OK - nobody asked for this, but you're gonna get it anyway. I apologize for typos, misspellings and stepping on toes - if any. And yes, revsam and the seaquest addict have given me permission, repeatedly (are threats of dire consequences if I don't use them counted as permission?) to abscond with them into alternate realities at the drop of a tesserect coordinate. :D

Disclaimer: As noted on all fan fic, the SG-1 personnel are the property of someone else and I have no intention of profiting from borrowing them for a short time. (I promise to put them right back in relatively the same positions they were in when I borrowed them. Honest. Don't look at me like that)

A long time ago in a galaxy you ve probably never run into, for really good reasons:

"Isn't "Colonel" written on my uniform somewhere?" Col. O'Neill wondered aloud as the third person under his apparently nominal command refused to follow orders.

Explosive giggles followed. Luckily, Col. O'Neill and company couldn't hear those giggles as the somewhat less than sane dragon and her seaquest addicted eldest born looked at each other and laughed again. Someone really should write "colonel" on the poor man's shirts.

They settled in to watch another taped episode of Stargate SG-1. This was a total immersion weekend. A friend had taped all the SG-1 shows shown on Showtime over the "marathon" week and dragon and daughters and son were watching avidly. Again, Col. O'Neill seemed to have a problem with people following orders.

dragon looked at daughter. "Still doesn't have "col." on his shirt, does he?"

Daughter collapsed on the floor giggling. The younger siblings frowned at the noise. dragon and daughter looked at each other, grinned, got an idea and really wicked grins curved their mouths upward in a fair imitation of the Joker's smile.

Daughter shivered at the look. "Too many teeth," she muttered and laughed again.

Somewhere during their sojourns in fandom elsewhere, the dragon had come into the possession of a tesserect. (No, not a tesseract, which is a theoretical but non-fictional item) The tesserect looks like a perfectly normal remote control for the TV crossed with a TI (tm) calculator with way too many functions for a normal human being to ever understand. It folds space and time, but not just any space and time; it folds fanfic space and time. (What a concept!)

The seaquest addict looked at her mother and at the tesserect in her mom's excessively long nailed hands. "Are you sure we wanta do this?"

dragon looked at her eldest and tried to look innocent. She failed mightily and smiled. "Oh, yeah."

She couldn't figure out whether dragon sounded like the doctor in Hathor during the escape from incarceration scene or Randy Savage, the wrestler, in one of his peculiar Slim Jim (tm) commercials. She shrugged her shoulders philosophically and answered the door. There stood revsam. They weren't expecting the good reverend, but she looked right at home with that spray can of dye in her hands.

Revsam looked at dragon and the seaquest addict. Something in their demeanor told her she was in trouble. Or would be shortly. "OK, what's up?" she asked cautiously.

"You've got a spray can of dye! What color is it?"

"Navy blue."

"Great. Wanta come?"

"Where?"

"Stargate?"

"What?" Unfortunately, the cautious "why?" that was to follow got cut off as the tesserect folded them from dragon's trailer to the installation in Cheyenne Mountain. "Where are we?" revsam asked in a suitably subdued whisper as she recovered from the minimal effects of being shifted into fanfic abruptly. She adjusted her bifocals to semi-frown at the dragon who was practicing her innocent look.

"Stargate," she answered and gestured to the windows, beyond which the majestic gate itself could be seen. "Now. We need to find the Colonel's room -=-"

"Mom -"

"What?"

"This way. There's someone coming," the seaquest addict hissed and helped bundle the three of them out the door before they got caught by Capt. Samantha Carter coming in.

Half an hour later, our totally turned around and lost, but unfailingly lucky, trio, hurried through yet another unmarked door just ahead of nearing footsteps and let out a collective sigh of relief as the footsteps went past. Dragon and the addict looked around the spare, not to say Spartan,
room and then at each other. They grinned. Revsam wasn't certain she appreciated the manic gleams in their eyes. Dragon advanced on the closet and opened it. Yep. ONEILL, printed in mandatory kinda navy on fatigue green shirts. The grin widened.

"Stencil," the dragon said quietly. With an almost equally loony grin, the seaquest addict handed her a stencil that said "Colonel" in two inch high letters. She'd wanted three inch letters, but had been afraid that the word wouldn't fit across the back of the Colonel's shirts.

Dragon positioned the stencil, carefully and held out a hand to revsam. "Dye." Nothing. "Dye." Still nothing entered her empty hand. Dragon looked around at the hand and then at revsam who was staring at the dragon with a worried look. "Dye?"

"What if we get caught?" revsam asked in a smallish, quiet voice that was struggling to bring sanity to this situation. (As though there was any sanity to be brought to bear here.)

Dragon and seaquest addict gaped at her. What a time to bring up this kind of question. "We leave," dragon answered succinctly.

"How?"

Dragon pushed her perpetually slid down her nose bifocals back up to where they were supposed to sit and regarded the equally bifocal wearing, but un-slid, revsam with perplexed bemusement. "Tesserect."

"Oh," revsam responded as though she had forgotten all about how they'd arrived in the first place. "You're sure?" Somehow, the thought of trying to explain to her spouse just exactly what she was doing - wherever she was - when they finally, if ever, let her talk to him - She gave up the hopelessly muddled train of thought and handed over the can of spray dye. Oh, well. Eventually she'd get home. Dragon always did.

