"Toilets. That's what I miss."

"Ow," Daniel said. "Ow, ow, ow." He tried sitting up, looked around in some confusion at the hospital room surrounding him, and sank back to the floor. "Usually it's a Waffle House," he murmured, and then, "Ow" as an afterthought.



"I'm so sorry," said the man standing across the room, nervously glancing at his watch. "This is all my fault. Well, not that you're here, and not in a Waffle House, which – well, I don't know whose fault that is. I don't understand that, to be perfectly honest. But the rest of it, which you don't actually know about, but I assure you is probably more confusing than not being in a Waffle House, is that--"



Daniel looked down at himself, and back up at the man. "Are you Tok'ra?" he broke in.



"No, I'm Ned," Ned said.

These training scenarios are intended to assess base readiness and review policies regarding certain scenarios that may occur in daily operations. They are not intended solely to provide a chance for you to shoot your co-workers, whether or not they deserve it.

(Daniel leaned over Sam's shoulder as she read the email out loud. "Jack?"

Jack looked up from where he was fiddling with the electromagnowhoosit on Sam's lab bench. "Yah?"

"You edited this memo after Hammond was done with it, didn't you."

Jack's lips tipped up. "What gave it away?"

Daniel rolled his eyes. "Oh, nothing.")

Teal’c sits nearly backlit by orange candlelight that reminds her of energy pulses; what light wraps around him is absorbed into the gold brown of his skin, the black of his shirt, the curls of his hair. In the grey of the ship, Vala yearns for blues or greens or reds. She wonders if she can do any better than convincing Sam to wear something other than a uniform; wonders if the best Daniel can do is put on green BDUs for the day. It is not enough for her to wear a feather boa any longer; she cannot see her own appearance without adopting the more vain aspects of her former tenant. And Vala knows her shipmates do not notice whether her pigtails have ribbons or not. Pink or not. Vala does not wear gold. But clothes are a fleeting entertainment anyway. With the timescales she’s facing in this particular torture scheme, she needs a longer-term fun. A brighter color, that she can see; one that will have lasting effects. She is desperate.

Carter thinks the Ancients invented time travel, that they are perhaps the only race ever to know the perils of it, but Jack knows she's way off base. He's a perpetual time traveler, practiced in the art of arriving just where he wants to be.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time," Cam grumbled, and he heard Carter and Jackson laughing in the rain ahead of him.

"It always does, Mitchell," Carter said, and the smirk in her voice sounded affectionate to Cam's ears. "It always does."

Almost, but not quite, entirely unlike leave time.

Teal’c was accustomed to periodic inspections of his armor, his posture, and his professions of loyalty, but not to sitting in a chair while a stranger prodded his gums. It was, at the start, unnerving.

Death wasn’t so much of a milestone for SG-1 anymore; Daniel alone had reduced it to more of a mile…pebble. But this, Jack had to admit, this was something new.