SG-1 FIC: Commissary Sonata Title: Commissary Sonata Rating: G Warning: None Summary: Food, music and an imaginary alien makes for an interesting evening. Author's Notes: Written for the SGC Alphabet Soup Anthology. Also written as a backup fic because I screwed up and originally wrote about a "visitor" not an SGC personnel.
Every dessert in the commissary was sitting on a table near the entrance. Yogurt; fruit-filled pie slices, some topped with dollops of whipped cream; thick slabs of brownies; various kinds of cakes, ice cream and Jello; and even a smattering of fruit. Everything piled squarely in front of a Colonel who had a look on his face that reflected both gratitude and disgust.
Sergeant Michael Crafton watched as Colonel O'Neill dipped his spoon into the yogurt then popped it into his mouth with a relish that belied the expression that followed the action. Mike couldn't decide if the expression was disgust or disbelief. He watched wearily, all the while wondering when he was going to have to jump up and run after O'Neill again. The man just wouldn't stay put. Following him around was like following a tornado.
Still, there was hope that he'd get to sit for a while. With the amount of desserts on the table, Mike figured this meant he'd get a chance to relax, if only for a few minutes. His mood improved somewhat when he looked up and saw Major Carter walk in with Dr. Jackson and Teal'c. They sat down at the table with the Colonel and started to eat and talk, which was music to Mike's ears. Maybe he'd get to sit for a bit after all.
He glanced over at the other guards and shrugged his sympathies. Baker looked bored, while Kelinski and Houghton stayed alert, ready for whatever came next. And for good reason. SG-1 was acting weird, which legend has it, was par for the course. If it wasn't one thing, it was another.
This time around, they were talking to an imaginary friend, or something along those lines. He had overheard the doctor talking to them about the whole mess, but he still had a hard time understanding everything. He wished he had paid more attention, but from what he gathered, an imaginary alien with the power to aggravate with just a word had compromised the team, and now Mike and the other guards were assigned to keep them all in line.
Kind of hard to do when the alien was imaginary.
Still they waited, and with nothing to do but watch SG-1 eat, Mike hummed a tune to himself. His son was learning to play the xylophone and now the song he played over and over again was stuck in Mike's head, a tune that seemed to fit in with the craziness of this place.
An announcement over the intercom had them all jumping up again. Mike followed his charge, only to stop when O'Neill went back for another piece of pie. Must be excellent, he thought as he followed the entourage down the corridor. He picked up the pace in order to keep up with the whirlwind he was guarding, all the while making plans to head back to the commissary when his shift was up. The reviews were in, the commissary desserts were the best around and he couldn't wait to get his own.