In the Beginning of the Middle

*I'd like to disclaim, for both Grace and I-the usual: Sadly we don't acutally own anything related to Stargate SG-1 (and other mentioned items) if we did, we'd be both
1. Far Richer and
A. The object of much envy.

And Mostly I'd like to disclaim that while this is fanfiction-it's still certainly NOT to be taken seriously. I'm well aware that this is a story chock-full of "Mary-Sues" and that's how it started, selfish gratification of our bored little minds. We just started posting it because we're too lazy to keep emailing each other. So if you like it-great, let us know, but if you get three sentences in and throw your hands up in digust-don't say we didn't warn you.
(No Llamas were harmed in the writing of this story.)
Sarah.


Chapter One: By Sarah
"Ugh.”
“Is that all you have to say this morning?” Sarah asked, far too chipper for the morning.
“Yes.” Grace groaned and pressed her aching forehead against the cool frosty glass of the coffeehouse window. Sarah fumbled with the keys and with a triumphant “Ha!” The door clicked open. Grace followed Sarah in, shuffling feet catching on the rug on the other side.
“It is so not my day.” Grace muttered as she caught herself on one of the nearby tables.
“You pulled another all-nighter, didn’t you?” Sarah asked, “you could have called in.”
“I know, but then you’d open by yourself, you know how rabid the morning crowd is.”
“True, well you can nap first come afternoon lull, how’s that?”
“I’ll hold you to it.” Grace walked towards the back of the dimly lit room and dumped her bag in the back room. The coffeehouse was strictly bohemian, Grace and Sarah had been planning this particular venture for years, and hadn’t really expected to see it to fruition, but since the opportunity had presented itself (in Colorado Springs of all places), they’d jumped it on it, with all cylinders running. The building itself was an old firehouse that had been in disuse for years after the fire department had moved to better, more modern quarters in the ‘50's. It’d been dirt cheap, having never really cleaned or maintained since the department had moved out and been understandably occupied keeping the town from catching fire. Next door, oddly enough was a bakery, which had also been for sale, and between Grace and Sarah’s salaries (a far cry from their meager starting points right out of college) they’d been able to purchase both buildings. They’d taken sledgehammers and other convenient implements to the adjoining walls and eked out some brick arches that connected the two, thus providing plenty of ample space.
The floors in both buildings had been a decidedly gross shade of avocado linoleum that once peeled back revealed the glory of hardwood floors. The girls had been thrilled beyond belief at their good fortune, along with the fact that the main structure, electrical, and plumbing of the buildings were all in good repair. From there it was a matter of tearing down the purple floral wallpaper on the bakery walls (someone had gotten inspired sometime in 1982), chunking and re-painting the walls (Sarah jokingly called it the “villa” effect), and cleaning EVERYTHING. The firehouse housed a second story, which they used for storage and offices, they hoped to expand to a used bookshop (instead of the few shelves they had now) and would have loved to convince E to come out west and start her “The Grilled Cheese” but that was highly, highly unlikely.
It would be a couple hours before their first “employee” would even walk through the door-most of the “hired help” were college students who preferred to stay abed in the early hours (Grace and Sarah shared the sentiment, but they’d lose a lot of business if they closed on the early-morning work crowd) and Sarah and Grace liked to have the early-not quite waking hours to themselves to banter and share inside jokes. Sarah, who’d spent some time in a college-run-coffeehouse (who’d sold out to “the man”-corporate food services) had some very definite opinions about “regulations” “dress code” and decor for starters. Grace, raised by genuine hippies, and having spent part of her childhood years in a Volkswagen bus, was predisposed to agree with her. They had a register-because it (usually) made life easier-and because everyone paid with credit these days. But they kept the old “time card” system, because computers hated it when you wanted to add an extra unscheduled hour to your punch. Besides, the girls had a policy-three strikes and you’re out-steal or cheat us, you’re out now. You show up when you’re supposed to, act like a well-mannered human being, and don’t poison the customers, and we’re good. Agree to that ahead of time, and we’re disposed to re-schedule, work around, and slack off on you. It worked pretty well. Plus, they’d found that your employees are much happier when you don’t make them wear dorky uniforms and hairnets.
