Something Smoother (G)
holdouttrout asked for something entertaining. I am not quite sure why she ended up with this. :) Unbetaed, I'm afraid.
Summary: If you're going to drown your frustrations in alcohol, you might as well drink something worthwhile. Jack and Bra'tac, in a missing scene from Sacrifices in S8. ~660 words. Rated G.
Something Smoother
Bra'tac stared at the Totem of Bravery that Ry'ac had shoved into his hand before storming out of the Tau'ri Gateroom.
"I see why one must rehearse such events," he muttered, and helped himself to a healthy swig from the goblet. The thin, almost sour wine was hardly to his taste, but the slight euphoria induced by alcohol was one of the few advantages to using tretonin. At that moment, Bra'tac felt he could use all the encouragement he could get.
The chappa'ai rumbled into life behind him, and Bra'tac automatically moved out of the way of the hurrying soldiers. Weddings were all very well, but defense of the planet had priority.
He was still holding the Totem when he mounted the steps to the control room and witnessed the clash between Teal'c and Ish'ta. Teal'c, with the hard-earned wisdom of the years he had fought alongside Samantha Carter, handled the situation with much greater ease than his son. Nevertheless, Bra'tac could foresee more arguments in the near future.
As Teal'c and Ish'ta departed to make their preparations, Bra'tac turned to return to his own rooms. He found O'Neill standing in the shadows behind him, hands in his pockets, rocking idly on his heels. Bra'tac knew the human was capable of absolute stillness when necessary, but he seemed overly restless at the moment.
"Dress rehearsal didn't go too well, huh?" the man asked, nodding at the nearly-forgotten Totem that still dangled from Bra'tac's fingers.
"It did not," Bra'tac answered, indulging himself with an extra hint of dryness in his tone.
"And nothing to drink but that lousy grape juice." O'Neill shook his head. "C'mon, Bra'tac. I've got something smoother than that."
Bra'tac followed O'Neill up the spiraling stairs and into the general's office, stifling that little spike of regret that the room belonged to O'Neill now, and that Hammond of Texas was no longer part of the SGC.
"I am unsure you can do better than this pat'ka of an excuse for wine," Bra'tac told him as O'Neill closed the door. "Teal'c has told me of your favorite alcoholic beverage. I do not think I would care for fermented barley hops."
O'Neill waved a hand. "No, not beer. Although you're missing out on - well, never mind." He opened a drawer and withdrew a glass bottle, half-filled with an amber liquid. "Let's try another barley product. This one is called scotch."
"Scotch," Bra'tac repeated dubiously. "How does this differ from your beer?"
"Macallan," O'Neill said. "Seventeen-year-old Fine Oak." He removed two glasses from the same drawer, and poured with an air of ceremony that belied his normally casual style.
"Your words mean nothing to me, human."
O'Neill proffered one of the glasses, eyes glinting with something that Bra'tac read as somewhere between amusement and anticipation. "There's a little more skill involved in making whiskey than there is in making beer, Bra'tac - although I'll deny it if you tell anyone I said so." He took the second glass and sniffed its contents appreciatively.
Bra'tac, a little wary, followed suit. His eyebrows rose at the rich, smoky aroma of the golden liquid.
"You'll want to sip it," O'Neill advised him. "The taste is worth it."
"The young do not always understand that good things should be taken slowly," Bra'tac agreed. "Particularly when the price is so high."
O'Neill gave a long, deliberate blink, leaving their mutual understanding of those great costs unspoken. "To Teal'c and Ry'ac," he said, lifting his glass high. "May they always drive each other crazy."
"To Teal'c and Ry'ac." Bra'tac raised his own glass in salute. "May Ry'ac repay Teal'c for everything he has ever done to me."
O'Neill choked back a laugh and clinked his glass against Bra'tac's, and they both drank their whiskey in the quiet office. A new crisis was bound to demand their attention at any moment, but for now, they both savored the smooth, subtle flavors and the fleeting oasis of peace.
