Round 1 // Challenge 1 - SG1 Entries #1
Story Title: The Gatekeeper
Character/Relationships: Walter Harriman, Sam Carter, Jack O'Neill, Teal'c, Daniel Jackson, General Hammond
Rating: PG
Warnings: N/A
I like to get there early. You know how it is, when you have a lot of responsibilities. You want to make sure everything is just right. Even though the SGC is never technically 'closed down,' you can have the place pretty much to yourself if you get there early enough. I like to go in at five thirty. It's when I usually get up anyway. The guards all know me down there, so sometimes we have a little chitchat before I go down that long elevator ride down to the big room.
And yeah. Even after all these years, it still just blows... me... away. I mean, it's massive. You think you'd get used to it, and some people have, but not me. No sir. I'm not ashamed to admit that I've been caught staring at it a few times. Just looking through the glass and trying to comprehend what it means. Alien life forms. I'm at the front line of an intergalactic war. My God! Can you imagine what that feels like? I mean, sure, I'm not the one out there shooting guns. But one wrong step and the bad guys are here. Right here. Twenty feet from my station.
Who needs coffee to wake up, that's what I say.
Another reason I show up early is because... okay, look, I don't want to disparage anyone else. Everyone here works hard, and everyone is the best at what they do. But just because you're a genius doesn't mean you have to be a pig. The times when General Hammond isn't here, it's amazing what some airmen think they can get away with. I've found candy bar wrappers on the keyboards, empty soda cans tucked between the console and the wall... you think ants can get into a complex twenty-eight levels down? You'd be wrong.
So every morning I clean up. Making sure everything is neat and tidy for the next eight or ten or twelve hour shift. I make sure my chair is nice and comfortable. If it's not, I'll take the seat from another station. No one's caught me yet, and if I'm not comfortable, no one will be.
I get all the computers set up and, if I have time, I run a quick diagnostic to make sure everything is tip-top shape.
To my surprise, this morning, SG-1 is already geared up and ready to go when I finish going over my station. They come down the stairs, General Hammond leading the way, in the midst of a conversation. "--fifteen klicks, sir," Samantha Carter said. "We'll report back when we know exactly what we're looking at."
"I'll look forward to it, Major."
"I know what I'm not looking forward to," Jack O'Neill said. "Two suns and fifteen clicks. Not exactly my idea of fun, fun, fun." He looked down at me - or maybe it was the computer - as he passed but then continued on his way to the stairs that led from the room.
"Don't worry, Jack," Daniel Jackson said. "It'll give you time to work on your tan."
O'Neill glanced back over his shoulder at me. "You got us all ready to go there, Walter?"
"Ready as I'll ever be, Colonel."
"That's what I like to hear!" O'Neill said, his voice echoing off the concrete walls as he led his team into the Gate Room.
I moved my chair forward and General Hammond stepped up beside my right shoulder. "Dial it up, Walter."
"Yes, sir," I said. The address had already been preprogrammed into the computer by the late shift. SG-1's mission was first, and I saw that four other embarkations were planned before three in the afternoon. Busy day at the old office. Then I went into it.
"Chevron one... engaged."
Let me get this out of the way. You think I don't know people mock me? I know. I've heard them. I've seen the emails and the little cartoons. But you know what? I don't care. SG-1 hears that, you know? They hear... hold on. "Chevron three, engaged." They hear my voice, and they know I have it under control. They know I'm confident and they relax a little bit. They take comfort in it. Trust me, I know. Or, well, I assume, I guess.
"Chevron seven, locked!"
The Stargate came to life and I watched the event horizon settle. Blows... me... away.
"You have a go, SG-1," Hammond says, and the team heads up the ramp.
In a few seconds, I'll make sure the Gate shuts down. I'll log the activation - no errors or anomalies to report, thank God - and I'll file it away to be sent to the Pentagon or whoever takes care of those things. Then I'll do it again, and I'll keep my eyes on the computer in case there's any unauthorized off-world activations.
The four soldiers disappear through the Stargate and I shut it down. The iris slides back into place, and General Hammond asks me to let him know when they report in. I nod, and he returns up the stairs.
I'm Chief Master Sergeant Walter Harriman. And basically... that's how I spend my day. I sit here and I clean up my little station and I keep my eyes on the electrical readout. Basically I watch the Stargate's heart monitor in case there are complications. It may seem boring and monotonous, but don't tell me it's not important. I might not be on the front lines, but I'm vital.
When SG-1 dials in again, or if someone else has to come home in a hurry, I'm here. They can count on that.
