By BadgerGater
Category: Humor
Season: Late 2nd
Spoilers: None
Rating: G
Warnings: None. Just beware a grumpy colonel.
Summary: Jack O’Neill does not accept change gracefully.
<><><><><>
Colonel Jack O’Neill sat uneasily on an exam table in the SGC infirmary. Dressed in his usual fatigue pants and black t-shirt, worry clouded the brown eyes on his handsome face.
“So, my nurses tell me this is the third day in a row you’ve been here to get painkillers for a headache,” remarked Dr. Janet Fraiser, shining a light into his eyes, a worried look on her face.
“Just a headache, doc, really. Too much paperwork, that’s all I’ve been doing all week-budgets, fiscal year end reports, summaries on our last month of gate travel. I let it all pile up and now I’m paying the price.” He shook his gray-haired head. “God, I’d rather get in a firefight with a half a dozen Goa’ulds than do paperwork. In triplicate.” He covered his face with his hands.
Fraiser nodded agreement. “I know sir, I’m fighting those paperwork demons myself this week. But I really don’t like this headache every afternoon thing. Especially from you, because you’re not one to complain. Let me run a few tests-"
O’Neill was ready to bolt. “Oh for crying out loud, Doc, not more tests. They’re worse than the paperwork. Really, it’s just a little headache. See, I’m better already,” he said, jumping off the table.
Fraiser had no mercy. “These are quick and easy tests, colonel, really. Guaranteed painless.”
O’Neill groaned. “Like I haven’t heard that before.”
_____
Later that afternoon, having completed the tests and sent a grumbling colonel back to his paperwork, Dr. Janet Fraiser sat in her office with the test results in hand. They had confirmed her suspicions. How was she going to break the news to the colonel? He was going to take this hard, fight the inevitable, she knew.
“No way, doc,” he thundered.
“Yes, way, colonel. Tomorrow, my infirmary, 8 a.m.” she ordered him firmly, not at all sure he would show up.
_____
Colonel O’Neill was usually a morning person, Dr. Fraiser knew, up early, filled with energy even before his morning coffee. Drove people nuts, he usually did.
No cheery greeting from the colonel this morning, however. He looked tired, like he hadn’t slept well, or hadn’t slept at all. He was taking this hard, it was obvious.
“Morning, sir,” she offered.
The colonel gave her a glare and grunted in reply.
Oooh, thought Janet, he’s taking this even worse than I’d feared. “Ready?”
“No,” he snapped.
“Colonel, it happens to all of us. It’s a natural part of aging, like gray hair (she liked that gray in his hair, made him look even more handsome, she thought)-“
He shot her a withering look, the kind that usually melted junior officers into quivering lumps. It didn’t work on her. She’d seen it before.
“Really sir, it’s not so bad. Happens to millions, almost everyone-“
“Well, I’m not everyone.
No indeed, she thought. Thank God everyone wasn’t so temperamental, difficult and stubborn. But then, she thought, unable to resist those pleading, puppy dog eyes, he was also oh so vulnerable, under that tough guy, bury your real emotions, hard edged, military exterior. Such a shame, she thought, what she had to do to those to die for brown eyes.
She patted his arm soothingly. “Colonel, you’ve survived Ra, Hathor, Heru Ur, Sokar, Senator Kinsey, the Antarctic, body switching, the knowledge of the Ancients, you’ll survive this. I promise.”
He looked at her pleadingly, licked his lips uncertainly, let his eyes stray to the small box in her hands. O’Neill couldn’t tear his gaze away as she opened the container, pulling out something that shone with the glint of new metal, the object of his terror.
As Fraiser approached him, carrying this new torture device in front of her, he took a step backward, then another, until his back hit the infirmary wall. There was no escape. “Sir, it’s going to be all right,” said Fraiser, reaching up to set the metal against his face.
Just then, Carter walked in. “Hey, colonel, your new glasses look great!”
“Ya think?”
