Okay, boys and girls, be sure to study this, because there will be a quiz. To review...

Things That Are Good:
Semesters ending
Getting to take a break from living with your roommates for a while, before any inconvenient murder occurs
The apples you get in holiday gift baskets. Where are these the rest of the year? Seriously.
24-hour Christmas music radio stations...whee!
Fandom. OH, Fandom, I've missed yooooooou.
Christmaaaaaas.

Things That Are NOT Good:
Finals. Good Lord, Professor, who pissed in your Cheerios the day you drafted that mother up?
Registering for classes. ("What do you mean our program can't possibly prepare you for any of the graduate programs you're interested in. Why, look at all of our classes, however can this be?" Uh, I dunno, you tell me.)
Psychology of Perception. Just don't, folks.
/friends?skip=10000. *weeps*
My car's lack of four wheel drive. Ow.
Brussel sprouts... don't ask.

No explanation for my prolonged absence at the moment, because honestly, I could tell you guys, and you'd never believe me. Endless. So lets skip it.

Now I'm back home. Yay! And I'm come bearing fic. Gasp! Well, kind of silly Christmas-prompty nonsense, but it's written down and it's fictional, so...fic! Also known as "Why peeking at the flist when I was supposed to be still studying was a bad idea." Or alternatively, "Oooh, lookit all of holdouttrout's pretty prompts!"

Title: Traditionally Speaking
Rating: G
Word Count: 1500-ish
Warnings: Cookies in places they don't belong; vague Christmas sappiness; convenient plot devices; one totally made up Goa'uld word (extraneous apostrophe included); inexcusable silliness; the phrase 'merry elves'; an element of, 'Uh, does probability work that way?' Probably not. Oh, just go with it.
Summary: "I don’t think this was quite how we all planned to spend the holiday.”

The little green LED display clicked over from 11:59 to 12:00. Jack sighed, stretched his back out till his shoulder popped, and said, “Well, Merry Christmas, kids. Hope you’ve all been very good, because it’s gonna be a bit of a haul getting out here for the big guy.”

“Hammond?” Daniel asked, not shifting from his sprawl on the floor of the opposite corner, one arm draped over his eyes.

Carter opened her eyes but didn’t move either, apparently happy to go on using Teal’c’s crossed legs as a pillow. “Great,” she sighed. “When we get back, I’m definitely going to end up picturing him in the suit.”

“You’re welcome,” said Daniel.

Teal’c’s head dipped, the only indication in hours that he wasn’t so deep into meditation that he’d heard them at all. “Would that not then make us merry elves?” he asked, all innocuous deadpan.

Carter grinned. “Ho ho ho.”

“You’re all remarkably…peppy about this,” Jack said. He tipped his head back to consider their cell’s smooth stone walls.

“Call it Christmas spirit,” Daniel offered. “Besides, at least they moved us inside today.”

“True.” It wasn’t winter on P2J-whatever-the-hell, so that was something, but the torrential downpour the day before – yeah, Jack didn’t mind opting out of the big uncovered pen in the middle of the village. “Still. I don’t think this was quite how we all planned to spend the holiday.”

“Uh,” Carter said, the way she usually did right before continuing with something like, ‘we might need to rethink this plan,’ or ‘actually, the laws of physics don’t work that way, sir.’ “Actually…”

Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “Something to add, Carter?”

She sat up slowly, looking around with an expression that could only be described as sheepish; Daniel, his interest apparently finally piqued, shifted his arm aside and squinted at her. “It’s just – well, I figured, just in case, you know?”

“No,” said Teal’c. “We do not know.”

The locals had taken their weapons, but let them keep their packs once they’d dug through them and thrown out anything sharp – apparently part of kind of prisoner-of-war code that Daniel thought was fascinating and Jack thought was kind of stupid on their part, but a pretty nice unexpected bonus for his team. The dry clothes had definitely come in handy.

Carter eased herself up, wincing against stiff muscles, and crossed over to where the packs were piled against a wall. “I mean… well, normally I wouldn’t have thought of it, but considering the date, and our history…” she began, fishing into her bag.

“Yeah,” Jack said slowly, eyeing her. “I guess, with some of our luck….”

“Our odds, actually,” she corrected, pulling a wrapped bundle out and setting it on the ground. “You know, considering the number of times we’ve been stuck off world or thrown in prison or…something at the least convenient times – ”

“There was math involved in this decision?”

“There’s always math, sir.”

“Figures.”

Carter finished unfolding the knot of what looked like a spare shirt or two, and held up what turned out to be a big zip-lock bag. “Merry Christmas, guys.”

Daniel sat up slowly, mouth twitching. “You brought gingerbread.”

“Made it myself. Carter family tradition, actually. My mom always made them, and then me.” She pulled out one of the little men and passed it over to Jack. “We had rules about the whole thing, actually.”

Jack had to admit – it smelled pretty good, especially after nothing but MREs for days. He took in the little iced face and careful buttons and decided that he was never going to figure Carter out. “Gingerbread rules.”

“Yeah. When we’d make them, the recipe, and – well. Mark started it. He convinced me that you always had to eat the head first with gingerbread men. Or else they’d feel it.”

“Logical,” said Teal’c, as Daniel’s lips thinned to almost invisibility against the looming smile. “If one must be eaten, it would be wise hope for a quick death.”

“Exactly! Stop laughing, Daniel. Here.”