Story Title: And Everything Changes
Character/Relationships: Daniel/Sarah, in passing
Rating: G
Warnings: None that I know of--maybe warning for canon speculation fic?
Wake up. Breakfast. School. Home. Dinner. Homework. Bath. Bed.
Daniel can’t figure out how to fall into this pattern. Nothing makes sense anymore, not here, not in this house. His foster family is kind and understanding, but Daniel still stumbles through this dance while everyone else seems to leap ahead.
Waking up and breakfast he can do. He’s always done that, even before … it happened.
But back then, his parents were his teachers, indulging his eccentric whims and embracing his appetite to learn. Public school is the antithesis of that. It caters to the lowest common denominator, and Daniel is left to flounder, bored and ignored. He knows this stuff already.
Daniel realizes that if he wants to survive in this world away from museums and mummies, he will need to alter his routine. Subtly, though, so nobody is any wiser and they can’t make him stop.
Daniel still goes to school, but he spends all his free time in the library, poring over every book he can get his hands on. He studies languages, history, science. He studies hieroglyphics and learns to speak Russian.
His new family notices that he’s happier. They ask if he’s starting to accept what happened to his parents. Daniel says what they want to hear so they’ll leave him alone. He enjoys his newfound freedom in books too much to let them try and take it away. He doesn’t need friends at school, which is good; all the other kids avoid him, call him names.
His new routine doesn’t rely on anyone else for validation. But that’s okay. Without anyone else, he won’t have to worry about losing them, either.
Everything changes by the time Daniel reaches college. He still knows most of what they’re teaching, but he can go beyond that here, study what he wants to! A whole new world of possibilities open! He can spend hours studying Egyptology and anthropology, just like he’s always wanted!
Daniel loves this new routine. It’s almost like it was before his parents were killed. He can be weird and eccentric, and the funny part is, he’s not alone anymore! He doesn’t even have to try, and suddenly he ends up with a date with Sarah, a beautiful, smart, funny girl Daniel would never have expected to be in his league. They met during an apprenticeship in their last year of graduate school, and Daniel finds another dance he stumbles through. They spend their free Saturdays studying in his dorm, a messy, tiny, cramped room with a frat boy and his flavor of the week next door.
When Daniel finally graduates, his thesis is laughed at, ridiculed. He has to admit, he’d sort of expected it. He’s used to being the butt of jokes, but he has proof that ancient cultures didn’t exist in vacuums!
He finds that when Catherine Langford believes him, he’s willing to trust anything she says, just to have some validation. When she tells him about the Air Force having need for him, a part of him is even more excited. Everyone always said that the best anthropology jobs were working with the government, so if they’re willing to let him evolve his theory more on their dime, so much the better, right?
His routine changes again, but by now, Daniel’s almost used to it. He knows he’ll manage to get through anything life throws at him, and he bets he can still make his parents proud of the man he’s become.
Story Title: Details
Character/Relationships: Sam/Jack
Rating: PG
Warnings: n/a
Sometimes, she thinks, details matter.
It's not time for her to leave, but she's leaving anyway. Putting aside figures she's reviewed only a dozen different times, closing her laptop. Dumping her coffee mug onto a tray that, when full at the end of the week, will be dutifully returned to the commissary. Brushing her hair from her eyes, stuffing a sheaf of print-outs into her backpack, slapping the light switch to off.
Going home, even though it's not time for her to leave yet.
It's not usual for her to take Mesa, but she's taking it anyway. Turning right off the avenue, left onto Aspen. Watching people she's never seen before live their lives: neighbours dragging garbage cans to the curb in the late twilight, calling in children from pavement games. A life that's not hers running past her window at a steady forty-miles-per-hour.
Driving home, even though it's not the way she usually goes.
It's not right for the mailbox to be overflowing, but that's the way it is. The lawn needs mowing and the front step's covered in newspapers. She's gathering them up and fumbling for her hook pick and torque wrench. Someone should really sweep the footpath, but she'll think about that tomorrow.
Arriving home, even though that's not quite true.
*
Details. The little things. Things that sometimes matter.
This isn't her house, but she's wondering if she's home anyway. If it could be. Keeping the lights off as she leaves the newspapers and mail on the kitchen bench. Dumping her jacket and backpack on an empty sofa, lingering briefly at the flashing message display on the answering machine. She doesn't press the button, preferring the silence.
She's home, but she's not sure why she's calling it that.