The seaquest addict pouted when she didn't get to spray the second or third shirt. Dragon looked long suffering and handed over the stencil and they dye for the fourth shirt. They worked together on the remaining three, both considering that seven was an odd number of shirts for the man to keep here. They were just admiring their handiwork on the last shirt, revsam having neatly returned the other six shirts to the closet when the door handle began to turn.

Panicked, the trio dove under the only good sized piece of furniture in the room, the bed. Not unnaturally, all three didn't fit. The seaquest addict slid into the tiny space under the utilitarian desk as the door swung open. Her blue eyes wide, she heard and then saw Colonel O'Neill walk into and across the room. From her vantage point, she got a good view of his boots and fatigue clad legs. She frowned. The fatigues were roomy and bloused into his boots. What a waste. No way to tell what someone looked like that way. She would have sighed, but that might have caught his attention. Instead, she concentrated on extremely shallow breathing.

She watched dragon watching his boots and nearly giggled. Revsam couldn't see anything as she was on the wrong side of the bed.

Colonel O'Neill, oblivious of his visitors, stripped off his sweat stained tunic and undershirt. His trousers were OK. He pulled on a clean T-shirt and pulled out one of his other shirts without looking at it. He missed entirely three utterly silent sighs of relief as he completely missed the new addition to his identifying marks. He picked up his regulation camouflaged jacket and left the room without a backward glance, which was a very good thing as it would have stretched the credibility of even delirium written fanfic for him to have missed the two visitors under the bed if he had.

Dragon scrambled out from under the bed and gave revsam a hand up. Then she peered under the desk at the seaquest addict. "Comfy?"

"Mo - om."

Dragon grinned and gave her eldest a hand out from the somewhat cramped space.

"We did it!" the seaquest addict crowed quietly.

"We did. Let's go."

Quietly they slipped into the corridor outside and closed the door behind them. Not one of them realized that they had left the can of spray dye sitting on the shelf in the closet. And it was about ten minutes later, again lost in the corridors of the installation, that revsam realized that the shirt tied by its sleeves around the seaquest addict's waist wasn't one she had worn when she came in, but the last of the Colonel's. Just as she was about to point out that they seemed to have erred, they passed through a doorway onto a platform from which they could see the Stargate itself.

Down on the "landing stage", so to speak, Capt. Carter and Daniel Jackson were apparently having a hard time trying not to laugh at something. The Col. had been half into his jacket when he'd entered a discussion with the General and had apparently forgotten which way the coat was going as he pulled his arm out of the sleeve he'd already donned. Carter was the first one to get a look at his shirt. Her reaction had caused Daniel to look around. He'd almost laughed and caught himself. He didn't know which joker in the place had played the joke, but it was amusing, in a very juvenal manner. Then he accidentally met Sam's gaze and they both lost their tenuous control. Both tried choking back the laughter bubbling up inside them.

Teal'c, also aware of the decoration on the back of O'Neill's shirt gazed at the two of them in bemusement. He saw no humor in the situation, but then he recognized his lack of experience with the humor of earth's societies. Something about this was humorous. He met Jack's frowning gaze as the Colonel turned around to look at his unit. He saw nothing funny in the current situation. He was surprised that the others did so.

Carter and Jackson sobered immediately under his gaze. Unfortunately, he turned back to the General and they could see it again. Daniel sputtered, trying very hard not to laugh.

"All right, Mr. Jackson, what's so funny?" the General asked in that "no nonsense, who do you think you are" sort of voice that brooked no sliding out of answering his question.

In answer, Daniel pointed at Jack. "It's his shirt," he finally got out and looked away so he wouldn't see the offending stencil. Sam was also looking somewhere else.

Curious, the General took a step past Jack and looked at his fatigues. He raised an eyebrow. "Would you mind explaining this, Colonel?"

Jack tried to look back over his shoulder at his back in that extremely ineffective manner that most of us effect when trying to look at our own backs without a mirror. He was frowning. An explosion of giggles brought everyone's attention to the trio of intruders. The security klaxon's went off, security having suddenly discovered that the base had been invaded. They also went off because an outside line was calling in and there weren't any SG teams out at the moment.

The base went to alert status and Dragon thumbed the control and folded the still giddy trio out of the installation just as well armed, and ready to use it, security personnel came boiling through the doorway through which they had arrived. Her reactions were so fast, that the security personnel received only a fleeting impression of someone having been there. The blast doors came down and the iris flexed into place just as the first of the incoming attackers arrived. Thud.

Jack slid into his coat and cocked his gun and his unit also went for their weapons. The stencil was out of sight and out of mind while the Stargate facility personnel concentrated on waiting out the attack, and going over responses should there attack drop the protective iris.

It wasn't until two days later that the full enormity of the "attack" on the Colonel's person became apparent and Jack was demanding to know which of the installation's personnel had thought this was funny.

Sam and Daniel looked at each other as Jack left and grinned. Next time they wanted to not do something they'd been ordered to do, they'd have to find some excuse other than his not having Colonel written on his uniform.

Unfortunately, tesserect wielding lurker type fans do not have lives that are all beer and skittles (to borrow from someone else's vernacular). While the revsam arrived back at her residence, sans her vehicle which she would have to retrieve, the dragon and the seaquest addict found themselves elsewhere. While there was the requisite amount of golden sand in the area, there was entirely too much water to their left. Dragon's jaw dropped as she watched a lone man on a long wooden board ride in a really big wave! The tesserect hit the sand at her feet. Somewhere in the background, a band was playing a refrain she recognized:

"Ride, ride, ride the wild surf!
Gonna take that one last ride!"

"Mooooommmmm!"