Work Text:
View From The Medical Gallery
When trouble arises and things look bad, there is always one individual who perceives a solution and is willing to take command. Very often, that individual is crazy. Which explains how one Colonel Jonathan O'Neill made Colonel. I swear, if I didn't have the post-Abydos psychological profile report - not from Mackenzie, thank Hippocrates - that he's no longer suicidal, I would think Jack had a death wish. Honestly, while it is a very noble position to hold - there being nothing the man won't do to protect his team - sometimes it gets him into worse scrapes than Daniel. And that's saying something, considering that our resident linguist/archeologist/anthropologist and all-around trouble magnet has managed to die upward of four times. If you don't count his ascension, which I, for one, do. At any rate, Colonel Jack 'Yeah, sure, you bet I like blowing things up' O'Neill is once again in my infirmary. Flirting with the nurses, trying to evade his daily antibiotic shots from yours truly, and generally being his usual 'pain in the ass when hurt and/or sick' self. Next time he gets the bright idea to steal a death glider and gun down some Jaffa who are chasing the rest of SG-1, I hope he finds a better way of stopping the damn thing than running it headlong into a tree at Mach 1. Or at least makes sure the damn thing has brakes.