Sarah, in an old flight suit (from the nearby Military Surplus store) that she’d turned into a sun dress, an oriental long-sleeved t-shirt, and floppy pigtails was checking the espresso machine when Grace came back from splashing water on her face in the bathroom-(checking to make sure it wasn’t vile, while she was at it.) She shrugged her jacket off and hung it on the coat rack at the end of the bar, revealing her “WAKE UP AND SMELL THE PUNK ROCK!” T-shirt in grey and racer-yellow.
“Nice!” Sarah said, looking up and grinning at Grace’s shirt. “I like the pants too.” Grace tugged at her olive-drab BDU’s and gestured towards Sarah’s knee-length dress. “It looks like the Surplus serves many tastes in fashion, huh?”
“Yup!”
“Okay, what’s up? You’re waaay too chipper for this time in the morning.”
“I am?”
“Yes.” Grace rolled her eyes and started pulling out carafes for the House Coffee Blends.
“Wee-ll.” Grace walked towards the storeroom, knowing Sarah would doubtlessly draw out the drama as long as she could. She stared at the choices before her. Some people might find this daunting, even tiring to the point where they’d rotate the coffee blends and put it all down on the chart. Grace preferred to work by gut instinct and lottery.
“Pick a number between 5 and 14.” Grace yelled back.
“9?”
“Excellent choice. Southern Pecan it is.” Grace heaved the bag of beans towards her and scooped out what she thought would last a couple of hours. After a moment’s contemplation she also picked out a dark Indonesian Roast, a Decaf Irish Cream, and a Mild Jamaican Blue Mountain.
“Well?” Grace dumped a measured cup of beans in the grinder and turned towards Sarah. The other girl grinning Cheshire pulled a large white stack of braided paper and thumped it on the counter.
“They’re publishing it!” It was a good thing no one was in yet, because the squeals could be heard over the grinder.
“SHUT-UP! NO WAY!” Grace stared at the paper. A couple of years ago the two of them had begun writing a extremely random time-travel-historical fantasy. Just for the heck of it, with their friend Joy, a unconventional librarian if there was one. (She was young, fiery, and loved renaissance faires. )
“Does Joy know yet?”
“NOPE.”
“OH- we HAVE to call her!” Sarah grinned and held out the cordless and snatched the waiting coffeepot from Grace in one motion. While Grace was relaying the good news (Joy was by nature, an early riser) Sarah made coffee, refilled the half-and-half, checked the drink supplies, put out the personal cups of the regulars on the rack and pulled a tray of waiting scones out of the fridge. She glanced at her watch. 5:43. They’d open at six, and that’d be plenty of time for the scones to bake. She set out blueberry and cran-orange muffins from yesterday and contemplated whether or not they should add doughnuts to their list. After all, for some inexplicable reason-the bakery had a deep-frier.
She heard Grace’s happy exclamations from the rear of the house as she performed her walk-through. Depending on the day, the girls would open or close, usually open as of now. They’d rather close the shop, but they’d yet to find an opener they’d trust. Some of the students from nearby CCU were pretty trustworthy to at least clean and lock-up even if their significant other was playing up on the make-shift stage. Pretty much every piece of furniture in the house was second hand-that meant it was cheap-and comfortable. Besides, buying completely new furniture just seemed...wrong. A few minutes later and Grace was yelling at her to check the scones, she was still on the phone with Joy and pouring coffee, the cordless nestled between her shoulder and ear. Sarah plopped the scones on a cooling rack and went to unlock the door. Meanwhile, Grace had just hung up with Joy and was searching for something suitable music that would wake them up-just not too fast. She’d just slipped in a mix of sprightly Appalachia/Celtic when the bell jangled on the door. Despite well-meaning advice from various corners, the girls had put their collective feet firmly down on the idea of an electronic bell. Walking in the door of their coffee shop should not put one in mind that they’d accidentally stepped into Radio Shack.
“I don’t know, Mitchell, it doesn’t really look like they’re open.”
“Aaaw nonsense, come-on, the sign clearly says OPEN, even if it does look dead. Besides, didn’t you say you needed coffee before the briefing?”
Sarah looked up from her cookie rack to see two figures walk in the door. The first was cute tall, broad-shouldered clean-cut all-American kind of guy, the sort Sarah figured probably played a lot of touch football on Thanksgiving and drove a muscle car. Not exactly the type for a coffeehouse, but hey it takes all kinds, Sarah thought, figuring him for more of a beer and pizza type. His friend on the other hand, immediately took her notice. Despite the grown-out military haircut, he had a brow that looked like it spent a lot of time furrowing over books. He wore wire-rimmed glasses with the same ease that Sarah did, having spent most of a lifetime doing so. His features were similar enough to his friend’s that Sarah wondered if they were in fact cousins, or even brothers, but unlike All-American, he had (as Sarah shamelessly admitted) really yummy blue eyes, and a rather bewildered look that tugged at Sarah’s good sense. She was such a sucker for hopeless cases.
