Jack
Bristow pulled another file from the pile with a deep sigh. For some reason undisclosed
to him, Laura had insisted he put up the holiday decorations on the coldest
days of the year. He had spent the whole weekend untangling strings of lights
and fighting losing battles with a tilting tree and bubble lights. In the midst
of it all, he had managed to come down with a cold.
Naturally,
then, his meeting with the Russian diplomat earlier this day needed to be cancelled.
He couldn't possibly work the man as needed to extract the bits of information
the agency was desperate for. On a good day it would have been difficult, but
with his constant sniffling and sneezing it would be impossible.
And so he
had been forced to spend the day behind a desk, apart from stopping in to
observe a training session. For the most part, his day had consisted of
unlabeled file folders, leaky ballpoint pens, boring personnel files in tiny
print, and a tissue box. Ah, the incredibly romantic world of espionage.
"hehhhShehhh! Huhh-huhhChuhhh!" Jack
pulled tissues out of the box and rubbed them tiredly at his nose. He yawned
and resisted the urge to take a short nap, using one of the piles of manila
folders as a pillow. No, the sooner he got through the work, the sooner he
would be able to head home. Home to a warm bed and thick blankets. Home to a
beautifully decorated and festively lit house. Home to Laura.
*
*
*
*
Jack
Shepard thought it was strange how much he missed about the world and his life
now that he was stuck on an island in the middle of nowhere. He remembered
almost with fondness moments like having a fresh cup of coffee in the middle of
a double shift or fighting traffic to get to a ballgame on time. And the
recollection of one of his most recent unpleasant experiences at the hospital
made him smile...
"ahhTChhh!" Jack
sneezed into his shoulder. His head pounded painfully for a moment, then it
settled. He sniffed hard and looked down at his watch. His shift had ended an hour
ago, but he'd been called down to the ER twice to give surgical consult and
still had a good deal of paperwork to finish before he could go home.
At least he was nearly
finished with his rounds. With a sigh, he pushed open the door to the patient's
room. He greeted the woman in the bed and smiled as he picked up her chart and
gave it a look. "Everything's on track for your sur... surgery..." he said, face
falling. He, like most doctors, dreaded showing weaknesses to patients,
especially when the weakness was an illness. Doctors were not supposed to get
sick. "ahhh-ahhhTChuhh!" He excused himself to the patient and managed to get
through the rest of the visit without another sneeze.
Once he was in the
break room, with piles and piles of files to get through, however, it was a
quite different story. A box of tissues sat just in front of him, and he
frequently dipped into it, sniffling and blowing his nose. Feeling miserable, he curled up on the couch and
read through the next file. Another glance at his watch told him he was now
more than two hours past the end of his shift. And all he wanted to do was
finish and go home to bed.
Jack laughed
to himself and settled down into the sand, sitting back against a rock. It was
funny how all that had been going on lately made him hope for something as
simple and as easy to deal with as a head cold.
*
*
*
*
Jack
O'Neill sat on the cot, so low to the dirt ground that his knees nearly came up
to his neck as he sat there. He had the back of his hand pressed to his nose,
and his breath was trembling. "hah-hahh-Choo!
ahhhShoo!" He really ought to have asked around for a handkerchief or
something, but the mission was nearly complete and he had hoped to be back on
Earth again before he'd really needed one.
"Sir?" Jack
looked up, sniffling and blinking. Colonel Carter stood over him. "We've
finished up the survey and we're sending the first loads back," she said. "We
thought that maybe SG-1 should be heading back, as well, to report to the General?"
"Oh you
did, did you?" Jack asked, looking around at the scene. There were still at
least a hundred boxes of supplies and equipment to be moved through the gate.
That was hardly a task he needed to oversee, though. "All right. Round up
Daniel and Teal'c, then, and we'll get going when there's a break in the... the
shipments... hahhhTChoo!"
Sam quickly
reached into her pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. "Here, Sir. From
Daniel." Feeling a bit embarrassed about needing it, and especially about
seeming so bad that everyone thought he needed it, Jack nonetheless took it rubbed
at his nose. It would last him a while, but he would have preferred being home
sooner rather than later. He stood, sniffling, hoping that there would be a
break soon so he could go home.
*
*
*
*
Jack Ryan really should have known better than to
attempt to drive anywhere on the afternoon of the busiest travel day of the
year. But what had started out as a sore throat and sniffle had quickly turned
into a full-blown head cold and he couldn't stand being at work a moment
longer. Luckily, the Pentagon hadn't wanted him around in his state, and after
that meeting was cancelled, several more fell by the wayside. And he had had
hastily packed up his briefcase, locked up his office, and headed to his car.
"hah'Rschhhh!" he sneezed again, ripping
a whole handful of tissues out of the small box he had balanced on his knee.
Rush hour traffic was usually stop-and-go on the beltway, but right now it was
pretty much just stop. He rubbed at his nose and sighed, avoiding looking over
at the exit signs several lanes over, which led to the airport. His foot came
off the brake pedal and the car coasted a few yards before he saw the red
taillights flash in front of him and he stopped again, within sight of the ramp
leading up to the Reagan National terminal.
Jack didn't
want to think about flying at a time like this. He didn't want to think about
all the work he really should have been doing. He didn't want to think of his
latest job involving the arms dealers and various parts of Asia
and the agent he was going to have to let go in unprepared. All he wanted to do
was get home as soon as possible, change into sweats, and crash on the sofa
with a good book. He only hoped that once he got past the airport, the traffic
congestion might lighten up a bit.
"huh!" He already had tissues out, in a
bunch in his hand. "hahh-ERSchuhhhh!"
He only hoped that, once home where he could get some decent medicine for his
cold, his own congestion might back off a little as well.