Title: Trigger Finger (the Eleven
O'Clock Remix)
Version: 1.0, posted 4/29/07 (originally posted on remix_redux,
4/15/07)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, except perhaps in an alternate reality
somewhere. See full disclaimer on previous page.
Summary: Daniel has an unexpected brush with danger, and his
team members find out.
A/N: This was written for the 2007 remixredux
ficathon. It is based on the original story Trigger
Finger by Kathryn Andersen. This remixed story is probably more
enjoyable if you read her original first. Please note that the opinions
of the characters do not necessarily reflect those of the author.
Trigger Finger
the Eleven O'Clock Remix
It was a weary SG-1 that emerged from the Stargate. A planned half-day
reconnaissance had turned into a five-day ordeal that left the team
bruised and exhausted. General Hammond took one look at them and
decided the debriefing could wait until the morning.
"I want the four of you to get some rest," said the general. "That's an
order."
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."
"Dismissed."
O'Neill felt the tension in his body begin to ease as he led his team
to the armory to turn in their weapons. "Well, gang," he said. "You
heard the general. Let's get out there and relax."
"Sounds good to me, Sir," said Carter. "I could use a shower."
"I'll be glad to sleep in my own bed," said Daniel. "I think a tree
grew a root right under my back last night."
"While I have a date with a bag of burritos and a beer," said O'Neill.
"What about you, Teal'c?"
"I shall continue my study of your culture."
O'Neill grinned. "You mean you're going to watch television."
"It is most instructive."
"Television as a mirror of our culture," said Daniel. "Considering the
inflated incidence of televised violence, that's a frightening thought.
What are we teaching our kids?"
"You worry too much, Danny," said O'Neill. "I grew up on Roy Rogers and
Eliot Ness; you don't see me running around with a gun, shooting
people."
The other three looked pointedly at O'Neill's rifle.
"Hey! I'm working, here! Different thing."
"Mm-hm," said Daniel.
"Whatever you say, Sir," added Carter.
***
Daniel tossed his keys into the bowl on the table as the door closed
behind him. He shrugged off his jacket and rolled his shoulders, easing
the tight muscles. It was good to be home. Field rations in a cold camp
were a poor substitute for a warm supper and clean sheets.
He was tempted just to crawl into bed, but the rumble in his stomach
decided him otherwise. Digging in the fridge, he discovered that most
of his fresh food hadn't survived in his absence. The strawberries were
fuzzy, the leftover chicken was going green, and the
milk . . . well, if he didn't want his
breakfast cereal covered in stinky curdled globs of a vaguely
cheeselike substance, he was going to have to go down to the corner and
buy some more.
Well, better to do it now than in the morning. He sighed and reached
for his jacket.
***
After an efficient shower and a simple, nutritious meal in the mess,
Teal'c returned to his quarters and switched on the television.
Whatever O'Neill and the others might think, Teal'c had learned a great
deal about Earth culture from careful observation of what they chose to
broadcast. Their entertainment programs were an illuminating view into
their collective psychology. Of even more interest was what they chose
to consider newsworthy. His preferred newscast had just begun; he tuned
it in and sat down to watch.
"This is Andrea Banks, reporting on location for KMVQ
Channel 4 News.
Behind me you can see the Qwikstop Mart where, moments ago, a robbery
was thwarted by a local resident. According to witnesses, the crazed
gunman justified his attack, citing corporate greed and an alien
invasion. KMVQ has obtained amateur video of the attack that was taken
by a passerby. We'll show you that footage in a moment--"
There was a commotion off to the side of the shot, as a pair of
uniformed policemen brought the suspect out to a black-and-white.
"--but first, let's see if we can talk to the officers in charge."
Andrea Banks hurried over to the nearest policeman, the camera
following her with barely a wobble. "Officer! Can you tell us what
happened? Does it bother you that this is the third robbery this year
to be thwarted by an ordinary citizen? In your opinion, does this part
of the city need a stronger police presence?"
The policeman gave no reply but a sour look, and attempted to bundle
the suspect into the back of the squad car. The suspect began
struggling, straining to get to the microphone.
