Dude, Where's My Spaceship?
Stargate SG-1 & Atlantis
Points of Origin
A particularly trying mission is over and done with. The team looks forward to a little rest and recreation. If only they hadn't overlooked one, or two, small things.
Published November 2015
Here's a snippet:
Jack strode through the hallways of the SGC, a slight grin quirking his lips, a spring in his step. All was quiet on base. Another Goa’uld was bagged and tagged, the team had successfully completed a string of missions that had paid off big time in weapons, allies and even some meaning of life stuff. Carter had a boyfriend. Teal'c had a booming new business analyzing dreams for half the base personnel, Daniel had a personal victory over the Goa’uld in the person of his once-lost girlfriend, and Jack had a slightly narcoleptic archaeologist whose unfortunate habit of dropping off to sleep mid-sentence, mid-thought, mid-anything, was providing an endless source of amusement for himself and cash for the betting pools. Hammond was happy, the Pentagon was happy, his team was happy. What more could a man want?
Propriety required one to knock before entering the massage rooms situated at the far end of the gym. Jack, therefore, barged straight in. Only one of the four tables was currently occupied. The soft, recorded swoosh of waves caressing sand was the only sound in the dimly lit room. On the far table Randall, the masseur, worked on the sole of a foot attached to the man lying on the table. Rather, sleeping on the table. Jack smiled fondly and wandered over, nodding to Randall. He gazed down at Daniel’s still body, arms hanging limply over the table’s edges, muscles relaxed and pliable, face planted in the hole at the top of the table. Jack cocked his head to one side, giving his friend a careful once-over, from curled fingers, down long straight spine to limp toes. Due consideration given, target selected, Jack extended one finger and poked Daniel in the ribs.
“… it probably works best with chicken but turkey can be surprisingly effective. Just make sure you bake it for two hours.”
“I’ll be sure to do that, Daniel,” Jack murmured.
“Jack?” Daniel pulled his face from the hole and cranked around to peer at his friend. “Where did you come from?”
Randall pulled the warm towel back over Daniel’s feet and patted his leg. “You’re all done, Dr. Jackson.” Smiling to Jack, he turned away and began packing up.
Daniel’s eyes rolled back in his head and he thumped his face back down into the cushioning.
“I did it again, didn’t I?”