12th August 2013 20:52 (UTC)
Another day, another planet, another rain forest. This time it was temperate (what a surprise!), and deciduous (for a change). And wet. Veeerrry, veeeerrrry wet. The MREs were designed to take such developments into account, but the whole team had been looking forward to the s'mores that were to have been dessert, in honor of the 400th bivouac that SG-1 had made. The shallow space under the granite overhang was dry enough, and blessedly free of scat, but not even Teal'c, who was a true wizard with fire starting, could keep the fire going long enough to toast a marshmallow, not to mention the problem with dissolving that would occur if they tried to toast them out in the weather.
Teal'c, as usual, was stoic about his disappointment. Sam was not sure if it was because, compared to the hardships of servitude to the Goa'uld, missed s'mores were very small potatoes, or because Jaffa culture restricted outbursts of temper to a very select list of occasions (cuckolding being a notable example, as the humans of SG-1 had discovered once), but in any case Teal'c took it well.
Sam too was sad, but she had known from youngest childhood that a life in the Air Force came with restrictions and privations, and there would no doubt be another occasion to celebrate with s'mores before long. After all the anniversary of Teal'c's promotion to full warrior would come up in a little less than three weeks. Perhaps then the weather would cooperate.
Daniel and the Colonel were whining, in a way that they no doubt would have characterized as "manly and restrained expressions of disappointment", and which reminded Sam very much of kindergarten boys. Well, that wasn't quite accurate. Daniel was not so much whining as pouting, lower lip at maximum extension, and blue eyes set on perturbed owl. It was the Colonel who was whining. Repeatedly and without any restraint whatsoever.
Finally, Sam had had about all she could take. This was supposed to be a celebration of team spirit, and yet here she was, contemplating the possibilities and opportunities for fragging her superior officer. She needed to think of something, and do it soon, because the importance of career advancement, or indeed of continuing her career in the Air Force at all was receding at light speed. She needed to block out the whining (penetrating as it was) and think.
"We could have gotten that desert planet that SG-4 got, but nooooo, Lieutenant Fischbein had to have mold allergies flaring up after P7X-528, so--"
"We can still have s'mores, sir!"
"Oh, yeah, Carter? You gonna get that fire going?"
"You're going to make s'mores without toasting the marshmallows???"
He was clearly scandalized and highly perturbed by the very suggestion that such a thing might ever happen, even if only in his own worst-case-scenario-seeking brain.
"Then I don't see how you are going to pull this off, Carter!"
"I have a plan, sir."
"Five bucks says you won't be able to make them the way I like them."
"Jaaack, if I were you---"
"It is unwise to wager against Major Carter, O'Neill."
"You're on, sir. Daniel, can I borrow your zat?"
For a moment the Colonel looked worried, and Sam congratulated herself that, although it had been a near run thing, it was for all the wrong reasons. She wasn't going to zat him, at least not just yet.
She began retrieving and arranging her tool set from her backpack, and opening up the weapon to temporarily lower its power levels. Once that was done, she fed Teal'c, Daniel, and herself a surfeit of s'mores, and then opening the zat up again, she nudged the power up ever-so-gently to make the slightly burnt marshmallows that the Colonel usually made for himself.
She considered the wait to be almost sufficient payback for all the whining.
Edited at 2013-08-12 22:11 (UTC)