Work Header

Innocent Bystander

Chapter Text

Next time, I'm taking the zat, Dr. Daniel Jackson promised himself, ducking behind an old oak as a frozen missile thudded to the ground. He'd come out to Long Island to check on a possible Goa'uld artifact that had turned up in a rich eccentric's collection, under his credentials as an archaeologist. The so-called artifact had been nothing more than an ancient fake of an Eighteenth Dynasty pectoral, the eccentric was just a lonely old woman with a cat fetish, and he'd been on his way back to New York in less than three hours.

But the map had inexplicably tangled itself as he drove, and he'd wound up caught in the middle of a few late arrivals to the "Chapman wedding" - whoever they were. Seemed like nice enough people, willing to let a shabby professorial type grab a few bites off the caterer's table and quench his thirst with a cup of fruit punch while he tried to untangle the Gordian knot of his roadmap. Daniel had finally determined he'd have to apply the Alexandrian solution, but it would have been rude to ask one of the guests for a knife while the happy couple were in the middle of their "I dos".

And then... he'd heard gunfire.

Faint. High up. But definitely gunfire.

"The perfect capper to a perfect day," the maid of honor muttered. Purple rayon rustled as she faced the crowd. "All right! Everybody, stay calm, move under the catering tent!"

Missiles started falling out of the sky.

"Move it!"

And things had gone downhill from there.

Daniel peeked out from behind his tree. The Chapman party was gone, loaded onto a small ship by the redhead in the awful dress and the determined young man who'd called off the air strike. Thunder crackled in the dark sky, waterspouts clearly visible over the Atlantic. Chunks of ice - ice? - bobbed in the waves, the bridge back to New York was a flattened mess, and there were enough Navy ships out there to restart the invasion of Normandy.

And one multi-story lizard roared challenge to lightning-split skies.

Daniel blinked. Looked at the cup of punch still in his hand.

Poured it out.

What on earth was all that about?