“Well after my battery dying, I need something.” The guy with the glasses was saying. Oh no, he really was a “hopeless case.” Better get Grace up here pronto.
“Eh. Just have Sam take a look at it.”
“I highly doubt Sam’s going to want to help fix a dead car when she could be, I dunno, discovering cold fusion.”
“You’d be surprised.” Mitchell laughed and approached the counter. Sarah, sans hat and apron stood behind it trying not to act like a 7th grader.
“Car trouble gentlemen?” Better to not to pretend she’d hadn’t been eavesdropping. “Anything I can help you with?”
“Nah-it’s at Jackson’s house, but thanks.” Ah so that’s “Yummy’s name” I really have to stop doing that.
“You can hook us up with some strong coffee. My friend here has a loooong lecture ahead of him. Oh...a professor? Oh dear. Try not to smirk. No smirking...no drooling.
“It’s not that long, Cameron.”
“Says you. Say, you got anything good for breakfast back there?”
“Well, we’ve got some scones that just came out of the oven. I check what else we’ve got back there.” Sarah said, knowing perfectly well what was in stock, but needing an excuse to get Grace up at the counter before she missed the eye candy. Man, she was bad this morning. “Grace!” She yelled.
“Scones?” Cameron repeated dubiously.
“What’s up?” Grace strolled out of the storeroom, eyebrow up. Both guys did a double take at her height-she was only a little shorter than Mitchell, and Mitchell privately registered that she wore the sarcastic T-Shirt, very well.
“They’re having a worse morning then we are.” Sarah waved at the two guys. “Apparently...Jackson?’s car broke down and they’re in need of some good coffee, he (she pointed at “Jackson” because he’s giving a lecture this morning and he (she pointed at Mitchell) because he has to listen to it.” Both guys smirked at her humor.
“So I see. Sounds like you two need some espresso.” Grace said, casting a LOOK at Sarah. Oh that’s why you brought me out here. Yikes!
“I’m good with that.” Mitchell said in a voice that said he wasn’t quite sure what they were getting at, but wasn’t going to admit it. “Grace, was it?”
“Yes.” Grace gave him benefit of her full smile, pleased he’d remembered her name.
“Your friend here...”
“Sarah.” They both said, looking at each other and smiling.
“Sarah-here said something about scones for breakfast, is this a good thing?” Grace sized up Mitchell’s clean-cut good looks and tipped her head thoughtfully. He doesn’t look like the scone type at all, but Wow...he really is hot... it must be early, YUP I’m clearly starting this wa-ay too early.
“On an ordinary day, in an ordinary coffeehouse, I’d say no. But speaking from experience, Sarah does not make an “ordinary scone.”
“Really?” Mitchell was amused, but not convinced. Sarah disappeared for a moment and came back with a hot scone in a napkin, she broke it in two and handed half to each guy.
“Double cocoa with macadamia nuts and bittersweet choc-chunks.” She said, as the guys sniffed appreciatively at the still hot pastries, Grace winked at her and she winked back. “You’re not allergic to nuts are you?” She asked belatedly, as both men took a large bite.
“Numph.” They both answered.
“Jackson here’s allergic to time limits though,” Mitchell joked, referring to the mysterious “lecture.”
“Well?” Grace asked.
“It’ll do. It’ll do. We’ll take a bag of those, and...something with caffeine.
“House coffee with a shot of espresso?” Sarah asked pulling out some cups.
“Yeah, good, the largest you’ve got.” Mitchell said, muffled between more scone, as he pulled out his wallet.
“Alright, Venti it is.” Grace said, writing it down on the pad.
“And for you, good sir?” Sarah asked playfully towards Jackson.
“I’ll have a...Venti Breve with a shot of...” he consulted the chalkboard above their heads “blackberry, no whipped cream.”
“All right then.” Sarah said, impressed that this guy knew his coffee. And a Breve at this hour.
“Trying for breakfast and coffee?” Grace teased
“Something.” Jackson muttered, with a half smile.
“Daniel Jackson, whadda have to go and make me look bad by ordered some fancy-pants drink?”