"Beware!" he cried. "Don't let them fool you! The corporations and
their lackeys are everywhere. They control everything. Don't let them
control you. Don't listen to their lies!" The policemen tried to pull
him back, but he continued to resist. "Liars! Parasites, in league with
aliens! They killed Sarah. They'll kill us all, if we don't resist."
The policemen finally managed to wrangle him into the back seat, and
Andrea Banks followed with the microphone. As the squad car pulled
away, the suspect was still screaming. "They're here! The aliens are
here! The aliens are here!"
"Indeed," said Teal'c.
***
The spicy scent of Pepe's Deluxe Burritos heating in the microwave
filled Jack with a warm sense of homecoming. He hummed to himself as he
retrieved a couple of beers from the fridge and popped the cap on one.
The first cool mouthful washed away any lingering thoughts of work. For
the next few hours, Jack O'Neill intended to be a man without a care.
In his line of work, you took your pleasures where you could find them.
When the microwave dinged, he grabbed the hot plate with the hem of his
shirt and hurried it over to the coffee table. He flopped down on the
sofa, pulled a packet of hot sauce out of his shirt pocket, tore it
open, and squeezed its contents over the first burrito. He picked up
the burrito and took a big bite. Oh,
yeah. Now, that was man-food.
He chewed slowly at first, wanting to savor the meal, but his
resistance was low: he made short work of the first burrito, washing it
down with the rest of the beer. He squeezed another packet of hot sauce
onto the second burrito, uncapped the other beer, and grabbed the TV
remote. He flipped up and down the channels, hoping for a ball game, or
maybe a movie, but all he saw were game shows, infomercials, and
celebrity gossip. Rats. Well,
maybe he'd try the news. With any luck, he could still catch the scores.
He stopped at the first newscast he found. It was that red-haired
reporter he liked, Andrea something, and she was standing outside a
Qwikstop. Hey, I know that
place. It's over near Daniel's. He saw one police car drive off
with a suspect in the back, while another car remained. And there,
talking to an officer in the background, wasn't that--Daniel? What the hell? Jack
abandoned his burritos and turned up the volume to hear what Andrea was
saying.
"And now, as promised, here is amateur video of the
robbery, taken as
it occurred."
The picture cut to an obviously hand-held shot through the window of
the Qwikstop. It focused in on Daniel as he stood in line, holding a
jug of milk. Almost immediately the angle widened, showing the customer
in front of Daniel--a civilian dressed in army surplus. He was clearly
ranting at the clerk, though the sound inside the building was lost in
the noise of passing traffic. The customer pulled a gun and the camera
jerked wildly.
By the time the camera settled into a new angle, the gun was pointed
straight at Daniel's face. Daniel looked scared, but he acted calm,
talking to the gunman. The gunman responded, his attitude gradually
changing from angry and erratic to nervous, then curious. Daniel just
kept talking. You could see the clerk in the corner of the shot, frozen
with fear.
As Daniel continued to talk, the gunman's demeanor swung between
extremes several times; there was a moment when it seemed as if he
would surely pull the trigger. But whatever Daniel said then startled
the man. His hand started to shake, and he lowered the gun to his side.
Out of nowhere, Daniel swung his milk jug at the gunman's head, hard,
knocking him off balance. There was shouting, and the picture jerked,
but you could make out Daniel going for the man's gun, followed by the
clerk lunging across the counter to grab the attacker from behind.
There was a break in the footage then, and the next shot was of the
police car pulling into the parking lot.
Then it was over, and Andrea was back on the screen. "If you're just
tuning in, that was amateur video of an attempted robbery being foiled
by a local resident. Incredibly, no one was hurt, and the police now
have the suspect in custody. Still, how many of us would care to face
down an armed lunatic with only our wits and a bottle of milk? Whether
you call it courage or foolishness, this time one resident refused to
be victimized. We at KMVQ salute him."
Oh, Danny, thought Jack. How do you get yourself into these things?
***
Sam stared at the screen, her yoga exercises forgotten. It's only a video, she reminded
herself. It's already over; Daniel's
all right. Though somehow that didn't make it any easier to
watch, and she was relieved when the video was over and they cut back
to the reporter, who was interviewing an attractive twentyish woman in
a loud sweater.
