First Impressions

Author:  Orrymain
Category:  Pre-Slash, P.O.V. (partial), Movie Related
Pairing:  Jack/Daniel ... and it's all J/D
Rating:  PG-13
Season:  Before the Series - May 31, 1995
Spoilers:  Stargate the movie
Size:  12kb, ficlet
Written:  May 22-24, 2016
Summary:  Jack O'Neill gets his first look at Daniel Jackson, and vice versa.
Disclaimer:  Usual disclaimers -- not mine, wish they were, especially Daniel, and Jack, too, but they aren't.  A gal can dream though!
1) This ficlet is mostly done as a point of view.  Most quotes are lines actually spoken to others in the scene presented.  Otherwise, the comments made are the silent point of view of the person named before their part of the fic.  Admittedly, it may be a little confusing for anyone who has never seen the “Stargate” movie.

First Impressions
by Orrymain

Deep within Cheyenne Mountain Air Force Base in Colorado Springs, Colorado, a flourish of activity was happening.  This was Level 28 of the base, though very few knew of its existence.

The Mountain was best known as being the home of the North American Aerospace Defense Command, better known as NORAD.  Built during the Cold War, the complex was made to support up to eight-hundred people in the case of a nuclear catastrophe.  Originally, those working at the base monitored North American air space for missiles and Soviet aircraft.  When international tensions eased, emphasis was placed on monitoring objects in space as well as aircraft that did not have known flight plans.  In other words, NORAD's surveillance was the eyes of the government when it came to anything within U.S. airspace, if not beyond.

However, not even NORAD personnel were aware that a second elevator had been secretly built, one that went deeper into the Mountain, all the way to its twenty-eighth floor.  They had no clue that two very large, ancient objects had been brought to Cheyenne Mountain and placed into it, thanks to the missile silos that the Mountain encased during its construction.  For years, there was little attention paid to the stored objects.  That changed roughly two years ago.

The woman in charge of the operation was Catherine Langford.  As a young girl accompanying her archaeologist father to Egypt, she witnessed the raising of a mysterious find in Giza.  That was in 1928.  Now, more than six decades later, her determination to discover how the object worked was as strong as ever. That's why she'd flown to Los Angeles, California yesterday, to seek out a bright, unconventional scientist she'd heard about.

Daniel Jackson was down on his luck.  On a professional front, his grants had just run out and there was no realistic hope of getting new ones.  Plus, he was essentially homeless, having just been evicted from his apartment.  He was carrying around with him two bags, all he could tote as he tried to figure out what came next.  On a personal front, his best friend at the moment was a mutt he'd had a pleasant conversation with the night before, though he had no idea where the dog was now.

Out of the blue, Daniel was approached by Catherine, who saw first hand how unimpressed most of his colleagues were with his ideas.

Amid Daniel's attempt to convince other scientists at a symposium that the great pyramids of Egypt were not built by the Egyptians, every single attendee stood and left.  His peers could not comprehend that perhaps someone other than the Pharaohs of the Fourth Dynasty were responsible for the creation of the pyramids. He tried to be optimistic when he found himself alone in the Alameda room.

It was raining hard when Daniel exited the Park Plaza Hotel.  He'd only walked a few steps when Air Force personnel led him to the car in which Catherine sat, reviewing her file on Daniel Jackson.  After showing him a picture from his youth with his first set of foster parents, Catherine offered the shaggy-haired linguist a job translating hieroglyphics.  The offer seemed to come out of nowhere.  At first hesitant, Daniel ultimately could not refuse.  Curious, confused, and in need of cash, he accepted the travel papers handed to him and soon made his way to Colorado Springs.


This is, uh, really amazing.  The silo's drab, but what's driving this?  The cover stones are ... I'd really like to get a closer look.

There's Catherine.  Why me?  How'd she find me?  My foster parents: I miss them. Focus, Jackson.  You can't think about that right now.  I wonder how she found the cover stones.  1928?  I need to touch the stones.  There's so much to learn from them.  Who is Catherine anyway?

His name is ... Myers?  Yes, that was it.  What's he saying?  Two lines of hieroglyphs, an inner track with classic figures and an outer track like the cartouche.  Okay, this is wrong.  Let me get a better look.  Oh, uh, wrong again.

“Those aren't hieroglyphics.  Might be some form of hieratic or maybe cuneiform.”

A blackboard with the translation of... no, that's wrong ... again.  Whoever did this did not translate the inner track correctly.

“Must've used Budge.  I don't know why they keep reprinting his books.”

Good, there's an eraser.  Okay, Jackson, fix it.  Chalk?  There's a piece.

“That's a curious word to use, eh, 'Quebeh'?”

No, it's not 'coffin'.  Geez, this is so not right.  How many more corrections need to be made?  That's wrong, too.  Almost done.

“His Stargate.”

Catherine's laughing.  At me?  It doesn't matter.  I'm used to being laughed it.  It happens all the time.  Careful, Jackson.  Don't go there.  Concentrate on these cover stones, the translation, and what it means.  I'm troubled, though.  I mean,  why?

“Well, so why is the military so interested in five-thousand-year-old Egyptian tablets?”


