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applecameronTitle: "Rank Hath More Than Privileges"
Author: Apple Cameron
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Spoilers: Season 8
Note: I'm not watching the current season (season 8). I know nothing but what I've heard.
He thought he'd understood, when George said it to him, one night over ribs and too much beer down in Denver one weekend, back when Jack's hair was more brown than grey. (Hey, he told himself, gate travel was hard on a guy.)
The burdens of age: George ate his salad ('lite' dressing) before tucking into a half-rack of pork ribs that he'd leave unfinished. Each beer chased by one glass of water. Two rolls. No baked potato dying under the weight of sour cream and chives like the one on Jack's plate, heaped with food a younger stomach didn't have to think twice about.
Now he got it, sitting at the desk he'd never once expected be his own. George had left him a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red Label in the desk drawer. "Just don't rely on it," he'd warned his replacement. "Rely on your people instead."
The burdens of command: if he could, George had said that night, he'd bury the gate in a heartbeat. Instead he was stuck praying whenever his people went into the light.
Jack wasn't much for prayer.
Guess it was time to start.
Author: Apple Cameron
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Spoilers: Season 8
Note: I'm not watching the current season (season 8). I know nothing but what I've heard.
He thought he'd understood, when George said it to him, one night over ribs and too much beer down in Denver one weekend, back when Jack's hair was more brown than grey. (Hey, he told himself, gate travel was hard on a guy.)
The burdens of age: George ate his salad ('lite' dressing) before tucking into a half-rack of pork ribs that he'd leave unfinished. Each beer chased by one glass of water. Two rolls. No baked potato dying under the weight of sour cream and chives like the one on Jack's plate, heaped with food a younger stomach didn't have to think twice about.
Now he got it, sitting at the desk he'd never once expected be his own. George had left him a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red Label in the desk drawer. "Just don't rely on it," he'd warned his replacement. "Rely on your people instead."
The burdens of command: if he could, George had said that night, he'd bury the gate in a heartbeat. Instead he was stuck praying whenever his people went into the light.
Jack wasn't much for prayer.
Guess it was time to start.