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Story Notes: Author’s note: I wrote this during the Folk Fest. What can I say...? Also, the phrase "It ain’t bragging if it’s true" comes from Dan Bern’s song "Tiger Woods." I changed it slightly for my own purposes. I’m sure he doesn’t care.


The look on Colonel O’Neill’s face made the old children’s not-quite-Abbott-and-Costello routine of "Get it? Got it. Good. I don’t get it. Great." whirl gleefully through my mind. I did my best not to laugh as Captain Carter played around on the computer, explaining a debugging sequence using the most technobabble possible, to her commanding officer’s chagrin. Turning back to programming some more Stargate addresses into the computer, I stamped the Colonel’s false look of understanding and indifference into the back of my mind. It was very amusing.

I like my job, for the most part. You have to realize, I’m good at what I do. It’s not bragging if it’s true. Working with the SGC main computer is interesting work most of the time. The only thing I regret it that I’m never near the line of fire. Sure, the SG teams usually come home with Goa’uld on their heels, or some other thing, but they get the glory when it’s all said, done and over. Not us techs. We’re just the people upstairs who get Carpal Tunnel Syndrome because of what we do all day.

My wishes are careful, however. I don’t have any illusions of grandeur, like destroying a Goa’uld mothership with a grenade and some explosives. Mental stability is one of my more endearing qualities, or so I’ve been told. I’ve never had a dream where I uncover the secrets of the Stargate’s cartouche. Realism is something I pride myself on having. I do hope that someday I can just go off-world. I wouldn’t have to command a team, or make contact with an alien race, or even have to discover anything earth-shattering. Just a chance to get off this planet would be interesting.

Shaking off my reverie, I returned to the display on my console. I was more or less finished, so I snuck a side-long peek at Carter and O’Neill. The mischevious glint in her eye told me she was confusing her CO for kicks. I adjusted my glasses and ran a hand through my short blond hair absently.

That’s something that I would like to have: a commanding officer with whom I could jest. General Hammond’s a fine base commander, but you can’t tell bad or dirty jokes in front of him without running the risk of court-martial. Besides, we wouldn’t anyway; techs here at the SGC don’t have the kind of togetherness that the Stargate teams have. I envy the teams for that.

It’s not just because of their spirit that I envy the SG teams (most notably SG-1). They trust each other with their lives. They trust each other implicitly. I trusted only my big brother that much, and it slipped the day he pushed my bicycle and me down the biggest hill in town, sans my training wheels on my fourth birthday. Or maybe it was the day he started dating my first girlfriend in secret. I suppose it doesn’t really matter either way, but the point is I wish I had someone to trust my life to. Not having a wife, or children, or even a older sister can make that difficult.

The sound of footsteps stomping up the stairs into the control room forced my head up. Doctor Jackson and Teal’c were standing next to Colonel O’Neill, who was, in turn, milling around behind Captain Carter. Jackson handed Carter a styrofoam cup of coffee, holding his own drink in his left hand. Without any emotion, Teal’c gave O’Neill the non-biodegradable cup he had been holding (I try to protect the environment; I use an old, chipped Far Side mug that I refuse to throw away). From where I sat, I could clearly hear both Carter and O’Neill goading the Jaffa into taking up the caffeine habit.

I think that’s the one main thing I miss because of my post here on the base: friendship. Sure, I talk to my fellow computer hackers, but never about personal things. None of them know my brother’s name is Marvin, or that he climbed up a telephone pole when he was eight because he thought he was a koala, or that he broke an arm, his nose and several fingers as a result. Sure, we have a poker night, but it never gets to the point where we’re betting our status of godparent to the dealer’s children yet still remain godparent at the end of the game.

That, once again, comes down to the trust issue; I wouldn’t trust my non-existent children to anyone at the base for two reasons. One, they’re in the military on a top-secret project (kids deserve better than to have their parent’s true jobs hidden from them) and two, I don’t know anyone well enough to do such a thing. But SG-1, on the other hand, would definitely let each other raise their kids when they died, if they ever had them. At least, I think they would. If Teal’c trusts them not to hand him back to Apophis, and O’Neill trusts Carter enough to seek out the Tok’ra on the basis of a dream, and Jackson trusts them all enough to get his body back from some old man with a vendetta, they most certainly would do such a thing.

That is exactly what I envy the most.

The End.




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