He took the proffered cookie and somehow managed to get his expression under control. Even from across the cell, Jack could see it was a struggle. “Thank you. Headfirst, I swear.”

“I was eight,” Carter sniffed. She consoled herself with a bite of cookie. The head, Jack noticed.

Jack turned his cookie over in his hand. “ So let me get this straight. You were so convinced we were gonna get stuck off-world on Christmas that you smuggled baked goods.”

“Basically.”

“I’m not surprised,” Daniel said. He held up a hand at Carter’s surprised glance. “That we’re here, I mean. Like you said, our luck.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Seriously. Some team always gets stuck on a major holiday, we were practically due.”

“This was supposed to be a cakewalk,” Jack protested.

“Yup.”

“We left on the twentieth.”

“Yes, Jack.”

“We were only staying one night!”

“Yes, Jack. And the Idrians were supposed to be agrarian. But look! A Christmas miracle.”

Carter sighed loudly and made a show of rolling her eyes. “Oh, quit bitching and eat your cookies.” A pause, and then, slowly, “…Sir.”

The laughter Daniel had been fighting finally escaped in a short burst, and Teal’c shifted and opened his eyes. “Thank you, Major Carter.”

“You’re welcome, Teal’c,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Cookie?”

He unfolded his legs and leaned forward to carefully select one from the bag. “Indeed, I will.”

“Eye rolling at a superior officer,” Jack huffed, vindictively biting his cookie’s left leg off. “It’s going on your evaluation. See if it doesn’t.”

“I’m sure it will, sir.”

Jack took another bite – which, okay, was pretty damn good, so maybe he’d let the ‘probable odds of disaster’ thing go. “What about you, Daniel. Smuggle a Santa hat in with your journals?”

“Ah, no.”

“No fond Christmas memories to share?”

“You mean, with my foster parents?” Daniel asked, pointedly. “The Cohens?”

“…Right….” Jack, quite magnanimously, ignored Carter smirking behind her palm.

“No, actually, it was kind of nice. It was a pretty mixed bag, who was living with them any particular year, so they always had a little bit of everything going on. Happy Chanukah, Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanzaa…”

“Merry Festivus?”

A grin flickered briefly across Daniel’s face. “Something like that.”

“My mom used to have us do the whole popcorn and cranberry string thing.” Jack finished off his cookie and reached to take another. Yeah, he’d let Carter keep right on ribbing him. “New ones every year. Took for-friggin-ever.”

“On Chulak,” Teal’c offered, “At the conclusion of every winter festival, several painted lac’ten were released into the city center and the youngest of the Jaffa would attempt to chase them all down.”

“’Lockten’?” Carter asked, the corners of her mouth turning up in anticipation of the answer

“Similar to large hares.”

“And, uh, what was that supposed to represent?” asked Daniel.

Teal’c looked at him. “It was amusing,” he said, and Carter’s straight face dissolved.

“And here’s a new one for the list,” Jack said, once her laughter had died down to occasional snickering. “The Christmas jail.”

“It could be worse,” said Daniel. “Could be that one on – what was it, P49…right, 211, thanks Sam. The one with those huge rats?”

Carter wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. Or the one with the spikes in the floor.”

“Or the one that turned out to be a zoo.”

“P17-N39,” Teal’c said. “The swamp.”

They all grimaced. “Actually, I think the Christmas jail is growing on me,” Jack decided.
Carter smiled brilliantly. “Can’t beat the company.”

“Or the cookies,” said Daniel, toasting her with one.

“Or the cookies.” Jack raised his in turn. “Next year, someone smuggle in some egg nog.”

Daniel shot him an arch look over the tops of his glasses. “I’ll bring some popcorn and thread. Keep you busy.”

“Perhaps tinsel,” Teal’c suggested.

“I’ve always been a lights person,” said Carter.

Jack sat back and let them go; Carter working up increasingly elaborate lighting designs, Daniel alternating between egging her on and accusing her being one of those houses that blew the city’s power grid with the Christmas lights every year, Teal’c steadfastly insisting that the light up plastic soldiers and candy canes were essential.

Yeah – cold cell with nothing but MREs and the mushy crap they got once a day, and a warden who would probably stick them back outside in the rain in the morning… it wasn’t the Christmas Jack would have picked.

But – well…hell…Carter brought cookies. He guessed it wasn’t all bad.

“Quiet,” Teal’c said suddenly, halting an increasingly complicated debate between Daniel and Carter on the merits of colored versus white lights. There was a long silence as they all froze, Jack with a mouth full of gingerbread. And then, distantly –

“Well, hark,” Jack said over the familiar sounds of P-90s rapidly growing closer. He hauled himself to his feet and over to the cell door. “Christmas is getting merrier every minute.”

“I thought the Christmas jail had grown on you,” said Daniel, passing out the packs.

“Yeah, you know, now I’m thinking Christmas Waffle House.”

Carter had shoved what was left of the cookies back into her pack and clipped it in place. “You’re buying, sir.” Off his look, she shrugged. “Hey, I baked.”

The gunfire in the hall beyond the door stopped abruptly, and through the stone Jack could make out a voice barking orders. English. And sounding suspiciously like Dave Dixon. Well, then. “Fair enough. But the egg nog’s on Teal’c.”

The door swung open.

"Merry Christmas!" said Jack. "Cookie?"