This isn't her room, but she's standing there anyway. Staring at a not-quite-closed wardrobe door, leaning against a pine dresser. There's a dark green comforter on the bed; the cotton's soft beneath her fingertips. She sits on the edge of the mattress and unties her boots carefully, one lace at a time.
She's tired, but she doesn't think she can sleep.
This isn't her bathroom, but she's brushing her teeth anyway. Not looking in the mirror, in case she sees herself. Searching out a t-shirt, because she's sick of looking like she's supposed to. Pulling back sheets that smell just a little faded, resting her cheek against a pillow that's not really hers. Breathing deeply, just in case it helps.
She's here, but she shouldn't be.
*
Ninety-nine days and they'll launch the rescue tomorrow. She's been waiting for days -- weeks -- months -- forever -- and the end is finally near. But only, Janet had ordered, if she rested. If she left the Base. If she went home. If she got at least eight hours of sleep.
Left early, even though she should have stayed.
Came here, to remind herself of what she's going to rescue.
Tomorrow. In one-hundred days.
It's a detail. (Maybe the only one that matters.)
*
Then she dreams, because it's true, it is, she's missed him. Because there's been a void for too long, an absence that her subconscious needs to fill.
of walking through fields, her pack just right on her shoulders, her gun a familiar weight in her hands, one step, two, the colonel on her left, daniel and teal'c on their six, one step, two, twin suns at their backs, warm on her neck, one step, two, wheat brushing against her legs and the steady rush of a western river, one step, two, one step, two
of the commissary, before a mission, or maybe after, jello and cake and david j jeffrey's paper on 'radioactive decay energy deposition in supernovae and the exponential/quasi-exponential behaviour of late-time supernova light curves' and a crossword from national geographic, the scratch of her pen and his
of o'malleys, a late night, too many beers and jokes and memories of a mission that could have, there but for, turned out so much worse, his hand lingering on her shoulder when he gets up to find the head, her fingers sliding against his when she hands him another drink, thoughts of maybe maybe maybe teasing her with possibilities too numerous to chart
And dreams. Of moments, strung together. She wants -- and has done -- for ninety-nine days.
Because she's missed him.
Such a little thing to do. A mere detail.
*
Sometimes, she thinks --
(not her house; not her t-shirt; not her bed)
-- more than he should --
(little things; mere details)
-- he matters.
Story Title: Little things that go unnoticed
Character/Relationships: none, Team I guess
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
So many people have routines in their lives. Little things that become so much like second nature they're not taken too much notice of. These routines can be something big, or something small. If you asked people to tell you about their routines, a lot of things would be left out.
SG-1 was no different. They would get up, brush their teeth, get ready and head to work, just like everyone else. After that, however, the similarities between them and normal people ended. SG-1 would routinely risk their lives to save Earth from some evil force that the rest of the world had no idea about. They would routinely 'gate to other worlds on the other side of the galaxy. And they would routinely meet people from those other worlds and make friends, or sometimes enemies.
They would also routinely lie to friends and family about what they did, telling them that they worked on 'analysis of deep space radar telemetry'. But there was no doubt, what-so-ever, that SG-1 loved their jobs. It was the furthest thing from 'routine' that you could do. And they wouldn't change it for all the worlds in the galaxy!
Story Title: Disrupted Routines
Character/Relationships: Samantha Carter, Gen, pre-series
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Samantha Carter had always believed in routines. She didn't know if it was because she was raised in a military family or if that was simply the kind of person she was, but she loved her routines.
From the moment her mother woke her up in the morning until she put herself to bed at night, her life was dictated by routines that she never varied from, if she could help it. Her mornings had to start with Cheerio's and a sliced up banana with 2% milk in the blue bowl she had claimed as her own before heading up stairs to pull on jeans and a shirt. Her homework would be waiting for her on the table by the front door and her back pack would be on the floor in front of the same table.
Routines were a comfort to her, something that eased her mind and made her days run smoother. She didn't have to think about her schedule because it was always the same.
Until that one day her father came home and her mother didn't.
Routine in the Carter house flew out the window that day, and she found herself drifting and lost. Not just because she was on the cusp of becoming a woman and had lost her mother, but because her routines had all been thrown to hell.
Suddenly, she was the one waking her brother up and laying out the table for breakfast and making sure that homework found it's way to the hall table and back packs to the floor below. She found herself running late to classes and after school activities, if she didn't forget them all together.
When she missed an important meeting of the astronomy club, she decided that enough was enough and that she needed new routines. A day planer quickly found it's way into her hands and she began planning.
