Quarantine (G)
Another bingo entry, for the Soft square! Why, yes, it is stretching the prompt just a wee bit. :)
When the team is stuck in special quarantine, it's hard to find a way to pass the time. A little exploration of Jack's head space. About 1,100 words. Rated G.
Quarantine
The SGC's four specialty isolation rooms had been carefully designed to offer a reasonable level of comfort to its occupants while, at the same time, minimizing the element of risk. They were, happily, only rarely used, when a team was suspected of being compromised by off-world technology or alien intelligence. Jack, sardonically amused at the inevitable acronym, had joined other SGC team members in contributing suggestions to the makeup of the SIRs. There was nothing that could be easily fashioned into a weapon, overrides for the lighting and climate controls were located outside the room, any reading material was carefully edited to avoid revealing too much about Earth, and the sole laptop - stripped of most of its programs, and without its cord - had been hardwired by one of the science geeks so that it could not be linked to any outside source.
All of this made sense, Jack conceded grumpily. But that was little comfort when he was stuck inside one of the SIRs himself, locked up for however long it would take for Frasier to be satisfied that the sentient puffballs from P3X-462 had really broken their telepathic link to SG-1.
Jack wandered aimlessly around the room, glaring at the softened edges of the little furniture they had and the discreet bolts that kept the chairs firmly on the floor. Their enforced stay in the SIR couldn't be helped, he knew, but the sanitized reading material and the internet-less laptop offered little in the way of distraction. They'd denied his request for his yo-yo, with its long string that could be used for strangling or binding someone's hands or feet. Even the usual mindless motivational posters weren't on the walls, as the frames were deemed too easily sharpened. He'd already slept himself out when they'd first been locked inside the SIR. What else was there to do?
Teal'c was taking the easy way out by meditating - by now, he could tell when the big guy was merely tuning out the world, rather than actively kel no reem-ing - and Daniel and Carter, sitting on the air mattresses that served as their beds for the duration, were happily involved in some incomprehensible argument that seemed to focus on a correlation between Ancient technology and Ancient language. Jack had reduced his perception of their discussion to a low-level buzz, just enough to hear the sound of their easygoing voices as a quiet reassurance that his kids were alive and well.
As he made yet another restless circuit, Jack passed near Teal'c's position in the corner and cast a glance in his direction. Cross-legged, back straight, eyes closed, palms resting on his knees - anyone else in the SGC would automatically conclude that Teal'c was perfectly calm and controlled. Jack, however, like the rest of the team, had learned to interpret the slightest muscle twitches or most fleeting expressions as clear indications of Teal'c's emotional state. Yeah, Teal'c was bored out of his mind, too.
He thought of swatting the sole of Teal'c's boot, remembered their last sparring match, and reconsidered. "Hey," he said instead.
Teal'c opened an eye. "There are still four hours remaining for our confinement," he observed. "It would be wise, O'Neill, to employ a pastime that will not encourage Dr. Frasier to extend our quarantine any further."
Jack grimaced and shrugged, conceding the point. The very last thing he wanted to do was give Frasier a reason to suspect that they really were compromised somehow. A single day was bad enough.
Carter and Daniel halted their conversation - they had, Jack had noticed, recycled themselves back to the beginning of their discussion almost an hour ago - and now joined the others in their corner. Carter's look was professionally sympathetic, but Daniel's raised eyebrows spoke volumes. Jack ignored the unspoken challenge with the ease of long practice.
"You could write your report, sir," Carter suggested brightly. Jack eyed her, trying to decide whether she was masking her own sarcasm under her official Major mask or whether she actually thought Jack would want to write a report with the blunt crayons that served as the only writing implements in the SIR.
"I'll wait until I'm actually allowed to use a pen, Carter," he said dryly. He caught the flicker of amusement in her eyes and decided that yes, she'd definitely meant to be sarcastic.
"There has to be some other solution to this, Jack," Daniel said then, and Jack knew that the restrictions were getting to him, too. "Yes, I understand the need to make sure we can't harm anyone, including ourselves. But this..." His hand swept in a circle, encompassing the SIR with all its soft and blunted edges. "Isn't just a little ridiculous?"
"It's the best possible solution to a difficult situation, Daniel," Carter sighed. "I know how you feel - we're just wasting time here. I'd love to be able to spend this time doing research or conducting experiments."
"They wouldn't even let me bring in any of my books, Sam," Daniel grumbled, but it was clear that his heart wasn't really in it.
"Paper cuts can be deadly," Jack drawled. "Although in the case of your books, they probably thought that a 1,200 page volume would be a... weighty weapon."
Daniel grinned even as he winced theatrically at the pun. "Y'know, Jack, if you're really that bored, you could try and figure out how to make a weapon or tool out of something here in the SIR. That should keep you entertained for a while. They put so much work into this that I'm not sure even you could find something dangerous."
"I'm wounded by your lack of faith, Daniel," Jack said absently. He gave Teal'c a sidelong look, which was rewarded with the tiniest of nods. A quick glance at Carter showed that she, too, had gone suddenly deadpan.
Yeah, it was probably wiser not to inform their civilian, within audio range of their constant surveillance, that despite the soft, smothering precautions of the SIR, he'd already spotted six different ways to arm himself and break the team out of detention. Carter probably had two or three methods of her own, and he felt sure that Teal'c could offer a half-dozen more.
He'd wait until tomorrow morning, when Frasier gave them the all-clear, and they were safely out of the SIR. Then he would include 'em all in his report, so Hammond could make any revisions necessary to make the SIR truly secure.
The conversation ebbed and flowed, and Jack forced himself not to search for a seventh way to escape. After all, he'd want something to do the next time SG-1 ended up here.