“I dunno. Do I?” Jackson suppressed an amused smile and looked innocent.
“So what’s this I hear about a lecture?” Grace asked, killing time while Sarah steamed milk and tamped down espresso. “Are you a prof at the university?” She asked, thinking he looked awful young for it, although...their old college buddy, Jeshua was starting his tenure track at a college in his home state of California, and he was two years their junior.
“Ah-not really...I mean I was, just not here.” Daniel fumbled, apparently not used to having to explain. “I’m doing some...consulting, for the air force.”
“Up at Cheyenne Mountain?” Grace asked, naming the base just outside of town.
“Yup. Dr. Jackson’s quite the expert here. Glad to have him on my team.” Ah so that’s where the clean-cut comes from, military guy...hmm wonder what his rank is. Dr. Jackson, oh boy, Sarah’s gonna go nuts, hope she didn’t burn herself on that one. Grace thought when Sarah jumped a little at the mention of Daniel’s title.
“Oh on what?” Grace asked, taping up their scones with little haste.
“Er, Cultural Anthropology actually.” Oh yeah, she definitely jumped on that one.
“Really?” Grace asked in a voice dripping with cunning. “And what do you do...Mitchell? Ancient warfare?”
“Nope, I’m just an lowly Colonel.” A Colonel. Oooh.
“Just a Colonel?”
“Well...”
“Here you are-Daniel?” Like you didn’t hear his name loud and clear, Sarah...real smooth. Grace repressed a roll of her eyes.
“Yeah-Jackson’s my surname, Cameron Mitchell here has been in the military too long to remember you’re allowed to address people by their first name in this country.
“Ah.” Both girls said. Grace looked at Sarah as if you say. Score ten life points for us, we got both their first names in one sentence!
“Daniel. It’s a good name. It means...” Sarah started out-
“God is my Judge.” Daniel and Sarah said together.
“But of course you know that-“ Sarah blushed Moron! “Being a cultural anthropologist, an all.”
“True.” Daniel conceded, “But then since you’re so knowledgeable, surely you know that Sarah means...”
“Yes I do.” Sarah cut in with a big grin, “But try not to judge me by the name.”
“It’s not always a derogatory title, you know.” Daniel said cryptically. Cameron looked at Grace, who was obviously in on the joke.
“Well as you’ve discovered from the informative Dr. Jackson, my name is Cameron, which means...well I don’t know what it means, but...”
“Bent Nose.” Sarah and Daniel blurted out together, and looked sheepishly at each other.
“You’re kidding right?” Grace burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, but...”
“Oh, he’s kidding.” Cameron glowered at Daniel.
“I’m not kidding,” Daniel said as straight-faced as possible.
“Yes you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No-You’re starting to sound like Jack, you know.”
“You mean you incite this sort of reaction in all your commanding officers?”
“Ummm....pretty much.” Daniel grinned unrepentantly and took a healthy sip of coffee. He seemed in much better spirits since getting the caffeine. Behind them, the second customer of the morning coughed meaningfully.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” The guys both apologized and stepped away for the cranky and wrinkled old man. Grace grabbed a small house coffee cup for the customer and rang him up while Mitchell and Daniel argued over the tab, Daniel winning, protesting that it was the least he could do since Cameron had picked him up that morning.
“5.50.” Grace said and rang them up somewhat reluctantly, they’d been a definite bonus start to the day. Daniel paid with a ten and dumped the rest in the tip jar. Sarah and Grace tried not to look too shocked and thanked both guys profusely.
“No, thank you.” Mitchell said, leaning in and smiling right at Grace without the least trace of smarminess. Grace, against her will, found her cheeks heating up.
“Yes, thanks.” Daniel said gratefully, saluting Sarah with his coffee cup.
“Anytime, are you sure you don’t want a refill?”
“Nah I’m good, besides, I’ll just steal “Bent-Nose’s” here if I run out.
“You do that.” Sarah smirked and winked at him. “Come back and let us know how the lecture goes.”
“Yeah, we want to know if you survive.” Grace said to Mitchell.
“We’ll have to do that. Have a good morning.” Cameron replied
“You too.” The girls chorused and gave each other yet another LOOK behind the guy’s retreating backs. As the two guys headed out the door, the girls heard Cameron say
“It’s not really Bent-Nose, is it?” The girls burst into helpless giggles.

Yes, I really did look up Cameron’s name.