Archive: Whoever wants it :)
Pairing: None
Characters: MiniJack Disclaimer: SG-1 belongs to other than myself. Which is probably a good thing. Summary: When Jonathan O'Neill decided to start over again, he didn't realize just how hard a teenager's life could be. Especially when you're the clone of a fifty year old Air Force colonel who has traveled to other planets and kicked snake-alien butt and a group that hunts down anything having to do with aliens or the supernatural wants him to join them...
A/N: Hey! M.A. here with my first MiniJack fic! It takes place right after Fragile Balance, so yes, 'colonel' is correct at this point. Hope you all enjoy!
Chapter One: The Team
Jonathan O'Neill stood outside the classroom door that read 'B-211', a frown creasing his features as he studied the rectangular piece of paper that was supposed to be his schedule. Whatever happened to 'user friendly'? As far as he was concerned, the sheet was covered in indecipherable code where the only thing he had been able to make out was the room number 'B-211'.
He had read Ancient text and--though he'd kill before letting anyone know it--several other alien writings before, and they were considerably easier to understand. A sigh escaped him and he decided that he should probably go inside before he got detention or something. If it was the wrong place, he had a very handy excuse ready. The truth.
Folding the schedule up and tucking it into his pocket, he resolutely pushed the door open and walked in. Various conversations that had been buzzing about stopped abruptly at his entry, and twenty teenage faces stared at him. He ignored the questioning looks and walked over to the teacher's desk that was conspicuously empty, and a low hum spread through the room as conversations sprang up once more.
Jon let out another sigh as he folded his arms and leaned back against the chalkboard to wait. What kind of school was this where teacher's were allowed to be ten minutes late to class? If he'd been late to any of his meetings at the SGC...oh wait. He had. A slow grin spread across his face, causing a girl who was sitting in a front desk, wearing her red hair in pigtails and thick glasses to scowl at him.
"I don't see what you find so amusing," she told him in a clipped accent, "this class is completely out of control. It simply isn't done."
"'It simpy isn't done'," the boy sitting behind her mimicked, "Honestly, Ginger, you were born in Georgia, not London." The kid had sandy blond hair that was long enough to pulled back at the nape of his neck in a ponytail, and mischevious grey eyes that were now rolling in amused annoyance. "Don't you believe a word she says."
"Don't call me that," 'Ginger' growled, "It's uncivilized."
"Just because it's a nickname you've been called since you were three?"
"Why don't both you geekfaces shut the hell up," a voice from somewhere near the back called out, "And let us get on with our work, huh?"
"You mean discussing how badly your team lost last night?" Long-hair asked, not at all put out by the put down, "Yes, that's so much more important than welcoming the new guy, Clive."
Jon couldn't help but snort, which earned him a scowl from 'Clive' in the back--he had finally been able to make him out amidst the hulking forms of his teammates. He was tall, but looked absolutely scrawny in a red plaid shirt. His deep black hair was cropped short enough to please military regulations.
"Find something funny about my name, cupcake?" Clive questioned threateningly, "Because if you do, I'll have to pummel you."
"Oh, I'm shaking in my boots," Jon taunted. Maybe he hadn't been able to take on two specially trained SF's, but teenaged punks he could handle. "Can't you come up with a better put down than cupcake? I mean come on. How about 'scrawny, rat faced weasel'...hell, as overdone as it is, shrimp would be better."
Several students snickered collectively, making Jon grin--though 'Ginger' frowned in disapproval. Maybe this whole high school thing was a good idea, despite his misgivings.
"Just what is going on in here?"
Jon's grin faded as the rest of the class instantly sat at attention. Harold Adams was the vice principal, and who Jon had recieved his schedule from. A hatchet faced man with hard black eyes, Adams appeared to be a very tough, very scary individual. Especially when he was scowling at the room in that manner.
"Oh you know," Jon quipped, unable to help himself, "We're learning. Isn't that what you're supposed to do at school."
Once again the class snickered. Only this time, 'Ginger' wasn't the only one to disapprove. "Mr. O'Neill," Adams began, voice and mouth tight, "I realize that you are new to this school, so I'm just going to warn you this once that I do not like 'class clowns'. Now, where is Miss Lark?"
"She had to go to the bathroom," Long-hair supplied helpfully, "Apparently she had too much coffee."
Adams frown got impossibly deeper. "Third substitute this week...we're going to have to start doing thorough background checks. Well, then, since this is Study Hall, I guess you guys will be okay on your own. Miss Landers, if any of them get out of hand, just come and find me." The vice-principal pulled a pad from his pocket, marked something on it, tore the top sheet off and handed it to 'Ginger'.
"I'll be back to check on you mid-way through the period," Adams said as he walked towards the door, "And I expect you to have found a seat by then, Mr. O'Neill."
As the door shut with a snap, muted conversation filled the room once more. Jon sighed, hefted his backpack to a more comfortable position and looked around for an empty desk, ignoring at first, Long-hair's frantic motions at showing him the one right next to his. There were no others however, so Jon resolutely sat down.
"Name's Keven Baker," Long-hair introduced himself, extending a hand, "I've got the highest GPA in the grade, besides Ginger.
Oh great. Geeks. He just had to get the attention of the geeks, didn't he? Well, at least he wasn't much like Daniel. He was more like Jonas.
"Jonathan O'Neill," Jon said taking the proffered hand and giving it a firm shake, "I'm emancipated."
Kevin blinked rapidly and then grinned. "That is so cool. You have parties all the time huh? No adult supervision. Way cool." Okay, more like Felger.