When the team is stuck in special quarantine, it's hard to find a way to pass the time. A little exploration of Jack's head space. About 1,100 words. Rated G.
Quarantine
The SGC's four specialty isolation rooms had been carefully designed to offer a reasonable level of comfort to its occupants while, at the same time, minimizing the element of risk. They were, happily, only rarely used, when a team was suspected of being compromised by off-world technology or alien intelligence. Jack, sardonically amused at the inevitable acronym, had joined other SGC team members in contributing suggestions to the makeup of the SIRs. There was nothing that could be easily fashioned into a weapon, overrides for the lighting and climate controls were located outside the room, any reading material was carefully edited to avoid revealing too much about Earth, and the sole laptop - stripped of most of its programs, and without its cord - had been hardwired by one of the science geeks so that it could not be linked to any outside source.
All of this made sense, Jack conceded grumpily. But that was little comfort when he was stuck inside one of the SIRs himself, locked up for however long it would take for Frasier to be satisfied that the sentient puffballs from P3X-462 had really broken their telepathic link to SG-1.
Jack wandered aimlessly around the room, glaring at the softened edges of the little furniture they had and the discreet bolts that kept the chairs firmly on the floor. Their enforced stay in the SIR couldn't be helped, he knew, but the sanitized reading material and the internet-less laptop offered little in the way of distraction. They'd denied his request for his yo-yo, with its long string that could be used for strangling or binding someone's hands or feet. Even the usual mindless motivational posters weren't on the walls, as the frames were deemed too easily sharpened. He'd already slept himself out when they'd first been locked inside the SIR. What else was there to do?
Teal'c was taking the easy way out by meditating - by now, he could tell when the big guy was merely tuning out the world, rather than actively kel no reem-ing - and Daniel and Carter, sitting on the air mattresses that served as their beds for the duration, were happily involved in some incomprehensible argument that seemed to focus on a correlation between Ancient technology and Ancient language. Jack had reduced his perception of their discussion to a low-level buzz, just enough to hear the sound of their easygoing voices as a quiet reassurance that his kids were alive and well.
As he made yet another restless circuit, Jack passed near Teal'c's position in the corner and cast a glance in his direction. Cross-legged, back straight, eyes closed, palms resting on his knees - anyone else in the SGC would automatically conclude that Teal'c was perfectly calm and controlled. Jack, however, like the rest of the team, had learned to interpret the slightest muscle twitches or most fleeting expressions as clear indications of Teal'c's emotional state. Yeah, Teal'c was bored out of his mind, too.
He thought of swatting the sole of Teal'c's boot, remembered their last sparring match, and reconsidered. "Hey," he said instead.
Teal'c opened an eye. "There are still four hours remaining for our confinement," he observed. "It would be wise, O'Neill, to employ a pastime that will not encourage Dr. Frasier to extend our quarantine any further."
Jack grimaced and shrugged, conceding the point. The very last thing he wanted to do was give Frasier a reason to suspect that they really were compromised somehow. A single day was bad enough.
Carter and Daniel halted their conversation - they had, Jack had noticed, recycled themselves back to the beginning of their discussion almost an hour ago - and now joined the others in their corner. Carter's look was professionally sympathetic, but Daniel's raised eyebrows spoke volumes. Jack ignored the unspoken challenge with the ease of long practice.
"You could write your report, sir," Carter suggested brightly. Jack eyed her, trying to decide whether she was masking her own sarcasm under her official Major mask or whether she actually thought Jack would want to write a report with the blunt crayons that served as the only writing implements in the SIR.
"I'll wait until I'm actually allowed to use a pen, Carter," he said dryly. He caught the flicker of amusement in her eyes and decided that yes, she'd definitely meant to be sarcastic.
"There has to be some other solution to this, Jack," Daniel said then, and Jack knew that the restrictions were getting to him, too. "Yes, I understand the need to make sure we can't harm anyone, including ourselves. But this..." His hand swept in a circle, encompassing the SIR with all its soft and blunted edges. "Isn't just a little ridiculous?"
"It's the best possible solution to a difficult situation, Daniel," Carter sighed. "I know how you feel - we're just wasting time here. I'd love to be able to spend this time doing research or conducting experiments."
"They wouldn't even let me bring in any of my books, Sam," Daniel grumbled, but it was clear that his heart wasn't really in it.
"Paper cuts can be deadly," Jack drawled. "Although in the case of your books, they probably thought that a 1,200 page volume would be a... weighty weapon."
Daniel grinned even as he winced theatrically at the pun. "Y'know, Jack, if you're really that bored, you could try and figure out how to make a weapon or tool out of something here in the SIR. That should keep you entertained for a while. They put so much work into this that I'm not sure even you could find something dangerous."
"I'm wounded by your lack of faith, Daniel," Jack said absently. He gave Teal'c a sidelong look, which was rewarded with the tiniest of nods. A quick glance at Carter showed that she, too, had gone suddenly deadpan.
Yeah, it was probably wiser not to inform their civilian, within audio range of their constant surveillance, that despite the soft, smothering precautions of the SIR, he'd already spotted six different ways to arm himself and break the team out of detention. Carter probably had two or three methods of her own, and he felt sure that Teal'c could offer a half-dozen more.
He'd wait until tomorrow morning, when Frasier gave them the all-clear, and they were safely out of the SIR. Then he would include 'em all in his report, so Hammond could make any revisions necessary to make the SIR truly secure.
The conversation ebbed and flowed, and Jack forced himself not to search for a seventh way to escape. After all, he'd want something to do the next time SG-1 ended up here.