A Dangerous Man
Description, Rating, & Disclaimers
TITLE: A Dangerous Man
AUTHOR: Elysium
SPOILERS: None
SEQUEL/SEASON INFO: Season 3 or 4
RATING: PG
SUMMARY: Cute and blond does not equal helpless.
CATEGORY: Adventure.
AUTHORS NOTES: Story was first posted to the Stargate SG-1 Hurt/Comfort list, at yahooogroups.com. It is a response to a challenge to write a fic in 5 minutes or less. Actual time here was about 10 minutes to think, 11 minutes to write, and 19 to revise.
DISCLAIMER:
All Stargate SG-1 characters are the property of Stargate SG-1 Productions (II) Inc., MGM Worldwide Television Productions Inc., Double Secret Productions, Gekko Film Corp and Showtime Networks Inc. No infringement of those rights is intended. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. This disclaimer was shamelessly copied from the 'Heliopolis' site.
"Hey. You."
The boy speaking is about 18 or 19 years old. He emerges like a shadow from between two of the cars in the lot. My mind has been on the inscriptions of PXR 685 and I realize I haven't been paying attention to my surroundings.
Because I'm on Earth I'm careless. Teal'c would not be pleased.
I hear someone else approach me from behind; there's no need for me to look. I squat suddenly and step sideways; my would-be attacker lands sprawled on his belly on the asphalt where I once stood.
The boy still standing draws a pistol. It is a deadly weapon--we use them all the time, and they're pretty damned effective--but somehow I find myself struggling not to laugh. It looks so puny compared to an offworld staff weapon; I wonder if our Jaffa opponents ever think the same thing when facing us.
But I'm also reacting. Before the boy can aim I stand and turn his wrist; he drops the weapon into my hand, more in surprise than from the force of my move.
He looks at my face and I see fear in his eyes; the easy mark has unexpectedly turned into a berserker. It is far easier to be brave behind a barrel.
I imitate the expression of a sadistic Jaffa.
"Holy shit!" the mugger exclaims.
His friend scrambles to his feet, sees that I've got their weapon, and runs away in a panic.
"Good friend there," I say. "Bye bye!"
The youth jerks his arm free and sprints off after his pal. I take mental notes on their appearance as they flee.
Later the police collect the gun, and I waste a couple of hours of my life relating the incident.
As I lie in bed, I wonder when I became that scary, and how dangerous I have really become. I wonder whether I really want to know the answer to those questions.
5/20/00
