The Pool

An entry for the Ficathon Frenzy of the 2013 SG1 Friendship Ficathon to the prompt of George and Walter: The office pool

o0o

George Hammond quietly entered the control room to see Walter Davis-Harriman, one of the 'gate techs who was proving to have much to offer to this command, chatting on the phone and writing something on a legal pad.

"Okay, Major, I have you down for 20 on Dr. Jackson."

"Excuse me, Airman, but are you using official duty time to run an office pool?" Hammond asked with no small amount of authority in his tone.

Walter reddened and gulped, falling a little short of slamming the handset back into its cradle. "Uh, no, sir. I mean, yes, sir," he rattled off as quickly as the words could stagger out of a mouth suddenly filled with wads of cotton. "It won't happen again, General."

Hammond tried not to smile at Walter's shaking body. He certainly wasn't mad at Walter; after all, running a betting pool on duty time was a minor infraction in more "standard" circumstances. The man was really good at his job, and Hammond was rapidly realizing that Walter was not only smart and self-motivated, but trust-worthy and friendly as a cold-nosed hound dog on a frosty Texas morning. However, as commander of the SGC, Hammond really did need to set limits because no one knew what to expect from minute to minute and every person needed to be at the top of their game all the time.

On the other hand, Walter had already proven himself to be someone who could juggle all kinds of things effectively and efficiently. Considering the amount of tension and novelty his people worked under, maybe he should cut Walter—and the rest of the command—some slack on this.

George cleared his throat. "Well, Airman, I might as well know what the betting pool is all about."

Walter, whose complexion had softened to a medium pink, replied, "It's about . . . costumes at the Halloween party next week."

"Costumes? So the pool is about what Dr. Jackson is going to wear?"

"Not really, sir. Everyone knows that Dr. Jackson is coming as Andrei Sakharov, who won the Nobel Peace Prize for promoting the cooperation of all nations."

George nodded; he was not surprised by the archeologist's choice, though he was pretty sure O'Neill had a problem with Jackson choosing a Russian. "So if that's already known, the bet is what?"

"Well, sir, the bet is about Teal'c. Sorta." Walter gave the general a half-hearted shrug of his shoulders.

"Go on, Walter."

The use of his given name eased the tension in Walter's body. "The bet is whether Teal'c will come as Martin Luther King, Jr., like Dr. Jackson wants him to, or as Draba, one of the gladiators in that movie Spartacus."

"Let me guess. That's Colonel O'Neill's idea. Am I right in assuming the colonel is coming as the title character?"

Walter suppressed a chuckle. Yet again, he was awed by the general's ability to read people. To know and trust his people in such a short time. And to take the colonel in stride. He acknowledged once more how honored he was to serve in Hammond's command. "Yes, sir, you would be."

George rocked on his feet a few seconds. "Airman, put me down for 50 on Teal'c to come as an unarmed Jaffa warrior."

This time, Walter let the chuckle out and grinned. "Yes, sir!"

"And Walter, just one more thing."

"Yes, sir?"

"I'm counting on you not to let any future pools interfere with the safe and effective functioning of this base."

"Consider it done, General."

The End

Thanks to my stellar beta, CoriKay.

©2013