“My report says ten thousand.”


Who said that?  Who is that?  He's a colonel.  I like the uniform.  What am I saying?  I don't like the military.  Blue's a good color, though.  He looks like death warmed over with that glare.  He must be a very unhappy man.

“I'm Colonel Jack O'Neill from General West's office.  I'll be taking over from now on,” the man says.

Okay, I'm guessing that's not a good thing.  Why is he here?  Why does the military care about these cover stones?  What did he freakin' say?  Something's off.  The Egyptian culture didn't exist ten-thousand years ago.

Now what's he saying?  Gawd, I'm just trying to understand what is happening around here.  I have to find out more about the sonic and radio carbon tests because something else is definitely going on.  All I wanted to know was if there was a tomb underneath, and this guy starts going all classified on me.  I don't like the military.

“From now on, no information is to be passed on to non-military personnel without my express permission,” he ordered the other military guy, but at least that guy knows how to smile a little.

There goes Catherine, probably to find out why this colonel is taking over.  I wouldn't be happy if I were her.  Of course, if I were her, I'd be a female, which might not be so bad, in some senses.  Actually, I'm quite happy to be a man.  Gawd, foster care for a girl.  I wish she hadn't shown me that picture.  It was so long ago and it's ... it's not my life.

What is going on?  I'd leave, I should leave, but I really need this job.  I hope I get paid soon.  There's, uh, something more to this.  I don't know what, but I want to find out.

And what is with Colonel O'Neill?



Gotta love the government.  I wonder who thought this up, a secret base in a mountain where the top half has no clue about the bottom half and the bottom half could care squat about the top half.  Don't think about it, O'Neill.  That's just how it goes and it will give you a headache.  I could use it; the ache might remind me I'm alive.  Shake it off or end it now.  What was I thinking about?  At least they chose the right branch of the service to oversee this monster.

Time to deliver the news.  I'll be Mister Unpopular again, not that I mind.  He's not familiar.  Who is he?  The truth is that I don't know and I don't care, but he has everyone's attention.

How does he see with that long hair in front of his face?  Alright, so I'm being hypocritical.  There's a difference.  I didn't go anywhere when I looked like something out of the sixties.  No one saw me with that long hair.  Sara barely saw me with it.  I didn't care.  I cared.  Why can't I tell her?  It doesn't matter now.  Shut up, O'Neill.

I just want to get this over with.  Who is he?


“Well, so why is the military so interested in five-thousand-year-old Egyptian tablets?”


Huh?  This kid's hair has clogged up his mind.  Testing says these big rock things are ten-thousand years old.  I'll tell them that right now.  What a stare.  You heard me.  You can't argue with carbon testing, so they tell me.

There's Kawalsky.  It's been a few years since I've seen him.  He's a good man; reliable.  He's my second.  I need his signature so everything can be official.  I'm glad he's here, but, crap, I wish he wasn't.  I don't want to know anyone in this mountain pit.  I just want to do my job and have it be over.  It's a good deal.  It'll help Sara.  My troubles will be over if this thing plays out right.  I don't want to know anyone.

Why is the kid staring at me?  He looks like he slept in those clothes.  Do they even fit? He must have bought them at a thrift shop.  Who is he?  Why is he here?

I know who she is.  She's Catherine Langford and she's wondering why I'm taking over.  Sorry, Ma'am, nothing personal.  It's the only way this works out right.

Why do I keep looking at that shaggy-haired kid?  He's scrawny.  Why is he here? Why do you care, O'Neill?  You don't.  Just do your job.  Geez, he looks like a little lost kid, waiting for someone to pat him on the back and tell him where the sandbox is.  Maybe I should requisition a box of crayons for him.

Are you done yet, Kawalsky?  I want to be away from these people, from all people. Hurry it up!

Whoa!  The kid is asking questions and whoever that woman is, Shore , I think, is talking like there's no tomorrow.  That won't fly.

“Excuse me.  This information has become classified.”

Let me make this absolutely clear to Kawalsky.

“From now on, no information is to be passed on to non-military personnel without my express permission.”

Does he ever close his mouth?  He just stares at me.  Maybe he's a human flytrap. Yep, that's what he is.  Stay away, kid.  Just stay away from me.

Time to get out of here.  There she is again.  Nothing I can, or want to, do to alter the situation.  Sorry, that's how it is.  Complete autonomy?  It comes and goes. Whatever you were promised has been whisked away, just like Dorothy's house in Kansas, and I wouldn't count on ruby slippers to bring it back, either.

“Plans change.”

She wants to know why I'm here?  I can answer that.

“I'm here in case you succeed.”

Believe it or not, Catherine, I want you to succeed.  That's my secret, so let's just get along and move along.


It was less than a minute that Jack O'Neill and Daniel Jackson met for the first time and formed their first impressions of each other.  They knew virtually nothing about the other and felt in many ways like enemies.  Would their future be a strained and conflicted one?  For that matter, would their even be a future for the two men?

That was the question to be considered on this day in what used to be a missile silo deep within the Cheyenne Mountain Complex in Colorado Springs.

~~Finis - Finished - Done - The End - But is it ever Really?~~

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