Stargate SG1 and its characters are property of Stargate (II) productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money was exchanged. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations and story are property of the author. This story may be linked, but not be posted anywhere else without the consent of the author.

Notes: Unbeta'd! This is just a little something I whipped up late--and I mean LATE--last night and finished up today; when counting sheep doesn't work, what is one supposed to do?

God, I hate these kinds of planets. Now, I know I say they're all the same, and usually they are--all Earthy in their so-called 'alien' glory, their rocks, their trees, the occasional river...and then the Stargate Gods toss you one of these buggers.

Don't get me wrong--I'm not saying cold isn't sometimes a good thing; I know there are many the hockey players (myself) who will tell you there's nothing better than wandering out to the local rink or pond in the dead of winter, fifty-below and falling, the tips of your fingers numb and your lungs compressing, your body shaking, all in an attempt to keep warm; something the adrenaline and excitement of the game pulls off better than any thick electric blanket ever could. It's this...damp, dead cold that gets me; the kind that no matter how much you pull your sleeping bag around you, it still feels like someone filled it with ice cubes--melted ice cubes. And when you come in off second watch on the planet's equivalent of midnight, about eight hours ahead of you before you can get up and not look like some psychotic night owl, it's...difficult, to say the least, to get to sleep.

It's not like being on watch was any more interesting than lying here. I was sitting there, glaring up at the sky, blaming it for my desire for, and inability to get, some shut-eye, staring at the murky sky so hard, trying to catch some glimpse of stars, or any kind of light signalling the onset of morning, that my eyes cross. I think. At least, I start to get that headachy feeling between my eyes, right smack-dab in the middle of my forehead that you get when you cross your eyes too long. D'you know what I mean?

Okay, don't even ask why I know what it feels like to cross your eyes too long. I told you I hate these kinds of planets.

Something moves outside the tent and I'm halfway to sitting up to go investigate...the bored half--rather, two-thirds--of me is cheering wildly, firing its mental P90 in the air, but the rational side of me squashes that little fella down and reminds me that it's Carter's turn on watch, and she has a tendency to make more noise while trying not to wake everyone else than when she's mindlessly stomping around. Not that she does that--mindlessly stomping around--it wouldn't be very covert, and we can't exactly have raves going on watch every night. But you do know what I'm talking about? When you just sort of wander, not really caring if you bump into something or knock something over...yeah.

That's an odd sleeper, that Carter, though--she just about dies the minute she gets into her sleeping bag, sleeps like a bump on a log, but the minute your finger gets within an inch of poking her in the closed eyelid to wake her up for another unexciting watch, her eyes fly open and she's ready for the Boston Marathon. It's pretty scary to sleep around her with that little talent of hers--if you even think of rolling over when you're within a ten-metre radius of her she's wide awake, eyes way too wide to be normal or sane, asking if you're all right.

And that is why I share a tent with Daniel. Not that he's any better...in fact, if you share a tent with Daniel and have an MRE in your lap, you have the equivalent of cabaret-style entertainment.

You see, Daniel is a human heat-seeking missile. The guy spent the first eight years of his life in Egypt, and after his parents died had such a go of it in the foster families he was placed with that I guess he automatically tried to recreate his life before the tragedy--spending most of his time in California, South America, heading back to Egypt and the Middle East...then throw Abydos in after a brief, not-so successful lecture in rainy old Chicago, and Daniel's a regular gila monster. So, living in Colorado is...a bit of a challenge. He must be cold-blooded, because if the temperature dips even a degree below forty he's all for draping himself over or burrowing against the nearest warm body he can find. We're in that mode right now; I've made the mistake of laying still for too long, and am steadily becoming a conjoined twin to one zonked out archaeologist.

Not only that...but Daniel lingui-sizes (is that even a word, O'Neill? Maybe I should wake Daniel and find out) in his sleep. Honest to God. On one of our first missions, he started mumbling in his sleep. I took it for a nightmare and was ready to play fearless protector and wake him up...but instead of coming to screaming, he rolled over onto his back, raised one hand as though reaching for something, and started mumbling about juxtaposing this culture with this culture, and this biome with that biome. And that's not the half of it--he got mad at me when I mispronounced 'juxtapose' while trying to stop myself from laughing my ass off at him (something that wasn't all that successful). He gave me one of those patented, albeit glassy-eyed, glares and corrected me in that 'don't be an ass, Jack' way he has. I tell these stories at almost every one of our team get-togethers, and to this day I can't convince him that I'm telling the truth anymore than he can stop himself from turning beet red when I bring it up.

Teal'c's another matter. There's a little-known fact about our Jaffa friend...and that fact is that he snores. Yep. Snores. Granted, not log-sawing, buzzsaw-emulating, screeching-train-wreck snores, but snores all the same. One would think that as a First Prime, he'd be schooled in sleeping in silence. Not so. Though maybe he can turn it on and off, kind of like a clapper...

This planet is pretty boring; we could probably get away with not having watch at all. But then I guess we'd have to deal with being bored and not being able to sleep; at least watch lets us feel like we're doing something. I wonder if anyone ever thought of just having one big security system for a camp...nothing too obvious, maybe just trip wires about a hundred feet or so in any direction to give folks time to get up, get their gear...it'd make for less stilted sleeping periods, give soldiers and civilians better sleep to be less edgy, more relaxed...

But I can hear them now. "Jack, you're slacking off." "Jack, what a stupid idea that was; now the Air Force is full of 'I need a full nine hours'-ers." "Jack, get off." "Jack, you're drooling on me."

Wait a minute...why would they say that?

"Jack...Jack!"

I startle awake--heey, wasn't I already...?--to find Daniel staring at me grumpily from...well, a lot closer than I'd bet either of us are used to. "Wha'?" I grunt. Doesn't he know he was interrupting me? I was in the process of saving the entire military from losing precious sleep.

"Get off," Daniel grunts back at me. "You're crushing my lungs and I don't think my clothes can absorb any more drool."

I snort and roll off--I wasn't even on top of him; I must have rolled and kind of...wedged up since he was plastered to me. As for his t-shirt--well, I guess I can't explain the water, but..."Did you sleep with a canteen again?" I accuse as I punch my pillow into position.

Even in the dark I can tell Daniel's rolling his eyes at me. "Nice cover-up," he mutters, presenting his back to me. "I'll send you the dry-cleaning bill."

"Do mine while you're at it," a voice whispers from outside.

"Pay attention to your watch, Carter," I order. "If we all get attacked and die, you're so paying for the funeral costs."

"Will you all please be silent??"

"Sorry Teal'c."

"Sorry Teal'c."

"Feel the love."

"Shut up, Carter."

"Yes sir."

I smash my face into my pillow and almost immediately my ears attune themselves to the sounds of the night, of living things both indigenous and alien. Now...where was I?

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End