Summary: If you're going to drown your frustrations in alcohol, you might as well drink something worthwhile. Jack and Bra'tac, in a missing scene from Sacrifices in S8. ~660 words. Rated G.
Something Smoother
Bra'tac stared at the Totem of Bravery that Ry'ac had shoved into his hand before storming out of the Tau'ri Gateroom.
"I see why one must rehearse such events," he muttered, and helped himself to a healthy swig from the goblet. The thin, almost sour wine was hardly to his taste, but the slight euphoria induced by alcohol was one of the few advantages to using tretonin. At that moment, Bra'tac felt he could use all the encouragement he could get.
The chappa'ai rumbled into life behind him, and Bra'tac automatically moved out of the way of the hurrying soldiers. Weddings were all very well, but defense of the planet had priority.
He was still holding the Totem when he mounted the steps to the control room and witnessed the clash between Teal'c and Ish'ta. Teal'c, with the hard-earned wisdom of the years he had fought alongside Samantha Carter, handled the situation with much greater ease than his son. Nevertheless, Bra'tac could foresee more arguments in the near future.
As Teal'c and Ish'ta departed to make their preparations, Bra'tac turned to return to his own rooms. He found O'Neill standing in the shadows behind him, hands in his pockets, rocking idly on his heels. Bra'tac knew the human was capable of absolute stillness when necessary, but he seemed overly restless at the moment.
"Dress rehearsal didn't go too well, huh?" the man asked, nodding at the nearly-forgotten Totem that still dangled from Bra'tac's fingers.
"It did not," Bra'tac answered, indulging himself with an extra hint of dryness in his tone.
"And nothing to drink but that lousy grape juice." O'Neill shook his head. "C'mon, Bra'tac. I've got something smoother than that."
Bra'tac followed O'Neill up the spiraling stairs and into the general's office, stifling that little spike of regret that the room belonged to O'Neill now, and that Hammond of Texas was no longer part of the SGC.
"I am unsure you can do better than this pat'ka of an excuse for wine," Bra'tac told him as O'Neill closed the door. "Teal'c has told me of your favorite alcoholic beverage. I do not think I would care for fermented barley hops."
O'Neill waved a hand. "No, not beer. Although you're missing out on - well, never mind." He opened a drawer and withdrew a glass bottle, half-filled with an amber liquid. "Let's try another barley product. This one is called scotch."
"Scotch," Bra'tac repeated dubiously. "How does this differ from your beer?"
"Macallan," O'Neill said. "Seventeen-year-old Fine Oak." He removed two glasses from the same drawer, and poured with an air of ceremony that belied his normally casual style.
"Your words mean nothing to me, human."
O'Neill proffered one of the glasses, eyes glinting with something that Bra'tac read as somewhere between amusement and anticipation. "There's a little more skill involved in making whiskey than there is in making beer, Bra'tac - although I'll deny it if you tell anyone I said so." He took the second glass and sniffed its contents appreciatively.
Bra'tac, a little wary, followed suit. His eyebrows rose at the rich, smoky aroma of the golden liquid.
"You'll want to sip it," O'Neill advised him. "The taste is worth it."
"The young do not always understand that good things should be taken slowly," Bra'tac agreed. "Particularly when the price is so high."
O'Neill gave a long, deliberate blink, leaving their mutual understanding of those great costs unspoken. "To Teal'c and Ry'ac," he said, lifting his glass high. "May they always drive each other crazy."
"To Teal'c and Ry'ac." Bra'tac raised his own glass in salute. "May Ry'ac repay Teal'c for everything he has ever done to me."
O'Neill choked back a laugh and clinked his glass against Bra'tac's, and they both drank their whiskey in the quiet office. A new crisis was bound to demand their attention at any moment, but for now, they both savored the smooth, subtle flavors and the fleeting oasis of peace.