They weren't the familiar routines she was used to, but they'd do. For now.
Character/Relationships: Walter Harriman, Sam Carter, Jack O'Neill, Teal'c, Daniel Jackson, General Hammond
Rating: PG
Warnings: N/A
I like to get there early. You know how it is, when you have a lot of responsibilities. You want to make sure everything is just right. Even though the SGC is never technically 'closed down,' you can have the place pretty much to yourself if you get there early enough. I like to go in at five thirty. It's when I usually get up anyway. The guards all know me down there, so sometimes we have a little chitchat before I go down that long elevator ride down to the big room.
And yeah. Even after all these years, it still just blows... me... away. I mean, it's massive. You think you'd get used to it, and some people have, but not me. No sir. I'm not ashamed to admit that I've been caught staring at it a few times. Just looking through the glass and trying to comprehend what it means. Alien life forms. I'm at the front line of an intergalactic war. My God! Can you imagine what that feels like? I mean, sure, I'm not the one out there shooting guns. But one wrong step and the bad guys are here. Right here. Twenty feet from my station.
Who needs coffee to wake up, that's what I say.
Another reason I show up early is because... okay, look, I don't want to disparage anyone else. Everyone here works hard, and everyone is the best at what they do. But just because you're a genius doesn't mean you have to be a pig. The times when General Hammond isn't here, it's amazing what some airmen think they can get away with. I've found candy bar wrappers on the keyboards, empty soda cans tucked between the console and the wall... you think ants can get into a complex twenty-eight levels down? You'd be wrong.
So every morning I clean up. Making sure everything is neat and tidy for the next eight or ten or twelve hour shift. I make sure my chair is nice and comfortable. If it's not, I'll take the seat from another station. No one's caught me yet, and if I'm not comfortable, no one will be.
I get all the computers set up and, if I have time, I run a quick diagnostic to make sure everything is tip-top shape.
To my surprise, this morning, SG-1 is already geared up and ready to go when I finish going over my station. They come down the stairs, General Hammond leading the way, in the midst of a conversation. "--fifteen klicks, sir," Samantha Carter said. "We'll report back when we know exactly what we're looking at."
"I'll look forward to it, Major."
"I know what I'm not looking forward to," Jack O'Neill said. "Two suns and fifteen clicks. Not exactly my idea of fun, fun, fun." He looked down at me - or maybe it was the computer - as he passed but then continued on his way to the stairs that led from the room.
"Don't worry, Jack," Daniel Jackson said. "It'll give you time to work on your tan."
O'Neill glanced back over his shoulder at me. "You got us all ready to go there, Walter?"
"Ready as I'll ever be, Colonel."
"That's what I like to hear!" O'Neill said, his voice echoing off the concrete walls as he led his team into the Gate Room.
I moved my chair forward and General Hammond stepped up beside my right shoulder. "Dial it up, Walter."
"Yes, sir," I said. The address had already been preprogrammed into the computer by the late shift. SG-1's mission was first, and I saw that four other embarkations were planned before three in the afternoon. Busy day at the old office. Then I went into it.
"Chevron one... engaged."
Let me get this out of the way. You think I don't know people mock me? I know. I've heard them. I've seen the emails and the little cartoons. But you know what? I don't care. SG-1 hears that, you know? They hear... hold on. "Chevron three, engaged." They hear my voice, and they know I have it under control. They know I'm confident and they relax a little bit. They take comfort in it. Trust me, I know. Or, well, I assume, I guess.
"Chevron seven, locked!"
The Stargate came to life and I watched the event horizon settle. Blows... me... away.
"You have a go, SG-1," Hammond says, and the team heads up the ramp.
In a few seconds, I'll make sure the Gate shuts down. I'll log the activation - no errors or anomalies to report, thank God - and I'll file it away to be sent to the Pentagon or whoever takes care of those things. Then I'll do it again, and I'll keep my eyes on the computer in case there's any unauthorized off-world activations.
The four soldiers disappear through the Stargate and I shut it down. The iris slides back into place, and General Hammond asks me to let him know when they report in. I nod, and he returns up the stairs.
I'm Chief Master Sergeant Walter Harriman. And basically... that's how I spend my day. I sit here and I clean up my little station and I keep my eyes on the electrical readout. Basically I watch the Stargate's heart monitor in case there are complications. It may seem boring and monotonous, but don't tell me it's not important. I might not be on the front lines, but I'm vital.
When SG-1 dials in again, or if someone else has to come home in a hurry, I'm here. They can count on that.
