fool you! The corporations and their lackeys are everywhere. They control everything. Don't let them control you. Don't listen to their lies!" The policemen tried to pull him back, but he continued to resist. "Liars! Parasites, in league with aliens! They killed Sarah. They'll kill us all, if we don't resist." The policemen finally managed to wrangle him into the back seat, and Andrea Banks followed with the microphone. As the squad car pulled away, the suspect was still screaming. "They're here! The aliens are here! The aliens are here!"
"Indeed," said Teal'c.
***
The spicy scent of Pepe's Deluxe Burritos heating in the microwave filled Jack with a warm sense of homecoming. He hummed to himself as he retrieved a couple of beers from the fridge and popped the cap on one. The first cool mouthful washed away any lingering thoughts of work. For the next few hours, Jack O'Neill intended to be a man without a care. In his line of work, you took your pleasures where you could find them.
When the microwave dinged, he grabbed the hot plate with the hem of his shirt and hurried it over to the coffee table. He flopped down on the sofa, pulled a packet of hot sauce out of his shirt pocket, tore it open, and squeezed its contents over the first burrito. He picked up the burrito and took a big bite. Oh, yeah. Now, that was man-food.
He chewed slowly at first, wanting to savor the meal, but his resistance was low: he made short work of the first burrito, washing it down with the rest of the beer. He squeezed another packet of hot sauce onto the second burrito, uncapped the other beer, and grabbed the TV remote. He flipped up and down the channels, hoping for a ball game, or maybe a movie, but all he saw were game shows, infomercials, and celebrity gossip. Rats. Well, maybe he'd try the news. With any luck, he could still catch the scores.
He stopped at the first newscast he found. It was that red-haired reporter he liked, Andrea something, and she was standing outside a Qwikstop. Hey, I know that place. It's over near Daniel's. He saw one police car drive off with a suspect in the back, while another car remained. And there, talking to an officer in the background, wasn't that--Daniel? What the hell? Jack abandoned his burritos and turned up the volume to hear what Andrea was saying.
"And now, as promised, here is amateur video of the robbery, taken as it occurred."
The picture cut to an obviously hand-held shot through the window of the Qwikstop. It focused in on Daniel as he stood in line, holding a jug of milk. Almost immediately the angle widened, showing the customer in front of Daniel--a civilian dressed in army surplus. He was clearly ranting at the clerk, though the sound inside the building was lost in the noise of passing traffic. The customer pulled a gun and the camera jerked wildly.
By the time the camera settled into a new angle, the gun was pointed straight at Daniel's face. Daniel looked scared, but he acted calm, talking to the gunman. The gunman responded, his attitude gradually changing from angry and erratic to nervous, then curious. Daniel just kept talking. You could see the clerk in the corner of the shot, frozen with fear.
As Daniel continued to talk, the gunman's demeanor swung between extremes several times; there was a moment when it seemed as if he would surely pull the trigger. But whatever Daniel said then startled the man. His hand started to shake, and he lowered the gun to his side. Out of nowhere, Daniel swung his milk jug at the gunman's head, hard, knocking him off balance. There was shouting, and the picture jerked, but you could make out Daniel going for the man's gun, followed by the clerk lunging across the counter to grab the attacker from behind. There was a break in the footage then, and the next shot was of the police car pulling into the parking lot.
Then it was over, and Andrea was back on the screen. "If you're just tuning in, that was amateur video of an attempted robbery being foiled by a local resident. Incredibly, no one was hurt, and the police now have the suspect in custody. Still, how many of us would care to face down an armed lunatic with only our wits and a bottle of milk? Whether you call it courage or foolishness, this time one resident refused to be victimized. We at KMVQ salute him."
Oh, Danny, thought Jack. How do you get yourself into these things?
***
Sam stared at the screen, her yoga exercises forgotten. It's only a video, she reminded herself. It's already over; Daniel's all right. Though somehow that didn't make it any easier to watch, and she was relieved when the video was over and they cut back to the reporter, who was interviewing an attractive twentyish woman in a loud sweater.