"And now let's talk to the young woman who shot the video
you just saw,
Tamara Asher. Ms. Asher, how did you come to capture the attempted
robbery on camera?"
"Well, I came to get some Cheetohs, and I saw this guy--"
"The gunman?" interrupted the reporter.
"Uh, no. The other customer." Ms. Asher's cheeks pinked a little. "He's
hot, you know? So I stayed outside to get some video for my vlog. And
then that other guy pulled the gun, so I ducked behind a car and kept
shooting."
"Thank you, Ms. Asher." The picture tightened in on the reporter. "So
there you have it. The local resident, who we've just learned is named
Daniel Jackson, is not only a hero, but a hottie as well. Good news for
us; bad news for the criminal caught on video as a result."
The camera angle widened again, revealing a slightly scruffy man in a
clerk's uniform. "And now," said the reporter, "let's talk to the
Qwikstop Mart employee who was the victim of this frightening attack."
She turned to the clerk. "What is your name, sir?"
He leaned into the microphone. "B.J.--B.J. Mears."
"Mr. Mears, will you describe for us what happened?"
"Yeah. Yeah. The guy was crazy, man. I asked, 'cash or charge,' and he
just blew. Kept ranting about corporations and aliens. Called me a
'lackey,' whatever that is--maybe one of his aliens? Come on, do I look
alien to you? I grew up eight blocks from here--"
"So, you asked for a credit card, and the man pulled a gun. What
happened next?"
"Like I said, he went nuts. Then the guy behind him--regular customer,
Jackson--starts talking to him, distracting him. I hit the silent
alarm, but I knew there was no way the cops could get here before the
guy started shooting. Then, wham! Jackson beans him with a gallon of
lowfat milk. I grabbed his gun arm, Jackson got his gun, and we held
him down until the cops arrived. It was freakin' amazing, man!"
"So, it would be fair to say that you owe your life to Mr. Jackson?"
The clerk frowned. "Well, I helped, but yeah. I'm not stupid enough to
take on a gunman by myself. And that guy wasn't going to stop on his
own, that's for sure."
Sam shook her head. Poor Daniel.
He's going to need a friend. She reached for the phone and hit
speed dial; it was answered on the first ring. "Sir? It's Carter."
***
"Yeah, I'm watching it now. Gotta go, I'll call you later." Jack hung
up the phone and returned his attention to the TV. The policeman had
finished with Daniel, and Andrea had just caught up with him as he
tried to leave.
"Mr. Jackson! Can I have a word, Mr. Jackson?"
Cornered, and with the microphone right in his face, Daniel didn't have
much of a choice. He blinked into the camera light.
"Ah . . . it's Doctor
Jackson, actually."
"So, you're a physician?"
"No, Doctor of Archaeology."
"I see. Well, tell me, Doctor Jackson, what makes a Doctor of
Archaeology confront an armed attacker, as you did tonight?"
"I didn't. I mean, I didn't intend to. I just wanted some milk."
"And yet, when the gunman threatened the clerk, you intervened. Can you
tell us why? What went through your mind at that moment?"
A nervous grin tugged at one corner of Daniel's mouth. "Not a lot,
really. I wasn't thinking; I shouldn't have done it. I just didn't want
him to hurt the clerk, that's all."
"Then, you were defending the clerk?"
"No. Yes. Er, not really. . . ."
Jack switched off the TV. He didn't need to see Andrea skewer Daniel
like a butterfly pinned to a mat. No, if anybody was going to skewer
Daniel, it was going to be him. Facing a gun-toting lunatic with only a
jug of milk! That deserved some serious ribbing. And Jack was just the
person to do it.
Besides, Jack knew there was a difference between facing danger on the
job and having it find you at home; between facing aliens on another
planet and facing handguns at the grocery. And now Daniel knew it, too.
A person could use his buddies around him at a time like that.
Jack swallowed the last bite of his burrito and carried the plate to
the sink. A thought struck him, and he opened the fridge. Somewhere in
there . . . yes, there was a carton of milk
that hadn't reached its pull date. He'd take it along.
Because knowing Daniel, he would have forgotten all about the milk.