Story Title: And Everything Changes
Character/Relationships: Daniel/Sarah, in passing
Rating: G
Warnings: None that I know of--maybe warning for canon speculation fic?
Wake up. Breakfast. School. Home. Dinner. Homework. Bath. Bed.
Daniel can’t figure out how to fall into this pattern. Nothing makes sense anymore, not here, not in this house. His foster family is kind and understanding, but Daniel still stumbles through this dance while everyone else seems to leap ahead.
Waking up and breakfast he can do. He’s always done that, even before … it happened.
But back then, his parents were his teachers, indulging his eccentric whims and embracing his appetite to learn. Public school is the antithesis of that. It caters to the lowest common denominator, and Daniel is left to flounder, bored and ignored. He knows this stuff already.
Daniel realizes that if he wants to survive in this world away from museums and mummies, he will need to alter his routine. Subtly, though, so nobody is any wiser and they can’t make him stop.
Daniel still goes to school, but he spends all his free time in the library, poring over every book he can get his hands on. He studies languages, history, science. He studies hieroglyphics and learns to speak Russian.
His new family notices that he’s happier. They ask if he’s starting to accept what happened to his parents. Daniel says what they want to hear so they’ll leave him alone. He enjoys his newfound freedom in books too much to let them try and take it away. He doesn’t need friends at school, which is good; all the other kids avoid him, call him names.
His new routine doesn’t rely on anyone else for validation. But that’s okay. Without anyone else, he won’t have to worry about losing them, either.
Everything changes by the time Daniel reaches college. He still knows most of what they’re teaching, but he can go beyond that here, study what he wants to! A whole new world of possibilities open! He can spend hours studying Egyptology and anthropology, just like he’s always wanted!
Daniel loves this new routine. It’s almost like it was before his parents were killed. He can be weird and eccentric, and the funny part is, he’s not alone anymore! He doesn’t even have to try, and suddenly he ends up with a date with Sarah, a beautiful, smart, funny girl Daniel would never have expected to be in his league. They met during an apprenticeship in their last year of graduate school, and Daniel finds another dance he stumbles through. They spend their free Saturdays studying in his dorm, a messy, tiny, cramped room with a frat boy and his flavor of the week next door.
When Daniel finally graduates, his thesis is laughed at, ridiculed. He has to admit, he’d sort of expected it. He’s used to being the butt of jokes, but he has proof that ancient cultures didn’t exist in vacuums!
He finds that when Catherine Langford believes him, he’s willing to trust anything she says, just to have some validation. When she tells him about the Air Force having need for him, a part of him is even more excited. Everyone always said that the best anthropology jobs were working with the government, so if they’re willing to let him evolve his theory more on their dime, so much the better, right?
His routine changes again, but by now, Daniel’s almost used to it. He knows he’ll manage to get through anything life throws at him, and he bets he can still make his parents proud of the man he’s become.
Story Title: Details
Character/Relationships: Sam/Jack
Rating: PG
Warnings: n/a
Sometimes, she thinks, details matter.
It's not time for her to leave, but she's leaving anyway. Putting aside figures she's reviewed only a dozen different times, closing her laptop. Dumping her coffee mug onto a tray that, when full at the end of the week, will be dutifully returned to the commissary. Brushing her hair from her eyes, stuffing a sheaf of print-outs into her backpack, slapping the light switch to off.
Going home, even though it's not time for her to leave yet.
It's not usual for her to take Mesa, but she's taking it anyway. Turning right off the avenue, left onto Aspen. Watching people she's never seen before live their lives: neighbours dragging garbage cans to the curb in the late twilight, calling in children from pavement games. A life that's not hers running past her window at a steady forty-miles-per-hour.
Driving home, even though it's not the way she usually goes.
It's not right for the mailbox to be overflowing, but that's the way it is. The lawn needs mowing and the front step's covered in newspapers. She's gathering them up and fumbling for her hook pick and torque wrench. Someone should really sweep the footpath, but she'll think about that tomorrow.
Arriving home, even though that's not quite true.
*
Details. The little things. Things that sometimes matter.
This isn't her house, but she's wondering if she's home anyway. If it could be. Keeping the lights off as she leaves the newspapers and mail on the kitchen bench. Dumping her jacket and backpack on an empty sofa, lingering briefly at the flashing message display on the answering machine. She doesn't press the button, preferring the silence.
She's home, but she's not sure why she's calling it that.
