Oaks From Little Acorns

Rothman stared at the roseate glass skull and then looked up with a helpless shrug, meeting Colonel O'Neill's glower bravely.

"I'm doing my best. It's not my area of -- hey!"

He snatched off the glasses that O'Neill had just slid high up his nose with a careless shove and polished the smudged lenses indignantly.

"They were falling down. Thought if they were on straight you might make some progress."

Outrage gave Rothman courage. "That's an invasion of my personal space."

"Yeah?" O'Neill yawned. "Sorry."

"It's like touching me," Rothman insisted.

O'Neill looked at him blankly and then smiled. "Really? Thanks."


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