"It's a tradition," Jonas is explaining, as he and Teal'c trek through the underbrush of P3X-867. He's waving his hands, using them to sketch pictures in the air, as though conjuring some mystical force that will make Teal'c understand him.
Teal'c, for his part, is listening. It's one of the things he does well, along with sleeping during briefings, though Jonas is the only one who's ever noticed that. He understands Jonas' enthusiasm for discovering Tau'ri rituals and traditions. He once had the same sense of wonder, as he walked through the new culture which wanted to assimilate him. Of course, Teal'c has since learned the truth: you can attempt, but you can never achieve true assimilation. Not without destroying that which makes one unique.
And Teal'c has always been certain he is unique. Just as Jonas is unique, just as Sam Carter, Jack O'Neill, and Daniel Jackson are unique. Even if some of them are occasionally dead.
"This looks perfect!" Jonas claps a hand and gestures at the large quasi-fir tree towering over them.
"Should the wood not be dried and seasoned over the course of several years, Jonas Quinn?" Green wood burned less well than dried, and he rather doubts O'Neill wants to advertise their presence with a deal of smoke.
"Well, in ancient times," begins Jonas, already set on explaining yet another section of the tradition.
Teal'c half-listens to the words, keeping an absent watch of the surrounding woods. It would never do for them to be ambushed, after all. O'Neill would get that little twitch around his lips, and raise his eyebrows, and ask Teal'c if he was 'feeling all right?' in that carefully-not-exactly-sarcastic voice of his. The one he used because he knew Teal'c could kick his ass, if pushed too far.
"--so this should work!" Jonas concludes, still beaming. Then he tilts his head to the side and looks at Teal'c. "Although, I'm sure Colonel O'Neill doesn't want us to bring back a Yule Log."
"I think not, Jonas Quinn," Teal'c agrees, "Perhaps we should merely gather the firewood we require and leave this tradition to another time."
Looking a little deflated, Jonas nods, "You're right, Teal'c. The Colonel probably doesn't care that we're stuck in the middle of nowhere on Christmas. Probably, he doesn't celebrate, anyway."
Teal'c knew this to be incorrect, but it wasn't his place to inform Jonas of this fact. "However," he says, reaching up and pulling the plant down he'd spotted while approaching the tree, "I believe he will be amused with mistletoe."
Brightening again, Jonas takes the sprig of plant and tucks it into a pouch on his vest, "Good plan. And Sam might like it, too."
Not deigning to comment on what Major Carter will or will not enjoy, Teal'c turns and begins gathering the dried and useful wood they will need to start their campfire and keep it burning the night through. If he adds a few more sprigs of mistletoe and a shaft of what smells like cinnamon to the pile, Jonas neither notices or comments. But later that night, sitting watch next to Samantha Carter, he feels pleased when she closes her eyes and breathes in the scents of Christmas that she was complaining of missing far earlier in the day.
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Teal'c and Jonas: Yule log
Date: 2007-12-21 01:45 am (UTC)From:"It's a tradition," Jonas is explaining, as he and Teal'c trek through the underbrush of P3X-867. He's waving his hands, using them to sketch pictures in the air, as though conjuring some mystical force that will make Teal'c understand him.
Teal'c, for his part, is listening. It's one of the things he does well, along with sleeping during briefings, though Jonas is the only one who's ever noticed that. He understands Jonas' enthusiasm for discovering Tau'ri rituals and traditions. He once had the same sense of wonder, as he walked through the new culture which wanted to assimilate him. Of course, Teal'c has since learned the truth: you can attempt, but you can never achieve true assimilation. Not without destroying that which makes one unique.
And Teal'c has always been certain he is unique. Just as Jonas is unique, just as Sam Carter, Jack O'Neill, and Daniel Jackson are unique. Even if some of them are occasionally dead.
"This looks perfect!" Jonas claps a hand and gestures at the large quasi-fir tree towering over them.
"Should the wood not be dried and seasoned over the course of several years, Jonas Quinn?" Green wood burned less well than dried, and he rather doubts O'Neill wants to advertise their presence with a deal of smoke.
"Well, in ancient times," begins Jonas, already set on explaining yet another section of the tradition.
Teal'c half-listens to the words, keeping an absent watch of the surrounding woods. It would never do for them to be ambushed, after all. O'Neill would get that little twitch around his lips, and raise his eyebrows, and ask Teal'c if he was 'feeling all right?' in that carefully-not-exactly-sarcastic voice of his. The one he used because he knew Teal'c could kick his ass, if pushed too far.
"--so this should work!" Jonas concludes, still beaming. Then he tilts his head to the side and looks at Teal'c. "Although, I'm sure Colonel O'Neill doesn't want us to bring back a Yule Log."
"I think not, Jonas Quinn," Teal'c agrees, "Perhaps we should merely gather the firewood we require and leave this tradition to another time."
Looking a little deflated, Jonas nods, "You're right, Teal'c. The Colonel probably doesn't care that we're stuck in the middle of nowhere on Christmas. Probably, he doesn't celebrate, anyway."
Teal'c knew this to be incorrect, but it wasn't his place to inform Jonas of this fact. "However," he says, reaching up and pulling the plant down he'd spotted while approaching the tree, "I believe he will be amused with mistletoe."
Brightening again, Jonas takes the sprig of plant and tucks it into a pouch on his vest, "Good plan. And Sam might like it, too."
Not deigning to comment on what Major Carter will or will not enjoy, Teal'c turns and begins gathering the dried and useful wood they will need to start their campfire and keep it burning the night through. If he adds a few more sprigs of mistletoe and a shaft of what smells like cinnamon to the pile, Jonas neither notices or comments. But later that night, sitting watch next to Samantha Carter, he feels pleased when she closes her eyes and breathes in the scents of Christmas that she was complaining of missing far earlier in the day.