This isn't her room, but she's standing there anyway. Staring at a not-quite-closed wardrobe door, leaning against a pine dresser. There's a dark green comforter on the bed; the cotton's soft beneath her fingertips. She sits on the edge of the mattress and unties her boots carefully, one lace at a time.
She's tired, but she doesn't think she can sleep.
This isn't her bathroom, but she's brushing her teeth anyway. Not looking in the mirror, in case she sees herself. Searching out a t-shirt, because she's sick of looking like she's supposed to. Pulling back sheets that smell just a little faded, resting her cheek against a pillow that's not really hers. Breathing deeply, just in case it helps.
She's here, but she shouldn't be.
*
Ninety-nine days and they'll launch the rescue tomorrow. She's been waiting for days -- weeks -- months -- forever -- and the end is finally near. But only, Janet had ordered, if she rested. If she left the Base. If she went home. If she got at least eight hours of sleep.
Left early, even though she should have stayed.
Came here, to remind herself of what she's going to rescue.
Tomorrow. In one-hundred days.
It's a detail. (Maybe the only one that matters.)
*
Then she dreams, because it's true, it is, she's missed him. Because there's been a void for too long, an absence that her subconscious needs to fill.
of walking through fields, her pack just right on her shoulders, her gun a familiar weight in her hands, one step, two, the colonel on her left, daniel and teal'c on their six, one step, two, twin suns at their backs, warm on her neck, one step, two, wheat brushing against her legs and the steady rush of a western river, one step, two, one step, two
of the commissary, before a mission, or maybe after, jello and cake and david j jeffrey's paper on 'radioactive decay energy deposition in supernovae and the exponential/quasi-exponential behaviour of late-time supernova light curves' and a crossword from national geographic, the scratch of her pen and his
of o'malleys, a late night, too many beers and jokes and memories of a mission that could have, there but for, turned out so much worse, his hand lingering on her shoulder when he gets up to find the head, her fingers sliding against his when she hands him another drink, thoughts of maybe maybe maybe teasing her with possibilities too numerous to chart
And dreams. Of moments, strung together. She wants -- and has done -- for ninety-nine days.
Because she's missed him.
Such a little thing to do. A mere detail.
*
Sometimes, she thinks --
(not her house; not her t-shirt; not her bed)
-- more than he should --
(little things; mere details)
-- he matters.
Story Title: Little things that go unnoticed
Character/Relationships: none, Team I guess
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
So many people have routines in their lives. Little things that become so much like second nature they're not taken too much notice of. These routines can be something big, or something small. If you asked people to tell you about their routines, a lot of things would be left out.
SG-1 was no different. They would get up, brush their teeth, get ready and head to work, just like everyone else. After that, however, the similarities between them and normal people ended. SG-1 would routinely risk their lives to save Earth from some evil force that the rest of the world had no idea about. They would routinely 'gate to other worlds on the other side of the galaxy. And they would routinely meet people from those other worlds and make friends, or sometimes enemies.
They would also routinely lie to friends and family about what they did, telling them that they worked on 'analysis of deep space radar telemetry'. But there was no doubt, what-so-ever, that SG-1 loved their jobs. It was the furthest thing from 'routine' that you could do. And they wouldn't change it for all the worlds in the galaxy!
Story Title: Disrupted Routines
Character/Relationships: Samantha Carter, Gen, pre-series
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Samantha Carter had always believed in routines. She didn't know if it was because she was raised in a military family or if that was simply the kind of person she was, but she loved her routines.
From the moment her mother woke her up in the morning until she put herself to bed at night, her life was dictated by routines that she never varied from, if she could help it. Her mornings had to start with Cheerio's and a sliced up banana with 2% milk in the blue bowl she had claimed as her own before heading up stairs to pull on jeans and a shirt. Her homework would be waiting for her on the table by the front door and her back pack would be on the floor in front of the same table.
Routines were a comfort to her, something that eased her mind and made her days run smoother. She didn't have to think about her schedule because it was always the same.
Until that one day her father came home and her mother didn't.
Routine in the Carter house flew out the window that day, and she found herself drifting and lost. Not just because she was on the cusp of becoming a woman and had lost her mother, but because her routines had all been thrown to hell.
Suddenly, she was the one waking her brother up and laying out the table for breakfast and making sure that homework found it's way to the hall table and back packs to the floor below. She found herself running late to classes and after school activities, if she didn't forget them all together.
When she missed an important meeting of the astronomy club, she decided that enough was enough and that she needed new routines. A day planer quickly found it's way into her hands and she began planning.
They weren't the familiar routines she was used to, but they'd do. For now.