9th September 2013 17:14 (UTC)
In Which Jack Is Handy
Jack's Brilliant PlanTM foundered when he found that not only were Daniel and Sam unable to lift their eyebrows individually only with great difficulty, something that felt could be overcome with a regimen of training, but his own scarred eyebrow, cut through during their little return to 1969, and given only perfunctory treatment, was also largely still unresponsive.
He stared down at his oatmeal glumly.
"Sir?" prompted Sam, in a tone that carried both curiosity and concern in one short syllable. She constantly amazed him that way.
He stirred the oatmeal about, gathering an ever bigger snowball of the sticky porridge.
"It would have been so cool, Carter! With my system we could'a had all kinds of chatter going on in dull meetings."
Another half circuit of the bowl, and he dropped the spoon, which hit the rim of the bowl with a sharp clank.
"Hammond is very observant," Teal'c intoned.
"I doubt we would have flown under his radar for long," added Sam.
Jack, still downcast, rallied enough at this point that his fingers began drumming on the table, as Daniel asked why Jack worked so hard to escape paying attention to the important material covered in the briefings, especially in view of the fact that he, Daniel, doubted that Jack ever read a word of what was in the reports that preceded the meetings.
"I do too!" Jack replied hotly, but Daniel's mind was not on the expected and hardly-to-be-believed rejoinder. He was watching Jack's dancing fingers.
Daniel's eyebrows rose, and his eyes pointed the attention of the others to Jack's hands. Silence fell.
"What?!!!" Jack said, looking about him. They were all staring at him. At his fingers. "Oh!"
A slow and widening grin spread over his face.
"Okay, kids. Plan B. Here's what we do. No Morse, too many people know that but I know another system and it works like this..."
Walter Harriman walked into the commissary on the was to grab a pastry and a coffee before going on shift in the gateroom, or Embarkation Room, as the brass at the Pentagon apparently preferred, and saw SG-1 at their usual table, all intently bent forward and intently focused on their leader's dancing hands. Walter couldn't put his finger on why, precisely, but he had a bad feeling about this...
Edited at 2013-09-09 17:16 (UTC)