"Kevin, that is quite improper of you," Ginger spoke up, "Did it ever occur to you that there might be a reason he's no longer living with his parents or legal guardian? And my name is Natalie. Natalie Landers." She held her hand out as well.
"Nice to meet you Nat," Jon said, shaking her hand too. He couldn't quite place who she reminded him of. Probably someone he hadn't dealt with much.
"It's Natalie or Landers," Nat said with a sniff, "I don't approve of nicknames. They are quite vulgar."
"I can think of a lot of things that are 'quite' a bit more vulgar," Jon told her with a grin, "But I doubt you'd appreciate it."
Natalie frowned, and Kevin waved her away. "Anyway, Jon, where'd you move from?"
"Toronto." It was the old fail safe. Just say you were from Canada, and no-one ever disbelieved you.
"I'd say from your accent, Minnesota," Nat piped in, "Or possibly Chicago."
Jon opened his mouth as he gazed at her in astonishment. Did she know? How else could she have guessed that? "What are you, Sherlock Holmes or something?"
A pleased grin crossed her face and she nodded happily. "I'm studying to be a forensic scientist, like he was. And even though it's not part of any of the programs at the colleges, I believe linguistics can be a very useful tool in determining..."
As she spoke, Jon could feel relief seeping through him. Of course a teenager wasn't going to know anything about Asgards and cloning. Well, most teenagers. There was Cassie. And himself. Despite having all the memories of a fifty year old Air Force Colonel, he was technically a teenager. At least on the outside.
"Yeah yeah," Clive interrupted, making Jon look up. The guy was incredibly quiet for a dumb jock. "That's nice. So, if you're really from Minnesota or Chicago, why'd you say you were from Toronto?"
"Because that's where I most recently moved from," Jon answered easily, having recovered from his earlier shock. Man, this teenage thing was messing with him. He would never have given himself away like that before. At least not so quickly.
"The rude, ignorant one," Kevin drawled, "with whom you have already verbally sparred and come out on top, is Clive Baker, my half-brother."
"What kinda name is Clive?" Jon asked, honestly curious.
Clive glanced at him, as though making sure it wasn't teasing, then shrugged. "No clue. It was my real dad's name. At least according to my mom. He died right before I was born, and she named me after him even though she had already married Kevin's dad."
"So you..."
"So Kevin skipped a grade."
"Ah."
Apparently this was all that was needed to make friends with the guy, because he settled himself on the corner of Jon's desk and began drumming his fingers. A comfortable silence settled over them, even with all the conversations between other students.
"You'd better go sit down, Clive," Natalie said suddenly, "Because Adams will be here soon. And you're already in trouble for barely passing. One more time in trouble and you won't be able to play anymore."
Clive sighed and stood up, stretching. "Yeah yeah. It's not like we win anyway, so what does it matter if I play or not?" He nevertheless took his seat just before Adams walked in.
After the princiapal had left, Clive rejoined them at their desks. "So, Jon...you been in boot camp or something?"
Or something, Jon thought ironically. Out loud he retorted, "No, have you? I'm assuming you asked because of my haircut."
"Oh. Yeah. I guess..."
"'You should never jump to conclusions with first gathering all the facts'," Natalie quoted, "Assumptions and guesses can lead you in quite the wrong direction. Although, I was going to ask the same thing, Jon. You look quite relaxed, but it's obvious that you've had some kind of disciplinary training."
"My uncle's an Air Force Colonel. He expects discipline in those who share his genetic material." There, now that wasn't too big a lie. And uncle could be used as a term for someone who was older than you that you respected. And he did respect himself.
"How come you don't live with him?" Kevin asked.
"He lost his son a few years ago, and having anyone my age around bugs him," Jon answered. Also not completely a lie. "Anyway, I'm better off on my own. My parents didn't exactly take care of me when they were alive."
"Oh, that's terrible," Natalie exclaimed, "and I'm guessing it's been hard to keep any friends when you have to move so much."
"I thought you didn't believe in guessing?" Kevin taunted, recieving a scowl in return.
Jon shrugged, looking down at his desk. He'd had friends. Really great friends. There was Daniel, who had grown so much since the goofy geek he'd met seven years ago. Teal'c, who was a staunch ally no matter what. And Carter. He bit his lip and looked back up with a grin, pushing those thoughts aside. He wasn't that Jack O'Neill anymore. They were no longer his friends.
"Yeah, but hey, I've got my own place now, so it's been worth it."
All three of them traded glances with each other before looking back at him in pity. He groaned. "Really, guys. I'm perfectly okay with my life as it is. Maybe things could be better, but they aren't bad now and that's what you got to look at sometimes, or you'll go crazy."
"Yeah," Clive agreed.
"I suppose," Kevin and Natalie chorused.
After that, there didn't seem to be much else to say, and silence once again stretched over them, this time awkward.
"I've got an idea," Kevin said, breaking the tension, "why don't you come with us to the Memorial Cemetary after school."
Clive and Natalie both chimed in with their agreements. "Yeah! It'll be fun. Come on, Jon!"
Jon blinked. "At the cemetary? Why the cemetary."
All at once, the three of them looked around the room, as though to make sure no one was listening in. Then, Natalie leaned closer and whispered, "We'll tell you when we get there and if you decide never to speak with us again after that, we'll understand. But just hear us out first, okay?"
Jon looked at each of them, their faces shining with hope, and gave a sigh of resignation. "Fine. But on one condition." He waited until they all traded a worried glance before grinning and continuing, "could one of you help me figure out what the rest of my schedule says?"
tbc....