Stranger's Stargate Fanfiction

Author’s Note: If you don’t know that much about Stargate: SG-1, you might want to do some research (or better yet, go watch the ten years worth of episodes that the show consists of). Anyway, for some background, this takes place roughly around the second half of Season Eight: Jack is a general, Sam is heading SG-1, Daniel and Teal’c are pretty much same as always, and Sarah Gardner has had Osiris removed from the back of her neck, finally. This sort of thing, however, never goes smoothly…



Daniel, You Dog


For all the trouble it was causing him, the device was relatively small. Compared to the table like structure that had caused the time loop, this was more of a cabinet. It actually reminded him of his bedside table at home…if his bedside table were made from red stone, lapis-blue crystal, covered in buttons and Ancient inscriptions.

Also, his bedside table had never caused him this much mental stress.

SG-12 had brought it back two weeks ago, and he still couldn’t figure out what it was for. The translation hadn’t been a problem, but all it told him was that the device was for altering the shape of biological matter.

That was the short version, of course. The long version extolled the virtues of the machine with much flowery language and very little actual explanation. As far as Daniel could figure, it was a little known inventor’s first success and he had emblazoned the fact across his creation for all to see and gloat about.

Pompous bastard.

He was tempted to kick the thing just to see if something would happen. But Sam would never forgive him if he broke another potential doodad before she could get her clever mitts on it. Also, the ‘altering the shape of biological matter’ bit sounded rather promising.

Sighing, one Doctor Daniel Jackson picked up his notes and settled in front of the dread machine again. Maybe if he went over it again…just maybe he had missed something…

“Danny-boy!”

Yes, a distraction! Thank you God! This was the one time he would not abhor human company while working. Even grating, childish, Jack-like company. Of course, that didn’t mean he was going to show he was glad to see Jack. He had a reputation to keep up.

“Jack,” he muttered.

Completely undissuaded, General I-have-Much-Better-things-to-do-than-Paperwork-like-Bug-You plunked himself on the spare stool and proceeded to fidget like his life depended on it. Chin on his fist and expertly twirling an archaic fountain pen in the other hand, he asked the inevitable question.

“So…whatcha doin’?”

Daniel threw down his notes. “Being frustrated. I still don’t know what it does. The writing just doesn’t give any indication as to what it does apart from going on about how great it is.”

“But we know it alters flesh right?”

“Something like that. Biological matter at any rate, although it does specify flesh, yes.”

Jack inspected the translation lazily. “Reads like an ad for cheap plastic surgery if you ask me.”

Daniel’s eyebrows had a really good go at rising beyond his hairline.

“’Kay. I guess that’s one way it might…work.”

Jack grinned again. “Ancients gettin’ plastic surgery. Conceited bastards.” He gave Daniel a look that was deliberately speculative and suspicious. “Wonder if you had any work done while you were up there.”

Daniel was tempted to throw the thing at him. Instead he just scowled.

Jack smirked.

“By the way, noticed something interesting this morning. In the medical reports that came through.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” The General had resumed fiddling with the fountain pen, idly watching it pirouette between his fingers. “Saw a name I never thought we’d come across again.” He paused and watched Daniel with a calculated air. “Doctor Sarah Gardner. Imagine that.”

Daniel suddenly became very busy rearranging his notes. “Uh, yeah,” he mumbled, “imagine that.”

Jack let out a frustrated noise. “Daniel. What is she still doing in the Springs? It’s been months. Just about seven of them in fact. I thought she’d’ve gone home by now; gotten shot of this place.”

The archeologist pinched the bridge of his nose, looking pained. “The psychs won’t let her go. Say she’s got unresolved issues tying her up. Tying her here. Tying her to…me. Or something. She was kind of…in a state when she told me this.”

Jack, reading between the lines (not that it was hard or anything…), smirked again and proceeded to rile up his best friend.

He leant forward, against the Ancient device, saying, “Daniel, you dog –”

There was an eye-blotting flash of white and both men went reeling away from the machine.

When he could see again, Jack, his eyes watering furiously, peered around Daniel’s office. Where had he…?

Oh no.

The machine had apparently taken Jack at his word, for there beside Daniel’s stool, blinking those extraordinary blue eyes and shaking his dark hair, was a golden retriever.

Grinning up at Jack, he paused to sneeze, and wag his tail a few times for good measure.

Jack felt his heart sink to his toes. The President was going to kill him.