"And now let's talk to the young woman who shot the video you just saw, Tamara Asher. Ms. Asher, how did you come to capture the attempted robbery on camera?"
"Well, I came to get some Cheetohs, and I saw this guy--"
"The gunman?" interrupted the reporter.
"Uh, no. The other customer." Ms. Asher's cheeks pinked a little. "He's hot, you know? So I stayed outside to get some video for my vlog. And then that other guy pulled the gun, so I ducked behind a car and kept shooting."
"Thank you, Ms. Asher." The picture tightened in on the reporter. "So there you have it. The local resident, who we've just learned is named Daniel Jackson, is not only a hero, but a hottie as well. Good news for us; bad news for the criminal caught on video as a result."
The camera angle widened again, revealing a slightly scruffy man in a clerk's uniform. "And now," said the reporter, "let's talk to the Qwikstop Mart employee who was the victim of this frightening attack." She turned to the clerk. "What is your name, sir?"
He leaned into the microphone. "B.J.--B.J. Mears."
"Mr. Mears, will you describe for us what happened?"
"Yeah. Yeah. The guy was crazy, man. I asked, 'cash or charge,' and he just blew. Kept ranting about corporations and aliens. Called me a 'lackey,' whatever that is--maybe one of his aliens? Come on, do I look alien to you? I grew up eight blocks from here--"
"So, you asked for a credit card, and the man pulled a gun. What happened next?"
"Like I said, he went nuts. Then the guy behind him--regular customer, Jackson--starts talking to him, distracting him. I hit the silent alarm, but I knew there was no way the cops could get here before the guy started shooting. Then, wham! Jackson beans him with a gallon of lowfat milk. I grabbed his gun arm, Jackson got his gun, and we held him down until the cops arrived. It was freakin' amazing, man!"
"So, it would be fair to say that you owe your life to Mr. Jackson?"
The clerk frowned. "Well, I helped, but yeah. I'm not stupid enough to take on a gunman by myself. And that guy wasn't going to stop on his own, that's for sure."
Sam shook her head. Poor Daniel. He's going to need a friend. She reached for the phone and hit speed dial; it was answered on the first ring. "Sir? It's Carter."
***
"Yeah, I'm watching it now. Gotta go, I'll call you later." Jack hung up the phone and returned his attention to the TV. The policeman had finished with Daniel, and Andrea had just caught up with him as he tried to leave.
"Mr. Jackson! Can I have a word, Mr. Jackson?"
Cornered, and with the microphone right in his face, Daniel didn't have much of a choice. He blinked into the camera light. "Ah . . . it's Doctor Jackson, actually."
"So, you're a physician?"
"No, Doctor of Archaeology."
"I see. Well, tell me, Doctor Jackson, what makes a Doctor of Archaeology confront an armed attacker, as you did tonight?"
"I didn't. I mean, I didn't intend to. I just wanted some milk."
"And yet, when the gunman threatened the clerk, you intervened. Can you tell us why? What went through your mind at that moment?"
A nervous grin tugged at one corner of Daniel's mouth. "Not a lot, really. I wasn't thinking; I shouldn't have done it. I just didn't want him to hurt the clerk, that's all."
"Then, you were defending the clerk?"
"No. Yes. Er, not really. . . ."
Jack switched off the TV. He didn't need to see Andrea skewer Daniel like a butterfly pinned to a mat. No, if anybody was going to skewer Daniel, it was going to be him. Facing a gun-toting lunatic with only a jug of milk! That deserved some serious ribbing. And Jack was just the person to do it.
Besides, Jack knew there was a difference between facing danger on the job and having it find you at home; between facing aliens on another planet and facing handguns at the grocery. And now Daniel knew it, too. A person could use his buddies around him at a time like that.
Jack swallowed the last bite of his burrito and carried the plate to the sink. A thought struck him, and he opened the fridge. Somewhere in there . . . yes, there was a carton of milk that hadn't reached its pull date. He'd take it along.
Because knowing Daniel, he would have forgotten all about the milk.
The End